#Standing in The Dust exhibit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ivypos-writes · 6 months ago

Text

with my touch (i have cursed you)

— aemond targaryen

summary: His first touch plants a seed of desire, and it is only a matter of time before it blooms.

Or, all the times Aemond touches her, and the one when he lets himself be touched.

warnings: 18+, au—no dance of dragons, targcest, aemond being a tease and a little shit, mutual pining, unhealthy amounts of tension, first times, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv, multiple orgasms, aemond being pathetic (he whimpers), smut with plot (and the plot is just prolonged foreplay)

word count: 8.7k

notes: so. i wrote this thing. english is not my first language. all reblogs and comments are very appreciated! aemond girlies, we are so back.

(also available on ao3.)

The street is bustling with life.

She is little more than a dull spot against a variety of colours, and something about the thought of blending with the surroundings is more comforting than anything she has ever known. She tightens her hold on the large hood of the cloak and pushes past a gathering of haggling customers, giggling as they shout in indignation.

It is still early, though the skies above head are spotted with warm oranges and pinks. The air is different here. Sultry. She traverses the cobblestone paths and passes through alleys filled with shops and boisterous merchants, and her eyes grow brighter with each step.

She has known life in its subdued form—in gold and jewels, and soft-spoken words, and lullabies sung at nighttime. She has been sheltered, and dressed in gowns, and taught to wield practiced smiles and pretty countenance. It is the first time that she experiences havoc. There is dirt and dust, and curses falling left and right, and women dressed scarcely in anything, scraps of fabric falling down their shoulders without care for decency.

In these streets, life is fervent. Chaotic, unashamedly passionate, and lewd in ways that render her breathing shallow.

At once, she is filled with greed.

Led by impulse alone, she blurs into the masses of depravity. She forgets about her name and titles. Here, she is just a woman—not a silver-haired maiden, or a dragonrider, or her mother’s daughter. It is easy to forget duty when it is nowhere to be seen; when it is replaced with pure, unadulterated perversity.

Something flutters in her heart, and it must be freedom.

She passes by multiple stands, and because here she is not a princess, she catches the string of a flower pendant and snitches it from its spot. The trader doesn’t notice, too engrossed in his attempts to sell his goods for a too-high price. She is quick to hide it deep inside her pocket, and the smile that lightens her face is radiant.

Her feet ache, but she stubbornly speeds towards the nearest corner. It is right there, and she almost reaches its edge—

“Are you up to no good, niece?”

A gasp tears out of her mouth. She turns, wide-eyed and flushed, and finds a splash of silver-white strands shining against worn-out fabric. She scans the porcelain skin and the puckered scar that paints it in pinks; traces the leather of the eyepatch. He looks different in this particular light. Warm hues of the sky bathe him in a gleam that softens the curves of his features; there is an odd gentleness in him that she doesn’t recognise.

“Aemond,” she murmurs.

He seems pleased with himself. She catches a glint in his eye that whispers of carefully restrained mischief; his lips are curved into the beginning of a smile. She’s seen this particular expression only a handful of times, and always in the face of chaos.

It suits him. More often than not, and only ever quietly, she thinks he was carved for it.

“I didn’t take you for a little thief.”

Her cheeks burn. They must be scarlet red, and she inwardly curses both the humidity and the weight of his gaze that only fuels the onslaught of the tint. Aemond’s smirk grows. The blatant exhibition of her shame appears to have entertained him.

“A thief?” she repeats, eyes rounded with what she hopes is a convincing display of innocence. “Have you any proof?”

He breathes out a little laugh. It’s sharp and fleeting, and she drinks up the sound of it, oddly enthralled. She is not familiar with his laughter. Her skin prickles as its remnants linger between them.

Aemond moves closer, and soon the distance between them is so small that their cloaks brush against one another.

She is so caught off-guard that she barely notices the pendant dangling from his finger. Aemond swings it in front of her face, and when she reaches for it with a surprised gasp, he moves his hand away in the blink of an eye.

Her mouth twists in displeasure. His grin grows.

“Give it back,” she demands.

“It wasn’t yours in the first place.”

“I claimed it as mine.”

“Did you?” Aemond’s eye lights up in flames. From this close, she can almost sense the heat. “Is it as simple as that?”

“It is.”

She doesn’t expect him to truly return the pendant into her waiting hand, and her eyebrows furrow in surprise when he does. Aemond says nothing more. His expression is meticulously crafted—it is layers upon layers of riddles that she does not know how to solve. She imagines peeling them off one by one and finding him as he is—bare before her eyes. She wonders what she’d find written over his face when it is unspoiled by composure.

His fingers briefly tickle the skin of her palm before they’re gone. They leave a searing trail in their wake.

“It’s a poor disguise.” Aemond eyes the hood that falls onto her forehead, and the few curls that cascade down her face in silver streaks. “If you want to sneak out into the city, you ought to be more clever.”

She scowls. “And you, of course, know everything about it.”

There is contemplation in his eye. He rids himself of the smiles that she doesn’t recognise, and puts on a calculating face that she’s seen many times before. It makes him look more familiar. Most of the times that their paths cross, she finds him lost deep in thought.

“Come.”

She eyes his outstretched hand with scepticism.

He will likely drag her back to the Red Keep—to the judging stares and stinging reprimands and her mother’s burning disappointment. There is nothing she loathes more than being forced to endure interrogations regarding her behaviour. She will be scolded, as if it is a crime that she, a girl, has decided to experience something more than feigned propriety.

She thinks she would rather stay within the dirt and stench of the city.

Aemond hums in response to her silence, and the sound is so low that she needs to chase it through the clamour of the street. There is something akin to understanding that appears on his face.

His hand remains still.

“Do you wish to see the city or not?”

She blinks, perplexed, and it takes a mere moment for her fingers to lace with his. His are warmer than hers; heat engulfs her, and she unconsciously presses against him with doubled force.

When her eyes return to his face, Aemond is already watching her. He leans towards her. His breath tickles her cheek.

“Stay close,” Aemond orders. He stands in such proximity that they breathe the same air. “And don’t be a brat.”

She lets him tighten his hold on her hand, and soon they are walking the path side by side.

Aemond shows her the city in all its glory, and not once does his grip waver.

She spends the night tracing the remnants of his fingertips on her skin.

He smells of smoke.

It is a cloudless day, and she has decided to forsake the red walls of the castle in favour of the sun-soaked yard. There is only the scent of grass and parchment. It is why she senses him before he speaks. He permeates the air like he owns it.

“Shouldn’t you be with your septa?”

The skin of her palm tingles with the memory of his touch; she clutches at the silken fabric of her dress, if only to smother the sudden urge to hold something between her fingers. There is a large tome in her lap, and she flicks the pages absentmindedly, determined not to look at him.

She hasn’t seen him since their escapade through the streets of King’s Landing. It is not that she avoids him—only she does, because it feels as if the line between them that she’s known all her life became blurred. She searches for its remains and finds them long shattered. There is void space in its stead that she knows not what to make of

“Shouldn’t you mind your own business, uncle?”

She hears him snort quietly. There is a rustling sound that follows, and soon Aemond’s arm is brushing against hers. It is a feather-like touch, but she freezes all the same.

He smells of smoke. Fire. Scorching flames. Her skin burns beneath the sleeve of her dress in all places he has touched.

“The Seven-Pointed Star,” Aemond reads, blissfully unaware of her turmoil. “I didn’t take you for a woman of faith.”

Slowly, a little hesitantly, she turns her face towards him. His own is perfectly neutral, but she finds a glimpse of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. She squints at him, feigning offence.

“Did you take me for a woman of sin, then?”

He doesn’t answer. She supposes it is an answer in its own right. Before she can think it through, her arm shoots forward; she elbows him in the side and smiles at the startled gasp that leaves his mouth.

It is a nice sound. Her cheeks warm.

When her eyes return to the book, she finds herself eager to continue the conversation, though whatever it is that urges her to do so remains unclear.

“Septa Marlow is under the impression that I lack virtue,” she says, voice dripping with venom. She glances at him, suddenly needing to add a rushed, “It’s a vile accusation.”

Septa Marlow is a cunt. Her mother will not say it aloud, but she knows that they both hate the woman with equal passion. The septa is stuck in her old ways, and no longer remembers youth well enough to comprehend it. Her teachings persist only for the sake of upholding etiquette, and only for as long as it’s necessary.

Not much longer. She is almost a woman grown.

Aemond chuckles. “Certainly.”

She shoots him a withering look. The corners of his lips tremble; he seems to be holding back another fit of laughter, and she narrows her eyes at the sight.

“Do you disagree?”

He faces her fully, and she can now see the scar marring his skin. It looks softer in sunlight; its edges blend with his flesh. She traces its shape and length; wanders through every inch. If she tried to touch it—to caress it with gentle fingers—would he move away? Would he give her his scorn, and his anger, and would the fire that they share turn deadly? Aemond keeps the scar out of sight for a reason. He must hate her for looking at it.

But Aemond doesn’t shy away from her gaze. He doesn’t seem to mind the way she is watching him; his body tilts towards hers, and now both their elbows and their knees touch.

He’s beautiful. It is a thought that never once crossed her mind, and yet it’s true. Sunny spells hit his face in all the right places, and the purples of his eye glow, and the sight of him steals her breath away.

When he speaks, it is closer to a whisper, as though meant for her ears alone.

“I wouldn’t dare question your virtue, sweet niece.”

Fire returns, stronger than she remembered it to be. It’s all she knows.

“Good.”

Silence befalls them again, and her eyes revert back to the tome in her hands.

They widen when nimble fingers grab the book. It is gone from her grasp before she can blink. She opens her mouth to scold him; to demand that he give it back, even though she doesn’t truly want it.

Words die on her tongue when the heavy weight of the old tome is replaced by softness in the hues of silver-whites.

Aemond’s head is in her lap.

Her heartbeat jumps.

She stares at him, and then around the yard, and then once again at him. They are sitting in a fairly private area of the yard, but she knows that they’re never truly spared from eyes that are hungry for controversy. Someone will see. Someone will see, and then talk, and soon they will become yet another spectacle for vicious tongues. Protests rise to her lips—numerous, and each of them quite rational. Surely, he will see reason.

But then he turns, and his eye reflects the sun, and she forgets what she wanted to say, or why she wanted to say it, or why it matters if they were discovered at all.

He looks so peaceful. She’s never seen an expression quite this soft on his face. There is a trace of pink on his cheek, and his lips are curved, and he eyes her with emotion she cannot fathom.

She couldn’t possibly disturb him when his face is smoothed with serenity. Just a little longer, she thinks. She wants to see him like this for a few more stolen moments.

“Go on, then,” Aemond says without a care. “Read to me.”

Her mouth is dry. She clears her throat and hopes that her face doesn’t betray her.

“My lap isn’t your spot to rest on.”

Except it is. She will not say it—she’ll never say it—but having him this close feels right. Like this, his softness is for her eyes only.

“I have just claimed it as mine.” His eye speaks in a language of pure intensity, and in response she burns. “Is it not as simple as that?”

She bites her tongue and says nothing else, and the stray strands of his hair tickle her arms. Her skin is on fire. She’s sure that her cheeks are, too.

When she reads to him, she prays that her voice does not waver.

The feast thrown on her name day is a boastful one. She weaves her way through crowds of faces she doesn’t recognise, and pleasantries fall from her lips as befitting the daughter of a royal household.

A woman grown. It seems half the realm had been eagerly waiting for her to come of age. She is mostly surrounded by men, and they all appear to be looking for excuses to touch her.

She is in search for any of her brothers, hoping for a moment of respite from the dancing. It isn’t that she dislikes it, but she has long since grown tired of foreign hands palming her body as though they owned it. She would rather dance with Jace, or even Luke whose clumsiness precedes him—or all by herself, uncaring for the crowds that wish to sink their claws into her.

Respite evades her. Just when she spots familiar heads made of brown curls, another stranger forces his way into her personal space. The man is twice her age, and she immediately finds herself repulsed by the leering expression that he cares not to veil for something more respectful.

His palms are clammy. They will surely leave stains on her skin.

The man leads her towards the centre of the hall, and his spine is straightened in a pathetic display of pride. His hands find her hips before she can protest; his grip is harsh, verging on bruising.

The dance couldn’t last longer. Her head spins from the force with which the man whirls her around, and she must steady herself by gripping his shoulders, even if the prospect disgusts her. She prays that Daemon sees them; that he comes with his sword in hand, ready to spill blood.

But it isn’t Daemon that grabs the man by the arm and sends him backwards. It isn’t Daemon that takes her hand into his own, shielding her from the eyes of the stranger.

She is at peace. Safe. Fire licks at her skin and sinks deep into her bones.

Aemond remains silent. He leads her away from the man, not sparing him a glance. As always, his hand is warm.

“Uncle.” She cannot help but grin. “It would have been more polite to wait your turn.”

He hums, quick to find the right steps. He is a good dancer. His body was made for it.

“Would you rather have him paw at you like an animal?”

She twirls, and the colours of her dress blur into a rainbow.

Aemond is a pitch-black spot against the canvas of vibrant hues. She is drawn to him; drawn to his darkness, and the violet of his eye that disrupts it. Her palm finds his, and she bites back a smile when he boldly presses his skin to hers.

It is not a dance meant for touching.

“What if I liked it?”

Once more, she spins.

They stand back to back, and her spine tingles from the proximity. He is close; too close. His scent is all she can feel.

He has corrupted her with his disregard for propriety. She knows it, because not once does she consider what their family would say if they saw them.

“Did you like it?”

Heat spreads from her back towards her chest. There are many things she has come to like, and none of them are quite related to some unnamed lords.

She could say it. Whisper every perversity her mind has conjured.

But more often than not, their short exchanges seem to be a game that none of them truly understands. She must keep playing. It is what keeps him returning for more.

She turns around to face him and shrugs. “I’m not made of glass. There is no need to handle me gently.”

There is a beat, and silence, and hands itching to touch. Suddenly, without any warning, she is pulled into Aemond’s embrace; a gasp escapes her throat when she feels his hand tighten around her waist.

His fingers dig into the flesh of her hip. He holds her firmly against his chest, and she imagines their bodies blending together into one.

There is nothing appropriate about this kind of proximity. She stands before him as a woman, and he holds her like a man would, and surely no one sees through the flames that have flared around them. This—whatever it is—belongs to them alone.

But her skin tingles.

“Uncle,” she pants, face scarlet red with something unspoken. It is not shame, but something of a darker nature. She is not yet ready to name it. “People are looking at us.”

“Let them look,” he says, and each word has his lips brushing against her ear.

They are so close that she feels his heartbeat. It is as quick as hers.

Not alone. They’re not alone.

“Aemond.”

“Do you want me to let go?”

She doesn’t. He must know that she doesn’t. There is something perverse about his hands on her body—right there, in a hall full of strangers and curious gazes. In the centre of everything. She would gladly let him hold her like this forever—until everyone in the hall understands that she is his, and it is his arms that she belongs in.

“I do,” she says instead.

In a rush of boldness, with utter disregard for her own words, she presses her chest closer to his.

She hardly knows where her body ends and his begins, and if she wanted to—oh, how she wants to—she could step onto her toes and reach towards his lips—

“You're not very convincing,” Aemond whispers into her hair, and then his hands are gone.

He leaves her amidst crowds, surrounded by dozens of onlookers, and yet she sees nothing but the lines of his shrinking silhouette.

It is hours later that she lays amidst silken bedcovers, a sheen of sweat clinging to her bared body, and furiously rubs the spot right between her legs. Her teeth are clenched, and her eyes are burning with vexation, and her hand is not enough. It’s not enough.

She is half-sprawled atop the wooden table.

Her braids have long since come undone, and her hair now cascades down her back like a shield. She plays with one of the strands, curling it around her finger. Her other hand flips the pages of whatever book she is pretending to read.

The library is quiet. It is located deep enough into Maegor’s Holdfast that she knows none of her siblings will find her. It offers the kind of solitude no other place in the Red Keep ensures. Dozens of shelves thrice her height have been installed within the walls, all filled with the oldest and rarest of volumes in the realm.

She cares not for the scent of parchment. It is not books that she came for.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

A small smile creeps onto her lips.

She knew he would come. His presence no longer takes her by surprise. Everywhere she goes, Aemond dutifully follows; no longer does she need to search for him in dark corners.

He is her shadow.

Every day, she breathlessly waits for night to come.

“Aemond.”

“Niece.” His footsteps echo through the walls. “It nears the hour of the owl.”

She rubs the tiredness from her eyes and swallows the yawn that has crawled up her throat. The book is now forgotten; she pushes it away, no longer interested in keeping up the pretence of studying its contents. When she turns, she does it slowly, if only to conceal her traitorous eagerness.

It is too dark. All she sees is a mark of silver painted on pitch-black canvas. His face is shielded from her view, and she bites back the bitter disappointment. She has gone the entire day without a single glimpse of him.

“Why do you care?”

Her eyes trace the outline of his silhouette. He strides towards the chair in front of her, and though she wishes he would sit beside her instead, she appreciates the closeness all the same.

The table is too large. She should have chosen a different one.

The air grows heavier, like it always does when she is with him.

“A princess shouldn’t be spending her time alone in the darkness.”

She wishes he could see her coy smile; wonders if he would offer her one of the private smirks she now knows by heart, or if he’d playfully scold her, or throw a comment that would induce a blush in response.

“It is a good thing, then, that you’ve found me.”

“Yes,” Aemond murmurs, and his voice is so guttural that she nearly melts at the sound. “It is.”

Then it is them, and silence, and darkness. It seems to have become a usual setting for their meetings, as though they required the shroud of night’s secrecy to conceal something illicit.

It isn’t wrong. Whatever it is—whatever looms above their heads—it is not wrong.

Absentmindedly, she reaches for the book; as always, he is quicker.

Their hands meet. There is nothing innocent about the touch, and she no longer desires to pretend that she is not burning. Aemond’s fingers trace the skin of her palm; tickle it, and she bites her lip at the sensation. It lasts only for a short moment—too short, never enough—and then his touch is gone, and so is the book.

She wishes he would forgo this restraint. She has long since grown tired of it.

“I was reading this,” she lies.

“Were you?”

She wants to tear the tome away from his grasp, if only for their hands to touch once more.

“No.”

“No,” Aemond repeats lowly.

If there was any light, she imagines that she’d find his eye intense and hungry; or maybe playful, betraying his endless desire to leave her breathless. He would look at her without a trace of shame, just like he always does. He would set her alight with one glance alone.

There is a thudding sound that cuts through silence. It breaks her out of reverie, and she flinches, squinting into the darkness.

Silver wisps cut through the air. Then they’re gone.

She straightens her spine, brows furrowed in confusion. It looks like he dropped the book and bent to pick it up, only she cannot see his hair. She opens her mouth, not quite understanding this particular game of his, until she feels it.

Something slithers up the skirts of her dress. Fingers wrap around her ankle, and then the other one, and suddenly her legs are forcefully parted. She gasps, and the sound echoes against the empty walls.

“Be quiet, niece,” comes Aemond’s muffled voice. “You’re in a library.”

This is madness. She cannot let it happen—cannot let him touch her like this, right there—

Aemond’s hands slide higher up her legs.

Her muscles tremble. He holds her with enough strength that she cannot escape his grip, forced to yield. Her vision swims, and there are only his hands—his hands—

He uses them skilfully. She has seen him hold a sword, and he now holds her skin with equal passion. His fingertips draw patterns down the length of her shins, and if she could—if she wasn’t possessed by a blinding desire—she would try to discern their meaning.

She feels his breath on her knee.

A small moan falls from her lips, and she clasps her hand over her mouth to cover it. It’s too late. He’s heard it.

Aemond’s grip turns vice-like.

He sears circles into her thigh. One of his hands is replaced by something softer, plushier, and she knows that it must be his lips atop her skin. He leaves fiery kisses on both her knees, and her heart gets stuck in her throat, threatening to jump out.

Higher, she thinks, and immediately bites her lip to prevent herself from begging aloud. If he moved his mouth higher—just a bit, only a bit—he would find out how much she needs him. Her desire has long since become choking. It takes a single brush of his skin against hers to get her slick and wet and ready.

Her skin is engulfed by flames. She must be touched, she must be touched—

Aemond’s lips are gone. She holds back a whimper when she feels fingertips brushing against her thigh in a parting gesture—little more than a caress, gone sooner than it came.

She closes her legs when Aemond’s head resurfaces from underneath the table.

Empty. She remains painfully empty.

“You should return to your chambers.” Aemond stands from the ground. He sounds cocky. “Who knows what lurks in the darkness.”

In the privacy of her bedchamber, she finds the mark that he left on her thigh. It is there for her eyes only. The mark haunts her, and she finds no sleep.

“I know you’re there.”

It seems that they only ever exchange words in darkness. Just today, she was seated opposite him during dinner, and he didn’t look at her once. She wonders if it is fear that holds him back in daylight. Her own fingers forever burn with the desire to hold him, and more often than not, she forgets about the reality of their relationship. Perhaps avoiding each other in the presence of others is safer. They were never meant to burn together.

Her steps halt.

“I’m beginning to think you’re looking for trouble.”

She bites back a grin. “What if I am?”

Finally, he emerges from the shadows. She looks at him without a hint of shame; traces the line of his jaw, and his nose, and the purples of his eye. His hair looks soft. She finds herself overtaken by the desire to grasp it with her fingers and tug.

“You’ve found it.”

“Have I?” she says, and her throat is oddly dry. She watches him, and he watches her, and flames arise. “You don’t look much like trouble to me.”

Aemond’s steps are slow. She has learned their pattern by heart. He has a habit of moving at a leisurely pace, and more often than not, she imagines that it’s yet another way of tormenting her. He knows of her impatience and aims to use it to his advantage.

When he stops, he is still outside of her reach. He raises an eyebrow challengingly.

“What about now?”

It is another game, and she shakes her head because she must.

Aemond hums. His eye wanders down her neck, and her skin prickles underneath his gaze. She holds her breath when he takes another step forward.

Still, he is not close enough.

“And now, niece?” Aemond asks. “Do I look like trouble?”

“No,” she breathes.

His scent wafts through the air, and she ravenously inhales it. Aemond’s eye darkens. He moves closer, and she laces her fingers together in order not to reach out for him.

Maybe she should stifle the last of self-control. Maybe she should grab him by the collar of his riding leathers; pull him as close as she needs him to be. Sometimes, it feels as though he is waiting for her to do it. To make the first move.

Before her contemplation turns into action, his fingers catch the skirts of her gown. She takes a gulp of air when he easily tugs her closer.

“No?” Aemond mutters.

He studies her mouth in silent deliberation, and it prompts her to take her bottom lip between teeth. His nostrils flare.

“No,” she repeats firmly.

His smile is pure sin.

“Good.”

Aemond’s lips claim hers before she can say anything else. Words die on her tongue, and she scarcely remembers what it was that she wanted to say at all. His skin is scorching hot, and his mouth is demanding, and when she gasps into his mouth, he swallows the sound like a man starved.

She throws her hands around his neck before he disappears; before once more he flees from her touch. He is both soft and solid, and her fingertips go alight from the fire flowing through his veins. Aemond pushes into her, and soon her spine connects with the stone wall. His hands wander over her body, tugging impatiently at the endless pieces of material that separate them.

His kisses are flames. None of her dreams have done them justice. Her tongue dances as led by his own, and her teeth graze his bottom lip, and she can no longer think straight when he whimpers into her mouth.

“Sweet girl,” he breathes, and she drinks up the words straight from his tongue.

She pulls him closer, closer, and he hitches her leg over his hip, and she thinks that there is no going back from it. She will forever be cursed with the memory of his taste.

Her lips are full of him even when he’s gone.

She is a woman possessed by madness.

An entire moon has passed, and he hasn’t touched her once. It is as though he forgot that she exists; as though her existence meant nothing at all. Distance stretches between them, sharp and thorned, and it cuts through her skin with vicious force. She burns with want. She burns until there is nothing left but ashes.

When she dreams, it is of his lips. Their taste has long faded, and though she chases the memory every night, she is left with emptiness. Sometimes, it feels as though she’s dying of hunger. She must taste him again. If she won’t, she thinks she’ll wither away.

She once thought that his teasing touch was torture. It’s only now—only when it’s gone—that knows it is the lack of it that elicits true torment.

It’s been three days since she saw him last. Even their last meeting was only in brief; he was gone as soon as her eyes found him amidst crowds of the Red Keep, his steps too quick for her to catch up with.

He has left her to burn alone. Now the flames have grown wild and lethal, and she succumbs to this insanity because she must.

She stays close to the stone wall.

It is nighttime, and most of the residents have retired to their bedchambers. The corridors are empty, guarded only in a few spots; her footsteps echo through the walls, accompanied by complete silence. She appreciates the semblance of privacy that has come with sunset. It is easier to slip by unnoticed when the lights are subdued.

Less than an hour ago, she caught a glimpse of Aemond in the courtyard, sword in his hand. He looked composed as ever, and by the end of the training session his forehead was sheen with sweat. It is what brought about this madness—the sight of him panting for breath.

It’s why she follows him now. He is quick on his feet, and so quiet that she cannot even hear him. All she sees is the broadness of his shoulders and silver-white wisps resting on his back.

She moves faster, determined not to lose him. Her pace turns unrelenting; she watches Aemond reach for the gilded knob. Just before the doors close behind him, she slips inside.

His bedchamber is swallowed by darkness. It is the first thing she sees; her eyes strain, eager to scan the entirety of the room. It looks pristine. His inclination for tidiness doesn’t astound her. She now knows that he keeps all his chaos leashed, preferring to build walls of purity around himself.

She sees through it all. Knows his vices by heart.

Aemond watches her without a trace of surprise. He must have known, then, that she was hunting him down.

It is different this time. The air is thicker. They are alone, and no one can enter his bedchamber without explicit permission. He must realise it. The purple of his eye is darker, and all she finds in it is desire.

Because it is him who has this time become prey, she is the first to make a move.

“I’m here, uncle. I came to you.”

It takes only one step for their chests to come closer, now on the verge of pressing together. Aemond’s face is a perfect image of indifference, but she knows better. There is something dangerous in his eye. She must push further than this to draw it out.

Her eyes go round with feigned innocence, and his own become hooded.

She wonders if his lips still taste the same.

“Won’t you touch me?” she whispers, never letting her gaze falter.

Aemond’s face remains carved in stone. “Perhaps you should ask nicely.”

It is as though he had struck her.

A beat passes, and she knows not what to say. Her mouth is dry. Her hands itch from the constant urge to sink into his flesh.

“Ask?”

He repeats without hesitation, “Ask.”

She bites her tongue hard enough to wince.

It was foolish of her to come. He must think her desperate; corrupt, with her displayed flesh pulsating from the desire to be touched. She is wanton and wicked, and shame burns her cheeks upon the realisation.

A woman of sin.

If he wanted to, he would have touched her already. He would take her into his arms, and breathe in her scent, and bury his fingers deep in her soul. If he wanted to, all hesitation would shatter into pieces, and there would be no need to collect them anymore.

And yet his hands remain still.

She must have been wrong. So, so wrong.

With her eyes stinging, stubbornly downcast, she moves towards the door. If she leaves quickly enough, perhaps he’ll forget she was there at all. Perhaps she’ll awaken the next day and it will all turn out to have been a nightmare. Perhaps she—

Aemond’s hand clutches her forearm. His touch is gentle but firm; she can feel his fingers slither around her skin, closing his grip to prevent her from moving.

She holds her breath. All air is gone.

“Ask,” he says again, “and you shall have it.”

He pushes into her from behind, and his heat engulfs her in wild flames. Aemond’s chest presses against the length of her spine; his hair tickles her skin. She bites her lip when his nose brushes her cheek.

Her heart beats in a wild tune. Does his own match it?

It must. Surely, it must.

“Ask.”

There is something desperate about him; something in his tone that whispers in a language she knows by heart. He is half-begging. She recognises it, because he has done the same in her dreams.

She yields. Utterly. Completely.

“Touch me,” she whispers.

He does.

Aemond grabs her hips and turns her around, and all softness she has come to know him for is gone. His eye is blown wide; it burns, it burns, it burns.

The kiss is bruising. His tongue enters her mouth before she can reciprocate; her spine connects with the surface of the door, and she welcomes the chill it provides with relief. Aemond’s lips are demanding and forceful, and he gasps into her mouth when her hands finally touch his bare skin. She digs her fingers into his neck, and tugs at his hair, and pulls him closer. It is not enough. She needs their mouths to mould into one—to never separate again.

He kisses her without his past control. She gasps for air, and Aemond breathes out into her skin, refusing to let go. His teeth nibble at her bottom lip, and she swallows down a whimper.

His fingers find her neck. The rings that adorn them are cold.

“Here?” he pants, breathless. “Do you want me to touch you here?”

She wraps his hair around her fingers, searching for an anchor. Her head swims, and all air is gone, and if it weren’t for his grip on her hip, she would crumble to the floor. Aemond groans when she pulls at the strands in her hand; she wants to bottle the sound and keep it as hers forever.

“Yes,” she whispers into his lips.

Aemond’s hand wraps around her throat; she sees stars.

Their tongues are at war, and she matches his tempo with determination. He tastes like smoke. Like the sun. Like oxygen. His thumb comes up to stroke her cheek, and the gentleness of this touch is a stark contrast to the way he devours her. She throbs with want. Now that she has touched him, she doesn’t think she could ever stop.

She didn’t know it could feel like this.

Because she’s possessed by greed, she breathes out a quiet, needy, “More.”

Aemond’s lips part with hers, and she immediately wishes to cry out in protest.

She burns under the weight of his gaze. Without once taking his eye off hers, Aemond’s hand leaves her throat, trailing down to her collarbone. His touch is feather-like; fingers tickle her skin. She sucks in air when his hand moves lower, playing with the lace neckline. One of his fingertips sneaks beneath the fabric.

“Should I touch you here?”

His hand boldly grabs her breast. She has never been touched like this. Her mouth dries, and she pushes her chest into Aemond’s grasp, flushing at the low hum he lets out in response. His lips find a spot on her neck that has her panting, and he sucks at the sensitive skin with such ardour that she’s certain he’ll leave a mark.

She moans when his fingers find her pebbled nipple and flick against it, and the wanton sound induces hot shame. He touches her through the fabric of her dress, and it is not enough. She needs more. She needs everything.

Embarrassed, she covers her mouth with her hand.

Aemond’s eye flashes with a wicked glint.

“Here?” he asks, pinching the nipple.

The sound that escapes her throat is smothered by her palm. Desperate, suspended on the verge of madness, she nods. Aemond’s lips curve into a smile, but his fingers refuse to give in.

Their lips touch when he whispers, “Say it.”

And because she’d do anything, anything, her hand obediently falls down.

“Please.”

“How prettily you beg.”

There is a tearing sound; she watches Aemond rip the corset of her dress apart, tugging it down so that her chest is exposed. She has no time to cover herself in scarlet shame, nor to complain about him ruining her favourite gown. His mouth finds her nipple, and she cries out when he sucks at it.

She knows nothing but his tongue that swirls around the nipple in torturous circles; nothing but his teeth when he bites down. Aemond presses her body further into the door, and there is not an inch left that separates them. They are one. Her arms hold him tightly. If she lets go, she will collapse.

His lips are gone. Before she can object, Aemond slides his palms lower—between her breasts, down her waist, over the curve of her hip bone. He sinks to his knees before her, and she watches, wide-eyed and unable to move. Aemond’s hand catches the skirt of her dress and hitches it upwards, bunching the fabric so that her skin is on display. His fingers find her bare thigh, and they are quick to wrap around its width. She whimpers when he pushes her legs apart, forcing himself in between. When he puts her knee over his shoulder, holding her upright with the sheer strength of his arms, she is gone.

“You have cursed me,” he murmurs into her skin, lips nibbling at her inner thigh. “I spend my days thinking of you.”

Her mouth parts; she gasps for air, chest rising and falling with increasing speed. Aemond’s hold on her thigh tightens when she squirms in his arms.

“I spend my nights dreaming of you.”

His sinful lips traverse the expanse of her exposed skin. They move higher, higher, and her muscles twitch with anticipation. He’s too slow, and her hips involuntarily push forward, seeking his touch. Aemond cruelly holds her still. She’s convinced that he’ll leave her skin bruised; convinced that before he reaches the spot where she aches most, she will have died from this torture.

When his tongue first touches her cunt, her vision blurs.

It feels nothing like her fingers. He is skilful and hungry, and the wet muscle laps at her clit in furious motions. Moans spill from her lips, and she has long since forgotten all about propriety. It means little when Aemond’s head is buried between her thighs; when the sinful act feels this holy. All thoughts dissolve into nothing, wiped away with his expert tongue. Aemond’s grip turns vice-like. There is nothing she can do but take whatever he wants to give.

Her clit pulsates from the onslaught. He spits, and then licks up the saliva, rubbing it in between her folds, and she nearly squeals at the sensation. It’s wet and filthy, and when he moans into her cunt, sending chills down her spine, she knows she won’t last much longer.

“Aemond,” she gasps, because his name is the only thing she knows anymore. “Aemond.”

Whines fall from her lips, and she no longer cares to smother them. Her hips rock, and his mouth keeps moving against her cunt, and she can’t, she can’t—

Right there, with his wicked tongue inside her, she erupts.

It’s like a storm. A wildfire. She shatters into thousands of pieces, and Aemond dutifully collects them all, drinking up everything that she offers. Her body rocks, and he soothes her with his touch and keeps her still. Their hands are joined, though she doesn’t recall the moment when they first touched. Aemond doesn’t stop until her gasps turn into cries. Before he moves away, his lips plant one more kiss right on her oversensitive clit.

Her body trembles. Aemond pulls her down, and she allows herself to be led by his hands. His touch is strong and gentle, and she cannot quite believe that he’s real. He puts her thighs around his waist; right there, on the cold ground, she straddles his lap. Aemond’s fingers weave through her hair, and he brushes them away from her face with such gentleness that she thinks she might weep.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, thumbs stroking her wet cheeks. “Such a pretty girl.”

For a moment, they just breathe. Their chests heave with equal fervour, and there is only silence and tender caresses. Her fingers trace the curve of his cheek; she follows its shape, searing it deep into her memory. She wants to remember this. Every detail.

Aemond’s mouth glistens in the spells of moonlight. He is wet with her. Her trembling fingers collect the moisture, and when she brings them to her lips and wraps her tongue around them, he groans.

Involuntarily, her hips rock. She sees him swallow down another sound.

Not once did he demand that she touch him. Aemond is hard beneath her, and yet he stubbornly clings to the restraint she thought to be long erased.

As though he didn’t think himself deserving of her touch.

“Take it off.” Her fingers reach for the eyepatch that separates them, tugging lightly. “I will see all of you.”

He eyes her with emotion she cannot name.

There is something achingly vulnerable about him. She watches as Aemond’s trembling hand reaches for the leather strap, brushing against hers in a feather-like manner. His good eye drops to the ground beside them, and she is quick to put her palms on his face.

She wants him to see himself as she sees him. To rid himself of whatever shame clings to his soul. She wants him to know that all she finds in him is heart-wrenching beauty.

“Aemond,” she whispers. Her fingers find the clasp, and she awaits his permission.

He hesitates. His gaze is dark. She counts the seconds, prepared to let go, but his voice stops her.

“Whatever you want,” he says at last. “It is yours. It is yours.”

Just like that, the eyepatch is gone. The scar stretches from above his eyebrow to the middle of his cheek, and although her hands are shaking, she reaches to stroke the mangled flesh.

Aemond wheezes. She catches the slightest trembling of his lips. His head drops, and for a moment she fears that he’ll move away from her, but he doesn’t. He pushes closer, as though seeking warmth. She will give it to him. She’ll give him whatever he wants.

He seems at war with himself, both touch-starved and unable to give in. But then he faces her once more. Her eyes trace the scar, and she bites back a gasp when she sees the sapphire in the place of his eye.

“You’re beautiful,” she tells him, because he is.

When he says nothing, she replaces her fingers with lips. She kisses every inch of the slash, and his sharp inhale is the only answer she receives. It is enough. She just needs him to know that she wants him as he is.

Aemond’s arms wrap around her waist, and it is enough. It’s everything she wants.

