#Standing in The Dust exhibit

[jonfarreporter]

One Photojournalist’s Struggle Against Totalitarianism is sparked by her work now on display at Sausalito Center for The Arts

Pointing the spotlight on the turmoil of the world isn’t anything new, especially for photojournalist Yalda Moaiery. Most importantly she wants people to know as an exhibit about her work will be on display at the Sausalito Center for the Arts (SCA) this coming July is that, “I try to be an honest person with my work. I strive to show reality as it is,” she said.

At 20 years old with a camera in hand, she made the vary daring and dangerous decision to document the war in Iraq and Afghanistan in 2001.

From that moment she has been on the ground out in front photographing some the world’s most difficult conflicts. Including natural disasters and other events in the Middle East. She has done this time and time again, mainly to better understand the world.

Her years as a self-taught photojournalist helped her not only to be resilient but to recognize oppression and tyranny. “The work I do is to fight totalitarianism,” she said.

Moaiery took a few moments to speak about her work and what it means to have the opportunity to be in photojournalism. “I’ve always been a curious person, seeking answers,” she said.

Pointing out that in Iran while women may be educated, “being a photojournalist is considered a man’s job,” said Moaiery. It was seldom if not rare back then more than 20 years ago, that an Iranian woman would seek anything more than an education and something of a traditional role.

Moaiery was and continues to be different. Her interest in the world makes her stand out. “I want to be part of the action, she added, especially as a woman.” “There are more women in photojournalism now than when I first started,” said Moaiery. “But the struggle of women in Iran and other places in the Middle East continues.”

No stranger to obstacles and challenges, Moaiery’s most difficult experience was six years ago when her photograph of a young Iranian woman in the middle of turmoil during a protest in Iran in 2018 got her arrested. Of all the many photographs Moaiery has taken over the years, that one made an impact.

It mostly was because former President Trump used Moaiery’s photo to make comments. “My photo belonged to the news wire and so anyone could access it,” she said.

Trump pointing to that particular photo changed Moaiery’s life. Notoriety quickly followed as she exclaimed, “ intelligence agencies kept calling me!”

As a result she was imprisoned. Moaiery was then interrogated, humiliated and threatened. “Mostly I was sad, very lonely and scared,” she noted. The interrogators tried to make Moaiery feel guilty for seeking to know and understand what is going on in a country that is ruled by a theocratic system.

That one photo has become literally “iconic.” And, just for that “the authorities in Iran are scared,” she said.

As Americans celebrate their independence on the Fourth of July, many people don’t have the freedoms that American citizens have, especially freedom in the press. “I want Americans to realize and understand this,” she said.

“To be able to shed even a little bit of light on the totalitarian regime in Iran is good.” Moaiery had to suffer tremendously for it. But she considered it a victory for the Iranian people, especially the women.

“In Iran as I was growing up, said Moaiery, everyone is taught to be polite and respectful.” Yet the newer generations coming of age in Iran have learned to question and to speak out. “I’m so pleased that the younger generations are speaking out,” she said.

Many people outside of Iran don’t understand the difficulties that the Iranian people face, “especially financially,” notes Moaiery. The theocratic regime that rules over Iran is so “out of touch” with the people. “They really have no idea,” she said.

Moaiery’s work is having a far-reaching ripple effect. More than simply a documentary element of photojournalism, many consider Moaiery’s work as art.

"Artistic Freedom Initiative is extremely proud to co-present Yalda Moaiery's powerful and important work at Sausalito Center for the Arts,” said Ashley Tucker, Co-Executive Director of Artistic Freedom Initiative.

“As an organization dedicated to safeguarding the human right to freedom of artistic expression, said Tucker, we believe that artists are positioned to create positive change - provided their voices can be heard.”

“Through her profoundly moving photographs, Tucker said, Yalda courageously speaks truth to power, and honors the women and others in Iran who risk their lives on the frontlines of the fight for human rights.”

Awarded the Wallis Annenberg Justice for Women Journalists in 2023 and awarded ‘The Courage in Journalism ‘picture of the year’ award by the International Women’s Media Foundation (IWMF) in 2023, Moaiery is deeply honored.

Yet she is looking to do more as Moaiery said. “I hope to work with Christiane Amanpour on a project.”

Amanpour who is of English and Iranian descent, is an international journalist who got her start at CNN and was among the first women journalists to report on the Gulf War in 1990.

“Christiane is a role model,” said Moaiery.

Moaiery is admired by her colleagues in the field such as Jason Rezaian and Angeles Espinosa, who not only praise her work. But consider her a friend; as Espinosa said in a post on X (formerly Twitter). “Yalda is a great colleague to work with… we shared some scary moments together when on assignment in Afghanistan.”

With the upcoming generations, Moaiery has hope that things will change in Iran. And as Moaiery sees it change is already happening as more Iranian women take center stage, like the young woman in her now famous photograph.

“Through Standing in the Dust, Yalda offers us the opportunity to stand beside her and her fighting sisters, and asks us to bear witness,” said Tucker.

“Standing in The Dust; Yalda Moaiery, A Photography Exhibition” opens July 10 at Sausalito Center for the Arts. For more information visit the Sausalito Center for the Arts - SCA website.

[jadewritesficshere]

Sweatpants

Steve Harrington x Reader

Synpopsis: Steve wears sweatpants and you have to show your appreciation

Contents: mentioned possibility of an exhibition kink, oral (male receiving)

18+ only

This was written because of that pic but apparently a lot of u have not seen the pic which is crazy cause it was all over my dash)

You can't stop your jaw from dropping. You would think to but your brain is suddenly gone because of the sight before you.

Steve Harrington, your lovely, sweet, amazing boyfriend, has just walked in carrying groceries. Said he had to drive Robin to work and was gonna pick up some things to prepare for the upcoming snow storm.

He should have called and told you to prepare. A fire in your gut was burning. A steady thrum spreading throughout your body. Your mouth was simultaneously salivating over him and dry wishing he'd kiss and lick into your mouth.

Steve Harrington was bundled up, that stupid scarf you made wrong that he refused to get rid of ("it's a labor of your love!") even though you made him a better one, was wrapped around the lower half of his face. His nose was a dusty red from the chilly wind outside. He had a beanie on that had a light dusting of snow, the same snow that fluttered on his lashes as he blinked.

His jacket looked too tight because he had a sweatshirt underneath. You knew Steve had another shirt under that, barely seeing the hem peeking out. The bottoms of his pants were tucked into snow boots, where you knew he had thrown on wool socks.

All of that was fine. It was his pants that were the issue. Grey sweatpants, that clung to his perfect ass. Grey sweatpants that did nothing to hide the length of him. Steve wasn't even hard and he was big.

