#The only class I’ve ever failed

[mushroominaforest]

IT HAS BEEN DONE

Yeah I made myself cry with this one

Saint gets to be happy :’)

At first I thought I wouldn’t have Saint wear earrings again because they never wanted them in the first place, but then something something reclaiming something forced on you by a controlling/abusive parent and using it as a way to express yourself and now I’m crying

They just look so happy idk man

ANYWAYS not to be emotional or anything lol uhhhhh yeah their new earrings were made out of lizard teeth by Arti (short for Artist I guess since she can make jewlery now.) Having earrings that aren’t like super fancy or pretty sort of represents that Saint doesn’t have to be perfect anymore. Currently in the story even though Saint and Inv got away from their mom, Saint is still extremely anxious all the time because of how strict she was with them. They will eventually heal, they just need some time and some unconditional love, which they’ll get from their amazing sibling and eventual girlfriend (once said gf heals enough from her own trauma to have a healthy relationship lol)

[steviescrystals]

i seriously need to get a new job and start making money again asap bc i cannot keep living at home much longer it’s driving me insane

(wrote an entire essay in the tags without meaning to oops)

[yuribalisms]

Essentially what it is all boiling down to is I have fully realized I am bad at being a person, that will always be true, and I don’t know how to handle that

[dreamertrilogys]

the moment i figured out i could pretend to be my mom and call myself in sick to school and they wouldn’t call my parents to let them know i was absent it was all over for me

[southislandwren]

Feeling ill because I just didn’t take my fucking shit class exam somehow and because of hoe exams are weighted I have a 57% in the class (failing grade). The exam was due two months ago. How do I even deal with this

[crowcryptid]

Trying and failing to get over the fear response that was engrained in me from 2 years of AP art

[prince-princess-bunny]

I have adhd. At some point, in high school, I realized that I need to be doing something with my hands in order to concentrate better on what a teacher was saying. I got into a lot of trouble for drawing in class, I couldn’t do that. Instead, I got really into origami. Specifically paper cranes.

I could make up to 20 mini cranes out of one sheet of printer paper. I would sit in math class for 90, folding paper. It worked great, I aced all my tests! Sometimes I would throw them away, or else I would give them to classmates.

One day, students were getting rowdy and some started throwing my origami at the teacher. She turn around, yelling “where are all these cranes coming from???”

And that’s how I got banned from making paper cranes in math class

what's the most demented thing you guys got in trouble for in school mine was when an english boy in my class made fun of my name and called my mum a (derogatory word for irish travellers) so i told him my ira uncle was in town and was coming to blow him up after school

[pandoraspurgatory]

What Friends are for

Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader. Katsuki cant masturbate, and it’s up you to help him out<3

I’ve been utterly obsessed with this headcanon since I saw it on AO3, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do

Cw: Masturbation, FWB, BJ, Ball play, Slightly Submissive Katsuki, only slightly MINORS DNI

Being insatiably horny with no release, was a frustrating situation for anybody, though for Katsuki it was worse, bordering on making him insane. He heard it all the time, his friends constantly spouting “just jerk off, it’ll calm you down!” And similiar nonsense that made his blood boil. As if jerking off could change the course of the planet like his classmates chalked it up to be.

It was hard to ignore though, the United Alliance dorms had been a cesspit of horny young adults since the 1st year. Though now the class were in their 3rd year of Class 1A and were all 18; Sex was the hot topic of the year.

He didn’t understand the logic behind it, but somehow once everyone became legal adults, the taboo flew out the window and immersed itself as casual conversation.

It was only last month that Denki and Kirishima made an attempt at the infamous ‘No Nut November”. Katsuki never bothered to ask how long they lasted, though was tempted to join the class betting pool on who would loose first.

Though in hindsight the NNN betting pool was a horrific idea, with half the class trying to set up Kirishima, and half the class trying to set up Denki. Katsuki is confident he never wants to see Mina dressed up as Midnight again after that ordeal, or Mineta in a maid costume.

He wouldn’t admit it within an inch of his life, but Katsuki had never successfully touched himself. There were multiple attempts of humping into his mattress, grinding himself against his pillow and even a weird porn meditation thing he found that was supposed to make him ‘cum with his mind’. It failed miserably, he doesn’t like to think about it.

The issue is his quirk, he can only stroke and pump himself for about 30 seconds until his palms start to spark and he ends up with burns all over his shaft. There are the options of hand free masturbating tools made for people with the same predicaments, though he couldn’t bare the humiliation if his classmates ever found out about it.

It wasn’t until he bit the bullet and tried to do it again. It happened like clockwork every few months, and it always ended the same unsatisfying and painful way.

It was 1am in the morning. Katsuki was rarely up this time of the night, but this particular morning he woke up with a painfully hard erection and his dick dripping precum from a rather erotic dream he had.

A wall away, you slept soundly in your bed, covers snug up to your chin as your heated mattress protecter added extra comfort to your needed slumber. Though that peacefulness was soon interrupted by the sound of small explosions and a frustrated groan coming from the wall opposite your bed.

Having Bakugo Katsuki as a dorm room neighbour was usually pleasant. Though despite his crude personality and edgy nature; he was a clean, quiet and reserved person. Respecting the quiet curfew of the dorms.

Hence why hearing him in distress was out of the ordinary, you shot up in bed, listening for more noises as you quickly emerged from your warm sheets.

Thoughts swarmed through your mind, was Bakugo sick? Having a nightmare? Lost control of his quirk?Did a villain get him?? You two were particularly close, and you came to the conclusion he couldn’t be too mad if you barged into his room at this hour. For all you knew, he could have lost control of his quirk and charred half the room by now.

Throwing on your warm oodie and a pair of slippers, you exited your dorm and walked the few metres to Bakugos door. Hesitating for moment on whether to knock or not, eventually deciding it was futile, how could he open the door and greet you if he was being attacked by a villain?

Despite expecting the dorm room to be locked shut, the door swung open after you gripped and turned the handle. Katsukis room was pitch black, only slightly lightened by the sparks emerging from his palms every few seconds.

The sound of fabric rustling and panted breaths filled your ears as you felt for the light switch, ready to activate your quirk any second incase there was actually a villain hiding somewhere around you. You finally found the switch and hit it, bright light encased the small room, revealing Katsuki sitting up on his bed.

Before you could properly stare at his horrified and bewildered face and red cheeks, your eyes caught on to the sight of his hard cock. Leaking precum into his sheets and bouncing back against his abdomen as he tried to shove it down.

He felt his aching dick twitch, he only felt himself grow harder as he looked at your face. It was grossly perverted and Katsuki damn well knew it. However it couldn’t be controlled after his vivid dream of pounding you into the mattress, the dream which brought him to his exact situation. The meek sound of your voice tore him from his racing thoughts.

“Bakugo… I’m so sorry… I thought you were in danger”

He swallowed, if he wasn’t in danger before then he definitely was now. Only god knows who you could message and call about this later, for all he knew he could go downstairs tomorrow only to be relentlessly teased for gawking at you as he sat there stark naked. He had to say something, before you-

Fuck… what? Why were you? He couldn’t believe his eyes as you walked up to where he was and sat beside him. You placed your hand over his with a small smile creeping onto the corners of your mouth. His throat felt painfully dry like it was filled with cotton.

“Kats… spill it”

“Spill what idiot? That you’re creeping into my room like a crazy woman, how dare-“

“Seriously, people don’t get hard and decide to explode their room at 1 in the morning.”

This was it, the moment of truth he had spent his teenage years dreading. To top this shitshow off, he would have to tell the truth to the person who got him all hot and bothered like this in the first place. Fuck, he couldn’t say it, he couldn’t admit that-

You interrupted once again.

“I’ve heard of this before, that some people get too… excited and set off their quirks when trying to pleasure themselves… is this the first time it’s happened?”

He swallowed his pride, there was no getting out of this one no matter how hard he tried.

“Try every time, I’ve never been able to fucking do it”. He growled, looking to the opposite side of the room to avoid meeting your gaze.

He began to mentally prepare himself to get the ridicule of a lifetime. Katsuki was what everyone wanted to be - strong, resilient, determined, and yet he couldn’t even jerk himself off.

“Can I help? If that’s okay…?”

The word please escaped his mouth before he could even think of a reply. He groaned as he realised how desperate he sounded for you to touch him.

Only moments later you pushed him down onto his plush mattress, wrapping your hand around his achingly hard length as it throbbed under your touch. His quiet groans quickly turning into a desperate moans as you started to stroke him at a slow pace.

The dream that awoke him only minutes earlier played back in his mind, his dick pulsated as he relished in the vision of you fucked out of your mind while his fat cock was stuffed into your soaked tight pussy.

He met your gaze through half lidded eyes, you smiled at him, signalling that it was okay. He finally felt himself relax into your warm and comforting touch, low moans escaping from his lips as you focused on rubbing his tip.

He would’ve thought by now he would’ve blown up his whole room, he wasn’t sure why his palms weren’t sparking and igniting. Though he chose not to dwell on it. Out of sight, out of mind he figured.

You stroked him slowly, trying to execute a confident demeanour despite the fact your mind was racing in a thousand different directions. You had your hands around the fat cock of Bakugo Katsuki, your only weakness and crush… no obsession of three long years. You had yet to be pushed away or blown to bits, so that had to be good news of some sort to indicate he was entranced as you were.

Your panties grew increasingly damp as you listened to his strained gasps, as much as you wanted to hop up and eagerly jump on his dick and have him make you his bitch until morning, this was about him and making him feel good.

Though it was now or never if you were going to tame the beast, slowly but surely you opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around his shaft. Without any warning, he bucked his hips into your face, his eyes rolled back into his head, your touch earning a whine from the back of his throat.

It took all his restraint not to fuck your throat until you were slobbering all over him like the slut he was going to make you. But his quirk hasn’t activated yet, and he wasn’t going to risk it happening in a moment like this.

You bobbed up and down, savouring his musky scent as you began to bring your focus to his throbbing tip yet again. Hollowing your cheeks as you sucked and swirled your tongue over him, tasting his slick precum.

An unexpected, high pitched whine filled your ears as you began to fondle his balls slowly, squeezing every now and then to truely give him the height of pleasure. Feeling increasingly proud of yourself as each ragged gasp emerged from him.

Katsuki couldn’t focus, completely blissed out at the exhilarating feeling of you pleasuring him with your lewd mouth. He always anticipated himself to be rough and dominant in the bedroom, though you had him trembling under your touch.

“Hnngg… feels so fucking good… keep- mhhmmm… going pretty girl”.

His husky voice was all you needed, sucking in a breath as you deepthroated his cock as you cupped and grabbed at his balls. You tried not to gag, his length was average but his girth was intense for a beginner like you. The corners of your lips aching as you struggled to envelop all of him into your mouth.

Katsuki suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair as to try and suppress the urge to immediately spill himself down your tight throat. Where the fuck you leant this, he didn’t know. His face was flushed and his hair disheveled as you continued to suck him dry.

He hoped he’d have more warning to his impending orgasm, though as he felt his legs tremble and cock pulsate in your mouth. He could only manage to mutter a heads up.

“Fu… fuck.. nhgg… cumming”

You didn’t need to think twice, you wanted to feel his thick cum in your mouth as soon as the universe would will it, but it was no fun not seeing the action. Parting your lips from his dick, you gave him a few quick pumps as he quivered, spilling over the edge.

With a final grunt and a slight convulsion, he began to shoot his cum onto your face. The feeling of how his cock pulsated with each load made you weak. He knew there was nothing more fucking beautiful than the erotic look on your face as he ejaculated onto your lips.

His climax hit him like a freight train, shockwaves calming down in his body as his cock finally finished spilling itself. He looked at you, a dorky smile on your face as you gripped his hand.

He understood it all now, and there was no fucking way in hell he would ever participate in No Nut November with you around.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。GOODBYE KISS — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

contents. college! au, rich boy! gojo, established relationships, morning cuddles wif toru <3, morning tantrums with toru too lol, ft. our fav: momjo !!

satoru’s head is on your chest as he snores softly—normally, you adore the feeling of him so close to you, but right now, it’s five minutes until your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm will go off. you’ve already hit snooze on the other six—how satoru’s slept through them all is a mystery to you.

you peer down at him, watching the way his lips are parted as soft breaths escape him in gentle sighs. his hair is messy over his forehead, and the sun makes his skin glow in that way only satoru could glow. you sigh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, and as if he feels the affection in his sleep, he hums a little while still unconscious.

too bad you’ll have to break this peace in just a moment.

and this is going to work out poorly—you already know that. if you move from under satoru, he’ll wake up. if he wakes up, he’ll realize you’re trying to leave. if he realizes you’re trying to leave, he’ll have a meltdown. if he has a meltdown, he’ll surely win and convince you to stay. if you stay, you’ll miss class and fall behind on the notes. if you fall behind on the notes, you’ll procrastinate on catching up. if you procrastinate on catching up, you’ll know absolutely nothing by the time the next exam rolls around. if you know nothing by the time the next exam rolls around, you’ll have multiple mental breakdowns and lose yourself to stress the night before as you cram all in one sitting.

simply put, your entire grade resides on the fact that satoru is currently sleeping on your chest, and he definitely won’t let you leave.

you try anyway—and just as you suspect, you fail.

“huh? wha—where are you going?” he groans, rubbing his eyes as he blinks them open. “wait a sec—baby no,” he whines.

“shh, toru, you’re dreaming,” you kiss his forehead, “i’m not actually leaving.”

“i’m not stupid!”

“shhh, your dream is tricking you,” you insist, “i’m still right under you.”

“you can’t gaslight me! i’m not falling for your tricks,” he huffs, “how gullible do you think i am?”

very, you want to say—but that would be a bad idea.

“you’re not stupid at all, toru,” you say sweetly, “you’re the smartest man i’ve ever met.”

“this is definitely not a dream because you’re even meaner to me in my dreams,” he raises a brow, “dream you would never be this nice.”

“what do you mean i’m mean in your dreams?” you gasp. you’re not mean to satoru—you wouldn’t have to yell at him if he just behaved half the time.

“they’re more like nightmares,” he huffs, “last one, you made me sleep outside. that was rude.”

“how could you dream me being a jerk?” you ask, offended—and before he can answer, your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm blares.

satoru glances down at your phone and stares for a moment—and then he flops back against his pillow as he whines miserably.

“don’t leave,” he begs, “please, just skip this one class for me? i get so cold in the mornings,” he pouts.

“then put a shirt on,” you sigh.

“i’ll be lonely!”

“not if i’m bullying you in your dreams, apparently.”

“baby, i can’t sleep without something to cuddle,” he tries again—that one almost makes you cave. you have to admit that cuddling isn’t something you enjoy passing on either, but class is important. more important than class is your sanity that you would like to keep intact instead of lose while cramming six chapters in one night.

“cuddle my pillow,” you sigh, “satoru, please. i’m already late.”

“just this once, okay? i won’t ask again,” he says innocently, his eyes wide and pleading as they peer up at you.

“you said that last time.”

“last time i crossed my fingers,” he winks, “so it didn’t count. so now you have to—”

“goodbye, satoru,” you mumble.

he slumps in defeat, grumbling under his breath before rolling over to turn his back to you petulantly. you sigh, rolling your eyes—though fondly, before you head to the bathroom, getting ready for the day.

by the time you’re out, satoru has fallen asleep again—you know it’s because he’s stayed up late again to play video games with suguru. because you don’t want to disturb him from his much needed sleep (and because you don’t want to risk waking up him and dealing with another tantrum), you decide to gently pull the blankets over his bare chest and skip the goodbye kiss.

it won’t be a big deal if he doesn’t get a kiss goodbye while he’s asleep, right? he won’t even be awake to notice.

evidently, you realize in the middle of class that you’re wrong. very wrong.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:32 AM

baby boy 💋:

you left without a goodbye kiss???????????

are you ignoring me????????????

baby

sweetheart

sunshine

angel

peaches

i know you’re reading this.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:41 AM

mrs. gojo ❤️:

please answer satoru. i really don’t want a headache today

this is very short and silly sorry. anyway rip momjo she deal with too much that boy is a handful

[thevillainswhore]

A Forbidden Invitation

Pairing: Best Friend’s Dad!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 11.5k

Summary: You think a one night stand from the summer, the best fuck of your life, is a done deal — a single, heated encounter that now lives vividly in your memories. But you learn that your actions have consequences when you befriend a new student, starting in the new term, and she invites you over to meet her Dad.

Warnings: Age gap, flashback, betrayal of friendship, manipulation, coercion, reader has severe daddy issues and self esteem problems, derogatory names, daddy kink, praise kink, smut, kissing, nipple play, blowjob, throat fucking, choking, fingering, pussy slapping, p in v sex, squirting.

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d, warning graphics and dividers by @rookthorne

“Come on, babe!” Rebecca whined at the edge of your bed. “You’re telling me a weekend away from this shithole doesn’t sound good?” 

It had been a whole hour of your friend begging you to come back home with her for your midterm break and while you usually had the patience of a saint, it was difficult to keep composed as she refused to back down to your unacceptable reasoning.

You sighed, finally closing your laptop with an inwards huff and coming to terms that you would not be getting any more work done. Blowing out a breath, you leveled your gaze onto her. 

“Becs,” you treaded carefully, mindful of her feelings. “It’s very sweet of you. But, I really need to get my work finished.” Rebecca’s face fell sullen and you rushed to explain. “I just like my time alone, y'know? I concentrate better.”

Her brunette hair fell over her eyes as she bowed her head. This girl really knew how to put on a show and you playfully rolled your eyes at her dramatics. But as she lifted her head with a pout and her wide, shining ocean blues, you knew you were done for. 

Oh no. The puppy eyes.

“Hey!” You pointed at her. “No—stop that! I’m not changing my mind.” 

The intensity of her stare only worsened while she slowly gained on you. “But what am I gonna tell my Dad when he asks when you’re not there?” 

“Wait.” Clarity hit you then and you held your hand up to stop your friend in her tracks. With a glare you questioned, “Did you already say I was coming?” 

The guilty twitch of her eye said it all. “Maybe—“

“Becca!” 

“I couldn’t help it!” she swore. “My dad invited you, I couldn’t tell him no.” 

“He invited me?” you asked, surprised. 

“Yeah. The day we met, he called to see how I was doing—asked if I had made any new friends.” 

She shrugged. “We’ve moved around a lot ever since I can remember and trying to fit in somewhere…” Her voice suddenly grew quiet as she solemnly whispered, “I’ve never had a real friend before. You’re the only one who’s been able to stick around for so long and he really wants to meet you.”

The frustration embedded in you faded out to make way for the sudden ache in your heart. To your knowledge, Rebecca was a new student who transitioned to your college in the middle of the recent school year. Both of you had a couple of classes together and the first time you ever saw her still reigned fresh in your mind. 

The doors to the auditorium crashed open as she stumbled in late and out of breath to her first class. Strands of her brown hair fell from the messy bun on the top of her head and her cheeks coloured bright red; it pained you to watch her embarrassment as a room of over a hundred stared at her, along with the professor. And so began your friendship when you rushed out of your seat to help her with her huge stack of books, ushering her to the back to sit next to you. 

Since then the two of you had been inseparable. Rebecca was a genuine, lovely girl — sweet and a breath of fresh air to your college life. She never failed to let you know how appreciative she was to your kindness of friendship, so even though you had only known her for a short while, it felt as though she was a true friend; one who would be staying around for a while.

Sighing in defeat, there was no way you could decline the offer after hearing she had been gushing over you to her Dad. “Okay, okay—Fine. I’ll come— AH!”

You squealed as she leapt onto you, knocking you back against your mattress as she profusely thanked you while vibrating with joy. The giggles and uncontrolled laughter that filled your room masked the unexplainable dread knotted in your stomach. But not wanting to tarnish Rebecca’s excitement, you let go of your worries for the time being. 

Going to the club alone wasn’t an activity you made a habit out of; you understood the dangers of your vulnerability to men who couldn’t take a hint. 

However, that summer night — a hazy memory now in the present — forbade common sense and instead, threw it out of the window. Not to be seen again until you woke up the next day. 

The stress of the week had gotten too much for you; too many assignments needing to be handed in at once, your parents bombarding you with passive aggressive texts about their ongoing disappointment with you and the cherry on top of it all, you had caught your boyfriend cheating on you with the girl he had sworn you had nothing to worry about. 

So of course, that week in particular had tested you. But instead of moping around your dorm room, your mind unhelpfully persisted with the motion to get shitfaced drunk and allow future you to worry about your problems. In the moment, you thought that to be your most genius idea of the week — letting your hair down in a sweaty nightclub around people you didn’t know and not caring about the consequences sounded perfect. 

In hindsight, it was probably one of your most beautiful mistakes. 

You remembered it all clearly. The newfound freedom of not giving a fuck, the humid air with the bass of the speakers invading your ears ��� every small detail added to the atmosphere as you were in your own world in the middle of the dancefloor, erotically swaying your hips side to side and running your hands through your hair. 

The short cocktail dress you had worn to make yourself feel good illuminated your curves while also giving you the liberty to dance without limit to your movement. You wanted to forget for a while — go crazy and let loose. 

Which was why the stunning pair of cerulean eyes that pinned you down across the room from the bar was your ticket to a night of fun — everything you needed at the moment in time. From your vantage point, the stranger looked to be in his forties, but in the best way possible. His form was built, the right amount of muscle carrying his frame and his grown out brown locks tucked behind his ears. No one had ever looked more sexy to you. 

Aware of being the center of attention to an attractive stranger, you smoothed your hands down from your hair, seductively over your neck, teasing your glowing skin and finally to your chest. You bit your lip when his hungry stare that soaked your lace underwear focused on your tits, overspilling from your dress and you watched, smug and exhilarated as the unknown man tightened his fist against his tight trouser cladded thighs. 

Through the whole night, the delightful burn of his stare never left you. A brand was marked into your skin; a warning to everyone else that you were spoken for — only for the night at least. 

If you ordered a drink at the bar, the stranger was a couple of seats down from you, greedily lapping up your figure. If you were sitting in the smokers area, catching your breath and cooling down, he was there too, leaning against the brick wall smoking a cigarette with his attention solely focused on you, no matter the amount of women who were not so discreetly throwing themselves over him. 

Even at the end of the night, as you once again danced to the deep bass of the beat among everyone else, he watched you from his own corner, still as enamored with you as the first time your eyes met. 

Adrenaline spiked your veins. It was addicting to be the object of someone’s desires, to be seen. 

You had only spoken through heated looks and loaded glances, but he was unlike any man you had encountered before. Mysterious and cryptic. You were just as lost in him as he was into you and you couldn’t have cared less that he was obviously older than you. It was what you needed. He was what you needed. 

The buzz from the few shots you had taken reached their peak and you decided it was now or never to claim what you so rightfully deserved. 

With a bounce in your step, you strutted in your heels through the crowd of people, never taking your eyes off your prize and him neither. He licked his lips as you closed the distance, stopping just before you bumped into the tip of his shoes. 

“Listen,” you spoke over the music, determined and resolute. “I’m gonna skip past the pleasantries and bullshit.” The allured stranger raised his eyebrow, intrigued. “You want me and I definitely want you. So, do you want to get out of here?” 

Your bravery faltered slightly as you realised in his close proximity how direct you had been. While you were almost certain this stranger was as attracted to you as you were to him, the tiny seed of doubt that a mature man wouldn’t want to hook up with someone as young as you revoked your liquid courage. 

But that worry soon disappeared when he gave you a fierce once over now you were up close. A raging storm of lust and desire clouded his beautiful eyes, wild and desperate to get his hands on you. Your breaths came in quick and heavy as he smirked so sinfully. The bastard knew he held so much power in the palm of his hands when his body towered over yours, the difference in size between you not hard to miss. There you could tell the fun had already begun. 

The rest of the club became a blur as he brought his mouth down to your ear. You felt each slow and steady breath against the curve of your neck and you were sure even in the darkness, he noticed the  goosebumps that littered your skin. “All I need you to know tonight is my name.” His voice was as sexy as you had imagined, a deep, rasped husk that made your legs weak. But it was his next words that almost made you collapse. “Because it’s the only thing you’re gonna be screamin’ for the rest of the night, darlin’.” 

Your mind grew foggy at the next sequence of events. The hustle of getting into a car and fiercely making out in the backseat until you arrived at an upscale hotel. Everything happened so fast. One minute you were waiting impatiently at the reception desk and the next you were stumbling into a lavish hotel room, unable to keep your hands off each other as items of clothing flew across the room in your haste to get naked. 

The two of you bumped into the array of furniture in the hallway, the thought of tearing away from each other's lips unbearable. Bucky, you learned was his name, was an amazing kisser, his tongue gently teased yours as he threaded his fingers through your hair and he kept a firm grip of your cheeks like he was desperate to keep you close. 

