#Seek your own counsel

[beirarowling]

The way your fellow men do or don't perceive you is an all-male issue. Setting aside the fact that the vast majority of female victims of SA indicate they'd rather receive counselling in a female-only space, there is zero evidence that trans-identified men present less of a threat to women and girls than the non-trans-identified variety. In fact, there are proportionately more trans-identified men in jail in the UK currently for sexual offences than among the general male prison population.

That statistic doesn't mean I think you personally are a predator. What it does prove is that there are at least as many predators among trans-identified men as among men who don't identify as trans.

If you and fellow trans-identified men want a space where no other men go, you're free to create one. Nobody wants you raped. Nobody wants you killed or harmed in any way. But women's spaces are for women. Your inability to grasp that you aren't entitled to those spaces because you don't 'identify' as a man is not female rape survivors' problem. Seeking to breach vulnerable women's boundaries does not mark you out as one of us. On the contrary, your arguments are typical of a certain kind of male: one who thinks the satisfaction of his own needs and desires is far more important than the harm he may be causing to women.

[southfarthing]

THE RETURN OF THE KING by J.R.R. TOLKIEN

Your bearing is lowly in my presence, yet it is long now since you turned from your own way at my counsel. See, you have spoken skilfully, as ever; but I, have I not seen your eye fixed on Mithrandir, seeking whether you said well or too much? He has long had your heart in his keeping.

[zhongrin]

zhongrin © 2024 ❥ do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or feed into ai.

when your heart screams within your sealed lips…

(…. i hope i can at least be there to hold you.)

featuring... ❥ zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley, neuvillette, jing yuan, blade

involves... ❥ gn!reader, deeply personal blurbs (very self-indulgent), hurt with comfort (vague, with mentions of someone/people wronging/impacting you badly), probably ooc characters, mentions/implied retaliation by the characters

gilded golden lined fingers of a god dethroned gently weaves through your hair. for once, no words fell from your beloved’s lips, for zhongli knew that despite the silent night and the faux tranquility blanketing your dark bedchambers, your heart was screaming and writhing in pain.

the past few days, his amber eyes had followed you as you stumble and trudge through the thick mud of this whole mess you found yourself entrenched in. you may not realize his vigil over you, and countless times he had wished with all his heart, dreaming that you would sit with him to verbalize your troubles, seek his counsel, sought his aid - anything. anything but this foolish game of pretend, because he is not sure until when he can tolerate ignoring the vermin who has given you such unjust treatment.

perhaps in the morning the sky will darken and his wrath will descend upon the land you both walk on towards those who had wronged you. but for now, his anger simmers, bubbles, forges itself silently within his chest, tempered with the eons of expertise of molding metal. for now, he holds you like he’s holding a shattered bone china, like a craftsman appraising its damage before reshaping it with molten gold.

the price of violating the sanctity of a contract is steep, but the price of breaking your trust and betraying your kindness is steeper.

“you need not worry, my love. if there are moments where a god - retired as he may be - must pass judgment, it is now. a contract has been breached… and consequences shall follow.”

there aren’t too many things that can ruffle al haitham’s feathers. but seeing your eyes clouded with hurt and rimmed by veins of reds while you force a trembling smile on your lips as you welcomed him back home… it most definitely exceeds the annoyance from being forced to work overtime on a friday.

he’s glad he’s gotten used to reading you like a familiar book; your form fits snugly within his arms and your weight rests just right on top of his lap, not unlike the way a familiar book fits within his hand and weighs comfortingly in his hold.

“do you want to talk about it?” his comforting skills are a mixed copy of what he remembered from his grandmother and your own actions, carefully threaded and analyzed to fit the situations and the various variables within the scope of the equation. it’s methodical, logical, yet comforting all the same; it’s uniquely your al haitham.

whether you agree to open up to him or not, he’ll eventually find out. researching is one of his strongest skills after all, and when it comes to investigations, he has two strong cards to play: kaveh knows about almost all the gossips circulating in the city, and cyno is a strong advocate of justice who would be able to move independently given a whiff of the possibility of committed transgressions. if they wouldn’t do it for him, he’s sure they would at least feel empathetic towards you.

and if this perpetrator still insists on weaseling their way out of the law… well, he had been looking for a way to dispose that forbidden knowledge capsule, anyway.

wriothesley has never looked forward to arresting and 'welcoming' a criminal so much before.

impartiality is expected when you work in such field, but the agony you’ve gone through and he’d witnessed firsthand due to such heinous individual had been permanently etched in his brain. with each silent tears falling down your cheeks, it adds yet another scar upon his heart. he never fails to hold and comfort you every night, tries his very best to piece you together the best he can. but with how broken you were, he fears that you’ll never be the same.

he never wanted you to obtain a wound that cut so deep, it would leave a mark on your skin or your psyche. he’d take the bullet for you if he could. but with your insistence of dealing with the matter alone at first, he could only watch as you were ripped, torn, beaten.

he’s never felt like he wanted to utterly destroy a man as he catches your falling form and cradles it close to his chest.

so could you blame him when he personally goes on his way to make sure his newest, permanent prisoner feels absolutely unwelcome inside the fortress sunk deep beneath the waters?

after all, when the duke wants a criminal under his jurisdiction to suffer a fate worse than death, he needs no justification.

the word “guilty” had always tasted bitter on his tongue, like a sour, days-old water which had gone through several harsh conditions and became contaminated with environmental causes.

this particular “guilty”, however, he had said with the most conviction, with no pity nor sympathy, and its palate was of the freshest spring water of an untouched stream in the very nation he’s looking after. if the audience observes that the iudex looked colder and spoke with a voice so calm it’s almost obvious he was trying to conceal his fury, they did not say anything. it’s always been clearer than the reflection in the fountain of lucine; the fact that neuvilette holds you in the highest regard as his spouse.

so when you’ve been wronged?

naturally, when the opportunity for him to deliver justice on your behalf comes to him on a silver platter, he takes it with the most gratuity and takes the chance to personally hands down the verdict.

guilty, for the nights he had to hold you to sleep, for the mornings he had to assure you that you could go through the day, for the afternoons he had to check in to make sure you were busy and not wallowing in the murky depths of negative thoughts. guilty, for all the tears, the frustration, the mental strain, the self-hatred, and the bleeding wounds they’d inflicted upon your heart.

guilty, and for once, he finds himself wishing he could have handed down a death penalty.

“what’s troubling you?”

your husband loves his cuddles as much as his feline companions, and he’s just as sensitive to the changes in your mood as they do. with mimi sleeping and being your makeshift pillow, your cat curled right behind you, the fuzzy blanket pulled up to your waist, and your jing yuan holding you close as he continuously strokes your hair… if your heart weren’t so weary, it would have been a peaceful afternoon.

“you know you can tell this old man anything, yes, dearest?” a playful hum and a lazy grin rouses you out of your miserable thoughts, the muted colors filling with the warming golds of his eyes.

unlike inanimate chess pieces on a board, humans may veer off course from their planned routes and therefore proves finicky to handle to some. but to jing yuan, it is but one of the facets that makes human, human. so when you stubbornly try to avoid talking about it, he does not press further, nor does he feel anger.

time and time again, you’ve proven yourself stronger than steel; countless times you’ve proven you didn’t need his help, and it’s always reminded him of how resilient one could be in the face of adversity. still, he can’t help but fret whenever he’s deprived of witnessing the skips in your steps and the pleasant ring of your laughter. he may be patient, but he knows everything has its limits - both your tolerance and his fortitude, that is.

the general sighs and somewhat begrudgingly decides to give you a few more days. he’s gotten used to uprooting weeds growing in his garden after all these years; this, too, will not be any different.

“who did this to you?”

mara is truly a strange phenomenon.

while there are several things that could trigger his condition, if there’s one absolute causation which could decisively result in a mara-struck blade leading a whole carnage, it was seeing pearls of tears drop from your sullen eyes.

for a moment, he thinks it’s his fault. he’s not the best lover, and he has no doubt that you deserve better - but the moment you admitted you wanted him, broken and horribly disfigured as he was, you’ve filled the cracks in his being with you; you’re part of him, now. and he can’t bring himself to ever let go - but as you look into his eyes with the exhaustion of a broken soldier enduring one too many battles, he knows.

he knows he needs to fight a war you dare not tread.

“all i need is a name.”

through the desperation, there’s a hint of pleading in his voice. the hands cradling your cheeks are bandaged and bloodied with the blood of a billion lives, and he’s ever so grateful that you never flinch away from them. red spider lilies blooms ominously behind his gaze, lycorine bubbling like acid in his veins as he commits the memory of your lips forming the syllables, letter by letter. he’s not good at comforting people, so he does the best he could do: stay as close as possible as you rest against him, eventually falling into a tired slumber. blade carefully tucks you in, habitually presses a chaste kiss on your forehead, and sets off when you’re asleep.

if he’s already just a tool anyway, he would rather become the blade that pierces your enemies’ heart for your sake.

[akpaley]

Made smooth and slick of seas and strands Tides that turn at your commands A heartbeat held by heavy hands

More Kaijja character writing. Roughly 1200 words on the beginning of her romantic relationship with the flesh god.

---

He does not mind solitude, but when you lack other obligations he does not mind your intrusion either. It is perhaps not usual, but it is natural to be fascinated with a god. You intrude often. You call it an extension of work, and the two of you do work through problems together. He was surprised, once upon a time, when he inflicted experience on you to demonstrate the severity of his edicts and you, not unshaken but still engaged, asked if he felt such detail in the experience of every person he faced. He had not been asked to use his power as a tool of empathy, not after imposing such suffering, not in centuries, but it is commonplace between you now. You wonder to what extent he can feel you enjoy it, even when it is excruciating. And the intellectual exercise is useful. Many times simulation of similar encounters has helped you watch for signs of tension, has made you more perceptive to the way your interlocutors conduct themselves and react to you. It is practical, and there is a quiet selfish pleasure in understanding the way he sees and feels the world.

Mirjat tells you it is unusual for Iokhar's Advocate to be his friend, or even to like the man, and you understand that but you do not relate. He is beautiful when he attempts to be terrifying, he is rational when he cannot intimidate, he is deeply intensely perceptive, and in his own stoic way he is oddly soft. Perhaps kind is a better word. He cares much more deeply than he shows. There is a selfish little thrill in that as well, knowing that you have brought out in him qualities most others never see. Knowing that you surprise him, a man who can feel everything but your thoughts just standing across from you. You accomplish a great deal in your tenure, but it is this that most often produces that quiet sense of pride.

He shows you change. In theory this is to make a point, but the point is unnecessary. You are not asking about something of immediate importance. It is after hours and you are asking about a story, about old scripture, from a primary source. This is not uncommon, and alongside speaking in words he chooses to sate a curiosity he knows you will have. When he has pulled you back together into the right shape you grin up at him. He studies you, near expressionless, and says "This is inappropriate." It is the strangest declaration of love you will ever receive, and you see it for what it is immediately. It should shock you, but somehow it does not. You agree. The evening ends with a veneer of stoic professionalism.

You will talk about it the next day. You will talk about it for the next week. You will see a degree of begrudging openness from him that you will not realize has been kept from you until you see it for the first time. You seek counsel, as is the responsible thing to do, but find that there is very little doubt as to the choice you will make. Mirjat appeals to your career, to the work that you've done, to the work that you might still do, and you find the arguments that have driven you all your life unconvincing.

You split your evenings between discussions with Iokhar and your own private consideration. You know the thrill of new intimacy will cloud your judgment, and he does too, but you both recognize that no matter what decision the two of you make your relationship will change. The idea of a purely professional relationship absent discussions of philosophy, history, art and other work feels galling, having experienced a relationship that is mutually irreplaceable. Later the idea of being irreplaceable to him will raise warmth in your chest and bring a smile to your face, but in that week while you assess it is simply a fact to be weighed. You are problem solving. Your feelings are data, but you do not have time to feel them fully. Only that they tell you what you want. You will resign with two weeks left in the season and half a term unfinished. It will take you most of the remaining two weeks working with your Clericy to choose Devadas as a successor, swear him in as Kalidas, and get him up to speed.

You already spend a great deal of time working during the on season, but for the better part of two weeks private time is practically nonexistent. This is a major adjustment, expected by no one, and by the time Iokhar leaves Kalidas must be prepared to represent him fully in the Council of Advocates. Anything you knew, anything you were working on, must be written down in such detail that it can be picked up where you left off. While you will join the Clericy of Iokhar, thus becoming available as a resource, it will take another month for the Clericy of the Petitioner Saints to determine this is the appropriate course of action and you must prepare for the contingency in which your full abdication from governance is determined necessary. It is not until the final night that you and your god finally have proper time together again. You sit quietly for much of it. He holds you and seems unpracticed, which to be fair you are as well. A decade is not a short time. A century and a half is longer. Yet, for all that, the mere ten months in front of you suddenly seems very long indeed.

"I would hear your voice when I am gone," he tells you, and it is less vulnerability than simple truth.

"I'd love to hear yours too," you say with irony, "but I suppose one of us will have to wait."

"I will not shirk my duties," he says, "But--"

"I would not ask you to." He pauses and then drops the apology. "Come back next season with stories for me." You smile as if this is a usual farewell, a friendship set aside to be picked up where it left off upon his return.

Very calmly, he takes your hand in his and matches his gaze to yours. For the first time you can feel the sensation of his own body mapped to yours, and you feel his quiet simmering hunger for you, individual fibers of his being humming beneath his skin for touch that a human lover could never even pretend. You feel it in the strands of your own muscles, suddenly yearning to rise up from beneath your skin and embrace the man in front of you. It is nearly overwhelming. Your breath catches and you do not dare break his gaze for fear it might stop. His voice is a low rumble in his chest. "I will." 

It is a greater promise than you asked for. It will stick with you during the long months of his absence, haunting your prayers and quiet moments and intruding on your activities unprompted.  

Upon his return, he will admit that this was the point.

[starogeorgina]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader

Warnings: Smut, swearing, power imbalance, incest, cheating

1.01

Your fingers twitch as you approach the queen’s private quarters. It would be the first time you had been in it; since being brought to Dragonstone, you’d mainly remained in your own bedchamber, the sept, or Aegon's Garden. You weren’t allowed to wander the halls yourself, and you most definitely weren’t privy to the information being discussed during the council meetings.

“Princess,” Ser Erryk tilts his head slightly and opens the door, letting you inside.

You avoid the knights face; up until a few moons prior, Ser Erryk was one of the kingsguards sworn to keep you and your siblings safe; however, when your father died and Aegon was placed upon the throne, Ser Erryk left kings landing and fled to Dragonstone to swear his sword to the queen.

Walking further into the room, your eyes land on Rhaenyra; she was sitting hunched over at her desk, scowling at the scroll in her hand. You stare at her for a moment; her silver hair was unbraided and fallen waves swayed around her face, and she was wearing a light gray nightgown. It seems she was getting ready to retire for the night before deciding to summon you.

“Your grace.”

She lets out a frustrated sigh and drops the scroll. Rhaenyra shakes her head. “Meleys head was paraded through kings landing for all the small folk to see.”

“Oh.”

“It was on the order of Aegon’s council. The dowager queen and Aemond stood on the balconies of the red keep overlooking this... abomination.”

“I believe it is a half-truth, your grace.”

Scoffing, she finally turns to look at you. “I did not ask what you believed in.”

“Forgive me; I thought I may have some insight, but I overstepped.”

Her gaze is intense. “You’ll do well to remember you are my hostage.”

She was right; you were taken from kings landing against your own free will, yet Rhaenyra hadn’t been cruel to you once. You had been well fed and clothed, and not once had anyone spoken out of turn to you. She holds your stare for a moment before turning back to look at her desk.

“You look different,” you say, breaking the silence. “During the day you look at what I imagine Queen Visenya did, but here and now I’d say you resemble her younger sister, Rhaenys.”

It may have been an odd thing to say, but it was the truth; there was a stark contrast between how fierce she looks during the day and night. Sighing, Rhaenyra stands with her arms crossed. “The path I walk has never been trod. I must be sure I only seek counsel from those I can trust.”

“I’m no fool; I do not think you’ll trust me so easily, but I must say if you think me being a hostage would lure my husband here, then you are mistaken; Aemond cares only for his own ambitions.”

“You know the enemy well, and that makes you valuable.”

You feel your cheeks start to heat up and rub at the back of your neck, desperate for the conversation to change. “There are very few who would have the authority to order something as heinous as beheading a dragon. My mother wouldn’t have the stomach for it, and Aemond knows how special our dragons are; he practically worships his own.”

“What of Aegon?”

You stiffle a laugh. “Forgive me, tis not funny; it’s just Aegon’s thoughts go no further than whores and wine. Although his hand has no respect for our house's symbol, I suspect it was him.”

“So Otto was behind this.”

“No, your grace, my grandsire was sent away from court. Cristion Cole is his new hand.”

