#his sensitivity and his appreciation of her and his delicacy

[itspileofgoodthings]

idk I just can’t think of another story where the emotional core is a boy realizing that he has loved all along but been too stupid to realize it until now and to have that movement make SENSE and not put the girl in a situation where she’s getting something sort of secondhand. I’m sure it exists but like —-

[neverchecking]

Oh my god, please. That chain facesitting piece was beautiful. I could cry, dammit.

Big request, but could you do like a pt 2 of that where it’s just one big orgy between all of them? (Not link x link but like all links x reader, yk) maybe they take turns n shit, yeah?

(Heavy on Time plz, ik yk by now he’s my favorite 🤤💕💕 I can’t help it, he’s just so daddy 🥵🥵🥵)

-🧚‍♀️ who fucking adores your writing 🫶💕✨

Fairy anon! Welcome back~

I can! I can't promise it'll be as good, but I can try.

Its okay I know you love time-

Smut so MDNI! 18+!

Smut CW: AFAB! Reader, Multiple partners, face sitting, mentions of masturbation, but it's not from Time or Reader.

Your hips twitched and quivered as they fought to shut, stopped only by strong hands keeping them open. You were a glorious sight. A renaissance painting.

Everything from the sheen of your lips, coated in drool, to the flush of your cheeks- a gorgeous cherry red- to the heat of your skin from the hours you've been held hostage. It was all enough to have a grown man drooling in his seat.

Well, almost.

He was sure he would, at least just a little, if his mouth weren't doing something much more important currently. Goddess, just the feeling of you above him, thighs clasped around his head with your hips rocking in time with his ministrations made his gut coil with anticipation. While, yes, the newcomer and Wild had both gotten their turns with you, and had done an...adequate enough job, it was clear he needed to set a precedent. Nothing but the absolute best for his divinity.

Those two were merely boys in comparison to him.

With the way you clenched and tightened around his fingers as he slowly dragged them along your velvet walls, spasming as they adjusted around the girth of his middle and ring finger, you knew it too. You knew he would be able to give you something the others could not. Because he was the only one who could take you as you were; a feast filled with delicacies bursting with nothing but seraphic tastes. One that only he could truly understand and appreciate at its fullest capacity.

And even them, he was sure his bitter mortality would do nothing but encase him in naive blindness from your true potential.

As it stood however, he was more than happy in his current place, hands locked around your legs as you pushed down against his chest, crying out as your nails marked him as yours. He would bare the marks proudly for as long as they remained. They were your thanks to him for doing what he simply saw as his civil duty.

It was an honor, really, to be the one below you, lapping at your cunt eagerly as his fingers toyed with your opening. Dragging them in and out slowly before tracing along your gummy walls, feeling what made you jump and what made you shiver. What each miniscule jab or rub made each reaction. Whether a hum against your clit would make you cry out or paint deep red lines onto his pecs. Each little movement was a new chord in the choir you sung for him.

When he felt you clench around him, something wet dripping down his palm and wrist, he smirked from beneath you. Time knew what every one of your telltale signs were at this point. He knew what every twitch meant and how he could achieve his end goal subsequently.

He hummed against your clit, before flicking his tongue back and forth over the definitely over sensitized bundle of nerves, clenching his grip on your thighs when you tried bucking off of him. Which simply wouldn't do.

Not when you were so close.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a few of the others palming themselves, cooing down at you as your cheeks shined with tears. Slobber decorated your lower jaw as you mindlessly babble whatever plea you had half-formed.

Goddess it was erotic. His perfect, ethereal Goddess was letting him, not only touch her, but please her. Bring her to the place only he could take her too.

You cried out above him, painting his skin further with thin white lines as you moved from trying to buck away from him to instead smothering him further, pushing into face and riding his tongue for all it was worth. Droplets cascaded down his cheeks and jaw as he eagerly lapped at your cunt, taking every little bit you'd grace him with. It was a divine nectar gifted to him by your ever eager soul. And he would be nothing short of a damned fool if he wasted even the tiniest bit.

So he wouldn't.

[tvreadsandsleep]

» Domestic!Attoye || Attoye Prompt Drabbles || Master List «

“I do not like the way that colonizer’s eyes linger upon you,” Attuma whispered in Okoye’s ear as he embraced her from behind. He’d finally been able to get her alone, said colonizer having, at last, gone away to prattle at someone else.  

They were at a dinner party, Okoye having insisted that they couldn’t refuse Shuri’s request to attend. After learning that K’uk’ulkan would also be serving as host, the couple unofficially debuting their relationship, Attuma had readily agreed. The gathering was an intimate, casual affair made up only of those close to the couple. How the American had gained an invite was beyond Attuma.

He'd been having a good time—his mood bright due to his full belly, the night’s dinner having been a complementary mix of delicacies from both Talokan and Wakanda, and the drinks he’d partaken in, the alcohol plentiful. He’d ended a conversation with Namora to go in search of Okoye, whose presence he missed. The two had separated, to connect with their friends, once the seated meal had concluded.

He’d spent the last few hours conferring with K’uk’ulkan, joking with Namora and getting to know Lord M’Baku, and was now ready to take his leave with Okoye. He’d been smiling, his cheeks flushed purple as his eyes searched the room. His jovial spirits had soured upon finding her speaking with the small man, who’d had an arm raised as though to touch his treasure. Her hard stare, at his hand, had the man lowering the offensive, in Attuma’s opinion, appendage, and had halted Attuma in his stalk across the room.

“Who, Ross?” Okoye asked, leaning back against his chest.

“Yes, his eyes are always filled with lust, and they follow you about,” he glared briefly in the colonizer’s direction. The man was now speaking with Shuri. K’uk’ulkan was nearby, his expression mirroring that of Attuma’s.

“You’re exaggerating,” Okoye snorted. “His eyes do not follow me, and his expression, that you’re misinterpreting by the way, is appreciation. I did free him from imprisonment, you know.”

“Yes, he appreciates the brilliance of your eyes, the beauty of your visage and the ample curves that make up your striking form, all of which are mine to cherish.” His declaration was followed by the tightening of his arms. He pressed his face into her neck, teasing the sensitive skin with the tip of his nose.

Giggling, she twisted out of his hold, and slapped, once, at his chest.

“Behave,” she instructed before allowing him to return her to the circle of his arms, this time face to face. While gazing up at him, she rubbed the area she’d struck. “Just because you spend every moment of your day pining after me, doesn’t mean that every man in my vicinity does as well.”

“That is because they are fools.”

“So, then you do want other men to look upon me with desire in their eyes,” she teased, her fingers walking up his chest.

“No, what I wish is for everyone—man, woman or child—to recognize your radiance and grace, but for every man, fortunate enough to find himself in your presence, to be too afraid to leer at your features for fear of my wrath.” His statement was serious, not a hint of jest in his tone. “In fact, the American should be the first to learn this lesson.”

He made to move away from Okoye, but she kept him close.

“Would you rather risk the treaty between our nations by attacking a man that is of little consequence to me, or would you rather take me home and cherish what you say is yours?”

The choice was an easy one, and made with no hesitation.  

[thetcrmented]

CARMEN ALVAREZ ( ADRIA ARJONA ) is a THIRTY year-old HEAD OF FUNDRAISING FOR THE WOODROW FOUNDATION in BOLTON, NY. They were brought under Richard’s care when they were only THIRTEEN years old. They are known as THE TORMENTED because they are IDEALISTIC but also SENSITIVE.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: carmen juliana alvarez

Nickname(s): carm, carms, alvarez

Date of Birth: march 12

Age: thirty

Occupation: head of fundraising for the woodrow foundation

Current Residence: two bedroom apartment in bolton, new york which she moved into two weeks ago

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR:

Strengths: kind-hearted, generous, innovative, empathetic, creative, loyal, steadfast, principled, open-minded, compassionate

Weaknesses: sensitive, emotionally volatile, thin-skinned, naive, easily manipulated, impulsive

Quirks: carmen is a compulsive nail-biter, an anxious tic she picked up as a child and hasn't been able to shake. she's also a notorious note taker and is forever writing up to do lists on scraps of paper that end up stuffed in the bottom of her handbag and strewn across her desk/bedroom/kitchen (delete as appropriate)

Vices: carmen's ultimate vice is her hopeless romanticism and her penchant for running from one relationship right into another. she hates being alone and constantly convinces herself that each fling will be her last and this time they're really the one. though so far she's been proven wrong. carmen is also partial to a glass of wine (or two, or three). mostly it's an appreciation for one of the finer delicacies life has to offer, but carmen is well aware that she has a predilection for dependency, as any daughter of an addict would. she knows she has a tendency to use alcohol as a crutch. she also appreciates a drunk cigarette or two.

INTEREST & HOBBIES:

Interests: travel, world history, learning about other cultures, fine wine, politics, nature documentaries

Hobbies: cooking, running, horse riding, yoga, sketching (though she's not very good), and writing poetry (which she might be even worse at)

Special Skills/Talents: carmen has an uncanny ability to intuit other people's emotions, which is very helpful when she's schmoozing donors for the woodrow foundation. she tends not to use this skill for her own ends in her personal life, though those that know her well are prepared for the fact that she can often peer over people's walls and guards, even if she doesn't tear them down

BECOMING A WARD

tw: addiction carmen was raised solely by her mother, juliana alvarez, her father having left the picture long before she was born and only remaining a presence in the form of occasional birthday cards. her mother floundered in the wake of carmen's father's departure, struggling to hold down a job, and tormented by the abandonment. though she loved her daughter dearly and in her heart wanted to give her the best, the darker forces of life got in the way. at first it was drink, but it quickly turned to more illicit substances. there were days long absences, carmen left alone in their one-room apartment with an empty fridge. it didn't take long for social services to catch on and determine that juliana was an unfit mother, and carmen was taken from her care, resigned to the depths of the american care system. carmen first met richard when she was thirteen and he was paying a visit to the care home she lived in, one of the many in new york state that his foundation helped support. it was not any great intellect or exceptional talent that drew him to carmen. she was never a star pupil nor a brilliant creative mind. but as he watched her interact with the other children and attentively listen to the talk he was giving about the woodrow foundation, richard saw parts of himself reflected in the young girl. there was a good heart in there, thriving despite the challenges and turmoil of her young life. richard wanted to make sure that goodness wasn't stamped out by the circumstances and path carmen had found herself walking. he wanted to give her the opportunity to put that heart to good use, and nurture the young girl so she could hopefully share that heart someday.

LIFE AS A WARD

before moving to woodrow, carmen was always a sweet-natured child, but reserved and painfully quiet. she preferred to blend in amongst her peers, scared to rock the boat or reach out to others. living at woodrow gave her a chance to feel stability and security where she never had before and carmen could step out from under the safety blanket she lived in. she was still kind and generous, but there was a vivacious, friendly side to her personality that had never been there before. she was always quick to laugh, quick to bond with the other wards and became fiercely loyal to those she lived with at woodrow house. she saw her fellow wards, richard and the staff as a pseudo-family, filling the gaps where her biological family had never been. she held onto these new connections and friendships tightly, perhaps too tightly at times. partly because she had never had a chance to feel loved and wanted before, and partly because she was so scared of losing it all and going back to being alone. she looked up to richard in particular, her hero, father-figure and inspiration all in one. it became clear to her from a young age that she wanted to follow in his footsteps, repay the debt she would owe him for her whole life, and give back, to help others who had been just like her. she was favoured by richard for these noble ambitions and he saw carmen as someone he could mould in his own image. she wasn't as gifted or academic as the other wards, but she was the one who could continue his legacy.

