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catherinetheprincessofwales · 9 days

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James Middleton: Kate, William and the dog that saved my life. The younger brother of the Princess of Wales was so depressed he came close to killing himself. Then Ella, his faithful cocker spaniel, stepped in — and even found him a wife. He tells Matt Rudd about his ‘waste of money’ education, family therapy and the help Prince William gave him. The Sunday Times, 22 Sep 2024.

I’m in a cottage on a farm with the brother of the Princess of Wales and his eyes are filling with tears. He has a cocker spaniel called Luna on his lap and I have a cocker spaniel called Inka on my lap. Both dogs are looking anxiously at their owner as he tries to tell me about the death of their mother, Ella. It could be a bit awkward when a man you’ve only just met starts getting very emotional about a dog that died nearly two years ago. Instead it’s the moment I realise James Middleton isn’t exaggerating. A dog really did save his life.

On a winter’s night in late 2017, Middleton climbed a ladder to the roof above his parents’ flat in Chelsea and contemplated suicide. Overwhelmed by feelings of failure, he had decided that the labour of living was no longer worth the effort. As his thoughts spiralled, it was only the sight of Ella, watching him carefully through the skylight, that gave him pause. How could he leave her, he wondered.

Over weeks and months Middleton had isolated himself from family and friends, ignoring increasingly desperate phone calls and texts. When his sister Pippa came to the door, he would hide in his room. When he tried to go to work, he got as far as the car park and then drove home again.

“I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t sleep, I was constantly agitated,” he says. “If I sat down I had to stand up again immediately. I couldn’t eat because I felt constantly as if I were about to throw up. What was most challenging was that I couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong. It wasn’t living, it was just existing in this awful state of anxiety.”

As his mental health crisis deepened, it was only Ella and the routine of looking after her that kept him going. “I was never alone in a time when I felt very lonely,” he says, stroking Inka’s ears. “I’m surprised there weren’t marks on the carpet from the laps I was doing, but she would sort of get in the way. It was a silent interruption, but for a fraction of a second it would stop the spiralling. “Something was taking over my mind, but not knowing what it was made it very difficult to talk about. And I didn’t feel as though I had a right to be depressed because I’ve had everything, because I am privileged.”

We are meeting today, I should mention, at Bucklebury Farm Park, a genteel sheep-petting outfit plus farm shop (excellent organic pesto) at the more desirable end of Berkshire. It is owned by his sister Pippa Matthews née Middleton and her hedgie husband, James, who is, among other things, the next laird of Glen Affric. Carole and Michael Middleton, parents to James, Pippa and Catherine, live in a manor house a stone’s throw away and Middleton’s own farm, which he bought from the parents of a prep school friend mid-pandemic, is a mile over there. It’s quite the empire.

Now married to the French financier Alizée Thevenet and father to 11-month-old Inigo, Middleton is happy to talk about his annus horribilis and his dog-assisted recovery. He does so at book-length in Meet Ella: The Dog Who Saved My Life. But it’s a good question: what does someone born into such wealth and privilege have to be depressed about?

The roots of his 2017 crisis can be found, like most roots of crises, in childhood. Born in 1987, the same year his mother set up the mail-order company Party Pieces, he followed his two older sisters to Marlborough. If the prestigious boarding school demanded academic excellence and his parents expected it, both were to be disappointed. Diagnosed with dyslexia then, and with attention deficit disorder when he finally sought help in 2017, he struggled where his sisters had excelled.

“School is about comparing yourself to others,” he says, recalling how he would avoid friends phoning to compare exam results in the summer holidays. “I didn’t feel despair when I failed because it happened so often, but I was embarrassed. I felt let down because I didn’t think that those results properly represented me.”

In the early chapters of the book he charts his struggles with expectation — his mother is frequently in tears, his father just as frequently exasperated. Even without VAT, it must have taken a large chunk of the trust fund established by Michael’s grandmother, the heiress Olive Middleton, to put his son through Marlborough. When that son had to spend a gap year retaking his A-level chemistry four times, a “humiliating record” for the school, he tells him his education was “a waste of money”.

Although today Middleton studiously avoids criticising his school or his beloved parents — he learnt valuable survival skills at Marlborough, he tells me, and “Mum and Dad just wanted the best for me” — the pressure was clearly intense. He sought escape from that pressure in nature and in dogs. “I was an outcast … alienated from my classmates,” he writes. “But dogs never judged me. Mum asked repeatedly if I wanted to bring friends home to stay at weekends. But truthfully all I wanted to do was to see Tilly.”

Tilly was the family’s golden retriever, but from an early age Middleton was desperate for his own dog. His parents, on the other hand, continued to be desperate for him to succeed. And so, after that long summer of resits, he squeaked into Edinburgh University, choosing criminology, environmental studies and geography modules because he was “pretty certain they would all be multiple choice”. They weren’t, of course, and he failed his first-year exams. More crying from Mum, more exasperation from Dad, more solace from a dog, this time his own.

“For all my reservations, I shall be eternally grateful for the time I spent in Edinburgh because it is thanks to Ben, a university friend, that I find my adored dog Ella,” he writes, introducing us to the dog that saved his life. Despite his best efforts, puppies and student life are not compatible, and when he was banned from bringing Ella to lectures he finally abandoned his studies. “I knew that if I left university I’d be responsible for that decision,” he says. “It was a big step, but I had Ella with me, as my companion and my responsibility.”

Middleton’s story is not exactly Angela’s Ashes. When he announces that he is ditching his degree to become an entrepreneur in London, he is cut off, he tells us, from the Bank of Mum and Dad, but he can still move in with his sisters at the family’s flat in Chelsea. His uncle Gary Goldsmith, he of Celebrity Big Brother 2024 notoriety, is also on hand to invest in his cake kit start-up. Nobody in this story is going to find themselves on the street.

But cynics desist! Don’t underestimate the impact of parental expectation, nor of not conforming to the traditional model of success. Middleton, anxious and increasingly socially uncomfortable, had left his friends in Edinburgh and washed up in London with his dog.

“She was my shield,” he says. “Through her I could enjoy things. I could take her for a walk and see what she was seeing. I process a lot of things in my mind and that can be overwhelming, but she helped me open my eyes and realise everything was OK.”

There are, I’m sure, many advantages to being royal adjacent, but when his sister Catherine started dating Prince William in 2004, Middleton found the level of media interest “shocking”. A young man who used his dog as an excuse to leave parties early was not equipped for the spotlight, for stepping out of the flat into a sea of flashing cameras.

“I’d never seen a royal wedding,” he says, rather sweetly. “There hadn’t been one in my lifetime. Not a big one anyway. I wasn’t aware of the scale or the global interest. I just felt privileged that my sister was asking me to do it, and it meant something to her. I wanted to make sure I did it.”

His description of the intense amount of practice he put in to the reading is like a potted version of The King’s Speech — he stutters, he stumbles, he takes lessons with the voice coach Anthony Gordon Lennox, he reads nervously and then more confidently to an audience of one dog — Ella, of course — in Chelsea Old Church. And then it’s the big day. “Really, the build-up to Catherine’s wedding was no different to Pippa’s or other friends’ weddings,” he says, unbelievably. Just the family, 1,900 guests, Her Majesty, an archbishop and a few world leaders. Watching the recording back today, there’s no hint of nerves — Middleton, 24 at the time, gives a bravura performance. Afterwards an American production company wrote to ask if he’d like to star in his own film — their opening offer was $1 million.

“They even ventured,” he writes wryly, “that members of my wider family might like to take part.” Middleton is not unaware of how everything is distorted by his proximity to royalty.

On the surface the next few years of Middleton’s life read like a Hello! magazine special — parties, holidays on Mustique, holidays in the Alps, a blossoming relationship with a glamorous older woman (the actress Donna Air, about whom his parents were hesitant because of the eight-year age gap), weekends at Sandringham (“Did you get my message, James?” the Queen asked the first time he visited. “Ella is welcome to stay in your room.”) But then came the night of despair in pyjamas on a Chelsea rooftop. Long sessions of cognitive behavioural therapy followed with a psychiatrist who was happy for Ella to attend too. She was, Middleton says, the only reason he kept going.

In December 2017, his mental health still fragile, he left London without telling anyone and holed up in a remote cottage in the Lake District. While his family grew frantic with worry, much to his irritation (“I’m a grown man”), he describes three days of elemental existence — fetching firewood and water, heating soup, walking Ella and her two pups. For the first time in a year he enjoyed a deep sleep and, in front of the fire after a wild swim with his dogs, he felt fleetingly happy.

“Dogs are amazing,” he says and all five of the dogs in the cottage with us — three spaniels and two beautiful golden retrievers — look delighted. “They do just sense things. Ella had been with me in every therapy session, she was always with me. I think we can learn from dogs. They’re not thinking about yesterday or tomorrow. They’re not even thinking about the next couple of hours. They’re thinking about right now. I’m here, they’re here, in the moment.”

As Middleton’s recovery continued, he says his sisters understood — they both had friends who had depression — but his parents struggled. “They were uncomfortable with the fact that I’d been labelled ‘clinically depressed’,” he writes. “To people of their generation, I can understand why it was concerning. Society was only just starting to break through the stigma.”

The solution, in the end, was to invite the family to the therapy sessions. “I felt guilty because I knew they were worried,” he says. “They felt guilty because it’s really hard if you’re not able to help the people you love the most. I was finally understanding how I felt but I got nervous trying to translate that to my family without the help of an interpreter. When they came into the sessions they had the opportunity to ask questions that I couldn’t necessarily answer.”

In the 13 years since Catherine’s wedding Middleton’s hair has receded a little, but he now has a beard for balance — a little twirl of his moustaches and he could be a not-too-distant cousin of Tsar Nicholas II. He probably is — this generation of Middletons is not the first to hang out with royalty. He looks less bright and bushy-tailed than he did in 2011, but that might be fatherhood or the weekend with friends he has just returned from in Norfolk. Or it might simply be the passing of enough eventful years.

Whatever it is, he tells me he is now happy, which, given the depths of his depression, he still finds extraordinary. His idea of what constitutes success has changed — he is no longer motivated by money but by the things in life about which he is passionate. He doesn’t even like the word entrepreneur any more.

Having stepped away from Boomf, a marshmallow delivery company (Boomf is the sound a marshmallow makes falling from a letterbox), he started James & Ella, a “premium freeze-dried raw dog food” company in 2020. He clearly finds it easier to be passionate about dogs than marshmallows. But it’s in his personal life that the change has been most dramatic.

“I remember sitting in the therapist’s chair with Ella’s head on my lap, wondering how long it was going to take to get better,” he says. “But within a year I had met my future wife. And we’re now here with an 11-month-old son, living on a farm with six dogs. If someone had told me that would happen, I’d have been annoyed. It would have just seemed so ridiculous.”