“Fuck,” he slurred between kisses. “You’re so— fuckin’— gorgeous.” His eagerness to keep his lips against yours while complimenting you spun you for a loop, unfamiliar to this kind of intensity.  

The clink of dog tags were the culprit to halt your motions while he kept on kissing you, traveling down the slope of your neck and to your shoulders to bite your skin. As he was occupied, you took your chance to admire his physique. For a man his age, he was jacked — a toned stomach with several abs sharp enough to cut and two deliciously slender grooves running underneath his trousers to a bulge big enough for you to let an unhinged moan escape. 

His body was sickening, he truly had no business to look as good as he did for a man his age. But like hell were you going to complain when all the boys at college disappointed you time and time again. The bar was low and this man had already exceeded your expectations, he was only supposed to be an idea fit for your wildest fantasies. Yet, there he was, real and existing. 

Time was of the essence and you wasted none of it as you ripped yourself out of his hold, left in only your underwear, and dropped to your knees without pause to hurriedly remove his belt. 

“Oh, shit.” He gulped. “Baby— baby—you don’t have to do that—“ 

You hushed his assurances and batted away his hands that tried to pull you up without real effort. “No, I don’t have to. But I want to.” Fluttering your eyes, you looked up at him and slyly smirked. “Let me suck your cock. You just worry about having a good time.” With a wink, you unlooped the expensive leather through the buckle and dropped it to the floor, soon after working to unzip his fly and rid him of the offending trousers that stood in your way. 

The material slid down his thick thighs and he was left stood in his underwear, black briefs tented from his hard cock. A frenzied need to soothe the urge to get your mouth around him took the reins when you instantly nuzzled into his crotch.

“Fuck me, you’re a needy little slut aren’t you?” He wrapped your hair into a ponytail around his fist, controlling your movements. Though, there was no reason to, eager as you were. You would have done anything he asked. 

You did do anything he asked. 

You hummed while suckling the tip of his cock over the material of his underwear, “Mhm.” He threw his head back and groaned like a wild beast while you admired the wet patch growing on the fabric before your very eyes. It was unhinged — raw. But your stranger of the night didn’t seem to care, too fucked out as his eyes rolled back from pleasure. 

Unable to control your burst of desire, you suddenly shucked his briefs down. 

Your mouth fell open at the sheer size of him, an audible gasp echoed over the silence of the marble walls. Never had you seen a dick as pretty or big before and the drool that had gathered in your mouth began to leak out the side of your mouth. 

You were aching for him. 

With a cocky smile, the man tapped under your chin twice to direct your head upwards. “Up here, darlin’—I want those pretty eyes on me when you take my cock.” 

Immediately opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out for him, he chuckled breathily at the crazed look in your dilated pupils. “Well, aren’t you just the biggest whore I ever did see.” Grabbing his cock and pressing the tip onto your tongue, he began to slide it forward. “Good fuckin’ job I like ‘em that way. Now open up wide so I can fuck your throat, baby—”

“Babe!” 

Jolting out of your memory infused dream with a shriek, you span your head around to Rebecca in the drivers seat of her car. “Oh, there you are!” she hissed, teasingly. “I called for you like ten times. Where the fuck did you go?” 

You swallowed the dryness coating your throat and hastily sat up. A hot sweat had settled over your skin and you immediately grabbed your water bottle from the footwell and chugged it down. 

Once you had cooled down, you glanced back at your friend, cringing at the raised eyebrow that meant you weren’t getting out of an explanation. “I, uh— I’m sorry I didn’t—um—get much sleep last night,” you lamely replied. 

The unimpressed expression on her face told you she didn’t believe you. But you were saved when her face suddenly lit up with glee. “Eek! We’re finally here!” 

Had a three hour drive really gone by that fast? 

Looking out the car window, your eyes widened when you saw an estate, guarded by iron gates around the whole property, surrounded by acres upon acres of land. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, even when Rebecca began animatedly speaking with someone by the toll station. 

Who the fuck was this girl? 

Eventually, she pulled up to the house, passing the stone driveway with a water fountain in the middle and cut the engine off. “Come on, you. My Dad’s expecting us.” 

You were in a daze while you opened your door, stepping out the car and taking in every inch of the property. You would have never guessed your friend, the most down to earth and humble person on campus, had a lavish lifestyle with all the trimmings. It was clear she didn’t feel the need to brag about her privilege and her nonchalant attitude about it only baffled you more.

The doors to the mansion suddenly swung open and what you could only have presumed to be a butler promptly rushed towards the car. “Miss Barnes, how lovely to see you again.” 

Rebecca scoffed and hugged the man without hesitation. “Don’t be silly. You know you don’t call me that.” 

Even with her sweetness, he remained as professional then ever and brushed by her to pick up her bags. “Of course, Miss Barnes. Your father is out at the minute, but he has left you a gift by the entryway table.” 

With a high pitched scream, your friend ran inside without looking back. It was hard not to smile at her carefree ways and trying to shake the deepening apprehensiveness from the moment Rebecca invited you, you rounded to the boot of the car to grab your luggage. 

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am.” The butler immediately stepped forward and swiftly picked up your bags along with Rebecca’s with ease. 

“Oh, no that’s okay, honestly! I can bring them in no problem!” You tried detesting, not used to any kind of special treatment.

But it was no use as he kindly insisted, “There is no need to worry. Please relax and join your friend, I believe there is a gift for you too.” 

Sighing, you yielded and eventually followed in your friend’s steps, twiddling your fingers anxiously while you walked into the foyer of the mansion. 

Carefully crafted marble walls with what you could only guess were decorated with millions of dollars worth of extravagant paintings, lined up neatly up to the grand, spiral staircase where a round oak table sat in front of it. 

You instantly spotted two gift baskets, difficult to miss as they were both filled to the brim with an assortment of treats and bright pink tissue paper. 

Rebecca was already busy appreciating hers, taking care to read the note her father had presumably left her and gushing over the copious amount of sweet treats, new nightwear and a cashmere blanket, like this wasn’t a regular occurrence to her. 

However, it was surprising to see you had also been spoiled; all of your favourites, intricately placed in the hamper. Your eye caught the note addressed with your name on and hesitantly, you reached out for it and unfolded the card — a simple yet polite message inside. 

I can only apologise that I wasn’t here upon your arrival. 

I’ve heard great things about you from my Becs and I sincerely look forward to meeting you when I’m home. 

Please make yourself comfortable and enjoy the contents of your gift basket. 

J.B.B.

“Oh, he’s the best,” Rebecca swooned, hugging the white blanket to her chest. “He said he got called into work for a couple of hours so he should be back tonight. 

You exhaled, flitting your eyes over your new gifts. The information eased your nerves slightly — you were never any good at meeting parents, whether that be of friends or partners. The dynamic of a happy household wasn’t one you had experience with and the idea of ruining first impressions caused an anxiety you didn’t particularly care to revisit often. Especially now that Rebecca had come into your life — a friend you could absolutely see yourself building a strong bond with. 

Realising you had been silent for too long, you spoke up, “Your Dad is very kind.” Your fingers inched forward and ran over the soft material of your very own matching cashmere blanket, it felt like you were touching a cloud. From the corner of your eye, you caught your friend suddenly looking sheepish. “What’s wrong?” you asked, turning towards her. 

“I’m sorry about all of this.” She vaguely gestured her hand up in the air, to which you guessed she meant the sheer amount of money that screamed in your face. “I didn’t warn you and I should have. It's just that—” Rebecca’s eyes darted down and she crossed her arms over her stomach, shrinking in on herself. 

You stepped closer, rubbing your hand over her arm for comfort. “Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me.” 

She took a deep breath before lifting her gaze to you and shrugging. “I didn’t know if your intentions would be good if you knew about the money.” 

“Oh, Becs.” Your heart ached at the obvious trauma from her past. Squeezing her arm, you attempted to uplift the sullen mood with some playful teasing. “I became your friend because I couldn’t get rid of you. Although, now it doesn’t hurt to know your family is loaded.” 

Reluctantly, the smile grew on her face, turning into a bright grin she no longer could hide. “You’re awful.” 

“Tell me about it.” You winked, nudging her hip with your own. “Seriously, you’re a good person and I’m your friend because I want to be. I couldn’t give a fuck if you’re rich.” 

The muscles of her body relaxed and she quickly pulled you into a hug. “Thank you, babe.” 

“It’s nothing, silly.” You squeezed her one last time before breaking away. 

Rebecca sniffled, blinking away the onslaught of tears that were close to falling before cheerfully grabbing her basket. “Come on then, let’s go set up and order some pizza.” 

Picking up your own basket, you followed your friend up to her room.

The few hours spent working on your assignments, eating pizza and listening to music flew by. Spending so much time with Rebecca actually turned out to be fun. You usually spent all your free time by yourself, respiting into a hermit because of your inability to enjoy friendly companionship.  

But it was to your surprise that you found yourself not regretting agreeing to the trip. The thought of being back at your dorm, wasting your night away by sleeping, watching trash tv and succumbing to the vibator in your bedside drawer begging you to relive a night of passion now seemed sad as you glanced at your friend and the corner of your lip curled up. 

That bubble burst quickly when a shout coming from the foyer echoed up to the open bedroom door. “Rebecca, sweetheart—I’m home!” 

Instantly, her eyes widened and she shoved the laptop she was using off her lap at once, squealing with joy before leaping off the bed and running downstairs. “Dad!” 

Your fingers twitched over the keyboard of your own laptop in anticipation, looking towards the door and sighing in resignation. 

Decidingly, you thought it was best to give your friend a moment with her father. Not at all because you wanted to prolong the inevitable as long as possible. 

But as a couple of minutes went by, the tick of the pink clock on the desk getting louder and louder by the second, you figured your absence would go noticed and so you begrudgingly shut the lid of your laptop to slowly begin making your way out of the room. 

As you reached the balcony at the top of the staircase, you looked down just as Rebecca hugged her Dad tightly. An ache panged in your heart.

You weren’t close with your parents; neither of them checked up on you or asked when you’d be coming home to see them. They only contacted you when they felt like spewing their badly-hidden resentment towards you and the hurt you thought you had buried long ago began to make its way front and center. 

You shook your head and cleared your throat. You wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t tarnish your stay with your friend over something so silly — or be scared to meet her parent. So with a deep breath, you glided down the steps. 

Rebecca’s Dad had his back turned to you, which meant you only saw his thick head of hair, tucked neatly behind his ears and the muscles of his back straining against the white dress shirt he wore. 

You were unable to pinpoint the exact reason a tingle started to form in your lower stomach, the sensation extremely familiar by now, but you immediately scolded yourself and pinched the skin of your thigh to snap out of whatever mood had caused such depravity. This was your friend’s father; get it together.  

As you reached the bottom of the steps, your friend’s eyes locked onto yours and her whole face beamed. “Dad,” she gasped excitedly. “I want you to meet my friend.” 

You steeled your features; the warmest smile you could manage with the straightest posture possible. 

Time stood still when Rebecca stepped back to let her Dad turn around. Your emotions were all under control and you finally felt like you could do this. 

But that was until your eyes met and your face dropped. Those blue eyes, those damn blue eyes, you would remember them anywhere. 

Bile began to rise in your throat when he faced you completely. Suddenly, you were thrown back to that forbidden night that all started with the same man across the room by the bar, watching you like you were his last meal. Bucky.

You held back a loud gasp, aware that Rebecca was witnessing the interaction. Though, your blood ran cold when his lips lifted into a grin, one you knew a little too well. 

The palms of your hands were clammy with sweat and your heart hammered inside your chest. You weren’t sure how to play this, the stifling silence had already been stretched out ridiculously. 

Rebecca’s voice broke the quiet with an awkward chuckle. “Sorry Dad, we’re a little stumped. Exams have been kicking our asses lately and the drive over was long.”

Guilt crippled you then. While you could never have known the one night stand who invaded your thoughts daily would turn out to be your best friend's father, it still didn’t change anything — you fucked her Dad.

He finally took his eyes away from you to swing an arm around his daughter and laughed in fondness. “Don’t worry, I understand, Becs—you girls must be exhausted.” He then lifted his gaze back to you. “You must be the one she hasn’t stopped talking about.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. He doesn’t remember you? The lack of expression or recognition instilled a sense of hope within you. 

Maybe he had forgotten about your night together — the low lighting of the club you met him at and the haze of alcohol hindering your senses as he took you to a hotel created a perfection concoction of forgetfulness you rationalised. 

Eventually, deciding to act oblivious and hope for the best, you stammered up the courage to introduce yourself. “M—Mr Barnes. Thank you for letting me stay in your home.”

“Oh none of that, please.” A shiver raced down your spine, memories of begs and whimpers taunting your mind. “I’m James. But call me Bucky, darlin’.” 

It took all the strength you had to trap the moan on the verge of escaping your lips. Yep, you definitely remembered that name. 

Rebecca’s Dad stuck out his hand in front of you. “I’m very happy to meet you.” Your eyes darted between his hand and his face and then to your friend. Steadying your breath, you hesitantly placed your hand into his and felt his fingers tighten against yours. He shook your hand, his thumb gliding over your skin. 

Tightening your lips in anguish, you replied, “V—Very happy to meet you, too.” 

Bucky’s touch lingered against yours until you snatched your hand out of his when Rebecca hopped giddily and clapped her hands. “Oh, this is great! This weeks going to be so fun!”  

You didn’t return the sentiment. This week was going to be your worst nightmare come to life — your biggest mistake being dangled on a string in front of you, only reminding you what a piece of shit you were. 

“Okay, Dad. We’re gonna catch up on a little more work, so I’ll come find you later.” Your friend grabbed your hand that was limped by your side and started to pull you back up the stairs. 

“Hard workers, ain’t you?” he laughed. “If you need anything let me know.” 

“Thanks Dad, will do!” Rebecca shouted back down the stairs. 

When you had reached the first landing balcony, you couldn’t help sneaking one more tiny glance at the one night stand you never thought you would see again. But your heart skipped a beat as you saw him already looking up at you and he slid his hand out of his suit pocket to wave at you before you disappeared. 

You were sitting on Rebecca’s bed, waiting for her return when the inevitable happened. 

An emergency she called it, when she slipped her feet into her shoes and swiftly threw on her hoodie, claiming an issue with her neighbour she absolutely needed to handle. 

You had tried insisting on going with her, an extra pair of hands to help out. But she instantly pushed away your pleas, telling you not to worry and to focus on your work. That was Becca, a true sweetheart. But you wanted to strangle her then, scold her for leaving you in uncharted territory by yourself. 

Nervous and on edge, you couldn’t concentrate on your assignment for the longest time. You consistently made quick glances to the open door of your friend’s bedroom, listened for footsteps upon the landing. Soon enough though, your nerves died down when nothing happened and it allowed you to focus on your laptop, finally becoming fixated on your assignment. 

The only unusual thing that caught you off guard by yourself was the sudden heat of the house. You had built up a sweat in your hoodie and, unable to handle it, you took the fleeced material off in a swift flourish, leaving you in a tank top and shorts. 

Other than that, you powered through, happy to be finally getting somewhere with your work. You weren’t even sure how much time had passed since Rebecca had left and the worry of how long it was taking her to come home slipped your mind. 

Your guard was down while you hummed to the low music, lying on your stomach, back facing the door and typing away as you swung your legs in the air.

“I see you’re working hard.” 

Yelping in fright, you almost fell off the bed, the deep grunt of Bucky’s smooth tone scaring you from the sanctuary of his daughter's room. You whipped your head around to see your friend’s Dad leaned against the doorway dressed in a tight black T-shirt and grey sweatpants, his dog tags rested against his chest.  

The sight was a difficult one to swallow. 

It was instinct to turn around so you were facing him as you raced to shuffle up Rebecca’s bed — a danger, your mind cautioned, to have your back turned to a wolf. 

He held his hands out in front of him as he walked towards you, as though taming a frightened lamb. “Hey there, it’s only me. No need to be scared.” 

“S—Sorry. I was a little lost in my assignment.” You apologised as you scrambled to gather all of your supplies together, desperate to gain some space from Bucky. “I think I’m done for the night, though. So I’ll just go downstairs and wait for Becca—“ 

“Hold up.” Bucky sat on his daughter's bed, leaving little to no proximity between you to effectively trap you in. “There’s no rush now, is there?” 

Exhaling shakily, you stuttered, “N—No— um, not at all, Mr Barnes—“

“Bucky,” he corrected gently. 

“Yes, B—Bucky.” You struggled to test his name on your tongue, not having spoken it since your night together. “I’m so sorry.” 

Rebecca’s dad just laughed, amused at your rambling. 

A tension, seemingly only one-way, swallowed you whole, threatening to drown you. It was impossible to hold direct eye contact with his ocean blues eyes, ones that ran vivid through your mind in your nights alone filled with heated memories and your biggest — now new favourite — vibrator.

His voice snapped you out of lust filled haze. “Rebecca shouldn’t be too long. Poor old neighbour lost his wife a couple of years back and Becs—the angel she is—goes over to help him when he needs it.” 

You could see it. She was the sort to not think twice about helping anyone in need and the thought eased your mind. “Well,” you smiled, hoping you didn't look as awkward as you felt. “That’s very kind of her.” 

“That’s my Becs,” Mr Barnes proudly grinned. 

The room grew silent once again. Picking your fingernails, you fought to calm the cold, harsh anxiety eating away at you. It still seemed as though Bucky couldn’t remember you, but a nagging feeling in your gut wouldn’t let that settle your nerves. 

“I just thought I’d come check on you anyway, sweetheart. Y'know, make sure you’ve settled in nicely for the week.” He smiled while placing his palm on the bed in the small space between you, leaning his weight against it as he got closer. 

“Y—Yeah.” You cleared your throat before continuing, keeping your answers short. “Mhm, I’m all good, thank you.” You smiled tightly, hoping Bucky would take the hint to leave, but alas your luck was short. 

“What you been workin’ on then, darlin’?” He nodded to your laptop resting on your legs. 

“Oh, not much.” You downplayed. “Just a written piece, nothing major— no wait!—” Bucky cut you off as he abruptly swiped your laptop from your lap, the cold ring on his pinky finger brushing against the bare skin of your thigh. Before you could even think of hastily clambering for it back, he already had your laptop open and sitting on his thick thighs as he began reading. 

“A psychology major, huh?” Bucky smirked, eyes scattering across the screen to take your assignment in. “Impressive. You’re a very clever girl.” 

Heat quickly rose up your neck, warming your cheeks as you were rendered speechless. A heavy ache between your legs left you squeezing your thighs together because of his praise — his words sent you straight back to the night against the hotel’s glassed windows he had brutally fucked you against while worshipping how much of a good girl you were for taking all of him. 

Quickly, you shook the intense thought from your mind, scolding yourself for letting it happen an umpteenth time. “Really, it’s nothing,” you said.

Bucky stopped reading your work and looked at you intensely, enough to make you squirm. “You really shouldn’t put yourself down like that.” Placing your laptop on the floor, he smoothly shuffled closer to you. You couldn’t help but stare at the hand he moved into your vicinity. His touch as he laid it on the naked skin of your thigh sent a thrill through your whole body. “Hasn’t anyone ever praised you before, huh?” 

His intricate voice, delicate and gentle soothed you and excited you both in equal measure. The previous alarm bells blaring in your head were non-existent when he squeezed the meat of your thigh so tenderly with his large hands. “I— um— I don’t—”

“Nobody told you how proud they are of you?” 

Your eyes glossed over as the shield you had built for yourself started to dismantle. Bucky was right. You were lonely and tired and you worked so hard for little reward. Your parents didn’t tell you they were proud of you, nobody ever told you how good you had been. 

Bucky’s hand moved up to cup your cheek, his thumb delicately rubbing over your lip. You melted into his touch too quickly. “Shh, it’s alright, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”  

You willingly fell into a dangerous trap he had set out as your eyes fluttered closed. Your friend’s Dad’s caress was so familiar, even after so long — his scent intoxicating and his voice a melody to the scrambled mess in your head. 

It didn’t occur to you then, the issue with Bucky inching more forward, almost until his chest was plastered to yours. The thought of his strange comfortability with his daughter’s friend wasn’t worthy of space in your head. 

For once you weren’t thinking of Rebecca.

Until the slam of the front door ricocheted up the stairs and into her bedroom. “I’m home, Dad!”

Your eyes shot open and you gave yourself a quick second to get lost in Bucky’s gaze before you leaped up in panic. 

You were half expecting him to also worry, to quickly dart out of the room. But instead he carelessly stood up from the bed along with you and combed his hair back with his fingers. 

“Dad! Where are you?” 

Pure terror. The fear of being caught in a compromising position with Bucky by your friend was overwhelming as your hands shook. Rebecca’s footsteps began to sound over the stairs and you closed your eyes, waiting for chaos. 

It was only a couple of seconds after your stomach jumped in frightful anticipation when you felt her presence join you. “Babe, have you— What the fuck are you doing?” 

Your stomach lurched. Slowly squinting an eye open, you saw your friend standing in the doorway looking at you in confusion. You steadily tracked your sight across the room, expecting to see Bucky. To your surprise, he wasn’t there anymore. 

You opened your eyes fully, the fear easing away some though your nerves were still alight with edginess. “I don’t— I don’t know.” 

“Um, okay?” Becca said wearily. “Anyway, have you seen my Dad, I wanted to talk to him before we head to bed.” 

This was a chance, you inwardly thought. To tell your best friend about everything while your friendship could still be repaired. 

But the probability of disclosing your secret and potentially ruining Rebecca’s life won out. “No. I haven’t seen him.” The lie tasted sour on your tongue and shame clawed its way back to the surface. 

Your friend smiled brightly and shrugged. “No problem, I’ll go find him. I’ll be back to work on assignments in a minute.” She exited her room in search of her Dad. 

You crumpled to the bed and hung your head in your hands, exhaling deeply. You’re a shitty person, the voice in your head supplied unhelpfully. 

After a while, Rebecca had returned to her room and for the rest of the evening, you both worked on your respective assignments; her chattering away happily while you stared at the screen of your laptop blankly, adding nothing to the open document until the two of you decided to call it a night.

Unexpectedly though, instead of getting ready for bed together, your friend showed you to a guest room. 

“Becca,” you laughed. “I thought I’d be staying in your room for the night. You know—with you?” 

“Well, I told my Dad you liked your own space and he set up one of the guest rooms for you. It's no biggie.” She shrugged. 

Right. Because of course you wouldn’t be staying with her when there were an endless amount of spare bedrooms on the first floor alone. 

You cursed yourself in that moment, reliving your protests of spending the midterm break alone because of your need for space. 

“Are you sure?” You tried again, the vulnerability of being by yourself without the buffer of Rebecca taunting you. “We could have a sleepover! Watch movies and stay up late!”

But she just raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Girl, I know you are dying for a minute to yourself—to relax and decompress.” Holding your hand, she softly laughed. “I practically begged you to come here and you agreed. You’ve been more kind to me in the minute we met than most of my old friends over the span of the years I knew them. So please, the least I could do is give you a break during the nights.” 

The guilt ate you alive; her selflessness and naturally good heart steadily chipping away at your conscience. Why the hell did she have to be so nice? 

Putting on your best smile, you tried to rid of the nasty voice spitting venom inside your head. You slept with her fucking Dad, you whore — you don’t deserve this. Outwardly, you said, “I don’t deserve this, Becs. It's too much.” A somewhat admittance of the truth; the full story you would take to the grave, if only to keep your friendship intact.

“Oh, hush. Of course you do.” She pushed you away playfully into your new room. “Now go freshen up and get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Clenching your hands in unexplained nerves, you wished her goodnight while she began to walk down the hall to her own room. “See you tomorrow, Becs.” The door closed with a click and you dropped your forehead against the wood with a loud thud. 

You could do this, you reasoned with yourself. It was only for a couple of days, and as long as you stayed close to Rebecca and was not left alone with her father, you could ignore your inner thoughts — the vile, disgusting voice that simultaneously begged you to to crawl on all fours to him like a desperate bitch and be ashamed of your sins.

It wasn’t difficult to fall asleep. Exhaustion from the events of a long day and a shower with the most luxurious products you had ever used assisted you with that and you whispered an internal gratitude to the fluffy pillows you laid your head on for helping you escape reality before you closed your eyes. 

However, you were awoken from your deep slumber when the rattle of your bedroom door knob interrupted your dreamless sleep. You had to fight the heaviness of your body as you sat up, rubbing your eyes with a groan before you tried squinting through the darkness to no avail. 

The sudden thought of your friend coming to annoy you after all surprisingly made you crack a smile. “Becs?” you sleepily called out. 

The latch of the door clicked as it steadily creeped open and you rolled your eyes at your friend’s antics. “If you’re trying to scare me then ha ha—very funny, dork.” 

