#chamise

[sou-ema]

ma chemise est blanche,

mon âme noire

[jenfoundabug]

Seven-spotted lady bug (Coccinella septempunctata) on chamise in Northern California An introduced species in the US

[crudlynaturephotos]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

joeinct: Chamisal, New Mexico Photo by Alex Harris :: Thanks Beth Levin

* * * *

“And off we go, out onto the highway looking for a little fun. Perhaps a flatbed truck loaded with human cadavers will explode in front of a Star Trek reunion. One can only dream and hope.” ― George Carlin, When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops?

[i-rolled-a-zero]

so a sleeptime rp was interrupted by a dreamweaver in game and i just had to draw this for it

[lily-bisque]

your fiancé!nanami was currently resting against the backboard of your shared bed, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he turned the page of the travel guide he was perusing. dream destination: malaysia. who would’a thunk?

the image of a stoic, poised, aloof man was wearing his pajamas and indulging in his nightly reading before he tucked in and then awoke for another procedural day on the job as a salaryman.

it was something you’d been incredibly drawn to, his calm and assertive demeanor radiating off of him in waves that had you shuddering from the impact.

maybe you were ovulating, maybe you were in love (definitely the latter at least) but something in you wanted to chip away at that temperament, piece by piece, until the true nature of him was displayed in all it’s vulnerable glory.

pacing over to him, you quietly plucked his book from his hands and closed it without a word, then placed it on the nightstand. peering up at you, he gave you a perplexed yet patient look, wondering what the sudden act of yours meant.

tossing a leg over him, you made yourself comfortable on his lap, your beige, silky chamise shifting while you did so. naturally, your fiancés hands found themselves on your hips as he glanced up at you, still the graceful image of apathy in sights.

with gentle fingers, you found yourself tugging his frames off and folding them with slow deliberation before setting them atop his book. returning to him, you brushed the blonde tresses of his hair that you’d managed to muss out of their perfect positioning.

“what’s up with you, my love?” he crooned, allowing you to twirl strands of his hair whilst admiring your delicate beauty.

“i wanna try something,” you muttered, before leaning forward and pressing your lips against his in an affectionate kiss.

a rumble of approval thrummed in his chest as he lifted a hand up to cup your cheek, fingers tangling in your hair to pull you closer but you did the opposite, lips pulling apart.

with the sudden distance, nanami furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head, still giving you the space to do things as you wanted.

“wait here,” you whispered with a jocular lilt, before pushing off of him and padding over to the wardrobe with a skip in your step.

you searched his drawer before your eyes matched what you were looking for and pulled it out before walking back to him, the mysterious prize concealed behind your back.

“what’re you hiding?” he quirked, the faintest expression of mirth dancing in his eyes as he squinted at you.

you couldn’t hide the evident excitement simmering beneath your skin as you displayed your hands clad in fabric.

the familiar leopard print tie stared back at him, rather two sets of his signature look in your hands. “i’m not working until the morning, sweetness,” he teased, eyeing you carefully.

“i know,” you drawled out, stepping back to his bedside and running a hand up his forearm. the touch sent a tingle dancing down his spine, causing his breath to hitch, the lust in the air palpable.

your fingers trailed up to his button top and began undoing them slowly, your heart racing as you donned a dominant front. nanami had a feeling that was where you were going with this, so he was going to let you have fun with it before he’d take over.

yet, he didn’t know that that was not exactly what you had in mind.

once you’d tugged his top off, you grabbed both of his wrists and straddled him once more, placing his hands above his head and grabbing his tie to secure a knot around the railings.

a sudden huff of surprise left his lips as he cocked his head, peering up to admire your quick handiwork as if you’d been practicing for days then meeting your gaze again. “what’s all this?”

once you’d finished, you dropped your hands and watched as he attempted to pull his hands free but it was fruitless. you would be the only one able to loosen it. “you’ll see, ken,” you drawled out before settling your bare cunt atop his clothed crotch.

nanami inhaled sharply, veins in his forearms protruding at the sudden pressure as his cock hardened, the only barrier between his cock and your sex being his pajama slacks and briefs. and to make him even more sensitive, you trailed a finger down his bare chest, outlining the ridges and crevices of his abs.

he couldn’t help but flinch, the sharp edges of his tie digging into his skin as he writhed. “baby, undo these,” he gritted tersely through his teeth, fearing he may crack a tooth if this went on any longer.

and as the brat you were so adamant on being tonight, you shook your head and reached out to the comforter where you found the other tie you’d brought with you.

nanami eyed you carefully, his skin simmering with an impatient feverish desire. “and what could that be for?” he breathed out.

you didn’t give him the appreciation of a reply, simply sending him your prettiest doe eyes and reaching your hands up to his head.

with the most careful ministrations, you wrapped the tie around his head, making sure you didn’t tug on any hair while you did so.

“oh, sweetness. you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” nanami whispered his breath hot against your neck as you finished the wrapping.

settling back down against his hips, you palmed the tent in his pants, watching as his lips parted and head tilted back. “maybe.”

before you came in, you were planning on drawing this entire night out with him, teetering him on the edge of a peak until he couldn’t handle it anymore.

but now, with your slick nearly pooling onto your fiancé, you needed to feel him inside of you.

which was what led you tearing his briefs and slacks off completely, wrapping your hand around the girth of his shaft and taking him whole down your throat.

“oh,” nanami groaned, lurching forward as he tugged so hard against the restraints you feared he would break the bed. yet, it didn’t stop you bobbing your head up and down his length, tongue tracing the veins with your tongue like braille you were trying to decipher.

“s-slow down,” he rasped out, tone low as he struggled to maintain a semblance of his dignity, his body convulsing with need.

you did quite the opposite, feeling the tip of his cock bruising the back of your throat with each filling thrust.

after another two minutes of you gagging and sputtering a mess all over his lap, the scratchy hairs at the base of his dick brushing against your nose, ribbons of his seed shot from his slit and straight down your throat. a loud groan of your name left nanami’s lips as he tossed his head back, thighs trembling under your hands that kept him down.

after licking up every drop of his cum, you let out a giggle and crawled back on top of him, immediately connecting your lips. a satisfied and fucked out smile plastered on his face as he kissed you back, holding back a chuckle at your antics whilst tasting himself.

“so you are trying to kill me,” he smirked, and you ran your tongue against his lower lip.

your hand found its way to his near flaccid dick, stroking it and you could hear how sensitive he was in the way he whimpered out immediately. you were giving him no break as you aligned his tip with your entrance and sank down, the stretch nearing painful as the pressure filled every nook.

“ngh, sweetness. t-too much,” he sighed, voice an octave higher than earlier.

you moaned in satisfaction, tossing your head back as your hands found purchase against his shoulders. once you reached the base and felt his pubes brushing against your hood, you shuddered, lifting yourself up again and dropping down to feel that sweet fullness.

“oh, ken. s-so mgggh so good,” you sighed out, tossing your head back and pushing your bosom against his face. the guy was definitely bruising his wrists as each tap of his tip against your cervix had him dizzy, the overstimulation causing each muscle in his body to tense.

“i’m g-gonna-“ you clasped a hand against his mouth and rode him faster, your mind spinning with lust.

“don’t. shut up,” you moaned out, feeling your thighs burn with the exertion.

his warm breath fanned onto your palm as his eyes rolled back into his skull beneath the eye covering. if it weren’t for you straddling him completely, he’d start thrusting upwards, but due to his restraints he was entirely submissive.

a muffled whimper left him and you pulled your hand back to see drool trickling from the seam of his kiss bitten lips, making you push forward and clasp his shoulders to quicken your pace.

“almost t-there, wait for me mmmmf,” you groaned out into his mouth as black dots began to fuzz your vision.

though he gave you an obedient nod, you could tell he was balancing precariously close to being tipped over into an orgasm. which is fine, since that coil in your gut began quicker.

“come with me,” you demanded, tugging his lower lip with both of your teeth and he obeyed immediately, stuttering out your name with a loud gasp as his member twitched inside you.

ropes of semen pushed up into your cervix, painting your gummy walls white with his seed.

the way he filled you was so delicious, it had you digging your nails into his shoulders deep enough to leave marks as you clenched so hard, a ring of arousal around the base of his cock mixed with his cum.

fucked out, you dropped your head forward and into the crook of nanami’s neck, feeling your breaths sync up as his cock stilled inside of you.