He met Thevenet, 34, at a members club in South Kensington, west London, in 2018. Ella, having actively disapproved of several previous girlfriends, broke the ice by going over to her table. They married in the south of France in 2021 (a Hello! magazine world exclusive, naturally) and Ella was a flower girl. And everyone lived happily ever after.

Except, alas, the dog. It is one of life’s cruelties that man’s best friend has a much shorter life expectancy than man. Just asking Middleton about the death of Ella, early one Saturday in January 2023, makes him emotional. Despite being given two weeks to live the previous September, she had made it through Christmas, perhaps buoyed by the thought of one final week in the Alps. Of course Middleton was with her when she took her last breath at 3am. The whole family, including William and Catherine, gathered in his parents’ garden for what sounds like an extensive memorial on the Sunday.

“Saying goodbye to Ella was not just saying goodbye to her as a dog,” Middleton says. “It was everything I’d been through with her. She had arrived just as I was starting out in my twenties and she was leaving as I’d finally figured things out in my mid-thirties. She put me on the right path and I didn’t want another day from her. I didn’t want another hour. I would have loved it but I didn’t need it. “She was sent to me before I even knew I needed her, but she chose me. She was able to transform my life better than any human could have done and then she put me in the capable hands of someone and together we’re now raising our own family.”

Eight days after Ella was buried in her favourite sheepskin, Alizée interrupted Middleton’s mourning to announce that she was pregnant. He is convinced Ella knew and that her death was a kind of passing of the torch. His son, Inigo, was born last autumn. “I hope there’s an Ella who will find Inigo, if there’s a time in his life when he needs it,” he says, as one of the golden retrievers has a long stretch.

If you’re not a dog person, you might find this cosmic canine intervention a bit much. Whether Ella was the ultimate therapist or a very effective placebo, it worked for Middleton. His sisters’ families are also fully invested in the joys of cocker spaniels — Pippa has one of Ella’s sons and Catherine, whose announcement of the end of her chemotherapy treatment comes a few days after this interview, now has one of Ella’s granddaughters — no corgis to date. Middleton himself now regards his mental health crisis as a blessing. “Although I would never wish it on anybody and I would never want to go through it again, I’m pleased it happened. It was an opportunity to recalibrate and to re-evaluate what matters.” Happiness, he says, is what matters. Happiness and lots of dogs. Meet Ella: The Dog Who Saved My Life by James Middleton (Radar £22).

#ktd #middleton family #James middleton #meet ella #mental health #mental heath support #mental heath awareness #Sunday times #Dogs #dog #doggo #dogs of tumblr #dogblr #puppy

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 4 months

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1935 Duesenberg

Clark Gable and his 1935 Duesenberg

His wife, Carole Lombard, had one too, which is now in a museum in NZ.

HOLLYWOOD, Calif.

Its 420-cubic-inch straight-8 pulled like a train; it was reputed to have a 115-m.p.h. top speed – “right off the showroom floor,” It could exceed 100 m.p.h. in the second of its three gears, boasted E. L. Cord, the company’s president at the time. Its wheelbase of nearly 12 feet gives the car a poised, unflappable ride. And its massive steering wheel guides the wheels straight and true – although its vacuum assisted drum brakes provide the car somewhat uncertain stopping power

Today, the car’s odometer shows 13,416 miles.

It was January 25, 1936 and Clark Gable had a new car to show off – to a new object of his affections. She was actress Carole Lombard, and the hostess of the lavish White Mayfair Ball, a formal Hollywood soiree, to which Gable drove his 1935 Duesenberg Model JN convertible that night.

The suave actor eventually convinced Miss Lombard to “take a spin around town” with him; when he invited her to his suite a few miles away at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, she famously replied, “Who do you think you are? Clark Gable?”

They weren’t exactly strangers; they had already co-starred together in “No Man of Her Own”. After filming wrapped Miss Lombard presented Mr. Gable with a ham – with his picture on it! But their professional relationship went no further at that point; Miss Lombard was then married to William Powell (she divorced him a couple of years later).

Nevertheless, after they re-connected at the White Mayfair Ball, a scandalous affair ensued; Mr. Gable, still married, was often spotted traveling in the Duesenberg with Miss Lombard from her bungalow on Hollywood Blvd. to night spots, restaurants and hotels all over town. One of those places, The Georgian Hotel in nearby Santa Monica, now advertises the couple had trysts there often.

“This is nothing discreet about this car,” Mr. Gooding said as he pulled up in the glowing Duesenberg, in front of The Georgian. Not exactly the type of car for two famous stars to be seen in – when they are trying to downplay their affair!

. The car fairly screams “notice me!”. Even now the Duesenberg, which appeared in a couple of actual movies of its own, is a show-stopper.

“The record for an American car sold at public auction is $10.34 million, for a Duesenberg – the 1931 Whittell Coupe – which we sold last year,” Mr. Gooding said. “In many ways, however Gable’s 1935 JN is an even finer example.” It is undeniably rare; fewer than a dozen JNs were built – only four of which were convertibles. But no other Duesenberg is like this one. (I will update this post Aug. 19 with the sales price!)

And, then there is the consideration of its celebrity provenance. “I’ve never seen a car with a history behind it like this one,” Mr. Gooding said.

Its 420-cubic-inch straight-8 pulled like a train; it was reputed to have a 115-m.p.h. top speed – “right off the showroom floor,” Mr. Gooding said. It could exceed 100 m.p.h. in the second of its three gears, boasted E. L. Cord, the company’s president at the time. Its wheelbase of nearly 12 feet gives the car a poised, unflappable ride. And its massive steering wheel guides the wheels straight and true – although its vacuum assisted drum brakes provide the car somewhat uncertain stopping power.

A work of automotive art!

Of course, that has often been said about many great works of art – sculptures, paintings, and the like – but seldom about automobiles. Many collectors, however, consider the 18-foot-long Duesenberg, with its flamboyant, following lines, the epitome of automotive art.

The Model JN that Mr. Gable bought originally had a body by Rollston. Mr. Gooding noted, “It was a work of art already.” But Mr. Gable decided it wasn’t audacious enough for his tastes.

So he took it to master coachbuilders Bohman & Schwartz, in Pasadena, Calif., for a complete re-working. And besides, the convertible top leaked – which Miss Lombard reportedly thought amusing; Mr. Gable, however, was mortified.

Clark Gable shows off his beloved Duesenberg!

“Not only did Gable sketch out many of the changes he wanted himself,” Mr. Gooding said. “He also got hands-on with it, and worked on it himself. I don’t recall an example where a celebrity got so involved, and essentially helped craft the car.”

The modifications included body-colored radiator cowl and headlamp pods, raked windshield, extended hood with custom air scoops, re-location of the side-mounted spares to a double-deck “continental kit” at the rear, rear fender skirts, chrome side pipe exhausts (with a driver-controlled bypass lever), functional rumble seat, and a stowable convertible top – that no longer leaked!

It was also re-painted from a pale green to a luminous cream color that seems to glow – apropos of any star of stage, screen or even outer space.

Despite the fact Mr. Gable owned a large, discerning collection of other Duesenbergs, Packards, and Mercedes-Benzes, the JN remained the preferred ride of the inseparable lovers.

So public was their romance that Photoplay magazine ran a feature in December 1938 out-ing them as one of “Hollywood’s Unmarried Husbands and Wives.” Mr. Gable had also been linked in recent years with Joan Crawford, Jean Harlow and Loretta Young (with whom he fathered a love child) – among others. Producer David O. Selznick was ready to cast Gary Cooper as Rhett Butler in “Gone With The Wind” unless Mr. Gable cleaned up his personal life. So the studio reportedly helped pay for Mr. Gable’s costly divorce from heiress Ria Langham; he got the part. The rest, as they say, is history.

Gable got the part!

Mr. Gable and Miss Lombard (who lost out in casting for Scarlett O’Hara) eloped in March 1939. In 1941 the happy couple set off in the Duesenberg on an epic vacation – sort of a belated honeymoon – from their ranch in Encino, Calif., up the Pacific Coast to Vancouver, British Columbia. The trip was nearly 1,500 miles, on primitive roads.

It must have been quite a sight: two of Hollywood’s biggest stars pumping their own gas, fixing their own flats, even changing their own oil – the Gables didn’t want anyone else touching this car! – in a car easily worth $35,000 then (Mr. Gable made more than that in one month, in salary, in those years – and Miss Lombard made nearly as much).

“This was at a time you could buy a Ford for a few hundred dollars,” Mr. Gooding noted.

In Vancouver, the couple would see the Duesenberg for the final time. They stored it there, planning to return the next summer to drive it back to California. They took the train home.

Some months later, however, Miss Lombard was killed in a plane crash near Las Vegas, Nev. Gable, devastated, instructed an agent to sell the beloved Duesenberg – with the proviso that he never would see it again. He never did; he died in 1960.

The Duesenberg became a four-wheeled vagabond, crisscrossing the country, changing hands more than a dozen times. It was re-painted at least four different colors. Its engine was replaced in the 1950s. Parts went missing.

But the current owner, Mr. Gooding said, acquired it in 2006 and ordered a no-expense-spared restoration to its Gable-era glory.

Text via John Piazza

Credit: Respective Owner ( DM for credit or removals )

#duesenberg #car #cars #clark gable #carole lombard #movie car

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hannah-banana-lou · 6 months

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Come back to me

Husband william afton x Wife female reader AU

it's here!! sorry for the delay. i have been super busy!!

(Pt.2)

i'm not the best at writing smut but i'm trying! i promise!!

Content warning: Marriage issues, verbal abuse, smut!!! (lots of it in this chapter!!!), age gap couple - William (early 50’s) Reader (mid/late 20’s)

UNDER 18’S DNI!!!

Come Back To Me (Pt.2)

You’re home. He kissed you for the first time in months, less than 40 minutes ago. It’s sparked hope within you. Maybe that tiny bit of affection means that he will change? Go back to normal?

Think again.

He is back to his cold, distanced, usual self. You find yourself in the kitchen. Making a late lunch for your twins. He is standing next to you. You finish what you’re doing and smile over at him, placing your hand on his. He immediately recoils. Your eyes widen, confused. Before you can question it he storms off upstairs, into his home office. Slamming the door with force, which made you and your toddlers flinch.

You spend the next few hours confused. Your mind is miles away. Searching your brain for Answers. Clues. Anything.

the rest of the day goes by quickly. running errands, dropping the twins off with your mom for the weekend. you hope that the weekend alone with your husband might provide some answers. fingers crossed.

you get home. he is out. nowhere to be found. not sure where he is or when he is coming back. the clock reads 9:00pm. he should be back by now. you made dinner, hoping he would sit with you and enjoy the meal. like old times. it's now gone cold.

Sitting in the living room, the silence is uncomfortable. you've been alone in the house before but this, this just feels weird. like you're waiting for something to happen. alas, nothing does. your thoughts are consuming you. where is he? why isn't he back yet? is he okay?

as if you manifested it, your mobile rings.