Your sight began to adjust, outlines and shadows soon becoming more clear but still a struggle to make out in the late hour.  

Though there was no response from your friend. Silence shrouded over the room with only your small breaths to be heard. 

You stared at the doorway expectedly, waiting for a response you wouldn’t get. “Becca?” you called out warily once more.

But that time, as the door clicked shut with a deafening loudness, a deep voice — one that definitely did not belong to your friend — answered. “Y’know, you look just as pretty as you did the night we met.” 

Cold dread had every muscle of your body locking up. It became clear then that it wasn’t Rebecca that had entered your room. More so a tall figure, clad in only his underwear and his dog tags.

“M—Mr Barnes?” your lips quivered with panic. “What— What are you doing?” 

Every clink of the metal around his neck haunted you with each step he made closer. You scrambled up towards the headboard, plastering yourself against the wood. 

Pointless when he sat beside you on the bed, bending his knee to lean one leg against your thigh. The feel of his bare skin against yours burned. 

“No need to be afraid, sweetheart,” Bucky chuckled. “You know me, don’t you?” 

You gulped. Sudden dizziness blurred his face to your eyes and the deprivation of your sight made his touch all the more electrifying when he swept your hair to the side and kissed your shoulder. 

A shudder ran down your spine, the strap of your silk nightgown falling down your arm and stripping you of your only defense left against him. 

“Mr Barnes,” you tried again, more pleadingly. 

“What have I said about calling me that, hm? You know my name well enough by now, pretty girl. You’ve screamed it enough.” His tormenting laugh vibrated through you while he still peppered feather light kisses across your skin. 

You begged your body to move, for your hands to push him away and your voice to shout for Rebecca. Alas, you kept to your place, still as stone. 

“You can’t— you can’t be here,” you whispered shakily. 

Bucky smirked. “Oh really? Is this not my house, sweetheart?” Your nipples pebbled against the silk material covering them as his breath cascaded goosebumps over your skin in its trail. “Been tryin’ so hard to restrain myself since I saw you again this mornin’. But I can’t fuckin’ hold back anymore.” 

“You remember me,” you managed to choke out.

Bucky hummed, laving his tongue over the sweat building on your neck. “Like I could ever forget a girl like you.” 

The knot in your stomach tightened, each press of his lips over your body immobilising you further. Bucky knew who you were, from the moment your eyes connected in the foyer. The reality set in then — deep and unsettling and delicious, all at once. 

“I had to act like I didn’t know you, baby. Couldn’t have Rebecca finding out her only friend knows the taste of her Dad’s cock now, could I?” 

You felt sick. Your mind raged in war between a guilty conscience and your own pleasure. To give in would be evil, so horrendously sick and twisted.

A single tear dropped from your watery eyes and slowly rolled down your cheek, the sudden saltiness hitting Bucky’s tongue and making him groan. “Fuck, don’t tease me already, baby.” 

“She’s my friend,” you whimpered. “I can’t do this to her.” 

Bucky looked up, a soft expression on his face. “Oh, darlin’. I love her too, really.” His lip curled up then, a wolfish gleam in his eye. “But I can’t go another minute without touchin’ you.” 

Placing his forehead against yours, his hand traveled up from your thigh, all the way over your stomach until he reached your tits. You squeezed your eyes tightly closed when his forefinger and thumb pinched your nipple through the silk. “Doesn’t this feel good, hm? Doesn’t this feel right?”

Against your will, you released a high pitched keen. “Bucky.”

His chest rumbled in delight, a deep purr in your ear. However, your mind still bartered with itself, unrelenting in its inability to give in. “But what if Becca—?” 

“She doesn’t have to know a damn thing, baby.” Bucky turned his head and bit over the pulse of your neck. “It’ll be our dirty little secret.” 

Your head was filled with clouds, a fog smothering over any rational thought. Especially with the way Bucky began to sneakily slip the other strap of your nightgown down. He was mesmerising in his actions, his fragile touches that made you feel special. 

You so desperately wanted to feel special. 

Just like he made you feel back in the summer. 

The evil voice in your mind hissed at you — dirty, disgusting, whore. The hopeful one became louder — lonely, unloved, tired. 

You were so fucking tired. 

The fight in you left. You were a goner, a sacrificial lamb while you tilted your head back to reveal more of you. The walls you so carefully crafted came crumbling down pathetically. 

Bucky didn’t waste any time taking advantage of that. “There’s my good girl. Let it happen, baby.” 

The moon shone through the window, becoming the only source of light in the darkness and its glow blanketed over the same features as the strobe lights in the club back in summer. 

Fate hadn’t been on your side from the moment it cruelly introduced Becca into your life when it had already manifested your demise with her Dad. So who were you to try and change it?

Letting your body take control over your mind, you turned your head, grabbed Bucky by the back of his neck and crashed your lips to his — finally giving into temptation. His answering moan of shock and arousal made you more daring and you snuck your tongue into his mouth too. 

Bucky ripped away, a string of saliva connected between your lips. “You still wear the same fuckin’ cherry chapstick,” he groaned, before squeezing your breast tightly. “Fuck—go lay your head at the end of the bed for me, sweetheart. Want that shit around my cock.” 

With urgency, you rushed over to the edge of the mattress, lying on your back and making sure your head hung over the bed. Your view was upside down, warped while you watched Bucky stroll towards you with bated breath. 

He stood behind you, all menacing and tall — you had never felt smaller in your life, though you liked the feeling with him. 

The veins on Bucky’s forearm bulged from his skin as he brought his hand to your throat. Lightly, he caressed his thumb over the junction of your neck. “Do you remember how eagerly you sucked my dick last time?” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the bob of it transcending under his large hand. “I— I do.” 

He smirked down at you. “You gonna make me proud again, baby?” 

Your eyes glazed over with neediness. “Please—Want to make you proud of me.” 

His bright white teeth gleamed with his predatory smile. “Stick out your tongue for me, darlin’.” 

Doing as he asked, you opened your mouth and let your tongue hang out, uncaring to how easily you obeyed his commands. 

“Good job, sweetheart.” Bucky brought his hands up to his underwear and with a swift pull, his black briefs fell to the ground. 

You preened like a cat at the sight of his cock bobbing into your view. The light casting in from the moon glistened over the underside of his dick, the purple head pulsing harshly. 

Bucky pumped his cock slowly twice, a premature pearl of cum gathering at the head. “You ready for me, baby?” 

Nodding your head hungrily up at him, you whined, “Uh-huh.”

Bucky positioned himself closer to you, your head hung between his spread legs. You waited in anticipation for him to inch forward and slide his length down your throat, but instead he tapped the head of his cock against your wet tongue. 

The resounding slap caused you to rub your thighs together in agony, the feel of his heavy weight divine. 

“Aw, babygirl,” Bucky teased. “You missed me that much you can’t help those tingles already, huh?” He tapped his length against you again and his eyes fluttered. “There’s more where that came from.” 

The desperation to wrap your lips around his cock was overbearing and so you sealed your mouth around him, suckling the tip with a refound hunger. 

“Holy fuck.” Bucky’s legs trembled at the shock of your sudden confidence. “Oh, just like that, sweetheart.” 

You swiped your tongue around the bulbous head of his dick, moaning rabidly at his salty taste. Bucky’s natural musk was addictive and you tried to shuffle your body closer to take more of his length, but he quickly grabbed your hips to stop you. “Woah—slow down there. Daddy’s the one runnin’ the show tonight, not you.” 

You let go of his cock with a pop. “Please, Daddy.” Your pleas were breathless as you panted for air. “Want all of you—please!” 

Leaning over until his lips brushed yours, Bucky kissed you deeply before murmuring, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, I’ll make sure you take all of me.” 

He stood back up promptly, giving you whiplash in your current state. “Now open that slutty little mouth. Wide.” 

Hardly giving you time to do as he asked, Bucky shoved his entire length down your throat. Your eyes widened as you gagged around him. 

“Shh, baby. You’re okay, relax.” Opposite to his brutal force, he brushed softly over your chin. “You can handle me. You’ve done it before, right?” 

Breathing through your nose calmly was a challenge with his thick cock limiting your intake of oxygen. But you wanted so badly to fulfill Bucky’s wishes. So closing your eyes and willing yourself not to panic, you focused your breaths. 

“There we go.” The pride in his tone was exhilarating. “Knew you could do it, darlin’.”

Bucky kept still for a few more seconds, allowing you to get used to the intrusion of the new position before he began to ease his cock out of your throat and gently push back in. “Yeah, you remember my cock don’t you, sweetheart? Your tight little throat feels so fuckin’ good.” 

Your hands came up to grip the back of his firm thighs to ground yourself. You felt every inch of him glide down until his tip reached your windpipe and you coughed violently, sputtering around him.

“That’s right, baby. Choke on me.” Bucky upped the speed of his pace then and your nails dug deep into his flesh. 

While his actions turned harsh and forceful, your pleasure grew and with your squirming, the skirt of your nightgown began to ride up your body without you realising. 

Bucky did though, almost immediately. You couldn’t see how his eyes snapped towards the bare skin of your thighs and lower stomach and to his pleasant surprise, you weren't wearing any panties. 

The sound of his laughter while his hips continued to pump into you made your nerves spike. 

“My sweet girl,” he cooed short windedly. “You must’ve known I was coming, huh? Not wearing anything under that cute little outfit.”

You squealed, unable to say anything while sucking his cock, though the vibrations of your moans made Bucky’s thrusts falter. 

“Fuck—shit, baby. I almost forgot how good you are at that,” he laughed. His hands traveled tantalising over your stomach until he reached the bottom of your nightgown. “Let Daddy see what you’ve been hidin’ from me.” 

The silk material unpeeled from your skin as Bucky lifted it over your breasts. Your full body was on display for him and you fidgeted bashfully under his scrutiny. Your sight was compromised, your movements were limited and your thoughts were scrambled. 

“Oh, darlin’. You’re a doll, ain’t you?” Bucky’s rough and calloused hands smoothed over your bare skin. He palmed your breasts roughly, just once before inching down to your lower stomach. “Now, you gonna show me what I really wanna see?” 

It didn’t take you a second to spread your legs for him, the cold air hitting your soaked cunt. 

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Open those gorgeous thighs for me, I wanna see how wet my baby girl is.” 

Bucky leaned over your body, pushing his cock even further down your throat. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, but your body soon jolted at the feel of his finger sliding through your folds. 

You screamed around his dick and tapped his thighs for a breather, which he so graciously granted. As soon as he tilted his hips to let his cock fall out of your mouth, you gasped loudly. “Oh my god— Bucky, I can’t. I can’t I can’t, please—” 

Your hoarse voice was cut off when Bucky wrapped his free hand around your throat. “Shut the fuck up and take it.” 

His cock laid against your cheek while he looked into your eyes. He forewent easing you into it and instead forced two of his fingers into your cunt. You were about to cry out until he shoved his cock down your throat again with a sigh. “Guess Daddy’s gonna have to keep you quiet—such a noisy girl.” 

The clink of his dog tags with each thrust mixed with your gurgles around his cock, a mixture of your spit and precum bubbling around your mouth and running messily down your chin. The stretch of his fingers unprepared was painful and yet it blended perfectly into pleasure. “Mmph!” 

“Yeah? You like that, sweetheart?” Bucky choked when he thrusted into your mouth at a particular angle. Taking advantage of his legs twitching erratically, you managed to release his dick and reach further back to his balls. 

Wasting no time, you sucked them into your mouth while his cock slapped against your cheeks, smothering precum all over your face. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, keeping the steady rhythm of his fingers pumping into your pussy. “You filthy fuckin’ whore—you just want all a’me don’t ya?” 

You hummed while playing with balls, using your tongue to tease over his perineum. Bucky was losing his composure fast and the thrill of it made the knot in your stomach tighter. 

But not one to be outdone, he ripped his fingers out of your cunt and slapped your clit, hard. You let go with a pop and squealed his name. “Bucky!” 

You tried closing your legs, the sensation too overwhelming. Though it was useless with his strength as he held your thighs apart to carry on bringing his hand down firmly on your cunt. “I thought you wanted to play dirty, darlin’,” he growled. “Daddy’s just having some fun.” 

Your body jolted with each slap delivered. You took it, even when the pain became too much and you thought you would pass out, until Bucky decided to give you respite. He left your pussy sore and aching as he lifted up away from you. A whine tore from your throat. 

“That's what happens when you don’t do as I say.” You were manhandled up and into Bucky’s arms as he sat down against the headboard. He moved you around without a hint of struggle and placed you on his lap, facing away from him. “Good girls don’t disobey Daddy, do they?” 

“No,” sighed. His hard, thick length stood firm against your ass, his dog tags soothingly cold against your warm back and you whimpered pleadingly while grinding back into him. “Want it in me.” 

Bucky’s laughter vibrated through you. “Yeah, baby? Wanna bounce on Daddy’s cock?” 

“Yes! Please!” you cried. 

Gliding his hands around to your front, he pinched each nipple. “Well, I’m not stoppin’ you. Go ahead.” 

You inhaled deeply, gathering all your strength to lift up on your shaky legs. Using Bucky’s thighs to hold yourself, you tilted your hips up until your heat skimmed over the head of his cock. “O—Oh, oh shit,” you stuttered at the sensation. 

Bucky’s head thumped back against the headboard. “God—I’ve fuckin’ missed that cunt.” 

His enjoyment allowed you the courage to balance on one hand while your other reached down to grip his thick length. A strangled noise rose from Bucky’s throat, but you ignored it and swept his tip through your folds. 

“Look who’s gotten brave, huh?” Bucky laughed breathlessly while he played with your tits. “Not thinkin’ about poor Becs now are you, baby?” 

Before the harsh retort could dig deep and make a home in your conscience, you shook your head and let his cock catch on your clenching hole. “Wanna be filled again.” 

“Then do somethin’ about it, darlin’.” Bucky rested his chin on your shoulder and you both looked down to where your sex rested on his length. Your stomach sucked in with your uneasy breaths and after internally counting down, you dropped your hips. 

“Fuck!” Bucky’s hands gripped your breasts tightly, something to help him through how good the slick glide felt. You did the same, latching on to his meaty thighs. “Shit.”

Your chests rose and fell in tandem, but the sensation of feeling so full made you tighten around his cock. “I need to move, Daddy.” 

His mouth moved over your neck as he spoke, “Go on, babygirl. Milk Daddy’s cock.” 

With his approval, you began to angle your hips up, letting his length slide out of you until the very head rested snug in your hole and then sank down again steadily. Your breath hitched while your head fell back onto his shoulder.  

“Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck—just like that. Keep going for me.” Bucky’s hands smoothed down to your hips and gripped them, helping you move over his cock. 

“You’re so b—big,” you whispered. “Forgot how big you are.” 

“Oh, I know. But you’re doing so good for me, aren’t you?” he cooed. 

“Mhm,” your head bobbed lazily up and down with your motions. “I’m your good girl, right?” 

Bucky grunted and made you bounce faster. “The best, baby. Such a good girl for me.” 

His dick throbbed angrily inside you, its length scraping your walls and stretching you with its girth. The clapping of your thrusts grew louder, more depraved as you lost control from the divine pleasure. Had you been thinking more clearly, you would have been careful about your volume, but all your inhibitions went out the window long ago. 

“Need more,” you slurred. “Wanna cum, but need more Daddy.” 

“Shh—I know what you need, sweetheart.” Bucky slithered his hand down your stomach and to your heat. With your legs spread wide over his, it gave him ample opportunity to snake his fingers over your engorged clit and begin circling them.  

You squeaked, instantly snapping your legs closed around his hand. “Bucky, wait!—”

But he forced your legs open and slapped your clit, making you jump with a shout. “Don’t you fuckin’ tell me to wait. You asked me for more so you’re getting more, you slut. What happened to wantin’ to make me proud, hm?” 

You sobbed as a tear tracked down your cheek. “I— I do!” 

“So then you’ll take it—won’t you?” Bucky growled against your ear. 

Sniffling, you nodded, panting while bouncing on his cock. “Yes.” 

“Yes, what?” 

You hiccuped. “Yes, D—Daddy.” 

Bucky hummed in approval and began thrusting up to meet your stride. “That’s more like it.” 

You took what he gave you while he fucked up into your pussy. The strain of your muscles was almost unbearable, but you persevered through the pain — to be the center of his attention, to be so utterly wanted felt too compelling to give up. 

His thrusts were harsh, rough enough to have your toes curling and his balls to smack against your skin. All those sensations paired with his ruthless circles on your clit blended to build your impending orgasm. “I’m so close,” you gasped. 

“Me too, babygirl.” Bucky grunted, biting into his plump bottom lip. “Gonna empty my load inside a’you.” 

You preened, the walls of your pussy clenching around his length. “Please.” 

Bucky’s hips worked overtime, a ferocious beast taking over in its haze. He brought his free hand up to your cheeks and squished them together. “Who’s Daddy’s little cumslut, huh?” 

“Me,” you cried. “I’m Daddy’s cumslut.” 

“Fuck yeah you are,” he snarled. “And now that I’ve got you back you’re not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere.” 

You were too dizzy to comprehend the weight behind his words, instead you slammed your hips up and down in time with Bucky’s movements, chasing the tightening in your lower stomach. 

“You ready for me, darlin’?” he asked. 

You swallowed the dryness in your throat. “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Now hold on.” Without waiting for you to reply, he grabbed under your thighs and lifted you. You were held up solely by his arms as he powerfully began to fuck you. 

You became mute, mouth hung open on a continuous silent scream. The feeling was like no other; Bucky’s pure strength and huge length tore you apart, physically and mentally. 

“Gonna,” thrust, “fill,” thrust, “this,” thrust, “gorgeous fuckin’ pussy.” 

Your tongue lolled out of your mouth like a dog, drool dripping down your chin while your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You were on the verge of cumming. “Close.” You had been reduced to one syllable words. 

“I know, baby. I fuckin’ know—Can feel you,” Bucky gasped. “Let go for me, darlin’.” It was only when the angle of his hips changed and the head of his cock repeatedly nudged against your cervix that the balance of your orgasm tipped over. 

“Hnng—Fuck!” You walls trapped Bucky’s dick in a tight chokehold as your thighs shook in a spasm. He continued to grind up into you, releasing his warm load into your pussy. 

“Bucky!” you keened while your walls fluttered around his length. The rush was unlike any you had experienced before and an errant thought that any consequence was worth it to cum like that again swirled through your mind. “Made me— made me cum so hard,” you slurred.

Your high began to simmer down and you felt like you could regain control over your mind until Bucky’s hand came down onto your clit again. “One more,” he breathed into your ear. “Gimme one fuckin’ more.” 

Your eyes shot open and you shook your head, rapidly. “C—Can’t,” you managed to croak. “Too much.” 

You reached down to try and pry his hand away from you, but he was too strong. “I said I want one more.” Bucky held your arms to your chest then, beginning to rub your clit in fast circles. 

An unusual pressure built up quickly and you panicked. “Bucky—something’s wrong.” 

But he sucked over your neck, easing your worries. “You’re okay. It's okay, baby. Just let it happen, remember?” 

You writhed in his hold, moaning salaciously. “I’m— I’m g—gonna cum again.” The feel of his cock still filling you, his cum seeping out of your whole which each dirty grind he made, the sensation of his tongue against your neck and his tireless fingers was all too much. 

“Cum for Daddy then, darlin’.” A couple of circulations later and you screamed out in unimaginable pleasure. Your stomach swooped and the next you knew, a strong pressure forced Bucky’s cock out of your cunt. A rush of liquid sprayed out of you and covered the entirety of the bedsheets. 

“There we are,” he grinned wickedly. “Exactly what I wanted.” 

It felt like it went on forever. Bucky didn’t let up on his insistent rubbing. But as soon as the last juices squirted out of you, you deflated into his chest, breaths heaving with utter exhaustion. You were too tired to keep your eyes open, body boneless and overexerted. Your body jumped with aftershocks, tiny zings of electricity igniting your nerves. 

Bucky finally slowed his fingers down to a stop on your clit. Your back rose and fell with his pants, each puff of his exhales hitting your sensitive skin and making you shiver. 

“Holy fuck,” he laughed deliriously. “That was—fuck.” 

Internally agreeing, you hummed, incapable of formulating words. Bucky’s arms wrapped around you while he placed a kiss to the back of your head and you enjoyed being surrounded with his warmth and comfort. “You were perfect, babygirl,” he mumbled. “Did so fuckin’ good for me. Made Daddy so proud.” 

A wide smile curled onto your face as your eyes remained closed. You were falling out of consciousness, giving in to sleep fast. 

“Let’s get you comfy.” You didn’t stir when Bucky began to lift up, or when he rearranged your form so he could carry your limp body in his arms. 

Your body bounced with each powerful step he made. Vaguely hearing the room door open, a cold blast of air hit your heated skin and you shivered, snuggling closer into Bucky’s chest. 

Your head swam with fuzziness. You couldn’t bear to open your eyes with their heaviness. But you felt as you were delicately placed onto a large, comfortable bed, stacked with pillows and fitted with dry sheets, along with Bucky’s delicious scent that tickled your senses. 

A soft kiss was pressed onto your cheek, a firm hand curling around your waist and just before you could succumb to sleep, you heard his last words. “You get some rest now, sweetheart. We’ve still got a whole week ahead of us.” 

You were sure the mortification would hit you in the morning. Pure regret sinking deeply into your skin and making you feel sick to the core. 

But you also knew now that any chance of quitting your best friend's dad had been lost. Because Bucky was a guilty pleasure, a rush you couldn’t bear to give up — no matter the consequences and no matter who it would inevitably hurt. 

[iluvmattsbeard]

Wet Dreamz (m.s)

master list

matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: smut and swearing

preview: matt and you were partners for a project. he unexpectedly started having sinful dreams about you, suddenly craving you ever since. one thing nobody knew; he was a virgin.

“y/n, you will be partnered with Matt.” the teacher says trying to grab your attention. “y/n? are you listening?” you snap out of your thoughts and look at him. “huh?” you ask. “you’re partnered with Matt for this project.” he replies with an unamused look. you look around before you look back at him. “who’s that?” you ask.

he lets out a sigh before speaking, “Matt raise your hand.” you look around again as you catch the eyes of a brown haired boy. you weren’t mad about it. he looked decent.

you get up and walk to where he was sitting. “next time y/n, i expect you to be paying attention. this project will effect your grade drastically if you do poorly.” you hear the teacher say looking at you. all you do is nod. you were barely passing the class.

Matt’s POV

i got paired with y/n. she didn’t even know who i was. i knew of her because she would get in trouble constantly due to her lack of focus. as she came to sit next to me, we clicked right away. we both dreaded school, but who doesn’t? as much as i didn’t like school, i still paid attention, unlike her, so i had to explain the whole point of the project to her.

we exchanged numbers after class so that we could talk about when we could meet up to work on it. we only had two weeks to complete it. i knew i had to stand on top of it because i know she won’t.

a few days pass, me and y/n still working on the project together, with us having to meet at lunch. i got to know a little bit more about her. she was pretty cool to talk to. we even started texting without talking about the project itself. so when this is done, it’d be cool to hang with her.

meeting during lunch really wasn’t a good idea. there was too much distractions. so i took the opportunity to invite her over to my place after school. she agreed and i ended up driving her with me once the final bell rang.

End of Matt’s POV

you and Matt were in his room as you sat on the floor. you were reading over some information from the website the teacher recommended and you were feeling overwhelmed. “all of this is hurting my head.” you say laying back on the floor. Matt lets out a small laugh as he responds, “me too. i don’t get how this will be beneficial in the future.” you shot up looking at him, “exactly! school is so bullshit to me. they don’t even teach real world shit.” you say sighing. “i agree. but i didn’t put up with almost 12 years of school just to fail.” he says. you groan, “right. it would be wasteful. i’m pretty sure you don’t have anything to worry about. my grades are literally on the edge of failing.” “well, i could help you.” he suggests. all you do is let out a laugh, “trust me, teaching me is hard.”

“i’ve been teaching you these past days. trust me i know.” Matt responds as you both let out a laugh. “it’s hot in here.” you say taking off your hoodie, pulling down your shirt as it lifted a bit. Matt looks at you as he catches a glimpse of your cleavage. he looks away quickly, clearing his throat. where has all of that been hiding? he wonders. “well let’s continue working on this.” he says trying to move past it. all you do is nod as you lay on your stomach continuously reading.

when you weren’t paying attention, Matt would stare at you slightly. he would stare at the way your tits were pressed against the floor, thinking how perfect they were.

after a few hours, Matt takes you home. “thank you for the ride.” you say smiling, slinging your backpack on one shoulder. “yeah of course” he replies. you open the door stepping out, but as you get up, your hoodie raises slightly revealing your thong peeking out above your jeans slightly. Matt catches a glimpse turning red. you shut the door and walk away. he sits there in his car for a bit as he gulps before driving away.

