#mf his husband is Right there come on

[entitled-fangirl]

Peculiar (P 0.5)

Cregan Stark x seer!Reader

Summary: After a frightening vision, the reader has to make sure Cregan is okay.

Warnings: misinterpreting the Red mf Wedding 😭

A/n: THIS IS A PREQUEL TO THIS! And based on an ask!

Masterlist

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She could cry.

The visions had been getting better. She had been doing better. But suddenly, a horrific sight flooded her mind and she couldn't stop it from happening. 

Stark blood stained the stone floors of a great castle.

"The Lannisters send their regards…" she sniffled. That was all she could remember of it. "The Lannisters…"

She feared what her great lord husband would think when he found out about her… peculiarity. He knew of it only in speech, never seeing it for himself. 

She couldn't let him view what she had become. 

Her handmaiden had told her to keep Cregan at arms distance in order to keep her dreams and visions from scaring him, or worse, casting her aside. 

But she couldn't handle it tonight.

She needed to see that he was okay.

She jumped up and walked out of her chamber, not bothering to grab her robe.

Her feet padded against the cold floor of Winterfell as she ran to his room. 

But once she reached the door that she knew was his, she hesitated. 

She should not interrupt his sleep.

She shouldn't bother him.

She shouldn't…

She knocked on the door and waited.

After a while, the door opened with a creak. Cregan's tired form filled the doorway. He was angry, reasonably so, thinking that a servant had interrupted his sleep. But seeing the culprit to be his wife, he softened his tone, "Whatever is the matter?"

"I… I just… I-" she stopped herself, realizing how pathetic her words had become.

Cregan tilted his head, rubbing his eyes forcefully. "What is it?"

"I needed to see you," she almost whimpered.

He paused and considered her words. "You wanted to see me?" He questioned.

"I needed to see that you're alright," she clarified.

"I am fine," he stated, holding his arms out as proof. "I was abed, slumbering quite peacefully. You have nothing to fret over."

She steadied her breathing, "Right." She rubbed her arm soothingly. "It was foolish of me to wake you. Please forgive me."

"I will if you tell me what caused such a ruckus in your mind," he stated, a twinkling coming to his eye as his mind finally was beginning to wake.

He hadn't gotten to spend as much time with her as he had hoped. She was skittish, and fairly so, but he couldn't find a way to connect with her. 

Perhaps it was because she wished for her own room. Or so Cregan had been led to believe. 

"Well?" He questioned when she gave no response.

"I saw something."

"Alright," he said as he took in her words. "What is it that you saw? Are you alright?"

"No, my lord," she persisted. "I saw something."

Oh.

He knew that she had visions, but he had yet to see the effects of them.

And now here she was, teary-eyed in the night at his door, begging to see that he was alright.

Whatever had occurred must have been quite serious.

He hummed in thought. Rather than saying anything, he moved out of the doorway, motioning with his head for her to come in.

She obeyed and walked into his room. She walked past him and began to observe his chambers.

The room was lit only by the flames of the fire in the fireplace. She walked to the fire to warm her.

Cregan shut the door and turned to her. "Chilled?"

She shrugged lightly as she stared into the flames.

He moved next to her. His hand brushed against her lower back in an attempt to sooth her.

"There was… there was blood," she whispered out. "Stark blood."

He felt a chill go down his spine. "Stark blood?" He rubs a hand down his small beard and huffs. "Sit down. I want to hear it all."

"You don't," she countered.

"I promise to you that I do. Now sit," he commanded softly.

She considered his words then nodded, sitting on the sofa by the fire. She pulled her legs up to her chest and began. "Well, I usually try to forget."

Cregan sat down next to her but left enough room to let her be comfortable. "If you don't wish to tell me, just say so."

"I'll remember. Just… give me a moment."

"Take your time," he remarked sweetly.

They sat in silence for a while.

"The lion will set a trap and the young wolf will fall. Red will rain down… as the king meets his match."

Cregan hummed. "That's a harsh dream, don't you think? Do they always frighten you like this?"

"There was… a feast… a…. A wedding feast. There was a Stark. I'm sure it was you, I'm sure of it. And… and a wife that I… I hope is me. She was with child but…" her voice trailed off completely this time.

"But…?" He pushed.

"But... the wedding was a trap. And you died. It was horrid."

"Do your dreams always come true?"

"Not usually. But… I imagine that they will one day. That day is just not come yet."

He thought for a while, leaning back on the sofa. "Is there anything else of note to this dream?"

"They said something. Before… before we were slaughtered."

His face paled, "You as well?" 

She nodded, "Well… I believe I may have been first. Me and…" the words got caught in her throat. "…the…the child."

Cregan's mind began to go into overdrive. The child? She believed he would ever let something befall her and a child of his in that manner? 

He already felt protective over the non-existent babe.

"What did they say?" He asked lowly as he looked to her.

She continued to stare at the flames. " 'The Lannisters send their regards.' "

Cregan stood and began to pace as he rubbed his forehead with his hand. The other was placed on his hip.

She watched his shadow dance across the ceiling as he moved. "Do you think me mad?"

He paused and turned his head to look at her. "What?"

"It's alright if you do. The people do. I've heard their whispers in the night when they think I cannot hear them. I imagine you whisper as well."

"You are my wife. Why would I ever-"

"-Please. Do not lie to save my dignity." She sniffled. "You have a wife that will surely go mad by her last days. It's alright to admit it."

"You're not mad, nor will you be," he stated forcefully, trying to make her believe it. "Do they speak to you in that manner? Do they say things to you?"

"Sometimes," she answered with a dead tone. She was indifferent to it all now. 

He sighed. "I understand your need for space, but I'd like you to move into here. Permanently. What do you think?"

"I shouldn't."

He marched to her and knelt in front of her. "I want you to feel safe. Wanted." He took her hand. "Whether this vision is the very vision of truth or whether it's all shit, I'm tired of this wall between us. Now, will you help me tear it down?"

She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.

He smiled lightly, brushing her cheek with his calloused fingers. "Thank you. Perhaps you should rest. It's still fairly early in the night. Enough time to find sleep."

"I couldn't sleep now. I never can after seeing things."

"Hmm. Well… perhaps you'll indulge me by laying by my side as I rest?" He offered, hoping to coax her under the warm furs.

He wanted to further tease her, but stopped himself, knowing that she was working through her thoughts. "I'm only asking for your company and nothing more."

She nodded.

He smiled and took her hand, leading her to the bed and pulling the furs aside. "The journey from your room to this one must have been cold. Were you so concerned for me you didn't grab a cloak?"

When she said nothing, he took that as an answer enough. "Let us get you warm then."

The two settled into the bed, the constantly flickering light from the flames almost leaving them in darkness.

She laid on the edge of the bed. She didn't want to overstep her welcome. She wasn't sure how far that welcome extended.

But his large arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him, and a chuckle came from his throat. "I wouldn't invite you if I didn't want you here."

She snuggled into his chest and relished the heat that radiated from him.

"I am sorry I have not been more attentive to you," he mentioned. "I should have been kinder and more welcoming."

"No," she interrupted. "I've pushed you away-"

"-Because I made you feel as if that was the best outcome." He brushed hair from her face. "Don't fret about that anymore. And in the morning, I want a list of those who have spoken unkindly to you."

"What will you do?"

He said nothing, only holding her closer.

As she began to lull to sleep, he smiled. "I won't let a Lannister touch you. That I can promise."

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A/n: dare I make a part 3 when she's pregnant???? And have more visions??? I love how much everyone was trying to figure out what they were

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver, @dozcan123, @lady-dragon-rider

[mochiepie]

𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒚 ✿

𝑯𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 + 𝒏𝒔𝒇𝒘 ✿

✿=︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶=✿

(𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 :- 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖. 𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞. 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤. 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲. 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲. 𝐔𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤.)

Husband satoru who can't keep his mouth shut whenever he sees you wearing a tight top, blouse, dress. His eyes are fixated on your titties.

Husband Satoru who will insist on and on to have babies as soon as possible right after getting married. He can't stand your tits being empty at all. The urgency of milk is reaching the space now.

Husband satoru who wouldn't take your NO as a no, and would keep fucking you when you're asleep or might end up mixing an aphrodisiac in your drink/food for few weeks to keep railing you. He isn't guilty about it. You're his woman, his to breed. "Princess, see how lucky you are to have my seeds in your cute little womb. You whore around in my house yeah wearing slutty dresses to show me your empty huge tits yeah? I'll fill your tits just see princess. Fu-fuck" he would be talking dirty and filthy to you while you're completely unconscious due to the drug or if you're in sleep. Cuz obviously you aren't letting him cum inside you if you were concious, so... That's how it is, to make his work done. He can go to the most downgrade lengths too.

Husband satoru who would stack up pregnancy kits just for you and would take the test on you. Yeah you're peeing infront of him. He is a nasty ass. He won't even mind to lick some droplets of your pee which trickles down your thigh. " Even your piss is fukin sweet princess "

Husband satoru when he finds out you're finally Pregnant (after testing 18 Pregnancy kits on you just to confirm it) his ass is flying. Finally a mini satoru coming? Yeah. Hell yeah. Now you're completely underground. He is your shadow, even you aren't pooping without him coming in just to check if you're pooping, if the poop is healthy. His mind thinks that what if you poop and the something happens to the baby. He won't admit his NONSENSE thoughts. Obviously he can't let his prestige disintegrate infront of you ATLEAST! he wants utmost respect and obedience from you. He'll directly spread the pregnancy news to his family and obviously to his students and friends, boasting about how quickly in one go he got you knocked up. His students even get disgusted. Any topic they are talking about and satoru ends up including you in the talk somehow.

Husband satoru who watches every Pregnancy videos on YouTube, or any sites even the delivery videos. His brain was traumatised. Mf didn't even know how women actually gives birth. When he heard those screams of women giving birth in the videos. Yeah he is done. Look, he fukin wants your milk in those huge tits of yours. Yea he also wants the baby for sure. But now.. now the guilt is coming in. Now he understood why you said no. But will he admit and show it? HELL NAH! Satoru even went to the hospital to the gynaecologist just to confirm if woman actually gives birth in that way, to discuss the whole procedure A to Z.

Husband satoru who sees you getting more rounder, tits swelling with milk, that swollen baby bump. How could he resist.. right? He has so much knowledge about the pregnancy and all stuff.. that he aligns his cock in your pussy so softly and gently.. "just the tip baby- nngh! Princess, stop squeezing" and yeah he actually resists his urge and only inserts his tip. Why? Cuz his guilt of baby trapping you hasn't faded yet. He'll wait till you give birth.

Husband satoru who will wait till your tits are filled with milk, and as soon as he sees milk, he is latching on it. He has been sucking your tits almost every hour, everyday, for months. Even after you gave birth, your child gets another tit and another tit is only reserved for him. That's it. This is what he was waiting for afterall. Milk. Satoru completely gave up on sweets. Despite having a sweet tooth he wasn't interested in eating those sweets. His only sweet, was you, was your milk. Oh also your pussy juices. " You want daddy to touch your princess parts mmhm? Begg then..keep begging while i empty your tits yeah? So ... Fukin huge. My little cow "

Husband satoru who thinks he won't get you preggy again. But when he realised that your milk won't stay forever. Eventually you'll end up getting your tits empty? Oh ... Well.. now he is rethinking. But when you ask him.. " can we have another baby? " With that cute pout of yours! You think his dick would resist? Absolutely not. His guilt instantly fades away, he forgets everything. His mind is fixated on breeding you again. And again. And again. It has never been a single day when he would not stop groping your tits, sucking, biting, digging his nails on the flesh, flicking and squeezing, pinching your nipples brutally untill you cry and begg him to stop. The way your milk squirts out and paints his body white. Well now he ain't stopping doin it, keep begging and crying. He is gonna do it untill you faint.

[chsopnk]

「 ✦ TOMORROW IS ANOTHER DAY ✦ 」

☆. # SHIP — nanami, gojo (separately) x m!reader.

☆. # AUTHOR’S NOTE — the boys had a bad day and need to be pampered. ;; requested.

☆. # WARNINGS — none.

NANAMI.

this man is chronically stressed + tired but he would also never admit it to you

yeah, he’ll come home after a particularly stressful day at work and be like “today was stressful, my love” but he’d never actually talk about just how much it’s getting to him

but anyway.

when nanami comes home, you can kind of immediately tell how he’s feeling. he’ll try his best to still be the sweetest husband ever (because he’d never wanna take his mood out on you) but it’s still obvious

he’ll take his tie off and sit down on a kitchen chair, leaning his head back

and he’ll just sit there. for like fifteen minutes. trying to calm the ranging headache that’s pulsing behind his eyes.

so you get him some aspirin before let the tub fill up with nice, warm water just the way you know nanami likes it

you turn off the light in the bathroom so it doesn’t make his headache worse and set the mood by lighting a few candles around the room—making sure it’s a dim lighting instead of a whole ceiling light shining down

he would definitely complain. he’d tell you “you don’t have to do this” and that he’ll be fine with just a little bit of sleep

but what kind of husband would you be if you let nanami suffer when you’ve got the means to help him, right??

sometimes he just needs a little help remembering that in a relationship, it’s a give and take.

so with a bit of convincing, he’ll let you help him wash up as he relaxes in the bath. make sure to rub his sore shoulders and neck! it gives him so much relief when you do that 🥹

you’ll wash his body gently but for now, there’s not much talking going on. give him a bit of time, let him relax for a while and then ask him. he’ll just shut down id you immediately jump at hime with questions about his day.

he does love hearing you talk about your day during this part of the routine tho! tell him what you did today, how you were feeling, what’s for dinner—anything that gives him some sense of normality. he loves hearing about your day! <3

once you’re in bed together, pls hold him! let him rest his tired head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat because that always calms him down so so much

maybe he’ll talk about his day, maybe he won’t. don’t force him to tho! he really just wants to rest with you

GOJO

a baby.

he will come home, whine and complain about how stressful it was and how hard he works 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

(please praise him. he wants you to praise him soo bad)

will throw himself on the couch and act like he’s been shot and cannot move.

you know what would really cheer him up tho?

some sweets. and kisses. and cuddles. and maybe you could scratch his back too…

he’s one demanding mf but he also deserves it so who are you to say no to him let’s be so fr

fair warning: he will not stop whining and complaining until you give him what he wants.

“satoru, you can’t eat sweets, dinner’s almost ready”

and he’ll throw his head back and be like, “guess i’ll just die here then.”

dramatic hoe 😒

BUT. he really really does deserve and need to be pampered every now and then even if it does feed into his act </3

also 100% certain this man will melt in your arms id you give him head and/or back scratches

if he used his six eyes a lot, maybe you could bring him a cold towel to put over his eyes since (imo) using them too much gives him a headache + burning eyes !!

also.

once you’ve started cuddling, he will not let you go. forget going to the bathroom. forget the dinner on the stove. no more getting up until he thinks he’s been cured

will ask you to feed him sweets tho. pls he’s so dramatic. he’ll act like he’s lost both arms in battle with the way he’s acting

but he’s cute so he’s forgiven

[blossombriefs]

Chateau | NSFW Vegeta OneShot [18+]

AN: I honestly couldn’t help myself. I had to write about my favourite DB boi. I’ve been planning one for a little while so I hope you all enjoy it! Summary: The gang all go on vacation together after the events of the Buu saga, however, there is more on Vegeta's mind than meets the eye. Title namesake: 'Chateau' by Blackbear Content: Sexual and mature content. Vegeta and Bulma are not together and Trunks doesn’t exist. The reader is related to Chi-Chi. Praise kink. Oral sex. Teasing. Mentions of a breeding kink. Vegeta is a cocky mf, I kinda made him a lil down bad during the confession. Word count: 2.7K

After taking on Majin Buu, the gang all decided it was time to take a huge vacation together before trying to find some normality. Mr Satan had booked and paid for everyone to go to a beachfront villa. Your sister Chi-Chi had invited you along with her family; her husband Goku and their two kids. You packed your suitcase with everything you'd need; bikinis, sunscreen, water bottles, towels. You were ready to spend time with your friends and loved ones.

On arrival, everyone seemed over the moon to be there, all apart from one. Sulking behind the group carrying his bags was Vegeta. You couldn’t help but notice the tension that was radiating from the proud prince. Determined to lift his spirits, you hung behind the group and approached him with a warm smile.

“Hey Vegeta,” you greeted him. Out of genuine concern and with a tilt of your head, you continued “What’s the matter?”

“Oh great, Kakarot’s insufferable bride’s equally as insufferable sister.” He said with an eye roll. When he glanced at you, you clocked his expression softening slightly. He grumbled, “It’s nothing that concerns you, woman,”

Refusing to be thrown off by his brash tone, you persisted. “Come on, Vegeta, we’re all here to relax and have fun.”

He hesitated for a moment, seemingly caught off guard by your display of persistence. After a heavy sigh, he muttered, “Fine. I suppose you’re right. But I don’t see the point in all this frivolity.”

You placed a gentle hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles ease ever so slightly at the touch. “Sometimes we all just need a break from the chaos, the training, the battles. Let’s just make the most of this time together.”

Vegeta glanced down at your hand on his arm, accidentally letting his expression softed further. He didn't pull away, instead, he found himself oddly comforted by your touch.

"Fine," he muttered, this time with a little less hostility. "But don't expect me to participate in any ridiculous beach games or play happy families with Kakarot's kids."

You chuckled, a sound that caught Vegeta and even yourself a little off guard. "Fair enough. Just promise me you'll try to enjoy yourself, even if it's just a little bit."

Vegeta's response was a grunt, but there was a flicker of acceptance in his eye. With that, you two joined up with everyone in the villa. It was a gorgeous place to call home for a few weeks. The wooden walls and wall-height glass windows overlooked the sea and the beach. Chi-Chi ran through the room plans. Goku and her, of course, took the biggest bedroom in the villa. Gohan and Videl were downstairs in another large bedroom. Goten had his own room near his parents which was the smallest. You were in your own room in the back corner of the uppermost floor next door to Vegeta's room. You leaned down to pick up your bags to start heading upstairs however were met with a shoulder nudging you out of the way. You looked over to see Vegeta leading the way. "Let me get these."

Days passed by in a blur of sunshine, laughter and relaxation. You spent time relaxing with your sister and niece-in-law on the beach while Goku, Gohan and Goten played in the roaring, crisp waves. Gradually, you even saw Vegeta come around to the idea of a vacation. He maintained his aloof demeanour, often preferring solitary walks on the beach or continuing to train behind everyone's backs in the villa's gym. However, there were a few moments when you caught him watching everyone with a hint of longing in his eyes. On this particular occasion, you heard the sliding door click open from the villa. You turned around to see him sporting just a dark blue pair of swimming shorts and a pair of black flip-flops. You hoped your sunglasses hid your eyes as you found yourself drawn to his perfectly chiselled body, toned legs and muscular arms. Sweat dripped down him in the blistering sun as it was clear he had finished another gym session. You let out a flustered sigh as he stretched, looking out in Goku's direction as he made his way down the beach.

"Y/N!" you heard a screech from beside you. You turned your head as your eyes met Chi-Chi's. She held a glare but quickly started to laugh hysterically.

"W-what!?" you responded, shuffling back awkwardly on your towel.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" she answered, "Older sister's intuition tells me that you're eyeing up Vegeta!"

"I am not!" you argued back. Chi-Chi only persisted in making a mockery of you. You rolled your eyes as you tried to play off your sister's teasing, but deep down, you couldn't deny the truth behind her words. There was something about Vegeta that drew you in, something beyond his tough exterior and gruff demeanour. You wanted to break that hard exterior.

As the days passed you found yourself spending more and more time with Vegeta. You started accompanying him to the gym or on his beachside walks. You both were simply enjoying each other's company in the villa. Despite his initial reluctance, he seemed to appreciate having someone to confide in, someone he could talk to about the heavy weight of his past and the struggles that he had faced.

On the sixth night of the vacation, the two of you found yourselves sitting side by side on the beach once again, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon in a blaze of fiery tones that reflected off the clear waters below. The gentle sound of the waves filled the air, a soothing backdrop to the tension that crackled between you.

You sat flushed to one another, you accepted in your head that you didn't think Vegeta would want to be any closer. His eyes fixated forward as you broke the silence, "It's beautiful isn't it."

Vegeta tore his gaze away from the horizon, turning to look at you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "Yes, you could say that... but I don't think it's the most beautiful thing on this beach."

You tilted your head, blinking a little in surprise. You felt your heart skip a beat, "Vegeta..."

He reached out his hand to brush against yours in a tentative gesture. "You know I'm not good with emotions, woman. I've been trying to deny it, push anything I feel aside," he confessed, his voice rough with emotions. "But I feel like I have to be honest with you. I don't find you annoying. I-"

Your breath caught in the back of your throat at his confession, your mind reeling with a whirlwind of emotions. You hadn't dared entertain the idea that Vegeta could ever feel the same way that you did. His vulnerability lit a fire in your chest, he lay his heart bare before you. Without hesitation, you leaned in closer as your lips met his. A spark ignited between the pair of you. He didn't deny your kiss, gripping your wrist as his lips matched yours. When you eventually pulled back, you were breathless and craved more. In the moment all you could see was Vegeta and all Vegeta could see was you. Nothing else mattered except the two of you embracing under the starlit sky. The world was slowly drawn into focus, and the sounds of the ocean crashing against the shore filled the air. You gazed deeply into Vegeta's eyes, seeing his vulnerability there took your breath away.

"I didn't expect this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Me neither," you confessed as a smile tugged the corners of your lips. You let your fingers trace his knuckles as you looked up and into his dark eyes, "I want you Vegeta."

He nodded as he leaned in, again claiming your lips as his. His hand sat comfortably on the side of your neck, his fingers tracing your jaw as he slipped his tongue gently into your mouth. You moaned softly, again matching his movements as your tongue swirled against his. Your hands raced through his dark hair, tugging it with your fingers as his moans matched yours. As he pulled away again, you fluttered your lashes with an innocent smile, "My room or yours?"

Without hesitation, Vegeta gripped your hand tightly as he marched back into the villa past everyone in the living room who were gathered to watch TV over dinner. Chi-Chi shot you a glance with a wink accompanying it and you could hear Goku question it as you reached the top of the stairs. "What was that about Chi-Chi?"

Vegeta shoved the door to his room open with his free hand, instantly closing it over once you were inside as he forced you against it. His warm breath greets your neck followed by his lips. Your moans were gentle, your hands gripped to his shoulders. He tugged gently at your skin with his fangs, revelling in the sounds coming from your lips. He grunted, "You do things to me, woman."

"Not as much as you do to me..." you whisper, pressing a playful kiss against his cheek. "My prince..."

Hearing that only got him more riled up. You could feel his hard cock push against your thigh through his shorts. He needed you now. Jumping up in his arms, he kept you held up by your thighs as you both continued making out. Vegeta directed you to the bed, throwing you down harshly as he pulled his tank top over his wide shoulders, dropping it on the floor. "Maybe if you're a good girl, your prince will reward you."