She looks genuinely shocked to hear that. Shaking her head, she starts to walk in the direction of her bed. “You may go and retire for the night. I will... we will speak more in the morrow.”

“For what it’s worth, I always thought you would have made a good queen.”

Rhaenyra abruptly stops walking; she stills for a few seconds then suddenly rushes over towards you, pulling you into her embrace. Her nose brushes against the side of your neck; her action has a certain sweetness to it. Unintentionally, your lips skim against her jawline, and you notice the way her breathing quickens, and you feel her heart racing faster in her chest.

“I accept you as my queen and ruler, Rhaenyra,” you mumble, moving to kiss her neck.

Her hand gently strokes the back of your hair, careful not to pull on your braids. Your own hand slowly moves from her back to her ribs, then up towards her breast. You momentarily stop to see if Rhaenyra slaps your hand away or tells you to stop, but she doesn’t; instead, the smallest whine leaves her mouth.

Still kissing her neck, your fingers trace over the delicate fabric covering her body, and you palm at her chest, enjoying hearing her moan. You lower the fabric of her nightgown enough for her breast to become exposed; her skin is soft beneath your fingers.

Your foreheads touch as she kisses you; her lips were soft and tasted of mint; no doubt she has drank tea recently.

Moving your mouth downwards, your teeth lightly graze her nipple, not enough to cause pain but enough to get a reaction. You swirl your tongue around her nipple before taking it into your mouth. Rhaenyra arches her back, “Oh gods.”

All you can focus on is giving her pleasure. Between licking and sucking, you say, “I want to make you feel good, my queen; I know how frustrated you must be.”

Before Rhaenyra can say anything back, there is a knock at the door, causing the two of you to jump apart. She fixes her nightgown, clears her throat, then calls out, “Come.”

Elinda enters the room with a smile on her face and a tray with fresh tea on it.

—

For weeks you wanted to interact with those on Dragonstone; let them know you played no part in your mother and brothers doings, but now standing across the table from Lord Corlys and Prince Jacaerys, you wished for nothing more than to hide in the privacy of your chamber.

Rhaenyra gives her son a knowing glance, and he eases up slightly.

In truth, you had been worried about how Rhaenyra would act towards you after what happened the night before. It had crossed your mind she would ignore you, but she had invited you to join them in the chamber of the painted table. It wasn’t quite a council meeting with only four of you, but it was a start to gaining her trust.

“My mother says Cole is now Aegon’s hand,” Jacaerys says sharply.

“Her grace is correct. My grandsire and Aegon had a falling out, and he made Criston his new hand.”

“What did they fall out about?”

“Jaehaerys death,” you look down at the table and pray no tears fall. The death of your nephew was devastating. “Or how his death was handled, I should say, my grandsire had Jaehaerys body paraded throughout kings landing for all to see and forced my mother and sister to go along with the body despite Aegon and Helaena saying they didn’t want that.”

Rhaenyra shakes her head and quietly says, “Helaena is innocent in all of this.”

“The gold cloak, Blood, said it was he and a rat catcher who... did what they did, but he didn’t know the man’s name, so Aegon had all the rat catchers hung, their bodies left to hand and rot in the street. My grandsire feared this would upset the order of things, and then Criston was made hand.”

“And how has Cole fared as a hand?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at Jacaerys questioning. "Well, as I was taken from the Sept the following day, I am unclear as to what has happened. But I imagine Aegon will be outnumbered. Cole will be working with Aemond.”

“And what happened at Rook’s rest,” Lord Corlys, is rawer than you expected. “Was there doing?”

“I could not say, but I think the only thing Aegon loves more than himself is Sunfyre; I don’t think he would knowingly risk his dragon's safety.”

The following hour is tough; the Prince and Lord ask you question after question; none of you could give a real answer to it. It was hard; they were both grieving, as was Rhaenyra, all because of your brother-husband's actions.

You finish the remaining wine in your glass and meet Rhaenyra’s gaze. “If I am to continue offering you information, I must be assured of one thing.”

Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “And what is that?”

“Helaena and her child, along with Daeron, are spared.”

Rhaenyra nods, so you keep your word and continue. “The Greens Council is a mess; it’s disorganized, and my mother is losing all control she had over my brothers.”

Jacaerys tilts his head to the side; he seems genuinely curious. “How so?”

“Aegon does not thank her for forcing him to be in the position he is in, and she blames Aemond for starting this war, and he disagrees.”

“Do you?”

Your fingers knot together; it was a difficult question to answer. “I think the war started the day my mother and grandsire began plotting to usurp the throne.”

“Thank you, princess,” Rhaenyra says before anything else has been asked. “That is all for today.”

—

“Thank you, Elinda; that is all for tonight.”

“Your grace,” the handmaiden picks up a tray with an empty bowl on it then leaves the queen's chambers.

After you were dismissed earlier, you were yet to see anyone else until you were summoned to the queen's chambers again. You were still confused about why she asked for you the first time, but you’d find out another day. Rhaenyra was already pacing back and forth, so this wasn’t a good time to ask. She was wearing a nightgown similar to the one the night before, except this one was a lighter shade.

“The cobblestones are strong, but you may still put a hole in them, yet.”

She briefly lets out a chuckle but continues to pace. You step forward and reach for her hands, stopping her from walking anymore. ��Rhaenyra, what’s wrong?”

She chews on her bottom lip, looking deep in thought before answering. She smirks, “I’ve found myself frustrated again.”

She pulls you in for a kiss while walking backwards until her bum hits the edge of her bed. Rhaenyra sits back and brings the bottom of her nightgown to her hips and opens her legs, giving you access to her bare cunt.

Nothing else needs to be said.

You go down onto your knees and press a kiss to her damp curls. Your eyes locked with her as you spread her fold’s open with your fingers before licking her, savoring her sweet taste.

“Oh fuck,” Rhaenyra’s moans and puts her legs over your shoulders.

You continue teasing her with your tongue before moving your attention to her clit, which you begin to suck on. Rhaenyra’s fingers tangle into your hair, her tight grip causing your braids to fall out of place. Her thighs begin to shake around your head as she comes.

While she compares herself, you lean back on your heels and press your cheek to the inside of her thigh.

“I had no idea you would be so good at that.

You chuckle, “Do you want me to do it again?”

“If you wish it.”

[theetherealbloom]

YOU'RE THE RISK, I'M GONNA TAKE IT

Summary: You help your boss, Joel Miller, buy flowers for his date. Or so you thought.

Paring: No Outbreak!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: FLUFF, SMUT, Light Angst, Reader Dislikes Roses (i also dislike them :P), Kissing, Cheesy, Crush, Grumpy Single Dad, Office/Workplace Romance, Assistant!Reader, Billionaire!Joel, CEO!Joel, Boss!Joel, She Falls First and He Falls Harder Trope, Grumpy/Sunshine Trope, Idiots-In-Love, Confessions, PWP (wrap it up ya’ll), Fingering, Power Imbalance, Pet Names, ‘Good Girl’, ‘Darlin’,

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: SOOOO WE’VE ALL SEEN THAT PIC RIGHT???? FML, if I ever saw that man carrying flowers and gifting them to me, I would marry him right away. 

This is for @morallyinept Jett’s Flora & Fauna Writing Challenge for May! I was obviously inspired by the picture in the moodboard above and my love for Gracie Abram’s new song Risk! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated, thank you all for reading and supporting my deluluness tehe.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Risk by Gracie Abrams

Main Masterlist

In the elegant floral shop, the scent of fresh blooms enveloped you as you stood beside your boss, Joel Miller, a man of many responsibilities and hidden depths. His piercing gaze fixed on a display of vibrant roses, seeking your opinion on a matter close to his heart - choosing the perfect flowers for a date.

Joel, a handsome billionaire with a company to run, a daughter to care for, and a brother to watch over, often sought your counsel on matters both personal and professional. Whether it was a crucial business decision or selecting a gift for Sarah's upcoming birthday, he valued your input more than he let on.

You studied the roses with a critical eye, your brows furrowing slightly as you considered the implications of his choice. "I think Lauren will love it," you finally offered, your voice tinged with a hint of reservation at the mention of Joel's recent romantic interest.

The name 'Lauren' left a bitter taste in your mouth, a woman who seemed more interested in Joel's wealth and status than in him as a person. You couldn't shake the feeling that she was using him for her own gain, and the thought of Joel falling for her facade made your stomach churn.

Joel's keen observation didn't miss the subtle shift in your demeanor. "Why are you makin' that face?" he questioned, his narrowed eyes fixed on you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Your heart raced at being caught off guard, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "What face?" you attempted to deflect, but Joel saw through your facade with unnerving accuracy.

"The one you make when you don't like somethin'. You're scrunchin' your nose and everythin'," he pointed out, his gesture leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Caught in his perceptive gaze, you struggled to find the right words, knowing that you couldn't deceive him. There was an unspoken connection between you, a bond that transcended the boundaries of employer and assistant, leaving you feeling both exhilarated and unnerved by his proximity.

Joel's expectant gaze bore into you, his hand resting casually on his hip as he awaited your response, a subtle sign of his contemplation or frustration. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, a silent understanding passing between you as you navigated the delicate dance of honesty and restraint in your shared space.

You settled for the truth, pinching your lips as if you were thinking how to phrase the next few words, eventually meeting his brown eyes and saying, "I don't like roses." The words hung in the air, a confession that felt both liberating and terrifying.

Joel's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. Before he could respond, you cut him off, rambling on in a nervous attempt to clarify your thoughts. "I know, I know, it's just... my preference. It's not that I don't find them pretty... I do. It's just, sometimes it feels like there's no thought into getting someone roses."

You really should shut up, but you couldn't stop, your words tumbling out in a rush. "That's not to say you're not like putting in the effort to get Lauren... roses or something. It's just there's a whole language to flowers and their meaning, and there's definitely more options than just a whole bouquet of roses."

The silence that followed was oppressive, Joel's eyes roaming all over your figure as if taking in every detail. You felt like you were going to vomit, because there was no way you had just told your boss that he wasn't being thoughtful as he was getting the bitch flowers.

"What d'you like then?" Joel's deep voice asked, his tone low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. You took a moment to formulate an answer, your heart racing with anticipation.

"Red Peonies," you swallowed, the words feeling like a revelation.

"Why?" Joel asked, his eyes never leaving yours, and you swear he took a small step closer to you, the distance between you shrinking to almost nothing.

"Besides it representing love, it also represents passion, honour and respect," you explained, trying to sound calm despite the turmoil inside. "There's just something more to it, I guess."

The air was tense, Joel's gaze burning into you like a brand. You felt like you were drowning in the depths of his eyes, the silence between you a palpable thing. You knew you should look away, but you couldn't, your gaze locked onto his as if drawn by an unseen force.

The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, suspended in a moment of raw emotion. You knew that you had crossed a line, but you couldn't help the way you felt. The truth was out, and now you just had to face the consequences.

The sharp chime of a phone shattered the charged silence between you, pulling you both back to the reality of the moment. You reluctantly pulled out your phone, a sigh escaping your lips as you delivered the news. "Your 3 p.m. meeting with Bill and Frank is coming up. We should buy those roses and go—"

But before you could finish, Joel interjected, his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of reluctance. "We can come back for them later."

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his sudden change of heart. Quickly regaining your composure, you slipped back into your assistant mode. "I could have them delivered and—"

"Don't worry about it, darlin'," Joel cut you off, his deep Southern drawl sending a shiver down your spine. "Let's go to the damn meeting before Tess starts tellin' me off again."

Without another word, Joel strode towards the waiting car, the driver opening the door as you followed, slipping into the plush leather seat beside him. The tension in the air was palpable, the unspoken emotions between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

As the car pulled away from the curb, you found yourself acutely aware of Joel's presence, his warmth and the subtle scent of his cologne enveloping you. The silence stretched on, neither of you quite sure how to navigate the charged atmosphere that had settled over the two of you.

You stole a glance at Joel, his brow furrowed in thought, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the armrest. You longed to reach out, to bridge the gap that had suddenly opened between you, but the weight of your professional relationship held you back.

The drive to the office was a blur, the familiar sights and sounds of the city passing by in a haze as your mind raced with a thousand unspoken thoughts. When the car finally pulled to a stop, you both exited in silence, the weight of the unresolved tension hanging heavy in the air.

As you made your way through the bustling lobby, Joel's hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You couldn't help but wonder if the touch was intentional, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that simmered beneath the surface.

But as you turned to leave, Joel's voice stopped you in your tracks. "Darlin'," he murmured, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. "We need to talk."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned to face him, unsure of what could possibly be running through Joel's mind. The intensity of his gaze only added to the butterflies in your stomach, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of hope and trepidation at what he might say.

"What is it, Joel?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

He took a step closer to you, his expression serious as he reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your heart skipped a beat at his touch, and you couldn't help but lean into it.

"I can't ignore this any longer," Joel began, his voice low and full of raw emotion. "I've been trying to fight it, but I can't deny how I feel about you any longer."

Your breath caught in your throat as he spoke those words, a rush of emotions flooding through you. Could it be possible that Joel felt the same way about you? Or was this all just some cruel joke?

"Joel..." You started, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

"No, let me finish," he said firmly. "Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I haven't been able to get you out of my head. And when we spent that night together at the charity event...I knew then that I had feelings for you."

You were speechless, unable to believe what was happening. You had harbored secret feelings for Joel for so long and never thought they would be reciprocated.

"I know there's the whole boss-assistant dynamic between us," Joel continued with a small self-deprecating smile. "But I can't let that hold me back from telling you how I feel."

A mix of emotions swirled inside you, and you couldn't help but feel torn. On one hand, you wanted to give into the feelings that had been building between you and Joel for so long. But on the other hand, the thought of risking your professional relationship and possibly even your job was a daunting prospect.

"Joel, I-I don't know what to say," you stammered, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

He reached out and took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to say anything right now," he said softly. "I just needed to tell you how I feel."

Silence fell between you as you both stood there, lost in your own thoughts. You were torn between what your heart wanted and what your head was telling you was logical.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you gathered the courage to speak again. "Joel, I care about you too," you admitted quietly. "But there are so many complications..."

"I know," he said with a sad smile. "But we can figure it out together."

His words filled you with hope and warmth, but at the same time fear also crept in. You knew that pursuing a romantic relationship with Joel would be risky and could potentially cause problems at work.

Before either of you could say more, there was a knock on Joel's office door. Startled out of your reverie, you both turned to see Chelsea peeking her head inside.

"Hey guys, sorry to interrupt," she said apologetically. "But, Mr. Miller, we have that meeting with McKenna about the upcoming merger in 10 minutes."

After Chelsea left, Joel turned back to you, a hopeful expression on his face. "Can I see you later? Outside of work, I mean."

Your heart raced at the thought of spending more time with him outside of the office. You knew it was risky and could potentially cause problems, but the thrill of taking a chance with Joel was too enticing to resist.

"I'd like that...a lot," you replied, unable to stop a small smile from forming on your lips.

His face lit up at your response and he took a step closer towards you. "Can I kiss you?" he asked hesitantly.

You nodded eagerly. "Yes, please."

Without any hesitation, Joel leaned down and gently pressed his lips against yours. It was a gentle kiss at first, but quickly became more passionate as the chemistry between you two intensified. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss.

Eventually, the need for air forced you both to pull away. You gazed into each other's eyes, both panting slightly from the intensity of the moment.

"I should go," you said reluctantly.

Joel nodded and gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go. "I'll see you later then? I’ll meet you at your place.”

You smiled and nodded before heading out of his office. As you walked back to your own desk, your mind raced with thoughts of Joel and what this could all mean for your future.

Later that evening, as you heard a knock at your door, you couldn't help but feel excited and nervous. You had been thinking about Joel all day and now here he was, standing outside your door with a beautiful bouquet of peonies.

You quickly peeked through the door viewer, confirming that it was indeed Joel standing there. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hi Sweetheart," he said with his perfect smile, his dimple making an appearance on the left corner of his cheek.

"Hey," you replied with a bashful smile. "Come in."

Joel stepped inside, holding out the vase of peonies towards you. "I brought these for you," he said, his eyes sparkling with affection.

You took them from him and breathed in their sweet scent. "Oh, Joel, you remembered.”

"Anythin’ for you," Joel said with a small grin.

You couldn't help but feel touched by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you for remembering. They're beautiful. Thank you."

He shrugged nonchalantly before turning to take off his shoes. "So what should we do tonight? I can cook us dinner or we could go out somewhere if you prefer."

The idea of Joel cooking for you sounded wonderful, but at the same time, going out together also seemed like an exciting adventure.

"How about we have dinner here tonight and then we can go out tomorrow?" You suggested.

"That sounds perfect," Joel agreed with a smile.

As he prepared dinner in your kitchen, the two of you chatted comfortably about work and other random topics. It felt easy to talk to Joel and be around him, like it was just natural for the two of you to be together.