AESTHETIC

carmen's style has evolved as she's grown and seen more of the world, allowing the places she's visited and people she's met to influence her. her style now leans towards scandinavian street style; high quality basics, neutral colours and an ever-present classic white t-shirt. she always wears a simple gold necklace, the one item in her possession that belonged to her mother.

EDUCATION

carmen chose to receive her schooling from the tutors at woodrow house. never traditionally academic, she wasn't sure how much she would enjoy or benefit from attending the local private school. homeschooling was a better way to make sure she could study what truly interested her, rather than getting disheartened that she was bottom of the class. the only subject she ever excelled at was spanish, but she had the unfair advantage of being raised bilingual by her puerto-rican mother. carmen also chose not to attend college, instead opting to volunteer with the woodrow foundation during her early adulthood, travelling through south america, asia and africa to volunteer on their various projects and programmes before joining the foundation full time.

EXTRACURRICULARS 

carmen took horse riding and art classes growing up. the former she adored and excelled at. the latter, not so much. she enjoyed both immensely and they're hobbies that she's carried into adulthood.

THEIR LIFE NOW

carmen was the last ward to leave woodrow house, having moved out just two weeks ago. she's spent the last ten years of her life working for the woodrow foundation, climbing the ranks to become the had of fundraising. many within and outside of the organisation considered her to be a natural successor for richard. and she thought so too. she loved the life and the world richard had given her. given she was away travelling so much with work, she didn't see the need to move out of woodrow house. that was until she started having doubts about the life she'd built for herself. a couple of years ago, it started to become clear that her insatiable need to repay richard and model her life after his, had created a life that wasn't hers at all. she looked but she couldn't find any evidence of herself in any of the choices she'd made. she loved helping people but she wanted to do it on her terms. as she'd climbed the ladder at the woodrow foundation she found herself disconnected from the work she'd been doing. she wanted to get back to what mattered most and forge her own path. but she knew giving up her work at the foundation would break richard's heart, and when she told him her decision, her worst fears were realised. they had the first falling out of their seventeen-year relationship. she left the home that had once been her sanctuary and that was the last time she saw richard alive.

[stabby-with-love]

Clouds and Rain in The Sengoku

-᪥-᪥-𑁍-᪥-᪥-

Trigger Warning: Sin, lots of sin. Seriously, I need to touch some grass. 18+ content, read at your own risk.

Summary: Clouds and Rain, a popular euphemism for a godess who decended and spent a memorable night with her favored man. The aftermath of a passionate night in the arms of the one you love.

-᪥-᪥-𑁍-᪥-᪥-

Kenshin Uesugi

You lay there panting and exhausted. Your body sore and woozy from being on the receiving end of his burning passion. Kenshin stares at you as though he were seeing a masterpiece, his warmth dripping out of your open heat being his personal signature. He burns this image of you in his mind as he slides his fingertip and gathers up your mixed juices to keep it inside of you. His jealousy was a force to be reckoned with, the more jealous he became, the more reassured he wanted to feel. Being the only one who carries his seed is a firm reminder that you give yourself to him willingly as a whole. You do not mind the overly possessive and seductive glint in his ethereal mismatched eyes as he spreads you open for another round.

"You are mine and mine alone. Whoever sees you like this will die by my blade."

-᪥-᪥-𑁍-᪥-᪥-

Masamune Date

Masamune stares at your exhausted form with the eye of a satisfied beast. Your hair, a beautiful mess of a mane seductively sticking onto your bare, feverish, and sweaty body. Your gorgeous collarbones littered with flowers that bloomed whenever his teeth sunk into your skin in the heat of passion. A night with Masamune is filled with bites and scratches, passionate pain and pleasure intermingling, blurring together in the chase of climax. It is direct and bare, an almost primal and animalistic instict to make love in the wildest of ways. His hand in your hair as he sinks deep from behind over and over, his seductive grin as you sink yourself to take all of him while he looks up at your gorgeous form... he loves every moment of it.

"You're just as wild as me, Kitten. Don't hold back because I certainly won't."

-᪥-᪥-𑁍-᪥-᪥-

Mitsuhide Akechi

This man is addicted to the taste of you. He worships every part of your body as though it were the finest of delicacies. His tongue glides on your bare skin, teasing your heat, leaving a trail of his desire upon your naked form. Your hands grip his hair as he sinks down on your heat like a starved man, a strand of saliva connecting with his tongue as he makes eye contact with you after making you see stars. Your body was fully prepared once he entered you while whispering the sweetest of nothings in your ear. Mitsuhide finds your cloudy unfocused eyes as you slowly decend from your high absolutely adorable. He loves you like this, teases you and kisses the tears from your eyes after being so overstimulated.

"Do not fret, Little Mouse. I find your little squeaks absolutely delightful."

-᪥-᪥-𑁍-᪥-᪥-

Nobunaga Oda

This man saw you first as a conquest, someone to overpower, someone to tame. He never imagined the day that it would be HIM that you would conquer, both heart and soul, as he submits to you, pleasuring you confidently, and basking in your warmth. He draws out the lovemaking by pleasuring your sensitive spots one at a time: a nibble on your ear, his lips ghosting over your neck, his length drawing in and out of you as you beg him to move faster. He wants to see how long before your walls crumble, how much of his movements you can take before you surrender yourself to him completely. He loves the sound of his name whenever it leaves your lips in the form of a breathy and needy moan.

-᪥-᪥-𑁍-᪥-᪥-

"Surrender yourself to me, Fireball. Only then will you receive the pleasure that you so desire."

Mei Mei note: If you came this far, you probably need to touch some grass, too. This is my first *ehem* *ehem* so thoughts, asks and feedbacks would be appreciated <3

[yanderenightmare]

If this isn't allowed I'm super sorry, but could I request Enji with a (Male/GN) darling that's scared of him. Like he always thought Enji was super scary as a hero and now that they're captured, he can't even stand to be around Enji without shaking or crying.

YANDERE ! ENJI TODOROKI x MALE ! READER

This is not what you asked for… I’m sorry this is all just… absolute filth… I got too excited, hope you like, sorry if some of these themes are triggering

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, degradation, feminization, spit-fetish, Enji being an ass, yandere, profanity, abuse, anxiety, manipulation, misogyny

FEAR

He doesn’t know exactly how to explain what replaces Enji’s presence when he leaves for work in the morning. He wants to say that it feels good, that it’s a relief, but that would be a bittersweet lie that leaves him feeling guiltier than it should, because when Enji’s not there to fill the space of the giant mansion, all that’s left is cold tiles, soundless rooms, and somehow… a lack of safety. He thought about it while finishing cleaning the second to last room, dreading entering the next, knowing how he’d find nothing there, just more emptiness, just more stale unmoving shadows on walls, more cold, more void, more loneliness, more fear.

He needed to shower before Enji got home. Enji would bathe with him later in the day too, but it would be after… after they played. He’d been talking and teasing that very soon he was going to be doing more than just sucking cock. Yesterday, he was made to sit on Enji’s face for half an hour, all while Enji fisted his own cock furiously in the same beat he lapped at the tiny budding butthole so ripe for the taking on top of him. But, he hadn’t done it, he hadn’t pushed a finger inside, he had barely wormed his tongue into the hole, only made to suck on it, before pushing him off and down into the sheet so he could cum all over his pretty little face, his white thick seed running and mixing in with fat globs of tears. But today, he wasn’t sure if Enji would still spare him being impaled on his fat thick monstrous pole. The thought had him nearly whining as he removed his clothes, padding over the clean reflective cold marble floors to step into the shower that seemed so strangely massive without being filled with both himself and Enji’s intimidating build.

It was as though he could already feel Enji’s warm hands holding onto his hips, steadying him as he was sure he would be uncontrollably quaking. It was as though he could already feel it filling him up, lifting him off the ground, off his feet, hauling him up into the air.

He turned the temperature too high to imitate what heat Enji would emit when thrusting into him, the shower-droplets stinging on his reddening skin. It hurt, but he needed to prepare himself, only physically if not mentally. He wiped a hand up between his butt-cheeks, stroked a finger over his hole a couple of times, teased to see if he at all wanted to slip it inside. He whimpered upon facing the inevitable fact that Enji’s massive thick pole would soon push inside him, push all the way inside him, fill him up so snugly and painfully and inescapably, holding him still as he crammed himself inside, probably even chuckling that gruesome snicker when seeing how he would try and wiggle out of his death-grip.

Enji is too big for it to possibly feel good, it’d be too painful, too painful to feel anything else, except fear. Fear would always survive. Fear of choking to death on his cock filling up his tight throat, more so than the pain of it actually happening. Fear of the feisty flames licking his skin more so than realizing how they only tickle not sear. Fear of being trapped, so much so he forgets to humor the idea of running, of fighting, of saying no. Fear of how he was going to be impaled, split in two on the hero’s cock before the day let up.

His own size wasn’t bad, but probably not what one would call impressive. He wondered if Enji would ever ask for him to penetrate him in turn. If… perhaps he could bargain to do that instead of the other way around, but he knew that was a foolish thought. He didn’t want to touch it, even as he felt it twitch against his stomach, because he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to touch it while Enji fucked him. Instead, he pushed one finger inside the comfort of his ass, worming the digit inside the tight space, his forehead soon pushing against the shower-wall to steady himself while he tried to get deeper. It was nowhere near what would be happening later, he knew that, but with the thought, the imagery of what would no doubt be happing later, it still managed to make his toes curl. The thought of Enji’s large warm gravely hand coming to stroke up and down his cock while penetrating him from behind, the sounds of his husky gruff voice huffing and grunting into his ear, letting him know what a perfect little pet he is.

He felt ashamed, and so utterly confused. How come he still turned on, even with the amount of fear and trepidation that pumped the boiling blood through his system? Why wasn’t he pissing himself instead of standing there, fingering his own hole, fantasizing about how much pain he was going to be in later, and getting off on the fact? Was it true what Enji had said? Was he really a submissive little masochist that would soon be worshipping the ground Enji walked on?

The questions were answered as he felt himself explode all too abruptly onto the glass, seeing his cum splattered onto the dewy steamed wall, watching it run down, creating paths that were slowly being washed away by the ongoing spritz of the showerhead.

He made then to shave his chest first, then the rest, all the rest, everything except the hair on his head, he knew Enji wouldn’t be pleased with anything but perfection, and even though the razor nicked him in sensitive places he was still extra careful to not miss a single spot, going over the same area several times to achieve complete smoothness. He turned the water too cold to stop the bleeding and to ease what soreness and irritation had been awoken by the activity, muscles tensing and flexing under the pressure, thinking that perhaps the freeze would encourage getting dressed… though he doubted it.

He got dressed slowly, having to talk himself down from crying as he clasped the lacy white bralette on, dragging it into position even though it had no real position on his chest. Then the dress. Splayed out so prettily on the bed, Enji’s declaration. White and patterned with pink poppies, a real housemaid’s frilly skirt and sweetheart neckline and thin shoulder-straps and everything pretty and dainty and feminine, one that worked so perfectly as an underdress for an apron.