"Don't play coy. I've seen you eyeing me like a piece of meat this entire vacation. You've been begging for me to fuck you." You shook your head with a gentle bite of your lip, drawing a chuckle from the Saiyan's lips. You could only look up hungrily at his body, a smirk plastering his face as he undid the string of his shorts, "I'd be lying if I wasn't doing the same. Why do you think I was hiding out in that gym? Seeing you in that swimwear set me off more than I'm willing to admit."

As his shorts fell, you caught a glimpse of his massive cock as it sprung against his stomach. It was long, girthy and solid hard, craving your touch. He outstretched his finger and beckoned you towards him, "I want you to take me in your mouth."

You were quick to oblige, slowly crawling to the edge of the bed as you gripped his hard length in your hand. Your fingers could barely make it around his shaft. You looked up at him, your touch clearly making him fold as you gently began to suck on his tip. His moan was loud this time, his hand gripping your hair tightly as you stroked him at the same time. His eyes immediately shut, his mouth hanging open as he let more moans escape his lips, "Fuck, ah! Good girl. Such a good girl!"

You allowed your mouth to travel further down his shaft, your wrist twisting as you kept your grip on him. He couldn’t help but mumble and moan as he was like putty in your hands. You slipped off the bed and onto your knees, continuing to look on as you pleasured Vegeta. Your tongue pressured on the base of his cock, and your little kitten licks around his tip making him louder, you did everything right for him. You could feel his dick twitch, he was ready to cum in your mouth, but with one swift motion, he pulled you back to your feet. “Fuck… your turn.”

You were caught by surprise as Vegeta lowered you back down onto the bed on your back, gripping your tiny shorts as he slid them down your thighs. His eyes focused on what was waiting for him. “You’re soaking… I’ve barely even touched you, woman.”

He grasped your shoulders, turning you with your back to his chest as his hand slid down your torso, tugging at your panties hard to drive a moan out of your lips as the fabric rubbed off everything sensitive. He smiled, clearly loving to toy with you. Eventually, your panties were off and on the floor along with the rest of your clothes. He couldn’t help but let his fingers explore further down towards your heat. He circled your clit with his thumb, purring at the sound of your moans escaping your mouth. The louder you were, the harder he’d go, he knew he was pleasing you and he loved every second of it. You stuttered, your brain turning to mush, “V-Vegeta… fuck… so good…”

“I love how loud you are, Y/N, fuck!”

“K-keep going!”

He allowed his fingers to drift down more, keeping his thumb on your clit as he slid two of his fingers inside you. Keeping himself at a steady rhythm, he penetrated you deeper and deeper as he had one set goal in his mind. He wanted you to cum.

It wouldn't take him long to achieve it. You let out a high moan as you found yourself releasing onto Vegeta’s hand. He smirked in a cocky manner as he ground himself to a halt. You looked at him, your eyes watering as you panted heavily. “Fuck… I've never…”

“Shh…” he hushed you, sliding his wet fingers into your mouth. Your eyes widened in surprise as you gently suckled on them. “Taste how good you are, c'mon. That's a good girl…”

The back and forth was hot, intense, and absolutely nothing short of mind-blowing. You both clearly had one goal in mind now. Vegeta pinned you to the mattress, removing your shirt before positioning himself with your ankles on his shoulders. Slowly but surely he slid inside you, the size of his huge, hard cock stretching against you as he slowly thrust in. You gazed up at him, his eyes drifting back into yours as he grunted loudly in pure bliss. You whimpered with each thrust, Vegeta refusing to hold back as he picked up the pace, each movement pushing him deeper inside you.

“You want me to cum inside you? Is that what you want?” his voice was higher, it was clear he was close. His hands squeezed your thighs tightly as he moved in closer. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and basked in his loud callouts. Suddenly, he grabbed your face, his mouth just mere centimetres from yours as he repeated himself. “C’mon, tell me you want me to cum inside you.”

“Please Vegeta,” you begged, the roughness of his movements introducing you to a high you’d never felt before. “Please cum inside me.”

He smirked, letting a gasped laugh out as he buried his head into your chest. He was so close but so were you. You directed your nails to his shoulder blades, clawing in desperation as Vegeta left marks along your collarbone. The prince was whiny, you couldn’t help but love listening to him.

“I-I’m” you called out, his head snapped up as he gazed into your eyes. His hips snapped into you as fast as his body would allow him. You screamed out in pure pleasure, feeling a pure rush of adrenaline run through your body as Vegeta wasn’t far behind.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He yelled, pushing himself in as deep as he possibly could, letting himself go inside you as he slowly ground to a halt. He collapsed beside you, breathing heavily with his arms folded over his chest. You snuggled your head into his shoulder, looking up as you couldn’t help but grin.

“We can’t let this be once only…” you whispered.

Vegeta nodded in agreement, his head sinking back into the pillow as he slid his arm around your warm, sweaty body.

“I’d take you as my mate… if you’d let me have you… I mean, I can’t see you saying no…”

[ihopeiexplode]

Householdhusband!Sukuna x CEO!Reader (+ some dad!sukuna too)

A/N: idk how u guys like my word bcs ys there so many of u begging me to upload something 😞😞(ily guys!!!)

Householdhusband!Sukuna

Who absolutely refused to be a stay-at-home husband. Why should you be the one working when he's a perfect provider? Sure your gonna inherit a company but still!

Householdhusband!Sukuna

who didn't even know how to do a simple household task, so why not turn to uraume for help!! sure he brunt down the kitchen one too many times in the process but hey none perfect right!...

Householdhusband!Sukuna

who saw your apron in your closet and decided to use it despite it being too 'girly' for his taste, why did he use it? he loves how comfy and multi-functional it is, plus he also like how it reminds him of you (refer to the cover pic for the ref!!)

(thx rina for this hc!! ^)

Householdhusband!Sukuna

who actually turned out to be a good cook after countless trial and errors with uraume...did he like doing it? no.

(yes he does he just doesnt wanna admit it bc its sukuna duh!!)

Householdhusband!Sukuna

who always cooks your favorite desserts/foods when you had a long day at work, he sees you upset the moment you walk through that door? he's imminently rushing to the kitchen grabbing the ingredients he needs

Householdhusband!Sukuna

who loves bringing you a whole feast when u wake up on every Saturday and Sunday, you're one providing for him plus being a CEO is hard work so why not reward you for it right?

Householdhusband!Sukuna

who brought you the lunch you left on your first day of your job and the moment he stepped into the building, everyone thought he CEO instead of you, i mean he screams CEO vibes doesn't he?

Householdhusband!Sukuna

who hates being teased by jin whenever he comes over to visit, sure the first thing he sees is sukuna in the kitchen wearing a pretty pink apron...

"You look pretty in pink, matches your hair" "ill kick you out the house if i hear one more word from you" "Shouldn't it be 'y/ns' house seeing how she's the provider?" woah i wonder how jin ended up out side your house in the cold!!! wonder who did that guys!!!

Householdhusband!Sukuna + Dad!Sukuna

who somehow convinced you to have a child with him...how? no clue!!

Householdhusband!Sukuna + Dad!Sukuna

who always fight with your child for your attention, you could be back home from work and you see a little mini sukuna and a large sukuna running towards you, with the mini on your leg and the large on your right as they push and pull you from one side to another

(sukuna ends up winning cause hes up against a child why wouldn't he)

Householdhusband!Sukuna + Dad!Sukuna

who doesn't let ANYONE in 'his' kitchen mf like Gordan Ramsay in there, the kitchen is quite literally his sanctuary and won't let ANYONE in regardless of what you are to him, but maybe he'll make expectations just for you and you ONLY.

and guess whos blacklisted from the kitchen? no other than your child seeing how they always play around with sukunas ingredients every time he cooks

Householdhusband!Sukuna

who gets anxious whenever you try helping him cook.. what if you mess up?.. sure he appreciates the fact your helping but he rather do it himself so its quicker and perfect!!

"y/n...your doing it wrong." "move. let me do it." "you didnt put enough of it." "y'know what just go...the kitchen might end up burning because of you." thats alot coming from someone who burnt it down 22th times whenever he tried cooking for the first time....

Householdhusband!Sukuna + Dad!Sukuna

who surprisingly gets along with other moms when he started parenting sessions, he even got some great tips on how to approach you whenever your feeling down did i mention he turned out to be great at gossiping to? And of course Sukuna always updates you on the latest gossip despite not knowing who the gossips about anyway..

Now you have random beef with a girl named Eleanor..

"Wait so if shes upset I shouldn't try comforting or helping her?? How does that make sense??"

"trust us. It'll make things worse. Only help her when she asks to and only comfort her when it really gets bad...buttt when she's on her period there's some exceptions to that rule"

"gosh women so confusing for what reason..."

—

"did you guys hear about Eleanor??"

"which Eleanor?"

"the one who has a kid with her husband that isn't even his"

"eugh. Her... Could you believe she tried striking up a conversation with me while I was out shopping? Don't get too close to me woman don't wanna get infected by whatever Infection she has going on in her mouth"

"Right! Seriously that girl has some real bad breath..."

"did I also mention I saw her out with another man while shopping?"

"no way. Was it Tobias?.."

"Xavier."

"THE BROTHER OF HER HUSBAND OUT OF ALL PEOPLE??"

(based of an actual convo I heard while I was in the mall🔥🔥)

Householdhusband!Sukuna

who HATES. the submissive allegations he gets whenever someone finds out your the man and provider in your relationship

"hey Sukuna since y/ns providing does that mean your the bottom in bed??"

"jin stfu you should NOT be speaking.. acting as if Kaori isn't the provider..."

"that's a different story..."

"this is why I should've eaten you in womb."

"I don't like that joke seeing how you actually almost ate me in it.."

"exactly.

[⛩️] @: Likes & Reblogs R appreciated! ^^

Permanent Taglist: @megumisfave

[arthenaa]

a daffodil's camellia— ominis x gn!reader

summary: you think your purpose has always been to love him.

warnings: angst/no comfort, arranged marriage, indirect exclusion, HEARTACHE, unrequited love, reader is kinda a pushover but its bc of generational trauma guys !!! imelda is a great friend, the imelda bias here is unreal so sorry im just projecting, ableism behavior guys bc these mfs are too privileged, i am fr trying to break ur heart ig. NOT PROOFREAD im lazy.

note: HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR!!!! i slept on this mb,,,,, the angst ominis fic that i talked abt last time but didn't upload until now .... oc cameo from @localravenclaw and @esolean !! (Ren and Lydia) hope u guys enjoy this! anys have fun reading

All your life, you think that this was what you’ve been born to do.

It’s engraved in years of tradition and history, a role you had to partake in the moment you came out of the womb. It was predetermined that your fate would end up in this situation.

Purity was an important factor for the historical families of the Wizarding world. Those who had come down from powerful bloodlines consider the tradition of keeping the family pure a sacred tradition of their power and authority over society.

A pedestal created from years and years of bloodshed to hone the perfection of wizardry and magic today. You suppose it was only an act of gratitude to be part of a long-lasting dynasty that preserved the sacred power of your ancestors. You know it’s an honor to be tasked with this role—to be given the duty of creating more branches for future generations.

You should know because this was what you were born to do.

Born and raised to be a bridge for other Pureblood families to lengthen their authority and claim over their self-built thrones. They say it’s a privilege—to be part of a family descended from the Great Four or just have connections with them through their ancestors’ relationships.

To be pure is to be great.

To be pure is to live a life filled with luxuries.

Opportunities are immediately given with just a snap of their fingers. Their authority precedes those whose blood is stained with the lesser. You’d think living a life of a pureblood would just entail all roses and gold.

Y/N would beg to differ.

“Keep your head bowed and hands on your lap,” Your mother’s voice is ever so cold. The carriage rustles with each bump against rocky terrain. You suppose it's about time you've gotten used to her tone but the booming surprise of her voice has a way of sinking its claws deep within your small heart. As a child, obedience was the foremost value you learned to be of importance. You knew that if you flick your head slightly off angle to your usual disposition due to an interest in your surroundings or the people around you, you would only get the receiving end of your mother’s wand. You knew that you'll be locked down in that dreaded abyss if your bow stuttered due to a misplacement of your foot in front of other pureblood families.

At a young age, you knew enough to not make a mistake.

Born third to the Rosier family's eldest son, you knew that your duty was to form connections—Marry off into other pureblood families and create the next generation of talented pureblood wizards. Wizards have the natural right to take what’s theirs because of their authority over society. A vision that threatens those beneath them.

So you keep your head bowed and palms tucked nicely on your lap with one palm over the other. Your mother is a cold and moving force beside you as you tried to match her pace despite your small little legs. At the age of 7, you are brought by your mother for marriage negotiations.

“Your husband will be an esteemed member of the Gaunts,” You remember your father declaring over tea. He sits menacingly in the front of the table, the glow of the flames behind him making his figure all the more unreachable. You know to only nod and not question any further. He makes a point by knocking on the wooden surface of the long dinner table that seems to stretch farther with each day. You wonder if the spaces beside you will ever be filled. You turn to him at the beckoning of your attention. “You listen carefully to your future husband, child. I cannot afford another failure.”

His words engrave deeply within your poor meek heart. You know that if you deny it, you’ll suffer the same fate that of your older sister—the one who tried to get a glimpse of the love and normalcy she desperately wanted yet ended with a tragedy.

You remembered that day in such vivid detail—the cold looks of your parents as they looked down at the state of their eldest daughter, who bawls and claws at any sort of reaction from the still and lifeless figure of her former lover.

So just like the obedient perfect child that you are, you nod and bow—subservient to the influences of those who claim to be wiser than you. You can only do so much to control your faith so alas, you let go and let the others hold the reigns.

That is until you meet him.

You were faintly aware of what he looked like. A boy with eyes as bright as the clouds, hair so smooth—so blonde that it gleams perfectly in the sunlight, and moles that litter his face, mimicking the night sky. These were murmurs of him from the servants in the halls of your manor. They say his beauty is compared to that of Rowena Ravenclaw and his demeanor spoke true as a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. However, there were also whispers of his only flaw.

“They say the young lord does not see.”

You wondered before how true the nature of the gossip of the young lord was when you took your first step inside the Gaunt estate, but now, as you stand before him who seems detached from the world with his eyes as dull as the morning sky on a rainy day, you suddenly make a conclusive remark about him.

He was truly a sight to behold.

“This is the young Lord, Ominis Gaunt," His mother declares proudly from her place, chest puffed and earrings dangling from the heaviness of the jewels that clung tightly to their placements. His father stands idly and lets his wife do all the matching. Your mother only smiles, placing a firm hand on your back—reminding you of your duty.

You bow with the elegance that of a noble—A move you’ve honed to perfection from years and years of teaching and practice. You rise back up with the same pace, eyes peering up at him from your lashes. He only seems to daze off into the distance.

“This is Lady Y/N Rosier. We’ll serve you well.”

The silence is unbearable.

You think that maybe after the taxing interaction with the grown-ups and being able to interact alone with the young lord would allow you to finally discover his true personality.

That, however, continues to be a difficulty.

"Do you like fencing, my lord?" You ask, trying to break the ice as you sit across from him in one of the receiving rooms of the Gaunt's huge manor. "Or perhaps history?"

"Stop asking." He replies curtly, stance devoid of interest. You continue to dig deep into that shell of his, hoping that your incessant need to make conversation would crumble the defensive walls he put up.

"I hear you're quite skilled in astronomy, my lord—"

"Don't call me that."

"What do I call you then?" You perk up, cheeks gleaming with a smile. The furrowing of his eyebrows only digs deeper.

"It appears that I am an avid fan of silence. I suggest not speaking at all," For a 7-year-old, his voice is cold and authoritative. You suppose it's because of his closeness to the Great Four that he is granted with such ability to freely talk however he wants. Your eyes glimmer in awe.

"I just want to get to know my future husband," You retort, trying to make sense of your fiance. You pout like a child, feet swinging back and forth—allowing yourself a moment of reprieve from the stiffness of tradition. "Mother says it's customary for us to be familiar with one another at a young age to establish proper connec—"

His hands slam hard at the wooden surface of the table in front of you. You flinch, a bit surprised by his sudden show of strength. You admit that maybe you've gone a bit too far with the questioning, but it was all for a good purpose anyway! You two are to be one in due time. So, what was so wrong about getting to know him?

You wonder if you'll ever be like him someday. To carry himself in such a stance that he doesn't need to nod or bow to anyone. He tilts his head in the direction of your voice, face contorted into a glare.

"I'll be on my way," He murmurs, voice calm, and yet his disposition evokes anger and frustration. You watch him with bated breath as he walks towards the double doors, the servants bowing and opening it for him with ease.

You know that this should be the final nail in the coffin. To detest the boy you'll soon marry as he turns into a man whose values and inhibitions clung onto him like a wolf who won't release it's jaws onto prey. You know and yet your fingers crumple the fabric of your skirt, eyes looking forward to your next meeting.

The next time you meet him is over tea. It was the turn of the Gaunts to visit your manor as dictated by the tradition of courting within noble houses. You've practiced this scenario over and over. Countless of times alone, with your governess, and with your mother. It's engraved within the depths of your mind as the wounds of the past sting with each sip of your drink.

Act like a noble. Drink like a high-born. Be a pureblood.

The thoughts ring harshly with each thump of your beating heart. Your fingers twitch, and your form stiffens—all for the sake of tradition. The words branding the forefront of your mind as you feel the intensity of your mother's gaze.

I have to do good. I need to do good.

"Your estate is a wonderful place, Lady Rosier," The Gaunt Matriarch addresses your mother with an esteemed elegance—to which your mother only responds with a courteous smile, a part of her façade.

Your mother never liked purebloods but she respected tradition. She smiles and bows in front of her peers but mocks and beseeches them in the comfort of her room.

You don't understand your mother but as a young child, validation from her was the only thing you ever wanted.

And so you try.

"It's all due to our ancestors' hard work in keeping the Rosier history alive through the manor's architecture," You respond, lips contorted into a gentle smile. The Gaunts seem impressed by your interest in the conversation and from the corner of your eye, you see your mother shift in her seat.

"I see," Lord Gaunt eyes you with a glint of interest in his eye, and he shifts his attention to your parents. "Lord and Lady Rosier, you've raised a daughter worthy of her blood. I applaud you."

Your mother smiles and for the first time, you feel your heart thump at the recognition of doing good. She then responds, "As they should be. It is their role to be worthy and I'm sure she'll be a wonderful spouse to the young master."

Your attention then shifts to the quiet blonde sitting idly in his seat. His face is stone cold, eyes dull, and fists clenching the material of his seat so hard it turns white.

Anger was the first emotion you've seen on Ominis's face.

You wonder if you'll get to see more.

"Aren't you excited?"

You squeal, influenced by the utter joy of finally attending school. It's your first year.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where most wizarding families are built and made from. Many of your relatives built their name from their experiences as a student in Hogwarts—after all it was in your blood to be ambitious. To dream of the impossible and achieve it by any means. That's why your family house dons the colors of green and silver—a direct allegiance to the house of Slytherin, that of which many of your blood relatives reside during their time as a student.

While being excited about Hogwarts was already a given factor as a child of magic, there's also one thing you're most excited about.

"Stop bouncing about, Y/N," Ominis grumbled as he heaved his bag over his shoulder. "We still have to find our damn car."

Your relationship with Ominis did progress in some ways. He's less grouchy now and tolerates your personality enough to let you stay by his side. You've gotten used to its indifference but you think that it's good progress with how he talks more with you albeit still with glares and a cold demeanor.

He pays you no mind as he traverses through the narrow pathway of the train with the guide of his wand. You follow closely behind, hands carrying your suitcase as Ominis guides you to your assigned car.

"I can't help it, I'm literally bursting with energy," You whine as Ominis finally reaches your destination, slides the door open, and places his things inside. He plops down to the farthest corner and leans back to rest. You immediately claim the seat next to him to which he grumbles.

"There's plenty of seats for you to take," He scowls, gesturing to the empty seats in front of you both. You only giggle as you snuggle up next to him.

"Oh don't be such a stone-faced troll, Ominis!" You whine, slapping his arm. He tenses with anger at the gesture. "It's natural for me as your fiancée to be as close to you as possible."

"Stop calling yourself that," His eyebrows furrow in annoyance, jaw clenching in anger. You roll your eyes, not minding his hostility.

"But I am though?"

"I swear to Merlin's name and everything he holds dear, if you don't—"

The slide of the door halts your conversation as your eyes and his head flick toward the sudden disturbance. Two brunettes pop in, one seemingly looking like a direct copy of the other. They blink, eyebrows raised as they stare at the two of you.

"116?" The boy asks with an awkward smile. "Are we interrupting something?"

You pull yourself slowly from Ominis's space at the prospect of new friendships. You smile. "No worries, just a lovers' quarrel. I assume you're the ones we'll share the car with?"

"There is no lovers' quarrel." Ominis firmly states. The two purse their lips in slight hesitance. "Please, do join us though. Merlin knows I need it."

The two then make their way to sit in the remaining two empty seats, placing their luggage in the compartment under. You smile as they settle down in their seats, bright smiles plastered on their faces.

"Right," The boy starts. "Uh, I'm Sebastian Sallow and this is my sister, Anne. It's nice to meet you both."

You nod excitedly at the introduction, delighted to make friends at the present opportunity.

"I'm Y/N Rosier," You respond. You then gesture to the blonde next to you. "And this is Ominis Gaunt, my fian—"

"Friend." Ominis cuts through, overpowering your voice. You turn to him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "They mean friend."

The twins glanced at the two of you, puzzled by the shifting of the balance in your dynamics. Anne breaks the silence.

"Well, we'll be spending quite a long while here, I hope to make your acquaintance," The Sallow girl beams. Sebastian nods at his sister's words while Ominis responds with a hum of agreement.

There's not much to say when the group falls into silence once more. The four of you were strangers after all, still not used to the presence of someone new but the feeling is welcomed.

Your eyes glance at Ominis who seems to have been resting his eyes, leaning his head against the wall—waiting for the train to begin its course. The corner of your lips curl up at his iridescent beauty.

The train sounds its whistle beginning your journey.

"Are you dumb?"

Imelda blatantly states as she stares at you with disinterest in her eyes. She takes a bite of her apple. "Or just purely ignorant of what's actually happening?"

On your 3rd year at Hogwarts, you somehow get grounded to reality through the presence of Imelda Reyes.

You suppose it's all in due time that you'd be awakened from the trauma-inducing nightmare of tradition and sacred rules of your family. The need to fulfill your role. To give Ominis a home he needs, a family he wants, and a lover he deserves. You suppose that your role overshadowed your judgment of his character and behavior.