“my girl,” he whispered out, his face flushed and shimmering with afterglow. “didn’t know you were so…” he trailed off, the rare image of his lips tugging upwards.

you reveled in it, placing a tender kiss against his jaw before pulling away.

“don’t worry. i’ve got more to show you.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 10: Pacific Palisades]

A/N: Only 2 chapters left 🪄

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, illness/death, minor injury and blood, a wild Becca appears, a super relaxing beach day! 😍

Word count: 5.4k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

“I’m so sorry,” you say as the green jasper buttons on the coat won’t quite close. “My agent keeps buying me Cherry Cokes and vanilla lattes.”

The costume designer, mid-forties with box-dye red hair, laughs. She ceases the tugging she’s been doing, ultimately in vain. “The wardrobe is supposed to fit you, sweetheart, not the other way around.” She sweeps the coat off your shoulders and hangs it back on the rack full of Gilded Age-style garments, some faux, some genuine. “We’ll take it in here and let it out there and get everything sorted out.”

“Thank you,” you tell her sheepishly.

“For what? It’s my job.” Then she gestures to the rack. “Which one was your favorite?”

You scan the assortment: chemises, corsets, hoopskirts, stockings, dresses, tea gowns, evening gowns, nightgowns, hats, gloves, fans, shoes, seemingly endless bejeweled ropes of necklaces and bracelets. “The yellow tea gown,” you say, beaming. “I love the ruffles and how flowy it is. And the buttons down the front.”

“Oh, it’s exceptional, isn’t it?” the costume designer agrees. “I found that at an estate sale a few years back, it had been squirreled away in a collector’s attic. It’s authentic, probably made in the 1890s.”

“You told me not to touch the buttons when you put it on. And you wore latex gloves.”

She nods. “They’re brass gilded with gold and mercury, which was common back then. People didn’t know better. But mercury can be absorbed through the skin. We can’t be careless and end up with heavy metal poisoning, now can we?” She grins at you. “But you don’t mind a little danger.”

“Everything worthwhile is a risk.”

“How long have you been in Los Angeles?”

You do some quick math in your head. “Almost six months.”

“Planning to stay long?”

“Forever, hopefully.”

The costume designer smiles warmly. “Good. We need more people like you here.” And as she pulls the rack of clothing out into the hallway on its four small wheels, the director strolls into the room. He is in his thirties, bald, black rectangular glasses, always wearing a suit jacket over a graphic tee. Today’s shirt features the Jurassic Park logo.

“Hey!” he says excitedly, clapping his hands together. “How’d it go?”

“Hi, Dusty!” His name is Dustin, but everyone calls him Dusty. “It was amazing. I love all the weird vintage clothes, they’re so modest but also very sensual, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s fascinating, I feel like with those restrictive modesty standards people really had to get creative to evoke ideas of playfulness, flirtatiousness, power, vulnerability, seduction...and of course, we’ll be experimenting with all of that in this film. You felt okay in everything?”

“Yeah!”

“Because...I mean...I know some of the chamises and nightgowns are a little sheer, but we’ll do a closed set on those days. I won’t even be there, Camille can handle it.” Camille is the assistant director, young and quiet but very sharp. “So it’ll just be her and the camera operator, also a woman. And if you want anyone else there to be your advocate, that’s open for discussion.”

“Can my agent be there?”

Dusty looks a little surprised. The grumpy middle-aged dude? his face says. “Aegon? Yeah, sure, he can be in the room. If you want that.”

“He’s gotten me out of some uncomfortable situations before, so I trust him.”

“Oh yeah, well in that case, I get it,” Dusty says. “Totally. And things with Santi have been fine?”

“Santi is wonderful. Always completely professional, but very inspiring to work with.”

“You guys have great chemistry. Platonically, I mean.”

You laugh. “I know what you meant.”

“And I’ll keep checking in with both of you, to make sure that’s going well and you’re happy and comfortable. I want you to start seeing a personal trainer, by the way. It’s not to lose weight or get toned or anything, it’s for injury prevention. He’ll help you get flexible and teach you tricks for how to move without hurting yourself when we do some of the more physically taxing stuff, like that scene where you and Santi are chasing each other all over the house and slamming into the walls and stuff.”

“That makes sense. Who’s the trainer?”

“His name is Roy, he’s in his sixties and a former Marine. I’ve worked with him before and he’s really chill, I’ve only ever heard good things. But if you end up not liking him, just let me know and I can find somebody else.”

“Dusty?” you say.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for caring about what I think.”

He chuckles uneasily, like he’s not sure if you’re serious. “You’re welcome...?”

Aegon walks in—hair gelled back, wrinkled black suit on—carrying two Starbucks beverages; he left fifteen minutes ago to fetch them. He keeps the Frappuccino topped with whipped cream and chocolate syrup for himself and hands you the iced latte. You take a sip and are startled. “Cinnamon Dolce?”

“Isn’t that what you like?” Aegon asks.

And before you let yourself think poisonous thoughts—he doesn’t care, he doesn’t remember—you consider a different explanation. He might be sick. He might be dying. You give him a radiant smile. “Absolutely. And it’s delicious.”

“She must think very highly of you,” Dusty tells Aegon. “She wants you there on the closed set days.”

Aegon raises his eyebrows at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you admit, a little shyly.

“I’ll send out the filming schedule as soon as we get it finalized,” Dusty says. “Like I said earlier, we’ll start sometime in mid-September. Some soundstage stuff here in L.A., some on-location work in Ontario—that’s where they did Crimson Peak, there’s fantastic Gilded Age architecture—and maybe a trip to London if we can scrape the budget together.”

“Huh,” Aegon mutters to himself, like he suspects Dusty will soon be receiving a sizeable and anonymous donation for the project. He pulls out his iPhone and texts someone.

Dusty shakes your hand. “Thanks for being here today and suffering through approximately one thousand costume changes. I really appreciate you being such a good sport about everything.”

“I told you she had the right temperament,” Aegon says.

“She does.” Dusty smiles at you. “She really does.”

You and Aegon leave Dusty’s suite, office space rented in Downtown, and take the elevator from the tenth floor to the ground level. It’s Wednesday, August 13th, and it’s almost a hundred degrees outside, the sunlight drenching you like a downpour. Fortunately, it’s a short walk to your Honda. Aegon was serious about not driving when you’re in the car anymore; you picked him up in Elysian Park before your appointment with the costume designer. Now you walk together across a pavilion and towards a concrete staircase that will lead you down to the street with the parking garage. You’re wearing a pink floral sundress, matching TOMS wedges, and a pinkish-gold sheen across your eyelids: Fathom by NARS, Phenomena by Natasha Denona. You slurp on your Cinnamon Dolce latte, sweet and warm and blameless like a treat you deserve.

“You know I won’t be there for filming,” Aegon says. “That’s going to be after my wedding. I’ll be long gone, I’ll be in Houston.”

“Maybe not.”

“Uh, I definitely will be.”

“Maybe you’ll fly back to be here for certain things because you know they’re important to me.”

Aegon stops and whirls to you, his voice low but cutting. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, bewildered.

“You know I wish I could be here. Don’t guilt me for something I’m already torn up about.”

“Nothing is stopping you from flying back to L.A. for a few days. Houston isn’t a prison, you can come and go as much as you want to.”

Now he’s somber, quiet, repentant. “I just can’t. I’m really sorry.”

“But who’s going to look out for me?” How could I even begin to forget you?

“I found you a new agent. Her name is Kristen, and she’s great.”

“I don’t want her,” you say immediately.

Aegon sighs. You begin to descend the staircase together. “Look, I know this isn’t easy for either of us, but I need you to—”

“Oh my God, it’s the girl from the Maroon 5 music video!” a young man shrieks, and then he sprints up the concrete steps. You smile when he shoves his phone in your face, recording for TikTok or Instagram or wherever he’s planning to post this...or maybe he’s even streaming live. “Hi!” he bellows at you as Aegon glares. “I love that video, you did an amazing job!”