The dress was nice and all, nicer than most things he’d ever worn before, but the apron was a real work of art. Frills decorating the edges, sweet swirls and flowery embroidery working its way up the white cloth, still with white thread, looking handmade yet with precision and delicacy. The stocking matched to some degree yet not carrying the same ornate expensive-feel to them, also adorned with a frilly edge were the sock stopped mid-leg. The shoes were plain enough: white with an easy button-over contraption, only slightly high-heeled, yet high enough to make that clicking errand sound when he walked across the marble floors each time Enji rung his service-bell, calling on him from where he sat on his knees with his hands folded neatly in his lap, supposed to wait patiently at Enji’s every beck and call, even though the large man was only a few meters away with a voice that could easily reach him no matter which room he found himself in the mansion, Enji insisted on using the bell. Loving to see how the boy skittered to his feet, hands running timid fingers to smooth over the fabric of his apron, shoes clicking together at the heels. His wintry voice so fragile and scared half to death as he answers Enji’s steely cyan glare: “Yes, Daddy?” His eyes falling sullenly to the floor to watch the cute rounded curve of his glossy shoes instead of looking to meet the fiery yet ice-cold eyes of his captor.

He avoided the mirror, even though he knew he should look over himself one more time for Enji’s sake, or for his own. He was given no boxer, no underwear, no measly thong, nothing, and therefore was subjugated to walk the empty halls in his flowing skirt with the cold air wafting in between his legs, kissing his limp cock each time he made a swift step, his shoes clicking, clicking, clicking, like the clock counting down the minutes until Enji came home.

“Welcome home, Daddy.” He needed to force himself to smile. Crooked in its execution, broken, yet still a smile, a smile Enji was pleased with as he kicked off his shoes, even happier to see him bow down to pick the pair up and place them neatly in the stacked shoe-compartments, despite the stink of them being drenched in sweat after his day of patrolling. His cock was already growing heavy with hunger. “How was your da-” He wasn’t given the time to answer before Enji wrapped both his hands around his waist from the back, slotting his massive warm hard chest against what felt like his paper-thin back, but he didn’t need to be able to carry Enji’s weight as he did most of the lifting himself.

A gravely sigh erupted from the man’s chest, rumbling against the boy’s back. “It’s so nice coming home to someone so appreciative and sweet.” He mumbled up against his spine, nose gliding up his neck, followed by a heavy inhale, breathing in the scent of the shampoo he’d told him to use, seemingly content as he pushed his crotch better against his ass. “I’ve tried getting hard for that slut breeding-cow all month…” Of course, his little experiments. He was a good fuck, but he couldn’t carry children, and producing children, or rather heirs, was something Enji and his fucked-up need to be number one was obsessed with. “You should see her, fucking begging for my cock, like my cock is her god. Pathetic.” He was glad he didn’t have the ability to get pregnant. He could only imagine what those wives of his were feeling, so insignificant, only a means to an end… but… that was rather what he was too. “And you just look at me and my cock is already twitching.” He smelled him again, nose blaring, hands trailing over the fabric of his apron and dress to feel up his thighs, grabbing at them before guiding him out of the entrance and into the living room. “Strip.”

It seemed so unnecessary for him to even be wearing clothes at all when they always ended up on the floor, especially such intricate clothes as well that needed to be removed with elegance and not shaky unsure fingers like his. But that was rather the point. It was a show, he guessed as he reached behind his back to undo the bow of the apron. A rather clunky graceless strip-tease, he mused when the apron fell unceremoniously to the floor, the dress following shortly after.

That was it, he’d learned, the rest Enji wanted to do on his own. He couldn’t understand how a man could still look so intimidating even when on his knees removing his shoes. Large, large hands cupping the small clothed feet, unclasping the buttons and sliding them out of their enclosure. He left the socks on this time, they were going to be part of the show, them and the bralette, and nothing else.

“Bend, I want to see that perfect little ass of yours.” His voice would be casual if it weren’t for the dripping boiling-hot lust that stuck to his tongue as he spun his toy around and pushed him over the back of the white couch, liking how it was too tall to meet his hips for a proper bend and instead aided in lifting him up on the very tips of his toes. He licked his lips, tugging on the crotch of his pants.

Scorching fingers grabbed the ample flesh of his ass, kneading it up like dough before he felt the wet sludge off his tongue gliding a trail up his spine, only stopping once he came to his neck where he began kissing wet, so very wet, drooling kisses up behind his ear. Again, inhaling through his nose as his clothed cock nuzzled neatly between his presented ass, humping into the welcoming heat.

“You smell good, did you shower like I asked...” Asked? They both knew it wasn’t a request, but yet he nodded his head from where he felt the blood beginning to pool where he was resting on the sofa-cushions upside-down. “Such a good pet.” His hips curved into him so he pushed his bulge up into his plushie backside, hands rubbing circles into his midriff, pulling him back to meet his mellow thrusts. “Is your throat still sore from choking on my cock?” His fingers, laid steadily on the softness of the couch, bending to grip the surface in order to hold himself back from crying. “Answer when you’re spoken to, pet.” Enji sounded bored, slightly bitter as he pressed his growing cock harder into his breakable little hostage.

He felt the tears begin to fall despite his efforts. “Sorry.” He pipped, half his face now buried in the couch. “My throat is fine, thank you for asking.” Enji’s hand went back to carelessly wandering, instead of gripping his hips so harshly.

“Good, I’m glad.” The statement didn’t seem heartfelt. “Spread your legs. Give me your hands.” His suspicion was answered through the heartless commands, Enji didn’t care.

He moved his feet away as much as he could without losing contact with the floor, which wasn’t really far at all, but he guessed Enji would steer him into the right position when the urge fell over him. Letting go of his grip on the couch-cushions proved more difficult as he was left sinking even further into the plushie surface without any support, yet he still managed, bending his elbows to fold his arms on his back, making it easier for Enji’s massive hand to grip both his wrists at the same time.

“I’ve been looking forward to taking this ass for so long…” He groaned, his hand giving the ass a rough squeeze. “Perhaps that’s why that slut can’t get me hard anymore, since I know what a perfect little pet I have waiting for me at home.” It was as though he used the fat of his ass as a handle to pull him up, lifting him briefly off the couch before dropping him back down again, hearing him give a little yelp at the action, again causing him to groan in satisfaction as he bumped his erection into where it fit so perfectly between his ass-cheeks. “I’ve been waiting so patiently… and so have you.” Enji mused, as though the boy at his mercy was having any of the same cravings. “I think today is the day we both get our reward.” Enji pulled on his wrists, dragging him off the couch, his feet meeting the cold floors again and quickly yanked into Enji’s hard chest. “I know you’re excited, but let’s get you to the bedroom first.” He taunted when he gave another squeal, looking up to see Enji’s unforgivingly hungry cerulean gaze, having tears and fears and swirling panic brimming in his own. “Wipe those tears, you can comfort yourself with having your face stuffed, use my cock like a pacifier.” The comment did far from comfort him, instead evoking a whimper as he swallowed thickly in a way of suppressing the hiccup that wanted to hitch in his throat at the dark promise.

He must have blacked out or zoned out or something alike it as a form of preparing himself for Enji, for when he came to he was upstairs, already placed on the bed, on his knees, in front of a naked Enji and large thighs made up of pure muscle and scares, and hair. Then of course the centerpiece, Enji’s large intimidating cock standing proudly up against his ripped stomach, with its angry mushroom-shaped swollen head puckering right into his face.

Enji’s hand rubbed lazily over the tip, smearing what precum had already beaded in the slit. Yet, he wasn’t given too long to just stand and admire it as Enji’s other massive hand come up to grip the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his short locks to form a better hold, pulling him down to level with the beast, pushing him further, head mushed and buried to cuddle with the manhood. Enji’s hips leaning in on repeat to meet how his hand pushed his face against the sensitivity of his sex, balls slightly swinging up against his chin.

“Come on, use your tongue.” Enji didn’t waste any time, starting to pull at the roots of his hair in order to frighten him into obeying. He succeeded, as the boy opened his mouth and laid his tongue out flat to taste the salty skin it was pressed against. “Lick from the base.” Enji commanded and the boy listened, dragging his tongue up with the guidance of Enji’s hand steering the back of his head up the entire length of his cock. Pulling him slightly away from the activity, making the boy wince at the sharp stinging off his roots being yanked. Enji’s other hand gripping the base of the giant pole to tap it in a slapping fashion against the lips that seemed so welcoming and warm, the boy shutting his eyes allowing some more tears to drip from where they had been welling. “Open up.” He did as he was told, lips parting to accommodate for Enji’s weeping cockhead. “There you go, taste me.” He groaned as he pushed his head further onto his cock, traveling into his mouth, filling him up and prodding at the back of his throat. The boy knew better than to think he was any less than half-way done, yet he couldn’t hold back the reflex of gagging. Not that Enji paid any mind to the complaint, only placing his other hand to control his chin as he continued nudging himself deeper, sinking down his throat. “Come on, swallow all of me, I want to feel that cute nose buried in my belly with your tongue licking my balls.”

He tried relaxing his throat, choking his length and girth down and down, sniveling as he held back the urge to pull away, knowing how the hand Enji placed at the back of his head wouldn’t allow him to move anyway.

His eyes traveled backwards when the lightheadedness of being barely able to breath got to him, which was when Enji let up, freeing him as both hands took their leave from holding him steady. “Such a good pet, do as your told.”

He coughed into the bedsheets while Enji’s hand pet over his head, his own fingers tightly gripping the fabric beneath, knuckling the textile into his palm, trying to compose himself before his head was guided to look back up at Enji again, who seemed to tower over him even though the both of them were on their knees, though the boy was rather bowing for the giant red-headed man.

Enji’s fat fingers came to pry open his mouth, pushing past everything with little regard. “Suck these fingers for me.” Shoving the digits down his throats and fucking the soreness for a while before retracting them. “Spit in my palm.” He didn’t argue, unless the sniffling cough he gave were to be considered a protest, before spitting all the saliva his mouth had produced when being attacked by the mass that filled him up before. “Get back on that cock.” 

Again, he didn’t waste any time, adamant on making sure Enji knew that there was no need for him to be using his hands to force himself down his throat as he guzzled down on his length, bobbing up and down with his head, letting him kiss the back of his throat as he glugged with his lips forming a tight circle around his girth, using his tongue to slide out to cover what areas of his cock he couldn’t reach when swallowing him down at the pace he was going. Desperately trying to please the beast.

Enji gave no warning, pushing his fat digit into his puckering hole from where he was being such a good boy with sucking him down like he’d asked. Filling and stretching his little ass, dragging an adorable whine from his throat, a whine Enji received on his cock, the unrestrained voice giving nice little tremors to vibrate alongside his girth, settling somewhere at the tip of his cock before traveling down into his heavy balls, making him buck deeper into his face. “Wouldn’t want that cute butt to get lonely while I fuck this pretty face.” He explained, as he sank the finger even further into his ass, listening to him mewl a panicked whine around his cock, simply fucking even deeper into his face, hand clasping around the back of his head to better rut into his skull, finger roughly stretching out the tender tight muscles from behind.

He cursed gruffly once he let up, admiring as his pet drooled and spluttered to breath at the absence of his cock in his mouth, spit slobbering down his chin and landing in thick puddles dampening the bedsheets beneath them. 

“Look at me.” He whimpering as Enji once again grabbed a tight hold on his chin, rough fingertips planted into his cheeks, sliding in saliva as he forced him to look up, lifting him upright, so much so his hands needed to leave their station on the bed in favor of supporting himself against Enji’s chest or else he’d simply be held up by Enji hand like a noose. “Open that mouth up.” He did his best to comply with the demand with how his hand seemed to pressure his jaw shut, though he managed, having his cheeks squeezed and lips puckering like a duck out towards him, a perfect parted hole he could aim and spit right into. “Swallow that for me pet.” It came as a shock having Enji’s warm liquid shot onto his tongue but he quickly recovered, letting it slide down his jugular before he swallowed. “Good boy. What do you say?” He could feel him quenching his pride and all hopes of fighting back in the whimper that ran up beneath his fingers on his throat.