You had gotten used to it. To his blatant ignorance of your efforts, the glares, sarcastic comments, seething scoffs, or the fact that sometimes, he doesn't see you at all.

He's always like this, you think. You were never bothered by his indifference. You believed that you could love him enough for the both of you.

You were stupidly wrong about that too.

Sebastian and Anne are terrific company. After being acquainted in your first year, your little group had been formed then and there. The two of them stayed for the past 2 years and you were truly grateful for them. However, the twins were mostly close to Ominis. You didn't mind the gaps between you and the siblings seeing as you prioritized your relationship with Ominis more than anything.

You never really considered it to be a bad thing.

That is until Imelda begins to scratch at the surface of your finely built walls.

You purse your lips, minding your own business as you continue to sew a new stitch into the stretched fabric. You were unfortunate enough to share the dorm room with Imelda and while you enjoyed the rambunctious' Slytherin Quidditch Captain's companionship, this was certainly not something you'd rather talk with her. Everything was fine and there was no need to nitpick at every detail.

Your needle pokes through the hole, goes in, then out—thread sliding swiftly in the path you've carved out for it.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Imelda," You try to deflect her inquisitive nature. She rolls her eyes.

"It's just–" She pauses to readjust her position, leaning forward to rest her arms on her knees—she eyes you with keen interest. "I'm truly amazed how you've gone 3 years with him."

You glance up at her with furrowed eyebrows. "Stop speaking ill of Ominis."

Imelda lets out a loud laugh at your response. "And you even dare to defend him? Are you sure you're not dumb?"

You forcefully drop your sewing tools on your lap as you heave a sigh at her words. You turn to face her fully. "What do you want?"

"Why stay?" She responds, direct. She takes another bite of the apple.

There's a momentary pause of silence as the question rings in your mind. You had half a mind to just drop the conversation and leave but some part of you somehow wanted to defend yourself.

"He's just Ominis. He's always been like that," You respond, chest puffed in self-proclaimed confidence. "We grew up together. We're promised for each other. That's all I need—"

A sudden burst of laughter from Imelda catches you off guard. You flinch in surprise as you watch the brunette Slytherin double down in laughter. Somehow, the clawing feeling inside you becomes more prominent with each giggle and huff from the woman's lips. Your nail begins to scratch at the skin of your thumb.

"H-Holy shit," Imelda sighs in laughter, brushing off a stray tear. She giggles a few more times before finally settling down with a smile. "You're worse than I thought."

She tilts her head with a condescending look on her face.

"Have you ever seen him with the twins? Alone?" She asks. That sets off wave after wave of uncomfortable thumping within your chest. You let out a shaky breath. "I suppose you don't because you're always so focused on your dearest fiance—Actually, y'know! If you just tried to properly look at him. Maybe, just maybe, you'd finally get a grasp of yourself."

Your jaw clenches and palms sweat.

"Stop it." You try to get a hold of yourself. To take control of the situation and get a grip on your thoughts that seem to get more and more chaotic as time passes. However, despite your tries, Imelda overpowers you once more.

"Y/N," She leans forward to rest her arms on the wooden surface of the table. "Maybe, you don't know much about him at all."

Your eyes are locked on hers at the prompt of her words. You can't bring yourself to deny despite the flurry of emotions bursting within you. She tilts her head and gives you a sympathetic look.

You walked out with no response.

On your 5th year, the presence of a new student shook the halls of Hogwarts.

It was uncommon, of course, that a wizard would get admitted at such a late year and while the idea of a new 5th year would turn a few heads in curiosity, this was not the only source of attention.

Over the course of the first few days back to school, you hear talks of the new 5th year's incredible feats of surviving against a dragon attack. There were exaggerations, of course, and different variants of the story with how widespread the gossip had reached, but it all reached the same conclusion at the end.

This new girl had already made her mark as a formidable wizard.

You admired her at first, wanting to know how she did it and what brought on such circumstances. However, there was a slight uncomfortable nagging deep within the depths of your heart at your first meeting. While you felt regretful of such impression despite her kind deportment, you still felt uneasy at the arrival of her presence.

It was probably partly because of Anne's leave of absence since the start of your 5th year. Sebastian was quite privy to the details concerning Anne's sudden absence. You knew she was sick, but other than that, you were quite left in the dark. You convinced yourself that maybe Sebastian feels conflicted when talking about it, and his sudden avoidance of you bringing up the topic proves a testament to that. However, you've seen him and Ominis on the train when you came back after getting refreshments. You've seen Ominis give him a comforting hug—an affection you've barely received from him if there was any at all. You've seen Sebastian tap Ominis to stop talking whenever you enter the room.

People tend to have that misconception that you're awfully unaware of your surroundings due to you being characterized as a 'pushover.' You knew that your bond with Ominis or Sebastian was way different than what they had for each other. You knew it and chose not to dwell too much on the semantics. You'd rather focus on Ominis. On being the person he deserves.

This was solidified when Sebastian began including her in your lunch hangouts.

You were unfortunate enough to be separated from Sebastian and Ominis for your Potions lecture. You had to scour across the castle just to get with them for lunch. They were usually at the same place—lounging around in the Defense against the Dark Arts Tower or the Undercroft.

This time, however, you were finding it quite hard to spot the two.

"Look," Lydia Parkinson, a Ravenclaw from your year, twirls the cup of drink in her hand as she lazily looks up at you due to the lulling atmosphere of the afternoon. "Maybe you could just have lunch with us. Just saying."

Seated beside Lydia is Ren Aries, your potions seatmate (also a Ravenclaw). She has rumored romantic ties with Sebastian, which brought you to their spot in the Great Hall in the first place. Who else would know Ominis's best friend better than you?

Your eyes turn to Ren, who merely rests her chin on her palm propped up by her elbow on the table. "Don't look at me."

"You're basically dating!" You whine, hands grabbing on your books tighter. "Of course, you know where he is."

"No, we're not." Ren answers swiftly.

"Wrong." Lydia raises a breadstick and accusingly points it at Ren.

"Is she talking to you? I don't think so." Ren swats her hand away, causing the breadstick to fly across the table and into a group of first years. The three of you immediately turn your heads, not willing to face the confused glances on their faces.

Just as the first years begin to mind their own business, Lydia begins to lean in with pursed lips. "Well, I might've heard that the two left the Great Hall with the new fifth—"

Suddenly a loud slap intercepts her words. You flinch back at the sudden movement, watching as Lydia rubs her arm as she crumples over the table. Ren sends a glare toward Lydia before turning to you with a half-lidded stare.

"Don't mind her. She's delirious after drinking the pumpkin juice." Ren intercepts easily, not minding her best friend wincing beside her. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

"I heard what she said?'

"No you didn't."

"I mean ..." You trailed off, eyes glancing between the two. "I just heard her say the new fifth year."

There's an uncomfortable silence as the two gaze at you with an unreadable stare. Somehow, this gaze seems quite familiar. You've seen it from Imelda, from Anne during your short moments together, and now these two. A budding stem of annoyance begins to grow in your skin.

"Why are you looking at me like that? They're probably just hanging out." You shrug it off like you've always had. It is no use fretting over such simple matters.

"Sure they are—" Lydia chuckles before Ren sends a nudge to her ribs. The redhead merely groans and grabs at the edge of the table. You look at her in concern.

"As I said, delirious." Ren lightly curls the corners of her lips to give you a polite smile. There's a pause of silence before Ren sighs—eyes gazing with an unreadable expression on her face. Your fingers twitch at its familiarity.

"They're in the Undercroft, Y/N." She says, nodding slightly. There's a slight hesitance to her tone of response as if telling you where they were wasn't something she was supposed to be doing. "Sebastian dropped by our table to tell me that, just in case I wanted to join."

Sebastian referred to Ren. Just in case she wanted to join. You wanted to ask if Ominis at least told her to tell you, but you're too much of a coward to do that.

You couldn't will yourself to look at her eyes, afraid that you might finally recognize the emotion that lingers in the depths of her mind. You suppose the inquisitive and empathetic nature of Ravenclaw runs deep within Ren's blood.

You nod as a thanks and left without a word.

You hear laughter first. Your footsteps halt at the archway of the Undercroft—breath faltering as your eyes find the familiar tufts of blonde you've grown to love over the years.

Normally, you would've already bounced over to him, reveling in his attention no matter how negative or neutral it might appear. You would've teased him and wormed your way into his arms.

However, things were quite different from where you were standing.

You hadn't had the opportunity to meet the new 5th year. You only relied on hushed whispers and murmurs across the halls of Hogwarts just to get a glimpse of what she was actually like. You take slow steps towards the source of laughter, eyes trained on their figures—smiles, and gleeful expressions plastered on their faces.

You're caught off guard by the unfamiliar presence of the new fifth year—hair as dark as midnight with a touch of silver strands that decorate the front of her hair like the stars that litter the sky. She's as pretty as they say, as radiant as they whispered about, and evokes the aura of a true born wizard.

However, the true reason for her shock lies in the fact that Ominis—the man she'd known to be stoic, unmoving, and unphased, was laughing. Ominis was laughing.

"Oh, Y/N." It's Sebastian who notices you first. You flinched at the greeting, watching as the other two paused—the new fifth year turning towards you with wide curious eyes, and Ominis subtly turned his head away from you. Your breath hitches at his actions. Sebastian awkwardly glances between the two of you. "I think this is the first time you actually met Nora. Nora, this is Y/N Rosier. Y/N, this is Nora Finley."

Nora waves at you with a smile. "Hi Y/N. Hope you don't mind me intruding."

"None at all." You reply eyes glancing at Ominis who continues to have his back towards you. You decide to continue the conversation. "I was looking for you guys. I thought we were going to have lunch."

"Oh," Sebastian scratches the back of his head, hesitantly glancing at Ominis who continuously remains silent and indifferent. "We already had lunch. Sorry."

You slowly nod in an understanding, a stiff smile plastered on your face.

"That was because you were too hungry to wait," Nora intercepts with joking shove. "Apologies, Y/N. I didn't know they were waiting for someone else."

Your finger twitches slightly at her words. "It's fine."

"I was waiting for Ren! Ominis was just being an asshole." Sebastian defends himself which earns a slap on the arm from Nora. Then, you suddenly hear Ominis speak up.

"Not my fault you were actually coward enough to not go to her yourself," Ominis says. This earns a laugh from Nora who bumps her shoulders against Ominis. "I had to pull you over." The three laugh at the situation at hand, faces plastered with glee and comfort.

So Ominis was there, with Ren and the others. Yet no one thought of telling you where they were. An anxious heavy feeling settles over your chest.

Suddenly, you feel out of place. Your ears ring, zoning out, as their motion becomes more distorted in your eyes. You feel as though you shouldn't be here—that you're the one intruding instead. The ache overwhelms you.

Your feet shuffle a few steps back. "I-I'll get going." You say, voice weak as you announce your departure. Sebastian gives you a moment's glance before nodding. Nora gives you a big wave (you feel bad, she's too much of an angel). However another reason piles onto your aching heart—mind in a daze as it beats fast with anxiety.

Ominis had not once acknowledge your presence.

You leave with your dignity intact.

Seeing Nora is now a regular occurrence.

You didn't mind it at first. You liked the girl. She was a social butterfly, easy to talk to, and her presence brought comfort whenever she was around. You couldn't argue the comfortable nature of Sebastian and Ominis around her. While you were also a generally talkative and social person, it still varied among your peers. Your personality often ventures between the lines of introvert and extrovert—only becoming active to a certain amount of people, and silent to the rest.

However, despite your positive impression on Nora, there was also the case between her and Ominis. You've seen them hanging about in various points of the castle. Even going out together when they leave classes. You haven't had much alone time to spend with Ominis as he somehow begins to become more non-approachable and cold as days pass by. Somehow, he becomes more indifferent than before.

Back then, Ominis indulges in your whims despite his initial opposition. You suppose it's probably to get you to stop, but he had always listened—one way or another. Now, he merely leaves without a word—cutting you off mid-talk and bouncing off to Nora who had just entered the room.

Your heart begins to waver and your breath speeds up. You couldn't deny the hurt that flows through you with each indifferent response of your fiance. Your fiance. He was yours as much as you were his.

So why does it feel like you're the one intruding?

"What do you think we should get Anne, Omi?" You smile, siding up to Ominis whose hands run through the braille engraved on his book. "Do you think we should get her some scented candles?"

"Anne has a sensitive nose." Ominis furrows his eyebrows before slightly tilting his head towards you. "Didn't you know that?"

"I did!" You respond with a defensive tone. Of course, you did. Anne was your friend. "I was going to buy her those simple scented candles. Just to help her with the stress."

Ominis scoffs at your words before going back to reading his book. Just as you inquire a little more about his day, you hear Nora and Sebastian chattering as they reach your spot. You were about to greet them when you felt Ominis nudge your hold away from his arm. You flinch at its intensity as he rises from his seat to walk towards the two—specifically in Nora's direction.

Your heart thumps loudly against your chest, knocking against your ribs like an ache you can't explain. You sit silently, eyes watching as they chatter amongst themselves. The looming realization begins to crawl under your skin, chipping at you—limb from limb. Your breath falters.

"Y/N!" Nora greets like the angel that she is. You smile back, albeit forced and hesitant but welcomed her warmth with open arms. She slides up to you, before calling over the two. They follow with ease. You feel Nora's arm intertwine with yours, thumbing the cloth of your robe.

Just as the two have finally settled down, Nora begins the conversation. "I'm glad you don't have DADA with these two. It's always a chaos."

You nod, still quite perplexed by the whole situation. "Really?"

"Please, Nora." Sebastian teases, arms propped on the table. "Just say you're mad that I beat you at a duel."

"Throwing a ragged cloth to my face before casting a Levioso isn't a win that you think it is." Ominis intercepts with a disappointed shake of his head.

"Blah, blah. Looks like a skill issue to me." Sebastian leans back, arms crossed over his chest. He rolls his eyes playfully. "Life isn't fair on the battlefield, Finley."

Nora turns to you with a scrunched nose. "Are you really friends with these guys?"

You find yourself pausing at her question. Thankfully, she laughs afterward, pulling tease after teasing towards Sallow. The question begins to etch into your brain as your mind conjured every possible interaction you had with Sebastian. Was he even your friend? You remember the silence and the awkward tensions whenever Ominis had to go to the bathroom or get called up by Professor Weasley. Even before then, when Anne was present in your little group of 4, the twins were always stuck to the hip, if not with Ominis. Never the three of you alone together.

Never with you.

You suppose Imelda was right. Blinded by the idea and concept of love through duty, you unintentionally neglected the possible ties that you could've had with the twins. You felt helpless.

"Oh, yeah. Before I forget, what are we getting Anne this weekend?"

Your head turn towards Nora in surprise. "You're coming?"

There's a momentary pause at your question. You wouldn't have minded it before, but now you feel the stares clawing at your skin.

"Of course, she is." Ominis replies with a tone of disbelief. "Don't be ridiculous."

"She hasn't met Anne, though? I don't think—"

"Don't speak for my sister, Y/N." Sebastian cuts through the tension with an offhanded response. You turn towards him in surprise. Nora shifts uncomfortably beside you. "We already planned this. Let's just go with it."

"You didn't tell me anything?" You're not sure as to why your voice suddenly begins to rise. Your hands clench under the table.

"My bad?" Sebastian shakes his head in confusion, as if he's the one incovenienced. "Listen up, next time then? Instead of you know—ogling Ominis, all the time?"

"Sebastian!" Nora calls out, perplexed at the sudden hostility. The brown-haired Slytherin merely turns his head away. A dreadful feeling submerges over your body as you glance at Ominis who sports an indifferent look in his face. There's a paused silence before Sebastian stands from his seat.

"Where are you going?" Nora asks, worried.

"Out. I'm floo-ing to Hogsmeade for the gift. Catch up if you guys want to." Sebastian mumbles in response. He leaves abruptly, robe trailing behind him.

Just as you were about to turn to Ominis, he stands up. "Omi?"

"You should've known better." Ominis mutters. Your breath hitches at his words. He follows through with Sebastian. Your hand clenches into a fist.

"Y/N," Nora grasps at your arm with slight comfort. You couldn't be mad at her even if you wanted to. "Are you okay?"

Your head is lowered, hair framing your face as you try to gather your emotions. You then turn towards her with a smile you've practiced from your childhood days.

"I'm fine."

The silence was unbearable.

You're not sure when was the last time you and Ominis were seated together in a room, alone—much less the receiving room of your manor. You can feel the nervousness clawing up your throat. Your mother had persisted on the two of you visiting the manor during your winter break. You wanted to accept the invitation at first, seeing as this was an opportunity to spend time with Ominis.

But seeing the disdain on his face as soon as you told him the news, somehow regret only fills your body. You had no choice either way.

"Is Hogwarts treating you well?" Your mother sips her tea with the elegance fitting for her role as the matriarch of the house. You shift in your seat, uneasy from her attention.

"Well enough," Ominis answers from your side. His face lacks the enthusiasm of talking to your family.

Your mother furrows her eyebrows at the response but doesn't say anything regardless. "I do hope you're both preparing for your engagement once you graduate in 2 years. Merlin knows how much both of our families have prepared for it."

You nod submissively, unable to resist the pointed stare your mother gives you. Ominis stands abruptly at her words, not opting to pardon himself as he walks out of the room. There's paused silence before your mother scoffs.

"Insolent child," She seethes, taking a sip out of her cup. "If it weren't for his family name and heritage, we would've found you a more suitable heir to marry. Merlin knows his family's treating him like a dispensable asset, when his brother's already married and up to take the role as head of the house."

You sit silently, eyes focused on the untouched cup of tea. Your mother's voice booms through the room, causing you to flinch at its sudden intensity.

"Go after him, Y/N. Beg on your knees if you have to. Keep him tied to the leash before he goes off pawing at others." Your mother orders. "Your sister's a testament to that. Do I make myself clear?"

Your mother's word was law. Everyone in the house knew that. Even your father, who is recognized as the head of the house. She easily controls those around her to do her bidding, and those who resist are met with dire consequences. You'd rather be by her side than against her blade.

"Yes, mother."

You found him by the courtyard.

Your family dog, an Alpine Mastiff that was gifted for your father by a collector of muggle creature, pants against his lap—enjoying the gentle caresses that Ominis runs through his fur. He sits against the huge tree in the middle, the leaves giving his face a gentle shade from the light. You make careful steps before standing in front of him.

"Feeling lethargic, Omi?" You smile. The dog, Xavier, looks up at you with its sleepy eyes before yawning against Ominis's touch.

"I told you to stop calling me that." He replies, eyes devoid of emotion. He merely runs back and forth Xavier's fur as if its stimulation calms his nerves.

"You never allow me to call you anything." You retort, voice calm as you look down at him with a forlorn expression. He doesn't need to know that.

Ominis shakes his head, a sarcastic smile on his lips. "That's because we're not friends."

You purse your lips before responding. "If you say stuff like that, I'll get hurt, Omi."

Ominis chuckles. "You've bound me to your chains, made me a spectacle with your jokes, and you're worried about getting hurt over the truth?"

You stared at him as he continues to pet the massive dog on his lap. You've gone through this routine before, and you'll go through it again. Why get hurt now?

There's a miniscule pause of silence before you let out a laugh at his words. "So touchy with everything, Omi. You really hate me that much?"

It's a joke. Don't take it to heart.

"Yes," He answers with no hesitation, face devoid of any emotion. He finally looks up and its as if those beautiful cloudy blue eyes could stare through you. "Yes, I do."

It's not true.

You've observed Ominis enough to know what he's thinking.

As much as others regarded him as an intimidating figure, he quite wears his heart on his sleeve. You know when he's angry, when he's joking, being sarcastic, sad, or whatever version of Ominis you're facing for the day. You didn't spend 8 years of your life loving him just for you to not recognize every detail on his face.

You've known him well enough to recognize patterns on his behavior, subtle differences to his emotions, and his current mood of the day. If anything, you're well versed in Ominis's body language, that you've grown well accustomed to how you act around him based on it.

That's why besides you're being hit with two realities, instead of one.

You've watched them from across the hall, chatting up a storm as the three of them were huddled in the corner. You've long since opted to observing them rather than being in the group itself, and ever since then, you've begin noticing things you weren't supposed to.

"What's got you looking so focused there?" Imelda's voice reaches your senses as a figure settles beside you. You give her a glance before looking back at the trio. She hums, following your line of sight. "Looking at your asshole of a lover boy again?"

"Don't I ever?" You sarcastically remark, laughing slightly. Imelda looks at you with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

"Wow," She nods. "That's improvement. You don't make sarcastic remarks when I point out your obsession with white boy over there."

You glance at her, heaving a breath as you contemplated letting Imelda know of your thoughts as of late. You suppose that she's the only person who has been real with you since the start. Everything's been a blur since your visit with Ominis to your manor. You've been trying your hardest to appear normal but things had just gone way off. You've started to distance yourself as well, only responding when asked or talked to—which most of the case is Nora's doing. Though, with Sebastian's constant needs for adventure and Nora's inquisitive nature, she had also lost the attention towards your interaction with the group.

With Ominis, you knew well enough that wherever Nora and Sebastian went, he went to as well. You've seen the three of them flee the Great Hall, not minding your lack of presence to the group. 4 years as a group of friends and 8 years with Ominis, and they haven't had a single thought about you that passed through their minds.

You suppose you should've gotten used to their exclusion to your presence. You're partly aware that this is due to the engagement between you and Ominis, how much he despises the centuries-old tradition of marrying those of the same stature as he is. How much he detests the forced nature of your relationship. You wished you had the power to null it, to start over, and meet him under different circumstances. To dream of a reality where he actually finds love in you, and wishes for a future with you in it.

But alas, life is hard for someone like you. To hold so much authority within your fingertips but be shackled by tradition and generational trauma. You've long accepted your demise.

"Ominis likes Nora." The words slips out of your mouth with ease. Like what you just said was something out of the news. Imelda chokes at what she hears. You look at her with concern.

"E-excuse me?"

"Ominis likes Nora." You repeat calmly. Imelda sweatdrops, moving to stand in front of you as she analyzed your facial expression.

"You're saying that like it's the weather—are you okay?" She asks, worried.

You shrug, eyes looking down at your twiddling thumbs. "It's inevitable. Everyone knows about it, no?"

Imelda pauses, face cringing as she places her hands on her hips. You chuckle at the silent admission. "I'm always a bit too late."

"Look, Y/N," She sighs, taking a step forward as she places a hand on your arm. "Ominis was doomed to be your fiance from the start. He's an asshole and just overall rude! You've got nothing much to lose anyway!"

Your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip before pulling between your teeth. "I do. That's not how it works, Imelda."

You glance up at her, finally meeting her concerned eyes. She lets out a breath at your forlorn expression.

"I always knew Ominis didn't like what we had. I've spent most of my childhood years with him to not know the familiarity of his disdain." You reply. You recall the times you've received cold and indifferent actions from him. "He's made himself clear. I was always the one who wanted more."