“Thank you so much,” you say, and you mean it down to your bones. You’re beaming without reminding yourself to; you’re focused on him as you continue to descend the staircase. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Jonathan!”

Aegon snaps at him: “Back up.”

“Hi, Jonathan,” you say, wobbling on a step. “It’s so nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

“I’m from a town in Iowa that you definitely haven’t heard of.”

“That’s okay, I’m from a town in Minnesota that you definitely haven’t heard of.”

“Hey, back up,” Aegon says again.

Jonathan either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t listen. “What was it like working with Adam Levine? I’m kind of obsessed with him. He was my first crush.”

With those tattoos? you think but blessedly don’t say out loud. You have barely ever interacted with Adam Levine, and certainly not in a meaningful way. But of course you don’t say this either. Jonathan’s phone is only inches from your face; it’s practically all you can see. “Oh, it was an incredible experience. He’s so talented and kind—”

Your wedge slips off a step, and you go sprawling; one knee hits the concrete, is scraped raw, begins bleeding down your shin. Your latte flies out of your grasp and spills down the staircase. You clutch for the metal railing, find it, and haul yourself upright. And even through the searing pain you’re already laughing, embarrassed, relieved.

Jonathan is saying as he reaches for you, though he’s still filming with the phone in his other hand: “Oh no, are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, I’m totally fine—”

But Jonathan isn’t, because Aegon’s knuckles connect with his face, draw back, hit him again, and blood is gushing from Jonathan’s nostrils, and Aegon’s hand is stained red. “I told you to back the fuck up!” Aegon is roaring, and he goes to punch Jonathan again as he’s staggering down the steps, blood drops splattering to freckle the concrete.

“Aegon, don’t!” you scream, grabbing his arm. People on the sidewalk below are staring and pointing. “He didn’t do anything!”

“If you get hurt, you can’t act—”

“Aegon, I’m alright!”

And when Aegon turns to you, wayward flecks of blood on his cheeks and in his sand-colored hair, he’s not just furious but afraid: I couldn’t stop. You remember when he put a dent in the wall of the Beverly Hills mansion where Dan had planned to film you practically naked, and you wonder if that was a symptom, volatility, rage, a transient blindness to consequences. Is everything he does a symptom? Is what he’s done with you?

“Aegon...?” Jonathan says from several steps down the staircase. “Aegon Targaryen?!” He’s wiping the blood off his face with the back of one hand but still holding his phone with the other. Now he’s filming himself. “Holy shit, I just got punched by a Targaryen! This is going to go viral! I’m going to be rich!” He dashes off, still dripping blood.

Aegon looks at you, dazed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

You’re trying to catch your breath; your knee burns. Pedestrians on the sidewalk are still gawking. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to fuck up anything related to your career. I’ll fix this, I’ll get Aemond to make it go away.”

“I’m not mad, Aegon.” I’m worried about you. I’m scared for you.

“Are you okay?” He’s scrutinizing the thin tendrils of blood snaking down your leg, the crimson stains on your pink sundress.

“Yeah,” you say gamely.

“No you’re not.” Aegon takes your hand, leads you swiftly to the parking garage, doesn’t stop to talk to any of the people who are staring and pointing and taking out their phones to record him.

You drive your Honda back to Elysian Park—just a quick jaunt northeast on the 110—where Aegon scrubs his hands clean and then plays doctor with equipment supplied by the first aid kit in Brandon’s desk. On the scuffed wood floor of Aegon’s office—mint green walls, cluttered haphazard desk, photographs of him and Becca together sneering down at you—he disinfects the raw patch on your knee and gingerly wipes away flecks of dirt, then slathers it with gooey transluscent Neosporin, the kind that dulls pain. As he is trying to peel the backing off a large rectangular Band-Aid, his hands begin to shake.

“Aegon, here, let me help you—”

