#Recognized art master of today

[ventique18]

~ Little Hobbies ~

A 🌸 who likes creating mini clay figurines.

They were really tiny and weren't exactly the type you'd call masterful works of art, but for Malleus they were like a harbinger of luck to ensure the day goes by smoothly, or turn the mood of one gone sour.

If you thought a lopsided figure of a fat cat would not contribute to anything significant, you would be dead wrong. When you left it by his desk one day, waiting for his arrival in class in your stead, he wondered what manner of a fool would leave trash in his seat. Until he recognized the figure-- that it was of the image of the direbeast Grim-- that he realized it was a token from you.

Professor Trein praised him for being unusually attentive that day.

Many years later, and you seemed to not have grown tired of your little hobby. It was miniature as usual, with all the same charm, but the main difference from back then was that the quality now would be what he would call tiny masterful works of art.

"I have a little grotesque greeting me today."

"That's supposed to be a gargoyle..."

"Unless you have secretly installed a water spout inside this, then it is, indeed, a grotesque and not a gargoyle."

You grinned at him, "But aren't grotesques supposed to be carved stone figures? Then it's not a grotesque either, since it's made of clay."

"Hm. You had me there. Clever little thing."

He pulled his soft, velvety seat from the work desk that both of you occupied. Though it was rather unheard of in this country for a couple to be this close professionally, he insisted and fought tradition for you and him to share the same office room for your more-or-less similar responsibilities.

He reached out to the opposite side of the desk. He knocked on it three times with a finger, as if he was announcing that he was to invade your personal space, before pushing a stone figure your way.

"As repentance for my mistake," he announced cheekily, "an actual grotesque."

It was a hideous cat today. He never knew how horrifying his figures looked and you never bothered to tell. There was no need to, because as unusual as they were, they were his definition of cute; an honest attempt at reciprocating your little gestures.

So with a smile, you cradled it safe in your palms. It would be your little cheer-up symbol for the day, before it got safely stored away in a shelf full of his collection or your works, and your collection of his works. An odd display of this and that for others perhaps. But you were certain that in time, history would never forget this little corner of your home.

A shelf full of physical reminders of every silent 'I love you's shared between you two.

[latenightdaydreams]

The Chair (fem)

Poll story!

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, mentions of cheating, p in v, oral, cucking, dirty talk

3.3k word count

🪑

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After three years of marriage, you found out that your husband, Hugo, has been having an affair for the last two years. He completely broke your heart. Trust was something you struggled to build, and he just completely shattered yours. After only three months of therapy, Hugo comes to you with the idea of making things ‘even’ between the two of you; allowing you to cuck him.

Hugo only made you even angrier when he said this to you. You’ve never thought about having sex with another man before. For one, your self-esteem was so low now. You love Hugo, you’ll never see another man in the same way as you see Hugo- so you thought.

It’s Saturday; you’re dressed in a simple white dress that clung to your shape. Hugo was invited to his best friend’s brother’s homecoming and took you with him. He quickly left your side at the party to go mingle with his friends, making you feel rejected. You make your way to the kitchen where it’s quiet, leaning back against the counter and looking out the window.

König sees you by yourself, so he approaches you. The way your dress clings to you catches his eyes immediately. He walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, grabbing two beers. With one hand stretched out handing you a beer, his mask hides his expression.

“Hallo, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” His Austrian accent piques your interest.

“Oh, thank you.” You grab the beer. “I’m y/n.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m König.”

Your eyes go wide and you smile as you realize this is who everyone is waiting for. “Oh, everyone is outside waiting for you.”

“I know, I’m avoiding the crowd for as long as I can.” He chuckles as his eyes openly trail down your body. “Who are you here with?”

“Hugo—”

“Jakobs friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Who would have thought little Hugo could pull someone like you?”

A smile pulls across your lips as you let out a soft giggle. König stands at 6’10 while Hugo stands at 5’8. He chuckles with you as he steps closer to you. Just then, the sliding back doors open. It’s Hugo with Jakob.

“König!” Jakob excitedly rushes to his brother.

Hugo’s smile slowly fades away as he eyes you and König, seeing how close you two were just standing. You gazed up at him with bright eyes, the same as you used to look at Hugo with. His heart skins to his stomach.

König turns to see Hugo, his eyes dead as he glares at him. König wants his wife. Craved his wife. He’s going to have her.

A few weeks pass. König has added you on all social media. Today, while at the gym, he sent you a gym selfie. He’s shirtless and flexing. His body is riddled with scars, sculpted like a piece of art. König’s blonde hair covers part of his face, your eyes glued to the dark blonde hair that trails from his belly button down.

As you inspect the photo, you close your legs and press them together. Hugo see’s your movement and recognizes it as you being aroused. He smirks.

“What are you reading?” He stands and walks to you, assuming that you’re reading smut. As he gets closer, he sees you quickly close what looked like a man’s photo.

“Nothing.” You stand and walk away to the bedroom.

While there was a feeling nagging at him, he let it go. The sex life between the both of you is basically nonexistent since the affair came to light. He figured it was simply porn. The conversation that comes next, he wasn’t expecting.

You both sat at the dinner table, pushing your food around with your fork as you contemplated your next words. Hugo notices that you’re lost in thought. He clears his throat and sits up.

“Um, are you okay babe?”

“Hm? Yeah.” You place the fork down on your plate. “I want to talk.”

“Okay.” Hugo can feel his heart beginning to sink.

“Do you remember when you offered me the option to have sex with someone else? Cucking?”

Swallowing hard, Hugo nods with a look of dread on his face. Please don’t let it be König.

“I want to take you up on that offer.” You look up, making direct eye contact with him.

Hugo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Do you know who?” He picks up his glass of water, taking a big gulp.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Who?”

“König.”

Hugo leans back in his chair and rubs his hands over his face as he lets out a deep breath. “König?” He leans forward, arms coming down hard on the table. “What makes you think he would even like you?”

His insecurities begin to show through his words and body language. He holds himself like an injured boy. As if the simple mention of König killed his ego.

“He’s told me.” You look at him with a new found confidence.

“He told you? When?”

“We’ve been talking.”

“How?” Hugo’s eyes widened.

“Social media and texting.”

Hugo stands, combing his fingers through his hair. This can’t be happening. Not with König. “For how long?”

“Since the party.” You watch him pace back and forth.

“Have you seen him?” He stops and looks at you with pleading eyes.

“Only for lunch.” You admit.

“Only for lunch.” He repeats, shaking his head, dropping it to look at the floor.

“He said he’s free Friday night.”

Hugo slowly looks back up at you in disbelief.

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Friday night, you have fresh sheets on your bed, a bottle of wine, three wine glasses, and a chair in front of the bed. You’re dressed in a short silk negligee, the deep blue color complimenting your skin tone perfectly.

Hugo looks at you. He never thought he’d be sharing you with someone. Then he thinks about the pain he causes you over the past two years. The doorbell ringing pulls him out of his thoughts. He walks forward towards the door and opens it to see König without his mask on. His face is covered in scars, but he’s still a handsome man. Hugo always felt inferior to König, being over a foot shorter than him.

“Hallo, Hugo.” König smiles and walks past him into your home.

König’s eyes fall on you, the way your little negligee hugs your body; it’s like you’re a gift for him to open.

“Hallo, Liebling.” He walks to you and hugs your body tightly. “You look magnificent.”

“Thank you.” There is a cheerful giggle in your voice. It sickens Hugo. Your small hand slips into König’s. “Follow me.”

Hugo watched you lead König upstairs towards your shared bedroom. He followed reluctantly. He knows you’re going up with or without him.

You enter the bedroom with König. As you go to open the wine bottle, König gently swoops in and takes the bottle from you.

“I’ve got this.” He opens the bottle for you, his muscles flexing under his tight black shirt as he does so.

König pours wine into each glass, a little extra into the third. He hands you one, then turns to Hugo and hands him the fuller one. A little smirk on his lips as he looks down on Hugo. “Here go, a little extra for you to relax.”

You take a large drink of your wine and place it on the bedside table. König’s eyes travel up your legs to your plump ass, the way it sways as you move. He places his glass down alongside yours. His large hands wrap around your waist and hold you in a firm grasp.

König leans his body down, his lips pressing into yours passionately. You quickly reciprocate, your lips parting slightly to lick his lips, causing König to chuckle, “Eager little one, aren’t you?” He grabs you by your thighs and lifts you in his arms.

“You may want to take a seat now.” König turns to Hugo as he holds you in his arms.

Hugo looks at you in König’s arms as he holds you. You look like Aphrodite in Ares's arms. He saunters to the seat in front of the bed and sits, wine in hand. There is nothing else to do but to watch you with him.

König gently lays you down on the bed, his lips clashing against yours as your tongue twirls around one another’s. Slowly his lips leave yours and trail down your neck, drawing small sighs of pleasure from your mouth. One hand comes up and squeezes your breast gently, his fingers coming around your nipple and lightly pinching. A small moan leaves your lips, followed by a nervous giggle.

He backs up to see you with a warm smile, leaning down to kiss your lips again. Hugo sat, watching the chemistry shared between the two of you, and it makes him feel sick. This is suppose to be a fuck, not…whatever this is.

König stands upright and undresses. He pulls his shirt off to expose the body you’ve only ever seen in photos, in person. Your eyes roam up and down his body. He is stunning. The black shirt he had on is tossed to the edge of the bed. His hands undo his belt buckle. You sit up to help him, your lips pressing against the warm skin of his chest.

A deep sigh leaves König’s lips as he combs his fingers through your hair, your gentle kisses sending a chill throughout his body. Once his pants are undone, he pulls his pants down, kicking them off to the side. His enormous erection is pressing up against the fabric of his boxer briefs, his cock so big his tip sticks out the waistband of his underwear.

Hugo’s eyes travel up and down König’s body. He feels his anxiety spike, taking a big drink of his wine. The way you touch him, it’s as if you’ve been thinking about this for a while. You’re enjoying his body. His eyes follow your hand, go to his cock and grasp it through his underwear. König’s hands on your jaw, holding your face to him as he kisses you passionately.

You grab König’s hands and move them, kissing down his chest again until your lips reach the bit of cock sticking out. Your tongue licks over the tip, scooping up a dab of pre-cum that has come to the surface. König looks down at you as you pull down his boxer briefs, your warm wet mouth slowly wrapping around his cock.

König lets out a loud groan as he gazes down at you. He looks over to Hugo with a smile before wrapping some of your hair around his head and guiding your mouth down the shaft of his cock. You eagerly accept his cock, taking in as much as you can as you suck.

Hugo shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Even if he turns away, it doesn’t help. The sound of his cock fucking your mouth consumes the room. You gaze over at Hugo shifting uncomfortably and it made you feel happy to see. Slowly pulling your head off his cock, eyes gazing up at him.

“Let’s take this off of you.” König whispers as he moves back slightly to pull your negligee off. You lift your hands above your head and to assist him. He steps back more to see your bare breasts and the small blue thong that covers your precious little cunt.

Hugo feels sick watching König look at your body. He looks at you the same way a dog would look at a piece of meat. He’s hungry for you like Hugo has never been.

“Look at this body…you look like a work of art, Liebling.” König grabs your body and pulls you back onto the bed more.

Your head rests on your pillow as König crawls over your body. His lips meet yours as one hand explores. One caresses your cheeks, the other plays with your nipples between his fingers before moving down more to your pussy, his fingers rubbing the thin fabric. He can feel how wet you are for him and it drives him wild.

His fingers hook into the fabric of your thong and pull it down slowly. Your creamy pussy comes into view as he sees the mess you made in your underwear. “Beautiful.” He whispers to himself. Without looking back, he tosses your thong behind him. It lands on Hugo’s lap, causing him to just look at it before looking back up at you.

Hugo watches as König spreads your legs with his knees, getting his body comfortable between your legs. König’s cock rubbing up and down along your folds, relishing the wet heat. The view Hugo has, he watches as he slips his cock into your pussy. Your legs instantly tensing around König’s body. A loud moan leaves your lips as he sees König’s balls press against your ass, burying himself deep inside of your cunt.

König pulls his hips back before slamming them down into you again, watching as you jerk forward and your eyes flutter. Your fingernails are digging into his forearms as you try to hold on to him.

“Please…” You whimper.

“Please?” König teases, licking from your chin to your lips.

“Fuck me…”

König looks to his side and grabs a pillow, tossing it on the side of the bed. Without withdrawing his cock, he lifts your body and turns you. “So, Hugo can get a better view of that beautiful face with I make you cum.”

Hugo has no reaction but to glare at König. In that moment his mind begins to flash back to all the moment’s he has ever spent with König. He never thought he would be in this situation with him.

König lifts one of your legs to be over his shoulder, the other he pushes off the bed. Your foot falling on Hugo’s lap. König pulls out slightly as there are streaks of your creamy arousal up and down his cock.

“Look at that, your wife has a beautiful pussy.” König makes eye contact with Hugo before looking down at you. He grasps your breast as he fucks you.  His hips roll into you desperate to bury himself deeply into you.

Hugo can’t help but to get an erection as he watches König stretch you beyond anything he could imagine. Your face contorted into a pleasurable high, you don’t even look in his direction; as if he wasn’t even there.

“Oh my god König…” You mewl, lifting your head to look at your vagina and watch him fuck you.

“Your pussy is fucking…heavenly.” König growls.

“I love your cock.”

Hugo feels his heart drop and a pang of jealousy flare deep within. Especially when König begins to taunt him. He pulls his cock out, grabbing your effortlessly as if you were a doll. He moves the pillow too, placing you over it, lifting your ass to him.

You are now face to face with Hugo, König begins bullying his cock back into you. He grabs your waist and holds you, watching your ass bounce off of his hips as he bucks forward into you. Intertwining a handful of your hair between his fingers, he pulls your head back and makes you look at Hugo.

“Say it again, Liebling.”

“Please…” You whimper pathetically needing him to fuck you harder.

“Nein, the other thing.”

“I love your cock, König.” You moan out as you look into Hugo’s eyes. You can see the discomfort and pain he feels; you can truly careless. “Please fuck me!”

“Such a good girl!” He slaps your ass, continuing to hold your head up as he fucks you harder.

Your mouth drops open as you forget words and just babble sounds of pleasure. Hugo watches as your eyes flutter back. Reaction’s he’s never gotten out of you before. “König please!”

“Look at your husband and beg.” He growls pulling your hair harder.

“Please make me cum! Please!”

“More. Beg for another man’s cock!”

“Please! I want to cum on your cock!”

You look Hugo right in the eyes as you tremble on König’s cock. “Fuck…”

König pulls his cock out quickly and drops to his stomach between your legs. His tongue presses flat against your folds and licks up, tasting your cunt finally. His tongue lapping at your clit, causing your legs to twitch with every pass.

“I don’t know how you don’t eat this pussy every day.” König makes the comment to Hugo. “Maybe I should come over and do it for you.”

You moan and run your fingers through his hair, looking down at his pink tongue parting your folds to drink you in. If you could have König over everyday for this, you really would.

“Too bad you ship out again soon.” Hugo says in a snarky tone, reminding you both of the temporary bliss.

“Watch it, I can bring a spouse to base with me.” König makes eye contact with you as his wet lips kiss your pussy’s fat mound, biting it gently. You caress his face; he moves up to kiss your lips. Your tongue pushes out to taste yourself along his hips. König lets out a small moan; trailing his hands up and down your body, grabbing your waist and kissing you lustfully.

For a moment, you both forgot Hugo was even there. König pulls away from the kiss, letting his hand trail down your body before grabbing you and sitting you on his lap. Your back is on his chest as he drapes your legs over his muscular long legs. He scoots the edge of the bed, uncomfortably close for Hugo’s liking.

Hugo adjusts himself in his pants as he watches König grab his cock and slowly thrust up, showing it into you. He watches as your lips spread and wrap tightly around him. König wraps his arms under each of your knees and pins his hands back behind your head, holding you in the Full Nelson position.

You’re folded in half as König uses you as a flesh light. Ramming his cock rapidly into your messy wet cunt. König’s muscular legs flex with every thrust.

“Whose cock is better?” König’s voice is a low growl as he speaks.

Eye’s locked with Hugos, “Your cock König.”

Hugo looks away, still forced to hear you repeat over and over that you love König’s cock better. König’s humongous 10-inch cock over Hugo’s average 5.5-inch cock. Of course you liked his better. The way you look like you’re in a different world with every thrust, he already knew.

König can’t hold back any longer. Your little cunt is the first he’s had in four years and he’s done his best to not cum too fast. The sounds of your beautiful moans, the feel of your lovely pussy…he can’t.

“Beg for my cum, Liebling.”

“Please cum in my tight pussy.”

Hugo sits at the edge of his seat, about to speak up. You both agreed to not let him cum in you. He’s not supposed to risk getting you pregnant. It’s bad enough he’s fucking you completely raw, which you said you wouldn’t let happen.

“Fuck, I’m cumming.” König pants.

“Yes!”

Hugo watches König’s heavy balls tighten as they drain deep inside of his wife’s pussy. His cock throbs as soft moans leave his lips.

König lifts you up, letting his cock pop out of your pussy. His white cum drips out of your stretched hold. Hugo just sits and watches it drip out.

“Want to taste it?” You rub your clit teasing Hugo.

He just looks into your eyes with a serious look, a look of pain. “No.” His voice cracks slightly.

.

.

The next morning, you wake up with a pep in your step. Your skin is glowing and a wide smile is spread across your lips. As you pour yourself a cup of coffee Hugo sits at the kitchen table, watching you. He feels sick, but at least the ‘payback’ is over, he thinks.

You sit and sip your coffee, looking at your phone. König snaps you a photo of his hard cock with the text saying, “I dreamt of you all night.”

“I can’t wait to see you again.”

“When does Hugo leave for work?”

“Come over in an hour.”

[just1cefor4ll]

—You’re the kind of person they write rock songs about

-modern!au Viktor x fem!reader warning. not proof read, swearing, might be OOC

part one || part two

‼️A/N. if anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this fic, let me know!! ‼️

'Taste me, you will see

'More is all you need..'

You were an art major with dreams of becoming a performer—a passion that stuck to you during your high school years. It wasn’t always a dream of yours; as a child, you’d imagined yourself as a ballerina or a doctor saving hundreds of lives but everything changed when the gates of high school and teenage drama opened up to you.

In your sophomore year, you and a few friends stumbled upon a shared love for music and decided to form a small rock band. Powder, your best friend, took the lead as the singer. Her stepsister, Isha, played the drums, while Ekko, Powder’s boyfriend, handled the bass. You took on guitar duties and backup vocals. The band quickly became a big part of your lives, and you weren’t half bad.

By the time you all made it to college—except Isha, who was in her senior year of high school—you were performing at local bars and small venues. The gigs didn’t pay much, but they weren’t a loss either, and your parents were proud of your dedication.

You got more of a recognition when the principal assigned you and the band to play some of your own songs or whatever covers you deemed fit for the occasion and even got an award which earned you the title of the ‘schools rock stars’ by most of the people who attended that day and it quickly spread and stuck until graduation.