Caller ID: the pizzerias landline.

you pick up the phone, answering it immediately "Hello? will?"

"Hi, i won't be back for another hour" his voice is strained, rough. almost breathless

"oh" you respond. suspicious at the sound of his voice "what are you doing at the pizzeria so late?"

"working" he responds quickly. you hear thudding in the background.

"what was that?" more like who was that? you think to yourself.

"What was what? anyways. i have to go, i'll see you in a bit" he cuts off

"love you" you respond, voice soft, deflated.

For a few seconds you hear silence on the other end. "bye" he grunts out before he hangs up.

you sigh. breaking the silence of the house as you get up off the sofa and head upstairs to what used to be yours and William's bedroom but now it's just yours.

you climb into bed, crawling under the duvet. closing your eyes, trying to sleep. ultimately failing. the bed feels so big, so lonely.

After what feels like hours, you start drifting off to sleep before you hear the front door open and slam closed. keys jingling as they're inserted into the lock.

Heavy footsteps ascending the stairs.

The bedroom door creaks open. the landing light flooding the darkness of the bedroom.

Silence as he stands in the doorway.

Eyes directed towards your, assumed, sleeping figure. you hear him walk closer. the bed dipping as he sits on the side that was once allocated to him.

Silence again.

Staring at your back. he takes his boots off and gets under the covers, letting out a tired groan. you stay silent, waiting for his next move. why was he in bed with you?

he rolls over to you, wrapping his arm around you, hand resting on your hip, head rested on your shoulder as he plants kisses upon the skin.

"you awake?" he whispers into your skin

"mhm" you respond. soft. tired. a whisper.

you feel his hand gently move away the hairs adorning your neck. moving his kisses from your shoulder up to your neck. the hand resting on your hip, gently caressing your side as he trails it up and down.

"i miss you" he whispers out, kissing and painting your neck with saliva.

you let out a soft moan at his ministrations. confused to say the least. the mixed signals messing with your mind.

he snakes his hand down your side, fingers sliding under your pajama pants. no panties. no resistance. he paws at your thighs, before dipping his finger between your soaked folds. index finger circling your sensitive nub. eliciting a moan from you.

he growls, moving his finger down and plunging it inside your tight hole. moving it at an agonizingly slow pace.

in... out.... in.... out...

he slips another digit inside. speeding up. another moan from you. you bite your lip, attempting to suppress any thing else from coming out.

he curls his fingers, rubbing deliciously against your sensitive spot. mouth open, moaning loudly. you grab his arm, unsure why. Not trying to stop him at all.

he chuckles "Look at you" he whispers, mockingly. fingers working faster inside of you. you're close. he can tell. the soaked digits abandon your dripping cunt. you let out a protesting whine.

he rolls onto his back in the middle of the bed. you sit up, looking over at him. his cock straining against his pants. "here" he snaps his fingers, pointing to the space in between his legs. you obey. crawling between his legs. moving your hands up and unbuttoning his pants, pulling them down with his boxers. his cock springs free. standing to attention.

Big. thick. adorned with bulging veins. pink tip. as you remember it.

you place your hand around the shaft, leaning your head down, licking a stripe on the underside of the shaft to tip. mouth wrapping around the tip. he lets out a groan. a hiss.

your cheeks hallowing as you suck. hand stroking the base. working in unison. His fingers raking through your hair before grasping at locks. pushing you down onto his cock. taking him in your throat. causing you to gag slightly. he bites his lip, pulling you off and pushing you back down. thrusting his hips into the air with each suck.

after a while he pushes you off completely. you look up at him confused. he Shifts his body, getting onto his knees, turning you around and pushing you down into the bed. ass up in the air. he yanks your pajama pants down to your knees. moving his face down. kissing your cheeks before spreading them open. your pussy dripping. he accumulates the wetness on his fingers, sucking on them. letting out a groan at your taste. one he's missed.

silence.

you try to move your head up and look over your shoulder but he pushes your head back down into the duvet. you gasp as you feel his tongue dive into your soaked sex. tongue fucking your hole before licking stripes. sucking on your nub. obscene noises. rubbing his face into your pussy. beard scratching against your skin which only adds to your arousal. fingers back inside you, working in unison with his tongue. moans and groans from both of you. your core pulsating, grabbing the bed sheets as you're edging closer and closer to orgasm. getting desperate. grinding against his face as you feel your release closing in. before you know it you're screaming, cumming. shaking.

he plants a firm slap to your overstimulated pussy causing you to flinch and jump forward. you hear a small grunt as he grabs your waist, pulling you back to him.

"you wanted my attention, now you've got it" he growls out. grabbing his cock and aligning it to your tight entrance.

he pushes in abruptly. not even caring about if you can take it all or not. you did a while ago. in his mind, you should be able to now.

a loud whimper escapes your throat. he's quick to comfort you. shushing you.

"shh...shh i know, it's been a while bunny" he smooths his palm over your ass cheek with a modicum of affection.

"Relax bunny" he continues, slowly sawing into you. not the speed he wishes to go but your pussy is like a vice clamp right now.

a few soft and slow thrusts into you. whimpers and moans leaving your lips and he feels you relax. He takes that opportunity to stop lazily sawing into you, instead he speeds up, pounding into you at a unforgiving pace. moans, grunts and skin hitting each other, filling the silence of the room. grasping at the bedsheets as you feel yourself reaching peak again, toes curling, a loud squeak causing him to chuckle. a firm slap against your ass cheek, causing a red mark. his hands firm on your hips, pulling you back onto him with each thrust.

he's panting, in a frenzy as he feels himself get closer. before you know it he's filling you up. his seed painting your insides. pulling out. collapsing back on the bed with a thud, you follow suit. he wraps an arm around you possesively.

planting a soft kiss to your forehead. "i'm going to try and be better. for you. i promise" he mumurs between panting breaths.

you hope his promise was true. not some fake excuse to stall you on getting a divorce.

#william afton #fnaf au #husband william afton #peepaw willy #steve raglan x reader #william afton x reader #steve raglan #smut

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heretodestroyou · 1 year

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heart-shaped sunglasses.

pairing(s); matthew lillard!william afton x reader

fandom; five nights at freddy’s [movie]

w/c; 592

trigger/content warnings; slightly unholy thoughts from william about you in your uniform, fem!reader, (reader wears lipstick, has boobs, is called 'girl' by william and has medium-length hair), heavy lana del rey influences (diet mountain dew), mentioned that reader smokes cigarettes, age gap (william is late 40s, reader is mid 20s), no explicit romance but it's heavily implied there's mutual pining, written from william's pov, reader knows his real name, not proof-read, NO use of y/n, lmk if i missed anything.

stella speaks! at this point someone reblogs/tags me in a shitpost about this man, i add tags while my brain is inconsolably horny, and then all of a sudden i'm writing a new draft. and yes, ik lana wasn't really a thing in 1990s, but for now let's pretend he's still a silver fox in the 2020s.

tags; @truecobblepot bc ofc🫶🏽🫶🏽

inspired by this post and the shenanigans that ensued.

“I just wanted to know how much I appreciate you staying late these past couple weeks.”

William’s voice is smooth, he’s demeanor calm, the slight tilt of his head and the casual clasp of his hands in front of him giving no hint to the turmoil in his brain.

You’re his employee. His best employee, no less. He can’t afford to lose you, to drive you away. So he’ll make sure you’re not looking him in the eye when his roam your body.

The words that come from your mouth are sincere. He knows this. He doesn’t much care in this moment however. That red vest is pulled across your breasts, and the top button of your shirt is undone, your tie looser now that the building is empty.

It’s his fault, how tight your uniform is on you. He has your size on file, but he always orders a size down, just for him. He doesn’t pay mind to the way teenage pizza boys and older brothers here with siblings watch you, because he knows he’s miles better than they are.

His eyes linger in the plastic heart-shaped sunglasses hanging from your collar, and he nods towards them. “And those? I do hope you haven’t been wearing those all day.”

It’s a gentle correction. No matter how much William favors you, he still must keep his image up. You shake your head. “No, I just got them out of my locker when I closed up with Robyn.”

“Where did you get them?” He asks, leaning forward. The movement is subtle, but he knows you catch it.

“It was a gag gift from some party,” you answer, taking them off your vest and sliding them on. William's breath barely catches in his throat. The frames are the same shade as the blood red lipstick you love wearing.

It’s your signature. It’s how he knows you’ve been in the break room, paper coffee and water cups stamped with your lips in the trash, lipstick printed cigarette buts in the back alleyway that he’s convinced himself are prettier than anyone else’s.

William's brain is rapid firing all kinds of signals, ranging from you're nearly 20 years younger than him, to why have I never felt this was about my ex-wife?

Everything about you seems to catered to William's preferences. You hold eye contact with him and customers, you're great with kids (including his!), and you actually appreciate the care he takes of his animatronics.

He chuckles as you look around his dim office with your heart-shaped sunglasses. "Well, now, look at you. Never was there ever a girl so pretty." You giggle, tugging on a strand of hair and sliding them up into your hair. "That's so sweet, Mr. Afton!" William chuckles. You're picture perfect and William is damn well aware that he's no good for you. "Please, call me William. It's only fitting that we remain on first name basis...as of your promotion to assistant manager."

Your eyes widen, and you let out a little gasp. "Do you really mean that, Mr. Af-- William?"

God, the way your lips form his name is intoxicating. He nods, his demeanor wavering slightly as you beam at him, thanking him.

It’s a power move, he knows. A selfish one, no less. But he can’t risk losing the one competent employee. And besides, the assistant manager’s uniform is closer to his, the pale purple shirt and darker tie, black slacks and black shoes (of your choosing, of course).

And who is he to deny himself that view?

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #william afton #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #five nights at freddy's movie #fnaf movie #lana del rey #diet mountain dew #heart shaped sunglasses #🖋️ — my writing #🐻 — five nights at freddy’s

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scotianostra · 9 months

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On January 14th 1872 Edinburgh’s world famous dog, Greyfriars Bobby died.

For many visitors to Edinburgh, a must-see is the statue of Greyfriar's Bobby on George IV Bridge and, although it's officially frowned upon, rubbing Bobby's nose for luck. The true story of Greyfriar's Bobby is so enchanting that even Walt Disney decided to make a movie about him.

Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye Terrier who became famous in the 19th century for his unwavering loyalty to his owner. In 1850 John Gray, his wife, Jess and their son John arrived in Edinburgh. John was a gardener but could not find employment in his new hometown, so he worked as a night watchman for the Edinburgh Police Force.

It was a lonely job, so to keep him company, he bought a wee Skye Terrier, who he called Bobby. Soon John and Bobby became inseparable through the long winter nights they maintained a watch over their charges.