“I can do it,” he insists; and it takes him a while, but he does.

~~~~~~~~~~

Baela is back in Paris; Jace is eating a Chipotle burrito on the velvet orange couch and spilling leafy shreds of lettuce everywhere. You are arranging the dried sunflowers in a yellow vase you found at T.J. Maxx. You are careful not to dislodge any of the fragile preserved leaves, curled and brittle. When you are done, you position the vase on the kitchen counter near the refrigerator. The calendar there, affixed with pineapple-shaped magnets, is filled with red-ink appointments related to your indie film, the one you still sometimes can’t believe is real: workouts with your personal trainer, table reads, costume fittings, meetings with the dialect coach, lunches and drinks with your new coworker Chloe. She has third billing, and she’s from Maine, and she loves hiking and flannel and granola and the lobster rolls at Saltie Girl in West Hollywood. You teach her about makeup and dresses; Chloe teaches you about nature and hiking boots. You might even let her talk you into horseback riding lessons on the beach one day.

Jace asks from the couch as he scrolls through his phone with his non-burrito-occupied hand: “Hey, random question, but did your agent beat up a kid?”

You sigh deeply. “He wasn’t a kid. I don’t know why people keep saying that.”

“The TMZ article says he’s a teenager.”

“He’s nineteen years old. He’s legally an adult.”

“Oh.” Jace keeps reading. “But your agent did beat him up.”

“Aegon punched him twice, does that count as beating someone up?”

Jace looks up from his phone. “Yes. Yes it does.”

You sigh again.

“You’re lucky he’s not suing,” Jace says as he resumes reading the article. “Damn, he’s gotten 200,000 views on the video so far. He called it STORYTIME: Targaryen Terror!! I almost died!! The thumbnail is a close-up of his bloody nose. Let’s see what derangement we can find in the comments.” Then Jace recoils, squinting at the screen. “Whoa, the whole article just disappeared.”

Thanks Aemond, you think. “I’ll be back around dinnertime if you want to order Thai food and watch True Blood or something.”

“Cool,” Jace says, and chomps on his burrito. A glob of guacamole drops onto the couch.

In Elysian Park, you park on the curb and step out into sweltering mid-August humidity, the humming of air conditioning window units, ambient dog barks and car radios. You’re wearing flip-flops, a purple maxi skirt, and a black tank top; on your eyelids shimmers Natasha Denona’s silver-and-violet Bolt.

You can hear the shouting before you open the front door, heavy footsteps, chairs screeching as they are pushed out. You run inside to find Brandon standing beside his desk. He looks at you wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t know what to do. From within his office, Aegon is yelling something you don’t understand—“I don’t want it! No, get rid of it, get out of here!”—and then Becca appears through the doorway, backing away from him, fleeing from him, confused and heartbroken. She’s dressed like a bride, white lace and long beachy waves. She is crying and holding two sealed envelopes in her hands that gleam with rings.

“What’s going on?” you ask her.

Becca freezes when she sees you. She’s too stunned to be angry. “I don’t know, it was supposed to be a surprise, we were going to open them together and it would be fun, but now he’s...he’s...he’s freaking out, he’s completely lost his mind!”

You peek into Aegon’s office; his chair is knocked over, and there are papers and photographs and Honeycrisp apples on the floor. He’s slumped against the wall with his knees to his chest, gazing out at you with vast, glassy eyes, tears painting rivers down his flushed cheeks. “Open what?” you ask Becca. And then you read the artful black lettering on the envelopes: Legacea: Discover All the Wonders of Your Heritage!

“Becca,” you say softly. He’s been caught. He can’t hide it anymore. “Aegon’s dad died of Huntington’s disease.”

“Okay,” she replies, puzzled, not understanding.

“And it’s genetic, and he doesn’t want to know if he has the gene.”

She stares at him, thunderstruck. He hides his face in his hands. And you feel a compulsion—an instinct, a gravity, a predestination—to go to Aegon and hold him, comfort him as much as you can, ward off all the world’s curses here in this undistinguished alcove of Los Angeles where you first met him.

“Here,” Becca hisses, grabbing your hand and pressing one of the envelopes into it too quickly for you to resist. “You’re the person he always wants to talk to anyway.” Then she shoves you so hard your back hits the doorframe, storms across the lobby, slams the front door as she leaves.

“I’m sorry,” Aegon says hoarsely from the floor. “I’m sorry she did that, I...I...” And then he swallows with effort and shakes his head and covers his face again. In the lobby, Brandon sinks into the chair behind his desk and tries to disappear.

You step into Aegon’s office and close the door behind you. You cross the scuffed hardwood floor until you are right in front of him, and then you sit down amidst the bruised apples and splintered glass panes of photographs, close enough to reach out and take his hands if you tried. You look down at the sealed envelope and skim your thumbprint across the black ink. You don’t say anything. You wait for Aegon to realize the inevitable: If Becca paid for these tests, she can access the results anytime she wants to. He’s going to find out one way or the other. He can’t keep running. The answer is right here. Maybe it’s even good.

“You can open it,” Aegon says, barely a whisper.

“Are you sure?”

He nods and wipes his face with his sleeve, the same wrinkled tan sport coat jacket he was wearing for your very first appointment. Beneath that he wears a t-shirt the color of the ocean, a placid royal blue. Then he watches as you carefully rip open the envelope, unfold the stack of four papers, and scan the results. He tries to read the lines and color of your face; he waits for you to say something.

For a long still moment, you don’t say anything. And then at last you look up at him. “Your family can afford the best doctors, you’ll have access to the most advanced treatments—”

“No!” Aegon wails, a mourning, a surrender, and he collapses across the floor, and decades of fear and grief and fury come hemorrhaging out, and you expect that when you try to hold him he’ll push you away, but he doesn’t. He claws for you and his fingernails leave half-moon indentations in your skin, but you don’t mind because soon he’ll be gone: he’ll be flying to Turks and Caicos to marry Becca, he’ll be moving to Houston, Texas, he’ll be dying there of something horrible and painful and inglorious and unfair, he’ll be a secret and then a myth.

“I’m sorry,” you say over and over again, his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair, your voice fracturing and your throat burned to ashes. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. I wish I could change it. I would do anything to change it.”

And after a while, Aegon goes quiet and pulls away, and he sits on the floor as he absorbs it, staring vacantly at the photographs and the apples and the walls, dragging his hands through his disheveled hair to slick it back again. Then he turns to you and asks: “Do you want to go to the beach?”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve already been to Venice, and Baela and Jace once took you along with them to Santa Monica to walk the pier at dusk; and so today Aegon tells you to follow the 110 south, the 10 west, and finally the 1 north—and if you stayed on it you’d eventually hit Malibu, Santa Barbara, San Francisco, Point Reyes, Eureka, the Oregon border—to Pacific Palisades, where the water is calm and endless and the beach quiet, a few families picnicking on loose golden sand, a few amateur surfers bobbing on docile waves. Gulls flap and caw in a cerulean sky. From a boombox drifts Under the Bridge.

“I always felt like I had it,” Aegon says. His skin glows with the sunscreen you insisted on buying from a surf shop on the way here, SPF 50, but there is nothing in the world that can stop the poison his cells are already making, copying the defective gene’s lethal instructions again and again and again. You look at the crinkles that spring out from the corners of his eyes, the lines around his mouth, and you can see that he is aging—lack of sleep, lack of care—and you have the instinct to pull him back from the ledge of mortality. But for all the wonders of humanity, pyramids and chapels, submarines and satellites, for some reason the most essential magic eludes you.

“But you hoped you didn’t.” You hold the Legacea papers, still creased from where they were folded into thirds inside the envelope, as you and Aegon sit together on the sand. You keep reading the results: cystic fibrosis—variant not detected, hereditary thrombophilia—variant not detected, Parkinson’s disease—variant not detected, he’d be perfect if it wasn’t for one tiny thing, and that seems so unfair.

“That’s why I never told people. That’s why even though I was pretty sure I’d never have kids, I didn’t do anything permanent. Never got a vasectomy, even though I should have. Never saw a specialist. Never joined any support groups. I always thought...you know, maybe. Maybe I was wrong, and I was fine. And I wanted to have that to fall back on, so whenever I started thinking about it and got freaked out, I could say: You don’t know for sure. You might not have it. Aemond got tested because he felt it was the responsible thing to do, and Helaena and Daeron followed his lead because they trust him. I was the only one who didn’t want to know. And I’m the only one who has it.” He shakes his head; his blonde hair blows in the wind. “They had to deal with what happened to my dad. I can’t put them through that again.”

You re-read the results, the only one that matters: Huntington’s disease—variant detected, mutation of the HTT gene. “You’re so young, Aegon. Aren’t you too young to have symptoms? When I was researching, it sounded like it usually starts around forty, and then people can live into their fifties or even their sixties.” That’s almost a normal lifespan! you have to stop yourself from blurting out. That’s thirty more years we could have together!