“Thank you, Daddy.” There was no spite in the words, just wholehearted defeat and surrender, and the potency of it all sprung right to Enji’s ego, making his attention-craving cock throb with neediness.

“Good pet.” Hand tightened around his throat to lift him even higher up to meet with his face, kissing his slick face roughly, stiff lips setting the motion, bloated lips following suite, before the hand around his throat once again took advantage of its power and threw him back down on his hands and knees. “Now finish your meal.” The statement held nothing but hungry cruelty, followed by a long blob of spit dripping slowly from his tongue onto his cock, sliding down its length. “Lick it up.” Unsure eyes looked up through stinging saltwater, finding no hint of mercy, encouraging him to do what he was told before earning himself a punishment. Mouth promptly taking the large cock into his mouth again, yet he felt the sting of a slap to his cheek all the same. “I said lick, not suck.” He resisted the urge to soothe the red stinging flesh of his cheek and did as he was corrected, tongue lapping up the underside of the angry cock in his face. “Yes… good… there you go.” He was praised, and though it made his stomach sink, he also felt relief, for at least praise was far away from disappointment and the punishment that followed such a resolution.

What followed was simply Enji’s rumbling groans and moans as his fingers played with the short locks of hair at the back of his head, somewhat steering where his head would go, how far away and how up close and personal, whether to suffocate him with cock or not. He compliantly slurped up and down his length with his tongue hanging out from his mouth, spit dribbling down his chin, down his neck, dropping to the bedsheets beneath them, before Enji groaned again, this time signaling that he was bored, hands yanking him away from the wet activity.

“Lie down on your back.” He wasn’t given much freedom to do so on his own as he was pushed down and kept down as Enji swung his leg over his chest where he laid beneath him, trapping face between his thick deadly hairy thighs, threatening to squish his head until it popped from the pressure. “Open your mouth up pretty.” He gaped, feeling the slick of Enji’s balls slide on his chest as he sat down on top of him, pushing much air from out of his breakable ribcage and the lungs beneath. Cock laid between his nipples, cockhead touching his chin. Again, a blob of his spit met his tongue, accompanied by a light playful slap against his cheek. “Keep it open.” He couldn’t hold up to Enji’s command as rough fingers pulled at his sensitive nipples, squeezing them and tugging at them through the thin lacy fabric of his bralette, rubbing on them, making him whine in discomfort, yet with his hands locked to his side underneath the contraption of Enji’s thighs, he was given no room to fight back. “So pretty.” Enji admired, tweaking the nibs tenderly as he rocked his hips forwards, cock sliding up and down his chest, balls squished against him, before he sat up again, kneeling with his cock and balls hovering over him, threatening to sit down and suffocate him while riding his face.

Enji gripped his cock and tugged it up and down to dance his balls on the pretty face beneath him, though the wet cavern he wanted to dip into shut into a thin line before he could.

“I said keep your mouth open.” He growled and the boy was reminded of the former command, promptly opening wide. “Tongue out, play with these balls, Pretty.” His tongue rolled out, at once met with the size of Enji’s nuts as they slid up and down his wet muscle. “You get to decide today: do you want a face full of cum or do you want me to fill that belly up?” He wasn’t given much air to retort with his mouth being filled with cock and balls, Enji’s hand resting on his forehead to keep him perfect and still for his manhood to abuse. “Come on, pick one.” He made him gag as he forced his entire pole down his throat, allowing him no chance to reply. “That’s fine, you can have both since you’re so spoiled.” Again, he stuffed his mouth with his balls, making him gargle and suckle on them, before he took his shaft in one hand and slapped the side of his face, liking how his eyes squeezed even tighter shut at the sharp contact. His face covered in spit and smeared with precum, slick and glossy, with pretty wet lashes. “Let’s paint that face first.” He slapped his face with the weight of his cock again, before placing it on the middle, balancing the slug on his lips and nose, resting between the bridge between his eyes, chin buried in his ball-sack. “Smile for me, smile for Daddy.” 

He forced on a broken uncomfortable smile where he laid beneath the brute man, eyes still kept shut. Enji smeared what oozing precum had breached his tip onto his lips, as though requesting him to open up, which he did, being met with the entire mass of his cock stuffing his mouth, tickling the back of his throat as he fucked into his face. 

“Swallow me down, Pretty. Stay right there.” He choked and gagged at the feel of him continuously pushing into the tight canal of his throat, yet wasn’t allowed to move as Enji’s hand still balanced his head by tugging at the hairs over his forehead, pushing him into place. He coughed and spluttered desperately once Enji let go, though was given minimum time to collect himself again before Enji gave another growling and ruggedly desperate command. “Smile.”  

He fisted his length in his palm, finger rubbing over the tip, pumping furiously into the face beneath him before thick ropes of white cream came shooting out of the tip, hot and wet and sticky when it landing all over his face, running down his cheek, into his mouth, letting him taste bittersweet salt on his tongue.

Enji continued rubbing himself, though slower now, eyes scrunched close as he held onto the euphoric feeling of exploding, feeling himself gradually and too quickly for his liking, coming down from the high, though as he opened his eyes and looked down at what pretty artwork he’d made on his pet’s face he found that he was far from finished.

“What do you say?” His hand’s movements were slow and calculating as he rubbed himself tenderly, without rush.

“Thank you, Daddy.” He hiccupped, relieved to get some rest even as the stench of Enji aided in his discomfort, feeling his stickiness begin to dry on his skin. The rest didn’t last long though as Enji’s cockhead bumped into his lips, demanding he open up to take him inside his mouth again.

“Clean the tip.” He sucked on the mushroom-head, tongue swiping up to clean out the weeping slit. “Such a hungry spoiled pet. Does Daddy taste good?”

He let go with a pop to answer, knowing it was better to just play along. “Mmh, yes, Daddy.” He kissed the head, strings of slime connecting his lips to the thick pole. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Enji reached his hand behind him to find the perky perfect nipples he played with before, pulling at the nib to retract an open-mouthed whine from the boy, allowing him full access to the welcoming wet hole. “Suck some more, get all your spit out on me, get my cock nice and ready for your little butt.” He felt him whine and whimper on his cock at the sound of his words, the panic feeling delicious as it came out like vibrations tickling alongside his length, settling in his balls as he once again fucked into his little face, with him having no chance of escaping, being trapped so perfectly between his thighs. But, his face had gotten used and abused enough, and it was high time he buried himself balls-deep in the no doubt tight hole of his ass and fucked him into a crippled stupid mess.

“Come on, up on your knees.” Strong hands grabbed his hips as he moved off of him, dragging him up into position before he even knew what was happening, with no strength of his own to support himself, falling face first into the pillow to rest, an agonizingly cute display to the man standing behind him, lining him up. “Little boy is gonna get his ass stuffed by Daddy.” He started to jerk himself off, holding his hip and pulling him close. The hand ascending to his mouth so that he could spit into his palm, gathering wetness before grabbing the limp cock of his pet in his massive warm hand, resulting in the boy jolting out of his resting pose, surprised by the sudden touch of his sensitive member. Though he was pushed back down again by Enji’s other hand, it having left his own cock leaving it to rest between his ass-cheeks. “No, no.” He scolded. “Posture, Babyboy, face down in your pillow.” The massive hand pet over his head, pressuring him to simply lie there and take it. “Get this ass up.” He corrected his stance by pulling his hip up into position, back arching like a cat stretching, ass pulled close into Enji’s crotch. “Hands on your back, give me those hands.” He fished for the limp arms, folding them behind his back, letting go once he was assured the boy knew to listen to the order. “Now spread those knees.” Enji took hold of his thighs and shuffled his knees further to the side, the boy feeling the wetness of cold spit on the sheets, as Enji continued stroking the cock between his thighs so lovingly and tenderly, rubbing over the sensitive tender velvety cockhead again and again, feeling him leaning back and shivering under the touch. “There we go, perfect.” The hand pressed against his back dragged down his spine slowly, before it stopped to cup the ample soft dome of flesh, his thumb swiping over the unprotected tight butthole, all ready for the taking, helpless and broken and all his. “Are you excited?” Enji shuffled back on his knees, giving a quick glance over the perfect ass in front of him to inspect the face that was neatly and snuggly squished against the pillow, happy to see the pretty concoction of fear, surrender and anticipation displayed on his face, just like a submissive pet should look.

He shuddered as he felt Enji’s warm breath on his ass, the exposed sensitive ring of tender flesh slightly burning at the feeling.

“No one’s ever taken this ass before, have they?” The statement was rhetorical as he already knew the answer and was instead a gesture made simply to gloat, as it was followed by a satisfactory hum and a set of warm wet lips pressing a sloppy kiss onto the puckering opening, hand still jerking his cock, having him shivering for him. “You’re all nice and ripe for me?” Another wet kiss was placed at the entrance, though this time the lips remained tightly locked, mouth sucking on the skin, tongue laid out flat as he dragged the rough rigid texture up over the hole, before poking through the sensitive rim, pumping the fat wet muscle in and out of the tightness. He let go with a smacking pop, lips quitting their suction.

His thighs were shaking by the end of it, his cock still held firmly in Enji’s hand, allowing him no room to move away, in fear he might just rip his dick off. Enji balanced his own cock between the perfect set of plump ass-cheeks raised up for him. Putting his thumb into his mouth before he once again rubbed it over the now wet hole, pushing through the tight rings of muscle to bury the digit inside. “So tight.” Came his rugged breath as he groaned, beginning to rock his hips forward while pulling the boy back to meet him by the thumb he had hooked inside him, his thighs meeting with the back of his ass, as his cock stroked through the crack, where large heavy balls clapped against smaller ones.

The thumb was removed, though not the hand handling his cock as he was left drooling into the pillow he was pressed against, his own hands going numb where he’d managed to keep them perfectly folded behind his back. Though the absence of the thick thumb was soon replaced, doubled even, as two fingers sank into the hole, promptly curling them, forcing him to whine like a cat, a moan so wet it stuck in the drool in his throat. He whimpered as the digits parted from each-other inside him, stretching him out, before pumping them in and out slowly, working the tightness.

Enji groaned at the sound of the boy’s measly whimpers, wet and pathetic, perfect. “I think your pretty ass is ready.” He gripped his cock, tugging on it up against his stomach, spitting onto the glistening wet hole presented to him, the one he was soon going to plant himself deep within. He slowly and carefully, taking his precious time, as though savoring it, lined his manhood up at the puckered opening, gently pushing his twitching cock into the back entrance, forcing a cry out of the smaller creature at his mercy. “That’s so tight…” He moaned, closing his eyes, focusing on the tight snug fit pressing around his cockhead, hugging him close. His fingers had definitely made it easier to enter, but it wasn't enough to make it easy by any means. “Does it feel good?” The tone was patronizing, as though he was talking to a child, looking over at the drooling mess he was burying himself inside, feeling his butt twitch around the fatness of his tip, as though sucking on it. “Want me deeper?” He started slowly sliding in inch by agonizing inch. Breaching each ring of muscles that surrounded his fat length. “All the way?” Watching as his hard sex disappeared into the ample ass until he was completely engulfed. The view alone had him pulsing inside.