A burst of jealousy runs through you at the thought that anyone could have seen him. That jealousy quickly turns to desire because anyone could have seen but only you could touch. You sort of wish you had gone with him now, only to see the longing looks on other's faces (and you don't really wanna think about what that means for you).

You stand causing the chair at the table to squeak against the hardwood floor. The mittens you were working on for Steve all but forgotten. You can hear Steve speaking but it is not being processed by your brain.

All you can think is how good his voice sounds. How good he looks. How hot.

Steve turns around and jumps back, not expecting to find you in his space. Steve glares," What the fu-Jesus, warn a guy next time!" "Sorry," you look him up and down, tone, conveying you very much are not sorry.

"Upside down ain't gonna kill me, you're gonna give me a heart attack," Steve rolls his eyes dramatically, but you can see the corners wrinkle from his smile that is still hidden beneath the scarf. His hand reaches out, knocking against yours almost subconsciously.

You wanted to say something intelligent, maybe tease him and see him blush and get flustered, but your brain stopped communicating with your tongue.

"Fuck me." You all but whine, biting your lip. Steve's eyes widen slightly. Before he can say anything, you drop to your knees.

"Whoa Ba-" Steve cuts off with a strangled sound as you grab onto his hips and pull him towards you. You kiss the tip of his length before licking the sweats. Your saliva turns the grey darker. Steve lets out a low moan, hand finding your hair.

You continue to lick and leave open mouth kisses all over his hardening length. It was impressive before but now? You fidget slightly, thinking about it being in you.

You hear a thud and a hiss, pulling back to look up at Steve holding a hand to the back of his head. You know Steve threw his head back in pleasure and hit his head against the cupboard.

"Be careful about your head, dont need another concussion," You frown up at him. He peers down at you, eyes full of lust," Not the head I'm worried about." His voice sounds low and gravelly. His face is flushed, even his ears have turned a bit pink. He's looking at you like he wants to swallow you whole.

You yank down the sweatpants and boxers, Steve shimmying away from the countertop to help. His erection springs up, almost hitting you in the face (and damn isnt that a thought). Its curved slightly, precum leaking at the tip. He's flushed a nice red, two small freckles on the base close to his balls.

You spit in your hand and firmly grasp him, causing him to groan. You move your hand steadily up and down him. You love how soft his skin is that contrasts with how hard he is.

You lick his slit, letting the salty taste of Steve coat your tongue. Steve moans and his dick twitches in your hand. You lick again, swirling around his flushed head.

"Not gonna- fuck, not gonna last long," Steve whines, flustered above you. You haven't even done much, and either you're really really good at this (you are) or Steve has been horny for a bit longer then normal today (you wonder if he wanted to be seen as you remember those jeans he used to wear) You slowly wrap your lips around him, sucking lightly. You moan, moving your mouth up and down in tandem with your hand.

It isn't long, maybe a minute. All it takes for him to come undone is for you to peer up at him and meet his eyes. Steve comes with a shout, his leg kicking out slightly as he grips the countertop to stay standing. You swallow it all, everything he would give you.

When Steve starts to whimper is when you let go of him. He falls from your mouth with a pop. You look up at him, lips slightly swollen. Steve is panting, face flushed.

Steve slowly slides down against the counter, legs going to either side of you. He grabs your arms and tugs you into him, pulling you chest to chest. Steve kisses you lightly before pulling back," I think i just blacked out, holy shit."

You giggle before kissing him again. Steve sighs into the kiss, hands running up and down your arms, to your back, to your ass. You pull away to take a breathe and Steve smirks up at you," I should wear these more often huh?"

[woso-dreamzzz]

Jessie's Girl II

Jessie Fleming x Hardersson!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Talia meets Jessie

You weren't the biggest fan of exhibition matches, especially when they were in a different country.

The time difference between Spain and Canada was about six hours and you were exhausted when the plane finally landed. It was a quick turn around between the plane ride to the match, barely a day so you had to get over your jet lag quickly.

But, still Barcelona was Barcelona and you won the match by a large margin, a combination of Talia up front and you between the sticks.

You shake the hands of the opposing players before making your way over to the stands.

You'd spotted her earlier, even before she'd appeared on the big screen.

You handed over your shirt.

Former Canada captain, Jessie Fleming take it from you.

She smiles at you, the same smile from your childhood. She hugs you too, the same hug from your childhood as well.

"Hey, superstar," She jokes and you grin.

"Hi, Jessie."

She pulls on your Barcelona shirt. In your time on the Sweden team, you haven't played against Canada yet but you promised Jessie a shirt of yours when you were younger.

You hope a Barcelona one will tie her over until you can give her your Sweden one.

"You looked good out there," She says," Very sure of yourself."

"Well," You say, a light dusting of pink over your cheeks," I am a professional." You can't stop smiling at her. "What are you even doing here?"

"Well." She's leaning on the barrier as your teammates mill around signing things. "When I heard Barcelona were coming to town, I couldn't just stay away. Besides, your mothers told me some interesting news."

Your brow furrows in confusion, a little crinkle appearing between them. "What news?"

"How is your love life going?"

Your cheeks flush deeply and your eyes dart to Natalia, who is signing some little boy's shirt.

"Do you want to meet her?"

You drag her over quickly, pulling Talia by the hand. You don't know why you're so nervous. It's just Jessie but she was important to you when you were younger and you want her to impressed with your choices.

You really want her to like Talia.

"This is my girlfriend," You say," Natalia."

Jessie holds out her hand.

Talia shakes it.

"So," Jessie says," You're the one that stole her from me."

"What?"

You groan loudly and contemplate giving yourself a concussion just to get out of this interaction. "Please stop."

"No," Talia says, eyes darting between you and Jessie," What's going on? I don't get it."

Jessie laughs. "When she was younger-"

"Must you tell everyone this? I was a kid!"

"-She had a crush on me. Flowers. Opening doors. Naps on the bus. The whole works."

Talia turns to look at you. "Where are my flowers? How are you more smooth as a kid than you are now?"

Jessie's face lights up in delight and that concussion is looking more and more tempting.

"I think there's still videos up from when she was younger. She was such a little sweetheart."

Talia pokes you teasingly in the shoulder. "What happened, huh? All smooth and suave as a kid and then you've turned into this?"

You flash her a grin. "But I thought you like me all oblivious?"

Talia's hand brushes over your shoulder fondly. "I do," She says," But I just think if we'd met as kids then we wouldn't have had to do all this dancing around. Who knows, we might have already been married by now?"

"You'd have to get the blessing of my mothers first."

Talia already has both Pernille and Magda's blessing. Not that you know that. She's got their blessing. She's got a ring.

It would look perfect on your finger.

But now's not the right time, not when you've still got a season to finish.

Soon though.

As soon as possible.

"Good luck with that," Jessie says but the spark in her eyes tells Talia all that she needs to know," Magda's a tough cookie to crack."