“A lot of the time, that’s how it goes,” he says. “But there’s this thing in genetics called anticipation.” And then you remember what you overheard Aemond saying when you found him in Aegon’s office a few days after the charity gala: Because you’re still pretty young, but with anticipation...

“Aegon, what’s anticipation?”

“It means that in each generation, the disease shows up earlier and gets more severe. In Huntington’s, that’s especially true when it’s inherited from the father. My dad had visible signs in his late-thirties, got diagnosed at forty-five, and died at fifty-five. I’ve had symptoms since my twenties.”

So how many years does he have left? you think with horror. Five? Ten? And most of them will be bad. “Is that why you left acting?”

Aegon nods, looking out over the waves. “Every time I forgot a line or tripped over a step or something, I’d think it was proof that I had the gene, and it would send me into a spiral. And then because I was so nervous...fuck it, because I was so scared...I would make more mistakes, and get more panicked, and I just couldn’t deal with the...the emotional rollercoaster, I guess. So I got an office in Elysian Park far away from my family and all their industry friends, and I found an assistant I liked, and I met Becca...and I got everything lined up so if...” He shakes his head. “So when the time came, I could slip away without any drama or unnecessary pain for my family.”

“But you’re still mostly okay. You don’t have to leave Los Angeles yet.” You don’t have to abandon me yet. “I can drive you places. I can remember things for you. I don’t mind.”

Aegon gives you a sad, patient smile. “By the time people with this disease get really bad, they stop being able to tell how far-gone they are. And they aren’t competent to make decisions, and they hurt the people who are trying to help them, and it’s not so easy to disappear anymore. I can’t wait around for my brain to get hollowed out enough that I have no good days left. I can’t wait around until you’re finally convinced it’s the right time. You’re always going to be looking for excuses to keep me here. You’ll always see glasses as half-full.”

You think of the countless YouTube videos you’ve watched of Huntington’s patients since that night in Silver Lake when you learned what killed Woody Guthrie—people struggling to walk, to speak, to swallow, to recognize their loved ones—and you break down in sobs, covering your face with your hands as tears flood down your cheeks, the rivulets turning cold as the ocean breeze skates over them. “I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“None of us get a choice, sunshine,” Aegon says gently, laying a palm on your shoulder.

“Am I a symptom?”

“What are you talking about?”

You take a tissue out of your purse and sniffle into it, too mortified to meet his eyes. “Impulsive decisions, poor judgment, erratic emotions. Those are all symptoms of Huntington’s. So is this thing between us...is what you have with me, is it just...just...?” Just your brain dying, just a mistake like punching a fan or wrecking a car or forgetting that I was born in the Year of the Dragon?

“No,” Aegon says. “No, this is real. And the way I feel about you isn’t how I feel about anybody else.”

“But all those other women—”

“I fucked around because life is short and I didn’t want to miss out on things. And I felt like...you know...there will be a day when I’m never going to be able to have sex again. Just like there will be a day when I can never drive again, or help a client get a job, or make it through a barbeque at my family’s beach house without acting insane, or collect stars in Super Mario 64. But you’re not some maladaptive coping mechanism. I don’t sleep with clients. I genuinely really, really like you, and you make me feel better about the world, and I want to be around you all the time. But I can’t do that without ruining your life, you know? So what the fuck am I supposed to do with everything I feel for you?”

His hand is still on your shoulder, warm and safe and steady, and his oceanic blue eyes are resigned. You’re too late to change his mind. You’ve been too late since he watched Viserys crawl towards the grave over the span of a decade. “I would take care of you,” you tell Aegon, something you’ve offered before, and you mean this no matter how irrational he believes it to be.

“You’ll be sad for a while,” he says. “But then you’ll get busy with more roles and the promo tour for your movie, and you’ll have a nice normal boyfriend—maybe that Jace guy—and you’ll forget about me. And you can be an actress and have healthy kids and stay here in Los Angeles forever. You’ll have everything you ever wanted.”

Not everything, you think. Not you. “Why did you invited me to your wedding? It’s actually a really messed up thing to do. I’m supposed to celebrate you marrying Becca? Toast champagne and dance on the beach and eat hors d’oeuvres and then fly back here like nothing’s wrong?”

Aegon sighs and lies flat on the sand, lets the hot midday sun beat down on him, takes his black aviator sunglasses out of his jeans pocket and slides them on. “I invited you because my wedding is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, and I want all my favorite people there. And you are definitely one of my favorite people.”

You frown at the wave crests, glittering with daylight. “I can’t go to Turks and Caicos.”

“Why not?”

“Because Becca threatened to break my leg.”

Aegon bursts out laughing. “She what?!”

“She said she would push me down the stairs so I’d break my leg and wouldn’t be able to do any acting for months until it healed.”

He’s cackling. Circumstances aside, it’s nice to see him smile again. “Ignore her. She’s not serious. She tells everyone that.”

“She threatens all your mistresses with bodily harm?”

Aegon shrugs. “Her playbook is limited.”

You debate whether to tell him something, then decide this isn’t the day for secrets. “She pushed me outside your office one time. I fell over. That’s how I sprained my ankle.”

“Fuck, really?” Aegon says, peering up at you from the sand. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead, glistening with Coppertone Sport. “I’m so sorry. That should never have happened. I’ll talk to her.”

“I’m sure that’ll go well.”

“She’ll listen to me,” Aegon insists. “She’ll cave. She always does.”

You look at him, accusing, certain. “You don’t love her.”

“I couldn’t marry her if I did,” he says casually. “But she chose this. She could call it off anytime she wanted, but she won’t. I’ll go home tonight and find out she’s bought twenty books on nursing from Amazon. And it’s not forever. I’m a curse, not a life sentence. My clock is ticking down a lot faster than everyone else’s.”

What if I want that time with you? you think helplessly. What if I love you?

Aegon pushes his sunglasses up into his hair so he can study you with no obstructions, so there’s nowhere to hide. “The wedding might be your last chance to see me, you know?”

“Right,” you say, listening to the shrieks of circling California gulls and the dull primordial rumble of the ocean, a beast that swallows sunlight, a titan with no lifespan.

As you take the 1 southeast back towards Downtown, Elysian Park, Harbor Gateway, Aegon tells you to stop at the Getty Villa Museum. You don’t argue; you don’t want to go home yet either. You don’t want to lose a second of the time you have left with him.

There is an extensive collection of ancient Greek and Roman art, gods, goddesses, heroes, monsters, coins, weapons, magic. Here is an altar carved with the myth of Adonis, here is a horse made of oxidized bronze, here is a Breccia marble fertility goddess whose name no one remembers, here is a bust of Caligula, the emperor who went mad. You pause to admire a statue of Medusa, snakes instead of hair and a face twisted with wrath.

“Don’t look, she’ll turn you to stone,” Aegon whispers as he covers your eyes with gentle, feather-light hands. “That’s the last thing you need. Another curse.”

[vixonspixels]

Sleepwear collection

This months collection consists of a jumpsuit, chamise and a lace body suit

Available in 12 matching swatches

Base game compatible

Disabled for randoms

Available for free over on my patreon page here

[friendswithclay]

replastering An Adobe House At Chamisal, New Mexico. c.1940

Ph by: Russell Lee.

[victusinveritas]

Mike Davis, a prophet of California, wrote "The Case for Letting Malibu Burn" (link to the full piece) which earned him the wrath of developers, proven right, again, as catastrophic flames destroy enclaves of privilege and power and, like below, Pasadena. The Chumash and the Tong-va knew this. Controlled burns as a yearly occurence stretches back into time immemorial.

"Malibu, meanwhile, is the wildfire capital of North America and, possibly, the world. Fire here has a relentless staccato rhythm, syncopated by landslides and floods. The rugged 22-mile-long coastline is scourged, on the average, by a large fire (one thousand acres plus) every two and a half years, and the entire surface area of the western Santa Monica Mountains has been burnt three times over the twentieth century. At least once a decade a blaze in the chaparral grows into a terrifying firestorm consuming hundreds of homes in an inexorable advance across the mountains to the sea. Since 1970 five such holocausts have destroyed more than one thousand luxury residences and inflicted more than $1 billion in property damage. Some unhappy homeowners have been burnt out twice in a generation, and there are individual patches of coastline or mountain, especially between Point Dume and Tuna Canyon, that have been incinerated as many as eight times since 1930.

...

From the time of the Tapias, the owners of Rancho Malibu had recognized that the region’s extraordinary fire hazard was shaped, in large part, by the uncanny alignment of its coastal canyons with the annual “fire winds” from the north: the notorious Santa Anas, which blow primarily between Labor Day and Thanksgiving, just before the first rains. Born from high-pressure areas over the Great Basin and Colorado Plateau, the Santa Anas become hot and dry as they descend avalanche-like into Southern California. The San Fernando Valley acts as a giant bellows, sometimes fanning the Santa Anas to hurricane velocity as they roar seaward through the narrow canyons and rugged defiles of the Santa Monica Mountains. Add a spark to the dense, dry vegetation on such an occasion and the hillsides will explode in uncontrollable wildfire: “The speed and heat of the fire is so intense that firefighters can only attempt to prevent lateral spread of the fire while waiting for the winds to abate or the fuel to diminish.

