#recommended roofing companies

[roofing-and-co]

When roofing contractors reach out to a homeowner for roof replacement, they generally come across a common query. Every property owner wants to know when the work will be wrapped up. The answer to this can vary among different contractors. However, it is vital for the homeowners to know this to execute other plans involving the roof.

[imwritesometimes]

roof leaking. ugly water spot on ceiling of bedroom. despair. agony. panic. millions of phone calls to different contractors. finally. a single kindly older man. very professional. fully licensed. his company can come this week. his company can accept half payment now and half later. no problem. can we actually come earlier? like today? I am 🥹🥹

[fastroof]

At Fast Roof in New Jersey, we offer a wide range of roofing services from small repairs to new roof installation. We understand that choosing a roofing company in New Jersey can be difficult, so we offer free estimates so you can make an informed decision. Contact us today to learn more about our services!

[satellite-evans]

Not Again

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: This time it is another sibling that interrupts benedict and Y/N during a private moment

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff, teasing, kissing

A/N:

This is the second part to Caught in the Act, I hope you all enjoy

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

You and Benedict decided to escape the bustle of the Bridgerton household by taking a leisurely stroll through the estate's expansive gardens. The fresh air and vibrant colors of the blooming flowers provided a sense of calmness.

The garden was one of your favorite places, a sanctuary where you could lose yourselves in the beauty of nature and each other’s company. The scent of roses and lavender wafted through the air, carried by a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves and made the flowers dance. The gravel path crunched softly underfoot as you walked hand in hand, Benedict's thumb drawing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

Benedict glanced over at you, a playful glint in his eyes. "You know, we could always hide out in the gazebo. It's secluded and peaceful."

You smiled, feeling a sense of adventure bubble up inside you. "Lead the way, Mr. Bridgerton."

The gazebo was nestled at the far end of the garden, surrounded by tall hedges and flowering shrubs. It was a charming, ivy-covered structure with a white lattice roof, offering a perfect hideaway from the world. As you approached, you felt a sense of calm wash over you, admiring how beautiful it looked.

As soon as you reached the gazebo, Benedict pulled you into his arms, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble. The soft murmurs of the garden, the chirping of birds, and the distant hum of bees created a natural symphony that seemed to celebrate your love.

"Benedict," you murmured against his lips, "someone might see us."

"Let them," he whispered back, his hands roaming your back. "I don't care."

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Benedict's touch was both gentle and possessive, pulling you closer as if he wanted to convey his love and desire through the embrace alone. His lips moved with a hunger that matched your own, igniting a fire that had been smoldering between you all day.

Lost in the intoxicating mix of passion and affection, you allowed yourself to melt into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. Every touch, every kiss felt like an affirmation of the deep connection you shared, a bond that transcended any embarrassment or interruption.

But just as the intensity of the moment peaked, the tranquility of the garden was shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps. You both jumped apart, hearts racing, turning to see none other than Anthony Bridgerton standing at the entrance of the gazebo, his arms crossed and an amused expression on his face.

"Well, well, well," Anthony drawled, his eyebrow raised. "What do we have here?"

You felt your face heat up with embarrassment. "Anthony, we were just—"

"Just what?" he interrupted, his tone teasing. "Enjoying a private moment in the middle of the garden where anyone could walk by?"

Benedict sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Anthony, do you ever knock before entering? Honestly, it's becoming a family habit."

Anthony chuckled, shaking his head. "Not for family. Besides, it's not every day I catch my brother in such a compromising position."

You buried your face in your hands, feeling utterly mortified. The humiliation of being caught again by a Bridgerton sibling was almost too much to bear. Benedict, on the other hand, looked more annoyed than embarrassed. "What do you want, Anthony?"

"I was looking for you," Anthony replied, his tone becoming more serious. "Mother wants to discuss the arrangements for the upcoming ball, and she insists on having everyone's input."

Benedict sighed again, clearly reluctant to leave your side. "Fine, we'll be there in a minute."

Anthony nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Don't take too long. You know how Mother gets when we're late."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you and Benedict alone once more. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration.

"I swear, this family has a knack for showing up at the most inconvenient times," Benedict muttered, pulling you back into his arms.

You couldn't help but laugh, but it was a strained sound, reflecting your inner turmoil. "I suppose that's part of the charm of being a Bridgerton," you said, though your voice wavered slightly.

As the reality of the situation settled in, your amusement faded, replaced by a sense of vulnerability. "I can't believe we were caught again. First Eloise, now Anthony. It's so embarrassing, Benedict."

Benedict cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to form. "I'm so sorry, my love. I never meant for this to happen. I just wanted to spend some private time with you."

You nodded, appreciating his sincerity. "I know, and I love that about you. But you have to admit, this is partly your fault."

Benedict's eyes widened in mock indignation. "My fault? How is this my fault?"

You managed a small, teasing smile. "You're the one who insists on these secret rendezvous in places where your siblings have a habit of showing up unannounced. Maybe next time we should pick somewhere a bit more secluded?"

Benedict laughed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Point taken. Next time, I promise to choose a better location."

You leaned into his touch, feeling the tension dissipate. "Good. Because as much as I love our little adventures, I'd prefer them without an audience."

Benedict pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice filled with affection. "Deal. No more surprise appearances by the Bridgertons."

As you approached the grand entrance, laughter from inside reached your ears, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the sound of light chatter. You exchanged a glance with Benedict, both of you sharing a quiet moment of relief that the embarrassing interruption in the garden was behind you.

Just as you were about to step inside, a familiar voice rang out from the doorway. "Well, well, well! What do have we here?"

You froze, turning to see Eloise Bridgerton leaning against the doorframe, a mischievous grin lighting up her face. Benedict sighed beside you, clearly resigned to yet another round of teasing from his ever-curious sister.

"Eloise," Benedict began, his tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement, "please tell me you're not going to make this any worse."

Eloise chuckled, stepping forward to block your path into the house. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. But I am guessing that the reason the both are you are so flushed is not because the two of you went running."

Your cheeks flushed pink, and you shot Benedict a playful glare. "Anthony told you?"

Eloise nodded, her grin widening. "No, but I am guessing what he witnessed is not much different from what I had a couple of weeks ago. Do tell dear brother and sister, do you both have a knack for getting caught in compromising positions?"

Benedict rolled his eyes good-naturedly, though a hint of embarrassment lingered in his expression. "Could we perhaps continue this conversation inside or never?"

"Of course," Eloise replied, stepping aside to let you both pass. As you entered the house, she fell into step beside you, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You know, you're lucky it was Anthony who found you and not one of us younger ones. Gregory would have never let you live it down and Hyacinth would just keep asking questions."

You chuckled softly, feeling a sense of camaraderie despite the teasing. "I can only imagine."

Benedict shot his sister a pointed look as you reached the drawing-room door. "Eloise, I hope this doesn't become a family story."

She raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Oh, but Benedict, stories like this are what make family gatherings so entertaining."

You exchanged a knowing glance with Benedict, silently acknowledging the truth in Eloise's words. Despite the embarrassment of being caught, there was a certain charm in the way the Bridgeton's teased and supported each other, weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and laughter.

[exhaslo]

Hiii i was wondering if you could do a miguel x cinnamon bun reader who’s a chubby baker and catches Miguel’s eye sometime when he was out as spiderman and decides to wife her up. And now that they’re together since she’s always baking at home miguel comes home to the smell of cinnamon buns and her as well who’s filled with flour on her face. You can make it smutty if you want, i was just thinking that this scenario was cute 😭😩

have a good dayyy

Crying bc I wrote like half of this before Tumblr froze and deleted everything so I gotta rewrite it again.

Anyway, this is a cute idea. It would be super adorable if Miguel didn't like sweets either...so...without further ado...Time to write again

Warning: None, just fluff, light mentions of sex

------------------------------------------------------------------------

You owned a small bakery in the middle of Nueva York. It was no surprise that the smell of your bakery would attract anyone walking down the block. The aroma of your desserts would attract even the most grumpiest of people.

You were working in the kitchen, sweating as you tried to perfect your latest batch of cupcakes. You took a look around at your workers, smiling as they had fun while making your desserts. You loved your job.

"Hm, I'll take whatever you recommend. I don't really like sweets." A voice from outside said.

Your ears perked up as you heard such a phase. Your curiosity got the best of you as you poked your head out of the kitchen. You saw two men at the counter with your cashier. One was giddy with joy, ordering a bunch of sweets while the other had a stern look at his face.

Slowly, you made your way behind your cashier, avoiding the tall man's gaze. He was handsome, but also somewhat scary. Pulling one of your not so sweet desserts, you carefully placed it in a cute box and slid it towards him on the counter.

"T-This is on the house. I...I hope you like it." You whispered, glancing up at him.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't think anyone but this idiot heard me." The man said while pointing at his companion.

"Migueeeel!"

"Thank you," Miguel said with a fanged smile.

You felt your cheeks flush as you rubbed your eyes. You had to be exhausted from working because you swore you saw fangs. Returning your gaze to the handsome man, you smiled as he took a bite. His eyes widen, licking his lips,

"It's good,"

Miguel was surprised by the delightful treat you gave him. He glanced towards you, caught off guard by the cute smile you gave him. He watched as you hurried into the kitchen, shaking with excitement. Unable to stop staring, Miguel looked back down at the dessert.

"Shall I get more of those for you~" Gabriel, Miguel's brother, said with a silly grin. Miguel nudged him away,

"No. I can get these myself."

----------

Miguel was swinging around the city, patrolling for any crime. He stopped, catching whiff of something ridiculously sweet. Disgruntled, he stoop and searched for the source of the smell. His shoulders sunk, spotting your bakery.

Perhaps you were working on a new recipe? Miguel made it a habit to stop by once a week. He enjoyed your company. You were different. Miguel was willing to try anything you gave him as long as it meant seeing your smile.

Sitting against the roof of the building, Miguel just sat there and watched you. You were hard working, helping every customer and your employees. He knew the struggle of managing a business. Hell, Miguel was technally in charge of two companies, if the Spider Society counted as one.

"Haha! She probably eats all her sweets! Look at her!" A rude teenager yelled as his obnoxious friends laughed alongside him.

"P-Please leave!" You begged.

Miguel stepped in once he saw tears form. He jumped onto the sidewalk and quietly walked behind you. His presence scaring the teenagers away. You whimpered, rubbing your eyes and sniffing before turning around and yelping.

"It's okay. I just scared them away," Miguel whispered, not wanting to spook you.

"Thank you," You whispered, still shaking. Miguel wanted to comfort you, but he knew this wasn't the right time or place,

"Don't let those kids get to you."

"I-I'm used to it...A chubby girl who owns a bakery. I hear it a lot." You whispered. Miguel grinded his teeth together,

"You're beautiful."

"Haha, thanks. That cheered me up," You said with that sweet smile of yours, "Here, let me give you a treat as thanks."

You hummed happily as you held Spiderman's hand, leading him into your bakery. Your customers were surprised, but went about their business. You looked behind the counter and took out one of your newest desserts, placing it in a cute box.

"I just made this, I hope you like it."

You watched as Spiderman's mask slowly disappeared revealing his lower half of his face. Your eyes widen as you saw fangs when he took a bite. Your smile widen as you thought of your regular Miguel, whom you liked.

"It's good." He said. You just giggled,

"Thank you."

--------

Miguel was determined to wife you up. He had started to stop by your bakery three times a week, chatting and getting to know you on a deeper level. Once he found out that you were single, he did not hesitate to ask you out.

Miguel wanted you. He was determined to protect you and keep his sweet little baker by his side. You were so sweet and cute that Miguel was having a hard time restraining himself. He wanted to swing you in his arms and make you his.

By your fifth date, Miguel kissed you. He held you close to him, enjoying your flushed cheeks and shy expression. He was your first for everything and Miguel was going to savior everything about that. He was going to enjoy giving you everything.

By your twelfth date, you admitted to him that you knew he was Spiderman. Miguel was slightly embarrassed, but felt a weight off his chest since he didn't have to hide it from you anymore. With his secret known to you, Miguel was able to give you even more affection due to his powers.

The first time you guys had sex, Miguel went overboard. He joked about you being his dessert for the night and ended up filling you like one of your cupcakes. He had to apologize to you, but you weren't complaining. It was the best night of your life.

Finally, after a few months, Miguel offered to have you move in with him. You were hesitate, but after some reassuring, you agreed. You were currently in your shared house, making a new recipe while waiting for Miguel to return from work.

"Mhm~ I wonder if my customers will like this~" You cooed, trying the cookies.

"Of course they will. You're the one making them," Miguel hummed as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Miguel~ You're home!" You chirped. Miguel kissed your neck, his hands groping your tummy,

"Missed you, baby. Couldn't stop thinking about you all day,"

"M-Miguel," You glanced away, feeling flustered, "D-Do you want to try my cookies?"