The journey, however, wasn’t always just rainbows and sunshine. Learning guitar and perfecting your singing skills took patience, and there were moments of frustration.

Your forgetfulness and stupidity often kicked you right in the ass—or well, fingers— having to buy a new guitar pick every few days leaving your fingers bloody and sore. On a particular night performing at the Last Drop your guitar was left bloodied after you thought it would be an absolutely genius idea to play Metallicas ‘Master of Puppets’ which luckily went great! The crowd went wild however it did earn you quite a scolding from Vander as he carefully put band aids on each of your fingers. However he could tell by the proud look on your face that you thought it was worth it, people coming up to cogratulate you on your performance, suggesting songs or giving you sweets they bought as a sort of reward and all Vander could really do was laugh at his daughter’s best friends foolishness.

While you immersed yourself in music, Viktor—a double major in physics and engineering—navigated a completely different world. His close circle of friends—Vi, Powder’s older sister; Jayce, Mel and Caitlyn, Vi’s girlfriend—shared little in common with your bandmates, yet you crossed paths by chance from time to time. Viktor knew of you mostly through Vi and Jayce’s stories or from the few times he happened to see your band perform.

One such instance was prom, where he watched you take the stage with confidence. Another was a night at The Last Drop, where Viktor had ended up by chance when Vi dragged the group into the establishment for a few drinks.

Today the bar was as lively as ever. The dimly lit bar was packed, and the familiar hum of chatter and clinking glasses filled the air before the first note was played. “Are you ready?” You half screamed into the mic as a roar of cheers and claps bounced through the walls. You strummed your fingers along the strings of your guitar, gifted to you not long ago by your friends since your old one was pretty wrecked however it still had it’s place and on display in your bedroom as a symbol of where you first started while Isha got into the beat of ‘Can’t stop’ by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

You saw a few faces light up but most didn’t quiet recognize the song but still looked like they were enjoying themselves as the chatter slowly died down, all eyes and ears on your performance.

Viktor sat in the corner with Vi, Jayce, and Caitlyn, his attention flitting between their conversation and the band on stage. He wasn’t one for loud, crowded places, but something about your music intrigued him. He knew of the rock genre because of Jayce being quite a fan of System of a Down and many other bands he would need a whole notebook to name however Vi had a big part of the introduction herself but he adjusted to the change of genre he wasn’t quiet familiar with before he met his dear friends.

There was a passion in your performance that resonated with him, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

After the set, you stepped off the stage, sweaty and exhilarated. Powder gave you a playful nudge, her eyes twinkling with pride. “Killed it as always,” she said with a grin.

“Thanks, Pow,” you replied, wiping your brow. Your gaze swept across the room, catching sight of a group you vaguely recognized—Vi’s crew. As if on queue Vi averted her gaze from the group and caught your attention, waving you over, and though you hesitated for a moment before you all made your way to their table. “Hey, Rockstar!” Vi greeted, giving you a playful smirk. “Nice set tonight. You finally learned how to tune that thing, huh?”

You rolled your eyes at her teasing. “Thanks, Vi. You still can’t keep a beat, though, can you?”

The group laughed, and you found yourself pulled into their orbit. Introductions were made, though most were unnecessary—you already knew who they were. When it came to Viktor, however, there was an awkward pause.

“Viktor,” he said, offering a polite nod. You smiled and gave your name in response and decide to strike up a conversation with the man. “Thanks for sticking around! You don’t seem like the type for these kinds of outings.” You say truthfully and chuckle nervously.

“It was... impressive,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but sincere. “You’d be correct on that last part. I don’t often attend these kinds of events, but your performance was captivating.” His accent was foreign to you yet it was a cute quality, making your stomach flutter with butterflies. The compliment however caught you off guard. You weren’t used to that kind of earnest praise, especially from someone who seemed like they’d be more of the jazz or pop type. “Thanks,” you said, a bit bashfully. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

The conversation shifted back to the group, but Viktor’s words lingered in your mind. Something about his quiet demeanor fascinated you, and you couldn’t help but want to know more about this mystery of a man.

That night when you all went your seperate ways once you got to the college dorms, Powder noticed how lost in thought you were; basically just lying on the bed and looking at nothing. “Okay, what’s with your teen spirit Cobain?” She chuckles at her own joke and you look at her with a ‘really?’ face, letting out a giggle of your own. “So many other jokes out there and that’s what you come up with?” You push her shoulder playfully and sit up from your bed, facing her. “Okay, okay.. enough shaming my stand up comedy, what’s wrong Y/N?”

“That Viktor guy from your sister’s group.. with the accent and shit?” You start as a smirk sneaked onto her lips, kicking her feet in the air as she lied on her stomach. “Yeaah?” “Well I don’t know, something about me just.. makes me want to get to know him you know?” You sigh, throwing yourself onto Powders bed, lying on her stomach. “He’s such a nerd though! From what Vi told me over the phone a few times he’s like a workaholic but ten times worse girl. And he looks like he has a couple conditions.. probably should get that checked.” She mumbled to herself, making you giggle. “Come on Pow that’s just straight up mean.”

“But look who’s giggling.” She flicks the side of your head and joins in on your laughter.

You remember the cane he had, the golden details and carvings and the way his under eyes were darker then the rest of his pale, almost sickly skin. His jawline was sharp with a straight nose and an almost unnoticeable underbite. He was pretty cute.. He was probably a cool person to be around so you wondered if you’d have the chance to maybe hang out with him.

“Do you think your sister would be up to hanging out? You know, our group and hers? We have that show next weekend we can invite them there and spend the rest of the night doing whatever!” You suggest and quickly get a nod of approval from your blue haired friend which only made your excitement rise.

Next weekend it is.. Maybe he’d be up to a one on one hangout once you have the chance to ask, maybe even over the phone if you’re lucky enough to get his number or socials. Until next weekend all you could do was practice and imagine every sort of scenario of how it would all go.

taglist: let me know if you want to be added

© URFAVLARRY

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE OR COPY ANY OF MY WRITING TO OTHER PLATFORMS

I DON’T CONSENT FOR MY WRITING TO BE USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫

[thewulf]

Starlit Promises || Legolas

Summary: Request - Heyy I really like how you write Legolas and also your writing in general so I thought I'd request a Legolas x reader where in reader saves him from an orc attack and got hurt in the process. Hehe that's all have a good day!

A/N: Ahhh I really like this one. Ty Anon for the amazing request as always.

Pairing: Legolas x Elf Female Reader

Word Count: 4.2k +

TW: Orcs, attack, shot with an arrow, poison, angst, sad Legolas

Growing up in the lush, enigmatic depths of Mirkwood had shaped you into the warrior you are today. Side by side with Legolas you had spent countless hours under the tutelage of the same masters learning the arts of combat and stealth. Though your paths within the kingdom's defense forces eventually diverged with Legolas rising to accompany his father on diplomatic missions and you embedding deeper into the scout units you never lost the connection forged in those formative years.

Your friendship with Legolas was based on a foundation of deep respect and a shared love for the vast, mysterious woodland that was your home. Over the years, King Thranduil himself had come to hold you in high regard as he appreciated how you continually challenged and supported his son. Making sure to keep him grounded and focused.

After many seasons apart, duty finally brought you back together. It was a reunion marked by warm smiles and a quick rekindling of your lifelong friendship. Eager to make the most of this reunion you both decided to embark on a patrol through some of the darker much less traveled parts of Mirkwood. These regions were where the trees grew dense, and the shadows lingered. They were known for being unpredictable, yet they offered a serene beauty that was unmatched elsewhere in the kingdom.

As you walked alongside Legolas, your steps silent and your senses alert, you found comfort in the familiar presence of your friend. The air was filled with the sounds of distant waterfalls and the occasional call of a wood pigeon. Conversation flowed easily between you. It was filled with stories of past exploits and shared adventures. It was as if no time had passed at all, and you were just two young elves exploring the woods as you had all those hundreds of years ago.

Yet, the peace of the forest was deceptive and as seasoned warriors both of you remained vigilant. It was a routine patrol on the surface but in Mirkwood with the darkness ever growing one could never be too careful. Little did you know the shadows held more than just the whispers of ancient trees that day.

In the shadow-drenched depths of Mirkwood where the dense canopy stifled even the slightest beam of sunlight you and Legolas moved with the silent grace of seasoned warriors. The forest's deceptive calm should have been your first warning, but you were so engrossed in his presence you didn’t think too much of it. It was a heavy stillness that shrouded the advance of danger. It was in this eerie silence that the ambush was sprung as a large band of orcs burst from their hidden positions among the twisted undergrowth.

In the midst of the intense and chaotic battle with the clash of metal resounding through the ancient trees of Mirkwood a sudden, jarring sound made your heart skip a beat. It was the distinct twang of a bowstring. A sound you’d recognize anywhere amidst the close-quarters combat that it sent a ripple of alarm through you.

You and Legolas were back-to-back and fighting in seamless coordination Legolas's breath hitched audibly, a rare sign of his alarm. His voice was urgent and tinged with a touch of panic as it reached your ears over the din of battle.

"Y/N, the leader, he's aiming for—"

Before he could finish you saw the movement. A shadowy figure at a distance with a notched arrow gleaming with a sinister sheen that could only mean poison. Time seemed to slow as you realized the target was none other than Legolas himself.

With a surge of adrenaline, you acted on pure instinct. "Legolas, down!" you shouted pushing him towards the ground even as you leaped to intercept the flight path of the arrow.

Legolas who was forced down by your push hit the forest floor hard. He turned just in time to see your actions. "No, Y/N!" His voice was laced with horror and desperation as he realized what you were about to do.

The arrow struck and the sound of your grunt of pain was drowned out by Legolas's anguished yell. He scrambled to his feet eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fury. "Why would you do this?" he bellowed. His voice cracking with a mix of horror and desperation. His eyes were wide with shock and nearing tears. They searched yours for an answer he could not find in the chaos of his own emotions.

As you staggered from the impact the world began to blur at the edges as the poison was already coursing through your veins. With what strength you had left you managed to whisper, trying to reassure him despite the growing darkness clouding your vision. "Had to... save you. Watch out... he has more..."

Legolas was now beside himself with worry and rage. He turned his attention back to the orc leader with a fierce glare. His usual calm demeanor was shattered by the sight of you injured because of him. He drew his own arrow with a swift, deadly precision that was uncharacteristic but fueled by his tumultuous emotions. "No one harms you and escapes unscathed," he murmured almost to himself as he prepared to return the favor with lethal intent.

What followed was a blur of motion and violence. Legolas moved like a tempest. His arrows finding their marks with lethal precision. Each strike was a blow against his own anguish, a defiance of the fate that had struck you down. The orcs fell one by one. They were no match for the wrath of a prince fighting for the life of a friend he so dearly loved.

As the last of the orcs crumpled to the forest floor, silenced forever, Legolas turned back to where you lay, your face pale and your breaths shallow. He knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he gently lifted you into his arms. The forest seemed to hold its breath. The usual whispers of the leaves stilled by the gravity of the moment.

Legolas's steps were swift and sure as he began the urgent journey back to the healers. Each step was a race against the relentless creep of the poison within you. As he moved with his arms secure around you he began to whisper. His voice a soft contrast to the earlier fury that had consumed him.

"Stay with me," he murmured. His words tinged with a desperation he had never known. "You must stay with me." His voice broke as the reality of the situation pressed upon him. The weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm his stoic facade.

The forest blurred past as Legolas with you cradled securely in his arms. He pushed through the undergrowth with an urgency born of sheer desperation. The poison from the orc’s arrow was relentless and with each labored breath you took his heart clenched tighter.

As he hurried his voice was a steady stream of encouragement meant to fortify both your spirits and his own resolve. “You’re so strong. You can fight this,” he urged quietly. His tone gentle yet firm. The dense foliage seemed to part before his determination. The shadows of Mirkwood bending to his will.

“You have to hold on. I need you to hold on,” he continued. His voice only for you. A personal warmth amidst the encroaching darkness of your pain. His words were a lifeline thrown in the hope that your spirit would grasp it and cling to life.

Within his mind a storm of thoughts raged. As he looked down at your face contorted with the effort to stay conscious he was struck by a revelation so profound it rooted itself deep within his soul. I love her, he realized with startling clarity. The thought was both a balm and a torment emerging amidst the terror of possibly losing you. Why did it take the brink of losing her to see how vital she is to me? His heart ached with the weight of his newfound understanding. An understanding that came at such a cruel cost.

Meanwhile, you, despite the searing pain, felt the urgency in his voice and it gave you a focus. A point to anchor your fading strength. You tried to respond. To give him some sign that you heard him. That you were fighting not just for your own life, but for him, for the future you hadn't yet considered might be possible together. Your lips moved slightly as a whisper of sound that was more an exhale of pain than coherent words.

Legolas felt the faint stir of your attempt to speak and it spurred him on. His strides growing even more determined. “Just a little farther,” he promised you, and perhaps himself. “We’re almost there. Stay with me.”

His mind continued to race with thoughts of love and loss, but he kept these revelations locked within choosing instead to flood you with hopeful, encouraging words. Every step was a silent vow. Every heartbeat a silent plea to whatever fates watched over the elves of Mirkwood.

As the gates of the palace finally came into sighta surge of tentative relief washed over him. The guards recognized the dire nature of your condition and rushed to meet him calling for the healers swiftly. Legolas’s arms relinquished you with a reluctance that was palpable. His hands lingering until the last possible moment as he handed you over to their care.

Watching the guards swiftly carry you away Legolas could only stand there for a moment, alone and suddenly bereft. The depth of his emotions swirling chaotically within. Hold on, please hold on, he thought. His heart echoing each word of encouragement he had given you. Now a silent mantra for the both of you.

In the somber halls of the Mirkwood palace, Thranduil arrived, drawn by the urgent whispers of his guards about an incident involving his son and one of his most valued elves. As he entered his eyes found Legolas who stood alone. His posture betraying a mix of shock and despair rarely seen on the prince.

Approaching quietly Thranduil placed a hand on Legolas’s shoulder, his presence immediately steadying. "Legolas, tell me what has happened," he urged. His voice firm yet lined with concern.

Legolas's response was choked. A surge of emotions breaking through his usually composed demeanor. Turning to face his father, tears welled in his eye. It was a terribly rare sight that shook Thranduil to his core. "She... she saved me," Legolas stammered. The words laced with pain and guilt. "An orc aimed a poisoned arrow at me, and she stepped in front. She took the hit herself. It should have been me, Father."

The king's eyes widened in horror as he processed the gravity of the situation. His mind racing with the implications of your selfless act. "Legolas," Thranduil said softly as he guided his son to sit beside him on a nearby bench, an effort to offer comfort amidst the cold stone surroundings. "You must not blame yourself for her bravery. She acted out of loyalty and courage. These are qualities that are to be honored, not lamented."

Legolas wiped at his eyes, struggling to compose himself. "But I love her, Father. And now, I might lose her because I could not protect her," he confessed. The words tumbling out amidst sobs. The admission of his feelings which were spoken aloud for the first time seemed to both relieve and burden him further.

Thranduil was taken aback by the depth of his son’s emotions. He reached out, his own composure tinged with empathy. "My son, love is both a strength and a vulnerability. You must hold onto the hope that she will recover. And should she wake, it is your duty—and your right—to tell her of your feelings."

The king stood, resolute. "I will speak with the healers to ensure that everything possible is being done," he promised. Returning his attention to Legolas, he added, "Stay strong, Legolas. She fought to save you. Now you must be strong for her."

Thranduil placed a reassuring hand on Legolas's shoulder. His gaze intense and commanding. "There is something you can do, Legolas. Go to her," he instructed firmly. "The healers say that even in unconsciousness the presence of someone familiar may be felt. Your presence could provide the strength she needs to fight this poison."

Legolas looked at his father. The determination in Thranduil's voice sparking a flicker of hope within him. "Talk to her, hold her hand, let her feel your presence. Keep her grounded to this world. Your voice, your touch… it may reach her when our medicine cannot."

Rising from the bench with renewed purpose Legolas nodded solemnly. "I will not leave her side," he vowed. The resolve in his voice masking the tremor of his underlying fear.

Thranduil watched as his son strode towards the healers quarters. His posture that of a prince, yet driven by the raw, powerful emotions of an elf in love. "She saved you for a reason, Legolas. Now, give her a reason to return," Thranduil murmured to himself as he watched Legolas disappear behind the delicate curtains that shrouded the healing chambers.

Inside, Legolas approached your side with his heart pounding as he took in your serene yet pained expression. Gingerly, he took your hand in his. The coolness of your skin against his warm palm stirring a mix of emotions within him. Sitting beside you he began to speak his voice soft but clear threading through the quiet hum of the healing ward.

"I'm here just like you've always been there for me. Remember the storms we weathered together? The quiet moments we shared under the stars of our beautiful Mirkwood? Hold onto those memories now as I hold onto your hand. You must come back to us, to me," Legolas whispered. His words a tender plea laced with strength and love.

As he continued to speak he recounted tales of their past adventures and shared dreams. Legolas's presence became a silent, steadfast hope, anchoring you in the fight against the darkness that threatened to claim you.

"Remember the time we chased the fireflies at dusk?" Legolas continued. His voice a soft murmur meant only for you. "We wandered so far that night we almost missed the evening banquet. Your laughter echoed through the woods, brighter even than the lights we chased. I think that was the moment I realized how dear you were to me though I never had the courage to say it. I wish I said it."

He paused. His thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, each memory a pull trying to guide you back. "And then there was the storm. The one that caught us off guard near the northern border. We took shelter under that old oak. The one that's stood for a thousand years. You were so calm, so brave, even as the thunder roared around us. It was more than bravery. It was a peace within you that even the storm couldn't disturb. I truly fell in love with you then."

His voice grew softer, each word laden with emotion. "I've always admired that about you—your strength, your serenity. It's been a constant source of comfort to me, more often than you know." A sigh escaped him, a mixture of admiration and deep-seated fear. "I need that strength now, more than ever. You have to fight through this. I... I can't envision a world without you in it mellon vaer nîn, meleth nîn." He whispered to you.

Legolas's gaze lingered on your face. His eyes tracing the familiar features as if trying to imprint them deeper into his memory. "There are so many things I still want to share with you. The sunrise over the Silverlode. Quiet mornings in the glades. So many adventures yet to be had. I need you to come back to me."

As he continued to speak recalling tales of their past his voice became your lifeline, tethered to the hope of your recovery. With each story he tried to weave you back to consciousness. To draw you away from the shadows that clung too closely.

Hours passed, a silent vigil marked only by the rhythm of his voice and the faint but steady beat of your heart. It was during one such tale as Legolas recounted a particularly daring escapade from their youth that he felt a gentle squeeze on his hand. It was slight, nearly imperceptible, but to Legolas, it was as profound as the sun breaking through a week of rain.