After enjoying a delicious dinner cooked by Joel (who turned out to be quite the chef), the two of you sat on your couch watching a movie. As the movie played on, you couldn't help but steal glances at Joel, his eyes intense as they flicked between the screen and your face. The air between you crackled with an unspoken tension, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows that danced across his features.

Joel shifted slightly, his arm brushing against yours and sending a shiver down your spine. You turned to him, your heart pounding in your chest, and found yourself caught in his gaze. Without a word, he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

The world around you faded away as Joel's mouth finally met yours in a searing kiss. His hands roamed over your body, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume everything in its path. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate.

You melted into each other, lost in a haze of passion and desire. Clothes were shed in a frenzy of need, skin meeting skin in a symphony of sensation. Joel's touch was electric, sending sparks throughout your body and setting every nerve on fire.

As you lay intertwined on the couch, your breathing heavy and your bodies covered in a thin sheen of sweat, Joel's eyes searched yours intensely.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You couldn't form words as he began trailing kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His hands explored every inch of your body, worshipping you with his touch.

"I want you," you finally managed to say, arching your back as he grazed his teeth along your collarbone.

With a growl, Joel lifted you up into his arms and carried you to the bedroom. 

He laid you down on the bed with a hunger in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve and dip as if he was mapping out his favorite treasure. You moaned softly as his lips grazed over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Joel's kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, igniting a primal need within you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as you whispered his name like a prayer. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth with a fierce intensity that made your head spin.

He teased and tormented you with his touch, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your breath hitched as he plunged into you, filling you completely and setting your senses ablaze.

The rhythm between you grew frantic, fueled by a hunger that could not be satisfied. Every thrust brought you closer to the edge, your body yearning for his touch, craving the sweet release that only he could bring.

He whispered filthy words into your ear, his voice gruff and raw with desire. "You want it," he growled, "You need it." His fingers gripped your hips, guiding you onto his shaft with deliberate precision. You groaned, lost in the ecstasy of his touch, your body begging for more.

He kissed you fiercely, his tongue dueling with yours, their movements synchronized with the wild rhythm of their bodies. His hands roamed over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, as he explored every inch of your body with a possessive possessiveness.

You moaned, writhing against him, your body trembling with need, your heart pounding in sync with the frantic beat of his, as he plunged deeper into you with each thrust. Your nails dug into his back, leaving crescent marks that would later serve as a reminder of this night.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he nuzzled your collarbone, then your chest, and finally your nipples, which hardened under the gentle caress of his tongue. You arched your back, your body craving for more, as his hands cupped your breasts, kneading them with a ferocity that made you gasp.

As he continued to ravage your body, you could feel the heat building between your legs, a fiery ache that begged for relief. Your hips bucked against his, seeking that sweet release, the friction sending spears of pleasure through you. He groaned, his own arousal swelling, and he thrust harder, his hips meshing with yours.

His hands roamed your body, caressing your curves, leaving trails of electricity in their wake. You arched your back, your breasts thrusting forward, begging for his attention. He didn't disappoint, his mouth closing over one taut nipple, teeth gently scraping against the sensitive flesh, while his other hand trailed down your side, slipping between your legs.

Your breath hitched as his fingers found their mark, teasing your swollen folds, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through you. Your body trembled, desperate for his touch, for him to drown you in sensation. He obliged, his fingers delving deeper, slick with your arousal. 

The roughness of his touch against your sensitive skin became a symphony of pleasure, as he slid in and out, his rhythm perfect, his fingers working in unison with the movements of his hips. You could feel yourself nearing the edge, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust.

“Fuck, c’mon darlin, be a good girl, give it to me,” He groaned, as he sensed your impending release and increased the speed of his fingers, sending you over the edge in a wave of pure ecstasy. Your back arched off the bed, your nails digging into his skin as you cried out his name. He followed you over, spilling into you with a guttural moan.

You collapsed onto the bed, spent and breathless, but he wasn't done with you yet. He rolled you onto your hands and knees, positioning himself behind you. You felt him smirk against your back before he slammed into you again, filling you up completely.

His pace was rougher now, more primal as he claimed your body as his own. You met each thrust eagerly, reveling in the raw passion that flowed between you.

He reached around to caress your clit, adding another layer of stimulation to the already mind-blowing experience. Your moans and cries filled the room as he drove you both to new heights of pleasure.

As you were both on the verge of climax once again, he flipped you over onto your back and plunged into you one final time. With one hand gripping your thigh and the other tangled in your hair, he pounded into you with an intensity that left you breathless.

When he finally let go and spilled inside of you for a second time, it was like a dam had burst within both of them. You clung to each other as waves of pleasure washed over you both until eventually subsiding.

You lay there tangled together in a sweaty mess, your limbs intertwined as you both fought to catch your breath. The air was thick with the scent of passion, the sheets clinging to your bodies in a sensual embrace. As the haze lifted from your minds and your heart rates slowly returned to normal, you looked up at him and smiled, your eyes shining with a mix of contentment and wonder.

"That was incredible," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the delicate moment.

His lips curved into a satisfied grin, his gaze burning into you with a intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "You're incredible," he replied, his voice husky with desire, the words caressing your skin like a lover's touch.

You both lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow of your intense lovemaking. The sheets were tangled around the two of you, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the feeling of being intertwined with him, your bodies still connected in an intimate embrace.

A part of you couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension, a nagging voice in the back of your mind warning you that this was uncharted territory. You were jumping headfirst into the deep end, and the risk of drowning was ever-present. But as you gazed into his eyes, the warmth and affection you saw there quelled your fears, replacing them with a sense of exhilaration and anticipation.

"I can't believe this is happening," you murmured, your fingers tracing the contours of his face, as if to reassure yourself that this was real. "I never thought we'd end up here, but I'm so glad we did."

He chuckled, the deep rumble of his laughter sending a shiver of delight through you. "Darlin', you have no idea how long I've been waitin' for this," he confessed, his hand caressing your cheek with a tenderness that belied the passion that had just consumed them.

You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you, a mix of joy, trepidation, and a deep, abiding love that threatened to overwhelm you. "I'm scared," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm also so excited to see where this takes us."

His expression softened, and he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, reassuring kiss. "I'm here, darlin'," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "We'll figure it out, together."

As you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, you knew that no matter the challenges, you would face them side by side. The risk of drowning may have been ever-present, but with him by your side, you were ready to dive in, to explore the depths of this newfound love and see where it would take you.

[the-californicationist]

Solomon's Seal

John Price works hard to maintain his self-discipline, but sometimes he loses his grip on that fiery temper of his. When he needs help to feel in control again, he turns to you and your impeccable rope skills. You try to keep things professional, but that proves challenging for both of you. After all, John is just a friend, one of your best clients… so why do you keep imagining him as more?

TW: rope bondage, femdom, crying, emotional hurt/comfort, female genitals. Please check AO3 link below for full tag list.

Big huge thank you and kudos to the amazing and beautiful @gemmahale for her ideas and support on this one! Love you, bestie.

You had cleared your schedule the moment you hung up the phone with him. His voice had sounded so strained, like he was struggling to say the words. You knew that, sometimes, John Price’s work asked too much of him, but this time, he seemed so far beyond his usual level of need that you decided it was better to play it safe and cancel all of your other clients for the week. 

As you cleaned your studio, you made additional preparations. Something in your gut was telling you to prepare for the worst. You did your best to remember what he liked. No music, low lights, a soft fan for a bit of a breeze, and jute ropes — none of the synthetics in sight. You eyed your collection; eight hanks should have been enough, but you grabbed four more from the back room just to be sure. 

You never really pried into his life during his visits, knowing there was probably much he couldn’t or wouldn’t tell you. He had given you just enough information for you to understand the basics, and you had scoured the internet with those small clues to uncover the rest. At best, he was a soldier, handling the expected dangers and stressors of the job. At worst, he was a literal weapon, aimed and fired at His Majesty’s darkest enemies; a demon hunter meant only for darkness and secrets and pain. 

When he had come to you last November, bruised and battered, craving your particular set of skills, you had surmised that it was the latter. Sometimes, when you caught a glimpse of the news, you looked at the bombed buildings of Urzikstan for a sign of him, hoping you wouldn’t see one. When there was a battle lost or won, plastered across the front page of the news, you wondered if he had been there in the thick of it, protecting the world from the monsters that ravaged that land, keeping them from your privileged doorstep. 

You checked your clock. He’d be in from Heathrow within the hour. You got to work in the wet room, digging around for the soaps he liked best. His favorite bathing oil was a complex, spicy mix of coriander, basil, and bergamot scents. You’d never admit it to him, but you used it when you found yourself thinking about him, unable to get your equally complex, spicy warrior out of your mind.

John was so different from most of your clients. Many people who came to you were usually seeking something other than what you were prepared to give them. Half of your customers came for sex, for which you added them to your blacklist. The other half was a mixed bag seeking humiliation or reassurance, trying to use you and your art as an alternative to counseling or as a way to explore their kinks. They usually didn’t return after they experienced the level of your craft. You did have a handful of repeat clients who appreciated the practice itself, but they usually had their own partners to play with. You were just a novelty to them. An escape. 

Working as a traditional Bakushi was no fleeting hobby, not for you anyway. For you, it was a spiritual calling. John was one of the only clients who understood that and actively wanted to learn more. He had asked for stretching routines, breathing exercises, and advice on meditation. Your soldier was the real deal, even if he couldn’t remember any of the terminology to save his life. You were just happy he had managed to adopt the word shibari into his vocabulary. You could forgive the rest. He didn’t need to know the names of the knots or the positions of the body in order to benefit from his practice. 

Your doorbell rang. You took a breath to calm yourself. You needed to be centered for John. Yes, you were excited to see him, but he needed you to be his rock right now, and you needed to push your own desires out of your mind.

The door cracked open, and there he stood. He was just as you remembered him, but he looked like he’d been through hell. Those bright blue eyes were sporting a dark, purple shiner on his left orbital bone. He had cut his lip across the top and bottom, a red line still marring the sensitive flesh. John had cut down his beard to a more manageable level, but his hair was long and unkempt. What worried you most were the dark red welts he wore around his neck. It looked like ropeburn. 

“John,” you smiled softly, “So good to see you again. Please come in.”

The formalities of such a polite greeting seemed silly to you after what you had been through together. Sessions with John were always… intense. 

He stepped into your foyer, looking at you like he had missed you, but you didn’t allow yourself to give in to the fantasy. He needed you to be professional, and you had a job to do.

You took his hand and led him into your sitting room, offered him a glass of water, and sat beside him. He held your hand in his, refusing to let go, playing with the small bones in your middle finger absentmindedly. You smiled at him, enjoying the quiet of his presence, letting yourself take in these silent moments, unwilling to break the spell of peace until absolutely necessary. 

He seemed content to bask in the tranquility as well, happy to rub your delicate knuckle back and forth with his thumb, letting his eyes explore you, lingering on your long, silk robe, his gaze burning into your sternum at the join of your breasts. 

“How can I help you, John?”

He took a long breath through his nose, his eyes diverting back down to your connected hands; shame, regret. 

“I lost control, again.”

You had heard those words from him before. When he first found you, he told you about his temper. He hadn’t given you any details, but apparently he had hurt an enemy beyond what was necessary. Something he had done had changed him. He wanted to be different, to be more even-keeled, so he’d come to you for help. 

“The same as last time?” You asked, hoping it would be better than you suspected.

“Worse,” he looked up at you and flashed a tight-lipped, bitter smile. 

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. 

“Tell me what you need,” you ran your other hand across his wounded cheek, watching as the shine of his eyes gleamed in the low light. 

His emotions were at war all over his face. His wet lashes, the twitch of his lip, his darting, avoidant eyes; you could almost hear him fighting in his mind. You put a stop to it, scooting closer to him on the deep sofa, holding his stubbled chin in your hand, 

“Hey, you know you can tell me. If it’s within my power to give it to you, you know that I will.”

“I know, love,” he nodded his head, “I think you might try to talk me out of it, is all.”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to work it out. Rebuilding your trust together after some time apart wasn’t something to be rushed. Finally, after a few moments of thought, he studied your face and admitted his desires,

“I want it all. Just like last spring, but more. I need more.”

Your eyes widened before you could stop yourself. You remembered last spring. Vividly. In fact, you had thought about that appointment more times than you would ever admit. He had pushed himself so far, he’d trusted you so deeply, and you’d watched him heal from his wounds. He’d found a new kind of peace. You remember holding him, still bound, both of you sprawled across the floor, sweaty and grinning, your foreheads pressed together, sharing in his joy. 

But, you also knew that him wanting more meant that you would be restraining him from head to toe. He’d done arm and chest bindings with you, and in the spring, you’d put him in a single-leg frog tie. But, you’d never done full body work with him. For all of his progress, John still had issues letting his power be taken from him. He wanted to be in control, almost to the point of obsession, and it was only when he was in your ropes that he was able to practice internal control over himself without threat of judgment or danger. He could examine his temper in your safe setting, testing it like a scientist, finding new strengths within himself, mental hurdles to overcome.

However, you worried about what his mental state would be like when he was fully at your mercy. Had he ever been at anyone’s mercy? You doubted it. 

He could see you rolling over the problem in your mind, watching as you thought it through, imagining the possibilities. 

“What d’ya say, love? Think we can try?” His eyes met yours, and you nodded. 

“Yes, let’s try.”

“I might… uh,” he hesitated, clearly unsure of how his next request might be received, “I’m not sure how to say this, but I might need you… after. I know that’s not what you do, but after last spring, I thought you might make an exception.”

You were fully aware of what he meant. Last spring, laying there sweaty and swimming in euphoria together, you had broken your own rule. You’d let your body slide over John’s naked, tied form, and you’d rubbed his cock across your belly and on top of your pussy, sharing an orgasm together. It was reckless of you, and fully outside of the scope of your role, but it was what was right for you both at the time. He hadn’t asked for a repeat performance, always the perfect gentleman, until now.

You nodded, 

“Thank you for asking. We’ll see how it goes, and I’ll check in again at the end. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You moved to leave the comfort of the sofa, but he caught your hand,

“Can we start now? Just a bit. If that’s alright.”

“Alright,” you agreed, “Any new injuries I should know about?”

His face stretched into a boyish smile,

“Too many to count.”

You shook your head, ducking into your studio to grab one hank of rope,

“You’re the only one who gets a pass on that, you know.”

You watched his eyes dart to your hands as you untied the bundle, looping the rope end over end, making your first bight. His energy was electric, but you could see something dark slithering underneath. 

“I’ll start now, but you need to talk to me. What makes it worse now, John?”

You stood in the middle of the room, watching as he moved into position in front of you. You waited patiently, not needing to give him instructions. John knew what you wanted from him. 

He avoided your question, going through the motions of preparing his body for your work. He tugged off his coat and tee shirt, raking it over his broad back, and you tried to ignore the aching red marks that littered his scarred skin. Then, he unbuckled his belt, letting the metal tip clatter and clang in the quiet room, dropping his jeans and peeling off his shoes and socks. Naked, he folded his clothes and lay them to the side. Then, he found his neutral position, kneeling at your feet, palms flat on his thighs, head bowed as if in prayer. 

“Hands behind your head, palm to palm,” you spoke your first command, listening to the timbre of your voice and knowing it was different. You were changing into the person that he needed; someone strong, unyielding. 

He complied, but he looked a little surprised. You’d never asked him for this position before, but you knew it would get his attention. He would feel the vulnerability of it immediately, his sensitive ribs and armpits exposed. 

You started your work, tying his wrists carefully, making sure to leave the proper amount of room, running the rope, rubbing between the soft jute and his hairy skin to check and double check it for safety. As soon as you had one wrist bound, you moved to the other and heard him begin to talk. 

“I nearly lost one of my men last week. Good bloke. Took a bullet for me, so I broke the rules.”

“Which rules?”

“All of them,” he looked up at you, rueful and yet unrepentant.

“Would you do it differently,” you admired the smoothness of his wrist, watching as his pulse beat just under the thin skin, rushing through blue veins, “If you could go back in time?”

“No,” Price’s voice was like that of a beast. A dragon. It was a short, simple word, but within it, you understood exactly the feeling of vengeance he was carrying within it. No, he would not go back and change his actions. He would repeat them. That much was clear. 

“It doesn’t sound to me like you were out of control, then,” you looped the knots of his wrists around a temporary harness, simple and quick. This was just for now. You had bigger plans for him after you bathed. 

John’s mouth turned up into a wry smile, thinking about your assessment, then he said,

“You might be right, love. But, I’m here. I needed this. Needed you. There must be a reason I feel so bloody lost.”

“Let’s find your way back, then. Stand up.”

You led him by the end of the rope to the wet room. The off-white tiles glowed yellow in the candlelight you had prepared, and as you turned on the tap, the room filled with steam. You watched John’s face become indecipherable as you untied the ribbon of your robe, letting the silk pool at your feet, stepping into the shower before him. 

You pointed to the small stool in the middle of the wide shower, 

“Sit.”