Less well understood in the old days was the essential dependence of the dominant vegetation of the Santa Monicas—chamise chaparral, coastal sage scrub, and live oak woodland—upon this cycle of wildfire. Decades of research (especially at the San Dimas Experimental Forest in the San Gabriel Mountains) have given late-twentieth-century science vivid insights into the complex and ultimately beneficial role of fire in recycling nutrients and ensuring seed germination in Southern California’s various pyrophytic flora. Research has also established the overwhelming importance of biomass accumulation rather than ignition frequency in regulating fire destructiveness. As Richard Minnich, the world authority on chaparral brushfire, emphasizes: “Fuel, not ignitions, causes fire. You can send an arsonist to Death Valley and he’ll never be arrested.”

(Yes, I'm reusing some of the same images that I posted earlier. The point is the words that go along with the pictures. Mike Davis was brilliant and will be missed.)

[pia-nor481]

So I just spent £167 on lingerie so I have some thoughts. Oscar Piastri chooses what she wears and when. He likes the impracticality of the bright colours, or intricate patterns that can easily be seen through any article of clothing. He liked the full sets, bra, panties, stockings and suspenders. His favourite thing is to slowly take each item off, teasing her in the process;feather light touched just to make her squirm or push her hips up to meet his hands. Oscar LOVES babydolls, it’s just so convenient. He’s desperate and needs to be inside her as soon as possible!! She’s not allowed to sleep in cute pyjamas while he’s there, it’s his shirts or a pretty chamise.

[crudlynaturephotos]

[a-taste-of-sunlight]

@flyingprodigy wakes up and realizes that he's still dreaming. He's outside, laying on piles of soft bedding and numerous pillows, surrounded by opulent pillars with designs of golden filigree. There are low altars dotted about, laden with succulent fruits and cheeses, nuts and wineskins, decorated with beautifully woven garlands of brilliantly colored flowers.

The air is warm with a cool breeze occasionally kissing at Brad's cheeks and making him shiver pleasantly in his...hmm. He pulls lightly at the silk outfit, marveling at the fineness of the texture against his calloused fingers. It's a fetching shade of emerald, just this side of "too perfect to be real". It's lingerie of some kind, Brad isn't well-versed in the subject. This is a...chamise? A babydoll? He's more concerned that he's wearing lacey panties underneath it.

The man sits up to look around better, noting the too-perfect shade of blue of the sky. The way there's light but no blinding sun. This is definitely still a dream. Brad hears a noise and looks to his left.

"Oh, hello. Do you know where we are?"

He doesn't recognize the beautiful person nearby, with their smooth bronze skin and long red curls. They're also dressed in lingerie and seem to be just waking up as well. Brad hopes that he remembers this dream - it'll be wild to discuss it with Joey over breakfast.

((Hey! I mixed the prompts so Brad can be in a relationship and also have a naughty dream that he doesn't realize isn't entirely a dream.))

Thelios found himself having dreams like this more often. Ones of "waking up" in familiar places with people he knew for a fun night of rocking the bed—or whatever other furniture they bent him over—before waking up for real in sticky bedsheets. But even amongst those dreams, this one still felt... different.

He woke up in a different place this time, one that was unfamiliar, yet so light and fluffy, a pleasant mood filling the air. On his person was lingerie of some kind, with lace panties and thigh highs held up by a garter belt. He was pretty sure it was a babydoll, but Thelios was still learning about all the different kinds. To be honest, this wasn't even all that unusual with how many new outfits he was gifted to wear.

Thelios sat up, giving himself a big stretch before looking around, almost missing the person standing on his right. They were very attractive, but Thelios knew for certain that he had never seen them before in his life, making the situation just a little more odd.

"Mm... no, I don't recognize this place,"

Thelios hummed as he stood up, spinning around a little to take in his surroundings.

"It looks like something you'd see on Olympus though. Perhaps we're in Elysium,"

He laughed lightheartedly, taking some delicate steps towards the stranger.

[the-fiction-witch]

Worship My God

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating SMUT AF LIKE SERIOUS SMUT

Writes Notes: Okay! I know I don't often do this but this ain't a normal fic right here, that rating up there, that SMUT AF is not enough for this! is there was another level above SMUT AF I'm not even sure this would come under that it would be a bit to intense, So! I'm serious! Head my warning, this is gonna be serious! if your still in... enjoy the ride I guess.

I stood in my chamber and got myself into my frock for the day, as this day was to be a very remarkable day indeed if I had the strength to go through with it. I had been waiting for this day for longer than I could face and now it truly was here, I could scarcely believe it. Often pinching my arms to check I was not still in the cling of sleep.

"Will that be all Miss Y/l/n?" My Maid Isa asked as she finished up,

"Of course, head home Isa, I'll be just fine tonight," I told her,

She nodded and gathered up her things before she left my house.

I watched the clock's hands move agonizingly slow as I waited for this afternoon, The mere concept of what will soon transpire was beyond my own heart's reckoning. I could not help but bite my bottom lip, I held it between my teeth for the mere thought that he would be on his way here, the sound of his steps, the shift of his garments, the bounce of his hair all of it exhilarated me more than anything else in this world. The visual of him within my mind was enough to fill me with heart-racing adrenaline. I found each tick to be agony to wait as a tightness grew between my legs and a throbbing sensation that I knew I could not resist. 

I moved my body to my bed, I enveloped my arms around my wooden bedpost my fingers caressed the shapes in the wood. I forced myself closer and closer as I held the bedpost tighter until I felt the gentle curve of the spherical section make itself known against the petticoats of my frock. I adjusted myself in such a way, that my legs were on either side of the bedpost and my grip tightened as I absentmindedly and uncontrollably began to thrust my hips. 

Immediately I began to whine as the stiff wood rubbed through my dress onto where so desperately required attention, my fingers finding cubbies and sections to rest as my grip only tightened, my breath hitched and my mind flooded with ecstasy as I only got more and more frantic. My whines had by now turned to pleads and mutterings between moans "Uhhh! uuuhh!" I tried to restrain but these sounds came from me uncontrollably as did he whom had caused me to be this way. "Dr Dawkins... Ummmm..." I began to grow more merciless on myself but no matter how hard I tried, I could not reach the heights I needed leaving myself only to wallow in rising frustrations. 

I forced myself away and sighed, I spritzed my perfume and let my face cool down unable to quell these horrific frustrations. But I hoped that today may be the day. I headed downstairs and adjusted things in my living room, I made sure the windows were all tightly locked shuttered tight and curtains pulled, I threw a log on the fire to keep it burning gently, I lit a few candles around my room and adjusted pillows on the chamise and chair giving them a fair plump. 

My heart jumped into my throat as I heard a knock on the door, I almost wanted to scream.

I didn't want to wait but I didn't want to seem too eager, so I slowly went to the door and fixed myself in the mirror before I opened it. To the reveal the handsome sight. 

There on my doorstep stood Dr Dawkins, in his usual brown shoes, washed-out brown trousers with a hint of a darker brown plaid pattern to them but they had been so worn and washed it was almost unnoticeable, a long sleeve white shirt with well-worn slightly stained sleeves, a blue textured waistcoat in need of a good dust wack, a washed out green tie around his neck tucked into the waistcoat, a sort of purplish jacket over him unbuttoned and ill measured as the cuffs of his shirts could be seen beyond his sleeves, a black velvet hat sat upon his dirty blonde hair. In his hand his usual doctor's leather bag filled with various... instruments of torment and betterment. 

He saw me and a pleasant smile came across his lips, "Miss Y/l/n, Dr Dawkins." he smiled, 

"Yes, I was expecting you doctor," I blushed, "Do come in," I quickly opened my door to usher him in as fast as I could, the moment he was inside I shut the door and locked it tight in the hope no one saw him arrive, as who knows the kind of questions the town would mutter if people saw him come to my home. 

"Thank you, no Isa today?" he asked as he made his way to the living room, and set his bag on the table,

"No, no I gave her the evening off," I answered as I followed him in,

"Aww, what a lovely kind mistress you must be to her," he smiled, "I do apologize of course for you having to wait so long for this appointment, I have been strangely very busy of late."

"That's alright," I nodded, "Can't be helped,"

"No, of course, you're more than welcome to have Dr Sneed or Prof do your appointments if it's urgent." He explained,

"That's quite alright Dr Dawkins, you're worth the wait." 

"You're too kind," he smiled, as he slipped off his jacket and hat and sat them on the chair, as he often did, "You're my last one for the day, so we can take as long as we need,"