His heart leapt and his words faltered for a moment. "Are you there? Can you hear me?" he asked. His voice a blend of hope and urgency. When there was no further response he settled back with a small, hopeful smile touching his lips. "I'll keep talking… just keep listening. You're not alone." Legolas's resolve hardened, bolstered by the faint sign of your fighting spirit. He continued to talk. Each word a pledge of his presence and protection. His stories a bridge carrying you back from the brink.

The healing ward was bathed in the soft, ethereal light of dawn filtering through the high windows. Legolas sat steadfast by your side with his hand still holding yours as a silent anchor in the hushed space. He continued to speak with his voice a soft, continuous presence in the hushed space continuously recounting tales, and shared dreams. He was weaving a tapestry of memories meant to guide you back.

As he recounted a particularly fond memory of a midsummer festival where you both had danced under the stars until the world seemed nothing more than a swirl of lights and laughter your eyelids began to flutter. It was a slight movement but enough to pause the flow of his words.

Your eyes slowly opened as they adjusted to the dim light of the room, focusing with effort on the figure who had not left your side. Legolas watched you carefully. His breath held in a mixture of hope and anxiety. Seeing your eyes finally meet his, a wave of relief and joy washed over him, though he tempered his reaction. The last thing he wanted was to overwhelm you.

"You're awake," he said softly. His voice a mix of wonder and warmth, his grip on your hand tightening gently.

You managed a weak smile. Your voice barely a whisper but filled with gratitude and warmth. "Legolas..." you breathed, your eyes locking onto his conveying everything you felt but couldn't yet say.

He leaned closer with his forehead nearly touching yours. His eyes were bright with emotion. "You are home," he whispered as his voice trembled slightly. "You're here with me. That is all that matters."

You nodded weakly, your smile widening just a bit. "Home," you agreed softly, the word holding so much more than its simple meaning. It was a promise, a recognition of the bond that had brought you back from the brink.

Legolas brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead. His touch ever so gentle and reverent. "I was so afraid of losing you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your bravery, your sacrifice... I cannot bear the thought of a world without you in it."

Your hand squeezed his lightly. A small gesture but one that conveyed strength and reassurance. "I'm here," you whispered back, the effort taxing but necessary. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"We have so much more to see together. So many more memories to share," Legolas continued with a smile playing on his lips. "I promise from now on every moment will be a testament to the life you fought so hard to return to."

Your smile widened a bit more, your energy still faint but growing with every moment of connection. "I wouldn’t miss it for the world," you replied. Your voice was stronger this time, filled with the promise of many tomorrows.

In that quiet evening with the last light painting the world in hues of pink and gold, Legolas and you shared a moment of profound gratitude and love. A bond deepened by trials and now unbreakable by anything that the future might hold.

As your strength slowly returned Legolas took you to a secluded glade one evening. A hidden sanctuary where the world's concerns seemed to dissolve under the brilliance of the starlit sky. The air was cool and carried the sweet scent of blooming night flowers. You both settled on a soft blanket surrounded by the tranquil whisper of the forest.

Looking up at the stars Legolas turned toward you, his blue eyes reflecting the celestial light. He took a deep breath as if preparing to share something significant, and then began to speak. His voice soft yet clear. "I've spent many nights under these stars," he said, "but none felt as profound as tonight, being here with you." He paused giving you a moment to absorb the words. "When you were hurt, when I thought I might lose you, I realized something vital. Just how much you mean to me, how deeply I care about you."

Your heart fluttered with a mixture of surprise and joy. The sincerity in his voice and the earnest look in his eyes it was all you had ever hoped for yet never dared to expect. "Legolas, I...," you started your emotions thickening your voice. "I've felt the same way for a long time. But I never thought—"

"That we might have a future together?" Legolas interjected gently. "I know. I've been a fool, letting time pass without speaking my heart. But I don't want to hide my feelings anymore. I love you. More than I can say."

Tears welled in your eyes but not from sadness but from a profound relief and happiness. "I love you too," you replied. Your voice a soft echo of his own declaration. "I always have."

Legolas reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek with a gentle touch. "Then let us make a promise tonight," he suggested. His gaze locked with yours, "to never hold back our feelings. To cherish each moment, we have together and to face whatever comes with unity and strength."

You nodded, feeling the weight and warmth of his hand in yours. "I promise," you said. "To all of that."

The night deepened around you, but in the glade, illuminated by starlight, a new chapter of your life together began. It was a promise made not just in words but in the shared glances, the gentle touches, and the quiet commitment to face life's complexities together. With Legolas by your side the future seemed not just a path to walk but a journey to cherish.

The next morning, with the promise of the previous night still fresh and luminous like the dawn Legolas sought his father in the tranquil palace gardens. Dappled sunlight filtered through the ancient trees casting golden patterns on the mossy floor.

"Father," Legolas began with his voice carrying a newfound confidence mixed with joy, "last night under the stars, Y/N and I made a promise. I wish to ask her to let me court her with the intention of marriage."

Thranduil paused with his gaze piercing as he turned to face his son. For a moment his expression was unreadable. Then, a wide, genuine smile transformed his face. "Finally," he exclaimed with a rare chuckle. "You have truly found your path, my son. It is about time."

Legolas smiled, a weight lifting from his shoulders with his father's blessing. Bolstered by this support he planned a special moment to formally begin the courtship. He chose a small, exquisite pendant shaped like a star. An echo of the night that had sealed your shared destiny.

Later that day as you stood in the lush Mirkwood gardens Legolas approached you. The late afternoon sun lit the clearing casting long shadows and bathing everything in a warm, golden glow. In his hand he held the delicate star-shaped pendant which sparkled as it caught the light.

"Y/N," he said gently, drawing your attention. His hand extended offering the pendant to you. "Last night, under the starlight, we promised to face whatever comes together. With all my heart, I ask you now, will you let me court you with the hope and intention that one day you will be my wife?"

The moment was overwhelming. More tears sprang to your eyes as the magnitude of what this meant filled you. You had loved Legolas for so long, sometimes fearing your affection was a solitary flame. Now hearing his heartfelt words, confirming that he felt the same, was a relief so profound that sobs of joy escaped you.

"Yes, Legolas," you managed to say between gentle sobs. Your voice thick with emotion as you reached out to take the pendant. "Yes, of course I will."

Legolas stepped closer. His eyes shining with the same emotion. He took the pendant and carefully clasped it around your neck. He cupped your face in his hands wiping away your tears with his thumbs.

"This is just the beginning meleth nîn," he whispered. His voice as tender as the touch of the evening breeze. "A promise of a lifetime together, filled with love and understanding."

In that enchanted moment with the beauty of Mirkwood surrounding you and the promise of a future together everything felt utterly perfect. The garden seemed to hold its breath, the leaves whispering in the wind, as if nature itself was acknowledging the depth of your bond. The journey ahead would indeed have challenges but with the strength of your love you knew you could face them with him.

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[itwasntimethatdidit40]

A good grade.

Pairing: Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader Words count: 4844 Rating: +18, MDNI Summary: You always thought you would have a future in the art world, until you met Mr. Miller, your professor who decided to make your life hell. What are you willing to do for a good grade? Tags: perv!Joel, soft!Joel, power imbalance, degradation, smut, blackmail, reader is described having female genitalia, no other description of her is given, unspecified age gap (in my mind 24/45 but you can imagine whatever, they’re both grown up anyway), unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but you know, do better irl), oral (f receiving), mention of blowjob, edging, edging with a brush, creampie, pet names, slurs, Joel has a dirty mouth, a lot of swearing, some reader's thoughts marked in italics.

Disclaimers: English is not my first language, very poorly proofread, no beta, it's all my fault and I'm very sorry! I like art but I'm not an expert, I've never taken lessons (well, in high school I did but it was art history and it was only theoretical) and I don't really know how they work, I made it all up so if it doesn't adhere to reality please excuse me. I hope you like it anyway, the other morning I woke up with the idea of ​​Joel painting me as one of his French girls (heheheheh) and I started writing this thing 💀

If anyone wants to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know. Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you like it ♥️

You’ve always loved art, since high school it’s always been your favorite subject and drawing and painting your outlet, your way of expressing yourself. Your teachers have always praised you, considering your works not only perfectly executed but significant, mature, full of pathos. Everyone has always told you that you had an eye for recognizing artistic value, you’ve always been the best in your class and you’ve worked hard to get here.

You graduated with excellent grades and were accepted into a prestigious master's program. You would like to become a professional artist or at least an art critic.

You had a bright future ahead of you, until you met Professor Joel Miller.

He has done nothing but criticize you, your skills and your work from the very first day. 

And he always does it deliberately, in front of everyone else. No matter how hard you try, you never get more than F for every work you submit. The disdain with which he treats you makes you feel like a failure and your breath die in your throat every time he lays eyes on you and says the most hateful words you’ve ever heard about yourself. Today it happened again. You spent sleepless nights working on this portrait, begging the model called by Professor Miller to see you after class hours. You even offered to pay her and she was kind, she didn’t ask for an outrageous amount despite the fact that she could have taken much more lucrative jobs instead of posing for you. You’re just a master’s student trying to support herself by working nights in a bar. 

“What is this?” he thundered looking at your painting “You are only getting worse, miss, I have never seen anything like this. It is indecent that a person like you tries to make art, it should be prohibited by law. Look at this, wrong proportions, no harmony, no attention to detail, nothing. This does not even look like the same person I had pose for hours in front of you. You should be ashamed to present a work like this after 6 months of course” 

You won't be able to finish your master's degree unless you get a passing grade in Professor Miller's course, but he doesn't seem at all inclined to give you even a measly D.

It’s a nightmare.

You'd be forced to start all over again, ask your parents for financial help, which is the last thing you want to do when they've already sacrificed so much to help you pay for college, or do the unthinkable and give up on all your dreams, the career you have cultivated with strength and passion throughout your life up until now.

You decide to make a last-ditch effort and try to talk to Mr Miller during his office hours.

You've always avoided it until now because you thought things would get better but it's the third F you get and you can't afford to go on like this. 

The idea of ​​being alone with him doesn't excite you at all, but you hate losing everything you've worked so hard for even more.

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door, terrified of what he might say to you.

Mr Miller is also an established artist and his work has been appreciated abroad so his disapproval could really preclude you from many opportunities. 

“Come in” even from behind closed door his voice sends shivers down your spine.

You walk in muttering “good afternoon” feeling like a complete idiot, you are already convinced that it was a mistake to come to him, nothing will change his mind. 

Joel is sitting behind his desk, frowning as he corrects tests. He looks up from the papers only when you are in front of him “Oh. it's you,” he says in his usual dismissive tone of voice “What do you want miss?” 

You clear your throat and murmur, “I...” his gaze is already back on the tests, he doesn't even look at your face as he fills the paper with red marks and writes a big circled F at the top, the assignment of some other hapless person like you who will find himself failing his class. Incredible anger mounts in your body, you clench your fists and say "excuse me" in a stern voice. 

It infuriates you, it's maddening how he can't even treat you as a human being for a second. 

"What do you want?" he asks annoyed looking back up at you "and be quick about it, you are wasting my time." 

“I'd like to know what I need to do to have you evaluate me favorably” you try to keep your tone as detached and respectful as possible even though you despise the man in front of you with every fiber of your body. 

“Nothing, you can't do anything, I thought you had figured it out by now, are you also stupid besides not having the slightest talent?”

“Actually...fuck, I don't think I am that bad. And I think you are judging me too harshly,” you spit out feeling tears stinging your eyes. You promised yourself to keep calm but the way he is treating you only makes you want to insult him.

“I advise you to moderate your tone if you don't want to be expelled as well as failed in my class.”

He has the upper hand, you can't do anything about it. A sense of frustration and helplessness crackles under your skin as you plead with him, “Please Mr Miller there must be something I can do to change things. Anything...I…I don't want to fail.” 

An evil grin paints on his face “how much do you care about it?” 

“It's the only thing I care about, please, art means everything to me” you look at him feeling your whole essence crumble in front of him, you are desperate and tired of struggling, you just want to find a way to work things out. You have very good grades in all the other courses, he is the only one stopping you from achieving what you want most in the world.

“Actually you could do something to make it better,” Joel suggests, and you cry, ”Please, I'll do anything.” 

“Anything?” he probes ”are you sure?” His smug, dangerous expression unnerves you, maybe you shouldn't have made yourself so vulnerable in front of him, but there's no turning back now. "Yes," you shriek.

He leans against the back of the chair while continuing to sneer under his mustache “Well, then I have an offer for you. I'm working on a series of paintings of women, you could pose for me.” 

“Me?” you ask confused, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to paint you.  

“Why not, if nothing else you're pretty,” he admits, and it's the first nice thing about you that's ever come out of his mouth. 

You wonder what the scam is behind his proposal, it can't be that easy, he's probably going to ask you to pose with some repulsive animal or in a way that makes you look completely idiotic or he's just pretending that this is the solution but then he's going to blackmail you and make you regret setting foot in his office.

He writes something on a post-it note and hands it to you “Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 8” he orders you “don't be late” 

“I really...” you try to say. 

“What? Is there something more urgent you need to do besides securing good grades?” he raises an eyebrow scrutinizing your astonished face. 

“No it's just that...I'm supposed to be working at that time.” You mutter.

“Well get your shift changed, or ask someone to fill in for you, pretend to be sick, I don't care, just show up.” He barks at you. 

“Okay,” you agree. You can't say no, it's your last resort, either that or total defeat. 

You walk out of his office with the feeling that you have gotten into big trouble. 

_____________________________

You get confirmation of this the next day when you show up at the address written by Professor Joel. It's on a suburban street with little traffic, in front of you is what looks like an abandoned former factory. A blast of cold air makes you shiver as you ring an old intercom near the front door. You huddle in your coat, wondering where the hell you are. Maybe he gave you the wrong address just to make fun of you, you took two buses to get here, at the very least you'll soon find out your professor isn't even here. 

Surprisingly, he answers you instead, his thick voice ordering you to come up. You enter through the doorway into a dusty, bare lobby, only an old freight elevator in front of you. You push the button and the elevator car begins to descend with a sinister, metallic sound. "What the hell is this place?” you ask yourself "my god, I'm going to end up dead and thrown in a dumpster". You get on the elevator with your heart in your throat praying that there isn't a serial killer waiting for you on the other side. 

The doors suddenly open wide onto a large room with concrete columns. You step out and look around, there is a large table in the corner, chock full of artists' materials, tempera, canvases, oil paints, watercolors, all thrown in bulk. Various canvases are resting on pedestals scattered around the room, and others lie leaning against the wall. There is an old leather couch in the corner and a double mattress resting on wooden pallets on the other side. Several rugs are spread on the floor. It's all messy and chaotic, but it definitely has the look of an art studio. 

"Oh, you're here at last," Joel grunts, popping up from behind a pillar holding a dirty brush stained with red tempera. 

He is wearing a pair of frayed jeans and a white T-shirt stained in paint, he is disheveled and barefoot. 

He doesn't even look like your professor; he always wears suits and perfectly ironed shirts at university. 

Two large leaded windows divided into small squares open on the wall in front of you. 

It’s dark by now, so the entire room is softly lit by several lamps and candles scattered around. 

“Where should I stand to pose?” you don't intend to put in more than is necessary; spending time with this obnoxious man is the last thing you want to do today. 

“Sit on the couch,” Joel orders, pointing to the old leather ruin to your right, ”I'll prepare the necessities and we'll get started.” 

You sit, quietly, dreading what lies ahead. 

Joel picks up a blank canvas and places it on a stand, takes a graphite pencil from the table and orders you " Undress" 

You squint your eyes, squeaking “I'm sorry, what?”

“I'm making a series of artistic nudes, didn't I tell you?” he grins 

“No, you don’t” you retort. 

Fucking bastard. 

“Strip” he repeats firmly. 

“But I don't-”

“Look, you're already irritating me, either take off your fucking clothes or get out of here” 

You've seen people pose nude in your art classes before, even in Professor Joel's class, and all you've ever cared about was doing a good job, but now it's different. It's just you and him, in a place in the middle of nowhere, you weren't warned before, and more importantly, he makes you uncomfortable. 

His gaze has done nothing but judge you from the first moment it landed on you. You don't want to lose that last bit of dignity you still preserve and let him see you in your most intimate form. 

“So what have you decided?” Joel presses you. 

With extreme reluctance, you begin to take off your coat, laying it on the couch. What else can you do? By now you have fallen into a trap, either you do this or your grade at the end of the course will be F. 

F for failure.

“Damn asshole,” you think, ”I hope I never see you again in my life after your fucking course is over.” 

The resentment must be clear on your face because Joel mocks you “Oh come on, don't pout like that. There's nothing underneath that I haven't seen a hundred times before. It's just tits and a cunt” he concludes in a dismissive tone, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently.

He rolls his eyes when after some hesitation you slip off the T-shirt you are wearing, revealing a light pink lace bra. 

He curls his lips "cute," he whispers in a lascivious tone " take that off too." 

“But Mr Miller I...” you try to retort

“Go ahead and take it off,” your arms reach for your back, you undo the hooks of your bra and drop it to the floor. You cannot believe this is happening, you are bare-chested in front of your professor. 

"Very well..." he acquiesces, "you see, everything is easier when you cooperate." 

He strokes his beard as he glances at you remove your shoes and pulling down your jeans, the same smug, dangerous smile he had in his office returns to peep across his face.

“Good girl.” 

You feel a knot in your stomach. And you who thought that commitment and talent were enough to get results...poor naive girl. 

You should get out of here and go to the dean and report him for unethical conduct but you suddenly realize that he may be the first, but he won't be the last. 

"Lie down on the couch," Joel whispers to you, his gaze not leaving your body, hungry and demanding. 

You don't want to be here, yet you feel you can't do anything else at this point. 

"Raise your right arm above your head," Joel instructs, "and bend your legs slightly." 

“Like this. Don't move," Joel stands in front of the canvas and begins to trace marks on the surface. His hand moves quickly, his fingers run over the traced lines smudging them. 

You remain still as he ordered you, feeling goosebumps across your body and your nipples harden from the cold. 

You have to admit to yourself that it is fascinating to watch him work; his gaze is alert and sure, his hands move expertly and competently. He is certainly talented. 

Joel observes the work done so far, scratching his chin, adding a few touches here and there as his eyes scan the entire surface of the canvas.

Maybe he really just wants to paint you and you're making a big deal out of nothing, maybe this will end well after all. He moves the easel to one side of the sofa you assume to look at you from another angle until he growls “Spread your legs for me, darling” 

“But I don't-”

“I need more shadows on your  body”

“What?” you glance at him, this sounds like a lame excuse. 

“Spread your legs” he repeats ”come on” 

You do so, feeling his eyes everywhere on you, feeding on every uncovered inch of your skin. And for some reason you cannot explain, you feel your body react under his gaze. You peak at the outline of his cock straining under his jeans, a rush of adrenaline rushes through you, a flush of arousal between your legs. 

No, you can't. 

You cannot crave for him to look at you. He's your professor who lured you here under false pretenses. 

Yet you realize how incredibly handsome he is. So far you had only thought of him as your teacher and had never truly paused to observe him, especially since he always treated you like a dirtbag. 