Edinburgh's damp and murky weather eventually took its toll on John, who was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Despite treatment from the Police Surgeon, John died on 15th February 1858 and was buried in Greyfriar's Kirkyard.

Bobby, who had never been apart from John, refused to leave the cemetery and stayed by his owner's grave. Despite the efforts of the graveyard staff to evict Bobby, he always returned and eventually, they gave up and provided little Bobby with shelter beside John's Grave.

Word of Bobby's loyalty quickly spread, and he became a local sensation. It is said that crowds would gather outside the graveyard at one o'clock each day. When Edinburgh's famous one o'clock gun was fired, Bobby would leave the grave and join local joiner William Dow for a walk to a local coffee shop.

John and Bobby visited Traill’s Temperance Coffee House on their rounds, and Bobby was always given something to eat by the owner John Traill. This tradition continued after John's passing, thanks to the generosity of the owner.

A new by-law was passed by the Edinburgh Council in 1867, making it mandatory that all dogs had a licence and a collar. The Lord Provost of Edinburgh, Sir William Chalmers, undertook to pay for Bobby's licence, and he received a collar with the inscription "Greyfriar's Bobby from the Lord Provost 1867 Licensed".

If you visit the Museum of Edinburgh on the Royal Mile, you can see Bobby's collar and drinking bowl. as seen in the pics, that I took in 2016/.

Bobby stayed by John's grave for 14 years until he passed in 1872. He was buried in the same cemetery, just a few feet away from his beloved owner.

Greyfriars Bobby's story is one of the most enduring tales of loyalty and devotion. It serves as a reminder of the special bond between humans and animals.

In 1981 a new headstone at Bobby's Grave was unveiled by the Duke of Gloucester. The inscription reads, "Greyfriars Bobby – Died 14 January 1872 – Aged 16 years – Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all".

The legend of Bobby touched the heart of Baroness Angelia Georgina Burdett-Coutts. She was the daughter of the banker Thomas Coutts (of Coutts Bank fame) and inherited £1.8 million on her grandfather's death, making her one of the wealthiest women in England.

Burdett-Coutts spent most of her wealth on philanthropic causes. She co-founded the Urania Cottage for "fallen young women" with Charles Dickens and became a social housing pioneer.

The Baroness got permission from Edinburgh Council to erect a statue of Bobby at the junction of Candlemakers Row and George IV Bridge, just outside Greyfriars Kirkyard. The artist William Brodie was commissioned to create the statue in 1872.

Since its unveiling, the statue of Bobby has become an important Edinburgh landmark.

#scotland #scottish #history #dog #loyalty #edinburgh

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c1tr1sfl0w3rs · 11 months

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'My Pretty Wife'

Hey guys! I know it's been a while I've been very busy with school stuff so I haven't had time to write but I had inspiration by a dream :) didnt edit or spell check

18+ MDNI NSFW DARK (DO NOT READ IF YOU DONT LIKE DARK CONTENT!!)

You loved being a housewife, in your pretty sundresses and aprons cooking, baking, cleaning doing your wifely duties that william expected you to do. it got lonely without him though, he was the only person you saw and without him it was just you, alone, you hate being alone. so everyday when your husband came home to you, you're kissing him and wrapped up in his big arms where you belong.

He loved the fact that you needed him, it stroked his ego and warmed his twisted heart. seeing you all pretty in the dresses he picked and bought for you, so desperate for a crumb of his affection, bombarding him with your love. "hi honey did you miss me baby?" your response is muffled into his chest but he hears every word "I always miss you daddy, I'm so lonely without you"

He breaks out into a smirk, he grabs your chin making you look into his handsome face, "I missed you more bunny" he leans into you and kisses you holding both sides of your face, making you breathless, dominating you with his mouth. he can put you into a daze with no effort, everytime he does it makes you drip onto your thighs because william won't let you wear panties under your dresses.

William was so proud how far you've come, how good he's trained you. his precious bunny, from a crying mess in his basement to his perfect pretty wife. breaking your passionate kiss seeing you as putty in his hand, he knew you were ready for the next part of his plan.

Looking into his eyes not a thought in your head. eyes you were scared of not long ago but that was now a fuzzy far away memory. you loved your husband and you would do anything to please just how he liked it.

"Bunny I wanna do something special tonight but I need to know you're ready for this, ready for me." he said moving his hands from your face to your waist. "I'm always ready for you daddy. I belong to you." your responses never fail to give him a smile as he smiles at you again, so big it's almost creepy since it was him though you found it exciting. he only smiled like that when he was gonna make you come so many times that what little you have left of your brain is gone.

"That's what I love to hear honey, I know you get lonely when I'm gone. how about daddy gives his sweet bunny a baby. do you want that sweetheart?" your heart thumping out of your chest, goosebumps erupt over your skin. a baby? you've never thought about kids but you would never be alone again and it would be your and williams baby. head racing a million miles a minute, he wanted a baby with you. he picked you as his wife and now he wants a baby, a family with you. your heart swelled with happiness. you're just as twisted as he is

After a long pause of silence you finally spoke up. "please give me your baby, please I need you daddy." the second those words left your mouth william was kissing you intensely, consuming you and turning you to mush. "I knew you were gonna be a good bunny and take my babies when I first saw you, daddy had to have you baby and I'm so glad I do. my best girl, mine who do you belong to honey?" his words combined with the fact he had now picked you up and was carrying you back to your shared bedroom made you a mess you wondered if he could feel your wetness leaking though his pants with the way your legs wrapped around him. "I belong to you daddy, only you." he places you down on the bed crawling in between your spread legs. sucking on your neck, thumbing your hard nipples through your thin dress. you whimper out a pathetic noise and he snickers then whispers in your ear "beg me to touch you slut, prove to daddy that you need me."

Your hands reach up to grab at his wrists "Ill do anything please touch me, I love it when you touch me" he moves a hand from your chest to your thighs under your skirt, tracing the letters of his name right next to where you need him to touch you. "please don't tease me please touch me."

"My needy bunny" william finally drags a finger through your slit. "baby you're making a mess" as his other hand wraps around your neck you whine pathetically.

he slips two fingers in and thrusts them in and out hitting that perfect spot every time. the louder he makes you moan and cry his name the harder it makes his dick.

"Daddys ruined you for anyone else two seconds and you're a dumb baby humping my hand." he starts rubbing your clit with his thumb and you can feel your orgasm wash over you almost painful with how good he makes you feel. he talks you through it words condescending, fingers pumping. William doesn't stop until you're crying begging him to give you a second. "I thought you could take it honey, you talk a big game for someone crying over two of my fingers. Now lick them clean"

Your mouth takes in his sticky digits, tongue lapping at them. hallowing your cheeks and sucking like you would on him with your teary eyes.

"Damn princess you make me so hard it hurts, lay back now I'm gonna fuck you so good the only thing you'll know is the word daddy." you're quick to do as he says pulling up the skirt of your dress, spreading your legs open. he unbuckles his belt and pulls out his heavy cock. So pretty long thick and leaking all for you.

He pushes into you, legs thrown over his shoulders and starts a rhythm that has you gripping the sheets.

"Oh my- oh daddy please" he moans, William loves having you like this wrapped around him. Vulnerable and the little broken pieces of your soul in his hands.

You'll never feel more pleasure then you feel right now. The power he feels from it is almost better than your sweet little cunt.

Almost, nothing could feel better than you. Soft gummy slick hole all for him. The way you flutter around him when you're about to fall apart like youre doing now. Addicting he could never get enough of you.

"I can feel that you're close honey, come on daddys dick" you come instantly, crying out as he fucks you through it. "Good girl so fucking good for daddy" He fucks you like an animal, chasing his high and overstimulating you. He finishes inside you , pressed flush against him. You feel him soften and think you are gonna sleep like this plugged by him to make sure he gets what he wants but his voice startles you out of your sleepy daze

"Silly bunny were not done yet, you're gonna suck me clean and then I'm gonna fill you with another load just to make sure you give me a baby"

AHHH I HOPE U LIKED IT!! IVE BEEN HAVING BAD BRAIN ROT SINCE I SAW THE MOVIE! Anyways sunny out 🧚‍♀️

#william afton x you #fnaf william afton #fnaf movie #william afton x reader #william afton smut #william afton #sunny✏️

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slackville-records · 6 days

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John William Coltrane, also known as "Trane"

(September 23, 1926 – July 17, 1967), was an American jazz saxophonist and composer. Working in the bebop and hard bop idioms early in his career, Coltrane helped pioneer the use of modes in jazz and was later at the forefront of free jazz. He organized at least fifty recording sessions as a leader during his career, and appeared as a sideman on many other albums, notably with trumpeter Miles Davis and pianist Thelonious Monk.

As his career progressed, Coltrane and his music took on an increasingly spiritual dimension. His second wife was pianist Alice Coltrane and their son Ravi Coltrane is also a saxophonist. Coltrane influenced innumerable musicians, and remains one of the most significant saxophonists in music history. He received many posthumous awards and recognitions, including canonization by the African Orthodox Church as Saint John William Coltrane and a special Pulitzer Prize in 2007.

John Coltrane at his "Blue Train" session of September 15. 1957 at the Van Gelder Studio, Hackensack, New Jersey.

Photo by © Francis Wolff

A cropped version of the photograph was used on the original album cover.

https://www.facebook.com/TheWorldOfJazz

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oftenwantedafton · 7 months

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Forgotten - William Afton x Female Reader x Michael Afton

Word count 1.7k

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual touching, cheating

Excerpt - He recognizes nothing when he awakens. The name he is given, William Afton, harbors no familiarity. The faces of his family, a wife and three children, are foreign to him. Amnesia. That is what he has. Not uncommon in a vehicle collision like he’s been in. Amazing he’d survived with so little other damage, the physician tells him. Amazing he’d survived at all. A miracle, they call it. He does not feel like anything so wondrous as that.

He is adrift in a world of gray, until his eldest son Michael brings home his girlfriend for dinner, and the world suddenly comes alive again, a burst of color that dwells within you.

Also available on AO3

In the beginning, all the man sees is darkness.

Pitch black, liquid night, a void comprised of every color mixed together, entangled, ensnared. Trapped like he is now, struggling to move. He had been driving…he remembers that, and only that. Struggling so hard to see. Why is it so dark? An aching pressure in his head. Stomach roiling with nausea. He clings to consciousness but it slips from his grasp.

The next color he knows is eigengrau, that shade of not quite gray in the absence of sight when one’s eyes are closed. Foreign sounds detected. Voices. Groaning metal. Cracked glass shattering. Pain when he is extricated from the wreckage. Enveloping blackness once more.

He recognizes nothing when he awakens. The name he is given, William Afton, harbors no familiarity. The faces of his family, a wife and three children, are foreign to him. Amnesia. That is what he has. Not uncommon in a vehicle collision like he’s been in. Amazing he’d survived with so little other damage, the physician tells him. Amazing he’d survived at all. A miracle, they call it. He does not feel like anything so wondrous as that.