"Of course, but I'll be enjoying my cookies later," He whispered, groping your breasts.

"Miguel~"

Miguel chuckled lowly, capturing your lips in a kiss before willingly tried the cookie. He scrunched his face up, still not liking sweets, but told you that they were amazing.

You chuckled towards him, letting him know that you'll make some dinner. Miguel wanted to complain, saying something about feasting on you, but you managed to convince him to shower. You couldn't help but smile, happy that you found someone who loved you just the way you are.

"Oh, (Y/N), I've been meaning to ask," Miguel started as he came out of the shower, "Did you give Spider Chef a recipe for a Spiderman burger that looks like me?"

"..."

Miguel sighed heavily, "It's a best seller." He muttered,

"Yai~ I knew it~" You cheered happily.

Miguel resisted a chuckle as he watched you do your cute little cheer. You were defiantly going to make it up later. Miguel did think it was time for you to have little helpers after all.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hehe, hope you enjoyed~

Part 2 (smut)

[ladykailitha]

Never Hold Back Your Step... Part 9

Yay!! Another chapter of this lovely chronicle. I really do recommend going back and re-reading a bit since it's been so long.

But in this we have Harrington Sr. being an ass, the most epic confrontation I've ever written, and Dustin being sweet and asshole at the same time. The kid has range.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

****

Late at night in the last days before the school ended, they would climb up on the roof of the trailer and talk about their hopes and dreams.

Eddie had told him that he was going to try third time lucky to graduate. And then if he didn’t make it next year, he’d take the GED and walk away, ready to join Steve wherever he was. Not that he wanted to leave Eddie behind or the kids. But if he was to go to college, he’d have to.

Steve walked across that stage to thunderous applause, all his friends, the kids, Eddie and Wayne all cheering for him. Even Nancy and Jonathan had been there to cheer him on. But there, in the stands frowning at the people Steve had surrounded himself with, were his parents.

Steve knew he should feel grateful that they came at all. But he knew it was more about image and appearing to be the perfect parents than any actual interest. He saw them clap politely and then his father pulled out a newspaper and his mother fussed with her hair and makeup the whole time.

They took pictures with him afterwards with fake smiles plastered on and took him out to dinner to talk about his future. Which was all about joining the company and getting his business degree. Two things that Steve had no interest in doing.

He had hoped to get scholarships for college based on his sports so that he wouldn’t have to rely on his dad’s money, but that fell through.

He had missed the early decision deadline, because he had had his head smashed in. So he had sent the applications off at the start of the new year. But by then his grades had slipped due to the concussion and the letters coming back weren’t a good sign.

He would just have to try and reason with his dad about college and keep his fingers crossed he’d get out of this town somehow.

****

“These are your grades?” Mr. Harrington bellowed. “How are you supposed to get into good colleges and universities with these?”

The first week of June was not a good week, ever, in Steve’s opinion. It was when grades were mailed out and he had to listen to the screaming for a full week.

“I had that concussion in the middle of the year, remember?” Steve asked. “That set my grades back a bit. But I thought I would take a year of community college and build my grades back up to get into the better schools.”

“No son of mine is going to a state school!” Mr. Harrington roared. “And you can forget about that summer internship at the company! I will not have tell others that you didn’t get into a proper school.”

Steve could feel his stomach sink to the base of spine. He didn’t like where this was going. At all.

“You will get a job,” Mr. Harrington continued to menace. “I don’t mean some cushy life guard bullshit where you sit in some high tower, looking pretty, either. A real job. Retail. Build character.”

“But I already told Mr. Jones at the community center that I would lifeguard again this summer,” Steve protested.

“You go back there and tell him you have better things to do with your time!” Mr. Harrington shouted. “That new mall opened up. Starcourt. You’ll find something there.” He leaned forward into Steve’s space. “Do I make myself clear?”

Steve gulped, but nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Good.”

Mr. Harrington turned on his heel and stormed back into his office. Mrs. Harrington stood at the edge of the room, almost swaying on her feet as she would move forward to comfort Steve, but then would change her mind. Back and forth.

Steve pinched his nose and rubbed the end. He looked up at her with dead eyes. “He’ll keep moving the goal posts. You know he will.”

This time she did surge forward. “You know it’s not like that. He only wants what’s best for you.”

“Best for me?” Steve murmured, barely holding back the tears. “Or what will make him look the best? Because I’m tired, Mom.”

“It’s hard,” Mrs. Harrington said, rubbing his arm gently. “But come autumn he’ll see how well you did and maybe he’ll let you try for the state school.”

Steve knew it was a lie or whatever that she was telling herself more than she was tell him.

He pinched and rubbed his nose, forcing back the tears. He wasn’t going to cry in front of either of his parents. It only enraged his father and prompted mocking from his mother.

Oh, she hid it under the guise of ‘tough love’ but it was all tough and no love.

He thought of Wayne and Eddie. Of how they didn’t have a lot of material possessions but they had each other and their love for each shone brightly.

Steve held up his chin and nodded. Then he grabbed his keys and wallet, forcing on his shoes.

“Where are you going?” his mother huffed. “Storming off like that after a fight with your father is so childish, Steven.”

Steve turned to her slowly and blinked. “To talk to Mr. Jones about not being able to lifeguard this year and go job hunting at the mall like Dad wants?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re always so dramatic, Steven. I suppose that was why you took so well to it. Of course, if you had any real talent you would have gotten a more substantial role.”

He squeezed his hand around his keys, the ridges digging into his palm, as he fought down the bile that rose to his throat.

“I’ll be back for dinner,” Steve said through gritted teeth. He rushed out the door, careful not to slam it behind him.

He drove out to the community center and hit his steering wheel over and over as he cursed out his parents until he was exhausted.

He sighed and got out the car, making his way to front desk. “Hey, Janis, is Mr. Jones in today?”

Janis smiled at him. “Sure thing, sweetie. Just go on back.”

Steve caught Mr. Jones as he was coming back to his office.

“Hey, Steve!” Mr. Jones said cheerfully, coming up to him with a big smile. “You here for your schedule?”

Steve shook his head. “My dad didn’t like my grades and told me I had to get a real job. Sorry.”

“Shit, Steve, I’m sorry,” Mr. Jones said crumpling. “And there’s no chance he’ll let you do both?”

“No,” Steve said bitterly. “If he finds out I’m working here he’ll beat my ass. I wanted to come back, but I guess my dad had other plans.”

“Well, well,” a cruel voice said behind them, “it looks like you have an opening after all, Mr. Jones.”

Steve and Mr. Jones turned toward the voice slowly, knowing with complete dread who it was.

Billy Hargrove was leaning against the wall, arms folded and a giant smirk on his face.

“Looks like your loss is my gain, Harrington,” he said coolly.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Story of my life since you rolled into town, Hargrove. You stole my friends, the captain of the basketball team, hell you probably would have stolen my girl if she liked jocks instead of tortured artists or some shit. It ain’t new.”

“You’re just bitter that I’m the superior you in every way,” Billy said with a sneer. “The sooner you admit it, the less heartache you’ll have, pretty boy.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “I have other talents, asshole. I can draw, I can act, and I can fucking swim. While you were out there fucking anything with a pussy that would let your scaly ass, I was beating records and making it to nationals as part of our swim team. You are just some washed up surfer in desperate need a wave. I am a swimmer.”

He nodded to Mr. Jones who had a smug smile on his face.

Billy was taken aback. “So you do have a spine. Huh. I would have never guessed it. Not with Max and Munson doing your dirty work for you.”

Steve got right up in Billy’s face. “I didn’t go after you, dipshit,” his voice low and menacing. Quiet enough that only he could hear. “Because I just wanted to graduate. But now that I have that diploma, I’m more than ready throw hands with you. Plus we all know I had you against the ropes until you cheated by smashing a plate to my head.”

He patted Billy’s chest and waving goodbye to Mr. Jones, he walked out of there, chin held high.

****

Steve had gathered somewhere around a dozen or so applications to the stores that surrounded him and sat down in the food court to fill them out. His eyes were starting to go cross-eyed when Dustin came up to him and sat down across from him.

“Dude,” Dustin greeted. “What’s all this shit?”

Steve looked up at him and sighed. “Job applications. My dad wants me to get a summer job.”

“But you have a summer job,” Dustin replied with a frown. “The rec center. You’re a lifeguard.”

Steve sighed again and shook his head. “My dad was pissed that I only got into a couple of schools and not the good ones.”

Dustin frowned and tilted his head to the side. “Is that because of what happened with Billy?”

“That’s part of it,” Steve agreed. “But I was really counting on a sports scholarship and with how shitty everything got I didn’t get a single one.”

“But you went to nationals with your swimming though,” the gap-toothed kid grumbled.

Steve put down his pen and planted his hands on either side of his applications. “Look, bud, I get that you think you’re trying to help or whatever but my team came in last at nationals. In everything. No scout was going to give us so much as a passing glance. No sports scholarship plus missing the early acceptance deadline and having to wait for regular admissions means that I’m on a waiting list for most of the good schools, didn’t get in to the decent schools, and my dad won’t let me go to the community college. So here I am doing the best I can, okay?”

Dustin pouted but gave up on pushing the issue. He grabbed the applications and began looking through them.

“Hey!” Steve cried trying to get them back, but Dustin kept dodging him.

He set down three applications. “You can put in for all of if you want, but I’d focus on these three.” Scoops Ahoy, The Gap, and Shapiro’s.

Steve picked them and looked at them. “Why?”

“Those are going to be the ones that kids aren’t going to want to try for,” Dustin said. “And you have to get this job because of your dad. These are more likely to hire you.” He pointed to the ice cream shop. “That one is your best bet.”

Steve nodded. That was one he had been expecting to get too.

“So when are you leaving to nerd camp?” he asked, taking the applications from the kid.

“It’s called Camp Know Where,” Dustin scoffed. “Know as in k-n-o-w where. It’s really cool.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “That still doesn’t tell me when you’re going, dork.”

“Oh!” Dustin said, eyes wide. “Tomorrow. My mom is buying me the things I’ll need so I can leave bright and early.”

Steve’s expression softened. “I’m going to miss you, you know?”

Dustin nodded back. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

Someone called his name and he looked up. “It looks like my mom’s calling me. Good luck on the job search.”

Steve stood up and gave him a hug. “Have fun, okay?”

Dustin nodded and ran to catch up to his mom as Steve went back to his applications with a sigh. He really was going to miss that butthead.

****

Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Tag List: ELEVEN SLOTS OPEN

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @blondie1006

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @angels-of-hades

7- @mugloversonly @y4r3luv @greeniebean911 @birbsauce @acingthecounts

8- @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars @ravenfrog @dreamercec

[artxstic-scr1bbles]

AU Idea! Result of a song brainrot :) Also holyshit when did we reach 180 follows I think I should do an art raffle at some point.

▢◊▦▩▶▢◊▦▩▶◊▦▩

Ink's a renowned fashion designer-- a celebrity, if you will. He's designed outfits and clothes for every other famous person you can think of. And!! He also loves having his side passion- that started it all- on the covers of his magazines. He's a dedicated illustrator for his and for a few other magazines. And that doesn't count the countless times people have featured his art in books and places.

Error owns the company that Ink uses the fabric from (though he himself doesn't know it-- his workers scout the place for materials and it just so happens to be Error they find the best). Error has his own brand too, but it isn't as well-known as Ink's. Ink's the best, he's the second best. Though Error's clothes are renowned for their quality, he's often only known as 'Ink Sans's supplier'. You can imagine how much his pride has taken a hit from this.

"He's using the same clothes as me. WHY'S HE MORE FAMOUS?!" -- Error

Error writes his own articles in his magazines, just having an editor to function as Grammarly on a budget. He's written a couple of books too in his spare time.

And yes they're always at each other's throats (Error more specifically)

Dream and Blue collectively own a chain of restaurants. You know, spreading happiness and stuff. And Blue loves cooking for others...

Nightmare -well, his minions specifically help him out with his company. They sell electronics (Apple wink wonk). Nightmare's mainly handling the administrative work, and each of his minions own a part of the company-- Killer takes care of mobile devices; phones, tablets, laptops, computers... You name it! Dust takes care of all your music needs- headphones, mics and all the technical instruments, plus cables. Horror handles your everyday appliances. He has a fascination for the line of fridges he's put out that he guarantees to 'preserve food even if you're stuck with only a roof above your head and power is low'.

▢◊▦▩▶▢◊▦▩▶◊▦▩

It'll be centered around these skellies and their dynamics. [Spoiler: There'll be murder, there'll be smiles and there'll be insanity. Definitely a few scenes I'd recommend keeping kids away from.

@neverniko101 @bunningchaos @hahskeleton

What do you peeps say? Want a peek of who's fate is sealed?