“Perfect, now stay still like this,” he mutters.

He hums as you do “Such a good girl for me” in a mellifluous and manipulative tone.

You feel his voice penetrate deep into your bones and another thrill of arousal runs through you all, gliding under your skin and straight to your pussy. 

This is so fucked up but on the other hand you are thrilled by the idea of ​​ending up in one of his paintings.

He makes a couple of changes to the sketch and then walks over to you, sitting on the armrest of the couch. He watches you intently, as if he wants to study every tiny detail about you, you still have your panties on but you've never felt more naked than that.

“Hmm, someone is wet.” he observes, gazing at the wet spot on your underwear. “It’s all for me?”

“I…uh…no, absolutely not” You don't want to admit it even to yourself but the situation is turning you on, no matter how wrong it is. 

“Honey, I advise you never to play poker,” he sneers. You look at him puzzled, and he adds, “You're not good at bluffing at all.”

When he reaches out a hand to touch you, you almost tremble, it's as if your body is crying out to him “take me. use me.”

All you ever wanted from the beginning was his approval and now somehow he seems to recognize something in you. You just want to stop arguing, to stop fighting, to stop feeling like you are worth less than nothing, you just want to know that you still have a future that consists of not settling for a job that you don't love and doesn't allow you to feel fulfilled and let you get the results you know you deserve. 

And most of all, you want him to be on your side.

“You're such a pretty little thing, you know that?” his voice gruels as his fingers run from your ankle to your knee and then up to your inner thigh. You stiff, feeling your heart raging up under your ribcage and a fresh flush of arousal dampening your cunt.

How did you never realize how sexy this man is? Now that his gaze has softened you notice the deep brown of his eyes, with some hazel undertones, and how he lights up as he stares at you. 

God, you want him so bad right now. 

You are almost on the verge of grabbing his wrist and placing his big hand on your pussy already, but you decide to let him. 

His fingers move slowly over your skin; instead of touching you where you need it most, his hand stops at your hip, fiddling with the hem of your panties. 

"Can I?" he grunts. 

You nod silently and he demands “I need you to use your words, baby. Speak to me”

“Yes” you breath 

He grins as he places his other hand on your hip and begins to pull down your panties. You lift your pelvis to ease him, and he comments, "mmm, so eager. You’re such a slut, aren’t you?”

You feel your cheeks on fire as you cannot take your eyes off him, desperately in need of his hands, his lips, his tongue and his cock. You want it all, right now. So maybe he’s right, you’re a slut and you don’t even care. 

Joel calmly moves your panties down your legs and brings them to his nose, inhaling your scent. “Sweet. I bet you taste even better.”

He gets up from the couch, tucking your panties into his jeans pocket, and takes a clean brush from a container resting on the table. He sits back right next to you, and grins. 

He caresses the inside of your leg with the brush, the feeling of the bristles flowing over your skin is incredible, soft and intense at the same time, leisurely moving on your inner thigh, raising up closer and closer to your pussy, his eyes set in yours, mesmerized by you.

You are subjugated by him as he fondles you, going up your belly with his brush, deliberately ignoring your pussy, moving deftly over every curve of your body. It is as if he is painting you, as if he has made you his work of art.

The bristles rub over your rib cage, slowly, then your breasts, moving in concentric circles from your areola to your nipples. He passes the brush back and forth over your hard buds and a deep moan escapes from your throat. “Please, Mr Miller” you whine. 

“You can call me Joel, darling” he whispers “what do you need?” 

“I…fuck” You’re dripping wet, your voice is a wail and your body is itching to be touched. 

“Say it.” he orders you, ”I want to hear it.”

“I want - fuck - my pussy” you blather, you are not even able to form a complete sentence right now.

Joel laughs faintly, descending again on your abdomen, very slowly, until he reaches your mound. He rubs the bristles from right to left lingeringly, then lowering again, descending on your outer lips, first one side and then the other. And then again and again. 

When he finally brushes over your clit, you are so pent up and needy that you arch your back, emitting a throaty moan. 

“Oh God! Oh my God”

Joel lowers the brush to your clit, surrounding it with the bristles, pushing and making concentric circles. He stops when he feels you on the edge. 

And then he does it all again, circling and pressing, jerking your bundle of nerves with the brush. And then a third time. 

You’re a crying mess at this point, mind completely numb and your body covered in sweat.

He spreads your folds with his thumbs and sighs, “Look at this pussy, all nice and wet for me, I can’t wait to dip into your sweet honey, babe”

He throws the brush on the floor, it falls with a dull thud bouncing on the carpet. 

“So fucking perfect” 

You squeeze your eyes whining “please" a riot of emotions assail you, your body is so on the edge you could explode just by the way he looks at you, moistening his lips with his tongue.

He puts his arms around your neck, “cling to me,” he whispers. You do as he says, instinctively encircling his waist with your legs, clinging to his body with all your strength as he carries you to the bed and lays you gently on top.

He undresses, staying in his boxers in front of you. 

You can't take your eyes off him, gazing at his wide shoulders, his broad chest, his soft belly with a thin strip of hair running down into his boxers. 

He kneels on the bed, facing you, gently spreading your legs and moving between them. 

He lowers himself on you, placing a kiss on your clit, making you whimper another pathetic "please." 

He sticks his tongue out and runs it flat across your folds, up and down, one hand firmly clinging to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. 

"I was right, you taste amazing," he murmurs against your skin. 

You are no longer thinking about anything right now, not about your master's degree, evaluations or the fact that he is your teacher. 

You feel his nose hitting on your clit as he eagerly licks your folds, opening them with two fingers to sink his tongue in. 

You bite your lower lip, stifling your moans, burying a hand in his dark curls, pulling him toward you “oh fuck, yes”.

His tongue encircles your hard clit, swirling around, his lips lace over it sucking greedily.

“You don’t need to hold back, you can be as loud as you want in here, no one will hear us. Let me hear you, baby. I wanna know how you sound when you come” 

He doesn't stop sucking and licking until you feel your orgasm mount inside you like a flooding river, invading your body, curving your toes, clenching your fists on the sheet beneath you and rolling your hips on his face, wetting his lips, his chin, dripping onto your inner thigh. 

“Yeah, baby, come apart on my tongue, just like that”

He licks you clean until you calm down, devouring your juices to the last drop and then looks up at you “you have no idea how beautiful you are, starving for my cock” he groans “god, I must have you right now, I must make you mine, you hungry little whore”

You wait for nothing else, it seems your thirst has no way to quench today.

“Please, Joel,”

He pulls off his boxers, throwing them on the floor, his cock springs free and is incredibly hard, you can't stop looking at it. He's big, so big you don't even know how he's going to fit all the way inside you but you don’t care. “Fill me up, Joel, please”

“Yeah? You want this big cock inside you? Want me to fill you up so good baby?” He grumbles.

“Please, Joel, it’s all I need” you whine. 

He lies on top of you, tapping your lips a few times with the tip, running it along your folds and wetting it with your juices, aligning himself with your opening, “I'll give you what you want, then.”

He nudges at your hole a moment before he enters you, just the tip, pressing gently to let you get used to his intrusion. 

You moan feverishly, clinging to his back, bucking your hips toward him “more, please, more” you plea. 

As he plunges inside you, he stares at your face, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single second of your reactions, when he’s ball deep into you you let out an incoherent whine so graveling it doesn’t even sounds like your voice. 

He begins to pump into you as you circle his waist with your legs again, pushing to feel him deeper, your hands roaming in his graying hair. 

“Here you go, taking me so well princess, you’re so good to me” 

When his lips settle on yours you realize that you had not yet kissed until this moment. His lips are soft, demanding, his tongue penetrates your mouth licking eagerly, and you are more than happy to respond, savoring his taste of mint and cigarettes. 

One of his hands kneads your breast, his fingers close on one of your nipples as his cock doesn't stop sinking inside you.

You moan into his mouth feeling like you are on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the sinful pit of hell. 

“Where do you want me?” he whispers in your ear, and your voice comes out broken from the back of your throat  ”Inside. please. I'm - fuck - I'm on the pill.” 

You feel him spilling his load inside you a moment later, painting your inner wall with his hot sticky cum. 

You feel delirious and exhausted, guilty for what you just did. Your moral code has just been shattered under the hot weight of his body.

He kisses you again, lingering on your bottom lip. “You’re so much better than I thought,” he chuckles. 

He moves away from you and stands up naked to return to the sketch. He traces a few lines and makes some adjustments as you stare at him in amazement.

“Can you show me?” you ask. “Yes, come here,” he replies. You get up and stand next to him to observe the canvas. Your body is sketched on it and it looks perfect, you have never seen yourself so beautiful.

“You can go if you want, I’m done for today” 

“I- I don’t want to”

“Do you want more?” he sneers “god, you really are a slut.” he comments as he gets closer to you. 

He fucks you two more times, the first time he makes you get on all fours, licking your pussy from behind and then sinking into you while he holds you by the hips, his cock slamming against your cervix and his balls against your ass. Then you’re too eager to have him in your mouth, to taste your flavor mixed with his, so you offer to give him a blowjob and he fucks your mouth before digging back into your pussy again.

He drives you back to campus. “I may be an asshole, but I won’t let you walk around alone at night,” he says. 

You get out of his car feeling like you’re in a bubble, like everything that happened was just a surreal dream you can’t wake up from. You collapse into your bed after throwing your clothes haphazardly on the floor. When you wake up the next morning you feel like shit. 

You don't know how boldly you will look your classmates in the eye, but you can't skip class, and the thought of seeing Joel again thrills you, no matter how wrong it is. 

When Joel enters the classroom, he ignores you, probably so as not to arouse suspicion; it would be too strange for him to treat you with regard after denigrating you for months.

He begins returning graded tests proceedings slowly as usual, moving between desks and laying down the papers without making any comment. The test that rests on your desk has a circled A at the top.

Tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @lemon-nomel @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed @pedrostories

[primaviva]

baby hair princess; miles morales

featuring. miles g. morales x latina!reader

synopsis. you stumble upon miles in a state of frustration, aggressively tugging at his hair, and instinctively, you step in to offer your assistance. however, you make one specific request in return for your help—a favor you hope miles will grant you: doing his edges.

warnings. none just pure fluff and sassy miles !! for my not boricua readers, pretty sure the only word really different is “pinche” for hairpin (art credit: snoopminnie)

“boy, if you don’t stop tryna run away-”

miles instinctively moved backward, evading your attempt to grab hold of him and keep him still. his resilience and stubbornness were evident, leaving you to wonder if these were qualities he had always possessed.

typically, miles relied on his mother for assistance with his hair, including styling and maintenance. however, his stubborn streak had prompted him to take matters into his own hands, gradually attempting to style his own hair. yet, he had not yet mastered the art of caring for his own locks, which led to the predicament you found yourselves in.

within the confines of the shower, miles followed his usual routine. he delicately massaged the hair product into his strands, employed the appropriate brushes, and adhered to the techniques he had learned for his specific hair texture.

however, patience continued to elude him when it came to detangling and combing. convinced that knots were of little consequence, he clung to that belief until today, when the knots seemed to wage a battle of their own. miles understood that detangling in the shower typically facilitated the process for curly hair, which only added to his confusion when the water failed to alleviate the difficulty. frustration took hold, compelling him to forcefully yank the comb through his tightly coiled curls.

his efforts proved disastrous.

as the comb became entangled in his hair, his arm persisted in its pulling motion, resulting in a swift and painful injury to his wrist.

usually, styling his hair did not consume much time, and earlier that morning, he had told you that you could pull up in the afternoon. however, unbeknownst to him at the moment, senora rio had allowed you entry into his room, recognizing the close bond you shared with the morales family. when you entered, you observed miles struggling to maintain his grip on the comb, his pride, dignity, and remnants of masculinity on display.

and so, the scene unfolded with you and miles' situation as he scrambled to cover his head. your intentions were pure, simply attempting to assist miles in combing his own hair. however, miles, true to his stubborn nature, resisted your efforts with the tenacity of a pitbull, determined to maintain control over his own grooming routine and feelings of embarrassment.

“this is not a telenovela with your dramatic ass so leave the theatrics for english class,” you swiftly retorted, a hint of exasperation in your voice as your hands instinctively found their place on your hips. “take the bonnet off.”

you gracefully settled onto the edge of miles' bed, the mattress yielding beneath the gentle pressure of your legs. the soft fabric of the bedspread caressed your skin as you positioned yourself on your knees beside him, creating an intimate proximity.

with an audible groan, miles met your determined gaze, his eyes rolling in a display of stubborn defiance. the atmosphere crackled with a mixture of frustration and resistance.

"i can do this myself," miles declared, his tone lacking the reassurance he intended. with an abrupt motion, he forcefully yanked the comb through the tangled strands of hair, the sound of resistance echoing in the room. the sensation of hair being torn from the comb sent a shiver down your spine, a visceral reminder of the struggle at hand.

his words hung in the air, a plea masked as a command. "you didn't see anything," he insisted, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability beneath the surface. the weight of his unspoken plea lingered, an unspoken request for understanding and discretion. “understand?”

you regarded him with a stoic expression, your features carefully neutral. "i understand that you're in need of some serious assistance," you stated, your voice devoid of inflection. as you took a deliberate step closer, an electric wave of nerves filled the air he breathed. lookin’ like them kids that get embarrassed by they mama on facebook live for misbehaving. let me help, te suplico por favor.”

extending your hand, your fingertips grazed the edge of the purple bonnet, the fabric cool and smooth against your skin. locking eyes with him, you held his gaze, ensuring that miles focused solely on your expression. with deliberate intent, you offered him a gentle smile, a silent reassurance that your intentions were rooted in love and support. it was a subtle gesture, one that conveyed your unwavering commitment to help him through this, especially since you had always excelled in the art of hairstyling.

miles' eyes remained fixated on you, their intensity betraying a roiling mix of emotions. the heat of embarrassment colored his cheeks, suffusing his face with a noticeable flush.

"fine, i'm letting you help, but only because i can't get the knot out," he conceded, defeat lacing his words.

a mischievous smirk stretched across your face, a subtle display of triumph at his reluctant surrender. with a fluid motion, you maneuvered yourself behind him, a slight shiver of anticipation dancing along your spine. as you sat up, your hands found their place on his shoulders, offering physical support.

the proximity between you was palpable, each breath shared in the confined space. your head tilted to the side, and your words grazed his ear, their gentle cadence resonating against his skin. a tingling sensation rippled down his neck, a delightful shiver provoked by the intimacy of your closeness.

surprise mingled with satisfaction as you observed the ease with which he acquiesced. normally, miles would put up a greater fight, but the direness of his situation was evident at a glance. you couldn't help but notice that he was attempting to comb his hair dry—dryer than his texts, even.

"you're doing this because i am your boyfriend and you care. not out of pity, okay?" he stated, his words carrying a hint of self-assurance that seemed more like an attempt to convince himself rather than you.

you responded with a nonchalant hum, acknowledging his statement without verbal confirmation. your gaze remained fixed on his hair, carefully examining it without yet laying your hands on it, teasing the anticipation in the air.

restless fidgeting overtook miles as he squirmed under the weight of your scrutiny, a palpable sense of judgment lingering in his mind. the passing seconds stretched into what felt like agonizingly long minutes, further heightening his humiliation in his eyes.

"just don't laugh," miles demanded, his plea inadvertently causing you to stifle a giggle that bubbled up uncontrollably.

"i can't promise that," you replied, laughter still tugging at your words.

with determination, you began to gently pull at his hair, your fingers seeking out the knotted areas hidden within. the absence of matting provided a small relief, knowing that the problem was limited to knots alone. you pulled back his hair, carefully inspecting the sides, the back, and even searching for any residue or soap that may have clung to his roots.

curiosity flickered in his eyes as he glanced back at you, his voice betraying a hint of impatience. "how long is this going to take?"

with a playful yet assertive response, you couldn't help but let a touch of sass color your words. "stop acting like a diva," you retorted, the hint of amusement evident in your tone. "it's gonna take as long as it needs to, especially since you been putting your hands on your hair like you chrisean rock. now, turn around."

taking charge, you gently guided his head away from you, redirecting his gaze back to his lap with a firm yet tender touch of your hands. with your focus regained, you returned to the task at hand, your fingertips lightly exploring and assessing the core areas that harbored the most stubborn tangles. each delicate touch was a sensory exploration, searching for the knots that required the most meticulous attention.

with a curious and investigative spirit, you allowed your fingers to delve deeper into his hair, purposefully seeking the sensation of his scalp beneath your touch. it was a tactile exploration, a quest to uncover any remnants of shampoo buildup or dandruff that may have intertwined with the knots.

as you did so, miles let out a deep sigh. you sensed his annoyance, understanding that your playful banter and sassy remarks could sometimes test his patience. but you both knew that the exchange of playful banter and sass was a known part of your relationship—a back-and-forth dance you both engaged in. bickering was woven into the fabric of your relationship, something you both embraced. he, in your words, was the "leader of the sassy man apocalypse," despite his inevitable protestations as any self-respecting sassy man would. however, this particular sigh carried a different meaning.

as your fingers traversed through his damp curls, a subtle shudder coursed through his body, reverberating in the sanctuary of your hold. "that feels good, ma," he breathed out, the admission slipping from his lips almost unconsciously.

stunned by his unexpected confession, you momentarily paused, your fingertips suspended in their exploration. the weight of his words settled upon you, a surprising revelation that bypassed your awareness.

"really?" you questioned, surprise laced in your voice. tentatively, you allowed your fingers to resume their gentle exploration, cautiously delving deeper into his hair, trying to recreate whatever he let slip from how good you seemed to be.

the electrifying sensation of your fingers weaving through his hair was potent enough to derail his train of thought. a feeling of bliss surged through him, coaxing his eyes to flutter shut, surrendering to the pleasure that pulsed from your touch. his head found a resting place in your capable hands, a gesture of trust and vulnerability as you continued your ministries.

witnessing the effect you had on him, satisfaction rippled through your being; it was almost as if you physically felt your ego boost and the arrogance that swelled within you. the tension in his muscles melted away, dissipating into the air, as a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. it was a physical manifestation of the pleasure and relaxation that enveloped him, a silent testament to his peaceful state.

in that fleeting moment, a pang of guilt grazed the edges of your conscience.

you almost felt bad for knowing that you were about to disrupt this serene moment for miles.

almost.

as you skillfully worked your hands through his hair, a contented hum escaped his lips, affirming your success. a mischievous smirk played across your face, well aware of the satisfaction you had brought him.

"well, nice you enjoyed it while it lasted," you sarcastically remarked, abruptly halting your ministrations. "because from this point forward, it's going to be red eyes and shaking," you teased, alluding to the potential discomfort of untangling knots in his hair.

the moment you ceased massaging him, he remained blissfully unaware, lost in the depths of relaxation. his eyes remained closed, oblivious to your smirk. however, at the mention of the word “knots,” his eyes fluttered open, nerves piqued. he observed your preparations, mild concern evident in his gaze.