"Morsa's a sweetheart really," You say," She just likes to pretend she's tough." You shiver a little, the wind blowing against your shirtless skin.

"Go in and change," Talia says," You're freezing."

"But-"

"Go on," Jessie insists," We'll talk some other time."

You don't really want to go, that much is obvious but you're shivering like a wet cat so you go in to get some warm clothes on.

Jessie turns to Natalia.

"Magda told me," She says," That you're planning to propose."

"Yes. I am."

"Good. Pernille and Magda hold you in high regard."

Talia knew that about Pernille. Magda, less so. "They do?"

Jessie nods. "They think you're very well suited to each other."

"Thank you."

As Talia moves to join you in the locker room, she grins to herself.

Magda thinks she's well suited to you. Magda holds her in high regard.

Talia's never going to let her live it down

[eatfishies]

your touch sets me ablaze | 🔞

summary: Rafayel is determined to make all your worries go away.

or

Rafayel giving his "Miss Bodyguard" the time of her life.

word count: 3.5k words tags: NSFW, rafayel x reader (afab), porn without plot, oral sex (cunnilingus), clit play, swearing, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, exhibitionism, overstimulation, public sex (or semi..? idk), pet names, breeding kink, creampie, established relationship fish notes: rafa fingers owo .. that’s it . i jus have an obsession w his pretty fingers ok . hehe hope all of u enjoy <3 ── ao3 link ★ ˙ ̟ | my twt !

The long-awaited day of Rafayel’s exhibition is finally here. She smoothed out her dress, ensuring that there is no speck of dust or any creases. The dress hugged her curves like second skin, a dark blue shade that matches the ocean — she heard it faintly as she fixed herself on the mirror. The tidal waves swished around with fluidity as the birds chirped merrily, giving her a sense of peace despite the gnawing anxiety bubbling up inside her. She sighed, biting her lip as she mulled over her thoughts when the door opened, revealing Rafayel. 

Dressed in a white buttoned shirt, paired with a dark blue suit jacket and black tailored slacks. He looked mesmerizing as he always does whenever she sees him. Many people claim that Rafayel’s paintings are beautiful, each brushstroke has its own story and together, mixed with the soft colors is enough to draw someone in. It was easy to get lost in his artworks hence why his buyers are eager to get their hands on the latest pieces of his art. Every art dealer was entranced by the beauty of it. One could say, if you gaze at his painting, the sight of it could linger in your mind even as you slumber, dancing around and luring you into the depths of the ocean.

He smiled at her, his eyes roaming over her figure appreciatively, “Hey cutie, looking good there.” He walked towards her, placing his hands on her hips, “Why the long face���? It’s my exhibition, not yours.” She knows he was just teasing, trying to quell her dwelling thoughts but she can only give him a faint smile.

“I know that… I just…” She sighed, unsure of how to properly form her sentence. Her mind is constantly racing, overlapping each fleeting thought. “I’ve just been… overthinking about all sorts of things, I suppose. Maybe it’s just the stress of everything…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting to the side.

The Lemurian hummed, studying his lover’s face with deep concentration, “Well, we still have some time left to kill. Do you wanna do something to take your mind off things?” His hands cupped her face gently, making her stare at his handsome face. 

“Uh… I’m not sure.” She responded, still preoccupied with her troubles. 

Rafayel’s hands fall to the side before grabbing her wrist and leading her out of the bedroom and into the center of the studio. He gently pushed her down to the couch, “Stay here.” He said before stalking off to grab something from the desk. She could only watch with curiosity, wondering what Rafayel had planned to distract her. 

When he came back, he was holding a box of Pile It Up. She couldn’t help but smile, already feeling a surge of competitive spirit bubbling inside her. “Oh, you’re so on!” She grinned at him.

And yet, after a few minutes of playing, she felt the same thoughts resurfacing. Rafayel didn’t need to be told twice to know that his partner is deep in her worries, he could see the frown etched on her features or the way she subtly tapped her fingers repeatedly against the block. 

He sighed, standing up and taking a seat next to her, “I hate seeing you like this.” He paused, searching her face before caressing her cheek tenderly, “We don’t need to talk about it but I wished I could take all your troubles away. It makes me sad to see you look so blue.” 

A small hint of guilt crept up, she forced herself to hold Rafayel’s gaze. “I’ll be fine, really. Just… stress, the usual.” She spoke tiredly, relishing the feeling of his hand on her cheek. 

Suddenly, an idea popped up inside the painter’s head. “Then… let me put your mind at ease, yeah?” But before she could inquire, the Lemurian pulled her into a soft kiss, effectively drowning out any single thought she had previously. Their lips moved languidly in a passionate yet loving kiss. His hands slid down to feel her curves, swallowing her needy whimpers as his fingers hiked the hem of the dress up, exposing more of her skin. 

He gently laid her down and pulled away, hovering above her, admiring the way her lips are now swollen and glistened with his saliva. No doubt that the lipstick has smeared onto his mouth as well but he couldn’t care less, slowly inching closer to her most intimate place. She bit her lip, growing impatient at his deliberate and sensual movements but the words of protest died in her throat when Rafayel finally touched her clit, feeling the wet patch growing as he kept stroking her.

“You’re already so wet for me… you sure are eager, aren’t you?” He smirked as she gripped his arms and bucked her hips. “Come on, let me hear your pretty sounds, cutie.” He purred, effortlessly pulling her panties to the side and rubbing her slick folds. A string of moans and whimpers fell from her lips as Rafayel continued to touch her, staring intently as her expressions contorted to one of pleasure. The worry lines on her face, the frown and the anxiousness emitting off of her earlier are all gone, replaced by fervent lust and desire. 

With a swift motion, Rafayel plunged two fingers deep inside her wet pussy. Her velvet walls clamping down tightly as he curled his digits, “Ha…! F- fuck! Raf…” She moaned out, it was the sound that he could never get tired of hearing. Her body writhed beneath her lover’s skilful ministrations. 

“That’s it… keep feeling good around my fingers. You’re doing so well for me, baby.” He uttered sultry and low, pressing kisses on her neck before biting onto the flesh. He knew that once she was clear-headed, she would scold him for leaving a mark, especially when they were both due to attend his exhibition later. But Rafayel couldn’t care less, he was addicted to her scent, her taste, her sounds and everything about her makes him want to lose himself completely, surrendering himself to the woman he holds dear to. 

The heat in her stomach coiled, the tell-tale signs of her climax approaching her as Rafayel fingers her faster and deeper, noticing the pitch of her moans getting louder. Her wet cunt squelched obscenely around his long digits as he worked to bring her close to her release. He licked her earlobe and nipped at it, “Be a good girl and come all over my fingers. Come on, you can do it, can’t you?” 