[f1-stuff]

VICTORIAN CHARLOS ROYALTY ABO you have sent me into chaotic overdrive with that sentence oh boy am I excited to read that!!!!!!!! Thank you to your brain as always

Hehe I'm glad you're excited!! So am I... 😏 which is why I'm going to share a bit of it now!!! 😝 (sometimes, I simply can't help myself)

For some exposition, Charles is the crown prince of Monaco and an omega, Carlos is the alpha son of a Spanish duke (but distantly in line for the throne, which also makes him a prince). Their meeting has been arranged by carlos' father & cousin and charles' uncle, which makes this a sort of arranged marriage AU, except that Charles still gets to choose his husband in the end. Charles is almost twenty-one, and he's looking forward to certain freedoms that will award him. All of this was inspired by The Young Victoria (2009).

Behold, a 1.8k-word snippet:

Charles’ eyes scan over the chess board, carefully considering his next move. He can feel the looks of the rest of their party burning into the side of his face. He glances sideways to confirm his suspicions, and notes several people averting their eyes in a hurry.

When he looks back to Carlos, the other man is giving him a conspiratorial smile. Charles sighs, his lips curving up at the edges as he settles on moving his rook.

Ever since their walk earlier that afternoon, Charles’ feelings have...softened slightly toward the Spaniard. He much prefers when the man isn’t feeding him answers that he believes Charles will like, and luckily, it seems they’ve mostly done away with that nonsense now. There’s no doubt that Carlos is...handsome. Or that his scent seems designed to tempt Charles. But he’s smart enough to know that Carlos has his own motivations for being here, and that it would benefit him and his family very much indeed if they were to wed. Charles has no intention of finding a mate yet, not when his freedom is so close at hand.

As Carlos decides on his next move, Charles’ face begins to burn once again from the others’ returned stares. His jaw clenches.

“Do you ever feel like a chess piece yourself? In a game being played against your will?” He doesn’t bother to lower his voice. It would likely be futile, not to mention that he would welcome his words having a shaming effect on their company. If only. 

Carlos’ curious gaze rises to meet his own. He takes a moment to respond, brows furrowing as he considers Charles’ words.

“I hadn’t thought of it. But I suppose so, yes.”

“I do, constantly,” he sighs. “I feel their eyes assessing me, their fingers moving me round the board.”

“Your parents?”

“Everyone. My uncle, brother, advisors, politicians... They’re all ready to seize hold of me and drag me from square to square.” He chuckles to lighten the tone, and Carlos’ lips make an effort to smile, but fall short. 

Carlos glances over at the others, before his attention returns to the board and he finally makes his move. “Then, you had better master the rules of the game until you play it better than they can.” 

His eyes meet Charles’, and they hold there, candlelight flickering within their depths in a hypnotizing pattern. It feels like it takes all of Charles’ willpower to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“You don’t recommend I find an alpha husband to play it for me?” he asks, raising a brow as his rook takes Carlos’ pawn.

“I should find one to play it with you, not for you.”

Charles feels delighted surprise drip down his spine as he considers Carlos’ words. He’s never really...thought about marriage like that. It had always seemed like another prison he would be forced into. But if he were to choose a mate and a husband as an equal, someone who would play with him, like Carlos suggests...

They continue playing for a moment in silence, as Charles decides how to respond, but he’s been thrown off slightly, Carlos proving once again to be unexpected.

“You know, my father wants me to marry King Torger’s nephew, George.” He sees the flicker of distaste that flashes across Carlos’ face, and has to bite his lip not to laugh.

“Hm,” Carlos grunts, picking up his bishop. “What’s he like at chess?” He knocks Charles’ pawn aside, then looks up and grins.

Charles stifles a laugh, glancing over at his family. His uncle and mother are smiling contentedly down at their laps, his mother with her embroidery and his uncle with his newspaper. Charles’ good mood dims slightly, realizing how easily he’s playing into their hands by enjoying Carlos’ company.

And yet he can’t help the affection and attraction that simmers within him when he looks back at Carlos and the scent of dewy grass and fresh oranges caresses his nose, so refreshing compared to the usual dusty stale air of the drawing room.

He wins their first game because Carlos underestimates him, like so many others. But Carlos requests a second match, and this time, manages to take the win. The excited buzz of a good challenge fills Charles with a restless energy that he hasn’t felt in years, and they play a third game, then a fourth, and a fifth. Eventually, as the others are beginning to nod off in their chairs, they decide to retire for the evening.

He’s just taken Andrea’s hand to begin his ascent up the stairs when his name is called out behind him, followed almost immediately by that damn scent. Charles looks over his shoulder at Carlos, who almost appears out of breath, like he’d rushed to catch up to him. They had already said goodnight in the drawing room, but perhaps he’d thought of something else to tell Charles.

“It’s alright, Andrea. Carlos can take me up.” 

Andrea’s eyebrow twitches slightly with displeasure, but he would never protest. He steps aside, Carlos taking his place.

“You’ll have to hold my hand,” Charles explains. “It is a ridiculous precaution, but Maman insists.”

“Of course,” Carlos says, bowing slightly.

He offers his hand to Charles, who takes it after the briefest of hesitations. It’s the first time their skin has touched, and Charles suppresses the shiver that rolls through him.

For a moment, they simply stand there, feet unmoving, as Carlos’ thumb settles gently over his knuckles. His hand is warm and large, his fingers slightly calloused, from riding or shooting perhaps. He holds onto Charles’ fingers just tight enough to reassure, but not so tight as to entrap him. It’s a delicate balance, and Charles wonders how he’s managed to find that sweet spot so gracefully.

With some effort, Charles forces his feet to move, and they begin their climb.

“Did you want to tell me something?” he asks.

“Ask you, actually. Your father - he didn’t join us tonight.”

“Yes. He is...his health is poor,” Charles says, pushing through the sadness and worry to give Carlos a polite smile. “We...do not know how much longer he has.”

“Ah.” Carlos swallows, and in his gaze, Charles sees the man’s love for his own father. His brown eyes dip at the outer edges in sympathy. “I am very sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you,” he mutters.

“I would have loved to meet him.”

The sentiment makes Charles smile for real. He isn’t certain what his father would think of Carlos, but so far, there hasn’t been much to object on.

They climb a few more steps in silence, and only when they’re about to reach the top does Carlos speak again.

“I wanted to say that I may not entirely understand what you are going through, or just how much of a pawn you are feeling...” They pause on the landing. “But I know a bit of what it’s like to be moved around like a chess piece in someone else’s game. And I know a bit of what it’s like to feel as though your life is not your own.”

Charles studies him. He seems sincere, but it’s hard to imagine this alpha knows an ounce of what Charles has been through.

“Does your mother also assign someone to guide you up and down the stairs?” he asks, brow arched teasingly. Carlos lets out an amused huff, glancing down at their still clasped hands.

“No, indeed I do not shoulder that particular charge. But I do know how duty and obligation to one’s family, one’s country, can eclipse even your sense of self.”

That strikes a chord within Charles, who has wasted hours and hours of his life wondering who he really is beyond an omega, a prince. If these things were stripped away, who is he underneath?

“And yet,” Carlos continues, before Charles can formulate a response. “I am finding my current duty to my country to be much more enjoyable than I had anticipated.” Smiles spread over both of their faces, and something giddy and dangerous alights deep in Charles’ stomach.

Do not fall for it, Charles.

“Did your father instruct you to use all your charms on me?”

“My cousin, actually,” Carlos admits, startling a laugh out of Charles for his honesty. “He also told me not to let your beauty distract me. Yet, I confess, I have never been so distracted in my life.”

Charles wants to roll his eyes at the transparent attempt to romance him, but all his lessons in etiquette restrain him. Instead, he presses his lips together to prevent a smile, not wanting to give Carlos the satisfaction. Unfortunately, Carlos is watching his expression closely enough that he notes Charles’ attempt and responds with a smug grin of his own.

For a moment, they stand suspended, hands still holding one another’s, both unwilling to let go. And to his slight shame, it is Carlos who ends the stalemate, bowing at the waist to barely graze his lips against the back of Charles’ hand, his breath warm and startling. Charles’ heart stutters, but he schools his expression as the other man straightens once again, releasing his hand.

“Goodnight, Monsieur.”

Charles is afraid to speak, worried his voice will betray just how overcome he is by the barest touch of lips on his skin - not even a kiss, really. Embarrassing.

So he simply nods, then turns and strides toward his rooms without looking back. It’s only when he’s almost through the door that he glances just one time over his shoulder to see Carlos descending the stairs. 

He doesn’t wait around long enough to see if the other man looks back.

His attendant helps him undress while Andrea readies his bed. Charles brushes a thumb over the back of his hand, feeling the ghost of lips there.

“Will my lord miss the prince and princesses when they’re gone?” his attendant asks.

“Don’t be impertinent,” Andrea admonishes. Charles just smiles to himself as he undoes his necktie. “That young man pesters you.”

“Please, Andrea,” Charles sighs, shouldering off his waistcoat. “After all this time, you really think I’m going to walk straight into another jail?”

He’s taking off his shoes when Andrea eventually responds. “You must marry one day.”

“Well, I don’t see why I must,” he says, shaking his head. “But if I do, it shall be to please myself, and no one else - not Maman or Uncle or my father.”

So what if he never has children. There will always be another heir somewhere. Sure, it would be dangerous to remain an unmated omega. But if anyone could do it and survive, Charles thinks a sovereign prince, with more protection than anyone else in the country, could succeed.

He’s not marrying anyone just yet. Not even the charming Spaniard with the kind eyes.

[strwbrryeyes]

𖦹°｡⋆ Homesick (bokuto x reader)

⟡ cw: sad kind of, lovesick type deal, bokuto utterly in love, comfort, fluff, lmk if i miss anything

⟡ a/n: this is based off the song homesick by mico. it was gonna be more angsty but i cant do bokuto like that and this song just felt right for him.

Bokuto, a star player for the MSBY Black Jackals, arrived in a samll coastal town on the other side of Japan for a weekend getaway. The grueling volleyball season had just ended, and his coach recommended some time off to relax and recharge. The sea breeze and the serene ambiance were a welcome change from the intense atmosphere of professional volleyball and from the life he has made in Osaka- he really needed this vacation.

Walking along the boardwalk, Bokuto noticed a mural in progress. A local artist, you, was carefully and thoughtfully painting vibrant scenes of marine life. Interested, Bokuto approached.

“Hey! That looks amazing!” Bokuto exclaimed, his trademark enthusiasm shining through.

You glanced up, surprised by the interruption but smiled warmly. “Thank you. It’s a work in progress.”

Bokuto spent the next hour watching you paint, asking questions, and sharing stories about his volleyball adventures. The connection was instant, even if random and casual. He just couldn’t get enough of you.

The weekend came to and end and instead of getting on a plane back to Osaka, Bokuto pushed back his flight back home another week. There’s no possible way he could leave behind the captivating charm of this small town and most importantly, there was no way Bokuto could leave behind you so soon. You have captured his heart in just a few days and he could only want more and more of you.

The next two days, you and Bokuto spent day and night accompanying each other. You were his tour guide but the only attraction he wanted to admire was you. Bokuto didn’t even care that he was homesick. The only other thing breaking his heart was you. Though he has fallen head over heels for you, he knows that he was just another tourist to you. Unbeknownst to him, you had fallen for Bokuto as well. The only reason you were treating him like every other tourist you’ve met was because you knew he would have to leave sooner or later.

The days continued to blend into nights, filled with laughter, shared secrets, and an undeniable connection that grew stronger with each passing moment. Bokuto, usually brimming with energy, found a new kind of peace in your presence. You showed him places that you cherished, from secluded beaches where the waves whispered tales to small cafes where time seemed to stand still.

One evening, after watching the most beautiful sunset on your roof, Bokuto turned to you, his golden eyes reflecting the fading light. “I think this place might be magical,” he said, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You chuckled, looking ahead as the final sliver of daylight went away. “It’s not the place, Koutarou. It’s the company.”

Bokuto’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to say everything he felt but was afraid of scaring you away. Instead, he reached out and took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and he swears he could die when you didn’t pull away.

The end of the week loomed closer, and the thought of leaving became unbearable for Bokuto. One night, the two of you climbed to the rooftop of your house like you have been for this entire week, the moon casting a beautiful glow over the town and the stars sparkling more than ever. Bokuto has never seen so many stars at night but now that he was here under a million of them, he was sure of one thing; he can see stars from anywhere, no matter if there is just one dot or a whole blanket of stars, the stars will always be there. What he can’t see let alone hold anywhere, was you. He can’t leave you, not after the wonderful time he has had with you.

“I’ve been thinking…” Bokuto began, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to leave. I’ll cancel my flights, change everything, just to stay here with you.”

You looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. “Kou, you have a life outside of this town. Volleyball, your team… You can’t just give all that up for me.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve never felt like this before. It’s like the universe brought us together for a reason, and I can’t ignore it.” Bokuto confessed, his heart pounding.