When he returns home he does not see it as such. He does not recognize the possessions, does not feel comfortable in the environment. He is still a blank slate, waiting for a memory to etch itself onto the surface. He conceals much of the uncertainty, and this, at least, he recognizes. He thinks he has always been good at deception, though he cannot explain how, precisely, he knows. It just comes naturally. So he pretends that it feels normal to sit amongst strangers. To return to a job he recollects nothing about. He cannot make sense of the strange animatronics in the restaurant he owns or the homework of the children gathered around the kitchen table or the woman he shares a bed with who feels a million miles away, cool and distant. Maybe the space is not new. Maybe things were strained before the accident. He has no way of knowing for certain. Only that it all feels wrong.

He is adrift in a world of gray, until his eldest son Michael brings home his girlfriend for dinner, and the world suddenly comes alive again, a burst of color that dwells within you.

He struggles not to stare at you seated across from him at the dining room table that evening, but it is difficult. His eyes are inexorably drawn to your features. At last, something that makes him feel. What that feeling is, he cannot say yet. It still seems too raw. But it gives him hope, as absurd as that sounds. Maybe other things will become familiar too. Maybe he’ll start to remember. Maybe he won’t feel like such a stranger, an intruder, an outcast.

You’ve brought dessert. Fresh baked cookies. Sugar dissolving on his tongue. Your eyes meeting his. There’s a bit of chaos at the front door when Michael realizes he’s misplaced his jacket and his sister decides to hide his car keys. Suddenly alone. Handing you your coat. Lips parting to speak. His son has returned, keys in hand, properly clothed for the outdoors. Tugging on your hand as he leads you away. You turn to look back at him. His fingers curl around the doorframe. Color gone again.

***

Another day he finds you at home. Sitting on the front stoop, waiting. Michael’s late, apparently. The older man reaches behind the shutter of the nearest window. Spare key. He looks surprised to find it clutched between his fingers as he shares this secret location with you in case you found yourself stranded outdoors again. A memory that had just spontaneously resurfaced. The hospital specialists had said it could take days or weeks or months to recover. This is a small victory, but he’ll take it.

You follow him inside. His wife is with his other two children. Soccer practice. He’s still trying to get the routine down. His turn to make dinner. You volunteer to help. Some things you need are just out of reach. His hand lightly grazing your lower spine as he steadies you, retrieving what you need. Music issuing from a CD player mounted under a kitchen cabinet. The movement of your body in time with the beat as you work. Washing, cutting, organizing. The way the afternoon sun streams through the window and bathes your skin in radiance. Soft smile. Sparkling eyes. Was that what had drawn Michael toward you?

You continue working in the kitchen, making it your own. Moving in the house as naturally as if you were part owner. How long had you been with his son? He’s afraid to ask. Reluctant to hear answers. To dwell too long on the idea that his offspring is the reason for your presence. As if you’re on loan. He reaches for you impulsively. Turns coward at the last minute and pretends to lift a stray strand of hair from your shoulder.

The sound of the front door opening, of younger children bustling through the entrance. Feet racing upstairs. He sets the table. Watches his tardy son finally make an appearance. Hands on your waist. Mouth brushed against yours. And again. Lingering. The plate slips from the older man’s fingers. Shatters as it strikes the floor. You’re instantly by his side with a dust pan and brush. So many pieces. So sharp. The cut he sustains weeping bright crimson. He rises to his feet, index finger tucked absently in his mouth, discovering the flavor of metal. You’re still kneeling. Looking up. He wants to push that injured digit between your lips. Let you taste him. How strong the impulse is. Choking. It hurts to breathe. A remnant from the accident, perhaps.

Or maybe it’s just you. That burst of warm color he wants.

***

You’re in the living room outside of his home office, watching television with Michael.

He can detect the precise moment when the conversation becomes muted, when the noise from the movie doesn’t quite mask the little murmurs and moans and gasps. Wet lips pressing together. A quick flare of jealousy igniting, a spark of red. How absolutely indecent of him. Of course his son was entitled to make out with his girlfriend. He doubts it would go very far, but he’s given him the talk regardless. As least, he thinks he has. He tries to concentrate on the spreadsheet in front of him onscreen. Trying to make sense of finances for the business. It still doesn’t feel familiar. Things are quieter in the other room and he holds his breath, trying to eavesdrop, willing sound to travel through the open doorway. Nothing. He’s envisioning the first two buttons of that pretty pink cardigan you’re wearing undone, lips flushed and swollen, hair mussed when he, yes he, not his son, places a kiss just above those pearl decorations at the base of your throat. A fantasy or a memory? Heat in his groin. The beginnings of swelling he’s going to need to address. A visit to the bathroom, then. Just to have it done and over. Knowing full well it won’t lessen the guilt or assuage the desire.

He won’t pass through the living room, opting for a detour through the French doors that lead to the kitchen instead. Nearly to the first floor bathroom now.

It’s occupied. You’re about to exit, hand on the light switch. Frozen, watching him. An apology (For what? He’s done nothing except perhaps have some perverted thoughts but it’s not as if he’s acting on them. Had acted on them. Had he?) forming and dying on his lips. Moving forward before you can exit the doorway. Crowding you back into the room. The door shut and locked behind him.

No buttons undone. Or perhaps you’d adjusted them already. Small random droplets of water when you’d likely smoothed your hands over frizzy strands of hair that haven’t been absorbed yet. His fingers sifting through those tresses now, tugging your face back lightly. Bending to kiss you before he can think better of it. He cannot discern if this is a new sensation or a recreation from a previous interlude. Only knows that he enjoys it. That you’re enjoying it. The soft moan into his mouth. That mouth you’d just shared with his son. His grip in your hair tightens. He does not like the idea of sharing. Wants to mark you as his. Sucks a patch of skin on the side of your neck until a dusky maroon color erupts.

William. The name has meant nothing since the accident, but breathed from your lips makes something in his chest ache. It has been Mr. Afton every time you’ve visited, but now that formal address has been sundered and he is glad of it. His fingers roam places where they should not be, underneath your sweater and beneath the waistband of the jeans he hastily unfastens. You’re wearing purple lingerie. His favorite color, something else finally becoming familiar. His fingers probe your slick sex and he groans against your lips, your neck. Has Michael been touching this place, is that why you’re so…

Your tongue lavs the shell of his ear, the lobe clutched with your teeth. Palm roughly stroking his straining erection through his trousers. A needy whimper escapes from you. Whatever his son had started he’ll finish. Pressing a finger inside your entrance. So restrictive, meeting resistance, barely entered. Not defiled yet, then. Your hips gyrating against his hand. Thumb caressing circles over your clit. So warm and wet. How much he wants to taste you. But there is the risk of discovery. Urgency. You’re babbling in his ear. Pleading for release. Zipper of his fly undone and your hand shoved inside the flap of the boxers. Touching his cock. He’s fucking your fingers. Mouth wet along your jaw. Your own pressed against his shirt, a damp spot forming, palpable through the heat of that panting maw.

Still too loud, even muffled as your face is, the hand in your hair shoving you further into his chest when you keen through your orgasm. His own following, seed spilling hotly over your hand.

Standing side by side at the mirror. A little cramped in that narrow half bathroom. Checking appearances. Every second passing making your absence more suspicious. You have to part ways. You have to go back to Michael now. He still doesn’t know if this is new. Perhaps something that was waiting to happen. Inevitable. You lift on tiptoes to kiss him once more. Eyes sliding closed to find the indistinct gray. The light switched off, your color gone, the darkness returning.

#william afton x you #william afton x reader #michael afton x reader #michael afton x you #dividers credit @saradika graphics

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 3 months

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You know how in Spare Harry talked about a false rumour that Charles and Camilla made up about William? Well, everyone seems to agree it was the one about Catherine and Rose that later originated the affair rumor.

My question is, why wouldn't Harry tell exactly what rumour he was talking about? It is not like he had any problem woth giving details about other stories. If the affair is false, than why wouldn't he say it explicit? Doenst he want to clear William image and protect the brother and family he "loves"? Seems strange... I wonder what his tought process is

Harry couldn’t do more because he doesn’t actually know what happened:

I couldn’t get the whole story, he was talking too fast, and was way too upset. He was seething actually. I gathered that Pa and Camilla’s people had planted a story or stories about him and Kate, and the kids, and he wasn’t going to take it anymore. Give Pa and Camilla an inch, he said, they take a mile. They’ve done this to me for the last time.

I got it. They’d done the same to me and Meg as well.

(recap of a previous situation with Charles and Camilla)

I was glad that Willy felt he could still come to me about Pa and Camilla, even after all we’d been through recently. Seeing an opportunity to address our recent tensions, I tried to connect “what Pa and Camilla had done to him with what the press had done to Meg.

Willy snapped: I’ve got different issues with you two! In a blink he shifted all his rage onto me. I can’t recall his exact words, because I was beyond tired from all our fighting, to say nothing of the recent move into Frogmore, and into new offices—and I was focused on the imminent birth of our first child. But I recall every physical detail of the scene. The daffodils out, the new grass sprouting, a jet taking off from Heathrow, heading west, unusually low, its engines making my chest vibrate. I remember thinking how remarkable that I could still hear Willy above that jet. I couldn’t imagine how he had that much anger left after the confrontation in Nott Cott.

He was going on and on and I lost the thread. I couldn’t understand and I stopped trying. I fell silent, waiting for him to subside.

So in other words, Harry - who claims to be his brother’s best friend and confidante - didn’t care enough about what his brother was going through to pay attention to what he was actually saying, but cares enough to note the scenery and justified it as being tired of fighting.

Yeah, that’s not a reliable narrator. That’s an asshole who probably took an edible and is trying to cover it up.

Anyway, the devil is in the details. Either Harry didn’t know what William was talking about or Harry is trying to hide his (and Meghan’s complicity) in whatever happened. Probably both, since Harry’s vivid description of the scenery is classic “smoke and shadows” deception.

My theory: William called Harry to vent about something Charles and Camilla had leaked to the press totally unrelated to the affair rumor, Harry made it about him and Meghan, and then William popped off about Harry and Meghan leaking to the press and Harry can’t have that because Harry is the valiant hero fighting to slay the press dragon and no one can know that he and/or his wife are the ones talking to the press.

#sussexes #brf #spare #theories

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teecupangel · 8 months

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https://youtu.be/ifCWN5pJGIE?si=MvBHr36xNbHdsjYH

This kinda fits Desmonds mom in some way. Thoughts?

Here’s the embed video version for those who don’t wanna copy and paste the link:

youtube

I’m just imagining her hearing for the first time that her son, the son she hadn’t seen for nine years, could not even seen or talk to for one last time for the sake of both of their safety, was now dead.

Sacrificing his life to save the world.

Savior?

Messiah?

