#also me the one who allowed this to happen: WHO ALLOWED THIS TO HAPPEN????

[mickyschumacher]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐃 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: the racing season is finally over and lando is more than excited to have you all to himself. or in which lando prefers his breakfast in bed with you as the main course.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minor dni), breastplay, grinding(?), teasing, oral sex/eating out/cunnilingus, fingering, pure moments of fluff because bf!lando is the sweetest, discussion of lando mentally struggling at the start

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: bf!lando norris x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2k+

𝐀/𝐍: i promised a post before the end of the year and it happens to coincide with a holiday of giving ;) merry christmas and happy hanukkah to those who celebrate it! and happy new year! // as usual poorly proof-read ♡︎ (sorry if it's shitty, i haven't written a full-piece in a while)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

The season was over. Finally.

Not to be offensive or anything but you had been waiting for this moment for what, this year, felt like forever.

Yes, it was action packed–largely due to the fact that a certain RedBull wasn't winning every race. Yes, McLaren had whipped up the fastest car on the grid to shake things up. And yes, the same team had clinched their ninth World Constructor's Championship.

And while that made you absolutely over the moon, all you had wanted was for some peace and quiet on a random Wednesday morning so you could (maybe creepily) ogle your handsome boyfriend.

Was that too much to ask for?

It had been a tough season for Lando and naturally, as you promised from the very start of your friendship alone–that you would stick by his side no matter what–you had also been through the thick of it.

Convincing Lando to not look at the comments after every session or race had been difficult. You tried your best to remove any negativity that clouded his mind. Some days it worked and some days it didn't.

But that was life. And that was then.

Now you were wide awake at some odd time in the morning, laying comfortably on your stomach with your head turned towards Lando. There was about one degree of separation between the both of you, allowing you to carefully observe him.

Lando was never an early bird. If he was, it would be by some miracle or your upper arm strength pulling him from the sheets. A small smile crept onto your face. You had been friends for years now and together for even shorter. Yet you still couldn't believe that the sleepy bird next to you was yours entirely.

His dark tousled and recently cut curls, the stress lines on his forehead you were always aching to smooth out and comfort with the pad of your thumb, his "perfectly normal sized ears" that you definitely never made fun of, his lovely lashes you were jealous of, and the soft pink lips you couldn't decide whether to touch or kiss.... all yours.

Behind all the stupidity, humour, and claimed 'indifference' Lando sported on camera and with others, you always knew his heart. It was open for everyone and had more than enough love to go around. You were in love with the biggest sap you had ever known.

And on top of all of that, he made it out of that car to you... alive... every goddamn time.

You were luckier than you could ever imagine.

"How long are you going to stare at me, love?" Lando's voice queried, thick with the rasp of the morning and the events of last night.

You slightly widened your eyes, watching him open those beautiful baby blues and land on you. An flustered flush of heat wavered up your skin. You bit your lip before slipping beneath the covers, feeling the warmth envelope your skin entirely. You started with a muttered curse.

"How long have you even been awake, Lan? That's so embarrassing," you chided with a muffled tone.

Unbeknownst to you, Lando couldn't help but grin at your sudden shy demeanour. It was hard for anyone to imagine you as shy but he had seen every side of you. How enjoyable it was that even after all these years, he could tease you and see how flustered you could get. If he had met you when you were kids, this is exactly how he imagined you'd be.

He stretched out his taut arm, grabbing you by the waist. His skin swarmed with heat as he felt your bare waist under your shirt as he pulled you over him. He moved your knees so you straddled him.

He pressed his lips to prevent a full blown smile at what he was seeing.

Your hair was fully covering your face, head down and hands hovering over to hide the tinges of pink and red on your skin.

"Baby... come on, love. Show me your face," Lando encouraged, nudging your hair lightly with the side of his finger. "Come on, baby."

You groaned, lifting your head, feeling all your tresses go back. You blankly stared at your boyfriend with burning cheeks. "I hate you," you mumbled, giving him a small glare.

Lando snorted, putting his hands firmly on your waist. His fingers edged up behind the hem of your shirt, rubbing small circles into your bare skin. "You love me. Someone who hates me wouldn't stare at me so lovingly."

"I–" You tried to open your mouth to retaliate but to no avail as you quickly came to the realisation that he was indeed correct. As Lando usually was with these things.

"Fine. You got me," you sighed admittedly, "I just missed waking up next to you in the morning. Is that such a horrible crime?" You dramatically asked, tease heavy in your voice.

In any other situation, Lando would've narrowed his eyes at your teasing but all he could do was gaze softly at you. You weren't able to travel with him all the time and he wasn't able to spend every day with you. You both knew that. And while it sucked, you had both gotten used to it, cherishing when you were together.

But this year... Lando had spent every living second wishing you were next to him. He wanted you to tell him your god awful jokes. To look at him from across the room and take his entire breath, mind, whatever, away. To drop the fake smiles and rest in your arms with all the time in the world.

"No," Lando whispered, warm eyes travelling over your face, trying to find anything new to memorise. Anything he had missed since seeing you. "That isn't a crime. If it was, I'd be guilty as charged."

Your breath hitched while a small shiver trickled down your body as Lando pushed back a lock of hair behind your ear. You chewed down on your lip before breaking into a smile gently. "I love you, Lando Norris. Forever," you murmured, placing a brief kiss onto his lips.

Lando stared at you hard, far more awake than he had ever been. He lifted his head slowly, holding you close to him. And without a second thought, he brought his lips to yours.

This kiss was different from the others you had shared. Perhaps it was the atmosphere or context that accounted for that different but the need, the love, the softness and the brutal passion was poured into every fibre of your being

Your hands curled around the back of his neck, pulling him tighter while your nose glided against his as Lando only just begun ravaging your mouth. He sucked on your lips with a small nibble here and there, relishing the muffled moans passing your lips.

His own hands continued to travel the path of your body he had committed to memory. He knew as he traversed your heated back exactly where the dark freckles he had come to love were.

Your soft moans became more audible and pleasing to Lando's ears as he curled his lips to your neck, leaving the sloppily yet controlled path of possessive kisses down base of your skin. He could feel your pulse against his skin and God, he wanted to burn it into his brain and save it.

"Lando," you gasped as you felt a sudden jerk underneath you, feeding into the pooling wetness between your thighs. Your teeth sunk into your pillowy bottom lip, your hips automatically responded by grinding down onto Lando's bulge.

"Ah, fuck," Lando cursed, feeling his cock throb in his underwear. His eyes fluttered shut, hands immediately returning to your hips to continue the stimulating pleasure.

You were driving him crazy.

Both of your skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you felt Lando's clothed cock rut into your poorly covered pussy. You rocked your hips harder into him, feeling a slight jolt against your clit. "Oh, fuck, Lando," you moaned his name in his ear, fingers curling into his skin.

Lando opened his eyes, drawing back to capture your face. Your dazed eyes, glowing skin, panting lips, the way your hips bowed towards him... he had missed you. So. Fucking. Much.

"I want breakfast," Lando blurted with a slight gasp as the pleasure rocked through his body.

You stopped moving your hips, body shuddering from the halt. You raised a brow at the sudden desire but shrugged it off considering you were way past breakfast hours and you were only human. "Okay," you responded, about to move off of Lando to head to the kitchen.

Lando reached over, hand pulling your body back towards him, rolling your body so he hovered over you between your legs. "Where are you going?" he tutted, "Breakfast is right here."

You seemed to lose the ability to speak with Lando's hand kneading the flesh of your thighs, implying exactly what he wanted. You breathlessly watched his head move over your body. His tongue lapped at your skin, travelling to any bare patch he could find as though he wanted to feast on you. His warmth made your core tingle as you arched into his touch.

You were positively going to lose your mind.

His hands slid under your shirt, burning your skin until he could fill his palms with your breasts. "Oh baby," Lando moaned, fingers teasing your soft mounds. "I love your tits so fucking much."

A choked cry broke through your lips upon hearing his confession, fingers brushing against your hardened nipple almost painfully slowly. No matter how many times he said it, it set you alight.

"Lando," you moaned loudly, hoping he could read and hear the sound that beckoned him towards your aching core.

He paused, allowing you to take in the heavenly sight of Lando's bare chest, decorated only by the necklace you had gotten him on his birthday last year. In turn, his gaze was only focused on your core.

You tested your lung capacity, taking in a sharp inhale as he pressed his knuckles against your panties, purposely pushing harder against on the ball of your clit. You faltered at the smile sprawling on his face, your hips jolting forward and mouth unable to contain a desperate yelp.

Lando was every inch as desperate as you were, taking no time to waste. His fingers hooked onto your panties and removed them in one swift motion, leaving you bare from the waist down.

Your stomach churned at the sight of Lando nestling his head into your inner thigh, his once light blue eyes now dark and heavy with desire as he inhaled the scent of you. The moan escaping his lips made you shiver.

You were sure you were dripping. You could feel the slick trail down your pussy, glistening in a patient wait to be touched just like you were.

Your eyes fell back to Lando who groaned your name. "I promise to God, I'm going to make you cum so hard that breakfast in bed will be the only option you have," he stated so surely against your skin as his fingers slid from the seam of your entrance to your clit, bundling all your wetness onto his hand.

Oh god.

"Lando, please," you begged shamelessly, legs aching to clench together to relieve the pain of being untouched.

Your legs trembled around Lando's head, his hot breath nearing your pussy while his mouth drew closer. You watched him take you in for the last time before his lips firmly sealed over your aching clit.

The burst of pleasure cut through your body so sharply. Your cry of joy echoed in the late morning, hips bucking against his mouth.

Lando's hands travelled to the outside of your thighs, grasp tightening to keep them spread open on his shoulders. "Keep them open, baby," he ground out.

It took everything in your power to keep your legs from collapsing, particularly as he made his point with another hard to suck to your clit, but you body seemed to follow his command. His mouth returned your wet folds, tongue swirling around every crevice before coming back to the most sensitive part of you, turning you into absolute mush.

Your hands had found their way to those mop of curls you cherished so much, legs trying to conform around Lando's shoulder to welcome any better angle of pleasure.

Your gasp at the sudden dismissal of his mouth was short lived, any chance to complain gone as his fingers pushed into your slick folds, stretching your clenching muscles out.

"Fuck yourself on those pretty little fingers for me, baby. I need you ready for me," Lando encouraged breathlessly as something feral inside of him emerged.

His fingers stroked your swollen walls from the inside, ensuring you felt every inch of them along the sensitive front wall of your pussy while his tongue glazed over every puffy slick fold like you were golden honey.

Lando watched in torture as he pushed his fingers in and out of your walls, your body jerking forward at the sheer pleasure. "That's it, baby," he continued to praise you.

"Doing so well for me, hmm?" He asked, a gleam of your wetness coating his lips. Moving his free hand down your thigh, he gathered your flesh in his fingers before reaching the small bundle of nerves, thumb going in small firm circles.

You were beginning to feel numb. A cold yet hot tightness coiling within your core, waiting to be unleashed. "Lando," you gasped, struggling to keep your head up, "fuck, I–I think I'm going to cum."

"Yes, baby," Lando coaxed, fingers speeding up with every action they had entailed, "Cum for me, please. Keep your eyes open. Look at me, love."

You fought the urge to squeeze your eyes shut, forcing your eyes to travel to those familiar baby blues. All the trillion nerves in your body felt like entangled knots tied by Lando's tongue while his fingers found the sweetest spot of your pussy and held to you that pinnacle.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip while Lando held your gaze, tongue sliding, curving up, and pushing in and out of every crevice. Your pussy finally succumbed to the hard pressure, clenching muscles squeezing hard at the sharp pinch of pain.

The pain was explosive, searing, and all-consuming.

You cried.

You cried so loudly you were sure your neighbours would be complaining any minute now.

It didn't matter. Not when the pleasure shooting through you was disproportionately and literally blowing you out of this world as though it had been seated and waiting to be released since the dawn of time itself. Your hips bucked and stuttered while you squirmed and writhed against the bed, the fabric of your shirt sticking to your sweaty skin.

Lando's mouth had never left you through your orgasm, tongue still deep in your folds, savouring all the convulses, shudders, and clenches of your body.

Even better yet, he had watched every second of you falling apart.

And it absolutely drove him crazy.

Lando's hand rushed to catch your falling body, holding you up as a small wave of exhaustion crashed into you. You stared at Lando shiftless, still seeing the faint image of floating stars across his face.

Oh my god.

Lando had broken you with his tongue.

You watched Lando lick his fingers clean as you slowly removed your legs from his shoulders. You lifted your head, pressing a long kiss onto his lips.

Lando grinned, cradling his arms around your body as he pushed you both into the bed yet again. He pushed back your slightly greased hair, caressing your cheek gently. "You okay?"

His query made you feel soft all over. You smiled into his hands and nodded. "Perfect," you chirped, hands hanging over his neck.

"So... breakfast in bed?" Lando offered knowingly as he massaged your thighs gently. You were not walking to that kitchen.

You furrowed your brows. "What about my breakfast?"

Lando wanted to question you but as his eyes followed your gaze, the answer became as clear as the aching bulge underneath his boxers.

"Oh."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[bringbackmaes14]

My mom has her TV on in her room almost 24/7 and it's always on some news outlet or other. We talk a lot about politics and world/national/local events. And we do have a lot of varying views on a lot of things but we're both adults who are capable of saying "well we've both stated we have differing opinions and it's clear that we're actually arguing at this point and not just talking so let's put away the topic for now." But there are also other times where I'm just too overwhelmed by my own life to think about what's going on in the bigger world around me, so my mom knows to be hesitant to bring up news stuff with me (i.e. she doesn't just start talking about politics/world events with me rather she'll ask if I'm in the mindset to discuss things when she wants my opinion on something). This is all relevant.

We've always been able to talk about nearly everything from the economy to the school system to human rights to human tragedy and we've never tried to censor ourselves around each other (outside of getting too emotional with our language). But about two weeks ago when the United Healthcare CEO was assassinated, my mom, who is in her 50s, came to me and she said "Did you see that the CEO of United Healthcare got unalived?"

And I just sat there and looked at her completely confused and she was like "did you not hear about it? It's all over the news. It happened in clear view on the street." Like the problem was that I hadn't heard of the event not that my Gen-X mother had just in a real life conversation said the word "unalived".

And I told her as much. "Yes I've heard that. Why did you say 'unalived' instead of 'murdered'?

And she told me that she just thought that since I'm touchy about heavier topics sometimes (which is definitely true, that does occasionally happen) she thought it would be better to just not use the "heavy" words. I asked her if she realized, honestly, how stupid that was because regardless of the word she used, she was still talking about a murder, it didn't change the subject matter, she was only making the subject matter seem less significant and severe by changing the word to baseless internet lingo that a bunch of misguided, clout-chasing influencers spread.

She hadn't. She's doesn't use the Internet replacement words a lot, online or otherwise. This was a first. She thought this was a different situation, and a fine one to use it in, and like the above stories people shared, it's still not.

I'm allowed to say there are days where I want to avoid heavier topics because I'm overwhelmed. I'm allowed to not ever really discuss certain topics because they actually trigger me based on my own experiences. But people who are out here living their whole lives like just talking about about difficult or controversial topics, or asking questions about it, or enjoying media where it's portrayed (especially when it's actually portrayed respectfully) are being ridiculous, and they're handicapping themselves. They're never going to learn how to talk about hard things, or how to handle hard things. And honestly I feel bad for them.

Luckily, in my case, once I explained why my mom saying what she said was incredibly weird and honestly devaluing to the conversation, she backtracked and told me that (like I said above) she doesn't talk like that regularly and she has no intention to start; it's just that this was a huge news event and that day had been particularly rough for me emotionally and she wasn't sure how to approach it. So her intentions were good and I'm very lucky that she understands and also agrees that the Internet censorship language is incredibly unnecessary.

we have GOT to kill tiktok/twitter self-censorship i just witnessed a grown adult say the word “smex” out loud to our professor

[aimfor-theheart]

to break first

|| mel medarda x reader, jayce talis x reader, viktor x reader || E/18+ || messy dynamics/hurt/comfort || wc: 6k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

Your lovers are strange, demanding types.

a/n: idk man. but this revived my writing so. pls take it. dividers by @/cafekitsune

tags: messy dynamics, light smut/smut mentioned and implied, implied rough/hate sex, some hurt/comfort, ends on a hopeful note. not beta read/edited.

You've never liked Jayce much.

And you might just be the only person he doesn't like, either.

He plays nice, though, especially around Viktor. You think Jayce has teeth that he tries to hide, but you catch the flash of them from time to time. He smiles at you and it doesn't reach his eyes. It's just shy of contempt.

It makes your grin cheshire and sharp. You like watching him squirm. You like watching him wrestle with his distaste for you, try to keep his teeth hidden. Especially here, at this gala, all gold and sparkling and pristine, for all the world to see.

Bubbling rosé is bright and fruity on your tongue. You're shoulder to shoulder with Viktor, the two of you half-miserable together, stuffed into formal wear and ripped from your respective labs and studios. Which is why Jayce lingers; he's hovering in that annoying way of his. Bumbling a little. He's trying to make Viktor feel more at home but—

You have something Jayce doesn't.

Only you can do that.

You're Viktor's childhood friend, thick as thieves and twice as inseparable. You're an artist from the Undercity—a painter, a poet, a musician. An artistic genius, the world claims, an artistic savant. And one of the rare, lucky few who has been exalted and raised above your station to be paraded around Piltover like some trophy of success from their lowest. It's mostly Viktor's fault, you claim—the moment Heimerdinger found him, he also accidentally found you.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the most brilliant and groundbreaking artists of our generation." A smooth, easy voice floats through your thoughts. You turn your head to find Councilor Medarda, swathed in what could be a starry sky of silk and gold.

She's even more beautiful in person somehow; if you were to paint her, she'd be all easy, graceful lines, curved and long. A lily stem. The arch of a tiger.

"Just the person I was looking for." She muses.

"Me?" You balk, at the same time that Jayce gaps, "Them?!"

You swing your gaze to glare at him and even Viktor wrinkles his nose. Jayce tries to clear his throat, clear the mistake.

Councilor Medarda raises a brow at Jayce, but then her eyes flicker to you, honing in on you. Hazel and gold and reflective; a kaleidoscope of color. And with such—intensity. You feel it in her. Thrumming. "Yes, you." She says smoothly and she smiles in the elegant way of royalty; perfect and mysterious.

"Are you sure you have the right person, Councilor Medarda?" You joke, "you know I'm just—"

"I'm certain. And please—call me Mel. I'd love to commission you for several art pieces to be displayed in the council chambers."

Viktor whistles a little, impressed, though you can tell it's a little dry.

(He both rambles and rants about Councilor Medarda from time to time and you can never tell if he adores her or resents her.)

Jayce startles at this, but again, he tries to play it off. He places his hand on her lower back, "I didn't know the council chambers was looking to display art."

Mel allows his hand to remain, but she tilts her chin up and her eyes flash somewhat—quick, sharp. There's a silent conversation there that you can't decipher.

But you can tell there is something more than just coworkers happening between them.

"I'm looking to display art in the council chambers." Mel then says.

Jayce looks away, cowed somewhat, tail tucked between his legs in a way that makes you smile.

Mel drifts from Jayce's hands, offering her arm to you, "will you walk with me? I'd love to discuss what I have in mind."

If only to steal her away from Jayce, you finally peel yourself away from Viktor's side and the wall. Your shoulder, where it was touching his, goes cold. But Mel's arm is warm as you twine it around yours.

She draws you away from the scientists, into the fray of swirling, dazzling people.

You glance over your shoulder only once and catch Jayce's eyes, and let your smile curl into something a little smug, almost vicious; baring your teeth as if to gloat at his own, still tucked behind his lips.

***

"Mel's an artist." You say to Viktor, offhand. "A good one, too. You should see her paintings—"

Viktor sighs heavily, snatching one of the little tools that you'd been fiddling with out of your hands. "You sound like Jayce."

You wrinkle your face in disgust, reaching back for the tool and grappling with him a moment for it. You press all against each other, squabbling, before you win out and take it back from him. He stares at you, almost in some form of a glare and you stare back, watching his eyes, dark in the low light of the lab. He glances at the tool in your hands like he might try to take it back, and when he moves, you move faster, and hold it out of his reach.

"Are they together?" You ask.

He gives up on the tool.

Then, he lifts his shoulders in some form of a crooked shrug, eyes going skyward. "One can only assume."

"She's out of his league." You sigh, throwing your weight back in the chair in despair.

Viktor snorts at that, returning to his work, "I'm sure few are in league with Councilor Medarda."

His voice is dry. A little brittle.

"I don't know what you have against her." You then venture, speaking more to the ceiling, returning to fiddling with the tool. It twists in your fingers, the sound of metal whirling and softly grinding.

"I have nothing against Councilor Medarda." He says too evenly.

"You know, I've never been able to tell if it's contempt or adoration you have for her." You continue, as if he hadn't said anything to contradict you. "But either way, she gets under your skin."

"She does not—"

"Are you jealous? She took your big, dumb partner away?" You press, twisting and twisting away at the tool.

"No—" Viktor says sharply, but it rings with a note of truth. It's not quite that then.

You pause. And then.

You crack your eye open, "I think she likes me."

Viktor pauses now too, metal clinking quietly with the sudden stop of his work again. He knows that tone of your voice. His face pulls; distaste. Frustration.

(Jealousy.)

His speech is slow as he tries to parse through what to say, "Councilor Medarda is charming and���"

"She invited me to dinner." You say and now you're watching him carefully, "at her personal suite. Just us."

Viktor rounds on you, "you're going to get yourself into trouble."

You can't help but smile, slow and amused, "I feel like it's good for the art—fool around with a politician—"

"You know, I have always wondered if you would learn your lesson," Viktor continues over your monologuing about drama and passion and politics, "—maybe this time, you'll finally learn it."

He snatches the tool from your hands and throws it down on his desk.

"I love learning." You chirp innocently and he shakes his head, face flushed with passion.

He looks at you again when he can, shakes his head some more, some of the irritation fading from his features. He never stays mad at you for long; doesn't have it in him. Besides, he causes his own trouble. Doesn't learn his own lessons. And when the dust settles, the two of you are still here, beside each other. The artist and the scientist, making messes, breaking things—all for some higher purpose only the two of you have ever understood.

(You've loved him your whole life. Sometimes, you think you carry half of the other's ribs inside one another. He must have twelve of yours, and you must have twelve of his—)

You lift your foot, nudging his calf beneath the desk with it, then up to place it in his lap. An olive branch, of some kind. Your affection is unsurprising to him and he sighs. He drops his hand to your ankle. He squeezes.

"She's going to eat you alive." Viktor finally warns.

"One can only hope."

A laugh startles out of him, rough and raspy, before it dissolves into coughing.

You lurch up to give him water, sitting near you, and bring the glass to his lips on reflex, like you used to as children. And on reflex, he drinks—he doesn't try to take the glass from your hands right away or push you away. Instinctively, you care for him, and instinctively, he lets you.

(You think you're the only one he'd ever allow to do this, born out of years of pressed side to side in the same bed, listening to him weather the nights. Born out of years of your love and stubborn care for him.)

After a moment, he lifts his hand and slowly replaces yours.

You hover over him. He sets the glass down. The water is almost gone. You'll replace it for him before you leave the lab.

He settles back into his chair, eyes returning to the pieces in front of him; all the odd metal scattered like little silver stars in front of him against a vast, dark sky. He picks up one, and then another, and tries to fit them together.

Then another. And another.

You watch him twist and turn, put the puzzle together.

He says, "Lately, I feel as if—" his fingers are careful, almost shaking, as he tries to create something of the scattered, broken pieces, "everything is quite fragile. And it's all just going to—" he presses a little too hard, and the metal all splinters apart, clattering back to the desk, "break. At any given moment."

After a moment, he looks up at you, still hovering over him, "I fear you're heading towards a breaking point."

You hum a little.

"What is it you scientists say?" You ask, running your fingers through his dark hair, thick and tousled. You twirl a strand around your finger, let it fall;

"It has to break first, before you can discover anything."

***

You'd say Mel Medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't feign anything so harmless or lost as a sheep.

You do think she's—

A little like Jayce, where she hides her teeth. But where Jayce irritates you because he's certainly trying to seem better than he is, or more harmless than he can be, Mel does so with intention. Mel hides her teeth to lure you closer. She doesn't pretend she doesn't have them; she waits until you're in range before you catch a glimpse of them.

And by then, well. It's too late.

You realize this over dinner, as she laments about what art she'd like from you and she's adamant about not censoring you.

(You're known for you controversy; whether in your physical art, your poetry, or music. Once pulled to the light of the Upper City, you refused to let them defang you. Where Jayce pretends he doesn't have teeth, you bare yours proudly, and sometimes wish you could tear the tender parts of Piltover open.

You strive to do it with your art. And while applauded in some vague capacity, you are also kept on a tight leash. Your patrons are warily supportive of you. Your commissions are strict. You're treated the way you think a wild animal is; with utmost care and fear and awe.)

In fact, her only rule for you, is to not hold back.

Which, given the growing tension between the Upper and Lower Cities, you realize this cannot only be from the goodness of her heart or for the integrity of art but—

You tilt your head and consider her.

"Am I a political move, Mel?"

She smiles in that enigmatic way of hers, her teeth flash, "isn't all art?"