Spurred by Rafayel’s encouragement, she squeezed her eyes shut as her pussy clenched tightly around his plunging fingers. “I’m… I’m close! I’m gonna come!” She cried out, her cunt clamping down on his digits as she came hard, pussy juice gushing out and all over his hand and wrist. 

“Good girl. You did so great, my little conch.” He pulled his soaked fingers out and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Rafayel felt a swell of pride at seeing the state of his lover like this, she’s no longer concerned with troubling thoughts or anxieties. Only a look of pure bliss. 

He brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them clean, savoring the taste of her. “You taste divine, my love.” A blush spread through her cheeks as she stared at the sight of Rafayel delightfully tasting her essence. 

“But… I’m not done yet. Not even close.” His voice drops an octave lower as he spread her legs wide and tugged her damp panties off, tossing them on the floor. Her cunt fluttered around nothing, dripping with slick from her orgasm earlier. “I can’t wait to devour you.” And with that, he leaned in and lapped her pussy tentatively, keeping his gaze fixed on her face as her fingers tangled in his purple hair, gripping it. 

Debauched cries and moans bounced off the walls along with the erotic sounds of Rafayel eating her cunt out with vigor, like a man starved. “F- feels so good!” She whimpered as the Lemurian held her thighs, spreading them wider, giving him more access to her sopping core. 

Unable to resist, Rafayel delved in deeper, sealing his lips around her clit and suckling the sensitive nub. He flicked his tongue faster, determined to bring his dear bodyguard to her peak once more. The needy sounds spilling from her lips were like music to his ears, urging him on, to give her the pleasure that she so desperately sought. 

“D- don’t stop, Raf! Please!” Her hips bucked wantonly as she ground her slick cunt against his mouth. Rafayel smirked in response, letting her tug on his hair fiercely as he thrust his tongue deep inside her clutching heat, fucking her with his mouth, feeling incredibly turned on and eager to watch her fall apart beneath him. 

He could feel her juices flooding his mouth, could taste her arousal coating his tongue. Rafayel could go on for days burying his head in between her legs, couldn’t ever get enough of her sweet essence. “Come for me. Come on my tongue like the good girl that you are.” He spurred, the words vibrating against her sensitive flesh. 

The all-too familiar sensation coursed through her body as she moaned out, “I’m gonna come! Raf, I’m gonna come!” At that, Rafayel vigorously sucked hard on her clit, feeling her walls starting to flutter and clench around his plunging tongue. He could feel the heat of her core climbing, threatening to spill once more. The Lemurian easily slipped in two fingers, knuckle-deep into her dripping cunt. He pumped them in and out, curling them just so to hit that spot that made his lover writhe in utter bliss. 

It was too much, the stimulation was overbearing as her body tensed, her thighs clamped around his head as she teetered on the brink. Rafayel gripped her hips tighter, holding her in place as he ate them out with wild, desperate abandon. 

“Rafayel!” She cried out, arching off of the couch as her orgasm crashed over her for the second time. The painter moaned as he felt the flood of arousal coating his tongue and chin, lapping it up greedily as she shuddered and quaked beneath him. He could feel the way her walls gripped his fingers, sucking in and reluctant to let go, milking his hand for all it was worth. 

“P- please… too much…” She whined, riding out the intense wave of her climax. Rafayel gave her dripping wet pussy one last lick before pulling back slightly to catch his breath. “I could just drown in your taste for the rest of my life.” He spoke breathlessly, slowly withdrawing his fingers and bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean, just like he did earlier.  

Just as Rafayel was about to lean down and kiss her, the unmistakable sound of his ringtone snapped both of their attention. Rafayel stared down at her, a look of surprise on his face, “Let me get it.” He stood up and walked over to the desk, grabbing his phone. Frowning, he reads the message and pockets it away, looking back at her with a sigh. “It’s Thomas. Says we need to be at the exhibition in 20 minutes.” 

A small part of her felt disappointed at the fact that they would need to go out soon but she wasn’t just the only one whos’ feeling it. Rafayel gazed at her with a slight pout, he had hoped to fuck her silly before they were called to the gallery. But alas, duties calls and if they stalled any longer, Thomas would suspect something was up, even though Rafayel is known for arriving late to his exhibitions or not even appearing at all. 

“Should we just ditch this and not go?” He said exasperatedly, crossing his arms in annoyance. She smiled softly at him, sitting up straight and pulling her dress down, still panty-less underneath. She could feel her own slick running down her inner thighs, a faint blush spread through her cheeks as she briefly recalled the way Rafayel had brought her to climax twice. 

However, her gaze lowered to the sight of Rafayel’s painfully hard and obvious bulge, straining against his pants. Biting her lips, she quickly squashed down any lewd thoughts, refraining from losing her focus by daydreaming about sinking her tight wet cavern onto Rafayel’s thick cock. No, she needs to get it together and actually drag her Lemurian lover to the gallery, lest they face the wrath of Thomas. 

With a reluctant smile, she stood up and bent down to pick up her panties, slipping them on. “I guess it’s time to go. Come on, you pouty baby.” She pinched his cheek, earning a glare from her lover but it lacked no malice, instead filled with tenderness and love. Rafayel sighed dramatically, intertwining their fingers together, “Fine, fiiiiinee.” 

As they began to walk towards the front door, she paused, “Ah wait, I need to grab something.” But Rafayel wouldn’t budge, clasping her hand tightly as he stared ahead. He leaned in and whispered hotly in her ears, “Just keep your panties on. Don’t think this is over just because we’re going somewhere.” Heat rises up to her cheeks at the suggestive implication, was Rafayel planning something? It was a risky move, she knew she should go and grab the short pants to wear beneath her dress but Rafayel only gripped his hold on her, sensing the slight confusion. “Trust me, cutie. I know a way to make the exhibition waaaay more entertaining.” 

Alas, she gave in and nodded, “No funny stuff, alright!” She warned but Rafayel only smiled cheekily at her in response. “I’ll be a good boy and behave, dontcha’ worry, my darling.” He gave her a wink, a silent promise to be on his best behavior, yet there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes.

‧───────────────‧

The gallery was filled and buzzing with prestigious art dealers and other VIP guests, mingling around and admiring the exquisite artworks that were displayed on the walls. She stood to the side, a glass of champagne in her hand as she glanced at Rafayel who is, no doubt, forced to converse with the guests by Thomas. She hummed, taking in the scene before her, it was clear that Rafayel has always been popular but to witness it entirely was a different feeling. It warms her heart knowing that Rafayel is loved and cherished by many people here – a respected artist in his own field, earning awe-struck stares and quiet excited cheers. 

She took a sip of her drink, enjoying her solitude when Rafayel sauntered over to her. “How is my princess doing?” He smirked, standing next to her, his gaze briefly flickering down to the hem of her dress. She could tell a thing or two about what he’s thinking, all of the thoughts are most likely inappropriate. “I’m doing okay.” She replied casually, “Shouldn’t you be talking to your esteemed guests? Wouldn’t want Thomas to come hurling complaints again, hm?” 