"That's good then," 

"Aww, no cakes today?" He fake pouted, "You almost always make cakes for me, I was looking forward to them." 

"I can make you some if you'd -"

"It's alright, I'm only kidding," he playfully chuckled, "Now, am I to take it this is regarding the muscle pain?" 

"Yes Doctor," I nodded,

"Right, still all over?"

"Mhm," I nodded, 

"Alright, no problem..." he explained as he made a note on his paperwork, "This is getting to be quite often now."

"it is,"

"You taking hot baths like I asked?"

"Yes Doctor, Daily."

"Daily! Ohh my, you really are bad." He said, "You still taking the medication I prescribed?" 

"Yes, Doctor,"

"Good," He nodded, "Alright," He said as he stood up and stiffened himself he adjusted his waistcoat with a tug on its bottom hem, "I'll give you a look over, see what I can do about your muscles see if anything sticks out at me and then we'll go from there alright?" 

"Yes, doctor." I nodded excitedly moved close to the fire and held my hands as I tried not to bite my lip or squeal with excitement, 

He chuckled a moment as he came over and pushed up his sleeves to his elbows, "See that's why you're one of my favourites," He smiled, and I tried not to explode at the thought I was one of his favourites, "such an accommodating little thing," He cooed, 

"Ohh you don't know how accommodating I'll be for you doctor..." I muttered,

"What?"

"What?!" I gulped as I realised I said that out loud, "I uhh I said of course I'll be accommodating for you doctor." 

"Good," he chuckled, "Now turn around for me," he asked, I nodded and turned to face the fire, "May I touch your neck?" He asked in an almost hushed tone, 

"Yes doctor Dawkins," I blushed, 

"Just relax for me," he cooed as his hands graced the skin of my neck, he was so gentle and slow as if touching a wounded frightened cat, his fingers traced the muscles of my neck stroking them and lightly massaging them, "May I touch your shoulders?" 

"Yes doctor Dawkins," I nodded as I bit my lip unable to prevent myself from looking in the mirror above my fireplace to watch his hands move over me, his hands callus and his nails short, a strength to his thin hands, his hands familiar enough with my body to know where he was going, for a second out eyes met in the reflection of the mirror as he glanced up into the mirror to see my face and we caught eyes, Immediately I put my eyes back to the fire's flame, even if I saw a smirk curl up on the corner of his lips. 

"Are you feeling some tightness?" he asked,

"Yes, Doctor,"

"Any stiffness?"

"Yes, doctor,"

"Any, tingling perhaps?"

"Yes. Very much." I nodded biting my lip harder 

"I see," He nodded, and his hands moved to my back slightly he massaged the top of my back which was enough for me to whine,

"Uhh!"

"It's alright I'll be gentle," He reassured, 

I did my best to remain composed as his hands travelled the length and breadth of my body almost every muscle felt his hands touch, his sweet massage enough to force noises from me not unlike what the bedpost had forced from me but these were far quieter as I attempted to conceal them or at least play them off as pain rather the of pleasure. I did my best to relax and enjoy every moment of it but my legs were so weak and between my legs so desperate. 

"Good, that's perfect." He nodded, "Now, open your mouth for me." 

I didn't hesitate to open my mouth as wide as I could and even stick out my tongue with my eyes closed, He came to face me and investigated a moment 

"Not painful is it?" he asked, I shook my head, "Good. That's very good." he nodded, "In." he demanded, so I did as he asked and moved my tongue back into my mouth and his hand came to my chin and shut my mouth for me, before he headed back to his bag, "Your pain doesn't seem to be getting any worse, which is good, I am a little concerned about your legs the muscles there seem to be a little more finicky but I think I'll up your medication and we'll see how you go," he explained as he made notes on his paperwork, 

Immediately I felt disappointed that this was all that was to happen, I mean it's all that ever happened but I had grown so sick of this waiting, that my impatience toppled over, this wasn't fair, he couldn't just leave, he can't be serious that he can't see what he's doing to me, he surely cannot be so cruel to just leave me like this. 

"Is that all?" I asked as I turned to him, 

He stopped a moment and looked up at me with a questionable look,

"I mean we've just been trying medications, and treatments over and over and nothing seems to be working, and I'm having to wait so long to even see you, surely there must be more you can do Doctor."

"It's muscle pain unless there's something you're not telling me there's not all that much I can do for you miss Y/l/n," he chuckled, 

"Don't you have any theories at least as to the course of my pain?"

For a moment there was silence between us, "I have a theory yes." 

"Which is?" 

"I'm almost convinced you have a very common condition, often seen in women your age." he explained, "Not much I can say about it, or do about it I'm afraid," 

"And what is it?" I asked, 

He chuckled, "In my professional opinion. There's nothing wrong with you." he said, and I froze up, "There's nothing wrong with you, no muscle pain, nothing of the sort, you're faking it. Have been for weeks."

"I uhh I see how uhh how did you reach such a conclusion?"

"Becuase I've been giving you sugar pills." He said and my jaw almost dropped, "You've had no medication for two months, plus the fact that your... whines of 'pain' don't match up to what my hands are doing, if you had muscle pain me rubbing on your back should have made you scream, not moan. The fact you are even able to get dressed into that dress let alone go out and wander about town tells me you're fine." He explained, "But... you do have a condition."

"I do?"

"Yes, it's called Woman in Need of a Man syndrome." He explained, "You're not hurt, you're horny." 

"I uhhhh I see." I blushed, "And in uhh your professional opinion what should I do to cure this need of a man?"

"Get married." He answered, 

"I see, yes I absolutely must but uhh... until then," I spoke up, "Is there anything you could do for me doctor Dawkins," 

"Really?" He smirked,

"I'm sure you know just the things to fix me, make me all better."

He chuckled, "You seem very confident in me. I do appreciate that Miss Y/l/n. I suppose I could provide... something for you if that would help?"

"Yes!" I yelped, but clamped my hand over my mouth given I didn't expect to be so loud, 

he chuckled again, "My, my, you seem so very energetic all of a sudden." He smirked, "You really are in need of a man." He smirked as he moved closer 

"Mhm," I whined, "I am very very badly in need of a man, I am in utter desperation for a man, in anguish, misery, need, deprivation for a man such as yourself doctor dawkins." 

"Never seen a lady with quite such enthusiasm for treatment?" He smirked as he rested his hand on his hip,

"Well, I uhh I wanna get better." 

"And would I be correct in assuming that you'd be willing to do... anything to get better?" 

"Anything you ask of me doctor Dawkins," I gasped, 

"Anything?" He smirked, "and what if I... had some particular tastes that would, require very specific things from you miss Y/l/n?" he asked in hushed tone inches from my face,

"I would have no objections." 

"Well then, are you... sure this is what you want?"

"Positive."

"and are you willing to keep our, treatment between us and your bedpost?" 

"Well, I uhh my bedpost may get jealous,"

"Might it?" he smirked, "Oh... Humm, I take it your bedpost is how you've been curving your hormones before?"

"Yes doctor, and my baths you so sweetly percribed." 

"I thought as much," He nodded, "Well then, just between us then?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Good, now... I must warn you, care for this condition can be a little, Explict I'd need to be looking at you very closely for a good while, I'd need to be touching places I would not normal, I'd need to be very... particular. But of course, you do understand this is purely for medical reasons?" 

"yes, medical reasons of course." 

"So, you won't get me in trouble?"

"Of course not doctor Dawkins." 

"Good girl," He cooed and immediately I wanted to faint, "Now you may be a little anxious or embarrassed but I promise I'm going to take good care of you, just try and remain nice and calm for me Y/n."

"I'll do my best Doctor." I nodded, 

"Now turn around and we'll begin your treatment," He smirked,

I did as he asked without question to stand face the mirror again but this time I couldn't dare look away from the reflection, as he came up behind me moved his lips to my ear, "May I touch you now?" 

"uhhh... Yes Doctor Dawkins," I moaned, 

he chuckled biting his bottom lip his brown eyes seemed to smile with the rest of his face in a wicked sly way, as he kissed my ears tragus before he spoke "Good girl, hold still for me," He demanded in a sly whisper as he nibbled on my ear lobe, his hands moved to my hips his thumbs rubbed on them hard which only caused his sly laughs to deepen, as his arms slowly enfolded my body his hands now on the opposite hip crossed over my stomach, "You're excitement is quite noticeable Y/n."

"Yes I uhhh I uhhh yes I'm sure my excitement is uhh noticeable to you Dr Dawkins, I uhh I'm sorry I'll do my best to be still," I answered as I stuttered like crazy,

"I never said it was a problem," he smirked, "You can be excited, you just have to be a good girl for me."

"I'll be good, I'll be very very good." I nodded,

He smirked his hands moved up my waist before he pulled back his eyes staring down at my ass as he held my waist, slowly his hands moved to stroke my curves his middle finger stroked under the curve of my ass slightly picked up the weight of me in his hand and let it drop again caused it to jiggle, which caused him even more amusement, before he slapped me firmly with an open hand,

"ohh!" I gulped, 

"Yes?"

"Nothing, nothing." I blushed, 

"That wasn't a protest from my good little girl was it?"

"No! no never. Doctor." 

"Good," He nodded, his hands snaked around my body caressed under my breasts his fingers traced the bones of my corset, "take off your dress."

"I-"