You narrow your eyes, "perhaps. I wonder of it's effectiveness when it's employed by the people it often critiques." You lift your chin and pretend to be hurt—or perhaps, mask your hurt within dramatics to make it seem ironic, "and here I thought you really liked me—"

"I do." Mel assures, "I've admired you a great deal from afar. And getting to know you, your mind, it's—" she considers her words, "it's been nothing short of mesmerizing. Astonishing."

She sounds sincere. But you wonder if she always sounds that way.

She can tell she hasn't convinced you because you've never been able to mask your emotions well, so she leans forward and says, "unfortunately, everything I do is a political move, whether I'd like it to be or not. Both can be true—" she says, "I can adore you. And I can also need you to make a public point, wield you like my own elegant weapon."

"Artists make for disobedient weapons, usually." You say.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "True." And then she lowers her voice, looks at you through the fan of her dark lashes in such a way that seizes you—arrests you, holds you right there, caught, in her heady gaze;

"But I don't need you to be obedient."

"I can never tell if you're trying to seduce me or persuade me." You blurt out, the words running from your mouth like a rabbit from a wolf. Your desire bursts from you like frightened birds taking to flight, like most of what you feel does, all of it spilling out of you in a gush of rawness.

She stands gracefully and again, you think of how you'd draw her—how you'd capture her in a poem or a song. The sharp curve of her waist, the predatory grace she carries effortlessly. You think her song is a croon from the deep part of your chest. You think her poem looks like an hourglass on the page and she slips from your fingers as easy as time does, too.

She rounds the small table to your side.

You look up at her. Your heart kicks up into a quick dance.

She brings the back of her knuckle to your jaw and gently—with all the carefulness in the world, strokes you.

(She touches you the way one does a bird, as if they know it's fragile. Perhaps as if they know it might fly away.

Or maybe she touches you the way one does an animal they're not sure of; will you bite? Will you lean into the touch?)

"Both can be true." She finally answers.

When she kisses you, it's fiercer than you're expecting; a lightning strike, a blow to the heart.

Your teeth come up against hers.

She gasps when you drag her further down to you, greedier than she's ever known, meeting her fierceness with your own, like the clashing of blades, or the destruction of stars.

And you think, if you don't want obedience, then I'll show you.

I'll show you.

***

"What are you playing at?"

Jayce's voice is a vicious little hush in the caverns of the council chambers. Mel has just left you after peaking over your shoulder to view the preliminary sketches.

You lift your head and blink up at Jayce slowly, dragging yourself from your sketch; from your world of art.

(It sets his teeth to grinding because Viktor makes that same look, when he's so deep into his work and Jayce disturbs him. It's a face he finds endearing on both of you, unfortunately. He imagines your minds are in heaven and he's selfish enough to drag you both back down to earth.)

"What do you mean? For the art piece?" You ask, glancing down at your lap, at the series of gestures and lines that you've been lost in. Maybe you're feigning innocence a little. But you want him to say it, if he's going to pick this fight.

Jayce's eyes flash like the too-hot part of the flame.

You have to bite back a smile.

Come on, you think wildly, say it. Let's fight. Here in the chambers, where you try so hard to be their golden boy.

"What are you trying to get out of Mel?" He asks and it makes you laugh outright, because he's dancing around what he really wants to ask.

Your laugh echoes in the hall, bouncing off all this marble and gold. It's out of place here, too loud, too free.

"The better question is what she's trying to get out of me." You say, "do you think I have it in me to manipulate the Mel Medarda?"

He goes quiet at that.

"Are you doing this to get back at me?" He asks after a moment and it's so close to what he wants to ask, so close to what he really wants to talk about.

"She kissed me first." You answer. "Have you had this conversation with her?"

You can tell by the shadow of uncertainty that passes over his face that he hasn't. You stand, easily setting your sketches and pencils aside, and drift nearer to him.

"Oh," you hum, "you didn't know. She didn't mention some plan of seduction to you? Maybe she really does like me."

He rounds on you so sharply that you are genuinely surprised. You gasp when your back hits the wall and he's got you caged in, a snarl on his lips and you finally get to see those teeth of his—

"You just always have to push me, don't you? In all the years I've known you, you've only ever tried to get under my skin. I tried so hard, for so long, for Viktor's sake to get along with you." He says lowly and distantly, you think, does he cage in Mel like this? With his big arms and broad chest? Or does she have him on a tight leash, underneath her?

"This time, I didn't mean it. Surely, you understand—" you say slyly, "when she comes onto you like that, all honey-voiced and half-lidded. She's hard to resist, isn't she?"

The grip he has on your biceps tightens to a point of pain—he'll bruise you. You'll be tender there, where his big hands gripped you, and it only makes you smile.

"Stop it." He snaps.

But you can't help yourself now, because once you've got something between your teeth, you've never been able to let it go;

"I just want to know if she kisses me the same way she kisses you? Does she play nice with you? She's quite fierce with me—"

When Jayce kisses you, it's a crush of aggression.

You laugh into his mouth wildly as he shoves you harder against the wall, teeth mean in the tender part of your bottom lip so that your laughter melts into a groan of pain. Of pleasure.

You claw at his back and wonder if Mel does, too.

You fight and hiss and snarl, show him your teeth when he sinks his into the fluttering pulse at your throat. You try to draw blood. You think he tries to bruise.

And well, you always wanted to see his teeth—

Just never thought you'd end up with a ring of their mark on your neck.

***

You're not really sleeping—nights are long. Days are longer. You're in the studio too much. This art piece is strangling you, wrestling with you and you're losing. Your lovers are strange, demanding types. Jayce comes to you at his lowest, and Mel at her highest. She licks the wounds Jayce leaves on you, purrs about how good you're being for her, goads you into putting up more of a fight that she likes to quell. She asks, have I stolen your bite? Are you going soft on me? Until you try to wrestle with her, too.

Mel subdues you the way snakes do—constricts and tightens and puts all that pressure on you until you just burst.

Until you go slack in her grip.

Jayce takes his anger out on you and he's not so cunning or delicate as her. You think Jayce struggles with you the way he must with his hammers, with high heat and all his strength.

Your art is starting to look like pieces of them; brutal and brilliant and cunning and beautiful. Tricky to capture, even more difficult to mesh together.

You're covered in paint when Viktor comes to visit you, frustrated with the canvas in front of you, which you think you'll end up scrapping again.

(This is the fourth one. You've been trying to fit all the components and pieces together but none of it's working, all of it's a mess. Splintered apart on the canvas. It looks like a disaster on the page.)

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asks as he comes to stand behind you. He gazes at the canvas n front of you.

You sigh heavily. "Have you?" You return.

He snorts at that, "No. I'm coming from the lab and thought I'd check on you—Mel mentioned you were here."

He pauses and then, "that you'd been here. For awhile now."

You hear the layers in his voice; the worry, but then the—

Irritation? Disdain?

"Are you asking me to dinner?" You say instead, dashing the canvas with a sudden great, horrible X. It's your meager attempt at some sort of joke or flirting, but your voice is perhaps too thin for it. You stare at your canvas, now dripping with that great X, the paint slipping down and marring it further.

When you turn to look at Viktor, he regards you warily. He glances at the canvas you've just ruined, and then back to your face.

He takes in your appearance; your disheveled hair and the paint all over your clothes and skin. And then his eyes skip down to your throat, to your arms. All marked up and bruised, unhidden and worn proudly here, in the safety of your art studio.

"Should I be concerned?" Viktor asks instead and you've always loved his bluntness. His lack of tact is like coming home. It's a relief, when you're constantly with Mel and Jayce lately, who talk in riddles and niceties and flowered language that hides their intentions or feelings.

There is a bitterness in Viktor's voice that you know well, too.

"About?" You prod.

"I'm no fool." Viktor answers, "I know you're sleeping with Councilor Medarda."

"Is that all you know?" You return, tilting your head.

"Is there more to know?" Viktor asks, eyeing you.

"Jayce hasn't said anything?"

You watch a strange shadow pass over Viktor's face as he slowly comes to the natural conclusion that you've lead him to. He's right, he is no fool. And then you watch his eyes catch fire, catch jealousy.

"I warned you—" he starts, suddenly.

"And I told you, it's good for the art—" You joke.

"Obviously it isn't!" He snaps, gesturing to the canvas behind you, ruined and glaring at your back. And then he heaves out a rough, agitated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think of consequences?" He demands.

"Sure," You say, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know, they are my colleagues. What am I supposed to do if—?!"

You laugh at that, enough that it startles him out of his beginning tirade. He comes up short and his shoulders bunch with tension as he glares at you.

"Is something funny?" He hisses.

"Your colleagues?" You repeat, "that's all they are to you?"

"Well—yes, technically." He stumbles on his words here.

"Are you jealous, Viktor?" You ask. "You don't have to be."

"I'm not jealous—" He refutes, even as his cheeks grow ruddy. And for a moment, you could be twelve with him again, his face flush as he looks at you after you'd kissed him for the first time because he'd never kissed anyone before. Or twenty-two and drunk, kissing one night under the stars when you felt so lost and disorientated in the Upper City—just wanted to feel like yourself again.

Or now, at thirty-two, staring at the man you've loved your entire life and whatever mess you've made out of everything.

You reach out and touch his cheek, glowing with color, and at first he winces away, but when you persist, he relaxes. He presses his cheek to your open palm and looks at you; raw and frank and so Viktor that you can't help the faint smile that touches your lips. Even as he frowns at you.

"What are you meddling with?" Viktor murmurs, turning his face into your cupped hand. You feel the faint brush of his lips, a little dry, and soft. Warm.

"Apparently our political landscape." You respond and that at least gets a laugh from him. You feel it against you and some spark shimmers through you, shudders and opens itself to you.

(Your desire for Viktor is something always with you, ambient, perhaps dormant, that always resurfaces like the great fins of some horrible, huge monster in dark waters. Your desire for Viktor is a symptom of your love. You've never know what to call it except that, except his.)

"Have I upset you?" You ask now as his laughter fades, and with it his amusement.

He sighs deeply and you feel his breath against your skin. You draw nearer. He leans back onto his crutch only slightly, only for a moment, before he allows you further into his space.

"I don't—" He struggles for the words before admitting, "yes, somewhat. For some reason."

"Are you feeling neglected?" You ask and try very hard to keep your amusement out of your voice, lest you irritate him further. He's always had a jealous streak in him, even as kids. If you made another friend, he would pout until you draped yourself over him and showered him in your attention again.

Even your previous relationships had bred some sort of jealousy in him; he's never liked any of your partners.

(It's so endearing to you that you have to tuck your teeth into your own lip and hum a little.)

You lean towards him, ducking your head so that your nose dips to brush against the line of his jaw. You feel his body shudder more than you see it. His breath goes tight. Your eyes flicker, a flash in the sun-spun light of your art studio;

"Do you want me to kiss you the way Jayce kisses me?" You murmur, your lips hovering over his. You watch his face gutter, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath goes shallow.

"Or would you prefer Mel?" You murmur, just before you close the distance and kiss him with a certain fierceness, a meanness that you don't usually have with him. He stumbles back a little with the force of it and your hand that had been holding his cheek, slips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

A groan startles out of him when you tighten your hand into a fist and pull.

You part from the kiss, panting a little, and he looks down at you, eyes molten gold and burning.

You're about to kiss him again, when he murmurs, "I want—" he swallows hard, "I want you to kiss me the way you do—I want—"

You press back into him instantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought, with the notion that his desire, his jealousy—

You kiss him like you always have, overeager and desperate and messy. You urge him backwards, towards your workbench, all cluttered with paints. His crutch clatters against the ground uselessly as you grab for each other. You knock over a jar of brushes half-haphazardly placed on the floor.

You're overwhelmed with the thought that his jealousy might've been for you, too.

When he braces his hand against your work bench, he knocks over a cup of paint. You laugh into his mouth as you paw at his stupid, perfectly buttoned vest. When he touches you again, he stains you blue—and later red and violet. Burnished gold and paint so silver it makes the stars look dull.

A mess, he tsks, impossibly fond, as he looks at you and himself and the work space.

At all that you'd done.

***

"You've been pulling strings," Mel says as you lay in her lap, letting her pet and stroke you. Her fingers dance over the ridge of your brow.

You blink up at her slowly, eyes fluttering. "Shouldn't that be my line?" You ask.

"I'm not naive to the way you've been pulling our strings." She muses, fingers tumbling into your hair. She's gentle here, careful as she cards her way through your hair, her fingers nimble.

"Pulling strings is a far too sophisticated thing to call it." You snort and lean into her touch like a cat, preening a little.

"What would you call it?" Mel asks and the smile she wears is less of a mystery to you now, and you can tell there's a fondness to it.

(She does really like you—she is really being sincere, you've learned.)

You think about this for a long moment; you toy with saying a fucking mess. Or digging my own grave. But neither feel quite so full—while true, in many ways, there leaves little room for—

Well, this.

The way she holds you. The cat's curl of her smile, pleased and mischievous. Her fingers, gentle and coaxing, urging you to unfurl and bloom.

Or Viktor's rasping laugh that you can pull out of him. The fondness you hold for him like a pearl held inside a clam, growing and glowing. The way you drape yourself all over him, and he accepts it as easy as the day accepts the sun, or the night accepts the moon into its skies.

And even Jayce and the strangled back-and-forth that the two of you dance; it's still yours. It's still his. And the way he cups your cheek admist the violence or how he let's no one speak ill of you in front of him.

(Or the way Jayce and Viktor's minds work together, or how tactical Jayce and Mel can be; sharpened like daggers and twice as pretty. Or the creativity you pull out of Mel, allowing her to see the world like a boundless piece of art. Or the way Viktor's science influences your art; how your art influences his science. The fierceness you bring out in Jayce—the passion he brings out in you.)

It doesn't quite account for all the parts that make you burn and grow and shake out your great, big wings to fly.

Finally, you say, "it feels like I'm trying to find the melodies and harmonies and how they mesh—or the composition of a painting, or the feeling of a poem, but some of the words are still missing. It feels like when I chase art and try to break it open, to reveal what it wants me to learn—or show me."

"Have you figured it out yet?" She asks and she's genuinely curious, almost quiet in her desire to know.

At that, the door creaks open and there are several hushed whispers before Jayce suddenly strides into the room with all the false confidence in the world. Viktor looks sheepish behind him.

You sit up sharply, trying to detangle yourself from Mel.

"I told you they were here—" Viktor hisses to him, "and we shouldn't—we shouldn't be here."

Jayce isn't listening, though, and he's clearly inflating himself to get out, "I've come on important business of the council."

Mel raises her brows and throws you a sideways glance. She then says, "then come in, Councilor, since it's so important that you've come to my personal quarters. Unannounced."

Jayce at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish now, too. You can't help the laugh that springs out of you.

He throws you a dark look before clearing his throat.

"Councilor Haskel and Salo are seeking to strike down the art deal." Jayce announces and your heart drops a little, sinks in your chest.

You look at Mel. She purposefully keeps her face a mask of coolness. She rolls her shoulder briefly, which is your only tell of irritation or concern.

"Come in, Jayce." Mel finally says, "and you, too, Viktor. Shut the door behind you."

Both wander into the space and it's such a surreal moment, all four of you, for once, in the same room, that you can't help but laugh again.

Mel sighs in a way as if to say, I suppose this would happen eventually.

Jayce and Viktor can't quite look anyone in the eye and they both take uneasy seats int he living room.

Again, you feel like laughing—you're not sure what all the trepidation is for. Each of them have you seen you naked; you have seen them naked.

"What's their angle?" Mel asks, ignoring both Jayce and Viktor's shyness.

Jayce clears his throat, "they don't think it's worthwhile to support an artist from the Undercity at this time."

You wince and Jayce adds, "their words, not mine."

"Well, that won't do." Mel tsks and she suddenly moves to stand, graceful as ever, her robes trailing in a wave of silk and the smell of lillies. She likes to pace when she's thinking, and she pads over the window, to look out at the city.

Eventually, she says, "we'll need a grander plan. Something they can't refuse."

"What are you thinking?" Jayce asks.

She turns and all around her, she's doused in gold light, glowing in the evening sun as if she was born to it. "Perhaps combining some science with it." Now she looks at Viktor, "something symbolic to the current advancements with Hextech, perhaps."

Viktor looks at you, then back at Mel, "I can do that."

"Jayce, I need you to talk to the other Councilors and be sure they're not swayed by Haskel or Salo." She then adds, "and I want more publicity around it—and around our artist and scientist."

Our artist.

Our scientist.

"Ah—" Viktor starts, "I don't want to be in the public eye."

Our, our, our.

"It'll put pressure on Haskel and Salo if the people are behind you both, too." Mel presses gently, though her gaze has softened on him; she's sympathetic to his desires.

To assure him, you chirp, "I can do all the talking."

"Not sure that's our best idea." Jayce remarks.

"I am certain I can name several worse ideas of ours." You quip without thinking, and then you toss one of Mel's throw pillows at him; the beautifully embroidered one that's likely far too expensive and made from the rarest threads.

It hits him with a dull thud. And for a moment, he's shocked. The room is silent.

Still, your heart sings our, our, our.

But then Viktor snorts, before breaking out into his low, soft chuckle. And then the twinkle of Mel's giggles, coupled with your own laughter that bursts from your chest like a bird taking to flight.

And Jayce watches a moment, all of you laugh and smile, and if you could paint him in this moment, you would—

A little awe-struck. Tender around the edges, burnished gold. Breath stolen from him.

(Oh, he does really like you, too. All of you.)

But then laughter rumbles from him, too. And the tension slips from all of you, drains from your bodies with each bubbling sound.

And all of them together—finally together—are the melody you've been looking for, the words you couldn't place. The color on the canvas that finally brings it all together.

It's all the broken pieces like a mosaic, finally put together to create something whole.

And it's all ours, you think, the sun a flare of light and beauty bursting through the room, bathing all of your favorite people in it's gold and glory;

It's all ours.

[rxmxa]

The Leo-Aquarius Axis Redefined pt. 2 ⚡ 🧪⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Part One on the Leo-Aquarius Axis (Good to Read for Reference)

I was watching some intense video footage with my friend after something really brutal and chaotic happened in my neighborhood. Watching it alone was overwhelming because there was so much violence and chaos happening back to back. But then I re-watched it with my Aquarius stellium friend. And when I say stellium, I mean stellium. This girl is an Aquarius Sun, Mercury, Mars, Venus, Rising, with a Capricorn Moon and Uranus in the 10th house. She is genuinely the smartest person I know.

What I didn’t fully realize until that moment was just how good Aquarius energy is at processing information. Aquarius is an air sign, which means it thrives on mental challenges and intellectual stimulation. But it’s also fixed, which gives it a steady and sustained focus that doesn’t waver. Symbolically, Aquarius is the Water Bearer. It pours out knowledge, deep and distilled, offering it to the world. In moments of chaos, it feels like Aquarius processes everything at light speed, distills the important parts, and hands you the answers in such a breezy and nonchalant manner all like, “Oh, you didn’t notice that incredibly specific detail?”

While we were watching the footage, she kept pausing to point things out. She would say, “Look here, see his hand? Notice how he flinched.” Then she would rewind and say, “Listen again, did you hear what he said? He said ‘xyz.’” By the end of the night, mostly thanks to her, we had pieced together the timeline of what happened.

It was a heavy experience, but it also got me thinking about something I had written before about the Leo-Aquarius axis.

In that post, I said:

“If you are struggling to shine and develop your self-expression (Leo), look at the opposite of that (Aquarius), where you might need to release and let go of pressure. Especially internal pressure, since air sign energy is so connected to our thoughts and intellect. This sets the stage for success that feels aligned with your most genuine self.”

At the time, I was so focused on this idea of detachment leading to success that I wrote:

“The 11th house (Aquarius) rules your profits from your career, while the 5th house (Leo) rules your creativity and hobbies. Think about how many people have created art (5th house) without worrying about success or money, only to find widespread acclaim and rewards (11th house). In interviews, they always say, ‘I never imagined this would happen. I never imagined I would reach so many people.’ Why? Because they had detached. And that mindset can take you far.”

While that’s absolutely true, I realized I hadn’t fully considered the depth of this axis.

Aquarius isn’t just about letting go and hoping for the best. You don’t magically detach and suddenly see success show up in your Leo house.

Yes, you need to release expectations in your Aquarius house. But Aquarius isn’t about not caring. It’s about caring deeply for the process itself. It’s about learning for the sake of learning. Aquarius is the mad scientist energy, the inventor, the one who experiments and explores because it’s fascinating and because it feeds them.

Wherever Aquarius is in your chart, that’s where you need to step into that energy. It’s where you become the mad scientist, endlessly curious and driven to learn and discover. You absorb information, try new things, and gather knowledge for the sake of it. That process becomes the fuel that allows your Leo house to shine.

Aquarius prepares and strategizes, and Leo performs and shines. Success aligns when both energies are flowing together.

Aquarius builds the blueprint. It is the blueprint. Then Leo distributes it to the world. That’s where success or even monetization comes in. But it’s always at your pace, and always through doing what you love.

How I Applied This in My Own Life

This realization hit me on such a personal level because I have struggled with 6th house themes my entire life. My weight, my routines, building habits, staying consistent. etc. No matter how hard I tried to force structure into my day-to-day life, it just never clicked. I would start strong, burn out, and then spiral into frustration.

But when I stopped trying to force myself into systems that didn’t fit me and leaned into my Aquarius 12th house energy, everything shifted. I stopped seeing my habits as rigid checklists and started treating them like little experiments. I became curious, open to trial and error, and focused on the process instead of the outcome.

Suddenly, my 6th house started to thrive. My health (gut health, mental health, lost 15 pounds) improved, my daily routines felt sustainable (set boundaries at work), and consistency became something I didn’t have to force anymore. It became second nature to be this new version of me.

The Leo-Aquarius Axis Guide

If you’ve ever felt torn between wanting to shine like Leo and strategize like Aquarius, my guide will show you how to:

Identify your Aquarius Lab and your Leo Stage in your chart

Create a sustainable cycle of preparation (aqua) and performance (leo)

Use both energies to create confidence, clarity, and success

get the guide here: ✨ [Mastering the Leo-Aquarius Axis] ⚡ 🧪⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Con mucho amor, Ramona 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

[cometconmain]

Just gonna point out here (targeted in the direction of anyone calling the CEO shooter a terrorist) that this constant slapping of 'terrorism' on shit that isn't by people in power who want to delegitimise acts of measured violence against specific people in power who actively caused the suffering and death this was about are making people stop treating that term seriously and I think that's a really big problem.

Nobody else died. Whoever did definitely kill the CEO didn't blow up an entire building to get to one guy. He didn't do a mass shooting of the building to get to the one guy. He didn't target random civillians and hold them hostage and sexually assault and slaughter them while planning killing as many people as possible regardless of what they've done or not done as individuals. He didn't attack a concert to get one guy. His only political statement with the murder was 'these people have been murdering us in the tens of thousands for decades and it's time they understood we've had enough through the only language they seem to understand because they ignored us when we were talking peacefully and went on killing us anyway because due process was never going to stop them when they have the game rigged in their favour.' And he made sure only the person responsible for these acts of horrific fatal negligence against innocent people was the one who died and no one else. That's not terrorism. At most it's assassination and we can argue about whether or not that's a helpful mindset to be accepting in the long term as much as people like but for fuck's sake people HAVE TO STOP labelling shit terrorism that isn't. It's watering the term down and people who are rightfully angry at being shut down at every turn when they do things that can't be swept under the rug (which applies to all kinds of non-fatal activism so don't come at me on that) are starting to ignore actual terrorism when it happens because their experience is that anyone using that word is just trying to remove the last shred of power a group has to stand up to their oppressors.

Do we have to just also make sure we consciously don't let ourselves redefine that term in either direction? Yes. But it's a two way street and everyone else misusing that word in the first place need to meet us in the middle in not waving it around slapping anyone and any activism they're made uncomfortable by like it's a wet noodle regardless of what the people they're slapping are ACTUALLY doing or not doing.

If we decide terrorism is bad (and obviously actual terrorism genuinely is!!), and then decide anything involving any form of violent resistance in the face of increasingly violent oppression is now terrorism, what kind of message do we send to all the people who are basically being told they're not allowed to resist that oppression now even if the situation isn't changing enough from the peaceful measures because every time they come with an olive branch they're met by a policeman/soldier's baton/tear gas/taser or even bullet?

The longer we go without listening to people when they ARE talking, and shutting down all other avenues to reach change except for the violence we also condemn as blanketly wrong regardless of circumstance, the more enraged and violent those people will get. It's basic psychology and easy enough for people not experiencing that inescapable oppression to say kindergarten level shit like 'violence is bad; killing is wrong.' If someone tries to kill you in the street and necessary escalation to stop them results in their dying, is that wrong? But they were trying to kill you. Were you supposed to limit yourself and increase your chances of death because they had a family? What about your family?

There have to be nuances to this because the world is more complicated than the play room where all the toddlers who can't handle that nuance are. Little Tommy isn't stopping little Johnny from talking to him because he doesn't have that kind of power. An adult can step in and resolve the child-level issue and make Tommy listen to Johnny and teach them to handle conflict peacefully and respectfully.