At the mention of Thomas’s complaints, Rafayel grimaced and looked away, “Puh-lease, I’m his boss here, not him. He can’t control me, no matter how much he wants to.” His hand found their way on her hips, pulling her close. “Besides, I’m bored. Let’s go somewhere private, yeah?” Before she could voice out her objections, Rafayel immediately dragged her to the quieter, lonely 

 side of the gallery. There were no artworks framed on the walls nor are there any people here to disturb the couple. “Raf honey… are you sure we're allowed here? Isn’t this section of the gallery closed off?” Her voice tinged with uncertainty and maybe a little bit of unease at the blank and empty part of the gallery. 

“It’s fine, no one ever comes home.” He reassured her, letting go of his hand and cupping her face, “Now, it’s just the two of us here.” Rafayel captured her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his pent-up desire from before into it. She could taste the remnants of her pussy juice, rendering her completely into a puddle of mess as Rafayel’s fingers trailed down and slipped underneath her dress with ease. She whimpered against his lips as Rafayel rubbed her clit through her damp panties, soaked from the pleasure she received back in the comfort of his home. 

“R- raf… ah! Mhmm… we- we can’t” She murmured helplessly as Rafayel began to nip at her neck, licking the hickey he left there. It had bloomed beautifully, his mark on hers – a sign to everyone that she was his. Only his. 

Of course, she hadn’t been a fool, she did try to cover up the hickey before they stepped into the exhibition but Rafayel wouldn’t stop pestering her and telling her to just leave it be. In the end, she caved in and proudly showed off the mark, albeit with much reluctance and embarrassment. Rafayel rasped, “Need you… need you here, right now.” 

Swiftly, Rafayel tugged her panties aside and unzipped his pants, freeing his throbbing cock from the confines of his pants. He pressed her against the wall, her back facing him, “N- now?!” She sputtered but Rafayel was already stroking his aching shaft on her sopping wet mound. 

He lined himself up, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at her entrance. Rafayel wanted nothing more than to slam inside, to consume her entirely, his body blazing with need but he knew she was still sensitive from the overstimulation. “Keep quiet, okay?” He whispered hotly before thrusting deep inside her slick walls, burying himself to the hilt, feeling it tighten. 

“You feel so fucking good.” He gripped her hips, staring intently at his lover, biting her lips to stifle the moans and cries of pleasure. Without wasting any time, Rafayel set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward as he fucked into her dripping cunt with deep, powerful strokes. Anyone could walk in on them, going at it like rabbits in heat but all caution and care was thrown out of the window. Rafayel could only feel her wet, clasping heat, determined to bring her to the edge and make her feel good. There was no denying the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, if a guard were to catch them, they would no doubt be in trouble.

Then again, the risk is what makes it exciting. Rafayel groaned softly, nuzzling into her neck as she held back her cries of ecstasy, the familiar coppery tang of her blood sinking into her tongue from biting her lips too hard. Rafayel’s hands slid up to cup and knead her breasts through her dress as he pounded into her. The sensation was too much, her brain was all mushy as her pussy fluttered around him, sucking him in deeper, wanting more. 

Her hands pathetically scrambled to hold onto the wall, squeezing her eyes shut as she desperately tries to not let a single sound fall off of her lips. Rafayel’s voice was low, “You're clenching me so tightly baby. Ha… what a dirty girl, taking my cock like this out in the open. You love this, don’t you?” 

A whimper escaped from her throat as Rafayel slammed his hips forward fast and deep into her dripping, clinging heat. He noticed the way her breath quickened, her face etched in a fucked-out expression, losing herself to the overwhelming pleasure. Her pussy clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering wildly as he drove her closer to the edge. 

Rafayel withdrew from fondling her breasts and gripped her face, turning her towards him as his lips met hers in a messy, desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth as he fucked her towards her release. “Come for me, you can do it. Come one more time for me on my cock.” He murmured against her lips, feeling his orgasm nearing.

He felt her body stiffened, coming undone as he drowned out all her cries with a wet, sensual kiss. Rafayel grunted, his hips stuttering and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside her soaked cunt. His cock jerked and pulsed as he pumped her full with his seed. Rafayel pulled away and panted, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, a sheen of sweat trickling down from their coupling. He gazed at her with adoring eyes, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before he reluctantly pulled out of her cum-filled cunt. Rafayel tugged the panties to the center of her clit, covering her as she caught her breath. 

Wordlessly, Rafayel scooped her into his arms around her, letting her rest her head against his chest. Her eyes shut closed, her mind dancing around cloud nine from the intensity of it all.  

“Let’s go home, my love.” He said softly as he made his way towards the exit, ignoring the curious stares and ogles from the people in the exhibition. When Thomas tried to question him, Rafayel dismissed him and continued to walk to his car, gently putting her down onto the passenger seat.

Once they were home, Rafayel put on a bath and scrubbed her clean with much affection. Afterwards, he prepared dinner and cuddled her, staring down at her peaceful expression as she slumber. 

“I love you, my treasure.” He spoke quietly, kissing her forehead before falling asleep with his lover in his arms. 

[ivypos-writes]

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.

[hurthermore]

»»------► 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

[musedeluce]

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.

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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.”

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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

[anomaly-hivemind]

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.

[niishii]

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."

[iliketangerines]

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

[ribbeoms]

「 the blue between us 」

-> painter!yeonjun x g/n reader

-> wc : 2.0k || no warnings

sypnosis ; 「 yeonjun is your childhood best friend turned distant stranger after he debuts as an idol. one day, he unexpectedly reaches out with an invitation to his secret art exhibition, where all his paintings are in shades of blue. as you explores the gallery, you slowly piece together that every painting reflects memories of your shared past— and your unresolved feelings for each other. 」

part of the blue-kissed moments masterlist ! pls feel free to check the other fics ^^

[m.list]

a/n : missing yawnzzn hours .. sorry this took a WHILE to post i kinda forgot abt it 💀💀

the invitation weighed heavy in your hand. on your coffee table is the discarded cover of the letter, thrown away as soon as your eyes landed on the familiar handwriting of your best friend, yeonjun. well, at least that’s what you think, anyways. before he discarded you, left you in the dust for the idol career he’s been pursuing for the past year. in the small corner, there was a drop of teal paint. or maybe teardrops, as the handwriting is a little smudged. you couldn’t care less, however, as all of your attention is taken up by the simple eight words in the middle of the otherwise empty page.