“I dream of you,” he tells her. “Of this.”

She opens her mouth, prepared to pour her heart out—to confess the lengths of her own desire, and the way it has rendered her mad. But Aemond grabs her hips, breaking them out of tranquility, and pulls the dress up so that it no longer sets them apart. She sees questions in his eye, though she doesn’t understand why he feels the need to ask them. Surely, he knows how deep the roots of her want go.

Wordlessly, she reaches for the laces of his leathers. It is enough of an answer; Aemond’s face softens, and then their lips collide again.

There are so many layers between them. Too many. She claws at his shirt, and he tears the last shreds of her bodice, and then they are skin to skin. She touches every single part of him, learning his shapes and curves. His body is toned, and his skin bears multiple small scars that must have come from a sword, and he is soft. Warm. Hers.

Aemond’s fingers find her entrance. She is slick for him—aching, pulsating, dripping. He circles her clit and swallows her moan, and then he is knuckle-deep inside her.

“Please,” she whines, though she knows not what she’s begging for.

His finger thrusts, and then it curls, touching a spot she never knew existed. She throws her head back, mouth open in a silent gasp. Aemond attaches his lips to her throat.

Release comes in waves, quicker than the previous one. It crashes into her body with full force, and she is helpless against the currents. Before she comes down, Aemond lifts her up and buries his cock in her cunt.

It hurts. It hurts, and he holds her close, and she whimpers into his mouth. Aemond is patient with her. He peppers her face with kisses, sighing into her skin, and stills his movements. The stretch burns, and she cannot help but clench around him. Her hips move on their own accord; her body chases what it inherently wants.

There is tenderness in his eye. It’s enough for her body to melt.

Aemond grunts and pushes deeper into her. The pace is slow, agonising, and she cannot take it. Her muscles spasm beneath his hands; she is completely at his mercy, waiting for each thrust. She tugs at his hair and whispers into his ear, demanding that he fuck her properly.

Time stills. Her clit throbs, and she aims to seek relief with her own fingers, but then Aemond pulls her hand away. The hunger in his eye has turned dangerous. It’s more black than purple.

“As you wish.”

She whimpers when he grabs her by the thighs and moves her body away from the door. He pushes her into the ground, spreading her dress beneath her back to soften the surface, and climbs atop her. His moves are frantic, and there is a glow on his features that must reflect her own. His hair tickles her face. She gives him a beaming smile, and his breath hitches.

His cock drives into her, and at the same moment his sinful fingers find her clit. She cries out. Her eyes roll back, and she tries to close her legs, trembling from the onslaught of pleasure. Aemond grabs her knees and holds them apart. Her dripping cunt is on full display; she sees him watch the place where they’re connected, his lips swollen and eyes glazed over. Aemond rubs her clit and thrust into her like a madman, and the bedchamber is bathed in sounds of clapping skin and wanton moans.

She makes no sound when she peaks. Her mouth falls open as she convulses beneath him, and Aemond pushes his fingers down her throat.

“One more,” he grunts. “Give me one more.”

Her body trembles. She can’t. No more, no more—

But Aemond’s torturous fingers keep flicking against her nub, and his rock-hard length twitches deep inside her, and she can’t stop. She can’t stop.

She is boneless. Her spine arches, and Aemond topples over her chest, and their orgasms come at once. They’re amidst clouds, suspended in the air; above turbulent waters; high enough to be scorched by the sun.

They burn. Together, they burn.

Their hearts beat in the same tune. Aemond puts his hand on her chest, in the hollow between her breasts, and she weaves her fingers into his hair. When he looks at her, all she sees is scorching affection.

He stays buried inside her, as though equally reluctant to let their bodies part. Purple and sapphire glow in the dark, and she watches him, breathless and enthralled, unable to look away.

“I have claimed you,” he whispers into the night.

Her eyes are soft. With her fingertips, she writes letters down the length of his spine. She knows the words, though for now they remain invisible to the eye. Aemond looks at her with awe, hands still warm against her cheeks as he holds her. She wishes she could hear his thoughts. Wonders if she’d find remorse and guilt, and the desire to turn back time.

There is no regret in her heart. This—their bodies woven into one—was fated. His first touch planted a seed inside her, and its destiny was to bloom.

“Then I’m yours.”

His hands find hers, and there is only fire.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut #hotd #aemond x reader #asoiaf #aemond fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon

411 notes · View notes

hurthermore · 7 months ago

Text

»»------► 𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚖 (18+)

Pairing: 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗; 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝.

Word Count: 𝟸.𝟼𝚔

Warnings: 𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝙱𝙳𝚂𝙼, 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜, 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎, 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢, 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜, 𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

A/N: 𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚕, 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚘!! 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚗𝚘 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝, 𝚢𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚢 𝚑𝚞𝚑<𝟹𝟹𝟹

“You do remember our safeword, don’t you cherie?”

His voice was dripped in a sweetness that contrasted the frustration he had etched onto his face, and oh was he agitated. You knew of Alastor's ridiculous possessive behaviour over you, so why on earth you decided it would be a good idea to accept a custom made rubber duck from a blushing Lucifer was beyond you.

Alastor hadn’t taken the acceptance well; almost immediately he had ragged the duck from your hands before he groaned a murmur of disgust as he looked at it, only to light it afire on a green flame that disintegrated it into mere dust. You felt incredibly bad as you took in the king of hell’s saddened and gaping expression as Alastor cynically destroyed something he had spent so much time on; and before you could apologise on behalf of your husband’s behaviour, Alastor had shadow warped you into your shared room.

You were planning on berating Alastor, but as soon as your vision cleared from the shadowed warp, his voice had beat you to it as he had asked you why you would dare accept a gift from someone that was not him himself; why you thought it appropriate. You attempted to explain it to him, elucidating that it would have been incredibly rude to not accept the gift, only for Alastor to interject your speech, suggesting you had a thing for the king of hell.

A smack was what he deserved after implying you were attracted to another man that was not your Alastor; a smack is what he got.

“Yes.” You responded to the handsome demon before you; this was your punishment. Surprisingly, it wasn’t for the strike you had forced against his face; Alastor had deeply apologised for even entertaining the idea after you reprimanded him for questioning your love for him. No. This punishment was to remind you not to accept anything from anyone that wasn’t your husband ever again.

Looking directly into his eyes, you stood in front of your husband whilst he seated himself in the armchair behind him; his eyes, although blacked out with radio dials replacing his pupils, easily exhibited his true emotions as excitement glimmered through them; the same excitement that made your cunt clench around nothing. As Alastor offered you his hand, you gladly surrendered your own hand into his clawed palm as he had non-verbally requested, allowing him to pull you towards him before he placed a soft kiss against your dorsal.

Though, despite the sweet gesture, the green chain that proved who your soul belonged to conjured around the delicacy of your throat; reminding you that not only did your heart belong to Alastor, but your entire being too, before he dragged you to stand between his legs.

Choking as the phantom chain grasped your neck, you moaned. Alastor knew how much of a masochist you were, and he, not only your husband, but your sadist, loved to please you into screams of pain. Clenching your thighs together as you waited for your husbands next move, one of his clawed fingertips ran up your thigh, teasing up until it pressurised against your clothed folds, and before you could softly cry out in pleasure, Alastors finger retracted, only for it to shred your clothes in two pieces from a single swipe.

Without reacting, your body became flushed as Alastor admired your nude form; you were very used to your husband ripping your clothes off like he had a kink for it. Stilling in your position, you panted as you contemplated on what he would do next, what his course of action would be. “Would you like your husband to spank you like the little promiscuous wife you are?” He asked you with a shit eating smirk, as if he had access to the thoughts that swarmed your mind. His eyes were still blacked out, waiting for your response as arousal flickered within them; you didn’t need to see the bulge growing underneath his clothes to perceive his growing intoxication.

“Yes.” You whispered in a moan as your thighs rubbed against one another, begging for your red and evil husband to inflict any type of pain onto you for your own sexual pleasure as you looked at him with pure lust; pure love.

His smile etched further, almost condescendingly as his eyes narrowed in on you, giving you a look that indicated you were forgetting something. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.” You mumbled ever so seductively as it clicked in your mind; Alastor had always had a fetish for you screaming for him as you called him Sir, you knew how much he got off on it as you prayed for his divine punishment to embrace your skin, flesh and soul.

“You know what to do, my perfect little wife.” His words echoed into the room, commanding you to bend yourself over in his lap without explicitly saying it; and you did. And as always, you purposefully made sure to face your ass in the direction of his dominant hand as you crawled into his lap sideways. It gave your husband the ability to admire the backside of your body, the same body he loved to pleasure with pain.

Whining ever so softly, his hands gently caressed the skin of your ass, massaging the succulent and luscious part of your body; and without warning, Alastor’s hand struck against your rear, jolting a sharp pain through you that had you moaning a gasped whine as pleasure consumed you from the infliction. “Sir-” The word slipped from your tongue so erotically as Alastor’s hand hit down against you again; you could feel his cock prod against your stomach as he continued his assault, your cries of pleasure echoing throughout the room as each hit increased in harshness, the sounds of his hand coming down on you shrieking through the room, exceeding your own pants of cries in volume.

Suddenly, his other hand gripped the front of your throat as he made your spine arch backwards, forcing you to look at him in the blackness of his eyes as he continued his beating on your sore rear. “You’re such a good wife aren’t you darling? And all mine too; say it.”

As he slapped over the imprints of his previous inflictions, a sharp pleasurable pain echoed throughout your body as you moaned out his request, crying out in pleasure how you were his; all his, only his, always his. You could hear how proud he was, how elated he was from hearing those words leave the chambers of your mouth as he landed a final harsh slap against you that had a scream ripping through your oesophagus.

“Thank you, sir.” You moaned with a pant as Alastor caringly smoothed his palm over the harsh imprints on your ass, soothing you ever so softly before he lifted you body up by your neck; forcing a choked gasp to be ripped from you as he forced your form to sit on his lap, compelling you to face him with the help of his black appendages that he conjured from the floorboards.

“You’re very welcome, my beautiful wife.” Alastor whispered as his hand clutched harder around your neck; his dominant hand forcing you to moan as his fingers suddenly teased your clit, circling it with the exact same sensation that Alastor had learnt was your favourite; the same one that made you moaning like a common whore.

Leaning into you, Alastor placed his lips against yours, kissing you with passion as he massaged your throbbing bud, it was sweet, a sweetness to be short lives as he began to squeeze your clit with such pressure it had you gasping in the kiss, unknowingly giving him the opportunity to shove his tongue down your throat; purposefully prolonging it as to make sure it went down into the gummy flesh of your oesophagus.

You became lust drunk; the afterglow of having your rear assaulted, the mind numbing pleasure your husband was placing onto your clit as he held your neck tight, all whilst fucking your throat with his tongue. It was almost too much; but you were a good wife for Alastor, you always would be, and you would take everything he gave you with pleasure and enthusiasm.

Groaning as your husband’s fingers left your clit, only to tease the folds of your opening, you vibrated his tongue deep into your throat, earning a sexual growl to emit from Alastor as he continued to overwhelm you. Pulling away, you began to pant as he retracted his tongue from you, only to penetrate his overly sharp claws into your cunt; the sheer intensity of his talons began to wound you from the inside, causing streams of blood to soak your husbands hand as he causing physical scars within your core. A balance of pain and pleasure cried from your lips as tears emerged from your eyes, threatening to leave the contents of your visual organs as he continued to purposefully cause infliction within you.

“Be a good girl and ride my fingers, darling.” His smile never faltered as he watched your tears slowly stream down your cheeks. Slowly, you obeyed as your hips began moving, gyrating against your husbands hand as you relished in the painful pleasure he fucked into you. Stabilising yourself, your hands reached out to his growing antlers; something you knew was pleasurable to him, attempting to balance yourself as you rode yourself against his hand.

“Yes, sir.” You managed to moan as you complied, the dials in his eyes flickering to your cunt as he watched you bounce on his palm; your blood smearing against his metacarpus, as well as your own folds and thighs as you continued to allow him to create new wounds inside you with every bounce you made.

Your rhythm hastened as you savoured each painful infliction made against you as Alastor’s hand that previously was placed on your neck began to grip onto your chest; his claws tearing into your flesh as he dragged his talons down; forcing slightly deep open wounds to rip your dermis apart. You screamed, not only from the pain, but from the sudden forced orgasm that ejected from your cunt; your husband's hand milking it out of you as it mixed in with the fluids of your blood. It was something you weren’t expecting at all, especially since you hadn’t even felt a build up of your release before it was inevitably ripped from you.

A true masochist; cumming from your husband’s assault over the pleasure he was enacting on you.

You could feel Alastors grin tighten in glee as he watched your face contort whilst you cummed all over his hand; your eyes rolling back as your mouth gaped, his fingers still inside of you as you halted your bouncing to experience your orgasm, twitching your hips and thighs ever so slightly as you did. Although he was a sadist, and loved inflicting pain on you, your pleasure was much more desired. He craved to see you so prettily satisfied.

As your orgasm ended, his fingers retracted from your cunt before he licked the stream of blood from his weaponised fingers; your eye half lidded as your face flushed from watching him lick up your blood and cum before he kissed you ever so slightly with red stained lubricated lips; smearing your own fluids against your mouth. As you allowed his tongue to enter your mouth once more, tasting your own essence on your tongue, black conjured appendages gripped the contents of your body from your thighs to your biceps, only to throw you against the blankets that covered the bed you shared with your husband.

Looking over to him, you watched as he began the process of taking his suit off his build. Biting your lip as you watched him undress himself to inevitably fuck his heavy sex into you, you opened your legs wide so he could witness the bloodied crime scene he had created inside your cunt; his breath hitching as he watched you display yourself for him.

Unzipping his suit pants, he allowed his heavy and large cock to weigh down as it erected from the confines of his clothes. You could only anticipate him as he etched himself closer and closer toward you, your vision only fixated on your husband’s very throbbing, very angry sex as it leaked spouts of his acidic precum before his arms entrapped you form into the bed.

As he looked at you longingly, asking for permission to ravish you, you wrapped your arms around his neck before pulling his body against yours, giving him a soft kiss as you encased his hips with your legs, securing him against you before you guided him to enter you.

Using your blood as lubricant, he slid his member inside of you with ease, filling your cunt up with that ridiculously fat cock of his that always hit every nerve within you, always making you cry out a moan; yet this time, his cock scraped against the raw wounds inside you, adding a new found painful pleasure into the mix as he began to pound his cock inside you without remorse. It was so contrasting but so good; his cock sliding in and out of you with his rough pace, each thrust causing your open wounds to shriek in pain as he pummelled you. You felt so dizzy, so sexually satisfied as he fed you with not only the pleasure of his cock, the pain you desired immensely.

Alastor fucked you into the mattress, forcing the bed to creak with every relentless thrust. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose, and when the bed began to bang against the wall from his intensity, you knew he was; the slamming of the bed conveyed to everyone you were his, only his.

His pace was unforgiving, harsh and rough, you genuinely believe he was planning on breaking the bed with how purposefully hard he fucked you. You couldn’t prevent the screams that ripped from your throat as his cock pushed against the opening of your cervix with every thrust he made, massaging each little wound as he pummelled himself inside of you. “That right; scream for me as I fuck you.” His words were laced with pure ownership, dominance, the need to consume who you were and let everyone know that you were his and his alone. “Scream so that stupid king of hell knows who you belong to.” His voice glitched with static as his eyes began to bleed whilst he fucked you hard.

As you began to scream for him to go harder, to hurt you more, his form began to grow ever so slightly as his weight, along with the sheer force he was fucking into you made the bed to snap in half, causing a loud and awkward amount of noise to echo throughout the hotel; but Alastor didn’t stop. No, he continued to fuck you as though it had never happened.

Crying out from his size, your thighs began to shake, and before you could be graced with a second orgasm, Alastor’s cock left the confines of your cunt, only to groan out as his cock squirted your stomach, chest and face with his acidic cum.

Whining from his cum that covered you, and the disappointment of not being able to cum on his cock, your husband only chuckled at you.

“Don’t worry, my beautiful wife, I’ll make you cum as many times as you want; just keep telling me you’re all mine.”

Sorry if it's bad I was in a rush OKAY BYEEE

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert #hazbin hotel #x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut

452 notes · View notes

musedeluce · 1 month ago

Text

Protection Detail

Rafayel x Reader – (He didn’t actually hire you to protect him as a bodyguard, but you don’t know that, and of course you take your job seriously.)

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Slight Violence, Hospitalization, Blood and Injury.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It was dusk, and the heady, but ultimately pleasant scent of different perfumes swirled through the air as people moved throughout the exhibit. Floral,citrus, earthy, fresh, there was such a variety of scents. Inhaling, you did your best to identify the specific notes. It was something you did for fun, and also to hone your senses, as keen senses could save your life, and others one day. An ornate chandelier twinkled, illuminating the grand exhibition hall. People dressed in beautiful, high quality clothes milled about, moving from painting to painting. From your vantage point on a balcony overlooking the exhibit, everything seemed to be going quite well. As Rafayel’s hired bodyguard, you were never that far from him, but you took care to be as unobtrusive as possible. Right now, you had just finished a security check and were on your way to relieve the security guard you had asked to watch him while you were gone, for 10 minutes at most.

“Thank you.” Taking your post, you make sure you can see Rafayel clearly and keep an eye on the environment around him. As if he knew you were looking at him, he turned his head, his vibrant, swirling indigo eyes meeting yours for a moment, as it to make sure you were still there, before he turned away to speak with a guest.

“No problem. Nothing really happened while you were gone. Mainly, Thomas has been introducing people to him to briefly talk and then whisking them away again while he stands there looking austere.” That’s so like him, you think, amused at him purposely being the minimum amount of sociable he could be. You were lucky in this regard, as you didn’t have to socialize with anyone at all. The security guard walked off and you remained, alert to any trouble. Slowly, Rafayel circled throughout the room with you following discreetly, and he would sometimes glance back at you before he moved. For a few hours, that’s how the exhibition continued. Everything was calm, people mingled, delicious food and drink was consumed, and honestly it was a great time.

While surveying the grand hall, something slightly out of place caught your eye. A lone figure stood gazing up that the pinnacle of the exhibit, close enough to touch the masterpiece painting.. too close. His posture was stiff, his back ramrod straight and his hands, his hand were clenched at his sides. You couldn’t here anything from where you were but the man seemed to be talking to himself, mouthing words, probably bitter, ugly words if his body language was any indication. It reminded you of someone you had met before. Abruptly, the man whipped around and stalked through the crowd...straight towards Rafayel. Naturally, you started moving towards Rafayel as well, maneuvering to intercept the man before he reached the artist.

Physically dealing with a person is always supposed to be the last resort, with de-escalation being the main goal of any bodyguard. The response should always be proportionate, and the goal should always be the protection of your mark. Security people do not exist to punch people out, they’re only supposed to do that if that’s the only option. Hence, why you positioned yourself in between the man and your employer, who also happened to be someone you considered dear.

“Why should he get all the attention? Just him? My work is just as good, but I’m paid dust!” His voice was tinged with a sickly green, the tone bitter and rotten. “All his work is boring and generic. Inspiring? Unique? Don’t make me laugh. “ His noxious laughter seemed to echo throughout the hall, the sour smell of alcohol on his breath shed more light on the situation.

“Sir, are you feeling alright?” You kept your voice neutral, changing your expression to one of concern despite your annoyance. It was a better approach to ask this question and questions like it instead of immediately asking them to leave, or what they were doing as that was much more confrontational. It had the added benefit of often confusing them, and actually making them consider their actions. Unfortunately, this time it failed.

“I’ll feel perfectly fine when you get out of my way.” The man tries to get all up in your face, but you remain unruffled.

“Sir. I can’t do that, but I might be able to help you in some other way. Do you want a glass of water?” He sneers, and spews spit in your direction as he snarls at you.

“Bitch, get the fuck out of my way. I don’t need a fucking glass of water.” He attempts to push you aside. Annoyed, but not surprised, you effortlessly grab him and flip him around, locking his arms behind his back and start to escort him in the direction of the exit. Hearing some soft footsteps approaching, you knew Rafayel had seen what was going on. Hopefully you could get him out before Rafayel made it to you.

“Okay, sir. I’m going to have to escort you out for getting physical.”

“How dare you put your hands on me!” The idiot was starting to make a scene, but it’s not like you cared. You were doing your job, and he was making himself look bad, a scene wouldn’t affect you. “Rafayel is the one who deserves to be humiliated! He’s got you all eating out of the palm of his hand because of some pathetic art that has no soul!” Other security guards approached, and you made the decision to hand him off to them so you could get back to Rafayel, and so that this person wasn’t with you when Rafayel got close, he was about 2/3rds of the way to you. After the initial outburst, people, seeing it was just someone being drunk and poorly behaved, returned to what they were doing as soon as they saw it was being handled.

“Escort him out, please. And call him a cab or something, he’s drunk, on both jealousy and alcohol.” You push him into the custody of the same man you had asked to watch Rafayel for a while. Turning on your heel, you stride in Rafayel’s direction and meet up with him quickly.

“What’s up?” He asks, tone casual and almost playful, but not quite.

“Just some drunk idiot.” You shrug, and fill Rafayel on what happened, leaving out the specific insults upon his art.

“HEY!” The sharp yell behind you was followed by the footsteps of someone directly sprinting towards Rafayel, and you. Instinctually, you whip around, pushing Rafayel behind you. Icy pain exploded through your head, which had snapped back with the impact of the man’s punch. Itaking the punch was something you knew you were capable of, and since he had now punched you, you could now take more actions. Also, there was no way in Hell you were gonna let some drunken, pathetic sod even touch Rafayel, let alone punch him. The sod in question could now also be booked for assault. All of these were reasons you took the punch, and also because the man had acted quite quickly, and you spent any extra time you had to react to him getting Rafayel out of the way, so you also took the punch because it was one of the only actions you could take at the time.

Unimpressed, you look back at the man, who was apparently sobering up as realization of what he had done dawned in his eyes. You punched him in the stomach as hard as you could, for the purposes of subduing him and possibly, a little bit, for your own satisfaction. Writhing on the ground, event security surrounded him and finally he was kicked out.

“What a mess.” Muttering to yourself, you turn to Rafayel, making sure he was alright. “My apologies, Boss.” You gently touch your nose, your hand coming away with crimson blood on the tips of your fingers. It wasn’t broken but that wasn’t the only thing you had to worry about, whenever you took a blow to the head it was always possible to get a concussion, and bleeding from your nose wasn’t a great sign, especially since you hadn’t actually been punched directly in the nose. “Are you okay?” You eye him, examining his body up and down. “You seem to be, but I’d like your verbal confirmation.” Rafayel grabs your bloodied hand, making a show of examining it, and your face, closely.

“Your devotion is astounding.” His tone is playful, teasing. “I should reward you with a trip to the hospital, the most magical location in the world.” Gasping, you play along, a smile twitching at the corners of your lips.

“The hospital? I’ve always wanted to go there, what a great reward!” The two of you make your way to one of the exits, walking side by side which is unusual as you were either in front of him or behind him depending on the situation. Everyone lets you go, even Thomas.

“Your chariot awaits.” Rafayel opens the passenger door for you, deciding that he would be the one to drive - quite honestly, a good thing because you felt a headache developing, and you couldn’t tell if it was a concussion headache, or just one from being punched.

“Your powers of perception are most impressive! What tipped you off about that pathetic knave?” Rafayel continued his teasing, which you were grateful for. It would serve a dual purpose of keeping you engaged, important if you had a concussion, and honestly just making you feel better.

“Alas, it’s nothing so impressive as you may think. The knave reminded me of someone creepy I had met before.”

“Oh?” Rafayel arches an eyebrow. “Do enlighten me, noble knight.”

“Hush.” You giggle, and then become more serious. “Remember how our second meeting was because I needed to investigate one of your paintings? The man tonight reminded me of Raymond, the collector who bought your painting. They both had the same...creepy and obsessive vibes. I honestly suspect that what happened to Raymond was orchestrated somehow, and that he brought it upon himself. This man today, also brought what happened upon himself.”

“Interesting!” Rafayel’s playful voice adapted a silken tone.”You don’t talk a lot about your other job! I feel left out, and this topic is much less boring than some jealous drunk. Who do you think orchestrated what happened to Raymond?”

“Well, the most likely suspect is you, as the artist. You have the most control over the painting itself.” Equally as playful as he was, you continue to speak. “But, who cares? I trust your judgment, given what I know of you, though I suspect I don’t know that much. I also trust my own judgment, and there was something seriously off about Raymond. Hence why when this guy reminded me of him, I was on alert.”

“How flattering! To think, the best hunter in Linkon trusts my judgment as much as their own.” A genuine, soft smile graces Rafayel’s pretty face. A minute later, you’re at Akso hospital, making your way to the emergency room. Luckily for you, it wasn’t very busy and the wait was short. Unluckily, you were admitted overnight for observation, because even though you seemed to be fine, they wanted to know for sure, and there was the extra factor of your protocore syndrome to consider.

“Honestly Rafayel, it’s okay if you leave.” He had been allowed to go with you once you told them you wanted to see him, so you could inform him of what was going on. “I’ve spent a lot of nights in this hospital alone. I just wanted to make sure you knew what was up.”

“What? And leave you alone after you so valiantly protected me? Not a chance.” Rafayel takes a seat on the hospital cot he had set up. “Besides, we apparently need to discuss your rather worrying tendency for self-sacrifice. I’m a bit mad, you know.”

“Mad? Why would you be mad when I was protecting you, a job you explicitly hired me to do?” He gasped in mock outrage.

“You only protected me because I pay you? In that case -” His tone softens. “If I stop paying you will you stop trying to protect me?”

“Rude! I didn’t just protect you because you pay me, I genuinely wanted to protect you. I don’t want you to get hurt, especially not if there’s anything I can do about it.” You were earnest, and frankly Rafayel was scared to hear it, but so impossibly happy. “So, I guess the answer to that question is no.” Your laugh was invigorating.

“Humans are all so selfish. Always acting how they want with no regard for anyone else.” The cot creaked as he leaned backwards, the fresh, energetic smell of his cologne wafting through the air, and his voice was quiet, enough so that you suspect he was talking to himself. You responded anyway.

“That’s not true. Humans are too varied to make blanket statements like that and “Humans are inherently evil and horrible.” Rafayel hums in response, studying you, the pause in the conversation growing heavy.

“I’ve decided. No protecting me if it hurts you.” He gets up off the cot, and spreads his arms, wordlessly asking for a hug. You open your arms in response, and he envelops you in a soft, strong and comfortable hug. “Your life is precious and important. I’d much rather experience life with you, not be a reason you got hurt.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

A/N: He's my favorite!! I think a lot of people do not actually understand his character, and portray him as simple, immature, clingy, and whiny. He's playful and fun, yes but also quite patient and calculating, among other things. His character is quite complex and he's very, very smart. For instance, during the car ride he's trying to get more information, not just flirt with the MC. XD I have THOUGHTS

#love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #rafayel #l&ds rafayel #rafayel l&ds #rafayel x you #hurt/comfort #blood and injury #fanfic #I ALSO think he's one of the least jealous/clingy characters #Reading his stuff its pretty clear lol

113 notes · View notes

niishii · 1 year ago

Text

you snooze, you lose—fraken stein x fem!reader insert

Summary; in which stein attemps to find you guilty of sleeping while grading papers.

Warnings; none, just fluff!

Authors note; ask and you shall receive. thank you all for voting in my latest poll! expect another one soon!

"Getting sleepy, aren't we?"

You lifted your head from the stack of papers on your desk that were desperately in need of being graded. "Not at all. I'm just resting my eyes," you said, picking up the red pen that had somehow slipped from your fingers.

Stein scoffed, rolling towards your desk in the chair he sat in backwards. "Yeah, right, sleepy," he said, poking your cheek. "I saw you drooling."

Lazily, you slapped his hand away. "In your dreams, cheater. At least I'm actually grading papers." Playfully, you snatched the unlit cigarette from his lips and tossed it in the trashcan next to you. "Also, there's no smoking in my classroom."

Like a lost puppy, he braced his chin on his wrists and pouted, easing forward until his chair hit the front of your desk. You were now face to face with him, though you lowered your head back down to the essay you were in the middle of grading - right before he could place a kiss on your lips.

"But, I finished grading," he replied in playful defense.

You lifted your head and looked past his shoulder at the numerous stacks of paper haphazardly towered over a smooth wooden surface. You lifted a brow at your opponent.

"Okay...so I only graded one stack," he added quickly, sitting up in his chair, blocking your view of the mountain of papers behind him. "But at least I haven't snored yet."

"I do not snore," you said defensively as he began to laugh. In the midst of his contagious laughter, he threw his head back, the ceiling light reflecting off of his glasses. Before he could compose himself, he slipped and the chair went down with him in a loud crash.

Smirking, you peered over your desk at your boyfriend on the floor. Your chin resting in your palm.

"Aha! So you were sleeping!" He pointed at you from below, adjusting his glasses as if the chair had packed a good punch to his face on his way down.

"You have no proof," You said simply before standing from your chair. You turned to face the blackboard and began erasing your notes in hopes of getting more energy circulating through your veins.

"Ah, but I do, pretty," he replied, pulling himself to his feet. He wiped the dust from his lab coat and clumsily stepped over the squeaky chair before making his way towards you. Wordlessly, he took your wrist, the one erasing notes from the board, and held it up. "Exhibit A."

His thumb ran over the imprint marks from you leaning on your spiral bound notebook. The marks ran from the back of your hand to your forearm.

"So?" You gently took your wrist back and faced the board again. "Doesn't mean I was sleeping."

"Exhibit B," he said, continuing his charade. He reached out to touch your chin, gently turning your head to face him. His thumb swept just below your eyes. "Large pupils, droopy eyelids."

"Which indicate what, Stein?"

Stein smirked and whispered, "Sleep deprivation," before kissing your cheek.

You stifled a soft laugh and turned your chin away from his grasp. You playfully rolled your eyes despite the heat rising to your cheeks.

"And what's your final submission of evidence?" You asked before using your other hand to stifle an untimely yawn.

"Exhibit C," he said, pointing at you with a smirk.

Playfully, you swatted at him like he was a pesky fly, but he dodged your attempts easily. "Good thing you're a scientist," you mumbled in between yawns and giggles. "Because you'd be a terrible lawyer."

Nodding in agreement, he took both your cheeks in his hollowed hands and placed a kiss on your lips.

"Yeah, right. I'd be a fantastic lawyer, and you know it."

#soul eater fanfiction #soul eater x reader #soul eater x reader insert #soul eater stein #franken stein x reader #fraken stein x reader insert #stein x you #stein x y/n #niishii #soul eater #soul eater fic #soul eater fandom #stein x reader #anime fanfic #anime fanfiction #souleater #soul eater x reader #soul eater x y/n

881 notes · View notes

iliketangerines · 9 months ago

Note

PLEASE WE NEED MORE OF PROFESSOR JOHNNY CAGE, BUT THIS TIME COULD YOU MAKE HIM DESPERATE FOR HIS STUDENT? LIKE YOU KNOW THE READERS JUST SO PRETTY HE CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF HER, AND SHES SO SHY THAT SHE GETS FLUSTERED BY EVERYTHING, AND THIS DRIVES HIM CRAZY ( smut 🙏🙏 )

LOVE YOUR WORK🫶🏻😩

no one needs to know pt.2

a/n: i gotchu cutie, and i can't stop thinking about johnny with gray streaks in his hair like bark bark bro.

pairing: professor!johnny cage x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), power imbalance; mentions of pussy eating, blowjobs, overstimulation, spanking, thigh riding, exhibition kink

the second that Johnny had seen you, he was floored

you had come in early to his physics classroom where he was standing up on a chair, trying to figure out what was wrong with the damn projector

his sleeves had been rolled up his forearms, and he had unbuttoned his shirt due to the exertion of trying to fix the overheated projector

and then, you had walked in, and he looked down and saw you, dressed in an oversized coat for the winter and baggy sweatpants, and he found you cute

Johnny blinked, this was his student that he was thinking about, get it together!

but then you took off your coat to reveal a skin-tight short sleeve shirt that was tight enough to reveal the perky nipples underneath your bra, and he was done for

he came down from the chair he was standing on and approached you, reaching his hand out to shake yours and introduce himself as your teacher since you’re the first and only one in the classroom

you glance down at his forearms and a light blush dusts over your cheeks as you hold out your hand and return his handshake

he can feel how soft your hands are in his, and images of your hands wrapped around his cock flash through his mind

he gives you a big smile, trying to put on some of the Cage charm from his sprightlier days, and it seems to work because you duck your head down to hide your blush and take a seat

he walks back up to the front of the class, taking the chalk and writing on the board his name and information, and he turns around to see some more students trickling in

he ignores them, however, opting to just steal glances at you from his laptop

you bite your plump and soft-looking lips as you look at something on your phone, and when your lips stretch into a smile at something, Johnny wants nothing more than to have them stretched around his thick cock and-

concentrate! this is his student. he can’t be having these kinds of thoughts!

and yet, you still run through his mind through the rest of class, and he has to stay behind the computer stand to hide his embarrassing hard-on

but still, he glances at you throughout the class and notices how you keep staring at his forearms, and he smiles inwardly

from then on, he keeps his shirt sleeves rolled up to try and catch you staring at him, and everytime you turn your head away to blush, his ego jumps to impossible heights

he walks up and down the aisles when you guys work on worksheets that he’s handed out, and he purposefully stands next to you as he ‘observes’ the classroom, his crotch next to your face so that he can watch you blush furiously and try not to stare

whenever you raise a hand into the air for a question, he has to stop himself from dropping everything and answering your question

he takes his time to walk to your desk, trying to be as subtle as possible as he flexes his arms and settles down next to you

he can see in the corner of your eye at how your eyes glance up and down his arms and how they flicker between his lips and his crotch

he has to stop himself from having an inappropriate thought coming through his mind

he always puts on a slight bit more cologne those days where you have class with him and leans in a bit too close to you, and he knows it makes your head spin as you stutter through your words and questions

at home, he lays in bed and imagines how soft and perfect you would be for him

he imagines how your lips would wrap around his cock, and how they would stretch and how you would whine and cry at him fucking into your mouth

he imagines how it would be to tease you, flicking your clit back and forth with his fingers as he brings you to the edge over and over again

he thinks your whimpers and moans would be heavenly

he imagines how tight and wet your pussy is and how it would squeeze his cock just right, and he imagines how good you would taste on his tongue

when the first quiz comes around, and he sees your mostly incorrect answers, he has to stop himself from smiling because you would have to come to office hours

except you don’t, and he gets more desperate, judging your test maybe a bit more harshly than others to try and get you to come to his office

and when he sees you receive your quiz back marked in red and sees how your eyes fill with tears and how your lip slightly wobbles, Johnny wants to bend you over in front of the class and fuck you stupid

wants to have you crying out for him as he fucks you on the desk like a whore

especially after he finds you after class talking to another student about making plans to study together for the upcoming quiz

he wants to go up to you, squeeze your tits and finger your pussy while staring at the other student dead in the eye and claim you as his

he wants to spread you open and show how he’s the only one who can make your pussy so desperate and wet for him and how a college student with minimal experience couldn’t do that

he wants to have you crying on his cock, tears streaming down your face and body bruised from how hard he grabs you

but he doesn’t, just seethes from a distance as the other student happily agrees to the study date

that night he imagines punishing you for being a brat and talking to other people to make him jealous

he imagines that your ass would look beautiful marked in red and his bite marks, and that your begging and whimpers would sound like music to his ears

he imagines how your cunt would drool even after a harsh spanking and how he would make you cum so many times that you start asking him to stop

he bites his lip and cums into his fist at the thought and cleans himself up

later in the week, when it’s too hot in the building and he just dresses in a tank top, he nearly hops over his desk and fucks you when you walk in with a short skirt on

fuck, your legs are toned and plush, perfect for squeezing and slapping, and your plump ass is barely covered by the fabric of the skirt, and he wants to smack it

but he also catches how you gape at his arms and how when he flexes it just ever so slightly, you have to turn your head away and rub your thighs together ever so subtly

that night, Johnny had never jerked off so much to the thought of you

it’s a month and a half into the semester, and you’ve had your first exam, and you’ve failed, there’s no way you can come back unless you get perfects on every quiz and exam going forward

when he sees your name pop up in his calendar that you scheduled a private office hour meeting with him, he nearly jumps into the air

he clears his calendar around your meeting with him, making sure no one comes in before or after you for at least an hour, so he can take his time with you

and when you come and he sees how you flush and stammer over his words when he leans in close, he knows he’s got you hook, line, and sinker

and when he sees tears well in your eyes and how your voice slightly wobbles at the thought of failing, he has to stop himself from jumping the gun and fucking you right there

and when he finally does taste you, you’re so much sweeter than he thought, and when he finally fucks you, you’re so much warmer and tighter than he thought

when he sends you off that day, his mind runs wild with thoughts of what he can do to you

maybe he’ll have you cockwarm him with your mouth while he grades exams, maybe he’ll prop you up on his desk and eat you out for the rest of the day

maybe he’ll make you ride his thigh and make a mess of his dress pants while you whine for him to please make you cum

maybe he’ll make you wear a vibrator in class and have to stay quiet as he teaches class

Johnny can’t wait until your next meeting with him

#tangerine writes #tangerine answers #mortal kombat #mk #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat smut #mk smut #mortal kombat x reader #mk x y/n #mk x you #johnny cage #johnny cage mk1 #mk1 johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage x you #johnny cage x y/n #johnny cage smut

251 notes · View notes

ouiouimochi · 4 months ago

Text

Rayne, Rayne

rayne is a bit ooc at the start since the story would start when they were still children

Part 2

pairing/s: rayne ames x f!reader, rayne ames x you

genre: childhood friends(?), self-sacrificing mc, hurt/comfort

wc: 5,700+

warnings: VERY long fic (idk if considered slowburn), misunderstandings, use of honorifics, mentions of bullying, violence, blood, injuries, swearing, unethical experimentation

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

what if you were a bit of a bully when you were a kid and you thought rayne left because your teasing got too much?

it was raining hard

all you could do was stare out the window of your second floor bedroom while your mother prepared a warm dinner for your family downstairs

you thought back to the times you got too mean at the other children your age in the neighbourhood

maybe if you were just a tad considerate, it would've been different

Children's laughter rings out throughout the playground as kids run and chase each other. All the while, Rayne and his little brother Finn, were at the swings as the former pushed the latter on one. It was peaceful.