That doesn't apply to the adult-level capitalist world where money over millions of people's lives is the norm and intricately rigged and enforced so it never changes through peaceful resolution (we can keep chipping away and we do make things more bearable than the rich people want to give us, but it's a constant and exhausting battle while in the meantime everyone we love is either dead, dying or at risk of dying around us every day this goes without being properly fixed). In a world where a homeless man can be murdered in cold blood on a subway train after the attack stopped, but a CEO who has killed a horrific number of people in cold blood himself gets shot and his killer made an example of to the angry populace who see this discrepancy and understand that the powerful are only trying to maintain their status quo, there is only so much saying "Please pretty please stop killing us. We're human beings. We've justified to you over and over again why what you're doing is wrong and you still kill us with no consequences and no end in sight but maybe if we just keep talking and expecting a different result it'll happen" can do to stop the status quo that is constantly being propped up by corporate and governmental interests.

No one actually wants to be in a civil war. Most of us don't want to kill people. Bringing the rich and powerful who have killed so many to justice through due process and a proper trial is always going to be better and healthier for our society than walking up to them and shooting them.

But if you give people no other choice because you will never see that proper trial by your own design...

What else are those suffering and dying meant to do? Just keep suffering and dying quietly? Accept this constant violence toward them only to have their desperate violence called unacceptable and wrong and terrorism while yours is quietly swept under the rug?

Never target innocents. Never try to wipe out an entire group of people for the actions of a few. That IS terrorism and unjust and unacceptable because it's unnecessary force against random innocent people. But if the few who are doing those horrific actions aren't being stopped by normal societal methods of dealing with them peacefully and they continue shutting down every avenue you try to take to make them face justice non-violently and you actively make sure only to target them that's not terrorism. That's being pushed to the brink and finally breaking the way everyone will eventually under that type of oppressive violence and then making sure only the people actually committing that violence against you receive violence in return. That's self defence.

This literally is the only course left in a truly dystopian system where there truly is no end in sight except through making it clear people can't take it anymore, because they don't let people express that peacefully either. What else are those people supposed to do when you will never go to trial and ALSO refuse to let due process and proper trials happen to those you want silenced?

Terrorism stopped sounding like a bad thing to us when people made it mean anything they didn't like. And that's seriously fucked up because actual terrorism where people are targeted indiscriminately for a political or religious statement really is wrong and fucked up and unnecessary and has to stop. It's never necessary to do that even if it's about fighting the status quo and increasingly violent oppression. You can do that without killing or even risking innocents. The guy who shot the CEO proved that. There's a middle line to walk here and we have to make sure we don't let people flopping labels around like wet noodles make us think that terrorism is just ok now because it's been applied so frequently to defence of the public both violent and peaceful in a system where they shut down all other methods of change they would have to listen to otherwise.

And the people treating it like a wet noodle only to go on to committing acts of violence and aggression to terrorise the public with no repercussions themselves have to stop doing all of that and all the shit this is about in the first place. We know what the authorities are doing with this public spectacle and all it's doing is making people angrier and happier to commit more violence. This is how you get more and actual terrorism, not less of it, because people with less care for those nuances are going to see you doing this shit and decide that makes it necessary to expand the crosshairs. (Again, people need to know the difference and choose not to do that; but you know these assholes will jump on that the second it happens to lend credence to their decrying of genuinely necessary and properly measured violence against them to stop their constant unrelenting oppressive violence against everyone else. And then all the bootlickers who have not yet experienced the leopards eating their faces will tut tut and decry everything too in support of the leopards all while those leopards are eyeing up their faces next.)

Honestly I'm pretty sure the Redcoats would have called the Americans fighting for their freedom 'terrorists' during the American Revolution if that had been something they could use to delegitimise the Americans' cause in the public eye. It would be interesting to see what they did say instead because it's unfortunately a very effective tactic people in oppressive power over others use all the time now. I wonder if people used to fall for it as badly back then too as they do in the modern era.

"I’m very concerned about my client’s right to a fair trial in this case.  He’s being prejudiced by some statements that are being made by government officials. Like every other defendant, he’s entitled to a presumption of innocence. But unfortunately the way this has been handled so far his rights are being violated. And as you know, Your Honor, there’s a wealth of case law guaranteeing his rights to a fair trial, but none of the safeguards have been put in place yet here — in fact it’s just the opposite of what’s been happening. 

He’s a young man, and he is being treated like a human pingpong ball between two warring jurisdictions here.

These federal and state prosecutors are coordinating with one another at the expense of him. They have conflicting theories in their indictment, and they are literally treating him like he is some sort of political fodder, like some sort of spectacle. 

He was on display for everyone to see in the biggest staged perp walk I’ve ever seen in my career. It was absolutely unnecessary. He’s been cooperative with law enforcement. He’d been in custody for over a week. He waived extradition. He was cooperative at all accounts. There was no reason for the NYPD and everybody to have these big assault rifles — that frankly I had no idea it was in their arsenal — and to have all the press there the media there. It was perfectly choreographed. 

And what was the New York City Mayor doing at this press conference, Your Honor? That just made it utterly political. And as your honor knows under Loro v. Charles, the Court of Appeals for the 2nd Circuit has held it to be clearly established that these staged perp walks to the media unrelated to a legitimate law enforcement objective is unconstitutional. And I submit that there was zero law enforcement objective to do that sort of perp walk. There’s absolutely no need for that whatsoever. 

And frankly, Your Honor, the mayor should know more than anyone about the presumption of innocence that he, too, is afforded dealing with his own issues. And, frankly, I submit that he was just trying to detract from those issues by making a spectacle of Mr. Mangione. 

And there are consequences to this. 

He has a right to a fair trial. And I just want to put on the record statements that the mayor made publicly about my client. Nothing saying “alleged” for example. And he said “I wanted to send a strong message with the police commissioner that we’re leading from the front. I’m not just going to allow him to come into our city. I wanted to look him in the eye and state ‘You carried out this terrorist act in my city, the city of New York that I love.’” And he wanted to show symbolism. 

Your Honor, he’s not a symbol. He’s somebody who is afforded the right to a fair trial. He’s innocent until proven guilty. And the mayor was talking to jurors — future potential jurors that elected him. Those are the people that elected him that he is talking to and calling this man a terrorist.

So, Your Honor, I just want to make a record of this and put everyone on notice that this has to stop, and my client is entitled to a fair trial and the presumption of innocence."

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Peace? Wishful Thinking (RDR Secret Santa)

Summary: You've been piling your losses within the gang, and what happens when you nearly lose Arthur again?

Warnings: Violence/injury, angst, and smut. The holy trinity.

Word Count: 4,115

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! Especially to my @rdrevents Secret Santa recipient, @twola, who requested Arthur Morgan x reader with the prompt "The only thing I ask is that you outlive me, so I don't have to live another day without you." Hope you enjoy!

Pain spiked down your blood-streaked arm as your fingers spasmed open from it, dropping the six-shooter with a heavy thunk to the dirty wooden floorboards. 

Your chest rose in ragged, shallow breaths as your head spun and the rush of fear flooded your mouth with saliva, your stomach churning as the sting of the stab wound and nausea rolled into one. 

Gunshots still fired. The shout of men and the thundering hooves of horses echoed through the forest, though nowhere near the abandoned cabin you’d chosen for your spot of safety, thank God. 

But it wasn’t just your spot, it was also supposed to be his. Arthur’s. 

Your back hit the wall of the cabin as you attempted to catch your breath, eyes closing to fight off the dizziness of panic. Everything had happened at once. What was meant to be a simple stagecoach robbery went awry when that stagecoach turned out to be a group of Pinkertons. 

By some pure luck, you and Arthur managed to outrun them, but they were hot on your tail. Knowing they wouldn’t end their pursuit, Arthur quickly suggested you headed to the rendezvous point while he drew them away. You hated the idea and protested immediately, but there had been no room, or time, to argue. 

The state line of New Hanover and Ambarino was a woodsy and mountainous area with thankfully plenty of hiding places. There’d been a sharp turn that allowed just precious moments of an advantage. Arthur instructed you to disappear into the forest while he remained on the main path, and you did just that, urging your mare between the pines and over boulders. The gunshots behind you didn’t ease your concern, and you dared not to look back just in case they managed to see you through the brush. 

It was either a blessing or a curse that they chased you closer toward the rendezvous point the two of you scouted out just days earlier; an abandoned hunting cabin that none would be the wiser to. Far enough off the main path that no one would find unless they were specifically looking for it. 

Which is now where you stood, waiting, listening. Your hammering heart began to slow and you breath was slowly evening out. The only two windows in the cabin were filthy, only allowing the blurred shapes of the outside to be seen. 

But the sounds continued to lessen, giving way to the silence of nature. Slowly, you straightened, the movement causing your arm to burn once more. In the craze you’d been shot at, and you glanced over expecting to find a hole in your arm. 

By some luck it wasn’t that, instead just a nasty, bloody slit just below the curve of your shoulder. You’d been grazed. 

Breathing in a sigh of relief, it caught in your throat as you thought about Arthur. You knew he could outrun the law, he’d done so many times. But the Pinkertons had been hot on everyone’s trail since Blackwater, and it felt like their pursuit was slowly closing in over the past few months. 

Would he be captured, or worse? 

Another wave of nausea rolled over you at the mere thought of— 

No. You can’t think like that. Panic would only make the situation worse. 

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the now torn jacket from your body with intent to patch the wound. You then stepped outside only briefly to retrieve supplies from the saddlebags, and giving a cursory glance of the surroundings. 

Still no sounds, no angry lawmen on horseback. 

No Arthur either. 

Pursing your lips, you hurried back inside and got to work. It wasn’t deep, but it stung like a nest of angry wasps when you cleaned it. No need for stitches. 

As you applied a balm and then a bandage, a memory surfaced. 

Arthur had come back to camp one night in shambles, after having been kidnapped by the O’Driscolls. You’d known something was off even before the men rode out to meet with Colm. Both you and Arthur knew it, but there was no arguing with Dutch. 

And when they came back without Arthur, the feeling festered. Dutch had no straight answer as to where Arthur was, only pushing your concerns off stating he was fine, probably off elsewhere for a while. It was in Arthur’s nature to go off on his own, and you knew that...but, something in your gut told you otherwise. 

You’d argued, shouted, demanded that the entire camp go out to find him as the day grew into night, but Dutch wouldn’t let up. It was only by Hosea’s calming words that you were able to tamper down from almost outright punching the leader, albeit with frustration. 

And you’d been right. Arthur was right, when he appeared with one foot in the grave, too exhausted to even sit properly on his horse and his shoulder in shambles from a nasty gunshot wound. 

Berating Dutch was the last of your worries, devoting those next few weeks to restoring Arthur’s health. Though it didn’t come unscathed; Arthur had always been strong. He’d never been so badly wounded and the thought of losing him...almost sent you into a spiral. 

And he saw it, saw you barely holding yourself together every time you changed his bandages, every time you fed him stew when he just had enough strength to lift his head and swallow. 

He wasn’t shy about his affections the moment his strength began to seep back in, pulling you onto his cot in the night, pressing sweet kisses on your cheek, your lips, your neck and whispering small “thank you”s against your skin. 

And when his shoulder healed, there was no stopping him from taking it further. 

Three weeks later, it was as if nothing happened, the only reminder was the knot of a scar branding his skin. He’d been ready to go right back out and contribute once again. 

But those weeks changed you, a harsh remembrance that mortality wasn’t a toy to be carelessly played with. Every thought you had about him leaving camp, going on another heist, everything that was considered a daily life now shadowed. 

You’d lost people along the way. Hell, you knew what came with this life. How many of those died when escaping Blackwater and making your way up to Colter? Sean was killed not that long ago. Almost lost Jack to a crazy woman’s antics. A child. And Kieran...poor Kieran. Who was next? 

The losses were piling up, and yet...Arthur kept going. And every time he rode out of camp, he took a piece of your heart with him. 

The memories burned in the back of your throat as your vision blurred. Angrily you swiped the tears away before they could fall, focusing back to the present. Arthur had to be okay. He had to be. 

Your wound was patched up, and you had nothing else to do but wait. You weren’t sure how safe it was to leave, and you knew Arthur would make his way back here. He knew better than to head back to camp in case he was still followed. 

Ambarino was harsh, unforgiving territory. No doubt he’d lose the Pinkertons fairly quick in the terrain. 

And so you waited. 

And waited... 

Minutes ticked into hours. You’d paced the cabin at least a hundred times. You’d glanced through a window at every pass hoping to catch a glimpse of the silhouette of the horse and rider you knew so well. You’d attempted to eat, but the rock in your stomach just made you nauseous again. 

Encroaching thoughts turned your mind into a warzone. Arthur received a tip about this job and asked you to come with him, knowing how it bothered you to leave you behind. Stagecoach heists were nothing new; you’d done it hundreds of times both with and without him. 

It has to have been a set-up. There was no way it wasn’t. Unless someone got the information wrong. 

You sighed and kicked at a clump of dirt on the floor. There was no point in pondering what went wrong and why, especially now. 

The sky steadily grew darker with the passing time, and you didn’t dare to reach for one of the oil lamps just in case someone was in the area close enough to see it and come snooping. 

But what if Arthur was close, looking for the cabin? Would the light be enough to beckon him closer, or draw him away? 

Exhaustion suddenly hit like a brick wall, and you found yourself collapsing into a rickety chair. The bed in the corner, as dusty as it was, looked welcoming, but you wouldn’t risk sleeping when there were too many unknowns still in the air. 

The cabin was nearly pitch black, aside from the weak moonlight peering through the grimy windows. A hoot of a closeby owl was the only other presence. The quiet sneeze of your mare just on the other side of the wall. 

Your gun rested in your hand, your eyes staring at the faint outline of the door. You only had to wait for Arthur to come in, or a Pinkerton, or wait until morning to leave. 

You hoped the first would be the only option. 

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, only that the rattle of the doorknob yanked you out of slumber. Heart racing and the grip on your gun tightened, you threw your hand up just as the door swung open. 

A large silhouette took up almost the entire frame, standing only slightly stark against the pined background. Your heart lurched to your throat as your finger hovered over the trigger. 

“I’m armed!” you warned, attempting to hide the waver in your voice. 

A voice carried in the space between you. It was just one word; your name. 

A voice that was so familiar, you almost dropped your gun. 

“Arthur?” 

Your legs, as tired and wobbly as they were, brought you from sitting to standing, to striding across the small cabin in a matter of seconds. 

He met you halfway, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. You sunk into his hold, relief flooding your entire being as fresh tears stung your eyes. 

His scent enveloped you, leather and tobacco and the slight earthy smell of his horse lingered on his clothes. He was warm, and you hadn’t realized how cold it was until that very moment. 

You looked up at him, his features slowly forming in the dimness. His blue eyes were bright, brows pinched as he searched your face. 

“I’m okay,” you confirmed. “You?” 

“Fine,” he said gruffly, and drew you in for a kiss, pressing his lips to yours. 

You melted immediately, leaning into his strong body, arms wrapping around his neck. His arms tightened around you, one hand leaving your waist to draw up your back, burying his fingers into your hair. 

The stark relief mixed with a heavier emotion, one that opened your mouth to Arthur’s silent inquiry. The kiss deepened then, lips and tongues and teeth clashing. He held you so close it was as if he was trying to absorb you into his body. 

Hell, you would do the same if you would. Your hands reached up to his head, clumsily knocking his hat off as your fingers found his soft locks. All that worry, concern, fear...melted into a heat that pooled into the bottom of your stomach. 

And Arthur was on the same wavelength. 

He backed you up, until the backs of your legs hit something solid. It caused you to fall back, hitting the lumpy bed. A cloud of dust swirled around you, and Arthur was anything but gentle. His roaming hands found the front of your pants, unbuttoning them and yanking the denim down from your hips. Your own hands busied themselves, unbuckling the gun belt from his waist then his jacket. 

The cool night air caressed the skin of your lower torso as more clothing was shed. You weren’t sure how long exactly before you were completely naked, but Arthur’s presence suddenly disappeared. You blinked in confusion, about to voice your displeasure when the glow of an oil lamp erupted into life, washing the cabin in a faint golden glow. 

Blinking again from the sudden light, you saw Arthur standing just above you. He was just as bare as you, your eyes first roving over his body. Dark blood spotted his forearms, but you saw nothing indicating injury. As your eyes dipped below his waistline, not shy about peering at his arousal, you then slowly brought your gaze upward, meeting his scrutinizing stare. 

“I needed to see you,” he murmured. “I needed—” he paused abruptly, eyes widening slightly and you knew what he was looking at. The bandage around your arm. 

“I was grazed,” you said. “That’s it.” 

The relief that took hold of him was immediate, washing away the tenseness in his muscles.  He then knelt before you, his callused palms sliding up and down your hips and thighs as he planted sweet kisses to your skin, working his way up to the aching space between your legs. His fingers were on you instantly, expertly finding the bundle of nerves nestled within the curls. You gasped as he rubbed, hips bucking against his palm. 

You spoke his name like a prayer, writhing on the dusty quilt as he played you like a fiddle. His other hand slid up the midline of your stomach, finding purchase on your breast. He rolled and pinched your nipple while his fingers prodded your entrance before invading your inner walls, causing a burst of pleasure to ricochet through your system. 

His thumb and fingers worked in tandem, his eyes never leaving your face the more you squirmed, sweet ecstasy ramping up almost too quickly. 

“Arthur, I—I’m close!” you whined, back arching and hips shuddering in his touch. 

“Let go, sweetheart,” he encouraged, his voice low and thick. 

And you did just that, the flame that burned in your core exploded like a firework, encompassing your entire body as you moaned your release, muscles tensing for a moment before it faded. 

Arthur eased his hands from you, and as you caught your breath and your heart slowed, you met his gaze. There was a glint of hunger in those beautiful eyes, one that you knew all too well. He leaned forward, planting his arms on either side of you, caging you between his body and the bed. 

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath almost as ragged as yours had been just a moment ago. 

“Need you,” he murmured. “Need t’ be inside of you.” 

You smiled, lifting your arms to find home around his neck again. “Then what are you waiting for?” 

He groaned, grabbing your hips and angling himself between your legs. He wasn't slow about his next move, plunging his hips forward and burying himself within you in one smooth motion. 

You gasped out loud, your nails scraping against his skin. That’ll be the only marks on him for a while, you decided, as any other coherent thought was lost with a deep kiss. 

His mouth moved on yours while he thrust again. It was hard and deep, absent of the gentleness he usually brought. No, this was fueled by carnal need and desperation. Driven by high emotions lingering from the failed heist, built up from the weeks of that slowly festering terror. 

But he was here with you now, together and real and—fuck, you were just...here. 

He pistoned in and out of you, his hands digging so hard into your flesh you’re sure there would be bruises later. But you didn’t care, especially as your nails scored down the expanse of his back. The marks left would be that reminder that you both made it back to one another tonight. 

His lips left yours to favor your jaw, then your neck, nibbling and sucking at the heated skin. It seemed his thoughts were aligned with yours. 

“Fuck,” he breathed against your skin. “Y’ feel amazin’” 

You returned that sentiment with a whine, wrapping your legs around his waist which only served to bring him deeper inside. His large frame twitched in your grasp, a deep grunt emanating from his chest. 

Every bit of your body was inflamed, nerves singing from the absolute need and desire surging through your blood. Nothing else mattered in that moment but him. Alive and well and safe...for the time being. 

That burst of reality hit you like a train, and you mentally shoved at its unwelcome invasion. You needed to take control, then and there. 

Your hands slid to his chest and you pushed, though kept your legs around him. Arthur seemed to understand and ceded, switching positions with ease. He stretched on the bed while still enveloped in your warmth. His gaze swept to yours with a heated stare, and you moved. 

Up and down and gyrating, riding him like a well-practiced bronc. He groaned deeply as his hands flew to the curves of your waist, twitching underneath to keep with your rhythm. 

God, you loved when it was like this. The power, the control of his pleasure from being on top of him. The way he melted underneath you. 

Arthur was all force. Built with muscle, angled planes and power. The way he exuded his prowess had you trembling in more ways than one. There was a time when you would admit he scared you, but never like this. 

Sure, you were a force to be reckoned with all your own. But to wield this man...this outlaw...this honed weapon, to your will like this— 

His hands cupped and squeezed your breasts as they bounced, drawing a gasp from you and pulling you from your thoughts. 

“So damn beautiful,” he rasped breathlessly. “Ridin’ me like you stole me.” 

A smirk crossed your lips at the same time a flush colored your cheeks, momentarily breaking eye contact. You stole him, alright. Stole his heart straight from his chest, just like he had yours in a vice grip. 

And you’ll keep it for life, despite what the others say or think. They can all fall off a cliff if it meant you and Arthur were never separated. 

You leaned forward, hands grasping the wrought iron headboard for support as you took him deeper, driving your hips against his over and over, watching as his face contorted. His grip went from your breasts to your hips again, snapping upward and bringing himself to eye level with you. 

Arthur held you hard, meeting your rhythm with equal haste. The cry you uttered was swallowed his fervent kiss, all lips and tongue and teeth. 

Your second release was barreling toward you, fast and powerful. Your entire body convulsed as it crashed into you, moaning like a whore, and Arthur’s deep groan indicated he felt your spasms. 

His pace increased, erratic and rough as you came down trembling from your high. The way his grip tightened and his breaths shortened, he was close too. 

Your hands left the headboard to cling to his neck, depending the kiss as his bucking never ceased. You knew the instant he gasped into your mouth when his climax hit, and you ground your hips against him simultaneously, pushing him inside you to the hilt. 

He froze, a deep grumble in his belly as he released, pulsating between your now drenched walls. Pulling his mouth back just a few inches, he let out a low, breathless curse. His forehead rested against yours, your chests heaving in tandem as you fought to catch your breaths. 

Silence encompassed the cabin, the only other movement the slight flicker of the oil lamp, casting dark shadows against the wooden walls. 

A moment passed, then two, as your breathing quieted and the sweat on your skin cooled. 

Arthur sat up straighter, his eyes flicking to yours. He gazed at you, half-lidded and face flushed beneath the stubble and slight streaks of dirt. You raised your hand to wipe one away, just across his cheek bone. 

There were no words at the moment, but the post-orgasmic bliss began to fade. 

“I thought the worst happened,” you admitted quietly, turning your face away. 

You felt his fingers against your chin. The touch was gentle but firm, guiding you back to look at him. “It didn’t,” he reminded you softly. “I made it back. I always do.” 

You nodded, but that lingering thought from earlier clouded your mind again. “But what if you don’t next time?” You asked, your chest beginning to knot. 

His brow furrowed. It wasn’t the first time you’d had this discussion with him, it’s happened more than once after his ordeal with the O’Driscolls. “You know it—” 

“Can happen, of course I know,” you said thickly. “But nowadays, it’s just…more of a possibility than ever, Arthur.” 

He was quiet then, his gaze breaking away and you knew he was thinking about the others.  

“It’s been nothing but one tragedy after another,” you continued. “And I…I can’t take watching all this play out, knowing that it may be you next.” 

Arthur grit his teeth at that, but the flicker of pain that crossed his expression meant it hadn’t been just your concerns alone. 

The words we should stop always rose to the back of your mouth but never landed on your tongue. How could you ask Arthur to leave his family and the life he knew for twenty years? When he didn’t even want to leave it for his once fiancée. 

But how much longer was he willing to go? 

You leaned in, resting your face against his bare shoulder. “I love you, so much,” you sighed. “I just want you...want us...to be safe.” 

His hand slid up your back to curl into your hair, and his head moved to place a kiss to your cheek. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice heavy. 

Your throat burned with unshed tears. You blinked, trying to force them away, but they ran hot down your cheeks. God, how many times would this conversation play out between you two? Until Arthur would stop trying to reassure you and just agree? 

“I wish we could just...go,” you said, finally releasing those words out. 

That statement hung heavy in the air, the tension becoming more palpable by the second. He shifted then, leaning back as far as the headboard allowed him to look at you. 

His gaze was searching, a small furrow in his brow. There was no taking back what you said, and you met his stare levelly, although your vision was slightly blurred by tears. 

“We...need to,” you said, voice thick. “Before we...before you get hurt again, or worse. Or if someone else dies, or—” 

He kissed you then, so deeply and passionately that it almost caught you off-guard. His hands rested gently on your cheeks, swiping away the tracks of tears. He pulled back then, his throat catching on a swallow. 

“I might be too wrapped up in this,” he admitted. “It’s too late—” 

“No, it’s not,” you cut him off. “Arthur, how close were you to losing your life last month? How many people have we lost recently? We almost died just hours ago! How much more will it take?!” 

He closed his eyes at that. You knew what all of those deaths meant to him, even Kieran’s, when Arthur merely tolerated his existence in the group. It was wearing him down even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

“I can’t take another funeral,” you continued, fresh tears stinging your eyes. “Especially not yours.” 

He shook his head at your words, as if trying to physically shoo them away. He was quiet for a moment, his face full of tense contemplation. Finally, he met your gaze again. 

“The only thing I ask,” he started, his voice steady. “Is that you outlive me, so I don’t have to live another day without you.” 

Those words twisted your insides. It was as if he was saying goodbye to you. 

“Arthur, don’t do that,” you said. “Please don’t.” 

He drew in a deep sigh, his expression pained. “I don’t know what else to say.” 

There were a million other things you could think of. To agree with your ideas, to assure you that the two of you could outlive all of this, not have to rely on breaking the law countless times over to live a life of peace. 

What started off as promised paradise slowly turned into poison, and you had to make him see that somehow. 

And that’s what you silently vowed to do. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

Okay i dont know if you still do writings for isekai au’s, but imagine isekai’ed reader who shows up in gotham and somehow the batfam knows them from their favorite show/movie.