You sighed, looking away. “I like you, Koutarou. But you’re a tourist here. What happens when the novelty wears off? You’ll leave town? Leave me…?” you whisper the last part.

Bokuto felt a pang of hurt but remained determined. “This isn’t just a vacation fling for me. I want to be with you, for real.”

“I want to be with you too but I’m not going to let you leave your life back home just for me.” you say as you reach for his hand, squeezing it like you never want to let go and Bokuto neve wanted to let go either.

The rest of the night, the both of you sat in silence, not wanting to think about the inevitable departure. For now, you just wanted to spend as much time with each other as possible. You’ll face the heartbreak when the time comes.

The time came sooner than either of you wanted. The next two days were a blur, and now it was the final night. Bokuto couldn’t sleep, so he wandered to the beach, the waves crashing against the shore. His thoughts were a turbulent mix of longing and uncertainty, mirroring the sea in front of him.

As he sat on the damp sand, staring out at the horizon, he heard footsteps approaching. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was you.

“You’re really leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” you asked softly, your voice barely audible above the waves.

Bokuto turned, tears already threatening to spill from his eyes. “I don’t want to, but I don’t know what to do. I want to stay, but I also don’t want to force you into something you’re not ready for.”

You sat beside him, close enough for your shoulders to touch. The warmth of your presence was a sharp but nice contrast to the cool night air. “It’s not about being ready or not. It’s about what’s realistic. You have a life in Osaka, a career. I don’t want to hold you back.”

Taking a deep breath, Bokuto placed his forehead on your temple. “I love you. I’d stay if you wanted me to. Just tell me what you want.”

You lifted his head with a soft guide of your hand and looked into Bokuto’s eyes, finally letting your guard down. “I love you too, Koutarou. But I’m scared.” You admit, voice trembling, “ But let’s try to make this work, even if it’s long-distance for now.”

Bokuto felt a mixture of relief and sadness. He knew this wasn’t the perfect solution, but it was a start. He reached out, cupping your face in his hands. “Okay then, we’ll make it work. I promise. I’ll come back as often as I can, and we’ll figure it out together.”

You leaned into his touch, tears glistening in your eyes. “Sounds like a deal.” and like with any deal, you seal it. You seal it with your first kiss and the both of you could feel the sparks and when you pulled away, that’s when you knew that this would all work out. 

The two of you sat there for a while, holding each other, finding solace in the shared promise of a future together. The waves continued their timeless dance, a silent witness to your heartfelt promises.

The next morning, the town seemed unusually quiet. The usual bustling sounds of the market and the chatter of locals were hushed, as if the town itself knew it was a day of parting. Bokuto’s bags were packed and ready, but his heart was anything but.

You stood together at the train station, waiting for the train to the airport, the platform nearly deserted. Bokuto held your hand tightly, not wanting to let go.

“I’ll be back soon,” Bokuto said, his voice filled with emotion. “And we’ll talk every day. Promise me you’ll visit Osaka when you can. Hell, I’ll even pay for your ticket.” A chuckle escapes from his lips, a chuckle you’ve learned to love, and you felt the tiniest bit more at ease.

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I promise. Take care of yourself, Koutarou. I’ll miss you.”

With one final kiss, Bokuto boarded the train. He found a seat by the window, watching as the town and you slowly faded into the distance. His heart ached, but there was also a sense of hope. This wasn’t the end, and you both knew it wasn’t.

A few months later, Bokuto returned to the town. This time, he was greeted by you with open arms and the same look of longing in your eyes.

You ran to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you so much, Kou.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Bokuto replied, “I couldn’t wait to see you again.” He laughed as he hugged you like he’d never hug you again.

So, you started a new chapter together, balancing your lives and love across different cities. You’re sure where the future will take you but you’ll go anywhere as long as you’re together.

[brights-place]

Here me out, clay x librarian reader

Clay X Librarian! S/O

Pairing: Clayy X M! S/O

Warnings: Fluff FLUFF AND MORE FLUFF, nerds

A/N: LOVELYYYY! I love clay so much he is so cuteeeeeeee funfact i'm writing this IN the library... it's my spawn point LOL

- You were a librarian and clay was a nerdy guy and enjoyed books so of course you two would be a good pair! - You were the one who introduced him to books when he came into the library while on a walk and you were there - He couldn't help but be pulled in by your well everything! your f/c skin and 2f/c hair! along with your cozy appearance - He gladly took the book you offered for him to read as he was sitting down in a cozy corner staring at you every now and then as you did normal librarian things - He came by more often and you enjoyed his company every time he would come by to the library he would join you and ask book recommendations as you restock the shelves - You didn't know who he was or his past so he was so happy to have a fresh start with someone new

- He’s a sucker for intellectual people so once you’re bringing up your collections of books and the fact you make regular visits to the library, this guy’s interest shoots through the roof.

- You two soon started to date after 8 months - He helps you restock the books and both of you hsare book recommendations with eachother happily - Viva and others had gotten to hear about you ALOT when clay gets love sick - if you cup his face and squish it he would do it back to you or he has his arm on your waist or ontop of your head to tease you - He likes to grab the book above you sometimes and snickers cause he likes seeing the face you make - Dates where your both sitting beside each other or cuddling and reading - He loves when you soothe and remind him that it’s okay to be funny and goofy in some moments - You tell him that you enjoy hearing his rambling aout nerdy things because you do the same thing - He likes to help you out in the library alot and enjoys watching you read to the children - When he sees you surrounded by a group of younger students sitting around you as you read a storybook to them complete with silly voices and all clay finds himself smiling. - he made you join his sad book club which you allowed him to create in the library - Clay may use to be the funny one but he’s definitely smart (HE’S AN LICENSED CPA PUT SOME RESPECT ON HIS NAME FOOL!) - he has that boyband moneyyy! so he buys you your own books that you wanted to read - You both are the perfect match together both nerding out together about things you both enjoy

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact

[roofing-and-co]

How Do I Stop Being Scammed by a Roofer in Dorking?

Roofs are one of the most vital parts of your home that always remain at risk of damage. It is the part that remains exposed to various natural elements. As a homeowner, your primary task is to note the extent of damage and repair it without delay. However, you should be alert when finding a roofing repair professional.

Research Before Getting a Roofer:

When you go online to find a roofer in Dorking, you will probably find multiple options. While most of them will claim to be a specialist in roofing repair, some are too good to be true.

[mariacallous]

Drones, snipers, razor wire, sniffer dogs, body armor, bulletproof glass, and 24-hour armed security.

This is not a list of protections in place for a visit by the president of the United States nor the contents of a shipment to frontline troops fighting in Ukraine. This is a list of the security measures election officials in counties across the US have had to implement ahead of Tuesday’s vote as a result of the unprecedented threats they have faced in recent years.

Officials are putting in place the typical final measures to ensure the smooth operation of an election, but beyond checking that they have enough ballots and that machines are working properly, officials are now faced with having to monitor for threats and make sure they have done everything they can to protect themselves and their staff.

“Given the current political environment, the possibility that an event may occur has increased, and our election professionals have responded in kind,” says Tammy Patrick, a former election official in Arizona’s Maricopa County who is now a senior adviser at the nonprofit Bolstering Elections Initiative. “Efforts focusing on the physical security of the voters, election workers, and staff by putting in bulletproof glass, panic buttons, razor wire, and fencing are fairly common, as is the installation of surveillance cameras and systems, cyber protections, and training on de-escalation techniques and response drills.”

Nowhere in the US is the militarization of the election process more evident than in Maricopa County.

The fourth largest county in the nation, Maricopa became ground zero for election denial conspiracists in recent years, after GOP lawmakers sanctioned a bogus recount in 2021, run by the Florida company Cyber Ninjas.

As a result, the county has for years been putting increased security measures in place. “We're a fortress now,” Stephen Richer, the Maricopa County Recorder, told WIRED back in February, outlining how he had to navigate security fencing, metal detectors, and security checks in order to get into his office.

As the 2024 election approaches, the measures Maricopa officials are putting in place have been ratcheted up significantly.

Officials have added a second layer of security fencing to protect election offices, as well as concrete k-rails, which means election workers will be bused in from offsite locations due to reduced parking spaces. At the country’s tabulation center, every door will be fitted with metal detectors, floodlights will be installed, and on election day the center will be protected by a ring of snipers deployed on roofs around the building, election officials told NBC.

There will also be mounted police on standby outside the building, round-the-clock armed security, and drones in flight over the building, monitoring for approaching threats. The entire election office building is also covered in security cameras that livestream everything online for anyone to watch, a security measure that doubles as a way of offering transparency into its election process.

“The security and safety of our elections and those that help conduct them are paramount in ensuring a smooth election process,” Taylor Kinnerup, communications director for the Maricopa County Recorder’s Office, tells WIRED. “Since January of 2021, our office has increased badge security access, installed permanent barriers, and added additional cybersecurity measures based on the recommendations of law enforcement and other experts.”

The threats against election workers spiked in the wake of the 2020 election, spurred on by Donald Trump’s baseless allegations that the election was stolen. While the threats receded somewhat in between election cycles, they have picked up again in recent months.

WIRED revealed earlier this month that the Department of Homeland Security has issued a series of reports to government agencies warning about the “heightened risk” of right-wing extremists carrying out attacks around the election.

Just last week, the Justice Department’s Election Threats Task Force announced charges against four men for threats they made against election officials. “The fact that election workers need to be worried about their security is incomprehensible and unacceptable,” FBI director Chris Wray said in a statement about the threats.

Some of the charges relate to threats made back in 2022; as a result, election officials have been preparing for years for next week’s vote. Since the beginning of last year, the US Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency has conducted over 1,000 voluntary physical security assessments at election offices.

One of these assessments was conducted in Pennsylvania’s Luzerne County in late August, with officials from CISA and Homeland Security recommending that barriers be installed to prevent cars from ramming into the ground floor of the building housing the county’s election offices in Wilkes Barre.

“This is a measure taken to safeguard staff, the public, and the ballots,” Luzerne County manager Romilda Crocamo told local TV station WVIA earlier this month as workers installed boulders along the front of the building.

Crocamo also said the county had decided against using drop boxes because they could not adequately protect them. This week, multiple drop boxes in Portland, Oregon, and Vancouver, Washington, were set on fire in incidents police say were linked.

In addition to protecting the buildings where election staff work, some high-profile election officials have had to protect themselves.

Arizona secretary of state Adrian Fontes, the top election official in his state, revealed on Monday that he regularly wears a bulletproof vest after a series of threats were posted online and included his home address. In Adams County, Colorado, the county clerk and recorder Josh Zygielbaum has also been advised by local police to wear body armor after someone followed him home after a recent local election.

Zygielbaum recently told USA Today that he has taken the advice and now wears one every day. He has previously used militaristic phrases like “harden the office as a target” to describe his efforts to beef up security, which has included the installation of panic buttons under every desk

Tate Fall, Cobb County, Georgia’s election director, has also installed panic buttons that link directly to emergency services after a poll worker reported an agitated voter during this year’s presidential primary who was carrying a gun.

In some cases, new election offices have been built since the last election, including ones in California’s Los Angeles County and Durham County, North Carolina. These have been built with security in mind and feature bulletproof glass, security cameras, and doors that will open only with the right credentials.

In Los Angeles County, they are also deploying trained sniffer dogs to screen all the mail coming into election offices after a surge in letters sent to officials containing white powder, several of which have tested positive for fentanyl, a powerful synthetic opioid that can be deadly even in small doses.

As a result, most election offices across the country have Narcan kits on hand, and officials have been trained on how to administer the drug in the case of an accidental opioid overdose. Taking things a step further, in Durham County’s new election office, they have constructed a dedicated mail-sorting room that features a separate exhaust system to prevent potentially hazardous substances contaminating the rest of the office.

“Election workers now need to be experts in security, cybersecurity, public health, and public relations, while handling drastically more information requests and recounts,” Adam Hinds, former Massachusetts state senator and current CEO of the nonprofit Edward M. Kennedy Institute, tells WIRED. “One problem is they are already stretched in terms of funding and resources. As election administration receives more attention, our election workers deserve the resources necessary.”

[panimoonchild]

In the democratic world is "Never again", in the Russian world - "We can and will proudly repeat"

Attacked electricity generation and transmission facilities in Poltava, Kirovohrad, Zaporizhzhia, Lviv, Ivano-Frankivsk, and Vinnytsia regions.

I urgently recommend you to watch Zelenskyy's speech. I was literally crying from the start. I even downloaded video but Tumblr once again crushed for me. I'm sorry.

Back to modern time.

At night, Russians attacked three DTEK thermal power plants. The equipment was seriously damaged.

This is the fifth massive shelling of the company's energy facilities in the last month and a half.