“Boo.”

Until small hands clamped around Rayne's shoulders, surprising the boy and causing him to stumble to the floor. A girl’s loud laughter immediately followed, making fun of him.

Rayne groans in annoyance, picking himself up from the floor after rolling his eyes.

“What’s your problem now, (y/n).” He calls you out.

You stuck your tongue out at him.

“Nothing~! Just thought I'd say hello to my favorite lil buddy~” You emphasized the word a little too much while mischievously smiling at the boy.

Rayne sighs, dusting himself off as he positions himself back to pushing his little brother on the swings.

You pouted at being ignored.

“Raaaayneeee~” you drawl out his name.

“What?” he snaps at you.

“Nothing~!” You smile again.

“Ugh, you're so intolerable.”

“Ooh, big word. Don't understand it though ~” you quip back and giggle at him.

This was a normal interaction between the two of you—you annoying and making his life miserable (his words) while all he does is complain but doing nothing to change the dynamics of your friendship.

•°•°•°•°•°•°

Another day comes, and you manage to somehow come up with a stupid song to annoy Rayne with.

“Rayne, Rayne, go awaayy~ Come again another day~” You sang out for the nth time as the tortured male covered his ears to drown out your noise but to no avail. Finn was playing with other kids while he was stuck here trying to stand your irritating presence.

“Ugh, you're so original, you know that?” he sarcastically said.

You seemed proud of that, doing an extravagant curtsy. “Oh, I try. Thank you for noticing!” You beam at him as he only gets more annoyed when you sing that song again.

“Can you stop? You know if it wasn't me you were bullying, others would've left you alone by now.” He had enough.

But it seemed the words only went in one ear and passed through the next.

“I'm only tryna have some fun here, thoughhh.” You whined at the honey eyed boy as he can only do nothing but sigh at your shenanigans.

“It's time for us to go already.” He stood up, going to fetch Finn.

You whine again, “Are you gonna be back here tomorrow?” you genuinely asked.

“So that you can annoy me again? Pass.” he quips.

You pout and still whine. “But who can I make fun of but you? “

“Go look for other kids, then.”

“Immediate pass.” You deadpanned, enjoying the dual-colored haired boy’s presence much more than the other kids in the playground.

He walks and you stand up.

“I'll be here tomorrow so you better prepare for me!” You declare to him.

“Prepare for you? In your dreams, (y/n).” He spoke but you don't miss the smile he exhibited as he turned back and left.

•°•°•°•°•°•°

The next day, you waited for him and Finn, but they weren't there.

‘Maybe Finn got sick and Rayne had to take care of him’ You thought to yourself as you went back home early.

The day after that, there were no signs of them either. Like the day after and after and after.

It's like the two brothers were just gone.

You began to worry, wondering if something bad happened to them.

You even asked the other kids but they only shrugged their shoulders, knowing as much as you. Only having noticed when you asked.

So now, back at home, you were moping around as your mother made no mention of it— thinking it was just a kid thing.

You overthink that maybe Rayne actually did get tired of you.

That he left because you were too mean and a bad influence to Finn.

so you tap on the glass as the pitter patter of the rain goes on

“rayne, rayne…”

•°•°•°•°•°•°

then in easton, you meet him again and try to make it up to him through helping him in any ways possible

you met again when you were in middle school, having enrolled at easton academy

it was awkward meeting him at first, since he seemed more… cold

especially when his face was stoic as you observed so far

you caught wind that he was aiming for Divine Visionary for when he moves up to high school

so you dedicated yourself to being a white mage that would support him

he doesn't even need to ask

you just really felt like you needed to do so in order to make up for your childhood guilt

Rayne would just be doing his business, but then he'd feel the burning sensation of eyes on him. The male inconspicuously investigates the source and finds out the gaze burning holes into him was you.

He clicks his tongue mentally. ‘Same as ever. Annoying.’

It happens a lot but he never does anything about your staring at all.

So when you two got paired up for class, it was hella awkward. Not much was said as you two individually did your tasks silently.

You two wordlessly exchange your papers to double check each other's work— the silence was still thick.

Your eyes rake over Rayne's work, it was well done. You would've handed it back to him already if you hadn't spotted a small error in the last paragraph.

So you tell him about how it's wrong, surprising the male that you broke the silence first. He had nothing to say about your part since it left no room for error.

The male checked his work and you were right about the mistake he made, “I see…”, so he corrected it.

Back to that silence.

•°•°•°•°•°•°

Your entire stay at Easton consisted of diligently practicing your support magic and trying to not get into Rayne’s way whenever you two were grouped together by some twist of fate.

You always attentively observed the male in case he needed something and other students started taking notice of it— this was in your first year of highschool in Easton Academy and Rayne was starting to gain influence from his feats (that you also had helped him in some).

And so the students began to talk and rumors began spreading that you were Rayne’s fangirl, some being overly twisted and getting farther from the truth.

Rayne did not like hearing rumors get twisted each time one reached his ears. Especially not when it involves you and your reputation.

He's always noted how you've been helping him each time. Ever so diligently but silently. The honey eyed male was grateful for you but he still had a goal to achieve— that doesn’t mean he didn't care about you, though.

He observed you to see how you were faring from the gossip, but only to find he had nothing to worry about when you were completely unbothered.

‘Always unperturbed by others.’

•°•°•°•°•°•°

By the end of your first year in Easton highschool, Rayne was assigned as a red mage while you were assigned as a white mage. You both were impressively the top for the respective positions in your year.

Now, having dedicated the past few years to training and honing his skills, it took no time for the stoic-faced male to rack up credits even without your help during your second year.

You've also managed to garner credits on your own despite specializing only in support magic, but you don't have any plans in using them to become a Divine Visionary Candidate.

If anything you only wanted to give all your coins away to Rayne. However, you know he wouldn't accept it anyways.

When the Divine Visionary Candidate Examinations came around, Headmaster Wahlberg called upon each candidate to his office– which included you as you passively managed to collect enough credit to be a viable contestant.

You politely declined the ticket many hoped to even achieve and instead volunteered to be the on-site healer during the examinations.

“Hmm… Very well then, you are a very capable white mage despite your age.” The wise old man answered after a short but careful deliberation.

You bow your head in gratitude at the greatest mage of the time before excusing yourself to leave.

Walhberg is left to his own thoughts of how a promising white mage such as yourself declined the opportunity of sitting at the top since it's not unheard of to have someone specializing in support magic as Divine Visionary.

‘She worked hard the past few years only to step down from what others can only dream of reaching. Where do her aspirations lie, I wonder?’

•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Rayne.” You call out to the said male as he subtly turns his attention to you during a walk to the next class.

“I won't be participating in the Divine Visionary Candidate Exams.”

He stops walking, then turns his body to face you. An action that urged you to explain.

“My spells won't get me far in the competition catered for offensive magic anyways, so I wish you luck.” You smile up at him.

Rayne wanted to tell you otherwise, of how your support magic can beat even the most aggressive assault of spells so long as you willed it.

But those words never managed to make it out his mouth as you two arrived at your class for Fortune Telling— a subject he doesn't particularly enjoy.

•°•°•°•°•°•°

The candidate exam went by like a breeze for Rayne— a feat of overwhelming victory. It wasn't like his enemies were anything to scoff at either.

His spells and efficiency in dealing with his opponents were a testament to the effort he put into honing his skills during his whole time in Easton— ever since the first day.

The crowd may have been shocked, but you were not. You expected someone as honest as the dual-haired male to be capable of declaring anything and he'd achieve it. He's not one to give empty promises to anything or anyone.

You felt a pang of emotion you can't quite place at that.

‘He never really promised anything back then, so stop reacting like that. The past’s in the past.’

You smiled bitterly at the thought.

•°•°•°•°•°•°

The Tri-Magic-Athalon Divine Visionary Final Exam eventually arrived as the most anticipated event of the year.

You oversaw the event with Headmaster Wahlberg as per his request to have you as the assigned white mage for the occasion.

The Flame Cane was there as well, so you politely greeted him as the Headmaster introduced you. Kaldo watched in interest, hoping to see your talent in support magic as endorsed by someone as great as the Headmaster of Easton Magic Academy.

Such a shame you weren't a contestant to showcase such talent.

Back to the exams, Rayne was effortlessly powering through opponent after opponent. One in particular from Saint Ars managed to keep up with the half blond's attacks before eventually getting outskilled by him.

Walkis Academy dished out powerful mages as per usual so Rayne managed to go against their most promising candidate for the final round that decided who would become Divine Visionary.

The sheer destructive power the opponent had was domineering, instilling fear and awe into the audience as they watched on.

It seems a few words were exchanged on the field as your childhood friend only scoffed and brandished his wand in preparation.

Attacks were exchanged and defended against continuously, Rayne’s opponent showing visible signs of agitation at his unbothered expression.

The opponent sent out a much more powerful spell that the dual haired male was forced to defend against. A thick cloud of dust covered the two candidates as the audience watched in anticipation.

You smile, already knowing the victor of the match. The Flame Cane noticed your reaction.

As the dust settled, Rayne had his eyes closed while calmly storing away his wand back into the confines of his robe. His opponent lied pitifully on the floor as multiple swords had him meticulously pinned.

The crowd cheers as the announcer praises the dual-colored haired male as the winner of the Tri-Magic-Athalon and the next Divine Visionary— making him the youngest in history.

You were going to immediately applaud him if you hadn't noticed a suspicious movement from the defeated Walkis Academy student.

You bring out your wand as Kaldo watches for your next action.

The Walkis student couldn't accept it. That he was defeated despite being part of a school that was more powerful than Easton.

That he was defeated by a mere commoner with no background.

He couldn't accept this.

He managed to snatch his wand that was a few feet in front of him, quickly chanting a spell to attack the winner.

‘Winner you may be, you wouldn't expect this!’

And so the spell launches to the back of the new Divine Visionary and hits as smoke spreads out from the impact.

The audience collectively gasped in shock.

The student was wickedly smiling at having the spell land— but the smoke cloud cleared to reveal Rayne was unscathed behind a golden translucent barrier and looking at him with a disgusted glare.

The guy was clearly not in the right mind, readying another spell before being interrupted by bands of the same property as the barrier tightly binding all his limbs together. He unceremoniously falls to the floor with a harsh thud.

Thankfully, the security responded quickly in escorting out the bound student as you neatly kept your wand back into your robe’s sleeves. The Headmaster and Kaldo had to applaud you for the display of skill to quickly defend and neutralize a hostile force.

You turn to the two adults, excusing yourself politely before they said anything as you rush down into Rayne’s waiting room.

•°•°•°•°•°•°

You open the door in a hurry, completely disregarding the need to knock.

Rayne was allowing himself to lounge on the plush sofa with his head situated on top of the backrest of the furniture, facing the ceiling.

The male listens as your feet bring you behind the sofa he's at. He opened up his eyes to stare into the ceiling but found you in his field of view instead.

“You have a wound on your cheek.” He sighs while closing his eyes again.

“Just a scratch.”

The dual-colored haired male hears you click your tongue.

“My spell apparently didn't block the attack fast enough.” Rayne opens his eyes and stares right back into your eyes.

“It's fine, I could've handled it myself.” You sigh this time, making your way round the furniture.

He feels your presence situate itself in front of him, so he sits up.

“Let me heal that for you.” He wordlessly leans forward, allowing you to do what you wanted.

He didn't expect you to hold his face delicately as you aimed your wand near his wound though.

The area around both of you lit up with a gentle golden glow, orbs and wisps of light dancing around the small field of your magic.

It felt warm and comforting but Rayne doesn't dare to speak a word about it.

He also won't speak about his dismay when the moment ended way too quickly for his liking.

“Done.”

“Slightly overkill with the magic.”

“Hey, I had to make sure you had no other injuries.” You tut at him before pulling your personality back together.

The half blond acknowledges your effort with a grateful nod of his head— a slight smile itched itself into your expression at that.

You don't mind even if he doesn't acknowledge the effort you put into helping him. You only cared enough to know that your actions helped.

And that's enough for you.

•°•°•°•°•°•°

It got very busy for Rayne. Divine Visionary interviews, paperwork, inauguration, and the like got him so preoccupied that you barely remember when was the last time you saw him on campus.

That's also when you realize that you're all alone without the dual-colored haired male that you usually follow around. Your peers found that to be another subject to talk about.

You could care less about what they think. If anything, you only thought it was annoying that you can basically hear them despite their sorry excuse of whispers. Their gazes pierce through your skin as they talk and talk and talk.

Irritated, you brought yourself somewhere more quiet.

'Finally, peace.' You sighed out, having decided to walk through the hallways of the middle school department. Memories fill your mind of the training and effort you did during your whole stay in the department.

You smile, finding it endearing that your past self was so determined despite being so young (as if you weren't currently 17 or something cough).

A smack resounded throughout the empty hallways— or at least you thought it was empty at first.

You look to the end of the hall where a student seemed to have fallen to the ground along with his things. Other footsteps resounded in the same direction, you thought that maybe the owners would help the poor boy.

But they only sneered at him as the fallen student opted to bow and kneel at their feet to ask for forgiveness instead of picking up his fallen possessions.

You walk closer and closer as you start to hear their conversation— bits and pieces making up something along the lines of their dissatisfaction with their homework score as the fallen boy tried to reason he also had homeworks to do. All the poor kid got in response was a flood of paperworks being dumped on his head as the bullies showcase all the scores they were unsatisfied with.

You then noticed how familiar the fallen student was. Noting the familiar dual-colored hair before it clicks it was Finn.

‘Do they not know his brother is the newest Divine Visionary?’

The bullies started to become more agitated it seems as they were showing signs of wanting to engage in violence. Most of them raised their wands in preparation to send spells to the younger Ames as the pitiful kid can only hope it'd be over soon, closing his eyes to wait for the pain.

Except he never got attacked. The soft hearted male opened his eyes to see his bullies bound by bands of translucent gold.

“Shit!”

“The hell is this!!!!!”

“The fuck!”

They all exclaimed their curses and confusion— Finn was also confused before hearing the silent clicking of footsteps coming their way.

You cringe at their vocabulary. Not particularly fond of profanities being spouted by children their age.

“You stupid kids are abhorrent.” Finn’s head darts quickly in your direction, immediately recognizing you.

“(Y/n) nee-sama.” He gaped as you went straight to him, not minding that his bullies were still struggling to get out of their bindings.

“Greatest white mage you may be in this school, you don't even have a title!”

Your ears perked up, interested that information spread even to the middle school levels about yourself.

“Wait til’ our parents hear about this!!”

“We'll have you expelled immediately!”

Their noise immediately gets silenced as you cast a spell that covers their mouths like duct tape.

“How noisy.”

The younger Ames only watches as you gracefully tuck your wand away before gently holding his shoulders to get both of you up from the floor.

You quietly pat away the dust that settled on his robe like a caring older sister.

“Finn,” you called his name out as the boy flinched and prepared himself for a harsh scolding, “are you okay?”

He nods after getting over his shock from your recognition and worry for him even after all these years. He felt guilty that he and his brother were unable to properly say goodbye to you back then— they just disappeared so suddenly from your life.

“Let's talk after this, okay?” You smiled at the kid to reassure him.

You then turn your attention to the bullies still squirming around in your binding spell. Your eyes were chilly, the smile you gave Finn erased from your face.

“I'll have to bring you to Headmaster Wahlberg, it seems,” you coldly stated. The younger students freezing up in fear— they were not going to get away with this like they usually did.

Long story short, you explained to the Headmaster how the kids were making Finn do all their classwork as the poor kid barely had enough time to do his. After some interrogation with a magic spell that makes you spill only the truth, it was found out these kids were doing this since their second year.

The Headmaster was furious and valued academic integrity that was especially expected from those of noble lineage. The kids were quickly expelled, the wise man thanking you for bringing the issue to his attention before dismissing you and Finn.

Now that the issue was over, you went to the cafeteria with the boy— believing that it can ease up his nerves before you ask him about his school life.

The first thing you asked was why would the kids continuously bully him after knowing his brother became the newest Divine Visionary. You immediately followed up with a question asking if Rayne knew.

Finn seemed antsy, fiddling with his spoon.

“Why does Rayne not know?” you basically demanded to be answered, knowing how important it was.

“Nii-sama,” he gulps, “we— he doesn't talk to me…”

That was a big reveal, your eyes immediately widened.

“What?”

He continued, “It's understandable… I'm just a weak embarrassment to him…” the poor kid dejectedly said.

You don't know what to say.

Rayne was known to be protective of Finn when you were kids— he cared about his younger brother a lot.

You wonder if something drastically changed aside from how the older Ames acted. It just wasn't like him to not care for his younger brother.

For now, all you could offer to Finn was your help whenever he needed it. You brought it upon yourself to take care of him while his brother was busy ignoring him.

You think about what else you missed out on— what you didn't know. All you knew was that your childhood guilt was not the cause of the sudden disappearance of the Ames siblings back then.

But your inner self keeps chewing you out for not treating them nicer at the very least back then, always poking fun at them.

•°•°•°•°•°•°

It was all too unexpected— what was only supposed to be a simple recon mission turned to an all out battle against a whole dark magic organization. You and Rayne were getting more and more exhausted as the enemies endlessly appeared to capture or kill you both.

You heave.

Let's backtrack a bit, shall we?

Rayne finally got assigned his first mission as Divine Visionary to do some reconnaissance on a suspicious organization that's been monitored by the Bureau for a while now. As the newest and youngest of the Visionaries, someone else would have to accompany the male to his first mission. However, the other Visionaries were busy with other work.

The male in question had no qualms about going solo at all, but the protocols called for him to be paired with someone skilled enough incase of a worst case scenario. So it came as a bit of surprise when the Flame Cane recommended you as his pair for the mission.

Some Visionaries had questions as to why Kaldo suggested pairing up two young students on a mission that potentially had its risks— but knowing how sharp the albino’s judgement on talents is, approved of the arrangements after a bit of discussion. So you were called into Headmaster Wahlberg’s office— you've been frequenting a lot this year, you noticed— in order to request your assistance in the issue.

You accepted since it almost seemed like your life mission was to help Rayne in just about anything. The male, despite knowing full well of your capabilities in application, was slightly displeased at the information he received of being assisted by you on his first Visionary mission.

He kept his expression as neutral as possible, you however were able to pick up on it quickly as you two got a quick rundown of the mission before being sent off. You felt kind of rejected for some reason— but did not question the half blond.

The location of the organization you two were supposed to investigate was very isolated and secluded so even if a commotion were to happen, no outsider would be able to help you two. So that was also one of the reasons they had to pair Rayne up with another capable mage despite his skills.

It was supposed to be just a simple recon, nothing less. The place had pretty tight security so you two proceeded with absolute caution.

The organization’s executives were having a meeting, so that was where you two observed with a stealth spell you conjured up and the special cloaks the Bureau provided you both with.

They were talking about the progress of their research in creating chimeras— monsters made through combining different parts, be it magical creatures, animals, monsters, or even humans. You felt sick to your stomach listening to them casually talk about getting more live human subjects.

Then the meeting got so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

It was just one of the executives, who was very vigilant, had quickly informed the other members of intruders' eavesdropping. The whole place quickly turned upside down as an alarm rang throughout the underground establishment.

You two had to leave— but it was impossible to do quickly without revealing your exact whereabouts.

Eventually you two got discovered and had to fight for your lives. And here we are back to the present.

“Elite magicians incoming from the next hallway.” You informed Rayne, having to continuously cast a survey spell to detect enemy locations in a certain area incase of another unexpected variable.

“Any response from the Bureau?” he asked urgently. The honey eyed male didn't waste another second to send his swords flying to the group of elite magicians that just rounded the corner before they could even try preparing an attack.

You two continued running, “Said they'd send the Light Cane since he just finished his mission in the next town.” you said, setting up another barrier to defend against an attack from behind you two. “It'd take a while, though.”

“We can bulldoze through the units in the right turn.” Rayne wordlessly follows, trusting your judgement and skills.

After a few twists and turns, you managed to maneuver yourselves to a very spacious chamber— a training room, you supposed. At least this would allow the half blond to securely summon up more powerful spells to deter the enemies. The open area also allowed the two of you to anticipate attacks quicker due to the absence of the sharp corners of each twisting hallway.

“A whole bunch of them are rushing in here, seems to be the last.”

“Can finally wipe them all out in one go.” he muttered, exhaustion was actually taking its toll on both of you.

You nod in agreement and set up a trap that would completely immobilize those that step within its area of effect radius— a spell you were proud to call your Secondth.

So the enemies all come rushing in, without regard to possible traps set up. They were only thinking how the two of you can be easily overwhelmed by their sheer numbers no matter how powerful you two were.

As easily as that, they get impaired by a magic circle appearing beneath them— golden chains shooting upwards to capture each and every soldier. They could do nothing but be mercilessly beat up by the rain of swords your companion sent towards them.

You heaved, magic reserves almost completely drained due to the continuous casting of surveying, shielding, and binding spells. You casted one last survey spell to ensure the area was clear.

Your stomach dropped in dread and Rayne quickly noticed.

“Is there more?” he had to get it out of you fast.

“Only one…” you steeled yourself once again, “but this guy's way beyond the power level of the elite ones we dealt with.”

You were barely swift enough to set up a shield in time before a very destructive spell was shot in your direction. The whole area shook from the impact of the explosion.

“Tsk. So they sent the newest Visionary to foil my plans in creating the greatest beings of all time? I guess I'd have to take care of some pests that are in the way.”

It was the executive from earlier. The guy didn't even try to flee. He was a lanky middle aged man that had his messy, shoulder length hair down— wearing a suit that seemed a size too big for him. Overall looks like an old tired office worker that either was on something or just has perpetual insomnia.

The smoke clears and you two were mainly unharmed from his magic.

“Oh, you survived that… “ The old man scratches his head.

“Partisan.” Rayne wasted no time to send a counterattack.

The enemy clicks his tongue, the main battle only having just started.

•°•°•°•°•°•°

It was admittedly tough— given that you both were worn down from the endless waves of mages that came your way prior to the fight against the lanky executive. At the very least, he was defeated, motionlessly laying on the floor.

You sigh out a breath of relief, absolutely glad it was over. Rayne also visibly showed signs of ease as his countenance released tension.

“We should probably wait for Mr. Grantz outside instead.” You pat away the dust from your robe, as your companion only wordlessly nods his head in agreement with your plan.

You two start heading out calmly as if there weren't bodies littering the ground around the entrance of the training hall. You observed that all of them were down for the count anyways.

Feeling something strange hanging in the air, you look back to see the executive standing up on his feet in a stagger. Something fell with a clink as a glass vial started rolling away from the old man.

Although you were confident that the executive would be unable to continue fighting— your gut feeling was urging you to immediately flee.

Without much of a thought, you tackled Rayne to the floor as a stream of dark ominous flames barely missed you two.

You strangle back a scream as searing hot pain ran across your back. You look behind to see that you weren't able to completely dodge the attack. The clothes on your back were just burned away as your skin got mercilessly scorched. You observed further as the security you and Rayne defeated got the brunt of the attack, and were in a much worse condition than you were— their screams of pain and the sight making you want to throw up.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to forget the grotesque sight, trying to block out the sounds.

“(Y/n).” Rayne’s voice brings you back to reality as you open your eyes to meet with his golden ones.

You gulp, trying to find your voice amidst the pain spreading around your injury.

The half blond was cursing in his mind very badly— having noticed too late that the enemy wasn't fully incapacitated. It didn't help that you got wounded while getting the both of you out of the line of fire.

The pain was unbearable, you were trying to cast a healing spell to at least stop the bleeding and the pain. However, you find that the attack made it impossible to do so.

“Shiitshitshit.” You swore, you can't be here being a liability to Rayne.

Another attack was sent but the male luckily picked you up and dodged it. You hissed from the abrupt movement but you had no choice but to suck it up.

“Rayne, don't get hit by any attack… my healing isn't working…”

He was worried to learn that you weren't able to heal yourself— he had to put you somewhere safe first. And so he ran with you in his arms as he sent a barrage of swords behind him to stall time.

He stopped at an empty hallway, setting you down prone due to your back injury. You two were basically backed into a corner, not even knowing when backup would arrive.

“Just leave me here.” You urged him, thinking that it was best that at least one of you got out— you were also starting to see black dots within your vision.

“No.” Rayne immediately refused.

“I won't be any help,” you breathe as the air makes your wounds sting further, “you have the best chance of getting out.”

“I can still fight, I just need you to hold on until then.” He left no room for arguments as you clenched your fist.

Footsteps approached from down the hallway.

“Found you.”

“Stay put.” The honey eyed male basically commanded you.

You watched on as he faced the executive head on, exchanging attacks. He was holding up well, having followed your advice in avoiding getting hit. Despite how capable Rayne was, you knew how he was basically at his limit due to the earlier events.

So with your consciousness fading away, you've gathered all the power you can into a spell and casted it on your companion. You watch as he takes a quick glance in your direction, but cannot observe further as you promptly fall unconscious— energy completely depleted.

And so everything turned black.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Next >>

#rayne ames x reader #mashle x reader #rayne ames #mashle #mashle magic and muscles #mashle magic and muscles x reader #rayne x reader

99 notes · View notes

damianbugs · 11 months ago

Text

(comic references under cut)

a personal and fav hc of mine is that following jason's death, yes, batman shuts down, yes, he becomes colder and destructive — going out every night and staying out for as long as he can because hurting is better than trying and failing to sleep. i don't think he would have done the same as bruce wayne, though.

bruce wayne pulls away from the public. galas and events are either cancelled by the wayne foundations or go ahead without the man in attendance. no one can really blame him, after the death of his sheltered and beloved second son. there are no comments issued by anyone in the family besides what is strictly necessary and after one unavoidable yet invasive investigation¹ to sedate public obsession, bruce wayne does not speak on the matter at all.

he does however say a lot through action.

within a couple months, a long standing project finally gets unveiled with no big event or publicity. the Jason Todd-Wayne Homeless Shelter, right in the centre of Crime Alley. the Jason Todd-Wayne Children's Fund, offering free lunch meals to school children from struggling families. The Jason Project, focusing on reading programmes in prisons and rehabilitation support. donations under the name Jason Todd are publicly given to a multitude of charities.

the public opinion on these actions are split. some find it wonderful if heartbreaking, how a child can be so loved that their parent will do anything to make their legacy leave a mark in time. gotham hasn't seen such abrupt change in — well, ever. bruce wayne is known for charity, of course, but this is different. this is for one person. this is the most expensive form of mourning.

others are a bit unsettled. if all of this could have been done, why not do it before? why use a dead boy's name to do good that will only benefit the living waynes reputations? is this some sort of ego thing? to make himself feel better? to make everyone else feel bad?

bruce doesn't quite know himself.

part of it feels useless, pouring money and time not spent breaking bones (his own and others) into fulfilling dreams jason had once had. the boy had always wanted to help in a way that was more than batman, more than bruce. is it invasive, to assume jason would have been grateful for this, that jason would have agreed? does he have any right to be so presumptuous?

part of it feels necessary. to implicitly tell the world that even before jason todd had publicly died, the city had lost a hero². that losing him is more than just an article for the front page of the daily newsletter. that gotham has lost someone intrinsically important. to make it clear that bruce wayne is only as good as what his children let him be. that they are the ones who can make change, at the end of the day.

most of it is selfish. the Wayne Botanical Gardens opens a new exhibit for the first time in decades named My Son. the Gotham Library dedicates an entire self to Jason Todd-Wayne. the third door in the living quarters of the Wayne Manor is always locked, except for monthly dustings. there is a lesson, locked in a glass case down in a Cave, labeled A Good Soldier.

¹ : Batman: Gotham Knights #45

² : Batman #125

#i think the psychology of batman of bruce after jasons death is something so very often simplified #and rarely ever explored in a nuanced way #this is just the surface of something i think would make it more compelling #and more haunting for jason #because imagine you come back and your death has done Good #but its not You who caused it. you come back but the city is not grateful for you. they are interested who you once were #who you died as #your father thinks similarly.#doesn't he?#bruce wayne #jason todd #character study #saki 2am rambles

388 notes · View notes

anomaly-hivemind · 1 month ago

Text

Infected ☆ The Last of Us Zombie x Reader | Kinktober Day 15

Summary: Being infected isn't as bad as you thought it would be when you don't put up much of a fight.

Word Count: 1082

Tags: zombies, infections, virus, sex pollen, mind break, blow jobs, roughish (at the start), face fucking

You were in some old building, you had no food left, and half a water body to your name left. But most detrimental to your survival is that you had no weapons to your name. You got robbed not that long ago which was pretty much a death sentence on its own. But you managed to get here with little issues. You lean against the class of an exhibit and let out a tired sigh. If you had a gun right now you were sure that you would have shot yourself by now. A quick death would be better than slowly starving and or getting ripped to shreds.

You let out a muffled sneeze, it was awfully dusty in this place, and you looked around the dimly lit room. This seems like a good place to rest, die in yourself if you get lucky, and find food if you win god’s favor. You let out another sneeze, this one being more on an unsatisfying mouth one that doesn’t have any other purpose besides being loud and annoying.

That's when you heard it, a shifting sound of something heavy dragging across the floor and the dreadful sound of clicking.

‘Well, guess I'm dead…’ you think to yourself while trying to tiptoe back from which you came. Why and how did you manage to walk so far into this room without triggering this beast beforehand? You could hear the clicker moving, getting closer to you. It's clicking and gurgling screeches echoing around the closed space.

You walk as slowly as you can but have to hold back an active curse when you see that the clicker has moved in your only path to the door. You back away but manage to bump into a chair of all things. The clicker whips your head in your direction and screams. You could actively see the spores move through the air from its mouth like a cartoon depiction of bad breath. They free up, hoping it will forget that it's right in front of you and get distracted by something else.

But it stays there, clicking and “looking at you” At least that's what it would be doing if it had eyes instead of the fungus. You felt the urge to sneeze again, forcing yourself to hold it in. All this dust was making you woozy, and a bit weak in the legs. If you could move from this spot, you would have to sit down before you end up collapsing on the floor.

You sneezed, the sound of it causing you to freeze up, you were so done for. You had nothing to fight this zombie off and no way to get away from it. You felt hot with fear and something else that you couldn’t quite understand over a growing haze.

The clicker took a few slow wobbly steps towards you. You stare at the clicker, it is clearly some guy who was turned some time ago. Barely wearing any clothes anymore and covered in the fungus.

You felt dizzy and your legs started to feel glued to the ground. The room was hot or maybe it was just you that was feeling a heat wave. The clicker stood in front of you. It tilts its head like it's studying you, not like it normally would in a hostile way, you were a little confused. It suddenly starts sniffing the air and its head moves even closer to you. He grabs your hand hard, pulling you on your knees and the pain causes you to hiss.

Your eye drifts down to a pressing plot point. The clicker's cock was surprisingly intact; it had colorful fungus sprouting onward on the tip and had tiny caps poking out of the shaft. The clicker follows your gaze and makes a clicking noise slightly different from the others it's been making. It shifts a bit where it's standing, trying to angle its body in a way that it can get your attention.

It gets your full attention, and due to the pollen, the sight of it causes heat to lower. The cock was standing upright in your face. It tilts its body so it's standing directly in front of you, getting the lower part of its body closer to your face, almost like it's expecting you to do something. You can't wrap your head around the actions you couldn't seem to wrap yourself around. Your hands wrapped around the cock with a shaky grip.

He lets out a string of clicks and shrills. You move to run your tongue along the rigged shaft. Heart beating in your chest as you feel the need to do more, the desire and overall urges go as far as you can. He pushed his cock a bit into your mouth; you opened your lips to take him into your warmth. You gag on the thick infected cock, but you don't care. You suckle on the cock with a hazy, lusted-up bobbing.

You suck on him while slurping And drooling in the process. The Clicker grabs your face and starts to thrust into your face. It rocks his hips into your face with a messy quickness that only gets rougher. You let out a moan as it felt like it was shoving its way down your throat. The pollen was getting thicker and almost harder to breathe, but you didn’t care. It gets on your skin and on your clothes and in all honesty, it made you feel like you were on cloud nine.

You hear a new sound coming from the creature that is fucking your throat now, another moan or growl mixed together with clicks. The fungus on his dick makes each thrust feel even better than usual for some reason. If you went so doped up, you would wonder how this zombie could even get hard in the first place. It continues to fuck your face, growling softly with every thrust. You can feel the fungus tickling your nose with each movement and causing it to throb to life, adding to the intensity of the experience.

The zombie has its version of orgasm as a puff of pollution escapes from the top of his head. It doesn't shoot any liquid into you; instead, your mouth gets full of the tiny tendril that helps spread this infection. It finds its way down your throat. You can feel yourself becoming infected, the infectious fungus spreading through your body before all thoughts go dark.

#smut #fanfic #fanfictions #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou x reader #tlou clicker #zombies #zombie x reader #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut

56 notes · View notes

doormatty3 · 10 months ago

Text

Veiled Passions (Josh Lambert x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary:

[Josh Lambert x Female Reader] [Josh Lambert x You] After you and Josh had sex, the mutual attraction between you continues to grow stronger. You know that you should stay away from him - he’s your friend's dad, around two decades older than you and divorced. And yet, you both find yourselves irresistibly drawn to each other. So, as the year progresses, you decide to pursue a committed relationship while keeping it a secret from friends and family. But lies never live to be old - especially when they are this severe. And yet, he makes you the happiest you’ve ever been, but doubts creep in as you're reminded of the reasons you should steer clear. And when Dalton, your friend, also confesses his feelings for you, the misery deepens, complicating an already tumultuous situation. Amidst the chaos, one thing remains clear - your heart belongs to Josh Lambert. OR: Josh shows you who you belong to.

Wordcount: 11440

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, vaginal sex, smut, dirty talk, older man/ younger woman, daddy issues, face fucking, blowjob

A/N: There it is - the second part of my Josh x Reader stories. So I advise you to catch up on the first one before you read this one: Part 1: Pushing Further

Being a senior has its perks because you have the privilege to venture beyond the campus. While freshmen and those in between can also partake, the administration isn’t particularly fond of the idea.