"wait, what do you mean-" miles began to question, but before he could finish his sentence, you deftly dragged your fingers down through the knots at a fast pace, eliciting a wince of discomfort from him.

a deep chuckle escaped you, a private amusement at the reaction you had provoked. using your hand as a comb, you carefully untangle the knots in that particular section, providing him with a subtle reminder of the purpose behind your actions.

"that's exactly what i mean," you replied, your tone laced with playful satisfaction.

you turned your attention to his cómoda, scanning the array of hair products with your eyes, searching for the water bottle that would serve as the catalyst for dampening his hair. each spritz would prepare his curls for the upcoming detangling process.

despite the discomfort he felt, he mustered his best effort to endure the pain, determined to ignore the laughter that escaped your lips. his gaze followed your movements as you delved into his drawers and retrieved the spray.

"what are you doin’?" miles inquired, his voice carrying a hint of shakiness, still recovering from the sting inflicted upon him moments ago. yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, observing your unwavering focus on his hair.

reading his anticipation, you knew he anticipated the impending combing with a mixture of dread and curiosity, fully aware of the potential discomfort it would bring.

"necesitas mojarte el cabello," you stated, placing a gentle hand on his jaw, tilting his head slightly to ensure thorough coverage with the spray. "y cus’ of that, i'm spraying the shit out of it because your whole head dried during that hour-long battle where your hair was kicking your own ass, and you lost miserably. so, forgive me if i find it a lil’ funny that you're treating me like an inexperienced stylist, considering the miracle i'm performing right now."

with the final sprays, you set the water bottle down, keeping it within reach in case individual strands require extra attention during the detangling process.

placing the spray in the hands of his frog build-a-bear plush, memories of your mall date resurfaced. you had convinced miles to get matching frogs, despite his initial reservations. seeing his green frog nestled among his deep black covers, contrasting with your pink one, brought a genuine giggle to your lips. your imagination wandered, picturing miles donning a purple bonnet, cuddling the little plush as he slept.

as you playfully turned him to spray different sections of his hair, he fought back a laugh, savoring the lightheartedness of the moment. he felt a deep sense of gratitude for your assistance and admired the care you took as you continued to spray his locks. each mist of water touched his hair, eliciting a subtle coolness and leaving a faint scent in the air. he kept his eyes closed, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks out of a mix of appreciation and mild embarrassment.

when the spraying finally ceased, he opened his eyes, curious to assess the state of his hair. he couldn't help but chuckle lightly at your comment, attempting to defend himself. "i didn't lose that hard," he protested playfully.

amused, you responded with a teasing tone, "if having a comb stuck in your hair isn't losing to you, then i don't know what to tell you, mi rey."

a sigh escaped his lips, accompanied by a raspy chuckle, his laughter mingling with the sound of the running water. it was another blow to his ego, a reminder of your witty banter that often left him both amused and challenged.

you reached for a nearby towel, presumably the one that had once rested on his neck, and deftly adjusted it over the shoulders of his white tank. this thoughtful gesture ensured that his back remained dry, sparing him any discomfort.

glancing back at the array of hair products, you carefully selected a detangling spray, knowing it would help soften his hair. the chaotic tangle of strands, a result of miles' frustrated attempts at untangling, called for some extra care and attention.

"mí rey," he softly repeated to himself, savoring the endearing nickname. although it was said in jest, it warmed miles' heart whenever you called him that. a smile spread across his face as he gazed at you with wide, affectionate doe eyes. "you're enjoying this too much, aren't you?" he questioned, his glance filled with both amusement and adoration.

as you carefully draped the towel over him, creating a barrier to protect his back, miles couldn't help but notice the tenderness with which you carried out this simple act. it touched a chord within him, a gentle reminder of your thoughtfulness. he found himself captivated, his eyes fixed on you, appreciating not only your efforts but also the person you were.

"of course i am," you responded, a playful smile gracing your lips. "bullying men is fun," you added sarcastically, the mischievous glimmer in your eyes betraying your lighthearted intent.

with the detangling spray in hand, you began to work your magic on miles' hair. each spritz released a fine mist that enveloped his curls, saturating them with the product. the light-catching droplets bestowed a subtle and enticing shine upon his locks. taking a moment, you sprayed some of the product onto your palm, rubbing it between your hands to ensure even distribution, before gently scrunching his hair, coaxing the detangling spray deeper into the strands.

"ready?" you asked, giving him a moment to prepare himself. the anticipation hung in the air as he readied himself for the untangling process, knowing that your skilled hands would soon navigate through the intricate maze of his hair.

a soft giggle escaped his lips at your playful bullying comment, finding it endearing rather than offensive. his eyes remained fixated on you as you meticulously sprayed his hair, the mist enveloping his senses. nodding in response to your question, a hint of wariness flickered in his gaze, unsure of what awaited him in the next moments.

"i'm ready, amor. just don't pull too hard, alright?" he requested, his voice carrying a note of vulnerability and trust.

with a reassuring smile, you replied, "i'll be gentle," your words offering the comfort he longed for. the weight of his anticipation lifted slightly, replaced by a glimmer of hope that you would navigate this challenge with care.

as your fingers began their task of untangling his hair, the knots seemed to have woven themselves into a formidable labyrinth within his curls. yet, you remained undeterred, driven by a determination to restore order and softness to the hair he loved almost as much as you.

again, almost.

his hair resisted your touch, each knot presenting a unique challenge. he emitted sounds of mild discomfort, a testament to the sensitivity of his scalp and his desire to endure the process without feeling embarrassed. your heart swelled with tenderness as you witnessed his effort to maintain composure in front of you, further igniting your resolve to handle his hair with utmost gentleness.

you embarked on the task of unraveling the knots, starting from the bottom where the tangles were most stubborn. with your fingers as your gentle guides, you skillfully released the friction between neighboring sections of hair, diligently working your way from the base to the crown. the surface-level knots surrendered to your patient touch, as you meticulously separated each strand with care. however, as you traversed his hair, it became apparent that the majority of the knots ran deeper, demanding a more thorough approach than initially anticipated. the need for a brush became imminent sooner than expected.

delicately, you began to divide his hair into six distinct sections, methodically parting each portion to facilitate focused attention. "dame un pinche," you commanded miles, and he silently complied, passing you a bag of hairpins and clips. a glimpse into his world, the assortment of cute-colored pins and clips hinted at their sentimental value, likely passed down from his mother.

with miles holding the bag for you, your fingers danced above the contents, contemplating the best choice. after careful consideration, you selected five firm metal clips, their purpose clear in your mind. as you divided his hair into the necessary sections, you secured each one with the clips, fashioning little buns that held the strands aloft. this strategic maneuver ensured that the rest of his hair remained out of both of your ways, sparing him the annoyance of wet locks clinging to his face or water trickling down his neck longer than necessary. you understood his preference for a fuss-free styling experience, catering to his needs. after all, he is your boyfriend.

equipped with a wide-toothed comb and the spray bottle in hand, you prepared the hair once more by saturating it with a fine mist. the water droplets danced upon his strands, awakening them with renewed moisture. the stage was set for the comb to work its magic.

starting from the tips, you delicately guided the comb through his hair, gradually making your way towards the middle and then the top. with one hand, you held his hair in place, providing stability as you applied a bit more force, determined to conquer the stubborn knots that lingered.

a hushed "ouch" escaped miles' lips, his eyes instinctively fluttering shut in response to the fleeting discomfort. sensing his reaction, you paused your combing and turned your head to face him.

"cállate! you tender-headed baby, i ain’t even pulling that hard," you reprimanded, a hint of exasperation lacing your words. the desire to avoid his dramatics for the remainder of the thirty minutes propelled your stern response.

"ight," he muttered under his breath, bitterness coating his tone.

unfazed by the interruption, you had already completed the first section while he voiced his complaints. with the hair still saturated, you gave it one last thorough brush, observing with satisfaction that the knots had vanished, leaving behind tightly coiled curls ready to bounce back to their full glory. the comb glided effortlessly through the now smooth strands, the sound of its gentle strokes harmonizing with the sigh of relief that escaped both of you.

with precision and determination, you continued your task, skillfully releasing the clip from the neighboring bun of hair you had previously created. as you secured it in a new bun, the section was neatly isolated, awaiting its turn to be untangled. following the same method as before, you began from the bottom, working your way to the middle and then the top, unraveling the knots with practiced finesse. the repetitive yet rhythmic motion of your combing became almost meditative, a soothing cadence that echoed in the small room.

yet, as you approached the crown of his head, meticulously brushing downward to release any stubborn knots near his scalp, a delightful surprise caught your attention. delicate strands of hair, small and wispy, dared to defy the boundaries of the meticulously sectioned locks. they sprouted from the front area of his face, cheekily eluding confinement within their designated sections. a knowing smile crept upon your lips, for you knew they were baby hairs—duh! you had some of your own along with others that you either slicked back or styled with a touch of eco gel.

however, there was something distinctly enchanting about miles' baby hairs. while they retained their petite stature, you couldn't help but marvel at their surprising length. they cascaded delicately, framing his forehead in a regal manner that evoked images of princesses gracing the grandest of pageants. these miniature strands possessed an ethereal quality, as if they held a secret whispered only to those who took the time to observe.

does miles have princess worthy baby hairs? you couldn't help but notice his long, beautiful lashes one day while cuddling. in a moment of hope, you jokingly asked to do his makeup and apply mascara, but he looked at you with a bewildered expression. he had been blessed with naturally striking features, and it made you feel a twinge of envy—even with him being a man. however, a mischievous idea suddenly popped into your head, and a wicked smile formed on your lips.

with a sense of accomplishment, you declare, "all done," as you delicately remove the clips, allowing the sections of detangled hair to cascade down, revealing his now liberated curls. your fingertips instinctively caress his tresses, relishing in their newfound freedom. "do you want two braids as always?" you inquired.

he feels the gentle touch of your fingers running through his hair, a comforting sensation that brings a wider smile to his lips. in response to your question, he nods, affirming his desire for the familiar twin braids.

"por supuesto, bebé. two braids, just like always," miles responds, settling his head comfortably on your lap, ready to surrender to your skilled hands.

the endearment he uses warms your chest, evoking a tender, fuzzy feeling that envelops you. "como tú quieras," you reply, honoring his request.

taking hold of a nearby comb, you flip it to its sharp end, aligning it with his forehead to ensure a symmetrical part. carefully choosing a starting point, you use the opposite side of the comb to create a clean divide, guiding it down the center of his head. to refine the symmetry, you rise slightly above him, positioning yourself on your knees, hovering with precision. with the comb, you deftly lift sections of hair from the part and sweep them to either side, harmonizing the flow of his locks.

once satisfied with the balance, you employ the original part to separate his hair into two equally thick halves. one side is gently draped over his shoulder, allowing you unobstructed access to work. with practiced fingers, you divide each braid-to-be into three distinct sections, intertwining them skillfully, creating a seamless braid that reflects your meticulous handiwork.

he closes his eyes, surrendering to the soothing rhythm of your braiding technique. a blissful sigh escapes his lips, the tension melting away as the sensation of your touch envelops him—he enjoys having you as his own personal hairstylist.

"gracias, mami," miles murmurs, his head turning slightly to meet your gaze, a genuine smile gracing his lips.

"you don't have to thank me," you assure him, focusing your attention on the other side of his hair now that one braid is complete. with practiced ease, your nimble fingers continue their dance, skillfully weaving each strand. "but... there is one way you can thank me."

intrigued, he maintains silence, his curiosity piqued by the mischievous tone in your voice. he remains seated, patiently awaiting the revelation, his eyes fixed on your reflection in the distant mirror. a sheepish smile plays at the corners of his mouth as he eagerly anticipates your next move.

"and what would that be?" miles questions, his tone curious.

rather than answering, you choose to maintain silence, your focus shifting to the final touches of his second braid. stepping away from the bed, you position yourself in front of him, cupping his face in your hands, your touch tender and affectionate.

“y’know miles, i never noticed what beautiful baby hairs you have…” you remark, a subtle segue into your true intentions, a rogue glint in your eyes.

his eyebrow began to slowly raise at how vague your demeanor was. “and? okay little red riding hood. ‘what big teeth you have, abuela’ head ass.”

you fixated your gaze on him, eyes widening in surprise at his comment, struggling to maintain a serious expression despite the humorous undertone. suppressing a laugh that threatened to escape, you attempted to project an air of seriousness.

"you think you're funny, huh?" you retort, your voice carrying a stern tone as you cross your arms over your chest, attempting to conceal any hint of amusement.

a low laugh escapes his lips, the sound resonating with a raspy quality. "oh, i'm hilarious," he corrects, his half-lidded eyes meeting yours, a mischievous smirk gracing his face. it was evident that he took delight in teasing and playfully testing your composure. it was more than a delight, he loved it.

you clench your teeth, a tinge of bitterness surfacing as you lick your lips, a subtle gesture of frustration mixed with a hint of intrigue. the playful banter between the two of you created a dance you both enjoyed, even in moments like these.

“it’s so funny you say that because i know a man with baby hairs longer than ella mais’ is not talking to me,” you yelled back as a rebuttal.

miles found himself at a loss for words, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at you in astonishment. your bold response had caught him off guard, revealing a side of you with a sharp wit that he hadn't fully expected. he couldn't help but respect your ability to hold your ground. with curiosity etched on his face, he continued to observe, wondering where this playful exchange would lead. he knew you wanted to style his baby hairs, but the question lingered: just how far would you take it? could he trust you with something so personal? miles could only wait and see.

arms crossed, he maintained a composed stance as he awaited your response. "you've got some bite to you. what happened to being gentle?" he questioned, a hint of amusement lacing his words.

you sighed, understanding that you needed to convince him. taking his hands into your own, you cupped them lovingly, locking eyes with him. the intensity of your gaze was difficult to resist.

"miles, pretty pretty please, let me style your edges," you pleaded, your eyes employing the irresistible charm of puppy dog eyes. you knew he couldn't refuse such a request.

however, to your surprise, he did refuse.

"edges? nah, you trippin’," he repeated to himself, his shock at such an ask evident as his mouth fell open slightly and his eyes widened. miles attempted to free his hand from your grasp, but you held on firmly.

at that moment, you realized there was no other choice but to resort to your final tactic. you brought his hands closer to your chest, leaning down to kiss him gently. the touch of your lips against his was tender, a moment of surprise that slowly transformed into shared synchronization.

as you pulled away, your eyes met his once again, filled with a pleading expression, silently asking permission to style his edges. "please?" you repeated.

the weight of your intimate kiss lingered in the air, leaving miles feeling captivated and unable to deny you any longer. the sensation of your lips meeting his had transported him to a realm of enchantment, where time seemed to stand still. as you leaned away, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face, longing for more of the intimate connection you had just shared. however, your irresistible gaze and the allure in your eyes made it impossible for him to utter the word "no."

his eyes fixated on your hand, realizing that he had been defeated by your charm. his arms dropped limply to his sides as he simply stared at you, a mix of surrender and anticipation coursing through him.

"fine, you win," miles admitted, a sense of defeat in his voice.

a smile spread across your face as you jumped up, radiating joy. "you're the best boyfriend," you exclaimed, wrapping him in a tight hug before playfully springing off his lap. with determination, you rummaged through the cabinets of his cómoda, searching for the holy grail—his eco gel.

"yeah, yeah," miles mumbled, his smile concealed but unmistakably present. as your arms enveloped him in an embrace, he savored the warmth and comfort they provided.

knowing that he slicked his hair back, you were confident he had a brush somewhere. your persistence paid off as you soon discovered the gel amidst your exploration. as you gathered all the necessary items in front of you—the gel, the 3-in-1 edge brush, and your trusty spray bottle.

a whisper escaped your lips, revealing your anticipation. "you don't know how long i've waited for this moment," you murmured, standing before him with the array of products, excitement emanating from every fiber of your being.

"go crazy,” miles added, giving you the green light. the gel in your hand held the power to transform his hair at your will, and he willingly surrendered himself to your creative freedom. his gaze remained fixed on you, as if he could anticipate your every move.

"bet," you confidently responded, reaching for the comb. your determination was evident, and he knew you were about to go all out. "you already know."

approaching him, you delicately used the comb to separate the baby hairs, skillfully tucking away any excess strands and seamlessly blending them into the braids. the edges received your attention next, as you meticulously brushed and styled them, lightly misting them with water to ensure they were dampened for the gel, all the while ensuring it wouldn't touch his forehead.

repeating the process on the other side of his head, you effortlessly extracted the baby hairs, leaving behind a clean and polished look, carefully arranging the longer strands that may have become entangled in the process.

now, the moment had arrived. with a glimmer of excitement in your eyes, you eagerly picked up the gel, locking eyes with miles.

as you finally held up the gel, his eyes widened, captivated yet nervous by your ecstatic expression. he had no inkling of your forthcoming plans, and his heart raced with anticipation of what was about to happen to him, caught in the enchanting gaze you shared once again.

"this feels like when sza finally dropped shirt," you playfully remarked, closing the distance between your faces. the anticipation in the air was palpable as you dipped the bristles of the edge styler brush into the gel, then pulled it out to reveal a perfect, medium-thick coating. "prepare to radiate fabulousness."

he couldn't believe the level of dedication you were putting into this moment. "i can't wait to see this myself," he responded, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. "my edges gon’ be on fleek?"

you made a shushing sound with your mouth, drawing even closer to him. his hands instinctively found their way to your hips, slowly gliding up to your waist as your bodies now stood inches apart.

"what, can't hold onto your girl anymore?" miles teased, a sly smile playing on his lips. "consider it me supporting your...balance."

a natural grin spread across your face, despite your attempts to resist it, for he had that effect on you—the power to make you smile effortlessly, just by being himself.

you delicately applied the gel to his hair, savoring this moment as an image in your mind. the weight of the occasion was undeniable, as he rarely allowed you to partake in such intimate grooming rituals. as the gel made contact with his strands, you felt a cool and smooth sensation tingling against your fingertips, heightening the sensory experience.

with precise movements, you began pulling the hair out from his hairline, brushing it towards you, allowing the gel to guide and shape each strand. the rhythmic dance between your finger and his hair created a tactile symphony, showcasing your control and finesse. the subtle resistance of the hair against your touch provided feedback that you relished, further immersing you in the moment.

however, this endeavor was about more than just tending to his edges; it had to be extraordinary. you understood that this opportunity might never come again, so you were determined to make it truly memorable. a flicker of inspiration sparked within you, warming your heart and fueling your creativity. you decided to put your heart into it.

continuing the sweeping motion, your finger glided along the edges, seamlessly blending and smoothing the gel with each stroke. you repeated the process with meticulous care, moving from one hair to another, ensuring a harmonious flow. when you reached his temple, a decision took shape. you divided the hairs into two distinct sections, applying the gel as you normally would. however, instead of sweeping them to the side, you gently smoothed them down, guiding them to face each other with an overexaggerated curve. the sensation of the gel-coated strands conforming to your touch brought a sense of satisfaction that words couldn't capture.