What used were those moniker to her dead son.

She wouldn’t be able to see him ever again.

She wouldn’t be able to touch his cheeks and take a good look of the man he had become in person.

She wouldn’t be able to smile and say “You’ve grown so much.”

She wouldn’t be able to ask…

“Were you happy these past years?”

“Was letting you go to be free worth the pain of not being by your side for nine long years?”

“It should have been you.”

She felt him freeze, the hands on her shoulders trembling ever so slightly.

“You should have died instead of our son!” She screamed as tears fell from her eyes.

He opened his mouth, most likely to call her name but stopped, letting out a gasp as her hands curled around his throat, squeezing him with the strength of an Assassin that have been in the field since she had been a teenager.

“You share the same blood as him! You’re a descendant of that cursed Auditore-Kenway line these beings haunt!” She shouted.

She could break his neck.

Snap it.

She’d done it before.

She’d kill so many people in the name of the Brotherhood before.

She was raised to be an Assassin.

She could just as easily-

She let out a frustrated scream as she threw him away, covering her eyes as bitter tears fell from her eyes.

He called out her name, his voice hoarse.

Was he grieving as well?

Did he loved their child as much as she did?

Who knows?

Who cares.

“Get out.” She lowered her hands as she ordered, the decades of forcing her emotions to shut down coming to the forefront, “Don’t ever show your face to me again, William Miles.”

Her expression turned to one of frigid nothingness.

It reminded William Miles of a recording of a memory of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

The face the legendary mentor had made when his desire to kill the man who killed his youngest son triumphed over his desire for peace and truth.

“The next time I see you, I will claw open your chest and rip your heart out.” She promised in an emotionless tone.

She watched him leave.

The man she loved and loathed in equal measure.

It should have been him.

No.

It should have been them.

They should have been the one to die in their son’s place.

They both failed him as parents.

And now…

All she had left was a Brotherhood barely afloat and the useless legacy of her blood.

After all…

Those who have the blood of the Ibn-La'Ahad were meant to lose their beloved child.

#i have no idea if this is what you wanted nonny #but this is what you’re gonna get #ngl i totally wrote this after reading the latest chapter of the orv webtoon with the kim family drama #that’s why this is heavily family drama-centric lol #here’s me again with my headcanon of desmond’s mom being raised like a levantine assassin #here’s my usual reminder that i think ubisoft was going for #william and his wife loving each other and having a sorta healthy relationship #but i am not kind enough to bill for that #also there’s a possibility that bill’s wife died during the attack on the farm in ac1 #and that’s why he’s so cagey when desmond asked about her #ask and answer #assassin's creed #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #do i tag desmond?#imma tag #william miles

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the-empress-7 · 3 months

Note

My completely made-up tin-hat theory about the aquamarine ring is this -

Meghan was lent that aquamarine ring for her reception as something of Harry's mum (Diana) to wear for the big day, and also a sweet nod to something blue. I think William may have had a hand in this decision and it was mainly something nice he did for his brother. Meghan and her PR then ran with it and said she inherited the ring as Harry's wife. The products cycle around that was massive and may have put William and the BRF on high alert with the way Meghan was claiming to now own that ring. There may have been some difficulties getting that ring back from Meghan after that.

I've thought this because very soon after this, during the aus tour, there was an article (in the Times maybe?) that said William had banned Meghan from ever borrowing any BRF jewels. At the time I thought what was this decision based on? Apart from the wedding tiara Meghan had not been lent any other BRF jewels, except for Diana's aquamarine ring. So was there maybe some problem in getting that back from her?

Then she wore the blood diamond earings and made a big deal about how she owns them. And she wore them twice just to make a statement. So who was she making this statement for? The public didn't know the full story then. The staff didn't even know she was going to wear these, so why would she have travelled with those earings all the way to Australia? My guess was that she was showing the middle finger to whoever had said no to loaning her BRF or Diana jewels.

My guess is that because of Williams' position and him being the eldest son all her estate was inherited by William and not infact divided 50/50. When he turned 30, his sisters and brother (who had probably been the caretakers and keeping it at althorp) gave it to him.

Sometimes last year, karen Spencer said as much in her comments section on insta on a Diana related post.

Because of the provenance of her jewellery, it may have gone in bulkto William as part of the estate (ie , inheritance). Harry may have just inherited the money and trust fund. And some smaller keepsakes for sentimental reasons. He likely did not mind this earlier, but Meghan, once she got to know, took offence. But neither of them would say anything against the Spencers and what is likely a perfectly legally binding inheritance situation. .

Talk about stories that are a blast from the past! I think your aquamarine ring theory is pretty solid. If we know anything about Meghan, it's that if you give her an inch she will take a mile.

I do think William banning her from borrowing royal jewelry had to do with Tiara Gate and the appalling way she and Harry treated everyone as a result of it. Also remember that things went south very quickly after the wedding. By the time the Sucks left for ANZ, William had already started the process of kicking them out of the Royal Foundation. The stuff that we the public know, is just the tip of the iceberg.

If Meghan really did still have some of Diana's jewelry in her possession there is no way in hell that she wouldn't be wearing it all the damn time. Instead she is left cosplaying her outfits.

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liyawritesss · 1 year

Note

hmm riri finding the perfect ring for you and then proposing hmmmm

ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ɪ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀꜱᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴜᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ

Characters: MCU!Riri Williams x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Drabble

Word Count: 1k

Synopsis: Normally vows are made at the altar, but Riri just can’t seem to wait till your decked out in white to swear her life to you.

Warnings: mild cursing

A/N: This is honestly such a cute ask….i love Riri being a hopeless romantic and when she finds that one person she knows she’s gonna be with, there’s nothing stopping her from loving you in the way a wife would

Tags: @6-noir @playhousedistee @shuririsdefenseattorney @shuriszn @venusdusse @wrendermedone @writingintheshadowsforever @mbakuetshurisprincess @verachii @slytherin-34 @the_lesbian-fangirl @itsmaniiiiiiiii @strangefishflapturtle @cuddl3s4shur1 @shuriislut @dejaonline @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @inmyheadimobsessed @aaliyg @cafehyunji @chunkybabygorl @rosielovesfamily @lulu-network @killmongerskeepermain @riri-red-car

“I have a question.”

It’s the first thing said that breaks the silence that had been looming in Riri’s room for the past hour. It was a comfortable silence, spent with the two of you laying in each other's arms. You’d snuggled up under Riri’s side as she was entranced in a pretty intense basketball game on her gaming console, you busying yourself by watching TikToks on your phone when she had opened the floor for a conversation.

“Yeah?” You respond, still entranced in your phone.

Riri took a pause, her fingers stilling on her controller. She bites her lip, choosing the next words carefully.

“What does a ring mean to you?”

You find yourself stilling with your scrolling as well, eyebrows furrowing as you tear your eyes from your screen to look up at the girl you were cuddled under. Her eyes had stayed glued to the television screen; probably because if Riri were to return your gaze, the practiced prose she had conjured up would have flown out the window.

“What do you mean?” You asked, rightfully confused by her choice of words. A second passes before Riri completely pauses her game to direct her attention to you.

“If I got you a ring, what would it mean to you?”

Many people would say that nineteen was too young to know the person you’d want to spend forever with. At nineteen, you’re supposed to be finishing your first year of college. At nineteen, you’re supposed to be partying with your friends, drinking the night away, figuring out what you want your twenties to look like.

At 19, you’re supposed to be taking risks. But Riri has had enough of taking risks.

You’d been the first good thing to happen to Riri in a long time. Since the death of her best friend. Since the whole ordeal with Wakanda and Talokan. And in the two years of knowing you, and the year of dating you, if anything had become more certain to the young engineer, it was that the way she felt about you was the kind of love her mother and step-father had. The kind of love you could feel from miles away, intense and all-knowing. And she had no intention of letting it go.

“I…I would love it, obviously,” you say, “i love anything you get me, Riri, even though I keep telling you I’on need nothin’-”

“-because having me is enough, yeah, yeah- that’s not the point.”

You move to sit up, and Riri helps you, snaking an arm around your waist, discarding her controller to the side as she puts all her attention on you now. She swears the thumping of her heart can be heard outside her body, it being so harsh and profound in her chest that it almost feels as if it shakes her being with each pump of blood in and out of the organ.

“What would it mean to you if I got you a ring?”

You took a moment, letting the thoughts swirl in your mind, trying to conjure up a response that would satisfy her. There isn’t a word imaginable that would describe the absolute joy you’d be in if the purpose of said jewelry piece was for what you thought it was for.

You took one of Riri’s hands into your own, the caramel velvet of her skin beautifully clashing with your own, molding together as if crafted to belong together.

“It would mean the world to me,” you say, and you’re sure you had more words to say, but once your eyes lock with hers, they get lost in your throat. Perhaps it was the intensity of her stare, and the amount of love they’ve always had for you, or perhaps it’s the way she gently pulls her hand from yours to rest under your chin, focusing your attention onto her, “why?”

Because I have a promise ring under my pillow with our marriage date engraved inside the band. Because I love you fucking much I can’t see life without you anymore. I’ve lost too much. I can’t lose you. I want to promise to be with you until we can make it official.

“Look under my pillow over there,” Riri hums.

There’s a tightness that rises in your chest; a good kind of tightness, anticipation for what you would find. The sound of rustling sheets fill the room as you reach up towards the head of the bed, a hand diving under the feather stuffed pillows, fishing around until your fingers curl around something small, cube like, velvet. You almost stall for a moment, but the hand on your lower back is a reminder that the anticipation you feel is maximized by ten for the engineer behind you. So you pull back, and with you comes the tiny jewelers box, as well as what you know to be inside of it.

A silence fills the room as your gaze switches between Riri and examining the velvet box in your hand.

“It ain’t the real thing yet, but-” Riri begins, her hand slipping the box from yours and into her own, opening the top to reveal the ring inside. It takes a minute for you to recognize that it’s the same ring you’d been gawking at in one of the jewelry stores window displays downtown a month prior. If your calculations were correct, that ring would have cost her at least a band; and if she got herself one as well, then more.

She takes the ring from it’s plush white crevice inside the box, holding it up for the both of you to see, “-I figured it’d be enough til we get everything right.”

It takes everything in you to hold back the tears swelling in your eyes, begging to fall from your lids. Speaking would have surely opened the floodgates as well. All you could do was allow her to hold your hand as she slipped the jewelry onto your ring finger, fitting perfectly onto it.

“I ain’t letting you go, (Y/N),” Riri proclaims, as one hand interlocks with your now ringed hand and the other fishes under her hoodie to reveal the silver chain, which has another ring hanging from it, as you suspected, “but I swear when I get my shit together, there won’t be anything that’s gon’ stop me from asking you.”

And yet, with the glistening in your eyes, and the tightness of which you hold her hand, Riri already knows your answer.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 6 days

Text

1935 Duesenberg

Clark Gable and his 1935 Duesenberg

His wife, Carole Lombard, had one too, which is now in a museum in NZ.