The freedom to come and go as you please became a valuable asset, especially when it comes to visiting Josh at his house.

Josh, your friend’s father, is almost two decades your senior and divorced but also unbelievably hot and caring.

You got fortunate when you first had sex with him in Dalton and Chris’ room - you cleaned up and then chatted until they came by.

You still get wet when you think about that afternoon. It had been and still is, undoubtedly, the hottest thing you’ve ever done. You can still remember how it felt to have his cum inside your cunt dripping out while standing there, trying to appear normal while talking to Dalton and Chris and not like you just got absolutely wrecked by his dad.

Nevertheless, you decided unanimously that the sex in that room had been a one-time thing - the next time, he fucked you in your own dorm bed. And to avoid being caught by anyone, you decided it was safer to meet up at his place since it would have been hard to explain why he was in your room and not in his son’s.

So far, you haven’t talked about what exactly you are, but there is a silent acknowledgement that your connection goes beyond the superficial. Perhaps fueled by an underlying fear on his part - a fear of potential heartache. It’s as if he sees in you the power to evoke emotions that are both thrilling and terrifying. And he’s right with that - the whatever you have has the potential of stirring up dust for both of you.

Yet, there is a subtle yet undeniable gravitational force that draws you closer to Josh, and in turn, he reciprocates with a magnetic attraction.

But you know that your fondness for him goes beyond mere friendship or a feeling of infatuation - you genuinely like him.

As the year unfolds, so does the depth of your friendship with Chris and Dalton. Your bond remains steadfast, growing stronger with each shared moment. You make it a point to meet up as often as possible, cherishing the camaraderie and the sense of belonging that comes with it.

_____

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as you, Dalton, and Chris settle into your usual spot at the café. It’s a cosy haven amidst the hustle and bustle of the outside world, a place where you can relax and enjoy each other’s company.

Chris’s eyes light up with excitement as she leans forward. “Hey, guys, I was thinking,” she begins, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “What do you say we do something fun this weekend? Maybe go on a road trip or check out that new exhibit downtown?”

Dalton nods eagerly in agreement. “That sounds like a blast! Count me in! We could even go camping if the weather’s nice.”

Your heart flutters at the thought of spending quality time with your friends, but as you consider their invitation, a pang of guilt tugs at your conscience. You already have plans for the weekend - plans with Josh that you can’t share with your friends.

With a regretful smile, you shake your head. “As much as I’d love to join you guys, I’ve already made plans for the weekend,” you explain, hoping they won’t press for details.

Chris raises an eyebrow, curiosity evident in her expression. “Oh? What kind of plans?”

You hesitate, knowing you can’t reveal the truth. “It’s, um, a family thing,” you reply vaguely, feeling a twinge of guilt at the half-truth. “You know how it is.”

Dalton nods in understanding, though there’s a hint of disappointment in his eyes. “No worries, we’ll catch you next time.”

As the conversation shifts to other topics, you can’t shake the feeling of unease that settles over you. Keeping secrets from your friends weighs heavily on your conscience, but the thought of betraying Josh’s trust is even more daunting.

With a heavy heart, you take a sip of your coffee, the bitter taste serving as a reminder of the complexities of your situation. As you sit in silence, lost in thought, you can’t help but wonder how long you can keep up the charade before the truth inevitably comes to light.

_____

The Saturday morning sun filters through the curtains as you make your way to Josh’s house. It’s early; the world is still waking up around you, but you’re filled with a sense of anticipation as you approach his doorstep. Each step brings you closer to the clandestine rendezvous you’ve been eagerly awaiting.

As you reach the familiar front door, you pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. You can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in your stomach, knowing that soon you’ll be wrapped in Josh’s arms, lost in the warmth of his presence.

With a steadying exhale, you reach out to knock, the sound echoing through the quiet morning air. Moments later, the door swings open, revealing Josh’s face, his eyes lighting up with a smile as he greets you.

His brown hair is tousled in a charmingly dishevelled way, and your breath catches in your throat. His stubble beard, meticulously groomed, frames his jawline perfectly, adding an air of ruggedness to his otherwise refined appearance. But it’s his piercing blue eyes, shining brightly with warmth and affection, that never fail to leave you spellbound.

Every time you lay eyes on him, it’s as if you’re struck by lightning, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of his undeniable handsomeness. His presence alone has a way of electrifying your senses, leaving you breathless and longing for more.

Dressed in a soft white shirt that hugs his toned arms and contours deliciously over his soft middle, Josh exudes an effortless allure. Paired with grey sweatpants and bare feet, he exudes a casual charm that only serves to enhance his appeal.

As you take in the sight of him standing before you, radiant and inviting, you can’t help but feel a surge of desire coursing through your veins. There’s an undeniable magnetism to him, a pull that draws you in closer with each passing moment.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice tinged with warmth. “I’m glad you’re here.”

A rush of relief floods through you at his words, dispelling any lingering doubts or anxieties. You return his smile, a sense of comfort settling over you in his presence.

“Me too,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Without another word, Josh steps aside, inviting you into his home with a gentle gesture. As you cross the threshold, you can’t help but feel a sense of familiarity wash over you, as if you belong here with him.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, Josh wastes no time closing the distance between you, his arms enveloping you in a warm, reassuring embrace. The world around you fades into insignificance as he pulls you close, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

With a gentle yet firm grasp, he tilts your chin upwards, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. And then, without a word, his lips meet yours in a kiss that ignites a firestorm of emotion within you.

His kiss is tender yet passionate, a symphony of longing and desire that pulses between you with every beat of your heart. The softness of his lips against yours sends a wave of electricity coursing through your body, igniting every nerve ending with a spark of anticipation.

As you melt into his embrace, you feel a sense of completeness wash over you, as if every piece of your being has found its rightful place in his arms. The world falls away, leaving only the two of you suspended in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his lips moving against yours, each kiss deepening the connection between you.

In that fleeting moment, nothing else matters except the overwhelming feelings that consume you. And as you bask in the warmth of his embrace, you know that this is where you belong - in his arms.

As you break from the hug, Josh leads you into his living room, the soft glow of the morning light bathing the room in a warm, inviting ambience.

Both of you sit down on the cushions, and he pulls you close, sighing softly and content. As you steal a glance at him, you feel your heart flutter, and you know that this is the moment you need to talk about your feelings.

There’s no easy way to broach the subject, no simple words to convey the complexities of your emotions.

“Josh,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

He turns to you, his blue eyes reflecting concern as he reaches out to gently squeeze your hand. “Of course, sweetheart. What’s on your mind?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the vulnerability of your confession. “It’s about us,” you say, the words tumbling forth hesitantly, and you see his brow furrow. “About where we stand, what we mean to each other.”

Josh listens intently, his expression a mix of understanding and apprehension - and fear. “Go on,” he urges softly, his voice trembling.

“It’s just...,” you begin, your voice faltering as you grapple with the weight of your emotions. “I care about you, Josh, more than I can put into words. But there are so many obstacles in our way.”

You pause, struggling to find the right words to convey the myriad of concerns swirling in your mind. “The age difference, the fact that you’re my friend’s dad... It’s all so complicated.”

Josh nods in understanding, his gaze softening with empathy. “I know,” he says gently, and as he continues, his voice gets quieter with every word until he is whispering. “Believe me, I’ve thought about all of that too. But none of it changes how I feel about you.”

His words wash over you like a soothing balm, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty. “I want something permanent with you,” you admit, your voice tinged with vulnerability. “Something real and lasting.”

A flicker of emotion crosses Josh’s features, his expression a mixture of tenderness and determination. “And so do I,” he replies, his voice unwavering.

“I want us to be in a proper relationship,” he continues, his words carrying a weight that fills the room. “I want you to be my girlfriend.”

The air seems to crackle with electricity as his declaration sinks in, and for a moment, you’re rendered speechless. His words echo in your mind, sending ripples of emotion cascading through your soul.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you meet his gaze, your heart overflowing with warmth and affection. “I’d like that,” you say softly, your voice filled with a quiet certainty. “I’d like to be your girlfriend.”

The words feel right, settling into place like pieces of a puzzle finally coming together. In that moment, you know with absolute clarity that this is where you’re meant to be - in Josh’s arms, as his partner, his confidante, his love.

His face lights up with a radiant smile, his eyes alight with joy as he reaches out to take your hand in his. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice filled with sincerity. “You mean everything to me.”

As the weight of Josh’s words hangs in the air, a charged silence settles between you, filled with anticipation and longing. In that moment, without a word, he closes the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender yet passionate kiss.

Time seems to stand still as the world fades away, leaving only the sensation of his touch, the warmth of his embrace. His kiss is like a symphony, each movement a melody that resonates deep within your soul.

In that fleeting moment, as you melt into each other’s embrace, you’re lost in a whirlwind of sensation, every nerve ending alight with the electricity of his touch. It’s a kiss that speaks volumes, a silent declaration of the love and desire that binds you together.

And as you pull away, breathless and flushed with emotion, and Josh’s brilliant blue eyes lock with yours, a surge of electricity courses through your veins, igniting a firestorm of desire within you. Without a word, he leans in once more, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that is both urgent and tender.

His hand cups your face with a gentle yet possessive touch, his fingers tracing the contours of your cheek as if committing every detail to memory. In that moment, there’s no room for doubt or hesitation, only the raw intensity of the connection between you.

The world falls away as you lose yourself in the sensation of his lips moving against yours, each kiss igniting a spark of longing and passion that burns brighter with each passing moment. It’s a dance of desire, a symphony of sensation that leaves you breathless and intoxicated with need.

_____

As the weekend unfolds in a whirlwind of love and laughter, you find yourself swept up in the magic of the moments shared with Josh. Each glance, each tender touch, serves as a poignant reminder of the deep connection you share, a connection that transcends the obstacles looming on the horizon.

Despite the challenges that lie ahead - the age difference and the complexities of your relationship with Dalton and Chris - you can’t help but revel in the joy of what you and Josh have found together.

But even amidst the euphoria of your budding romance, there’s a shadow that lingers in the recesses of your mind - the inevitable day when you’ll have to face the truth to confront the consequences of your choices. The thought of telling Chris and especially Dalton fills you with dread, like a Damocles sword hanging over your head, threatening to shatter the fragile peace you’ve found.

Yet, in the quiet moments shared with Josh, you find solace and strength, knowing that you’re not alone in this journey. He shares your fears and your doubts, but he’s also unwavering in his commitment to fight for what you have.

And so, hand in hand, heart in heart, you face the uncertainty of the future together, knowing that whatever challenges may come your way, you’ll confront them head-on, united in your love and determination.

As the sun sets on the blissful weekend spent in Josh’s company, a bittersweet sensation settles in the air. The time has come to bid farewell, though neither of you is quite ready to part ways.

Standing at the threshold of Josh’s front door, you exchange lingering gazes, each reluctant to break the spell of the moment. The weight of impending separation hangs heavy in the air, a silent reminder of the inevitable reality awaiting you both.

With a heavy heart, you muster the courage to speak, your voice soft but determined. “I wish this weekend didn’t have to end,” you confess, your words tinged with a hint of longing.

Josh nods in agreement, his gaze filled with a mixture of sadness and affection. “I know,” he replies softly, reaching out to take your hand in his. “But we’ll see each other again soon, I promise.”

The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, a reassuring reminder of the bond you share. “Do you want to meet up next week?” you ask tentatively, hoping to prolong the precious moments spent together.

A shadow of hesitation crosses Josh’s features, his brow furrowing with concern. “I’d love to, but I have the kids next weekend,” he explains, his voice tinged with regret. “It’s going to be a bit chaotic.”

Your heart sinks at the realisation that your time together will be limited, but you refuse to let disappointment overshadow the moment. “That’s okay,” you say, forcing a smile despite the twinge of sadness in your chest. “We’ll find a way to make it work, even if it’s just for a little while.”

A flicker of determination crosses Josh’s features as he meets your gaze, his eyes sparkling with resolve. “How about you come over during the week?” he suggests, a hint of excitement in his voice. “We could grab dinner or just spend some time together.”

A surge of warmth washes over you at his suggestion, the prospect of seeing him again filling you with renewed hope. “I’d like that,” you reply, a genuine smile gracing your lips. “I’d like that a lot.”

His hands gently cup your face, his touch sending a wave of warmth cascading through your body.

With a soft, reassuring touch, he smooths his hands over your cheeks, his fingers tracing the contours of your face with a gentleness that speaks volumes of his affection. The sensation is electric, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a spark of desire deep within.

With a gentle yet firm grasp, he angles your head upwards, his touch guiding you with instinctual ease. His eyes, a brilliant shade of blue, meet yours with a tenderness that steals your breath away, holding you captive in a moment of unspoken connection.

And then, without a word, his lips find yours in a kiss that is both tender and passionate, a testament to the depth of the emotions that bind you together. It’s a kiss filled with longing and promise, a silent vow to cherish each moment shared between you.

In that fleeting moment, as you melt into his embrace, you’re consumed by a whirlwind of sensation - the softness of his lips against yours, the warmth of his touch, the overwhelming surge of emotion that threatens to swallow you whole.

“See you next week, sweetheart,” Josh breathes, his voice laced with longing and affection as you reluctantly part from his embrace.

A bittersweet smile graces your lips at his words, the endearment wrapping around your heart like a comforting embrace. “Until next week,” you reply softly, your voice echoing with the same longing that fills his.

With one last lingering glance, you tear yourself away from Josh’s warmth, a pang of reluctance tugging at your heartstrings as you step out into the cool evening air.

The weight of impending separation hangs heavy in the air as you make your way back to your dorm at university, each step a reluctant retreat from the haven of Josh’s presence. The memory of his touch lingers on your skin, a lingering reminder of the love and connection you share.

_____

The familiar aroma of coffee envelops you as you and Dalton settle into your favourite spot at the café, the gentle hum of conversation providing a soothing backdrop to your afternoon. With steaming cups cradled in your hands, you both take a moment to savour the rich, comforting warmth of the brew.

“So, something strange happened the other day,” Dalton begins, his voice breaking through the tranquil ambience of the café. You glance up, the corners of your mouth quirking into a smile as you listen to him speak.

“What’s up?” you ask, curiosity piqued by the hint of intrigue in his tone.

Dalton shifts in his seat, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “My brother was over at Dad’s place on Monday,” he explains, his brow furrowing slightly as he recalls the memory. “And he said he saw some women’s clothes in his house and so on.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, a surge of apprehension coursing through your veins. You try to maintain your composure, but the thud of your heart against your chest betrays the unease gnawing at your insides.

“Oh, really?” you reply, your voice carefully neutral despite the turmoil churning within you. “That’s... interesting.”

Dalton nods, his expression troubled. “Yeah, it is,” he agrees, his gaze fixed on the tabletop as if lost in thought. “I don’t know, it just seems weird, you know? I always thought maybe my parents would try again, but... I don’t know.”

His words hang heavy in the air between you, a palpable sense of unease settling over the table. You can sense the conflict brewing within Dalton, the uncertainty of the situation weighing heavily on his mind.

“What do you think about it?” he asks, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, a silent plea for reassurance amidst the storm of emotions swirling within him.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, choosing your words carefully before responding. “I can understand why you’d feel that way,” you say softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his arm. “It’s natural to hope for your parents to reconcile, especially after everything they’ve been through.”

Dalton nods, his expression thoughtful as he processes your words. “Yeah, I guess so,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “But still, it’s just... weird, you know? I never expected Dad to have a girlfriend.”

You offer him a sympathetic smile, knowing that there are no easy answers to be found in situations like these. “It’s okay to feel that way,” you assure him, your voice gentle yet firm. “But at the end of the day, your dad deserves to be happy, just like anyone else.”

Dalton sighs, a hint of resignation in his expression as he nods in agreement. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he concedes, though you can still sense the lingering unease in his demeanour.

As you sit together in the quiet of the café, the weight of Dalton’s revelation hanging heavy in the air, you can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding creeping over you. The fear of him discovering the truth about you and his father gnaws at the edges of your consciousness, a dark shadow looming on the horizon.

But for now, all you can do is offer Dalton your support and understanding, hoping against hope that he won’t uncover the secret you’ve been desperately trying to keep hidden. And so, with a heavy heart and a silent prayer for guidance, you continue to navigate the delicate balance between truth and secrecy, unsure of what the future may hold.

Dalton fidgets with his coffee cup, his gaze fixed on the table as if lost in thought. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence, he lifts his head to meet your gaze, his expression tentative yet determined.

“Um…I…There is something else I have been meaning to ask…” he begins, his voice hesitant as he struggles to find the right words. “I was wondering if... maybe you’d want to go out with me sometime?”

His question catches you off guard, a rush of emotions flooding through you at his unexpected proposal. For a moment, you’re at a loss for words, the weight of his request hanging heavy in the air between you.

But as you gather your thoughts, you realise that you can’t accept his invitation, not when you’re already seeing his father. The thought of hurting him further fills you with guilt, but you know that you have to be honest with him.

“I... Dalton, I appreciate the offer,” you say gently, your voice tinged with regret. “But I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

His brow furrows in confusion, hurt flickering in his eyes as he struggles to process your response. “Why not?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitate, unsure of how much to reveal. “It’s just... complicated,” you begin, choosing your words carefully. “I’m already seeing someone.”

Dalton’s expression darkens, a shadow of disappointment crossing his features as he absorbs your words. “Oh,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the din of the café. “I didn’t realise...”

You reach out to place a comforting hand on his arm, offering him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Dalton,” you say softly. “I should have been clearer from the beginning. You’re a great guy, but... I just don’t have those kinds of feelings for you.”

His hurt is palpable, a tangible presence in the space between you. You can see the pain etched in the lines of his face the vulnerability in his eyes as he struggles to come to terms with your rejection.

“I understand,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion. “I just... I thought maybe...”

You can hear the hurt and confusion in his voice, and it breaks your heart to see him like this. You wish there were something you could say or do to ease his pain, but you know that some wounds run deeper than words can heal.

A furrow forms between his brows, his eyes reflecting a mix of hurt and confusion. “I... I thought you were interested too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, we spend so much time together, and... I don’t know, I just thought...”

His words trail off, leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake. You can see the turmoil churning within him, the weight of your revelation sinking in with each passing moment.

“I’m sorry, Dalton,” you say softly. “I never meant to lead you on. I value our friendship, but... I guess I didn’t realise how you felt.”

He nods, his expression pained as he struggles to come to terms with your words. “It’s just... it’s confusing,” he admits, his voice tinged with frustration. “I mean, you never mentioned that you were seeing someone. Not to me or Chris.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of his accusation bearing down on you. Guilt gnaws at your conscience, knowing that you’ve withheld the truth about your relationship with his father.

“It’s... it’s still pretty fresh,” you explain, your voice tinged with uncertainty. “I’m still just... figuring it out, I guess.”

Dalton’s brows knit together in confusion, his eyes searching yours for answers. “But...” he starts, a note of disbelief creeping into his voice. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

The guilt weighs heavily on your shoulders, a burden that threatens to suffocate you. “I... I don’t know,” you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was just... keeping it private.”

Dalton’s expression remains puzzled, his confusion evident as he tries to make sense of your explanation. “So, who is it?” he presses, his tone tinged with curiosity. “Is it serious?”

You swallow hard, the weight of your deception pressing down on you like a lead weight. “Um... well, it’s someone I met recently,” you reply vaguely, your voice faltering as you struggle to find the right words. “And... yeah, it’s... it’s getting pretty serious.”

As the silence stretches between you, a heavy tension settles over the table, the weight of your deception hanging in the air. And when Dalton speaks again, his voice is tinged with a hint of sadness.

“I want to be happy for you, I really do,” he says softly, his eyes betraying a mix of hurt and resignation. “But I think I need some space to process all of this.”

Your heart sinks at his words, the realisation of the pain you’ve caused him hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I understand,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m sorry, Dalton. I never meant to hurt you.”

He nods, though the hurt in his eyes remains. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the din of the café. “I just... I need some time to figure things out.”

Before you can respond, Dalton rises from his seat, his movements stiff and uncertain. And with one last lingering glance, he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with the weight of your deception and the echoes of his pain ringing in your ears.

As Dalton’s footsteps fade into the distance, leaving you alone, a heavy silence settles over the café. The air feels thick with tension, each breath you take weighted with the guilt of your secret.

As you sit there, staring into your now lukewarm coffee, your mind races with thoughts of Dalton’s reaction when he inevitably discovers the truth about your relationship.

The realisation that Dalton harbours feelings for you catches you off guard, adding an unexpected layer of complexity to an already delicate situation.

You had always assumed Dalton viewed you as just a friend, never once considering that his feelings might run deeper. But now, with the truth laid bare, you can’t help but wonder how he will react when he learns that you are involved with his father.

The thought churns in your stomach, a knot of anxiety tightening with each passing moment. You hadn’t anticipated the depth of Dalton’s emotions nor the potential devastation his discovery could bring. The prospect of facing his hurt and anger fills you with a sense of dread, knowing that you will be the cause of his pain.

But even as you grapple with the implications of Dalton’s feelings, you know that you cannot hide the truth from him forever. Sooner or later, he will learn the truth, and you must be prepared to face the consequences of your actions.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you contemplate the difficult conversation that lies ahead.

But for now, all you can do is wait, trapped in the limbo of uncertainty, and pray that somehow, someway, you will find a way to navigate the tangled web of emotions that threatens to tear you apart.

With a deep sigh, you find yourself grasping for the lifeline of your phone, the urge to seek solace in Josh’s arms overpowering. Fingers trembling slightly, you unlock the screen and navigate to Josh’s contact, your heart pounding with desperate urgency, and you text him.

Hey,

Can I come over? I really need to see you right now…

Please?

The words spill from your fingertips, a plea born of desperation and the overwhelming need for solace.

Seconds stretch into eternity as you wait for a response, each passing moment feeling too long. Then, finally, a notification flashes across your screen, and you exhale a shaky breath as you read Josh’s reply.

Of course, you can come over. Is everything okay?

Relief floods through you at his words, a wave of gratitude washing away some of the anxiety that had threatened to drown you.

Without hesitation, you gather your belongings, the need to see your boyfriend overpowering any lingering doubts or hesitations.

With each step towards his house, the weight on your shoulders lifts slightly, replaced by a glimmer of hope that perhaps, in his embrace, you’ll find the strength to weather the storm raging within you.

Arriving at Josh’s doorstep, you knock eagerly, the sound echoing through the quiet evening air. The door swings open, revealing Josh’s familiar silhouette framed in the soft glow of the hallway light. Without a word, he pulls you into his arms, the warmth of his embrace enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort and security.

As you sink into his arms, the weight of your troubles begins to lift, replaced by the simple reassurance of being held by someone who cares. In that moment, as you bury your face in Josh’s chest, you know that you’re exactly where you need to be.

Then, as if sensing your need for a moment of connection, Josh pulls back ever so slightly, his hands gentle as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face.

In that simple gesture, you feel a rush of gratitude and affection, a silent acknowledgement of the bond that exists between you. And before you can say a word, he leans forward, kissing your forehead softly.

The gesture sends a shiver down your spine, a tangible reminder of the depth of his care and concern for you. For a moment, you simply stand there, lost in the warmth of his touch and the softness of his lips against your skin.

With a wordless understanding, Josh steps back, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of tenderness and reassurance. He gestures for you to come inside, his silent invitation a promise of safety and comfort in the midst of the storm. With a grateful nod, you follow him into the warmth of his home.

As you settle into Josh’s living room, the weight of your troubles pressing heavily upon you, he takes a seat beside you. His blue eyes, usually so warm and inviting, now reflect a hint of concern. “So, what happened?” he asks gently, his voice a soft murmur that cuts through the silence.

“It’s about Dalton,” you continue, your words hesitant as you try to find the right way to explain. “Today, at the coffee shop... he...”

Josh’s brows furrow slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features. “He what?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, his blue eyes searching your face for any signs of what happened that left you so distraught.

“He told me that he... has feelings for me,” you admit, the weight of the confession hanging heavy in the air between you.

His hand freezes mid-motion, his fingers tangled in his hair, his eyes widen in surprise, and his lips part slightly as he processes your words.

“I see,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with a mix of emotions you can’t quite decipher. He leans forward, his arms resting on the table, his muscles flexing slightly under the fabric of his shirt as he waits for you to continue.

You swallow hard, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on your shoulders. “I... I didn’t know how to respond,” you admit, your gaze dropping momentarily before meeting Josh’s again. “I care about him, of course, but not in the same way.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a knot form in your stomach as you gather the courage to speak your truth. “Josh,” you continue, your voice gaining strength, “I want you to know that I only want you.”

The room falls silent, the gravity of the conversation hanging heavy in the air. You watch Josh carefully, waiting for his response, the uncertainty gnawing at your insides.

His blue eyes meet yours, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty flickering within them. He leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair once more, the tousled strands falling across his forehead in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

His brow is furrowed slightly, and his lips are drawn into a thin line while the soft afternoon light filters through the window, casting a warm glow on his features and highlighting the gentle contours of his face.

For a long moment, he says nothing, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the walls of his living room. His eyes, a mesmerising shade of deep blue, reflect the turmoil of emotions swirling within him. His jaw clenches slightly, the muscles flexing beneath the surface as he grapples with his own thoughts and emotions. The silence stretches on, the tension between you growing more palpable by the second.

And then, finally, Josh’s eyes search yours, a hint of uncertainty clouding their usually bright blue depths. “Maybe... maybe someone like Dalton would be better for you,” he suggests quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words hit you like a ton of bricks, a shockwave of disbelief rippling through your body. You stare at him, the weight of his words sinking in with a sickening finality as your heart aches at the thought of losing him.

“But Josh,” you protest, your voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t want someone like Dalton. I want you.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes filled with a sadness you can’t bear to see. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with regret. “But maybe... maybe I’m not what you need.”

The words hang in the air between you, a painful reminder of the chasm that lies between your desires and reality. You want to reach out to him, to plead with him to see things differently, but the weight of his resignation holds you back.

At that moment, you realise that no matter how much you want things to be different, you can’t force Josh to change his mind.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you struggle to come to terms with the harsh reality of the situation. You had hoped that Josh would be the one to offer you solace in your time of need, but now, it seems that even he can’t fill the void that lies within you.

With a heavy heart, you rise from your seat, the weight of your sorrow pressing down on you like a physical burden. “I should go,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Josh nods, his expression filled with a sadness that mirrors your own. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I wish things could be different.”

But as you turn to leave, a surge of frustration and anger rises within you. You refuse to accept defeat without a fight, not when he clearly wants you as much as you want him. You whirl around to face Josh, determination flashing in your eyes.

“No, Josh,” you say firmly, the intensity of your emotions rising. “I won’t accept that. I won’t settle for someone else when all I want is you.”

He looks away, his expression troubled as he grapples with his own thoughts. “I just don’t know if this is such a good idea,” he admits, his voice filled with uncertainty.

You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “Josh, look at me,” you say firmly, your voice filled with conviction as you wait for him to meet your eyes before continuing. “From the moment I met you, I knew there was something special between us. I wanted you then, and I want you now.”

His eyes widen in surprise at your outburst, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air between you. But you refuse to back down, the fire burning bright within you.

“I love you, Josh,” you declare, the words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them. “And I won’t let you push me away because you’re too afraid to face your own feelings.”

For a moment, the room is filled with a deafening silence, the tension crackling between you like electricity. And then, slowly but surely, Josh’s expression softens, his walls crumbling in the face of your unwavering resolve. He looks at you, his blue eyes searching yours for a moment before he finally speaks.

“I... I love you too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper and filled with a tenderness that takes your breath away. “But I’m scared, sweetheart. I’m scared of what this could mean for us. Especially now that Dalton has feelings for you.”

You step forward, closing the distance between you until you’re standing mere inches apart. With a trembling hand, you reach out to cup his cheek, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver down your spine.

“We can face this together,” you say softly, your voice filled with hope.

His gaze softens, a glimmer of affection and determination dancing in his eyes as he draws nearer. “Yes, we will,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle reassurance amidst the storm of emotions.

With his vow echoing in your ears, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a tender, desperate kiss. The initial brush of your lips ignites a fierce passion between you, each touch sparking a wildfire of desire that threatens to consume you both.

His body responds to your touch, drawing you in closer as if unable to get enough of you.

As you both lose yourselves in the passionate embrace, his hands roam over your back, pulling you nearer with each caress. His touch sends electric currents coursing through your veins, drawing you closer with an irresistible magnetism.

When he pulls back slightly with a soft groan, his eyes flutter closed, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he tries to steady himself. But the yearning between you is undeniable, pulling you back into each other’s arms with an irresistible force.

But before you can catch your breath, his lips find yours once again, reigniting the flames of passion that threaten to consume you both.

“I want you, Josh - only you,” you whisper breathlessly, the words a fervent declaration of your undying love and devotion.

His hands slide up your back, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine as he pulls you even closer as if trying to erase the space between you. You can feel the fervour in his embrace, his body trembling slightly with the intensity of his desire, his lips seeking yours with a hunger that matches your own.

“I can’t imagine wanting anyone else either, sweetheart,” Josh murmurs against your lips, his voice laced with raw emotion. “The way you make me feel... it’s indescribable.”

His words wash over you like a comforting wave, enveloping you in a cocoon of love and longing. In this moment, there is no doubt, no hesitation, only the overwhelming certainty of your connection.

With each word he speaks, you feel your heart swell with love for him, aching to express the depth of your emotions in return. But words seem inadequate in the face of such overwhelming passion, so instead, you let your actions speak for you.

You deepen the kiss, pouring all of your love and desire into the tender caress of your lips against his. as you lose yourself in the intoxicating rhythm of his kisses.

Feeling a surge of emotion overwhelming you, you break the kiss, your heart pounding in your chest as you take a deep breath.

With a shaky breath, you reach out, your fingers trailing lightly over his skin as you trace the contours of his jaw. His eyes never leave yours, a silent acknowledgement passing between you as you share this intimate moment.

With trembling hands, you slowly sink to your knees before him. The gravity of the moment washes over you like a tidal wave.

Looking up at him, your eyes meet his, a mixture of love, desire, and vulnerability reflected in their depths. There’s a raw intensity between you, a silent understanding of the depth of your connection and the magnitude of your feelings.

“Josh,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, filled with a mixture of reverence and longing. “I need you. I need us.”

You begin to trace delicate patterns over the fabric of his jeans, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath. Each touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, igniting a fire that burns hot and fierce within your veins.

Josh watches you intently, his gaze locked on yours with an intensity that makes your heart race even faster. His breath hitches slightly as your fingers dance over his legs.

You can feel the tension building between you, a palpable energy that crackles in the air around you. It’s as if the world has faded away, leaving only the two of you in this moment of pure connection and desire.

With each caress, you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper under his spell, lost in the intoxicating whirlwind of sensation and emotion. There’s a hunger in his eyes, a silent plea for more, and you’re more than willing to oblige.

Your touch grows bolder, more urgent, as you trace the outline of his muscles, feeling the strength and power that lies beneath his clothes. His breath comes in short, ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling with each passing moment.

And as you continue to explore his body with your fingertips, you can’t help but marvel at the beauty and complexity of the man before you. He’s so much more than just a physical being - he’s a soul, a heart, a mind, all wrapped up in one irresistible package.

As Josh watches before him, his eyes widen with a mix of surprise and excitement. Without hesitation, you quickly reach for the waistband of his pants, your fingers deftly undoing the button and zipper. With a swift motion, you push his trousers and boxers down to his ankles, and he steps out of them gracefully.

His erection springs free, thick and hard, glistening with anticipation, and you can’t help but lick your lips as you take in the sight. The dim light of the room dances across his skin, highlighting every curve and contour of his muscular frame.

His breath comes in short, ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. There’s a hunger in his eyes, a primal desire that mirrors your own. He reaches out to you, his hand trembling slightly as he cups your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. “I can’t believe you’re here with me, doing this.”

His words send a thrill coursing through you, igniting a fire that burns hot and fierce within your veins. You lean into his touch, your heart pounding in your chest as you feel the heat of his body radiating against your skin.

You reach out and wrap your hand around the base of his dick, causing his breath to hitch and his eyes to roll back in his head. He is hot and heavy in your hand, thick enough that you can’t close your fingers around him as you jerk him off slowly.

After a few pumps, you swirl your tongue over the head of his cock, coating him in your saliva and tasting his precum. Josh groans lowly in his chest as you tease him with your mouth.

The whole situation turns you on beyond belief, and you really like how responsive and loud he can be - it gives you the confidence to continue and take it even further.

So you open your mouth and take the tip inside, sucking lightly as your hand continues to stroke his length.

As Josh’s hands find their way into your hair, gently gripping the strands, you feel a rush of electricity shoot through your body. His touch is both commanding and tender, his fingers threading through your hair with a delicate precision that sends shivers down your spine.

His breath comes in shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling with each ragged exhale. His eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing against his cheeks as he succumbs to the pleasure radiating from your touch.

“Christ, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough and strained with desire. “You know how to drive me crazy. Keep doing that, please…”

His words send a thrill coursing through you, igniting a fire that burns hot and fierce within your veins. You continue to take him deeper into your mouth, relishing in the way he responds to your touch, his body trembling with anticipation.

As his fingers tighten in your hair, you feel a surge of desire and unconsciously clench your things.

The sensation of your warm mouth enveloping further causes his breath to hitch in his throat as he gasps in ecstasy.

His moans grow louder, echoing off the walls of the room as the sensation threatens to overwhelm him. “Sweetheart, that feels incredible,” he groans, his voice husky with desire.

When you run your fingernails over his balls while pleasuring him with your mouth, he bucks his hips, causing his cock to be pushed down your throat.

You gag from the sudden intrusion and instantly feel tears pooling in your eyes.

Josh keeps his dick deep inside your mouth until he realises you’re gagging on him. His grip on your hair slackens, and his eyes widen with concern as he pulls back slightly, watching you carefully.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to push it that far,” Josh’s voice is filled with genuine concern, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

But before he can say anything more, the words tumble from your lips without a second thought. “Fuck, do it again,” you gasp, your voice hoarse with desire as you struggle to catch your breath.

His face contorts into a mix of surprise and excitement, his eyes widening in disbelief at your bold request. But he won’t hesitate for your pleasure. With renewed determination, he gently pushes his cock back into your throat.

You gag again, but this time you’re more prepared for his dick, so it’s easier to take it. His fingers tangle in your hair, a firm grip that sends a thrill down your spine as he takes control of the situation.

Looking up at him, you’re struck by the sight before you. His mouth is slightly parted, lips glistening with anticipation as his tongue occasionally darts out to moisten them. His brows knit together in concentration, a display of the focused desire that burns within him.

Beads of sweat adorn his forehead, catching the light and casting a soft sheen over his features. His blue eyes, usually so warm and inviting, now smoulder with a fiery intensity that ignites a passionate flame within you.

As he guides your movements with a gentle yet firm hand, you feel a rush of excitement course through your veins. Each touch, each stroke, sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, building the anticipation to dizzying heights.

In the heat of the moment, you find yourself lost in his gaze, captivated by the raw hunger that burns within him. His touch is electric, sending sparks dancing across your skin as he guides his cock deeper into your throat.

Saliva pools around his dick and drips over your chin and onto the floor as you gag lightly with each thrust.

Josh’s hips pick up pace as he continues to fuck your mouth, driving himself closer to climax. And as you surrender to the passion that courses through you, you know that this moment will be etched into your memory forever.

His breath is ragged, his chest rising and falling with each laboured breath as he pulls out of your mouth, his dick coated with your spit.

Almost greedily, you take a few deep breaths to fill your lungs with air again properly as you try to steady yourself after the intensity of the moment.

Worldlessly he steps closer to you, his hard cock still glistening with your saliva and his precum, framed by his shirt that sits clings tight to his defined frame, accentuating his toned arms and soft middle.

Bending down, he presses his lips against yours, his tongue eagerly seeking entrance as he pulls you up to stand. The kiss is electrifying, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your veins as you lose yourself in the sensation of his touch.

With a primal need driving him, Josh breaks the kiss, his lips parting from yours as he slowly removes his shirt. As the fabric slips off his shoulders, it reveals the expanse of his chest, every muscle rippling beneath smooth skin. He tosses the shirt aside without a second thought, his gaze never leaving yours.