"perfect," you whispered under your breath, affirming your accomplishment with a contented smile.

the same process awaited the other side of his face. swiftly, you dipped the tip of the brush back into the gel, ensuring a fresh and generous coat for the opposite side. with deftness, you brushed the gel-soaked bristles down to his hair, feeling the slick texture of the gel melding with the strands. carefully, you laid the hair against the side of his head, relishing the tactile connection between brush, gel, and hair.

you gracefully swooped down the last bit of hair, a sense of accomplishment washing over you. it felt surreal, almost dreamlike, to witness the transformation you had achieved. slowly, you took a step back, feeling the corners of your mouth ache from the tightness of your grin. you observed your work with a keen eye, much like a painter admiring their canvas.

"done," you declared, your voice soft yet filled with a triumphant undertone.

bending down, you retrieved your purse, unzipping it and retrieving your phone. the anticipation in miles' gaze was palpable, as he eagerly awaited your permission to glance at the mirror.

"can i see the results?" he asked impatiently, his curiosity getting the better of him.

emerging from the floor, you tilted your head and regarded him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "nah, you gotta wait. this photo i'm about to take of you comes first," you spoke, relishing the suspense.

miles' face transformed into a slight pout at your words, the anticipation clear in his expression. you swiped right on your phone, opening the camera app, and positioned the focus on miles' face. the act of preparing to capture the moment added to the unreal experience, as you adjusted the settings and framed the shot.

"well, hurry up then cus’ i'm tryna see this masterpiece," miles urged, attempting to rush you. though he tried to conceal it, his eagerness to see your handiwork was unmistakable.

you couldn't help but notice that, despite his efforts to hide it, miles genuinely appreciated the care you put into styling his hair, just as he enjoyed when you attended to his skincare and other personal grooming routines. he couldn't deny that it made him feel special, particularly when it was you who took the time and effort to do it.

you shot him a cold, sidelong glance, effectively silencing his complaints.

"smile," you commanded with authority, expecting compliance. miles obliged with a soft smirk, clearly relishing the attention. however, this response irked you.

"hey, don't make this look like those instagram reels where them lash techs make their clients cry with crushed red eyes from the weight of them five pound lashes," you warned, your irritation seeping into your words. "i did you good, so don't make me repeat myself when i say smile."

your firm tone conveyed your insistence on capturing a genuine smile, free from any depressed or forced expressions.

miles adjusted himself, fixing his posture up straight and doing a cute little smile only a facebook mom could get out of their son.

“que lindo,” you added as your thumb kept tapping the photo button repeatedly, capturing as many shots as you could. it was an opportunity you had to seize.

once satisfied, you decided it was time. “okay,” you spoke as you went up on your tippy toes to put your hands over his eyes, wanting to do a surprise reveal. “you can look now.”

miles leaned down a little, lowering his tall figure to your height to make it easier for you to cover his eyes. you moved forward while still covering his eyes, urging him to follow as you propped him in front of the mirror.

you smiled to yourself as you looked at him through the reflection before without warning moving your hands down and revealing his reflection.

his mouth was agape as his eyes widened slightly. there were his edges, laid to perfection. you did them just as most looked, with graceful swoops to the side that perfectly blended to his braids. but there was a subtle difference at his temples, one that you did specifically for him. you felt a warm sensation in your abdomen as the butterflies fluttered against your stomach as you watched his lips curl into a knowing smirk followed by a chuckle. it was the hearts that got him. symmetrical to each side you had given him little hearts made from his baby hairs with the eco gel.

miles couldn't help but admire his reflection, marveling at the artistry and care that went into his edges. he ran his fingers gently over the intricate hearts, his embarrassment giving way to a sense of warmth and appreciation for your thoughtfulness.

"they actually… don’t look half bad," he finally managed to say, surprise and delight in his voice. "i’m almost mad that i kinda like it, lowkey."

you grinned, ignoring his “lowkey” comment and feeling a sense of pride in your handiwork. "i'm glad you like it even tho’ you had no other choice but to," you replied with a little giggle, unable to hide the satisfaction in your tone. "i wanted to do it a lil’ special for you."

as if on cue, the two of you instinctively reached for your phones, ready to capture the moment. you held up your phone and asked, "can we take a pic’ together?"

miles hesitated for a moment, a playful blush creeping onto his cheeks knowing you wanted to take another one of your pinterest worthy relationship goals photos to add to the album of you two. "well, i don't mind taking the photo, as long as you don’t go posting me as always," he said sheepishly. "i'm not tryna get clowned in the locker room because my girl wanna be funny."

you nodded understandingly, respecting his wishes. "c’mon, miles. i wouldn’t even do nothing like that," you assured him, wanting to make him feel comfortable.

with wide smiles and playful poses, the two of you snapped several adorable mirror selfies, capturing the joy and affection radiating between you. miles couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness, grateful to have someone like you in his life to always keep it interesting and be there for him.

in his mind, he had acknowledged countless times that it was these moments, born out of the mundane and unexpected, that truly illuminated his love for you as his girlfriend. in those instances, he couldn't fathom the strangeness of a life without you by his side.

hours later, as you scrolled through your friends' instagram stories, you couldn't help but chuckle mischievously. miles had no idea what was coming. without thinking, you swiped left to make a post on your story and went to your camera. scrolling through the recents of your photos you found your favorited of the photos you and miles took. selecting a song of your choice, ranging from partynextdoor to had posted one of the mirror selfies, showcasing his impeccably styled edges and the sweet hearts adorning his temples.

it didn't take long for miles to notice. his phone buzzed with notifications, and curiosity piqued, he opened your story. his eyes widened in disbelief as he saw the photo, his cheeks flushing with a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and a hint of affectionate annoyance.

"yo," he exclaimed, a playful protest in his voice. "you said you wouldn't post it!"

you turned to him, a mischievous grin on your face. "who would i be if i didn’t flex our relationship goals on the story every now and then? crazy you even thought i was being for real about not posting," you replied, unable to hide your amusement. "don’t press me when we both look cute, especially you. everyone loved it anyway and the swipe ups are even better."

miles shook his head, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. deep down, he appreciated how you flaunted your relationship, knowing that it came from a place of love and admiration—knowing that if you could, you would show him to all of new york.

as the notifications continued to flood in, miles found himself instinctively snuggling up to your side, finding comfort in the warmth of your presence as you busily responded to all the messages you received. despite his stubborn facade, you knew deep down that miles wasn't upset in the slightest. in fact, you couldn't help but hope that this playful incident might soften him up, eventually granting you the opportunity to work your magic on his lashes next time.

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ALL WRITING IS @PRIMAVIVA.

[vintagerpg]

Barlowe's Guide to Extraterrestrials (1979) is a fun little book that looks at aliens from a variety of science fiction stories through the (slightly) in-universe framing of a field guide, complete with notes on ecology and biological functions.

Artist Wayne Barlowe’s selections are an interesting cross-section of the genre (I don’t recognize a lot of them, honestly) and his interpretations (of the ones I do recognize) always walk the fine line between capturing something essential that I pictured in my mind’s eye while also being surprising or unexpected in many ways. Among the beasties I did not photograph are the Overlords from Childhood’s End, the Puppeteers from Ringworld, the Izchel from Wrinkle in Time, the Masters from the Tripod books and Ursula Le Guin’s Athshean.

In a way, the Guide feels like an extension of the larger interest in fantastic art in the ‘70s, embodied most in the Gnomes, Fairies and Giants books. It, and its Fantasy companion (see tomorrow) certainly wouldn’t come out today, but for me, they’re just amazing. They gave Barlowe a whole book to draw monsters and aliens; monster and alien enthusiasts like me got a pile of rad illustrations to look at; and a stack of sci fi writers got low-key advertising for their works. Wins down the line.

Worth mentioning that this is likely a direct inspiration for Call of Cthulhu’s pair of Petersen’s Field Guides (Cthulhu Monsters and Dreamlands), right down to little nuances of layout formatting. I would bet that they were also on someone’s mind when the Ecology articles began to appear in Dragon Magazine (those started in ’83 with the Piercer).

[beautifullache]

🦄The Sims 4🦄

🎆PATREON ONLY🎆

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A product and master of the true, traditional craft of ink, Don Ed Hardy, "The God Father of Modern Tattoos," is an American born, internationally recognized artist. A brilliant creative who developed the potential of tattooing as a legitimate, expressive art form and is primarily responsible for its global growth over the past fifty years. His unique aesthetic and innovative techniques are still being utilized by tattoo artists today.

A product and master of the true, traditional craft of ink, Don Ed Hardy, "The God Father of Modern Tattoos," is an American born, internationally recognized artist. A brilliant creative who developed the potential of tattooing as a legitimate, expressive art form and is primarily responsible for its global growth over the past fifty years. His unique aesthetic and innovative techniques are still being utilized by tattoo artists today.

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CHANEL is a private company and a world leader in creating, developing, manufacturing and distributing luxury products.

Founded by Gabrielle Chanel at the beginning of the last century, CHANEL offers a broad range of high-end creations, including Ready-to-Wear, Leather Goods, Fashion Accessories, Eyewear, Fragrances, Makeup, Skincare, Jewelry and Watches.

CHANEL is also renowned for its Haute Couture collections, presented twice yearly in Paris, and for having acquired a large number of specialized suppliers, collectively known as the Métiers d’Art.

CHANEL is dedicated to ultimate luxury and to the highest level of craftsmanship. It is a brand whose core values remain historically grounded on exceptional creation. As such, CHANEL promotes culture, art, creativity and “savoir-faire” throughout the world, and invests significantly in people, R&D and innovation.

At the end of 2019, CHANEL employed more than 28,000 people across the world.

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[highblkfemsociety]

Harness Their Hate: How to Alchemize Negativity Into Manifestation Fuel

Energy is everywhere—swirling in unseen currents, exchanged in every glance, every word, every silent thought. Often, we find ourselves drenched in negativity, weighed down by energy meant to harm, distract, or break us. But what if you could take that very darkness and twist it to your advantage? What if every insult, every envious glare, every rejection could become the spark that ignites your power?

This is the art of energy transmutation—a seductive, almost forbidden mastery of turning shadows into light and harnessing what was meant to destroy you to fuel your highest manifestations.

Understanding Energy Vampirism as a Tool

First, let’s clear up the stigma around “energy vampirism.” While traditionally associated with draining others, I invite you to reframe this concept. Instead of taking energy destructively, think of it as absorbing and redirecting the natural currents of energy—both positive and negative—into your personal power.

You’re not a thief; you’re an alchemist.

The Power of Negative Energy

Negative energy—be it criticism, anger, envy, or resistance—is still energy. And energy, by nature, is neutral. It’s how you respond to it that determines its impact.

Here’s the secret: what others send your way doesn’t have to define or diminish you. Instead, it can fuel you.

When someone directs negativity toward you, they are, in essence, giving you energy. Rather than letting it deplete you, you can transmute it into a force that propels your desires into reality.

Steps to Transmute Negative Energy for Manifestation

Acknowledge Without Absorbing

When faced with negative energy, don’t resist or internalize it. Acknowledge it for what it is: a signal of someone else’s imbalance. Take a deep breath and remind yourself that this energy does not define you.

Ground Yourself

Before you can redirect energy, you must ground yourself. Visualize roots extending from your body into the earth, anchoring you in your own power. This creates a stable foundation for alchemical work.

Reframe and Reclaim

Shift your perspective. Instead of thinking, Why is this happening to me? ask, How can this serve me? Imagine yourself holding the energy in your hands, reshaping it into a glowing orb of light that feeds your goals and dreams.

Redirect the Flow

Focus on your manifestations. Visualize the transmuted energy flowing into your intentions—whether it’s abundance, love, or self-confidence. The stronger your visualization, the more potent your results.

Release and Elevate

Release any residual negativity. You can do this through journaling, burning sage, or engaging in movement like dance or yoga. Elevate your vibration with affirmations or gratitude to seal the process.

Becoming a Magnetic Force

The more you practice transmutation, the more magnetic you become. You’ll notice that challenges and negativity no longer drain you; instead, they energize you. People may even wonder how you manage to thrive under pressure.

This is your power: to turn pain into purpose, resistance into resilience, and negativity into an unstoppable force for good in your life.

A Word of Caution

Energy work requires discernment. Be mindful not to rely solely on external energies to fuel your power. Balance is key—cultivate your inner light as you transform external darkness.

Final Thoughts

In the High Black Feminine Society, we recognize that the world often tries to dim our light. But our power lies in our ability to reclaim every piece of energy thrown our way and transmute it into something extraordinary.

When you master the art of energy transmutation, you don’t just survive—you thrive. You become the architect of your reality, the magnet for your desires, and the embodiment of divine alchemy.

Let the negativity fuel your fire. Turn their shadows into your shine. And let your manifestations speak louder than their doubts ever could.

What will you transform today? Let me know in the comments.

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[kidcanines]

cg!the batman (2004) headcannons ᯓᡣ𐭩

x - x - x

—DNI NSFW—

· likes to pretend he’s a single parent even though it’s Alfred teaching him how to take care of you

· Makes comments on what the butler picks out for you- “Won’t it be chilly today? What if he catches a cold?”…”Master Bruce, I assure you, I’ve checked the forecast.”

· Has Alfred teach him how to cook breakfast so he can make food for you.

· Likes holding you close to his chest and whispering in your ear to make you go to sleep- is very advanced in the art of staying up late too make sure you get sleep- Alfred takes over when it becomes clear that Bruce needs sleep just as much as you do. He lays you down on your tummy and gently pats and rubs your back against your onesie to soothe you to sleep. He’ll play old records too.

· Bruce acts out the stories he reads to you. Literally. He can’t tell a story without setting up some sort of fortress and moving around it in a manner that makes you giggle. Anything to make you laugh.

· You hang off of him every chance you get. He doesn’t even have to be holding you for you to be hanging off of his shoulder or arm.

· You present to be the most well behaved little boy at the multitudes of dinner parties and charity balls that your dad hosts. Both Alfred and Bruce fret over you constantly but you manage to woo the crowd every chance you get.

· You prove to be a much better novice cook than your Dad, which he playfully sulks at before surprise picking you up and tickle attacking you.

· Not too much tv time- Alfred makes sure you’re always occupied whenever Bruce is away. Whether that be playing with toys or dancing on his toes to your favorite sounds with a wide smile on your face.

· You prove to be a much better novice cook than your Dad, which he playfully sulks at before surprise picking you up and tickle attacking you.

· Your sleep schedule is never really set. Whenever Alfred or Bruce puts you down to bed you end up sneaking down to the batcave, wide awake. You’re quite the stealth master yourself so Bruce only knows you're down there when Ace comes out of the darkness. Both just sigh at your insistence on staying up.

· You’re homeschooled. Everyone knows that Bruce- millionaire playboy who invests so much in his company his workers are prim and pampered-is your caretaker. So it’s not wise to just send you out into the world thinking nobody’s gonna at least try to kidnap you because of who you are. Besides, you don’t like the attention it brings.

· When you’re regressed to smaller ages and don’t like to be away from your Dad you have a little spot carved out in the batcave. Alfred likes to put you in baby jail a lot- a room with all your favorite toys directly across from the kitchen which he can see into.

· In the summer you guys garden. A bunch. Carrots, peas (bleh), parsley, tomatoes, beans, potatoes, and much much more. You don’t necessarily like getting your hands dirty but it’s fun when both your dad and Alfred are around.

· You and your Dad go sit underneath a tree when it’s especially hot and just enjoy the breeze and sounds. You usually fall asleep in his lap while he reads. You’ve forced him to recognize early on that his life can’t just be all work and no play. And the fear of leaving you early on to fend for yourself is still there, a blight on many of his days with you. It’s not like they’re numbered- more the suddenness of it.

· Leaving you without him is similar to the suddenness of a slammed door and the resounding quietness afterwards. Just like his parents did. In the blink of an eye, a mere snap of a finger, a subsequent pulling of the trigger. It’s instant. But he can’t live his life in fear. Knowing that without you the sweetness of life wouldn’t be fully realized.

· That he’d miss out on so many silly moments that only you could come up and he be the benefactor of. Being Batman is not so much about avenging his parents deaths anymore, but protecting those kids who would otherwise be out of luck if he didn’t exist. In a way, he does it for you.

· It’s what makes him clench you that much tighter despite the heat and the cicadas. What makes him hold your hand tighter at those annoying dinner parties. What makes him feel just that much lighter when he’s around you. What makes him work harder when it comes down to the nitty gritty of being a vigilante.

· You have one stuffed animal despite your Dads insistence on buying you more. It’s well-loved and you make sure whenever Alfred goes to wash it that he’s very gentle despite just how many times he’s gone about the task of washing said stuffie.

· He loves spoiling you, whether it be coming home with sweets you like (macarons hands down.) or bringing you toys and pacifiers and babas. It’s frankly impossible to get him to stop spending money on you. You rarely ask for anything but when you do oh boy you better hope he doesn’t buy multiples of the exact same thing just for you.

· What you do have in multitudes is blankets. Dozens of them on you and your dads bed for you and Ace to snuggle into.

· Bruce and Alfred always like to remind you that they love you. For Bruce it’s a quick kiss on the cheek that he pulls you into. For Alfred, a squeeze of your hand whenever you guys are out (especially during the cold months) or an ask for a little hand when he’s baking a sweet treat.

· Bruce is always peeling or cutting your fruit you. He learned from Alfred and now just likes the mundanity that comes with plating cut up and small digestible foods on your cute little separated plate and placing it in front of you while your playing pretend with something he carved.

· You very often go to Wayne tower with him. You curiously mock and observe all the little human quirks about your dad that people don't tend to pick up on.

note: There are different renditions of Batman everywhere. This specific rendition (The Batman, 2004) follows a younger, more naive Bruce Wayne who is just settling into his role as Batman- thus my headcannons might seem a bit out of character from the one you might be used to. However, this one, is not. This Batman is one I’ve known in particular for a very long time (been watching and rewatching this one since I was 14) and thus I write more about him because that’s what I feel comfortable with. He isn’t out of character, he’s just a different version.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Oxygen

Summary: Wanting to learn to protect yourself from creeps led you right into the arms of your Sensei.... who's crazy about you.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Dirty talk, Teasing, Dom Hanzo and Sub reader, Sensei kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Wall sex

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Mortal Kombat character/s nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

As the sun sets on another day of grueling training, Hanzo watches you intently. He sees dedication in your eyes, a burning desire to master the art of combat. It's an admirable trait, one that he recognizes all too well from his own past. But it's also dangerous – obsession can lead down dark paths. "Enough for today," he finally says after several hours of relentless drills. "Go wash up. We'll resume tomorrow morning." Despite his words though, his gaze lingers on you longer than necessary – almost possessive in its intensity. You nod respectfully, your body still trembling from exhaustion yet filled with an unyielding determination. You turn away from him briefly before stopping abruptly and glancing back over your shoulder. "Sensei?" Your voice is barely above a whisper but carries an undercurrent of something deeper – something yearning.