HOLLYWOOD, Calif.

Today, the car’s odometer shows 13,416 miles.

#duesenberg #car #cars #clark gable #carole lombard #White Mayfair Ball

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novacqnes · 2 years

Note

hi hello!! may i request a ellie x wife!reader (cause i love ur detective ellie fic so much oh my) where’s the reader is jealous of this new girl in jackson being mentored by ellie on shooting lessons and the girl is being flirty towards ellie to a point where she’s caressing ellie’s muscles 🙄 ellie notices the reader’s jealousy that leads to taking the reader to a “private” shooting lesson and they just show that they only belong to each other 🤭

lesson learned // ellie williams

warning: angsty; guns, jealousy, possessiveness, smut; face-sitting, oral, dirty talk, fingering (switch!ellie)

pairing: ellie williams x fem reader

a/n: this is by far the longest fic that i’ve written so it took me a while but it is finally done! thank you for sending a request :)

to say you saw red would’ve been an understatement. sure, it acknowledged the magnitude of anger behind an individual, illustrating it as one of the most powerful colors— one of vengeance, fury, and rage. yet for that very reason, it rendered the phrase useless to you because the emotions you experienced weren’t that of blinding rancor. rather they were that of a distinctly unique type of jealousy. it was the type that blurred the lines between anger, drawing in facets of passion and love that transformed the film of crimson over your eyes into a piercing navy blue.

through the blurry hue of your gaze stood a vast field that made your passion seem almost minuscule in comparison. dozens of people stood in the dry grass, thick beads of pestering sweat clung to their skin as the sun’s wrath strengthened. in your ears the loud reverberating sounds of bullets whirred by, enough to be heard from a mile away however you weren’t phased by it. your attention was centered elsewhere just a mere few feet away from where you stood.

monique? or maybe it was monica? you watched as she stood clueless with bright red cheeks that served as nothing more than a taunt to you. her fingers snuck tightly around the grip of the gun and her posture deformed. it all seemed purposeful. you couldn’t fathom how she could survive for so long without even knowing how to hold a gun properly let alone fire one? by no means was she a pro, yet every giggle and glance at her mentor seemed like a ploy to get closer to the woman.

unsuspectingly ellie stood behind the woman, a bit too close for your own comfort. she wore a white tank top and tight blue jeans that molded against her body. offering you and monica the clearest of views. repeatedly your eyes were drawn to her arms, their shape, and more specifically how her muscles contracted with each slight movement. the sight stirred a pit of warmth inside of you but the flirtatious glances from monica morphed it into gut-wrenching nausea.

“like this, el?” she cooed, her voice light and ditzy. she loosened her grip around the pistol as she leaned into ellie’s touch. her gaze cautiously trailing back towards your wife’s arms. her name mimicked a wretched poison rolling off the tip of monica’s tongue. it felt foreign to your ears, spurring a loud ringing sound through them.

“here, i’ll show you.” she moved, taking the gun from monica’s hands as she demonstrated the right form. the newbie watched carefully as ellie extended her arms out, lacing both hands along the black grip. words flowed from her mouth yet you couldn’t make out a thing. fierce nearby bullets made it so ellie’s voice was beyond distorted and the only source of reliance was the stomach-churning image right before you.

much of it was a blur although you remember monica’s fingers gliding along the smooth surface of your wife’s skin. they trailed over her biceps lightly before making their way to her shoulders. her movements were subtle and slow, causing your chest to tighten with each one. fresh hot tears brimmed the corners of your eyes and a distinct bitter taste plagued your tongue. all you could do was watch for what felt like hours as the woman you loved was touched by someone else— in such a casual manner.

there was something so arrogant and brazen about the way monica looked at ellie, even in the way she caressed her. it was as if it was all a game to her and with that, you couldn’t stand to remain in the scorching field anymore. with your vision blurred with tears and hazy blue splotches, you turned sharply on your heel, narrowly dodging the onslaught of incoming bullets.

jumbled, poorly pieced-together thoughts clouded your mind on the way back to the home you shared with ellie. the memory of her and monica seared its way into your mind despite your best efforts to suppress it. you needed to believe that it was nothing. otherwise, you were bound to drive yourself insane. you trusted ellie and there was no denying it, she wouldn’t allow it to go any further. nevertheless, it didn’t feel good having to witness it.

at home you curled up on the couch, basking in the serene silence as darkness fell. she was late again. it wasn’t entirely unusual for practice to run late yet it didn’t soothe your doubts. you loathe to admit it, truly, but you couldn’t really breathe without her. even now, your lungs felt like they were closing in on themselves, the longer you waited, the more it hurt, and you cursed yourself for caring about the stupid lesson.

the loud creak from the wooden door yanked you from your thoughts. ellie emerged from behind it, her collar drenched in sweat. short auburn hair was pulled back between her ears giving you a prime view of the freckles splayed across her cheeks. they were flushed pink, only deepening as she set her sights on you seated across the room.

“hey, i missed you earlier…” she whispered, shooting you a quick grin. a deep warm feeling engulfed you as she sauntered over collapsing beside you on the couch. dark crescents took shape under her eyes and the fatigue was palpable but nothing beat the feeling of having her all to yourself.

“thought we were gonna walk back together?” ellie trailed her fingers along the side of your face, brushing the pad of her thumb on your cheek. you shrugged, moving closer. her skin felt warm and dewy pressed against yours. it nearly distracted you from the memory that hung over you like a looming gargoyle.

“i was tired,” you muttered, your voice bordering on a sharp but short tone, easy enough for ellie to detect. she didn’t address it right away but her eyes did. for a moment they settled on you, hints of confusion glimmering in them yet neither of you dared to bring it up first.

“you feeling okay?” specks of doubt reflected in ellie’s gaze as she studied you, concern seeping from her voice. maybe you really were losing it. jealousy had a way of manifesting itself through physical symptoms, stomach aches, chest pains— sudden changes in behavior. ellie brought her hand to your forehead feeling for a temperature as she leaned down. you weren’t entirely sure if she was aiming for your lips or temple, to be honest, you didn’t spare a moment to figure it out. you couldn’t kiss ellie— not without the image of monica pervading your thoughts. hence you didn’t, dodging the small peck from your wife’s lips.

ellie’s brows furrowed into an arch, “what was that for?” small, but prominent lines formed on the top of her forehead. confusion flickered in her expression as instant regret mounted onto yours.

“it’s nothing— just not in the mood. are you mentoring monica again tomorrow?”

ellie shrugged, “probably, why?” there it was again, that fucking look that made ellie want to drop down to her knees and apologize— and for god knows what? it all made sense. however, your response further solidified it. ellie hadn’t thought about monica since their lesson. but even the smallest mention of her from your mouth was drenched in envy that she couldn’t quite fathom. she was yours and yours entirely— surely you should’ve known this?

you hated this kind of silence, the kind that in its true form was the loudest. draining out every inch of sound in the room. it remained that way as ellie inspected you, piecing apart every aspect of your being, from the shift in your pupils to the steady inhale of your breath. abruptly you rose from the couch mumbling a low “forget it,” as you left your wife behind.

ellie felt more confused than she did conflicted. she wanted to call after you, maybe even follow yet she couldn’t bring herself to move. surrounded by silence she sunk back into the linen couch, bringing her arms behind her head. she needed some way to prove it— some way to reassure you and it was apparent that she wasn’t going to get anywhere tonight, but she could at least try.

icy tension filled the room faster than ellie could blink. unmoving, you remained on your side of the bed, eyes fixed on the cream-colored wall. the mattress dipped down beside you, accompanied by a warm earthy scent that filled your nostrils. slowly ellie brought her arms to your waist, pulling you towards her chest. the immediate reaction was cold although you didn’t move away. neither of you uttered a word, but in truth, the lingering uncertainty said more than either of you could for the rest of the night.

bright rays beamed through the curtains, followed by the sounds of clinking steel that yanked you from your slumber. the bed felt lighter, even more lonely. it was normal for ellie to leave in the morning and that wasn’t the issue— it was who she was leaving for that agitated you. that smug face and whiny high-pitched voice that would consume your wife’s time for hours on end. and you feared this morning would be no different.

you ambled into the living room to find ellie prepped for yet another shooting lesson. she wore a brown flannel shirt that fit loosely around her arms. blue jeans that clung perfectly to her legs, offering you an ample view of the soft skin along her waist. on the table, in front of her a black duffel bag stuffed with bullets, guns, and glass bottles.

“up early again?” you whispered, joining her alongside the wooden table. an ounce of annoyance crept into your tone despite your attempts to suppress it.

ellie slipped a hand around your waist, pulling you towards her as a small smile took place on her lips, “i’m taking you out today….”

quick palpitations reverberated against your chest with ellie’s words and the pesky fleeting feeling of jealousy seemed further than ever. you flung your arms around her neck, sucking her into a warm embrace. for just a slight moment there wasn’t an inkling of doubt— with the exception of the next few words that sounded an awful lot like “….to the field.”

“i’ll pass,” you said sternly, dropping your arms at your sides. any semblance of prior excitement that you’d exhibited vanished, leaving ellie beyond conflicted. this was the only way for her to prove that you had nothing to worry about. the only way for her to truly do so is with your trust. which she wasn’t sure she had at the moment.

ellie began, “y/n—“

“i said no. if i wanted to watch monica stick her tongue down your throat i would’ve stayed yesterday….i don’t even need shooting lessons,” you spat, with a bit more venom than intended. the guilt gradually began to creep in— marriage was built on trust. there was no reason for you to feel this threatened— this possessive.

secretly you wanted ellie to protest, another side of you, tucked away even further would’ve even liked to see her beg. although none of that came. rather she merely stared at you with pools of olive green peering into your soul. after a few seconds, they flickered between yours, and an unlikely sound filled your ears— low chuckles?.……was she laughing?

“what?” you sputtered, fervent heat rushing towards your cheeks. a vibrant peach hue reddened ellie’s cheeks as she shook her head fighting to contain the outburst.

“you missed the target yesterday… each. time.”

“so?” your entire face felt like it was set ablaze. you’d been too occupied with monica and ellie to truly put any effort into your shooting. to be completely honest you had no idea that ellie was even watching you begin with— that thought alone made you feel more secure.

“nothing— but you’re getting kinda rusty, no?” she smirked, loading the first round into the magazine of her gun.