You follow suit, fingers fumbling with the buttons of your own shirt until it falls away, leaving you bare before him.

There’s a moment of hesitation, a fleeting pause as you drink in the sight of each other, the raw desire reflected in your eyes. The sight of him, shirtless and exposed, sends a shiver down your spine.

Appreciatively, you let your eyes wander over his defined, muscular arms - the play of light and shadow accentuates the contours of his muscles, creating a mesmerising display of power and grace.

As your eyes roam over his torso, your gaze is drawn to the dusting of brown and grey chest hair that adorns it. Each strand seems to catch the light, creating a subtle shimmer that adds to his allure.

You trace the trail of hair with your eyes, following it as it leads over the softness of his middle, which is a gentle curve that speaks of warmth and comfort. It’s a stark contrast to the chiselled lines of his arms, yet somehow, it only adds to his allure.

His skin is warm to the touch, and you can feel the heat radiating off him as he moves closer to you.

His gaze roams hungrily over your exposed skin, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, and the line of your collarbone.

Without a word, you step closer, closing the distance between you until you’re standing mere inches apart. His hand finds its way to the small of your back, pulling you into his form until your bodies are pressed together, skin against skin, heart against heart.

His touch is electric, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your veins as you lose yourself in the sensation of him. The fire that burns within you is fuelled by him.

“I’m going to fuck you hard, sweetheart,” he growls, low and primal deep in Josh’s chest, sending a shiver down your spine as you feel the intensity of his desire wash over you. It’s a sound that speaks volumes, letting you know exactly what he plans to do with you in the moments to come.

His eyes, dark with passion, lock onto yours with a hunger that sets your heart racing. There’s an unmistakable longing in his gaze, a fierce desire that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions.

He lifts your legs up, resting them on his shoulders as he positions himself at your cunt.

You moan loudly when the tip of his hard, thick cock parts your slick pussy, entering you without resistance. The stretch of his dick sends shivers down your spine as he continues to push it slowly into you.

This is the first time he takes you without proper preparation - normally, he would eat you out or at least finger you before, but you can’t bring yourself to really care.

Not when he feels so good, so right, and so big inside you.

Josh’s intense blue eyes remain fixed on you, unwavering as they drink in your every reaction. It’s as though he’s trying to memorise every detail of your face, committing the moment to memory as he loses himself in the depths of you.

You mewl when he bottoms out deep in your cunt, filling you completely.

“You feel so good, Josh,” you whisper breathlessly, your chest heaving with desire. “Please, move.”

Your words hang in the air, thick with longing and anticipation, as you await his response. Josh’s gaze darkens with desire, his lips parting slightly.

With a low growl of approval, he shifts his weight, his movements deliberate and controlled as he begins to move against you, his hips setting a steady, deep rhythm. The sensation of his body moving with yours sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you.

As he moves, his hands roam over your body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You gasp at the sensation of his touch, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

With each movement, the pleasure builds, the tension between you reaching a fever pitch as you both give in to the undeniable chemistry that burns between you. At this moment, there is nothing else in the world, but the two of you lost in a sea of desire and passion.

And as you cling to each other, consumed by the heat of the moment, you know that this is just the beginning of a night that promises to be filled with ecstasy and bliss.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says, his voice hoarse with desire. “Take it.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire deep within you as you move together in perfect harmony. Every touch and every movement is electric, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you with each passing moment.

“God, you’re so hot,” he groans, his eyes locked on your heaving chest. His words only fuel the flames of passion between you, driving you both to new heights of ecstasy.

His thrusts become more forceful, each one driving deeper into your pussy. The smell of your sweat mingles with the slick sounds of our skin slapping against each other.

He slowly lowers his head, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking hard, igniting every nerve ending it touches with a searing intensity. You arch your back, a moan escaping from your lips as he teases the sensitive nub with his tongue.

His lips follow, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in their wake, each one leaving you gasping for breath.

“You’re so damn responsive for me,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice husky with desire. His hands roam freely over your body, tracing the curves and contours with a possessive urgency that sends a thrill down your spine as he moves to capture the other nipple between his teeth gently.

“Only for you, just you,” you mewl, your voice barely a whisper as you surrender to the overwhelming pleasure washing over you.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he grunts out, his words punctuated by the soft sounds of his lips trailing lower, his breath hot against your skin.

His hands grip your thighs tightly as he drills into you, his cock hitting all the right spots inside you.

You feel like he electrifies you, setting every nerve ending ablaze with a tantalizing intensity. With each caress, each whispered word, each deep thrust, he ignites a fire deep within you, stoking the flames of desire until they burn with an almost unbearable intensity.

You feel yourself teetering on the edge, the pleasure building with each passing moment until you’re on the brink of losing yourself entirely to the intoxicating sensation he evokes within you, your cunt clenching around him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” his voice is rough with desire as he encourages you, each word sending a jolt of electricity through your body as he pushes deeper and faster into you.

His chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, the exertion of pleasure etched across his features as sweat beads on his forehead glistening in the dim light.

“Nobody fucks me like you do. Nobody pleases me like you do,” you stammer, your words a mixture of moans and gasps, “You feel so good, Josh.”

“You belong to me,” he growls possessively, his voice thick with desire and dominance, his hips slamming against yours as he takes you roughly. The headboard of the sofa thuds against the wall with each powerful thrust.

His eyes, darkened with desire, lock onto yours, his gaze filled with intensity as he thrusts deeper into you. He dominates you with a primal energy, his every touch igniting a fire within you. As the pleasure builds, you feel yourself getting closer to climax, the intensity of the moment overwhelming yet exhilarating.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you feel the tension building within you, reaching a fever pitch. “I’m so close,” you whimper, the desperation evident in your voice.

His own breath comes in ragged gasps as he urges you on, his voice a deep growl of desire. “Let it all go, sweetheart,” he encourages, his hands gripping your hips as his hips thrust rapidly into you and his thumb finding your clit to rub rough circles. “I want to feel you come apart in my arms.”

With his encouragement ringing in your ears, you give yourself over to the overwhelming pleasure that courses through your body. Every nerve ending is alight with sensation as you tumble over the edge, waves of ecstasy crashing over you in relentless waves.

He watches you with hunger in his eyes, his own release imminent as he follows you into oblivion. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own climax. “Let me feel you.”

With one final, desperate cry, you shatter into a million pieces, the intensity of your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave as his name falls from your lips over and over. And as you collapse against him, spent and sated, his fingers dig into your hips for better control as he drives into you one last time.

He releases himself into you, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. His hot seed pumps into you, filling every inch of your tight cunt as he loses control completely.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes heavily, still buried deep inside you. You feel your pussy clenching and throbbing, pulsating with the aftermath of your orgasm, milking his aching dick.

With your bodies still intertwined, he holds you close, unwilling to let go of the intimate connection you’ve just shared. His chest rises and falls in sync with your own, the rhythm of his breath gradually steadying as the euphoria of your shared passion begins to ebb. His cock remains inside you, refusing to let go of the warmth that is your pussy.

“I’ve never felt anything like this before,” he pants, his voice husky with emotion as he continues to hold onto your hips as his dick twitches inside you, slowly softening. “You’re incredible, sweetheart.”

Your heart swells with affection at his words, the warmth of his embrace enveloping you in a sense of security and belonging. “You’re incredible, Josh,” you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur as you nestle closer to him.

“I love hearing that,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin as he slowly withdraws from you.

His cock slides out with a wet pop sound, leaving behind a trail of their mixed juices on your thighs. His gaze lingers on you, filled with a mixture of adoration and desire, as his chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Damn, sweetheart,” he says, his voice thick with desire, his eyes tracing the curves of your body with unabashed admiration. He reaches down, his fingers brushing against your wet and well-fucked cunt, and a soft moan escapes his lips as he feels the warmth of your juices mingled with his own.

His lips find yours in a tender kiss, a silent testament to the depth of his affection.

As you break apart, Josh’s blue eyes sparkle with a mixture of adoration and gratitude, the soft light of the room reflecting off their depths like a shimmering pool. His skin is dewy with sweat, a sheen of moisture glistening on his smooth complexion as he leans in to kiss you once more.

His muscles flex beneath the surface of his skin, the sinewy lines of his arms defined and sculpted from years of hard work and dedication. You run your fingers lightly over his torso, tracing the contours of his body with a sense of wonder and appreciation.

Josh’s hair is sweaty and tousled, strands of brown falling haphazardly across his forehead as he leans in to kiss you again. His breath is warm against your skin, his touch gentle yet possessive as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss with a sense of urgency and desire, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and protection.

His stubbled jaw clenches with a mixture of desire and restraint, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggles to contain the intensity of his emotions.

As you lose yourself in the moment, the sound of footsteps echoing through the house brings you back to reality with a jolt. Panic courses through you as you scramble to dress, the urgency of the situation pressing in on you like a suffocating weight.

Josh moves quickly, reaching for his shorts and tossing you his shirt as you both try to cover yourselves before the inevitable confrontation.

But it’s too late. Before you can even process what’s happening, the door swings open, revealing Dalton standing in the doorway, his expression a mask of shock and betrayal.

Your heart sinks as you meet his gaze, the guilt of being caught washing over you like a tidal wave. Shame burns hot in your cheeks as you shrink back, trying to make yourself as small as possible in the face of Dalton’s accusing glare.

“Wha- What the hell is this?” Dalton stammers, his voice filled with disbelief as he takes in the scene before him.

But Josh steps in front of you, his protective instincts kicking in as he shields you from Dalton’s wrath. His jaw is set with determination, his blue eyes blazing with a fierce intensity as he meets Dalton’s gaze head-on.

“Dalton,” he says firmly, his voice tinged with warning.

But Dalton’s eyes are filled with hurt and betrayal as he looks between the two of you, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place in his mind. His anger is palpable as he takes in the sight before him, his fists clenched at his sides as he struggles to contain his emotions.

“I can’t believe this,” he says bitterly, his voice trembling with emotion. “I confessed my feelings to you, and this is what you do? Fucking my father?”

The accusation hangs heavy in the air between you, casting a shadow over the fragile happiness you had shared just moments before. His words cut deep, a stark reminder of the tangled web of emotions and secrets that now threatens to unravel before you.

Josh’s jaw tightens, his eyes flashing with a mixture of frustration and regret as he struggles to find the right words. “Dalton, I... I never meant to hurt you,” he begins, his voice heavy with remorse. “I know this is difficult to understand, but...”

But Dalton’s fury is unrelenting, his eyes blazing with a fire that threatens to consume everything in its path. “Difficult to understand? You’re sleeping with my friend, Dad.” he retorts, his voice laced with bitterness. “She could be your daughter!”

The accusation cuts deep, slicing through the fragile facade of peace and happiness that you had clung to just moments before. Shame washes over you in waves, threatening to drown you in its suffocating embrace as you struggle to find the words to defend yourself.

You feel a pang of guilt at the hurt in Dalton’s eyes, knowing that you are the cause of his pain. But before you can offer an explanation, he turns to you, his gaze filled with betrayal. “And you,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “I thought I could trust you. I thought you cared about me.”

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, the weight of Dalton’s accusation crushing you beneath its weight. “Dalton, I...” you begin, your voice faltering as you search for the right words. But the damage has already been done, the rift between you widening with each passing moment.

But Dalton shakes his head, his eyes clouded with anger and confusion. “I don’t want to hear it,” he says bitterly, his voice barely above a whisper.

But before you can speak again, Josh reaches out, his hand finding yours in a gesture of comfort and support. Instantly, you feel a sense of reassurance wash over you, the warmth of his touch offering solace in the midst of chaos.

Dalton recoils at the sight, his face contorted with disgust at the intimate gesture. “I can’t believe you would do this to me, Dad. And you,” he adds, turning his gaze to you, “you should be ashamed of yourself.”

With that, he turns and storms out of the room, leaving you and Josh alone in the wake of his departure. The silence that follows is deafening, a stark reminder of the pain and heartache that now fills the space between you.

Josh squeezes your hand gently, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I never wanted things to end up like this.”

You nod as your heart is heavy with guilt and uncertainty. “I know,” you reply softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But we have to find a way to fix this. For Dalton’s sake and for ours.”

Josh nods in agreement, his expression filled with determination. “I’ll talk to him,” he says firmly, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering resolve. “I’ll make him understand.”

A sense of hope stirs within you. The road ahead may be difficult, but with Josh by your side, you know that together, you can overcome any obstacle that stands in your way.

#patrick wilson #patrick wilson x reader #patrick wilson smut #the conjuring #ed warren #insidious #fanfiction #josh lambert #insidious smut #josh lambert x reader #josh lambert smut #orm marius #aquaman #insidious fanfiction #insidious the red door #aquaman the lost kingdom #aquaman and the lost kingdom

186 notes · View notes

makemeimmortalwithahug · 4 months ago

Text

How Could You Think, Darling, I'd Scare So Easily?

Painland Week Day 2 - Myths/Legends

Charles/Edwin - post-canon

y'all remember how I said a few days ago that day 2 for @painlandweek was almost finished? Yeah,, when I went to bed two nights ago, this fic had 500 words. When I woke up again, I thought, hey, just write another 500 words and get back to it to flesh it out sometime later. Yeah, I finished this at 3am and it turned out to be *checks word count* almost 4000 words! Whoops?

Word count: 3726

ao3 link will be added

Title is from Hozier's "Francesca"

TW: body horror (Charles changing forms)

summary:

Hell has made them stronger together, Edwin is sure of that. It has, however, also made Charles anxious to leave Edwin alone for longer periods of time. When Charles doesn't return home for hours and neither Crystal nor Edwin know where he might be, everything leads to a familiar witch who wants to find out how strong the bond between the two ghosts really is when tested.

It had been exactly two months, three weeks and five days since they escaped Hell, found and lost enough to last another lifetime or two and realised the possibility of relative peace existed for them in the form of a trans-dimensional being who had never learnt what “tranquillity” even meant. Edwin agreed that most times, there was too much paperwork to be done to even try to achieve some peace of mind.

For the most part, though, it was just an excuse. In reality, Edwin struggled with the idea that he could stop running now. After decades of looking over his shoulder, it took an immense amount of effort to direct his gaze at what’s in front of him.

Looking ahead now, all Edwin could see was the empty office, dust dancing over the furniture. The boxing gloves lay forgotten on a table near the entrance door and the football Charles always played with inside despite how much Edwin complained haphazardly rolled under the couch. Everything was still and that was only the beginning of the long list Edwin formulated in his mind of Things That Were Wrong.

Exhibit B: Charles was nowhere to be found. Which, while not particularly sitting right with Edwin, was not an unusual occurrence these days. Charles spent a lot of time with Crystal, helping her get used to her new flat or just keeping her company, watching movies. Crystal always made sure to extend her invitation to Edwin as well and he agreed every once in a while, sitting next to Charles on Crystal’s small but cosy couch, thighs touching. He also enjoyed his time spent with Crystal. She had grown on him and he was quite glad to call her his friend. Edwin lent her the detective novels he loved and in return he listened to what she called “podcasts” about psychology.

But even so, he knew that the needling to “come over to hers with me, yeah, mate? The movie’s s'posed to be aces” was solely Charles’ doing because he did not like letting him out of his sight ever since Hell. This resulted in Charles excessively checking in on him via mirror every few hours, which most times was met by Edwin with a fondly annoyed eye roll. Edwin was quick to give in when confronted with Charles’ pleading eyes. It was not like he was any different in that regard. Spending time with them was no hardship whatsoever and Edwin had to admit that he found it quite sweet how Charles would look after him.

Which brought him to exhibit C: Charles had been gone for more than five hours and had not checked in on Edwin once in this time. Which had Edwin more worried than was probably warranted. Charles would be just fine, he was sure. He would just take a quick trip to Crystal’s and then he could calmly get back to his work for the Night Nurse.

Edwin stood up and put the files under their paperweight. Mirror travel had been one of the most fascinating aspects of being a ghost. It required to be precise and focused while not putting any strain on his energy. It took just a fraction of a second until he found himself standing in the middle of Crystal’s living room.

“Holy fuck!” The resounding thump alerted Edwin to their psychic who was clutching her shoulder that she probably hit against the door frame she was currently leaning against, mouth twisted in pain and eyes wide with shock and irritation. “Edwin! How many times do we have to have this conversation until it sticks?”

“Yes, yes, no sudden mirror jumping into your room. I know.” Edwin pursed his lips, looking around. Better get to the point quickly. “Is Charles here?”

“No, he isn’t. I don’t know where loverboy is, why?”

“He is not home either, has he said anything?”

Crystal flopped down on her couch. “Well, he said he wanted to come ‘round today to help me fix the sink but he didn’t show.” Reaching onto the coffee table for her phone, she checked the time. “Yeah, Charles said he’d be here around two.”

Edwin felt his stomach lurch in anxiety. It was half past five. A chilled silence filled the room as they looked at each other in question.

“Let me grab my jacket.”

“Doesn’t seem any different, right?”

The agency lay completely untouched, nothing out of the ordinary. Normally, this would ease Edwin’s nerves, seeing as it was his sanctuary, his safe space along with Charles. Now, though, this also meant that there were no clues as to where Charles had gone.

“Quite,” he agreed. Walking in circles around their desk, he eventually walked up to the window and peered outside. “Maybe there is something outside, he didn’t leave through the mirror.”

They made their way downstairs, Crystal barely holding onto the railing to not slip on the steps in her hurry while Edwin simply opted to let himself fall through the floor to get to the entrance door as soon as possible. The night creeped in steadily, the shadows growing longer, twisting at their ankles. Their office was located a little off the beaten path, but not too far. When they first started flat-hunting, they were conscious that they had to balance on an incredibly fine line of finding a place just secluded enough to not bear the brunt of the daily London tourism but also don’t attract anyone who might be searching for lost places to scout out.

This resulted in a beautiful view from their window but dark alleyways that led to seemingly nowhere, cobblestones streets with missing stones and cracks in them. The walls towered over them here, making it harder to distinguish the darkening sky from the roofs and edges. Their living neighbour had hung their bed sheets on the washing lines on the balcony and whenever Edwin blinked and tried to bring his eyes back into focus, they reminded him of David the Demon when they first exorcised him.

It was dark, dirty and daunting. Nothing looked to be amiss. Except, of course, for the backpack that was sloped against the gutter. Edwin snatched it up and true enough: Charles’ bag of tricks. The straps showed various scratches and the top was stained. Decidedly not a condition Charles would leave his most prized possession in. Crystal was aware of this as well and carefully reached out to read it.

The few seconds that passed while Crystal’s eyes turned white and she stared into the distance were the most agitating of his existence.

Crystal gasped, letting the bag fall to the floor again, supporting herself on her knees. Edwin crouched next to her with his hands fluttering around her, not exactly knowing what he was supposed to do to help her.

Resurfacing, she stood up again, shooting Edwin a small grateful smile that quickly blinked away again.

“Esther’s back,” she announced and tucked her jacket tighter around her. “She ambushed him here and took him.”

And Edwin’s world broke into pieces, shattering from the sky onto the puddle-ridden street and breaking the moonshine.

He didn’t say anything at first, every word vanished from his mind.

“I might know where they are, though. Or, I can find out.”

“How?” His voice sounded rough - harsh, but Crystal didn’t get angry. She knew that this was not borne of anger but sheer gripping despair.

“She had a business card on her and when Charles tried to defend himself, he caught a glimpse.”

This, more than anything, gave Edwin the determination needed to hoist the backpack onto his shoulder.

“Let us not waste any time, then. Do you think this internet you have might be of help?”

“For sure, Edwin,” she answered, petting his shoulder.

If Edwin hadn’t been out of his mind worrying about Charles, leaving him with sparsely any mental capacities to think about anything else, then he could have admitted that Coupeville, Washington was a tranquil but charming little town. With its little art stores and cafes, it gave a delightfully unassuming appearance.

Edwin hated every moment. For the sake of not leaving Crystal alone - he tried to silence the voice in his head that whispered you couldn’t take care of Charles either -, he had suffered through another flight, a ferry and multiple train rides.

Crystal huffed as she dragged her suitcase up the stairs.

“She couldn’t have been less creative, huh? Relocating one ferry-ride away.” Which was true. Port Townsend could be reached in less than an hour.

Personally, he could not care less whether she called this town or the bloody Empire State Building her home. All he cared about was getting Charles back as soon as possible.

They quickly checked into a hotel to get rid of the suitcase. Insisting that she had slept enough while travelling, they immediately headed to the address that Crystal had found out using the business card - a brewery.

It must have been well visited only a few weeks ago, the dust had not properly set yet. But the lights were out and the doors were barricaded. Quickly nodding at Edwin, Crystal got on the way to find a window she could climb through while Edwin seized the opportunity to phase through the doors. Darkness enveloped him and he could not hear a single sound.

He slowly made his way across the reception area, trying to get a feeling for how big the building really was and where Esther might have been hiding in here. If there was actually any connection to Charles’ disappearance and this place, anyway. But Edwin couldn’t stop and think about this very real possibility.

Focusing on his surroundings, he noticed suspicious lines behind a grandfather clock on his left. And sure enough, upon examining them up close, there was a small door hidden behind it. Anxious excitement coursed through his body and he waited impatiently for Crystal’s arrival.

“Searched for the entrance for celebrities, did you?”

“Shut it. Let’s move this clock.”

Despite taking a few tries, at last they found themselves faced with the entirety of the door. The handle was made out of iron, but Edwin didn’t hesitate to grab it despite the pain and the indignant screech Crystal let sound.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You might still need that hand.”

“Irrelevant and inaccurate, I won’t lose it by touching iron for a few seconds, do not be silly. And regardless, Charles does matter more right now.” He tried to hide the red swelling on his palm but he was not ignorant enough to think that Crystal actually hadn’t noticed.

“A plan is needed. I would suggest you wait here, in case Esther is not here and tries to surprise us.”

“Alright.” Crystal nodded. “Don’t do anything stupid, yeah? Charles wouldn’t forgive anyone if you got hurt.”

Least of all himself went unsaid but they both heard it all the same.

Edwin inclined his head, opened the door and went inside.

The room unfolding in front of him was surprisingly spacious but shockingly empty except for the enormous carpet. Sliding onto his knees, he felt the cloth and without a doubt: laced with magic. It was easy enough to counter the spell that acted as both a means to soundproof and seal without a lock whatever lay underneath it.

Moving it aside, he was faced with a basement and without a second thought, jumped down.

Like a moth to a flame, Edwin’s eyes immediately found Charles in the completely dark room.

“Charles,” he breathed, the name echoing off the walls like a prayer.

Charles was slumped against the far wall, hands in cuffs mounted next to head which was lolling unoriented. When he finally looked up, Edwin was met with a disbelieving smile. But before Edwin could reciprocate, a look of blinding terror coloured Charles’ face pale.

“Edwin!” he hissed, pulling at his cuffs which brought tears to his eyes in pain. “Please, please leave, Edwin, she’s after you.”

Edwin didn’t even think about leaving without Charles. All it took was the span of a blink and Edwin fell to his knees beside him, trying to find magical leeway for him to put the cuffs out of action, but to his dismay he realised that Esther had reinforced her strategy, not just opting for simple iron but also a curse.

“What? What do you mean by that?” he asked, only half listening as he mentally flipped through all the knowledge he had on this kind of magic.

“She,” Charles began, coughing, “She said she was impressed that we escaped last time. She wants to get rid of me first and see how much it’d raise your pain level to drain you again. Put a curse on me too, in case you showed up.”

That got Edwin’s attention. “What?! Do you feel alright? What kind of curse?”

“Eh.” Charles’ head lolled to the side again, as if he was losing consciousness. “She wants to try sacrificing me and if you tried to rescue me, I’d turn in all kinds of horrible beasts. Wouldn’t want to hold onto me then, she said. Wants to see how far you’d go.”

“Charles, Charles!” Edwin held him by the shoulders, careful not to jostle him. “I’d go anywhere for you, do you understand? A curse is not going to stop me.”

But Charles was barely there anymore, teetering on the edge of oblivion. “S’ planned for t’morrow. I won’t blame you for letting go, mate, you were scared for so long, don’t need any more of that, yeah?” And then he fell into something close to sleep but what most likely resembled unquiet rest.

There was nothing he could do against the cuffs, not with no grasp on what exact kind of magic he was dealing with and no idea how much time he had left until Esther would show up.

Edwin put a hand to Charles’ cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold onto you, Charles, stay strong.”

With one last glance to his love, he began climbing back out of the basement.

Upon reading up on locations with magical and sacrificial history in Washington, Edwin concluded that their best chance was a secluded part of coastline, the stony beach along with the clear view of the sky providing the perfect atmosphere.

Edwin and Crystal were hiding in the underwood, watching Esther where she was standing near the shore, when suddenly, something moved right in front of them.

Crystal gasped. “Did- did the path just move?”

Quickly, he shushed her. “No, there is no path,” he whispered, “there is only the beach. That is a snake.”

True enough: a black snake slithered up to the ritual circle Esther had set up. This snake was even bigger than the one in Esther’s house in Port Townsend and tied to its back, there was Charles.

“Okay,” he said softly, “wish me luck.”

Consolingly, Crystal put her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need luck. Go get him. I’ll deal with Esther.”

They stood up and sneaked closer. From a safe distance, Crystal started tapping into her powers. Edwin trusted her, therefore he turned to Charles straight away.

Edwin had also found a remedy for the cuffs’ curse, which made it easy to pull him off, hugging him close and making it just far enough away to give Crystal the opportunity to handle the snake.

Tightening his arms around Charles, who was panting against his neck, it didn’t take long until he could feel Charles’ body morph.

When Charles told him that he’d turn into various beasts, Edwin had thought about what he had been afraid of when he was still alive. After seventy years in Hell, any scary children’s story he had heard lost its appeal. When he was ten, his neighbour’s children had told him a story about Spring-heeled Jack who’d haunt the streets of London but also other areas of Britain. They told him about his terrifying looks with his claws, jumping at passersby to scratch them and then back into the night.

Thinking back now, though, Edwin would gladly face a hundred variations of Spring-heeled Jack all alone if it meant that Charles would be safe and sound in their office come next morning.

“I’ve got you, Charles,” he mumbled. He didn’t respond and as Edwin looked up at him, he came face-to-face with a doll version of Charles, his eyes unseeing and mouth twisted in a numb smile, a hollow feeling to his body. Edwin could see his own face reflected in Charles’ eyes, unease boiling slowly under his skin. Where Charles’ hold on him had been strong and desperate only moments ago, now it was stiff and felt like porcelain. Edwin’s fear of dolls was real and tangible but he was far more scared of letting Charles go and shattering him on the stones.

He pressed Charles closer to him.

He stayed in this form for a while until Edwin felt a shift again. This time, Charles resembled the demon that had dragged Edwin to Hell. He was a familiar sight albeit an unpleasant one, so Edwin just put his forehead to Charles’ shoulder and waited it out, the haze around them slowly dissipating.

Next was the thing one of his demons had traded him to. He maintained that it was worse than a demon, for the simple reason that there were characteristics one could apply to a demon, it was possible to create a definition and know what to expect when one encountered a demon. This thing, however, was less a physical form and more a foreboding. The feeling deep in the bones that something horrible was imminent and no matter how hard one would try to work against it, failure was predestined. A looming presence - a threat. There was a voice in the back of the mind, whispering knowingly about every mistake he ever made and it was all your fault, right? Niko dying, Charles getting hurt, Crystal being dragged along to all of this, having been in Hell? But you don’t need me to tell you that, you already think so.

It was a sick trick and his only enemy in this was his own mind. But Edwin had grown, he had realised that thinking something didn’t have to reflect reality. And while he did blame himself for all these things from time to time, it was a passing sorrow. None of the people involved in these thoughts would want him to condemn himself and after his second time in Hell, Edwin had understood that he needed to show himself self-respect as well. Hell was an error Edwin had had no control over.

He did, however, have control over not letting Charles fear that he would be afraid enough to leave him. Because he was quite sure that underneath these appearances, Charles was conscious of what was happening and scared out of his mind.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It’s alright.”

The fourth form was the spider-doll-demon. Its many arms were gripping Edwin’s back, the dolls’ heads pressing into his chest and neck. Edwin tried to slow his breathing. He spent more than seventy years running away from this demon and being so close to it was associated with blinding pain, being torn apart over and over again.

Maybe now was the time to finally stop running and face his fear head-on. And so he looked straight at it, staring lovingly beneath its surface where he knew Charles was.

One second to the other, the demon was gone. There was no other figure, but Edwin still felt Charles’ presence and he tensed up at once, realising what this particular fear resembled: Charles was invisible, gone from his sight. No means for him to see him again, the only thing left for him to do was anxiously grip where Charles’ shoulders were supposed to be and not let Charles jerk away if he saw the horror on Edwin’s face. This was the only shape that compelled Edwin to screw his eyes shut.

Time passed until he felt Charles change one more time. This was the only one not tailored specifically to one of Edwin’s fears and it showed him that he had been right in assuming where Esther had drawn her inspiration for this act from.

Charles resembled a burning coal, the heat licking at Edwin’s skin. He embraced him tightly, stood up with him and dragged him into the water. Below the surface, he could see Charles turning back into himself, his bright eyes the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Nothing had ever felt as right as holding Charles in his arms.

Bubbles appeared in front of Charles’ mouth even though he didn't need to breathe and Edwin erupted spontaneously into laughter at the ridiculous sight of Charles trying to speak underwater. Despite being in the water, he felt himself get teary-eyed. He didn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that they would not both be sobbing messes as soon as they resurfaced. But for now all he needed to do was drink in Charles’ smile.

Back on the shore, Crystal was busy brushing off her jeans.

“Boys!” she yelled as soon as she saw them, running towards them and pulling them both into a hug at the same time. “Esther’s gone, let’s hope for good.”

“Yeah,” Charles whispered, putting one arm around Edwin’s hips.

Crystal pulled back, smiling knowingly but in a comforting way. “So glad you’re both alright. I’ll go check to make sure no one here accidently saw me fighting a huge snake and a witch. Meet me at the hotel, yeah?” With that, she walked back in the direction of the trees.

Charles turned to Edwin, smiling shyly. “So, you kept holding me,” he stated.

“Nothing has ever been easier, Charles.” He put his hands on Charles’ shoulders again. They fit so well there.

They hugged once more.

“You know,” Edwin mused, playing with Charles’ hair, “it was like Tam Lin.”

“Mhh?” Charles mumbled, he sounded tired. “What’s that?”

“A legendary Scottish ballad. Not letting your love go, no matter what.”

“Oh.” Charles’ eyes were wide. “Does that one end in tragedy too?”

Edwin smiled. “No, it ends precisely like this.” And Charles’ smile was brilliant as he leaned in and kissed Edwin.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #dbda #dead boy detective agency #payneland #crystal palace #painland week #painlandweek

65 notes · View notes

seonghwaddict · 2 years ago

Text

★ NEVER SAY NEVER. [ 003 ] rock paper scissors.

synopsis. something about the eight most well-known boys of your campus just didn't sit right with you, so you never gave any effort to interact with them. but after a series of... interesting incidents, they can't seem to leave you alone. pairing. college students! vampires! ot8! ateez x fem! reader. genre. fluff, angst, eventual smut, college au, vampire au. chapter warnings. none, it's a cute chapter. word count. 2.3k

　　　　　　　　chapter ii // chapter iii // chapter iv

Surprisingly, you and Wooyoung agreed on most things when it came to compiling plausible ideas for the project. You worked together for an hour before he told you he had to go somewhere with Seonghwa and one of the guys you hadn’t met yet—Yunho?—in half an hour, to which you nodded as you continued writing down some notes.

Seonghwa joined the two of you at some point, coming down the stairs with his laptop so he could work alongside you, muttering something along the lines of “Hongjoong is working on something and I can’t concentrate” as he sighed. Though it didn’t take very long for him to retreat back to his room with a yawn having finished whatever paper her had to write.

Over the hour that you and Wooyoung worked together, he had scooted himself closer and closer to you until your knees were brushing against each other (but you didn’t mind, all this talking had made you reasonably more comfortable around him). At times he got up to demonstrate some poses he thought would look nice as you drew rough, blocky sketches of said poses. You showed him some of your own sketches, letting him choose what kind of style would fit.

At this proximity, it was very hard for Wooyoung to concentrate for longer periods of time. The perfume you wore had a divine smell that he couldn’t quite place, but if he had to he’d describe it as vanilla, a hint of something sweeter folded between. Every time he got a whiff of it, he had to stop himself from chasing the sweet smell. He also didn’t miss the way the beating of your heart sped up very slightly as he leaned over you to grab the pencil by your side, a fact that brought a smug smile to his face.

Since the final event for this project would be an exhibition in the gym, you both thought it would make sense to either do one big artwork or multiple smaller artworks to fill out the space dedicated to you. This was one of the things you couldn’t agree on.

“But wouldn’t it be so cool if you could do, like, a few sculptures and a few paintings of me?” He pouted.

“Wooyoung,” you pinched your nose bridge, “did you forget that I would have to be the one to actually make everything?”

“Well, no. But since we have like, 3 months to work on this I thought that would be more than enough time.”

“I have more—and better—things to do than paint and sculpt you.” You reasoned. “As the person that will be working endlessly on the actual artwork, I’d much prefer to do one big, impressive painting.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes before staring you dead in your eyes. “Are you sure?”

There was a change in his voice so subtle you wouldn’t be able to place it. Even his voice seemed sharper and it sent a chill down your spine. He squinted at you as you hesitated to answer and suddenly seemed so much closer than he actually was.

You blinked and looked away from him, and he was pleased to see the tips of your ears dusted a rosy shade. “Yes, I’m completely sure I’d rather do one larger painting.”

And that is how you and Wooyoung found yourselves in what may be the most intense game of Rock Paper Scissors. He decided the first to three points would get to choose, and it didn’t take long for the two of you to reach two points. After that, you kept tying and at some point, you both stood up, dramatically turning around every time you had to show your weapon. But you continued choosing the same things and each time he’d throw himself on the couch, yelling before standing back up.

After a few more rounds, you finally got a winner.

Up in the bedroom he shared with Wooyoung, Yeosang could not fall asleep. Out of all eight of the men that lived in this house, he had the most sensitive hearing. So when his best friend’s car pulled up to his house and he first heard that familiar voice accusing them of being part of the mafia, one could only imagine the surprise he felt. The two of you had run into each other a few times and eventually, he noticed he was looking for you when he went to certain places.

The first was at a café he worked at five days a week. Of course, he didn’t really need the money, but he enjoyed the atmosphere. Dim lighting, music playing softly so as to not disturb the customers, potted plants anywhere you looked. On one of the days he was working, you came in with who he assumed was your friend, talking animatedly to the girl next to you.

He didn’t notice you until you came up to the counter to order, immediately endeared by your polite smile. Your friend was seated on one of the tables by the window that looked out onto the street. He took your order: One americano, one iced latte with triple sugar, and two eclairs.

“Name?”

You gave him your name and a small smile made its way to his face as he scribbled your name on the cups. You paid and with a nod, he asked you to wait by the pick-up counter. You watched him idly, rocking on your heels as you waited. The song caught your attention and you tried to memorise at least one phrase so you could find it later.

It didn’t take too long for both of the drinks to be made and he quickly fsíshed two eclairs out and carefully placed them into a white paper bag before handing everything to you, catching you as you took a sip of the iced latte and added in one more sugar packet. Before you left, you stopped him from turning around, a gentle ‘Excuse me?’ leaving your plump limps

“Yeah?”

“This song is nice, what’s it called?”

“Oh! Uh,” he pretended to think for a bit, but really this was his playlist and he knew every single song from the top of his head. “it’s Reflections by The Neighbourhood”

“Thank you,” your eyes flickered to the small name tag clipped to his apron. “Yeosang.”

The second time he saw you was in a quaint little bookshop. It was pretty much across the street from his café, so Jongho texted him to see if he could go a get a book for him when his shift was over. Of course, Yeosang wouldn’t decline his request so, true to his word, as soon as his shift was over at 7:30 in the afternoon, he made his way to the bookshop.

As the door opened, the kindle of a small bell signalled the arrival of a new customer. You were seated at the cashier, leaning your head on one of your hands while the other held your favourite mechanical pencil, drawing small sketches in your worn sketchbook, nodding your head to the beat of whatever song you were listening to. He recognised you immediately but decided to focus on finding the book Jongho needed.