"Y/N," Imelda sighs.

"I don't think Ominis ever considered me to be someone dear to him," You whispered. "I had always been something he easily cast aside. A nuisance—I've seen the way he whispers to Sebastian whenever I've said something they considered out of line. I was never something he deemed important."

Imelda is silent. You heave a sigh.

"He's happy now." You mutter. "Nora's everything I'm not, and even if I wanted to hate her, despise her—she's so pure and likeable that it's so unfair. Why is it so unfair?"

You feel tears well in your eyes. Imelda's breath hitches at the sight. She looks around, trying to see if anyone was watching. She then hears the familiar voices of the three. Soon enough she sees them walking over to pass by their area. Imelda did what she could only think of.

She pulls her off her robe before throwing it over your head, shielding you from their stares. She pulls you in her arms as the three near towards you. You couldn't see a thing but you could hear them.

"... Imelda?" Sebastian's voice comes out as confused, probably because of her hooded figure. "What's up?"

"Hey!" Imelda smiles, hands making gentle pats to your back. "Friend's not feeling well. Hope you don't mind."

There's pause of silence before Ominis responds. You feel your heart speed up. "Ah, hope they'll feel better."

"They hear that quite well!" Imelda responds with enthusiasm. You slump against her hold, feeling lethargic from thinking.

"Alright, we'll get going." Sebastian waves before the two follow them off. Just as the three of them began to make their way down the hall, you hear Nora suddenly backtrack.

"Ah, by the way, if you do see Y/N around, tell her that Professor Weasley's asking for her?" Nora says. Your body freezes and its as if Imelda had felt it as she had pulled you closer.

"S-sure." Imelda responds. The three of them began to go on their way, chatting and laughing as they disappear down the hall.

Imelda finally pulls her robe off you, eyes filled with concern. "Y/N ..."

"They knew I wasn't around," You mumble, breath trembling, and eyes devoid of emotion. "They knew. He knew."

Imelda raises a hand to fix your hair before smiling. "There's nothing much I can say that will be of help, but I do hope that you'll take care of yourself—Of what you'll do from here on out."

You pause at her words before nodding silently.

The realization settles in and its heartbreaking and grueling. However, despite that, things haven't been much clearer than before. You'll set things right. For him. For yourself.

Because love is your greatest weakness, no? Your greatest threat. Love for him, and love for your family.

Whichever will prevail?

A/N: before yall ask, yes this will have a part 2 ... i just really wanted to finish this and it went beyond what ive planned. stay tuned mwehe!!! this will not have a happy ending btw. the title daffodil's camellia is in reference to their meaning in love. daffodil can mean new beginnings but it can also mean unrequited love, camellia means romantic love or devotion. just wanted to let yall know that!

[darlingmbappe]

When We’re Ready [1] | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two]

Summary: Kylian's blatant desire for a baby has your head spinning. Though, you must say, he is quite convincing...

Warnings: SMUT! Minors, go away. Penatrative sex, oral (female receiving), groping (semi-public), breeding kink, cussing, horny mfs, kinda cringe and cheesy but I stand by it. Let me know if I missed anything! – English is not my first language. –

Masterlist

Kylian was easy to read. His expressive face always gave him away; scrunching and elongating against his will. Even when he was meant to hide his true feelings in certain situations, there was always a little twinge of the eyebrow or crook of the lip to let you know exactly what he was thinking.

Maybe you just knew him too well, spent too much time with his elastic face to pick up on the micro expressions that made it possible to know his mood at any time. But, something was different about tonight. Cheeky? Yes. Pensive? For sure. Annoyed? Maybe… It was hard to say with the way he stared at you from the bed. One hand propping up his heavy head while he watched you intently putting lotion on. 

This expression was new.

“Babe?” You call, rubbing together the leftover lotion on your hands, sitting in front of him on the bed. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” He hums, still seeming out of it as he shifts and stares at the TV now, though it only reflects a dark image of himself back at him, seeing as it wasn’t even turned on.

You narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t buy it. Something’s on your mind.” You take your rings and earrings off, setting them in your jewelry catcher by your nightstand. Kylian stayed quiet as you got under the covers, drawing his attention back to you.

When he didn’t give you any sort of answer, you had no choice but to scroll on your phone in an attempt to ignore the burning stare that came from your husband's side of the bed. Eventually, it was impossible to pretend you didn’t feel his eyes dead set on your face. You shut your cell off and set your phone on your stomach, looking directly at him, your sudden view shift taking him by surprise. “Okay, seriously. What?”

“Nothing.” You catch a smirk barely grazing his lips before he just shakes his head, turning and switching off his bedside lamp, cozying up under the duvet. “Don’t worry about it.”

You huff and sneer at his answer, shutting off your lamp as well, curling up with an obvious annoyance at the lack of information. “He thinks I'm not gonna worry about it.” You mumble to yourself passive aggressively, your back turned to him. “You’re being weird. I don’t like it.”

“I'm not being weird.”

“Are too.”

Kylian stared at the back of your head, quiet as he slowly reached for your waist, effectively pulling your body up against his to share his warmth.

“Oh, so now you wanna cuddle?” You grumble, settling in comfortably despite the bite that laced your words.

He kissed your hair, lost in his own racing mind, not fully convinced he should bring this up to you tonight. Your annoyance was surface level, nothing he was deeply concerned about because he felt the way you relaxed against his own muscles, letting his arms act as your blanket. 

He was sure that the thoughts that persist in his skull had crossed your mind as well. As he lay there with you, the love of his life, he let his brain think without hesitation; no if’s or but’s, no playing devil's advocate with himself. He let himself indulge in the future fantasy that he had dreamed of since he was a small boy. He felt lucky he had you in all of his delusions, always right there with him. You’re around in every scenario he makes up; ever present, making you laugh, making you swoon. He feels so lucky that you stand with him in the tangible world as well, looking better than anything he comes up with in his mind. Saying funnier things, sweeter things.

As your breathing stables, he’s not sure if you’re fully asleep yet, or how long the silence has even run for. His throat would close at the words when you were awake and responsive, but now that he couldn’t tell, it was easier to whisper them to your sleeping figure – nothing holding him back from telling you his little secret.

“Let’s have a baby.”

His voice could have been mistaken as a sigh as he breathed the words gently into your ear… but you heard them.

Your eyes shot open wide, the air becomes harder to take in your lungs at the shock, laying still in his arms. Slowly, you lift your head and stare back at him. He feels just as shocked upon seeing that you’re actually awake, gulping at the confession he let slip. 

He knew you wanted kids, just like he did. You’ve been married just about four months and had previously talked about waiting two years or so to start a family. The pair of you agreed stability in the home was necessary before bringing a child into it – which was fair enough – but his baby fever was deadly. There wasn't anything he could do to keep away the images of little toes, and bassinets, and rolls on their tummy, and dimples on their legs and… just everything. He wanted to see them grow up. He wanted to debate you on who they got it from. He was prepared to do anything for that baby, and the baby itself is just a thought. A sweet little figment of his imagination… but they already had your eyes.

“Did I hear you right?” You sleepily mumble, feeling his grip on you grow tighter and his heartbeat quickening just a smidge.

He kisses your sleepy cheek, resting his face against yours as his arms wrap more securely around you. “Oui, mon coeur. I want a baby with you.” He repeated, voice still soft.

“You think now is a good time for us?”

“Mm…” He ponders a moment. “I think so.”

“Is this what you were thinking about?”

He kisses your shoulder. “Yeah. Been thinking it for a while.”

“A while…”

“A month or two.” Kylian shrugs like it's casual… like it hasn't completely taken over his brain from the second he saw you walk down the aisle. “Imagine our little family. Just the three of us." He lets the silence marinate, unsure of whether or not you've fallen asleep on him. "Don't you think?" He squeezes you gently, needing to keep this conversation going now that it's started.

You burrow your back into him to let him know you're still lucid. "Yeah. Just the three of us... but... is now the time to bring a baby into the world?"

His sigh sounds defeated, tickling your face. “You don’t think it is…”

“I don’t know… I haven’t really thought about it.” You admit, looking at him once more. His eyebrows furrow and now you can read him clearly. 

The overthinking face. 

Despite being confident in himself and his actions in pretty much every aspect of his life, Kylian is a chronic overthinker. He’ll let his thoughts drag him into a darker place. He begins to question little comments or actions that he wouldn’t have thought twice about if the little voice in his head would just leave him alone. The crease between his eyebrows tilt upward, his tongue finds his top row of teeth, his stare points away to a still object that will allow him to daze off into the flying spiral of introspection. 

You tap your finger on his chin to get him to look back at you so you could ground him. “I have thought about it. A lot. Just not so much recently…” You say, not only doing damage control on your last comment, but a true statement on the topic of family that you’re interested in exploring further. “With the wedding, moving, family stuff, you know. Everything’s a little jumbled right now.”

The gears turn in his head and he purses his lips. “No, I get it.” He sighs deeply. “I guess you’re right.” You turn in his arms, now curled into his chest. He kisses your forehead before resting his chin on it, engulfing your body completely in his. “But, maybe two years is a little long to wait.”

“Yeah, I agree. Who knows if we’ll even still be together by then.” You grin mischievously into his skin and feel the vibration of his deep chuckle from your obvious joke.

“Shut up.” 

You move your head so you could look at him, pressing a kiss to his chapped and upturned lips. “Let’s give it until the end of the summer. That’s like, what, three months? If we both feel like the time is right, then we start trying, For real.”

He closes his eyes to feel your presence in his, content enough with the compromise. Isn’t that what marriage is all about, anyway? 

He wiggles his eyebrows. “You up for a little practice?”

“Practice?”

He rubs a firm hand down your back, letting it rest lower than it was before. “Just a little refresher…”

You caught on, rolling your eyes as he pulls away to gauge your reaction to his suggestion. 

“Ky, if anything, you’re a little over-practiced in that department.”

“No such thing, baby. Take it from me, I’m an athlete.” He smirks cheekily, letting only one finger run against your skin, tracing where the hem of your tank top had been resting on your hip. He dipped it lower and pulled up at the waistband of your underwear, letting it snap back gently, stinging only slightly but your sleepy state caused you to feel it ripple through you like he had whipped you.

“Hm…” You were sleepy, sure… but Kylian dipped his face into your neck. His lips could not have been more supple against your skin. The open mouth kisses he placed were gentle, soft, beyond seductive. Your eyes shut against your will at the feeling, his large palm flat against your side and moving up under the material that separated his bare chest from yours, tongue prodding out just slightly to taste your skin. “... I guess we can practice. Just a little…”

That night changed everything for you. 

You see babies everywhere now, it’s like the population multiplied overnight. There was nothing that could stop you from cooing at their tiny socks and chubby ankles, the sound of their giggle echoing through the grocery store, their innocent little smiles when they looked at their mommy or daddy… God, does everyone have a damn baby but you?

The months went on and the late summer sun was hotter than it had ever been. At least for as long as you’d lived in Paris. You could barely walk outside for the mail without sweating and needing a shower. You verbally thanked the heavens you weren't pregnant right now, not being able to imagine carrying a human inside of you with all of this heat. Kylian brushed it off, still holding out hope for a new addition to the Mbappe household. 

Kylain might be an extremely intelligent man, but, boy… subtlety is not his strong suit. It started with him leaving open baby magazines on the kitchen counter, flipped to the cutest, smallest, chunkiest little one they had on print. He’d send you baby TikTok videos with a message that read “do you like this color for the living room walls?” 

In his defense, he was never trying to be subtle. He continued to think about what you said that night he first mentioned trying, and he still thinks that bringing a baby into the mix is right for you two. He tried to chop it down to his social media algorithm sabotaging him with constant baby content or maybe the honeymoon phase after the wedding had him feeling this strongly, but those explanations just didn’t feel right. After knowing you for six years and getting to love you for almost all of that time, he was eager to create a family with you right in the center of it. 

The baby discussion had made a sharp turn at some point this last month. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint when it all went from questioning every aspect of your life together and reasoning with one another about very serious doubts and scenarios, to unhinged conversations about things that just caused you to giggle. Things like: where the pair of you would bring your newborn on their first vacation, what their first word would be, if they’d follow in Kylians footsteps, how much money the tooth fairy would give them for their first lost tooth.

It’s safe to say, you finally came to the silent conclusion that you were ready – but that realization couldn't have come at a more awkward time.

Dinner with his whole side of the family was a blessing for you both. It wasn’t very often that every schedule cleared up in the same time frame. A large restaurant section was rented out in the heart of Paris for family and friends to get together. It was a nice time to make conversation and catch up on everything life had churned out since the last time you’d seen each other. The appetizers were spectacular, the drinks were doing their job, it was all so nice…

… Except that nothing – yes, nothing – is more awkward than being unstoppably horny for your husband in front of his entire family. You cut yourself off after martini number three when you noticed it was turning your brain into goo. The buzz wasn't enough to make you drool and incoherent, but seeing your Kylian playing with his niece and nephew, picking them up and turning them upside down, pressing affectionate smooches to their bulbous cheeks… drooling and incherency was not far behind. 

He was going to be such a good dad. He was already the most caring husband, even with all of his responsibilities and commitments. He found time for you in every sliver of open space in his schedule, needing to soak up quality time with his wife as if it were as necessary as air. 

The entrées began to come out as everyone took their respective seats. Kylian was still oblivious to the googly eyes you’d been throwing in his direction all night, but it wasn’t long after he sat down that he caught on. 

He leans over to whisper to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I know that look. Very well.”

You shudder at his breath tickling your skin. Flustered beyond belief, you could only manage to shake your head, letting out a shy and breathy laugh.

Kylian bit his lip and snickered along with you, setting his hand on your knee and faces forward. His touch was hot. A skillet off of the stove would have sent the same wave of heat all the way up your limbs. You reach for the water on the table, positive that the fierce blush overtaking your face would be obvious to anyone who decided to look at you in your current state. His long fingers began moving against your knee, tracing mindless patterns that only sent you more goosebumps. He knew that every gentle touch or fragment of affection he would give you right now would be heightened tenfold… he loved knowing that you were putty in his hands. He knew your mind – and right now, he had completely taken over it.

“Feeling okay, mon amour?” The sly smirk on his face gave him away. He was just teasing you, and Lord, does he love teasing. His hand moves upward to your midthigh, stopping and moving his thumb up and down above your dress, crinkling the material. “You’re looking a little flushed.”

You’d been avoiding eye contact, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your needy gaze. “Kylian, stop it. Your mom’s sitting right there.” You reprimand in a soft voice, not wanting to raise any attention to the pair of you up to nothing decent.

“I’m not doing anything.” He chuckles, moving his hand a little higher. You suck in a sharp breath as he leans into your ear again. “Won’t you look at me, bébé?” 

You shake your head no, feeling quite shy as your throat dries up. You clear your throat discreetly and reach for the cold water once more, but Kylians hand grabs your palm, bringing it to his lips. “Let me see those eyes, baby.” He mumbled against your hand. His back was turned to the rest of the table, acting as a human curtain for your obvious discomposure.

You roll your eyes before looking at him. You tried your best to give him a scolding look, but the second you saw that same glimmer in his eye that matched yours, your current sensitivities doubled down. The pace of your heart heightened quickly, the warmth in your cheeks increasing by the second.

You felt like leaning in to kiss his lips. He licked them right when he took a quick glance at your own, your hand still taken in his.

“Your eggplant parmesan, madame.” You didn’t even see the waiters bringing out the entrées being too engrossed in Kylian's burning stare. You smile up and thank her then look around the table. You’d forgotten that there were other people there for a second, much less his family. His mom, dad, nieces, nephews, aunties – distant or otherwise… You had to pull yourself together before they caught on to your overly horny demeanor. 

Kylian took his hand off your thigh when his chicken alfredo was placed in front of him, noticing how you sat up straighter. For now, he’d let you do your best to make regular conversation with his cousins that sat across from the both of you, but he noticed how tightly your legs were crossed together. He saw your eyes dart away from his whenever you turned his way. When he brushed your pinky on the table before engulfing your hand, you took in a sharp breath. So sensitive. 

He nodded toward your empty plate. “Feel like turning in early, mon coeur?”

You raised a brow at him. “Ky, you sure? Your whole family’s here. Don’t you wanna stay a little longer?”

He shrugs. “We’ve been mingling for like,” he looks at his watch, “almost three hours. Besides, I’m quite a bit distracted tonight.” He peeks down at your cleavage, darting his tongue out to wet his lips. “I think I wanna take you home.”

You shudder when he leans in and kisses the corner of your lips. To anyone watching, it’s a sweet gesture of affection, but to you… it was erotic. Sensual. It made you tighten your thighs even more.

His attention is taken back to the others at the table, letting them know that the two of you would be leaving a little early, blaming it on his morning training schedule. You two made your rounds to every seat, kissing cheeks and rubbing shoulders, making sure you left a good impression with each and every one of the members of the group. 

He opened the car door for you, grabbing your hand to help you in, kissing your knuckles before hopping in the driver's seat. He weaved through traffic with a sure hand on your upper thigh, slowly and subconsciously getting higher and higher. 

It’s unfair that he holds all the power right now – making you sweat and need him with every purposeful tap on your skin. The pads of his fingers migrated downward over your dress until it reached the hem of the frilly garment. His eyes were fixed on the red light in front of him as he let his hand travel under your dress – the simple skin to skin enough to invade you with goosebumps – feeling each and every one on the trail he formed toward your panties, toying with the band wrapped around your hip.  

You didn’t even mean to swivel your hips closer to his hand, but when his forefinger traveled lightly to feel your slit over the elastic material, you couldn’t stop yourself. “Ky…” You whined as he wiggled his digit against you. 

You look over to see his smirk facing forward, practically visualizing his ego growing at just your involuntary mewl. Looking at his lap, you saw the trace of his member was much too prominent to assume your neediness wasn’t affecting him. You reached over and took hold of it, gripping with a single squeeze that had his breath shake in surprise. 

“Merde, cherie…” He hissed, taking sporadic peeks down at your hand as it rubbed him through the layer of cloth. It wasn’t responsible to grope him while he was behind the wheel, but the standstill traffic and ultra tinted windows lent you enough feelings of safety to continue your motions. You felt him getting harder as you pumped your fist as best you could over his stiff zipper. 

Half his mind wanted to ask you to wait until you got home so he could shove you between him and the wall, feel, kiss, bite, lick every centimeter he saw… but how could he? Your fluttering lashes made him forget how to speak coherently. He just couldn’t resist you. 

His personal fucking kryptonite. 

There you both sat, hands on each other's most intimate parts in the center of traffic. It was kind of exciting that the people on the same road had no idea what was going on. That the thick steel doors and blackened windows were the only thing keeping them from seeing you throw your head back when he pressed on your clit. That they were oblivious to the sweet sounds that bubbled up from Kylians chest as you ran your knuckles over his tip, the hand that wasn’t lost under your otherwise innocent dress gripping the steering wheel so, so tightly. 

Kylian took a quick and sharp left, finally away from the traffic going down the last road until you reached your private residence. His foot pressed all the way down on the pedal, impatiently rolling the stop signs. In any other scenario, it would make you nervous, but you truly didn't even notice the way he broke traffic laws once he had removed his hand in the urgency of it all. 

You unbuckled as he drove down the last couple of blocks, leaning over the center console to attack his open neck, surely leaving a big purple bruise in your wake. Your hand wrapped around his face, pressing him further into you. He grunted and closed his eyes as soon as he put the car in park inside the garage, wasting no time grabbing for your leg so you could straddle him in the tall SUV. 

Kylian hiked your dress up with his hand firmly placed on the globe of your ass, squeezing your flesh harshly as you grinded down onto him. With his lips now on your own, all the sounds of pleasure were muffled and smothered.  

“J'ai tellement besoin de toi, putain.” I need you so fucking bad. His hands roamed higher around your waist as he got access to your neck.

“J'ai besoin que tu mettes un bébé en moi. C'est si dur.” I need you to put a baby in me. So bad. When you say these words, you feel him stiffen. His hands cease their movements, now only gripping you in place as he leans his head back to look at your face. He needed to see if you were joking or not. Breathless and completely earnest, you stare into his wide eyes, feeling the way the mood changed with just a single phrase. 

He hints at a smile. “You’re serious?”

You nod, kissing the tip of his nose, brushing your thumb dearly on his cheekbone. “So serious.”

He grins happily, pure excitement behind his eyes as he rubs your back with an incredible gentleness. He’s overtaken with fondness as he leans in to kiss you again. He smiles into it, letting out a joyous giggle when he hugs you tightly.

He barely pulls back. “Let’s get you inside. My beautiful wife.”

He couldn’t keep his hands off of you as he hugs you down the hallway toward the master bedroom, taking small detours when he simply couldn't help himself; grasping your neck to kiss you lovingly, slowing down to press you against his front and whisper sweet things in your ear. 

You half expected him to throw you on the bed, rip your dress off, and take you like it was an animalistic instinct. By his conduct in the restaurant and in the car, you’d expect nothing less than a rough and primal fuck. 

But, no. He walked you backward toward the bed, only staring into your eyes adoringly as he lifted you up to lay your head down on the pillow comfortably. 

He kissed you once before just looking at you on the mattress, knees turned in and pathetic little squirm demanding its way through your limbs. Your pretty purple dress was now wrinkled and twisted, halfway up your thigh, straps hanging loosely off your shoulder.

He beamed, deciding to sit on his knees with you in between him as he began undoing his white dress shirt, button by button, eyes never leaving yours. Your grabby hands untucked the material from his pants, matching his slower pace as you undid the buckle of his belt.

Once his shirt just hung on his shoulders, he placed two warm hands on your legs, allowing them to wander up and up, the material of your dress all scrunched up in their path. He unveiled your body to his hungry eyes, tapping the side of your ribs so you’d sit up and let him take it off of you completely. You both giggled softly when it finally went over your face, disheveling your hair in the process. Kylian brushed it all away from your features, grabbing your face sweetly and laying you back down, noses only an inch away as he balanced his body on top of yours.

“Mon amour.” He mumbled adoringly, brushing his nose with yours, grazing your lips slightly. “We’re really doing this.”

You just smile, pecking the cheesy wide grin that had taken over his features. “We’re ready.” You confirm, wrapping both your arms around his neck. 

He slowly made his way down your body, inch by inch, kiss by kiss. His tongue made soft and swift circles on your left nipple, your other being pinched and soothed by his strong fingers. As he ventured further, he placed his palms firmly on your tummy, kissing it so tenderly, as if to prepare a space for his future baby. Blessing it’s temporary home before they even had the chance to get there.

“You’re going to look so pretty when I get you pregnant.” The words were strangled between the emotions in his voice and the ringing in your own ears; the pressure of his lowering hands making your head spin. 