In the Kyiv region, 13 private buildings were destroyed and damaged as a result of the night shelling. Debris fell in four districts of the region.

In the Lviv region, the occupiers attacked a gas storage facility in Stryi district and a thermal power plant in Chervonohrad district.

An 8-year-old child was injured in Kirovohrad region. A critical infrastructure facility was damaged in the region, and 13 houses were destroyed.

At night, on May 8, at 02:42, in Kharkiv, air defense forces shot down two Shaheds in the northern part of the city. No damage and no casualties - HOVA.

About 15 settlements of the Kharkiv region were hit by enemy artillery and mortar attacks: Sinkivka, Stepova Novoselivka, Berestove, and others. Dvorichanske and Sinkivka came under aerial bombardment.

17:00 с. Kucherivka, Kupyansk district. A private house was burning as a result of the shelling.

May 7, 09:30 a.m. Cherkaski Tyshky, Kharkiv district. The roofs of two private houses were damaged as a result of hostile shelling.

Ukrainian troops repelled 16 attacks in the Kupyansk sector over the last day, including in the areas of Sinkivka, Pishchane, and Berestove in Kharkiv region.

The Ukrainian Air Force destroyed 39/55 missiles and 20/21 UAVs:

▪️ 0/1 X-47M2 Kinzhal aerial ballistic missiles;

▪️ 0/2 Iskander-M ballistic missiles;

▪️ 4/4 Kalibr cruise missiles;

▪️ 33/45 X-101/X-555 cruise missiles;

▪️ 0/1 Iskander-K cruise missiles;

▪️ 2/2 X-59/X-69 guided missiles;

▪️ 20/21 Shahed-131/136 strike UAVs.

Thanks to the Air Force, I woke up today. And I even had the luxury of not having to go to the corridor, even though my region was under attack.

Back to World War II.

Photos from AFUStratCom.

#Mordor On this day in 1941, representatives of the Allied Wehrmacht were invited to a parade in Moscow. World War II had been going on for 1 year and 8 months.

Modern time:

On this day in 2014, Ukrainian miners spoke about the torture of the Russian occupiers in Donetsk and showed a tattoo that was almost cut off by a light bulb.

Russia never changed. Russia never learned.

Total victory and liberation of Ukraine is the only possible scenario for peace.

[sunsblogs]

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Chapter 1 | Memento Mori

“Remember you must die”

18+ fic, minors do not interact!

Fic summary: The Red Keep stood tall on Aegon’s hill. It used to house the nobles of the realm in the old histories of Westeros but now it was home to the Targaryen family, tainting its red color with their dark and gloom. The Targaryens were a family plagued with rumors, drama and perhaps even the supernatural. It doesn’t help that King’s Landing has been plagued with murders ever since their arrival. Once a month on the morning of the first full moon a body turns up in the Blackwater Bay and everyone suspects it is the mysterious family living in isolation, safe from the horrors that plague the city.

Your father, a well-known businessman and a lover of mysteries, had received a letter from Lady Alicent Hightower that contained a marriage proposal. She wished to marry you to one of her sons who had both recently come of age like you. Your father itched at the opportunity to unravel the mysteries of the Targaryen family and immediately sent you on your way as a future bride and with a mission: uncover the secrets of the most prestigious family in the kingdom.

Chapter summary: You arrive at the Red Keep. You meet the strange family and try to get along with your distant and secretive fiancé. Meanwhile another body is found in Blackwater bay. (edited) Chapter warnings/tags: Mentions of death, gore, corpses, organs, profanities, canon typical incest, the supernatural, betrothal, family drama, family secrets if any of these things are not to your liking/ are triggering i recommend not to read it! Word count: 5.2k Rigor Mortis Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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“They say the castle is haunted, my dear sister.” Your older brother teased with a large, shit-eating grin. The two of you were being escorted to King’s Landing, the capital of Westeros, in a cramped black carriage pulled by two large black horses. The inside of the carriage was small and you had been practically squeezed up against your brother the whole ride. The cushions were covered in a dark purple velvet while the rest of the inside was painted black. 

Heavy rain splattered against the roof and the window of the carriage and you pitied the coachman that drove it. It had been raining all day long. Your mother used to say rain was a bad omen, that monsters were able to lurk amongst the normal people due to the lack of sunlight and the gloomy atmosphere. However, your mother had also been sent to an asylum a few years ago. As much as you wanted to, you never visited, terrified of finding out what they did to her there. It started off with a doctor’s recommendation to visit the seaside to clear your mother’s mind but that coastal visit had quickly turned into a one way journey to the ‘madhouse’ on the Arbor. Despite all of this you were certain of one thing. Your mother wasn’t a lunatic. 

It bothered you and your father more than it did your brother. Your brother and you never truly got along. Your older brother was blinded by greed, he was the heir to your father’s company and would inherit everything once your father passed. If anything, it was your brother that was the black sheep of the family. He always preferred the company of his lousy, rich friends over that of you and your parents. You and your father, however, had always gotten along well. He would tell you stories of great mysteries and detectives or sometimes about the world outside of Westeros. You liked stories, whether they were fake or not. Despite all the stories your father and mother had told you, you never believed in the supernatural. You knew the human mind worked in peculiar ways and would often fill in the blanks if someone didn’t understand what they were seeing. Human creativity was both a blessing and a curse.

“I doubt the castle is haunted, dearest brother. They are just ghost stories to keep unwanted visitors away.” 

You didn’t even know why your brother had insisted on travelling with you. Perhaps he got a sick kick out of giving you away to a bunch of rich and royal strangers, never to be seen again. 

“You’re no fun. I can’t even scare you properly-” 

He was cut off by the carriage shaking for a moment and you could feel the left back wheel get stuck in a pot hole. The carriage was slanted and you felt yourself lean towards the lower point. You cursed under your breath and stared at your brother for a few seconds as if to urge him to go check it out but he didn’t move. You crawled over him and opened the door of the carriage and hopped out yourself. You immediately cringed when you felt the mud stain your new proper black boots and the bottom of the skirt of your deep blue dress. You held it up as best as you could and walked around to the back of the carriage to find the coach man inspecting the wheel. The old man was soaked to the bone due to the heavy rain and the pity you felt for him only worsened. “Can’t the horses pull it out?” You asked him as you turned your gaze to the wheel as well. The pothole was rather deep, not to mention slippery because of the dirt turning into a muddy puddle. The old coachman shook his head and took off his black top hat to run his hand through his thin grey hair. “No Lady, someone must push the carriage from behind as well. It is too slippery for the wheel to roll out properly.” 

You let out a frustrated groan and stomped back to the carriage door and peeked your head back through the door. Your brother’s gaze fell upon you and he grinned.

“Benjamen, I need you to push the carriage out of the pothole.”

“Why do I have to do that?”

“Because you are a man and you are stronger than me.” 

Benjamen rolled his eyes and glanced up and down, scanning your already soaked and dirty attire. His lips curled back up into a shit eating grin and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re already soaked and dirty, you do it.” 

You groaned at his childish attitude and slammed the small door of the carriage shut. Once you were behind the carriage again you glanced at the wheel and sighed. The pothole was filled with a watery muddy puddle and you grimaced. The coachman’s brows furrowed when he saw you outside again. 

‘He pities you’ You cringed at the thought.

“We should move the carriage now. I shall push it.” You replied, trying to seem as calm and confident as you could. You wore your best dress today but it didn’t matter anymore. The bottom of the long blue dress was soiled with mud while the rest of your dress was starting to get soaked. If only you had invested in a waxed cloak. 

The coachman reluctantly nodded and walked back around the carriage to sit down at the front and spur the two horses in. Once you noticed the horses trying to pull the carriage you placed your hands flat against the back of the carriage and pushed with all your might. It was tedious and heavy but once you felt the carriage move forward you let out a sigh in relief and kept pushing until the wheel was fully out of the pothole and it came to a halt so you could re enter. 

As you stepped back into the carriage you could hear your brother Benjamen snicker at the state you were in. You sat back down and ignored him for the rest of the bumpy ride to the Red Keep. You only listened when he said the city of King’s Landing came into view. The city was old and incredibly large. It had a harbour on the south side of the city where the narrow sea turned into a river and the city was built on three hills. Rhaenys’ hill, where a large abandoned structure stood that once had the name ‘The Dragonpit’. You had read the old rulers of the city used to hold gladiator fights or host trials by combat in it. Now, people believed it was now haunted. You had heard that sometimes disgruntled screams came from the ruin and people avoided it at all cost. The second hill of the city was Visenya’s hill, a tall hill that housed the great sept of Baelor. It was a tall gothic structure with seven crystal towers to represent the seven gods. It was an old building covered in details of the seven pointed star, the main symbol of the religion. Then, finally, there was Aegon’s hill. Aegon’s hill housed the large castle that was called ‘The Red Keep’, your future home. It was a grand structure located on the south east of the city. It had many tall towers that overlooked the beautiful, yet treacherous narrow sea. It was said that ever since the Targaryens took residency in the Keep, the sea had become more wild and stormy as if it was protesting against them.

The carriage entered the city through the north western gate that was famously dubbed the Dragon’s gate. You had hoped the ride would be less bumpy now that you had finally left the King’s Road but you were wrong. It was clear the city structures and the cobblestone roads were neglected, to say it nicely. As you peeked through the window of the small carriage you could see the people living in poverty, especially once the carriage rode onto the street of the sisters and past the city district that was named ‘Flea bottom’, or so your brother had told you. The more uphill the carriage got, the wealthier the city folk became. The streets were deserted due to the rain but you could still peek through the windows of some of the houses and gawk at the interiors or occasionally the people themselves. 

They wore dresses like yours, well, the women did. Their lavish dresses that reached the floor were in various colours. Most of them are darker colours but if the fabric was lighter the colours were more  muted and desaturated. 

The castle gates of King’s Landing came into view and the structure seemed even larger when you stood close to it. The carriage came to a halt and you saw the coachman open the door to let you and your brother out. You saw the family standing in a part of the courtyard that was roofed over, safe from the heavy rain and looking at the carriage in anticipation. As you glanced down at your dirty cloak and dress you could feel your cheeks heating up, your hair most likely looked like a mess as well due to the rain, though it did have time to dry in the carriage. If it couldn’t get any worse you saw a bright flash in the sky followed by a loud rumbling boom a few seconds later.

Benjamen urged you to leave the carriage so you did, finally released from the cramped space. You took in the sight of the family again. A woman, clearly the mother, though still young, stood in the middle of the group. She had beautiful auburn hair braided into a delicate hairstyle. It looked complex yet elegant and if it weren’t for the horrible weather you assumed it would usually be worn with a garden hat or a bonnet. Her dress was large and ruffled. It was black and dark green, which you found quite bold. After all, your nanny had always taught you black dresses should only be worn with light colours and white dresses should be worn with darker colours.

To her right stood an older man who had the same hazel coloured eyes as her. He was a tall man and wore a high black top hat. His entire outfit was dark, from his long frock coat to his shoes. The only white piece of clothing he wore was his shirt which could barely be seen due to his many layers of clothing. Resting under the man’s was a cane with beautiful golden details. You had quickly figured out the two standing in the middle were Otto- and  queen Alicent Hightower, your future grandfather- and mother-in-law. It made sense why Alicent felt comfortable making such bold fashion choices. In fact, the rules of fashion might change as soon as one of the richer commoners got a look at her current attire. 

The other members of the family all had beautiful silver blonde coloured hair. Next to Otto stood a beautiful girl in a pale purple dress. The dress had many frilly details and ruffles. It complimented her violet eyes well. She was a little plump and her long silver hair was curled and up in a bun that was less complicated than her mother’s bun. You still thought she looked extremely elegant, especially with the white and purple flowers in her hair that served as accessories. Her sweet smile and extravagant dress revealed her to be princess Helaena. You hadn’t heard a single bad thing about her during your travels. Everyone claimed she was a polite woman and saw the good in everything, even the non living things like rocks and dirt. 

On the left of princess Helaena stood a tired looking man. His silver blonde hair was unkempt and grew a little past his jawline. His eyes were plagued by dark circles and the mustard coloured double breasted vest he wore made him look ill. The vest had a darked mustard colour stripes and fitted his figure quite well, unlike his jacket. It was too large and boxy, something that would be worn 30 years ago maybe. The mustard yellow colour made his violet eyes look darker and less noticeable compared to the people you assumed were the man’s siblings. Prince Aegon, you guessed. You had heard of his rather… hedonistic ways to pass the time. He would spend his free time with whores and liquor. 

On the far right of the group, the opposite side of the tired looking man stood a guard in uniform. The man’s skin was tan and he had dark hair that was combed back. He sported a moustache and a beard, though both were quite short and were only noticeable due to the dark colour of the hairs. His uniform coat was white with silver details and his pants a greyish colour. The man’s arms were large and you assumed he must be close to the family if they allowed him to stand beside him like that.