With his phone in his hand, he looked between the title Jongho had sent him and the books on each and every bookshelf. Yet, he couldn’t find it. Deciding he should just ask you, he mustered up the courage and made his way to the front of the store, hesitating before calling out to you.

“Excuse me, um… Y/N?”

You were startled, but looked up at him and as recognition flashed through your eyes, smiled and took off your headphones. Unlike the last time you saw him, his hair was longer and he dyed it blond, but you still recognised him. You tried not to get distracted by how well this new look suited him. “Ah, Yeosang, right? How can I help you?”

He explained his situation and gave you the name of the book when you asked. You hummed and told him to follow you, walking to a section he swore he already looked in, missing the way he looked positively delighted by the fact you remembered his name. After you told him you wouldn’t be able to reach it, you told him exactly where the book should be and, lo and behold, there it was.

The next times he saw you (yes, multiple times), was somewhere he frequented almost as often as his workplace; the skatepark. You usually showed up with three of your friends and watched them skate around as you sat at a picnic bench. One time, in particular, he remembered you showing up in an outfit that nearly drove him insane.

It was different from what he usually saw you wearing, oversized and cosy, covering up nearly all your skin. But this time, while you wore an oversized knitted white sweater, you also decided to wear and black miniskirt. Thigh-high black socks hugged your legs and fitted especially snugly around your thick thighs. If he denied the fact that he thought of about a hundred different inappropriate things in the span of a second, he’d be the biggest liar to have walked the earth.

You sat at your usual spot, watching with a fond smile as your friends bickered and skated around, that usual sketchbook opened in front of you as you drew. After twenty long minutes of skating to get his mind off you (and failing), Yeosang decided to take a seat next to you.

“You draw a lot.” He nearly smacked himself for not coming up with something better to say. But luckily, you seemed amused, letting out a small chuckle.

“I’m an art major, I kinda have to.”

And from there you conversed for another hour about whatever came to mind until your friends called you over so you could go grab dinner together. You offered Yeosang to join you, but the biology major needed to get home since he had early classes the next day.

He sighed once more, throwing the blanket off him as he got up and pulled a random sweater over his head.

“No!” You practically cried out and fell to the ground in defeat, Wooyoung cheered and jumped around the living room in utter glee. “I want a rematch!”

“In your dreams!”

“What’s going on?” A deep voice interrupted Wooyoung’s cheering (and your mourning). His eyes found yours very quickly, offering you a smile. “Oh, hey.”

“Hello!” You got up from the floor and gave him a small bow, brushing the fabric of your sweatpants despite them not being dirty.

Wooyoung’s brows furrowed as he looked between you and the blond in confusion. “You know each other?”

After explaining how you two knew each other, you had to leave. Wooyoung had to go wherever it was he need to go soon and you were getting pretty tired. After wishing them a good night and exchanging numbers with Wooyoung, you stepped out of the house, bag hanging from your shoulder as you made your way to the front gate.

That’s when you realised you didn’t have a way of getting home and didn’t know where the nearest bus stop was either. Shortly after you stepped out, both Wooyoung and Yeosang came to the same conclusion. So, while Wooyoung had to go wake up Seonghwa and get Yunho, Yeosang rushed out of the house and took his car.

“Need a ride?” He pulled up next to you, his usual smile making the apples of his cheeks look extra squishy.

You let out a sigh of relief, nodding and getting in the passenger’s seat.

The drive to the apartment complex you lived at took nearly half an hour. For the first ten minutes of the ride, you and Yeosang caught up and whatever had happened between the last time you’d seen each other and now. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it was quite obvious you already developed a small liking for the man next to you.

After those first ten minutes, you fell asleep with your head leaning against the window on your side. Yeosang could tell how tired you were and didn’t blame you at all. Spending so much time with Wooyoung can either be energising or exhausting, there was no in-between. So, he let you rest, head turning to make sure you were alright every now and then.

The steady beating of your heart grounded him, calming his senses and he was sure that as soon as he got back home, he’d be able to sleep without any difficulty.

As soon as you stepped through your front door, your housemate greeted you from the couch. “Hey, where were you?”

“I had to work on a new art project with a partner,” You yawned, making your way to the kitchen and grabbing a cup of water.

“Oh, how exciting,” Sangmi laughed, knowing you preferred working on your own. “Who’s your partner?”

Swallowing the big gulp of water you took, you answered, “Jung Wooyoung.”

Her deep brown eyes practically bulged from her eye sockets. She immediately demanded every detail. Sangmi always had a sort of admiration for Wooyoung, but an admiration that was less like a crush and more akin to respect.

She was also a dance major and often told you about how hard he worked during dance practice, describing the way he moved like art in and of itself. You had yet to see what she meant, but her words still set a high standard.

After telling her everything, you excused yourself and got ready for bed, changing into comfortable shorts and a white tank top. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light with no hope of waking up any time soon.

　　[ lilo's notes ... ] and so you have found out who she likes :> sorry this update was a bit late, i kinda forgot to finish writing. but here it is! i love blond yeosang so much it's actually insane.

　　ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ taglist ... @atinytinaa @marievllr-abg @legohwas @moonsangie @kiss-hwa @cqndiedcherries @ateezourstars @kitty4hwa @hyukssunflower @aestheticsluut @neohyxn @mrowwww @darkdayelixer @itsokaytobedumb00 @hwa-sans @purplelady85 @meginthebuilding27 @stopeatread @mothworked @foliea @euphoric-emily16 @teezers99 @mulletjoonsupremacy @imalildelulu @sunukissed @blehhhidk @ad0rechuu @d1am0ndw0lfxd @strawberry-moonpies @bluehwale-main @lightinythedark @stupefystudies @yandere-stories @skz-enthusiasttt @seongwin @huachengsbestie01 @galaxypox @seongwin @yuyunhoo @kyukyustar @seongfury

#★ NEVER SAY NEVER — seonghwaddict #ateez #ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #vampire au #college au #fluff #eventual smut

554 notes · View notes

skeletorrito · 12 days ago

Text

Wherever you go (that's where I'll follow)

satosugu fic

Rating: E (NSFW 18+)

Summary: “You just don’t get it, do you?! He’s not right in the head, Yaga. You know what he told me the other day? He’s thinking about leaving. For good. We’re going to lose him if we don’t at least fucking try to do something,” Satoru was seething, fingernails biting into his palms at how tightly he clenched his fists. He takes a silent moment, deciding, tipping the scales. And, suddenly, his clarity comes to him.

How could he possibly live without Suguru Geto by his side?

Tears stung his eyes, threatening to spill. “And you know what? If he goes, I go.” He declared angrily, eyebrows pinched together. “Now, is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

In which Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo fail a traumatic mission, and Suguru is faced with the most important decision of his life.

Chapter 1: Okinawa

“Let’s just fly out tomorrow morning, Suguru!” Satoru Gojo called out to his friend as he splashed in the clear ocean waves of Okinawa.

Riko Amanai’s eyes sparkled at this idea. She peered up at Satoru, who was initially tormenting her with a creepy-looking sea cucumber.

Suguru Geto frowned, hand coming up to his brow to block the sun. “You know we can’t…” He called back, standing and dusting sand off of himself. He padded over to a shady spot.

Satoru, bone-dry from head to toe, met him on the shore. “C’mon, Sugu, the weather will hold up, and there’s not as many curse users around. What’s one more day to go sightseeing?” He challenged with a pout. “We’ll just let the bounty expire while we’re in the air.”

Suguru’s eyebrows pinched together in concern. He leaned in and murmured, “You haven’t released your technique since yesterday, have you?”

Satoru’s eyes grew wide. He remained silent, biting the inside of his cheek.

“You haven’t slept, either, and I know you don’t plan on sleeping tonight,” he looked Satoru up and down, taking note of the heavy bags under his eyes. “I’m worried about you, Satoru. You sure we don’t need to go back?”

He gave Suguru a playful punch and reassured him, “I’m fine, really, stop worrying. I’ve stayed up longer playing Stardew Valley.” He leaned in closer, grinning as he added, “Plus, you’re here too.”

Suguru softened.

Satoru smirked as he continued in a suggestive whisper near Suguru’s ear, “And you’re going to keep me up tonight, right?”

Suguru flushed beet red, muttering, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt…”

Satoru swung around, calling out, “Hey, Riko, we’re staying!”

Riko cheered, excitedly tugging on Kuroi’s sleeve.

So, unsurprisingly, the group ended up sightseeing for the rest of the day.

Satoru packed the day with fun activities: tandem kayaking, shopping for souvenirs, visiting botanical gardens, eating ramen, and finally, the best part, visiting Okinawa’s aquarium.

If Suguru had any idea of what a “perfect date” was, this would have to be it.

He gazed at Satoru lovingly, admiring how the glowing aquarium tanks reflected in his equally beautiful ocean eyes. Satoru, in his own impulsive way of course, planned this whole amazing day for everyone even while sleep-deprived and anxious. Suguru glanced over at Riko and Kuroi, both of whom looked on in wonder at the exhibits. He noticed Satoru’s attention also shifted to them. Satoru was smiling, in that excited, prideful way he always did after successful missions.

He’s being so thoughtful today...

Suddenly, Suguru filled with emotion, his stomach twisting and filling with butterflies. He meditated on how precious Satoru was to him and it almost hurt how intensely he wanted to cherish and protect his teammate. His fingers nudged at Satoru’s, and Satoru responded by lacing them tightly, uncaring of curious onlookers. Everyone else faded into the background, as they often did when he was with Suguru. They stood in comfortable silence as they watched sea creatures dart and weave around them.

“It’s like we’re on vacation…” Suguru thought aloud, smiling softly to himself.

Satoru peeked at him through the corner of his sunglasses and matched his smile.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Satoru replied, fixing his gaze on the giant, majestic whale passing over them.

Suguru squeezed his hand gently.

“Yeah, it is.”

They rented a quaint, two-bedroom beach house for the night. Misato Kuroi, the only true adult present (because let’s be honest, two eighteen-year-old high-school students barely make up a single, functional adult), helped organize this with Suguru. He managed to smooth-talk his way into the last beach house vacancy in Okinawa for the night under her supervision.

“It’s only two bedrooms…” Kuroi commented as they all settled in. “Is that okay for you both? There might be a spare futon…”

“It’s fine,” they both replied in unison, side-eyeing each other and giggling quietly as they shuffled inside with their bags.

Kuroi looked surprised at first, then her face softened and she smiled. “You two must be very close.”

“Yeah, we’re boy-” Satoru started.

“Best friends. We’re best friends.” Suguru finished. He shot a warning look at Satoru.

Satoru clenched his teeth into an awkward, apologetic smile and escaped into the bedroom. Kuroi’s eyebrows rose as she studied Suguru’s face curiously. They exchanged uncomfortable, polite smiles and farewells, then scurried to their respective bedrooms.

He frowned as he entered the room and shut the door behind him. “Can you try to be a little more subtle? We’re still on a mission, after all…” He muttered in a low volume, dropping his backpack on the floor next to the bed.

Satoru flopped onto the bed with a relieved sigh, spreading out his stuff wherever he felt like it. His sunglasses were the only thing folded neatly on the bedside table. “Oh, whatever, stop being so uptight. Let’s just enjoy this little vacation together while we can.” He patted at the spot next to him, wiggling his finger in a “come hither” motion.

Suguru conceded, pulling the elastic from his bun as he joined Satoru on the mattress. “I’m glad we stayed. You planned a really nice day, Satoru.” He settled into a plush pile of pillows, his long, dark hair splaying in beautiful contrast to the white linens.

“I know. You’re welcome.” Satoru took this opportunity to wriggle closer, slipping under Suguru’s arm and resting his head on his chest. He snaked his long arms around Suguru’s waist, sighing happily as he squeezed tightly.

“Take a nap, you need it,” Suguru suggested, hooking his arm around Satoru’s shoulders and reaching up to thread his fingers into fluffy white hair. He pulled out his phone to set an alarm.

Satoru yawned, fighting to keep his eyes open in Suguru’s warm embrace. “I can’t… Gotta protect her…” Despite his arguments, he nuzzled his face further into Suguru’s shoulder.

“I’ll stay up and wake you in a couple of hours. I’ve already got curses patrolling outside. You don’t have to do this alone, y’know.”

Satoru forced his eyes to open as best as could to give Suguru an appreciative glance. Then, he smiled deviously with another brilliant idea written across his face. “I’ll sleep… if you jump in the ocean with me later tonight.”

Suguru snorted as he scrolled through his phone, “Satoru, that’s a terrible idea.”

“My ideas are never terrible,” Satoru mumbled, eyelids growing heavy again. He finally closed them as he murmured, sadly and quietly, “You didn’t even get in today… I wanted to swim with you.”

“I’ll think about it.” Suguru smiled, kissing the top of Satoru’s head. His hair smelled like sweet citrus. “Now get some rest.”

Satoru hummed sleepily before he drifted off, “I know you’ll say yes.”

Suguru laughed quietly to himself.

I probably will.

Satoru woke in a panic two hours later, gasping and attempting to sit up. He was still firmly tucked against Suguru, who jolted at Satoru’s sudden movements. Satoru lifted his head from Suguru’s chest, eyes wide with anxiety. “Wha- What time is it?! Where’s Riko!?”

Suguru patted him, coaxing his head back down. “Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Riko’s sleeping, everything’s fine. It’s only 11pm.”

Satoru relaxed into the touch, sighing. “Good, I’m glad.” He sat up and stretched with a yawn. “Only 11? Oh, that’s perfect. Let’s go for a dip.” He grinned widely and stood. Clearly, an extra few hours of sleep did the job. “C’mon, we’re already in swimsuits.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, groaning, “Ugh I was really hoping you’d forget about that. It’s going to be freezing, Satoru.” He stretched out across the mattress, shaking the numb arm Satoru was sleeping on.

“Exactly,” Satoru replied with a smug look and booped Suguru on the nose with his finger. “It’ll keep us awake.”

Suguru took a silent moment to consider. He hated (loved) that Satoru could convince him into these shenanigans so easily. He finally agreed, but on one condition, “I’m only going in if you promise not to use Infinity.” He squinted at him, a serious look on his face. “This is your idea, so you have to commit. Otherwise, I’m staying here.”

Satoru’s face fell. He pouted, “But-”

“We can take a shower together after...”

“Okay fine. No Infinity,” Satoru immediately agreed, blushing wildly.

Fortunately for the pair, the beach house rental was only a few hundred feet away from the beach itself, and, to Satoru’s relief, he could still survey the area even from this distance. Suguru’s curses continued to guard the perimeter as Kuroi and Riko slept soundly.

They ran out in nothing but swim trunks, racing each other towards the shore. Satoru won, naturally, but that only fueled Suguru to shove him into the ocean.

He tumbled into the shallow water with a yelp as an ice-cold wave washed over him. “Oh fuck that’s c-cold!” Satoru stuttered as stood quickly and hugged himself. His teeth started chattering as the wind hit his freezing skin, and goosebumps spread across his exposed torso. He was especially sensitive to touch these past few days, only releasing his technique when he was alone with Suguru.

Satoru suddenly regretted this brilliant idea of his. He grimaced as he splashed Suguru with a big wave (and he may have put a little “physics-altering momentum” into it, too).

“I told you, idiot!” Suguru laughed, putting his arms up to block. “Just keep going, it’ll warm up.” He waded in until he was chest-deep, shivering and clenching with each wave that rolled over him. Satoru followed, whining and groaning with each step he took until he finally just gave in and dunked his whole head under the water. He floated back up seconds later with a gasp, more awake than he’d ever been in his entire life. His once spiky hair fell flat against his head in a white helmet.

“Oh my god, your hair!” Suguru exclaimed between laughs as he floated around Satoru for a better look. He laughed even harder as Satoru tried to fix it, tears starting to well in his eyes. “You look like a drowning poodle!”

“Oh that’s soooo funny,” Satoru replied sarcastically and frowned. He secretly loved hearing Suguru laugh like this, the rare sound music to his ears, even if he was the butt of the joke. He smirked, seeking revenge by suddenly pushing Suguru’s head under the water.

Suguru resurfaced quickly, scowling, his loose hair almost totally covering his face as he rose from the water. Satoru brushed it aside gently, giving him a quick, salty kiss.

“You look like a hot mermaid,” he commented with a grin.

Suguru returned the kiss, dipping his head back into the water and smoothing it out of his eyes. He smirked, replying playfully, “Careful, or I might drag you to your death.” He grabbed Satoru by the waist, pulling him in and tickling him under the water with clawing fingers.

Satoru doubled over with laughter, his stomach clenching tightly. “H-hey, Suguru! St-stop it, you fucking jerk!” He writhed in Suguru’s grasp, trying to push him away.

“What’s the magic word?”

“Kiss my ass,” he spat with a grin. Satoru yelped as Suguru’s fingers dug into his sides harder. He squirmed uncomfortably, the touch becoming overstimulating even though he couldn’t stop laughing.

Suguru’s smirk grew wider. “Hmm, I don’t think that’s it, sorry.”

He considered the fact that Satoru could push him away so easily with his technique and, yet, he never used it against him. Not even once.

Does he really trust me that much?

He grinned even wider.

“Okay, please, please stop,” Satoru whined quickly, tearing up as he giggled.

Suguru let go, looking pleased with this answer. “Aww, the strongest baby can’t even handle a wittle tickle,” he teased with a chuckle, slicking Satoru’s hair back and giving him a wet kiss.

Satoru deepened the kiss immediately, to Suguru’s surprise, as he gripped long, wet locks firmly. His tongue slipped into Suguru’s mouth, flicking along his bottom lip, tasting salt and sweet and everything in between. He wanted to feel everything with Suguru because the touches hurt so good right now. Despite this icy ocean, he felt like he was on fire with Suguru so close to him. It was a sensitive, raw ache all over his body being in love this deeply while also being this touch-starved.

His fingers grazed up a goose-pimpled, muscled thigh and he received a soft moan against his lips. Suguru lifted his leg, hooking it around Satoru’s hip, as he pushed into him.

“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” Satoru breathed between kisses, pulling the other leg up around his hips. Suguru was suspended weightlessly around him as his arms slipped around Satoru’s shoulders.

“Oh yeah?” Suguru replied in a whisper just above the crashing waves. They waded comfortably, pulled by the low tide, each jostle of the ocean rubbing Satoru’s arousal against Suguru’s thigh. He smirked, legs tightening their grip as he commented, “I can tell.” Suguru initiated another deep kiss, biting and sucking on his lower lip.

Satoru groaned, gripping his hips, his greedy fingers sliding under the waistband of Suguru’s swim trunks and over his ass. “Should we take this inside?” He asked huskily, squeezing.

Suguru gasped, squirming in Satoru’s grasp. His own arousal pressed against Satoru’s abs through his thin swim trunks. “Y-yeah, let’s warm up,” he agreed shakily, attempting to slip down but Satoru didn’t release his grip. In fact, he might have made it tighter.

“Uh, let me get down.”

“Nah.”

Satoru started towards the shore, slowly swishing through the water as Suguru still clung to him.

Suguru flushed, pulling back with pinched eyebrows. “What do you mean, ‘nah?!’ What the fuck!? Let go!” He started pushing on Satoru’s shoulders to no avail because big, warm hands only held him tighter to his body.

Satoru rested his chin on Suguru’s shoulder, pouting and whining, “But I don’t want to…” He pressed his lips to the man’s neck, nibbling at it gently. “Just let me be Prince Eric and rescue you, Princess Ariel!”

Suguru’s face grew hotter, mumbling, “You’re such a weirdo.” He didn’t fight as Satoru carried him until the ocean licked at his ankles. He climbed down awkwardly, both shuddering as the humid breeze hit their cold, wet skin. Satoru grabbed his hand as they ran back to the beach house, still dripping wet and freezing.

Suguru squeezed out as much seawater from his hair and his trunks as he could before stepping into the house. (Satoru just vibrated the water off of himself somehow.) They beelined it for the bathroom, but not before Satoru took a quick once-over of the property just in case.

“It’s not every day we get to share a private shower,” Suguru commented quietly with a coy smile, turning the showerhead on. He pulled off his trunks, wringing them out over the bathroom drain and hanging them over the glass shower door. He begrudgingly did this with his friend’s swimsuit as well, for Satoru left them as a soggy heap on the tile floor and jumped in the shower immediately.

“Oh, this is definitely not hot enough,” Satoru declared, a little too loudly, and Suguru shushed him. “Sorry,” he followed up with an apologetic whisper, cranking the water temperature.

Suguru stepped in, hissing as burning droplets of water hit his skin. “What the hell?! Why did you make it so fucking hot?” He took up the far corner of the boxy shower, reaching out a curious hand and wincing.

“I was cold,” Satoru replied and shrugged. He turned the dial down by barely a centimeter. “Now who’s the sensitive one…” He trailed off playfully under his breath, shivering pleasantly as he allowed the scalding water to flush his ivory skin.

Suguru’s gaze flicked up and down Satoru’s naked body with a devious grin. He moved in closer, pressing his cold front against the man’s warm back. Satoru inhaled sharply, jolting.

“Thanks for warming me up,” Suguru murmured into Satoru’s neck, reaching out to adjust the water as he fought against the burning, steaming spray. (He still left it hot for Satoru, but a bit more manageable for him.) “Want me to wash your hair?”

“Sure, can I borrow-”

“No.”

Satoru flipped around, pouting and flashing fake teary eyes. “C’mon, I just forgot it this time...”

Suguru crossed his arms and scowled as he replied, “You always use up my nice hair products, Satoru. Just go buy them yourself!”

“I’m sorry, Sugu, I’ll pay you back, you know I’m good for it. I really did forget my shampoo.” Suguru could tell he was speaking candidly. Satoru’s long, wet lashes fluttered against his rosy cheeks. He looked like a porcelain doll, his glowing, crystal eyes still piercing and ethereal even in the foggy steam of the shower. His cheeks and lips flushed bright pink in contrast to his pale, perfect skin. “Sometimes it’s just nice to smell like you…” he murmured sheepishly with a little smile.

Suguru blushed and avoided eye contact as he grumbled, “Just give me the shampoo, creep.”

Satoru cheered, snatching the bottle off of the shower ledge and tossing it over. He turned his back, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly as Suguru’s fingertips massaged his scalp in little circles. “This feels so good,” he groaned softly, “It’s kinda turning me on…”

Suguru laughed. “Shut your mouth unless you want shampoo to get in it.” He scrubbed a little harder with a smile, eliciting a pleasant moan from Satoru. “There, wash it out.” He stepped back, watching as Satoru turned around blindly. His gaze immediately fixed on the man’s stiff cock. “Oh,” he laughed, amusedly, “You weren’t even kidding, you pervert.” He bit his lip, curious fingers reaching out and teasing.

Satoru sucked in a breath as he finished rinsing the suds, leaning into the touch as Suguru slowly stroked him. “Who’re you calling a pervert? I’m just washing my hair over here, minding my own…” He opened his eyes, surprised to find a wet, seductively coy-looking Suguru on his knees, cock in hand. “...business.” His lips parted, mouth suddenly dry despite the water trickling down them.

Suguru locked eyes with him silently, putting a finger to his lips in warning before taking Satoru into his mouth. He closed his eyes as he licked and sucked hungrily, streams of water dripping onto his face as he did. Satoru moaned into his fist, his other hand finding its way to the back of Suguru’s head and grabbing a fistful of damp, salty hair.

Satoru guided him deeper and deeper without complaint until he was nearly swallowed whole, eyes rolling back and blessing the higher powers of the universe for Suguru’s nonexistent gag reflex. The man’s tongue lashed to graze the head of his cock as Suguru’s hands explored. He reached around to squeeze Satoru’s tight ass, and Satoru nearly yelled, his hand covering his mouth. Taunting fingers slipped between cheeks teasingly, rubbing and toying, a gentle press to his entrance but nothing more. Satoru released a surprised gasp, tensing as a spike of nervous, excited adrenaline rushed over him.

Satoru stifled a groan, pleasure choking him, arresting his chest, his stomach, his aching arousal. It took everything in him not to moan or sob, or both (probably, both). He fucked Suguru’s mouth with quaking thighs, burying himself into his hot throat, and pulling away only to be pressed into calloused fingers.

He was always a quick shot. Being sensitive, exhausted, and anxious didn’t help the matter.

Satoru bit into his knuckle with a choked cry, eyes watering as he pushed onto Suguru’s head and spilled into his mouth without warning. Knees growing weak, he leaned himself against the cool tile with heavy breaths. His fingers fell from Suguru’s hair.

Suguru swallowed, unfazed, and licked his lips with a wicked smile. He rose from his knees, putting his shampoo bottle in Satoru’s hands. “Your turn, right?”

Satoru grinned and bit his lip, catching a big breath as he straightened up. “You’re dangerous, y’know that?”

Suguru turned his back to soak his damp beach waves in the shower stream, gazing over his shoulder momentarily as he replied, “I know.”

Satoru took his time shampooing Suguru’s hair, relishing seeing how much it had grown since they became teammates. He couldn’t help but swoon over Suguru with his hair down, how gorgeous he looked with long, dark locks framing his delicate face. The first time he saw Suguru with loose hair, he was devastatingly smitten. Obnoxiously so. Satoru was lost in nostalgia as he gently massaged and scrubbed.

“You done yet?” Suguru finally murmured, eyes closed with a pleased smile on his face.

“Oh. Yeah, you’re good.” Satoru stood back, admiring, still riding the oxytocin wave of his orgasm. He grabbed a bar of soap, lathered it, and washed the smell of seawater off his skin. Suguru did the same after washing the suds out of his hair. Watching him from across the shower stream, Satoru grew impatient for physical contact yet again. He stepped close, slick fingers sliding across Suguru’s slippery chest. “Wash your back?” He offered with a grin.

Suguru nodded, turning, but little did he know that Satoru’s idea of washing his back was more like Satoru rubbing his soapy torso against him. “Seriously?” he asked with a flat, irritated tone as his body betrayed him. His cock twitched at the feeling of Satoru’s slippery, muscled chest against his back.

Long arms wrapped around Suguru, hands wandering and spreading soap over his chest and abs. “I’m helping,” he sang, his touch lingering over Suguru’s nipples a little too long.

“You’re definitely not,” Suguru replied, breath quickening in Satoru’s embrace. A moan caught in his throat at the brush of fingers across his pecs.

“Oh, I think I am.” He said it in his ear so softly that Suguru nearly jumped out of his skin. Satoru’s chin rested on his shoulder as his slick hands teased a bit lower, grazing a half-hard cock. “Pervert,” he breathed mischievously as he licked Suguru’s lobe.

Suguru shivered, gasping as Satoru grabbed him with a soapy hand and stroked him. His arm pressed against the shower wall for leverage, stifling his moans as best as he could. Satoru’s hand slipped across his length easily as his other hand pinched one of Suguru’s nipples. The longer this went on, the harder Satoru felt as he pressed himself into Suguru’s ass.

“Let’s do it tonight,” Satoru suggested in Suguru’s ear with heated urgency.

“What? Here?” Suguru’s eyes grew wide.

“Well, I was thinking more like on the bed,” Satoru laughed.

Suguru frowned and glimpsed behind him, catching Satoru’s face from the corner of his eye. “No, I mean we’re on a mission, Satoru.” He grew serious, cheeks flushing as he added, “And we’ve never even-”

“Please?” Satoru cut him off, and the dreamy, lustful, love-stricken look he gave Suguru could’ve killed. “It’s been such a perfect day...” His hand gripped tighter, moving faster. His eyebrows pinched together, the tip of his tongue tracing his bottom lip, as he pleaded softly, “I wanna end it with you inside me. Please, I want it so bad, Suguru.”

Suguru was no good.

He shuddered as he came suddenly, silently, over Satoru’s fingers, hunching over and pressing his forehead against the tile wall. “You can’t just say stuff like that…” he muttered, hiding his bright red face.

Satoru smiled smugly from ear to ear. “I’m gonna take that as a yes,” he said with an airy laugh and released his grip on Suguru. He stepped under the showerhead and washed himself off, but not before giving Suguru’s ass a wet slap first.

“Shut up,” Suguru hissed, pushing himself into the water against Satoru. He started washing himself as best as he could in the small space. “Honestly, even if we do end up fucking you’d probably wake the whole house, Satoru. You’re so fucking loud.”

“Oh fuck off, I can be quiet when I need to be.” Satoru rolled his eyes, adding merely a second later, “Maybe a curse could help?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just gag you.”

Satoru gulped, eyes widening, a little frightened and a lot aroused.

Suguru smirked, glancing Satoru up and down as he said, “No, we’ll have to save that for when you misbehave, Satoru.”

They tumbled into bed together, both smelling like lavender shampoo. Suguru summoned blobby, sticky curses to block the gaps in the door frame, per Satoru’s request.

“Do we even have-?” Suguru asked, hesitantly, as he loomed above Satoru, naked and slightly damp from their shower.

“Uh, yeah, duh. I’m not an idiot,” Satoru interrupted and hung upside-down off the bed to rummage through his bag. He chucked a small bottle of clear lube at Suguru, then returned his head to the pile of pillows with a comfortable sigh.

Suguru caught it, palming his forehead as he muttered, “You really bet on this happening, didn’t you?” He chuckled as he leaned down, giving Satoru a gentle kiss. “I sure hope you don’t regret seducing me.”

Satoru hummed into the kiss, cupping Suguru’s face. “Why would I ever regret seducing you?”

“I just… I don’t want it to hurt too much,” Suguru murmured sheepishly with a grimace.

“Humble brag much?” Satoru teased with raised eyebrows.

Suguru remained unamused. “I’m being serious, Satoru.”

“Oh please, I can take a little pain,” Satoru rolled his eyes and kissed him again, still holding his face firmly. “It’ll be fine. I trust you.”

Suguru genuinely beamed when he heard this, which made Satoru’s heart leap in his chest. He leaned down to bury his face in the crook of the Satoru’s neck, eliciting a ticklish giggle. He nibbled and sucked on this spot, marking him with a satisfying blemish.

“Hey! Did you just leave a mark?!” He complained despite craning his neck into Suguru’s touches. “All my casual shirts have a low neckline, Suguru! So much for being subtle…”

“Oh. Sorry,” Suguru replied, remorselessly, and pressed an apologetic kiss on the bruise. Satoru moaned softly in response, enjoying how tender and sharp the spot felt. Suguru continued, “Now whenever we go out, everyone’s gonna know you’re mine.” His gaze was intensely heated when he lifted his head to look into Satoru’s eyes.

Suguru never felt so possessive about anyone or anything else in the world.

Satoru caught a breath in his throat, eyes widening and glowing, face flushing wildly. He grabbed the back of Suguru’s head and pulled him in for an open-mouth kiss, sloppy and manic and wonderfully raw. He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Say it again.”

“You’re mine, Satoru.”

It felt so good to say. Suguru could’ve repeated himself all night.

Satoru moaned into another kiss. Those words echoing in his head over and over made him feel warm and tingly all over, fireworks popping off in his brain. For the first time in his life, he was owned by someone… and he loved it. It was home. He wanted the entire world to know that he was Suguru’s.

Satoru was so achingly hard by the time he pulled away and breathed, “God, I want you so bad right now. Hurry up and take me, Suguru.”

Suguru smiled mischievously, fingers dragging along Satoru’s chest and stomach, stopping just before they reached where Satoru wanted to be touched most. He then nudged Satoru’s legs open. “No need to be impatient,” he murmured as he leaned down to kiss the inside of Satoru’s thigh, “I plan on savoring this. It’s not every day I get to take Satoru Gojo’s innocence.”

Satoru laughed smugly, tucking his hands behind his head. “You should be so honored to deflower ‘the honored one’.”

Suguru smirked with a small chuckle, kissing up Satoru’s thigh and lingering near his erection, causing him to shudder. “How arrogant considering you were just begging for my cock a minute ago,” he said airily, letting hot breaths fall against Satoru’s arousal. He kissed it once, then licked a stripe up his length.

Satoru stifled a moan as he replied, stately, “Satoru Gojo doesn’t beg for anything.”

“You sure about that?” Suguru asked warningly, his gaze darkening with sinister intensity and lust. He suddenly grabbed Satoru by the hips, lifting him up to his face.

“Wha-What are you…?”

Thumbs spreading his cheeks, Suguru’s tongue swiped against Satoru’s entrance playfully.

Satoru gasped sharply, mouth hanging open incredulously as he was lifted halfway off the mattress. “Suguru! You animal!” He exclaimed, covering his beet-red face with his hands and peeking through his fingers. “Not there, that’s-” He groaned loudly as he felt a hot, wet tongue violating him, his long legs dangling from Suguru’s shoulders as he melted into the sensation. It felt so filthy and delicious having Suguru’s mouth on him like this. He was starting to lose control.

“Quiet, Satoru, or we’ll have to stop,” Suguru paused to chide him with a serious tone.

Satoru threw an arm across his mouth. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” His voice was a muffled whine.

Suguru laughed quietly and continued to tongue him, prodding and plunging, until Satoru was a puddle in his arms. He set him down gently on the mattress, grabbing the bottle of lube and coating his fingers. Suguru locked eyes with Satoru, a silent confirmation to continue.

Satoru nodded, his chest heaving. He groaned into his forearm as he felt two fingers slowly slip in. He crinkled his nose, forcing a few shaky breaths to relax.

Suguru pushed inside up to his knuckles, curling, stretching, searching. They’d tried this a few times since dating and, between the two of them, Satoru preferred it a little more. “You’ve been so good today, Satoru…” he praised sweetly, raking his fingertips against Satoru’s insides. “I guess I can spoil you a little.”

Satoru arched off the bed as Suguru grazed a sensitive area, quickly grabbing a pillow from behind him, screaming and moaning into it. “Oh god, yes, there!” (Is what Suguru could make out, at least.)

Suguru chuckled to himself, smirking. “Where? Here?” he asked, tauntingly, as he added another finger and pressed a little harder into that same spot.

Satoru cried out gutturally, his legs scrambling underneath him to angle and rub against Suguru’s fingers. He clutched the pillow so tightly that he strained to breathe through the down feathers. His neglected arousal leaked against his tight, clenching stomach. The burning stretch of Suguru’s fingers faded into the background as pleasure took over, and instantly, he had the intense urge to be filled. He pulled the pillow away momentarily, grabbing Suguru’s free arm with a weak grip. Satoru looked borderline pornographic, hair mussed, face flushing bright pink, lips moist and parted, as he peered up at Suguru through thick, white lashes.

“Fuck me, Suguru,” he whispered with bated breath.

Suguru pushed his damp hair away from his face, grinning heatedly with a deep flush on his cheeks. Pulling his fingers out slowly, he grabbed the lube and poured nearly all of the small bottle into his hand. He slicked his length, stroking a few times until it was firm. He pressed the tip against Satoru, his dark eyes studying the man’s face. Satoru gazed at him expectantly as Suguru pushed in slowly, large hands caressing the back of Satoru’s knees and spreading them wider to fit himself between. “Oh my god, you’re tight,” he hissed. “Tell me if you need to stop, okay? Fuck, Satoru, it’s so good.” It felt euphoric being swallowed up like this, Satoru squeezing him so tightly it almost hurt.

Satoru screwed his eyes shut, biting back a groan as he writhed against the searing heat of the intrusion. It felt impossible, overwhelmingly so, as Suguru thrusted all the way in, and yet, it also felt so right being in this vulnerable position with the person he trusted most in the world. He gripped at the sheets, a hand reaching for Suguru’s shoulder. It slid to the back of his head, taking a fistful of soft, dark hair and pulling Suguru down to him. Satoru kissed him deeply, needily.

Suguru strained against Satoru’s hold. “Wait, stop,” he protested into his lips, “I just-”

Satoru huffed, “Do you really think I give a fuck right now?!” He pulled him into another open-mouth kiss and Suguru conceded, caught up in the moment. His legs quivered against Suguru’s hips as the angle shifted with the man’s weight on him. He hooked his legs weakly around Suguru, bracing himself.