Like imagine the reader is like “omfg your jason todd”

And then jasons like “good lord your (reader)”

And now both parties are confused to how they both know each other but are from separate universes.

This but could you imagine that with Jason, you’re probably a character that he’s grown an unhealthy attachment to, kinda like how -if you fw Jason Todd like me- you have grown an attachment to him.

So this would come off really freaky, especially if you oh so happen to carry red hood comics on you for some light reading or when you were bored and had nothing to do, so by pure coincidence you come across the actual red hood as though one would as though you’ve seen him before.

The same could be said about you as well as Jason/ whoever finds you would think it’s pure coincidence that you look like the person they’ve read or watched, but when you say something that only they know you would say in these types of situations, then it becomes clear that something outside of both of yours and their control is going on.

That and I think that the bat family would bring you to the manor because it’s not everyday that someone walks through Gotham freely with their true identities within their heads. It was dangerous and frightening to allow such a thing to go unchecked.

You on the other hand, were scared with the idea that your entire life had been watched and read by vigilantes with far better lifestyles than yours, what if they’ve seen you piss? Or shower? Or get changed? Like your whole life was akin to that of the Truman show. It would feel like that to you but you couldn’t help but feel flattered knowing that the bat family knew you, but also felt conflicted on how comfortable you felt with random people knowing the lesser liked parts of yourself.

It would be a cool, yet frightening experience to know that in another reality you’re being consumed as someone else’s form of media. It’s enough to fuck your mind a little but you’d also want to know just how much they knew and vice versa.

So it’s a feeling that would die down from being cool to know that the multiverse exists, and become one of pure anxiety as you both knew each other deeply without ever having met one another, it felt overexposing and often a little backed into a corner of sorts.

You feel weirdly interested that Jason knew who you were.

Jason also felt weirdly interested that you knew who he was, but he’s more heavily guarded so that feeling would fade rather quickly upon realising just how much power you hold if a situation ever called for an exchange of personal information.

The novelty would wear off within minutes as an in depth discussion is to be had about what the fuck was going on with you.

[kaybreezy3000]

First ~ A Five Hargreeves/Female Reader Insert request

Nov. 16 Anonymous asked:

Hellooooo please can you write a soft dom five smut where it's the readers first time? (Female reader if that's okay :))

(4914 word one-shot, Rated Mature for explicit sexual content)

Notes/Tags/Warnings: neither are minors, Virginity, Smut, Dominance-Control, Surrender, Acceptance.