Finally, the man between Alicent and the guard stood out the most to you. He was taller than most of his family members and had a sharp jawline. He had long straight silver blonde hair like the rest of his siblings and his outfit was dark with hints of green, like his mother’s. Unlike the tired looking man his coat fitted him perfectly. It accentuated his waist and shoulders well and made him look elegant. The thing that stood out the most though was the ‘subtle’ scarring on the left side of his face. It was a thin shaky line that went from his cheek, over his eye and then stopped at his forehead. In the place where his eye was supposed to be was a glass eye but instead of it having an iris and a pupil it was completely white. His left eyelid twitched occasionally, as if it wasn’t used to the glass eye yet. He was beautiful, yet his intense gaze sent shivers down your spine. He was studying your every move, you could feel it. Prince Aemond Targaryen, your future husband. 

He seemed rather uptight and strict, the complete opposite of his older brother. Not that you wanted to marry Aegon instead, that seemed like the worse option. 

While you took in the scenery of the old castle and the family with their strange features there was no denying that there was something eerie about them.

You could hear your brother behind you step out of the carriage and he followed you as you walked towards the family. As you were to introduce yourself, Benjamen beat you to it. 

“It is an honour to meet you all. My name is Benjamin Manderly and I would be delighted to introduce my dearest sister.” 

Benjamen politely bowed with an arm tucked over his stomach and you bowed as well. You told them your name and Alicent pulled you under the roofed area in a gentle manner.

“You poor thing, you’re completely soaked.” She cupped your face in her hands and inspected it with a large, proud smile. “You’re truly as beautiful as your father claimed in his letters.”

Alicent turned to look at the guard and nodded at him. “Ser Criston, please tell the maids to prepare a nice warm bath for the poor girl. We wouldn’t want her to fall ill because of this nasty weather.” 

The guard sternly nodded his head, turned around and entered the castle. You turned to look back at your brother who was eagerly (too eagerly, in your opinion) helping the coachman unload your wooden trunks from the carriage. You had taken most of your belongings with you, for starters, you didn’t own a lot of large lavish dresses and Alicent had assured in her letter that your future husband would order some for you as soon as you arrived. 

Benjamen returned and roughly patted your shoulder as if you were one of his male companions. You winched and shot him a quick glare which he returned with a taunting grin.

“I shall miss you dearly, sister. Make sure you write home so father won’t miss you too much.” Benjamen said and roughly patted your shoulder again. 

‘Dickhead…’

“She will be in good hands, Lord Benjamen. We take good care of our ladies.” Aemond replied, the tone of his voice was icy and you could hear the passive aggressiveness in it. He was belittling your older brother and you had to stifle a laugh. It was a clear jab at Benjamen’s rude behaviour towards you. While you tried not to laugh, the tired looking brother let out a snort that he quickly tried to hide with a cough. Both Otto and Alicent sent the two men a warning gaze before looking back at Benjamin who’s cocky grin had been replaced with a scowl. 

“Do not fret brother, I will be in good hands and I shall write plenty.” 

You, reluctantly, hugged your brother goodbye and watched as he stepped into the small carriage. The coachman sat on his seat in front of the carriage and took off his tophat to wave at you. He spurred the horses on and you watched as the carriage walked through the gates and a loud boom of thunder could be heard again. The gates closed behind them and only now it had dawned on you that you were all alone in a castle with mysterious strangers. 

You felt Alicent’s hand gently rest on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry dear, prince Aemond shall take good care of you.”

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The room they had given you was spacious. It had a dark wood king size bed with pale blue silk covers. The furniture was in the same dark wood and detailed style as the bed. There were many items in the room. In the corner near the fireplace there was a large white porcelain vase with blue-green details painted on it. Instead of flowers the vase held many beautiful and neat peacock feathers. The vase might’ve lacked flowers but the rest of the room did not. The table had a centrepiece with the Bay Rose Rhododendron as its main flower. It made you frown. You walked up to the flower and inspected the pale pink petals. You were no expert in the language of flowers but you knew what this one meant. 

Danger. Beware

The other flowers in the piece did nothing to ease your worries. The person that had put together the flowers had made it very clear they wanted to warn you for something.  

You opened one of your wooden trunks and rummaged through it until you had found what you were looking for. An empty leather notebook, the dip pen your mother had given you and a regular pot of ink. You sat down at the table where the centrepiece stood and scribbled down the flowers that were in it with the different meanings. 

- Afternoon, the fifth day of the first month of the year 1871 -

Bay Rose Rhododendron - Danger. Beware.

Cypress - Death. Mourning.

White Catchfly - Betrayal.

Creeping Cereus - Horror.

You softly blew on the ink in your notebook to make it dry quicker and hid the notebook back into the wooden trunk. Your father had gifted the notebook to you before you left. He was enthusiastic when he had gotten the proposal of queen Alicent to marry you to one of her sons. Not only would this strengthen his business’ reputation but it also meant insight into the mysterious Targaryen family. He wanted you to log your findings in a notebook like the detectives in the stories he told you about when you were younger.

No one knew where they came from centuries ago. It was almost as if they had appeared out of thin air. Your father was rich but compared to him they were filthy rich. Their ancestors had bought the Red Keep and had resided there ever since. It wasn’t until Aegon the Conqueror that their family ruled over the seven kingdoms. The foreign family had taken over the realm with ease and had turned it into a flourishing country with a stable economy…if we’re talking about the rich.  There were many rumours about the family. Some believed they were vampires, stalking through the dead of night and looking for their victims in the city of King’s Landing. 

Others believed them to be shape-shifting beasts, ghouls, werewolves or even the undead . You had met them only a few hours ago and you could say with certainty that they were neither undead, beasts or ghouls. Not that you believed the other supernatural rumours. All you knew was that their origins lay in a far away country that people here in Westeros weren’t too familiar with.  

There were plenty of non-supernatural rumours about them that were equally distasteful. Some said ‘they liked to keep the family pure’. Inbreeding was one of the main things they were accused of but they never confirmed nor denied it. You didn’t believe the rumours and you knew that the people of Westeros liked to ostracise people that were different from them. It would be no surprise to you if the rumour was a product of that. 

The most well-known rumour about the Targaryens had to be the one relating to the cases of dead bodies found in the Blackwater bay. No one knew exactly when it started but one thing they knew for sure was that it didn’t happen before the Targaryens appeared in King’s Landing. Well, it didn’t happen before in a pattern.

Every morning after the first full moon of the month a body would be found dead in Blackwater bay. It had been happening for a century at this point and every time it was the same. The body would be found with no eyes and no one could find anything on the body that pointed towards murder. No stab wounds, no bruises, no nothing. Even the empty eye sockets showed no signs of violence. As if someone surgically removed them without a trace. 

People didn’t go out on full moons, no one did. Even the animals like house cats or even stray cats found shelter somewhere inside. There weren't a lot of things the people knew about the mysterious deaths, only that they knew the Targaryen family had something to do with it.

“Do you like the flowers, dear?”

Alicent’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed you were staring at the flowers that contained the concerning  message.You sheepishly nodded and forced yourself to smile.

“I do, my queen.”  

“Please, call me Alicent, dear. I hope you are eventually able to call me mother as well.” Alicent chuckled and walked further into the room and motioned at the centrepiece. “Helaena arranged them for you. She is a wonderful girl, so incredibly creative.” Alicent beamed as she spoke of her daughter.

Helaena seemed so  sweet, did she really mean to combine these flowers together to send such a horrifying  message or did she genuinely not know? No, it was too much of a coincidence not to know. 

“I see you have changed your clothes as well, you look absolutely beautiful. Aemond is lucky to have you as his bride.” 

Alicent complimented you with a kind smile. The lady next to you had changed into her evening gown. A fully green velvet dress with many ruffles and layers. Her hair had also been braided into a much simpler style than earlier that day.

“Thank you my queen- I mean Alicent. You look wonderful as well.”

Alicent beamed at your compliment, perhaps she didn’t get them often. 

“We shall have dinner in half an hour and afterwards Aemond shall give you a tour of the castle. Take that time to get to know each other.” Alicent spoke and turned around to leave your room again.

When the door closed behind her the only noise in your room was the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace. You rummaged through your trunk to find your notebook again. You needed a more well hidden spot for it, especially since the first findings you had made about the family weren’t particularly positive. You��d hate for them to find it. 

You eventually settled on hiding it beneath your mattress. The notebook wasn’t too thick and if it was uncomfortable to sleep on it was a small price to pay. Before hiding it in its designated spot you added a small note underneath the list of flowers. 

Princess Helaena arranged it.

Once the notebook was hidden in its spot you sat down on a sea green velvet couch and tried to devise a plan. You knew Aemond’s tour of the castle wouldn’t be enough to explore it to your liking but you didn’t want to make it too obvious you were snooping around. 

You had mulled over it during the duration of dinner. Absentmindedly answering the questions the family asked you. Well, it was mostly Alicent and Otto that asked you questions. After a few cups of wine Aegon joined in too but Alicent quickly shut him up once the questions got too perverse. 

You were now walking with Aemond through the castle and you had quickly figured out he was a stern man. His long straight hair was braided down his back and tied off with a black ribbon. He didn’t wear his coat inside the castle, only wearing his white shirt with puffy sleeves and a black double breasted vest with silver buttons. 

“These are my quarters.” He said with a monotone voice and pointed at the room on the left, not even bothering to show you the inside. You continued to follow him through the hallway. He pointed at the rooms in the hallway that belonged to his siblings Aegon and Helaena. Their names were engraved on a small golden plate attached to the door in swirly letters. He skipped over one room, not even bothering to look at it. You, however, noticed it still contained a golden plate with a name engraved on it. From the corner of your eye you could only barely make out the name.

Daeron Targaryen.

‘Weird.’ You thought. You weren’t aware of a Daeron living in the castle with them. Perhaps he was a cousin or an uncle? You had learned at dinner that Aemond’s half-sister Rhaenyra lived in a different castle with her husband, five sons and two step-daughters, perhaps it was one of them? 

You had also learned Aemond’s father, the king, had been very ill for a long time and that he had sent his apologies to you for not being able to meet you this afternoon. He explained that they kept it from the realm so as to not worry the people of the realm.

“You mustn’t enter this hallway.”

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at Aemond. You had exited the stairwell and were a floor above his chambers now. The hallway didn’t have any servants walking through and many of the white candles that lit it were almost fully burnt up.

“Why is that?” Your voice was laced with curiosity as you stared into the creepy hallway. It was long and quite dusty. The silence and darkness sent a shiver through your body but your body ached to find out what was located there.

“These are father’s chambers. He doesn’t like visitors. No one comes here except mother and the doctors.” Aemond replied sternly and gazed at you. You had made sure to walk on his right side so he could see you easily without having to turn his head too much.

“What? Really? Not even you or your siblings?”

“Yes.”

An awkward silence hung between the two of you but he eventually motioned at you to follow him to the next floor. You had only now realised you hadn’t asked him any questions about himself yet and you mentally cursed at yourself for not doing so.

“What is it that you do?” You asked him as you followed him through the hallways of the next floor. 

“I plan on opening a doctor’s practice and a morgue in King’s Landing.”

You were unsure on how to reply to that. Being a mortician was a rather dark profession, especially for a prince, but you knew many places in Westeros lacked one. Usually the septs handled all the burials of the deceased. 

“I studied medicine and anatomy in Old Town, I have only returned half a year ago.” He must’ve sensed your hesitancy to reply so he continued to speak but didn’t bother to look back at you. His body language screamed dominance and authority. He walked with his arms behind his back in a stiff manner. You simply nodded and picked up pace to catch up with him.

“Do you like it?”

“No.”

‘By the gods at least give me something to work with.’ You internally groaned.

“Why didn’t you like it?” 

“I prefer history and philosophy.” 

Now that was something you could work with. You loved history and a small smile tugged at your lips when you learned he did as well. At least there was something you and your betrothed had in common. 

“What kind of history do you enjoy the most? I enjoy learning about the Old North and The Children of the Forest.” 

His eyebrows raised a little in surprise and for the first time he actually turned his head to look at you instead of glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“I enjoy learning about my family history and the cultures of Essos and Sothoryos.”

He paused for a moment before speaking again.

“I didn’t expect you to like history, my lady.” 

A grin tugged at the corner of your lips, your hands were now behind your back as well, only your stature was a lot more relaxed than his. It was always easier to converse when the topic was something you enjoyed.

“Well, perhaps I am full of surprises.” 

You knew you had to win him over if you wanted a chance at a decent life with a husband that tolerated you. Of course, you couldn’t forget your father’s wishes as well. Investigating this family would be a lot easier with a husband that trusted you. 

The rest of the tour of the castle was a lot more pleasant than the first half. He showed you his workstation with medical supplies, located on the base level of the castle. The interior creeped you out a little. In his room were bottled up organs in a mixture you did not know the name of. His supplies were neatly stored in various cabinets and he showed you the books he had to use in his studies, promising you that you were always allowed to borrow one whenever you wanted. 