He notices the slight hesitation in your step and the way you look back at him. A part of him wants to reach out, offer comfort, or perhaps something more…but duty keeps him restrained. "What is it?" His tone is firm yet holds a hint of curiosity – he genuinely cares about his student's progress but also understands the boundaries between teacher and student. Even so, there’s a flicker of something else within those cold eyes – intrigue maybe? Or could it be interest? Whatever it may be though, it quickly fades behind his usual stoic demeanor. You swallow hard, your throat bobbing visibly as you struggle to find the right words. Finally, you take a deep breath and speak in a hushed tone. "Sensei, I…I want to learn everything. Not just the physical techniques, but…everything. Your ways, your secrets…" Your eyes lock onto his, pleading and intense. You step closer, your hand reaching out as if to touch him, but then hesitate, unsure. "Please, Sensei. Teach me everything." There's a desperation in your voice, a hunger that goes beyond mere martial arts instruction. The plea in your voice hits him harder than any punch or kick ever could. He remains silent for a moment, studying your face closely. He can see the raw emotion there – a desire so pure and genuine that it stirs something within him.

"You wish to know my ways?" He asks softly, stepping closer until you're only inches apart. His voice drops even lower now, almost a whisper. "Then prepare yourself. My teachings are harsh, demanding complete submission from those who seek them." Without warning, he reaches out and gently grabs hold of your wrist – not roughly but firmly enough to make his point clear. "Do you understand what you’re asking for?" You inhale sharply at the contact, feeling both the strength and warmth of his grip on your wrist. You nod slowly, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. "Yes, Sensei. I understand." Your voice trembles slightly but you don’t pull away; instead, you lean into his touch, seeking solace in his presence. "But please…teach me," you plead again, looking up into his eyes with an earnestness that tugs at something deep inside him. "I need this. I need you." A look crosses his features that might have been a surprise had anyone else uttered such words. But coming from you? It resonates differently – like a secret longing finally being voiced aloud. "Very well," he murmurs softly. "We shall begin tonight." And without another word, he releases your wrist and turns away, heading towards his private quarters. Over his shoulder, he adds, "Follow me." A shiver runs down his spine at your words, your confession.

He can feel the heat of your body, the desperation in your gaze. It's intoxicating, and for a moment, he forgets himself, forgets his duty as a sensei. "But remember, once you embark on this path, there is no turning back. You will be mine completely, body and soul." With that, he pulls you close, his lips crashing down onto yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. It's a claim, a declaration of ownership. You moan softly into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as you press your body flush against his. The world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you lost in a whirlwind of passion and desire. When he finally breaks the kiss, you gasp for air, your eyes glazed over with lust. "Yes, Sensei," you whisper breathlessly, nuzzling your face against his neck. "I'm yours. Completely." Your hands roam over his shoulders, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath his gi. You feel a primal urge to mark him, to claim him in return, and with a sudden surge of boldness, you bite down on his earlobe, sucking gently. "Teach me everything," you repeat, your voice husky with arousal. "Show me the depths of your power, your passion."

A low growl rumbles in his chest as you bite his ear, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin. He grips your hips tightly, pulling you even closer to him so you can feel the evidence of his desire. "You dare to bite me, little one?" he rasps, his voice thick with lust. "You think you can claim me so easily?" Before you can respond, he picks you up and slams you against the wall, pinning you there with his body. One hand slides up your thigh, pushing your own gi out of the way as he teases the edge of your panties. "Let's see how much you truly crave my teaching," he purrs, his fingers dipping beneath the fabric to stroke your wet folds. You cried out, arching your back and pressing your hips forward instinctively as his fingers found your slick heat. Your head falls back against the wall, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat. "Ah, Sensei!" you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, don't tease me. I need you inside me." You reached down to fumble with the tie of your gi, desperate to free yourself from the restrictive fabric. As you do, your breasts press against his chest, the soft mounds straining against the thin material of your top. "Touch me everywhere," you beg, your voice high and needy. "Make me yours, completely."

He chuckles darkly, a sound that sends shivers down your spine. With a swift motion, he rips open your gi, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze. He cups the soft flesh in his palms, thumbs teasing the hardened nipples. "So eager, so willing to submit," he praises, his breath hot against your ear. "I like that in a student." Leaning in, he captures one nipple between his teeth, biting down gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. His other hand continues its exploration, slipping further into your panties to finger your clit. "You're so wet for me already," he notes approvingly, pumping his fingers in and out of your tight channel. "Such a good girl, taking my fingers so well." A sharp cry tears itself from your throat as he teases your nipple, the dual sensations of pleasure and pain making you dizzy with desire. You squirm against him, trying to get more friction on your sensitive clit. "Sensei!" You gasp, your voice choked with lust. "More! Please, give me more!" Your hips buck against his hand, chasing after the delicious pressure building within your core. You've never felt anything like this before – the intensity of his touch, the dominance in his actions. It scares you but excites you even more. "Don't stop," you plead desperately. "I need to cum, Sensei. I need to cum on your fingers."

A wicked grin spreads across his face as you plead for release. He loves seeing you so desperate, so needy, and all for him. It makes him want to push you further, to test just how far he can take you. "Not yet," he murmurs, slowing his movements. "You haven't earned that privilege yet." His fingers continue their torturous dance on your clit, driving you wild with anticipation. He can feel your walls clenching around nothing, craving for something – him – to fill you. "First…" He trails off, leaning in to capture your lips in a bruising kiss while his free hand travels down to fondle your ass. "You must prove your loyalty to me," he murmurs against your lips. "Prove that you deserve my seed." The combination of his mouth on yours, his fingers on your clit, and his hand on your ass is too much. You're spiraling out of control, your mind fogged by lust and need. All you can focus on is the relentless pursuit of pleasure. "I-I am loyal," you stammer, trying to articulate your thoughts through the haze of desire. "Only to you, Sensei. Only ever to you." Your legs tremble, threatening to buckle under the weight of your arousal. You wrap them around his waist, locking your ankles together behind his back. This new position allows you to grind against his hand, seeking that elusive release. "Please, Sensei," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need it… I need to cum."

He pulls back slightly, watching you with intense eyes that seem to burn into your soul. There's no pity there, only raw desire and a hint of sadistic pleasure at your desperation. "Then show me," he commands, his voice a deep rumble. "Cum for me. Let go and let me hear you scream my name." With renewed vigor, he doubles his efforts, pumping his fingers faster and harder into your pussy. His thumb joins in, circling your clit mercilessly until your writhing and panting against him. "That's it," he encourages, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "Give yourself over to the pleasure. Surrender to me." Your body tenses, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap. The relentless stimulation of his fingers and thumb pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "Sensei!" you wail, your voice echoing off the walls. "Oh god, Sensei!" And then, suddenly, you're plummeting over the cliff. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, crashing over you in intense, pulsing waves of pleasure. You scream his name again and again, each cry punctuated by a violent spasm of your inner muscles milking his fingers. As the aftershocks slowly subside, you collapse against him, spent and trembling. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, and your skin is slick with sweat. "S-Sensei…" you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse and shaky. "That was… incredible."

A satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he watches you come undone beneath his touch. He withdraws his fingers slowly, savoring the sight of your flustered and disheveled. "Good," he says simply, his voice low and husky. "But remember, this is just the beginning." He leans down, capturing your lips once more in another searing kiss. His hands roam over your body, claiming every inch of you as his own. He breaks away from the kiss only long enough to trail kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking at your tender flesh. "Now," he growls against your skin, "it's my turn." As he claims your body with his hands, you can't help but melt under his touch. Each caress sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins, reigniting the fire that had just been extinguished moments ago. "Yes, Sensei," you breathe out, your voice laced with longing. "Take what you want. Use me however you please." You arched your back, offering yourself up to him willingly. Your nipples harden further under his continued attention, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You moan softly, lost in the sensation of being utterly owned by this powerful man. "Please, Sensei," you beg, your eyes filled with a mix of fear and excitement. "Use me again. Make me cum for you."

He chuckles darkly, pleased by your eagerness. With a deft movement, he pulled your hips more up into the air. "As you wish, little one," he purrs, running his hands over your exposed buttocks. "Prepare yourself for my cock." Without warning, he slams into you, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. A guttural groan escapes him as your tight heat envelops him, squeezing and milking his shaft. "Fuck, you're so tight," he grunts, setting a punishing pace. "Taking me so well, just like a good little slut." He pounds into you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. One hand reaches around to find your clit, rubbing it furiously as he fucks you. The suddenness of his penetration leaves you gasping, your body tensing up reflexively. But as the pain subsides, replaced by overwhelming pleasure, you relax into the rhythm of his thrusts. "Ah! Sensei!" you cried out, your voice muffled by the pillow beneath your head. "It feels so good… so full!" Each stroke of his cock inside you sends waves of pleasure radiating outward from your core. The pressure on your clit adds an extra layer of intensity, pushing you closer and closer to the brink. "More, Sensei," you beg, bucking your hips back against him. "Harder! Please, fuck me harder!"

His grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he increases his pace. The slap of his thighs against your ass echoes through the room, punctuating each brutal thrust. "That's it, take it all," he snarls, his voice strained with effort. "You're mine now, completely and utterly mine." He leans forward, his chest pressing against you as he continues to pound into you. One hand snakes around to cover your mouth, muffling your cries of pleasure. "Shh, don't make so much noise," he whispers hotly in your ear. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear how well you're taking your Sensei's cock." His words send a shiver down your spine, heightening your arousal even further. You can feel him throbbing inside you, his climax rapidly approaching. Your mind reels from the sheer intensity of the coupling, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body. The feeling of being claimed so thoroughly, so completely, is unlike anything you ever experienced before. "Mmmph!" you moan into his palm, struggling to contain your cries of ecstasy. "Sensei, I'm… I'm gonna cum again!" As if sensing your impending orgasm, he redoubles his efforts, fucking you with wild abandon. The hand covering your mouth moves to your clit, rubbing it fiercely as he drives into you. "Do it," he growls. "Cum for me, right now. Show me how much you love my cock." The combination of his words and actions proves too much for you to bear.

Feeling you clenching around him signals his own impending release. He pulls almost entirely out before slamming back into you, burying himself to the hilt once more. "That's it," he pants, his voice thick with lust. "Cum for me, little slut. Let go and show me just how much you love my big, hard cock." With a final, deep thrust, he spills his seed inside you, filling you with his warmth. His entire body tenses as he releases, a guttural roar escaping him as he marks you as his own. Finally, you both collapse spent and panting. He sets you down, pulling you close to his chest. "Well done, little one," he murmurs, his voice heavy with satisfaction. "You've proven yourself to be a worthy disciple indeed." The sensation of him filling you up, marking you internally, sends you over the edge. You scream his name, loud and clear, as your orgasm crashes over you like a tsunami. Your inner walls clench and flutter around him, milking him for all he's worth. "Sensei!" you wail, your voice raw from screaming and crying out. "I'm cumming! Ahhh!" Your whole body convulses with the force of your orgasm, your pussy spasming uncontrollably around his cock.

"I love your cock! It's the best thing that's ever been inside me!" Your body shakes violently, convulsing as you are wracked by pleasure. Every nerve ending seems to be alight with electricity, every cell singing with joy. You collapse against the wall behind you, spent and panting, your juices mixing with his to form a sticky mess between you both. Panting heavily, he slows his movements until finally stopping altogether. He remains buried within you, enjoying the feeling of your warm, wet pussy clinging to his member. "You were made for me weren't ya," he murmurs, nuzzling your neck affectionately. "You're such a good girl, taking my cock so well. So obedient… But we're not done yet," he says with a wicked grin. "There's still more where that came from."

[talonabraxas]

Orion ✨ About The Constellation Orion

Let us remember the “Constellation of Orion” of the Egyptians; it is evident that this constellation is governed by 12 Great Masters. Esoterically it is said that those 12 Masters assist each other, but the 6th is always missing, meaning that “In order to attain SeIf-Realisation it is necessary to rend the veil of Isis” or, that is, the Adamic Sexual Veil.

Only in liberating oneself from sex in an absolute manner can one reach final liberation. The difficulty in all of this is, as the saying goes: “wanting to saddle the horse before you’ve caught it”. That is to say, the information given by all of those schools who say that one must liberate one self from sex, but without having fabricated the Solar Bodies.

Firstly, the Solar Bodies must be fabricated, and then sex must be renounced. That is the right way of things, and the things of the right way. In the work, first it is the animal, and later, the spiritual.

The constellation of Orion has a marked influence upon the atomic star which guides us internally which is Ain Soph Paranishpanna, our intimate star. As one Master said: “I raise my eyes to the stars from whence must come my help, but I am always guided by my Star which I have within”.

(Samael Aun Weor, Tarot And Kabbalah, Excerpts from Chapter 37, Arcanum Nº 15)

In Atlantis existed seven important oracles in the physical world, where men studied the wisdom of the stars and consulted the sidereal Gods. The guardians of those mysteries were great initiates. In the oracle of Mars, Martian occultism was taught; in the oracle of Jupiter, the Jupiterian religion; in the oracle of Venus, the arts, and Venusian knowledge; in the oracle of Saturn, the wisdom of Saturn; in the oracle of the Moon, lunar occultism; in the oracle of Mercury, Mercurian wisdom; and in the solar oracle, our Gnostic wisdom.

The ancient priests taught their disciples how to interpret the firmament. Those signs are interpreted basing oneself on the law of philosophical analogies, for example: if you see black stars with your clairvoyance, there is failure for thee. If you see a star fall from heaven at the moment when a friend leaves on a trip, there is going to be a funeral for thy friend. If the star falls on someone, or close to someone important, that personage will die. If a wandering star passes before thee by surprise, someone is leaving thee. If you see two yellow stars separating from each other, it means “war”.

Through thy esoteric studies thou shalt remain under the direction of some planetary genii, and they shall call thee by means of luminous signs that thou shalt learn to recognize. Thou should also comprehend the sparkle of thy celestial Father’s star when he calls thee to instruct thee in the mysteries of Light.

This earth, so dense, that thou inhabits today, will in a remote day be etheric and we will then have the celestial Jerusalem where neither tears nor pain exist. By then, the constellation of Orion which has brought so much bitterness to the world through the north, will shine illuminating a world full of glee and happiness.

“After this I looked, and, behold, a door was opened in heaven: and the first voice which I heard was as it were of a trumpet talking with me; which said, Come up hither, and I will show thee things which must be hereafter”.

“And immediately I was in the spirit: and, behold, a throne was set in heaven, and one sat on the throne”.

“And he that sat was to look upon like a jasper and a sardine stone: and there was a rainbow round about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald”.

“And round about the throne were four and twenty seats: and upon the seats I saw four and twenty elders sitting, clothed in white raiment; and they had on their heads crowns of gold”.

“And out of the throne proceeded lightnings and thunderings and voices: and there were seven lamps of fire burning before the throne, which are the seven spirits of God”.

“And before the throne there was a sea of glass like unto crystal: and in the midst of the throne, and round about the throne, were four beasts full of eyes before and behind”.

“And the first beast was like a lion, and the second beast like a calf, and the third beast had a face as a man, and the fourth beast was like a flying eagle”.

“An the four beasts had each of them six wings about him; and they were full of eyes within: and they rest not day and night, saying, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come”.

“And when those beasts give glory and honor and thanks to him that sat on the throne, who liveth for ever and ever”.

“The four and twenty elders fall down before him that sat on the throne, and worship him that liveth for ever and ever, and cast their crowns before the throne, saying’ç

“Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created”. (Revelation 4)

May the most profound peace reign in thy hearts.

(Samael Aun Weor, Zodiacal Course, Excerpt from the Chapter “Pisces)

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 [𝐃𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐜]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairings: Diluc x fem!reader

Warnings: just comfort holiday’s fluff!

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. Freya Ridings - Ultraviolet

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

art: @eea9a9

«You know you're always welcome at the distillery»

You burrow deeper into your warm voluminous scarf, replaying Diluc's words over and over in your head, like a mantra to calm down, which still cannot calm the excitement. This is the first time a man has invited you to his house for such as… Family activities. You felt awkward even when he just voiced his proposal with the same stoically serious expression on his face, typical for Diluc, so what is going on in your head and heart now when you approach the door of his luxurious mansion is hardly possible to describe in words at all.

Of course, the reason for most of your panic is the feelings that you have been desperately trying to hide for several long years, during which the friendship between you and Diluc seems to have become stronger, but this is absolutely not what you really want. And, as a good friend and a girl who never seems to dare to declare her feelings out loud, you simply had no right to refuse an invitation.

Outside, the snow-dusted distillery is already decorated with bright flashing lights, and a charming Christmas wreath flaunts on the door. This place has always seemed cozy to you, but now the warmth seeping out from the walls of the estate feels even brighter than usual on a slightly frosty pre-holiday day.

You hesitate, hesitantly clenching your fingers into a fist before knocking softly on the heavy door. You hear the soft click of heels, recognizing Adelinda in painfully familiar steps, who opens the doors in front of you, spreading a friendly smile.

— Lady Y/N, — the woman bows, stepping aside and letting you into the manor.

— Come on, Adelinde, we've known each other for years!

— Ha-ha, it's true. I suppose I could even call you a member of the young Master's family.

— Wh-what are you saying? — you mumble sheepishly, unwinding the scarf around your neck before handing it to the maid along with your coat. — Is Diluc in his office?

— No, it seems that Master has already started decorating the Christmas tree, — the woman grins, motioning you to go further into the living room. — I think he's going to need your help anyway.

You turn around, running your gaze around the spacious room, noticing Diluc standing in the corner, dressed in his classic trousers and shirt, thoughtfully peering into a large box standing on the coffee table. His hair is tied up in a high ponytail today, and you can't help but smile a little, remembering how you once mentioned that you like it. Not far from the puzzled red-haired man, on the right side of the fireplace, there was a tall Christmas tree, on which still no decorations were noticed, while you slowly crossed the living room, approaching your friend.

«And this is called "started decorating"?»

— As I see, you really can't do without my help here!

Your voice snaps Diluc out of his thoughts, and the man turns around, meeting your undisguised curiosity when you try to look behind his back.

— You're late, as always, so I decided to start without you.

— How rude! Moreover, apparently, so far your endeavors haven't been crowned with success, — you again glance at the bare Christmas tree, and Diluc sighs heavily, turning away towards the box.

— Of course. I have just started, and the selection of jewelry takes a lot of time.

You roll your eyes, standing up on your toes and looking over Diluc's shoulder. The box you are interested in is filled with a wide variety of toys and tinsel so much that your eyes run away. It seemed that this box had been filled for several decades with various decorations that had been passed down from generation to generation. Red, green, white and gold balls are neatly stacked on one half, while colorful tinsel and garlands are arranged on the other.

— Wow, you really have a lot of toys! — you take a step to the side, standing next to Diluc. — But I still don't understand what you're thinking about. Let's just hang them the way we want!

Diluc presses a relaxed fist to his lips, slightly clearing his throat.

— It was usually Adelinde who did it.