One hand steadied the ass, making it easier to sink into place without any interruptions or split-second fearful protests, acting as a represent and fear-tactic, threatening to land a sharp painful smack against the soft flesh if he were to go against what Enji had made clear was going to happen one way or the other. The other hand had more or less the same purpose, where it laid slow attentive strokes to the unsheathed throbbing cock. Though as he bottomed out inside his ass, the hand moved from playing with the painfully tender pulsating pole in favor of fondling the balls at its base, gathering both his own and his pet’s in his warm palm and messaging them together before he slid slowly out of the clenching tight hole, enjoying the tremors that seemed to wreck though the frail body he had positioned in prayer-stance before him.

“You like that?” Enji purred, having pulled almost all the way out before pushing back inside the warm walls of his slave. “You like getting taken in your tight little ass?” He wasn’t necessarily fishing for any response, most likely the opposite, simply wanting to prove how right and good and perfect their dynamic was, how this is something they both wanted, both needed. “Nothing to say, pet?” He snickered as he once again stuffed him completely full with his cock, listening to the wet choked moans that were whined into the pillow beneath him. “Is my little pet enjoying himself that much, is my cock that good?” He picked up the pace, only a little, rocking faster, fast enough for his balls to begin swinging to hit the other pair of balls it met with each soft thrust. “Tell me how good my cock is.” The hand steadying him squeezed the plush doughy flesh, a pain sharp enough to bring him to his senses, allowing him to formulate what words he knew Enji wanted to hear.

“Fe- feels good, Daddy, thank you Da- Daddy, feels so, so goo- good.” He croaked, face hugging the pillow close, buried in the fluff of it, the plush sucking up what drool seeped from out the corner of his mouth, and what tears spilled down from the corner of his eyes. The cover wet and sticky and itchy against his skin as he rocked softly further into it each time Enji filled him up and pushed him down.

“That’s right.” Enji drawled with a smirk, gorging at the submissive wet mess he had wrapped around himself. “And you thought you were scared.” He chastised. “When we both knew you were just hungry.”

[lightcreators]

As an Sorcerer himself, he cannot put all the blame towards witches side. Himself discovered within his own personal experience, and himself witnessed another expansion of such perspective concerning the delicacy who was associated to that side : where impression it was an perfected place, somewhere removed of any fragilities, was wrong … to be an terrible vulnerable spot … Only, some of witches he crossed around transformed their personal tourments as weapons --- Lady Lambadelta, Lady Bernkastel who survived both a logic error, suvived it and remind to themselves how much they were inside an magnificent seat to see other witches struggling themselves … and Lady Featherine … the Lady Featherine who could see her own persona as a piece, as something different of herself that need to be ‘helped’ by her abilities … where obscurity of her tourments had been merely perceived inside his chessboard. Alois Trancy was an aside case --- he had been manipulating higher presences for his own benefits, and whatever he had turned out an witch himself ( for some reason, the consideration of sorcerer didn’t seemed enough accurate … for be heavily associated with an agender treatment of witch … for be metaphorically associated to Beato, and himself understood the point about their mutual butterfly imaginery … even if he was Beato’s golden butterflies, even if he was Beato’s supporting illusions acting as an protector barriers ) he could exposing witches heart themselves … Regardless if he had been tourmented emotionally and mentally by the main concerned, it was about his misunderstandings and denial over circumstances. He had been acting as an ally, even if he could complain for a long time !

❝  Not all witches are hateful. ❞ He nuanced slowly. He might experienced the worst of them in an alarming scale as his chessbaord evolved, he cannot let such things being said … Himself was an Sorcerer. Himself was part of the witches world, even if one of most friendly ones around … ❝  I’m friendly and even if Beato time to time is known for her rudeness, let her the benefits of the doubt ! There is also the Witch of Paradoxes who is one of greatest friendly witches around, even if, well … it’s something. Really something. Using paradoxes in a quite large scale … It’s thanks to him I can visit your universe in the first place, how naturally doors opened … and his best friend, even if he is refusing to interfere directly, is helpful ! ❞ He laughed then, appreciating really her support. ❝  Over the kid I was talking about, you wouldn’t be the first person, but violence will serve nothing. It’s the trouble to get experience to becoming an father figure where the adopted kid picked you --- I wasn’t that much ready as I thought. ❞  He explained with a little giggle. ❝  I do appreciate the support. I really had been treated badly by these witches who had been tourment me mentally and emotionally again and again, or even as an observer I was powerless … but I don’t blame them. I am feeling sorry for last visitor of the place who desired hope of something that can’t happens, where he met only once inside the landscape of the chessboard before be push away for not tourment him with that unrealizable wish … And emotional tourments of that kid making me realizing couple of things. I can still expect surprises since his domain is rather large, but he will never harm me --- he had an certain respect for him, even if it’s come with rudeness and push me in uncomfortable situations. Concerning Beato … it’s had been our personal playful moments~ ❞ 

For an couple of seconds, there was the reminder of the God of the Underground. What he could answer to that ? Pick a fight with Hades was last thing to do. He had enough challengers currently, who were unable to let him go … especially one that can touch sensitive points. ❝  By the moment the God of the Underground isn’t mad at me, I consider myself saved … Whatever if he treat me like a show and whole circumstance is rather weird … I don’t want to be one of these challengers picking a fight with him regardless consequences. Our most valuable supporter must be received with respect ! Even if sometimes that reminder scare me … Someday, for clean out my past, maybe I could create an special battle for settle down accounts. The kid would get his fun to bring illusions all around, and you expressing your point and/or your fits~ Just an friendly fight for clean my poor honor who suffered so much~ ❞ 

Tifa couldn't imagine half the things that Battler experienced. If he truly delt with these other worldly entities. If he truly went through these cycles of abuse and trauma again and again. She could never imagine taking advantage of someone like Battler. No, she wasn't like these other beings they faced during their time facing against Shinra. These people who were human faces but were monsters. Corrupting their planet and leaving those who were left to suffer.

"Well I hope I never meet any of these---people." She says the word people with a small clench of her jaw. "Because if I did, I'd surely give them a peace of my mind. Or maybe of my fist. Because in the time we've been spending together---I could never---imagine treating you like anything less than a friend. So the fact they just mess with you for amusement, just to get a little show---it makes me wanna show them what that should get them. A good old fashioned ass kicking."

[ladykissingfish]

the Akatsuki's reactions to being confessed to

*somebody confessing to them* Itachi: Doesn’t quite know how to handle it at first. He usually has a wealth of profound quotes or inspirational sayings cached in his brain for any given situation, but this isn’t a situation he ever envisioned in regards to himself. He internally questions whether the confessor has something wrong with them; who in their right mind would fall in love with a man that murdered his entire clan, including his own parents? Eventually he pulls himself together enough to tell the admirer that while he appreciates their feelings, he ultimately doesn’t feel like things would work between them. He nearly rescinds that statement when the admirer gives Itachi a hug, and he realizes just how touch-starved he’s been for so many years; but sticks to his guns regardless. Kisame: In complete disbelief, and it shows. He’s spent most of his life refraining from human contact or forming close connections to others, as his appearance (understandably) puts off or downright terrifies the majority of those he interacts with. Has been labeled a freak of nature since birth, and has long reconciled himself to the idea of never finding a mate. Strongly believes the confessor is simply teasing him, so refuses to take the confession seriously. Might allow room for a (very tenuous) friendship to develop, but nothing more. Pein(Nagato): He has no time to entertain the idea of a relationship; he is a God. Gods do not concern themselves with such trivialities. Konan: Her beauty has fielded her confessions from all sorts of people since she was 12 years old. But she isn’t at all cocky or jaded by this; she treats each person with warmth and respect. However, she makes it clear that her only priorities are protecting Nagato, and helping to advance the Akatsuki’s mission of peace. Will give the confessor a bouquet of paper hyacinths that she’s dyed purple. Sasori: Has not dealt with human emotion in over a decade. Does not understand (or believe in) love, feels it to be purposeless and utterly pointless. However, if he believes the confessor might be of use to him, he will keep them around in order to achieve his goals; then dispose of that person and turn them into a puppet. But (in Sasori’s warped mind) him turning the person into a puppet is the highest compliment he could possibly pay them, as he only adds the finest humans to his collection. Deidara: Despite the fiery temper and explosive personality, hidden deep down is a sensitive soul who completely embraces the idea of love and romance. His life and his line of work have made him naturally cautious about trusting others; however, once he has time to carefully think over the person’s confession (and his own relationship with them) he reciprocates those feelings with the force of a tsunami bearing down on a coast. Has matured enough to realize that the Akatsuki holds top priority in his life; however makes a noble effort to spend time with the person. Tobi/Obito: Obito is badly startled, because the confessor has made it clear that they’ve seen past his Tobi persona and have fallen for Obito himself. Is extremely hesitant; the last person he loved ... the situation did not end well. Holds back on responding to or even acknowledging the person for a long time, out of suspicion and fear. Eventually the confessor gets past Obito’s walls, and once that happens, that’s it for Obito: he’s in love. End of story. The confessor becomes his life, his soul, his number one priority, and he would do literally anything to ensure this person’s safety and happiness. Kakuzu: Internally (and externally) scoffs at the confession. Has no delicacy and no sensitivity; orders the confessor to leave while threatening dismemberment and/or death. Even if the confessor leaves peaceably, Kakuzu might decide to come after them later, to “get rid of a potential problem”. Hidan: Is (very surprisingly) calm and respectful upon hearing confession. Thanks the person for their interest, then informs them that he has to do some reading on it in the Jashinist scrolls, to see whether romantic

entanglements are allowed in the religion. Depending on the answer, Hidan will sneak into confessors room in the early hours of the morning; either to cuddle with them, or to obtain his next sacrifice to Lord Jashin.

Zetsu: Personality is too scattered to be able to focus on something as unfamiliar as love. Might find the confessor to be attractive, but ultimately thinks that eating them would be more satisfying than beginning a relationship.

[treksickfic]

The City on the Edge of Forever

I’m so excited to share this with you, anonymous requester! After you sent in your prompt, I had another anonymous reader get in touch with me to let me know they’d already written a story that matched your wishes exactly. 

The author of this story is French, not a native English speaker, and they’ve written a beautifully touching story that expands on the TOS episode, City on the Edge of Forever.  I am posting it here on my blog, with their permission, because they do not wish to have an account nor have their identity attached to the story. This writer has already become dear to me and I’m honored that they trusted me with their writing. I hope you enjoy it!

It’s a long story, nearly 3,000 words, so RIP to your dash if you’re on mobile.  I didn’t want to post it on AO3 or anywhere else except my blog, which feels safer.

Trigger warning for panic attack and trigger warning for some mild emeto, if you’re sensitive to that. It’s not very graphic.

“James Kirk, I demand an explanation!”

Scotty, Uhura, the teleportation technicians, and the security guards were completely dumbfounded by the doctor's explosion. They watched the captain stagger off, livid, as if he had been punched in the stomach. He disappeared without a word, with long stiff steps, from the room.

“Jim!” yelled McCoy.

 “Not now, doctor.” Spock's cold, dry voice stopped him.

Spock squeezed McCoy’s arm firmly and Scott was sure to read in his black eyes a burst of fury. McCoy noticed it too, because despite the storm of his own eyes, he remained silent.

“Everyone, at your posts,” declared the Vulcan. “Scott, you are in charge for now.”

“Yes, sir.” Scotty nodded, refraining from asking any questions.