It was a huge installation. During the build process in your renovated space, you’d asked for two large rainshower heads and a massage wand with a flat drain in the center. John knelt in between the two heads, but well within reach of the wand. You switched it on, watching the water jerk and flow through the metal hose, holding it towards your chest and out of his eyes. 

You started with his feet, washing them with only warm water first before moving the wand up his legs, wetting his body in stages. You didn’t use your hands yet, but you were eager to. John was quite the specimen, and you felt yourself flush as your eyes explored his body, lingering on places they really shouldn’t. 

You were adamant that you were a sex worker who didn’t have sex. You tried to make it abundantly clear that your clients were paying for shibari practices only, and that you did not do… happy endings. Other than your encounter with John, your clients orgasmed alone, and you went to great lengths to ensure it remained that way. But, here was your weakness, asking you to wash him while he was in your knots, warning you that he might crave a sensual aftercare scene, that he’d been thinking about you. It made your skin flush, and even though you were comfortable in your own skin, his obvious desire for you in such a carnal way made you hyper-aware of your bare flesh. 

The wand sat back in its hook, water paused, and the only sounds were the quiet drippings against the tile, a slight sucking from the drain, your breathing. You scraped the soap into your palm, making sure to lather it into a rich, thick foam. You stood, walking around him to his back, and began with his bound hands and arms, rubbing his warm, swollen muscles with your palms, spreading the suds over him liberally. 

A long, animalistic groan shuddered through John’s lungs, echoing in the bath. It set your nerves on fire to know that you were giving him such pleasure. You wanted more. 

You moved to his back, massaging the scented soap into his body, working his skin firmly to promote his bloodflow. As you made pass after pass, his moans became steady and breathy, his mouth hanging open, unable to fight the relaxation he was experiencing. 

You washed his legs and feet, needing to bend over him in order to reach the length of his huge thighs. In doing so, your bare breasts came in contact with his back, only light tapping at first, swaying forward as you washed him. You could tell that he could feel you, and he froze, his noises of pleasure turning into hitched breaths, shocked and inaudible. 

Your clients usually washed themselves, but John had asked for special treatment, and this was a new experience for you, too. You tamped down on your excitement, but you couldn’t hide your nature. As you leaned forward to wash his knees and shins, ankles and feet, you had to press your soft tits and contrastingly taut nipples against him, over and over, like two inkless stamps, leaving impressions on his wet skin. 

Standing again, you waited to give yourself a minute to compose your emotions. The tips of your hair were damp, and your chest was shining from his soapy torso. You tried to wipe the shine away, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. He needed to be looking inwardly, finding his deeper meaning. Staring at your gleaming, sensitive tits was not what he was paying for, no matter what your biology might have wanted. 

You stepped around to his front, and you marveled at how big his frame truly was. While sitting, even though the stool was low, his eyes were directly in line with your furry mons. If he only tilted his chin up a little, he could lick…

Your mind clamped down on that thought like a vice. You breathed steady, kneeling before him and reapplying the soap to your hands, trying to refocus yourself on your work. 

That was proving more difficult by the moment. Washing his broad chest was like something out of a dream. His nipples were so responsive, and now you could see the way his face twisted with pleasure as your hands massaged your serums into his skin. Every swipe over his pink nubs make him gasp in a new pitch, his brow furrowed with desperation, but his eyes stayed pinned to the tile, just like he was meant to. You expected all of your subs to avert their gaze, to concentrate on their mind, and you made it clear that the practice would stop if they lacked the discipline to do so. 

You had never been more grateful for that standard, because if John’s sharp, pale blue eyes found yours right now, you might not be able to keep yourself from losing your own control. 

You stepped out of the shower for a moment, grabbing the tie from your robe, slipping it out of its loops. Then, as a way to anchor yourself, you wrapped it tightly around your wrist, twisting the knots you made so that they would face inwardly, the discomfort reminding you of your duties as his dominant. It would work for now, you hoped. 

Already, you could feel yourself coming back online, as if someone had splashed cold water in your face. That was, until you turned back to John and saw the last part of your process.

You peered down into his lap, hands full of creamy suds, ready to wash his belly and his nethers, only to discover that he was as hard as steel. His cock flagged tall and curved, tapping on his abdomen, far beyond his bellybutton, giving you a reminder of what was plaguing your dreams. It was beautiful. The uncut skin of his shaft folded around the rim of his ruddy head, eager to be slicked down so that you could tease the tip of him. His balls were round and full, hanging as he sat on the edge of the bench, and all you could think about was what delight was stored within them, ready to burst.

You focused on your knots, letting your one ribbon keep you grounded, and you finished the job. Your hands rubbed soap along his belly, fingers dancing through the thick happy trail of his lower abs. He was built like a workhorse, and although he was fit, his body was well-fed and wide, his core wide and protruding with his strength, thicker as he sat on the stool. There was no bodybuilder’s trim waist. He was all power, heavy and built for unimaginable destruction. You’d never seen his equal, nor a man even close to his immense form. If someone had told you John was one of Zeus’ many bastards, roaming the earth immortal and inhumanly large, you might have believed them.

“I’m going to wash the rest of your body. Remind me of your safeword so that I know you can use it,” you commanded softly, hearing your own voice bounce around the hollow room. 

John did not meet your eyes, fully committed to his submission, but you could see his cock pulse with anticipation. He spoke quietly but clearly, 

“Red.”

“Louder,” you instructed. 

“Red,” he obeyed. 

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Good. Stand up.”

You needed to make sure he was ready to proceed. John, experienced as he was, could get stuck in his sub-space just like anyone. So, you made him practice, let his mouth feel the word again and again, primed and ready to be used. 

Finally, you reached for his genitals, washing his cock and being mindful of where you spread the soap, scrubbing ever so gently down his ballsack, and then swiping across his cleft, washing through his legs to clean every last bit of him. 

Then, trying to be almost clinical about it, you washed him off, cleansing his lower extremities to ensure his comfort before hosing down the rest of him. 

Finally, you shut off the water and began to towel him dry, wiping at his dripping skin, trying to ignore how his body’s heat seemed to radiate onto your bare body, inviting you to lean just a little closer, to press into that lovely burn. 

But, you didn’t. You discarded the towel and untied your wrist cuff, leaving it with your robe. You reached behind John’s head and unbound the center knot of his ties, allowing him to bring his wrists to the front of his body like handcuffs. You used the end to lead him like a prisoner through your space, parading him to the studio quickly and quietly, eager to begin the main event. 

Once inside the studio space, you finished untying his wrists, setting him free once again. He looked down at them, running his fingertip across the raised ridges left by the ropes before dropping his arms to his sides, waiting for your instruction and guidance. 

You knelt next to your basket of rope, retrieving a hank from the stack and unwinding it. His eyes darted to your hands, watching you prepare it just for him, like a dog expecting a bone. 

“Lay in the center, arms at your sides,” you told him and watched as he followed your instruction. He was less hard now, more relaxed than before, but before long, as he lay there letting his excitement build, he strengthened again, his prick bowing up onto his stomach, flushed and full. 

You got to work. Your first goal was to put each of his legs in an advanced frog tie, turning his body on its side so that you could bind his ankle to his thigh, first one leg and then the other. Once his initial ropes were in place, you checked their tension, moving two fingers around and around, trying not to notice his mounting enthusiasm every time you brushed along his inner thigh. Then, once you were satisfied, you helped him into a kneeling position, pushing a thin buckwheat pillow under his knees for comfort. 

He shook his head, 

“Don’t need it, love. I wanna feel the floor. The pain… helps.”

You eyed him, turning your lips into a soft grin, 

“If this were a normal session, I would give that to you,” your tone got his attention, and he did look at your face now, needing to see your intent, “But, what I’m about to put you through is something different. Trust me, John.”

“I trust you.”

He settled into the pillow, returning to his meditative position. You took his hands in yours and held them between your two palms, squeezing them tight, binding them without rope for a moment. Then, you began to breathe in deep, cyclical patterns, over and over. He breathed with you, and you saw the tension leave his face. Whatever had happened to John on this last tour was plaguing him, and you slowed things down to give him a chance to control himself again. 

He breathed in with you, and his air rushed out with yours, washing over your skin like a summer wind, keeping your body responsive to him. Every now and then, as you meditated together, you caught his eyes fixed on something other than the floor. He was staring into the darkness between your legs, shadowed by your body and covered with curly hair, hidden from him in plain sight. It was hard for you to focus, knowing he had his mind on your body, but eventually, he averted his gaze, focusing inwardly again. 

Finally, when you felt his heart rate slow, you used another hank of rope to create a short waist belt, applying more tension than usual as you fed it along his hips, knowing his thick ass and thighs could take the pressure. Still, you were adamant about safety, watching him every moment for discoloration or discomfort. 

He was fidgeting now that the tighter straps were on him, and you saw him closing off his stance, bringing his knees closer together. You caught him, and used one of the loops on his thigh to pull his legs apart again,

“Spread them. Let the pressure flow through your belly and out of your center.”

“Aye,” he sighed, settling into the pain and doing his best to spread his knees wider, concentrating on the feeling. His cock was leaking now, leaving little dark marks on the canvas of his knee bolster, bobbing between his legs as he spread them wider, shining and wet. 

You grabbed another rope, trying to hone in on your work,

“I’m going to bind you in almost the same style we practiced last spring, but it will be modified to provide more of that challenge you’ve been looking for. Place your hands behind your back, palms on your elbows, if you can.”

Not every sub had the flexibility to obey, but John did. He’d been doing his stretches. As he assumed his position, his arms’ placement made his chest broad and high, stretching his pecs open while his back was pinned, the skin folding in on itself as his shoulder blades folded back like featherless wings. You threaded your rope over his shoulders, centering the bight at the back of his neck for an anchor point. It was essential that no pressure was applied to the front of his throat, and you were ever-mindful of the fresh injuries that marred his neck. 

“What happened here?” You asked, letting your finger pass under a rope that lay on his injured skin, making sure it was loose and gentle. You would give him tightness elsewhere. 

He was hesitant to answer you, but he shrugged,

“Bastard came up behind me. Before I could react, he had the wire around my throat.”

“Did you escape on your own?” You pried, trying to keep him talking as you started the long process of his arm binding. 

“Aye. He was so busy trying to choke me, he forgot I still had free hands and plenty of bloody knives in my belt.”

You praised him for his openness,

“Good.”

“Is it?” Now, you heard the doubt in his tone. It made you pause, but you simply continued with your ties, not allowing him to know that you were challenged by his cynicism or regret or whatever darkness was making him lean on his fear and anger instead of his peace.

You left his question unanswered, allowing it to hang in the air between you, forcing his mind to dwell on it. You needed him to answer it within himself before you went opening more portals to other emotions and struggles. 

You added more and more rope to his binding, and when you finished, you pulled the cord forward across his chest, resting it below his nipples, making sure to graze them as you checked your tension, enjoying the trembling shudder that came from him as your reward. It was the most advanced harness you had performed in a long time. This one was unforgiving. He couldn’t twist left or right. His shoulders were forced down and back, shrugged tight against his body, and his arms were completely powerless. He could pull and heave to try and move his hands away from his back, but there was no escape.

You sat across from John once more, holding his chin up so that he would know you expected him to look at you, and you asked him,

“Do you have any pain or tingling?”

“No.”

“Say your safeword to me one time.”

“Red.” 

“The next step will be the final rope, and then we can sit together for as long as you need. Do you want to continue?”

His eyes stared into yours with a bright clarity, and he answered softly, 

“Yes.”

You could tell that he was slipping deeper into his sub-space. His eyes softened, but his body shivered. If you brushed your fingers along his ribs, his muscles would kick and jerk. Anything harder, like a deep tissue massage against those huge thighs and he whined for you, smokey and gravelly, full of feral need. 

You moved behind him, taking a rope and placing it across his forehead, using your hand to tilt his head back until his eyes were staring at the ceiling. Then, you carefully crafted a face harness, making sure there was not too much pressure on his more delicate bones while still limiting his range of motion so that he was forced to keep his chin pointed up. 

You connected the rig to an anchor point on his wrists, and then you took your position in front of him again, staring at his bearded jaw and injured neck, watching his body struggle to relax into a very uncomfortable pose. 

“Breathe for me, John,” you knew it was a lot. 

Controlling someone’s body was one thing. Even Price had experienced tight knots before, but when you took control over the head, that animal instinct all humans keep deep within themselves tended to come alive. It was a primal fear. You watched John’s chest rise and fall, his stress tumbling around in his breaths as he tried to stay calm. 

You reached out both of your hands and rested them on his chest, feeling the way he jerked at your touch, overstimulated and sensitive. You pet his fur, the thick brown hair that dusted his body, soft from the oils you had used. As he breathed, you felt it moving in his lungs, and you let your fingertips ghost over his nipples, rubbing them with the backs of your knuckles, admiring the way they perked up at your attention, puffy and swollen from the unforgiving rope that made them bulge outwardly.

“Mmf–fuck,” he coughed, his eyes knitted into a worried sort of agony.

You smiled, bringing your own nipples towards his chest, letting your soft peaks brush against his hard ones, moving your breasts up and down, drawing little circles and crosses over his chest. 

You knew he couldn’t see what you were doing, but he could feel it. He knew, instinctively, and it was sending him into a drunken daze. The pleasure of your touch combined with the pain of your ropes pushed him beyond where he had been before, and perhaps it was past where you had dared to go as well. 

“Control your breaths, John. There is nothing else you are responsible for. I’ve taken it all from you. You need to breathe and to spread your peace through your mind. Focus.”

He didn’t respond, but his breathing stilled, and his eyes closed. You removed your touch from him and let him bask in the sensations he was experiencing. 

Minutes passed, then more. It had been almost an hour, and you were admiring the way he stayed strong, at first. You reached out to him to anchor him when he seemed like he needed help, caressing his arms and back, massaging the muscles that must be burning white hot by now. He was much more determined than any other sub you controlled. If anyone could handle this difficult position, it was him. But, he was not invincible. You saw the way his breathing became labored, and his cock, which was losing and regaining its hardness as time went on, throbbed from its struggle. 

“Do you want to continue?” You asked again, touching him as you had before, moving your hands from his chest to his belly, petting him rhythmically, avoiding his phallus but touching everything else around it. You knew it must have been teasing him, forcing him to imagine how your hands might feel if they reached just a little further. 

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice strained due to the position of his jaw, and you watched the bulge in his neck bob up and down.

More time slipped by. Your hands had wandered down his legs and across the soft pads of his feet. His body was buzzing with the energy he was spending in order to stay the course. He must have been far beyond simple pain at this point. You remembered a similar scene you’d experienced, and this was much longer than you ever expected to be in it. If John was anything, he was stubborn. 

But eventually, you heard him speak, 

“We knew it was a trap before we went in. I was reckless, and angry, and I wanted my fuckin’ revenge.”

He paused but you just kept up with your massage, rubbing him down, letting him know you were still there. He continued,

“That bastard was gonna shoot me,” John’s voice cracked from his despair, and you saw shining tears stream down his temples and into his hair, “It was me that he wanted. Then, my… one of my men, he jumped right in front of the gun and took the bullet for me. I thought he was dead. I thought I was, too. But, after… I left my team. Charged in alone. I did things to those men that I'll have to think about for the rest of my bloody days. I became… something else. Something… “

You wiped the tears from his face, petting his cheeks, letting your thumbs brush over his lips gently. He sighed, and you could feel his breath on your fingers,

“It wasn’t right. I knew better, I just wanted them to bloody pay. Wasn’t sure if I was going home with a fuckin’ medal or my papers. Didn’t care.”

There was a long pause, and then, his voice became small. His eyes were still fixed on the ceiling, but they were wide, full of fear and uncertainty,

“Am I a monster? Is that… Is that the real me? Who am I? What am I?”

You leaned forward and planted delicate kisses across John’s stretched neck, licking and sucking at his skin in very light, careful touches, tasting his wounds and trying to heal them.

You sat back, removing yourself from his body, letting him sit alone for a moment before you said,

“You are a human being. You are capable of love and hate, pleasure and pain. You might feel like you need to answer for some of your violence, but your own humanity is not defined by your actions. You believed that was the path you needed to take. You destroyed dangerous men before they destroyed you. That is not a monster. A monster destroys the innocent. Were those men innocent?”

“No,” he snarled, full of spit and ire.

“They made their own choices. They controlled their own lives. Your perception of your own control is too broad, John. You couldn’t save them. They didn’t need saving. You did. It was you who needed to be saved.”

“I should’ve been able to stop… to stop… stop killing. I couldn’t. I needed them to burn for what they did to my fuckin’ soldier. To my friends! Fuck!” 

John was gasping now, too full of emotion to control his breath, releasing his stress in deep, bellowing grunts. You unfastened his head harness immediately, freeing him. The instant he could move, he let his head fall forward and placed his cheek on your breast, stretching himself as far as he could, hoping you would be there to catch him. 