He had also promised to take you on a walk on the castle grounds the next day if the weather would allow it, after all, the storm was still raging outside. 

He had dropped you off back at your room after the tour. Wishing you a good night whilst he pressed a soft kiss against the back of your hand. You knew he was only being a gentleman but it still made your stomach flutter. The men in the North weren’t as chivalrous as men in the south. 

“Sleepwell my lady.” He said before turning around and walking away, his braid swaying a little from side to side and his footsteps echoing through the empty hall of the castle. 

A few maids helped you change into your nightgown and you dismissed them before they could help you into bed. You wanted a little more time writing in your notebook about the first day in the castle. You didn’t want to write much, after all, it would be a shame if you filled it too quickly.

- Night, the fifth day,  first month of the year 1871 -

I ate dinner with the family, most of them (Targaryen side) were quiet even after initiating conversation. I met my future husband and he seems like an intelligent man. All of them are quite secretive. The father of the family is ill, no one could tell me about his ailment and no one is allowed to go near his chambers. 

Who is Daeron Targaryen? 

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Aaaa thank you all so much for reading the first chapter. I had a lot of fun writing and researching for it. I’m still not sure at how many chapters it will have but I'll keep you all updated.

If you want to be added to the taglist let me know! 🫶

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – Taglist:

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Pumpkin spice

Masterlist

Pairing: barista!Walter Marshall x librarian!reader

Summary: You finally manage to get a date with the handsome barista from your favorite coffeeshop.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f and m receiving), p-in-v sex, hint of a size kink (blink and you miss it), a cheesy (romantic) date, a short appearance of Mike The Idiot TM, awkwardness, a lot of coffee and abuse of a cable knit... I think that's it?

A/N: Another promise made to @deandoesthingstome. I swear this woman is responsible for half the stuff on my masterlist at this point. Credit for the other half goes to @geralts-yenn of course. This time, it was - of course - because I made the mistake of adding one of the - according to her - more attractive Henry-shaped men to the Coffee+Cats universe. Naturally, grumpy coffeeshop manager Walter needed a hug and some good head, and Charlie volunteered, so here we are.

What we're left with is a crazy crossover between the Coffee+Cats AU and the 179th Crescent Street AU, because this is - indeed, for the people who are familiar with Crescent Street - the librarian!reader from After Hours.

@ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss

The brooding man behind the counter has been getting on your nerves for weeks. His only crime is ‘getting your order right’, which shouldn’t even be all that surprising, because that’s his job – if it weren’t for the fact that he seems to know exactly what it’s going to be before you’ve even opened your mouth to speak.

“What can I do for you today?” He could look less godlike, maybe? Don’t say that. Or he could smell worse? Or that. Or he could not smile in a way that seemed to make the earth stop spinning. Very dramatic, also don’t say that.

“Ehh…” Brilliant. Someone should give you an award for that monologue. Shake it off. “Since when do I have to order for myself?”

Alright, you’ve made him chuckle – God, that’s a delicious sound – and look away. Now what? “I’m sorry,” he says, still avoiding your eyes, “I can’t read you today. But you seem annoyed enough with me to make me want to make whatever you’re going to order lukewarm in case I get it thrown in my face later.”

“That’s too bad,” you say, “I was really hoping to get a recommendation.” Because you only know what you want to order when you’re here for coffee. And you’re not here for coffee. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, why are you getting coffee today?” Son of a bitch! It’s a good thing the shop is slow right now, so you’re not holding anyone up with your… is it flirting? God, let it be flirting! No, definitely not flirting. Or maybe…?

“Maybe it’s not the coffee so much as the company,” you say shyly. Yeah, flirting. Qualitatively very poor flirting, but still. It stays quiet on the other side of the counter for a beat too long, which sends your anxiety through the roof.

“So, how about she has whatever you’re having when you go on your break in about... A minute and a half?” The voice belongs to Mike, the almost annoyingly upbeat barista you’ve seen around countless times. He’s responsible for at least half the college crowd that flocks to this place, because he’s a cutie. A little young, maybe, but he has a nice ass.

“I was going to go with a regular old espresso.” He smiles apologetically.

“You look like you could do with a double.” God, that’s a horrible line.

It’s Mike who ends up laughing. “He could do with way more than a double,” he snickers, shooing Walter away from the cash register. “Get out of here, or I’m getting you both pumpkin spice lattes.”

Walter shudders at the thought. He never struck you as the kind of guy who likes his coffee sweet, and you’re happy you’re right. At least… You think you’re right until you see the little twinkle in Mike’s eyes. Granted, that happens a lot, but never for nothing, and the little wink he throws your way suggests he knows his boss has a secret pumpkin spiced sweet tooth he doesn’t want the world to know about. So you pretend not to notice.

When you’re finally settled at a table, you talk for what feels like forever, your knees touching under the table. You’d expected him to move his leg out of the way when you first bumped into it accidentally, but he didn’t. Then, as your conversation went on, more and more of your legs got mixed up together.

“Walter?” For the love of God, why? “I hate to break up your date, but a whole sorority just walked in and I can’t do this by myself.”

“I’m on my break, Mike,” Walter grumbles in return, clearly not happy about the interruption. That’s a good sign, right?

“Your break, Mr. Manager, sir, ended forty-five minutes ago.” Mike would make a great wingman, if it weren’t for the fact that he seems a little keen to pat himself on the back for his efforts. “Give her your number and come do your job.” With a dramatic sigh, he walks back to where he’s supposed to be.

“I’m really sorry,” Walter says with an apologetic smile on his face. You shrug it off – it really doesn’t matter, he wasn’t even supposed to have spent the better part of the past hour with you – and slide your phone towards him.

A poetry reading in a – different – coffeeshop in town. That’s where he suggests you go. First, any man who is creative enough to come up with something other than ‘a drink’ or ‘dinner’ is worth a shot in your book, but when they’re of the dark, gloomy, burly variety; all the better. And no three-day-wait nonsense, either. He calls you right after his shift ends, and asks you to meet him in two hours.

It's barely a fifteen-minute walk from your apartment, which leaves you with plenty of time to complain quietly to yourself that an hour and forty-five minutes is not enough time to get dressed for a date, while getting dressed for your date. You manage with time to spare – five whole minutes – which you spend pensively checking out your outfit in every imaginable angle in the mirror on your bedroom door. You toy with the hem of the skirt you’re wearing, fondly remembering another time you put it on. You’re not one to kiss and tell, so only a few of your closest friends know the crudest of outlines to the story of your scandalous liaison in the university library – and the long night that followed. Not that you’re particularly happy that those same friends, to this day, still tease you about how you – a grown woman – let yourself get talked into a night in student housing with a guy just about so much younger than you that you really didn’t want to even begin doing the math, but you wouldn’t trade the memories for anything in the whole world.

One look at your watch tells you it was time to go, and with trembling hand you open the door of your apartment. It had been sheer, dumb luck that even got you this place in the first place. It's tiny – just the second floor of a beautiful old townhouse – and narrow, but it has a separate bedroom, which was all you could really wish for with your income, anyway. During this time of year, the street it was on looks like a picture; orange leaves bravely cling to the steadily baring branches of the trees, and litter the ground, making for the perfect autumn scene. The sight also never fails to make you more desperate than usual – even for you – for coffee.

You’ve always enjoyed the fall, including all its necessary trials and tribulations – slippery sidewalks that weren’t quite suited for folks with your level of coordination, the unannounced rain that mercilessly drenched you and your absolutely everything in the early morning so that the sleeves of your coat would be unbearably wet when you put it on later in the afternoon, the cold that had you shivering and covered in goosebumps more often than not, and your toes. Freezing. Always. On that front, living in an old, drafty apartment with less-than-efficient heating isn’t exactly your top choice. Oh well.

The coffeeshop is – as per your calculations – a little less than a fifteen-minute walk away from your place, and you dread being early. Getting there first. Waiting for him. Fortunately, when you round the corner, you see him standing outside. You happily note that he is standing there – again, outside – in nothing but a dark cable-knit sweater, jeans and sturdy shoes that are the most weather-appropriate part of his outfit as far as you’re concerned.

“Hello.” His blue eyes smile down on you, and you barely remember your own damn name. Was he always this tall? This big? This handsome? A nervous smile will have to serve as your answer, because you’re at a complete loss for words. He doesn’t seem to mind.

For a moment, you stand there, simply staring sheepishly into his eyes, until finally a drop of rain falls right on the tip of your nose, pulling you from your trance at once. “We should get inside,” you say softly.

Walter reaches an arm out. “After you,” he says with the same kind smile in his eyes. You pick a table in the corner, settling nicely on the comfortable couch, while Walter grabbed the two of you coffee.

“Pumpkin spice,” you chuckle when he returns with two identical steaming cups. He nods, a playful smile in his eyes, only. “Is Mike the only one who knows your secret?” Your nerves convince you that your shot at playful banter goes wide, until Walter sits down and chuckled.

“There’s, eh… There’s this woman,” he says softly. To your surprise, he doesn’t sit in the chair opposite you, but he joins you on the couch. As the café is filling up, another customer quickly confiscates the chair Walter isn’t using.

“Don’t worry, she won’t tell,” you say, your voice trembling as you briefly consider the possibility that he wasn’t referring to you.

When the reading ends, you linger until the shop closes – which isn’t too long after, but still, you find it comforting in the sense that you’re simply glad Walter doesn’t try to run as soon as he can. Outside, the rain has picked up, and if the autumn air was chilly before, now, it’s downright icy. Despite his lacking a jacket or coat, the cold doesn’t seem to bother Walter, and though the rain clearly does, he offers to walk you home – an offer, mind you, he’s not intent on allowing you to decline.

It would have been obvious to anyone just under half as nervous as you are, but neither of you seem to be in a hurry to get you home, despite the rain, both clearly dragging out the little time you both think is still left to this date. Until you reach your front door, that is, and you both look at each other.

“Do you want to come up for a drink?” Is that your voice? Your invitation? And is that him? Accepting your offer? Apparently it is, because he follows you in when you open the door. The stairs to your floor are almost too narrow for him, and he has to watch his head for that one ridge in the ceiling of the stairwell that you never look out for because you’re small enough to never have it bother you. “This is me,” you say nervously as you open the door and invite him into your place. He seems comically large in your tiny living room, and you barely manage to suppress a chuckle. “Coffee?”

“Please!” he says before he shivers visibly.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry,” you say as you realize – what you consider – your error. “I shouldn’t have… You must be wanting to get home and get out of your wet clothes, I…” A hand on your cheek and the heat that, despite being soaked through and through, radiates off his body cuts you off mid-apology.

“I wouldn’t mind getting out of these clothes,” he says slowly, his voice dark and husky in a way that makes your breath stick in the back of your throat for a moment, “but I don’t see a reason to wait until I get home to do that.” Without waiting for a response, he captures your lips in a scorching hot kiss that almost make you forget that both of you have wandered – slowly – through the pouring rain for nearly fifteen minutes.

Large hands gently tug your coat off your shoulders until a single move of your arms makes it drop to the floor, then they’re at your waist, pulling you closer. His lips are gentle, surprisingly soft, and his beard scratches against your cold skin. When you reach for his face, and your fingers connect with his skin, he inhales sharply.

“Are your hands made of ice?” he mumbles against your lips, his lips pulling away in a grin. He takes your hands away from his face, draping your arms around his neck instead, where you weave your fingers into his messy curls. They’re all but soaked from the rain, and part of you wants to offer him a towel, but another – much bigger – part of you swears it will die if not attached firmly to big, big man. Walter pulls you close, not expecting an answer to his question, and carefully slides his tongue along your bottom lip, begging you to let him in. You do, and you allow yourself to be swept away by the gentle yet thorough way in which his tongue explores your mouth, dances with yours.

With near-greedy impatience, you push him back, towards the door of your bedroom, longing so desperately to feel more of this man than you currently are. ‘Stumble’ is an apt descriptor for the way you cross the threshold into your room. Here, too, he seems almost too large for the space – which is so small that from where he’s standing, he couldn’t fall in any direction without hitting a wall. Your bed covers the whole wall beneath the window, easily taking up half the space, with your wardrobe taking up most of what’s left. You might have fit another bookcase in there, if it weren’t for the fact that you prefer your bathroom door actually closes.