“i hope you’ll come. i’ve missed you.” an address to a nearby art gallery is scrawled near the bottom.

your hands gripped the letter tightly. how dare he? how dare he promise to share the rest of your lives together before completely dropping you and ghosting you? how dare he fill your closed-off heart with hope and then completely squash it? how dare he decide to drive a dagger deep into your heart and then decide that he wants to see you again? that he longs for your presence? your hand balled into a fist, completely crumpling the side of the invitation. a tear fell, landing beside the teal paintdrop. you watch as it mixes together.

standing up from your couch, you smoothed your clothes out as you made your way into the bedroom. your mind is still clouded and hazy with doubts, swirling as they seem to feed on the negative thoughts, adding on and on. “what if he isn’t there? what if he’s just playing you like a fool, like all those years ago? this must be a set-up, he doesn’t care about you anymore.” you closed your eyes, sitting down at the edge of your bed. the twilight jacket in your closet twinkles, the sparkles on it glinting like the stars in midnight. the jacket yeonjun bought for you. the jacket he bought for you all those years ago, before he let your calls go unanswered. before he let all your messages go to delivered. your heart aches, knowing that he is the one who promised a future with you, and broke it.

standing in front of the mirror, you gazed at how the twilight jacket fit on you. “like a glove,” you could almost hear yeonjun’s voice. taking a deep breath, you grabbed your keys and prepared to make the walk towards the gallery. and maybe, the walk of shame back, too. a part of your heart yearns, longs for him to be there, his presence always calming you down. twisting your door knob open, you took the first step out, the hardest step. paint is poured onto the canvas.

the building looms before you, the yellowed lights inside the exhibition only serving to blind you. opening the glass door, you could see many of the observers here clad in blue. was there some sort of dress code that you weren’t made aware about? you let your gaze wander towards the paintings on the wall, before it all finally clicked. all of the paintings contained blue, be it traces or perhaps the entire painting itself. your feet carried you to stop in front of a painting, where it depicted what looked like someone underwater. “overwhelmed”, the title reads. the subject has been drowning in a sea of feelings, and it almost seems like there is no way out. unless there was a lifeguard, of course. but this was the world of art, and who are you to intrude upon an artist’s sanctuary and proceed to criticise them? out of the blue, footsteps slow to a still behind you. a feeling of dread travels down your spine, your body instinctively recognising the mere rhythm of his breathing. you tugged at the sleeve of the jacket he bought for you, before turning around to face him.

choi yeonjun, an idol of one year, your best friend of twenty, and a stranger of one. he looked… different. taller, more confident, but his eyes still held that familiar warmth that you adored, his hair still parted down the middle, his stubborn complaints when you playfully messed his hair up ringing in your ear like tinnitus. his sleek outfit is a stark comparison of the plain way you’ve decided to dress, and his look. you almost couldn’t recognise him, if not for the necklace hanging on his pale neck, one that matches yours. you decided to wear it today, in a small wish that even if he hadn’t shown up, at least the necklace would’ve connected the two of you. “yeonjun.” you looked up at him through your eyelashes, studying the way his eyes slightly widened when he heard his name fall from your lips.

“ (name) , i thought you weren’t going to show up.” his hand reflexively reached for yours, much like all those years ago. when the both of you held hands walking down the street, without a care of what others around even thought. but now, he has to be careful of stalkers. he can’t even interact with his best friend without being scrutinised by the public eye. however, you slapped his hand away. “why did you invite me?” yeonjun freezes up. “you have three seconds to reply before i walk out of this gallery, choi yeonjun.” the ice cold tone of your voice cut through his heart like ice, the lack of a nickname hurting him harder than he wishes.

“i- i wanted to apologise. i didn’t know how, so i.. drew all this. well, some, and submitted it anonymously to this gallery..” his lips formed a pout, and oh, how you wish it was your smile that can wipe it off as quickly as it appeared. “fine. walk me through the paintings.” you relented, reluctantly giving in to his wishes. (not as reluctant as you’d hope. you hated how he could always make your heart softer.) a warm smile appeared on yeonjun’s face, and that small expression of joy makes your heart yearn for more. a brush against the canvas, painting it blue.

the two of you walked over to the next painting. the title was “midnight walk”. you hated how it reflected the walks you guys used to take, when the stress was overwhelming but being with the other could instantly calm your mind. “why didn’t you just call me..?” your voice came out softer than you expected (wished). yeonjun hesitated. “i didn’t think you’d want to hear from me. and then… time kept passing, and it got harder to reach out. but I never stopped thinking about you.”

the raw honesty in his voice made it hard to hold onto your anger.

the both of you spent the next hour walking through the gallery together slowly. yeonjun pointed out the inspiration behind each piece, and slowly, you begin to see the story he was trying to tell. each painting was a memory, a moment the two of you shared. but there was a thread of sadness running through them- an ache that mirrored your own. “this one,” he said, stopping in front of the centerpiece, “i titled it ‘the blue between us.’” you stared at it, breath catching in your throat. the canvas was filled with swirling shades of blue, light and dark intertwining like a storm. two figures were barely visible, reaching for each other across the chaos.

“did.. you draw ..” you paused, the next word sticking in your throat like (g)gum, refusing to come out. “us. i painted it the year I debuted. everything felt so overwhelming, and all I could think about was how much i missed you.” came yeonjun’s reply. tears brimmed your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “a few paintings and words won’t fix the gaping hole you created in my heart, jun.” you looked away, eyes choosing to focus on the floor instead. “i know, so i have one more thing to show you.” at this point, the gallery was beginning to clear out. yeonjun grabbed your hand, leading you up to the rooftop of the gallery.

“do you remember when we would come up here as kids all the time?” his voice echoed towards the stars, reflecting your own jacket. “i remember all that we did, jun.” melancholy fills your tone as you hugged your knees tighter to your chest. “it was just like yesterday for me, but i’m sure it must’ve been a millenia for you.” you spat out harshly. “look, are you going to explain what’s happened or no? i have my own life too, jun. i’m not someone who’s free for you to play around with, so-” yeonjun interrupted you with a hand on your knee. “stop, please. you’re not a plaything for me.” he whispered. “so why ..”

“why do you keep treating me like one?”

you could barely even choke out that sentence before tears streamed down your cheeks. “do i really mean that little to you, jun? why did you throw me aside, like i mean nothing..? i don’t want to be a porcelain doll for you..” you sniffled, burying your face further into your knees.

the way yeonjun gazed at you was nothing short of wanting, loving. he stared at you like you hung the stars, his warm palms engulfing yours as you tilted your head to face him. his eyes was filled with what could only be described as the purest form of love, one that strikes you so deep in your heart you swear you could feel actual blood dripping.