First

~~~~~~~~~

It had finally happened. You met that special someone that made you feel complete, like without them by your side, a part of you would be missing. All it took was Five giving you one of his adorable smiles, or him saying a witty comment to get you to laugh, and your heart skipped a beat.

He had been spooning you, nuzzling his face against your neck, his long fingers delicately drawing lines up and down the underside of your arm, and you were in heaven. Then your movie ended.

Untangling his legs from yours, Five pushed his feet to the end of your couch, stretching. The arm he had draped around you slipped away as he lazily folded it behind his head with his other. “It’s late,” he pointed out, followed by a drawn-out yawn.

Clicking the TV off, you twisted your body around to face him. “So what if it’s late,” you challenged, wrapping your hand around his slacked tie, towing him closer.

Five’s soft lips hesitantly grazed yours. When he pulled back, eyes closed, you tried to follow him with your lips, blindly searching.

Charmed by your innocence but doing his best to squash his more lustful desires, Five reached out, his fingertips brushing against your cheek before he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

You opened your eyes, looking back at him in disappointment.

“I should go,” he whispered.

Thanks to Five and his warm body burrowed around yours, you’d been held in a suspended state of arousal for the last two hours. Frustration mounting, your thighs clenched around the pooling heat smearing your panties. “Five Hargreeves, you are driving me crazy!” you playfully growled at him. 

Gathering all your courage, using a move you’d learned from his play book, you leaned in, seductively sucking his lower lip into your mouth.

Five let out a moan that sounded as pained as if you’d just sucker punched him. His mouth hungrily molded to yours, the warm bulge of fabric between his legs nudging against your hip.

From the feel of things, you could tell that didn’t want to go home, but after only a moment more of indulging himself, he backed away. “I mean it. I should go,” he breathlessly insisted.

Releasing the grip you had on his necktie; you slowly walked your fingers down the front of his dress shirt. His breath hitched, his lean muscles anxiously tensing the further south you explored. Stopping just short of his waistband, he made no move to retaliate, and worse, he said nothing to guide you along like he normally did.

Suddenly, you weren’t so sure of yourself.

Dark strands of hair dangled over his penetrating gaze.

The wheels in his head were turning and you knew his worries were getting the best of him again. You also knew that despite the awful things Five had been put through to get to this point, he was still the kindest, most loving person you’d ever met. He was also the hardest on himself. 

Determined to turn his frown upside down, you cupped your hand, slowly moving your palm over his crotch. 

“Fuck.” 

The sound of his strained curse doing something magical to your insides, your hand started moving just a little faster.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to be in big trouble,” he warned.

“Good,” you countered, your confidence building with every contortion of his handsome face.

Five shook his head, letting out a long, shuddering sigh. “I feel like a perverted old monster who should be stoned in the street for allowing this.” “Five….” you droned in amused irritation. Five may have been much, much older, but he didn't look any older than you.

“No really,” he continued, “Asking you out should have been a sign I’d finally totally lost it, but thanks to your relentless flirting, I did it anyway. I’m a selfish bastard, and now here we are, you the virtuous virgin fondling my dastardly dick.”

Laughing hysterically, your over clothing hand-job became even more clumsily executed, but based on Five’s dreamy expression, he was still enjoying it.

“What am I going to do with you?” he groaned, his voice enduringly cracking to a higher pitch as he complained. “It’s wrong for me to be taking advant-”

“You are not taking advantage of me,” you fired back. “I want this. I want you to be my first everything.”

Giving you a crafty looking side smirk, Five reached down, calmly taking your hand away from him. “You keep saying that, and it’s really making me question your sanity." He perked up. "Maybe we should both move into the nut house. It worked out okay for my brother and Lila. Then again, they are morons."

You scowled and his smile deepened. 

“Five, I know you think I’m not ready, but I am. Stay with me tonight.”

He sucked in a breath, letting it out with a breathy damn it.

You giggled at him.

His eyes lowered to your chest. You were really pushing him to the limits of his decency. 

All he could think about was staying, of how wonderful it would be to share your bed and make your thighs thrash against his head as he used his lips to do way more than kiss you. Doing that or anything he hadn’t already done to defile you was probably not how he should try to win your heart, which was exactly why he was trying so damn hard to take it slow.

Fuck this was so fucking hard, he mentally fumed.

Speaking of hard…

Like you, Five’s semi erect buddy in his pants was not getting the message that it was time to call it a night and its disobedience was not at all helping him think like the grown man he was supposed to be.

Instead of continuing to look at how far he could see down the front of your shirt, his entire body flushing with heat, he cleared his throat, forcing his eyes to meet yours. Even though he was undoubtedly the one in control of this situation, feeling more vulnerable by the second, he let out a tense laugh.

You smiled and ducked your head shyly, making that same lock of hair he’d fixed fall all over again.

To prevent himself from reaching out to replace it behind your ear, he adjusted his grip. Letting your wrist go, he laced his fingers over the top of yours, clenching both your hands together. “You think you know what you are getting yourself into, sweetheart, but you don’t,” he said, sternly staring you down.

“I know you, Five, and I am not scared.” Proving it, you moved your linked hands between your legs, his widened eyes following them down.

“Shit,” Five hissed as his fingertips skimmed across the moist satin covering you.

His cock twitched with excitement. 

Full erection coming in, five, four, three, two…

The line between his brows deepened and you were sure he was going to start arguing with you again, but then his lips crashed into yours. Ripping his hand away, the next thing you knew, both his hands were under your skirt. Forcefully grabbing your butt cheeks, he rolled you on top of him, driving your hips down as he ground the swell of his restrained manhood across your wet panties.

“Oh, dear God!” you cried out as he started vigorously dry fucking you, rocking you back and forth over his cock.

Swaying like a drunken sailor, your insides coiled tighter, your heartbeat thumping hard between your legs.

Dragging you forward and back again with rapid fire movements of his flexing forearms, Five grinned. “Since you're being such a bad girl tonight, the question is, should I stir your tonsils with my dick, like last night,” he questioned. “Or...should I finger fuck you until you can’t see straight, and then send you off to bed with a spanking for being so naughty?”

Stunned stupid by all the panty wetting things coming out of his wonderfully dirty mouth, you didn’t know what to say, so naturally, like the smug asshole Five was, he flopped back, casually throwing his hands behind his head, ending your pleasure ride to Humpity-Humpville.

“Five, please don’t stop!” you yelled, bouncing around on him like a child having a tantrum.

He rolled his eyes, and with how pathetically flustered you were, you couldn’t really blame him.

You covered your face, mumbling through your fingers. “I really want to slap you right now.”

He chuckled. “I’d be into that.”

You peeked at him. 

“Take your best shot. See what happens next, I dare you,” he added, looking even more pleased with himself.

Desperate to get him going again, but not so sure slapping was the way to do it, dropping your hands, you snuck one down, your fingers moving over the hot outline of his erection where it was trapped against his thigh.

Five’s eyes narrowed menacingly as your thumb softly circled the rounded silhouette of his thickly swollen tip. He whispered your name. “___, you should have run while you still had the chance.”

Heart hammering in your chest, your feet started sliding across the couch cushions, your hand moving away from your scary ex-temporal assassin boyfriend’s danger zone.

“Where do you think you are going?” he teased, snatching your wrist.

Your lips parted, but you didn’t get out a single peep.

Your skin tingled with static. Ripped into a blur of blinding light, suddenly, you were weightless, like you were at the top of a Ferris wheel, starting your quick, stomach dropping descent. Less than a second later, jarring you back into reality, the hardwood floor in your bedroom smacked beneath your feet.

The second you opened your mouth, it was covered by Five’s warm lips. He walked you backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed. His demanding kisses moved along your cheek, then along your neck, and back up, where he nipped at your earlobe with the points of his teeth, the electrified pain of his little love bites amplifying the throbbing between your legs.

Dizzy but no longer from his jump, broken moans sang out of you as you swayed.

Nudging the side of your neck with his nose, Five let out a throaty sound of satisfaction as he worked your shirt up over your head, then unhooked your bra, letting both pieces of clothing fall at your feet. Tucking his hands under your butt, he launched you on the bed. Pouncing down next to you, he started placing a scattering of kisses across your thighs. Commanding all your senses, his hands moved up and down, tickling the backs of your thighs. He did that until he moved his teasing up under your skirt.

Moving right along, he pulled it down your legs, kicking it off your ankles with his feet. Pushing your knees to the side with his, he dropped over you. Bending his head to the side, he kissed the insides of your thighs, letting his tongue leisurely glide along, turning you into a trembling mess, his ridiculously soft hair brushing along to add to the blissful torment.

“Five, please!” you wailed as his mouth edged closer.

His breath danced over you a few agonizing seconds before he traced his tongue along the wet divide darkening panties.

“Fuck,” you gasped.

The warmth of Five’s smile spread against your folds as he hooked his fingers under the thin straps at your hips. Pulling your underwear down, he gave you a mischievous look filled with boyish delight, then he slingshot them across your bedroom.

Backing up to admire you, he said, “So perfect.” His cool eyes unabashedly drew an invisible line down your naked body, taking it all in at a leisurely pace. 

Working his tie loose, he whipped it to the floor with the growing pile of clothes.

You were already quivering in anticipation, but then his hand moved to his zipper, pulling it down. 

Freeing his cock, he gripped it in one fist.

His head cocked to the side, that wicked smirk of his never faltering as he started explaining the rules while shamelessly stroking himself. “If you want me to stop at any time, I will.” He lowered his chin slightly, his lust filled eyes never leaving yours. “If I do something you like, you need to let me know so I can keep doing it. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you nervously breathed. Your gaze lowered to the glistening tip of his cock where he was spreading his precum around, and around. “Why do I feel like I’m in trouble?” 

“Because you are,” he frankly replied. "We already covered this."

In a flash, he was on you, dastardly dick dangling out of his black dress pants, he sadistically tickled you, his fingers mercilessly digging into your sides.

Frantically laughing, you yelped, “Five, stop!” 

Yielding, he rolled most of his weight on the elbow he had positioned at your hip. Smiling innocently, he lowered his face, his lips closing around your nipple. Sucking it in his mouth, he circled it with his tongue.

The feeling of his mouth doing that, hit you right between the legs.

Squirming, you threw your head back into your pillows, panting. If you wanted more or less, at this point, you so weren’t sure.

Being really into boobs as he obviously was, Five had felt you up many times, but like him licking your panties, this was new. The erotic sensation of him worshiping your breasts in this way was like slowly dying to the backdrop of his soft sounds of contentment.

“Shhhhiiiitttttttt!” you hissed when his teeth unexpectedly pulled on your peaked flesh, tugging at an invisible rope that you hadn't realized was tied to every nerve ending in your body.

Pawing at his back, your declarations of nonsensical profanity got louder the greedier Five sucked on your tits. 

Your hands in his hair, fucking it up, eventually you got him to release the prized tit he’d been savoring, but his mouth stayed on you, trailing kisses south as his words buzzed against your skin. "You are so fun to play with,” he teased, his mouth pulling wide in a heartbreaker of a smile as he peeked at you.

Hands moving under your ass, possessively grasping your butt cheeks, he gave them each a quick pinch that made you jolt up against him.

You couldn’t even say more than a few unintelligible syllables after that because the next thing he said was with his lower lip purposefully pressed against your clit, his words vibrating straight through to your bones.

“Been dying to eat this pussy,” he mumbled.

“Ohhh-my-gah-fffff!” 

His tongue felt like it was searing you as it slipped across your clit. Wriggling it, he started licking you up and down.

“Does-tthsss-feel-goo?” he sloppily mouthed. 

“Feels-ss-samazing.”

Encouraged by that, or just trying to keep you stupidly panting nonsense, he sucked your clit into his mouth, treating the small nub of flesh the way he’d taught you to suck his cock. 

Losing your mind, you bucked your hips, forcing him to hold you down with a hand planted firmly at your waist. Happily lapping away, his other hand moved between your legs, his fingers just barely grazing across your slicked entrance.

You tensed. 

Five looked up, the familiar look of worry in his eyes, his swollen lips shimmering as they parted in question, “Are you sure about this?”

Doing your best to calm down, you nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly.

With the go ahead, watching your reactions carefully, Five circled just the tip of one finger around your entrance.

You whimpered and he did too.

At the feeling of the tip of his finger dipping inside, your body reactively clenched around it.

“I’m hurting you,” Five breathed, stopping the second he felt you tense again. 

“No. Keep-Keep going,” you insisted, trying so hard to make your body stop shivering.

With your breathy approval, his finger pulled back out, then sank back in, only all the way this time. You moaned from the feeling of him curling his knuckle, dragging the tip of his finger along your walls.

“Still good?” he asked, knowing all too well that you’d never been penetrated like this.

Swallowing thickly, you nodded again.

Five repeated the motion, eyes glued to the finger disappearing inside you. He let out a tiny moan that matched how you felt, then lowering his body down to the bed, he ran a line with his tongue up your slit.

“More. Like that," you said, gripping the back of his head.

The narrow bridge of Five’s nose rubbed against your pubic bone, that alone feeling so unbelievable good, then he started flicking his tongue against your clit.

That got you moaning so loud the entire block probably heard it.

Assured that you were ready for it, Five started thrusting his finger, hooking it with each outward drag.

Something in you felt like it bust.

You cried out.

Uncontrollably arching your pelvis into his face, Five’s magical tongue started working up and down, pressing and circling against your clit faster and faster.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, the balls of your feet digging into the bed until he rammed his shoulders into the backs of your thighs, forcing your legs wider.

Toes curling, your feet bouncing against his upper back, you were so close to the edge. It felt different than anytime you'd been balanced on the brink before, but you knew enough to recognize it was coming. Your cunt was already dripping on his hand and the bedspread, but when Five unexpectedly added a second finger, pushing them both all the way in, white hot light burned the bundle of nerves he was sucking. 

“Oh-ffff-faaah-ck!”

Tears prickled the corner of your eyes. His fingers kept moving, shoving in and out of you, hard and fast.

Stroking himself again, the tip of Five’s cock painted a line of wet heat against your leg.

With the sinful noises he was making, all mixing with his finger squelching in and out, and the sounds coming from your own gaping mouth, something had to give.

Your vision blurred. Your thighs tightened around his head probably suffocating him. A fractured groan tore out of his chest, but his tongue kept swirling, your shaking breaths growing shallower and shallower, then ceasing all together.

Your eyes slammed shut.

Pulses of your climax shook you from the inside out. You were free falling, drifting on the edge of something otherworldly and new, your entire body rendered useless.

You legs went limp.

His hands slowed, then stopped.

“Sweetheart?” 

“Hmmm?” you deliriously hummed. You opened one eye, looking down at Five nestled between your legs. His head was propped up on the hand he had been using to jerk off, and his hair was sticking up all over the place looking so cute.

He smiled. Slipping his fingers out, he brought them to his mouth, making a show of licking them clean. 

He looked so satisfied, yet there you were, the one who’s pussy was still pulsing with post orgasmic aftershocks.

You couldn’t believe him. Five was just…

Blown away with how sexy he looked, you crooked a finger at him.

You hadn’t seen him do it, but still noticeably hard, he'd tucked himself back in his briefs. Belt undone, pants hanging open, he crawled up next to you, making no attempt to do anything more than cuddle in next to you. 

He lowered his forehead to your shoulder, as if perfectly fine with leaving things as is, like making you feel good was all that mattered even though you could feel every long inch of him warm against your leg and his balls had to be feeling very blue.

Smoothing your hand around his neck, you caught the sharp angle of his jaw, forcing him to look at you. As you wove his chocolatey brown hair between your fingers, his eyes glazed over in pleasure. “Five…” you sweetly soothed, “Why did you stop when you’re-”

He kissed you, cutting you off. He looked so happy and sad at the same time as his eyes searched yours.

“Five… I love you…”

His throat clicked when he swallowed. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

He looked down.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I ruined this,” he quietly admitted.

Confused, you looked down too.

His hand brushed your cheek, and your eyes met again. “I don’t want to hurt you in any way,” he clarified, trying to smile.

You smiled too. “You won’t.”

You reached down, grasping his dick through his tented pants.

Your eyes moved down the length of his neck and he swallowed hard again. 

“Take off your clothes,” you ordered, giggling like an idiot over his intoxicated expression.

When you let go of him, doing as he was told, like he was still a good little solider, only no longer taking order from evil assholes, Five quickly shuffled out of his pants and underwear, then started unbuttoning his shirt.

Just watching him undress was hypnotic.

With not an ounce of fat on him, Five’s torso muscles formed a drool worthy ‘V’ shape directing your eyes downward. As if the sight of that wasn’t hot enough to scorch your brain, as soon as he shrugged his shirt off, full naked, you got to watch him pump his hand up and down his shaft a few times, a little bead of pre-cum beading up on the tip before it drizzled across his tightly clenched fingers.

“Five, you are so hot. You know that right?”

He let a self-depreciating laugh. “Yeah, right.”

Coming back to you on his hands and knees, dropping one hand on the bed to support himself, dick in his other hand, Five hovered over you.

“I’m ready, Five.”  You’d already said it, but he must have needed to hear it again because he didn’t make another move until he heard it.

Lining himself up, already looking distraught over the feeling of gilding his tip across your entrance, Five's voice quivered so unbelievably sweetly as he said, "You need to promise me if it gets be too much you’ll tell me.”

With the feel of him thick and heavy, resting against your hole as he waited for your answer, you bobbed your head, promising him you would.

He sucked in a breath.

Bracing yourself as he gently slipped in just his tip, your hands curled around his biceps.

You tried to hold it in, but you whimpered, and it was enough to give him pause.

“Fuck you are tight,” Five gasped, flipping his head back, trying to get his hair out of his eyes so he could concentrate on your face. “Are you okay?” he asked, not moving at all.

“Feels really big, but you are big,” you breathed in little puffs, trying to make him smile and make your body relax, so your walls could stretch around him. He still didn’t move. “Keep going, it feels good,” you pushed.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m shhh-sure.”

Hyperfocused, Five continued, sinking himself into you with shallow thrusts, only taking more when he slipped inside you without having to force it. Letting your body accept him at its own pace, his eyes looking into yours, your souls were becoming one. Opening you, he took your virginity with all the gentleness and love you had expected of him. 

“You feel so good,” Five agitatedly growled as his thrusts became slightly faster. “You like it like this?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Thrilled to hear it, capturing your lips with his, he kissed you with an urgency that matched the increasingly jolting movements of his hips. 

When your elbows slipped, laying you flat, Five buried his face against your breasts, passionately licking and sucking on them instead.

“Such a good girl. That's right. Fuck yourself on my cock," he praised when you started rocking your hips in rhythm with his.

When he sat up, eyeing the movement of his cock slipping in and out of you, you could have died, but then, doing you one more, he grabbed your hips, pulling you down the bed towards him.

Bottoming out hard, he held you down against the bed. Grinding into you, his eyes rolled back, and his mouth gaped.

Coming to his senses, he saw you clinging to the sheets and he instantly eased back. Falling down over you again, his open mouth at your neck, he started covering you with repentant kisses mixed with breathless apologies. “I’m sorry. That was too much. So sorry…”

Running your hands reassuringly through his hair you shushed him and rocked your hips into him hard as you could, trying to replicate what he’d done.

He lifted his head.

Like a man possessed, he quickly raised your legs around his waist, repositioning you. Helping him, you locked your feet around his lower back. Hooking his arms under your knees, Five’s powerful hips started colliding into you.

“You’re mine now,” he growled before he started wildly kissing your neck.

Hot skin slapping skin, your headboard banged into the wall in a cadence that matched him how he was rapidly fucking into you.

His breathless pants spilled out of him as he worked the head of his cock back and forth, aiming for something inside you that coiled tighter and tighter the longer he focused his efforts on it.

“Come on, baby, come for me again…need to feel…need you,” he chanted, his kisses getting sloppier until you felt nothing but his bowed head against your shoulder.

You were so close already, all it took was Five lifting your hips, pulling out almost all the way before he slammed back into you, repeating the pounding motion with grunted curses punctuating each thrust.

The change in momentum set you off.

It was explosive. Throbbing with pulsing waves of euphoria drowning you, you released on his cock, with clenching spasms rocking you to the core.

“Did you?” Five frantically questioned, pulling his sweat covered forehead up. His dark gaze ran over your reddened face, his eyes softened at the sight of your trembling lips. 

Getting confirmation that he’d done it, trying to sit up, he started to pull out.

Forcing your jelly-like legs to function, you held onto him, refusing to let him get away.

“I want all of you,” you whimpered.

For a sex God, he somehow looked so unsure of himself. “I’m yours, always,” he promised.

“I want you to cum inside of me, Five. I want all of you.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” 

Letting out a strangled groan that turned hiss of determination, his hips snapped into you violently, extending your orgasm as your pussy milked spurting gushes of his seed from his throbbing cock. 

The force behind Five’s hips melted away with each stuttered thrust. Filling you until he had nothing left, his eyes fluttering closed, his dark lashes fanned his smooth pale cheeks. He looked like an angel.

Entranced by how beautiful he was, your eyes glistened.

His breaths slowing, Five finally opened his eyes. That sweet smile you loved crept to his lips. Gently, he pulled out, the feeling of his cum leaking out of you and the loss of his spent cock were enough to make your body start quivering all over again, shivering from head to toe.

“Was that okay? Are you okay,” he asked, looking concerned.

“More than okay,” you happily sighed.

He quirked a brow at you. “You're not just saying that to stroke my ego?”

Shaking your head, you laughed. There was no way he didn’t know that was amazing and you were more than happy to stroke anything he wanted you to stroke.

Leaning in, kissing you slow and soft, his hand tickling down your belly. Lips pulling away from yours, he glanced down. His sleepy smile suddenly gone.

You sat up a little, looking between your legs at the bed.

A light pink tinged the white sheets. 

“Are you sore? I- I didn’t realize-” Running his hand back through his hair, Five looked so heartbreakingly distraught, but he’d done nothing wrong.

You could feel a slight ache where he’d been, but it wasn’t painful. “No pain,” you said. “I feel nothing but you, Five. I love you so much.”

The burn of tears prickled your eyes again. 

His soft green eyes glistened too. “I’ll be right back,” he said, timidly smiling.

He could have blinked himself to the bathroom, but he didn’t. Letting you check out his bare ass, disheveled and cute as ever, he sprinted across the room to the bathroom, coming back a second or two later with two towels.

Carefully cleaning you up, and then the bed, he laid the unused towel over the spot you’d been laying, then he laid back down over it, pulling you in next to him.

After covering you both with the duvet, his warm fingers started tracing up and down your spine. 

Basking in the afterglow of what you’d done together, your mind and heart were filled with nothing but him. You had no worries or fears.

You were almost too exhausted to move, your body undeniably his to hold however he wished.

Lulled by the magic of Five’s featherlight touch, you couldn’t be happier, but then suddenly you felt him shifting away.

Opening your droopy lids, he gave you one of his affectionate little smiles, and seeing it, you immediately began to slip away again. “You better not take off on me when I fall asleep,” you teased.

Rolling you over so he could make you into his little spoon, Five rested his face against your neck. His feet twisted around yours.

“I’m not going anywhere, my love.”

You smiled. 

You already knew he wasn’t.

“I loved you too, by-the-way. Not sure if I said that,” he playfully added.

Your chest moved up and down with a silent laugh. 

You already knew that too, and he knew very well why he hadn’t let himself say it until now.

He was scared to letting anyone see who he really was. But for you, Five finally let go.

He was ready. Ready for a life filled with love that was not just one-sided.

With you, for the first time, everything about this was real.

He kissed the shell of your ear, whispering your name. “___, I love you.”

Warm and safe in his embrace, penetrated by his love, it felt like anything was possible.

Thinking of your future together, you squeezed his hand against your heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

There it is. Stir that into your eggnog. 😂

I wish you all peace and love, whatever that means to you.

And thanks for asking for this one anon. After writing this, now I'm even more ruined by this amazing fictional man.

❤️ Breezy

Link to easily view all my Five related Tumblr story and art posts

Link to my Master List

Lint to visit me direct on A03

[elara-in-the-sky]

oh my god ok so I grew up in a total hockey family (brother played for years super competitively, mom at one point was a pro figure skater, like rinks were our life) and in high school I ended up managing the boys hockey team, where you guessed it, we needed penalty box attendants. honestly it was one of my favorite places to be stationed like being in charge of the time and scores an stuff wasn't bad but I genuinely liked being in the penalty box like 98% of the time. but in terms of it getting stuck, ye that happens a lot like A LOT and those dudes do NOT like when that happens. which like the rink we played at and practiced at was the same ones the avalanche use for practice so you'd think some things would get updated but no but also god I loved that rink I miss it so much anyways not the point I also genuinely can not emphasize enough how when OP says hockey gear stinks IT STINKS like my brothers gear wasn't allowed inside even our garage we had a special thing for it outside and were constantly soaking and washing and sunning it and it still reeked the boys locker room would smell during games to the point it made our eyes water just going in when we had to grab something or dropped off their gatorades and shit we would hold our breathe and take turns running in like they STINK TO HIGH HEAVEN but god some of the convos I had in the penalty box were so fun and they would say the dumbest out of pocket thing or ask you weird questions cause they have whole minutes where they're trying to chill a bit and distract from how mad they are so that when they step back out they dont just end up right back in the box and sometimes yea they definitely take that anger out on you and you kinda just have to take it (or sometimes if youre stubborn and petty like me id make them say sorry before handing them the water if they said something really mean) and I definitely would get chewed out if the gate didn't open right on the second and its like my guy do I look like a magician who can magically fix and old lock and yea anyways that is exactly where I can picture a romance developing especially like if the player has a crush and keeps getting penalty time specifically to get time with that attendant or manager or whatever like ugh that would be so cute

also, someone has to be brave enough to say it: too many mainstream hockey romance books about being a wag in the stands and NOT enough hockey romance books about being an exasperated penalty box attendant developing feelings for the team miscreant who ends up in the box twice a game minimum

[wabatle]

Would you be able to do a Lucifer from Obey Me request for some comfort for an MC who’s had a tough day? Just too many things happened all at once with no breaks in between the madness and they’re completely wiped out emotionally and emotionally charged from all the stupid things happening around their day? I’d love some comfort character for a rainy day which I feel like will be happening sooner rather than later.

𓆩⚝𓆪 — After a long day

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Warnings: touching but very fluffy, reader feels sick and just genuinely had a terrible day

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Contains: fluff, comfort ~0.8k wc

𓆩⚝𓆪 — A/N: I had a great time writing this ty for the request!! sorry it took so long omg this req was from october 😭

It’s been such a long day. You’re tired, utterly exhausted. You’re not even aware of how to explain why you feel like this, other than you, “just woke up on the wrong side of bed.” So many things have happened today. You had five tests today, still had to keep up promises you had made the day before, had constantly been smothered and overwhelmed by whichever brothers were around you at the time, and not only that, you’ve also felt sick the entire day since you’ve barely had enough time to eat or drink. You feel awful.

You finally arrived back at the HoL, but you didn't really feel like doing anything, let alone the stacks and stacks of homework you were sent home with.

You went straight to your room, throwing your things on the table and crashing down onto your bed. You rubbed your face with your hands.

You spent the next few minutes mindlessly doomscrolling on your D.D.D, until you were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“___? Are you in there?” It was Lucifer.

“Mhm,” you quietly breathed out.

“I’m coming in.” He replied, pushing the door open.

Without a word, he laid down beside you, your bed creaking as he did so. “What’s going on?” He asked you, gently grazing your cheek with his fingers.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” You whispered, averting his gaze.

“That’s alright, just… let me know if you want to talk, okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Is there anything I can do to try to distract you?” He asked.

“Um… Not really.”

“Do you want me to stay or go?”

“Stay. Please.”

“Of course.” He opened his arms, allowing you to relax comfortably in them. He gently stroked your head.

A few minutes passed, with nothing but tranquil silence until you spoke.

“It’s just… been a really long day.”

He waited until you were ready to speak again.

“Y’know, the five tests started it. And then your brothers were overwhelming me.”

He sighed heavily.

“And since I had to study during lunch, I didn't get to eat or drink. I feel really sick. And I'm on dinner duty tonight.”

“Mm.” He breathed, kissing your head. “I'll gladly help you with your homework,” he paused, kissing you once more, “and I'll make one of my brothers take over dinner duty for you. Since it's for you, I'm sure there won't be any complaints.”

You sighed. “Thank you.”

“If you want me to, I can speak with my brothers about their constant affection.”

“No, it's not necessary, it just… was a bad time, I guess.”

“That's understandable. That's happened to everyone once or twice before. Everything seems to fall on the wrong day.”

“Yeah, exactly.” You sighed once more, rubbing your face with your hands. “I'm tired, Luci.”

“I know,” he caressed your face. “I know. But you need to eat something, and make sure to drink some water.”

“Mhm.” You nodded.

He sighed, gently pulling you in for a chaste kiss. His hands remained on your cheeks. “___, please don't be afraid to ask for help.”

“I… I know. And I should've. I'm sorry.” You averted eye contact.

“Why are you apologizing to me? You should be apologizing to yourself.”

“Sorry, me,” you said sarcastically.

“Be serious.” He kissed you once more. “Make sure you go to bed early tonight. Just this once, take something from Belphegor. Though don't be like him every day.”

“I know.” You kissed his jaw, right under his ear. “Maybe you're right.”

“You know I am.”

You paused. “Um, Luci?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Could you, um… stay with me tonight?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t ever leave you alone, should you need me.”

“Thank you.”

“No need.” He smiled.

You smiled back, though it was soft and tired.

He sat up. “Shall we get something for you to drink?”

“I can still make dinner if you want.” You said, changing the subject.

“No, if you feel unwell, you should rest.”

“I know, but… I just feel obligated to.”

“Hm. Well, at least let me help you.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

After dinner, Lucifer helped you do your homework, and also tried (keyword tried) to talk with his brothers about their smothering. He offered you medicine to help your sick feeling, and did everything he could to make you feel as comfortable as possible before joining you in bed.

“How are you feeling?” He asked you, laying on his side to face you.

“Better.” You replied.

“Good. I’m glad. Is there anything, anything else I can do for you tonight?”

“Uh, no. I think I’m okay. Thank you, Lucifer.” “You’re welcome. I can’t deny I like to see you depending on me for something.”

You smiled gingerly. “That’s cute.”

“Uh-huh.” He replied sarcastically.

“Just know, you can always rely on me. I promise if anything ever goes wrong, I’ll do whatever I can to make it better. I love you, ___.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

𓆩⚝𓆪 — thank you for reading!

𓆩⚝𓆪 — taglist (ask 2 be added): none

𓆩⚝𓆪 — obey me masterlist

[hardladyheart]

Wings & Lightning (Eddie Munson x Angel! Reader)

A/N: If you might be interested in reading more for this then let me know. I also would like to do some drabbles if anyone would like to request one.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eddie couldn't believe what he was seeing. It all started with a huge storm that shook his trailer. The winds were ridiculous, and he was just happy that he thought to board up the windows before it started. The rain, unfortunately, kept coming in through the vents in the ceiling and he worried that the water would rise high enough that it might reach inside his van. Lightning lit his surroundings almost quickly enough to think the lights were still on inside. His brown eyes looked out the small window in the door and the sight made his ringed fingers shake.