As soon as they had come through the Time Gate, seconds after they left, it seemed, but many weeks later for them, he had seen that they were not fine at all. The captain was pale, deaf to their questions, obviously struggling with the tears that filled his eyes. The doctor was just as white, his face contracted with a terrible anger. As for Spock, he kept his eyes fixed on Jim, his usual indifference altered by deep and obvious concern.

What the hell had happened?

This is precisely the question McCoy yelled at Spock, pulling himself brutally out of his grip as they entered his office, safe from prying ears:

“Damn it, Spock!”

 “If you calm down, doctor, maybe I could explain.”

 “Calm down? CALM DOWN? Shit, Spock! How do you want me to calm down?”

 “Breathing. Deep, and slowly. Start by sitting down.”

 “Don't fuck with me!”

 “The Vulcans don't fuck with people. Now, please calm down.”

 Jim killed someone without thought. There's no way I can calm down. Shit!”

Spock gritted his teeth and an aura of icy disappointment emanated from him:

“Jim killed someone without thought...do you get along, doctor? You've been aboard this ship for over a year. You even pretend to be the captain's friend. How can you accuse him of this without thinking for two seconds?”

 “I saw it ! He prevented me from—"

“--and your poor little mind preferred to give in to this abject emotion rather than try to find a logical explanation. Jim, the most compassionate man we know…would he have acted like this for no reason?”

These words had the effect of a cold shower on McCoy. He shook his head, gradually coming to himself. He hadn't actually thought for a single moment, mired in a nauseating fury that he hadn't even tried to control. Shame replaced anger and he sagged in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment.

The past few weeks had been a total blur. He had woken up in a room with antique furniture, with an adorable woman at his bedside: Edith Keeler. It had taken him some time to realize that she was neither a hallucination nor a very good actress, but that he was indeed in a different era. Back in the 1930s. And he had barely had time to figure it out and come out of the bedroom to find answers before Jim and Spock, overjoyed, fell on him.

The next second Edith was dead. And it was Kirk's fault., He had kept him from coming to her aid. It had been too much emotion, too quickly and too soon. He had not managed to digest it, even less to understand anything other than what he had seen:

Jim had killed Edith.

But now that Spock had brought him back to reality, it all seemed absurd. And he noticed certain details: His friend's trembling when he held him; the tears in his green eyes when he leaned against the wall; Spock's unusually soft words when he had defended Jim, "he knows doctor, he knows."

How could he have seen nothing? Holding back a moan, he confronted Spock's stern face again:

“Explain it to me.”

“I'll do it quickly. In the timeline of our current story, Edith Keeler dies in 1930. In the one you walked through, paranoid after the cordrazine syringe accident, her ideals of peace and openness reach Roosevelt's ears and America becomes a peaceful country. That prevents its involvement in the second world war. Germany wins and dominates the world. Our time, therefore, does not exist.”

“Oh.”

“By the time you got there, after roughly locating your destination, we got to know Edith. A very charming woman, particularly intelligent.”

“And, Jim—"

“Was deeply in love with her. But for the good of a whole world and not solely himself, he let her die and prevented you from committing irreparable damage.”

“My god.”

McCoy put his head in his hands, overcome with excruciating guilt. Spock watched him, suppressing the harsh words that itched on his lips. The man had realized his mistake. It was useless to add more in the current state. He sighed for a long time, feeling unpleasantly empathetic towards Jim. He admired the way the man had managed to silence all of his instincts to save everyone:

“You should go see him, doctor. I think leaving him alone right now is not the best solution. Especially since he slept and ate very little while we were on earth, and even less after he realized that Edith had to die. He was ill several times during the night. He needs help.”

“Perhaps it is better ... Chapel—”

“No, Leonard,” Spock said, as kindly as he could. “He needs you.”

McCoy let out a deep sigh. He felt silly, and unforgivable. But for the sake of his friend, and indirectly, the sake of the crew, he knew Spock was right. Grabbing his medical equipment, he left in the direction of the captain's quarters.

 *****

Jim rested his forehead against the cool edge of the toilet. The doctor's words were circling in his mind, adding further weight to his overwhelming grief. He felt sick, his stomach as tight as his chest. A discomfort that had become familiar over the past few days. The intense nausea that rolled and rolled, threatening at every moment to overflow was a most unpleasant physical manifestation of his stress.

Despite his efforts to conserve food that was already scarce in their daily life in 1930, there were times when he couldn't do anything about it. Nightmares woke him in an agonizing sweat, on the verge of ruining the atrocious coarse cover of their flop.

He managed each time to sneak into the bathroom before returning the meager pittance with spasms he tried to silence. He also appreciated the discretion of Spock, who had the delicacy of pretending to sleep when Jim returned to his bed several minutes later, breathless and exhausted. But now that he was alone, aboard the Enterprise, he had no reason to contain himself, and did not fight the gagging that came out violently, like revenge for being held back so long. His stomach, however empty, kept revolting, replacing his sobs with endless contractions.

He had barely activated the door to his quarters when they had started, and he had yielded to the spasms with some relief. As unpleasant as vomiting was, his whole body tense and sore as he curled up over the toilet, at least it kept him from thinking about it. Being sick kept his mind on constant alert, focusing his attention on the spasms, gasps, bile, burning and kept the fear away. Unbearable, interminable, but ... secondary.

He coughed cautiously, catching his breath, feeling even sicker from the pungent smell that hung around him…the smell as horrible as the way he felt. This place of suffering and abandonment suited him.

He leaned over awkwardly when the bile passed his throat for the umpteenth time and spilled out in a long convulsion. He grabbed his stomach and closed his eyes so he couldn’t see the mess coloring the water again. The dizziness began to build, the light becoming unbearable as a migraine took hold of his temples, seeping through to his sinuses. He shivered, trying to reach for the chase to vent some of his weakness, when a hand rested on his forehead. Incredibly cool, it brought such comfort that he could not suppress a fragile sigh.

Tenderly the hand placed a damp cloth on the back of his neck and then finally came to cover his eyes. There was the terribly aggressive sound of the toilet flushing, then a voice whispering for the light to drop to 20%.

That voice ...

His comfort immediately ceased, replaced by anguish. He coughed sharply, spitting out more bile in an effort to shake off the impending grief. He could do nothing against the intense tremors that made him gasp, nor the panicked sob that burst through the vomiting.

“Shhh, Jim.” The voice was a broken whisper. “Shhh, everything is fine.”

Kirk wanted to yell at him to go away, to leave him, not to hurt him anymore. Irrationally afraid of the anger that had rained over him earlier at the prospect of having to face reality. Instead he could only moan, shaken by a horrible, nauseating cough.

Feeling Jim shake and panic under his fingers, McCoy was crushed by an intense wave of guilt. He had seen Jim gripped with grief, stress, drunkenness, anger... but never so completely. It was the first time he seemed ... broken ... and it was largely his fault.

The abnormal heat radiating from his skin indicated a high fever and explained his lack of self control. McCoy took a syringe out of his bag and spoke in a very soft voice so as not to hurt his friend's headaches.

“Jim, I'm going to inject you with a painkiller, it'll help you relax.”

He had no other answer than a small hiccup and a burst of bile.

Nervous vomiting, McCoy noticed. It was serious. He was going to have to play it safe to get the captain to calm down enough to free himself from his sadness and he hoped the hypo would act quickly. He thrust the syringe into his biceps and took advantage of the slight respite that followed to quickly run the medical tricorder over Jim’s upper body.

The latter told him what he already knew: extreme stress, high fever, deficiencies in iron and magnesium, low blood pressure...nothing to indicate a gastric bug apart from weakness due to deficiencies, which reinforced his theory of psychogenic nausea.

McCoy was relieved to find that the sedative had done its work: Jim was shaking less and seemed more lucid.

“Bones...what--?”

Bones. So he didn't blame him. This man's empathy would kill him eventually, the doctor thought. He put a protective arm around the Jim’s shoulders and another under his chest to support him. He could feel the angry stomach muscles that continued to struggle and tighten. He gave a sad little smile.

“We are going to talk about all this. But first, we are going to get out of this horrible room. You need to lie down.”

“Um, that's not safe,” Jim grimaced with a little hiccup.

“I'll take a bucket, but I want you to lie down. Doctor's orders.”

 “If it's an o-order,” he stammered, in a slight attempt at humor.

Jim allowed himself to be helped without opening his eyes, too ill to protest, and too weak to fend for himself. Bones almost carried him to his bed.

Once lying down, McCoy carefully removed Jim’s boots and socks, pulled up a wonderfully warm blanket and put a cloth on his forehead. Then Jim heard the familiar whirr of the tricorder passing once more over his body and finally the sound of several mixes. Careful fingers rested on his right temple.

“Can you open your eyes?”

“Urgh, Bones, I'll throw up if I open them.”

“There is a bucket, don't hold back. I need you to look at me.”

Jim groaned but obeyed. The light, even though very dim, made him moan in pain. It penetrated his head like a blade and triggered, as announced, a violent nausea.

McCoy held him very gently as he threw up a thin trickle of bilious saliva. He fell completely exhausted on the pillow once the attack was over. The doctor muttered something unintelligible and wiped his face.

“I should send you to the infirmary, Jim. You have serious deficiencies and that added to the stress...this is a perfect combination for a migraine in due form. I'll put you on an IV to regulate your sugar levels and give you a strong pain reliever. It should help you feel better.”

Once everything was in place, a tactical, hesitant silence settled between them. Jim could feel his presence, sitting on the edge of the bed rather than a chair, and the warm, warm hand pressed to his shoulder. The exhaustion and sadness rose in power now that the disease could no longer build its walls around his mind. He saw Edith again. Edith and her sweetness, her love, her joy, her magnificent ideas.

"She's fair ... but not at the right time," Spock had said, trying to make her listen to reason when he...he told her that she had to...die. He had desperately looked for another way but...but��

He clenched his teeth, overtaken by the intensity of the pain. By the gesture. He had even been unable to look at her body. He had not turned around, refusing to see what he had just done, struck head-on by the horror and disgust emanating from the doctor.

He swallowed, feeling the tremors start again, the despair skyrocketing. McCoy, hearing the gasps in his friend's tight breath, tightened his grip on his shoulder.

“I ... I loved her...Bones—"

A tear gathered in the corner of his eye and he sniffled, trying to pull himself together:

“Jim,” McCoy whispered, his own emotions rising. “I ... I don't even know how to apologize.”

“You have nothing to excuse. You are right. I ... killed her.”

“No. You saved our world. You did what you had to.”

“Oh, you spoke to Spock,” Jim whispered with a bitter smile.

“Yes.”

Despite the darkness, McCoy could see the paleness growing and the captain's face tightening with the effort to hold back the sobs. He searched for a moment for words he could say to alleviate the pain. Not finding them, he shook his head.

Jim tried to speak, with difficulty. “I shouldn't—”

“You have the right to be sad. You just lost the one you love in an act of unimaginable courage. Jim, I'm an overly impulsive old fool, I can't even imagine what you've been through and I sincerely ask forgiveness for this unjustified anger.”

“Please, Bones—"

“No, let me finish. Thank you for your understanding, but you don't have to. I acted like an idiot.”

“You couldn't have known.”

“That's no excuse. I know you and should have taken a step back.”

“What is done is done.”

“Jim, what I'm trying to say is that you must not let my emotionally spoken words get to you. You didn't deserve it.”

“I...I searched and searched...and searched again. I couldn't get away from her even when I knew that—”

“You were in love.”