And you were. You held him in your arms, wrapping your own across his many knots, feeling the fibers of his ties and the smooth warmth of his body, separate but unified. You could feel his wet cheek upon your skin, his anger rolling off of him in waves. He was letting out each breath as an exhaled hiss, the fire in his eyes at full peak, a blazing rage that seemed like it would suffocate him. 

You picked up his head in your hands, resting your forehead on his and told him, 

“Let it go. Just like that. Scream. Let it out of you, John. Forgive yourself.”

He let himself go for a moment, howling like a wild boar, full of unnatural rage and pain. You heard his shouts and tucked them away from your heart, keeping them for later, choosing to just let him express it and have his crashing waves of feeling wash over you, but you refused to drown in it. He still needed you. 

“Do you forgive me?” His plea was that of a boy, innocent and achingly pure. 

“I forgive you,” you replied without hesitation, “Forgive yourself, now.”

He shook his head back and forth, rubbing his face on yours, bitter and despondent, 

“I can’t…”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you to,” you barked, grabbing him at the base of his skull by his hair, forcing his head back into that same bent position, holding him by force, “Trust me, John. Say it out loud. I forgive myself. Say it. C’mon.”

“I… forgive...” 

“C’mon. I know you can do this,” you used both hands to hold his head under your control, your chests pressed together, your breathing equal and ragged, both of you pulled to the end of your abilities.

“I forgive myself.”

“Again!” You gasped. You tugged at his nape, forcing him to arch his back with what little movement he still had access to.

He grunted in response, breathing heavy, each exhale a guttural shout,

“I forgive myself.”

“Good. So good. Let it out. Use the pain; let it wash you clean.”

You let his head come forward, and you saw a new man staring back at you. Before you knew what was happening, you felt your lips crash together with John’s, sliding along his mouth, tasting him and being tasted by him. His tongue slipped into the hollow of your palate, folding and twisting for more and more control, taking you into him as much as he could manage. Then, he pulled away abruptly, resting his forehead against yours again,

“I’m sorry. I just… I feel…” You watched him search for the words, “I feel like I’m back. It’s been so long, but I can feel myself again.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you,” he tilted his head, exhausted, sitting back on his heels, his face a serene picture of peace, “I need you to touch me, like this. Please.”

You looked at him for a moment and then moved your hands between his legs, finding his warm rod waiting to be held. As soon as your fingers touched him, his whole body convulsed, and he cried out at the sensation. 

You began to rub his shaft with long, slow strokes, avoiding his head for now, finding a nice, easy rhythm, encouraging John to match your breathing. He did, stealing kisses when your faces were near one another, and eventually, you were nose to nose, sharing your breaths again, listening to the rush of air and the wet slick sound of his tacky precome being spread all over his length. 

You reached behind him and grabbed another bolster, putting the soft pad behind his back. Slowly, you helped him lay down onto it, knowing his arms would be crushed by his weight, but making sure the stress was something he could stand. His legs were spread wide, fully pliant and open to you, and you sat between them, bringing your hands back to his center, working his curved shaft up and down, watching as his belly filled with air, expanding from his breaths, only to collapse again, the muscles within him clenching and releasing in an undulating pattern of lust and need.

“Oh, fuck,” he bit his lip, wrenching his eyes shut, “Please… I need… Bloody hell, I need you, love. Please.”

“Are you sure, John?” You tried to check in with him, ignoring your own desire to immediately fulfill his wish, your pussy swollen and dripping in anticipation. 

“Yes. I want you to take me. Please.”

His eyes looked up at you, his body bent and bowed, sweet and desperate for you, looking to you for his pleasure.

Carefully, you straddled him, feeding his head between your legs, sighing with joy as his tip slotted into the soft divot of your hole. He couldn’t thrust up into you. In fact, he couldn’t participate at all. You were the only one who could bring him pleasure or bring him pain, and that thought made your head rush, making you dizzy with desire, knowing that this man, a ruthless killer, mysterious and brutal, steady and kind, all of what he was — he was helpless beneath you. 

As you sank down onto his girthy tip, your body ached from the stretch. It was an effort to fit him inside of you, and you breathed through it, wanting to push yourself flush to his hips. When you met his warm root, you shared a loud moan together, the relief overwhelming you both. 

Then, you used your hips to make grinding, wide circles, churning his cock within your core, making yourself even more soaked, feeling your movements sending repeated signals to your cunt to make more and more slick come. It seemed endless, and it pooled out of you, matting his hair and drowning his dick in hot, sticky fluid. 

He was grunting softly at the apex of each circle of your hips, his voice hoarse and full of want. You heard him wanting more, wanting you to hump him up and down, to slide yourself along his cock from root to tip. But, you were in charge, and you set the pace. So, you continued, around and around and around in an impossible spiral, using your hands to play with his nipples, pinching them cruelly, positioning them under the tight rope to make them ache to be free. 

“Ungh, fuck! You’re fuckin’ soaked, love. Feels so bloody good.”

You smiled down at him, refusing to take his bait, knowing he was beyond ready for more. 

Sure enough, he began to beg you, his skin flushed and his heart beating hard from being edged by your grinding,

“Will you fuck me… please? Just… I need… fuck, I need more. Fuck me, please! Oh, fuck…”

“Shh. Be good for me, John. Trust me.” 

You stayed the course, rocking your hips around his base, never letting him thrust in and out, just winding yourself around him like a tight spool, pushing him to his breaking point. He felt so good inside of you, and his cock was so deep, you could feel the turgid body of his shaft if you pressed down on your lower belly, your fingers finding his outline through your skin and muscles and fat, your hands making indentions in your flesh, teasing him from the outside. 

“Cut me out,” he snarled, straining against his bindings hard enough to hurt himself.

You peered down at him, slowing your hips to a glacial pace,

“You know your safeword, John.”

“Cut. Me. Out.”

His eyes were vicious when he looked up at you now. He was like a hungry wolf; his gaze held within it a dark promise that — if you cut his leash — he would destroy you. 

On one hand, your body celebrated that realization. It was eager to be devoured by this monster of a man, but you had worked hard to control your primal urges, and you decided to put your hound back in his cage. You let your hand snake around his throat, squeezing where it was safest, digging in your nails for him to feel your threat more vividly, knowing it would hurt him against his healing wounds,

“If you want to stop, say the word.”

You waited, watching his tortured face, panting and wet from tears and sweat, but he remained silent. You licked your lips, 

“You came here for a lesson in self-control, and I am your teacher.”

For the next half hour, you made sure John Price understood who was in control of his pleasure. You sat on his cock, rocking back and forth until you felt his body tense up, and then you pulled yourself off of him, leaving his throbbing prick out in the cold, tapping at your ass cheeks, begging to be let back in. 

You ignored him, touching yourself with your fingers, using the chubby flesh of his lower belly to rub against your cunt, smearing your wetness all over him as you played in your hole. 

Then, you would put him back inside and start the process all over again, grinding and stopping, grinding and stopping, until your mighty sub was whimpering for release, his balls tight against his core, ready to flood you with his come at any moment. 

Finally, when you saw how fuck-drunk he was, coming in and out of consciousness like he’d been drugged, you decided to relieve him of his burden. You caught his eye and made sure he knew what was coming. Immediately, you had his full attention. He began to chant, hoarse and rasping under his breath,

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck…”

You let the anticipation build, slipping your pussy over his head in feather-light swipes, letting your folds tickle his cockhead mercilessly. Then, you began to bounce your hips on his cock. 

“Ungh– love, I’m —” he growled, his words breathless and broken, unbridled. 

“I want your come,” you confessed, getting lost in your own pleasure, “I want it in me… Deep. In. Me,” you changed your tone, tightening your grip on the nape of his neck as much as you dared, “And I’m going to take it from you.”

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, shining with fresh tears, overstimulated and raw. 

Then, you saw the relief smooth across his brow, and you waited for a breath before you felt it, spearing yourself on him to his hilt, plugging your cunt so that his come would be plugged up inside of you, filling your emptiest parts, making them warm and swollen with his spend. 

You felt him bursting inside of you, his girth stretching you every time he throbbed, spraying inside of you over and over, dumping his load into your soft hole. When you felt him finish, you began your grinding circles again, causing him to roll and twist, aching from the pleasure and pain. 

“Nngh… love, please… can’t… I can’t…” 

You yanked the slip tie out from under his shoulder, and suddenly, he had control of his arms again. You did the same to his legs, freeing him from your ties, ending his captivity. 

Like a flash, he erupted upwards toward you. His hands went to your hips, sitting up to hug himself around your body, crushing you to his chest and forcing you down into his lap, spearing you on his sensitive rod as if you had planned to pull him out. His mouth savaged your breasts, biting them cruelly, his fingers holding you tight enough to leave you bruised. 

You grabbed his face, holding his bristled cheeks in your hands again, bringing him up to kiss you. You pressed your lips to his as delicately as you could manage, trembling from your bliss. He kissed you back, and that’s all you did for what felt like an eon. Your mind swam through a blank, glittering cosmos, and the only thing that was real was the feeling of John’s mouth on your mouth and his sex on your sex, his hands on your body and your hands on his body, his pain and your pain, his love and your love. You and he were muddled together like pigments on a palette, jonquil and fuschia, no longer existing as one or the other and yet both smearing together, mixed and inseparable, ready to paint a bright, endless sun. 

You had melted, it seemed, under John’s sweating, heaving body. His ribs bullied into your belly every time he took a breath, and his cock had softened so that it slipped away from you. Your body ached for its comfort again, every nature-made part of you punishing you for losing it, coaxing you to do anything to get it back, to fill the space left vacant. You were tucked into his chest, folded and hiding beneath his chin, rubbing at the flat of his sternum with the back of your hand. 

His finger brushed a stray curl from your brow, touching your hair with respect, staring down at you in awe,

“My hero,” he purred. 

You smiled, kissing the stubble on his chin,

“Am I, now?”

“My head…” He stared up at the ceiling again, going to it for comfort like a long lost friend, “It’s so quiet. So clear. You’ve done that for me, and I’ll be thanking you for the rest of my days.”

“I’ll always be here for you, John. You are my muse in more ways than I’ll ever admit,” you laughed breathlessly, a little sad. It was bittersweet, falling in love with a man you couldn’t have. But, you found yourself in him and now you would need to work out how to live without that mirrored reflection. You felt linked to him, two unbroken cords looped together like Solomon’s seal, inseparable and yet laid on two disparate paths. 

“Don’t…” He said, his tone sounding even more sorrowful than yours.

You sat up on your elbow, bringing your face up to his to look at him, to see his emotions, 

“What?”

“Don’t make me hope.”

“What do you hope for?” Your voice fell into a whisper, your heart not having the strength to ask your question aloud.

He matched your tone, purring out his confession with a tired but cheeky grin,

“For a woman who can bring me to my knees,” then, his expression turned serious, and his eyes traced his finger as he played with the stray curl he had found, studying its winding path, “For a healer. Someone who can remind me of who I am. Everytime I stop to catch my breath, I’ve been hoping for you.”

Your heart stuttered, knowing that he was not a man to settle down in one place. You looked down at his chest rising and falling with his breath, matching your rhythm, unable to meet his eyes,

“How long can you stay?”

He put a thick finger under your chin, just as you had for him during his session, making you meet his gaze, 

“Let’s start with tonight…”

He planted a soft kiss on your left cheek.

“...then tomorrow…”

His lips kissed your right cheek, dragging hungrily across your skin, 

“...and all the tomorrows that you’ll give me. I’ll take them all, if you let me.”

John placed his final kiss on your open mouth, lips parted, concentrating on what he was saying. You smiled, kissing him back in earnest, 

“Tonight, then. And tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow,” he nodded, smiling brightly, rolling himself over you to shield you from the chill of the room, folding you into his darkness, safe, bound to him without a cord, knotted together without a bight, tangled for however long the strands would hold.

AO3 Link --- Thank you for the kudos!

[astrocafecoffee]

✨❤️

Astro observation(part 4)