“ (name) ,” he starts off breathlessly. “i can never imagine a future without you. you are my first love, and my last. i cherish you so, so much, and i talk about you to everyone, even to the point where even my group mates seem to know more about you than me, the guy they spend twenty-four seven with. you are not a toy to me, and you will never be. so please, stop thinking of yourself as nothing short of a miracle to my life, because that’s what you are. everytime i’m away, the you-shaped hole in my heart bleeds, and when i’m with you it is sewn back together by the threads of love that you produce. i love you, (name) . and i will continue loving you, until the last sun sets.” two figures are formed on the canvas, two hands touching each other, intertwined. against the blue.

immediately, it seemed as if the world just got a little better. the bright building lights behind yeonjun frame his hair in a way that makes him look like he has a halo on, and from the way his angelic voice called out to you with such heavenly words, you’re inclined to believe that yeonjun is an angel in front of you. your guardian angel, in the shape of a childhood best friend.

“it’s really been one year?” you mumbled out loud, putting the small canvas down. it was the gift that yeonjun placed into your hands, forcing encouraging you to take care of it, treasure it as if it was his heart. the palm-sized painting of two hands intertwined, in the likeness of the two of you. “it’s so hard to believe. every moment with you feels so fleeting because i enjoy it so much.” came yeonjun’s reply, from the kitchen. “too much,” you joked, walking into the kitchen and sneaking your arms around your boyfriend’s waist. “you couldn’t even keep your hands off me after that night.” you giggled, mirth filling your tone as you watched his ears go beet red.

“hey, i pour my heart out for you and you don’t even appreciate it..” he pouted, facing away, eyes too embarrassed to meet yours.

“silly jun, i love you for who you are anyways.” you pressed a kiss to his pout, wiping it away as fast as it appeared.

the canvas sits proudly on the shelf in your living room, the centerpiece of your shared home.

₊˚ʚ 🌌 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ 🌀 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ❄️ ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ 🌫 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ

@cherr4es @beestvng

[ouiouimochi]

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 >>

[damianbugs]

(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

[kusanagihaku]

the best of times, the worst of crimes

⭢ romeo, 1.7k

u is for undercover. ˖⁺‧₊⟡ alphabet series | ao3

“If you were to steal something from this room,” you hear, “what would it be?”

You look up carefully. 

You identify the source of the question immediately as one half of a young couple; a quick glance over their joined hands confirms they are on a weekend date, one of many in the crowd of people lining the museum exhibit. They look freshly out of high school, armed and brash with the sort of invulnerability only the youth have when it comes to discussing crime.

The girl barely tosses her partner a glance before responding. “The diamonds, of course. They’re so pretty.” 

You are mindful not to snort. Or too loudly, anyway. 

You return your eyes to the glass case in front of you, to the milky-blue gem and the brilliant star reflecting off its greyish surface. The diamonds in this exhibit are worth pennies compared to some of the other items in this hall, including the very gemstone you are looking at, but you can see why the shiny rocks might be someone else’s first choice. 

“They’re just diamonds,” her partner says, as you circle the case. His voice is slightly whiny, coated with a mild superciliousness that grates against your nerves. “I bet these carved jade statues are worth much more.” 

This time it is not you who snorts – when you look up again, your gaze slides through the glass case to alight on a man with greyish hair. He is far from old, however; his smooth skin, free from wrinkle lines and sun spots, barely betrays a small amount of derision as he peruses the same gem you were looking at just moments ago. The way he holds himself, hands clasped behind his back, reminds you vaguely of an aristocrat whose house you were tasked with burgling a few years ago. 

He’s beautiful. 

And not in an entirely human way, either – the polished glass of his skin reminds you more of marble than flesh and blood, a terrifying pale that exposes little emotion or imperfection. If you were a Greek statue collector, you’d consider him a near masterpiece. 

“Quanto sei minchione,” he murmurs to the man next to him. It is only now that you notice his black-coated companion, silent and half a step behind him with hair as grey as his own. His companion– his assistant?– does not respond. 

You hold back a frown. These are not your average museum goers. 

As much effort as they’ve put into dressing as casually as the chattering tourists surrounding you, with warm sweaters neatly tucked into blue jeans, the two men are in impeccably tailored coats that billow a little too convincingly around their waists and thighs. You do not spot outlines of firearms from where you are standing, of course, but there is no doubt that some weapon or tool or another has been stashed in places easy to reach. 

You watch as the man’s eyes flick to the security systems embedded in the bottom of the glass case, then to the black velvet lining its edges that undoubtedly houses some form of alarm. Ah– 

Before you can redirect your attention, however, the man’s eyes flick up to meet yours. 

Ametrine, is the first thing that comes to your mind. Framed by grey lashes is a brilliant violet fading into crimson gold; the hues of an angry sunset, unmarred by the thick glass casing between you, paint themselves into a carefully schooled blank look. How cheap a gemstone ametrine is, for someone who looks so expensive. 

You should leave him alone, you know, especially after you’ve inferred his purpose, but why should you? You’ve had your eyes on the gems in the case first. 

And oh, you’ve never been one to give up a pretty jewel – it is why you do what you do, after all. You grin at the amethyst glint in his eye through the smudge of fingerprints and dust. “Sono proprio dei cetrioli.” 

There is a flash of suspicion cleverly concealed by the flutter of his eyelashes before he smiles at you in return, narrow and sweet and sharp. 

“They are simply naive,” he agrees. Your Italian may not be perfect, but you’ve been around long enough in your line of work to understand it conversationally. “I would have not gone for the jade.” 

He steps to his left the same time you step to your right. Your smile grows wider. You wonder if the circling of the case reminds you more of a scene in a famous romance movie, or more of sharks in the water. “No?”

You wouldn’t have gone for the jade either – you’ve seen far more valuable jade pieces in the private collections you’ve swiped in the past year alone. 

“No,” he says. His eyes slither down to the display between you. “Perhaps the rubies.” 

You see the line of his assistant’s shoulders tense instantly in startled protest. He does not make a sound, however; the man must be telling the truth about his target. 

Your brow creases briefly, an imperceptible flicker before you smooth out a smile again. Your case file notes that your client’s top priority is instead the grey-blue sapphire resting on a different side of the case, infinitely more valuable not only because of its size but also its storied history. Why would they be after the ruby instead?

“And you?” he says, perfectly courteous. His mask is smooth again; you cannot tell how much he knows. Has he already sensed that you are in the same line of work?

No matter – you will have to strike before he does. If the ruby is found missing, the heightened security will surely make it more difficult for you to get to the sapphire. 

“I would have said the sapphires,” you say, carefully. You make sure your eyes meet again before you smile, all teeth. “But now? Now, I would rather the amethysts.” 

-

“Fucking PITA,” Romeo curses, the moment the heavy car door slams shut. His alabaster mask cracks as he turns in his seat to face Ritsu. “They’re after the sapphire.”

Ritsu raises an eyebrow before starting the engine. The hum of the car purrs beneath his fingers as their safety mechanisms activate. “Didn’t they say they changed their mind?”