Matt arrives home tidying his room before going to bed. he picks up one of his notebooks as he sees a sticky note on it reading, ‘thank you for dealing with me as a partner - Y/N’.

he smiles at the note as he puts it down on his bed side table, getting into bed. as he lays there, he couldn’t help but think about what his eyes caught from you earlier. your cleavage and your thong. he couldn’t stop thinking about it. “Matt stop that.” he whispers to himself before shutting his eyes going to sleep.

Matt’s dream POV

you and Matt were sitting on your bed working on the project. Matt wasn’t paying attention to you as much and you were bothered by it. you took matters into your hands and you closed the book he was studying. you got on top of him, sitting on his lap as he gets caught off guard. you pull him into a passionate kiss and next thing you knew, you were under the covers tangled together naked.

End of Matt’s dream

Matt’s POV

i woke up sitting up quickly with my breathing uneven. what was that?! my heart was racing. did i just have a wet dream?!

i pulled up the covers to see a wet stain on top of the crotch of my sweats. what the fuck. this has never happened before. with y/n?! why? because of what i saw yesterday? i never even had sex before. how could i have easily dreamed of it? i gulp before getting up. i head to the bathroom to clean myself. i really can’t believe that just happened. now all i could do is replay it in my head. i groan at the thought.

after i got ready, i headed straight to school. on the drive there, i still couldn’t stop replaying everything that happened in my dream. even if i tried to distract myself, it wouldn’t go away. i needed it bad.

End of Matt’s POV

you and Matt were in class as you tried to tell him a story. all he was doing was nodding and staying quiet. “Matt? are you okay?” you question. he shakes his head before speaking, “yeah- yeah i’m good. sorry.” you give him a questionable look as you reply, “well you weren’t really paying attention as i spoke.” you laugh a bit. “oh i was.” he says with a nervous smile. “yeah okay.” you say turning your body straight, pretending to pay attention to the teacher.

Matt does the same as he groans quietly to himself. he didn’t know if he should tell you or not about what he imagined. he decided to shrug it off.

it was the end of the day again as you both end up at Matt’s house. you were standing up as you rehearsed your lines on what to say for the presentation. Matt just sat there looking lost. “Matt seriously what is wrong? i can’t do this without you, you know?” you say frustrated. “i’m sorry. i’ve just been having a hard time.” he responds scratching the back of his neck. “well we really need to focus on this. if you need to get something off your chest, do it now so we can continue.” you say. Matt hesitates before speaking, “okay well i sort of had an odd dream last night.” you look at him confused. “okay?” you reply. “it wasn’t a normal dream.” he continues.

“what? were you like having sex or something?” you ask jokingly with a laugh. but he just sits there staying silent with a blank face. “oh. oh! you did!” you exclaim. “who was it about?” asking with curiosity. “some random girl from class.” he says lying through his teeth. “so what’s the big deal?” you ask. “this your first time having a wet dream?” all he does is nod. you widen your eyes, “really? that’s new. i would’ve thought you were like every other guy constantly thinking about sex.” letting out a laugh. “why is it bothering you so much?”

“because, it’s weird. especially with this specific girl.” he responds. you raise an eyebrow before asking a question, “have you ever had sex before?” the question takes Matt by surprise as he responds quickly, “of course i have!” he lies. you let out a laugh. “okay! sorry! well then you shouldn’t be so weirded out. now come on. lets focus.” replying to him.

it still was eating him in the inside.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

after the weeks flew by, you and Matt got an ‘A’ for your presentation. you decided to celebrate by treating Matt with fast food. you both sat on his bed eating. “thank you for being such a good partner.” you say with a smile taking a bite from your burger. “no, thank you.” he replies. you couldn’t help but notice he still was acting strange these past days. “Matt don’t tell me you’re still on about the sex dream.” you ask wiping your hands with a napkin. “you should just shoot your shot already since it’s eating you up. maybe she’ll feel the same.” he shakes his head, “i wouldn’t know how to approach her. plus, that’s weird. i had a sex dream about her and what? i just walk up to her and tell her that? that's creepy.” he replies. you laugh at his response. “well not quite but, i don’t like how you’re acting so off.” you say taking another bite.

Matt sighs as he shakes his head, “just forget it y/n. i’m fine.” you stop in your place as you shake your head. “okay that’s it.” placing the unfinished food on his side table. you wipe your mouth with a napkin as you look at him. it was silent for a bit until you spoke up, “do you want to kiss me?” you blurt out. Matt’s eyes widen. “what?” he asks.

Matt’s POV

i hesitated for a bit. “to help distract you.” she says with a small laugh. "uh- uh yeah sure." I say hesitantly. i mean i couldn’t pass up on the opportunity. i scoot closer to her. i’ve only ever kissed one other person and i don’t think it was good so maybe this will be different. i can hear my heart pounding out of my chest. i put my hand on her cheek as i lean in and kiss her softly. she scoots closer without breaking the kiss, putting her hands on my shoulders.

to her she might think this is just a distraction but, little did she know my dream was about her. we continue to kiss as she swings her leg around to straddle me. i put my hands on her waist as the kisses get heavier. i could feel myself get hard beneath her and i could tell she notices. i pull away from embarrassment, “i’m so sorry.” i say. all she does is smile and respond with, “it’s okay.” pulling me into another kiss. i could feel her start to grind against my clothed dick. i let out a small groan from the feeling. i pull away as i lay her down gently. “d-do you want to do this?” i say nervously but, i couldn’t expose the fact this would be my first. she nods as she kisses me again. she takes off my shirt as i do the same for her. i unbutton my jeans and pull them off leaving me in my boxers as she does the same with her pants leaving her in her under garments. i gulp looking at her body. come on Matt play it cool. we kiss again as she rubs my dick through my boxers. i really hope i’m big enough.

i reach into my drawer as i pull out a condom. i bought a box just in case i were to lose it. which i am now, so it was good preparation. i open rip off the deal as i look at her. “uh.. i haven’t done this in a while so.. i might not be as good.” i warn her lying. i’ve never done this at all. i had to prepare her just in case i cum quick. “it’ll be good” she reassures me. she takes the condom from my hand as i take off my boxers slowly. i see her eyes widen a bit as she slowly wraps the condom on my dick. i lay her back down, sliding her panties to the side, and align myself at her entrance. she gives me a smile as i look down at what i’m about to do. i push myself into her slowly as i watch her relax.

i hear her moan softly as i continue to push my full length into her. “shit.” i groan quietly. i watch her face as i start to thrust slowly. she shut her eyes as she bites her lip softly. i can’t believe this is happening. my dream finally coming true. i pick up the pace as i put both my hands on her sides. “yes just like that.” she moans out putting her hands on my chest. i kiss her as i continue to go deeper into her keeping my fast tempo.

“fuck Matt you feel so good.” she moans. every time she spoke i felt my dick twitch. her moans were heavenly. “you’re so perfect.” i whisper to her. i lay myself on her slightly as she scratches my back. her scratches were hard as i feel the slight sting.

all my worries disappear once i find out i’m actually doing a good job. she made me feel a bit more confident. as soon as i was about to cum i pull out because i wanted to keep pleasing her. i pull her by her thighs as i put my head in between her legs. i start licking at her folds softly as she lets out a breath. i then start sliding my tongue up and down, swirling my tongue on her clit. i felt her grip my hair lightly. “oh Matt.” she moans. “you taste so good.” i say continuing to eat her out. “Matt i’m going to cum.” she says as i start to suck on her clit. she throws her head back as she arches her back, shoving her pussy more into my face. “yes Matt just like that!” she screams out as she cums all over my mouth.

i get back up as i lick my lips, realigning myself as i thrust back into her sensitive core. she gasps as she grips onto my arms. i thrust at a fast pace before cumming inside her into the condom. “oh fuck.” i moan out.

we were both catching our breath as i pull out of her. i take off the condom and throw it in the trash. "you must be a pro or something. that was incredible.” she says sitting up putting her clothes on.

good to know. little did she know, i ain't ever did this before.

a/n: not my best work lol. likes and reblogs are highly appreciated! thank you :)

[marvelobsessed134]

Life imitates art

A/n: whewww this is one of my favorite things I ever written

Pairings: Beefy!Art Professor!Natasha x Fem!Student!Reader

Warnings: age gap (not specified), Nat has a dick, smut, blowjob, degradation, painting a nude person, reader being that nude person, pervy Nat (?), student/teacher dynamics

Okay so you’ve been failing your art class in college. But it’s really not your fault you’ve just been so caught up with your other classes that you’ve been slacking off.

And of course your professor noticed. Natasha knew she had to talk to you after class because you were one of her top students and now you’ve fallen off the deep end.

So after the lecture and after everyone leaves, leaving their canvases up to dry, the redhead calls you to stay after class.

You walked towards her desk with a nervous feeling in your stomach. You know you’re gonna get some kind of lecture of your own.

“Yes Professor Romanoff?” You asked in a sweet tone hoping you won’t be getting into any trouble with her. Not that she’s a mean professor per se but when a student fails she makes them do an extra project to get their grades up. It’s almost like she loves to torture people!

“Miss Y/n you’ve been failing very miserably in my class. Any particular reason why?” She asked.

You gulped, “Well…you see professor I’ve just been so caught up in my other classes that I’ve kind of been slacking on this one but-“

“So is my class not important to you?”

“No! It’s very important to me I love art and I love painting but I have these two big tests coming up so I haven’t had the time to finish my projects and you know I don’t do half assed work when it comes to my art.”

The redhead smiled a little bit at that, “Yes, which I do admire and appreciate but I’d like you to put more effort into my class.”

You looked down at your feet shamefully, “Yes Professor Romanoff.” You sounded like a scolded child.

“Well,” she stood up and walked over to her empty easel and put a large blank canvas on it. She also put a chair right behind it.

Then she walked back over to you. “You know how to get your grade up in my class. But instead of you painting I want you to be my model. Can you do that?”

The thought of you being her model made your flush, “I guess.”

“Great. Now strip off your clothes.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me. I’ve personally always wanted to have a live nude model in my presence to paint so nows my chance.”

“Professor Romanoff…this is highly inappropriate im your student plus you’re like a decade older than-“

“Do you want those grades or not detka?” The nickname gave you a shiver down your spine.

“Yes I do but-“

“Then do as I say and take your clothes off.” You quickly complied, shakily pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra. Your shoes, socks, jeans, and panties came off next.

“Go sit on that chair over there.” She pointed to the chair that sat in front of the easel. You took a deep breath and walked over to sit down. Your arms resting on the armrests and your legs clenched together.

As Natasha got set up behind the easel she said, “Don’t hide your pretty pussy from me baby.” Your eyes widened at her words but you complied. Desperate for the grades, you slowly spread your legs. Unfortunately you were embarrassingly wet.

It’s no surprise you have a crush on your professor. She’s beefy with a pretty face and exudes dominance. Her shirt sleeves are always rolled up to her elbows and her slacks fit her perfectly. Along with the occasional blazer she wears.

Unbeknownst to you she noticed how wet your little cunt was and smirked.

She began to paint you, taking in every breathtaking detail of you.

You felt so vulnerable in this position. Sitting naked in front of your fully clothed professor as she painted your naked form.

She didn’t even bother to try to hide the erection in her pants, because she knew you felt the same way about her. It was only a matter of time before she could finally taste you and have her way with you.

Once she had gotten most of the painting down-she can finish it later she will remember every inch of your body-she walked over to you.

You sat up straighter, not daring to close your legs. Natasha towered over you and looked down at your pretty perky nipples and your wet pussy.

“I think my model needs a reward for being such a good girl don’t you think?” She asked and you sucked in a breath.

She tilted your chin up with her index finger, “Yes or no babygirl.”

Oh you knew it was wrong so, so wrong. But you found yourself saying, “Yes.” It came out as a whisper you were surprised she even heard it.

The redhead smirked, “That’s what I thought.” She got down on her knees, her hands sliding up your bare legs before she licked a bold strip against your pussy. You moaned, throwing your head back at the little piece of friction you just got.

“If my student didn’t want to get naked for me then…why is she so soaking wet?” As she said this she ran her finger up your folds. You hissed in response.

“I know you’ve wanted me since the first day of class. Don’t worry, I want you too.” She kissed the inside of your thigh before licking your folds again, eating you out with such passion that you forgot where you were.

Her mouth attached itself to your clit and you gripped her hair tightly as she sent you closer and closer to the edge before you drenched her face with your release.

“Oh god!” You moaned breathlessly.

“You taste so good detka. Care to return the favor?” She asked with a cocky smile. You immediately got on your knees in front of her and unbuckled her pants, pulling them and her boxers down to free her large cock.

Your eyes widened at the size and you wrapped your hand around her shaft and began to jerk her off.

“I wanna see those pretty lips around my cock baby.” She commanded dryly.

You gulped before wrapping your lips around the tip and sinking down onto it, bobbing your head up and down and jerking off whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

Natasha gripped your hair as you sucked her off. “Such a slut for me huh. Who knew you’d be so eager to taste my dick.” Your pussy was dripping onto the floor both from your previous orgasm and your arousal at the mere action of sucking her cock.

“Shit baby I’m gonna cum.” Your professor moaned before shooting her load down your throat. “Ah fuck that’s it swallow it.”

You swallowed it all and pulled of her cock, opening your mouth to show her you did in fact take it.

She caressed your chin, “Such a good girl. Come over here.” She made her way to the chair you were once sitting on and sat down. Her cock still sticking up in the air. She unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it off revealing her abs. Your mouth watered at the sight and you quickly made your way over to her.

The older woman smirked, “Ride my cock baby.” It was a simple command that you were more than happy to obey.

You straddled her waist and sunk down on her thick cock, moaning at the stretch.

“God you’re so tight.” She hissed as she gripped your hips and started moving you up and down her length, treating you like her own personal toy.

You were a moaning mess, rolling your eyes at the back of your head as she continuously hit your g spot. “Oh fuck professor! Feels so good!”

“Yeah? Oh god who knew my student wanted to be slutted out so bad.” She also thrusted her hips up as she moved you. Your hands gripped her muscular shoulders.

The only sounds that could be heard in the room were the sounds of skin slapping, moans, and grunts.

“I’m gonna cum again fuuuuck.” You cried.

“Cum again for me sweetie.” You reached down to rub your clit as you were sent to a land of ecstasy.

You clenched around her cock and your vision went white for a second. You absolutely drenched her cock.

“Oh yeah drench my fucking cock. I’m gonna cum again.” She quickly pulled out of you and forced you on your knees. You watched as she jerked herself off till she came on your tits.

“Holy fuck. You’re unbelievable.” Natasha breathed and you giggled.

“Did I get the grade?”

“Oh yeah you got the grade. And if you keep this up then you’ll be passing every exam too.”

[girliism]

nerdy!art who based on his physique and good looks should be getting any and every girl he wants but instead he chooses to hide away in his books. he’s top of all his classes and does extra credit work for fun on the weekends, according to his roommate patrick he’s kind of a loser that needs to get out more. patrick invites him out to a lot of parties but art just ends up in the corner nursing only one drink before leaving early.

you were the opposite everyone on campus knew you. you went to every party thrown but you weren’t some slut you just liked being around people. now you weren’t stupid by any means but you also weren’t top of your classes.

“what do you mean i’m failing.” you looked at your math professor who just told you that if you don’t pass this upcoming test you’d fail his class. “i don’t think you’re understanding the material very well that’s why i assigned you a tutor.” a tall blonde with thick rimmed glasses walks up to your professors desk. “this is art, i’ve asked him to help.” art gave you a small wave. you’ve seen art around campus sitting under trees reading or stuck in the corner at a party. he was quiet only spoke when spoken to, you had no idea he was even in this class.

art cleared his throat. “you can come by my dorm tomorrow if you’re free.” art held on the door for you to walk out of. “tomorrows fine with me. you’re patrick’s roommate right?” art nodded “cool! i can get your dorm number from a friend of mine.” you smiled big at him. art gave you a closed mouth smile back before you guys waved goodbye.

“can you please not be here when she comes over.” it was saturday the day of yours and art’s tutoring session and he’s been cleaning up their dorm. “right i forgot you’re having a girl over.” patrick says raising eyebrows up and down before placing his cereal bowl in the sink not bothering to wash it. art pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge. “we’re just studying.” he mumbles going to wash patrick’s dish. patrick ended up leaving so art had the dorm to himself when you showed.

you sat on the couch in their dorm studying the place instead of the math problem art was trying to explain. “you got lucky pairing with zweig this dorm is partially an apartment.” art stopped talking to look around his dorm before shrugging going back to teaching you. “ugh i’m so jealous i’d kill for a dorm this big-” “you like to distracted yourself from your work when you don’t understand it.” art said cutting you off. you just stared at him not knowing what to say. art senses the awkward tension he created. “i’m sorry i didn’t mean to make you feel bad just if you payed attention i think you could really get it.” art spoke softly and you just nodded finally shutting up and listening to him.

studying with art was kinda fun. every saturday you’d meet at his dorm and listen to explain more in depth what your professor didn’t. at first art was very rigid but after a while you got him to loosen up. he now laughed openly with you and made stupid math jokes.

“ART!” you ran over to where he was sitting under a tree. art closed his book standing up when he saw you rushing toward him. “look what i did.” you shoved you test paper in his face smiling. “a B congratulations you’ve officially passed.” you couldn’t contain the squeal that came out of you when you pulled art into a tight hug. “no thanks to you. how will i ever repay you.” you pouted. art just shook his head saying there was no need. you gasp. “delta phi is having a party tonight you have to come and hang out with me.” the second art heard the frat name he was already declining. “parties aren’t really my thing.” art scratches at the back of his head. “bullshit dondalson, you saved me from failing which mean we have to celebrate. you’re coming weither you like it or not.” you gave art an excited smile and he gave you a nervous one back.

(a part 2 will be happening 🙏🏽) part 2.

[klausinamarink]

based on this hilarious video with Gianmarco Soresi whom I’ve been watching his comedy work for a few months now

read on ao3

“What do you do?” The standup of the hour - the guy had introduced himself as Eddie - points at Steve.

Flustered at the attention directing every eye in the club to his table, Steve tries not to stammer as he answers, “Well, uh, I make movies.”

“Oh!” Eddie genuinely looks interested. “So you’re a director?”

“Yeah, pretty much. At least I started out as an indie, but I have a big project that’s out and a couple more on the way.” One table nearby claps and Steve tries to wave them off to stop.

“So what was that big project? Was it something we would’ve seen?” Eddie repositions himself so he has one leg up on the stool. Steve stares at how lean they seem with the tight black jeans. He’s got them daddy long legs. His brain suddenly burps out and it nearly makes Steve lose his composure.

“Uh, ha, I did The Final Bat. It’s on Shudder.” Steve shrugs nonchalantly, perfectly hiding his internal cringe. The horror genre is way out of his league and Steve’s already seen The Final Bat being on a few critical lists damning the title as another cliche-filled mess. He only did it because he had finally caved to Dustin’s pleading to make at least one horror movie.

Eddie, on the other hand, seems ecstatic by this revelation. “No way! That’s sick, dude! So the next time you make a horror flick, you’re gonna watch Blumhouse and A24 coming in at each other with steel chairs for distribution rights.”

Everyone laughs, including Robin. She smacks on Steve’s bicep with a wide grin. He smacks her back before he turns back to Eddie and clarifies, “I don’t like horror! I’m not doing it again!”

Aghast, Eddie throws an invisible hat to the ground and stamps on his feet. “Come on! Then what’s the point of watching the studios bite each other’s dicks off when you’re slipping out to watch - I don’t know - the Barbie movie! Now they’re just fighting for the next shitty horror movie to exist!”

Steve covers his mouth but fails to hold back in the laughter. Eddie’s infectious energy is starting to get to him. It makes his chest clench with something other than the usual pains.

Eddie patiently waits for the patrons to quiet down before continuing, still attentive to Steve, “I’m just wondering actually if you ever done theater class.”

“Sure did! Two years in high school,” Steve confirms.

“Let me guess, they did Hamlet?” Eddie raises an eyebrow like it’s meant to be accusatory.

“Yep, soon after I joined.” Steve nods, the memory of that production flashing before his eyes. It had its ups and downs but it was one of the most fun things Steve had ever experienced.

“No wonder they started as soon as your handsome ass walked in the club.” Eddie says low and flirtatiously into the microphone, staring directly into Steve’s eyes. It echoes across the room and back, bringing the howling laughter with it.

Heat crawls behind his face. Steve keeps his hands on the table, forcing down the urge to hide behind them. “I-” He stops to cough, “I wasn’t supposed to play Hamlet.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, “What do you mean?!”

Robin answers loud enough for everyone to hear, “He was the grave robber, but the other guy who did Hamlet got into a coma a week before the show and Steve knew all the lines.”

“W-Woah, woah, woah!” Eddie holds his hands out, looking scandalous. He throws looks around the club. “Everyone, shut the fuck up right now! This is more important than caring about the rest of you!” Eddie drags the stool over and perches on it like a very much invested gargoyle, almost oblivious to the audience’s reaction.

“Okay, let me go through this.” He points at Steve, still holding eye contact as if Steve’s soul would provide the answer. “You weren’t Hamlet. You were meant to be the guy who gives him the skull to monologue. The OG Hamlet got into a coma for some reason-“

“Car accident.” Robin interjects.

“Yeah, no need to elaborate, ma’am. You, Steve-” Eddie breaks off for a second, holding back a laugh of his own. “You somehow knew all the Hamlet lines because you were waiting to skin OG Hamlet’s head and make his skull yours to do the monologue.”

There’s a scandalous outcry from all tables. Even when they mostly calm down, Steve uses the growing anticipation to ‘think’ about what Eddie just said before he casually shrugs and says, “Sounds about right.”

Eddie drops his face into his arm, letting everyone laugh at him. Steve lets himself break, his laughter bubbling out of him in a way that doesn’t sound so self-deprecating or hollow. If he was in a cynical mood, he would’ve thought it was pathetic that the only person who made him laugh so lightly again was some random standup.

After a moment, Eddie finally looks up, his face broken in disbelieving grin. He chuckles into the mic and looks back at Steve, “Sorry, it’s just I hear some wild stories in the crowd some nights and I think yours takes the cake.”

Steve smiles, “Thanks, man.”

Eddie stands up back, half-leaning onto the stool. “Do you still remember those lines? To be or not to be?”

The whole damn thing. “Uh… some of it?”

Eddie’s grin shifts into something more mischievous. “Let’s see who knows more.”

A collective oooh goes around the room, including Robin. She already has her phone out for recording. Steve rolls his eyes at her and takes a quick sip of his water. He clears his throat and starts, “‘To be or not to be, that is the question.’”

“‘Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune..’” Eddie says without missing a beat.

Oh, he thinks he knows it all. The sense of competition that Steve thought had died out with his future of a sports career reignites in his chest. He sits up even straighter. “‘Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.’”

“‘To die-to sleep, no more.’” Eddie slowly walks over to the edge of the stage, “‘And by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.’”

“'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd.’” Steve almost shivers as he recites the line, uncertain if it’s from the club’s cooling temperatures or the intense gaze from Eddie’s eyes. “‘To die, to sleep.’”

“‘To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub,’” Eddie suggestively rubs a hand on his chest as he squats down. Steve’s eyes flicker to the hand, almost hypnotized by the motion. Nay, he shakes himself out of it. No distractions!

“‘For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.’” It’s getting harder to remember the following lines. That hasn’t happened before. Steve has never forgotten the damn soliloquy in years, even when other people try to challenge him.

Eddie continues, “‘Must give us pause—there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely.’”

“‘The pangs-’” Steve feels his breath catching in his throat when he realizes, for the first time, what beautiful eyes Eddie has.

Oh. 

Eddie suddenly perks up in excitement. For a second, Steve thinks that Eddie has come to the exact same thoughts for him. But then he remembers that he hasn’t completed his line, so Steve feigns defeat.

“I win!” Eddie stands up with a triumphant cry. He spreads his arms out to embrace the cheering whoops and applause. “And I’ve only got to play Hamlet in-” He spins around and crouches down so he can look Steve in the eye again as Eddie’s voice booms into the mic, “-FOURTH GRADE, MOTHERFUCKER!” 

Steve’s not even mad. He just throws his head back, laughing and clapping along. 

Almost too soon, Eddie moves on to heckle on another table. But he keeps glancing over at Steve, his smile widening every time. And Steve smiles back, feeling a laugh slip out of his slips at every joke. He watches Eddie more closely, feeling his heart pound faster in his chest the more Eddie stays onstage. 

By the time Eddie has to depart and thank everyone for being here, Robin announces her need to go home and snuggle with her girlfriend. 

“Man, that was the most I’ve ever laughed in this place.” Steve stretches his back, groaning at the little pops. God, being in his early thirties can be a bitch sometimes.