"I need to examine you, take off your dress." He demanded and snapped the button off that held the back of my dress which left me with no choice but to remove it, 

"Yes doctor," I blushed getting my dress off me as quickly as I could leaving me in my corset and underdress, he chuckled slyly and ran his hands over my corset,

He laughed wickedly as his hands stroked my shoulders before they dove into my corset and cupped my breasts in his hands "Pretty little thing aren't you?" 

By now I was a moaning mess, I didn't care what noises came out of me my heart racing fast, and my whole body throbbed with desire as he squeezed and fondled my bare skin pressing his body against my own, one hand left my breast to sit on my hip pulled my hips against his own and then stroking my thigh which only made me moan more,

"Humm Calm down Y/n." He smirked,

"I- I can't Doctor-"

"Relax for me... that's a good girl." He cooed his hand moving higher up my thigh and softly massaged my thigh and my breast in his hand,

"Please Doctor Dawkins,"

"Please what Y/n?" He whispered in my ear,

"Please... Touch me." I begged,

"I am touching you Y/n," he smirked, "Where would you like me to touch you?" He whispered,

I didn't even hesitate I grabbed the wrist of his hand that had been on my thigh and moved it over to between my legs,

"Oh." he smiled slyly, "Are you sure this is where you want me to touch you?" his fingers began to stroke my mound through my underdress, 

"Yes! Yes! Please! Please, Doctor Dawkins...." I begged, 

"Humm... You really are horny aren't you?" he bit my ear lobe a little hard as his thumb rubbed my mound through my underdress his other hand now shifted the weight of my breast in his hand as he plaid with it, "You want me to touch you, don't you?" he smirked, 

"uuuhhhh! yes! yes Please Doctor Daskins! Please! I'm begging you." 

"Begging me are you?"

"Yes! Yes! I'm begging you please," I whined and tried to push his hand where I so needed him but he slapped my hand away, 

"Beg for me." he whispered, "Beg for my hand Y/n." 

"uhhh! Please, please, please, please, please, please! Please, Dr Dawkins! Please! I'll do anything! Anything! I'll do anything you ask! Anything you want! I'll be yours just touch me please!"

"Anything? Really?"

"Anything! Anything! Anything!"

"Anything?" He asked milking the word for all it was worth, 

"Anything! I'll be yours! I'll be your toy! Your pet! I'll let you do anything you want just please let me have your hand!"

"what a good girl," he cooed, "Anything at all? Even if that included-" 

"Anything!" I screamed, "Physical, emotional, intimate, anything you desire of me, Dr Dawkins."

He chuckled again "You are very willing." he smirked, "What a poor desperate little girl," 

"yes! Just please please im- I'm-" I moaned "Uhh Dr Dawkins, please! I'm desperate! I'll do anything, anything you ask just please!"

"Tell me how bad you want me," he growled, 

"Uhhh! Dr Dawkins!" I moaned, "I want you! I need you! I worship you! I'm begging you for your mercy please!"

"Worship me?"

"Yes! Yes! I worship you, I beg for your mercy, I adore you so utterly, I worship your voice, your body, your very existence, I will be your adoring worshiper, your slave if you so asked it of me If my god would only give me what I do desire."

He moaned into my ear as he heard me say that, "Ummm, How the fuck have you never got a man when you talk like that..." He groaned, "Uhh Be a good girl, and worship your god. Show me how desperate you are, price to me how willing you are to serve me." 

I didn't hesitate Immediately I turned to face him and moved to my knees on the cold wooden floor the moment I did he gave me a look questionable but not like he was going to stop me, I set my hands on the floor between my knees and looked up at him with a wide innocent smile, "ohh my sweet sweet doctor, please let me worship all of you doctor," I pleaded, "let me prove to my doctor what I will do for him"

"Then prove it. Prove to me what a good girl you can be." He smiled as he stroked my jaw, "Show your god how you worship him." 

I blushed but began to kiss the top hem of his trousers felt the soft cotton against my lips, felt his breaths through his stomach, I tugged a little on his trousers and felt the resistance of his suspenders, so I undid them which forced a moan from his lips, I tugged them apart and tugged down his white underwear and I was taken back immediately as the size of him, certainly more then I expected and now it was truly revealed to me that he too was desperate as he couldn't conceal just how hard his cock stood, his stiff his shaft staid, how he throbbed with the desire for attention, "ohh my sweet sweet doctor, please let me worship all of you doctor" I plead "May I-" I began

"Yes." He gasped, not even waiting for me to finish the question, I blushed to think he was so needy for me and I pouted my lips and blew air across his shaft, "Uhh! don't tease your god Y/n." 

"Ohh? Will I face your wrath?"

"You might," he smirked, 

I smiled and gently began to press soft kisses to his shaft, I began at his hilt and slowly peppered kisses to his head and back again, he began to gasp more often and squeeze his eyes tight, "Ohh Dr Dawkins, Dr Dawkins," I muttered between kisses, which only seemed to tease him more, but I couldn't wait any longer I sat back a moment and opened my mouth as wide as I could stick out my tongue out for him before I took his cock into my mouth completely and gently began to suck,

"Ughhhhh!" He groaned his hands came to my head and held my hair, I did my best to insure I pleased him sucking him slowly, moved my head back and forth down the length of his shaft, and licked my tongue around his head, I was so fueled by his moans and groans above me being very vocal for me, his head thrown back and his jaw hung low, "Ughhhh! Uuuhhh! fuck! uuuummm! Yes Yes! Like that! Uhhhhhh!" he moaned, I often opened back allowed my sweet sounds to be heard my little moans and whines vibrated his cock which only seemed to make him more desperate, "Ughhh! Good girl, such a good good girl," he cooed and stroked my jaw he glanced down at me so I made the most innocent of eye contact which drove him insane, "Ughhhhh! fuck! Ummm you look so good when you worship me Y/n!" he groans "Uhghhhh- Please please-" He begged and I felt so so lovely to hear him plead for me so I continued I made sure I didn't change anything, "Just... keep... Go- UGhhhhhhhh!" He grabbed my hair hard and dug his fingers into my head as his hips jolted himself to deep throat me almost made me gag but I stayed still as the warm slightly salty liquid sputtered around my mouth, he quickly pulled out of my mouth and slowly began to soften the moment he released, he gasped, and groaned between his breaths as he tried to calm himself down after such a rush of pleasure, but with a satisfied smile, 

I giggled a little while still sat on my knees my hands between my knees, in my white underdress and cream corset, my mouth hung open wide enough he could see but not wide enough to lose anything that I held in my mouth, I slightly stuck out my tongue as I had earlier and allowed him to see the mess he had made of my mouth, made sure to make the most seductive eye contact I could, 

"Good girl," he smirked, "what are you gonna do with all that then?"

I smiled and licked my lips before I swirled my tongue around my teeth and the sides of my mouth before finally shut my mouth and swallowed and I made sure I made a loud enough gulp that he heard me. 

"A very good girl indeed," He cooed and stroked my jaw again, "I'm surprised just how eager you are to worship me Y/n." 

 "My doctor wants more?" I cooed as I opened my mouth again, 

"More?" He asked a little breathy, 

"Again?"

"humm again? You want to do it again?"

"I want to prove how much I need my doctor and how much I adore him, I will do anything you ask, if you wish for me to do it again I will do it as many times as you ask"

"Well, well, what a very good girl to praise me so." he smirked, "but I think I want to reward my sweet girl for all her worship would you like that?"

"Yes, doctor Dawkins." 

"On the chair, with your legs open. Now." He demanded as he pulled on my hair to force me in the direction of the chair, 

"Ughhh Yes! Doctor Dawkins!" 

[doyoureallyneedtoknowme]

chamise @ frets music (riverside,ca)

[zimwy]

in his time, barnes has braved a bestiary of creatures and aliens, crawled on his belly through acid muck and hostile flora inhabiting a distant universe, seen and done things no man, woman, or child should see or do. the role of soldier was writ into his very bones; he was dauntless, fearless, and a machine with a beating heart.

even still, he's not sure if he can do this. some ancient, primordial anxiety sweats him like a thirsty whip to pliant skin. make friends, steve had urged, clasping bucky's real hand over his prosthetic with both roughened, steady palms. i wouldn't ask unless it was important.

his ass, important. the dark lord assuredly marks his presence long before the doors give way to his resting room, the fine chamise against a stained glass window (to block out the sun, a thought interjects) making bucky feel outclassed and nervous.

' uh, ' barnes grunts, scanning the room. he doesn't see dracula at all, and suddenly wishes it was the winter soldier shouldering into his domain. ' i, uh, we, got this.. stuff, for you, for valentines day. i'm not.. like, hitting on you. steve asked me. ' the winter soldier was all tactics, no nerves. the winter soldier would make itself indomitable, even to a grand vampire like this. bucky supposes it shouldn't surprise him that he's real--he's seen stranger--yet somehow the nature of dracula made him feel like a cornered child. he sets the presents down. ' cause we think you're real handsome and all. ' it's barnes' typical needling personality bleeding through, smoothing away his boyish anxiety. truthfully, he had yet to lay eyes on dracula outside of his intel files. but some part of him thinks the winter soldier has seen him before. every time he saw the images, they bore deep into some part of his brain, a buried chapter or a locked chest.

he frowns at the vague, eclectic dark. ' you know, y'could come out and say hi. unlike some people, i don't bite. '

@vldtepes