The only place the lightning was hitting was AROUND HIS TRAILER!

"Shit..." he kept repeating the same word as his hand went through his messy hair. His mind went 90 miles an hour with thoughts: Was it Vecna? What if it was another attack? What if everyone is in danger again because of something else? Just because they closed the gates doesn't mean something else didn't get out without them knowing. All of these thoughts terrified him to where he had to sink onto the nearby couch, or he would collapse on the floor.

Knock, knock

His brown eyes grew wide as he looked at the front door. Should he open it? Who would be knocking on his door during this storm.... unless it was an emergency! He moved to the door quickly, his hand having a hard time yanking the door open due to the sweat that covered his hand.

Swinging the door open hard enough that it banged against the wall, he stared at what was before him. He had never seen anything like it, except maybe in church windows. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen was standing in front of him, the rain going around you like you were in your own little bubble. Your huge wings were the same as an eagle, the browns leading into white at the tips.

'Is this real' he thought to himself as he just stares, the rain pelting the whole front of his body.

"Yes, I'm real," you told him, as if you were replying to his thoughts. "I know your uncle raised you to be a gentleman, Eddie."

His body was almost robotic as he moved and allowed you in with a bow. His body knew what to do even when his mind couldn't catch up. You stepped past him, your scent a strong berry flavor that seemed to seep into his still wet skin. You didn't look around at your surroundings, almost like you had been there regularly. Almost like you yourself lived there.

"Uh, I don't mean to be rude, but what the fuck is going on?" He was still eyeing you, but he still couldn't figure out if the curiosity was winning or the attraction. He noticed your wings had disappeared, but he didn't remember when it had specifically happened. 

You smiled at him, knowing what all was going on in his head. You had done this repeatedly throughout his time in Heaven, every time you had stopped to see him as a matter of fact. It was a blessing and a curse for angels: great if an angel is trying to hide, bad if an angel is in love with a human soul.

"Everything is ok, Eds, we've done this dance before. You won't remember anything about us for the next twenty minutes. It's like a trip wire: after the 'trap' realizes that I want you to remember me then you'll slowly get things back." You patted the couch, "you can sit down with me if you like, I promise I won't hurt you."

He eyed where your hand sat, taking a loud gulp. "A booby trap of the mind? I can forget you, but I can't forget the shit from before... typical." He slowly sat on the couch, but not directly beside you. He was still wary of a beautiful woman having anything to do with him. He didn't understand why he trusted what you said, but it was still hard to let his guard down completely.

"There is a reason for that," you told him as you cocked your head to the side, knowing that he always says this, but you were still very patient with him, "would you like to know why?"

Eddie nodded, his fingers twisting his rings out of habit. He didn't even realize he was doing it anymore, but it helped to calm him down. He watched your face brighten as you spoke to him; he couldn't help but notice that you were even more beautiful than he thought you were when he opened the door.

"You can't forget the bad stuff from before because the bad stuff makes you, well you. If you forgot the bad, then you wouldn't have become the man who saved his friends by sacrificing himself for their sakes. That's one of the many reasons I fell in love with your soul, Edward, and even if there was a way to take it away from you, I wouldn't."

"W-wait, you love me? H-how long have we known each other?" Then it hit him. "Wait, I'm dead?"

You giggled at him as his eyes almost came out of his head like a cartoon. "I told you; it will come back to you in a little while. We've been together for centuries, at least I think so. Time doesn't work the same way here as it does for the living."

His eyes looked to your perfect lips as he automatically licked his own. How many times had he kissed you? Had there been more? "I-I have so many questions..." You nodded for him to continue. "Did I die in the Upside Down?"

"Yes, the Demobats, as Dustin called them, attacked you."

His brown eyes slid to the dark couch in front of him as he whispered, "did everyone make it?"

"Max was touch and go for a while, but she needed to be in the grand scheme of things. Her mind was the final battleground against Vecna. Not even I can explain how that worked. Everyone else came out with some cuts and bruises, but relatively unharmed."

Eddie grabbed your hand that still lay on the couch, your skin warm to his touch. "What happened to everyone?"

You smiled as your thumb rubbed the back of his hand absentmindedly. "Well, Vecna was destroyed, Steve and Nancy got back together and had six children who all went on to do wonderful things. Lucas and Max stayed together for a little while after she came to, but it didn't last, and they ended up on separate sides of the country. Lucas wanted children while she didn't. Mike and Will got together and adopted a few pets between them. El stayed with Hopper and Joyce while Jonathan moved in with Argyle to create weed on pizza. Robin practically lived with the Harringtons as the favorite aunt; Dustin and Suzie got married and had a son they named Eddie, but Edward when he was in trouble." You always loved how his face lit up at the mention of Dustin's son. You kept an eye on every single one of them... just for him.

"And how did we meet?"

"Well, I was the angel that was supposed to show you the ropes; to pretend to be your next-door neighbor that just moved in to help you along the way. It was an accident that you found out I was an angel. There was an emergency, and I had to literally fly in front of you so then I needed to explain. As long as I was in my 'human' form you could remember me, but after the illusion, now it is twenty minutes." You shrugged, not seeming to be bothered by it.

Eddie hadn't realized how close to you he had gotten as you spoke, but he could now see a few specks of freckles that covered your nose and could count your eyelashes if he wanted. He still looked at your lips.... he didn't know if they were perfect to him because you were an angel or because you belonged to him.

You giggled and it sounded so sweet to him. "You can kiss me if you want, Eds."

He looked into your eyes with confusion. "Don't you have to remain 'pure' if you're an angel?"

"Do you consider a kiss to be impure, Eddie," you asked him with humor in your voice.

He got closer to you then, his eyes back to your mouth as he licked his. "I guess it depends."

"That's a story for another time," you whispered, your lips gently caressing his in the best kiss he ever had.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags:

@justmeinadaze

[activesplooger]

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ | ᴠᴏx x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴀᴜ | ʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ ʜᴏᴛᴇʟ

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: (MDNI) FUCKING FINALLY THIS SHITS DONE I CAN REST. also there's a scene in this directed towards false healings performed and idk if it seems cringe believe me i know but that shit actually goes on so I thought i should include it

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You're a woman in the 1950s who's aspiring to be a journalist. However, it's hard to enter the workforce as a woman. Your boss presents you with the opportunity of a lifetime to do an undercover expose on a cult in your area! However, as you dive deeper into the church you get more than you bargained for.

ᴄᴡ: religious themes, cults, sexism, manipulation, false "healings", mental breakdown, drugging, dubious consent, penetration, nsfw, and barf

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 10,256 (sorry)

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1/2

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴘᴏꜱᴛ!

So the situation's this, it's 1955, and you're trying to make a name for yourself in the journalism industry. You currently work for the New York Times... as a secretary. Though you offer the same— if not better— credentials as the men who write "hard-hitting pieces", you were overlooked, as many women are in the workforce.

Why have you working when you can be a pretty face for everyone to see? It's bullshit, really. However, you were in no position to complain about where your income comes from, so you took the job. Something's gotta pay the rent, even if it killed you to watch everyone doing your dream job. That's supposed to be you working at your passion, not the under-qualified men who make more effort in hitting on you than on their writing.

You're currently perched on your chair, chin in hand, as you stare blankly at the rotary phone, waiting for it to ring. Your bored expression seemed to say "Come over and condescend me!", or at least that's what one douche seemed to think.

A cocky co-worker strides over to your desk, clad in a tacky blue suit and a coffee-stained tie. He stands in front of your desk and chuckles, "What's wrong, sweetheart? Chip a nail?". Taking a deep breath, you restrain yourself from kicking him in the balls (if he even had any), "Just waiting for the phone to ring.". The man rests his elbows on your desk, "C'mon, where's that smile? You'd be so much prettier with one.". You bite the inside of your cheek, restraining your instinct of telling this guy off. Instead, you plaster on a strained smile. "There she is!" he chuckles, walking off to his desk.

As soon as he's out of sight, your smile drops instantly. "Stupid piece of fucking shit... hope he chokes on a fucking cock," you mutter to yourself, letting your anger simmer as you bounce your leg agitatedly.

The whole situation mulls over in your head, how could you allow your life to come to this? Reduced to your gender, working at a job where you're nothing but a pretty face... You wish things were different, but what could you do? Your eyes flicker to the head editor's office door that's practically calling your name.

You know that you're destined for more. What's the worst that could happen if you just ask? So what if they fire you? There are plenty of other secretary positions open anyway. Hesitantly, you get up from your chair and march over to the editor's office, knocking on the door with a shaky hand, "Mr. Anderson, sir?". "Come in," the familiar raspy voice responds.

Straightening out your skirt, you push the door open and smile. "Kitten," he exclaims, "what brings a pretty face like you in here? Dont'cha have phones to attend to?". You shake your head, "No, the line's empty as of now, I actually wanted to talk to you about-". "Talk talk talk, that's all you women do," he states, "that and drain men's wallets!". Mr. Anderson cackles, leaning back in his chair as he laughs himself to tears. "Hah... yeah... funny," you say flatly. "Oh, c'mon, it's just a joke, you women are so sensitive," his laughter dies down, "now, what'd you need to talk about?".

Taking a deep breath, you steal yourself for the moment ahead, this was your chance. Don't blow it. "Well," you begin, "remember when I interviewed here? I originally wanted to work here as a journalist.". The old man nods, leaning forward on his desk and giving you an intimidating look as he stares you dead in the eyes. You swallow nervously, "Y-Yes, well, I wanted to follow up on that.". "On what?". "On my position here at the company as a journalist, not a secretary," you state firmly, standing up straighter as you try not to let his intimidating stare get to you. Mr. Anderson sighs and leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, "I don't understand, you're a fine secretary.". "I know," you defend, "but I wanna be more, I know I can be more than this! I went to college and was one the only woman to get accepted into the journalism program!".

Sighing softly, you plead with him, hoping he'll show a shred of humanity, "I can do this, I just need the opportunity.". He groans, "You're a pain in my ass sometimes.". "But," he reaches into a filing cabinet and hands you a file labeled "THE SIGNAL DOMINION", "you're very persistent, and annoyin', so here.". You grab the file, and your face lights up, "Thank you so much, sir! You won't regret this!". "I better not," he says while lighting a cigar. "I want you to write an exposé on a cult run by a man named Vincent Oren Xavier, are you familiar with him?". You shake your head no. "Doesn't matter," he dismisses. "Everything you need to know is in that file. Now I'll need you to go undercover for this, pretend your some type of damsel in distress that's looking for a new church or some crap, I dunno," he huffs out a puff of smoke, causing you to cough and waft the air in front of you.

"Don't be gettin' all high and mighty because I gave ya this piece though," he states while waving his cigar, "I've only given ya this to shut yer trap, got it?". "Yes, sir" you nod, "thank you.". Walking out, you close the door softly behind you and skip happily to your desk. You set the file on your lap, squealing happily as you read the contents.

The gist was that some guy got people to join his cult by luring them in with charms and keeping them there through manipulation. Their leader, Vincent, managed to escape the crimes for his obvious exploitation through some dumb loopholes in the law; what a great country we live in.

After work, you head home and plop onto your bed with a pen and paper, jotting down your plan for the exposé. Your cover would be that of a widow who had just recently lost her husband who's looking to a higher power after such a great loss. You figured you could still be a secretary; just don't mention that it's for the New York Times, that'd definitely blow your cover. For the entire night, you work on your plan, devising every piece of your fake identity to the T.

The morning light shines through your windows, causing you to stir. You lift your head off the notebook you had been jotting on all night and stretch your arms over your head. A smile stretches across your face, today is the start of your new career. Springing out of bed, you rummage in your drawers for the perfect outfit: a dark navy sheath dress that landed just below your knee and black babydoll heels. You styled your hair into classy victory rolls and smudged your makeup around your eyes just a tad to portray the look that you had been crying. After all, you'd just "lost your husband". Who wouldn't be crying?

__

Following the directions in the file led you to the parking lot of a church. In big, bold letters were the words "The Signal Dominion Church of Christ" plastered on the front of the building. The top of the building held a cross and "Christ" was plastered in the name, so you assumed it was based on Christianity in one form or another. You were never really a religious person. However, you did have some background knowledge about it from being dragged to Sunday mass as a child.

Once you walk in, you seem to have caught the end of the service. The large church was littered with people, every seat was filled with some people having to stand. You observe in the back, the whole thing seems so intimidating and bizarre. The service ended with worship, and various repeated phrases stick out to you like "Trust him", only the "him" didn't seem to talk about a God, but rather Vincent. "Trust Vincent" seemed to be a common theme throughout the sermon.

The whole thing sent a shiver through your spine, a bad feeling settling in your stomach. Once the service ends, a lady with a beaming smile approaches you, "Hi!". "Oh hi," you respond softly. "I don't think I've seen you around. Are you new here?" she asks, her smile never faltering even for a second.

"Oh yes, I just wanted to peak in, sorry," you reply shakily. You really hoped she bought your act. The woman chuckles and waves a dismissive hand, "No problem! What brings you here?". "Well, I recently lost my husband from a car accident," you begin, mustering up a few fake tears that reluctantly roll down your cheek, "and it's just been really taxing on me. I've been perusing local churches to hopefully lift that weight off me, and that's how I stumbled here I guess.". "You poor thing," the woman puts a hand over her heart, "I'm sorry to hear that. My name's Evangeline, I'm an elder here at the church.".

"Nice to meet you," you shake her hand gently, "I'm Y/n.". She takes your other hand in hers and holds them softly, confusion crossing your features as she does so, "Well, Y/N, I want to pray for you.". "Oh! Alright, sure"

She prays over you and your situation, ending it with "Amen" and releasing your hands. She looks you softly in the eyes, "How would you like to come to our service next week? I'll save you a seat myself!". "Really? That's so kind, thank you, I'd be happy to" you smile back at her.

You say your goodbyes and head back to your place, taking in what you had learned. Service starts at 8am sharp, and you knew nothing about Vincent.

When you get home, you kick off your heels and sit on your couch with a sigh. You'd barely learnt anything and you couldn't really go undercover for another week.

__

You arrive at work a few hours later, knocking on the editors office before coming in. "What's the scoop?" he asks in his usual hoarse voice. "Well, I didn't learn too much... Seems to be based on trusting the cult leader, and the people seem nice-" you reveal, hoping that he wouldn't blame your lack of evidence on your gender.

Mr. Anderson sighs, "Look, Kitten, since it's your first time doing something like this I'm not gonna yell at'cha. But listen up, if you wanna go undercover, you've gotta be a little persistent. Do a bit of digging rather than sittin' on yer ass and waiting for the oppurtunity to present itself!". "Im sorry, but-".

"No "buts"," he interrupts, "now get back to your desk and work. "Oh about that, do I have a different desk now or?" you ask. "Kitten, this project stays between you and I. Any writin' gets done on your own time. You're still a secretary after all; However, if you do good on this assignment I'll consider hirin' you full time," he explains. You nod and thank him for his time before exiting, walking back to your secretary's desk disheartened.

You slump in your chair with a sigh, eyes fixed on your lap. The cocky coworker from yesterday strides up to your desk, "Hey! Where's that sm-". Snapping your head up, you interrupt him with a glare, "Ask about my smile one more time I swear to God.". He scoffs at you and walks off muttering, "Sheesh, is it that time of the month?". You drag a hand down your face and sign.

__

The next week slowly rolls by, filled with monotonous work and vague research you found from other news articles and stories. But today, maybe you could finally get somewhere.

You put on your Sunday best, a blue pinstripe dress paired with tan stockings and short white pump heels. With the help of curlers and a ton of gel, you fashion your hair into cute pin up curls that framed your face just right.

Once you finish prettying yourself up, you grab your keys and head out of your apartment.

__

You arrive at church early today, making sure you get a good seat for today's service. As you walk in, you see the room already bustling with people eager to get a seat. In the corner of your eyes, you see Evangeline waving her arms and patting the seat beside her. Upon walking up to her, she greets you with a big hug, eliciting an "oomph" from you at the sudden embrace. "I'm so happy you came!" she squeals excitedly. "Yeah, of course, thanks for saving me a spot," you reply. She lets go and leads you to your seats.

As you sit down, she turns to you with a grin, "Today's supposed to be a great message!". "Oh yeah?" you say, turning to her, "what's it about?". "Letting go of your earthly bonds and submitting to Him!". Your eyebrow raises, "Him?" Who's-". She cuts you off by pointing up towards the sky. "Ah, you meant God, right sorry," you reply with a slight chuckle.

"Oh, I almost forgot to mention, Father Vox won't be preaching today, unfortunately," she mentions with a slight frown. 'Vox?' you think to yourself, you hadn't heard any mention of a Vox before. You thought Vincent was the head honcho here, wouldn't the cult leader usually preach? "Who's Vox?" you ask quietly.

"Oh! He's the best," she gushes, "he's the head preacher around here. He opened my eyes to the lies I was once forced to concede to.". Tilting your head, you furrow your eyebrows and speak in a confused tone, "The lies?". Evangeline nods, "Yup, he taught me the meaning of life. If it weren't for him, I would still be in contact with my oppressors!". "Your... oppressors?". "Mhm," she affirms, "my so-called family and friends all held me back from my true purpose.". A chill went down your spine. Your look of horror is met with Evangeline's placid expression, how could she be so calm? Doesn't she know she's being manipulated? "I'm sorry, what-" you're cut off by Evangeline shushing you. "It's starting!" she says with a wide grin.

Three altar servers walk down the aisle holding large candles, one wafting incense across the pews. Following behind them is a man dressed in white vestments. The sacred white robes feature intricate gold patterns sewn into the stole that loosely drapes over the priest's shoulders.

Once the priest approaches the altar. He lifts his arms up in the air and everyone stands up from their seat. You follow suit and stand up a bit delayed from everyone else. The altar servers set down the candles and sit on a wooden bench behind the altar. Looking up from the large bible on the podium, the mass commences, "The lord be with you.". "And with your spirit," the room responds simultaneously. You try to keep up with all the sayings, constantly falling behind at all the responsorials and prayers. Shit, you really wished you paid attention in mass when you were younger.

After countless prayers and songs, you're finally allowed to sit. The priest smiles and crosses his heart, "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. Amen.". The members mutter an "amen" in response.

The priest walks in front of the aisle and claps his hands together with a big smile, "How are we doing, everyone? As you can tell, Father Vox couldn't join us today, he's taking a day to be reverent with God. I'll be stepping in his place for today, some of you may know me as John, but today I'll be known as Father John.".

Father John starts off the homily with a routine message, love God and all that crap, it's the end of the sermon that seemed to rub you the wrong way. The priest paces down the pews, each step impassioned as he preaches, "And therefore I ask you, the people of the signal dominion, to follow your shepherd. Let him guide you in a guide-less world full of corruption and sin.".

Once again, the "him" mentioned seemed almost sinister. It didn't feel like they were talking about God, but perhaps Vincent- or maybe that Vox that Evangeline was talking about. As your mind races, the priest starts to shout, "Has he not done enough for us?!". "No!" the congregation calls out, some people clapping and cheering. "So then, why do we run astray? Why do we avoid his divine enlightenment?! Look at all he's done for us, he saved you from suffering!".

You look around at the people in the pews, eyes fixed in admiration at the speaker, not even a hint of skepticism on their expression. How did they not question what was happening to them?! A pit grows in your stomach, almost feeling angry at these people.

Father John stops yelling and makes his way back to the pew. Lifting his arms up, the people stand. "Let us pray," he calmly commands, his tone a stark contrast to his frustrated yell. He leads the church in a penitential prayer, which, again, you didn't know. The people recite, "Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.". Each "fault" is punctuated with a fist banged against one's chest. The practice, though not inherently sinister, leaves you feeling tense and guilty; the pit in your stomach starts to grow.

"I'd now like to call upon the Elders of the church to come forward and offer prayer to those who need it," people emerge from the pews and walk to the front of the church. Evangeline turns to you, "I'll be up there if you need me.".

Without Evangeline, you didn't have an in with the church. You felt out of place, not sure what to do as people pass you by to receive prayer. Taking a breath, you calm down and mutter quietly to yourself, "Be persistent, y/n.".

You walk out of your row and walk up to Evangeline, her ever-present bright smile plastered on her face. She takes your hands in hers, "I'm so glad you're here. What would you like to talk about.". "Well," you begin, racking your mind for what to say when suddenly, an idea pops up, "I was really hoping to be saved- like you were! By that guy you were talking about-". Evangeline tilts her head, "You mean Father Vox?". You nod, eliciting a thoughtful look on her face. "He is taking time to be with God today... but, m-maybe if I told him your testimony he would meet with you!". "You think so?" you ask hopefully, excitement filling the pit in your stomach. This could be your chance.

Evangeline nods frantically and takes both your hands in hers, "Let us pray. Dear God,-".

__

After the sermon, Evangeline led you upstairs to a sector of the church where only church officials and clergy were allowed. She approaches a door labeled "Father Vox" in big gold letters. "Wait here," she gestures towards a chair beside the door. Evangeline knocks on the door. "Come in," a deep voice responds.

The door clicks shut, leaving you alone in the creepy church corridor. You can hear the faint sound of an organ playing a hymn from downstairs, along with the ticking of the grandfather clock beside you. The room is cold, freezing almost- creating a tense atmosphere in the supposedly "welcoming church".

You fixate your gaze on your lap, tapping your feet incessantly on the group as you wait. Time passes slowly as you wait, focusing on fidgeting with your hands to occupy yourself.

Finally, the door swings open and Evangeline walks out. She holds the door open for you with a soft smile, "Father Vox would like to see you.". "O-oh! Great!" you get up from your seat and nod at her while walking in.

__

Seated at the desk is a handsome man with black hair and separate eye colors; one eye color being blue and the other being brown. A white scar streaks down across his blue eye going from his eyebrow to his cheekbone. He's dressed in navy blue vestments with red patterns sewn into the stole, similar to the patterns on Father John's.

You take a seat across from him, a tight-lipped grin stretching across your face to match his charming smile. On his desk are books labeled "T.S.D Bible," along with other religious paraphernalia. Perched front and center in a name placard displaying the words, "Father Vincent Oren Xavier - Head priest".

The pieces start to click together in your head. Vincent Oren Xavier, V,O, X - That must be the Vox Evangeline was talking about! Your snapped out of your thoughts as he speaks.

"Well, you must be the famous y/n I've been hearing about!" he finally says, his voice booming and upbeat. "That's me," you squeak out.

"Elder Evangeline told me all about your story, I'm so sorry to hear that, my dear," though expressing his sympathy, his smile remains unwavering. "It's fine, it led me here so-". "And we're happy to welcome you with open arms!" he exclaims with a chuckle.

You knit your hands together in your lap anxiously, "-Actually, I had a few questions.". "Oh?" he raises an eyebrow, "by all means, go ahead.".

"Well, Father," you begin, "what does this church believe exactly?". "My dear, we here at Signal Dominion are our sector of Christianity. Are you familiar with Christianity?". You nod, "I was raised Catholic.". "And as of lately?" he raises an eyebrow. "Not so much," you admit.

He nods and hums in acknowledgment softly, "No worries, we accept all that are willing to join.". "Good, good... What exactly makes this church different from a Christian church?". His smile seems to grow at your question, his tone full of confidence as he answers, "The Signal Dominion is special, the other denominations have lost their way, been too lax on God's plan for humanity.".

You lean forward in your chair, "And that plan is?". "To be saved, of course!" he grins. "Right, right," you exhale softly, "and how do you get saved?".

"Follow the church, and you'll see," Father Vox extends his hands to you, gesturing for you to hold them. You reach out and take his surprisingly soft and large hands in yours. "We can save you here, my child," he squeezes your hands, "you won't have to feel this dread upon you any longer. Don't go back to your old life, once you join the church, it's the first day of your eternal life, free of sin and grief.".

"Okay," you reply softly, hiding your internal excitement at the prospect of getting more info. Vox prays over you, eyes fixed shut as he asks God to "take away your grief"- as if grieving was an inherently bad thing. Vox commences the prayer with an "amen" and opens his eyes, gazing at you softly, "Come to our Wednesday night mass, I think you'll find it empowering.". "Oh, alright- I'd love to," you reply softly.

His hands linger for a moment before pulling away, "I'll see you Wednesday then.". You smile and nod goodbye before exiting his office.

Shutting the door behind you, you lean against it, breathing heavily as a smile stretches across your face. You did it, you're in.

__

The following days were spent working as a secretary by day and a journalist by night. Lately, your normal job didn't seem as horrible as before. You showed a renewed interest in life; every guy who would be sexist toward you was met with a smile and a nod. All you needed was the comforting notion that one day, they'd work with you. You felt comforted as you imagined the looks of horror on their smug faces as they realized that you're gonna work with them. All that good karma was coming back to you.

Currently, you're getting ready for Wednesday night mass. You fashioned your hair into loose, brushed-out waves that draped elegantly over your shoulders paired with a modest white shirtwaist dress. Once ready, you leave your apartment and head to the church.

When you walk in, you see the church booming with people. The congregation is dancing and singing as people play music on stage, a huge difference from the reverent mass you saw just a few days ago. In the crowd of people, you spot Evangeline singing and clapping in the front row of pews.

You walk up to her and wave, "Good to see you!". She greets you with a big hug, "Father Vox told me everything! Welcome to the signal dominion!". You smile at her enthusiasm, "Thanks for getting me a talk with him, I owe it all to you, honestly.". She shakes her head, "It's not me, it's you. Father Vox chose you specifically, you're special.". You open your mouth to speak but are cut off by everyone cheering as they turn their attention to the center aisle.

Father Vox jogs down the aisle, no altar servers present in front of him. This seemed to be a way more casual sermon than the "usual" Sunday mass. He goes up to the podium and speaks into the mic, "Welcome, my children, take a seat.". The people scatter into the pews excitedly and wait expectantly for Vox to speak.

He crosses his heart, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Peace be with you.". "And with your spirit!" the room calls out cheerfully. "I'd like to start tonight's service by giving a hand to our amazing worship team!" he gestures his arms out wide to the small band exiting the stage. The church erupts in cheering with the whole congregation clapping and shouting praise.

Vox holds his hands up, and suddenly, the room quiets, "Tonight, we have an important sermon –one about taking a leap of faith, and putting your whole being into the Church. Let us pray.". He leads the church in the Nicene Creed, his deep charismatic voice carrying through the whole building.

"Amen."

He takes the microphone stick in hand and carries it with him as he walks down the pews, "You know, I was talking to God yesterday-" some people cheer at that, eliciting a wider smile from Vox. His expression flattens, and he turns more serious, "And he told me how distraught he was.". The people murmur sorrowfully, some looking down at the ground with guilt as if it was their fault.

Walking up, he gets close to the pews and starts to speak in people's faces, "I am trying to lead humanity to salvation, and all I see is neglect and evil in this world... even from some people in this community.". A few people get spiteful looks from other members; it was as if Vox is trying to pit the people against each other. Have others hold each other accountable for their "wrong doings".

Vox walks back to the podium and sets the microphone down, dragging his hands down his face to dramatically express his despondency. The sermon felt like a performance, almost theatrical in the way Vox was acting. He takes his hands off his face and sighs,

"As some of you may know, I didn't preach on Sunday. I was in despair, so much so that I couldn't preach-". The congregation gasps and murmurs. "Then suddenly, God appeared and said, "My son, you will guide these people!" he starts to yell, pointing aggressively at the crowd, "You will lead these sheep to pasture for you are there sheperd!".

The room claps and cheers, increasingly encouraging him to keep ranting, "Don't let yourself be ruled by fear, that's the devil talking! I was lifted up by the Lord! And now you will be too!". He points at an elderly woman in a wheelchair, a woman you hadn't seen before at past sermons, "You there! I command you, with the power of the Lord to STAND UP!".

The lady struggles, insisting she can't do it. "I SAID STAND UP!" he commands, throwing his arms up to motion her out of her chair. You watch in horror as this wheelchair-bound woman is forced out of her chair. After struggling, the lady springs out of her chair and walks around with a celebratory lap around the pews.

The room is filled with shouting praise and cheer, people rising from their seats and crying with joy. You stay sitting, your body frozen as you try to comprehend what the fuck you just saw. Obviously, it was bullshit, but seeing all these people getting roped further into Vox's lies made you want to puke. The once excited feeling of going undercover gets replaced with dread. How could you treat these poor people like a story? Shouldn't you be helping them?!

Your stomach starts to ache at the sight. While people around you rejoice in the "miracle" that happened before their eyes, you sit there, staring blankly ahead of you.

__

The sermon lasted hours. Vox would go on rants about how the church is under attack and we must fight back against them. You found yourself nodding off only to be woken by Vox yelling.

The sermon finally concluded, and people quickly shuffled out of the building. You were a bit delayed in your movements, grabbing your purse drowsily and slowly walking out of the pews. A hand grabs at your shoulder. You turn around and see Evangeline with a tired smile on her face, "Father Vox would like to talk to you in his office.". Great. Sighing softly, you force a polite smile and nod, "Thanks.".

__

The stairs creak as you walk up the spiral staircase to Vox's office, the already tense atmosphere becoming even creepier at night. You're instantly waken up by the freezing temperature. You quickly jog to his office and knock hastily, not wanting to wait a second longer in the corridor.

"Come in, my dear."

You push the door open to reveal the dark office illuminated by candles on Vox's desk. His handsome features still displayed even in the dim light of the room, "Have a seat.". Taking a seat across from him, he gazes at you for a moment, studying your features. Exhaling softly, he speaks, "God was telling me about you.". You raise an eyebrow, "He... He was?".

He smiles softly, "He told me you're special... you're different from everyone else. I think you will do great here.". "I hope so," you smile wearily back at him. You really couldn't even bear to look at him anymore. Part of you wanted to scream in his face cry all at once, but what good would that do? He knows what he's doing is wrong, he doesn't need someone telling him what he already knows.

Vox tilts his head at you, "I hope we didn't scare you off with tonight's service.". Your eyes widen, "No, no-". He chuckles and holds up a hand to cut you off, "It's okay, don't lie. I understand how a healing service can be a bit intimidating for new members.". "It's okay, it was just... unexpected," you admit reluctantly.

Vox chuckles softly, "I bet. I know it all seems confusing and scary right now, but trust the church. Trust me, y/n. I think you can make it very high here in the church, maybe even an elder.". Whooo whoopdy doo you get to be an elder!!! You plaster on a fake smile, "I'd be honored.".

Rising from his seat, Vox walks over to behind your chair and places his hands firmly on your shoulders. He leans down and whispers softly, his voice smooth and charismatic, "I know right now everything seems chaotic, but it will all be over soon. You'll be safe here.". His words send a shiver to your spine, the "reassuring" words almost sounding threatening.