Robin only hums, moving her eyebrows up and down suggestively. Steve pointedly makes no further comment as he pays the tab.

Outside, the crisp night air welcomes him. Steve takes in a whiff, staring up at the light-polluted sky as he bids Robin a goodbye. Then he hears his name being called. He turns around and sees Eddie hurrying out the doors.

Steve feels a smile already on his face, “Hey, Hamlet.” 

Eddie grins at him, teeth and all, “Hey, yourself.” 

They stare at each other but it lacks the competitive intensity earlier. Steve likes this. But he already has a feeling that this won’t be the first time either one of them would challenge the other.

“Sooo…” Steve says when the silence stretches a little too long. He gestures between himself and Eddie, “Wanna restart our introductions?”

Eddie’s eyes brighten, “Yeah! Right, sorry.” He clears his throat and thrusts a hand out. “My name is Eddie Munson. Self-proclaimed comedian and musician. You may recognize me as the guy who beat you in Hamlet’s famous speech.”

Steve takes his hand. Eddie feels bony and thin, but large enough to fit perfectly into Steve’s palm. He tries not to sound so eager as he says, “Steve Harrington. Film director who doesn’t like horror. Believe it or not, I actually know the whole stupid thing.”

Eddie tilts his head, narrowing his eyes, “Really? Like, no offense, but even if you remember that much-”

“‘And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry and lose the name of action.’” Steve winks with the Harrington Charm, smile and all. 

Eddie stares at him for so long that Steve feels his heart racing for a different reason. And then, Eddie turns around and muffles a loud scream into his free hand. When the man turns back to face him, he’s sporting the widest smile Steve has never seen.

“You knew the whole thing!?” Eddie’s eyes sparkle with utter adoration.

“Yep.” Steve pops the ‘p’, grinning like a little shit.

“But why did you forget that line?”

“Let’s just say,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand, intertwining their fingers together, “I got distracted by the pangs of love.”

Eddie bites on his lower lip as he swoons his body over so they are pressing against each other. With half-lidded eyes, Eddie whispers, “You know that part is Hamlet referring to missing his dead dad, right?”

Of course Steve couldn’t help but kiss him.

[glotoru]

ooh baby, ooh baby, i’m in love | eren jaeger.

the note 𐦍 i’ve recently been thinking about a successful, older (early to mid thirties), soft spoken eren who lives to spoil the woman of his dreams—so i’m gonna share this with y’all too. i’m actually just projecting our relationship. not proud of the ending but wtv. part two here. inspired by west coast, lana del rey.

contains 𐦍 nsfw, fem!reader, stupidly rich!eren, established relationship, vaginal sex, mating press, cervix kisses, use of pet names (princess, baby, my wife, the usual yk), unprotected sex, breeding, squirting, softie eren, mild body worship, size kink, hand on stomach while fucking mhm, i love you’s exchanged, praise kink, eren talks to your pussy while he’s in it, i’m thinking black reader but it’s all subjective babes: if you like it, read it!!

truth be told, eren jaeger doesn’t believe he has much to live for.

he’s kept his circle small for all of these ongoing years; with the occasional extension of acquaintances from work dinners, or christmas parties—though, he preferred to slip away from such events when eyes weren’t so…watchful. he likes to think his social battery has drained over the course of his life. looking back at his angstful teenage years, fourteen year old most likely wouldn’t recognize the person he is today.

his once intense nature that resembled an overbearing presence of loud determination turned calm—steadfast and slow to visible anger (with the exception of a passive aggressive comment here and there from simple annoyance). the short hair that once barely covered his nape now fell to his broad shoulders, however, he preferred to keep it up—maintaining appearances while keeping it convenient. the smaller five foot six body grew to an intimidating lean six foot four instead.

however, those things were quite trivial; he knew such changes happened with growth and eventual maturity.

but for a significant chunk of his life, eren was never the greatest with women. he was oblivious—blind to the wandering eyes full of admiration from girls in his classes and workplace—and nose deep in his books. he wouldn’t rest until he was on top of his grades; which he had no problem with. His emphasis on success failed him when it came to the dating scene; to say the least he was shy—and married to his work as well.

but on top of all this, eren was a patient man, and good things always comes to those who wait.

and when a dangerously beautiful woman comes wandering into his life on the street outside of an office dinner he gracefully slipped away from, asking him for an extra five dollars to help pay for her cab home from a no-show date—a woman that has him battling the slew of warning alarms sounding away in his usually zen mind and redefining what he thought was himself—he knows that he’s waited long enough.

simply put, he’s a man of his craft; dedicated to two things. his work, and his wife.

His wife—the phrase has his brain melting into pure grey matter that spills out his body in the form of love. To even think he has the opportunity to refer to you as such is priceless in itself. eren didn’t believe he could love—let alone love this hard. you ask him to run, he’ll say how far; jump—how high?

you’ve changed him—ever since he offered to drop you off in his sleek black mercedes benz parked somewhere by the valet and you giggled in response, saying ‘i’m not usually so trusting of strangers’ will the slightest glint of curiosity in your bright eyes.

and somewhere in between the months, his ten hour workdays turned to six, important software development meetings got pushed back for convenience, the accumulating days of paid time off started being used, for once, his assistant could do their job, and his new focus was you.

diamonds and pearls, nails and hair, dinners on boats and vacations on beaches, shopping sprees on his black card and all of his devotion towards you—only you.

eren…he’s a worshipper—it doesn’t take much for him to get on his knees for you. he’s not ashamed, if anything, he’s proud. he likes to say that anything that’s his, is yours; so who are you to deny what he gives you?

that’s another thing he oh so loves about you—you readily take everything he can offer. you let him take care of you, and he wouldn’t want it any other way; you’re his wife after all.

his wife, his wife.

“my wife…” eren mumbles to himself as he buries his face into the crook of your perfumed neck. the pronounced scent makes his head spin, you can’t fathom how in love with you this man is. as his large hands engulf your own, he’s met with the texture of your wedding ring that cost him over twenty grand, the one you cried over when you saw it in his hands offering it to you—but eren doesn’t think it does his adoration for you enough justice.

he prefers to show you.

while there’s no doubt that material items and dream homes are things you like to receive—there’s nothing better than the way he has you now, one leg resting atop his shoulder and the other barely slung around his waist as he steadily ruts his hips into your own.

oh, how could you be so beautiful? splayed out on the bed like a wicked man’s deepest desires and dreams; the one he secretly lusts for from across the room with no hopes to introduce himself because you’re just so out of his league. your hair is messily draped over the silk pillows, all remnants of your lipgloss/lipstick gone from your parted lips and instead smudged on his own, the gold necklace with his diamond initial was falling into the dip in your neck, and you were gazing at him with need. pure, heartfelt need.

your body arches towards him, manicured hands trailing towards your own chest to play with your nipples that hardened from the low temperature of the room. “i need you eren, make me feel you—i want it.” your voice is smooth, accompanied with a small whine that reminds him just how spoiled you are, and how it’s all his fault.

but he couldn’t care less—you deserve it for wandering into his life to make you his own.

“i know princess, i know.” he knows damn well you need him, he knows, he knows—he’s repeating it as he peppers a kiss to your jewelled ankle before pressing down on the back of your thigh to steady himself.

eren fucks like he loves—endlessly and hard.

maybe that’s why the way he bullies your pussy while bottoming out has you grasping at the threads of the sheets and chanting his name like a hymn followed by prayer. he lets your cunt feel every bit of him, the ridges—veins, down to the last inch. he’s terrifyingly big, another thing you love about him.

his dick feels like it’s mushing your insides, curving up against your spongy walls that oh so desperately tighten around him. every thrust is harder than his last, and the way the trimmed hair resting above his base brushes against your clit provides all the extra stimulation that has your head rolling to the side. your uncontrolled moans turn to sobs when you feel his tip tickle your cervix—and boy does it make him a rejuvenated man.

“look at me.” his words barely register as syllables in your clouded mind—you keep your head turned, eyes focused shut as your body shakes upwards from the fervour of his unrelenting tempo. there’s a lot of things eren can have, and you not watching the way his slick covered dick slips in and out of your weeping pussy isn’t one of them. “you have to look at me pretty girl.” his tone is soft but firm, thick fingers taking your chin in his hands and turning you towards him once again.

“see how well you’re taking me? all of it.” he gives you a million dollar smile, hinting for you to watch where the two of you connect. “your pretty cunt just wants it so bad, right?”

“oh, eren…” it’s always a sudden surprise how soiled his mouth can get at times like this. heeding his request, you watch his cock disappear in your folds—and you sight of it has you fluttering around him like a whore.

“you were made for me, weren’t you? prettiest sight i’ve ever seen.” you’ve heard his praises a multitude of times, having him ramble on about fucking you so much your walls moulded to fit him like a tight glove, only that now, he’s saying it to your pussy instead.

“only you ‘ren, was made just for you.” you babble out, feverishly bucking your hips up to meet his ruts.

when your eyes finally rip away from below and back up to his face, the look he wears has your cunt melting like putty. with furrowed brows, a dip in his forehead and a bitten lip, he watches your body move with each fuck. even in such a sinful position, you were just so divine.

almost subconsciously, his ringed hand moves from your hip and over to your torso, gliding over your pierced belly and stopped at your lower stomach, “I’m right here baby.” gently, he applies pressure to the spot, making your eyes blow open as you moan in response. the feeling gives you butterflies—ones that go straight to your clit and stimulate the nerves in your shaky legs.

“cummin—eren i’m cumming!” you’re rambling, scrambling to push his hand away from your belly, but it’s all too late, and eren knows that well. how could he not? your body is a temple, he’s explored every inch of it, and the sudden vice grip your walls have you him and periodic throb of your cunt is all too telling. your orgasm is drawn out, legs spazzing around your entranced husband, “mm, oh-fuck! yesyesyes eren, don’t stop!”

oh, aren’t you just perfect. his eyes soften when he watches how your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, only to capture it in a languid and sloppy kiss, teeth grazing your plump lips and sucking on them like a sweet. you whine he pulls himself away from your body completely, instead he takes the time to tack his thumb to your puffy clit, rubbing feint circles and the occasional attempted heart on the bud. he always does this, coaxing out the last of your orgasm with nimble fingers that you dream about

“you gonna let me take good care of you?” he asks softly between hushed breaths while grabbing hold of both your legs and hoisting them over his shoulders. helplessly, all you can do is nod; you’re in a trance at the very sight of him. his defined torso is illuminated by the back light of one of the many lamps in your bedroom, his hair is slipping from its captive elastic band, the grip of his hands on your ankles sends searing hot pulses straight to your sensitive clit.

he gives himself a few good pumps, sliding his length between your folds. your wetness aids him in bottoming out once again, but your sensitivity has you squirming in his hold. “gotta stay put baby.” he marvels, talking you into submission, “that’s my girl.”

his praises are followed by the shift of his hands down to the back of your thighs, they gently rub the plush skin before pushing them down to meet your chest. while there are some circumstances where looking down at you sparks something within him, eren likes to be eye to eye with you when he’s balls deep—turns him on even more being in such close proximity with such a captivating woman.

you squeal from the uncomfortable burn in your hamstring from being folded in half with the additional feeling of eren’s body weight on your own. you swear that you can feel your heart palpitating in your ears as you feverishly clench around him. “it’s too much! can’t take it, can’t take it!”

“of course you can, you know you can, your pussy takes everything i give it.” eren speaks between juts, pressing your knees to your shoulder blades as he pistons into you without any regard for decency. his thrust feel like a hammer, knocking your body into the memory foam mattress you begged him to buy.

stars cloud your eyes as he wraps himself tighter around you, head in the side of your neck as he peppers kisses across your skin. your pants and gasps are loud, amplifying the sounds of slapping skin and balls hitting the fat of your ass. his favourite part is when you dig your nails into his back, leaving cresent shaped imprints and jagged lines across it like a painter with a canvas; scars of your love.

deep groans fill your ear, soft and sweet; all eren can ramble about is you—how good you feel, how quick you can make him unravel like a ball of string, how lucky he is to have you in his life—the list goes on.

“i love you—fuck, i love you so much baby, you treat me so well.” with his declaration of love, his pace seems to increase, fucking you dumb and leaving you to heave for whatever air is left to breathe.

“i love you too, so much.” your eyes scramble around in your haywire brain, overloaded by the repeated feeling of the jackhammering going on in your walls and the non-stop cervix kisses he gives you. “it’s all yours, eren; you deserve it, you deserve this pussy. you married this, have it.”

eren jaeger doesn’t believe he’s deserving of much; has he earned things? yes. but you…laying beneath him, telling him he deserves you? it makes him never want to leave—not that he would dream of doing so in the first place.

he does deserve it—your words make his brain malfunction. he deserves it. fuck, you might just be the death of him.

you’re crying for him, grasping at any part of his body possible to get him closer to you than physically possible. your tighten around his base once more, and your hand flies down to messily prod at your clit in an attempt to play with it.

meanwhile, eren’s unrelenting pace falters; that man knows he’s going to cum soon, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it with you. so he pleads with you to give him one more—telling you that you’ve got another one bundled up in there for him. to say it’s true is unknown, but your body listens to eren, and miraculously whatever he believes will happen comes to fruition.

but your body is delicate—everyone knows delicate things break under pressure. with the unrelenting strain and stretch his dick gives your walls, the tight feeling in your core, and aching numbness in your legs, your buildup feels much more violent—ready to release all built up tension given to you by your husband.

“eren—keep on going like this and i’m gonna make a mess!” you fuss around, hand reaching to gently push his torso away in fear you may soil the freshly made sheets.

“that’s the goal.” he states as a matter of factly, brows furrowing as a suppressed groan bubbles up from his chest at the thought: pretty little face going stupid and clawing at anything within reach as you writhe and cum all over his torso and lower body. you can’t make him budge now that he’s a determined man.

his strokes grow sloppy but powerful, curved cock repeatedly ramming into your spongy spot that force your plush walls to grip around him, “you’re eating me up here, love.” he mumbles, moaning into your mouth in the disguise of a messy kiss.

the last roll that tips you over the rocky edge is a shaky one, the last one he could give before emptying himself into you. it’s thick and hot and you feel it fill you as you twitch underneath him and cover his abdomen with your juices. wordlessly, his hands reach for yours as he stills; soft lips peppering the lining of skin on your cheek.

eren jaeger knows that change is inevitable—it comes with time. but eren jaeger also knows one thing will stay the same; his love and adoration for the pretty girl laying below him.

[janumun]

A Bond Everlasting (LaDS Rafayel - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Pairing: Rafayel/Reader Words: ~17k

Tags: soulmate AU (the red string of fate, with a twist), college setting (and they were roommates), angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, minor violence and action, scent kink, blow job, oral and vaginal sex, facial, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, merman knotting, sexual rut/Lemurian sexual cycle

Summary: Rafayel tries — and miserably fails —  to forget the one his red thread weaved against once upon a time, even a decade after its break. Finding her, once more, years later, and residing within the same place as her doesn’t help his cause. 

A/N: A happy very belated birthday gift to you, @chibamari. With all of my love and all of our favorite heartbreak, I hope you enjoy this, darling friend.

I. EBB 

The red string of fate. Rafayel found he truly loathed the concept.  

What was it, truly, if not just the Fates contemptuous scorn upon them?  

Forcing kinship and eternity in between a pair that did not mould against the other. That would, if time given, drift apart as mere bottled wishes left traversing, lonely, across the seas.  

And yet, the manacles remain celebrated, since time immemorial. As legends of the rare, and lucky few, destined to be bonded in harmony.  

Rafayel used to be — once upon a time — part of the same foolery brigade as the rest of them, the day his red thread spun and found itself interweaved against his first, and last, love. To her, he promised a Lemurian’s vow of faithful eternity. 

Until the day that blood-red thread quivered and ruptured apart, weakened by her absence.  

Leaving to Rafayel only the hollow remains of a heart rejected. The brand of its mockery left behind as indelible remains of the severed — useless — string wound against his finger.  

II. FLOW 

Deft, practiced digits streak a brush across canvas; the truculent quality to his paint lines reflecting the agitated knot of Rafayel’s brow and the hand he scrubs through his hair in chagrin at constant-wheeling thoughts. Bold strokes; an amalgamation of bright colors — gentle turquoise and oceanic azure — setting into paper to shape unconscious form to his muse, for his current class.  

It is only when he hears the ripple of applauding gasps behind — “You’re amazing, Senior Rafayel!” — is he knocked back into his senses, angling a stupefied gaze up at what he’s made of his project: originally an interpretation of the depths of the sea, the topic he’d presented his class for the day.  

He notes, in no small proportion of growing aversion, the strokes of his brush having shaped form of a delicate back — hers — against the backdrop of a vast sea, reminiscent of home. His thoughts — he muses in self-derision — having lent unconscious connection in between his place of most comfort to the person who stood as his entire comfort. 

Rafayel’s head throbs with heat, as if knelling the oncoming of a particularly harsh fever. Perhaps his less than perfect health was to blame for his momentary lapse of concentration.  

“Is the lady underwater inspired by anyone in particular, Senior? Your brushwork for her seems particularly passionate.” 

Rafayel’s mouth twitches into an insouciant, cool smile, he directs at his students. “Hmm I’m not sure. Perhaps, she’s inspired by that one mermaid movie they’re currently playing in theatres.”  

“Oh, ‘Aquatic’? I’ve seen it!” 

“Me too! It's really good.”  

“The part where she turns to sea foam—” 

A seamless lie; he lets it steer the focus of conversation away from him and his lapse in concentration. Turning back towards the board to proceed with his lecture.  

Opting to teach a fine arts course to a bunch of junior year students, for extra annual credit, was clearly shaping to be one of the worst decisions he’d ever made.  

Especially so, when the subject in question, he’d offered to teach for, in the first place, remained starkly absent throughout the duration of the lecture.  

III. EBB 

Shouldering open the door to their shared apartment, Rafayel steps inside, staggering under the weight of his stack of the newest arrival of deliveries. The apartment is silent, devoid of the sound of her characteristic pattering footsteps.  

Depositing his packages down against the side of the sofa in the living room, he collapses back into the cushions, tuning a distasteful frown towards the empty kitchen counter. Recounting to mind, the events of this morning, having shepherded him into an entire day of distraction at the University.  

“Ouch.” She hissed, a sound of surprise, wrenching her arm back from the sizzling frying pain at the spits of oil it spewed.  

Rafayel released an exaggerated sigh at the sight, ambling over towards the kitchen. “Let me help.”  

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of fixing breakfast on my own.” She attempted heroic reassurance, even as she easily treaded backwards to let Rafayel replace her at the stove.  

“Yes, yes, I believe you. I'd still like to ensure you don’t burn our apartment to the ground while I’m away at work. My paintings are priceless treasures, you know.” He deftly takes the eggs off the stove and plates them before shoving her share at her. “There you go, Miss All-Capable.” 

“Stop making fun of me.” She smiles in relieved gratitude, moving to set cutlery across the table. “And thank you.” 

Rafayel swivels a puffed smile her way. “Whatever would you do without me?”  

She shakes her head at him, attempting no effort to refute him. “Indeed.” Her fingers brush against his as she moves to pass him his share.  

“Rafayel.” She sweeps a sudden grab at his hand, digits entwining in between his. “You’re a bit warmer than usual. Are you feeling sick?” She smooths a gentle hand across his forehead.  

He feels his face burn darker at the sudden intimacy of their contact. “No, I don’t.” Instinctively jostling away from her touch. “I’m just tired, is all. I was up the entire night, after all.”  

“You really need to fix that terrible habit of yours. A healthy body leads to a healthy mind!” Rafayel can’t tamp back the grin from his face at her chiding. 

“Take better care of yourself. I can’t be here to keep you in check round the clock, you know.” She sighs in resignation.  

“Yes, yes, my noisy Mistress.”  

“Speaking of which,” She begins, just as Rafayel seats himself at the table. "I'll be out late tonight.” 

Rafayel feels his smile frost over; a dreaded, sour feeling immediately spurning at the base of his belly.  

“I have a study date with Caleb.” She does not meet his gaze, forking at her egg.  

Rafayel hears himself speak before he can tuck back his impulsive thoughts. “You sure you should be trusting the man this much? I don’t—” 

“’Like him.’ I know. I don’t know why you’re so biased against him, he’s a good person.”  

The praise dredges bitterness across his tongue; ashy and tepid. His fork nearly stabs at his own food, a disapproving moue he knows is dark upon his face. “Sure,” he intones at last, grappling against his desire to ask her not to go, to spend her day with him instead. “Have fun.” An unfair burden he knows he throws onto her shoulders; he does not possess the right to dictate who she chooses to associate with.  

And yet— 

Rafayel’s gaze deliberately treks the line of red thread adorning his ring finger — treacherously cut off a few centimetres in and dissipating into nothingness. Following the absent line of it; her own finger sits vacant against the wooden table-top. An immeasurable dejection he isn’t able to shuck off, no matter how many times his eyes have witnessed its emptiness.  

Perhaps she is right and he is sick, an inscrutable tremor setting into his fingers as they continue on with the rest of their meal in silence.  

IV. FLOW 

The oncoming dawn encroaches a gradual shell-pink spill of color across the velvet skies as Rafayel’s feverish gaze drags, listless, to the view past the patio windows, the bone-deep ache from the day past yet to recede.  

The angry scrapes of charcoal rushed across paper, forgotten as the unfinished sketch drifts purposeless down onto the floor to join the rest of its discarded predecessors.   

She has yet to return home — Rafayel had stayed up the entire night and remained planted, firm, within their lounge, to make sure he would be there to greet her on her return. She'd never been away from their apartment overnight.  

Rafayel knows because he had — on more occasions than he could count and didn’t wish to acknowledge — found himself crumpled within cool sheets, self-confined to the privacy of his room, listening in to the comforting sounds of her padded, soft movements around their apartment.  

She'd often slip back through their door, close to midnight — she made it a point, always, to return home, no matter the hour — after slaving away hours at the library for her Hunter exam. She'd try for quietude; he knew, so she wouldn’t disturb his absent sleep.  

A gentle clink of mugs at the kitchen counter as she’d make herself a cup of a coffee in preparation of burning the midnight oil.  

Despite having the physical structure of their apartment — a shelter and comfort in name — his room’s four-walled sanctity, it didn’t truly feel warm as a home until the moment she stepped past the threshold and into their shared space.  

And only when he’d hear the soft crinkle of pages turning steadily as she’d settle herself onto the living room sofa to study, would he find himself beckoned into slumber. As if she too, knew on instinct, how her presence aimed to soothe, choosing to make space for her studies right where he could hear her, in the lounge, instead of the confines of her own room. 

Yet now.  

Midnight had come and gone, dawn scraping indigo for approaching light, and no signs of her return.  

A long day behind him endured in feverish unrest and the toll of another sleepless night, doesn’t help disentangle burgeoning thoughts of her within the embrace of another man at that very moment, one not him. He can’t help but sorely curse himself for his ill-thought decision of staying the night up, waiting for her like some sorry love-struck fool.  

Not that he would’ve been able to sleep, either way; a part of him mocked in muted whispers.  

His thread throbs; a nipping bite of rejection and along with it, his body. Languid gaze absently trekking the severed thread, flickering incandescent against his ring finger. The constricting heat of it, as if traversing up his veins along with the fever within his body. Colluding against his heart, as if it wishes to eventually wither him up instead. A slow, bittersweet poison.  

Rafayel feels nauseous.  

He’s beginning to contemplate on retiring for the meagre, precious hours before his upcoming classes for the day — perhaps that bitterly strong liquor she’d stowed into the fridge earlier would help do the trick — just as the door lock clicks open.  

The sound violently startles Rafayel out of winding, unheeded thoughts enough, he springs off the sofa just as she steps foot over the threshold.  

Opening his mouth to put words to turbulent emotions — a million queries — before his questions wither off the tip of his tongue when he fixates a good, long look at her.   

She appears downright exhausted and an instinctual, foreboding spurts forth in him. The look on her careworn face, light-snuffed gaze meeting his — Rafayel thinks, mirrors the state of his own affairs — before it dissipates into stifled surprise. “Rafayel, what’re you doing up—”  

And before he can tamp himself back into composure, Rafayel’s striding the few paces it takes for him to reach her, dragging her into his embrace.  

She stiffens at the contact on instinctual reflex, it chips away at another piece of his heart. Tightens the strangulating hold of his severed thread against his soul.  

He hedges her tighter into his embrace, regardless. Head pitching down onto her shoulder; a hand he smooths down the line of her quivering back before she relaxes into him, at last.  

“Rafayel—” Arms twitching by her side and up as she circles him within her own comfort, returning his warmth in the cling of desperate digits against the back of his shirt.  

“You’re late. You're so late.” he gripes, half-hearted.  