❤️ For entertainment purposes only, enjoy ❤️

✨ MASTERLIST

~~~~~~~~~~~~~❤️❤️~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🍁 Venus in Libra peoples tendency to prioritise others needs and and desires over their own can sometimes leads to self neglect or dissatisfaction.

🍁 I have seen most of the pieces rising peoples have large, expressive and sparkling eyes.

🍁The year I received the Best Student of the Year award, my solar return chart showed the 10th house ruler in the 10th house.

🍁 The year my best friend started dating her boyfriend , her solar return chart showed Venus conjunct juno and boda conjunct sun .

🍁 The year she met him she had groom, moon and Hera asteroid in her 7th house and venus conjunct descendant.

🍁 Aries/scorpio/ leo Venus peoples often wears bold makeup.

🍁 Sagittarius placements blunt honesty can sometimes come across as insensitivity or a lack of consideration for other's feelings.

🍁 Scorpio mars peoples enjoy a sense of mystery and are drawn to partners who can keep them intrigued and engaged.

🍁I have seen scorpio/ pieces placements often enjoys horror films.

🍁 leo Venus people often want their love life to be as exciting and glamourous as a Hollywood romance.

🍁 pieces/ cancer/ Virgo /scorpio placements often drawn to counseling careers due to their nurturing qualities and desire to help others.

🍁 Sagittarius placements often mesh well with air sign placements as these signs intellectual and social nature complements Sagittarius's need for excitement and variety.

🍁potential dating difficulties associated with different Venus signs:

Venus in Aries: Can be impulsive and passionate but may struggle with patience and commitment.

Venus in Taurus:Values stability and security but may become possessive or overly stubborn in relationships.

Venus in Gemini: Craves variety and intellectual stimulation but might have trouble with consistency and deeper emotional connections.

Venus in Cancer: Seeks emotional depth and security but may be overly sensitive or prone to moodiness.

Venus in Leo:Desires attention and admiration but may be prone to drama or neediness in relationships.

Venus in Virgo: Looks for practicality and reliability but may be overly critical or perfectionistic.

Venus in Libra: Values harmony and partnership but may struggle with indecision or a tendency to avoid conflict.

Venus in Scorpio: Seeks intense, transformative connections but may grapple with issues of trust or possessiveness.

Venus in Sagittarius: Desires freedom and adventure but might struggle with commitment or maintaining long-term relationships.

Venus in Capricorn: Values seriousness and stability but may come across as distant or overly reserved emotionally.

Venus in Aquarius:Enjoys unconventional and intellectual connections but might struggle with expressing emotions or creating deep intimacy.

Venus in Pisces: Seeks romance and idealism but may be prone to escapism or unrealistic expectations in relationships.

🍁 if you have Saturn in 10th house of your groom pc/ Briede pc/ juno pc then it might mean that your fs might face challenges and hard work in their career for a while. But once they have put in the effort , they'll become super successful and even a leader in their field - basically the boss!

🍁 I have seen so many peoples With 10th house ruler in 6th house/ Jupiter in 6th house getting inclined towards medical field.

🍁 South node conjunct destinn asteroid in your Groom persona chart can indicate that your fs is your past life lover.

🍁 North node conjunct descendant in coalescent chart is a indicator of fated / meant to be connection. As southnode conjunct ascendent so it also a indicator of past life connection.

🍁sun in Libra / Libra rising is a marriage indicator in coalescent chart.

🍁 Mars in 1st house people are very attractive.

🍁 People with Chiron in the 10th house fear being a failure in life. They worry about not being good enough. To avoid feeling this way, they work too much. They are too hard on themselves. They need to learn to accept themselves and their strengths.

🍁 Mars conjunct Lilith in composite/ coalescent chart - great sexual chemistry between partners.

🍁 Prey Asteroid conjunct descendant in synastry means one or both partners may feel vulnerable or trapped in the relationship.

🍁Union in scorpio in composite chart means 1st meeting with them in a private setting.

🍁 people with Libra / Taurus placements ( especially Venus) love doing makeup and always want to look their best when they go out. Also Gemini and Leo's are included in this list too.

🍁 A man's briede asteroid in a woman's 4th house means the man consider the woman as their wife even if they are not married yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~❤️❤️~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- BY ASTROCAFECOFFEE(PIKO) ❤️

See you next time ~

[misswynters]

Aemond Targaryen as your husband: headcanon

[a/n: there are some sensual undertones here so if you don’t wanna read that you can skip it. it’s after the seperator

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

similar | jace | aegon | cregan | daeron | gwayne

Aemond is fiercely protective of you. His intense loyalty means he is always by your side, ensuring your safety and well-being. He often places himself between you and any perceived threat, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword.

Aemond isn’t one for grand romantic gestures, but his love for you is evident in the small things. He brushes your hair out of your face, ensures your chambers are always warm, and leaves books he thinks you’d enjoy on your bedside table.

As your husband, Aemond values your opinion on matters of state and politics. He seeks your counsel in private, trusting your judgment and treating you as an equal partner in all decisions.

Aemond admires your intelligence and enjoys engaging in deep conversations with you. Whether it’s discussing the histories of Westeros, strategy, or philosophy, he relishes the intellectual stimulation you provide.

Aemond respects your strength and encourages you to train with him. He enjoys sparring sessions where you both hone your skills, often leading to playful banter and mutual admiration.

You and Aemond have an unspoken bond, sharing secrets that no one else knows. He trusts you implicitly and confides in you about his deepest fears and ambitions.

Despite his stern exterior, Aemond has a soft spot for you. In private, he’s tender and gentle, often holding you close and whispering sweet nothings that contrast sharply with his public demeanor.

Aemond enjoys gifting you rare and precious items, from intricate jewelry to exotic silks. He takes pride in finding unique treasures that reflect your tastes and interests.

One of your favorite pastimes is riding Vhagar together. The thrill of soaring through the skies, feeling the wind in your hair, and the shared experience of dragon riding brings you closer. Aemond often points out landmarks and recounts stories from his childhood as you fly.

Aemond’s loyalty to you is unwavering. He defends your honor fiercely and would go to great lengths to protect you from harm. His love is intense and all-consuming, leaving no room for doubt.

Through your relationship, Aemond learns to open up more emotionally. Your patience and understanding help him grow, allowing him to express his feelings more freely and strengthening your bond.

Aemond is your biggest supporter. Whether you’re pursuing a personal project or navigating court politics, he’s always there to offer encouragement and practical advice.

Aemond is devoted to your future children. He takes an active role in their upbringing, ensuring they are well-educated and trained. He often tells them stories of his own adventures and the legacy of House Targaryen.

Despite the challenges you face, your bond with Aemond is unbreakable. Together, you are a formidable team, facing the world with strength and determination. Your love for each other is a constant source of comfort and inspiration, guiding you through the trials of life in Westeros.

Aemond’s eye always finds you in a room full of people. The way he looks at you, with a mix of desire and admiration, sends shivers down your spine. His gaze alone can make you feel cherished and wanted.

In private, Aemond’s touches are gentle and deliberate. He traces his fingers along your skin, memorizing every curve and line. Whether it’s a light touch on your hand or a caress along your back, he makes you feel treasured.

Aemond’s kisses are a mix of urgency and tenderness. He captures your lips with an intensity that leaves you breathless, his hands cradling your face as if you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Late at night, when the castle is quiet, Aemond whispers sweet and sultry words in your ear. He tells you of his desires, his dreams, and how deeply he loves you. His voice, low and husky, wraps around you like a warm embrace.

Aemond takes his time when you’re having sex. He believes in savoring every moment, exploring your body with a careful and practiced touch. His focus is entirely on your pleasure, ensuring you feel loved and satisfied.

There’s a powerful, unspoken connection between you. A single look from Aemond can communicate a thousand words. In moments of intimacy, you don’t need to speak; your bodies and souls understand each other perfectly.

After a long day, Aemond loves to hold you close. He wraps his arms around you, his body shielding yours. The warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart are the ultimate comfort, making you feel safe and adored. Giving you the love that his mother didn’t give him.

Aemond is particularly affectionate in the mornings. He wakes you with soft kisses on your neck and shoulders, his hands gently exploring your body as he whispers good morning. These moments set a loving tone for the day ahead.

Aemond enjoys sharing baths with you. The intimacy of washing each other, feeling the warm water and his hands on your skin, creates a deep bond. He loves to see you relaxed and content, and he takes his time, making sure every touch is soothing and sensual.

Despite his duties, Aemond finds time for secret sex. Whether it’s a secluded garden or a hidden room in the castle, he ensures you have moments of privacy to express your love and passion freely.

banner by: @cafekitsune

[lua-magic]

Third lord and your past Life skills

Third House is house of courage and initiation, that is why malefics are good in it, especially Mars is exalted.

Third Lord shows which area you will use your courage to manifest your desires.

Third Lord in first house 🏠

Such people are extremely hard working and get everything in their life only through hard work .

Natives love to learn new skills and start new projects in their life, only thing they should care is not to rush into anything and use your logic as well before starting any projects whether they are capable of finishing it as well or not

Third lord in second house

Such natives are good with communication and especially in cooking skills and has great financial knowledge as well. Native shows lot of courage to gain wealth in their life.

Third Lord is considered as malefic planet because wherever it sits it creates problems, so be careful about your family and communication. Choose your words carefully.

Third lord in third house

Good placement, as Native will show courage to fulfill their desires and to earn Money from their passion.

Such natives are extremely artistic in nature and loves to keep learning new skills. .

If you have siblings then keep healthy relationship with your siblings this will help you in your professional life. Such natives desires lot of material wealth in their life.

Third house is if travel, so short travels are good for manifeing their desires.

Third Lord in fourth house.

Fourth house is of comfort and luxury and native will show courage to earn comfort and luxury especially, they have subconscious desires towards owning a cozy home and vehicle and decorating it

Such natives sometimes suffer from anxiety and mental issues. Such natives should be careful about relationship with their mother.

Native has good skills when it comes to cleaning and decorating their cars and House.

Third lord in fifth house 🏠

Native will be skilled in teaching and show courage for romance, native have desire to earn name, fame and success.

Native would be attached to their kids.

Native should be careful with regards to kids as there could be misunderstanding and separation.

Third lord in sixth house 🏠

Native will use his/her skills in job and nitpicking and finding faults.

Native will show courage in solving other's problems and will serve others.

Native will be attached to pets and animals.

Native should be careful about his career choices

Third Lord in seventh house

Native has subconscious desires for relationship and show his courage in buisness and partnerships .

Native is skilled in buisness and public dealings.

Native should be careful about their marriage.

Third Lord in eighth house

Native has highly active subconscious mind and great Intuition.

Native is skilled in research, occult, astrology, and such natives are great spy, secret service agents as they can sense and hidden things

They will show lot of courage in understanding secrets and revealing truth.

They should be careful with relationship with their in laws

Third lord in nighth house

Native is highly skilled in counselling and mentoring and in higher education

Native will show courage towards travelling especially to religious places.

Native should be careful about their relationship with their father.

Native subconsciously seek righteousness and morality.

Third lord in tenth house

Native will show lot of courage in their job, but as third Lord is considered malefic, it does gives trouble in in professional life and won't let native to settle for long time and native desires job satisfaction.

Native should be careful about the profession especially, the boss under which they want to work, so don't choose company but rather choose the boss

Third lord in eleventh house

Native subconsciously desires lot of sudden gains in their life.

They will show lot of courage to create multiple sources of income.

Native would skilled in earning good amount of money.

Native should be careful, as sometimes native becomes too lustful and greedy and loose their wealth so always follow strict moral values while earning money and don't run behind quick money.

Third lord in Twelfth house

This also makes native subconscious mind active, and sometimes disturb night sleep.

Native desires to go spirituality, yoga and meditation and foreign land settlement.

Native will show lot of courage to move away from his mother land or settle away from birth place.

If native is religious then will be devoted to their deity and will see dreams regarding to to their deity as well.

Native may suffer from overthinking and anxiety as well .

Native also carries some past life memories or traumas or special skills that native can come to know through their dreams .

Native should be careful about their mental health and must learn about healing and spirituality.

[obsidian-pages777]

Pick a Card: Career Guidance from Pallas Athena

Top Left (Pile 1) , Top Right(Pile 2) Bottom Left (Pile 3) ,Bottom Right (Pile 4)

Pile 1: Current Challenges and Obstacles

The Tower: This card suggests that significant changes or disruptions may be occurring in your career path right now. Pallas Athena's message here is to embrace these changes as opportunities for growth and transformation. Trust in your wisdom and strategic thinking to navigate through any obstacles that arise.

Five of Pentacles: This card represents financial challenges or feelings of lack. Pallas Athena reminds you to tap into your resourcefulness and inner strength during difficult times. Remember that setbacks are temporary, and with perseverance and strategic planning, you can overcome any financial obstacles in your career.

Channeled Key words:Resilience and Adaptability

Action Steps to consider:

Embrace change and consider exploring new career paths or industries that align with your skills and interests.

Seek opportunities for financial stability through budgeting, saving, or exploring alternative sources of income.

Focus on building resilience and adapting to changes in the workplace environment.

Consider seeking support from mentors or career coaches to overcome obstacles and navigate challenges effectively.

.....................................................*****************************************

Pile 2: Guidance and Wisdom from Pallas Athena

The High Priestess: Pallas Athena's message here is to trust your intuition and inner wisdom when making career decisions. Quiet your mind and listen to the subtle guidance from within. Your intuition is a powerful tool that can lead you toward the right path in your career journey.

Ace of Swords: This card represents clarity of thought and new opportunities. Pallas Athena encourages you to approach your career with clear intentions and a strategic mindset. Stay focused on your goals, and be open to seizing new opportunities that come your way. Trust in your ability to manifest success through your intellect and determination.

Channeled Key Words:Networking and Relationship Building

Action Steps to consider:

Explore careers that involve intuition, spirituality, or working in fields such as counseling, coaching, or holistic healing.

Consider opportunities in education, research, or intellectual pursuits that allow you to leverage your analytical skills and strategic thinking.

Pursue roles that involve clear communication, writing, or public speaking, where you can share your insights and wisdom with others.

Embrace leadership opportunities where you can use your intuition and intellect to inspire and guide others toward success.

..............................................*********************************************

Pile 3: Opportunities and Potential

The Empress: This card symbolizes abundance, creativity, and nurturing energy. Pallas Athena's message here is that there are abundant opportunities for growth and success in your career. Embrace your creativity and tap into your nurturing instincts to cultivate a fulfilling and prosperous career path.

Ten of Cups: This card represents emotional fulfillment and harmony in your career life. Pallas Athena reminds you to prioritize your emotional well-being and seek fulfillment in your work. Follow your heart's desires and pursue career paths that align with your values and bring you joy and satisfaction.

Channeled Key Words: Continuous Learning and Skill Development

Action Steps to Consider:

Explore creative industries such as arts, design, fashion, or entertainment where you can express your artistic talents and creativity.

Consider careers in fields related to nurturing and caregiving, such as healthcare, counseling, or social work, where you can make a positive impact on others' lives.

Look for opportunities to create a harmonious work environment or start your own business venture where you can cultivate abundance and prosperity.

Pursue roles that prioritize work-life balance and prioritize emotional well-being, such as remote work, flexible scheduling, or positions with supportive company cultures.

...................................................*****************************************

Pile 4: Pursuit and Manifestation

The Magician: This card represents manifestation and taking action to create your desired reality. Pallas Athena's message here is to harness your innate talents and skills to manifest your career goals. Believe in your abilities and take decisive action toward your ambitions. With focus, determination, and strategic planning, you have the power to manifest success in your career endeavors.

Six of Wands: This card symbolizes victory, recognition, and achievement. Pallas Athena encourages you to celebrate your successes and accomplishments in your career journey. Be proud of how far you've come, and continue to strive for excellence with confidence and grace. Your strategic thinking and perseverance will lead you to even greater heights of success in your career.

Channeled Key Words: Self-Reflection and Exploration

Action Steps to Consider:

Take proactive steps to pursue your career goals, such as networking, furthering your education, or acquiring new skills relevant to your desired field.

Consider entrepreneurial ventures or freelance opportunities where you can take control of your career path and leverage your unique talents and abilities.

Set clear intentions and goals for your career and take consistent action toward manifesting your aspirations.

Seek opportunities for recognition and advancement in your current career path or explore avenues for professional growth and development that align with your long-term objectives.

[latenightdaydreams]

Family Planning (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List✍🏽

Part 2

>cw: fem/afab, pregnancy, cucking, p in v, religion, priest König

2.1k word count

⛪

.

.

You’ve been married to your husband, Lucas, for four years now. Both of you are high school sweethearts. You never thought you’d have to seek counseling for the relationship. You nervously twiddle your thumbs as you sit outside your priest’s office, sitting next to your husband. Finally, the door opens and König’s eyes land on the two of you.

“Please, come in.” He stands at the door, waiting for you both to enter before he closes the door behind him. Once he sits down, he leans forward with a polite smile across his thin lips. “Mr. and Mrs. Altman. What brings you to me?”

There is a heavy tension in the room as you gaze over to Lucas. He sits with a finger pressing against his temple as he rests his arm on the armrest. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to talk about this.

“Well, it’s…we’ve been having some issues lately.” You speak carefully, trying to not offend your husband. 

“What issues?” König gives a concerned look to your husband.

“Well, we’ve been trying to get pregnant for the last four years and nothing. I went to the doctor, and everything was fine with me…” You stop talking and drop your head down, knowing the topic upsets your husband.

“So, that means it’s you that can’t get her pregnant?” His eyes lock with your husbands.

“Yes…”

“And that makes you feel…” König was trying to get him to admit his feelings.

“Worthless.” Lucas says in a low voice. “As if I’m not a man.” You rest your hand on your husband's legs and rub it in a supporting way. 

“We’ve always wanted a family. Since we met as teens, we’ve planned on having kids. The issue is not only his sperm, but to have a child, it would be through unnatural means.”

König watches the shape of your mouth as you speak. He nods his head occasionally to make sure you know he is listening to you.           Once you finish explaining your moral stance against IVF, he finally speaks.

“It seems almost cruel that God would give such a strong, devoted couple as yourselves such a heavy cross to bear.” His blue eyes gaze into yours as he speaks. “I also agree, IVF is unnatural and goes against God's word. The Lord sees how you’ve both struggled, yet never even up on one another.”

Tears creep up in your eyes as Father validates every feeling you’ve had along your way so far. Instead of judgment, he is listening with care. 

“But have you considered… other options?”