Suguru’s patience was being tested every second he remained motionless, and yet he clung to his determination to make this as painless as possible for Satoru. “Can I move a little?” Suguru broke away to ask, a bit of saliva trailing from his bottom lip. Satoru nodded in response, his grip on Suguru’s hair tightening. He gently rocked his hips into Satoru as he kissed him again. Satoru moaned into his mouth as he slowly relaxed, meeting Suguru’s motions, seeking friction on his untouched arousal. Suguru took the hint, snaking a hand between them and stroking.

Satoru inhaled sharply, urging Suguru to continue, “Keep going, I can take it.”

“Yeah?” Suguru checked in, forehead against forehead, his hair curtaining their faces and tickling Satoru’s cheeks.

“Yeah.” Satoru breathed in response, tucking some hair behind Suguru’s ear, gazing at him with a lovesick ache in his chest. He cupped his face with both hands, groaning as he felt him pulling out.

Suguru moved with an extreme amount of restraint, panting each time they rolled their hips together. He adjusted frequently, doing his best to read Satoru’s body with each movement. He pulled Satoru higher onto his lap and earned a delicious moan that he felt in his cock. Suguru smiled. “Like that?” he asked huskily, nipping at his bottom lip.

Satoru shuddered as Suguru pressed in the same way. “God, yes, more,” he whined, wrapping his arms around Suguru’s neck and grabbing at his back.

Suguru complied, happily, finally, losing himself in Satoru’s body, fucking him in the most primal, unceremonious way he’d only fantasized about until now. Satoru grew louder, too loud, unraveling in Suguru’s arms. His grip tightened, he drew him in closely until their bodies were sliding against each other. Sweat dripping from his temple, Suguru grabbed one of Satoru’s legs and hooked it over his shoulder, testing the limits of Satoru’s flexibility as he pressed in even deeper. (He was alarmingly flexible.)

“Ah, Suguru-!” Satoru screamed from his throat. Suguru’s hand pressed against his mouth quickly to muffle him. Satoru’s curious tongue flicked his palm.

Seeing, feeling, and hearing Satoru Gojo coming undone underneath him made Suguru feel absolutely feral. He replaced his palm over Satoru’s lips with two fingers, jamming them into his mouth. “Suck,” he commanded and snapped his hips into Satoru with a brutal thrust. “Keep your mouth busy like a good boy.”

Eyes widening, Satoru did as he was told, licking, sucking, and moaning against Suguru’s fingers. He took him deep into his throat until tears prickled his eyes. He was already so close to release, holding on for as long as he could, but everything was so intense, so overstimulating, so euphoric. He raked his nails into Suguru’s back.

And then Suguru slammed so perfectly into Satoru’s prostate, sending him straight over the edge. He cried around Suguru’s fingers, arched his back off the bed, and released against both of them, convulsing and squeezing around Suguru as he did. Suguru followed closely behind, taking his damp fingers back, trying to pull out entirely but Satoru only sucked him in deeper.

“Should I take it out?” He asked quickly, through labored breaths.

“Nuh-uh,” was all Satoru managed to coherently mumble in his post-orgasmic haze, his long leg weaving into Suguru’s so he couldn’t escape even if he wanted to.

Suguru came with one last, deep thrust with a throaty groan, spilling into Satoru’s lithe frame with quaking thighs. He collapsed against Satoru, their bodies melting together in an exhausted, sticky, and wonderful heap. He pulled out, rolling to Satoru’s side and resting his head on his chest.

“Dang,” Satoru panted, “You’re kinda crazy.”

“Yeah,” an equally breathless response, “Sorry.”

“No sorry,” Satoru reassured, petting Suguru’s head weakly. “I love it.”

Suguru chuckled quietly. “Good.”

Suguru woke to the smell of coffee as Satoru stepped into the room, adorned in sweats and an oversized t-shirt. He blinked a few times, dazed, his eyes adjusting to the early morning sunshine peeking through the window.

“Hey.” He rolled over to gaze sleepily at Satoru, a lazy grin on his face.

“Hey,” Satoru echoed, smiling and sitting next to him on the mattress. He offered a sip of his drink to Suguru.

Suguru hummed as he took it, but winced as he tasted it. “So sweet,” he commented, sticking his tongue out and returning it quickly.

Satoru shrugged and gulped it down.

Suguru sat up and stretched his arms over his head. “Feeling okay?” he checked in, blushing slightly as memories of last night flooded his brain.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m a little sore,” Satoru pouted, touching his lower back gently. “But it’s a good sore. ” He reassured, grinning from ear to ear.

Suguru pinched his eyebrows together, concerned. He leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, murmuring apologetically, “I’m so sorry.”

“No, really, I’m good. I’ve felt worse after sparring.” He smirked, his fingers grazed Suguru’s cheek as he leaned into the gentle touch. He turned his head to kiss him on the lips. “I just need a hot shower and I’ll be set.”

Suguru nodded, shoving his anxiety down for the time being. He heard someone shuffling around in the kitchen. “Breakfast first, though.” He grabbed his elastic off the table and pulled his hair into a loose bun.

Satoru hummed in agreement, clutching the warm mug to his chest.

Kuroi prepared breakfast with Suguru’s help, eyes cast down the entire time. She was very apparently avoiding the both of them, only speaking to Suguru in quick, polite requests when he aided in chopping. Suguru and Satoru had a silent conversation across the kitchen island, giving each other tense, amused looks.

Riko was oblivious to this, however, as she gulped down her miso happily.

“Gojo,” she started, poking at his neck innocently. “What’s this mark? Did you get hurt or something?”

Kuroi remained silent at the stove, stirring the eggs faster, a deep flush spreading across her face.

Satoru, mid-sip, slapped a hand across the blemish, locking eyes with Suguru momentarily in a panic. “Ah, yeah, just… scratched myself in my sleep,” he dismissed quickly with an airy laugh.

Riko shrugged, “Weird.”

They finished breakfast in mildly uncomfortable silence.

Needless to say, it was an awkward flight home.

Thanks for reading! Please kudos/comment here!!!

#satosugu #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #gojo satoru #geto suguru #jjk fanfic #stsg #gego #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sugusato #sgst #goge #gojo x geto

33 notes · View notes

lauraneedstochill · 2 years ago

Text

First time for everything (modern!Aemond Targaryen, college au — part 2)

✨ part 1 — “All yours”

words: ~ 6900 (it’s worth it, though ;) warnings: a TON of fluff (is anyone surprised at this point?), smut (minors DNI), you may feel a little sad that he’s not your boyfriend (I certainly do)

author’s note: this was supposed to be mostly romantic headcanons but then something came over me... honestly, I blame it on the goddamn golden chain! can’t believe I wrote this, I’m drinking holy water as we speak

⋙ You think you should be concerned with how easy things are with him. With how fast he sneaks into your thoughts, and his hand effortlessly finds yours, and you relish in the simplest touch, in the feeling of comfort that he brings, and he knows all the right words, and the two of you fit like puzzle pieces.

With anyone else, you would’ve been concerned but Aemond gives you no reason to be.

⋙ Your first date comes in a week, and you’re not nervous about it but more so ridiculously curious — he only mentions that you should dress casually, and you think of dinner or maybe a picnic. But when the cab brings you to the city center, and Aemond opens the door for you — you find yourself standing at the steps of a gallery and you instantly know where he brought you to. It’s a three-week exhibition of Mexican artists, the one you’ve been dying to go to. You only mentioned it once and in passing weeks ago, frustrated that the tickets were sold out in 15 minutes, and since then you have long forgotten about it. But Aemond hasn’t. The realization that he remembered that little detail makes you stupidly sentimental, and you can’t utter a word. He brings you into a hug, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“We can get another Uber and go to my place and watch every rom-com you can think of if it makes you feel better.”

With your head nuzzled to his chest, you hear his heartbeat, the sound of it calming like a rumble of waves. When you shyly look up at him, the color of his eyes is dusted with scattered sunlight.

“Aemond, but you planned — ”

“I planned to spend time with you,” he hushes you with that same tone of gentle certainty. “Everything else is just decorations we can easily switch up.”

His reassurance sounds more like a promise, and you have it engraved in your memory, along with him, looking at you like this. And you think he should make some memories, too, so you take him by the hand and lead the way.

⋙ You opt for an audio guide since both of you aren’t keen on following crowds, and you enthusiastically walk from one painting to the other, sharing the earphones, your fingers intertwined with his, and you can’t help but talk over the guide. Aemond doesn’t complain once. Every time you look at him, he’s smiling brightly at you, and sometimes he leaves a quick peck on the bow of your shoulder. Somewhere in between Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, you realize that you really want to kiss him.

⋙ Part of the exhibition is a screening of a documentary played in a small dark hall, and Aemond is naive to think you actually want to watch it. You drag him in, and the place is empty, only lit by the movie screen, and before he can ask a thing, you pull him down by the collar of his shirt and kiss him until you’re both out of breath. And then you tell him it’s the best date you’ve ever had.

“You mean, the best so far,” he remarks cheekily — and trails for your lips again.

⋙ On the next date, you learn that he loves to cook. The man who can live off protein shakes and steaks actually owns cookbooks and lets you pick a meal but forbids you to help him, saying that you deserve a break. Still, you charm your way into the kitchen to assist him with making the sauce, and Aemond is unable to say no. You are a chaotic cook and he follows the recipe but somehow you make a great team — he’s good at cutting vegetables and measuring, you pick all the right spices and know what al dente is. He looks absurdly gorgeous in an apron, and you end up sitting on his lap while he lifts a forkful of pasta to your mouth. You bashfully confess that you’ve always wanted to re-enact the kissing scene from “Lady and the Tramp”. He grins at your confession — and gladly helps to make your wish come true. A couple of times.

⋙ You do go on a picnic — you feed him cherries and Aemond reads you his favorite book out loud, you wear his hoodie again and his perfume lingers on your hair. He takes you to the biggest library in town and you spend hours looking for that one old copy of Sylvia Plath’s book of poems, and he steals a few kisses from you in between endless rows of shelves. You go to a fancy french bakery and he buys you one of each kind of pastry, and you are both all sugared up — and in love.

⋙ When Aemond has to leave for a competition, it’s not necessarily tragic — since you knew it was coming — and it’s only for five days, but you get blindsided by the realization of how attached you’ve become. On the night before his departure, he invites you in for a movie marathon, brings you popcorn and makes you laugh to tears, and then you doze off in his arms. He moves you onto his bed and tucks you in, and you wake up when his side of the bed is still warm. You find freshly made waffles in the kitchen — and there’s a blue post-it note on the fridge that says: “I’m gonna miss you more. — A.”

He leaves you a spare key to his apartment.

Your breakfast tastes like tears.

⋙ The first day without him is pure misery, but you eat your waffles and follow the routine, and Aemond sends you texts every chance he gets. You make him a playlist called “Kick some ass” (he does), and you kick yourself for not coming up with an excuse to go with him. On the second day, you pull out his hoodie in a poor attempt to find some comfort but his scent had almost dissipated, and his seat next to you stays empty, and each class only reminds you of his absence. On the third day, you are up to your ears in studying and you miss Aemond’s phone call, and your heart all but erupts from yearning.

On the fourth day, Mr. Harrold brings up Marina Tsvetaeva’s love poems, and you think that must be some cruel joke. You spend half an hour pretending to be deaf, but then the professor quotes:

“to kiss the lips is to drink water,”

— and suddenly you are nothing but thirst, and you feel like you are about to burst into tears again. You don’t know how you manage to sit through the rest of it but as soon as the class is over you sprint out and buy a train ticket. You don’t bother yourself with packing, only picking up your toothbrush, a face wash and Aemond’s hoodie. And you know for sure that you’ve fallen hard for him.

⋙ You arrive by the time their morning training is over, and the guys are piling out of the locker rooms already. Aemond is one of the last to come out, his hair still wet and his t-shirt clearly not ironed, and his face is too sad for your liking. His best friend Cregan notices you first, elbowing your boyfriend with a smile. Aemond follows his gaze with indifference — and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. A second later his face lights up. And then you do the cheesiest, right-out-of-the-movies kind of thing — you run to him, he scoops you up, you wrap your legs around his waist.

“I didn’t know that you would come,” Aemond is grinning ear to ear. “I would’ve picked you up to save you some time and — ,” you can’t stop yourself from kissing him, a tad modestly but with ardor nonetheless, and he forgets what he wanted to say. You card fingers through his hair and notice a shadow that spread under his eyes. You want to cook him dinner and pepper kisses all over his face and wrap him up in blankets so he can get some rest. Aemond bumps his nose into yours.

“Please don’t skip classes for me,” he entreats but his tone suggests that he’s delighted that you did. His gaze warms you up like sunlight.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve never done it before,” you lower your voice as if it’s a well-guarded secret. “But I was feeling adventurous.”

He plays along with a mischievous smile:

“First time for everything, huh?”

You two leave right after the awarding ceremony, and Aemond doesn’t bother to stay for the farewell party. He ends up falling asleep on your shoulder, with his hands wrapped around you, and some old lady on the train ‘awws’ at you. He naps in the cab, too, his fingers ensnared into your palm, and you’re overcome with emotion, wishing that the ride to his apartment lasted a bit longer. You order take-out while he’s still fighting off sleep but does so while cuddling you on his couch. There’s another, internal battle that he’s having as his face goes more somber than tired but your kisses and food seem to help.

That is until Aemond pulls you in bed, back into his arms, his breath tickling your neck.

“It was no fun,” he finally admits, “leaving you.”

You interlock your fingers with his, your lips graze his knuckles before you turn to face him.

“But it will get easier,” you promise — both him and yourself. “And I missed you, too.”

His lips melt into yours to seal the promise, and you breathe in a lungful of his scent. Aemond passes out in no time, and you watch his chest rising and falling, the steady rhythm of it eventually lulling you to sleep. Right before that, you think that it was your first separation out of many to come, but in the end, it’s all worth it when he’s the one you are waiting for.

⋙ Another thing you two are yet to cross off your list is, surprisingly, sex. Aemond is the one to suggest taking it slow, and it does make sense at first — with his competitions scheduled back to back and you being swamped with homework, both of you doing the bare minimum to help each other deal with exhaustion. He sends you reminders to take a break, you help him with meal planning and spend evenings reading together, most times with his head on your lap. Aemond leaves you snacks and post-it notes with his favorite quotes of Russian poetry, which brings some excitement into your studying — and you come to his training, being the supportive girlfriend that you are.

And that turns out to be a problem.

⋙ Watching Aemond train is quite a spectacle — enthralling at first, but also unspeakably arousing as you come to learn fairly soon. He is focused and fast, his toned body flexible and moving with energetic precision. He’s got a quick reaction and there’s a glint of threat in his gaze that makes some of his competitors feel uneasy. He’s not the one to rip t-shirts apart and flex muscles (much to some girls’ disappointment) but to you, it only fuels the anticipation that spills in your lower abdomen. But your lusting wanes when you see the weary look on his face, and you only snuggle up to him as closely as possible, deeming that enough for now.

One of these days Aemond comes out of the locker room with Cregan whose arm is draped over your boyfriend’s shoulder, his hold tight like a bear trap, but the intent is friendly.

“Y/N, you need to side with me on this one,” Cregan enthusiastically pleads. “I’m throwing a party and this monk doesn’t want to go! I was hoping you’d make him socialize.”

“I will not make him do anything,” you retort politely, and Aemond gives you a look of gratitude. “But we can negotiate once you stop holding him hostage.”

Cregan lets out a bellowing laugh, freeing Aemond with a pat on the back.

“I’ll never force our star boy to bear having a good time but I’d love for you two to join us,” he warm-heartedly explains. “Just think about it!”

He leaves you in the cooling stillness of the evening, and Aemond plants a kiss on your temple.

“We don’t have to go,” he immediately assures.

“Your friends can’t be that bad.”

“They get a bit wild when drunk,” he chuckles softly into your hair. “And Cregan is set on having a dress code each time.”

“Is it something wild, too?”

“No, mostly formal, and the guys usually end up throwing away the ties.”

“Doesn’t sound bad to me,” you draw circles on his palm. “Maybe we can have some fun,” your smile is a tad impish, and his looks surprisingly pleased when he agrees.

The sky is painted by the sunset, pink tones of it reflecting on Aemond’s face. You’d like to see him all dressed up. And then strip him of his clothing.

⋙ You hate shopping for dresses so your best friend tags along, and she dismisses at least a dozen of options before managing to fish out the perfect one — knee-length and with a deep cut on the back, it’s the color of a sea storm with a splash of purple. Once you put the dress on, she comments approvingly:

“He will fuck your brains out.”

“Arya!” you hiss at her but she looks unamused.

“What? I thought that’s what you wanted. Kinda surprised he hasn’t jumped your bones yet.”

“We are taking it slow,” you remind her while staring in the mirror. You try not to think of how easy it will be to take this dress off.

“Very PG-13 of you,” she huffs with a smile. “But I guess I should thank him.”

“How so?” you raise a brow at her.

“I fear, once you get a taste,” Arya gives you a suggestive look, “he will keep you in bed for days. At least for now I still have a chance to hang out with you.”

You feel your cheeks heating up at the mere thought of it. And you hope that’s exactly what happens.

⋙ Aemond comes to pick you up on Friday evening. He buzzes in through an intercom and you let him in, opening the front door in advance. You go back to your room to put on the heels, briefly stopping to fix your hair. Aemond walks in with no warning, his voice brimming over with boyish excitement:

“I was just thinking — ,” and then he falls silent, seeing you standing with your back to the door.

You look at Aemond over your shoulder, moving your hair away from your neck to expose more skin, and turn to him slowly.

“You, um... I-You — ” he clears his throat. Then does it again, eyes roaming over your body. “This dress looks really good on you,” he manages to say while you take him in.

The color of his suit is almost black and it sets off his dark blue shirt, crisp and carelessly unbuttoned. His jacket is an excellent fit, framing his shoulders and sitting tightly around his arms. But what catches your attention is the golden chain that snakes along his collarbones, part of it coyly hiding in the depths of the dark material. Your eyes fix on the shining jewelry — for a brief moment, you contemplate staying at home and undressing him to find out where the chain ends.

You blink that thought away, remembering that it’s time to leave as both you and Aemond hate being late. You walk over to him, running your hand over his jacket:

“You look quite charming yourself,” you give him a smile instead of a kiss. “What were you saying?”

Aemond seems startled and supposedly oblivious to the effect he has on you but you catch a twirl of darkness condensing in his gaze. In the depths of it, there’s a flicker of need, of hunger — and you wonder if he’s been ravenous this entire time, too.

“You should come over tonight,” he suggests, and you don’t need him to give you a reason.

“Sounds like a plan,” you move your hand away, suppressing a frustrated sigh so he won’t get the wrong idea. Or the very right idea that you try your best to push aside, at least for a couple of hours.

On your way out of the apartment, you can feel him gazing devouringly at you. You let him.

⋙ Cregan is a combination of a party animal and a homeboy — he pours drinks with one hand and threatens to rip anyone’s head off for leaving as much as a scratch on his family’s porcelain tea set. He jokes and generously compliments all the girls he meets but he also respects boundaries and makes sure to pay the same attention to his fiancee, Alysanne. She doesn’t mind, her black curls bouncing while she laughs and warmly greets the guests. You catch her eye in no time — she’s smiley, her gaze filled with curiosity.

“Everyone is dying to meet you,” she takes you under the arm and leads away to introduce you to a motley group of girls, and within a minute you are caught in the current of voices and faces. They bombard you with questions, chatty but not too prying, some already a bit tipsy and way more friendly than they would’ve been otherwise. But you let yourself enjoy the talks and gossip, mostly for Aemond to have some fun with his friends. And he actually does.

They talk sport, as expected, their arguing innocuous, followed by toasts and some banter. They play poker although half of them barely remember the rules so it’s hardly gambling but they do get rid of ties pretty fast. Cregan puts on some music, breaks a few glasses and calls for your boyfriend to join them for beer pong. Aemond has no intention to get wasted so Cregan takes it upon himself while your boyfriend throws the ball into the cups with ease. Other guys call it cheating, Cregan says it’s an allocation of duties.

Aemond laughs — sincerely, with his dimples showing, but you note that he never refills his glass of whiskey. And every time you throw a glance at him, his eyes are on you, and the golden chain seems to attract every ray of light in the room. You only have one drink — a watered-down gin tonic, but you feel like you can liquor up just by looking at him. In an hour, when they move to the pool table, Aemond slings his jacket over one shoulder and rolls up his sleeves — and you’re dazed, lust swelling in you, sweet and viscous like honey.

He aims the pool balls and makes the shots but each one echoes in your lower belly. You try to think of a reason to leave but you can’t think straight, and Aemond seems completely unaware of your torment but then one of his mates makes the wrong shot, and a ball falls off the table, rolling at your feet. You move to pick it up — as gracefully as your dress would allow it, and walk to them, and suddenly Aemond watches your every step. You only lean on the side of the pool table, with no intention to tease or bend over, yet his eyes scan over your whole body, his hold on the cue tightening.

“Earth to Aemond,” Cregan mutters with a smirk. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he musters in reply. “I think I’ve had enough socializing for one day.”

He stares at you, and you nod with a silent agreement that comes with a delectable foretaste.

⋙ Cregan walks you two to the cab, red in the face from all the alcohol but still good-humored. He gives you a big hug, politely keeping his hands at your shoulder level, and then embraces Aemond, too.

“I’m so glad you came!” he rumbles excitedly and then adds, “I was afraid I’d never live to see the day.”

“Man, we see each other pretty often,” Aemond laughs off.

“No, I mean this,” Cregan gestures at you. “Finally, you got the girl!”

Aemond looks at you — happy and proud, his hands finding your waist, and your heart sings with glee. You all but drag your boyfriend away as Cregan guffaws and waves you goodbye.

“He’ll stop his teasing eventually,” Aemond chortles once you get into the car, and it sounds like he mostly wants to reassure himself.

“Well, he does have a point — you took your time with me,” you giggle, straightening his collar. “I was kinda expecting you to kiss me in the locker room,” you jokingly pout.

“You mean, the place that smells like a bunch of sweaty men? Nope, that’s not how I imagined our first kiss to be,” he rebuts but then his face freezes, and you realize he didn’t mean to let it slip. You turn your head to him, and the reddening of his cheeks is visible even in the dim lighting of the car. He avoids your gaze — your tall, handsome, annoyingly hot boyfriend — because he’s clearly flustered. Every time you think he can’t get any more attractive, he somehow does.

You move closer, your arm bumping into his.

“Was it the only thing you’ve imagined us doing?” you ask quietly.

He looks at you in an instant, and when your eyes meet, you bite your lower lip, a twinkle of a smile in the corners of your mouth. You can only hope that he takes the hint — and, by the look on his face, he does.

“No,” Aemond gulps. “Definitely not the only thing.”

You place your hand on his knee and then leisurely move your palm higher, stopping at his upper thigh, letting your fingers slide to the inner side of it, all of that while maintaining eye contact. He’s holding his breath the entire time.

“Dare to share?” you lean in, putting your chin on his shoulder. “Or better... show me?” the question is only meant for him to hear.

There’s a shift in the air and your pulse skyrockets, and you feel like you’re ten seconds away from straddling him right here and now. But then Aemond covers your hand with his and says:

“Yeah, I can show you.”

⋙ You expect him to be all over you once you’re in the elevator but no, he’s the epitome of restraint. If only it wasn’t for his jaw clenched and his back tense — and him literally closing his eyes because there are mirrors around the perimeter, and he physically cannot avoid looking at you. He rushes out of the elevator but does his best to slow the pace as he knows you won’t be able to keep up with your heels on.

He unlocks the door with one turn of the key and then moves away to let you in first, you hurry in, he follows suit, the door closes with a bang. The apartment is dark, the street lighting shyly peeking through the windows, your heart is pounding so loud, you can barely hear a thing — and then your turn to Aemond, and he’s already looking at you. And the world stands still.

He takes a step toward you, one after another, shamelessly leering at you, and the sheer intensity of his gaze is enough for you to feel the all-familiar throbbing between your legs.

“I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you,” he rasps when you’re barely a meter apart. You can’t tell who closes the distance first but in the next second his lips collide with yours — as eager and vehement as ever — and your mind goes blank, your body overflowing with lust that spreads with blood and rages like fever.

His hand nestles under the angle of your jaw, his mouth avidly capturing yours, drinking your little sighs, while your fingers are tugging at his shirt — they accidentally slip down, and Aemond groans, his own arousal making his pants tight. He spins you around, your back resting against his chest as he lowers the straps of your dress — and rapidly pulls the upper part of it down. You are not wearing a bra, your bosom heaving with shaky breaths, and he inhales sharply at the sight. He moves to gently squeeze your breasts, hands full of supple flesh, and then he tentatively rolls your nipples between his fingers. Your head falls back on his shoulder, a low moan escaping your mouth, and you grind against him, desperate to feel more.

“You are so sensitive,” Aemond coos, his breath warm against your neck, your nipples hardening in his hands. “So beautiful.”

He goes for your zipper, pulling it down, and his fingers slide under the slinky material, raring to touch your skin. You wiggle your way out of the dress, and he helps to take it off, his hands following every curve of your body, stirring you up. Turning around, you claim his lips, your tongue finding his in a frenzy as you push the jacket off him, your shoes already lying around in the hallway, and he maneuvers you toward the bedroom. Aemond roughly swings the door wide open — and then he tenderly lays you down on the bed like you are his most prized possession.

He undresses at the speed of light and, at any other time, it would’ve made you laugh but it only turns you on more — the growing anticipation, the hunger he has for you, the all-consuming desire that fills you to the brim. Aemond strips down to his boxers — and he looks god-like, slim and muscled, and it feels like a blessing when he kisses you again. He hooks your panties with one finger and breaks the kiss to drag them down, his touch leaving a burning trail from your hip to your heel.

And then he gets on his knees.

Aemond places a hand on your ankle, massaging small circles there as he slowly pulls you toward the edge of the bed. Your breath shudders at the realization of what he’s about to do, and he grins — greedily, darting his tongue to wet his lips. Aemond moves you closer and puts one of your legs over his shoulder, leaving kisses up your calf. He uses his hand to spread you wide for him and hums with contentment upon seeing you glistening with arousal.

“I wonder who made you so wet,” he teases, fixing his gaze on you.

You intend to answer him but the six-letter word — his name — is stuck in your throat as he runs his thumb up to your clit — and, without a warning, repeats the movement with his tongue, licking a wide stripe and then diving right in. Your eyes flutter shut and you can feel him opening his mouth wider, his lower lip moving down along your folds, his tongue lapping at you with a voracity of a starved man, jolts of pleasure rippling through you within seconds. You have to cover your mouth with a hand to muffle a long-drawn moan, afraid that his neighbors will hear although you can’t even remember if he has any.

Aemond looks up at you, the lower part of his face obscenely wet.

“I feel that you are holding back,” he says in a husky voice, his eyes dark with lust. “But I can fix that.”

He gives you no time to catch your breath as he sucks at your clit and slides a finger into you, making you cry out loud, your hips unwillingly bucking upward. You really want to know how the hell is he so good at this but you can’t concentrate on anything but the feeling of his tongue, your body trembling in his hands like a guitar string. Aemond adds a second finger with ease, curling them both inside you, and then you feel a distinct vibration as he can’t hold back his own moan, seeing you like this, tasting you like this — and it sends you over the edge.

Aemond helps you ride out your orgasm, leaving soft kisses around your navel as you come down from your high, your mind hazy and breathing ragged but you keep your eyes focused on him. With a blink of an eye, he’s fully naked and with a condom on. He’s bathing in the moonlight that outlines his tense muscles, his face flushed pink but with no hint of shyness, and when he locks his gaze with yours, it flares up your desire all over again, and he notices it right away.

Aemond has a grin on his face as he hovers over you, lips contouring your jawline, and he presses his tip at your entrance but doesn’t push it in, instead coating it in the wetness that’s already pooling between your legs. But his teasing is short-lived as he lasts for barely a minute, sliding his cock up and down — and then his eyelids flutter, and a small moan leaves his lips. You wiggle your hips, clenching around nothing, and look at him, whimpering “Aemond” — and that’s all it takes.

He sinks in you in one swift motion, so thick and filling you up so perfectly, your mouth falls open in a silent cry.

“Fuck, I — ,” he sucks in a breath, not moving an inch. “I-I need to go slow or I will not last.”

He lowers his face, leaving a trail of kisses from your breasts up to your neck, and they burn like bruises on your heated skin. His hips roll against yours agonizingly slow, and you feel like your whole body is on fire, and you need him deeper, and you crave more of him, all of him. A glint of gold catches your attention, your eyes moving to the chain that dangles down his neck, and you pass the cool metal between your fingers. You lightly tug at the chain with your lips and then release it with a wet sound, looking at Aemond through your lashes. You feel his breath hitching, his gaze not leaving your mouth.

You part your lips, letting the chain slip in, and then grit your teeth, the gold glimmering between them. You push the chain out with your tongue, swiping it over the jewelry and sucking the chain back into your mouth. Aemond is so spellbound, he stills his movements, his pupils dilated to the rim. He brings his hand to your face, tracing your lower lip and then opening your mouth again to pull the chain out, his lips slanting over yours.

“Aemond,” you breathe out into his mouth. “I want you to fuck me.”

His restraint snaps and crumbles and dissolves completely. He pulls out for merely a second before slamming back into you, and the movement electrifies every nerve in your body, eliciting a yelp from you. Before you know it, he’s pounding into you at an ungodly pace, his hips harshly snapping forward, finding just the right spot, while his grip on you is still gentle, and you feel an overwhelming pressure building up, your moans turning into wails, your body going weak and pliable, aching for release.

“I-I am so close, I need... ,” you can’t form a coherent sentence, throat soar and voice strained. “I — Aemond... — please.”

He understands it perfectly and smiles breathlessly at you.

“So fucking polite,” he purrs, his teeth grazing your neck. “And all mine.”

His hand slips between your bodies, zeroing in on your clit, and then he starts tapping on it, the movement precise and fast, fanning your overstimulated skin, and it makes your whole body quiver violently as your orgasm washes over you like a heatwave, and you don’t care if the whole neighborhood hears you. Aemond’s eyes never leave your face while you come undone, your back arching as your walls tense and pulse around him, and he follows soon after, his moans muffled by the crook of your neck.

It takes a minute for you to come to your senses as he pulls out and rolls on his back, bringing you into his embrace. You both try to regain your breath, and the time crawls while you are in this bubble of intimacy.

“It’s the dress, isn’t it?” you break the comfortable silence, your fingers tracing a dash of moles on his skin.

“The dress is downright sinful,” Aemond laughs, “but no,” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

There’s an unexpected pause, and then he speaks up with raw emotion in his voice:

“I want you all the time.”

You glance up at him, your hand moving up his chest, and you feel his heart beating erratically like a bird trapped in a cage.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to rush it. I knew that once we...,” he stutters, and your eyes dart to his lips, swollen and raspberry-tinted. “There’s no going back from here.”

He just made you cum twice and now he's stumbling over his words — and it’s the perfect combination, truly. Your tenderness clashes with something more primal, igniting the flames all over again, and his fingers already tighten the grip on your thigh.

“Then it’s a good thing that I don’t want to go back,” you murmur, and he lowers his head first to capture your lips with his, and you think that Arya was right. And then his hand slides between your legs and you can’t think of anything at all.

⋙ A week later, there isn’t a single flat surface in his apartment left that you didn’t have sex on. Aemond wants to know every way to make you feel good and he gets down to work with the diligence of a straight-A student. He’s eager to learn but he does take his time to practice — and you enjoy every minute of it as he maps your body and memorizes all the spots that make you weak. But apart from the ardent passion, there’s this caring softness of his that fills your heart with love even when you least expect it.

It happens one morning when he sits you down on the kitchen counter, his hand in your pants, fingers sliding into you, deep and rhythmic, as his mouth covers your nipple — and you sharply arch your back, risking hitting your head on a wall but Aemond manages to place his hand there and keeps it behind your nape the entire time.

Or on another day, when you two burst into his apartment after his training, your hands all over him as you hop onto the wooden shoe stand, unbuttoning his jeans, and he hikes your skirt to your thighs, pushing your panties aside, and fills you up, his mouth muffling your moans — and then his palm lands on the wooden surface and he breaks the kiss:

“This wasn’t made for sitting on it, I can tell.”

You honestly couldn’t care less but Aemond doesn’t wait for you to respond — he easily hoists you up, still hard and fully in you, and as you squirm and shiver with pleasure, he brings you into his room and lowers you on the bed.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he smirks, his hands skimming up your thighs.

You are not sure if it’s about the fluffy blanket or him instantly picking up the pace but you nod vigorously, pushing your hips up to meet his. He sucks on the sweet spot close to your ear and whispers:

“It’s about to get better.”

And it does.

⋙ He buys a new shoe stand the very next day. He brings it in and assembles it himself, and you watch him with a blip of guilt:

“The old one was fine, Aemond, you shouldn’t have bothered.”

He puts away the tools and, as he’s standing up, he places a kiss on your pajama-covered hip, following it by a peck on your lips:

“I did and I would’ve done it again, sweetheart.”

Aemond goes to his room to put down the tools, and you come along.

“I just don’t want you to waste your money,” you murmur, standing in the doorway.

And then he says without thinking:

“Technically, it’s not mine.”

You look at him confused, and Aemond sighs, pondering for a minute.

You never brought it up but sometimes it does make you wonder why he seems so careless with his finances. You know that he’s got a scholarship (as do you) and he doesn’t tend to throw money around but he also doesn’t count the costs and rarely looks at price tags. You don’t ask him for anything nor do you want to yet the topic looms on the horizon, and you don’t really know what to think of it.

It sounds like Aemond doesn’t like to discuss it so he keeps the story brief: as it turns out, the apartment isn’t the only thing their dad left them. He also set up an account for each of his children to get — as Aemond says, his voice cold and bitter, — “a great deal of money in inheritance”. He doesn’t talk much about his father, either, but from what you’ve gathered Viserys has never been a loving parent so you can’t blame Aemond for the resentment.

“Maybe you should save up that inheritance for something more valuable,” you come closer with a soft smile, cuddling up to him and thinking that’s the end of the conversation.

What you don’t expect is for Aemond to pull out his phone and open the bank’s app to show his account to you. It looks like a phone number, only a couple of digits shorter, and you stare at the screen for a second before it dawns on you.

“O-oh,” you mutter.

His hand clings to your waist but he doesn’t say anything, and the silence feels weird and heavy like a wet coat.

“I rarely withdraw any money from it,” Aemond finally says. “But it comes in handy, like, once or twice a year.”

He wants nothing to do with his father, you realize, but that also explains his attitude toward money. Although he’s far from being spoiled, Aemond still comes from a privileged position, and you try to choose your words wisely before speaking up:

“Well, your refusal to depend on him is admirable but doesn’t it feel... wrong to have that amount of money and do nothing about it?”

Aemond unconsciously tenses up, lowering his gaze to you, an inkling of a frown on his face. You pull away slightly, too wrapped up in your thoughts as the words spill out of your mouth:

“Arya’s been volunteering at a dog shelter and they barely get any donations, she says the dogs are surviving mostly on leftovers brought by the neighbors, can you imagine? Also, I overheard Mr. Harrold complaining that the library roof is rotting and for some reason, the funding does not cover repairs — and, sure, we can just stop going there — but I think if you have the means and if you don’t really care about the money, why not use it to help someone out, you know?”

Aemond’s lack of response makes you turn to him, and you see him staring at you, his face expression unreadable.

“I mean, I’m aware that money doesn’t buy happiness and I’m not your financial advisor, obviously — do you even have one? ‘cause it seems like you should — and I won’t ever talk about it up again if you don’t want to and I don’t mean to overstep and — ”

The words roll off his tongue out of the blue:

“I love you,” Aemond blurts out.

You stop mid-sentence, looking at him in bewilderment, with wide eyes and lips parted, your train of thought completely forgotten. Your heart skips a bit — and then does so again, and you feel short of breath. Aemond doesn’t look away, his lips quirking in a smile as he gently tugs you closer but still leaves some distance as if he’s afraid you’ll want it.

“I love you,” he says again, without a shadow of a doubt. “And I know it may seem too soon, and you don’t have to say it back but I want to. And I want you to tell me anything and everything,” he allows himself a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “And there’s no one I’d rather talk to than you.”