“No, Bones. I'm in love. A selfish person who regrets choices that he shouldn't regret.”

“You are human, and you are suffering. Let it go.”

Another tear rolled down, then another, and finally it was a torrent that poured into the pillow. The captain put a hand over his mouth to silence the gasps of despair and the overwhelming agony of loss. Bones gripped his shoulder, patting it in a comforting gesture. He watched Jim sob like a child, breathing laboriously through exhaustion and mourning. Then he gradually calmed down until he fell into a deep sleep.

The doctor sighed and wiped away his own tears that had started at the same time as his friend's, and that he had not tried to stop. He readjusted the IVs and scanned Jim’s body for the third time. His fever was still high from a mild viral infection after several weeks in the cold and fatigue undernourishment. Jim would be off for a few days and stay in bed.

When he left the room, the doctor was not surprised to find Spock standing and waiting with arched eyebrows.

“How is he?”

 “Exhausted and cold, but fine.”

 “Has he been able to express his sorrow?”

 “I guess, yes.” McCoy smiled, thinking of his friend's relaxed face as he left the room.

“And were you able to express yours?”

The doctor jumped slightly, not at all prepared for this question, much less for Spock to say it. He was sometimes pleasantly surprised by the well-hidden sensitivity of his Vulcan friend. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed it.

“You are about to cry.”

“Damned be your insight, Mister Spock,” the doctor growled, a little annoyed.

“Humans all must cry at one time or another to get better, doctor. I do not understand why you put a manly bulwark in front of this natural mechanism.”

Bones laughed. “Wouldn't you find it embarrassing for me to break down in tears right now in your arms?”

He expected Spock to answer him, "Vulcans don't know the gene, doctor." Instead he replied, in his usual relaxed and serene tone, “If that makes you feel better, no.”

Such compassion was so strange that it almost seemed out of place. Leonard burst out into a frank laugh that turned without realizing it into a flood of tears. Tears of his own sadness this time, not empathy or guilt. Sadness he didn't think he had. Maybe he was also a little in love with Edith after all. And that the Vulcan understood it well before him.

Spock, moreover, did not pretend to leave, contenting himself to stay by his side until McCoy’s tears turned back into laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” the first officer asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, Mister Spock, because I’m thinking of the absurd spectacle we would have made if someone had been there. The ship's doctor weeping like a baby in front of a motionless Vulcan and their captain's closed door.”

Spock coughed and McCoy would swear to anyone who wanted to hear it that he was blushing.

“Well, you're not a hopeless case,” he said with a smirk, patting him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Spock.”

Then he turned on his heel towards the infirmary without hearing the relieved sigh of his alien friend.

[from-delaford-with-love]

Chapter II

For a young lady of such a gentle attitude of mind a sudden change of the setting might appear tremendously dispiriting. In circumstances not depending on the will of one’s own, beyond the bounds of possibility to be altered even by the most passionate of aspirations – separated from family and taken to a whole new place – you could probably find the only consolation in a company of a soul so sensitive and capable of compassion to cordially acknowledge the hardship of your current situation which, unfortunately, neither Mrs. Jennings, nor Sir John Middleton happened to comprehend.

Just a few hours have passed since you crossed the threshold of your uncle’s mansion and with this marked the beginning of your new life within its walls. You didn’t feel you belonged here, and it seemed vastly unlikely you ever would – inherent qualities of thought and character of people who generously agreed to provide a convenient accommodation for you had not a farthest similarity with such of yours, however, which didn’t suggest a slightest probability for your relationship to evolve in a pervading mood of agreement and harmony.

An unsettling feeling of anxiety inconceivable by any good sense seized your heart once the sound of hooves stomping against the ground brought the news about belated arrival of the guest so eagerly anticipated by your uncle and his mother-in-law. A slam of the front door – and confident, determined footsteps echoed through the hall. The closer they approached the more dreadful seemed the thought of meeting the man so genially welcomed in this house. A friend of the family, for you he was just another stranger who – in accordance with Sir John’s disposition – might’ve certainly resembled him in mores and manners.

The fear of a new imminent acquaintance so unreasonable by origination could only be courtly explained by fatigue resulting from a long tedious journey and therefore your fair unwillingness to participate in jaunty noisy discussions. Nevertheless, you gathered all your courage and patience and, as befitted the proprieties, prepared yourself to get through this evening with dignity.

“Brandon! What on Earth took you so long?” Sir John hurried to greet the visitor. “This is my good friend, Colonel Brandon! We served in the East Indies.”

The man gave you a discreet smile, one of a sort that sprouts earnest desire to be returned with appreciation.

Whether it was the matter of your presence or his innate solemnity, in spite of inordinately emotional exclamations of your uncle, the man carried himself with modesty and decency intrinsic to a true gentleman. A brief look was enough to see he was an absolute opposite of Sir John – both in appearance or demeanor.

“Come and meet my niece! Her family is having a hard time,” without a thought of delicacy, Sir John reported in joyfully careless manner, “so we decided to lend them a helping hand and give the poor thing a houseroom under this roof.”

You couldn’t imagine an introduction worse than that. Trying to avoid eye contact from now onwards, you reverenced humbly, hoping no one noticed the flush of embarrassment that rose to your cheeks and rightfully wishing this day to finally come to an end.

During the dinner, Colonel Brandon alone, of all the party, civilly abstained from participating in numerous attempts to fish out details about your private life so flagrant in their impudence to easily count for rude – even disrespectful – if it were certainly not for the family bonds implying suchlike probability a priori impossible. On the contrary, he seemed to find such a disregardful attitude inappropriate and considerately looked away every time your farthest of kin addressed you with another tactless question. The colonel remained silent, but his countenance spoke for him in so many words revealing true nature of a person with high moral standards and principles. Although you never shared a word, you felt respect for the man which the others had forfeited by their insufferable disgrace of thought.

Tag: @diaryofafan17 @venusetdiatribes @taschaschwarz @booklover2929 @crystalchrysalis19 @yourbadnightmare

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A/N: it's been a while since I've published the first chapter, so if you're not interested anymore and don't want to be tagged, let me know.

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[ahh-fxck]

i was thinking about geralt & eskel and how when they cross each other on the path, they spend time together. eating and sleeping together side by side. and more specifically i was reflecting about the parallels and differences of them now vs them as young boys and it makes me go ahhhh

Ohhh, @geraltsays, your mind! I love it. I got inspired and wrote a very softe piece of smut, I hope you enjoy it!

Reunion

Geralt catches the scent long before he hears the footsteps in the forest. By the time the man in a red gambeson and long dark cloak emerges from the forest leading a horse, Geralt has cleared an extra place by the fire. Next to it, there is a cloth set out with dry cheese, hard bread, and some withered apples. On the fire itself is simmering a little pot of broth, fragrant with herbs.

When he steps into the clearing, Geralt looks up at last into golden eyes, warm and soft as honey. Eskel is finally here.

“Hey, Wolf.” Eskel greets him.

Geralt grins, nods to the spot next to him. Then, heart already thawing as if after a long winter, he returns to the task of caring for his blade.

A small smile pulls at Eskel's scarred face, lighting it handsomely. Turning away, he gently murmurs to his horse as he begins to unpack and groom her.

Content, Geralt returns to sharpening and oiling his blades by the fire. He barely looks up when Eskel settles at his side. Without a word Eskel places a full wine skin on the cloth. This is followed by a packet of waxed paper that turns out to contain slightly smooshed sweet nut cakes.

Geralt gives his blade a keen, considering look, gives it one last swipe with his polishing cloth, then sheathes it. Only then does he turn his full attention to Eskel crouched companionably at his side. A rush of warmth goes through Geralt as he sees Eskel smile again, one eyebrow going up.

“Brother.” Geralt growls, reaching over and pulling Eskel into a tight hug. “You’re alive.”

A deep, dark chuckle shakes Eskel as he embraces Geralt fiercely back. “Good to see you too.” The greeting is almost as old as they are, old as their long years on the path. When they first ventured out of Kaer Morhen, the Path had led them away from one another.

Each of them had dealt with it in his own way. Geralt had packed his heart in a box, certain that he would never see his beloved brother again. Eskel, on the other hand, was certain that Geralt was always around the next corner, always waiting to be rediscovered.

So far, Eskel had been the one who was right.

Geralt rumbles happily as he noses into the soft spot behind Eskel’s ear, a galaxy of scent unfurling as he snuffles the sweet-smelling skin. Blood, steel, horse, leather, crushed vegetation, the scents of travel fade away until all he can smell is Eskel himself, warm baked bread and ripe apples in sunlight, a homey, comforting smell.

Affectionately, Geralt nips at the skin of Eskel’s neck. His brother laughs and paws him away. Geralt smiles at him, eyes dancing in the firelight. When they were boys, they had to hide their affection in rough-and-tumble play to avoid their instructors’ wrath. Now, here in the forest, they are free to take their ease. Eskel smiles like he knows what Geralt is remembering, bringing his hand up to cup Geralt’s cheek. They lean together, moving as one person. When their lips finally touch, all the months since they’ve last seen each other feel as if they are wiped away and they are home again.

Home has never been a place. It was never cold Kaer Morhen, ancient stones soaked in blood. There were no welcoming places on the Path to settle. No, home is embracing arms and honey colored eyes. It is crooked smiles and wicked in-jokes with ninety-year histories. It’s naked legs tangled together under spread cloaks. Acceptance, companionship, kindness.

When they part, Eskel’s eyes gleam happily. He strokes his fingers through Geralt’s white hair, thumbs the delicate shell of his ear, drinking him in. Geralt hums and lets out a deep sigh, face softening as Eskel tickles the back of his neck with a gentle touch. Turning his head, he catches Eskel’s hand in his own and kisses his scarred palm.

Eskel chuckles. He leans back from Geralt, turning and picking up one of the sticky nut cakes and offering it to him. Geralt takes it with a crooked smile. It’s sticky, and Eskel’s fingertips are covered in honey. Eskel sticks his fingers thoughtlessly into his mouth, sucking the sweetness off of them. Then he swipes the wine skin and uncorks it, taking a swig.

Geralt takes a bite of the sweet cake, a low rumble of pleasure escaping him. He doesn’t indulge in sweet treats very often. Better that Roach have good feed and his armor be in good repair. Eskel was a little more indulgent, especially when it came to treats shared with his brother. Treats and sweets hadn’t featured large in their upbringing, and any rare delicacies were usually hoarded and wolfed down before any other boys could steal them.

Geralt can remember treasured moments when Eskel would sneak into his bed at night with sticky hands, sharing a hoarded bit of honeycomb under the blankets, whispering and giggling. Small escapes into the forest surrounding Kaer Morhen, sharing handfuls of ripe berries with Eskel instead of foraging eyebright and yarrow.

Even all these years later, the little indulgence of sweet cakes feels stolen and special, a secret shared between the two of them. They’ve been told their whole adult lives that Witchers don’t deserve goodness and solace, inhuman as they are. How delightful, then, to indulge in warmth and happiness shared between the two of them. 

The shared meal, paltry though it is, fills them heart and soul. It is eaten in companionship, banishing the lonely cold of the road from their beings. As they eat, they catch up, the cadence of their conversation easy and full of love. Who else could understand?

They had trained together, wept together, shivered together under the thin blankets meant to harden them to physical privation. When the trials had rendered them ill and helpless, they had snuck in to hold one another. Geralt remembers the soft sound of Eskel’s small voice in his ear, whispering him back from death’s door.