A beat. Two passes. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”  

A peculiar relationship; she calls them friends — close — inappropriately so and he’d agreed to be one, to her, if it were the sole thing that allowed him to be by her side. For her to not abandon him once more. A relationship edging something far gnarled than friendship.  

He doesn’t believe even she has a name for what they share, in moments as these, where Rafayel forgets himself and the boundaries he holds himself to. Turns blind to pretenses and masks he fixates, so delicately crafted, for her benefit and the safety of his own heart. 

He is not, however, a man strong enough to ignore the strain of his beloved’s gaze, tiredness rimming her entire being, she feels so brittle in his arms, and it ruins him to not know the cause of it.  

“...Got something on your mind?” He murmurs into her hair. 

“Perhaps.” Her response is slow, halting.  

“Want to tell me what it is?” He breaks away from her, enough to let his eyes scour her face in stern scrutiny.  

A whispered laugh escapes her at his inspection.  

“...Rafayel, how do you feel about an early morning stroll with me?”  

V. EBB 

The shores of Whitesand Bay stretch empty within the wee hours of dawn, quiet, save for the twittering song of birds cutting across the sky and the gentle wash of waves at their bare feet as they amble along the sandy belt. She hasn’t uttered a word since, absent gaze trekking the gradual rise of the sun above the horizon, light flittering its diamonds across the lap of waves.  

The easy access to the sea — and by extension, the remarkable view — was one of the reasons they’d jointly agreed upon renting an apartment this close to Whitesand Bay, two years prior. On any other usual occasion, Rafayel’s fingers would’ve been upon pen and paper, soaking inspiration up and through rough strokes, sketching across paper.  

Now, however, his focus is all but entirely removed from his environment, vision honed in on her by his side.  

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” She murmurs, gaze still fixated upon the horizon. “I’m not an early riser like you are so I’ve never seen the sunrise here up this close.”  

She's skirting the issue, Rafayel has no mind to force her to spill her heart when she does not wish to. 

For her, he is willing to remain patient.  

Regardless of the consequences to his person.  

He joins in on her flimsy facade.  

“If only I wasn’t a little too aware of the fact.” Tapping a light fist against her temple, he angles a skewed smile down at her. “Despite my very arduous efforts to get you out of bed on multiple occasions, you’ve persisted in your terrible ways, Miss Hunter.” Heaving an exaggerated sigh. “You’re far too stubborn for your own good, I fear.” 

That gets her breaking a smile, the tensed knitted worry within her gaze easing just that tiny bit; Rafayel plucks it up for the small reward it is. “A classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. Like you’re any less bull-headed.” She defends. “Don’t make me recount all the times you nearly gave poor Thomas a heart attack because your paintings weren’t ready even mere hours before the exhibitions they were supposed to be featured in.”  

His mouth pulls into a distasteful moue at that. “Don’t tell me you’re on his side. He refuses to understand the world of difference it causes in between using cherry red or wine on a canvas. If it were up to that simpleton, he’d have me besmirch all my works, just for the sake of those trivial exhibitions.”  

She chuckles. “Now, no need to get so worked-up. You know Thomas cares for you and wishes to have your talent recognized like it deserves to be.” She moves to seat herself by the shore, close to where the waves lick up at the sand. Rafayel follows suit.  

“I know how much passion you pour into your paintings.” Crinkling a gentle smile up at him. “That’s exactly why I love your art so much.” 

Rafayel’s heart catches at his throat at the easy slip of her compliment.  

She's never been sparing with her appreciation of his artworks. 

Ever since she’d chanced upon them a few years back when they’d only shortly been re-united at the time.  

She’d always been generous and open with her admiration.  

His heart, however, wasn’t immune to its traitorous stuttering, every single time at her attentions and praise.  

Perhaps she discerns the look on his face, tapping into his emotions, or realizes the curious intimacy of her statement, she wrenches her gaze away from his. Rafayel swiftly feels the keen loss of it.  

Silence sweeps once more between them, her gaze having drifted back into the seas and with it, the steady droop of her shoulders as she curves in tighter against her huddled knees. “It was a place, similar to this one, where we first met. A lost little human meeting a young Lemurian washed ashore.” Her voice barely hikes above an octave. “I didn’t think Lemurians existed for real before that, and to know I shared a red fate with one...”  

His throat closes against a sharp inhale at her whisper, the first time she’s chosen to address their past severed bond, ever since their reunion.  

Why now. He means to ask. A question that dissipates off the tip of his tongue, un-uttered.  

“We were so young back then and I inadvertently hurt you. Ever since I moved away, and time just passed, regardless...” She pauses. “You must’ve really hated me for that, huh.” She angles a cautious smile at him. 

I did not. Rafayel means to refute and yet his tongue refuses to cooperate.  

She continues on, as if she had long perceived his answer and made peace with his supposed resentment of her, unperturbed by his lack of response. Her reaction vexes him.   

“I’ve hurt someone dear to me again. Caleb—” 

The familiar name spurns bitter within his chest. “Did he do something to you?” His fingers jam against coarse sand, snagging his thread tight against his ring finger. 

“No! No. Caleb’s a good man, he’s been nothing but kind to me.”  

Deep within the recesses of his heart, Rafayel knows it, he knows it only too well; he only wishes he could truly bring himself to hate him.  

“He...” Her fingers tense harsher against her arms. “Last night, he asked me to be his girlfriend.” 

His ring finger throbs; the missing line of its thread seeming to constrict against Rafayel’s neck.  

“I turned him down.” 

A quick, involuntary bite of wicked relief thrums at the back of his breastbone. And yet— 

Why do you look as if your heart is shattering into a million pieces? 

Rafayel’s mouth seems to form words on its own as if he wishes for his own demise. “Do you regret it?” 

Her silence is a dagger that digs pointed, deep in between his ribs, the longer she lets it steep.  

She meets his gaze, a turbulent question within hers, beseeching. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I should.” She looks as if she has more to speak, restive teeth biting into her lip to hold back unsaid thoughts.

Rafayel dares not parse the emotions he sees flittering within her eyes, dares not hope for what he cannot have. Not again, for his heart to fracture once more by setting up false narratives. He has loved and will love still for eternity — he doesn’t, however, have the tenacity to bear being abandoned again. 

And so, he shutters himself, gaze wrenching away from hers, a frown knitting tight against his brow. “Whatever it is that you want, if it makes you happy, I want you to grab onto it for yourself.” Fingers brushing against hers from where they rest within the sand, index and middle lingering longer against the base of her ring finger. Before he moves, carding hesitant digits through the fall of her hair.  

For it is the only way he knows how to love — regardless of broken vows — in her happiness, even if it would never be found by his side. 

VI. FLOW

The dream stirs vivid beneath restless lids — Rafayel hasn’t dreamt of that time of theirs together in so long, a welcome awareness of his mind’s conjuring, he embraces in that moment.   

Perhaps by-products of an exhausted, sick mind. 

Or yearning for an unfulfilled wish.  

A sweet sting of desire, just as the first time he remembers it. He lets himself drown deeper into the abyss of its calling. 

He’d cut a boring class during first semester at college — he could no longer remember the subject — in lieu of chasing the path of an ambitious sparrow within a secluded spot. Located far back along the grounds of the college and protected further underneath the dense foliage of the overgrown greenery as he’d sat perched upon a bench, motionless and silent.  

Save for the smooth rush of his pencil across his journal. Detailing the quest of the bird as it leapt across the grass towards a lazing cat, blissfully dodging the feline’s half-hearted attempt at pawing it away.  

Tranquility rippled only at a surprising intrusion; she’d walked into his private space — she always seemed to find him — and he’d startled at her presence.  

“Oh! Sorry. Rafayel, I thought I—” 

Their relationship on strained ice at the time — neither of them choosing to dig up unfulfilled childhood vows or the break of their fated thread. 

 A hastened apology she’d tripped over, for disturbing him before her eyes had flickered to the open journal in his lap and she’d breathed an awed sound. Called it beautiful — a slip of the tongue, he could tell, from her demeanor.  

They'd gotten back into conversation — albeit halting — after that.  

The moment, a pivotal one, in Rafayel allowing himself to accept her back into his life, both emotionally and physically. 

He recalls the citrus notes to her perfume as she’d tentatively seated herself by his side. The way her hair curled delicate against the curve of her cheek, beckoning Rafayel to dare a hand out and slip it back against her ear. 

The unconscious brush of soft digits against his as she’d moved to accept the proffered journal from him, when she’d asked for permission to view more of his artworks.  

The relief that had sunk into his marrow, body strung far too tight for so long — he felt each ache settle and ease, when she returned to his side. As if their bond still remained.  

As if it had never fractured in the first place. 

She moves to tug the curtains close, clipping back the last shafts of light from Rafayel’s room; his damp brow now decidedly relaxed in restless slumber, after being exposed to the heat of the sun for so long.  

He’s made a habit of drawing his windows open at night, perhaps to relieve the fevered pitch of his body off the cool breeze wafting of the sea. Restive sleeplessness; keeping him tossing until near close to dawn, when she often catches him falling, thankfully, into exhaustive sleep at the end of his long, disturbed nights.  

Rafayel had been out of sorts for nearly two weeks now; a distracted gaze and a listless stride his constant companions. Adamant and mulish in his response, at inquiring of his health, every time, that he was perfectly alright and merely plagued by the weariness of sleepless nights spent on his paintings.  

Barely a day or two into that ridiculous spectacle of his before her patience with him had expired and she’d hauled him off to his room and strong-armed him into bed.  

A rueful smile tugs at her mouth at the recollection of their silly argument then.  

“Hey, ow. Easy, you’ll break me! Aaah... too late. I think I’ve already dislocated my wrist. My life as a painter is done for. Ow.”   

“Rafayel. Shut up unless you want me to gag you as well.”  Forcing the covers over his body; she glowered at him for obedience while she hastened to take his temperature.  

Rafayel’s mouth soured deeper in distaste the longer she fretted over him. Opening his mouth, surely to protest, before she cut him off. “You’re running a low-grade fever.” 

Pressing a gentle hand over his forehead, “Please, rest now.” 

A knot twisted in between Rafayel’s brow at her plea. Threading his fingers against hers. “Alright, alright I will,” he murmured, a gentle thumb he smoothed against her furrowed brow. “So, stop making that face now.”  

His agitation at his prolonged ill-health, however, had manifested in numerous half-finished drafts and rough sketches, he’d filled sheets upon sheets of paper with, littered upon his bed.  

The subject matter of most, inexplicably similar in features; a fact that surprised her, for Rafayel had always been one for continual exploration of a wide variety of subjects in his artworks, rather than one stationary objective.  

She reaches for one such sketch now, discarded by his bedside. Predictably, it is the same subject her eyes have grown accustomed to: the graceful arch of a person’s — a woman’s — back, the cascade of her hair shrouding her gaze from view. It is ethereal, haunting. Lonely.  

And. 

She exhales an unsteady breath. Although a mere unpolished sketch, she feels Rafayel’s longing in the hastened strokes of charcoal across her visage.  An inscrutable sprout of emotion twinges at her chest each time she looks upon this faceless woman, a desire to tear her gaze away from the care put into the strokes and never look at them again and yet, it’s as if her hands are not her own, each time they sift through his sketches to reveal a new one made. She despises it, and the feeling of her selfish loathing itself. Not when she bears reason nor right to feel the way she does.  

The ring finger of her right hand throbs, an echo of her turbulent emotions manifesting in the faint red restraint flickering against the base of her digit before it winks once more out of existence. 

No.  

Her gaze instinctually jumps to Rafayel, his prone form still deep in sleep.  

She'd nearly forgotten the other reason for her undue distress these past couple of days; worry for Rafayel occupying each of her thoughts, leaving little space for much else.

She sinks, weak-kneed, onto the bed, right next to Rafayel. Carding her fingers through the soft brush of his hair, gently thumbing a line down his temple.  

She’d thought her mind was conjuring illusive tricks the first few times she’d caught that fleeting flicker of red across her finger. 

Impossible, for it had been nearly twelve years since she’d lost her bond after being forced away from Rafayel. And then, her eyes had insistently tried tracing the line of it, every time it shimmered against her finger, hoping that it would perhaps.... 

Just maybe, if a miracle were to occur— 

That it would re-connect. Back to the only person she’d ever loved. Back to him, her beautiful Lemurian. That perhaps, he’d grant her another chance. That perhaps there was a sliver of hope that Rafayel would love her back once more.  

Once more. 

 Her yearning dashed in the brutality of a truth, far too incomprehensible to her mind. 

On the day her grandmother caught sight of her glimmering thread before she’d informed her with much joy; a red thread of fate, if once severed, made an appearance once more, within the lifetime of rare, chosen… fortunate individuals. If Fate ever ordained for the individuals to find new love once more. Another love so great, it changed Fate’s threads and course itself.  

“You’re blessed, my darling girl. Most people are happy enough if they get to enjoy even one fated love throughout their lives. But you've found two in your lifetime. It is a joyous thing, my love, do not be sad. Do not weep.” 

“...Perhaps, it is time you let him — let your past go.”  

Like ice curdling within her veins. As if Fate itself were playing upon her a cruel jest. She could never. How could she ever? 

And then, her denials had crumbled entirely, shortly after that dreaded truth.  

Her oldest friend, her sole pillar when she’d lost Rafayel. The person who’d held her close and kept her heart safe—  

When she’d lie in bed all day during her earliest days, screaming from the deluging fever of her bond withering. 

—It was the day her childhood friend, her Caleb confessed.  

Even without the evidence of a corporeal bond connecting them, that had been her last straw.  

She presses her lips against Rafayel’s cheek, overwhelming emotions threatening to surge, unable to resist or hold herself in control. “I could never.” she vows under her breath, fingers stroking down the line of his cheek. “Even if you have let go of me, Rafayel, I’m—” 

She feels the roughened pads of his digits against where she touches his face, perturbed at the sudden movement. His eyes flitter, restless, beneath his lids, grasp tightening upon her wrist. “My beloved bride.”

She tries and yanks herself away from his touch, startled at his unconscious murmuring. Rafayel does not let go, nudging his cheek against the crook of her captured palm.  

“Rafayel.” She urges, her heart stuttering over its beats. “Rafayel, please wake up.”  

At long last, he listens; that beautiful, florid gaze misted with the callings of sleep still, as it focuses on her. He makes an indiscrete sound. “Is it morning already? Agh, my head hurts.” He continues to nuzzle his face against her palm.  

“R-Rafayel! Hey!” She winces, hand unbearably hot within his hold. “Let go of me now. If you’re up, have some breakfast instead. You need the energy, dummy.” 

“Don’t want to let you go. Pamper me more.” And yet, he refuses to heed her lukewarm pleas, extremely wilful in his post-sleep, feverish daze.  

She huffs out a breathless laugh, her apprehension ebbing, gentle, into silence the longer she feels his warmth against her.  

Maybe she is allowed to indulge just a bit longer.  

 VII. EBB 

An errant thread and an inexplicable long spell of heat, as if trudging up a steep path, burgeoning fast towards an inevitable destination he could not quite clutch at. Unsolicited suspicions, as to the true nature of his predicament, incessantly rapping at his thoughts.  

Rafayel feels that dour twist to his brow; darkening his features at the wheeling course of his mind. 

 She’s caught him in similar moods since his “illness” commenced, more times than he can count. The endless time afforded his way, involuntarily threading his thoughts to places he doesn’t wish to visit. He doesn’t wish, ever, to alarm or upset her, setting to ease her thoughts the moment worry mars her features, testing index and middle against the sharp knot at her forehead before his attentions — and hers — are compelled entirely her way.  

That is also something that has shifted in between them, into something entirely different. He’s been unusually attuned to her for the duration of his peculiar period of ill-health.  

She has always been his primary muse, the focal point where all of Rafayel’s tangled thoughts find eventual and inevitable convergence. However, somehow, all of those sensibilities have turned sharper, impossibly aware of... her.  

Unconsciously turning to placations the moment he comprehends her distress. Choosing to bury, in turn; soothe the heat of his body within the scent of hers. Her hands on him when she fusses to take his temperature, her clothes, he takes a surreptitious, lungful breath of, when she moves close to towel the fevered sweat off his body. Truly, he does not understand what is wrong with him.  

Two weeks in now and his need for answers has driven him to near madness. He’s loathe to admit he must consult one, perhaps, more knowledgeable on the subject than he.  

He paces into the lounge, heavy in thought, fingers worrying at the phone in hand. 

“Oh, you’re up. Are you feeling any better?”  Just as she calls over to him from the kitchen counter.  

“Of course,” he fibs, tucking the phone back into the pocket of his trousers. He ambles over to her, dressed neat in her trainee uniform as she works a paring knife around an apple. “What’re you doing?”  

“You should have something healthy to eat while I’m away.”  

“Ah.” He plucks a piece of fruit off the plate next to her, eyeing the peculiar shape. “So, you decided to cut me some apple bunnies.”  The corners of his mouth drag into a skewed grin. “I am not a child, cutie.”  

She makes an inflated motion of surprise, pressing a hand against her chest. “Really?”  

And when he rolls his eyes at her, “Of course you aren’t,” she grins. “I’ve never met any children as stubborn as you.”  

“Cheeky.” He flicks a gentle hand against her forehead.  

His eyes skim towards the wall clock and back towards her neatly pressed outfit. “You have an on-field Hunter’s exam this afternoon, don’t you? You’ll be late if you dawdle any longer. Besides, I can feed myself just fine.”  

She startles a bit as her eyes, too, take note of the hour. Hastily shoving the plate of her fresh cut fruit into his hands. “Alright, I’ll leave. You better eat, then rest up. Don’t exert yourself, alright?”  

She steps past the counter. “Come, Kiki.” A white dutiful ball of fur capers up to her as soon as she calls. Rafayel hedges further against the counter just as the white ball tumbles into her waiting arms.  

“There, what a good girl you are!” She croons over the cat, petting at that little fiend pet of her friend’s. She rises to her feet. 

“I’ll drop her off at Tara’s before heading to the centre.”  

“Good riddance,” Rafayel mutters, blenching just as she moves closer with the cat still in her arms.  

“Rude, I’m sad to see her go so soon.” She pulls a glum face at him.  “Do you want to pet her goodbye before she leaves and you start missing her?”  

“I won’t,” He dissents, even as he braves the tips of his fingers against Kiki’s head in a cautious scritch before snapping his hand right back. “Bye, white menace.”  

Rafayel’s moue of specious disapproval turns deeper with her knowing grin. “Let’s go now that you’ve said your farewells to Uncle Rafayel.” She kisses the top of the cat’s head as it purrs in elated satisfaction at her attentions. 

He quirks a flippant brow at her. “All affections for the furry feline, I see.” 

She laughs, the sound an aching balm against long-wrought nerves. “Why, is my fish jealous of a little kitten? Come here, then.”  

“I am not—!” He sputters, just as her hand curves about the back of his neck and pulls downward, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.  

The previously simmering, barely tamped warmth of his body bursts forth with a brilliant vengeance, his skin set ablaze at just the graze of her touch. Rafayel has to actively constrain himself from keeling over entirely on the floor from his sudden deluge of emotions. Has to curb the quiver of his arms from wanting to steal that heat back against his body.  

She draws back, just as swift, on her feet. The pink of her cheeks is infectious, enticing. Rafayel stares at her, mute and slack-jawed, even as she backs out of the kitchen and through the front door. “I’ll see you tonight, my little fish!” And then he’s left to his own spiraling thoughts.  

Ah. Rafayel scrubs agitated palms down the length of his face in the ensuing silence of their home. His scarlet thread burns incandescent in his hind-vision, flittering in its sporadic expansion. If only she knew how entirely ruined he was at her feet, alone.  

VIII. FLOW  

“You rejected Caleb’s confession?”  

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t anticipated Tara’s baffled outburst.  

It was part of the reason why she chose to reveal the ‘news’ to her this unceremoniously, as she gently eased Kiki over into Tara’s arms while they stood at her open front door. She adored Tara but was of no mind to be sat down at length while her best friend grilled the details out of her.  

Not ready for the difficult conversations that would ensue; of her past grievances, the break of her fated thread and how she dreaded, within a dark crevice of her heart, that Caleb might turn out to be the one her Fate was once more, trying to bind her to. How could she even begin to delineate it wasn’t what she wanted?  

No, she wasn’t ready for that conversation with Tara, at all.  

“I’m going to be late for my exam, Tara.” She gives her a contrite smile.  

“Yes, I know, sorry, darling, but… why? I really thought things were well between you too. And I was sure there was something going on—! I— can’t you say?” Her friend’s gaze is weighty, imploring. “Is there... someone else?” Her eyes widen. “Is it—” 

And the longer she’s met with terse silence, the heat of her gaze wanes in gradual realization before, at last, she retreats her onslaught, a troubled groan leaving her lips. “At least tell me you’re alright. I’ve been worried about you.”  

“I know, Tara, I’m sorry. I’m perfectly fine.” She gives her free hand a squeeze before withdrawing back a few steps. “I should really go now.”  

Tara loses another sigh. “You really should. Promise we’ll catch up later?”  

“I promise.” She raises her hand in farewell, jogging down the few steps to her house.  

Tara calls out to her just as she reaches the foot of her stairs. “Good luck, girl! I’m cheering for you.”  

She flashes her friend an appreciative smile.  

With Tara, she really can’t be sure if she meant her encouragement for her qualifying physical exam. Or something else entirely.  

Knowing her friend, it was probably both.  

She reaches the examination centre just under the wire, right as the towering gates to the grounds swing shut behind her and two other late-comers.  

Toggling open her Hunter’s Watch, she hastens to join the formation up ahead of several other students, already lined in neat rows for their on-field Wanderers exam. Sidling in place, into her empty spot, just as the instructor in front drones on the list of rules for the exam, from upon his podium. “You are to form pairs of two, as per your roll numbers and enter your designated Protofields, to commence your exam. Before you begin, make sure...” 

He goes over the structures of the regulations one by one, detailing what actions would mete them points and what would deduct them in case of improper conduct.  

“These Protofields have been simulated under intensively controlled environments and contain a plethora of C and B-grade Wanderers you are to deal with, within the desired time limit. Coordinate with your partner, watch each other’s backs and follow all routine safety regulations. Violators will be disqualified on the spot.” He continues. “Keep within bounds of all marked fields, maintain your senses and you should do well. Lastly, trust your education and the skills you have acquired over the course of these years via means of your perseverance and hard work. May you reign victorious, young Hunters!” With his final words, the crowd disperses, heading towards their designated spots for their exams. 

She taps her fingers against her Hunter’s Watch, pulling up the specifications of the Protofield she is to clear, before setting out. 

 

“Gabriel? Hi.” She calls to her team-mate as she moves to join him, recognizing the man from the same class division as hers.  

He returns her greeting, the two setting to sync their data via their watches within the final minute countdown before their exam commences. The flux nexus, in front, pulses to life upon confirmation of both their identities, filtering its pre-programmed wavelength to project upon the barren field. A kaleidoscopic flitter of energy wheeling across the space once is their only indication of a protofield activated, before the two step forwards, cautious, weapons at the ready.  

“No.” Rafayel’s jaw steels in chagrin, hearing the resigned, gentle finality of the words on the other end of the line.  

“Rafayel...” Talia coaxes.  

“I said no. You’re wrong.” He gnashes out, even as the heat simmers, muggy and suffocating, within his body. Even as he continues to deny the indubitable truth of her words.  

For if he did, he would have to face the looming fate of another horrifying possibility.  

The regret of asking for Talia’s help sits heavy within his throat. Facts she utters in such certitude, it leaves Rafayel irrationally agitated. He knows it is not her fault.  

 He hears her soft sigh on the other end of the line. “You told me you’ve been suffering these bouts of ‘fever’ since the past two weeks, an ‘illness’ that refuses to abate and that your...” She pauses, as if seeking words best to voice her next. “incomplete thread has been showing sporadic signs as of late.” 

“Yes.” His voice is quiet, stiff. 

“Rafayel, you’re experiencing early symptoms of an oncoming rut and you know it. You feel it. You didn’t need to call me, when you’re well-informed on the matter yourself, even if you’ve never experienced it before.” She pauses.  “The only reason you reached out to me is that you wanted me to validate your suspicions, isn’t that right?” 

He does not respond to her astute observation.

“An unmated Lemurian cannot experience sexual cycles the same way as a bonded Lemurian. And as you are well-aware, my thread was long severed.” He refutes, contemptuous. “You know what, forget I asked. You clearly don’t understand what’s wrong with me any better than I do. Sorry for crashing your honeymoon. Goodbye, Talia.”  

“Is your thread truly severed, Rafayel?” Her voice rings, solemn, from the other end of the line, just as Rafayel moves to disconnect the call. He pauses, gaze involuntarily skewing towards his lengthening line of red thread. The frown in between his brow turns severe, as if being coerced to witness a sight against his will.  