You feel like someone set off firecrackers in your chest and they burst, loud and blazing, and your own smile blossoms. You cup the side of his face, sneaking a kiss against the underside of his jaw.

“I’m so glad you told me,” you whisper as your thumb settles next to his lower lip. “Because now I can say it, too. I love you,” you place a kiss on his cheek, “I love you so much,” — and on another cheek, right on his scar.

And then he catches your lips with his, and you both can’t stop smiling into the kiss, and you think that’s your favorite taste from now on: his laughter in your mouth. And you feel like you’ve never been happier in your entire life.

Aemond sprinkles your face with kisses then, only pausing to ask:

“What’s the name of that dog shelter?”

⋙ He buys way too much dog food — and water bowls and collars — and you help him pick the colors, and it feels kind of like a Christmas morning. The order is delivered in a few days, and you come by his apartment to help sort it out but Aemond greets you with a hand behind his back.

“I have something for you,” he grins mysteriously. “Turn around and close your eyes.”

You do as you’re told, curiosity bubbling in your chest, and something thin and cooling glides over the skin around your neck. You open your eyes to look in the mirror but find yourself at a loss for words. It’s a chain, a copy of the one he wears.

“I know you don’t like yellow gold so I thought a white one would be a better option,” he follows the curve of your shoulder with his finger.

“Aemond, this must cost a fortune,” your cheeks suffuse with pink.

“Na-ah, it doesn’t, not even close,” he places a kiss on the side of your neck. “I may be a philanthropist now but it’s only fair that I treat my girlfriend, too,” you catch the reflection of his smile and can’t help but smile back. You also can’t stop yourself from thinking of how to thank him, and an idea pops into your mind.

On the next Friday evening, when Aemond returns from his training session, he’s surprised to see a soft light coming from his room. He walks in — and then freezes in place, speechless: you are laying in his bed completely naked, batting your lashes at him and biting down on the white gold chain that glitters on your flushed lips.

“I think this gift calls for celebration,” you purr. “But you seem overdressed for the occasion.”

Luckily, he can remove his clothes at the speed of light.

Hours later, you’re laying in his bed, your body sweaty, aching and intertwined with his, and the first light of dawn is seeping through the curtains. Aemond nuzzles into the crook of your neck, your fingers vine through his hair, and he runs his hand from the cleft of your breasts up to your chain, the warmed-up metal bright against your skin.

“This was my best investment ever,” he drawls with a tired smile.

And you can’t agree more.

• shamelessly inspired by the quote “Don’t ask her to moan, make her” • this is only the second time I wrote smut so please be nice? something tells me I will write more ehehe • there will be part 3 BUT it may take a while ‘cause I want to think it through. also, I’m trying my best to keep the chapters relatively short around 6-7k so there’s a chance I’ll write more than one part • I plan on including interactions with his family / some vacation time / moving in together — but maybe there’s something else you want to read about? don’t hesitate to tell me!

as usual, comments are VERY appreciated 🥺 (opinions? asks? PLS just talk to me)

tagging everyone who’s ever asked: @greenowlfactiffif, @kyuupidwrites, @pearlstiare, @i-killed-ramsey, @bellaisasleep

✨ my recent fic: “My first choice” (she’s Aegon’s bestie, inspired by “Little women”) 🔥 the first smut I wrote: “The object of my desire” (~6500 words, inspired by the famous scene from Bridgerton S2) 💌 my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

#aemond targaryen #I JUST WANT IT TO SHOW IN THE TAGS DAMN IT #my stuff #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen fics #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond modern au #hotd modern au #aemond fluff #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut

966 notes · View notes

atlasofthestaars · 1 year ago

Text

[MK X READER] New Era - Chapter .005

first part | previous part | next part

NOTE: Sorry Johnny fans </3 I promise he’s getting more content in the next chapter (he still has a little crumb in this chapter to set up for next chapter, don't worry!)

Rejoice for Kenshi fans though because he FINALLY gets some spotlight here.

This should be the longest chapter so far, over 7k words! Enjoy!

Also! It’s time for yet another poll! As usual, AO3 people please let me know your thoughts on Rain! As usual, thoughts and such will be taken for about a week after this is published, AKA when the tumblr poll ends.

FROM THE EYES OF ONE WHO PREPARES SOME PLANS

It’s now been about two weeks since you’ve started to train the four, but you’ve already seen great improvement.

“Keep your balance Kung Lao! Don’t lean too far forward.” You corrected as you watched the man spar with Johnny Cage, keeping a careful eye on their technique. You crossed your arms as you scrutinized the two men, trying to keep track of the flaws they each exhibited. “Johnny, stop trying to look flashy! Technique first, please.”

You watched as the men tried to implement what you told them…one of them better than the other. You sighed as you watched Johnny Cage try to go for a risky kick which allowed Kung Lao to duck under it and quickly sweep the actor off his feet.

“Good job, you two.” You praised as you saw Johnny Cage yield, hands help up in surrender from his position on the ground. Johnny Cage sighed as he got himself up, dusting himself off. You watched as Kung Lao shone with pride as he walked off to the side to join the rest of you. “Raiden, Kenshi, if you please.” You instructed, gesturing for the two to fight.

You watched them begin to spar, yet your mind drifted off slightly, thinking back to the progress the group has made.

From your experience, you noticed that Kung Lao and Raiden were the stand out pupils. Kung Lao was naturally gifted, and you recognized the marks of good training Madam Bo had implemented into him. He took criticism well, which was a slight surprise to you due to the self-confident attitude he had.

Raiden, although not as quick to catch on, was rather determined and put in far more hours than the others. Not to mention, he was rather perceptive to the tips you gave him. You had a soft spot for him, which you supposed was a bit unfair since you spent a lot of time training him in the middle of the night.

Much like how you had your daily ritual with mornings with Liu Kang, now you had a daily plan to train Raiden at night. It just happened naturally. You, with your restlessness, and Raiden’s overeagerness to train, it was just a natural occurrence after that night.

You felt slightly guilty that it could be considered that you were showing some bias towards the man, but then again, if the others ever approached you it’s not like you would turn them down.

You snapped back to reality as you continued to watch the two spar. You watched silently as the duo fought, only really speaking to give criticisms here and there. Ultimately, you watched as Kenshi came out on top. You surmised his experience in the Yakuza was still giving him some leverage over the farmer boy.

You wondered just how long that would last.

“You’re all dismissed.” You informed them. As usual, they dispersed. All, except for one. You blinked as you turned your head to look at Kung Lao who had taken off his hat and looked wistfully at him. You observed for a few more moments, before walking over. “What are you thinking about?” You inquired as you walked over to his side.

“I have an…idea.” Kung Lao said as he tilted his hat, the same hat he had thrown at Sub Zero during the exam. You raised an eyebrow, having a feeling on where this was leading. You hummed in acknowledgement, gesturing for him to go on. “I was thinking I could turn my hat into a razor, lethal bladed weapon.”

“I can see the vision.” You encouraged him, the little voice in your head, for once, agreeing with you to send him down this path. You had a feeling, from watching him, that he had been missing something from his fighting style. You watched with a bit of pride as Kung Lao beamed at you. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well, I was planning on basing it on a chakram.” He explained, tracing the edge of the hat as if to indicate where the blade would go. You nodded, having a memory of the hat he used to have. You wondered if he had always made his own hat previously, or if it was something passed down to him. “Maybe I could even add some additional blades to the hat to make it more effective.”

“Hmm…” You held out your hand, and he handed his hat to you. You traced the edge of the hat, making a mental note of it. “Have you trained at all with any sort of throwing weapons?” You inquired, looking up from the hat to look at Kung Lao with a raised eyebrow.

“No.” He admitted, but his lack of inexperience didn’t seem to deter him. You watched as he looked down to his hands, clenching and unclenching them. “But when I threw my hat at Sub Zero and then threw that chakram, it felt…right.”

“Do you know of anyone who can help you achieve this goal? Any blacksmiths?” You continued to ask. You watched as Kung Lao gave you an awkward smile coupled with a shrug. You raised an eyebrow at him, slightly entertained by his enthusiasm despite his incomplete plan. “Do you have another hat?” You watched him pause.

“I do, why?” You held back a chuckle as you carefully took the hat into your hands.

“I hope you weren’t too attached to this one, then..” You said, watching as Kung Lao slowly processed your words. You grinned. “I’ll see if I can get some arrangements to get that idea come to life, plus I’ll talk to the monks about having you train on throwing weapons.” You told him, feeling good about yourself as you saw the enthusiasm grow within the man.

“I will!” The man said, bowing excitedly as he said your name. “I promise I will not let your efforts go to waste.”

“Good. I expect a lot out of you, Kung Lao.” You said, and you noted with amusement as he seemed to glow at the high expectations. Still smiling you turned around and walked off, ideas buzzing in your head as you did. You hummed as you traced the edge of the hat, imagining how it would look in due time.

“I see you have Kung Lao’s hat with you.”

Looking over from your shoulder, you watched as Liu Kang approached you. He was on time, as usual. He had a smile on his face, yet there was a knowing look in his eye as he approached. You smiled at him as you held up the hat you had held in your hands. You had just been idly messing with it, flipping and twirling it around in your hands, thinking of how it would feel with more weight on it.

“I do.” You said as you turned to present the hat to the fire god. He took it gingerly from your hands, inspecting it as you did before. “I actually have a request on his behalf.” You said as you leaned back on the railing, resting against it. “I was wondering if you knew any blacksmiths so we could create a blade on his hat.” You gestured to the edge of the hat. “He also thought of adding more blades, but I thought it’d be best to try and test it with one blade first.”

“I see your progress on training is boding well, then.” Liu Kang remarked as he inspected the hat. You nodded, smiling proudly. His fingers traced the edge of the hat, and you observed the expression on the fire god’s face. It was wistful, and in his eyes you could sense what seemed to be…nostalgia?

What could possibly cause him to feel nostalgic?

“I can contact a blacksmith to get this arranged, but it will be a lengthy process.” He warned. “It may even take almost until the day of the champion test for this to fully come to fruition since we would have to go back and forth between prototypes and designs.”

“He seemed pretty enthused about the whole thing, I think the wait would be worth it.” You encouraged, nodding as you thought back to the bright smile the farmer boy had when you had encouraged the idea. “Plus…” You began, looking off to the side as you recalled the memories of Kung Lao in your previous life, and how he wielded a razor hat. “It feels like he has been missing something from his fighting style.”

“I see.” Liu Kang said, after staring at you with an unreadable look. You swallowed, wondering what that had all been about. Never once could you interpret that look he gave you, you just knew he always did it after vaguely referring to the memories you’ve gleaned. “I will help aid you, then. Do you have any of his designs to give for reference?”

“Ah, I forgot to ask.” You muttered, smacking your head. “I’ll go ask for them the next time I see them.” You said, sighing. You were planning on taking a few days break from training the men. You had not had a break in a bit, and you remembered Madam Bo reprimanding that you do so when you had last asked her for advice on training the men.

“Just remember my lessons.” She had told you. “You were a good student and will be a good teacher, but you will become a poor one if you do not rest. Don’t forget all those times I caught you training in the middle of the night.” The old lady had then given you a pointed look, one that seared into your memory.

You were suddenly thankful in that moment that you had not mentioned how you had also been assisting Raiden by mentoring him at night.

Maybe you should also tell him to take this same advice.

You were planning on going to the Lin Kuei temple to ask Smoke for a favor, you supposed that you could always drop by the Wu Shi before you went. You contemplated your schedule, crossing your arms. You didn’t realize how obvious your planning face must have been until you saw the concerned look on Liu Kang’s face towards you.

“Is there something wrong, Liu Kang?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you certain you are not overworking yourself?” Liu Kang said, and you heard especially how concerned he must have been as he said your name. You blinked before waving your hand dismissively. “I am serious, I know you have been up late training Raiden.” You were stunned for a moment.

“How did you-” You began, before realization washed over you. “Right, God of fire.” You muttered, sighing. He nodded, and you felt slight guilt as the man continued to look at you. “I’m fine, I go there because I can’t sleep anyways, and it allows me to still be productive.” You said, shrugging.

“I’ll take you on your word.” Liu Kang replied, but you sensed the slight hesitancy in his voice. You couldn’t help but wonder why he was looking at you with such worry. Well, you actually knew, but you didn't want to think about...that. Even as his face shifted into one meant to comfort you, you could still see a glimmer of concern within his glowing eyes. “But just know you can always confide in me if you have any worries.”

“I appreciate it, Liu Kang.” You said, feeling a mixture of comfort and guilt. Comfort in knowing that the protector of Earthrealm cared about you in a sincere way, but guilt at knowing that you had been avoiding doing so despite knowing this.

“If you ever need more time for a break, just let me know.” Liu Kang insisted, his hands now idly turning the hat. The way his hands moved the hat seemed almost like second nature. “You may be in charge of Earthrealm’s champions, but you are first and foremost, a dear friend to me.”

You felt warmth in your heart.

“Alright, I will.”

“Thank you for letting me pick these up on such short notice.” You said, walking down the hallways of the Wu Shi with Kung Lao, the papers full of the design ideas for his hat in your hands. It was early morning, and you were thankful that Kung Lao was an early riser due to his past as a farmhand. You noted with amusement how the hat he donned now was an exact replica of the hat you took.

“Of course, anything for the one helping me achieve my razor hat dreams.” Kung Lao replied, a joyful note in his tone as he walked by your side, seeming all too pleased. “I’m a bit surprised you arrived early today, I thought the monks said you were taking a bit of a break?”

“I am.” You confirmed, folding the papers to make sure that you could carry them carefully in your hands. “But I have plans to visit the Lin Kuei today, so I wanted to make sure to get these first since I’m already heading out today.” You told him, sighing as you remembered where the Lin Kuei was located.

In the snow.

“The Lin Kuei?” Kung Lao questioned, raising his eyebrows curiously. A small smile appeared on his face as he chuckled. He crossed his arms, a common habit of his. “You’ll have to thank Bi-Han for me for inspiring my hat while you’re there.”

“I think it would be better suited to thank him yourself.” You told him, imagining the unimpressed look on Bi-Han’s face already. “Maybe you can thank him and show it off once you get it, that’d leave a lasting impression on him. I doubt he’d think much of it if I were just to say it for you.” You suggested, glancing over to the farmer.

“That is a brilliant idea!” The man said, an enthusiastic gleam in his eye. You matched the wide grin on his face. If there was anything you’ve learned from teaching this group, their enthusiasm and smiles were infectious. “I’ll do just that when I see him next.”

“Good, in the meantime, I expect you to keep up with the training the monks are giving you, especially the ones focused on throwing weapons.” You said, your teaching side shining through once more. “It would be a waste to create such a hat only for you to not be able to wield it properly.”

“I will.” Kung Lao promised, your name rolling off his tongue easily. “I will not let you down.”

“I’m sure you won’t.” You said, bidding him farewell. You watched as he walked away, only to be distracted by a familiar figure out in the courtyard. It only made sense that both of the farmers would be early risers. You sighed as you walked over, crossing your arms as you snuck up on him.

“Already training, Raiden?” You inquired, making the man jump. You held back a chuckle, remembering the same way he had jumped when you had first encountered him training by himself. You watched as he quickly bowed to you, and you returned the gesture.

“I am, there’s been a combination I’ve had trouble with.” The man replied, gesturing to the dummy. He looked at you for a moment before his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I thought the monks said you’re on break for a few days?”

“I am, I just came to pick up some papers.” You informed him, waving around the folded sheets of paper in your hands. You watched as the farmer eyed it curiously, eyebrows rising. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so up and early training already.” You said, furrowing your own eyebrows as you frowned. “You know, there’s a thing called over training.”

You knew if Madam Bo were here, you knew she’d scold you for not practicing what you preached.

“I know, but I have been struggling and…”

“And the body needs rest.” You cut Raiden off, feeling a bit guilty for doing so, but you needed him to understand the importance of rest. You held up a hand, making sure he got the memo. “Go back inside and rest until the monks train you.” You instructed, putting on your stern tone.

“Alright.” Raiden said, dipping his head in an almost guilty manner. You felt a twinge of guilt, but you knew it was better for him to learn this lesson now, rather than later.

“Good. And I expect you to not overwork yourself either while I’m gone.” You continued, sending him a soft smile, trying to cheer him up. “So no practicing at night until I’m back, okay?” You saw him open his mouth to protest, and you sent him a small glare. “Consider it an assignment, okay?”

“I will do my best to honor this agreement.” Raiden said, nodding. You smiled, looking at his face and nodded in approval. “I will rest now.” You watched as he turned to leave, before hesitating and looking back with a shy smile. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Any time, Raiden.”

“You been giving the farmer boys special treatment?”

You turned, the smile dropping off your face as an eyebrow raised to look at Johnny Cage. He looked less composed than the other two, but nevertheless still awake. He probably just woke up. He strode over as he pointed to the papers in your hands and towards where the Raiden had gone.

“Just saw you with Kung Lao with those papers, then you were talking with Raiden.” The actor paused, his face turning into a thoughtful one as he scratched his cheek. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be on break?” He asked the question everyone seemed to be asking you today.

“Important papers.” You explained, holding up the folded up pieces of paper. “And I was just telling Raiden to take a break, he’s always working. As for the break, yes, but I needed to pick up these papers before I left.”

“Huh, that makes sense.” Johnny conceded, nodding thoughtfully before shrugging. “So when are you going to spend extra time helping me?” He asked, sending you a playful grin. “Still need your word that you’ll take a part in one of my movies.”

“We can discuss that after my break.” You told him, letting out a small chuckle. You weren’t certain if you were going to go help Johnny with his movies yet, but you were still curious on what Johnny was going to try and say to convince you. “You look like you need some food, go eat.” You encouraged, gesturing to the dining hall. “I need to get going.”

“Alright, I’ll keep you on your word. See you, teach!”

What an interesting nickname.

The Lin Kuei temple was located in a cold region.

It made sense since the grandmaster’s family had long trained in cyromancy, but that did not make you resent the constant snowstorms any less.

You trekked on, donned the form of a snow leopard so the cold would not freeze you to death. Not to mention, travel felt much faster in this form due to the snow that lay upon the land. The wind tried to batter you around, but you stayed resilient.

You often told yourself you would visit more often if the walk out was not as irritating.

Reaching the temple, you strode up to the gates. The Lin Kuei guards peered at you curiously, and gracefully you took a step, transforming back into your usual form. You allowed the coat of the leopard to remain on your exposed skin on your arms and legs to battle the cold since you were still outside. How these guards could bear being out here in the cold for so long, you could never understand.

“I’m here to see the grandmaster.” You told them, your breath coming out in icy puffs. It was partially true, but they did not need to know that. You let out a sigh as you grew out a collar of fur to bury your face in. It was only a few mere moments, but you could tell your face must be flushed from the cold.

It didn’t take long for the guards to recognize you, and you nodded to them gratefully as they let you in.

Once inside, you let out a breath of relief as the much warmer air inside welcomed you. You transformed fully back, the fur on your skin no longer necessary. You shook off the last bits of snow, huffing as you tried to prevent it from soaking in your clothes. You looked down to brush off any remaining bits of the powdery snow that had gotten on you.

“I was not aware you were going to visit.” A voice spoke, and you glanced up to see Kuai Liang approaching, a faint look of surprise on his face. You smiled at him, glad to see the younger brother during your visit.

“It was a bit compulsive.” You explained, rubbing your cheeks to return your flushed face to normal. You watched as Kuai Liang looked you up and down, probably to see if any remaining snow remained on you. “Am I not a welcome visitor?” You teased, holding back a soft laugh.

“You are always welcome here.” Scorpion replied a bit more seriously despite the teasing tone, a warm note in his voice. You took a moment to recover from his sincerity. “Were you here just to visit, or do you have business here?”

“As much as I would like to say I’m here purely for pleasure, I do have some favors to ask of your brothers.” You informed him, placing a hand on your hip. “But afterwards, I am welcome to stick around before I depart, I just want to get my business done first.”

“That would be pleasant.” The yellow clad ninja agreed. He paused for a moment before gesturing to the hallways. “Would you like me to accompany you to find Tomas? Or to brother’s office?” He offered, and you hummed in deliberation.

“If you could accompany me to Bi-Han’s office first, that’d be preferable.” You requested, deciding to tackle the conversation with the grandmaster first. A sense of uncertainty hit you, remembering the unresolved matter you two had never discussed. Your hands fidgeted with each other as you thought, reflecting your nerves.

You hadn’t gone out of your way to talk with him about it, and Bi-Han seemed to always sweep the conflicts you two had under the rug.

“Of course.” You saw Kuai Liang glance down at your hands, yet there was no judgement that you could see. He simply nodded and allowed you to join his side. Even without touching, you could feel a comforting warmth from the pyromancer. It was much preferable to the freezing chill of the snow outside, it reminded you of the same way Liu Kang’s warmth soothed you during cold rainy days.

Was that just a pyromancer gift?

“Has training with the champions boded well?” Scorpion inquired, striking up conversation. It was odd, having him initiate, but it was a welcome change. You smiled at the man, looking over the man.

“It’s actually been great.” You informed him, feeling pride for yourself for being able to say that. You had never envisioned yourself a teacher before this, but the joy you got from seeing others flourish from your teachings made you feel excellent.

It reminded you of the man who reminded you of Madam Bo so much. You didn’t remember much of him other than a warm fondness and a longing for his approval.

You hoped one day you could unravel the mystery of the man who meant so much to you.

“I told you that you would be an excellent teacher.” Kuai Liang said, a tone of pride in his tone without any smugness. You saw him smile at you, and his smile alone felt like high praise. You knew that no one in the Lin Kuei gave praise that they did not mean. “Has the actor proven to be difficult?”

“Johnny? He’s actually been fine.” You said, chuckling at the memory of the superstar working hard. “He may complain here and there, and sometimes try to be too flashy, but he has a good work ethic.” You praised the man, knowing that you could never tell the actor this, lest his ego grow twice its size. “I think you all would loathe training him.”

“You have a duty I do not envy.” Scorpion admitted. You sucked in a breath as the two of you arrived at the grand doors of Bi-Han’s office. You glanced over to the yellow clad man, who gave you an encouraging nod. You closed your eyes, steeling yourself for a moment before you opened the doors to enter.

Stepping in, you took a moment to admire the organized manner which the office was. You could spot the remains of the influence of the old grandmaster lingering in this office despite it also feeling distinctly Sub Zero. You eyes wandered around before they landed on the current grandmaster himself, who stared at you with an intense look.

“What are you doing here? What task did Liu Kang send you here for?” Bi-Han asked, his gruff voice echoing through the office. Despite his words, you sensed no outright hostility towards you. You could feel a slight disdain in his voice when he mentioned the fire god’s name, to which you were uncertain why that was. You strode up to the desk, and you felt the tension rise as you did.

“Can’t I stop by to say hello?” You inquired, testing the waters. You watched as Bi-Han kept his intense stare on you, unwavering. You pursed your lips, knowing very well that he did not believe that sentiment. “Believe it or not, I am actually here by my own volition, not Liu Kang’s.” You admitted, and you watched as Sub Zero’s gaze soften just a touch. His jaw relaxed.

“For what purpose?” He inquired, still a hint of suspicion in his tone, though he seemed a bit more relaxed knowing you were not here on behalf of the fire god.

“I wanted to ask for your permission to ask Tomas to help train the champions I’ve been responsible for training. I thought having him duel them for a day would help test them.” You told him, not beating around the bush this time. Bi-Han’s lips pursed as he narrowed his gaze slightly. You heard him exhale, and you wondered why he was still so tense.

“And you sought my blessing for such a minor task?” The grandmaster huffed, the tone in his voice making it clear that he thought it ridiculous that you came all this way for just that. You held back a scoff, simply opting to keep your calm gaze on the man. “Was that all you came here to ask for?”

“No.” You said, crossing your arms as you closed your eyes, remembering the events that had gone down in Johnny Cage’s manor. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened at Johnny’s mansion. What was up with all of that? You know I can defend myself, there was no need to be hostile.”

You felt the temperature drop in the room a bit. Goosebumps crawled up your arm, and you held back an instinctual shiver.

“The actor was being foolish and arrogant.” Bi-Han huffed, contempt filling his tone at the memory of Johnny. You watched as a small snarl curled at his lips. “You would have let the man off with a glare, he needed a proper warning to put him in his place.” He explained, but you did not feel satisfied.

“That’s a rather stupid excuse to fight someone.” You pointed out, and Bi-Han’s nostrils flared at the insult. You stared at him with the same glare he gave you. “You’re telling me you had the urge to humble an actor for being egotistical?” You inquired, feeling like there was more to the conversation.

“It was the principle of the situation.” He insisted, shaking his head dismissively, as if trying to move past the conversation. He fixed you with another glare before waving you off. “Don’t you have to ask Tomas for your favor?” Bi-Han’s voice dropped to a growl upon mentioning his adopted brother.

“Yes, I do.” You confirmed, nodding, seeing as how the two of you were not going anywhere past this point about the conversation about the actor. You sighed, shaking your head. If there was one thing you learned from your years of knowing Bi-Han, it’s that you both were stubborn to a fault. Still, this conversation felt better than trying to move past the conversation entirely. “Let’s spar next time I come here, it’s been a while.”

If there was one thing you knew, it’s that the two of you could always duel out the frustration. Perhaps not the healthiest way to deal with issues, but it was better than butt heads relentlessly.

You watched as Bi-Han nodded approvingly. The two of you were fierce competitors during spars, with your drive for competition and his lust for fighting strong opponents. The tension in the room relaxed a bit, and you cracked a small smile.

“Prepare your bandages next time, I’ll have to patch you up next time then.” You said, a tone of confidence in your voice. You heard the man scoff at your trash talk, and you turned and began to walk out of the room with a sense of satisfaction. As you opened the door, you turned back, sending the grandmaster one last look.

“I still think you fighting the actor was crass of you but, I appreciate you trying to defend me if that was the point of your stupid squabble.” You admitted, tearing your gaze away from the cyromancer. “Next time you’ll see though, that I could easily do it myself.”

You shut the door, leaving Bi-Han to stare at where you had been mere moments ago. HIs jaw tightened as he looked down at his desk, a sigh leaving his lips.

“I know.”

It didn’t take long for you and Kuai Liang to find Tomas.

Much like you, Smoke often found himself aiding those in training, and you watched with interest as he instructed a younger generation of Lin Kuei. You crossed your arms, silently waiting for the lesson to end. You stayed back with Scorpion, waiting patiently. Luckily, you seemed to have caught the tail end of the current lesson, watching as the man soon dismissed the group for a break.

Turning around, you were not surprised to see the look of surprise on his face as he spotted you and Kuai Liang.

“I was not aware you would be visiting.” Tomas said, yet despite his unpreparedness for your arrival, he gave you a warm smile. You returned the gesture, nodding. He looked between Kuai Liang and you, raising an eyebrow. “Was there something you needed from me? Or were you here just to say hello?”

“I was just here to help find you.” Kuai Liang said. He glanced at you before nodding his head. “I’ll leave you to your conversation.” The pyromancer said, before walking off, letting the two of you have privacy.

“I’m assuming that you’re here to say more than hello?” Tomas inquired, crossing his arms, His eyebrow raised as he gave you an expectant look. Your grin grew and you mimicked his actions, crossing your arms as well and raising your eyebrows.

“Is it so strange for me to come all this way just to say hello, Tomas?” You asked, a light teasing tone in your voice. You were met with a look that told you that he did not believe you, yet there was a slight playful look in his eye. You returned the look with a laugh. “You’re right.” You admitted, rolling your eyes. “I’m here to ask a favor from you.”

“A favor?” Smoke inquired, his curiosity growing. He leaned towards you slightly, his head tilting. “What possible favor could you ask from me?”

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in aiding me in training the champions one day.” You said, getting to the point. The Czech man seemed surprised at your offer. “They stale from training with only each other during my teachings, so I thought bringing someone with a much different fighting style would help.”

“I’m not against the offer, but why me?” Smoke said, a note of disbelief in his voice. His face scanned your face, as if searching for an answer “Would Kuai Liang or Bi-Han not be better options?”

“The way you move is unpredictable compared to them.” You explained, recalling his fighting style. “It would help them learn how to do better defense against an opponent who likes to attack from angles they aren’t ready yet.” You paused before sending him a look. “Plus, are you doubting my judgement on who’d be best?”

“No, not at all.” Tomas admitted, sending you a slightly sheepish look as he smiled at you. He seemed to take in your words, nodding slowly. “I’m just surprised.” He said, shrugging. He considered your offer, before nodding. “I wouldn’t mind helping you.” He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, predicting what he was about to say.

“I already discussed this with both Bi-Han and Lord Liu Kang, they’re fine with this arrangement.”

“Wow, you were really prepared for this.” Smoke said, stunned for a moment that you had already discussed the plans with the others. “Alright, I’ll help you.” He agreed, and you sent him a big grin. You placed a hand on your hip as you reached for his shoulder, squeezing it gratefully.

“Thank you, Tomas, you have no idea how much this means to me.” You said letting out a sigh of relief. It felt like your worries washed away. You felt your smile grow as Smoke sent you a look that you couldn’t quite identify, but it filled you with warmth. You let out a chuckle as your grin turned a tad bit mischievous. “I’d hate for my students to miss out on a chance to duel the King of Smoke.” You teased, and you watched as Smoke coughed into his fist.

“Let it go! I said that one time.” Tomas groaned, a bit of embarrassment in his voice as you reminded him of the nickname he had used one time before the two of you had dueled. He pulled at his face with a hand, playful distress on his face. You sent him a look that told him that you were not going to let it go anytime soon. “What would it take for you to stop using that nickname?”

“Nothing can ever change my mind.” You teased, chuckling at his embarrassment. “Why would I let such valuable teasing material go?” You pointed out, and you squeezed his shoulder to emphasize your point. The Lin Kuei member looked at you before rolling his eyes before sighing.

“One day I’ll get you to change your mind.” Tomas promised, saying your name with such conviction you almost believed him. You couldn’t help the laughter that left your lips. He stared at you with a look you weren’t certain what to call it, but it made you feel happy.

“Tough luck, Tomas.” You said cockily, dropping your hand from his shoulder. You were surprised as he caught it, squeezing it with both of his hands.

“I mean it.” He said, his voice teasing. Yet, there was something there that made it feel a bit more serious than a joke. Nevertheless, you leaned forward with a challenging look in your eye. You watched as his expression changed slightly as he looked at you, opening his mouth to speak. You found yourself attracted to the movement in the background, and you cleared your throat, interrupting whatever he was about to say. “Looks like your class is back.”

“Ah.” He said, dropping your hand quickly as if it were on fire. You wondered briefly whether the final squeeze he gave it was on purpose or not. He looked at them, beckoning them in before looking at you. “Since I’m helping you out, would you also like to assist me?” He offered, and you couldn’t help the excitement that surged through you.

“Of course.”

It was late at night when you made your way to the Wu Shi academy.

At first, you were planning on going back directly to the Fire Temple after spending the day at the Lin Kuei temple, but your footsteps drew you back to the academy.

Between visiting the Lin Kuei on business and being back here, you figured you were doing a shitty job of taking a break. You could practically hear Madam Bo scolding you. You stared at the entrance for a few moments, before sighing.

You were just going to check if Raiden was awake, and send him to bed. That’s all.

You watched in, making sure to be stealthy as usual. Not only to keep the peace, but you figured that if Raiden had been training behind your back, you could give him a good scare as punishment for not listening to you.

That and well, it was a bit funny to see the man jump.

Much to your displeasure, you heard the familiar sound of a dummy being beat up…rather frustratedly too. Sighing, you shook your head as you lurked in the shadows as you made your way to the courtyard. Yet, what was waiting for you was a sight you were not prepared for.

It was Kenshi Takahashi there, swinging his sword adamantly at a dummy.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you crept closer, keeping to the shadows as you did. Unlike Raiden, the man did not seem to be practicing any forms. Although his strikes were precise, they were done without much direction and thought. This seemed more instinctual than training.

You watched as he grunted, huffing as he gripped the sword as he knocked over the dummy. You saw pain, anger, and the like on his face clear as day. Unsatisfied, you watched as he righted the dummy. You observed for a few more minutes.

Interestingly enough, you watched as time went on, he tensed up. Kenshi seemed to mystify himself why he was doing so. He looked around for a moment, seeming to sense something. He had glanced at you for a moment, not realizing you were there at first, before doing a double take.

“Have you always been there, watching me?” Kenshi asked, an intense stare at you. You held up your hands to show you meant no harm. He narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be on break?” He inquired, much like everyone else did. His tone was accusatory, and you sensed he was in a bad mood.

“I only arrived a few minutes ago. I heard the commotion and decided to check it out, I thought it was Raiden, I was surprised to see it was you.” You said, defending yourself. You crossed your arms as you leaned back on the pillar you always seemed to gravitate towards. “I am on break, but I came here to make sure Raiden wasn’t training late at night since I told him not to for a while.” You paused. “You have good senses to notice something was off.”

“Raiden trains late at night?” Kenshi inquired, mystified, before shaking his head dismissively and sighing. “Being in the yakuza instills that instinct in you. A useful skill, even if I hated being there.” He said, sheathing his sword before facing you. “Sorry for being so short with you, I wasn’t prepared for my instructor to sneak up on me.”

“No need to apologize.” You said, waving off his apology. “I was being a bit weird standing here.” You said, shrugging before sending Kenshi a concerned look. “I might be overstepping here, but you seemed distressed.” You pointed out. You watched as Kenshi grimaced and glanced away. “Did you want to talk about it? It might do you some better than slicing that poor dummy into wood chips. I promise no judgement.”

The dummy seemed to be on its last legs. Funny how Kenshi just happened to choose the one that Raiden always seemed to use. Regardless, you gestured to the spot next to you, taking a seat on the ground.

The swordsman seemed to contemplate for a moment, his face shifting before he walked over and sat beside you. He rested on the pillar, turning his gaze to the stars like you did.

“I dreamt I was still stuck with the yakuza.” He said, after a few minutes of tense silence. You tore your gaze away from the stars to look at the man. He seemed haunted as he confessed this. His fingers tapped idly on the sheath of his sword. “The things I did while under their control, it haunts me.”

“How bad are the yakuza?” You inquired lightly, not all too familiar with the group, only knowing the basics of what Liu Kang had told you.

“They’re a horrible group. I hope you, or anyone you know, never encounter them.” Kenshi said. Although he did not elaborate too much on them, the resentment that carried in his voice told you enough of what you needed to know.

“I see.” You said, pursing your lips. You watched him for a few more minutes. “Well, you aren’t with them anymore.” You pointed out, curling up your legs to squeeze them to your chest. Your arms wrapped around them, as if giving yourself a hug. “Lingering on the past won’t help.” You said, knowing how hypocritical you were being.

“Easier said than done.”

“It always is, isn’t it?”

There were a few moments of silence, before you heard Kenshi agree.

“You never relished in the power the yakuza gave you, correct?” You asked, looking over to the swordsman once more. You saw him think, before shaking his head. “Then why feel guilt for things you were forced to do?” You continued, trying to guide his thoughts.

“That doesn’t change how horrible the deeds I did were.” The ex-yakuza member pointed out. You reluctantly agreed, some deeds, no matter how guilty the person felt, were dirty deeds still. “My family is still stuck in their grasp, and I’m here.”

“You’re bettering yourself for them, trying to go back unprepared is worse.” You countered. You paused before continuing. “I may not fully understand the extent of your guilt, nor the pain you carry, but I do understand that you are truly sorry.” You searched Kenshi’s face, noting the pain he carried. “It’ll take time, but learning to forgive yourself is what I think is truly best.”

The silence stretched between you two, but it was not uncomfortable. It settled in gently, like a slow realization. You knew he could not change his mindset in one mere conversation, but you knew that the words you told him were still comforting at the very least.

“How about we change the topic, get your mind off of that nasty nightmare of yours?” You offered, feeling happy when the look on his face didn’t seem to disagree with your line of thought. “How has it been, training with Johnny Cage?” You watched with slight amusement as Kenshi rolled his eyes at the actor’s name.

“He’s been irritating.”

“Now that’s something we can both agree on.” You jested, even though you didn’t quite think that low of Johnny Cage. You felt satisfaction as a tiny smile appeared on Kenshi’s face.

Helping people felt great.

part six

379 notes · View notes