He tossed his shirt aside along with his pants when he reached your underwear, placing himself with purpose as he began pulling down the lacy garment. He hummed delightedly when a string of your slick clung onto the material. You showcased your pussy to him like he paid for it, jutting your hips toward him with pure need. 

“You’re so fucking wet.” He murmured as he ran a finger through your folds, just to tease, perceptive to the shiver that formed a sweet noise from your chest.

Without needing further instruction, he kitten licked your clit, gently sucking on it now and then. You turned your head into the silk pillow, letting it catch most of the crude noises you were making for the man between your legs. With his arms securely wrapped around your thighs, he pressed his face further into your core, shaking his head back and forth before adding two fingers. 

“God – fuck, Ky.” The abstruse praises spewed out of you when he curled his long, long fingers up, pumping them as they hooked inside your rigid walls. 

He pulled them out too quickly for your liking, taking his magic tongue with him as he stared down at your pussy. He stretched your skin apart with his thumbs, playing with you for his own visual gratification before slowly inserting three fingers inside at once. He watched them intently disappear into you, then quickly looking at your face that twisted in delight as he stretched you open – preparing you for his thick member. 

You wailed in pleasure, your hands gripping the sheets until your knuckles turned white. “Oh my god, Kylian.” How he loved hearing you moan out his name. It only made him need you more, staring up at you dotingly past your stomach. “Please, baby… I need you.” You begged.

His fingers slow down before leaving you bare. He watched your empty pulsing hole for only a second, licking his fingers clean as he shuffled around to be on top of you once more. 

He hovered over you, staring deeply into your eyes. You sighed in contentment at his gazing, allowing one of your hands to go astray to lower his boxer briefs over his ass, pulling down the front as well. You took hold of his thick and hard cock, pumping it while keeping eye contact with your lover. It was so beautiful to observe the tiny fragments of expressions that waved over his face. The microscopic twinges of his eyelids, the slight curve that forms between his eyebrow, the gentle pursing of his lips. 

You tugged him to your opening, running his dick along your soaked lips, lubricating it as you began to try and prod yourself open with him. Just the feeling of his tip beginning to enter your tight pussy had him shuddering. Kylian met your hand, helping it guide his cock to your entrance, slowly inserting his desperate mushroomhead.

He moved slightly, watching your expression for discomfort. “You’re so tight.” He huffed. Your hand stayed on his base, his small and paced movements still only to stretch you out for him. He felt the pads of your fingers as he shallowly pushed in and out of you.

“Faster.” You demanded, moving your hands to his ass to follow his movements. 

He complied, heavy breathing fanning your face, his pace increasing, stuffing more of himself inside of you. Kylians eyes were shut tightly, head lulling down and occasionally planting a sloppy kiss on whatever skin happened to be closest to his parted lips. His arms shift into a plank position and he nuzzles his face in your neck, body pressed firmly against you – the beads of sweat on his muscles rubbing against your middle in tandem with his thrusts that still only went in halfway. With your hands still on the globes of his ass, you clenched and pushed him deeper with your palms. 

He groans at the feeling, almost all the way inside of you. “You want it all? Huh?” He asks between gasps of air. “You want me to stretch out your tight little pussy. Take it.” He kisses you, tongue aggressively scouting your mouth. He lifts your legs up and sets them around his shoulders. 

While staring into your eyes, he snaps his hips forward until his pelvic bone was pressed deliciously on your own.

“Fuck!” You scream, feeling him so, so deep inside of you. The slightly upward curve pinned against your g-spot as he stayed still in that position. The way your strained walls grabbed him and kept him buried inside made his eyes cross for a second. He tilted his head and kissed your left knee. Your foot grazed his back when he pulled out almost all the way, and, Christ… the look he gave you was debilitating when he thrusts back in.

When you say Kylian is easy to read, you really meant it. You could stare at his face for all of three seconds and gauge his mood. It was something he actually found a little annoying sometimes; coming home after a tough day and you’d force him to talk about it before he would even get a hello out. He could say he hated your perceptiveness all he wants, but he’ll never truly convince himself of that. He loved that he could communicate with you with just a simple impression on his features. 

Now, he thrusted in and out, in and out as he gazed down at your hooded eyelids – and the look on his face was, again, one you've never seen before. 

And despite this, you just knew what it meant. You felt it in your heart. 

Love. Passion. Devotion. Care. Companionship. He'll be there for everything that is to come.

You saw your future in the shining glimmer in his irises. You saw everything. 

Tears naturally welled in your eyes, one slipped, rolling down the side of your face. There was a glint of concern in Kylian as he slowed his unforgiving pace, but you moved your hips to keep him going.

He halted his motions and was about to ask you if you were okay or if you were hurt, but your hands cradled his face and you leaned up to peck his lips. “I just love you so much.” You say, answering the question he hadn’t even asked yet. 

He lets out a deep sigh, wavering and telling. His thumb grazes over the trail of your tear, then leaves it there to stroke your skin. You gave him a light and playful spank on his right butt cheek, making you both giggle. He leaned down and kissed you feverishly – smooching once, twice, three times and pulling back only slightly.

“I love you. Je t'aime. Dieu, je t'aime tellement.” I love you. God, I love you so much. He planted sweet kisses all over your face, still smiling. “Tu es tout pour moi.” You are everything to me. 

He pulled completely out of you, leaving you empty. A whine bubbled out of your chest and Kylian traced over the crease that had formed between your eyebrows, just before inserting himself back. Your mouth opened in pleasure, a moan stuck inside your throat as he gradually powered through your tight walls, inch by fucking inch. It was a feeling of complete satisfaction when his tip collided with your sweet spot once more. Even better when the drag of his thrusts nudged it over, and over, and over, A slow pace. A gentle pace. A pace that he felt necessary for the beginning of this new chapter. 

He knew he was close, but kept his rhythm to get you there with. His hand found your clit quickly, making you jolt up, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him into you.

“Oh, shit, Kylian… God! Yes! Fuuuuck…” The heaps of praise melted like butter in Kylians ears. The sweet voice of the woman he loves praising him made his heart flutter, soaking in the feeling of your teeth sinking into his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna fill you up.” He stuttered into your hair, changing the motions of his fingers of your sensitive bud to get you there faster.

“Please, please, Kylian.” You kiss his neck, biting the skin. “Get me pregnant. Please.”

He moaned at your words, feeling like he couldn’t stop himself from orgasming for a minute longer. “Putain, je suis sur le point de... bon sang!” Fuck, I’m about to… Jesus Christ! 

It was there. Right there. His thrusts faltered, he took your face from his neck and ran his free thumb over your lips, pressing his forehead to yours as he groaned deeply. He squeezed his eyes closed as you felt his hot spurts of cum painting your walls, shooting into you delightfully until you were sure you were full. He cursed, eyes screwed shut as he continued thrusting sporadically. The feeling of it all made the knot in your abdomen pop. You screamed his name, legs shaking on his shoulder violently, toes curling, thighs shivering.

He pulled his hand away and kept fucking his cum into you through his groans of overstimulation, right until he had to gently and slowly pull out. He kept your legs pressed against your chest as he ventured down the mattress to get a better view of your pussy; his seed spilling out of you in dribbles, forcing him to stuff as much as he could back into you with his thumb. You shivered, lifting your head to watch him admire his work as if you were a piece of art he’d spent centuries perfecting. Slowly, he brought your sore legs back into a more natural position, soothing your aching muscles with a gentle massage. You were still coming down under his touch, both of you absolutely breathless. He throws himself down on the pillows next to you, whisking your hand from your heaving stomach – just holding it as you both calmed down and caught your breath. 

“Christ…” You mumbled, chuckling a little bit. You rotate your body toward him with a giddy smile on your face, cuddling into his side and kissing his cheek. He began chuckling along with you. “What if I'm pregnant right now?” You ask, excitement comfortably taking over your face. 

He shakes his head and looks at you, then down to your exposed stomach pressed against him. His hand snakes onto your middle, gently pushing you on your back as he steadied his hand right on your belly button. 

He didn't even need to say anything. His face said it all. 

The excitement of it all carried through the following weeks. It took everything in you to not tell every one of your friends and co-workers that you guys were trying. With the media breathing down your necks, it was agreed that this would be kept on the down low and you’d only announce when you were showing and could no longer hide it. Privacy was important to you both as a couple, and saying you're trying was really just a socially acceptable way of telling people you and Kylian were just constantly having sex.

Your leg bounced in anticipation as you asked your Alexa (again) how long was left of your fifteen minute timer. Kylian chewed on his thumbnail as he sat next to you on the bed with the same frustration at the slow clock ticking down, needing to know if the little stick that sat in the bathroom had one or two lines painted on it. 

“I’m not pregnant.” You say into the silence with no evidence that that was true.

He leans back, taking his raw nail away from his teeth. “You could be.”

“I don’t think I am. Wouldn’t I, you know, like, feel it, or something?”

He sighs, placing a sure hand on the small of your back. “I have no idea. I don’t know if you know this about me… but I’ve never been pregnant before.” He smiles, earning a forced grin from you. He notices the unnaturalness of your curved lips to appease his bad joke, never reaching your eyes as they darted around the room nervously. He scoots closer, hugging your shoulders comfortingly, rubbing them like it would take away your anxiety. “Whatever it says, we have time. We keep trying.” He kisses your cheek with a quirk in his smile. “I quite enjoy trying.” You huff out a laugh – a real one – and playfully jab his stomach with your elbow. 

That moment lasted no longer than a few seconds before the sound of the alarm went off. You audibly gulped down the minimal moisture in your mouth, taking a deep breath in as you both walked to the bathroom, Kylian holding your shoulders as he walked behind you into the tiled room. 

“You want me to look?” He quietly asked after you just stared at the stick that was face down on the counter, not moving a muscle or even blinking. You nod, wiping your hands on your pants. 

It felt like everything moved in slow motion when he reached for the otherwise insignificant plastic test that your future was written on. He kept the stick face down in his hand and took a deep breath in. You subconsciously crossed your fingers at your side. You’d never done that before, but you were hoping the universe would listen to your silent pleading superstition. You watch his face so intently, hyper-analyzing it before he even turns the stick in his hands. 

His eyes shot down to it and he pursed his lips with a miniscule sigh. Without saying anything else, he sets it back down on the counter and pulls you in for a hug. Your heart dropped into your stomach as you needed confirmation of your suspicions, looking over at the stick with only one single line. 

He put his chin on top of your head, squeezing you dearly. “It’s okay. It was our first try.” He murmured as you wrapped your own arms around his torso disappointingly. 

You nod despite the grave let down, having convinced yourself that it would happen now like you had both hoped. “Yeah. I don’t know why I expected to get a positive that quickly. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”

He shakes his head, not really knowing what to say to comfort you while dealing with his own waves of sadness. Embracing each other in lieu of speaking was just as comforting, knowing you both were having the same experience together was consolation enough. 

He kisses the top of your hair with a whispered I love you, holding you, holding him. 

A/N: Part 1 of 2 (possibly 3). I'm back! Thank you to everyone for being patient with me and checking up on me through my little month hiatus. Sometimes, you just need a break and I appreciate you guys so much for being so kind through it! Huge hug and kiss to everyone here! Based on these requests (anon 1) (anon 2). And, don't worry, @megannandrewss , yours is coming in the next parts!

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[forsworned]

Holy shit hesh content instant follow. ~ local pocket dragon is frothing at the mouth.

AND GUESS WHAT ??? MORE MF HESH BABES TYSMMMMM <3 I APPRECIATE YOUR SUPPORT I AM CURRENTLY FROTHING AT THE MOUTH FOR HIM

PASSENGER SEAT LOVERS ft. HUSBAND!HESH

𓈒༑•̩̩͙ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽!𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗁 𝗑 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝖾, 𝗉𝗇𝗏, 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗒, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍, 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝖻𝗁

⤷ links: masterlist rules buy me a coffee!!

Even after three years of marriage, you were still a flustered, stammering mess around him. Whether he bent down to tie your shoes or brushed your hair away while you cooked, lifting your chin to gaze into your eyes with his gentle, viridian hues before giving you a delicate kiss. You just couldn't help but melt into a puddle when he was around.

It seemed to hit him when you two were readying yourselves for your monthly trip to Costco (literally Hesh's second home). He had all the reusable bags packed in the trunk, and he always happily jogged around to open your door for you. You giggled at his enthusiasm as you climbed in, and he reached over to buckle you in. The warmth of his body, his grey henley clinging deliciously to his torso, sleeves rolled up as his cologne wafted into your senses. Cedarwood and Hinoki enveloped you, sending you into a daze.

The warm sunlight painted him golden, and for a second, it felt like constellations were gathering around him in a clinquant fashion. He tilted his head as he gazed down at your dulcet features so lovingly, but the curve of his lips was certainly impish.

"You gettin' all flustered again?" he inquired, obviously knowing the response. He had always known the effect he had on you and he was no stranger to the influence you had over him. This man would blithely get on his knees for you at any given moment. But right now, he was having fun toying with you, seeing how far he could go with provoking you.

You blinked back, doe-eyed, and he observed the way you thickly swallowed. "Again?" you croaked out, causing him to swipe his tongue over his lips and latch his teeth into the rosy flesh to stifle his laughter.

"I see the way you're lookin' at me, missy." He began to close the gap between you two, your heart faltering against your chest as warmth rushed to your cheeks. Your hand reflexively went to the handle to maneuver yourself backward, and he clambered on top of you in a fit of giggles.

Your heated cheeks and quivering, jutted-out lip only made you appear more adorable to him. "I'm not looking at you in any kind of way!" you retorted, but he was already adjusting himself on top of you, kissing your cheeks and jaw, immediately succumbing to his hot touch.

"We're gonna be late," you breathed out, carding your fingers through his grown-out buzz, indulging him in a soothing cafuné. He hummed against the skin of your neck, and you felt the wetness pooling at your core. The passenger door was still open in your driveway, encapsulated by the woods that came with the ranch you two drafted a deed to when you fixed your signatures together on that sanctimonious sheet of paper as your moans filled the air.

He chuckled against your sternum now, buttons to your blouse already coming undone. "Late to Costco?"

You glanced over at your watch; it was still noon, but it was impossible to know how long Hesh could keep you. His stamina was unmatched, and his hunger could sometimes be difficult to satiate when he was in the mood, which right now looked like he wouldn't be done with you for the next hour and a half if even that. His question quickly burrowed itself into the backlog of your mind as his lips latched onto your hardened nipple and you rocked your hips at him. He returned the motion as he groaned against the delicateness of your bud, circling the other with the pad of his thumb.

Emboldened by his actions, you reached to unbuckle his leather belt, but he grasped your sneaky little fingers. "Gettin' brave now?" his breath briskly fanning at your ear. You whined at him. "Use your words, sweetheart."

"Fuck me, David, please," it came out as a dreamy plea, and his heart impelled the rigidity of his cock under his jeans. The thing about Hesh is, you only ever have to ask once. Your skirt was already hiking up around your waist as you both fiddled with the button of his jeans, and he barely shrugged off the denim to free his strained dick that slapped his abdomen. It was dripping with opulent, ivory pre-cum, but Hesh wasn't even thinking about that. He wasted no time, slipping his fingers past your waistband to collect the arousal that was saturating your panties and velvety folds. 

Your lips both parting, ragged breaths leaving your throats. "Jesus, doll, you're all worked for me." He groaned, laboring at your swollen clit and gathering the wetness at your puffy cunt before wedging them past your opening. You let out a soft whimper as he curled his taut fingers into you, memorizing every ridge and crevice into you knowing exactly where your g-spot was. It took him no time. Years of familiarizing himself with your body, what you liked, disliked, and what really made you scream out in pure rapture. Hesh knew it at all.

"Davi--I want you--" You whimpered, seizing his fingers between the fluttering walls of your soaking pussy as you reached out to his cock that was standing tall and creaming at the tip. 

He caught your lips between his, knitting his digits into your hair in a feverish kiss. His tongue gently entwined your own and you felt like he was devouring you. Sucking and nibbling at your lips as he began to align himself with your dripping cunt. "Need you." You huffed out, bucking your hips toward him.

"I know, sweetheart." His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in anticipation as he stroked his member and you felt the needy achiness building up between your sodden thighs. He tauntingly pushed his tip at your entrance, allowing you to soak around it and observe the way your lacquered lips parted once more. Brows scrunching together as you whimpered, nails digging into his ass cheeks to fill you up and he chuckled, jolting a bit at your urgency. 

His hankering, earthy hues never left yours as he buried himself into you to the hilt. Broken, erotic whines stumbled out of the both of you, and Hesh lost it.

A cacophony of slurred unadulterated, half-said profanities and pet names came out in desperate gasps as he began to pound into, angling himself on the passenger seat so he was striking your sweet spot. "Shhhhit, baby." He lolled his head over his shoulder, drinking in the way you were taking him so well. Your mixed arousal, permeated the fabric of the seat beneath you as he eagerly transfixed into your throbbing, warm walls. You were so snug around him, clinging to his cock as he slammed into your pussy and voraciously kissed you, tongue swirling into your mouth as he sucked on your own, leaving you lightheaded and ready to blow. 

"David!" You barely managed to sob out, but your husband was ravenous for you. He was guzzling you down, supping up every lewd noise that came out of your mouth and doused, squelching cunt. The grin that spread on his perfect lips, as his mouth hung open made you squeeze around him and another vulgarity tumbled out of the soldier. 

"Oh, fuck, [name]. You're so sexy." He moaned out, wrapping his burly hand around your throat as he began to tease at your repleted clit. That garnered him a well-earned plaint and the gratifying return of your gyrating hips. He fucking loved it when your body corresponded to his in the form of your fucking him back. The neediness in your grinding was prompting his dick to twitch inside of you, the oncoming orgasm bubbling in his lower belly.

But, Hesh was a gentleman. He'd never cum before you and the times when he did, it was encouraged by you. Disciplined, level-headed, and calculated. He took pride in his work and fucking you just the way you loved, it was his ultimate objective. So when he saw the way you were pining for your orgasm, fingers seeking purchase in his perspiring locks while drool accumulating in the corners of your mouth he knew you were enjoying it. But it was the elongated wanton moans, the hold your rhythmic, juicy cunt had on him as he assaulted your g-spot while your jaw slackened that revealed that to him. 

Those pretty eyes of yours drifting to the back of your skull as you reach your seventh heaven on earth with him were certainly welcoming his climax. But he swiftly reeled himself back in, because the pleasure and gratification never came from his own splooging, it came from you. You were his everything, and he'd die on that hill.

"Gonna cum...!" You mewled out, as your moans dragged out and your back arched under the palm of his hand and soon you're reaching your peak. Warmth in your belly, pocket seeds of ecstasy bursted in your belly and every nerve in your body felt electrifying as Hesh, rode through your orgasm. His own soon followed after you, feeling it reverberate through the contracting of your walls and he soon overflowed your succulent pussy, spilling over your pulsating folds. The dewiness of your enwebbed cum, bordered around his twitching member and between your plush thighs. 

There was a brief silence as chests heaved, cheeks flushed and dilated pupils fixated on one another before you both erupted into a bustle of laughter. And suddenly the nervousness crept up again as Hesh perched your hair behind your ear and adoringly caressed your cheek. Your quivering eyes were bewitched by your husband as he hovered over you, exertion written over his skin in the form of perspiration that glimmered in the halcyon of the afternoon sun. 

But fuck, if only you could see yourself the way you saw him. A zephyr swept through the air, sending wisps of your hair over your captivating visage and he was anchored by your beauty. His damp forehead leaned against yours and he can't stop looking at you. 

"You are so goddamn beautiful, [name]." He sursurrated, adulation laced into his tone as he felt his heart swelling with adoration toward you. 

A coy smile drifted onto your lips. "So are you." You murmured, cupping his stubbly cheek in your hand and his grin spread to his ears, his cheeks burned a fiery crimson before he felt a nervous chuckle rise to the surface. 

"Oh yeah?" He kissed your wrist and then peered at you. Now it was your turn to be aflush and the mirth returned into the atmosphere. 

"Yeah." You giggled, and he leaned down once more to seize your lips with his own in an affectionate kiss, solidifying the devotion he had for you. The redemancy that afflicted your hearts had to be one of the biggest mysteries of this world to him. He counted his lucky stars every day to have ended up with a woman like you. 

He withdrew from you and a silly grin was painted on his handsome features. "So, Costco?"

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 2: The Jailhouse]

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

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, historical topics including war and discrimination, smoking, blasphemy, kids, parenthood, alcoholism, y'all know exactly who is in jail come on now, Pizza Hut, a wild ex-husband appears!

Word Count: 7k.

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

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @eltherevir @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees

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Amir is sitting at the kitchen table and icing peach cobbler cupcakes; he has a single white flower from a dogwood tree poked through one of his cornrows. He wears a short sleeve button-up shirt with a kaleidoscopic geometric pattern, high-waisted khaki shorts, and eyeglasses with large rectangular, tortoiseshell frames. He has one leg crossed over the other and is kicking it absentmindedly as he works, a habit he’s had since long before you met him in your 9th grade English class. The microwave is humming. Walk This Way is blaring from the little pink boombox.

“Ho, I mean it this time, I gotta get the hell out of this town.” Amir uses a fork to place a small peach wedge—sauteed in butter, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla—atop the swirl of buttercream frosting, then sprinkles the cupcake with cinnamon before moving on to the next. “Guess what some inbred neanderthal swamp creature did last night. They busted a window out of my car again.”

“I told you to take that thing off it.” Amir has a homemade bumper sticker on his Ford Escort that reads, in holographic rainbow cursive: Fuck Ronald Reagan (not literally)!

“That war criminal can let 50,000 people die of AIDS but I belong on America’s Most Wanted for exercising my First Amendment rights?”

“I know you’re not wrong. You know you’re not wrong. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“To be afraid is to behave as if the truth were not true. Bayard Rustin said that.”

“And I’m sure he was a very smart man, but he didn’t have to live in Napoleonville.” The microwave beeps, and you remove the sweet potato inside with an oven mitt and place it on the counter alongside the others. This is a trick you’ve learned: they’re so much easier to peel and slice once they’ve been microwaved a bit, thirty seconds for a small potato, one minute for a larger one. “You want me to ask Willis to do a stakeout or something?”

“He might be the one committing vandalism.”

You frown down at the sweet potatoes as you peel them over the cutting board and toss the skins into a bowl so Cadi can feed them to the squirrels later. You doubt Willis is responsible, but one of his friends very well could be.

Amir sighs, acquiescing, wistful. “Six months from now I’ll be in San Francisco.” Yes, he will; he’s been saving up for years. The thought of him leaving is practically apocalyptic. You can’t envision a future without Amir. It’s like the very worst version of when you’re a kid and some event—Christmas, your birthday, summer break, prom—is so glimmeringly monumental that whatever life will exist beyond it is incomprehensible, a haze of other people’s dreams and warnings. Surely you won’t exist in that timeline; surely you will dissolve away once that fateful checkpoint is reached and become nothing but sun and sand.