“You’re experiencing a re-connection and you’re not allowing yourself the happiness that comes with new love. It’s a rare and beautiful thing, for your red fate to find itself weaved against a new person you would cherish.”  

Rafayel does not have the resolve to discredit her words despite his vehement disagreement; having known her experience the loss of her first love, the agony of her days after. And only years later, had she allowed herself to love once more, a happiness Rafayel was content to stand in observance to, glad at her well-deserved peace.   

He, however, was different from Talia. He’d rather his Fate dissipate entirely than for it to wind itself against a stranger. He was different, for Rafayel knew he would never love again, never cherish another, no matter the decades in between.  

For him, there would never be anyone else. 

A transitory pressure curdles heavy about her shoulders as they pace past the barrier and into the protofield. The familiarity of their training grounds dwindles away, large looming falls of thick trees rising, ominous, to blot the skies. Blanketing twilight, instantaneous, overhead. A slow, sweeping curl of gray, mists about their feet, soaking into the dank ground beneath. 

Beside her, she hears Gabriel’s apprehensive breaths. “I can never get used to this.”  

Weapons at the ready, they trudge a slow, cautious path through the simulated wilderness. Gnarled branches seize and snick at their clothes, the craggy mire beneath, a strenuous trudge to keep upright through; as if the forest itself were alive with wicked intent.  

Gabriel’s firearm is the first to go off in a thunderous shot, breaking a flock of obsidian birds to startle into the skies. She follows suit, breaking into a dash along with him; the dark, hunched figure of a fleet-footed Wanderer she aims her gun at and fires, the shot catching it right against its head. The creature lurches forwards onto its body in a seething screech of sound, following its crackling demise into a spoor of pungent smoke.  

The two maintain their steady pace of weeding the area of Wanderers, most they’re able to dispatch with ease. Reflexes and hard ingrained years of training coming into play, the more battles they win through, setting into an easy rhythm of partnership.  

The Wanderer Gabriel skews his sword through in a final thrust, disintegrates into smoke with a rattling gurgle.  She pauses to survey their surroundings, the deep, metallic skies yet to dissipate entirely: indication of a cleared exam. Up ahead, she spies a peculiar forking at the path, the protofield seeming to disperse into dense, murky mist past the intersection. Gabriel flicks the blood off his sword, moving to join her. “Strange.” 

“Yeah. I don’t think low grade Wanderers can distort protofields to this extent.” She agrees. 

“Likely an A grade, at least. Shouldn’t be harder than what we’ve handled so far.” He pauses. “Besides the fact that this one seems like it can replicate itself into weaker copies, judging from the splice it’s created in the field.” 

She frowns at his conclusion, likely accurate. There shouldn’t be an A grade on the loose within a junior hunter’s exam, to begin with; a Wanderer class reserved only for the final year senior field exam. Signals are, as expected sparse, this deep within the protofield, and with an A grade, at hand, tampering the protofield, the possibility of communications being established sits non-existent, at present. She drops a distress signal onto the Hunter’s site, regardless, moving to join him at the fork.  

“We’ll have to clear out the Wanderer, either way, if we want to leave this protofield.” She swipes her empty magazine for a new one, securing it fast back into her gun.  

“Right.” Gabriel’s own fist tightens against the hilt of his sword. “You take the right, I’ll take the left? The distortion should be obliterated on its own once we eliminate all of its copies. I’ll see you soon, partner.”  

“Right back at you. Good luck.”  

Gabriel flashes a flimsy grin at her before treading onto the left path. A swift heavy oppression belts massive across the field, the compression settling a deafening din to her ears. “Hah, Gabriel, wait—” 

But it’s too late. Her partner’s form, long digested by the roiling clouds of black before she can call him back.  

Something’s not right. An A-grade Wanderer shouldn’t be able to exert that kind of pressure. 

An electromagnetic resonance tremors across the space, as if something rattles at the confines of the protofield from beyond. Wanting in.  

Sweat gathers clammy and unpleasant across the back of her neck, her eyes skittering back towards where Gabriel vanished into the murk.  

She firms a hand around her gun, steeling her spine for courage. Whatever anomaly has occurred within the premises of their exam can be dealt with later. Her first priority; to help Gabriel out in eliminating all of the A-grade's clones and dissipating the distortion in front before they planned their next move. And help would arrive soon, once transmission allowed her distress signal to go through, they just had to hold on until then; she reassures herself.  

Moving forward to stride past the muted obsidian barrier at her right.  

The dark cloak of the Wanderer’s protofield washes across her skin like skidding, frigid fingers of emptiness, it spills an involuntary shiver down her spine.  

The cold, metallic spires of the protofield taper off into the void overhead as she steps onto the main field. A skittering figure, one, two, three; lunge, whip-swift, towards her as soon as they spot her, gaping maws and needle teeth poised to tear into her before her fight or flight reflexes jam in. She empties a volley of bullets into their bodies, sieving clean through the approaching Wanderers. Lobs of inhumane flesh, dissipating as soon as they hit the ground.  

Several far smaller figures melt out of the darkness to aim their attacks at her; one after the other she takes down in swift shots. Breaths trembling harsh and hot, her heart hammering over its frantic beats the longer the fight persists.  

A fatigued mistake; being mere seconds slow to switch her empty gun for another, costs her a hard, long gash sliced through the sleeve of her shoulder by the remaining Wanderer. Fire licks up across her arm in a sudden shock of pain, muted instantaneously underneath the roiling pump of adrenaline. She wrenches a dagger off her leg strap. Twisting her torso about to bring her uninjured arm up in a sharp arc, furiously tearing a split through the last Wanderer with a fierce yell and the remnants of her fraying stamina.  

The Wanderer’s remains snivel into a fire just as it hits the ground, the cool, metallic gloom giving way to the unraveling edges of the original forest once more. 

And just as her eyes adjust to the shadows of the protofield once more, she catches sight of a figure slumped upon the grass, unmoving. “Gabriel!” She yells, forcing her limbs underneath her through the pained grit of bared teeth. Clutching hard at her arm to stopper the slow rivulets of blood flow seeping from the gash before she stumbles across the grass towards the man.  

Her Hunter’s Watch blinks, in indication of a transmission successful — her distress signal. Collapsing to her knees at Gabriel’s side just as her watch flares to life in blaring red, an ominous warning running across the screen.  

S-Grade: Deluge Wyrmlord.   Protofield type: Memory Distortion Solo Hunters, do not engage.  

Her mouth runs dry at the far calls of her name—  

“Special Grade—!” Gabriel’s voice resounds just from across the field. “—Run!” 

The collapsed figure at her feet assimilating into thin air, a trick blanketed over her weary mind, by the workings of a high-class Wanderer.  

She feels that intense bone-crushing pressure creep across her back once more, her breath coming through in fits of raspy air. Fixing the barrel of her gun back across her shoulder, she fires, just as a great, dark talon comes across her face, drowning her in darkness.

The call has barely disconnected when Rafayel tosses the phone aside, staggering onto his feet under the heated weight of his body. His eyes drift — an involuntary reflex — towards that squeamish glow of red, his thread flickering in and out of sight, the extended length of it, an alarming sight. Vexation ticks harsh at his jaw.  

Before he’s able to reign control, the spits of a brilliant vermillion fire spurt forth from tapered digits, rushing across the incorporeal red string, in an effort to blaze the blasted thing off of him entirely.  

The fire dissipates, harmless, as expected, with the absence of a pure solid medium to burn. His thread glimmers to life once more, as if deriding Rafayel with its presence.  

Beyond agitated, fervent digits pluck upwards, summoning his Evol to life for a stronger burst of energy —   

A sudden inundating contraction pierces in vengeance across his heart, sending a bolt of excruciating pain lancing through his chest. Rafayel flounders; violently pitching to his knees from the intensity of its sensations. His breaths are hard to smother past lungs that burn for oxygen and yet refuse to inhale. 

Red throbs, vivid and urgent, across his ring finger, as if the call of a terrible siren, knelling of ill-fate and destruction.  

His own fire, begs to consume, hurtling across his skin, a throat that chokes from the fervid heat of his bond, threatening to annihilate him entirely. He feels his humane features molding against the translucent glimmer of cerulean scales, his human form scattering in response to the irrefragable call of his bond, his mate.  

She’s in danger. 

Alarming apprehension dawns upon his mind, the sole thought of her throttling his mind, his oath promised, urging to call upon the one person her thread connects to, a Fate irrefutable, a bond everlasting.  

No. 

A savage inferno tears across Rafayel’s body — scarlet and florid licks of fire — until it engulfs him entirely, leaving nothing in its wake.  

Silence is all that remains behind. 

IX. EBB  [TW for this chapter: passing mentions of domestic abuse]

White peels back from her field of vision; slowly revealing to her the dreary, stifling atmosphere of an incredibly familiar room. A young girl stands amidst a crowd of mourning adults, some in loud tears. Others who secrete their faces into handkerchiefs and shake their heads in dismay at the “poor orphan”. Nausea wrestles pungent within her belly at the sight.  

Her gaze, involuntarily shepherded, past the throng of mourners and towards the picture of the deceased — she knows that face before she sees it — her absent father who had often left her to her own devices, save for the times he was not actively trying to assault her with stray bottles of alcohol, laying in plain sight or the utensils and plates she used to serve his meals, on days he wore down all of their expenses for another swig of tepid, cheap alcohol.  

She knows the child in front of her now feels neither sadness nor remorse as people who call themselves her relatives step over, one after the other, offering words of specious pity and solace she has no use of.  

It was also the day she’d met her Grandma for the first time.  

The scene in front falls out from beneath her feet, traded for the sounds of defeated shrieks and futile violence in the tiny fists that try and shove off the social workers, from bodily dragging her away from the familiarity of her old house. The young girl screams and screams for Rafayel, begs them not to take her away, that she doesn’t want to live with her Grandma several cities across the seas; a gap so wide, how would she ever find the only person who had meant the entire world to her, once more? She hadn’t even told him she was leaving. They wouldn’t let her leave the house, for fear she might run away.  

Her head throbs in vicious pain, ominous tendrils of rooted fire curling through the recesses of her brain as she watches the girl’s — her — futile resistance. 

A gibbering shadow skates past the edges of her vision. She feels like she’s forgetting something direly important, skirting just past the edge of memory. 

The young girl never told the adults around her of the young Lemurian boy — bonded though they were. She knew of the dark whispers that coiled through the cesspool she lived within, how the Lemurians were a species, well-coveted for how steeply priced their bodies sold for, within the black market. 

Her fierce possession and numbing worry for her vulnerable Lemurian had kept her from ever revealing her thread in another’s presence. For how had any of the adults stepped up to be her protectors, ever, in the young girl’s life? She trusted no one, save for herself and her sole mer-friend. She'd promised him they’d stay together forever; she’d vowed upon the sole pair of glimmering seashells, they’d found sanded within their beach, that she’d marry him when they grew up. She had— 

Obsidian smoke curls about her limbs, seeps into her lungs; a slow, poisonous ingestion. The deep, dark dreary roar of a beast sounds from afar, within the recesses of her memories.  

“You abandoned me.” She whips on her heel, coming face to face with her young Lemurian, eyes listless, lightless.  

“No.” She totters away from the horror of her nightmares manifested.  

An ice-cold hand wraps about her torn sleeve, digits digging deep into her wound. She cries out in instinctive pain, wrenching at her arm in an effort to free it. Her wild gaze meets Rafayel’s. Older, far frigid; the present Rafayel looks at her with an insouciant emptiness, it tears at the heart bruising within her chest. “You abandoned me,” he repeats.  

His hand jams about her throat, lifting her clean off her feet. She throttles violently within his grasp, breaths coming in rapid, tapering hisses. “And then, like the rest of those shameless humans, you thought it wise to appear before my eyes once more.” The pressure upon her wind-pipe increases, bit by bit, forcing tears into wide, panicked eyes. “You wanted to capture me too, didn’t you? You're just like the rest of them.” Rafayel’s just ire, cleaves like knives shoved right beneath her breastbone, bleeding out her heart. 

It’s an illusion, Rafayel would never. A stray whisper catches at her ears.  

“Would I really never? Well, aren't your thoughts so convenient. Admit it, you’ve always known.” Rafayel’s gaze is dark in barely tamped wrath and disgust. “I despise you, you and all your kind.” 

“R-Rafayel...” The dull, grey curl of smoke — previously shifting in wait at the edges of her vision — approaches nearer, her defences swiftly waning underneath his assault. Fingers, she scraps bloody against his grip upon her throat, and yet he refuses to relent.  

“It would be better for you to perish here, no? You'll leave me free to live my own life then. I would no longer be shackled to you like some pet.”  

“Y-You were never—” 

A furious scarlet fire splinters a path through Rafayel — his body distorts out of existence for a moment before he gathers form once more. A surprised brow he raises in question at the interference.  

“Snap out of it!”  

Rafayel?  

Her swimming gaze hones in on her beloved, from across the indifferent Rafayel’s shoulder, surely another wraith of her mind; wide blown panic, turbulent within his gaze.  

“What do you think you’re doing believing that sham?” Another burst of Evol sparks across his fingers, aimed at the other Rafayel.  

“You must trust me, believe in me alone.” Another volley of enraged fire skewers through the Rafayel holding her captive — cleaving past him harmless — the latter views him as if he were an offending impediment. “That thing is not me. It’s trying to devour you!” 

“Shut up,” the colder Rafayel speaks, hand jamming tighter against her throat, causing precious breaths to come through stuttered wheezes.  

The other Rafayel steps forward, a desperate hand he holds outstretched for her; an electromagnetic interference rippling about his body, stalling his further motions. “You have to believe the truth in front of your eyes — believe me — to be free of its prison. I have never, not for a moment, held our past against you.”  

“An imposter,” the cruel one says.  

Rafayel drives another step forwards, through the whipping waves of the scape’s resistance, snicking wounds across his jaw, tearing at his clothes. “I don’t regret meeting you.” The gentle azure of his gaze sparks vivid in a deluge of emotions; misery, panic and hopeful sincerity commingling. You were — you have always been my greatest joy, my only muse.” 

The Rafayel that holds her captive bites out an inhumane bark, eyes fading swiftly into obsidian. “I hate you, I’ve always hated you.”  

“Do you remember,” Rafayel urges, heaving another step closer. “the seashells you used to weave into necklaces and put on me when we first met? You told me they made me seem as brilliant as a Sea God, your Sea God, when you did.”A splintered laugh escapes his mouth at the recollection. “Even when I told you the ocean’s gods didn’t wear necklaces made of shells.” 

His voice breaks, emotions raw and desperate within the throaty catch of it, dragging her down the spiral of fond memories. “And the songs you used to hum for us in that odd, off-note voice when you were happy, you’ve retained that silly habit long even into your adult years now.”  

Emotions spurt and tumble free-fall from the inky desolation of her heart, tearing open at the seams of doubts and guilt.  

“And when you are mad, the reckless storm that gathers at your face is endearing. When you forgive me just as easily, the smile that lights your face...” 

A distant rumble sounds through the scape of your illusions, world crumbling apart at the seams.  

“I remember it all, like irreplaceable ornaments, treasures. Without you, I—” He bites back, harsh, at his words. The curious blue sheen across his face, glimmers. 

Eyes that glisten in moisture that threatens to seep past damp lashes; Rafayel’s eyes fall shut in a scraped plea.  

Emotions fueled by the catch of a distraught mind though he were, his words snag, painful, at her throat, springing tears to flow free-fall, at the comfort of his tender confessions. She, too, remembered all there was to know about him, her Rafayel, because of how she adored him. His words and steadfast affection seeping gentle into her mind now, in swift recollection. 

The great, dark beast in front has long shed its false skins, rattling useless in the face of her realization; it wrenches away from her body as if burned. “Pestilent humans.” As it flees entirely from the scape of illusions, great, dark fractures spilling up the space with its departure. 

She drops towards the disintegrating floor, once released, heaving in great lungfuls of air. Rafayel — the wraith of her mind — lunges forward, snatching her body mid-air against his as they fall, with the demolition of the Wanderer’s illusions shattered from her mind.  

A deluging rush of remembrance; the exam, the Wanderer, of being dragged into darkness by the Deluge Wyrmlord tumbles back into a now clear mind. 

And this Rafayel, having stood witness to all her memories.  

He lands on nimble feet, upon the now revealed protofield of the Wanderer; the weight of his Evol, she feels, scatter into the air.  

“You’re injured.” He mourns softly, fingers glancing gentle against the abrasion of her throat from where the Wanderer choked her, down her bruised arm, the blood long staunched in dark red across the cut. 

“I’ll be fine.” She cradles his face within a careful palm, face softening in overwhelming gratitude. If only she, too, could tell him how much she truly loved him. 

Rafayel makes a skeptical sound of disapproval. A hand, he sifts up into her hair and curls about the back of her head. “Hold still.” And before she can finally think to question why a figment of her mind still persists outside the cast illusion, Rafayel is pressing his lips against hers, mouth moving to part hers until she feels warmth flow into her, the shock of his actions making her throat swallow around him on instinct. 

The dull throb at her arm, the cuts and bruises across her aching legs — breaths that seep in easier, with the patched abrasions of her throat — give way to strength as she witnesses her wounds stitch up, in disbelieving surprise. 

“A Lemurian’s essence holds healing properties,” He breathes, heated against her lips. “our tears, saliva—” He pauses. “You’ll feel better soon.” The fever of his skin beneath her grasping fingertips, his shallow breaths come in quick; the flush across his cheekbones feels much too corporeal to be mere figment of her imagination. 

Her eyes widen in disbelief, mind refusing to comprehend his presence. Restless hands tracing the shape of his firm body underneath hers; his neck, the strength of his shoulders, down the unyielding expanse of a solid chest. 

It just couldn’t be. 

“Are you... real?” She slips a palm about the curve of his cheek, index and finger pinching at the flesh. “You can’t be real, you can’t be here.” 

Rafayel chokes on an incredulous laugh. “What an inane question, can’t you tell, silly girl?” He sounds offended. 

A plethora of questions tumble within her mind as Rafayel bumps his forehead up against hers, moisture glistening like pearls upon his cheeks. “I can sense you. And I felt it, when I nearly lost you.” He grits out the words, chagrined; breath hitching in pain as if reliving a nightmare. 

Her heart shrivels at his admission, aching gaze tracing the outline of his Lemurian features. “But, I... I don’t understand. You look so different, Rafayel, what—” 

A great ominous roar sounds from the center of the protofield, the Wanderer now having recovered from its short rebuttal of having been torn away from its prey.  

Rafayel lets her down onto her feet cautiously. Taking her hand in his, his skin sits unbearably warm against hers, “Questions later. We have to get rid of that Wanderer right now. Come on.” 

She nods at him, the two turning to face the Wanderer before they fixate their stance. Hurtling forth in tandem towards the approaching monster; weapons materializing within firm fists. 

They rush, as one, at the large winged creature, aiming right against the base of its great talons. A shield thrown upon the Wanderer, comes half-way down with their first assault.  

Back against his, she feels him tackle down the monster’s onslaught of weaker Wanderers, unearthly fire blazing away at its minions. A shimmering, amethyst line of fetters gathers form with his Evol, to grasp about the Wanderer’s body as it rages. She feels his breaths coming in harsher, feels the way he tightens his body through each motion of offense against their enemy — in no condition to be fighting off a high-class Wanderer with the weight of his sickness slowing him down.  

She captures Rafayel’s wrist in hers, jolting him backwards. Lunging in front of him to take the Wanderer’s next full-bodied assault. “Rely on me, I’ll fight for us both!” She calls to him over her shoulder. 

She catches his mute moment of surprise, out the corner of her eye before he bursts into quiet laughter. “What a reliable bodyguard.” Curving a palm about her shoulder, his Evol, she feels resonating against hers in harmony. “But if you insist.” Weaving their Evols together to strengthen; the dark fetters that plunge forwards this time, chain about the Wanderer’s girth, firmer, breaking clean through another of its shields.  

The Wyrmlord screeches in crazed agony, ramming a heavy appendage straight for them. The two lunge in opposing directions to avoid the assault; Rafayel, a split second too slow to dodge as its claws catch at the side of his abdomen, tearing at his shirt.  

He hurtles heavily onto the ground, body rolling across the Protofield before he swiftly catches himself, teetering back on to unsteady legs. His pants come in harsher, the scales across his face glimmering in fevered sweat; his body’s condition holding him back.

“Rafayel!” She calls for him on an urgent shout, rushing the Wanderer from its side, to cleave clean through its shield of defense. “Don’t push yourself anymore and stay back! You aren’t well!” 

He shakes his head at her, holding his body high once more. His shallow wound, she sees, stitch up soon after, the incandescent cerulean glow of his scales striking against his features. “It’s not what you think it is.” Rafayel streaks forward just as the Wanderer attempts to take flight for a sweeping offensive. 

He springs for the monster, using the momentum of his run, punting hard off its body; vicious chains of static purple zipping through it, to bring it crashing down onto the ground. The Wanderer’s remaining shield shattered in one critical hit, bringing it down in a violent collision of great, dark wings and a massive scaled body, vulnerable to damage.  

“Now! Rafayel instructs. Coalescing the bulk of his powers into the clench of a fist, he lunges for the Wanderer; her own movements, complimenting against his. Raising their weapons up high, their Evols converge against the other’s in a final, galvanic purple blast of energy. 

The Wanderer screeches one final sound of agony before it skitters lifeless at the ground, its disintegration setting into tattered fragments of energy.

The protofield around them begins to wane, jagged shards of breakage appearing across the domed surface of it, as soon as the Wanderer falls. 

“It’s over.” She exhales, relief plucking sharp across the back of her breastbone.

“Let me take… a moment to catch my breath.” And with the sheer adrenaline of the fight holding him up now, gone, so too does Rafayel’s strength ebb from him entirely, as he pitches onto his feet. “Rafayel!”  Just as she dives forward to catch him within her arms before his body hits the ground. “Hey!”  

Rafayel’s breathing harder, the sweat that dampens his brow far more pronounced with the appearance of his Lemurian features, glimmering scales gradually fanning wider across his skin. “Stay with me, it’s over.”

And then she sees it, the flittering of vivid red, burning against his ring finger. Pulsing harsher with each labored sound of breath he endures through and her breath frosts within her lungs.

She feels the distant pattering of approaching footsteps just as Rafayel’s hot palm curves about her wrist in a possessive hold. “We have to get out of here. I need to get home.”  

The frantic calls of her name echo across the field; she lifts her head to catch sight of a pale-faced Gabriel, waving his hands at her from just across the area. She shouts at him to stay where he is, cradling Rafayel closer to her torso for fear of his scales being seen. 

In this moment, she cannot bring herself to care for anything except providing what Rafayel needs; the frenetic urgency to his words enough to have her obeying without questions asked.  

Calling for her teammate, once more, to let the others know they were both alright and that she’d be back at a later time before Rafayel urges her thoughts back to himself.

“That’s... enough. Come now.” He moans within her embrace, just as Gabriel utters an unintelligible question of confusion. Her Lemurian’s fingers spasming against hers, “Hold tight.” he grinds out, before they’re both engulfed in a florid sea of fire.  

X. FLOOD 

The two of them come crashing onto a hard, polished surface; Rafayel’s arms tightening about her body in protection, just as his shoulder connects with the floor, with their fall. Deposited into the empty safety of his room — she notes in shock — by his Evol already shriveling out of existence.  

He shudders in visible pain beneath her, just as she scrabbles to get off his body. “I’m sorry—” The ferocity of his strength, however, hauls her back, bodies crushed against each in a firm, searing line. 

Rafayel’s pants rattle hot against the skin of her neck; the harsh rise and fall of his chest, she feels burn against her own, even through their clothes. He keeps them enclosed within that sweltering space of silence for several, long moments. 

Reaching her fingers out to comb through his unruly hair, in comfort, the adrenaline of their fight having fast shifted into worry for his health.  

Why had he decided to come after her in the fevered state he was in? How had he even known to come for her? The questions, unanswered, careened about in an endless cycle within her mind. 

Her Rafayel shifts, face sinking deeper against her breasts. Nosing, delicate, at the space exposed by her open collar as he inhales, long. His previous labored breaths seemingly soothed in her proximity, as he continues to breathe her in.

Her next gasp soughs past her lips on a catch of barely tamped sound, Rafayel’s gaze rolls up to meet hers — hot and piercing.  

“Rafayel,” She cups a hand about his warm cheek. “Let’s get you off the floor now, you’ll worsen your fever.”  

He knocks his cheek further into the space of her palm, lashes quivering shut, in comfort. “I told you... it’s not a fever ruining my body.” He repeats the words he’d uttered to her back in the Protofield.  

“It’s you.” Her mind jostles to a screeching halt.  