He releases you from his firm hold, and you exchange goodbyes, eager to get home after a long day. Kicking off your heels, you collapse onto your bed. You don't bother with writing tonight, that can wait for another day. For now, you let yourself debrief and rest. It's been a long day.

__

"Better," your boss states flatly, tossing your report back on his desk. "That- That's it?" you ask, frustrated, all that work for "better"? Mr. Anderson shrugs, "Look, it's a fine report. But we're not looking for "fine." Here, let's put it this way... How did you feel when you saw what was happening to these people?". You tilt your head as you respond, "I felt... distraught and devastated and-". Your boss cuts you off. "Exactly!" he exclaims, poking your report as he speaks, "then show that in your writing. When I read this I feel nothing, it's just facts laid out in front of me. Put the reader in your shoes, I want you to make them feel like they're seeing what you're seeing.".

"How do I-" you squeak out before getting interrupted once more

"Sheesh, woman!" he groans, "Do I have to give you everything? Just- Here, go deeper. You said that this "Vox" guy said sum about "climbing ranks"?". You nod affirmatively. "Expand on that," he encourages, "climb the ranks, get the story. Got it?". You held your questions and feebly grab your report, "Yes, sir.".

__

You've really had to step it up. For the past few services, you've attended every single one, from the calm Sunday service to the bizarre Wednesday night ones. But, you hadn't really made any progress with diving deeper into the church as your boss suggested. Outside of sermons, you hadn't personally seen Vox since your eerie chat with him in his office. You thought you had a leg up when he called you "special," though looking back, that's probably what he says to everyone who joins the church.

This morning, you really were gonna step up your ass-kissing game to the church. You arrive an hour early to the Sunday service, dressed all prim and proper in a wine-red sheath dress. For the first time you've ever seen it, the church was completely empty. The once-packed pews are now completely devoid of any life, and yet, you had a strange feeling you weren't alone...

You ignore the strange feeling of eyes on you and approach the altar. Slowly, you kneel before it and get into a prayer position, eyes furrowed shut as you firmly clasp your hands together against your forehead. Just for good measure, you mutter "please God" under your breath every now and again. You felt a bit silly doing this, almost like a child playing pretend.

For about half an hour you knelt there, hoping your faux devotion would catch the eye of the higher ranks. Just as your knees were starting to give out, a large hand gently grabs hold of your shoulder, "Come with me.".

You open your eyes and see Vox standing behind you, a subtle smile across his sharp features. He offers a hand to you and helps you to your feet. Without another word, he swiftly turns and guides you upstairs to his office.

Once upstairs, he opens the door for you and gestures a hand out for you to walk in. The two of you take a seat, Vox smiles softly, "Don't think your actions have gone unnoticed, my dear.". Your heart rate quickens. Were you found out? "I've noticed your devotion, and so have the others.". You exhale softly, relieved that this wasn't some sort of shake-down. Tilting your head, you fake confusion, "My devotion?".

"Yes, the elders and I have noticed your piety towards the church. Out of all the members in the church, your efforts stand out," he chuckles softly and reaches into his desk, "I meant what I said when I called you 'special'.". Vox lifts his hand from the desk, a pretty gold beaded rosary necklace hangs off his index finger. You lean forward to get a better look at the jewelry, "What's that for?". "You," he gestures the necklace toward you, "to show my appreciation, you've become a model member of the church."

Taking the rosary from him, you marvel at the dainty intricacies of the necklace. It was real gold, from what you could tell, and not just plated either. Gold beads were strung along the dainty chain, and the apex held a pendant with the initials "T.S.D", a beaded chain hanging down from it. At the bottom of the chain hung a diamond-encrusted cross, the crystal shining brightly in the dim room. How did Vox have the money for this? Surely being head of a "church" couldn't make that much money, right? Whatever the reason was, you shouldn't accept gifts from a corrupt person paid with money from God knows where.

Your fingers run over the expensive jewelry, "I really can't accept this.". Vox tilts his head to the side, "Why not?". "Because its uhm," your hands clutch the necklace in your hand, you whisper under your breath, "really fucking expensive.". Snapping your head up to look at him with wide eyes, "Shit I mean- Wait sorry again- It's just-". Vox raises his eyebrows and chuckles, "No worries, you're forgiven."

Getting up from his desk, Vox strides over to you, gently releasing the necklace from your grasp, "Don't worry, the church paid for it. Besides, this isn't about money, think of it as a "thank-you" gift.". His hands brush your hair to the side and deftly clasp the necklace around your neck from behind. He moves back in front of you and clasps his hands together, "Lovely."

Glancing at the clock, Vox excuses himself to get ready for the sermon and you leave shortly after for the service.

__

A few weeks have passed since your surprise gift, and ever since then, Vox has kept an eye on you. There would be moments when his eyes would meet yours during a sermon, almost as if he was speaking directly to you. Part of you hated how much you liked the attention, Vox was the only man in your life who treated you decent, even if he was using you to further his agenda and grow his cult. The other part of you was terrified by it.

With all the close attention to you, you have to be extra careful to not let your true intentions slip. One mistake, and it's over for you. No career, and hell, Vox would probably kill you to keep that story from coming out.

It's currently Saturday night, you had gone to bed early for the morning service and were sound asleep. The loud trill of your home phone wakes you in a panic. You snap up into a sitting position and exhale softly after realizing that it wasn't some type of alarm.

After stretching, you hop out of bed and walk to the kitchen as the phone blares, "Jesus Christ, shut up...". Grabbing the phone off the wall, you pick up the phone and speak gravelly, "Hello?".

"Good morning!" a familiar voice responds, "I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time.". "Uh, I'm sorry, who is this?" you question, leaning against the wall to support your exhausted body. "This is Vox," he responds. Oh shit! You perk up instantly and hold the phone closer to you, "Oh! Vox! Uh, good morning... h-how'd you get this number?". "Anywho," he ignores with a cheerful tone, "I just wanted to call and let you know about tomorrow's sermon.".

Pushing off the wall, you pace in a small circle around your kitchen, "What about tomorrow's sermon?". "I just wanna make sure you'll be there, I can count on you, right?". "Yeah, of course-" the cord yanks you back softly as it stretches to its max. "ow fuck-" you mutter. "What was that?" the voice asks. "Nothing! Uh, I'll see you tomorrow, bye!" you stammer out, slapping your palm to your forehead in embarrassment.

The phone clicks in its spot on the wall and you cover your face in exhaustion and mortification at your slip-up. You really had to work on your cussing if you were gonna sell this whole "widowed church girl" persona. Whatever that's tomorrow's problem, you're too delirious to function right now.

__

After a pathetic night's rest of tossing and turning, you wake up and head to church. Sitting in the center front pew, you save a spot for Evangeline. You've grown quite fond of her over the past few months, and although she was a little church-crazy, she's been nothing but welcoming to you. Evangeline skips over to you with a wide grin, "Y/N!". "Hey!" you greet her with a hug and chat a bit before the sermon begins.

The lights dim as the mass starts, candles illuminating the walkway as the altar servers walk to the altar. Vox follows behind them, his hands folded in a prayer position. His eyes meet yours, giving you a soft smile. Your lips subconsciously twitch up into a grin as you see him. You snap your head back up to the stage once you realize what you were doing, no time for making eyes at a literal fucking cult leader. Sure, he's attractive, but he's a psychopath! 'get it together, y/n,' you say to yourself.

Vox approaches the podium and goes over the routine responsibilities and creeds. "Good morning," he says into the mic, his voice booming through the large church. "Good morning," the congregation responds. "Today is a special sermon," he begins, "many of you have such courageous testimonies of how you entered the church! And some of you have so graciously offered to share your stories today-". People start exiting the pews and lining up on the stage. Vox smiles and gestures one of them up to the pew. The woman smiles softly as he speaks into the podium's microphone, "I first found out about the church when...".

__

The testimonies droned on for about an hour. Each testimony, though intended to ignite a fire in your faith, made your stomach churn. Hearing about these people who once had great lives, leaving them in a time of darkness, cutting everyone off, all for the hope of having a purpose in the church. A tear trickled down your cheek as you listened to people fall deeper into the cult. If only they knew their "salvation" would be their downfall.

As the last person wrapped up their story, the congregation erupted in applause and cheer. Vox retakes the stage and speaks into the mic, "Thank you, everyone, for those beautiful stories... and I'd like to invite one more person, a new member, to share their story.". He gestures a hand out to you in the crowd, your face turning white. Fuck. Why wouldn't he ask you about this first? You already are mortified by public speaking, it's gonna take everything in you not to accidentally expose yourself.

Shakily, you arise from your seat, eliciting light applause from around you. Once you reach the podium, you clear your throat nervously, "H-Hi everyone.". Evangeline smiles proudly and gives you a thumbs up. You smile back at her and continue, "M-My story started when uhm my husband died. It was a really dark time for me and I just wanted to have hope again.". Fidgeting with your hands, you glance at Vox who gives you a condescending smile.

Standing up straighter, you speak more confidently into the microphone, "And then I found this church, and I was scared... really scared. But with the help of a lot of you here, I really found a purpose again. Thank you for everything, I'm glad I'm here.". You quickly exit the stage and plop in your seat. Evangeline immediately showers you in praise while you stare at the floor in mortification. __

The service goes on for another half hour or so. You're eager to leave, quickly getting up and grabbing your things once Vox ends the sermon. You just wanted to go home, relax, and take a bath- You've pushed yourself hard the past few weeks, maybe it's time to take a break from the story for a little bit.

And just as you're about to leave, a firm hand grasps your shoulder. "My dear, come with me for a moment," the familiar voice rings in your ear. Fuck! You sigh and oblige, not wanting to rouse any suspicion. Who knows what he would do if you denied him.

He leads you down the corridor and into his office, the door shutting behind you with a loud creek. You both sit down, Vox staring at you with his piercing multicolored eyes, "Your testimony was beautiful, dear.". You huff quietly to yourself, "Yeah, it was just- unexpected.". He chuckles, "Ah, I see, not a big public speaker?". You shake your head no. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he says somewhat apologetically.

Noticing your harsh stare as opposed to your usual submissive one, Vox sighs softly. "Here," he grabs a bottle and two glasses out of his desk and pops it open. He poured some of what looked like champagne into your glass and handed it to you. "Is this booze?" you raise an eyebrow. He flips the bottle over to reveal the "Sparkling Cider" Label. "Pft, oh," you chuckle softly and pick up the glass.

You clink your glasses together. "Cheers," he says, his rich voice sounding a bit husky. You take a sip, unaware of Vox's intent gaze on you as you drink the beverage. His gaze drifts to your necklace as you wipe the foam from the drink off your lips, "I see you're still wearing the necklace I gave you. I take it you like it?". "Oh, yeah," your hands move up to fidget with the cross pendant, "It's really nice, thanks again by the way.".

"No need to thank me," he states, laughing softly as his gaze wanders over your features, "It looks beautiful, my dear.". "Oh- Thank you," you try to cover the unwanted blush spreading across your face.

He sets the bottle down and rests his elbows on the desk, "You know, I think I owe you my testimony now that you shared yours.". You tilt your head, "Your testimony?".

He nods, "I didn't come from a good home. My father was- very abusive. And so was my mother. CPS must've investigated my parents a dozen times, but, they never convicted them of anything. Just chalked it up to parental punishment and me being a sensitive kid.".

Your eyebrows furrow in a sympathetic expression, "I had no idea I-". He cuts you off, "No, no, don't be sorry. That isn't the part I want you to focus on.". Vox leans closer over the desk, "Things only got worse as I got older. My parents were broke and only became more abusive over time...".

He gets up from his chair with an excited grin and walks over to you. "But then, God appeared to me and said, "Vincent, my son, I have bigger plans for you than this! Go forth and spread the good news!". And so I did! I took my old man's car and ventured out here, where I started the church.".

As he wraps up his testimony he looks at you excitedly, almost as if he is seeking approval like it was some kind of performance that he did. You flipped your cringe into a surprised grin, "Wow that's- that's incredible!". Taking another sip, you groan internally as he keeps going on about the "Son of God" bullshit.

__

As time goes on, you start to feel funny. Time didn't feel as though it were passing, but as you glance at the clock you realize that hours had passed. Vox’s voice starts to sound like he’s talking underwater, your main focus being the loud ringing in your ear.

You wince and cover your ears. Vox smiles, “Everything okay?”. “Ya its just hot in here,” you speech starts to slur, suddenly feeling a bit more free and loose lipped, “I wan leave but I also don’t… I dunno…”.

He chuckles softly, “Oh is that so?.”. “Yaa… I think imma just take a nappp,” you slump against the chair and close your eyes. The last thing you hear before passing out is a soft “perfect” whispered in your ear.

__

Your eyes flutter open, catching glimpses of the scene before you. Vox was driving you somewhere while you sat limp against the seat. You couldn’t move or talk very well, only being able to function through sight; it almost like being in a state of sleep paralysis. “Voxxx?” you mumble out. He pulls into a driveway and parks the car. “Hey there, doll,” he coos, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Where are we goin’?”. Vox unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out of the car. He opens the door and carries you out of the vehicle, “My house, you passed out. I just wanna keep an eye on you and make sure your okay.”. “mffkayyy,” you lean against his arm as he carries you inside.

The house before you is rather large with beautiful foliage out in the front that was well kept. Modern furniture decorated the lavish house with at least 3 TVs just in the downstairs area. “ ‘S a big house. Hows it so big I thought priests were poor,” you say absentmindedly.

He chuckles softly as he carries you up the grandiose staircase, “The people donate to the church to pay me.”. You scoff, “Pfftt, donate what? Half their fuckkinn’ salary.”.

“Language,” he reminds sternly, “and yes.”. He carries you into a large master bedroom, the same lavish furniture with crosses riddled all over the walls. “You can lay here,” he sets you down on the soft mattress. “Thanks Vox urr nicer than I thought you’d be,” you smile at him.

Stepping out of his shoes, Vox crawls onto the bed with you and sits beside you. His soft large hands reach out to cradle your face. Sleepily you lean into his touch. “Mmmm,” you hum into his palm.

His hands snake down from your face to your waist and hoist you onto his lap. Your neck is eagerly peppered with kisses, hands sliding up your dress and onto your bare thighs. For a moment, you lean into his touch, “Vox… Mmph.“.

While one hand massages your thighs, the other works to unzip your dress. The cold contact of metal onto your skin briefly brings you back to your senses, “Vox, wait, no- We can’t-.”.

“Shh,” he continues undressing you, “don’t worry, let me make you feel good.”. You feel too weak to stop him, eventually just giving into his actions. The dress slips down your shoulders and is slid off your body. He quickly discards his priest garments and other clothing on the floor.

Grabbing a thigh in each hand, Vox spreads your legs and hovers over you. His thick veiny cock presses up against his stomach, pre cum leaking from his tip down his shaft.

He slowly enters your dripping pussy, “Ah… There we go.”. “Mmph~ Oh god-,” you moan out, your vision getting a bit hazy. He stays still for a moment, allowing you to accommodate for his size.

After a minute he rolls his hips into you, establishing a steady rhythm. You stare blankly at the ceiling, only partly focused on the pleasure winding up in your core. Every now and again you’ll moan softly as you watch the room spin. You flicker in and out of consciousness, unaware of how much time has passed or how long Vox has been going.

Grunts escape his throat as he pistons into you, his pace become more erratic as he got closer to orgasm. You were close too, your hips weakly bucking into his. “Thats it,” he says breathlessly, looking you in your glazed over eyes. His hips start to slam into yours, sending waves of pleasure over you as you came.

Your a bit overstimulated as he continues chasing his own relief, drawing out whimpers and moans from you. “Hnnf, Hnnnff~,” His hips start to stutter until he finally fills you up with his seed. Once Vox pulls out you feel the cum dripping out of you.

Releasing his grip on your thighs, he lays down on the bed and pulls you into a spooning position. The last thing you feel before you succumb to sleep is the kiss Vox presses into your hair.

__

The next morning, you wake up around 10 with a pounding headache. Blinking your eyes open, you sit up abruptly. You were at home. “Vox?” you call out. No response. A hand shakily drags down your face, “F-Fuck… What have I done…?”. The weight of the situation sets in, mortification settling in your stomach.

Nausea washes over you and you quickly run out of bed to the bathroom. Leaning over the toilet you throw up. You remembered being sick last night, you remembered everything from last night.

On the floor of your bathroom, you hug your knees and bury your face in your hands. You just had sex with a cult leader… Sobbing softly, you mutter to yourself, “I can’t do this anymore…”.

You wipe your tears and march to your type writer where you hastily finish that god forsaken story. Every last detail was thrown in, well, except for last nights events…

You don’t care if it has a billion spelling mistakes, you just want this to finally be over. Even if some part of you liked Vox, you’d never admit it. You could never be with him.

Throwing on whatever clothes you had out, you grab the freshly typed papers and sprint to your car.

__

The doors of the NYT office building fling open as you burst through them. “Woah,” a coworker comments, “what’s got you so-.”. You cut him off, “Go fuck yourself.”. Fuck that, fuck him. You’re not taking that crap anymore. The worker stands there in embarrassment and shock. He scoffs and mutters something as he retreats to his desk.

You march into Mr. Johnsons office and hold the papers up in the air, “It’s done!”. Mr. Johnson covers the receiver of the rotary phone, “Hold on-“. “Please!” you plead, wanting this to be done and over. He ignores you. No, you demand to be taken seriously for once. You walk closer to his desk and snatch the phone from him and place it down to end the call. “Y/N!” he yells, “you can’t just-!”. “Mr. Johnson just please read it over!” you beg.

He groans, “Fine!”. He snatches the papers out of your hands and reads over the report for a few minutes. Once he’s done, he hands them back to you, “Great, thanks.”. He gets back to work after dismissing you.

“I-Is that all?” you ask, “what about my future here at the company?”. “Listen doll,” he slides the papers he was working on aside for a moment, “you have a future at the company as a secretary.”. “What?! I worked for mo-“. “Frankly I don’t care,” he interrupts coldly, “this was just something to keep you occupied so you’d stop bitching!”.

“Why would you promise me a job then?!” you defend, tears welling up in your eyes. Mr. Johnson sighs, “Jesus- It’s company policy not to hire women anyway! And look at you, you completed one story and you look a mess! Your cryin’, snappin’ at employees, and you look wrecked. Why have that when a man can easily complete a job without all this drama? Now get out!”.

“But I-“

“Out!”

Clutching the papers in your hands, you begrudgingly walk out of the office. You hear the whispering and light laughter of the employees as you walk out. Tears flow down your cheeks, walking faster until you out of sight from the ridicule.

Once your outside you lean against the wall of the building and sob into your hands. You shake as you let everything out. All of that, for nothing. You felt like nothing, a nobody. You look at the papers in your hands, the words angering you and causing you to rip them to shreds. People pass by you, but you ignore the stares at your public breakdown.

You pull a pack of cigarettes out of your purse and light one. You shakily inhale, and exhale the somewhat soothing smoke. “Oh God,” you whisper, burying your face in your hands.

__

You sit in your car for awhile, not sure where to go. Should you go home? No, you don’t want to just sit their and be sad. Your friends wouldn’t understand, you hadn’t even spoken to them since you started this project. You start the car, and as if your hands had a mind of their own, you mindlessly drive to Vox’s estate.

You weren’t exactly sure how you remembered to get their, but suddenly, you were in front of the large estate once again. As you hop out of the car, your legs almost seem to turn to jelly as they wobble and shake. Wobbly approaching the door, you ring the loud doorbell.

The grandiose door swings open, revealing Vox in more casual wear then you’d previously seen, “Y/N? What are you doing here? How’d you know where-“. You cut him off, “I-I remembered from yesterday, somehow…”. His face turns pale at the mention of yesterdays events, “Wait you remember- Nevermind, why are you here?”. You sniffle, tears flowing down your face once more, “I didn’t know where else to go.”.

“Shh shh, hey,” he pulls you into a hug, ”what’s wrong?”.

__

Vox had you settled onto settled against him on the couch. You told him everything that happened. He nods slowly as you finish your story, “I see… Those report papers are shredded right.”. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I tore them up…I’m sorry.”.

“It’s okay, you’re forgiven,” he coos, “but why’d you come here?”. You shrug, "I didn't have anyone else to go to...". He nods and pulls you closer against him, "It's okay, you're here now. You're safe, trust me.".

"So, what now?" you ask softly, "are you gonna have me actually join the church now?". He chuckles softly, "Doll, you've already been in the church for a long time now. You just need to recommit your faith".

__

You had stayed with Vox for the past few weeks, listening to his guidance on how to live a happy and virtuous life. And it was working, you were happy. At first, you doubted everything. I mean this was surely a cult, right? Vox assured you that it wasn't, saying that "if your boss lied to you about your job as well, then why doubt that he lied to you about this being a "cult"?". He had a good point, and since then, you became a true follower of the church.

Vox had you cut off everyone, telling you that they were holding you back from your true potential. You believed him, they were holding you back.

The next few services had a whole new meaning for you, instead of judging them from an analytical perspective, you really engrossed yourself in the message. Vox was happy with your newfound piety, and planned to make you an elder of the church.

__

Becoming an elder requires a "swearing-in" ceremony in front of everyone. You were incredibly nervous, feeling sick to your stomach. Vox drove you to the church and felt your anxious energy, "Don't worry, my dear, everything will be fine.". You clutch your stomach, the car making you even more nauseous, "Vox I don't feel good...".

"It's just nerves, you'll be just fine," he softly reassures you, "let's pray on it, hm? Dear God,-".

__

You clutch Vox's hand tightly as he guides you onto the stage, the congregation eagerly watching as you become an elder. All 5 of the other elders in the church were on the stage as well. Evangeline smiles proudly as Vox prepares to make you an Elder of the Church, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She mouths, 'I'm so proud' to you as you approach the bible labeled "T.S.D". Vox has you put one hand over the bible and the other in the air. He speaks into the mic, "She will now recite the Elder oath.".

You must've recited it a hundred times before coming here to make sure to nail it, but you were preoccupied with the growing nausea you felt. As you recite the oath, you look awfully sick, your face pale and your body swaying slightly. "I, Y/N L/N, swear to adhere to the Church and fully commit myself to the church and Vox. If I fail to do this then- BLECH". Your nausea suddenly took over, the church watching in horror as you barf all over the fucking bible.

The whole church is silent, in shock over the situation. Vox's mouth is agape and his eyes are wide, not understanding what the fuck just happened. You didn't really understand either, all you did know was that if you didn't get out of there quick you'd throw up on it for a second time.

You dart to the nearest bathroom and barf into the sink. This definitely wasn't just nerves.

End

__

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-

its finally done! (tho there will for sure be a part two, but it def won't be as long).

this my Christmas gift to you guys so yayyy

if u enjoyed pls affirm me i worked hard ok bye

this shit is barely edited by the way so bye

[gretagerwigsmuse]

The hemline of your dress inched upwards, showing off the backs of your upper thighs and- - she knowssssss she’s gotta know and i love it “Thanks! I got it yesterday and I figured with the weather being so nice, today was the perfect day to wear it!” you said, giving a little twirl. - stop! she’s so excited about her new dress!!!

"Y-yeah. You're absolutely right, having three otters would be my dream." - plsssss this is so funny but also cute and the fact that he talks about it enough for her to notice!!!

The problem at hand wasn't whether it was allowed, ‘incest’ (as Jake unfortunately called it) happened all the time in the Navy. - PLSSSSSS this is so fucking funny

Bob had no trouble believing you and he could be professional should you two date and it not work out. That happened all the time. - oh bobbers no 🥺

The hemline of your dress inched upwards, showing off the backs of your upper thighs and- - she knowssssss she’s gotta know and i love it

What ever happened to doors? Why were people so opposed to doors? Doors were lovely. You could close doors. - HA

For once, he couldn’t wait to start an episode of Love Island. Hell, he would even take an episode of The Bachelor at this point. - HA

"Do you like my dress?" - oh 🥺 she’s nervous! oh this is so sweet!! and then when she says she got it for him!?? oh sweet girl

The way you always touched his arm, your hand lingering on his skin as you bore your eyes into his. How you always texted him. How you baked a cake for his birthday. - oh sweet girl! the birthday cake really got me! like i imagine her getting a little 🥺 after awhile like why isn’t he getting it?

You stilled, a crestfallen look painting your face. “We shouldn’t?” Repeating the words felt like driving a knife through your heart. - oh 🥺 but then he makes it right real quick!!!

Timidly nodding, you explained, “Yeah. The days I didn't sit next to you were because….I had a dream about ya the night before.” - oh my god STOP!!! i’m obsessed

“I’m falling in love with you too Robby.” You were the only one who could call him that. It was that familiarity, that intimacy - ROBBY 🤭

“Hey, we can take our time, okay? I know it's, that it's a lot,” - HOT OF HIM

Fuck, he was a talker. You were doomed. - HOT

Unraveled- Bob Floyd

Summary: Bob Floyd likes to think he can keep it cool. Then along comes a sundress.

Warnings: friends to lovers, smut, so much pining, language,

Bob Floyd didn't like to brag, but he considered himself pretty dang smart and sensible. 

He knew the ins and outs of every jet he has flown. Hell,  he could break it apart and put it back together again within a few hours, if that.  He was able to quickly assess a situation, weigh the pros and cons, and come to a sound decision. It’s why he was the top WSO for the mission in Miramar. 

So why has a piece of fabric thrown him for such a loop? 

All Bob was trying to do was be polite. You had mentioned taking an Uber to the Hard Deck tonight and Bob knew the polite thing to do was to offer a ride. After all, he wasn't going to drink. You would save money. It's what any good friend would do. It had absolutely nothing to do with the crush he had been harboring since your first debriefing. 

He was just trying to be courteous. The gentleman his Mama worked hard in raising. Getting to spend time with you, without the other members of your shared squadron around or loud music, wasn't even near the forefront of his mind when he made the offer. Bob was just trying to be a good friend. A good friend who just wanted to help. A good friend who was forcing himself to look at you through a platonic lens, not a romantic one. 

Bob liked to think he was doing pretty well at that. 

That is, until a dress came along and unraveled him. 

Perhaps you said hello when you opened the door.  You probably did, considering how polite you were. But all Bob could focus on was the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves. 

And what little fabric there was. He had seen you in civilian clothes before. But never anything like this. His mind absolutely went blank when you hugged him and he could feel how much of your bare skin was exposed. Due to the halter style of the straps, nearly your whole upper back was now perfectly visible.

“Um you-you look um nice,” Bob barely got out. He was too busy trying to burn the feeling of your soft skin into his brain. You were warm, like a walking ray of sunshine. 

“Thanks! I got it yesterday and I figured with the weather being so nice, today was the perfect day to wear it!” you said, giving a little twirl. Bob tried to focus on the pattern of dress; how the green brought out your eyes. 

But all he could focus on was the curves of your body, now being highlighted. The way the halter style made your breasts swell and the lack of a bra very apparent. How the fabric stopped at the top of your thighs when you spun, giving Bob a peek of what he often thought about late at night. 

This was bad. 

“I take it you came early to watch an episode of Love Island before we leave?” You asked as he stumbled walked in.

The truth was, Bob wasn’t a fan of reality TV. But he watched because it gave the two of you a chance to talk to one another. Just as friends, nothing more. When watching the silly show, you two could make jokes, talk about things other than work. 

“Yeah! Ready to watch hot people make poor decisions again,” Bob said with a nervous laugh. The joke failed to put him at ease. If anything, it reminded him that he was about to spend at least forty minutes with you and that did not include the drive to the Hard Deck. 

“You’re using my tagline!” your smile lit up your whole face. Bob was certain it could light up the whole turmac. All he could do was nod, his heart fluttering when you grabbed his hand, leading him into the living room. 

"I have some kettle corn in the microwave for you! I also made cherry seltzer water!" Bob could feel heat rush to his face. You always remembered the little details that no one else seemed to pick up on; that he loved salt but had an even bigger sweet tooth. How in an attempt to cut back on soda, he switched to sparkling water. His favorite flavor was cherry because it reminded him of cherry coke. 

"Did you see the video I sent you?" You gently squeezed Bob's hand as you two sat down. 

"Y-yeah. You're absolutely right, having three otters would be my dream." Ever since learning about Bob's favorite animal, you had sent him every otter-related video you came across while scrolling the internet. You even got him a pair of Otter socks for his birthday.  It was the fact you paid attention to seemingly minor details that made Bob fall head over heels for you. 

But alas, you were a coworker. The problem at hand wasn't whether it was allowed, ‘incest’ (as Jake unfortunately called it) happened all the time in the Navy. After all, there were only so many things you could do on a ship before switching to people. No, it was the potential issues that came with dating. Rejection being the main one. Bob had no trouble believing you and he could be professional should you two date and it not work out. That happened all the time. What worried him was rejection. Having to go to work everyday and put on a facade, that things were fine. When deep down, he knew he'd be heartbroken. And even worse, he'd no longer have your friendship. 

So Bob settled, as he often did when it came to love. He took comfort knowing he'd still have you, albeit as a friend instead of a partner. That should be more than enough. For the last few months, he had convinced himself that it was enough. 

But God was it difficult when you bent over right to grab the remote. 

The hemline of your dress inched upwards, showing off the backs of your upper thighs and- 

he could see the swell of your ass. He could see the flash of red lace. Your skin looked so soft and supple and you were so close he could just reach out and- 

Oh God he was hard. Oh no. 

This was bad. Worse than that time he popped an erection during sex ed in middle school. There, he at least had a jacket and a desk to cover it. 

But here? He was a full grown adult and San Diego’s seventy degree weather didn't give him any additional layers. Bob looked around, desperate for something, anything, to hide his cock that was currently straining against his jeans. 

Thank fuck for your love of decorative pillows. 

He grabbed the closest one, shaped and designed like a pomegranate. You were so excited the day you picked it up from some Facebook Marketplace deal. He had driven you, partly out of wanting to spend time with you, partly because he wanted to ensure you were safe. It was adorable and definitely shouldn’t be used for nefarious purposes, such as hiding a boner. This was wrong, so fucking wrong.   

Bob was trying to think of anything and everything that would kill this boner. But his spot on the couch aligned perfectly with the entranceway of the kitchen, where you currently were, rummaging around to fix Bob a drink. 

What ever happened to doors? Why were people so opposed to doors? Doors were lovely. You could close doors. Every time he tried to think of something, you were right in his line of view, turning every thought into something more devious. 

His family? His family would love you. If you two got married you could make  your own family. 

Work? You worked with him, in that damn flight suit that clung to your every curve. No one else could make that god forsaken green fabric look good.  

School? God, you were so smart. The top of your class. And witty, always ready with a clever, underhanded comeback. It’s how you two originally bonded, both having muttered something about Jake under your breath. 

Bob Floyd was screwed. Thoroughly. 

He tried to comfort himself with the fact that soon you two would be watching people in their early twenties making the dumbest decisions over dating. If anything were to be a boner killer, that had to be it. He just needed to make it through then. 

“Bob?” Your lithe voice broke him out of his thoughts. Not that it was much of a reprieve, with the way you were standing at the kitchen entranceway with a glass of sparkling water in each hand, “You good?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m great!” He said with an all too eager nod, desperate to convince you this was truly the case. Fuck, you were so beautiful. And you were showing so much skin. He had seen you on the beach before, adorned in athletic shorts and a sports bra. But this was different. 

The dress was far too nice for the Hard Deck. No, you deserved to be taken to a nice restaurant, one with a lovely outdoor patio. The image of you sitting on a lovely chair with a glass of wine in your hand came easily to Bob. It was also the perfect dress for a picnic, particularly at the nearby park, specifically in that little secluded area. God, the idea of you laying down on a red and white checkered blanket, the hem of your dress pushed up your thighs as he leaned over you, ready to take you-