You don’t tell Amir any of this. You don’t want to make him feel guilty. Instead you tease: “You sure you don’t want to stay and get a job on one of those shiny new oil rigs?”

He laughs as he pipes buttercream frosting onto the last peach cobbler cupcake. His artistic talents far surpass yours, but you bring the baking techniques and recipe ideas. Still, you have always split the bakery profits—however meager they might be—equally. “Yes, how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to lose half my skin in an explosion caused by company negligence? Or inhale toxic fumes, or have my limbs ripped off, or fracture my skull? Or fall off a platform in the middle of the night and be eaten by a gator before anyone bothers to fish me out? I will surely regret all my life choices when I’m lying on the beach in Pacifica next to my new boyfriend who looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

The front door opens. It’s Mr. Fontenot, the town pharmacist. You call out: “Hi there! Come right on in! We’ve got your cake ready. Blue velvet with marshmallow cream and topped with candied blueberries. We read up on how to make them just for you. So thank you kindly for the learning opportunity.”

Since you’re wrist-deep in sweet potatoes, Amir leaps up to retrieve the box. He opens it so Mr. Fontenot can inspect his order. “When you cut into it, you’ll see that it’s a dark royal blue on the inside. Cookie Monster blue, not robin egg blue, just like you wanted.”

“Will ya look at that,” Mr. Fontenot says, beaming down at the cake. Written across the marshmallow cream in blue icing is (in Amir’s most elegant script): Happy 8th Birthday, Corey! “My grandson is going to get such a kick out of a blue cake.”

“He sure is,” Amir agrees. “Now can I talk you into anything else for the party? Some peach cobbler cupcakes, perhaps? Praline brownies? A brown sugar pie? Homemade Fruity Pebbles Rice Krispie Treats? Kids love them…!”

You say once Mr. Fontenot has gone: “He works for the company, you know.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Aemond. He works for Jade Dragon. He’s an engineer.”

“Ho, you are obsessed with that man!” Amir says. “You’ve brought him up, like, four times already!”

“Yeah,” you confess, a humiliation that is futile to deny. Parts of you are still sore from what he did to you; other places are aching for more.

“And you didn’t even get to see the dick?!”

You shake your head as you cut the peeled sweet potatoes into haphazard chunks. Amir puts a pot of water on the stove so you can boil them until they’re soft enough to mash into filling for a sweet potato pie. “Didn’t see it, didn’t touch it…”

“Didn’t lick it, didn’t suck it?”

“Okay, that’s enough, Dr. Seuss. But no.”

“Secret dick, scar on his face, missing an eye…” Amir mutters. “Maybe he’s a veteran who lost his andouille in combat! Yes! That’s it! He was there when we invaded Lebanon or Grenada or Libya and now he’s horribly disfigured and can’t bear the prospect of your inevitable horror and rejection!”

“His andouille is definitely unchopped. I could…uh…tell. Through his jeans.”

Amir closes his eyes and presses his palms together. “Sweet baby Jesus, please send me a gainfully employed big-dicked blonde man too.” He looks at you again. “But he really wouldn’t use it?!”

“Aemond said he wanted me to trust him first.”

“Maybe he doesn’t trust you. Maybe he thinks you might be on the prowl for Shotgun Wedding #2. You should tell him he’s got nothing to worry about in that department. You’ve been on the pill practically since Cadi was born.”

You murmur: “And I will be forever.”

“I know,” Amir says gently, pausing to squeeze your shoulder before taking the sweet potato hunks you’ve sliced already and dropping them in the boiling water. “So! When are you going to call him?”

You startle. “I can’t call him! I called him the first time. Now it’s his turn to call me. I can’t call him again, that would be desperate. Right?” Right?!

“Does he even know your number?”

“He knows my name, and he knows about the bakery. The number is publicly listed, he can find me in the phone book.”

Amir groans. “Lord have mercy, just call him! Pick up that pink phone right there beside the refrigerator and press those cute little buttons and say, loud and proud: Come on over here, big boy, I want to see that traumatized war veteran dick.”

The phone rings. You trip over your own feet as you lunge for it.

Amir snickers. “Pathetic!” He takes over slicing the rest of the sweet potatoes.

“Hello?!”

You hear a deep, slothful drawl; Willis’ family have been bayou people for longer than the United States has been a country. “Hey sugar, you want to bring your favorite ex-husband some dessert?”

You sigh. “Hi, Willis.” From across the kitchen, Amir makes retching noises.

“So what’d ya say? I just had a late lunch and got to thinkin’ of you. Gave me a sweet tooth.”

“Um, I don’t know, we’re really busy right now.” Amir snorts; you’ve had three customers in the last hour. There’s usually a rush first thing each morning and then again around closing time.

“Ya ain’t got time for me? Well, alrighty then. Maybe I won’t have time for you when you need a wild hog chased off your porch or a flat tire changed out there on Route 401.”

This is the eternal dilemma, the balance you wrestle with like a boat in a storm: not making him angry, not letting him get too close. You and Willis don’t have a formal agreement for custody or child support. You’ve worked it out yourselves, and he typically doesn’t make it too difficult. You’ve always felt that appeasement is the wisest course of action. As the elected sheriff of Assumption Parish, Willis Boudreaux is responsible for all criminal investigations, court proceedings, and tax collecting. Even when he was just a deputy, he had plenty of friends at the little white courthouse in the heart of downtown Napoleonville. You’re better off working with him than against him. “Okay, fine, I guess I have a few minutes. What do you want?”

“Why don’t you make a professional recommendation?”

You glance irritably at the kitchen table. “We have brown sugar pie, peach cobbler cupcakes, praline brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, uh, I’ve got half a strawberries and cream cake left in the fridge…”

“Definitely the cake,” Willis says. “I love strawberries. Remember how you fed them to me on the beach when we went to Grand Isle?”

That was…what, eight years ago? Ugh. “Barely.” You like when Willis has a girlfriend; then he mostly leaves you alone. Tragically, he and his most recent fiancé Colleen broke up last month. “I’ll drive the cake over now.” You slam the phone receiver into the base before Willis can respond.

“Let’s kill him,” Amir says.

You laugh. “I’ll consider it.”

“We can feed him to that gator out in the tree row.”

You grab a flat white bakery box off the pile, fold it open, and fetch what remains of the strawberries and cream cake from the refrigerator. “You’ll get that sweet potato pie in the oven if I’m gone for a half hour?”

“Yup. Then I’ll start working on the brown butter oatmeal raisin cookies. Is the recipe…? Oh, I see it, it’s right here on the counter. Got it. Have fun with your awful ex-husband. You sure you don’t want to add a little something special to that cake? Windex? Rat poison? He sure looks like a rodent to me. That nose? Those eyebrows?!”

“Amir, he’s just French.”

“He should be exiled to Saint Helena.”

“I’m going to have to put my own ad in the Bayou Journal,” you say, smiling sadly. “Who’s going to run the shop with me when you’re in San Francisco?”

Amir winks. “Maybe your traumatized, half-blind, hung-like-a-horse war veteran knows how to bake.”

Outside, the gator is sunning herself by the gravel driveway. She’s only about five feet long and dozing with her muddy green eyes closed, jagged upper teeth on display, missing toes here and there, back scarred by boat motors. It’s 90 degrees and sunny, warmth flooding over your bare legs and arms: denim shorts, lime green tank top. You can hear cicadas, doves, chickadees, starlings, goldfinches, ospreys, the benign droning of bumble bees. You throw the white box in the passenger seat and start your Chevy Celebrity, yellow paint, wood paneling, brown velour upholstery. You crank down the windows—the air conditioning is broken, that’s one reason why Willis’ brother was willing to sell it to you so cheap—and turn on the radio: 867-5309 by Tommy Tutone. You pull out onto Route 401, headed northeast towards downtown Napoleonville.

You pass fields of sugarcane and soybeans, shacks and trailers, grass green like emeralds. The hot mid-May air, humid and stagnant, blows through your hair. If the ride was any longer than ten minutes, you’d have needed a cooler for the cake. You find a parking spot on the street outside the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and grab the box containing half a strawberries and cream cake, probably just starting to get melty around the edges. Deputy Melancon is on his way out when you arrive. He holds the glass door open for you.

“Comment ca va, cherie? Is that for me? I hope so!”

“I think your boss would chew your arm off if you tried to get between him and this cake.”

Deputy Melancon guffaws as he ambles towards his police car. “Have fun in there! It’s a zoo today.”

“What…?” But now you can hear the noise coming from inside the building: howling, banging, Willis telling someone to sit down and shut up, his Cajun drawl lethargic and calm. Willis is not a yeller, and you’ve never witness him raise his hands in violence. The being a cop part of his job is the aspect he enjoys the least. But sitting around jawing with his deputies until long after midnight, regaling them with tales of supposed glory acquired while you were home with a screaming baby, scrubbing floors, fixing dinner, still bleeding eight weeks after birth, waiting—because it was all there was to look forward to—for him to walk through the door and shuffle to the couch and collapse there with an ice-cold can of Bud Light in his fist, dripping condensation down his sinewy forearm? That’s what Willis lives for.

Willis is at his desk and grudgingly plodding through an intake form. His sunglasses have been shoved up into his dark curly hair; his hat—which he loathes wearing—is resting atop a mountain of deserted paperwork. There’s a poster of Heather Locklear on the wall along with a dartboard with a cutout of Tommy Lee in the center. There’s a man in one of the three holding cells that you’ve hardly ever seen used. He has slicked-back blonde hair, an aristocratic wisp of a moustache, an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny red shorts and thick foam rainbow-patterned flip flops. He’s the person responsible for the ruckus.

“I want my phone call!” the prisoner shouts as he beats his palms against the iron bars. “Hey! Hey, mullet boy! I want my fucking phone call!”

Oddly, the stranger has a British accent. Aemond? you think for a split second. But no; this man couldn’t possibly be related to Aemond. He is short, slouched, soft all over, uncoordinated and uncomposed, pathetic, petulant, innately pitiful. Willis ignores him. He speaks to you instead.

“Bienvenue, sugar. Ya got something sweet for me?”

Obediently—though not entirely willingly—you bring him the white box and set it on his disorganized desk. Willis produces a stack of Styrofoam plates and a Ziploc bag full of plastic eating utensils that he keeps stocked in a drawer specifically for such occasions. He opens the box and sighs euphorically, his eyes on the moist pink cake and layers of whipped cream frosting as if it’s the flesh of a naked woman.

“Hey!” the prisoner shouts, gripping the iron bars and pressing his flushed cheeks flat against them. “Hey! I like cake too!”

“Just what I needed,” Willis tells you, as if the man isn’t there. “Sit down, eat with me.”

“I really don’t have long.”

“Ya got five minutes, don’t you?”

I guess I do. You sit down but don’t take any cake. As Willis cuts himself a slice, you can’t help but watch the man in the holding cell. He stares back at you, a little ashamed, a little defiant, palpably weak. You ask Willis: “What did you book him for?”

“DWI,” Willis says with his mouth full of cake. “Driving While Intoxicated.”

“Huh. You don’t usually pick people up for that.”

Willis points at the prisoner with his fork for emphasis. “This one was very intoxicated.”

The man kicks the bars with his flip flops. “I want my fucking phone call!”

“Ya already used it,” Willis says pragmatically, and nods to something on the floor of the holding cell: an empty, grease-stained Pizza Hut box. The prisoner looks at it, regretful.

“I didn’t know I’d only get one,” he admits. “But also! You ate three slices of my pizza!”

Willis chuckles. “Consider it payin’ your taxes.” Then, to you: “It was tres bien. Meat Lover’s. Ya can’t argue with that.”

“Hey cake lady,” the prisoner says, his prominent eyes weepy, needful, a deep stormy blue. “Can I have a piece? Please? Please? I’m having a rough day here. My flip flops are giving me blisters and your redneck husband committed pizza theft. And I’m in jail.”

“Ex-husband,” you correct him.

“Good for you. Smart cake lady.”

Willis says: “You just settle down and I’ll drive you over to the parish jail as soon as I’m done with my dessert.” He shovels cake into his mouth; he eats like a gator, like a pig.

At last, you cut a portion of strawberries and cream cake—the whipped cream frosting turning thin and runny—and place it on a Styrofoam plate. Then you get up to take it to the prisoner. You have a soft spot for the freaks of the world. You and Amir, you know exactly what it’s like to be freaks.

“Don’t give him no fork or nothing,” Willis says around a mouthful of cake. “I can’t have him tryin’ to kill himself.”

“As if I’d give you the satisfaction, Sasquatch!” the prisoner flings back.

“It’s the Rougarou we got down here, son,” Willis replies, unbothered.

You set the plate on the beige linoleum floor close enough for the prisoner to reach out and drag it to his cell. When you step back, he retrieves the cake and eats it with his bare hands. “Oh, fuck, this is so good!”

You turn to Willis. “Cadi keeps mentioning some horseback riding camp that a bunch of her friends are going to this summer. Can we make that happen?”

“Are you kiddin’ me?! It’s over $300! That’s a new boat!”

“I think it would mean a lot to her.”

“Tell her if she grows her hair back out, maybe she can go next year.” Willis licks pink cake crumbs from his fork. “Why the hell’d she ever get it cut like that?”

You shrug, irritated. “Because she wanted to.”

“Never wears no skirts or dresses, doesn’t care about jewelry, always got dirt on her face…ain’t she gonna want a boyfriend in a few years? Who’s gonna take her out lookin’ like that? Who’s gonna marry her one day?”

“She’s ten years old, Willis.”

“She’s been spending too much time with your little friend, that’s the problem.”

You glare furiously at him, but are interrupted before you can say something unwise. The man in the holding cell has finished his slice of cake. He sucks frosting off his chubby fingers and then yanks on the iron bars in vain. “I gotta go home! I gotta feed my ferret!”

“Guess ya should have thought about that before driving 70 miles per hour in a school zone, Mr.…” Willis glances at the intake form to refresh his memory. “Targaryen. What the heck is that, Italian? Polish? It ain’t French, that’s for sure.”

“It’s Greek, you dumb hick.”

Willis jabs his plastic fork at him. “You oughta watch that, son, or you’ll catch yourself a nasty case of what the liberals call police brutality.”

“He’s a Targaryen?” you ask, stunned. The man in the cell peers back at you with large, ever-wounded, ocean-blue eyes, glassy but not entirely unintelligent.

“So what?” Willis says.

“Willis, those are the oil people. Jade Dragon, the new rigs on Lake Verret? The Targaryens own that company.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” he marvels. “Really? This bon a rien right here, his family are a bunch of millionaires?”

“Yes. And you should probably let him make another phone call.”

“Yeah!” the prisoner says excitedly. “Listen to the cake lady!”

“Alright, alright,” Willis grumbles. “Guess I don’t need no legal trouble.” He picks up the phone off his desk and walks it to the holding cell; the cord stretches just far enough. “Make your damn phone call, gros couillion.”

Mr. Targaryen snatches up the receiver, punches some buttons, and listens as it rings. “Hi. Okay, don’t yell at me. Here’s the deal. I’m at the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and I need you to pick me up. Wait, I said don’t yell at me! Stop yelling!!”

“I really need to get back to the bakery,” you tell Willis as you make for the door. “I’ll see you around, okay—?”

“Hey, sugar.” You stop and wait for him to finish. He’s considering you in that way he does sometimes: mild, thoughtful, vaguely sad, how’d we end up like this? He should know, you’ve told him a hundred times, but that doesn’t mean he understands. “I’m supposed to be gettin’ a new deputy next week. When he shows, I’ll send him down your way, recruit ya another customer. Charge him a little extra if you want. He won’t know no better.”

“Thanks, Willis,” you say, and you mean it. Then you step outside into sun glare and the shrieking of cicadas.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s almost dinnertime when the phone rings. You’re heating up the turtle soup that Amir brought over earlier, stirring the pot as the sky outside turns from a crystalline blue—just like Aemond’s eye—to rust and amber and fool’s gold, as the twilight air breathes into the room warm and ancient. There’s a plump nutria nibbling on grass at the edge of the backyard. Wham’s Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go pipes from the boombox. At first you’re too startled to race for the phone—too terrified that it won’t be Aemond, too afraid to get your hopes up—and you hesitate just long enough for Cadi to answer instead.

“Hello?” she says, and then: “Yeah, school was good.”

Everything sinks in you, heart, spirit, the sweltering pressure of blood ebbing in your veins. Oh. It’s Willis.

Cadi continues chatting away obliviously. “Uh huh. Not really. We learned about robber barons and cannons of Italy. Yeah, captains of industry, that’s what I meant. Uh huh. Yup. It was okay, I guess. Yeah. Today it was pizza, but it’s always shaped like a rectangle. Exactly, no crust. It’s weird. Pepperoni. I always sit with Michelle and Erica. Erica has this totally tubular book about horses she showed us. Yup. I like the Appaloosas the most. Uh huh. Okay, I will. Yup. Bye.” Then she hands you the phone. “For you,” she says, then resumes setting the counter: cups, bowls, spoons, folded Bounty paper towels, dinner for two. You never eat at the kitchen table. The table is reserved for business.

You raise the pink phone receiver to your ear with some uncertainty. What does he want now? “Willis?”

“No,” Aemond says, amused. “Though we’ve been to some of the same places.”

You try not to let the smile fill up your face. You fail. “You were asking Cadi about her day?”

“Evidently.” You don’t know what this means; you don’t ask. “When are you free?”

“I usually have the house to myself on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.” It’s currently Monday.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time?”

“I should be done in the bakery at around 5:00.”

“I’ll be there at 5:01.” Then Aemond hangs up. So do you, your skull suddenly abloom like springtime, colors and promise and warmth. He’s going to be here in less than 24 hours. I really am going to see him again.

You turn towards the counter. “Cadi, what are robber barons?”

“Rich people who are mean to their workers to get as much money as possible. They don’t care about others. They just want more and more and more. They’re very greedy and are never satisfied.”

“So like the Rockefellers and Standard Oil,” you say, thinking back to your high school American History class. It feels like a lifetime ago, it feels like trying to catch lightning bugs in your bare hands.

“Yeah.” Cadi pours herself a cup of Tang. She’s wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt and green corduroy pants; her father would not approve. “Or Jade Dragon Energy.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Tuesday, 5:03 p.m., rattling cicadas and golden light like the lit coil of a stove burner. You’re still scrubbing dishes, and Amir is icing the last of the orange creamsicle cupcakes for the next morning. Aemond opens the unlocked front door and strides purposefully into the kitchen: ripped jeans, red t-shirt, Converses to match, Marlboro jacket. He is carrying a neon teal duffle bag that he drops on the sloping wooden floor where the living room meets the kitchen. He is momentarily taken aback when he sees Amir, then recalls what you told him about your friend who helps run the bakery. Aemond pulls out one of the kitchen table chairs and sits. He lifts the glass lid from a cake plate, takes the last peach cobbler cupcake for himself, makes unflinching eye contact with you as he licks the frosting off it with long, slow, sensual drags of his tongue.

Amir says: “Hey Scarface, that’s $1.”

“Amir!” you scold, mortified. But Aemond doesn’t seem offended. He smirks, extracts his black leather wallet from the pocket his jeans, and fishes out four singles. He slides them across the table.

Amir sighs. “This bitch can’t even count.”

“I’m sure he can count,” you say, smiling. “He’s an engineer.”

“He’s mouth-fucking this cupcake right in front of me, he’s clearly unstable.”

Aemond looks to you. His voice is low, imposing. “I need to know what your limits are.”

“Oh my God!” Amir squeaks, bent over the table and icing as quickly as he can.

“Okay,” you tell Aemond. You rinse the pearlescent soap bubbles from your hands, wrists, forearms. Then you step out from behind the counter and watch him, remember him, imagine what will happen next.

He gives the peach cobbler cupcake another lap. Buttercream frosting coats his mischieviously curled lips and then is swiftly licked away. “Can I spank you?”

“Yes.”

Amir mutters to himself: “Grandma is never going to believe this.”

“Can I tie you up?”

“Yes.”

“Can I bite you hard enough to leave bruises?”

You pause. “Only places that will be covered by my clothes.”

“And what should you say if you ever don’t like what I’m doing?”

“I just tell you to stop.”

“Exactly.” Aemond grins. His right eye skates from your face to your chest to your hips to your thighs to your ankles, drinking you down like the earth swallows rain, like the vines and cypress trees and Sanish moss of the bayou thieve sunlight and never give it back. His left eye doesn’t move at all, though this is not something you would notice if you didn’t know to look for it. “Good girl.”

“Done!” Amir announces triumphantly, completing the swirl of frosting on the final orange creamsicle cupcake.

“Can I pull your hair?” Aemond asks you.

“Yeah, I think so. Not hard enough to yank it out though.”

Aemond scoffs. “Of course not. I don’t actually want to hurt you. That’s what some doms are after, but not me. Not here, not with you. You don’t want real pain, do you…?”

“No, definitely not,” you say, relieved.

“Brilliant. Then we’re on the same page.”

Amir could leave, but he doesn’t. His eyes dart between you and Aemond from behind his large rectangular glasses, fascinated, scandalized, too astonished to move.

Aemond continues: “Birth control?”

“I’m on the pill and have been for years. I can show you the pack if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you. I saw them in your bathroom last time I was here. I’m in the practice of using condoms regardless.” He tilts his head impishly. “Can I fuck your ass?”

“Um.” You hesitate. This is uncharted territory, though you cannot say that you are entirely unintrigued. “Maybe one day.”

“Noted. Some people find the sensation, the taboo, the fullness…quite pleasurable.”

“Do you?” Amir asks flirtatiously.

Aemond gives him a lazy, ludicrously charming smile. “Well I’ve never been on the receiving end, but I’m game to give it a try if you are.”

Amir bursts out laughing, then says to you: “He’s alright. He can commit abominable sins with you, I guess.” He stands and shakes Aemond’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Kind of.” Then he saunters off through the living room and out the front door. After a moment, you and Aemond listen to his blue Ford Escort rumble to life and then the crunching of gravel as it rolls out of the driveway. From the boombox drifts Just What I Needed by The Cars.

Aemond licks the last of the frosting from the peach cobbler cupcake and says: “Now you’re going to be the cupcake.” He crosses the kitchen, kneels down in front of you, roughly yanks down your denim shorts. He presses his face to your royal blue satin panties—hastily purchased this morning while Amir watched the shop and changed into just one hour ago in anticipation of Aemond’s arrival—and inhales deeply, desperately, like a drowning man gasping for air. Then, through the sheer fabric, he begins to tease you: nudges of his nose, nibbles of his lips.

Your fingers tangle in his short blonde hair. Blonde like the drunk man in the holding cell, you think randomly. “Aemond, why didn’t you want me last time?”