“You fool,” Romeo seethes. He slides a finger into a discreet spot underneath his seat. A lock springs open, and he picks up a file from inside the fingerprint-secured glove compartment that has just come unlocked. “It’s me, I’m the amethyst.” 

He waves the file towards his eyes; Ritsu barely spares him a glance before peeling out of the parking lot. “Oh.”

Seriously, why does he even keep assistants around anymore? UBFs, the lot of them. He’s going to get fucking wrinkles. 

“I’ll have to rearrange the plans,” he huffs, instead, returning his attention to the files. Even if they weren’t after the same jewels, it’d make it undoubtedly more difficult to carry out their plan if the sapphire was gone. “We’ll have to strike tonight.” 

Ritsu nods. “Third page under the fourth tab. Plan D3.”

Romeo grunts in acknowledgement. He flips quickly to the stated page, scanning through the schedule printed on it and the attached details about changes in the security timetable. They didn’t factor in the possibility of there being another jewel thief eyeing the same case, but they’ll have to accommodate. 

“We’ll go with D3,” Romeo sniffs. “But we go in at ten past one instead of three. I don’t want them to arrive first.” 

Ritsu hums in thought. “We could let them arrive first. We can’t be charged with breaking in, if the way in was already clear.” 

Romeo taps a long finger against the file. Huh. Maybe that’s why Ritsu has lasted the longest out of all of his assistants. “We let them do the dirty work first. Swoop in to get the ruby right after.”  

Ritsu nods, and makes a left turn. “It’s a lesser charge, anyway.”

-

You’ve had to shift your plans up much more than you expected. 

Usually you’d case the joint for a few more days before returning, but the presence of the two men by the jewel case today has really thrown a wrench in that plan. You hope that by striking a little before two in the morning, you’ve sufficiently pre-empted their attack. 

You shimmy closer to the exhibit. All the necessary night guards have already been disposed of, of course, but you can’t ever be too careful. 

A small alert flashes in the corner of your night goggles. Heat signatures detected ahead. 

You freeze. If you strain your eyes a little you can make out the faintly red outline of two bodies, each positioned at opposite ends of the entrance. They don’t look like any of the guards you’ve memorised as being on the roster for tonight. Rather, their heights more match a certain pair you’ve met today.

You wait a bit before advancing, but the figures don’t seem to be moving. If anything, they seem to be waiting for you. 

Your lips curl up in a smirk. You slip the goggles off, letting your eyes adjust to the dim lighting lining the floor of the exhibit. 

Your mind flashes back to the intel you gathered earlier in the afternoon. An Italian rising from rags to riches that disappeared off the face of the earth after his very first successful heist five or so years ago, name only resurfacing in whispers every once in a while after museums near his last sighting had been broken into. He was spotted in Japan just last week, your sources say, but nobody is ever really sure – no-one has ever gotten close enough and lived to describe exactly what he looked like. 

Except for you, now. After this you’ll sell information on how soft the gunmetal of his hair is and how beautiful and cold the warm twilight in his eyes are. 

As you pad closer to the jewel case you see him turn to greet you. His wool coat has been traded for a slick black uniform, disguising the lithe of his form and any number of tools necessary for the job. 

He smiles, terrifying and sweet. “Hello.” 

You grin, and stick out a hand he does not take. “Looking forward to working with you, Romeo.” 

[doormatty3]

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.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Hugh D’Andrade’s “The Murder Next Door”

I'm about to leave for a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me on Feb 14 in BOSTON for FREE at BOSKONE , and on Feb 15 for a virtual event with YANIS VAROUFAKIS. More tour dates here.

Hugh D'Andrade is a brilliant visual communicator, the art director responsible for the look-and-feel of EFF's website. He's also haunted by a murder – the killing of the mother of his childhood playmates, which cast a long, long shadow over his life, as he recounts in his debut graphic novel, The Murder Next Door:

https://www.streetnoisebooks.com/the-murder-next-door-a-graphic-memoir

In 1978, Hugh was a normal ten year old, always drawing and obsessed with riding his dirt bike around his quiet suburban neighborhood. The brothers next door, Derek and Ari, were his constant playmates. One day, he came home from school to find them standing on the lawn. The brothers were crying, arguing. When Hugh asked them what was going on, Derek said there was a dead body in their house, then Ari quickly said, "It's someone else, Derek, it's not her." Ari insisted that it was their mother.

As they argued, Derek told Hugh to go inside and look for himself. That's how he found the dead body of his next door neighbor.

This became the defining moment of Hugh's life. For the rest of his life, he felt like there was a before-Hugh and an after-Hugh, the Hugh before the trauma and the Hugh after it. Passing strangers on the street, he wonders about their rifts, the moments that transformed them, that haunt them.

After finding the body, Hugh ran to his own parents, who called the police, gathered in Derek and Ari, and took charge of the situation. When the dust settled, Derek and Ari had disappeared, sent off to a neighbor's place. A week later, when Hugh returned to school, a classmate told him that the whole school had "decided not to talk about it." So he didn't.

But he was haunted by the murder, seized by spasms of fear that the murderer would return for him. He threw tantrums, broke things, smashed things. His parents said it was "just a phase." He interrogated his parents relentlessly about what they would do if the murderer came back. Their answers were meant to reassure him, but failed. Life went on. Whispers blamed his neighbor's husband – a doctor who was at the hospital at the time of the killing – for the murder.

Murder Next Door is told in a series of interleaved scenes of Hugh's childhood, his adolescence, his contemporary therapy sessions, his life today in Oakland. He interrogates his own motivations for engaging endlessly with online conspiracists. He reflects on the years he spent with his mother, campaigning for the Equal Rights Amendment, and how that informed both his lifelong feminist beliefs, and his view of the murder of a woman in the house next door. He comes to see a pathway from harassment and sexist remarks to sexual violence and murder, and to notice how the boys at school exhibited the same sexist attitudes that he was noticing in wider society. He struggles to figure out what masculinity is, and what kind of man he wants to be – a strong man, who protects women from men like the murderer? But the murderer was a strong man, too.

As a young activist campaigning against the first Gulf War, Hugh becomes militant, aggressive, trying to bully his classmates into caring about the conflict as much as he does – to care about the innocents whose blood was about to shed in their name. Their indifference makes him relive, over and over, the murder of his neighbor. It's as though he knew in advance that she was about to be killed and couldn't get anyone else to care about it.

Eventually, as an adult DNA analysis identified the killer, a long-dead man who had done some upholstery work for the family a few weeks before the murder. Some of Hugh's nightmares go away.

The Murder Next Door is a haunting, beautiful meditation on masculinity, trauma, and fear. Hugh is a superb illustrator, particularly when it comes to bringing abstract ideas to life (which is why he's so valued at the EFF!), and this is a tale beautifully told (with permission from Derek and Ari and other family members). It's an extraordinary book.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/10/pivot-point/#eff