Bob leaned forward, clutching the pillow as he tried to will himself the strength to get it together. 

“Bob? Are-are you okay?” You quickly placed the drinks down on the coffee table, rushing over to kneel in front of him on the couch. 

Oh what a sight that was, you looking up at him with big eyes, full of concern. Your hands were on his biceps, and Bob knew if he looked down he would have the perfect view of your breasts. 

 It was so hot and also the very last thing Bob fucking needed. 

“I’m good. Stomach doesn’t agree with what we had for lunch, that’s all.” Lying was never good, his mother instilled that in him at an early age. But in this scenario, Bob was certain the truth was much worse. 

“I’ll go get you a ginger ale!” Bob opened his mouth to protest, though no words came out due to seeing not only the tops of your thighs, but a flash of your ass as you spun around to go back into the kitchen. 

For a few seconds, the  supple, plump flesh was so close to him. Practically within arm’s reach. 

Maybe he should just leave while you were in the kitchen. 

But that would be rude. Not only rude, but it would raise your suspicions if they weren’t high already. Plus, he had already promised you a ride to the Hard Deck. He couldn’t just leave you hanging, not after you brought a dress for the occasion. He may be in dire need of a cold shower, but the last thing Bob Floyd was going to do was hurt you. He squeezed the pillow, knuckles turning white as he tried to find strength. For once, he couldn’t wait to start an episode of Love Island. Hell, he would even take an episode of The Bachelor at this point. 

“Here ya go,” You sat down on the couch next to him, glass of ginger ale in hand. You even remembered how much ice he preferred in his cold beverages. You were perfect. 

“Thanks,” Bob slowly took one hand off the pillow, the other still holding onto it for dear life. 

“You uh, like that pillow?” You chuckled, though your nerves still shined through. 

“Huh? Oh yeah,” Bob looked down, ensuring his big problem was still covered, “It uh, helps my stomach!”

You raised an eyebrow, though you didn’t further question it. Instead, much to Bob’s delight, you reached for the remote, clicking through until you finally landed on the desired episode. With a shaking hand, Bob gulped down the ginger ale, promptly placing it on the coffee table so he could have both hands on the pillow. 

The room was silent, saved for the ridiculous conversations happening on the TV screen. Normally you and Bob would be shoulder to shoulder, laughing as you both narrated your opinions on the contestants. But today Bob was rigid, his fingers still clutching to the pillow on his lap. He hadn’t even touched the bowl of popcorn. 

"Do you like my dress?" It took everything in Bob not to groan at your question. The last thing he needed was a reason to look at you. But how could he deny himself such a chance? So he put on his best smile as he turned to face you.    

"Uh yeah it's lovely. I'm sure everyone will love it-" 

"I got it for you.” Your voice was soft as you hit the pause button on your remote, eyes remaining on the screen. 

The words hit Bob like a freight train. 

"What? Why would you-"

You shrugged, fingers toying with the short hem of your dress, "I thought maybe, if you saw me in something different, something that wasn't my flight suit or a tee shirt, that maybe you would finally notice me?” 

You finally looked him in the eyes, “Maybe you'd finally notice that I've been trying to flirt with you for the last few months?" 

Bob opened his mouth just to promptly close it. He thought back to the last few months, now analyzing every seemingly ordinary interaction he had with you. 

The way you insisted on sitting next to each other during lunch. As well as during briefings. And when you went to the Hard Deck. Whenever a guy tried to flirt with you there, you turned them down, focusing your attention back on him, continuing your conversation about his latest D&D campaign or a Lego set you had found that reminded you of him. The way you always touched his arm, your hand lingering on his skin as you bore your eyes into his. How you always texted him. How you baked a cake for his birthday. The little trinkets you’d bring him. 

Oh god, he was a fucking idiot. 

The tension in the room was thick. You, sitting restlessly as you waited for Bob to acknowledge what you had said. Bob, processing your words and what they meant. 

“How long?” Bob asked, his voice soft yet firm.

You chuckled as you shook your head, “Honestly? First day. We hadn’t even spoken yet. I saw you walk in and you just were….not only handsome but also looked so kind? Then you offered me a spare pencil, made that comment about Jake’s driving and I….was a goner.”

“I saw you talking to Halo before the briefing room was open,” He confessed, “She said something that made you laugh and it….it was the prettiest sight I had ever seen.”

“We’ve wasted a lot of time, huh?” You both stared ahead at the TV, still too fearful to face each other. 

Bob dryly chuckled, “Yeah….a lot of time. Months, if we’re being more exact.” 

The two of you remained in silence, your words sinking in. Neither sure what should be said, if anything should be said. Until finally, you spoke up. 

“Bob? What’s underneath the pillow?” 

His hips shifted, involuntary, “What?” For a moment, he forgot about the darn pillow and the erection he was covering with it. 

The cluelessness in his voice brought a giggle, “The pillow? Why are you using it to cover your lap?”

Bob sighed, “Can I at least kiss you first?” 

You nodded, moving to close the gap between you and Bob. Pillow be damned, his hands cupped your jawline, giving you a sweet smile before leaning in, closing the gap between your lips and his. 

Bob Floyd’s lips were soft, no doubt due to the sweet mint chapstick you'd watch him apply countless of times. You didn't want to admit how often you'd wondered about the taste, what his hands would feel like on your body. God, they were huge. His thumbs rested comfortably on your jawline, but you could feel his other fingers spanning your neck, down to your collarbone. 

The first kiss was gentle, practically modest. Your lips were only apart for several seconds, if that, before connecting again. 

You easily found his shoulders, grasping them for purchase. The gap between your bodies was too much, Bob wanted to be as close as possible. So his hands trailed down your body, skimming along until they found the back of your thighs. Using his strength, he moved your body, situating you onto his lap. 

A high pitched gasp fell from your lips upon feeling the bulge that was straining against his jeans. Good god, he was thick. You had heard whispers, chalking it up to typical locker room talk. 

Nope, those rumors were one hundred percent true. 

“I’m sorry,” Bob groaned, hands exploring your soft curves. Worst of all, he sounded earnest, only making you want to touch him more. 

“I-I wore this on purpose ah-after all,” you confessed, finding it difficult to speak as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your exposed chest. 

Right. You wore this on purpose. To entice him. To see if perhaps he felt the same burning desire. Once realization hit him again, Bob’s hands moved along your back, just stopping above your ass. 

Wait, he was about to touch your ass. 

“We-we shouldn’t,” Bob mumbled, retracting his hands from your body. You stilled, a crestfallen look painting your face. 

“We shouldn’t?” Repeating the words felt like driving a knife through your heart. Had regret finally emerged, beating the rush of adrenaline? Was he going to regret this, ask that you two never speak about it ever again, pretend it never happened?

“I…” Bob sighed, “I need to take you on a date first.”

Bless his heart. 

Sighing, you relaxed your body into his, resting your head in the crook of his neck, “You’re too sweet, y’know that?”

Bob chuckled, “That's supposed to be my line.” 

His hands gave your hips a loving squeeze, causing you to nestle further into him, until your bodies were nearly molded as one. Your lips searched for his, trailing up his neck, his jawline, along the side of his button nose until finally reaching his soft lips. Bob shifted in his seat, causing you to do the same. As a result, you could feel his erection, despite the layers of clothes. 

“Good lord Bobby, you've just been walking around with all that?” Bob groaned, but not due to your words. No, it was because you had started moving your hips in circles, his erection now pressed against your covered core. 

“I’m- I’m trying to be a gentleman.” Bob couldn't even look at you. He didn't want to stop. He should stop. Maybe you two could skip the Hard Deck and go out to dinner. Then he could take you home and not feel as guilty. 

“You can be a gentleman later,” by throwing your arms over his shoulder you finally had access to his neck. His skin was so soft, so delicate. How could you not sink your teeth into his neck? 

Normally you'd have better self control than this. But you were ovulating and had six months of sexual frustrations and wet dreams- 

“You had dreams about me?” Uh-oh. That wasn't meant to be said out loud. Granted, maybe it was for the best to get everything out in the open. 

Timidly nodding, you explained, “Yeah. The days I didn't sit next to you were because….I had a dream about ya the night before.” 

A band had snapped within Bob, no doubt due to the numerous times you didn't sit next to him during briefings. 

Within seconds, you found yourself on your back against the couch, the bespectacled WSO hovering over you. There was a fire flickering in his blue eyes as he remained laser focused on your face. 

“After this, you're putting this dress back on and I'm taking ya out to dinner, is that clear?” his voice was gruff and deep, similar to when he did a hundred pushes that one day (that you definitely didn't think about while masturbating). 

Chest heaving, dress pushed up to your upper thighs, lips kiss bitten, God, you looked like an angel to Bob. He remembered learning about angels in church growing up. How pious they were, that seeing them was a sign of comfort, that they would guide one to safety, to a holy life. 

There was nothing holy about what he wanted to do to you. 

His mouth was hot, searing kisses along your skin. Your back arched into him, desperate for me. But he always seemed to pull away before you could get enough. Would you? Ever get enough of Bob Floyd? 

Finding an answer would have to wait, for now you wanted to relish in the feeling of Bob’s hands kneading your breasts. It was obvious you weren't wearing a bra, a fact Bob ob had spent forty minutes trying not to think about. He still felt a smidge of guilt, as though the newly drawn line between friends and more hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Was he even supposed to be doing this?

“You can keep going. I want you to.” You sensed his hesitation. In all the time you knew Bob, he had never taken someone home for a one night stand. He wasn’t like that. He needed time to build a connection, to feel comfortable enough to be himself. That’s why he loved spending time with you. With you, there was no need to put up a front, no need to be fearful of judgement. 

“And then afterwards, we can order some Thai food and continue watching the episode, if you want. Or we can just do that now,” your hands cradled his jaw, gently forcing him to look at you. He found a sweet, reassuring smile, similar to the one that made him smitten six months ago. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Bob could be blunt, and often was when it came to his colleague’s shenanigans. But with his own feelings? He always chose his words carefully. 

Hence why his admission took you some time to process. Bob could see it on your face; first your eyes widened, lips slightly parting as if driven by the need to respond immediately. But then your lips closed, your brain quickly gaining back self control. 

“I’m falling in love with you too Robby.” You were the only one who could call him that. It was that familiarity, that intimacy, that gave him the courage to move his hands to your hemline up to your hips, revealing the thin, lacy red fabric underneath. 

You were breathtaking. Always were. But this? This solidified things for Bob. You two had made a step forward in your relationship. Many things would still be the same. But there were now new things to experience. Simply another layer of intimacy had been added.

His long fingers skimmed over the fabric of your panties, every touch sending a spark of electricity along your spine. Every stroke caused a small gasp to fall from your lips, music to Bob’s ears. Lowering himself, Bob decorated your hips with opened mouth kisses. Finally, gaining enough courage, his fingers pushed your panties to the side. 

Fuck, you were wet. 

If there was any hesitation left in Bob, it died upon seeing how visibly aroused you were. He had done that. No one else. Lowering himself even more, he was now at eye level with your wet cunt. This wasn’t some vivid wet dream. 

When his touch licked a broad stripe up your slit, a broken moan fell from your lips, echoing off the walls. It was the prettiest sound Bob had heard. He wanted to hear it again. All the time. 

With more confidence, Bob begins lapping up your arousal, determined to taste every inch of you. His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer. Looking down, you see his glasses are now crooked, though you highly doubt Bob cares, given how his eyes are half closed in pleasure. 

Wait, was he grinding against the couch? 

The discovery caused your thighs to clamp over Bob’s ears, your hips thrusting upwards to get more of his talented tongue. Bob wasn't reserved around you, never had been. But this was a new side to him that you had wondered if it ever existed. Animalistic. Devouring. Loud. 

His groans vibrate against your core, only heightening the pleasure. Slowly, his right hand goes from your hips to your core, mouth moving to your clit as the long digits trace your opening. 

“Oh my God, please,” you all but beg, not quite ready to admit how often you thought about his fingers and how they would feel inside of you.

Always thinking about your comfort, Bob started off with just one finger. You tried to fuck yourself with it, your own fingers gripping the soft strands of his hair for better leverage. The thought of making you beg crossed Bob’s mind. Would you like that? Would you be open to that? There were so many new topics to discuss, so many new boundaries to explore now. 

You happily welcomed the stretch of two, three fingers. Bob found the little moans you let out to be quite adorable. He could feel his cock throb against his jeans, but pleasing you took priority. 

“C’mon honey. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.” His voice was low, husky even. 

“C-can you be inside me? Like your…your cock?” A broken groan fell from Bob’s lips at the very thought of being inside of you. 

“I don't….I don't think I'll last long,” he admitted sheepishly. Hell, he could probably come just from eating you out. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it sounded pretty good- bringing himself to the height of pleasure just from ravishing you. 

“I don't think I will either,” you giggled, “But we’ll….we have lots of other times to go slow.” 

Bob helped you sit up on the couch. “You wanna go to the bedroom?” He asked, thinking about how this could be more comfortable for you. 

Instead, you shook your head, hands moving to his jeans, hastily undoing the buttons. 

Now it was your turn to explore, to discover. There was a dark trail of hair that went past the waistband of his jeans. He wore boxer briefs. And Bob Floyd had the prettiest cock. 

His face turned bright red at the compliment, “Oh it's…I mean it's like fine, but it's not-” 

“Take the damn compliment Robert,” you all but scolded, eliciting a laugh from him, your favorite. The high pitch, near giggle one. The one that made your heart flutter. 

Feeling at ease, you moved so that you were hovering over Bob’s lap. Your fingers moved to the base of his cock, making you realize you would have to ease yourself into it. 

“I gotcha,” his hands found your hips, slowly easing you down. His sapphire eyes never left your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. He went slow, waiting until you made it vocally known you were ready for more. 

By the time you reached the base of Bob’s cock, you were a mess. You wanted him to move, to fuck you within an inch of your life. But he was also so big. The stretch was nothing you had experienced before. 

“Hey, we can take our time, okay? I know it's, that it's a lot,” he assured you, as though he could sense your internal conflict. His lips found yours, and in that kiss you found comfort. Bob grounded you, always had, whether it was up in the air or right here on your couch. 

How much time had passed, who was to say? You could recall both your phones vibrating a few times, no doubt messages from the rest of your squad. Those messages could wait. 

“I think I'm ready,” you whispered against Bob’s lips. He needed, digging his fingers into your hips to gain a better grip. With his help, you lifted yourself no more than a couple of inches off his cock, returning to the base. 

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” Bob moaned. You just made Bob Floyd curse. Something not even a bird strike could do. That four letter word gave you the confidence to lift your hips up on your own accord, returning swiftly. Slowly, just an inch or two, which became several inches. Up and down motions turned to swiveling your hips in a circular rhythm. What was once a quiet living room, saved for a few small gasps and the static from the TV, had now become a symphony of melodic pants and groans. 

Bob could tell you were close. Your pussy was tightening around his cock more and more, your fingers dug into his broad shoulders, as if trying to anchor yourself. You practically whined at the sight of Bob taking two fingers into his mouth, wetting them with his tongue. He lowered them to where your bodies connected. 

Upon first contact with your clit, your head dropped to the crook of his neck, unabashedly moaning his name, hips moving in a now frantic motion. 

“That's it, I gotcha.” Fuck, we he going to talk you through it? Was Bob Floyd a talker? Ironic, considering at work he was known as a man of few words. 

“Feels s’good, being inside ya.” Fuck, he was a talker. You were doomed, “Wanna, wanna make us cum. Bet ya gonna feel even better when ya soak- fuck- soak my cock.” 

Your brain was hazy. Was this real? If it was a vivid wet dream, you never wanted to wake up. Was it wrong to hope that you were in a medically induced coma, so that if this  was indeed a dream, you wouldn’t have to wake up so soon? Surely, your friends and family would understand upon meeting Bob. 

Then he pointedly thrusted his hips upwards, reminding you that no, this wasn’t a dream. No, you wouldn’t wake up feeling frustrated and unable to look him in the eye. After this, you two could go out to eat, on a real date. Not some hey let’s get dinner that feels like a date in everything except in name. You could also order delivery and cuddle up on the couch. Maybe you could even shower with him beforehand, and see his bare body, find out what was truly hiding underneath that flight suit. Oh, he was deceptively strong, you always knew that. But to see it, to feel the hard planes of his muscles? Oh, that would be quite the joy to experience. 

“Sweet girl,” you clenched at that nickname, you wanted him to continue calling you that for eternity, “Let go. Know ya want it.”

“I-I do,” you all but whined. Bob found the noise cute. What other sounds did you make? What would you sound like if he kept fucking you after you came? What about if he ate you out for hours? Or teased you until you were teetering on the edge?

There were so many questions, so many areas to explore. But for now, Bob was satisfied with experiencing how tightly you clenched his cock, how you practically sang his name as you came. Your release triggered his, pulling your hips down until they were flushed against his. His lips smashed against yours, swallowing your moans. 

Then there was silence. No words spoken. Only the sounds of panting, you both clearly trying to catch your breath, and kisses exchanged, ones that neither of you could resist giving. 

Realization hits you like a freight train. “I’m on birth control.”

Bob’s eyes widened, “Oh thank God.” He was usually so good about asking, about pulling out. But you….you made his brain feel like cotton. 

“You saying you don’t want to have kids with me?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek to let him know you were only saying it in jest. 

“Not yet.” You sat up to find he had an earnest smile on his face, cheeks rosy and eyes shining in adornment. 

Bob Floyd was going to be the death of you. 

So you brushed several strands of sandy brown hair off of his forehead, replacing them with a kiss, "Gotta get me a ring first."

Luckily, you were going to be the death of Bob Floyd.

[chameleonwritess]

Okay I accidentally got the flambé insanity out of my system on my enstars spam Instagram but I’m still gonna scream about ibayuzu bc I NEED TO….

Listen, I may say things about how awful they are for each other and like ‘lol ibayuzu is their bad ending’ because I love me some toxic yaoi, but hear me out: nah it’s not actually all that toxic OR bad for them, they just need to SIT DOWN AND COMMUNICATE WITHOUT THE DRAMATICS AND THE CONSTANT TRYING TO ONE UP EACH OTHER which is probably not gonna happen because they both love the dramatics and one upping each other too much

Now here’s why: pretty much the ONLY TIME we see Yuzuru get to be himself is when he’s talking to Ibara. Can you imagine how much of a relief it must be to him that FINALLY he can drop the act and SNAP at this Guy? Knowing that a) he can take it because he’s actively encouraged it and is already well aware of exactly how ruthless Yuzuru is capable of being and b) it’s not going to ruin his reputation or leak his background to any fans or higher ups because Ibara needs to keep their history just as secret at Yuzuru. Ibara is so so important to Yuzuru because as much as he can complain about how much he despises him…. He’s not even ALLOWED to express open distaste for anyone else- this is the one person he can be a bitch towards without fear or without having to cover up the bitchiness with feigned niceties (and Yuzuru is such a bitch at heart xoxo)

And now for Ibara. Yuzuru is one of the only people he can ALWAYS trust. He knows Yuzuru’s past, he knows Yuzuru’s mindset better than anyone else and he KNOWS he’s the only one who’s aware of how Yuzuru really feels and works, which gives him the comfort of knowing that Yuzuru isn’t gonna betray him. Yuzuru has nothing to gain from screwing him over and ruining his life or anything else. Sure he’s a thorn in his side when it comes to his sneaky tricks and schemes, but when it comes to being able to breathe freely and not have to battle every day of his life, afraid that everyone around him is just waiting for the opportunity to tear him down and send him right back into the battlefield, he knows that Yuzuru is safe. And I think he’s aware enough by now that Yuzuru does genuinely care about him- favourite pupil privileges and all that.

So basically, Flambé sent me insane because of the amount of mentions about their joint past and the way they instantly retort back to anything the other says. Yuzuru snarkily saying that Ibara must struggle to give gifts because he doesn’t care about anyone else (I smell resentment from the past. Why are you so convinced of that, Yuzuru? You know Ibara just wanted a safe haven- upset that wasn’t you? Upset he chose Nagisa over you???? Upset that he doesn’t care about you like you care about him??????????). We also have Ibara scheming in his own mind and WATCHING for Yuzuru’s reaction. Because Yuzuru doesn’t say anything. We just get a sprite of him narrowing his eyes. And suddenly Ibara’s like ‘haha he noticed! Just as I expected hehe! Can’t get away with anything with Yuzuru around!’… Ibara why are you watching? Why are you waiting and hoping he thwarts you????? (Lmao Perry and Doofenshmirtz ass dynamic) Ibara you don’t need to pretend to be evil just to get Yuzuru to stop you so you have an excuse to enjoy being an idol….. I mean, Yuzuru sees through it and is gonna enable that for you anyway but THERE WAS NO NEED I PROMISE!!

Ugh they make me insane. Read Flambé, y’all!!! It’s also one of my fave Rinne stories because I love love love when an all out over the top dramatic character gets to show a more subdued side and drop the mask for a bit- especially around a specific person (rinniki nation winning) (wow weird thing for the notorious wataei freak to comment on)

And I’m done byeeee

[enmstorytime]

The Therapist

I chose the cheap graduate program, the one that I could complete without taking out student loans. I needed the degree to pursue a career as a therapist.

I don't know if my mistake was upsetting my professor, or if my mistake was signing up for the hypnosis course. I haven't asked any of my classmates if they suffer from the same condition. I'm afraid they don't. And if they don't, and they found out the condition that I suffer from, I worry that they could get my license revoked.

I know that whatever is happening to me started in that hypnosis class. There was one class period, where I remember walking into class, making a joke at my professor's expense, and then I don't remember the class. I remember waking up in my bedroom, ten miles from campus. I normally slept naked, so I wasn't concerned when I rolled out of bed naked. What made me realize that something had happened was the fact that my car wasn't in the parking lot. My clothes from the day before were also nowhere to be found. Somehow, I had made my way from campus to my apartment and somewhere along the way my clothes had vanished. I found my car on campus, but I never found my clothing. And I never knew if anyone had seen me naked that day. All the smirks and knowing looks my classmates gave me from that point could have just been my imagination.

That class was ten years ago. Eventually, I pushed that weird morning out of my mind and decided I must have taken the bus, and stripped on my front stoop. Some neighbor probably thought my abandoned clothes were litter and cleaned them up.

At least I allowed myself this thought, until my graduation party, when one of my peers showed me a picture of me sitting completely naked on the city bus, my face blank, my hands behind my head, my legs crossed.

"What the fuck is this?" I asked him.

"You don't remember this day, man?" my classmate asked. "This was the minute I started respecting you man. You just sat there so confident on the bus, your cock out for the world to see."

"That never happened, you sick fuck," I said. "You probably asked AI to make this image."

But I also had to admit that AI had gotten a lot right, if this was in fact AI. There was the mole on my hip. My nipples were the exact right size and in the right place, and my cock was the right size when I was flaccid and the circumcision looked right.

"Dude, I wouldn't spend my time making AI naked pictures of you," my classmate said, getting angry now. "Besides, I asked if I could take your picture, and you told me to go ahead."

"I don't remember that," I said, remembering the day I had mysteriously left my car on campus. Apparently those clothes I never found were somewhere between my hypnosis class and the bus station. But anyone riding the number 7 bus that afternoon got an eye full of me.

I dreaded that as I started my practice other passengers would post those pictures online, and some client would come into my office to confront me with my nudes.

What I didn't expect was to wake up one afternoon two years ago, five years into running my own therapy practice, in the middle of a session with a barrel chested, clean-cut daddy, completely naked.

The daddy was laid out across the couch in leather handcuffs, a collar, and a cock cage, his business suit coat hanging on the back of the office door, the rest of his clothes piled up and rumpled right at the office door.

Searching for my own clothes, I saw that my client's messenger bag was over stuffed, a pant leg and one of my argyle dress socks sticking out of the side.

"What the fuck is going on here," I asked, hurriedly covering my penis with my hands. My client jumped.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sitting up, and covering his caged cock with his own hands.

"I mean, why are we naked?" I asked. "Why the hell are my clothes in your bag?"

"Is this some kind of fucked up exposure therapy?" My client asked, sounding angry. "You were the one who answered your office door butt naked, and told me today we'd try something new. You handed me your clothes and told me that whatever you said, I needed to take them with me at the end of the session."

"Obviously that will not be happening," I said, standing up while still covering myself and crossing to open his bag.

"What the hell is going on here?" My client demanded. "I was actually making breakthroughs before whatever the fuck this is."

"I don't care about your fucking breakthroughs," I said. "I mean, I do, but I'm naked here. This is entirely unacceptable."

"Is this some kind of test," the man asked, his anger soothing. "Yeah, that's what this is," he said, standing up and blocking my path to his bag. "You told me not to let you take your clothes back, no matter what you said. I need to be a man of my word, huh? That's what this is about."

"No, it's not," I said, trying to get past him.

But he took his hands off his cock and started to use his arms to block me from reaching my clothing that he had somehow gotten from me.

"I'm sorry to have reacted so poorly to this test he said, pushing me away, and I fell backward on the rug, catching myself with my hands, my legs flying up to expose pole and hole to my client. "I really didn't expect any therapist to go to these lengths to help me. I can't thank you enough."

He grabbed his clothes, but didn't take the time to get dressed. Instead he pushed my office door open, his clothes bunched in his hands in front of his crotch, his messenger bag with all of my clothes swinging off his shoulder.

I spent too long debating whether or not I should follow him, and by the time I decided I should, as I stepped out of my office door, hands glued to privates, I watched his car backing out of his parking space through the waiting room's front windows.

I also saw my next client sitting waiting, and they certainly saw me.

I ducked back into my office, and shouted to the receptionist to cancel the rest of my appointments for the day because I wasn't feeling well.

The client who saw me standing in my office doorway with nothing but my hands covering me never came back for another session.

My receptionist, a hot young college guy did come back to my office to run some paperwork past me. He didn't knock, just barged in, catching me with my back to the office door, standing at the window, peeking around the curtains.

"You're naked," he said.

I turned around, flushing red, and quickly covering my privates again.

"No need to hide it," he said. "I've seen a cock before."

"But not your boss's cock," I said, walking to my desk where I could hide at least my lower half.

The rug in my office felt soft under my bare heels and toes, but my ass also jiggled obscenely in front of my receptionist, who was grinning stupidly and certainly not looking at my face.

"No, I've never seen my boss's cock," he said, and closed the door behind him. "But I'd certainly like to."

It was the right words, and my body reacted with very little thought. I had hired my receptionist because of his easy boy-next-door grin. I'd spent hours fantasizing about taking the glasses off his face to look him in the eye. I had imagined all the ways my receptionist and I could move our relationship from professional to sexual, but I hadn't imagined this.

And at the simplest encouragement from him, I took my hands off my cock and stepped toward him. He was on his knees before I had fully processed what was happening, and his soft, fat tongues slithered down the head of my cock to the base and back.

I moaned.

He grabbed my ass cheeks and pulled me all the way too him, sliding my cock into his mouth, into his willing, open throat.

It took seconds for me to swell to my full mast in his throat, and he gagged once, before adjusting, before beginning his delicate, trained rhythm. His tongue lapped up and down my penis, his hands pulled my cheeks apart, a few fingers making their way to my hole, to probe and explore.

His hands and mouth maneuvered me, and I became putty in his hands as he slurped and sucked, sliding up and down, until I couldn't handle it anymore, and I pushed out the first shot of cum.

Immediately, he pressed a finger against my prostrate, and I came harder, my knees knocking against each other, the cum coming even more forcefully, the moan bursting uninhibited from my own throat.

I thrust and thrust and thrust sending stream after stream of hot cum down the throat of my sexy receptionist.

When he released me from his mouth, I slid to the floor, completely spent. I laid on my back, one arm behind my head, one arm, holding my scrotum, my deflating cock still on full display.

My receptionist stepped over me, and did the only thing that could make this moment more perfect. He unzipped the front of his slacks, and dropped his slacks and underwear. He stood over me, still wearing his shirt, but naked from the waist down, and began stroking himself over my naked, spent self.

His cum hit my chest and my face, hot and sticky, and he moaned as he continued to milk himself. It was a full minute of moaning and globs of cum falling onto me.

Without a word, he pulled up his slacks and underwear, zipped back up, and left me naked on my office rug, covered in his cum.

This was the best time I ever woke up naked mid-session completely naked. But it certainly wasn't the last.

[velvetvexations]

it’s driving me up the wall that the statement “trans women, notably those in the public eye, are frequently the target of transphobic harassment campaigns, so perhaps take a moment to check the source before you spread any callouts or accusations to make sure you’re not falling for TERF or kiwifarms misinformation” is now being misused by some to mean “if you ever see a trans woman with a big platform say something loaded/bigoted/openly hateful of her own free volition to her whole audience with her full chest, you’re not ever allowed to confront her about this or you’re personally responsible for every hate comment or harassment she receives ever” like it’s SO insidious to tell marginalised people they should shut up and take it. full offence, that musician is a grown woman who willingly puts her opinions on a public blog with her name attached, nobody was holding a gun to her head demanding she made those dumbass comments, and acting like she’s too frail to take accountability for what she does or shouldn’t be expected to learn that actions have consequences is laughable. yes people are now taking it too far but this happens every time, bc some people are just as immature AND bc bad faith parties love taking advantage of situations like this to instigate even more shit. again, insisting marginalised groups should let some big name individual be bigoted to them to protect her from harassment or else be blamed for it is so unbelievably entitled. the same thing goes for that “people just use accusations of racism against trans women to be transmisogynistic” post, these people need a reality check and realise they’re not the only victims in existence.

none of the following anger is directed at you, anons

I wanna be clear that I have no idea what's going on with Patricia Taxxon. She blocked me awhile ago and aside from seeing her post about transandrophobia and knowing someone made a parody comic about her that I didn't like primarily for the phrase "born female,"* I don't really know about the situation around her as it stands because I don't keep track of random radfems.

As this first anon said, a popular musician using their platform to be horrible to another marginalized group should get sprayed with water like a cat and the fact that she's a bigot be on the record. Weaponizing old nudes or dragging up old accusations of things, however, is bad and should not be done. It's just not a thing you should be doing to someone, no matter how much you think they deserve it.

There are a lot of White women saying things like "trans women get accused of racism to deflect accusations of transmisogyny." It's annoying that people acting in bad faith are giving fuel to the fire that any criticism of trans women is inherently transmisogyny. She's never going to connect the dots between "people are upset with the things I said" and "I said extremely harmful and hurtful things" if her victim complex is being validated. It's also going to encourage them to continue harassing and spreading shit about me, and possibly escalate to digging up past stuff to call me out on, because I guarantee you eventually one of them is going to say something like "so karmic of this to happen to Velvet after she reblogged all those posts accusing Emily Programmersocks of sacrificing children to Satan" as though that's a thing that's ever happened.

Stop harassing her, if that is indeed what's happening, because, again, I do not keep track of the latest events in TRF World.

*yes, in spite of me personally calling myself male, I still think that's a bad thing! wow!