“I wanted you. I wanted you then and I want you now.”

“But I disappointed you. You didn’t finish.”

“Oh, I came,” he purrs. “Went home, got in the shower, thought of you. It didn’t take long. I would have disappointed you terribly. Woke up in the middle of the night thinking of you. Tried to miraculously get some work done yesterday while thinking of you. Crawled out of bed this morning thinking of you. Are you noticing a theme?”

You smile as his tongue presses forcefully against the satin. “I might be.”

“How many times in your life has a man treated his orgasm as essential and your own as an afterthought, if he considered it at all?”

Oh God. That’s the fucking truth. “A lot more than once.”

“So consider what we did on Sunday as one little notch in the other column. Just restoring a bit of much-needed balance to the universe.” He hooks his thumbs under your panties and tugs them off. “Open your thighs for me,” he orders as he pushes them apart with his palms: large, smooth, artful hands. You brace your own hands against the kitchen counter as he buries his face between your legs, not lapping in a tentative, exploratory sort of way but feasting on you, drowning in you, lips and tongue and then fingers that skate up the downy inside of your thigh to taunt you, enter you, fuck you expertly yet leave you wanting more of him, all of him. Your nerves are on fire, your blood is simmering. Outside the birds of prey are emerging from their liars and battle-scarred gators stalk boldly through the green prehistoric wildness of the Deep South.

What happened to his eye? you think through the lust-pink haze, knowing you cannot ask him. Aemond respects your rules. You must abide by his as well. How was he injured so gravely? Who hurt him? Did they atone for their misdeeds, did they pay the cost?

Suddenly, Aemond stands and pulls you against him by your waist, rips your yellow tank top over your head and unhooks your bra, kisses you fiercely. His mouth is dripping with you, clean mineral longing; his right eye is gleaming, famished, not just lustful but half-mad. No one else exists. No one ever has or ever will. “Go to the bed and wait for me there.”

“No.”

He spanks you once with his open palm; the sound is sharp and exquisite. “Go.” And this time you obey, counting the seconds in the dusk-lit splinter of time before he joins you.

In Aemond’s duffle bag—among other things, surely—are silk scarves the color of sapphires. First he fastens one over your eyes as a blindfold. Then he ties one around each of your wrists and binds both to the same bedpost, low enough that while your hands are kept up by your head, you still have some room to maneuver on the freshly-laundered, wildflower-patterned duvet. “Not different posts?” you ask Aemond.

“No. Tying your arms far apart like that can cause cramps in your back and your shoulders. It can even make it difficult to breathe. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to be focused entirely on what I’m doing to you.”

You moan as his fingers slip between your legs and circle over the place that makes your muscles yearn and twist and tighten until you feel they might snap, until you can imagine every string of you breaking and dissolving from the prison of flesh into water, air, gravity, the eternal silent progress of time. He bites and sucks at your nipples, flicking his tongue over them, admiring them, praising them, ravenous for them. You are enraptured by the weight of him on top of you. Without your sight, everything else is more noticeable, more real: his warmth, his sweat, his every brush of skin against yours, his smoke and cologne and gasps and sighs, the grinding of his bare cock against your thighs as he makes you ready for him. And you beg for it long before he gives it to you.

“Roll over,” he commands breathlessly, and then guides you: your fingers clutching the scarves that secure your wrists, your elbows propped on the mattress, your back arched and hips angled up towards him, his lips murmuring against your shoulder, your cheek, the side of your throat. He’s telling you so many things, perfect things, delicious things you’ll never hear enough of: how beautiful you are, how badly he wants you, how well you’re doing. There is the sound of Aemond opening a condom wrapper, and a strange sorrow ripples through you. I wish I could have him raw.

One of his hands reaches around to stroke you, keeping you soaked and supple for him. The other begins to guide his cock into your aching, starving wetness. You stretch for him, you accept him eagerly…and then there is resistance. He stills immediately and tries a slightly different angle. Nothing. He could force it, probably, but he won’t. He recedes from you, agonizing emptiness, dire unfulfillment. I’m disappointing him, he’s too big, I’m too tight, too nervous, too inexperienced at being dominated, I can’t please him. You whimper: “Aemond, I’m sorry—”

“No,” he says, more ferocious than any words you’ve ever heard from him. You are not allowed to criticize yourself. You are not allowed to give up so easily. He leans down and whispers into the shell of your ear, his ribs against your spine, his heat entombing you: “Relax. I’m in charge now. I’ll take care of you.”

You want him to. You need him to. His commandment rolls through your blood and bones like a wave, loosening those last vestiges of anxiety, shaking grim psychological heirlooms from the highest shelves. You can surrender yourself completely to Aemond. He is worthy, he is safe, he is euphoria made flesh. His fingertips are still stroking you. He pushes your thighs just a little farther apart and—slowly, cautiously—eases his cock into your throbbing warmth. He hisses in a breath, though he tries not to break character, to show you that he might just be a little bit at your mercy too.

You moan loudly and shamelessly, letting him know you’re alright, more than alright, in ecstasy, in bliss, in torment, on the edge. When Aemond thrusts, he finds a place that’s never been hit so directly or so well. The climax is on you before you are aware of it, one of those swells that rises out of nowhere, capsizes the boat, fades back into the endless blue of the ocean. It jolts through your pelvis, your spine, your skull, and then evaporates like steam from a bathroom mirror. And now Aemond is trying to finish too, but something is off. He tries a few different rhythms, can’t seem to get it right. You think you can feel him beginning to soften. No no no, I can’t leave him unsatisfied again.

You look back, though you cannot see him through the blindfold; instinctively, you want to be closer to him. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says. “Nothing, nothing, nothing is wrong. You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.” He turns your face so he can kiss you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, swallowing you down, entangled in every way possible. And only then he is able to come: powerfully, trembling, crying out like he’s in the kind of pain that leaves scars for life.

He glides his cock out of you, and you can hear him snap off the condom. Then he unties your blindfold and your wrists. You reach for him, then stop yourself; he reaches for you—a reflex, surely—and then shakes the notion away and collapses beside you on the duvet. You both lie there panting, gazing dizzily up at the long shadows of centuries-old oak trees that cascade across the ceiling, minds drained, bodies spent.

After a moment, Aemond clambers off the bed to grab a lighter and a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his jeans pocket. Then he flops back down next to you, lights a cigarette, takes a deep, slow drag. “So, cupcake,” he says nonchalantly, exhaling smoke, hand shaking. “Where’d you get married?”

You laugh; this is ridiculous. “Why on earth would you want to know that?”

“I want to know things about you. Things other than your tits and your pussy. I mean, those are great. I enjoy them tremendously, and I plan to keep enjoying them. But I also enjoy you.”

You sigh. Aemond waits, puffing on his cigarette. “The parish courthouse.” Plain, boring, economical. “I wanted a wedding at Saint Honoratus, but…”

“Saint…who?”

“The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens,” you say. “It’s this gorgeous place in a town called Belle River on the other side of Lake Verret. Very small, very old, it’s a historic site or something, they can’t ever knock it down.”

“Why couldn’t you get married there?”

You shrug; how much could the details matter now? Someone needed to organize it, someone needed to decorate, someone needed to pay for food and drinks, someone needed to send out invitations, someone needed to care enough to make it happen, and that someone would have been you, just you, seventeen and broke and bedridden with morning sickness until noon every day. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Sounds like a lot of things didn’t work out for you.”

You raise your eyebrows. Aemond winces.

“Sorry. That was…not the way I meant to express that sentiment.”

You forgive him. You’d forgive him for anything right now, right here, in a bed stained with his sweat and your wetness and the seed you wish he could have spilled inside you. You taunt him: “Should we meet up at your house next time?”

He recoils, horrified. “No. Definitely not.”

“Why? What’s at your house? An abandoned wife and six tall, blonde, prominently-jawed children?”

He chuckles; he has collected himself again. “No. It’s just that…well…I have family in town currently. They’re staying with me while I get set up with the new job and everything. Quite a lot of people. And my family is…unorthodox.”

You wish he would stop using words you don’t know. That’s the hazard of affiliating with a highfalutin petroleum engineer, you suppose. “So they’re strange?”

“That’s a kind word for it.”

“I like strange people. I like you.”

Aemond smirks warily. “You wouldn’t like them. Just trust me on that.” He traces the border of your face with his fingertips, contemplating your secrets, tending his own like a nightscape garden. “Do you ever want to do something…not in your bedroom?”

You grin and he kisses you, nicotine and quelled desire; he can’t help it. You say when you break away: “What, like dinner or flowers or any of the other activities that were very clearly not a part of this arrangement?”

“Arrangements are flexible.”

“Are they?”

“This one is. Increasingly so.”

You ponder his proposition. “There’s this new restaurant I really want to go to. I’ve never been before, but it looks pretty rad in the commercials on tv. It’s up in Gonzales.”

“The same town as your illustrious Kmart engagement. How fortuitous. Pease continue.”

“It’s an Italian place,” you say.

“I love Italian.”

“It’s called Olive Garden.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open. He is bewildered, appalled. His cigarette smolders forgotten in the crook of his fingers. You might as well have told him you wanted to run over puppies with lawnmowers. “You want me to take you to Olive Garden? Seriously?”

You are wounded. “What’s wrong with Olive Garden?”

“Cupcake, Olive Garden is not real Italian food. That’s like saying Taco Bell is Mexican.”

“…Isn’t it?”

“Okay,” he capitulates. He smiles as he smooths your disheveled hair and touches his lips to your forehead. “It’s fine. We’ll go to Olive Garden.”

“Really?” you reply, beaming.

“Really. You’re free Thursday?”

“Unless Willis has to switch nights for some reason, yeah.”

“Then we’ll go Thursday.” Aemond rolls off the bed and finds a mug—Return Of The Jedi, Princess Leia and the Ewoks—left on your dresser to put his cigarette out in. He looks through the screen of your open bedroom window as the sky turns ever-darker, as the moon and stars begin to rise, and he breathes in the verdant, humid, ageless witchcraft of the bayou. “You have no idea what the last few days have been like for me,” Aemond says softly, his bare back turned to you, the ridge of his spine like a road cut through a swamp or a forest or a field of sugarcane. “You have no idea how badly I needed this.”

[onmyyan]

Caspian NSFW ABC'S

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Three words, attentive, bubbly, and clingy, he needs that skin-to-skin contact immediately, no matter what, Cas checks in with you after he manages to get enough air in his lungs, gets you whatever you need faster than the request can leave your lips.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his eyes, the reason being one day you told him just how pretty you found them, Since then he can't help but see the beauty in himself, and his favorite of yours? Asking Caspian to choose a favorite body part is impossible, but, he'd always be a special kind of weak to your smile.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Need I remind you of the MASSIVE breeding kink this mf has?? Good because I will. He's happy to cum anywhere you'd let him but deep inside will always be his favorite.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has on several occasions cum into your food, it scratches this, hidden, primal need to have some part of him with you at all times, and he deep down liked that you were none the wiser.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Caspian has had a few relationships before and it's in his nature to please, he is a munch your honor, that is to say, while he hasn't been in a lot of relationships, he's always been a pleaser and learned to read his partners quite well.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

So our boy loves to be as close to you as possible right? and there's something about having your soft thighs tightly locked around his waist in missionary, with those nails clawing into his back pressing him even further into you, yanking at his hair as if holding on for dear life, it makes his eyes roll back.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Depends on your mood really, he follows your lead. If you're giggly and playful? He matches the energy, not in the mood for games? Bet. He can read you like he has a pamphlet

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Light grooming doesn't really care much, darker shade of his red hair, although he started growing out his happy trail when he saw how you reacted to it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Very very romantic, mood lighting, and music if you're into it, Ol' house-husband over here makes it feels as meaningful and special as the first time, everytime. Worships every inch of your body, constantly praises you in the most meaningful ways.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You'd think with how often you two screwed he'd be satiated but nah he's a fiend who jerks off to your selfies while you're away and humps your pillow.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Huge size kink, Overstimulation, Feeder Kink

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anyplace no one will see you, his blood pressure spikes at the mere idea of a mf seeing you come undone.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

BABES WHAT DOESN'T- but fr you doing something as mundane as reading a book or one of your hobbies he finds absolutely marvelous, one second he's admiring the way your skin looks in the light of the warm day, the next thing he knows he's kissing up your legs because he's so overwhelmed by his love for you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Can't degrade you, Nope. Sorry. He just can't be mean to his baby!!! It's not happening.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Certified MUNCH, If he had a beard it be red if you pick up what I'm putting down lmao. He'd rather go down on you but he's not gonna say no if you offer, just know he will get impatient and flip your positions eventually, too addicted to the taste to be patient.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He likes to take his time with you no matter what, but in terms of pacing, by the time he finally sinks inside, his mind has turned off any other function than to please, meaning if you twitch a little more when he rolls his hips slower? He's doing it. If you go all starry-eyed when he fucks into you like a jackrabbit? Then he's shaking the headboard.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If the area is secure enough he'll do it, although he'll always prefer getting to take his time with you. His stamina is monstrous so he's ready to go when you are lmao

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's game to experiment if that's something you need but he is also a creature of habit.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Minimum of two rounds, max four, but they last hours, he wants to soak in every moment with you so if he can he's gonna take his time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't use toys himself, but he does get a evil lil kick outta using yours on you, making you squirm and buck against him, type to fuck you and use your vibrator on your clit at the same time, after all, if it made you squeak like that how could he not use the tools to his full advantage?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He's a little bit of a tease in the build up to sex, very touchy and lots of heavy stares, the way he looks at you is impossible to ignore and always manages to light that familiar fire in your tummy, during the actual act he's far too into giving you EXACTLY what you want and need to deny you even for a few teasing moments.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Very loud, lots of deep, choppy moans, he's whining out all his appreciations and praises, your name is all he can say sometimes, physically unable to do anything but fuck into you as deep as he could.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Secretly has this fantasy of you getting his name tatted and the image of cumming all over that permanent mark has made him cum in his boxers before.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

7.5 and thick, and between you and me his tip is dummy sensitive

This mf YEARNS, he craves you, always, constantly, he'd be happy just existing in your space but you bless him by loving him, and all he wants to do is show you how much he appreciates all you do for him, this devotion comes out in many ways but the main is fuckin till the room stank 💀🤚🏼

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It takes him a while, despite having just cum so hard he saw white for a moment, his heart pounds too hard to rest, he's giddy, buzzing in his place, arms wrapped around you like a second skin, he'll only fall asleep after he gets in a good hour of watching you sleep ofc.

[artful-aries]

Birthday sex with diluc? 👀

BIRTHDAY SEX WITH DILUC!!!!! Anon I’m going feral at this request. If Diluc needs a dog I can mf bark. Happy birthday my brooding husband

Reader can be read as gender neutral! I ask that minors do not interact with this post

Birthday Sex With Diluc (NSFW)

The experience will definitely hinge on whether or not it’s the first time you two are intimate

For the first time, Diluc is absolutely blown away at the offer. You want to give yourself to him? Because it’s his birthday? His face will be as red as his hair at the proposition, and will ask you a thousand times if you are sure

It doesn’t matter if you have had sex before Diluc or if he is your first time, he is going to treat your first time together like you are made of the finest glass

His touches will be hot against your skin as you two start getting intimate. He just gets so excited that his pyro vision bubbles to the surface. It is never enough to hurt you, Diluc would rather die than ever let that be a possibility, but there is a stark temperature difference

Kissing him can be a little awkward at first, but it’s only because he is wrapped up in his own mind as he is still shocked that this is actually happening. Bear with it for a while, and he will ease into it and become a lot more passionate. Before long, his kisses will leave you absolutely breathless

When it comes time to remove clothes, Diluc would be very nervous to undress you for the first time. He makes sure to go very slow as to give you ample time to tell him to stop if you needed, but the sweet gesture mostly just makes you frustrated as it feels like he is teasing you

By the time there are no clothes in the way, you’re flushed and panting at the building tension of wanting him, and his cock is aching and practically dripping at the sight of how needy you are

He’s going to give you oral for your first time together, it doesn’t matter how much you tell him that you’re ready for him. In part, he’s doing this as a thank you for allowing him to see you like this, the other part of him just finds it so incredibly sexy when you whine and writhe underneath him

Diluc could go on all night like that if you’d let him, but for your first time together he’s going to reign himself in and only make you cum once from the use of his mouth. He doesn’t want you too overstimulated

When he finally pushes inside you, he’s going to give long, deep thrusts. He would rather make love to you than just outright fucking you. This is his first time seeing you like this, looking so pretty on the end of his aching cock. He’s going to drag this out and make it last as long as possible so that the memory is seared into his brain

All in all, having your first time with him on his birthday will be a very passionate experience. It’s slow to start, but the steady increase of passion and pleasure keeps you two going for several hours

A lot of this goes out the window if it is not your first time sleeping together

Diluc will be bolder, more willing to jump right into the action should you suggest having sex for his birthday. It definitely gets him excited at the thought

Clothes are pretty unceremoniously shrugged off, unless Diluc is in a more teasing, dominant mood. Then he might make you strip yourself slowly for him. It’s his birthday after all, why not give him a show?

Since giving you head is something that gets him off, he’s not going to stop at just making you cum with his mouth once. He will be aiming for at least two or three times before he will consider doing anything else, his grip on your hips will be ironclad to prevent you from wriggling away in your overstimulated state

When he’s finally ready to slip himself inside you, he’s not going to be the gentle, slow person he was for your first time together

As soon as he starts, his thrusts are more powerful, pistoning at a steady rhythm that’ll have you gripping his bedsheets

Diluc in general isn’t too awfully vocal in bed, but it’s in this moment you’ll get to hear a lot of low groans and growls from him as his hips snap against yours

If he gets really riled up, he’ll flip you so that he can take you doggy style, as this position enables him to get deeper and have a better hold on your hips as he pounds into you

More often than not, he would prefer missionary or spooning you while he fucks. This is because he will have a much better view of your expressions as he hits your g spot just right. He’s a bit sentimental and likes to be able to see how you feel, and be able to quickly judge if he should stop or adjust something to make you feel even better

Whether it’s your first time or your fiftieth with Diluc, he will always ask you where you want him to cum unless you have established a permanent place prior. He never wants to assume that you’ll want the same thing twice in fear of being wrong and upsetting you

When both of you are finally spent, he’s going to want to hold you close. It doesn’t matter how hot and sweaty you both are, he just needs a few minutes to hold you before he sets out to get you water or help you clean up

It will certainly be a very memorable birthday for Diluc, and every year onward he will get a little flustered as his birthday approaches, wondering if you’ll give him such an enticing offer again

[berryhobii]

OMG HI😭😭i love your writing so much like im obsessed you’re so talented!!! i see your request are open and i just wanted to see if you do something where it’s after Yoongi and Y/N get into petty argument and Y/N is like “you know what? whatever” and gives Yoongi the silent treatment however, Yoongi hates being ignored (especially by his girl) so after giving her some space for a few hours and trying to get her to talk to him, he’s had enough oh the silence and decides to take matters into his own hands 🫣 I HOPE THIS MADE SENSE😭😭😭this thought has been running rampant in my mind for a week and i would love to see how you would write this ! there’s no rush, take your time if you don’t feel like it that’s TOTALLY okay i just want you to know that you’re writing is IMMACULATE, chefs mf kiss 🤌🏾 and that’s you are so freaking talented!! thank you for sharing your writing with us🥰🥰💕

Ahhhhhh! I love you so much! Your requests have given me such good ideas! I hope I fulfilled this one well. It turned into kind of brat tamer Yoongi who loves reader to pieces because I love everything about that trope. I really hope you love it bb!🩵🩵🩵

~

“Turn left up here!”

“I know where I’m going!”

“Obviously not! The parking lot will be full by the time we get there.”

Currently, you and your husband were on the way to your favorite store to spend some more of the gift cards you got at your wedding. You received so many and Yoongi made you agree that you’d only use them for important things.

New stuff for Holly counted as important, right? Of course it did.

A few months ago, you two moved to a new neighborhood which meant you didn’t really know where everything was.

As designated passenger princess, it was your responsibility to look hot, control the music and also manage the GPS to get you places but Yoongi wanted to trust his car’s GPS more than you. Ridiculous right?

He sighed. “I know where I’m going, okay? I don’t need your help.”

Your mouth dropped, a scandalized and dramatic gasp passing your glossed lips. How dare he?!

Crossing your arms over your chest, you slumped in the passenger seat. “You know what? Whatever, Yoongi.” You mumbled.

Silence enveloped the car, only the low sound of J.Cole’s melodic voice filling the space.

Yoongi glanced over at you, a smile threatening his lips at your pouty face. Ugh, you were such a spoiled little brat but he loved you so much. He actually took pleasure in riling you up and watching you get all huffy. Everytime he saw that princess personality, it awakened something in him—a need to both smother you with kisses and spank your ass until you were crying.

He reached over to place a large hand on your thigh. “Come on baby. Don’t be upset.”

You ignored him, fully turning your body towards the window. Uh oh, your full super bratty mode was activated.

“Are you really gonna ignore me?” He pondered.

No answer.

“Baby please. I’m sorry.”

Nothing.

He guessed he’d have to roll with this.

When Yoongi pulled into the parking lot of your favorite store, he tried to talk to you again but you were already out of the car.

Unfortunately, whenever you were upset with Yoongi, you got a sudden stroke of independence. He normally opened your door for you so he knew you were really upset when you did it yourself.

You didn’t talk to him the entire time through the store but you almost broke when you passed the pillows.

“Look baby. They have those pillows you were looking at.”

You picked one up before turning to Yoongi, opening your mouth to say, “yeah they…..” but you cut yourself off, remembering your vow of silence. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to speak but you held it. Tossing the pillows into the cart, you continued through the store, hands hurting from how hard you gripped the handles.

You couldn’t fight that skip in your heart. He remembered the pillows…..you told him about those weeks ago…..fuck.

You didn’t even notice Yoongi’s sly smirk as he walked behind you. He knew this silent treatment wouldn’t last long and he was honestly kind of amused. He knew you wanted to talk to him but your pride wouldn’t allow you to break first, not until you felt like it. He guessed he’d have to put up with your silent treatment a little longer.

Besides, with you walking ahead of him, he could stare at your perfect ass in those stretch pants all he wanted. His hand itched to grab it but he resisted. He didn’t want to make you more upset…..on purpose.

Yoongi ended up having to practically fight you with the bags, insisting he’ll put them back in the cart and push them to the car. You weren’t happy but you also didn’t argue, huffing and puffing your way back to the car.

Yoongi didn’t unlock the doors until he was finished putting the bags in the trunk which was getting you even more riled up. He knew you wanted to open your own door but doing it for you was just more amusing.

You squinted your eyes at him in frustration, throat burning with the desire to tell him off but you got in the car anyway, still completely silent.