—Oh, — you nod knowingly, before a stunning realization gradually comes to you, and your face takes on a surprised look. — Wait, then why did you decide to do it now?

— There's no particular reason, — the man looks away. — I just found some free time this year.

— Is that so?

There is silence between the two of you for a few seconds before you break it with a thoughtful chuckle, after which your hands reach for the huge box.

— What are you doing? — Diluc asks anxiously, noticing how hard you are trying to tear the box off the table.

— It seemed much lighter in appearance! I thought it would be more convenient if we put the decorations next to the tree, so… — you giggle, making another futile attempt to lift the box, when suddenly it becomes surprisingly light and rises by itself in front of your eyes, making you cry out in surprise.

— You could have just asked me right away, — you feel Diluc's forearm touching your chest as he snatches the box from your hands, and instantly give up your desperate attempts, jumping aside.

And why did he take it into his head to do it now? Your heart is so restless again now, and you can feel the blood inevitably rushing to your face, fortunately, at the moment when Diluc is already turning away, easily transferring the jewelry box to a small bench in front of the fireplace. You always knew he was strong, but now his displays of masculinity make you even more nervous.

— T-thank you … — you move closer to the tree after Diluc, taking a deep breath to at least sort out your chaotic thoughts a little, and put your fists on your sides, raising your head in satisfaction. — Well, great, we can start!

Time flew by unnoticed. The two of you were just chatting about everything and nothing, as usual, but this time it felt like this… In a family way? You've never felt so close to Diluc as you do now. He's a complicated man. You can almost see the heavy weight he has shouldered on his own shoulders, but he steadfastly and worthily withstands his weight day by day, although he looks insanely lonely when you look at him from the outside. As a friend, you should have tried to lighten his burden, but you never made such attempts.

He doesn't need it.

For some reason, you have the strong impression that Diluc is one of those people who don't need words, don't need help. He just needs someone to be there for him, even though he will never admit it out loud. That's why he invited you, that's why now his face is decorated with a modest barely noticeable smile, that's why he doesn't even try to argue when you're running this little event organized just for the two of you. Therefore, his ruby eyes sparkle when he watches you enthusiastically inspect the tree from all sides in search of an empty place where you can hang another ball.

You are the most ordinary girl — that's what you and, perhaps, most of your friends think, but Diluc sees you differently. You have the power that he can't have. You are free, carefree, still retaining the interest and craving for life that Diluc lacks, and which you unknowingly share with him whenever you spend time together.

And he just… so tired.

Day by day, his childish naivety and thirst for adventurism, which still live in your heart, melt away before your eyes, replaced by a sense of banal duty. That's why he wanted to see you today, wants to see you tomorrow and every day of his dreary life after that. After all, you bring colors to his gray days, like those with which you decorate the once boring and nondescript Christmas tree near the fireplace in Diluc's living room, breathing life into it.

— Have you finished yet? — Diluc gets up from his chair, approaching you when he notices you taking a few steps away from the decorated Christmas tree, giving it an appraising look.

— Yes, but… something is missing.

Diluc follows you with his eyes as you hurriedly run to the front door, fumbling in your bag hanging on a hanger.

— I wasn't sure if you didn't have something like that, so I didn't get it out as soon as I came in.

You return to Diluc as cheerfully as you ran away, opening a small box in front of him, in which the top of the Christmas tree in the form of a red star lies neatly.

— Why the red one? Shouldn't the star be yellow?

— Well, there really were a lot of different yellow stars in the store, but as soon as I saw this one, I immediately thought that it reminded me of the color of your hair! — your lips stretch into a radiant smile when you look up at Diluc.

— Really? Did you buy it for such a silly reason?

You were almost pouting and were about to take offense at Diluc's words, when suddenly you saw his face for the first time in all the many years that you spent together, decorated with a genuine sincere smile, followed by a quiet laugh, muffled by his big palm leaning against his lips.

For some reason, this sight made you feel such indescribable lightness and… happiness?

Yes, indeed. If you were ever happy, it was at this moment when Diluc managed, even if only for a miserable moment, to let go of everything that burdens him. And it was you who caused it.

— Well, that's it, stop laughing at me already! — you turn away from Diluc, trying to hide the blush tingling your cheeks, and head for the tree, awkwardly rising on tiptoe in an attempt to reach the top of the tall tree.

You don't even notice how Diluc's quiet laughter subsides behind your back, and his hands are on your waist, catching you off guard even before your feet suddenly lift off the floor.

— Wh-what are you doing?! — you cry out, feeling Diluc's fingers pressing into your ribs in close proximity to your chest, while he just holds you up effortlessly, like you're a light little kitten.

— Didn't you need help?

— Y-yes, but… — you swallow nervously, hoping he doesn't feel your poor heart pounding. — Thanks.

It's so awkward, but so insanely pleasant that you're ready to squeak with delight, barely restraining your gusts of happiness while your trembling hands place a red star on top of the Christmas tree.

— You can let go, — you reluctantly signal to Diluc, actually wishing that he would hold you like this for at least a little longer.

Which he does.

You feel him slowly pulling you closer to his body, so much so that you can feel his breath on your lower back as he gently lowers you to the floor, just holding his hands on your waist for a few moments before letting go. You freeze, trying to record this moment in as small detail as possible in your memory, when you hear Diluc embarrassedly clearing his throat behind your back, forcing you to turn around and see how he looks away.

— Well… it seems that's it now.

— Oh, yes, — you take a step back again, standing next to Diluc and just admiring the result of your joint work. If you weren't involved in the process, but you still saw what this tree looked like before you both decorated it with balloons and garlands, you would be amazed at how much it has transformed, now really imbued with the Christmas spirit. — In my opinion, it turned out well!

Diluc also raises his head, scanning the elegant Christmas tree with ruby eyes, and if you put your hand to his chest now, you could feel his heart skip a beat. One look at it was enough to take him back to his childhood, when he decorated the Christmas tree with his father and brother in the same way. A peaceful, carefree and happy time, the warmth of which settled back into his soul thanks to you.

— Y/N, — you look up at Diluc, but he still doesn't take his eyes off the iridescent multicolored lights burning on the Christmas tree. — Come to us… no, to me for Christmas.

And this time he let you see how the pale skin of his face turned slightly pink when he said those words.

You just freeze, not taking your eyes off the beautiful man, who now looks even more charming when the twinkle of a garland is reflected in his scarlet eyes. Your lips open, ready to make some kind of barb or shower Diluc with awkward questions, but you just smile, twisting your own fingers behind your back before nodding gently.

— I'll definitely come.

[clorvismaximus]

A Breakdown on the Evolution of Clowns

1. The Prankster Ancestor:

The clown species can be traced back to a distant common ancestor known as the Prankster Primus. This mischievous creature had a knack for playful antics and had developed basic comedic adaptations to ward off predators. Its ability to mimic sounds and movements for diversion laid the foundation for the evolutionary path toward laughter.

2. The Jester Epoch:

As time passed, a subgroup of Prankster Primus evolved into the Jester Epoch. These beings developed more sophisticated humor, using wit, jest, and physical comedy to entertain their social groups. The Jesters were the first to experiment with colorful costumes and facial expressions, setting the stage for the vibrant appearance of future clown species.

3. The Buffoon Branch:

From the Jester Epoch emerged the Buffoon Branch, a lineage characterized by exaggerated features and slapstick humor. Buffoons embraced physical comedy, incorporating elements like oversized shoes, comically large noses, and pratfalls into their performances. This marked the beginning of the distinct clown aesthetic that we recognize today.

4. The Circus Evolution:

As societies developed, so did the need for entertainment. The Circus Evolution saw the integration of clowns into traveling shows and performances. The evolving clown species adapted to the demands of the stage, perfecting their comedic timing and mastering the art of engaging large audiences.

5. The Technicolor Transformation:

In a burst of evolutionary creativity, the Technicolor Transformation introduced vibrant colors and intricate patterns to clown attire. This adaptation not only enhanced the visual appeal of clowns but also served as a form of communication. The more colorful the clown, the more likely they were to attract attention and laughter.

6. The Bozo Boom:

A significant milestone in clown genealogy was the Bozo Boom, during which the iconic character Bozo the Clown emerged. Bozo's popularity influenced the evolution of clown traits, shaping the modern understanding of what constitutes a classic clown. The Bozo Boom marked a period of cultural significance for the clown species.

7. The Globalization of Giggles:

In recent times, the globalization of entertainment has led to the spread of clown species across the world. Clowns from different regions have adapted to local humor, creating a rich tapestry of comedic diversity. The genealogy of clowns now spans various subtypes, from the traditional circus clown to the modern street performer.

8. The Digital Jest:

In the age of technology, the Digital Jest has emerged as a subcategory of clowns adapting to online platforms. Memes, GIFs, and virtual performances have become integral parts of the clown species' evolution, ensuring their continued relevance in the ever-changing landscape of entertainment.

[idkelly]

Painting

Travis bickle x reader

Summary: 3 encounters lead to 3 words on their minds.

Warnings: none; fluff

FIRST ENCOUNTER

Her knuckles were turning white.

Her grip didn’t soften as she pressed her notebook into her stomach. She stood on the edge of the sidewalk, shivering in her boots. She cursed herself for going out of her comfort zone that day. It was an important day on her calendar, yet at the end, she regretted her outfit. Upon moving here two months prior, she came to the realization that not many people had ‘style’. or at least a pop in what they choose to wear, everyone is so mundane in New York City that it clashes with what actually happens in the shadows.

As she stood there waiting, her mind wandered off to earlier that day. She had officially made it, and her agency is finally letting her step foot onto the field. Back in her hometown, she had worked tremendously for years on end on her craft; art wasn’t easy to master, or at least memorable art. Now that she's achieved what she’s been wanting, her work is recognized and in high demand.

But that was all on paper; she, on the other hand, wasn’t. She felt as if she were a ghost roaming around, creating what people thought were the most breathtaking paintings ever. At the back of her mind, an encounter a few months ago had stuck with her. She heard a higher-up phone call about the upcoming sales, and the topic switched to the products. Then he rambled on and on about how her paintings are basically Renaissance-made today. She was never much of a talker, yet she mustered up the courage to go up and talk to him, though his confused gaze threw her off.

"Uh, who are you exactly?"

It was fate; it had followed her everywhere. Sometimes she thinks that it’s because she was bland, basic, ordinary, and vanilla. But those thoughts left as soon as they came; she knew she wasn’t any of that. She was someone’s cup of tea for sure—not the vast majority thought so—and she was okay with it. Most of the time, she was alone, yet she never felt lonely.

Her cowboy boots were killer, red and bright, but so was the blood running down the back of her ankles; it was the first time she wore them. but she didn’t think it would mean a miserable way back home. Someone was supposed to pick her up, but guessing by the time they'd probably forgotten, she didn’t have anywhere near to go; her apartment was almost an hour away, and she hadn't seen a cab in a long while.

Behind her, illuminatingly, was a night café. Shaking her purse, she guessed she had enough money for some coffee and waffles.

She sat on the bar stool; she always liked it better than the regular seats; it was taller and bigger, almost like she was on top of the world. She liked the little stuff like this; it seemed silly to an outsider, but at least she’s having fun on her own, especially facing the window and looking at whoever walks by. A few minutes later, the waiter brought her food. She kicked off her boots to rest her feet a bit. It was going to be a long walk home.

She sat her bag on her lap and pulled out her small sketchbook. As if on cue, she noticed small rain drops clinging to the window before her; it added to the atmosphere, making her smile to herself. In her ear buds, killing me softly by fugees played, and her head swayed with the rhythm.

Half an hour passes as she’s lost in her sketchbook, her pencil dancing along the page, creating another beautiful portrait. That was her specialty. Her train of thought stops for a second when she notices someone sitting at the end of her row. Her head turns around, and she realizes that the place is basically full.

She glanced beside her at the figure; it was a guy in a green jacket and some jeans; he seemed to have ordered a coffee and some waffles; he had a mole on the side of his face. She didn’t spend much time staring at the man; it was rude. She just went back to drawing. but out of the corner of her eye, she saw what shoes he was wearing. cowboy boots.

"Cowboy boots!" It slipped out of her mouth before she could think.

The man looked startled. He looked at her, then turned his head behind him, making sure she was talking to him. His eyebrows rose as he looked at her confusedly. "Huh?"

She smiled, a bit embarrassed. I'm sorry, I meant—your boots! Cowboy boots, I like ‘em."

Her eyes never left his; they were dark, almost black, yet pretty. He hadn’t spoken a word yet, but he was smiling now.

"These are mine," she pointed to the pair that’s beneath her. I had to take them off because my feet were all bloody. She laughed, not taking it seriously at all. He looked at them and smiled, saying, "Hey, they’re just like mine, just in a different color."

She looked closer, and he could see her eyes light up at the realization. "we’re matching!"

"matching?"

"Yeah, matching"

A moment of silence passed, not an awkward one, though; they were both staring at each other, smiling a bit, her eyes drifting to his plate, then back to him.

"We don’t have matching taste buds, though; I hate waffles. This surprised him, making him chuckle and take a sip of his coffee. He wasn’t used to this; he didn’t know how to act when people approached him. Whenever he responds, he usually says the wrong thing, ruining the encounter. He didn’t respond to her; he simply didn’t know what to say. It felt like her eyes burned holes through his side, but soon enough she went back to her small book.

Her legs were crossed, and her black skirt hiked up to her mid-thigh because of her position. She wore a colorful dress shirt that was predominantly red, matching her boots. Her hair rested on her shoulder. A few pieces kept falling in front of her face, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Staring is rude, you know. "His head whipped straight back. She laughed; it was almost contagious, creeping on his lips. He mumbled an apology.

"What’re you writing?"

“I'm not writing, I'm drawing."

"oh"

She seemed focused now, unlike a few seconds ago, when she was pushing him to have a conversation. He felt a bit blue, but once he mustered up the courage to talk to her, she was over it. After the incident last year, Travis has been more weary of how he talks with other people, though that didn’t stop the screw-ups from time to time. He now understands how to read the room.

He was already done with his food; the coffee turned out to be bitter, so he barely touched it. As he got up and put on his jacket, he heard her.

"Wait, where’re you going?"

“Uh, I finished my food; I'm going home. Why?"

“Just," she started scribbling faster on her paper without looking at him, "sit down for a few more minutes, ‘kay?"

He stood still for a few seconds before agreeing to the request. He looked around the place; everyone had left by this point. Subconsciously, he yawns. He never feels sleepy, but he could feel his eyelids getting heavier by the second. She spares him a glance, smirking.

"Don’t fall asleep on me, alright? Here—ya go, take this." She handed him her right earbud between her slender fingers, and suddenly Travis took hold of it. They were sharing earbuds.

"Just two cowboys listening to music."

"You’re a cowgirl, not a cowboy."

"Saying cowboys is much easier than saying cow enthusiasts," they laughed.

She stayed quiet for a while, then suddenly stood up with her book in hand. The earbud fell out of her ear, and her face displayed an ear-to-ear smile. He had never seen someone smile this much in this city.

"It's done!" "Here you go. She ripped a piece of paper and handed it to him. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name."

"I'm Travis, he said, looking down at the paper in his hand, absolutely stunned. She could tell he almost lost control of his face as his mouth hung open.

"Well, Travis, you might want to close your mouth, or a fly might fly in there." She was getting her boots on with a bag over her shoulder with all of her belongings in it.

Travis was flabbergasted as he looked at the drawing of himself; it was almost like someone had taken a black and white photo of him, but she barely looked at him while drawing. How did she do this? She saw him. She’d seen him. The man’s hands started to shake a bit. He composed himself and looked up at her figure; she was smiling, as she always had. Words couldn’t leave his mouth once again. Don’t say the wrong thing. Don’t say the wrong thing. Don’t say the wrong thing.

"Well, if you didn’t like it, it's completely fine; don’t sweat it."

"No! No, I, uh, do like it; I'm just, uh, surprised, that’s all. Thank you." He didn’t catch her name, but she chuckled and told him. He made a mental note that she wasn’t from here; it was the first time he heard a name like

"Now it’s time for me to go, Travis. See you around, yeah?"

Yeah, he breathed.

As she walked towards the door, his eyes couldn’t stop following him, but he raised a brow once she stood dead in her tracks, turned around, and headed towards him again.

"Did you forget something?

She kissed his forehead and went away, like it was nothing. Travis wasn’t sleepy anymore; his mind was working full force, and he was only thinking of one thing: the way her lips felt on his skin.

[yurizzsblog]

French Facts:

International Language: French is spoken in over 29 countries across five continents. It is the official language in countries like France, Canada (Quebec), Belgium, Switzerland, and many African nations.

Global Influence: French was the dominant international language in diplomacy, science, literature, and art from the 17th to the mid-20th century. Even today, it's one of the working languages of the United Nations and the European Union.

Words and Phrases in English: English has borrowed many words and phrases from French. Some examples include "rendezvous," "fiancé," "déjà vu," "cul-de-sac," and "sauté."

Gendered Nouns: French nouns have genders; they are either masculine or feminine. For example, "le livre" (the book) is masculine, and "la table" (the table) is feminine. This can be a challenge for learners, as the gender affects the article and adjective forms.

Accents: French uses five different accents: acute (é), grave (è, à, ù), circumflex (â, ê, î, ô, û), diaeresis (ë, ï, ü), and cedilla (ç). These accents can change the pronunciation and meaning of words.

The Longest French Word: The longest officially recognized French word is "anticonstitutionnellement," which means "in an unconstitutional manner." It has 25 letters.

Silent Letters: French has many silent letters, especially at the end of words. For example, in "vous" (you) and "frais" (fresh), the final "s" is silent.

Tongue Twisters: French has its own set of tongue twisters, like "Un chasseur sachant chasser doit savoir chasser sans son chien" (A hunter knowing how to hunt must know how to hunt without his dog).

Cultural Expressions: French is rich in idiomatic expressions that often don't translate directly into English. For example, "avoir le cafard" literally means "to have the cockroach" but actually means "to feel down."

Learning French: French is considered one of the easier languages for English speakers to learn due to its significant lexical similarities with English. However, mastering pronunciation and grammar can still be challenging.

Verlan: This is a type of French slang where syllables of words are reversed. For example, "fou" (crazy) becomes "ouf." It's especially popular among younger speakers.

French Academy: The Académie Française is an institution founded in 1635 tasked with preserving the French language. It regulates French grammar, spelling, and literature.

Multiple Dialects: Besides standard French (le français standard), there are many regional dialects and languages in France, including Breton, Occitan, and Alsatian.

French in Space: French is one of the official languages of the International Space Station (ISS), alongside English and Russian.

Rich Literary Tradition: French has a rich literary tradition with renowned authors like Victor Hugo, Marcel Proust, and Albert Camus contributing to world literature.

Homophones: French has many homophones (words that sound the same but have different meanings), such as "mer" (sea), "mère" (mother), and "maire" (mayor). This can make listening comprehension tricky.

Loanwords: French continues to borrow words from other languages. For example, "le week-end" and "le parking" are borrowed from English.