“Like adoption?” Lucas asks.

“Hm, no. Just a simple sperm donation.” König leans back in his desk chair, his fingertips touching as he studies both of your reactions.

“But having seed spilled by a contraption…it isn’t of God.” Lucas speaks softly. He knows you’d have the beautiful family you have always dreamed of if it weren’t for him. Guilt floods his body.

“Not with any medical intervention.”

“Then…how?”

“I can offer you my seed, to impregnate you.” König says boldly.

“Excuse me?” There is a bit of anger in Lucas’s tone.

“Please do not misunderstand me. I am a man of God. I’ve given up all pleasures in life. I’m simply the vessel put here by the Lord to give you the family you both desire. Like God impregnated Mary, but Joseph raised Jesus as his own.”

You sit staring at Father König with your mouth slightly ajar. Like God did with Mary and Joseph… Those words you kept repeating in your head, and the more it started to make sense.

“But that’s adultery.” Lucas snapped.

“God let men impregnate another woman in the bible when their woman was barren. I don’t see the difference here. No romance, just God’s gift.” He smiles at the both of you, impressed with how gullible you both seem to be. 

“He has a point, honey.” Your hand continues to caress Lucas’s leg.

He looks into your eyes for a while, a heavy gaze of guilt on his own. Is he really about to allow his Priest to sleep with his wife? That would be crazy, right? It would result in a pregnancy, and you’ll be able to start the family you’ve always wanted. Both he and Father König are blonde blue eyed me, so it wouldn’t be too hard to hide.

“I- can we think about this?” You can hear the buildup of emotions in his voice.

“Of course, take all the time you need.” König suppresses a small smirk. 

Everyone stands and you go home with Lucas. The night you both stay all talking, arguing, crying, laughing; just every emotion hitting at once. This is a conversation you never saw yourselves having. All you’ve ever wanted is to be a mother, and now God has given you an answer.

.

.

You arrive outside of Father König’s home, fingers intertwined with Lucas’s. He hesitates before his knocks on the door finally. A few seconds later, König opens it, greeting you both with a warm smile. He is wearing his black pants and shirt with a Priest collar on.

“Bitte kommen Sie herein.” König steps aside to let you and Lucas come inside. 

The home is simple with crosses and imagery of Jesus and the Virgin Mary hanging on the walls. You both linger awkwardly, thumbs caressing one another’s hand. König closes and locks the door.

“Shall we.” He gestures for the both of you to follow him down a long hall. 

Turning into the last door on the left, he welcomes you in. There is a large king size bed with gray sheets and a blue comforter. A simple wooden cross with a bloody Jesus on the wall behind the bed. Your eyes linger on it for a while before turning your gaze towards Lucas. He is looking at the bed with a dejected look in his eyes. A heavy tension lingers in the air. 

“Y/n, you should undress.” König’s Austrian accent is smooth.

You nod and kick your shoes off before pulling off your sweater. Lucas took it for you, his eyes looking over your body as you slowly peeled away each layer. Both trying to avoid Father's gaze and only focus on each other. Once stripped of all your clothing, Lucas slips his hand back into yours. “You’ll be okay…” He whispers to you, pressing his lips to your forehead.

König takes your hand from your husbands, his icy blue eyes gazing down into yours. He walks to the bed, lifting you and gently laying you in the center of the bed. 

“Lucas, sit at the head of the bed. It’s important that you’re a part of this too.”

Lucas slowly kicks his shoes off and walks to the bed, pulling the pillows aside and sitting. His hands caress your hair, trying to ignore Father touching you. Ignoring how his hands ran up your legs, caressing the supple flesh of your thighs.

You tried hard to ignore Father's touch, but your body was responding positively. He climbs on top of you, his weight sinking you into the bed. Timid warm kisses trailing up your abdomen to your breasts. 

“Is all of this…necessary?” Lucas's voice cracks.

“Ja,” he continues to kiss over your breasts, lightly sucking on your perky nipples. “Her body needs to be relaxed to accept my seed.”

Lucas huffs, rolling his eyes. König ignores him, moving his lips to kiss up your neck, slowly making his way to your lips. He lightly bit your bottom lip before pressing his lips fully against yours. His knee sliding between your legs, rubbing it against your clit. You whimper slightly as his tongue circles yours.

“You like that, Liebling?” He licks your lips before kissing you passionately. 

Lucas stares at a wall as this is going on. He can feel his cock become slightly erect, but he tries to ignore it. He doesn’t want to get aroused watching a man take his wife. He’s her one and only- at least that’s how it was always supposed to be.

“Let’s see how wet you are for Father…” König says as he leans back. On his black pant leg there is a white wet streak. He smirks and looks at you. “Perfekt.”

Your eyes gaze up at Lucas, a bit of shame in your gaze for becoming so aroused. König grabs your hips and scoots you closer to him. Your legs spread open in front of him as he undoes his pants. He pulls his enormous cock out, his hand grasping it at the base.

Lucas' eyes go wide, looking at König’s penis. A wave of jealousy, insecurity, and shame rushes over him. How would you feel about him after you’ve been with Father? Can he compare? Will he ever be able to please you again? He is quickly snapped out of his thoughts as Father speaks.

“Are you ready, y/n?”

“Yes.” You said quickly, almost too quickly for Lucas’s liking.

“Look at me, Liebling.” König grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. His eyes watching you closely as he slips his cock into you. He watches the way your breathing shutters and your eyebrows pinch together. 

His hand moves from your jaw to your hips, grabbing your legs and spreading them wide apart. With each roll of his hips, you let out a pathetic little mewl. You’re trying your hardest to not give into the pleasure, you’re here to procreate, not have sex.

Lucas notices the way your face contorts with euphoria as König’s big cock fucks you. His cock rock hard in his own pants. He can’t help but to keep his eyes glued to your tiny little cunt struggling to accept König. The way your creamy cum covers his cock. You’re loving this and it kills him.

“Father…” The words slip your lips before you realize you’re moaning his name. Your eyes instantly shoot up to Lucas. An orgasm is building up but you try to fight it. Mouth hanging open, you let out a loud moan as König begins to buck into you faster.

“Cum for me.” König drops one leg and reaches out to squeeze your left breast. 

As you gaze at Lucas your body trembles under König, the sound of your wet cunt getting louder as you cum on his cock.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well.” König leans over and begins to kiss you passionately, stealing your attention back to him. “Your pussy gets so wet for Father.” His whispers kissing down your jaw. 

König pulls out, his large hands grasping your body and turning you over. You get on all fours, facing Lucas. He comes up behind you and slips his cock back into you without words. His hands squeeze the fat on your ass, spanking you to see the jiggle. Lucas glares at him, this is sex for pleasure for Father. His glare does not go unnoticed. 

“I’m close to giving you my seed Liebling…” König’s deep sensual voice now strained from the feelings of your tiny cunt sucking him in. “Lucas, please pray.”

“Pray?” He sounds shocked.

“For me to cum in your wife. For me to impregnate her.”

Your fingers are grabbing beat sheets as you look at Lucas. Babbling words as he thrust his cock even deeper into you. König grabs a fist full of your hair, holding your head up so Lucas has to see the way he is turning his wife into nothing but a stupid little sex doll.

“Please Lord, hear my prayers. Please let Father König’s seed be successful and fruitful.” Lucas looks at you with a slight bit of disgust. His sweet Catholic wife would never be enjoying fornication with another man this much. This was all a mistake.

“Say you want my cum!”

“Please, please cum in me! Please God! Please fill me!” Your voice is so enthusiastic, you’ve never acted like this for Lucas before.

“Ah, Ja!” König stops moving and pushes his cock deep into you. Your eyes roll back and Lucus turns his head to not see the finale play out.

König leans forward and kisses down your neck, biting you so hard he leaves a mark. He rests his body over yours, panting slightly.

.

.

Fully dressed you all stand by the door. You’re glowing. A huge smile on your face as you gaze at Father König with dreamy eyes. König reaches out and caresses your bottom lip with his thumb. Lucas stands there with a defeated look on his face, slightly dissociated in this moment as his mind tries to process what he witnessed.

“If this isn’t successful, my door is always open.” König grins at Lucas as he opens the door for you both.

Part 2

[mahgyu]

JJK MEN reacting to you asking for love advice about someone else to them

๑ featuring: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Kento Nanami, Choso Kamo, Toji Fushiguro and Ryomen Sukuna.

๑ content: Unrequited feelings (they like you in case it wasn't clear from the title), manipulation of feelings in certain parts, light angst. No fluff, I'm back to my era of pain (*evil laugh, the return* )

๑ a/n: Actually, there's nothing to say, I hope you enjoy it

GOJO SATORU

"Well, if he doesn't notice how amazing you are, he's an idiot. But, you know, sometimes idiots need a little push. Maybe you should... show him."

As Satoru sat next to you, the woman he secretly loved, he struggled to maintain a relaxed facade, smiling as he took in your every word. Inside, however, your heart was beating wildly, yearning to be the man you sought advice from. Your every gesture and laugh only intensified his desire to be by your side, as he battled to hide his emotions and waited for you to realize the truth behind his rehearsed words and gestures.

GETO SUGURU

"Ah, you deserve someone who treats you like the queen you are. And if he can't see that, then rest assured he's not worthy of all your effort. But you know, there's someone out there who has always known your worth..."

Suguru, with his captivating smile and persuasive skills, listened attentively to your romantic dilemma, calculating each word in his mind as he weaved his suggestions with subtle persuasion. He highlighted the flaws of the man in question but discreetly praised your qualities, seeking to show his own interest deliberately. Behind his serene expression, Geto calculated every move in the hope that you would see in him not just an advisor but a potential lover, eager for the moment when you would recognize his true worth and choose to share your world with him.

KENTO NANAMI

"My suggestion would be to approach the situation calmly and rationally. Communicate your feelings in a clear and direct manner. After all, communication is the key to any relationship. If he is worthy of you, that will be enough."

While Nanami Kento listened attentively to your venting, he offered practical and direct advice, demonstrating his usual calm and clarity. However, internally, he grappled with his own unexpressed feelings, hiding his deep emotions behind a serious and professional facade. Every word of comfort he offered you was a painful reminder of his own unrequited desires.

Despite the intense internal struggle, Nanami continued to counsel you, keeping silent about his own pain. He wondered if he would ever overcome the fear of ruining your friendship by expressing his own feelings, remaining trapped in a cycle of anguish and doubt.

CHOSO KAMO

"I... know what it's like to feel that way. I think... maybe he just needs a little push to realize how special you are. If I were him, I wouldn't hesitate for a second..."

Choso couldn't hide his emotions, his gaze reflecting internal anguish as he listened to your love story. While offering advice, he was emotionally honest, sharing his thoughts and revealing the weight of his unrequited feelings. Choso saw in the situation an opportunity to perhaps get closer to you and show what he truly felt, longing for a deeper connection and hoping that his honesty would touch your heart, as he prepared to face any challenge to be by your side.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

"You're wasting your time with that idiot. Men like him will only make you suffer. If this guy is too blind to see how amazing you are, then you're better off moving on. But, of course, if you prefer to keep deluding yourself, I'm not the one to stop you. Just don't come crying later when things don't work out."

Toji, with his impatient posture and piercing gaze, doesn't hesitate to launch biting criticisms about the man in question while you vent to him. However, internally, he grapples with his own inability to express his feelings, using his rudeness as a shield to hide his vulnerability. While his sharp tongue continues to push away those around him, Toji yearns for an opportunity to truly connect with you, but fear of failure and rejection keeps him trapped in his role as a solitary tough guy.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

"Ah, so you've come to me seeking advice about that fool? Hmph, he's just another insignificant worm, don't waste your time with someone like him. You know, I'm not one to flatter, but you, you're too good for that piece of shit."

Sukuna, with his ironic smile and malicious eyes, absorbs every word that comes out of your mouth, carefully choosing each piece of advice to weave his manipulation web. His enigmatic words, full of double meanings, cast doubt on the man in question while subtly suggesting that he himself would be a better option for you. He delights in the control he exerts over the situation, using both you and the man as pawns in his power game, relishing the feeling of power it gives him, determined to achieve his own ends at any cost.

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

𝑀𝐼𝒮𝒯𝑅𝐸𝒮𝒮-𝐹𝒜𝒯𝐻𝐸𝑅 𝒞𝐻𝒜𝑅𝐿𝐼𝐸 𝑀𝒜𝒴𝐻𝐸𝒲

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕞𝕦𝕥

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 A priest, and a woman seeking guidance are drawn to each other despite the forbidden nature of their attraction. Their passionate affair unfolds in secret, filled with guilt and longing. Despite knowing the consequences, they cannot resist their desires.

✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮

Father Charlie was a man of the cloth, revered for his compassion, his wisdom, and his unwavering dedication to the flock he had been entrusted with. His congregation saw him as a beacon of hope, a rock of stability in the tumultuous sea of life's trials and tribulations. But unbeknownst to them, the good father had a secret a secret that would soon come to light and change everything.

You, a beautiful and enigmatic woman with a penchant for the forbidden, had stumbled upon this secret quite by accident. You had come to the rectory seeking solace from your own tumultuous life, seeking guidance from the man who had helped so many find peace. Little did you know that the moment your eyes met Father Charlie's, a spark of desire had been ignited a desire that neither of you could extinguish, no matter how hard you tried to resist.

For weeks, the tension had been building. Each time Father Charlie offered you his counsel, his eyes lingered just a fraction longer than was appropriate, and you felt the heat of his gaze even through the confessional's thick velvet curtain. You had felt a strange pull towards him, something that transcended the spiritual and ventured into the realm of the carnally profane. It was as if the very air around you was charged with a silent, unspoken promise of passionate release.

And so it was that one fateful evening, as the shadows grew long and the last vestige of daylight clung to the stained glass windows, you found yourself standing before the heavy oak door to Father Charlie's private chambers. Your heart raced as your hand hovered over the brass doorknob, the weight of your decision pressing down upon your very soul. With trembling fingers, you pushed the door open, revealing the man you had come to both crave and fear.

Father Charlie looked up from his ancient, leather-bound tome, his eyes widening in surprise before quickly narrowing with a mix of desire and guilt. The candles on his desk flickered, casting a warm, inviting glow across the room, and you could see the struggle playing out across his handsome features. He knew he should ask you to leave, to protect both of your souls from the sin that lurked in the shadows of his desires. But the temptation was too great, the connection between you too powerful.

As you stepped into the room, he rose from his chair, his priestly garments rustling softly. The air grew thick with anticipation, and the line between holy man and passionate lover grew blurry. The room was filled with the scent of aged parchment, incense, and something undeniably human desire.

With a voice that was barely a whisper, he spoke your name, the sound of it a declaration of his longing. You closed the distance between you, your eyes locked onto his, and you knew that there was no turning back. The attraction was irresistible, the allure of the forbidden too strong to resist.

Father Charlie reached out and took your hand, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You felt his pulse quicken beneath your fingertips, a silent confession of his own tumultuous thoughts. He led you to a chair, the soft velvet cushion beckoning you closer.

"I shouldn't," he murmured, his voice a hoarse rasp of self-torment.

"But you want to," you replied, your voice equally soft, equally needy.

The silence stretched out, pregnant with the weight of their unspoken desires. And then, with a groan that was equal parts agony and surrender, Father Charlie pulled you into his embrace.

As Father Charlie's arms closed around you, his warmth and the faint scent of incense mingled with your own perfume, creating a heady aroma that intoxicated your senses. His embrace was firm yet gentle, a stark contrast to the tumult of emotions roiling within him. His breath was hot against your neck as he whispered a prayer for strength, his lips brushing the soft skin just below your ear. You leaned into him, feeling the heat of his body, and the barrier between you began to crumble.

"Forgive me," he breathed, his words a plea to both you and the heavens above.

"For what?" you whispered back, your heart racing as you felt his hands begin to explore the contours of your body.

"For being a man," he replied, his voice thick with desire.

The confessional had been the stage for countless confessions, but none as raw and intimate as the one that played out now between you and Father Charlie. His hands found their way to the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His lips searched for yours, and when they finally met, it was with a passion that neither of you had ever experienced before. The kiss was deep, urgent, and filled with the hunger of a love that had been denied for too long.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your body responding to his touch, his taste. His hands slid up your back, tangling in your hair, as he deepened the kiss, exploring every inch of your willing mouth. Your own hands roamed his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his robes. The weight of his desire was palpable, a silent testament to the depth of his need for you.

With a sudden sureness, he broke the kiss and looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. But all he found was a reflection of his own passion. You nodded, a silent affirmation that you were ready to cross this line together. The room seemed to spin as he lifted you into his arms and carried you to the nearby bed, the candlelight casting a warm, seductive glow across the aged bedspread.

The weight of his body settled over yours, and his kisses grew more urgent as he worked to rid himself of his clerical vestments. With trembling hands, you helped him, feeling the urgency in every movement. The fabric fell away, revealing the firm planes of his chest, and you gasped at the sight of him, so different from the man you had known behind the confessional screen.

Father Charlie paused, his eyes searching yours, seeking reassurance. "Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

"More than I've ever been," you replied, your voice equally low and filled with need.

He took a deep breath and leaned in, his mouth tracing a fiery path down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver. "Then let us find salvation in each other," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

You nodded, unable to form words as his hands began to unbutton your blouse. Each button released with a soft click, the sound echoing through the room like a series of small surrenders. His thumbs brushed the bare skin of your chest, sending waves of pleasure through you. You arched into his touch, eager for more.

The bed creaked slightly as he laid you back, his body hovering over yours, the heat from his skin searing into you. His hands paused at the last button, and you could see the war raging within him duty and desire, heaven and hell, the sacred and the profane. With one final, decisive move, he parted your blouse, revealing the soft mounds of your breasts, the nipples tight and begging for his touch.

He leaned down, his mouth capturing one nipple, his tongue flicking against it. You gasped at the sensation, your back arching, pressing yourself further into his mouth. His hand slid down your torso, his fingers deftly unhooking your skirt, his eyes never leaving yours.

And as the fabric pooled around your waist, exposing your most intimate secrets to the candlelight, you whispered, "Take me, Father. I'm yours." His eyes darkened, the final veneer of resistance shattering as he claimed your mouth once more, his kisses now filled with the desperation of a man who had been denied for far too long.

"Say it again," he rasped, his voice a mix of reverence and lust. "Say that you're mine."

"I'm yours," you repeated, your voice a breathy moan, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

With a groan, Father Charlie kissed his way down your body, his mouth leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He paused at the apex of your thighs, looking up at you with a question in his eyes. You nodded, biting your lower lip, and he took it as the invitation it was. His kisses grew more urgent, his tongue exploring the sensitive flesh beneath your panties, and you could feel yourself growing wetter with each pass.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with wonder and a hint of awe.

"And you're so wicked," you teased, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He chuckled, the sound low and dark, as he slid your panties aside, exposing your slick folds to the warm air of the room. His mouth descended, and you gasped as his tongue found your clit, flicking and teasing it mercilessly. The pleasure was almost unbearable, and you writhed beneath him, your hips rising to meet his eager ministrations.