The drive home was silent, as was the short journey up to your apartment. Holly greeted you both at the door, the wiggly dog jumping all over you. You didn’t even try to go through the bags, just heading straight for your bedroom where you could ignore Yoongi better. And of course, Holly followed you, not sparing Yoongi a passing glance.

Traitor, Yoongi thought.

He sighed but left you alone. He knew you weren’t that upset about what he said in the car. You were just being stubborn. He spoiled you too much. He could also be kind of passive(he’s working on it) as well so perhaps this was proving to be a little test for him.

After putting away the few grocery items and leaving the rest of your choices for you to sort through, he flopped down on the couch.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

He liked his peace and quiet as much as the next person but the noise you brought was different. He had grown used to hearing you singing under your breath or talking to yourself as you thought about dinner or the crash of all of your hair products falling because you had so many and they didn’t fit right in the hallway closet.

You had ingrained yourself into his life—you and your own perfect little storm of gentle chaos.

He missed you. Even though you were in the next room. He missed you.

Standing from the couch, he walked down the hall to the bedroom. He couldn’t hear anything on the other side.

His knuckles rapped gently against the wood before he opened he door. “Baby?”

He found you laid on your back on the bed, phone held over your face as you scrolled through social media. Holly was resting on his dog bed in the corner, little head lifting as Yoongi entered.

“Go.” He motioned to the door. Holly tilted his head in a way that solidified Yoongi’s suspicion that his dog was secretly a human. Human or not, Holly knew better than to stick around.

Yoongi closed the door before focusing his attention back on you.

He approached the bed, leaning a knee on it. You could feel the dip but made no move to acknowledge him.

“Baby please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. Of course I need you. I love when you tell me where to go but then you get distracted so we miss the turn. Remember we were late to our rehearsal dinner?”

Your lip twitched at the memory. Of course you do. The excitement of your wedding being the next day had you so caught up in your then fiancé that you couldn’t even focus on giving directions. And thanks to Yoongi being equally distracted by how stunning you were, he didn’t even think to make sure you stayed focused enough to give directions. He missed the exit twice before finally getting on track. Nevertheless, it was still a memorable evening with his family and close friends.

And the precursor to the rest of a wonderful life with you.

You still continued to ignore him. You could hear the sincerity in his apology but you wanted to make him sweat just a little bit longer.

But even Yoongi had a breaking point and you were crossing it.

“Baby.”

No answer.

Alright. Breaking point crossed.

~

“Why do you have to make everything so difficult? Ignoring me, “he scoffed with a shake of his head and landing a sharp smack to your ass. “You’re crazy.”

Your head was buried in the blankets, shoulders pressed against the bed and wrists held tightly in Yoongi’s grip.

His hips were slamming into your ass hard enough to hurt, his thick cock stretching your walls to their limit. He was thick enough to give you that slightly searing stretch and long enough to make you feel it all the way to your deepest parts.

“Mm, Yoongi!” You cry out as his strokes became longer, pulling himself all the way out to the tip remained before slamming back inside. He grits his teeth at your walls sucking him in as if they didn’t want him to go. Thank goodness for his stamina. After meeting you, he’s had to learn how restrain himself longer than ever. He never used to cum quick before meeting you. And yes, that was one of the many reasons he pursued you. “F-fuck….you feel so good.”

You arched your back more, lifting your ass so that he could reach even deeper.

“Don’t ignore me again. Do you understand?” He landed another slap on your bouncing ass, loving the recoil.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, face feeling hot from your breath that kept blowing back from how your face was pressed into the mattress.

Everything felt too tight, too hot, too sweaty, too good.

“Yes! I’m sorry!” You cried.

Releasing your wrists, he grabbed at your braids, twisting them around his wrist a few times. Waist length were definitely a smart investment.

He pulled you up until you were “balanced” on your hands because let’s face it, those things were numb as hell. His hold on your hair was really the only thing keeping you upright.

“Sorry for what? Apologize properly.”

He wanted you to form full sentences? That was like asking Jada to stop talking about Tupac. Impossible.

Another stroke knocked your speech centers loose, third orgasm since you started bubbling in your lower belly.

Yoongi could feel your walls clenching up, your moans growing louder at each thrust. Oh no you don’t.

He stopped his hips, still buried deep in your cunt. You whined as your orgasm ebbed away, wiggling your hips in an attempt to throw yourself back on his cock but a hand on your hip made you still.

“You’re not cumming until you apologize properly. Now, what aren’t you gonna do again?”

You swallowed, lip quivering and tears welling up. “I…I won’t ignore you again.”

He grinned. “Apology accepted.”

His hips set a punishing pace, your ass ricocheting off his hips. It had you moaning in ecstasy, nearly slipping from his grasp but he wrapped an arm under your breasts to keep you steady.

“Shit, I love this pussy. So. Fucking. Good.” Each word was punctuated with a thrust.

Your hand reached back to claw at his side, the slight sting making him groan and thus pushing him faster.

He yanked your hair until your back was pressed flush against his chest, his hips never slowing down. Almost instantly, you turned your head, seeking his lips as you always did when you were close. His heart fluttered, loving how affectionate you were.

You almost miss his lips from how absolutely feral he was going in your poor cunt. Fortunately, he tilts your head better with his grip on your hair, kissing your wet pout. The tenderness has your heart swooning despite all the chaos. He sucks at your tongue, leaving a light bite on your bottom lip as well.

“Gonna cum, my sweet girl?” He whispers in your ear, nipping at the skin.

You didn’t need to answer him, you’re growing moans enough to confirm. The hand that wasn’t scratching at his skin raises up to bury in his hair, yanking his strands similar to how he was doing you causing him to grunt in delight.

The arm around your body moved down to rub circles into your clit and you swore you saw the upper room. He buried his face in the side of your neck, inhaling your sweaty skin, lips leaving kisses and bites along the side of your throat.

His hips move even faster than before, desperate to carry you to your orgasm before he lost his shit. Pent up from that brief denial and riddled from your previous orgasms, you’re quick to crumble against him. Twisting in his hold, you cry out his name that’s like music to his ears.

“Yoongiiiiiiiiii! Cum in me, baby. Want you so bad….”

Your walls grip him tighter than a vice, his hips stuttering with careless abandon as he gives you exactly what you want. The sensitivity between your thighs burns in the best ways, little gasps coming from you another tiny orgasm washes over you.

“Ugh, fuck.” The last few sluggish ruts of his hips make both of you whine and gasp, his grip on you tightening and then loosening as his body shudders.

Your body falls forward on the mattress, muscles and bones weary and your eyes drooping as exhaustion weighs on them. You feel Yoongi flop down next to you, only the sound of his slightly hurried breaths filling the room.

“Not falling asleep on me, are ya?” He asks after a few seconds. He turns his head to find you are, in fact, beginning to doze off.

“No.” You fib, rolling your achy body over and holding up one arm. “Come kiss me.”

His smile is as sweet as him. He scoots over to bury himself in your warmth. Your arm wraps around him as his head lifts to give you your requested kisses.

“I love you.” You confess against his lips.

He hums. “Love you too. Even though you’re bad at giving directions.”

You roll your eyes but continued to peck at his lips. “Marry your GPS then.”

“I already have.” He hugs you closer. “And I wouldn’t give her up for anything.”

[somebluemelodies]

SURPRISE MFS in honor of one whole year since the spiderbit wedding, here's a little something to celebrate the gay cubitos of all time <3 also known as: spiderbit renewing their vows and being so stupidly in love with each other this is a really fucking long one i'm sorry (not sorry)

They walk until they find a flower forest, and it's three in the morning when the words are said. Repeated.

Neither of them have been able to sleep well the last several weeks, with the tumultuous amount of back to back to back situations, feeling stripped of almost all the control they felt they had before.

(And heaven forbid they don't have their eyes on each other for more than a few hours. What if something happens again? What if the other gets ripped from them, right from arms reach, all over again?)

(What then?)

The amount of times they leave each other in a day can be counted on one hand, and at night they're pressed together as close as humanly possible, warm and paranoid all the same.

Everything has gone to hell, it feels like. Everything except them, at least. And it truly is a reminder that maybe Roier was right once upon a time, saying it was them against the world.

So it's all gone to hell, but they have each other. And because they have each other, and have had each other for so long now, they walk and walk until they find a flower forest.

(And because they can't sleep, but that's besides the point.)

(It's the closest they can get to a year ago.)

They walk through the flower forest until they find a clearing, standing themselves in the middle of it.

Cellbit is the one to break the quiet that had befallen them, gently taking Roier's hands into his. His voice is soft. "Guapito?"

"¿Sí?"

"Would you like to get married again?"

A smile etches its way onto the spider-hybrid's face immediately, and he's nodding after a couple seconds. "I thought you'd never ask, gatinho."

The investigator smiles, too, feeling lighter than he has in months. Wordlessly, he slides the puzzle piece ring off his husband's finger, slipping the spider ring off his own to press it carefully into Roier's palm.

It's just them, there, and neither of them remember much of the formalities and spiels of words that came with from Father Peta the first time around.

(They were too focused on each other.)

But they both remember at least one thing as clear as day. And, temporarily pocketing his ring, Cellbit takes Roier's hands again, and speaks the words that came to him as easy as breathing. That still do.

"Você foi a primeira pessoa que eu vi quando eu cheguei nessa ilha. No meio de todo aquele caos, você foi o primeiro que apareceu no vidro, e desde que eu vi esse seu sorriso--" he lets go of one of his hands, raising his own to cup the spider-hybrid's face, stroking his cheek adoringly-- "eu sabia que eu nunca mais ia esquecer dele.

Quando eu mais precisei de alguém, quando eu estava completamente sozinho, você apareceu." Somehow, it almost felt even more true than it did back then. Roier, who always somehow knew when to show up when he needed it, who always knew whether he needed to talk or needed a distraction. Roier, who not only loved him through his lowest and most gruesome moments, but was willing to stoop to the same exact level as him.

(Was it unhealthy? Maybe. But Cellbit gave up on maintaining healthy habits months ago. There's no time or patience for that, anymore.

And Roier understands that. Roier understands him.)

He watches his partner lean into his touch, dark eyes closing as he soaks in the words with a small smile. "Eu quero que você saiba que enquanto eu estiver aqui--" Cellbit moves his other hand, to carefully cradle Roier's face in both-- "você nunca vai estar sozinho.”

(He'd gotten a little rocky on that promise, but he came back. And he'll keep coming back, no matter what. Nothing will keep them apart anymore.)

(Roier knows that, too. Because Cellbit has left, but Cellbit always comes back. Time and time again. The one person who hasn't truly left him yet, and the one person it seems he could never truly get rid of even if he wanted to. A scarily beautiful thing.)

Eyes open, Roier lets a few moments pass before gently pulling his husband's hands off his face, holding them in both of his own against his chest. The look the cat-hybrid is giving him makes him want to melt into a puddle on the forest floor, and he hopes that the other is feeling even half as warm and fuzzy as he is.

(Cellbit most certainly is, resisting the urge to pull him closer and kiss him senseless.)

Roier sighs, squeezing Cellbit's hands. "Yo no tengo nada preparado para decirte, pero te lo diré desde el corazón. Eres una de las personas en las que más confio. Eres la persona en las que más confio."

(That had certainly become far more true with time. Cellbit understands him. And when he doesn't, he tries until he does.)

(With Cellbit, Roier doesn't need to worry about feeling seen or heard. He can just be.)

"Te amo." It's his turn to reach out, delicately pushing back some of his partner's hair before stroking along his cheekbone. He hears the telltale rumbly beginnings of a purr from the cat-hybrid, and feels the oh-so-familiar light coil of a tail around his leg. "Te amo con todo mi corazón.

Y, estaré siempre a tu lado, para cualquer cosa que necesites."

(He's proven that, time and time again. Between being willing to go war against the Federation with him and being so incredibly willing to murder worker after worker until their message is clear and everything else in between.)

Cellbit pulls the spider ring back out of his pocket, smiling amusedly when Roier immediately holds his left hand out. "Do you accept me as your life partner?"

"Sí, sí, acepto. I think it's obvious, no?"

The investigator laughs, and, with a gentle meticulousness that makes the spider-hybrid weak in the knees, he slides the ring back on, holding his hand in both of his and raising it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the top. "May not even death do us part."

Roier is momentarily surprised, but his smile brightens in a heartbeat, feeling like he could burst. He grabs the white puzzle piece ring from his sweatshirt. "And do you accept me as your life partner?"

"Aceito. Sempre."

He grabs the white puzzle piece ring, sliding it back onto his husband's own left hand and mimicking the kiss. "Then may not even death do us part.

Is this the part where we kiss, now?" he asks after a beat, making Cellbit laugh even more. He starts to laugh himself at the contagious sound.

When they calm down several seconds later, Cellbit cups Roier's face once more, warmth reigniting in the latter's veins at the fond smile on his husband's face, the brightness in his eyes that goes far beyond their piercing color. "Well, it is now."

"Perfecto. I was getting impatient."

One hand immediately holds the back of Cellbit's head, the other resting against his cheek as he pulls the cat-hybrid closer, slamming their lips together.

Cellbit melts into it instantly, moving one arm to wrap around Roier's neck and draw him even closer still.

(It's a miracle they can even get closer to each other.)

They only pull apart when their lungs demand oxygen, foreheads falling forward to press together as they catch their breath. But even then, only a few seconds pass before they're reconnected in another kiss.

But this one is softer, far more gentle. Roier cards his hand through Cellbit's hair, and Cellbit holds him tighter even still.

Their noses brush when they pull away. "Obrigado, guapito," the investigator murmurs.

"Ya, mi amor," his husband chastises fondly. "No thanking me." Roier tilts Cellbit's head down, kissing his forehead. "Eu te amo, gatinho."

Cellbit smiles, turning his head to kiss Roier's palm and nuzzle into it. "Te amo, guapito."

He lets the spider-hybrid pull him into a tight embrace, no more space left between them. A loud purr reverberates from his chest, and he lets his tail coil back around his husband's leg, effectively keeping them in place for a while.

The Federation could take and take and take, but there's one thing they'll never be able to take, no matter how hard they try.

(You can't take soulmates.)

No one should find them out here, giving them all the time in the world. But should anyone try to mess with them, they'll learn the hard way.

(Never again.)

[cicidarkarts]

GURLLL IM SO GLAD IVE FOUND ANOTHER IDREES SIMP/FANGIRL, HES BEEN ONE OF MY MORE GUILTY HEAR ME OUTS.... 😔 NO BUT SERIOUSLY THOOO...ARE WE GONNA TALK ABT HOW IDREES LOOKED IN THESE SCENES CAUSE LIKEEE... 🤭🤭

LIKE...SIR-- 😳😳

Naah bro he's hot as fuuuck idec what people say. I'm not saying he was right or anything he did is excusable, I'm just saying I would smash. And you know what? Fuck it, this is the Idrees Mega Comp where I'mma put all the screenshots and gifs I've amassed, flattering and unflattering, just full on Idrees deliciousness. Here we go 😩😩😩

(Warning: 18+, might be offensive, I WILL fangirl all over the place, Taliban Schmaliban)

Let's start with the more flattering and cute screens

The BROW 😭😭 So cute, I love how much personality his eyebrow has, fucking adorable

Not a pleasant scene, but fuck I want me to be under this so bad (I'm sorry but I'm also not I wanna be under him SO BAD I'm dying)

Lowkey hot as fuck, I love his little chipped tooth 🥰🥰

The way he went so muted and walked off after this scene says a lot without saying anything (last pic some emo album art lookin uuuugggggh bro knows he royally fucked up and I don't think he's happy about it)

I thirsted over these pics so hard I fangirled all over myself

There is something about this smirking face that has me so fucked up, I would love for him to look at me this way 😩😩💦💦

The back of his head lookin hella 👃👃 and the back of his neck lookin extremely 👅👅👅 I have a thing with hair sniffing (pray for my irl husband (yes he knows about Idrees and no he doesn't care)) and like to imagine Idrees smells like masculine shampoo (cedar, sandalwood, teak, a little artemisia profile) with a hint of fenugreek 😍😍😍💕💕

The end of the movie where he finally sits with all his regrets, realizing he has truly fucked up and there's no going back. The fact that this entire part of the movie, from the time he accidentally discharges his gun to the time he's carted away, is utterly *silent* outside of his uncle's berating lines and Idrees' heavy breathing is eerie and chilling

(30 image limit so enjoy this collage!)

That bio was truly invented to fuck with the fangirls there is no other reason for it to exist 😭😭😭

What do you say we get into some screens that are fucking hilarious?

Bro is flabbergasted. Surprised Idrees face. Idrees when he sees that I've been unequivocally indissociably obsessed with him for nearly 12 months straight. Me when I haven't done dishes in 2 days and the sink looks like Chernobyl. When you wake up and realize you have to exist.

HELP HE LOOKS LIKE HE'S BEING BIRTHED, ACCURATE DEPICTION OF IDREES COMING OUT OF THE WOMB

SOBBING WHY HE LOOK LIKE THAT, GOLLUM LOOKIN ASS MF It hurtses us

And let's have a little gif compliation yaaaas 😩😩😩

Sexy as FUCK bro this isn't even fair. This is literally just fangirl bait like they had NO reason to draw him this attractive outside of fucking with the fangirls. And then people are gonna be mad when I find him hot. This is bullshit, this is sabotage

Look I KNOW I'm not supposed to find it cute or endearing, but the way he delivered the line "I have joined the Taliban" is fucking adorable, sue me

My pathetic wet cat of a man

The detail of the way he grips his gun as everything crashes down upon him just 😩😩😩😩 It's so good, THIS is why I'm writing an Idrees redemption arc and why I'm sooooo obsessed with this man

Yoink

The little detail of his brow raising in incredulity at the utter audacity he's just heard 🥰🥰🥰 Love the animation in this movie fr fr

He's trying SO hard to be intimidating (and this gif really is like goddamn I would be terrified of this irl)

The classic brick'd gif

And I would like to end this post with a lovely little present one of my friends made for me after I said, and I quote, "Taliban Schmaliban, Idrees is so hot". This has become part of my vernacular now

Look all I'm saying is if god didn't want me thirsting over Idrees so much he could've stopped me by now. But I looooove Idrees to an unhealthy degree and I don't ever want to stop 🖤🖤🖤🖤 He is my husband. Hope you enjoyed this mega comp!!

[fawnnpaws]

to add to other anons point.... crack baby by mitski is PATRICKS SONG!!!

CORRECT!!!!!!!! everyone sit down it’s time for fawn goes insane about mitski hour

first of all……… crack baby is absolutely 2019 patrick’s song these lyrics have me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure needing to give him a goddamn hug

like…. 20 year summer vacation, 20 years trying to fill the void of art in his life ARE WE OKAY PATRICK ZWEIG NATION?? NO!!! he’s directionless. he doesn’t know what he wants, he doesn’t know what he needs, because the person who was his north star slipped through his fingers before he could even fight to keep him. he didn’t care about winning the junior doubles, he cared about playing with art. he would have followed him anywhere. not to mention losing tashi when his last words to her were so harsh, only to get her back for a couple feverish fucks and have her go right back to art. art who was his first. patrick zweig you put up a confident front but i see you……….

and while we’re at it let’s do the other two

art mf donaldson is so washing machine heart it hurts. he has his snake tendencies, but at his core he doesn’t want to be left out. even his attempts at manipulation were done out of desperation because tashi was focused on patrick and patrick was at stanford for tashi, not him. he doesn’t want to be forgotten or ignored. so badly, that he stays after he gets cheated on, runs himself ragged playing a career for more than just himself, and when he’s left alone in the early hours of the morning still has to wonder why he was never tashi or patrick’s first choice.

tashi duncan the war you fell in love with was tennis and how can you allow your husband/protege to love you with everything he has when you haven’t been able to fully mourn your first true love? when you’re haunted by the day you were forcibly relegated to the sidelines of the one thing you based your entire life around? the failmarriage affects her, too. the way she knows art wants more from her, needs more, but she can only give so much before her wounds reopen and she has to lick them clean all over again.

BONUS ROUND!!! me and my husband is so 2006/academy artrick to me. art always looking to patrick, always searching for him first in a room full of people, putting him on this pedestal and feeling out of place until they’re side by side. one cannot exist without the other. and patrick planning their futures together, even when their paths diverge with him going pro and art going to stanford, he’s never once thought about his life without art in it. in this lifetime they’re in this together, he’ll place all his bets on art’s furrowed brow, until the day he comes up short and loses it all.

whew anyway…….. they are sad and i want to squeeze them all

[beastszai]

✦ Dazai and Chuuya childhood headcanons (1/2) ✦

part 2

♫ Tell Me What To Swallow - Crystal Castles

✧ warnings : mentions of s*icide, death, depression, mental health struggles, etc.・loss of loved one・mommy and/or daddy issues・ooc (???)

✧ a/n : 15 dazai, tdipud dazai and dark era dazai are all my personal Roman Empire it hurts… its hurts so much hes just a kid </3

w/c : 431

!!! these are just personal headcanons and are not accurate to the canon story !!!

✦ Dazai :

He was an only child. As a semi-only child, I can tell. Trust me.

And like the real Dazai Osamu, he was raised in a highly respected and powerful household—though I headcanon Dazai to have been born in a noble family

BIG mama’s boy. Was very clingy to his mom

One of the reasons he grew super clingy to his mom was because of his father being mostly absent (again, like the real Dazai Osamu)

He was in Dazai’s life, but he was rather…grayish, transparent in his life; not in the picture, busy with work blahblahblah

Dazai did try to create some sort of father-son bond with his father—but he just gave up after a while, noticing that his dad didn’t show interest in putting effort into building a bond with him the way Dazai did

Dazai would/did try to make conversation about his interests in false hopes of his father making time for him

But his dad would just brush him off with comments like “that’s nice, but I’m a bit busy right now. Why don’t you go and tell your mom the rest?”

After a while Dazai even grew to hate his dad… no specific reason given. Perhaps how he never wanted to be a true father to him—his own son.

So, yeah. Big mama’s boy. Would give his mom random hugs, come back from their garden with some of the prettiest flowers picked and in his hand for his mom (along with his clothes covered in mf dirt)

And again, like the real Dazai Osamu, his mother was ill.

I personally like to think that his mom wasn’t the best mentally. Maybe because of her relationship with her husband and depression…

But she was always full of love for Dazai, pampered him, spoiled him and treated him with so much care that you’d think of Dazai as someone fragile and easily breakable.

Always defended Dazai with her life, seriously

He was a golden child and I will die on this hill

Dazai was perfect in everything he did, but he only did things he or his mother liked.

Couldn't care less about others or whether he would hurt their feelings (unless it would upset his mom and his mom only obviously)

And the reason he could no longer see the point in life or living at such a young age (+his ‘obsession’ with s*icide and death)

Was because of his own mother taking her life and Dazai having to witness it… The only person he held so dear…

…these are my headcanons, at least </3…