Without thinking, you reach for the hem of his sweater, your fingers purposely lingering on the skin beneath, which – despite being damp from the rain – still radiates heat. Under your touch, his grip on your waist tightens, and his abs twitch. There’s more muscle to him than you’d thought, and you find another pleasant surprise when you rake your fingers over his stomach. So pleasant, in fact, that you can’t suppress a soft chuckle. Nothing says ‘perfect fall hookup’ like a deliciously hairy man. Now, if only that damned – and dampened – sweater would come off, that would be so amazing…

Frustrated groans escape the both of you when the garment puts on more of a fight than any sweater has the right to, and as soon as it’s on the floor, Walter kicks it out of the room for good measure. Your hands eagerly travel the now-exposed skin of his chest and back, making him shiver and moan loudly as you drag a single fingernail softly down his spine. He captures your lips again, stringing you along into the depths of another scorching kiss, fingers working diligently to untuck your sweater from your skirt. A soft growl slips from his throat as he finishes his mission, only to encounter the fabric of the blouse you’re wearing underneath the sweater – you really do get cold easily. This time, he is far less friendly in his approach, pulling almost recklessly at the fabric that finds itself so rudely between your body and his greedy touch.

Your sweater meets a fate similar to his, and your hands make quick work of just enough buttons of your blouse that you can pull the thing over your head while his hands continue their exploration slightly further down, following the soft curve of your ass and pulling you closer to him as he goes. His mouth barely leaves yours – he alternates between using just the right amount of tongue, and nipping at or sucking on your bottom lip. Paired with his obviously horny impatience, it’s nothing short of divine.

You can’t wrap your head around how warm his hands feel on your skin, but the contrast with the chilly air of the room is both staggering and arousing. Not that Walter had thus far been unsuccessful in arousing you – quite the opposite, in fact. His lips move to your neck while his hands roam your back and sides, hesitant to grab more of you. What does he think you’re going to do? Object?

Your hands are already undoing his belt, eager to take the final pieces of wet fabric off him so you can finally seek the solace of your warm bed, and he lets you, kicking off his shoes while you struggle with the buckle. Finally, he takes over, taking care of the tricky metal contraption with one hand while staring directly into your eyes. It’s at that moment that you finally realize what all of this is doing to you…

The arrogant little smirk on his face while he licks his lips doesn’t help – the whole thing sends shivers down your spine and your body answers with a greedy throb between your thighs. You manage to kick your own boots off before Walter mercilessly tackles you to the bed. With a single, swift move, he rolls you both over, pulling you on top of him so you’re straddling his thighs, his hands firmly on your ass, kneading the soft flesh with admirable determination. His face does a poor job of hiding the fact that he likes what he’s feeling.

When you bend over to press your lips to his again, you shriek in surprise as his hand disappears from its newfound playground and lands there again, only a moment later, with a firm smack. He shoots an apologetic look at you as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and you roll your hips against his by means of a faux-admonishment you’re nowhere near serious about. A man like that can manhandle the ever-loving fuck out of you every damn day. When he groans, your insides turn to jelly. In the heat of everything that’s been happening, you haven’t exactly been paying attention to what this has been doing to him, but that move of your hips makes you instantly aware of the very impressive erection you’re sitting right on top of. Another moan escapes him when you repeat the motion, his hands grabbing your ass tighter – nudging you, urging you to keep moving.

Suddenly, he sits up on the edge of the bed, keeping you in his lap, his hands finally moving underneath the fabric of your skirt. Walter moans again – appreciatively, this time – when his fingers explore the soft lace of your underwear. Then, he chuckles. “For someone who gets cold a lot…”

“Shut up,” you reprimand him before kissing him hard. The line between fun and functional is thin, and it wasn’t that you were expecting to end up in bed with this guy, but you sure as hell were hoping you would, and peeling off tights in the heat of the moment has proven disastrous on many occasions thus far. You shiver when he runs his hands up and down your thighs, lingering just above your knee, where his fingers toy with the hem of your thigh-high socks – an absolute requirement in your marginally successful attempt to not freeze to death – and you feel his cock twitch as he does. He likes them. Good.

Apparently, your smirk is too much for him, because he grabs the backs of your thighs and lifts you like you weigh nothing. Next thing you know, you’re on your back, and Walter hovers over you, diligently seeking out the most sensitive spots on your neck. He kisses a blazing hot trail down your chest, pushing your skirt up until it’s bunched up around your waist. You can almost feel his gaze between your legs, and the way he licks his lips wrings a whimper from your lips. Seconds pass in which you anxiously wait for his reaction – a mocking grin, a victorious chuckle or a vicious smirk filled with pity – but it doesn’t come. Instead, you feel a hand on your thigh, creeping higher until you’re not sure if ‘thigh’ is still an appropriate label. His thumb softly trails the thin fabric between your legs. The smile that appears on his face isn’t mocking, cocky or challenging – it’s peaceful and almost grateful in a way you don’t quite understand.

“My turn to get you out of your soaking wet clothes.” It’s a joke, absolutely, but it’s a gentle one, just like his hands are when he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, and he slowly pulls them down.

You’re holding your breath. At first you don’t notice – it really isn’t until his hands slide up your thighs again and you suck in a desperate breath that you realize just how welcome the air is. He pushes your legs apart, settling comfortably between them before using his thumbs to spread your pussy wide. Insecurities plague your brain. You should feel exposed. Insecure. Uncomfortable.

You don’t.

Walter looks up at you with a question in his eyes, and you mouth a breathless answer to his unspoken query. Please. Carefully, he inches closer, until you feel the tickle of the coarse hair on his jaw against the sensitive skin of your thigh. You can see the shiver travel down his spine as he licks a single stripe through your folds, and you moan in unison. Almost immediately, your hand weaves into his hair, pulling his face closer to your center.

He's thorough, relentlessly lapping at your clit while you squirm in his arms, strong hands firmly pressed to the back of your thighs, keeping your legs open for him while he takes his time exploring you, tasting your arousal and learning what works for you. After some time, you notice he settles into a rhythm that might actually work for you, which – as you’re somewhat reluctant to admit, even to yourself – is a rather rare feat. Encouraged by the movement of your hips and the sounds you make, he continues on his mission, and before long your grip on his hair tightens and your squirming gets worse – so much worse, in fact, that he reaches around your thigh to steady your hips against his mouth.

Outside, the rain threatens to turn into a thunderstorm, and if you’d been in any position to notice the weather, you’d have been happy to be inside. As things are, you’re still quite content with your whereabouts, but luckily for completely different reasons. Your back arches off the bed when you come, crying out Walter’s name as you do. With trembling legs, you lay there, your walls pulsing and clenching around nothing. He lets you catch your breath for a moment, his lips never leaving you as he kisses a path up your body again, effortlessly reaching for the clasp of your bra on your back. He doesn’t find it – your favorite just happens to close in the front. Once found, however, that pesky clasp is no match for his capable fingers, and only a moment later you’re shivering as the cold air of your bedroom brushes past your exposed nipples.

He looks at you briefly before latching onto your neck again, gently sucking and biting your skin, making you shiver. One hand finds its way to your chest, fingers digging roughly into the soft flesh, fingers brushing tentatively past your hardening nipple, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers. You whine, writhing against the sheets, goosebumps erupting over your skin – the result of the electrifying combination of the slightest sheen of sweat meeting cool air. He grins. Chuckles. Then, he bends his head to suck one nipple into his mouth, that capable tongue passing over it, toying with it, sharp teeth grazing sensitive skin, luring cries of pleasure from you in abundance.

Your hands all but scramble for the waistband of his underwear, slipping into the dark boxer briefs without a trace of patience. Fuck. Fingers wrap around – try to, at least – his unapologetically massive cock, images of that one night flashing before your eyes as you give him a few gentle strokes. A trembling exhale tells you your ministrations are appreciated, and you smile, hoping this is only the tip of the iceberg – a hope that is soon confirmed truth when he lets out a loud moan as you run your thumb gingerly over the underside of his cock.

A hand on the back of his neck, pulling softly, is enough to guide him to lie down next to you, and he smiles up at you when you sit on your knees. He’s all too eager to help you get rid of his underwear, and when you take your sweet time taking him in, in all his glory, he almost looks shy.

You start with a light kiss on his lips, then work your way down, fingers trailing the expanse of his chest, dragging slowly through the coarse hair on it, further and further down over his abs until they meet his hips, where they linger to draw teasingly light patterns on his skin. A featherlight touch of your lips to the tip of his cock makes him twitch and groan, and a soft tap on your ass urges you to keep going. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and with the tip of your tongue, you circle the head, teasing him until he’s impatiently moaning. His hand hooks around your thigh and pulls you closer – at first you wonder why, but soon after, his fingers run along your slit, searching for your entrance.

He pushes two fingers into your wet core exactly when you swallow as much of his cock as you possibly can, and both of you let out a long moan at the same time. You bob your head up and down his shaft in the same rhythm his fingers pump into you. It’s easy to figure out he likes it sloppy, and you’re happy to oblige. With the delicious symphony of moans and grunts that spill from his lips as an inspiration, you’re enjoying yourself greatly – which makes it all the more disappointing when he pulls his fingers back, a sharp smack on your ass breaking your concentration.

“Come here,” he says huskily, impatiently tugging at your arm.

You straddle his thighs again, reaching for the drawer in your nightstand to grab a condom, and waiting entirely impatiently for him to put it on. Normally, you’re somewhat nervous about being on top, but tonight, you couldn’t care less. You need this man inside of you.

Now.

Walter helps guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, and you slowly lower yourself, screwing your eyes shut at the stretch his incredible girth provides. Nails dig into his shoulder so hard he hisses, and you rest your head on his shoulder, whining pitifully against his skin.

“Easy,” he shushes you, sensing whatever distress you’re feeling, “take your time.” His permission helps; you slow down, and steadily make it all the way down his length. You take a moment to get used to the stretch, gradually relaxing around him. It feels no less full, but definitely increasingly less uncomfortable. Slowly, you begin to move your hips. It’s impossible to keep quiet – luckily, you’re not the only one who can’t seem to hold their tongue. Soft praise is mixed in with the abundance of expletives that come out of Walters mouth. “That’s it.” A personal favorite of yours, especially when he says it – a gravelly snarl through gritted teeth.

You could ride him forever – sure, your thighs will be sore tomorrow, but it’ll all have been worth it. Right? He clearly has other plans, pushing you off him unceremoniously. You’re on your stomach, and you half expect him to turn you around – but he doesn’t. Rough hands drag you to your knees, and – knowing what’s about to happen – you don’t bother raising yourself up on your elbows. They’ll give out in no time, anyway. Walter lines up behind you and sheathes himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust that has you gasping for air. He’s rough and demanding, yet kind and careful, clearly trying not to hurt you. Every thrust wrenches a moan from your lips, and your hand snakes between your legs, fingers drawing tight circles around your clit until you’re teetering right on the edge of bliss. His laughter when you beg him for more, harder, faster is largely obscured by the sound of rolling thunder outside the window. Your orgasm, when it finally does rip through you like an explosion, is theatrically accompanied by an almost unnaturally well-timed lightning strike.

“Dramatic,” Walter notes dryly behind you, his strained voice signaling his stamina knows a limit after all. In a moment of poetic justice, the storm lulls for a moment when Walter’s orgasm forces a sound from him that could be described as many things, but not ‘charming’. When he pulls out, your walls clench against nothing, and you whine softly at the somehow overwhelming emptiness. “Bathroom?” Walter asks, pointing at the other door in your bedroom. You nod, speechless, before collapsing on your bed.

His return marks the start of that awkward hooked-up-on-the-first-date-dance. Stay? Go? Hookup? Date? Yes? No? You sigh your relief when Walter hesitates for the shortest possible moment before crawling under the covers with you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and allowing you to snuggle into his chest.

“Do you mind if I stay?” he asks, a playful edge to his voice. “It’s raining.”

“Is that the only reason you want to stay?” you chuckle. It’s strange. Normally you wouldn’t be so confident he hadn’t been genuine in his remark.

“Well, eh…” he mutters as he nuzzles your hair, “there’s this woman…”

The sun is an unwelcome intruder in your house the next morning, and you do your very best to hide from the rays as long as possible. A new preferred method: burying your face in Walter’s chest. A very nice added bonus to the approach is that it comes with strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you tight. As far as you’re concerned – and you’re well aware that it’s a little soon to say this after one date, but it’s not like you’re planning on proposing today – you’re not letting this man walk, ever again. He didn’t complain when you warmed your icy feet against his legs yesterday, and the only reaction you get out of him when you put your cold hands on his body is a low grumble and an involuntary shiver.

“Morning,” he groans after a while. By now, you’re awake enough to at least make an attempt at playing host.

“Coffee?” you ask – a suggestion that’s met with an approving grunt.

On your way to the kitchen, you come across his discarded and banned-from-the-bedroom sweater – and you make the mistake of stepping on it, shrieking in surprise when the damp fabric touches your already cold foot. Coffee first, you decide.

“I have some bad news,” you say as you enter your bedroom with two cups of coffee in your hands, his sweater dangling from your pinky. “This is still wet.”

“Oh, god, no,” Walter says with a smile, “whatever will we do to pass the time until it dries?”