“oh please— i’m as good of a shot as you. i was just having an off day,” you blurted, crossing your arms over your chest. she could sense it, the restless urge emitting from you. with each retort you grew even more defensive and right where ellie wanted you to be and she took great pleasure in stirring it up.

she outstretched her palm, in it lay a black revolver. she whispered her voice low and enticing, “listen i hear you… but you wanna prove me wrong?” her offer hung in the air— longer than anticipated. there was something provocative about the lack of subtlety in her tone, and the microscopic gleam in her eye that only urged you to take her up on it, so it was settled.

the field was vast, populated by expansive patches of brownish-green pasture. short hazel-colored tree stumps were scattered about at various distances, making it a prime spot for target practice. the sky was a misty blue, struck with a fiery orange and lemon hue that engulfed the area surrounding the two of you. high-pitched chirps ran through the air and slowly you realized just how quiet it was. in fact, the two of you were the only ones there.

“where’s everyone else?”

“it’s a private lesson,” ellie said, propping up the last of the bottles. the smirk in her voice was as palpable as it was scheming. she’d failed to mention that the two of you were going to be alone and surely it was purposeful, however, you couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

you removed your gun from your belt, joining ellie on the outskirts of the field, “you didn’t mention that.”

a small grin crooks the ends of her mouth as she turns towards you, “does it make a difference?” her eyes appeared even more radiant with the rising sun brimming the horizon. you shook your head lightly, sneaking one last glance at them.

“the first person to clear all the bottles wins.”

“what’s the winner get?”

“depends on you, babe,” ellie announced, extending her arms out in front of her body. fuck— it was difficult not to look at them. bright rays from the sun illuminated her muscles so that the skin you could see appeared as if they were glowing. the sight struck a mild but nevertheless alluring chord deep inside you. so much so that it nearly caused you to miss ellie’s cue.

her voice echoed, “three, two, one,” ripping you from your thoughts. immediately the loud crack of bullets whipped into the air, as the two of you mowed down the first round of glass bottles. there wasn’t much time to think before you were onto the next, sprinting to the next row of targets with ellie on your heels. the steady pump of your heart escalated to a rapid thump that pounded against your poor chest. you could feel her eyes on you, watching— calculating your every movement and it only pushed you to move faster.

it was down to one more row at the very edge of the field. your legs felt like they were bound to give up at any moment but you forced yourself to continue, stomping on the brown weeds beneath your feet. out of the very corner of your eye, you could see her drawing closer with each step and the sound of hasty fire trailing behind. slowly, your breathing became more labored and your form even more sloppy— if this was ellie’s fucked up way of trying to improve your shooting then she was doing a terrible job at it. you stepped towards the last bottle gearing up to shoot when you were met with a low…..

click.

“no—no out of all the goddamn times—“

click.

the chamber was full— you were sure of it. this was not the time for a fucking gun jam. you extended your arms out once more, hoping— no praying for a miracle when you were met with that same disparaging…

click.

quickly you realized there was no gunfire looming behind you. in fact all that was left of ellie’s targets were meager green glass pieces that littered the tops of tree stubs. the only sounds pervading the air were the pathetic clicks that left your gun and the vile language that left your lips.

ellie began, “here let me—“

“i don’t need your help,” you muttered, sharply turning your body away from her. the words were uttered with an underlying layer of her that you hoped she wouldn’t be able to detect. her hands were the first to make contact with you, settling along the small of your back. the touch was gentle and meticulous, reeling you back to reality.

“y/n, look at me.”

her voice was smooth and velvety, clashing with the tough exterior that surrounded you. she moved her free hand over yours, slowly taking the gun from you. a part of you was afraid to look up, afraid of what it meant. looking into ellie’s would force you to be vulnerable in a way that you hadn’t been in your marriage yet. still grappling with the cracks of insecurity that fractured it.

“i canceled those lessons so i could be here with you,” she whispered. the air was perfectly still and so were the creatures that existed in it. although it felt like the two of you were the only organisms there. ellie was close enough so that you could hear the light beat of her heart against you, ushering you to return her gaze.

“but what about—“

“nothing else is more important to me,” she cooed, bringing her hand up to your face. there she ran her hand along the underside of her jaw before taking your hand in hers. the two of you walked towards an empty tree stump where you sat in silence. allowing the remnants of her words to linger in your mind. the stern emphasis behind each word made your heart skip a beat and nearly forget why you were so upset in the first place.

ellie spoke first, “i need you to hear me when i say this— i don’t think about anyone else, it’s almost like there isn’t any room to think about anyone else. and i didn’t really get it at first when you ran out.”

“get what?”

“why you’d be jealous of her? I thought about talking to you, trying to reassure you but… i don’t think any of that’s gonna work,” she shrugged rubbing a hand against your thigh. there was something so subtle, even more so suggestive about her word choice— hell even the way she said them. blatant arousal was laced behind her voice and it shot straight to your core.

“you have to tell me what you need. how can i prove it to you….” her voice was so unbelievably calm and hot. feverishly hot. it took a moment for a proposition to process. she wanted you to tell her how to please you— and she was completely surrendering herself. this was her way of proving it— proving that she was all yours.

“what do you want?”

“take your clothes off.” it came out faster than you could think but nevertheless ellie complied, beginning with her brown flannel she undid the white buttons, stripping the clothing from her scarred skin. she then moved onto her jeans, pulling them from her sculpted legs. ellie made sure to prolong the process, her eyes never leaving you as she removed each and every piece of cloth from her body. soon she stood bare, ready for your next command.

“you wanna make me feel good?” you purred, ushering ellie closer. she sank to her knees before you, nodding as you cupped your hand to the side of her face. you pressed a slow, magnetic kiss to her pink lips before glancing over at ellie’s duffel just a few feet away. in it was a small black tarp that on regular occasions was used for collecting the glass left behind, but you had other plans for it. following your gaze ellie reached for the plastic laying it down on the grass beneath her. there was something so infatuating about her compliance that drove you insane— in the best way possible. she seemed so eager, so desperately ready to please you.

“i want you to lay down— don’t touch yourself.��under ellie’s watchful eye, you stripped yourself down to nothing, giving her an ample view of your naked body. she bit down on her lip, wrestling with the urge to touch herself and you. soon you join her on the tarp, straddling her as you lean forward.

“you can touch me, baby,” you whispered, softly nipping at the sensitive skin along her neck. her hands trailed up your thighs, sinking her fingernails in before moving towards your back. you clasped onto her face, pressing your lips against hers fiercely. ellie’s lips moved south, showering your exposed tits with sloppy kisses. in both hands she cupped them in her palms, sucking a nipple into her warm mouth. she ran her tongue along the sensitive flesh, feverishly sucking as you clutched onto her.

“how’s that?”

“fuck— it’s so-so good,” you hummed in between moans. ellie’s pace continued leaving you at a loss for words. you spared just a few more moments before pulling away, breathless. her eyes were hungry and lustful glimmering in the midst. just below, her sweet lips appeared so soft and tempting. sexy wasn’t nearly enough to describe it. a sudden urge plagued you and it began at your wet core. you needed to feel her, more specifically her mouth against it.

within a few mere seconds, you instructed ellie to lay back, bringing your wet pussy to her lips. the contact was cold, sending a brisk chill up your back. she started off slow, tentatively dragging her tongue against your lips before fully pushing them forward.

“don’t— fuck— tease me,” you writhed, bringing the pads of your thumb to her nipples. you circled them around it, drawing muffled moans from ellie’s lips. she spat up, lapping up the wetness from her core. she hummed at the taste, sucking your sensitive clit into her mouth as you pushed yourself against her. your hips began to take up for themselves, grinding against ellie’s mouth with no end in sight. you could feel it— parts of your vision beginning to blur and simultaneously the frenzied flicks of your wife’s tongue sped up.

“like that? like the way i fuck your face?” you spat, pressing your eyes closed. it was practically impossible for ellie to answer yet everything about the way tasted pointed toward a yes. her hands raced up to your ass as she squeezed it in her palms, desperately trying to find a way— any way to push herself closer.

“you want me to finish all over your face? is that what you want?” your movements became much more rushed, vigorously chasing after a high. white spots slowly came into view and your posture was unsupported. ellie took advantage of your weakened state, craning her neck upward. she focused on your clit sucking it torturously slow until you were a blubbering mess above her. she pushed on, singalong out the sensitive flesh as streams of pleasure tore through your body, faster than you could fathom. soon with enough strength, you pulled yourself from ellie’s body, collapsing alongside her.

“what else do you need?” she mumbled, twisting her neck in your direction. her face was beet red and slick with your fluids, and it only fueled the twisted pleasure at the center of your pussy. you shifted toward her, slowly kissing up the blue vein that decorated the side of her neck. once you reached her ear you nibbled on the lobe, ever so softly running your tongue on the top, “i’m gonna take care of you now.”

quickly, you repositioned yourself at ellie’s pussy, hovering above it as she spread her legs. they were covered in goosebumps that seemed to multiply as you drew closer. between them you settled, kissing along the inner part of her thighs. you could feel her tremble against her, pressing her eyes closed in frustration.

“i want you to look at me el….i wanna see those pretty eyes,” you cooed, bringing your lips to her core. she jumped back but you eased her towards you. once she was comfortable you brought your tongue to her dripping slit, sucking her needy clit into your mouth.

“holy—shit.”

tears brimmed the corners of ellie’s as she forced them open. you kept your gaze on her refusing to look away, she looked so beautiful like this, so exposed. you adored the way she simply melted on your tongue allowing you the chance to taste the deepest parts of her. after a while you spat down on the pads of your fingers ushering to ellie’s pussy. slowly you pushed in your index finger, watching as your wife’s walls clung to it— hot and even more desperate.

“fuck y/n— i need more,” she panted, gradually moving her hips your hand. you were more than delighted to grant ellie her wish, pushing your middle in. filthy sounds of her wetness and choked moans filled the air, replacing the peaceful calls of songbirds and insects. you worked your two fingers inside of her, pressing up into you felt the spongy tissue of her g-spot. without hesitation you curled your digits up to meet them, teasing ellie to no avail.

“i’m gonna come— please let me.”

she soon began to writhe against the tarp, allowing even the foulest obscenities to fall from her lips. you could practically feel her getting closer, along with the vehement grip of her feverish walls.

“go ahead baby…so fucking wet for me, and so so beautiful,” you whispered, gingerly talking her through the rapture that engulfed her body. ellie’s legs shook violently against you and her vision briefly became blinded by hot tears. you crawl upward to the top half of her body, placing soft kisses all over her face. there, a moment of stillness left the both of you breathless.

upon first opening her eyes you were the first thing she saw. she moved swiftly pulling you in a fierce kiss that lasted for what felt like ages. for a moment the two of you held each other in a moment of newfound trust and understanding. there was no need to say it. undeniably ellie was yours as you were hers. and nothing felt more satisfying than having physical proof of it.

“i’ll stop if you want. the lessons with monica,” she whispered, tracing circles into the side of your arm.

“no need.”

surprise struck ellie’s face as she gazed down at you, eyebrows drew back “you sure?”

you grinned at her with a new, vibrant light beaming out of the corners of your eyes. you pressed a quick kiss to her chest, propping yourself up against the soft skin as you smirked, “never been more sure.”

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