"Father," you moaned, the word a plea as much as an endearment. "Please, don't stop."

"Never," he promised, his voice muffled against your skin. "I'll never stop, not when you taste so sweet."

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on as he feasted on you, his tongue delving into your warmth, his teeth nipping gently at your sensitive flesh. Each touch sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, and you knew you were close to the edge.

"I need you," you panted, the words torn from your throat as your orgasm built. "I need all of you."

He looked up, his eyes smoldering with a need that mirrored your own. "Then take me," he said, his voice a command that sent a shiver down your spine.

With trembling hands, you reached for his belt, your fingers fumbling with the clasp. The anticipation was unbearable, the tension coiled tight as a spring. And as the final barrier between you fell away, revealing his hard length, you felt the room spin around you. The air was thick with desire, the candlelight casting an ethereal glow on the scene unfolding before you.

You straddled him, his heat and hardness pressing against your soaked center, and you paused, savoring the moment before you slid down, taking him inch by inch. His eyes never left yours, and as you took all of him inside you, the connection was complete. The line between sin and salvation blurred as you began to move, your bodies joined in a dance as old as time itself.

Father Charlie's eyes searched yours, the intensity of his gaze a silent question. "Tell me what you need," he demanded, his voice a gruff whisper.

"You," you moaned, your voice a mix of need and want. "I need all of you, Father."

The words hung in the air, heavy with lust and longing. He groaned, his hands sliding down your body to grip your hips, guiding you to move faster, deeper. The friction between your bodies grew slicker with each stroke, and the sounds of your passion filled the room, echoing off the high ceilings and thick, velvet drapes.

"You're mine," he growled, his eyes dark with possession. "Mine to worship, mine to cherish."

"Yes," you breathed, your voice a ragged affirmation. "I belong to you."

You leaned down, your breasts brushing against his chest, your lips finding his in a kiss that was as fierce as it was tender. "And you belong to me," you whispered against his mouth.

Father Charlie's grip tightened, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "Always," he murmured, the word a vow.

The rhythm grew more frantic, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, driven by a need that was both divine and carnally sinful. The room was alive with the sound of your shared passion, the candles casting a flickering light across your entwined forms.

"Fuck me," you whispered, the words a sweet blasphemy that only served to drive him wilder.

"Oh, my sweet," he murmured, his voice a benediction of sin. "I will fuck you until you scream my name."

With that, he rolled you onto your back, his body covering yours, his weight a delicious pressure that made you arch into him. His thrusts grew more demanding, each one hitting a spot deep inside that made your eyes roll back in your head. You could feel yourself approaching the brink of ecstasy, and you knew that Father Charlie was right there with you.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter, a spring wound to its breaking point. You dug your nails into his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him closer. "Fuck me," you gasped again, the words a chant that matched the rhythm of his hips.

And as the world around you shattered into a million pieces of pure, white hot pleasure, you did indeed scream his name, your voice echoing through the sacred space of his chamber, a testament to the power of love that dared to flourish in the darkest of places. The story pauses here, leaving the reader craving the culmination of their passionate union, the ultimate surrender to their shared desire.

Father Charlie's strokes grew erratic, his breathing ragged, as he felt his own release approaching. His eyes never left yours, as if by holding your gaze, he could somehow anchor himself to the reality of this moment to the woman who had unleashed a tempest of passion within him.

"Forgive me," he murmured, his voice a mix of reverence and desperation, as he pushed into you one last time, the tension in his body a silent confession of his own impending climax.

"There's nothing to forgive," you whispered back, your voice filled with the sweet agony of pleasure. "We're just two lost souls finding each other."

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his flesh as you held on tight. Father Charlie groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head, as he reached his peak, filling you with his essence. The room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breaths and the pounding of your hearts, beating in sync with the rhythm of your love.

As the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, he collapsed onto you, his weight a comforting warmth as the reality of what they had done settled over both of you like a velvet shroud. "What have we done?" he murmured, his voice filled with awe and dread.

"We've found something beautiful in the forbidden," you replied, stroking his sweat-dampened hair. "Something that no one else can ever understand."

The candles flickered, casting shadows across the room, as the two of you lay there, tangled in the bedsheets and in each other's arms. The story of Father Charlie Mayhew and his mistress, a tale of passion and sin, was only just beginning, and the consequences of their actions would ripple through the very fabric of the community that had once held them in such high regard. But for now, in the stillness of the night, all that mattered was the undeniable connection that had brought them together in this most holy of unions.

Father Charlie kissed your forehead gently, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and relief. "I never wanted this," he whispered, his voice filled with the weight of his words. "But I can't deny that I need it."

You nodded, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. "Neither did I," you confessed, your voice barely a murmur. "But here we are."

The silence grew heavy, the only sound the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. It was a reminder of the time that was slipping away, of the lives that were forever changed by this one, fateful encounter.

"We can't do this again," he said, his voice filled with a sadness that mirrored the look in his eyes. "It's not right."

But even as he spoke the words, you both knew they were a lie. The bond that had formed between you was too strong, too all consuming to be broken by guilt or fear. This was a hunger that would not be sated by a single encounter. It was a craving that would demand to be fed, a thirst that could not be quenched by the waters of regret.

The next time you would meet, it would be with a newfound urgency, a desperation that came from knowing that their time together was limited, that their love was a fleeting thing that could be snatched away at any moment. But for now, as the candles burned low and the shadows grew long, you lay in the warm embrace of your forbidden lover, the world outside the confines of the rectory forgotten, if only for a little while.

Father Charlie pulled you closer, his hand tracing the curve of your hip, his touch gentle despite the fierceness of your lovemaking. "We'll find a way," he murmured against your skin. "Somehow, we'll find a way."

You nodded, your breath warm against his neck. "We have to," you said, your voice filled with a determination that belied the tremble in your body. "We can't just walk away from this."

The candles continued to flicker, their flames dancing in the dark corners of the room, as Father Charlie held you close, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his climax. In that moment, as the walls of his sanctum closed in around them, you realized that there was no going back. The line had been crossed, and there was no retreat, no confession that could ever erase the sin that had been committed here tonight.

Father Charlie's breathing grew steady, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. But your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, the weight of your actions pressing down on you like a heavy burden. You lay there, your heart racing, trying to reconcile the woman you had been with the woman you had become. The silence of the night was a stark contrast to the tumult in your soul, a silent witness to the tumultuous journey that lay ahead.

As the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting a pale light through the stained glass windows, you slipped from the bed, careful not to wake him. Dressing quickly, you paused to look back at the man who had captured your heart, his features softened by the gentle glow. The urge to crawl back into the warmth of his arms was almost unbearable, but you knew that you couldn't stay. Not yet. The world outside waited, with all its judgments and expectations, and you had to face it alone.

With one final, lingering glance, you turned away, the coolness of the floorboards a stark contrast to the heat of the bed you were leaving behind. As you made your way to the door, you took one last, deep breath of the scent that lingered in the air the scent of incense and desire, of a love that defied the very nature of the world around you.

As you stepped into the hallway, the grandfather clock chimed the hour, the sound echoing through the stillness like a solemn bell tolling for the end of innocence. You paused, your hand on the doorknob, the metal cool and unyielding beneath your trembling fingers. What had started as a quest for guidance had become a descent into temptation, and you were now irrevocably lost. With a heavy heart, you turned the knob and stepped into the night, the door clicking softly shut behind you.

The cobblestone path beneath your feet was cold and unforgiving as you made your way back to your own life, the life you had left behind for just a few stolen hours. You knew that the whispers would start soon enough, the glances of suspicion and the whispers of scandal that would follow you wherever you went. But for now, all that mattered was the memory of Father Charlie's touch, the sound of his voice as he whispered sweet blasphemies against your skin.

The story of your illicit love affair with Father Charlie Mayhew was far from over. It was just beginning, a tale that would unfold in the shadows of the very church that had brought you together. Each meeting would be fraught with danger, each touch a silent declaration of your love and your shared fate.

The air was crisp and cool as you stepped into the moonlit night, the stars above a silent witness to the tumultuous emotions that surged within you. As you walked away from the rectory, you couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. Would it be the day you were found out? Or the day you finally gave in to the siren call of the forbidden, letting your love for Father Charlie consume you completely? Only time would tell, but one thing was for certain: you were in too deep to ever turn back now.

[chocmarss]

One of my favourite hcs I like from the Tolkein fandom is when the dwarves would insist that Bilbo is, in fact, a prince. A lord, at the very least. That is taking into account that they’re comparing with Middle Earth’s standards of who rules what in a country, and Bilbo Baggins of Bag End of Underhill, grandson of ‘Old Took’ Thain —who is essentially a chief hobbits would seek counsel from— is (the dwarves can’t stress this enough) in some matter, a prince. Which also means Bilbo’s more or less a royalty of the hobbits.

Thorin, very interested in this but would rather have Smaug burn off what’s left of his beard than admit it: Oh?

Bilbo tries to wave it off by saying the hobbits don’t have the same kind of monarchy most species would have (i.e. men and dwarves), and that their ways are much simpler in that sense. Sure, they have a council, and the Thain would usually elect his heir to take over, but that’s just how leadership is, lads, honestly, there’s no fuss of royalty, or whatsover in the Shire.

Fíli: Bilbo, you own several lands. All of which had been passed down in your family name

Bilbo: Well, that’s because I’m a landlord, and those lands once belonged to my father, so I can’t possibly abandon them—

Kíli: You’re also a grandson to the Thain, who is, might I remind you, a leader of your people, and is someone respected the hobbits would look up to when making decisions for the best of internal or external matters

Bilbo: Well, yes, I know that—

Fíli: We heard you’re also richer and have the best and fanciest smial out of everyone else here. You’re also someone people have considered in high regard, from the look of things

Bilbo: Ye—

Both of them: So, you’re royalty!

Anytime one of the company dares to address him as ‘Your Highness’ or anything just as redundant, Bilbo threatens to U-turn back and abandon them to Smaug. Absolutely none of that nonsense, thank you very much, and good evening.

Dwalin, muttering to Balin: He has the royal audacity down to pat

Bilbo squawks and Thorin, who Dwalin had been looking at while he put out that insult, only glowers at him from under his broody slouch.

[zapreportsblog]

Baby Come Back

➥ summary: miles misses his girl even though he won’t admit to to himself or anyone else, but when he sees her starting to move on without him, naw that settles it. It’s time to win his baby girl back

➥ a/n: this was inspired by @laaailuh fic “I Miss You”

The tension in the air was palpable as Miles Morales, also known as the Prowler, and his girlfriend (y/n) stood face to face in his small apartment. Their voices were raised, and emotions ran high, as they found themselves entangled in a heated argument.

"I can't do this anymore, Miles!" (y/n) exclaimed, her eyes filled with frustration and hurt. "You've been distant, shutting me out, and taking your anger out on me. It's not fair!"

Miles clenched his fists, trying to find the right words to express the turmoil inside him. "I know I've been a mess since my dad died," he admitted, his voice tinged with sorrow. "But I'm trying to deal with it in my own way."

(y/n) took a step back, her heart heavy with the weight of his words. "I understand that you're going through a lot, but you can't just push me away and expect me to stick around," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "I need to be with someone who can share their pain with me, not shut me out."

Miles felt a surge of guilt wash over him, knowing that he had been unfair to (y/n). He loved her deeply, but the darkness of his grief had consumed him, making it difficult for him to see beyond his own pain.

"I don't want to lose you," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "I need you, (y/n). Please, don't leave."

(y/n)'s eyes welled up with tears, torn between her love for Miles and the toll his emotional distance was taking on her. "I love you too, Miles, but I can't keep being hurt like this," she said, her voice choked with sadness. "You need to confront your grief and find a way to heal, for both of us."

As the words hung in the air, the weight of their unresolved issues seemed to crush them both. (y/n) turned away, unable to bear the pain in Miles' eyes, while he struggled to find the strength to let her go.

In the following days, the silence between them grew heavy and suffocating. They tried to carry on with their lives separately, but their hearts longed for the comfort and love they once shared.

One evening, as the sun set over the city, (y/n) made her decision. She couldn't keep waiting for Miles to heal on his own. She knew that it was time to face the truth and let go, even if it broke her heart.

She went to Miles' apartment, her footsteps echoing with each heavy step. The door opened, and Miles stood before her, his eyes red and swollen, a reflection of the pain he carried.

"I can't keep pretending that everything is okay," (y/n) said softly, her voice wavering. "I need to put myself first, and that means letting go."

Tears streamed down Miles' cheeks as he nodded, his heart aching with the weight of their decision. "I don't want to lose you, but I know I've been pushing you away," he said, his voice choked with regret. "I'm so sorry for hurting you."

They stood there, facing each other, knowing that their love wasn't enough to mend the broken pieces of their hearts. Their bond had been strong, but the weight of grief had shattered it.

With one last embrace, (y/n) turned away, her heart breaking as she walked away from the man she loved. The tears flowed freely as she left behind the life they once shared, but she knew that it was the right decision for both of them.

In the days that followed, the void left by their breakup was a constant reminder of the love they had lost. Miles faced his grief head-on, seeking counseling and support from friends and family, determined to find a way to heal.

And though they had parted ways, the memories of their love lingered in the corners of their hearts. The road ahead was uncertain, but they both knew that their journey towards healing had only just begun.

•••

In the days that followed the breakup, Miles Morales, also known as the Prowler, became even more withdrawn and closed off. The pain of losing (y/n) weighed heavily on his heart, and he found solace in isolating himself from his friends and emotions. He had always been good at hiding his feelings behind the mask of the prowler, but now it seemed like he was hiding from himself too.

At school, Miles tried to maintain a façade of indifference, a mask that he wore to shield himself from the questions and concerns of his friends. As he walked through the halls, he could feel the worried glances of his classmates, but he pretended not to notice.

During lunchtime, others approached him cautiously, their concern evident in their expressions. "Hey, Miles, are you doing okay?" Stu asked, his voice soft and caring.

He shrugged nonchalantly, trying to deflect their worries. "Yeah, I'm good," he replied with a forced smile. "It just didn't work out with (y/n), you know? It's whatever."

Stu exchanged a concerned glance with Anthony, realizing that Miles was trying to hide his pain. "You sure, man? We're here for you if you need to talk," he said gently.

Miles nodded, but he couldn't bring himself to share the turmoil inside him. "I appreciate it, but I'm fine," he insisted, avoiding eye contact with his friends. "I've got other stuff to focus on."

Just then the bell rang signaling that it was time for class.

As Miles sat in his classroom, his mind preoccupied with his own thoughts and emotions, he couldn't help but notice that (y/n) was just a few seats ahead of him. His heart clenched as he saw someone pass her a note discreetly.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the exchange. He could feel a pang of jealousy stirring within him, a reminder of the connection they once shared.

Trying to focus on the lesson, he fought the urge to look again. But as the minutes ticked by, his mind kept wandering back to the note. He couldn't shake the feeling of being left out, of no longer being a part of her life.

When the class finally ended, Miles gathered his belongings, but his feet felt heavy as he made his way towards the exit. He knew he should be moving on, but seeing (y/n) with someone else reminded him of what he had lost.

As he walked past her, he couldn't help but glance in her direction. Their eyes met briefly, and a mix of emotions washed over him. He wanted to say something, to reach out to her, but his pride held him back.

In the bustling school hallway, Miles mustered the courage to call out to (y/n) as she was making her way to her next class. "Hey, (y/n)!" he said, his voice a mix of nervousness and hope.

She turned around, surprised to see him, but she managed a polite smile. "Hey, Miles. What's up?" she asked, her guard up, unsure of what he wanted to talk about.

"I was wondering if we could meet up after school," he said, his eyes earnest. "There's something I really need to talk to you about."

(y/n) hesitated, her heart still guarded, but she knew that avoiding the conversation wouldn't resolve anything. "Miles, I don't think there's a need for us to talk," she replied, her voice measured. "It's all been said, hasn't it?"

Miles took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words he wanted to say. "Please, cariño" he implored, "I just need a chance to explain and apologize. There's so much I want to say, and I can't keep pretending like everything's okay."

Her resolve softened as she saw the sincerity in his eyes. With a small sigh, she relented. "Okay, fine," she said, "but just this once, and only because I think we both deserve some closure."

•••

After school, they met at a nearby park, finding a quiet bench to sit on. The air between them was tense, but there was an unspoken understanding that they needed to have this conversation.

Miles began, his words slow and heartfelt. "I'm sorry,cariño, for shutting you out and being distant," he said, his voice tinged with remorse. "I've been dealing with so much since my dad's passing, and I didn't know how to handle it. But that's not an excuse for treating you the way I did."

She listened attentively, the wall around her heart slowly starting to crumble. "I know it was hard for you," she said softly, "but it was hard for me too. I felt like you pushed me away, and it hurt."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Miles replied, his gaze downcast. "I never meant to hurt you, (y/n). I just... I didn't know how to handle my emotions, and I thought if I pushed you away, it would protect you from my pain."

Her heart softened as she saw the vulnerability in his eyes. "You don't have to protect me, Miles," she said gently. "I wanted to be there for you, to help you through your grief."

He reached out and took her hand, his grip gentle yet pleading. "I wish I had let you in," he said, his voice filled with regret. "I wish I had talked to you about everything, instead of shutting you out."

Silence settled between them, the weight of their emotions palpable. (y/n) finally spoke, her voice tinged with sadness. "I miss you too, mi amor," she admitted, her eyes welling up with tears. "I miss us, but I don't know if we can go back to how things were."

Miles nodded, understanding the complexity of their situation. "I don't expect things to go back to normal right away," he said. "I just hope that we can find a way to move forward, even if it's not together."

Her heart ached, torn between the love she still felt for him and the uncertainty of their future. "I need time to heal too," she said softly. "But I'm willing to listen if you want to talk."

And so, beneath the setting sun, they started to open up to each other, their words filled with both pain and hope. As they talked, they realized that they needed to be honest about their feelings, even if it meant facing the difficult truths they had been avoiding.

Their conversation was raw and emotional, but it was a start. A start towards healing, towards understanding, and towards finding closure. Whether their paths would converge again or lead in different directions, they both knew that they had grown from their experiences and that they would always cherish the love they once shared.