“What?” 

Rafayel’s body tightens beneath hers, the lean strength of his arms coming about to lift, with an ease entirely unexpected of a sick man. He moves them both onto the expanse of his bed, seating himself down, with her firm on his lap. “I’ve been going through these feverish bouts because you’ve been calling for me.” He heaves. “I’d never experienced them before because we’d never—” his words break. Rafayel’s fingers slip a slow, cautious path along the base of her spine, it makes her shiver above him. “I could’ve lost you,” he murmurs, “back there.” Hauling her close once more to sink his face into the crook of a tense shoulder as he breathes her in deep.

“I’m here now, I’m fine.” She soothes a gentle palm down the line of his back, the mild quivers that take it, muted into rest with her strokes. “Thank you for coming for me earlier.”

“Of course I did.” His grip upon her body tightens. “You called for me.” 

She rakes her fingers through his hair. “I... did not call for you, Rafayel. Even if I did, it’s impossible for you to have heard—”  

“Silly girl.” He captures her hand within his hair, entwining his fingers in between hers. “Do you not see?” Bringing their palms up close together for her to witness—

Red flitters about her ring finger, vivid — her heart jostles over its beats — the line of it longer and far corporeal, glimmering within the dark of his room, spiraling an undulating path up, up.  

Finding its other half, caught against the base of Rafayel’s finger. Her breath seizes within her throat at the sight, wary gaze tracing the line of the previously absent thread against their fingers. Not daring to believe the implications of the sight and what Rafayel too was saying. “How could this— I thought we were—”

“A Lemurian’s very being is set to perceive their beloved, in their entire capacity. Without exception.” He brings their entwined fists up to his mouth, feathering a kiss onto her knuckles apiece. “And I have not changed since the first moment I met you.”  

The heat of his words is within her head, the frenzied hammering of her heart within her throat. She dares not breathe too loud, dares not speak for fear of this precious moment shattering. The inference of his words could not be clearer and yet. A fleeting recollection of the Wanderer’s cast illusion comes to mind, the cold Rafayel’s unforgiving gaze flashing against hers.  

“Has your heart then... changed?” He asks, the wavering azure of his gaze fixated firm upon hers.

She caresses the back of her fingers against his cheek, down the line of his jaw. “It has not, not for a single moment in all these years but—” She whispers. But could you ever forgive me for leaving you on your own? 

“I’m not asking you for anything beyond that. I don’t care for it.” He shifts a thumb against the line of her lips dampened with a nervous swipe of her tongue. “I’m asking to know if the woman I love is willing to accept me again.”  

Her breath hitches within her throat. Turbulent emotions burst forth within her chest at his words, a sweet ache quivering at the back of her breastbone, the magnitude of his words she isn’t able to comprehend. Unable to believe the words she’s been wanting to hear him say, all this time, leaving that beautiful mouth. 

She surges forward onto his lap, desperate to answer the man who’s entrusted his heart so keenly into her hands. “I never stopped in the first place.” She speaks, adamant. Her fingers brush at his face, down the length of his neck to hold. The pads of them grazing the beauty of his scales, glimmering within the moonlight that shafts into the quiet dark of his room through the gauzy curtains. “I’ve loved only you all these years and by god, Rafayel, I don’t think I could ever love anyone but you.” She’s out of breath and dizzy in love, it’s a feeling she never wants to clamber out of, if it means he’d continue to look at her, just the way he is now.

She hears the audible throttle of his breath; a low, anguished sound, as if she’d told him something he’d considered entirely impossible. Rafayel had seemed so sure of her feelings, and yet, he looks at her now, with a relieved sort of devotion and desire. “Which god?” His whisper is sultry, his gaze along with the heat of his skin beneath have her feeling faint within his embrace, the flex of his arm tightening its hold about her waist.  

She tips her head closer, her lips shaping her answer a mere breadth from his. “My Rafayel, my own Sea God.” She braves a kiss against his mouth. “I love you.” She confesses, “I love you so—” 

Rafayel heaves forwards, filching the rest of her words right against the desperate tongue he sweeps into her mouth. Lips moving against each other in a mesh of reckless teeth and tongue, refusing to release from each other. Her fingers catch at the fabric of his collar, in a bid to drag him closer. Rafayel’s palms, a stable hold about the flare of her hips as she bucks against him in instinctual desire at the feeling of his tongue sweeping into her mouth. Her core grazes against the distinct line of his stiff arousal, straining beneath the placket of his trousers.  

Rafayel moans a low, throaty sound against her damp lips. “This is your fault,” he whispers, feverish. “You’re the one who has left me so vulnerable.” 

The turbulent seas within his gaze burn luminous, the gentle florid pinks of his irises swallowed within the blue that takes them. The scarcity of his scales now fleshing a path from his face. Down the graceful arc of his neck and across the expanse of his clavicle. Disappearing just under the line of collar of his shirt. She treks a reverential path about his beautiful Lemurian features; a shuddered exhale leaving Rafayel, in his inexplicable state of heightened sensitivity. “Do you know what’s wrong with me?” He seizes her exploring wrist within his gentle hold, halting her movements. His chest heaves once more in vehement, anguished pants, his skin impossibly hot beneath hers.

“No, tell me what’s happening to you. Why are you—” 

“—so sexually aroused?” He supplies, mouth skewing into a smile with the hot flush of her cheeks.  

“...I was going to ask about your humane features unraveling but that too. You're... burning up.”  

He sighs against her glancing touch, at the scales of his neck. “Each year, when the moon shifts phases and the tides ebb from the shores, bonded Lemurians go through an inevitable period of increased sexual activity. We are,” he pulses a delicate kiss to the inside of her captured wrist. “extremely vulnerable during this time, our base appetites, near insatiable, unless we bear it through with our bonded mates.” 

A streak of desire spurts within her chest, seeping down into her abdomen to pool in between her legs. “So then, all this time, you were...” 

“‘Sick’”, he continues, “because I wasn’t funneling my desires with my mate.” He tugs her close by her imprisoned hand, murmuring, hot, within her ear. “within my mate.” 

A low moan of desire breaks from her lips at his licentious provocation.  

“I’ve never experienced one before.” He confesses heavily. “I wasn’t sure what it was, when it started; the time of the year seemed to coincide with my symptoms but we weren’t bonded... not to my knowledge.” Rafayel’s gaze treks against the shimmering line of their thread, re-connected. “It’s a rarer miracle for it to find itself weaved against the ones it broke in between, more so than it is for the thread to re-emerge in between new lovers.” He laughs; a low self-deprecating sound. “Fate really played me for its fool.”

She murmurs his name, gathering his hand closer to press a reverent kiss against his ring of red at his finger. “I love you, Rafayel.” she reiterates, dragging his wide, wavering gaze back towards herself, letting the irrefutable truth of her words sink in. That it’s not Fate that tugs at the cogs of their bond now, but her feelings, unchanged as they’ve remained.  

“Promise me,” he implores. “Promise you’ll continue to see me the same, no matter how many years pass us by. Promise you’ll stay by my side this time?”  

Her answer rushed, eager, yearning to soothe. “Yes. Yes, I will. I want to stay by your side.” Stealing her arms about the broad strength of his shoulders, to pull closer.  

“Don’t let me go.” Rafayel breathes. Their mouths crush against each other in a consuming kiss; an urgent prayer he makes of her name. 

Each time she squirms atop his lap with the force of his kisses, her increasingly damp core shifts in glancing strokes above his clothed length. Her fingers jolt about Rafayel’s shoulders, sinking harsh into the skin through cloth, with a particularly ruinous lap of his tongue into her mouth.  

Her fingers fly for the clasps of his shirt, rushing down the length of buttons, generously revealing the unyielding expanse of his chest, the line of his toned abdomen. Briefly trekking the warmth of his skin with the pads of inquisitive digits before her mouth follows suit, drifting from Rafayel’s to kiss a path across the firm expanse of his chest. Slicking a gentle tongue right above his heart in devoted gratitude for the one who loves her so wholly. 

She glides a slow palm down his abdomen, appreciating the tremulous clench of muscles, underneath her touch. Her coveting digits pause at the metal clasp of his belt, gaze canting up to meet Rafayel’s in silent request.  

“Yes,” he grinds out, through arduous pants of her name. “It’s yours, I’m yours, do as you please.” She pushes off his lap, dropping onto her knees in between his legs at his affirmation. Rafayel’s breaths hitch higher within his throat, at the snag of her fingers reaching to swiftly undo the fastenings of his belt, pulling it clean from its confines to discard it onto the floor of his room. Her palm slips down the line of his zipper, stimulating him impossibly harder as she works to release him from the confines of his trousers.  

Until Rafayel sits there; her devastatingly alluring Lemurian, near-naked, save for the shirt that sags against broad shoulders, and the remaining modesty of his underwear. She takes a moment to control her shaky breaths before her thumbs slip under the waistband of his final barrier, keeping him from her gaze. Sliding the garment in one careful stroke, down the strength of his legs until she tosses it off to the side. His cock springs to full length, freed from its confines, hard; it curves, slight, towards his abdomen, the gentle slick of minute bluish scales running along the underside of his shaft. A thing of beauty, just as its owner.

The twitch of his length within her grasp is palpable as she moves to work an admiring fist about it. A lone bead of pre-cum sits upon the flared head of his cock; her tongue darts out in instinctual rapacious desire to sweep it into her mouth. The sweet-salt tang of him she hums against, in a soft moan, “I love how you taste.” 

Long, tapered digits thread through the fall of her locks, curving a loose fist at the back of her head. Her eyes traveling up his torso to meet his, bright in aroused impatience. It makes her want to flip that expression over into something entirely different. She tips forwards, lips falling apart to take the head of him into her eager mouth, just as Rafayel rewards her with his first approving groan. Tongue slicking about the head of him to lick, down, at a vein just underneath the flare of his head. His hips judder up into her face with the action, slipping more of him into her welcoming throat. “What’re you doing to me?” He moans, in gravelly rapture. “Your mouth feels divine.”  

She feels the clench of her own abdomen at his praise, wetness seeping further into the cloth of already damp panties. Her mouth slips further down the thick length of him, working him deeper into her throat as she tries and relaxes against the instinctive gagging intrusion of him. A shuddering string of words, he makes of her name, in overwhelming arousal, help her along on his cock. Until she is sliding about the length of him, back and forth, tongue drooling its spit down the expanse of his cock she cannot fit into herself.  

His fingers have tightened into a near-spasm within her hair, not nearly enough it hurts, holding her fixated in place; the pads of his digits tracing soothing, encouraging circles about her scalp as she sucks at his cock. “You’re doing so — agh — so well.” The fingers of his free hand, Rafayel brings to curve, delicate, about her jaw, tipping up; her eyes finding his, on silent instruction.  

He looks entirely gone, the rugged flush of his cheeks enticing as it dashes across his ears. Springs down the crescent of his neck and across the firm expanse of his chest. Rafayel’s cock hits the back of her throat on her next intake; she swallows against the heady swell of him, deliberate, measured, refusing to relent her gaze as she does. It immediately has the effect she desired; Rafayel’s next breath rattling out of his chest on a wrenched groan of pleasure, the blue of those inhuman eyes glistening brilliant as he propels his hips into her, in a reflexive bid for more.

His fingers skid along the underside of her jaw, where mouth meets throat, grazing for the place he knows she has him settled inside. A long, tapered index, he flicks down the line of her neck — she swallows on instinct, dragging another choked moan out of him as reward — before it comes to rest at the buttoned collar of her shirt. “Off.” He murmurs, hazily. Deftly unfastening open the first few buttons before he curves his index beneath her collar to tug. “Take it off. I want to see all of you when I come.” Pooling a blush into her cheeks at his sweetly sensual appeal. 

She pulls her shirt over her head, lured along by the nimble hands that drag her close, reaching around her, to undo the clasp of her bra before he coaxes that too, off her body. Mouth falling slack, cerulean flashing vivid, in flared arousal and want; to witness the heaving tremble of her breasts as she descends on him once more. 

Rafayel eases stray locks of her hair back against her ear to better afford himself the view of pink, moist lips parting to swallow around him once more in renewed enthusiasm. 

Her hands flitter about the length of him, slick slide aided by spit and pre-cum as she moves to work her tongue around the tip; the broad of it she teases at the slit, making Rafayel shudder above her. Slipping, slow and sure, down the generous length of him, insatiable desires flooding in the clench of empty walls, for the brimming taste of him within her throat.

Rafayel’s pants have turned far harsher, sporadic in impending release. She continues to ease her tongue about his length, her palms soothing down the tense muscle of his thighs before she moves to cup her fingers about his balls. “I’m—” Rafayel snaps.  

The skin beneath her fingers tightening, as she sucks about his shaft, to help him along the final stretch of his incoming release, swallowing up to the base of him in one forceful go. Her throat constricting in protest at the rough intrusion. Rafayel groans out loud — frenzied palms pressing at either sides of her head to force her off of his cock, just as he comes in thick, spurting strokes, across her cheeks, her nose; down the curve of her chest.  

“I can’t take it any longer,” he rasps. Hauling her onto her feet by her arm, he tumbles her back onto the cool, crumpled sheets of his bed. 

She barely has but a single moment to catch her breath — more from the surprise of his vehemence — before the shorts of her uniform, are being wrested off her body in the fervent catch of desperate fingers. Rafayel gets the material half-way down her thighs before his long-frayed patience snicks off entirely; a cool rubescent fire licks up clean across the material, blazing the offending cloth away entirely.  

She’s left dumbstruck, pleasure-addled mind wrung in between faint amazement at his precise Evol manipulation and mild offense at his ruination of her uniform. “We’ll get you a new one.” He heaves — as if he’s read her mind — in between kisses laid onto the instep of her bare leg, working up across her calf. “As long as you let me have you right now, I’ll do whatever you want.” 

Her breath seizes within her throat at his sultry request. Rafayel’s palms trace about the shell of her hips, curving about the sides of her abdomen before he caresses them up her stomach, pressing, light, into the yielding flesh. Her body shudders beneath his testing caresses. One of his hands steals down the cusp of her clothed mound, index and middle stroking at her labia above panties, before he skates them in between her folds. The two moan in unison; to feel how drenched she is for him.  

Her body squirms against his, begging for more of that sweet friction. Hips bucking up into his hand to force more of him against her aching slit. Rafayel towers above her, the delectable flush across that slack, sensual expression has her fluttering in on emptiness, her hole aching to be filled completely — as if she too has taken on the fever of his desires, writhing in phantom heat. Her drifting mind wonders for a fleeting moment, if a human bonded to a Lemurian could experience the mind-numbing lust of their cycles, along with their partners. That stray thought, she believes, with each passing second he riles her up in delirious rapture.  

Holding himself above her upon the crook of a folded arm, Rafayel descends for her mouth, covetous tongue savoring a moan against hers. She feels the hot, wet strength of his cock — already firmed to stone once more — rolling against the inside of her thigh. Just as he slips a long, tapered digit past her underwear, to curve it directly against her soaked opening. Her hips jump violently at the contact, her squeal of arousal Rafayel pilfers against a throaty chuckle. “You’re so wet.” Pressing up into her to make his point, the audible squelch of her slick, loud within the quiet night. “Are you enjoying this, my love?” 

“Isn’t,” she gasps, heat gathering, strong, into her face. “isn’t the answer obvious?” 

Rafayel hums, the skew of his smile tugging higher; a slow, relishing tongue he runs across his upper lip, end to end. And before she can think to parse the intention behind that wicked gaze, Rafayel’s palms are cupping about the soft of her ass —  digits pulsing into pliant flesh — to shear her underwear off, lifting her hips up to shove his tongue in between her legs. 

Her next sound leaves her on a shriek of pleasure, blaring stars wheeling across her field of vision. Fervid digits she convulses into the yank of his hair, in a manner that has to hurt and yet Rafayel makes no move to budge back, mouth sinking deeper against the wet flood of her heat. He curves his tongue up against her fluttering walls, sweeping at the slick. Nosing a stifled hum against her clit and that is all it takes for her over-sensitised body to break, spasming into a prompt, violent orgasm that siphons the breath from her lungs and the voice from her throat.  

Dazed in her floating awareness of the scrupulous mouth that continues to suck at her folds, laving away all of her released desire for himself. And when she sinks a quivering hand into tousled locks in whimpered protests of being too sensitive, all Rafayel offers her is an impish chuckle pressed into the soft of her thigh, right beside her mound. “You had your fun, didn’t you? It’s my turn now.” 

With that sensuous warning uttered, his mouth returns its attentions to her weeping slit once more, lips closing about the nub at her apex, sucking gentle at the bead. The jump of her hips Rafayel conquers, in the indolent arm he shackles about her waist, fingers reaching to hold hers across the quivering pliance of her stomach.  

The broad of his tongue laps a path above her entrance, catching at any stray slick that leaks from her before he eases the tip of it back into her slit, relishing the clench of her walls in a throaty groan. He continues to prolong that titillating torture of his, edging his tongue at just the entrance of her pussy, till her body burns once more within the kindled flames of a cresting orgasm.  

“Rafayel, there — hah — right there. Rafayel.”  Sliding that tormenting tongue into her walls once more, to her relief, to the mewls of his name flooding like rain from a parched tongue, the spasm of her fingers she smothers against their entwined digits at her abdomen.  

“Sing higher,” his stuttered groans smothered enthusiastic, into the drench of her slit. Tongue curling up against her frontal walls, in a drag that has her fracturing under his mouth once more. Tears sprung to lust-hazed eyes from the overwhelming arousal wrought upon her body under Rafayel’s dexterous tongue.  

He exhales a pleased sigh against her mound, each heated breath causing shivers to jump across tender skin. A kiss, Rafayel lays right against her swollen clit. 

“Once more.” Her walls clench in wrecked protest, a whimper leaving her throat at his whispered words. “Give me just one more.” He entreats. “I need your taste in my mouth again.” A flitter of kisses he strokes against the line of her pelvis, her mound; dark gaze rolling up to meets hers from in between her legs. She flushes at the intensity of their contact held, without mercy. Her wordless squeeze about her hand given, is all the permission her hungering Lemurian requires to sink back towards her wet heat.  

Tapered digits reach to shape a path about the sensitive bead of her pleasure, pinching in between steady, pleasurable strokes. Before they descend lower, coveting towards her fluttering entrance. Rafayel presses up, gentle, into her walls to coax wetness onto his digits with each drenched thrust of his fingers into her.  

His hand releases from hers, palm drifting up across the plane of her body to cup about a pliant breast. Fingers caressing a circular path about her areola in soft, stimulating strokes and she quivers at the sensation, breaths coming in short, stifled bursts of air.  

Rafayel’s mouth closes about her clit, just as the arch of his fingers hit at a particularly hot, sensitive spot within her pussy; walls spasming about his fingers, swallowing him in. His name soughs past her lips on whimpered gasps with each steady thrust of him up into her walls.  

The pads of his digits tweak about the puckered bead of her breast, thumb denting gentle at the bud, sending a jolt of arousal straight in between her legs.  

Rafayel continues to lap her up, dutiful; his lashes descending in pleased satisfaction just as her third, mind-numbing release crests through her body, leaving her skin a drenched, ruined mess Rafayel sucks at, in throaty moans of delight.  

“Rafayel,” she urges, unable to stand the searing desire he’s put inside her, body hungering for the heat of his cock in desolate emptiness. The overwhelming desire to feel his heat flooding into her, with how long he’s strung her dry for himself. She catches his face in between tremulous digits, pulling him from in between her legs to meet his gaze, dark in fervent desire. “I need you inside me now.”  

Heated obscurity scatters momentarily from his eyes at her fevered request, hips rolling against hers so she feels the hot strength of his arousal brush against her inner thigh; her gasps breaking into the air, at that brief second of contact. Burying her next moan in the vicious bite of teeth at his clavicle, when his cock ghosts across her mound, so close to where she wants him. “If you’re sure you want this...” He groans in ardent murmurs against her mouth.  

Her clambering response is swift and eager. “I want this, I want you.”  

“I’ll let you have me,” he relents in between their wet kisses. “this time, all of me. So drown with me, my beloved bride. Love me.” 

Just as he snaps his hips forwards, the head of his cock pressing her open for himself. The delectable stretch of him, so easy within the drenched warmth of her body as it ravenously sucks at him, all the way in. Rafayel’s searing groan of pleasure, he breaks against her jaw; mouthing, mindless, at the taut skin.  

The union of their bodies, have left them both winded, without breath to draw into aching lungs; several moments they take in between heated gazes and consuming kisses, unmoving. Growing accustomed to this new, exquisite feeling of being so deeply intertwined into each other, she feels she could live like this against him for the rest of her life.  

Until Rafayel begins to move and her world explodes into turbulent sparks of blinding pleasure, unlike anything she’s quite experienced before. His hands are upon her body, covetous digits flittering in between them to touch at dewy skin. Testing his touch against the trembling give of her breasts. Mouth capturing a pert nipple into his mouth, to suck until she keens underneath him.  

Her ankles hook about the base of his spine, dragging Rafayel’s propulsions deeper into her. A stuttered moan, she throttles out of him, at the stimulation before his hand steals about her ass to lift her lower body entirely off the bed. Angling his hips, Rafayel’s thrusts turn impossibly deeper, with the assistance offered in their new position; his pelvis grinding flush against hers on each fevered plunge. “You’re perfect around me, so very — hah — warm,” he grinds out in heedless praise, hips snapping against her harder, in rising intensity, in chase of a hovering orgasm.  

She moans in appreciation around the tongue he slips into her slack mouth in yearning want. “Rafayel,” she chokes out. “I’m so close.”  

“Me too,” he groans, shifting his weight forwards to lean against the crook of his arm at her side. His fingers trek up a path against her slack arm, digits entwining through hers, the line of their red thread flickering in between them both as they approach the crest of their combined pleasures.  

“I love you,” she sobs in between quivering gasps; his gaze crinkling in warmed affection and desire so acute, it drags another whimper out of her.  

“I love you.” Rafayel declares, into the catch of his kisses against her mouth, her cheeks, down the crescent of her jaw. Laving a kiss into the curve of her neck in a worrying bite of teeth, marking her for his own. He switches his pace once more, cock spearing up against her frontal walls in frenzied thrusts. “Come for me,” he beseeches. 

Jaw falling slack in a daze of undulating desire when she obliges at the heated scrap of his words, tumbling over the edge in an orgasm so vehement, her spine arcs clean off the bed. “You’re so good for me.” He worships.

Cresting waves of pleasure, she rides in the hard clench of her walls against Rafayel’s throbbing cock, pulsating hot within her until he too follows soon after. An incomprehensible swell of his cock inside, rising with its pulsations, has her gasping out a low, keening sound at the aching stretch of her pussy, it prolongs her high onto wondrous, searing moments of dizzy elation. Her toes curling into the sheets as the steady bulge of him catches at her walls and snags inside, hot spurts of cum surging into her, so much of it, she feels light-headed from how stuffed he has her. Just as Rafayel’s head falls low, on a loud, long groan of release.

Their damp breaths break against each other’s mouth for several moments that follow after, as they try and muster their senses back to themselves. Her fingers tracing absent, soothing circles along the curve of Rafayel’s spine until his trembling body stills to a gentle lull above her, quieted in the wake of their vehement orgasms.

A strange, fascinating imprint, throbs scarlet right above his heart — in the fleeting likeness of a fish — just as Rafayel’s rattling breaths abate. Captivated fingers she ventures, to trace against the edges of the mark. “...What is this, Rafayel?”  

“A sign of Lemurian loyalty.” A quiet smile tips across his face at the question.

The swell of breathless surprise, she knows is upon her face. “My devotion, here on, it’s yours to do with, as you please.” A kiss he buries into her palm in overwhelming affection. “I’m allowing myself to be trapped by you.” 

A low sob of adoration breaks from her throat at the words, just as the proof of his vow fades fast into his skin. A hand, she brings about his neck, to haul him down against her, to treasure a kiss right above where his heart thrums its beats, elated desire burning warm within her chest.  

Rafayel moves above her, maneuvering their positions until she rests at her side, within the circle of her arms, bodies still conjoined. His cock — she realizes with dazed shock — is still hard within her body. “Are you afraid?” He asks, gentle fingers carding through the mussed tresses of her hair. “I’ll need you much more times before I’m sated, you know.”  

She shakes her head at him, palm moving to cradle against his cheek. “I want all of what you have to give me, Rafayel. I’ll take it all.” 

He drags her closer by the hips at her affirmations; his touch along the back of her ass tending a slow fire back up within her weary body, as he moves to hoist her leg up against the cut of his hip.  

And she lets him show her just how profound a Lemurian’s devotion to his beloved truly runs, throughout the entirety of the night and into the greeting of dawn — a depth as unbounded as that of the Oceans.

End Notes: Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro

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