His voice is deep now, rich and warm. Eskel thinks he’s ugly, but Geralt knows he is beautiful. His dark hair is silky soft in Geralt’s fingers as he runs his hands through it, his honey-colored eyes are kind and full of love. When Geralt undresses him, his big, scarred body is a feast. He is heavier-set than Geralt, powerful muscles and big bones. The summer has been good to him, and he has a layer of fat that softens the curves of his fine form. Geralt lays him back on their bedrolls, taking his time to cherish every inch of him.

As children, they would check each other over for new injuries, providing small comfort where they could. Melitele knew their instructors wouldn’t, not unless the injury threatened their lives. They knew each other’s bodies like their own, had memorized every scar, every crease. As adolescents, their explorations had become more intimate, more passionate.

Now, Geralt worships at the altar of Eskel’s body, savoring the rich and varied scents of his loved one as he explores Eskel’s sensitive places. He nibbles the backs of his knees, grazes his teeth over the sensitive knobs of his ankles. Purring, he tastes the silky inner skin of his thighs and playfully worries at the inviting roll of fat over his hip. Each playful bite, each lick, each nibble makes the subtle fruity smell of Eskel’s arousal more potent.

Geralt licks delicately along Eskel’s neck, breathes hotly against his ear, dipping his hips to brush their cocks together. Eskel pulls him down with an appreciative growl, locking his hands around Geralt’s hips and rocking up against him. Geralt growls back, turning to plunder Eskel’s mouth with a hungry kiss. They slide gently against one another, savoring the delicious heat of finally being together again.

They curl and twist together, rolling back and forth across their bedrolls, across their spread cloaks, rumpling the fabric. Their hands are slow at first as they savor each other, but soon they are gripping each other, hips snapping together, soft huffs and growls escaping them. Eskel, fingers slick from the little bowl set out by their bedrolls, rolls. He pins Geralt gently with one leg over his shoulder and presses into him, gentle but eager.

Geralt takes his fingers easily, one at first, then two. Eskel’s thick fingers crook and he arches, letting out a soft snarl. Little stars burst behind his eyes and he grinds down into those fingers, barely even noticing when Eskel eases a third in. The world narrows down to the blinding urgency of wanting Eskel inside of him, wanting to feel filled to the bursting with his beloved brother.

Geralt flips Eskel gently over and pushes him back to the bedroll again, slicking Eskel’s cock generously. Eskel stretches and lays out beneath him with a lazy smile, savoring the sight of his Wolf so hungry to ride him. Geralt kneels over him, easing down over his generous girth, his yellow eyes rolling back in his head.

A groan escapes them both as Geralt bottoms out, eyes rolling back in his head as he feels the fullness of Eskel’s thick cock deep inside of him. Eskel grabs his hips and holds him still there. This is one of his favorite moments, the feeling of being pressed so fully into his lover’s body after such long separation. It’s the feeling of connection before they begin to fuck in earnest, that key-sliding-into-a-lock certainty of home. When they finally begin to move together, easing into an age-old rhythm, the rightness of it sinks into their bones.

Geralt rides atop of Eskel, full to the point of aching as he impales himself with each little rock of his hips. Eskel moves gently beneath him, lazily easing Geralt up and down along his cock until they are both trembling with the slow pace. He feels Geralt begin to strain against his hands, aching to ride him harder. Eskel grins, keeping the pace slow for as long as he can stand, but eventually, even he can’t wait anymore. He eases his grip on Geralt’s hips and pulls his big Wolf towards him, grinding hard into his slick heat.

Geralt gasps and begins to fuck himself in earnest, locking eyes with Eskel as he does so. He pries Eskel’s hands off of his hips and lifts them over his head, twining their fingers together. Eskel grins fondly, eyes hazy with lust and pleasure. Geralt grins breathlessly back, loving the sight of Eskel blissful beneath him.

They come unglued in each other’s arms, fucking until Eskel’s stomach is slick with Geralt’s pre-come, until their hair is plastered to their skin with sweat, until they can’t suppress their panting groans any longer. Finally, Eskel sets his heels against the ground and shifts the angle of his hips. He knows he’s got it right because Geralt’s voice breaks mid-growl, cracking and becoming breathless.

Eskel curses happily as he sets a pace that makes Geralt’s eyes roll back in his head, makes the muscles in his thighs jump and tremble. He fucks Geralt until he’s crying incoherently into the forest, fucks him until he’s dripping sweat and tears, fucks him until he comes riotously on Eskel’s cock, roaring helplessly into the deepening night.

The absolutely wrecked look on Geralt’s face is what finally does Eskel in. He squeezes Geralt’s hands in his own, arching and twisting beneath him as his own potent pleasure builds. When he explodes, Eskel throws his head back and jams his hips hard against Geralt’s, burying himself deep as he comes.

Geralt cries out, feeling hot rushes as Eskel’s thick come fills him. Eskel strains beneath him, hips jerking and trembling as the pleasure peaks. When it slowly recedes, they sink trembling to the tangled fabric beneath them. Eskel awkwardly paws at one of the cloaks, freeing it and draping it over Geralt’s sweaty back. Geralt curls around Eskel, pleased by the thoughtful gesture, allowing his head to come to rest on his brother’s shoulder.

They twine together beneath the cloak, sweat cooling, pounding hearts beginning to slow. Around them, the forest hums and whispers with quiet life, trees shivering in breezes and tiny animals skittering amongst the undergrowth. They’ve laid like this a hundred times, more, pressed heartbeat to heartbeat as a campfire crackles nearby.

It might not be possible to travel together for long. The Path is a harsh life, and even in fat summers like this one the pay for two Witchers together is sparse. Townspeople wouldn’t always welcome two of them, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d have to part ways to keep their purses fat enough to make it through til winter. But for now, that doesn’t matter. Their bellies are full, the summer night is warm, and they have one another. Everything else could wait.

[hrtiu]

“Give me a heated argument. A good solid disagreement. And also the making up of it later :) I really think this is a hard one”  Thanks to @redsong​ for the prompt!

AO3 link

Strictly speaking, Ahsoka didn’t really need to escort the Togruta colonists back to Kiros. It was a low-risk mission without any need of Jedi support, but Anakin had suggested the trip and Ahsoka had eagerly agreed. Ahsoka so rarely got to see the good that came from their efforts in the war, so rarely got to see the fruits of their labor. Accompanying the people she’d helped free from the Zygerrian slavers—her people—seemed like a good way to wash the foul taste of such a brutal, soul-crushing mission from her mouth.

She and the rest of Torrent Company flew the transports down to the the colonist settlement on the verdant planet’s surface, and the looks of relief on the colonists’ faces as they walked back into homes they thought they’d never see again eased some of the darkness that had settled on Ahsoka’s heart. First Umbara, then Zygerria—these past few months had been particularly bleak.

“Thank you so much for bringing us back to our homes. We cannot express the depths of our gratitude,” Governor Roshti said as he walked with Ahsoka and Rex into the Governor’s residence.

“It was our pleasure, Governor,” Ahsoka said.

“We will be holding a celebratory feast tomorrow. Please, stay and attend as our honored guests.”

Ahsoka glanced at Rex and the corner of his mouth quirked up—his version of an encouraging smile. They were hoping that Kiros would officially join the Republic, so it wouldn’t do to ignore their hospitality.

“We’d be honored.”

---

Ahsoka sat at Governor Roshti’s right hand at the head of the table, Rex on her other side. The table was heavy with Togruta delicacies—thimiar steaks, roasted cepa, even akul stew. She’d never really lived among her people, so Ahsoka didn’t have much of a taste for Togruta food, but she ate as much as she could handle to show her appreciation. At her side Rex enthusiastically bit into another hunk of thimiar steak, his enjoyment completely unfeigned.

“Maybe you were born into the wrong species, Rex,” she said, leaning over towards him. “You seem to fit right in as a Togruta.”

Rex looked up from his steak and sheepishly wiped the savory sauce from his mouth. “Sorry, Commander, I just don’t often get a chance to eat anything besides ration cubes.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “It’s flattering to our guests to enjoy their food.”

“Is that a Togruta culture thing?”

Ahsoka shrugged. “I’m not sure. I never spent much time on Shili.”

“Maybe you’ll get a chance to go someday,” Rex said, his eyes crinkling with the suggestion of a grin as he held her gaze.

Ahsoka found herself smiling back at him, a warmth in her chest making her feel light a giddy. She looked away quickly.

It had been like this since Rex had gotten back from Umbara, and it was terribly inconvenient. It had taken his near loss during that campaign to reveal how necessary he had become in her life, how his presence was like light—illuminating and coloring an otherwise dark world. She did her best not to think about it. Thoughts led to actions, and if she ever acted on these thrilling, terrifying feelings, she knew her life would change irrevocably.

She shoved another spoonful of akul stew in her mouth and forced the foreign food down, turning back to the Governor to compliment him again on the delicious feast. Then she took a sip of the madyam wine, easily her favorite part of the meal.

“Are you sure General Skywalker would approve of your drinking?” Rex asked, speaking softly to avoid being overheard.

Ahsoka shrugged. “They don’t have the same rules about underage drinking on Shili. And I’m not overindulging. It’s fine.”

Rex looked a little doubtful, but he let the subject drop.

The feast wound down and Governor Roshti showed them to their quarters. They’d be staying in the house of one of his daughters, in a guest suite that was as luxurious a home as anyone had access to in the colony. The rest of Torrent Company went back to the transport to sleep, but Rex was invited to stay with the family as well, having been heavily involved in the Zygerrian operation.

Governor Roshti’s daughter Daivi, a stately woman with elegant purple montrals, led Ahsoka and Rex to their rooms. The feast had gone late into the night, so the house was dark and the rest of the family already turned in for the night. At least, that’s what Ahsoka had assumed before a little boy no older than five darted out of a hallway and ran up to her, grabbing her hand.

“Are you a real Jedi?” the boy asked, bouncing with excitement.

“Yalit!” Daivi said. “What did I say about pestering our guests?”

“Oh it’s alright,” Ahsoka said with an indulgent smile. She crouched down to the child’s level and patted his red montrals. “I sure am a Jedi!”

“So you can use the Force?”

“Yep!”

“Can you do stuff like this?”

The boy reached out a hand and something in the air shifted. A ball halfway across the room—some toy must have left out—suddenly started rolling towards him, completely unaided. The room fell utterly silent.

The ball reached the boy and he gathered it up in his arms, then looked up at the adults surrounding him, staring slack-jawed. “Did… Did I do something wrong?”

“Sweetie,” Daivi said, her jaw tense, “It’s too late for you to be up. Go to sleep now, alright?”

Yalit looked around him, his eyes wide and his lower lip quivering. “Ok…” 

He hugged his ball tightly to his chest and walked dejectedly back to the hallway from which he’d come. The adults in the room watched him leave, then Daivi moved onward towards the guest quarters.

“Um, your son-” Ahsoka said, shocked that Daivi would just pretend nothing had happened.

“He’s a good boy, isn’t he?” she said with a nervous laugh, still soldiering on towards the door across the room.

“He’s Force sensitive!”

Daivi froze. “We… don’t know that.”

“He moved the ball with the Force! And I felt it—it was definitely the Force and not some random accident.”

Daivi turned around slowly, her white facial markings appearing especially pale in the dim lamplight. “If true, that is a great blessing,” her expression not matching the sentiment of her words.

“He should be brought to the Jedi Temple and trained. He needs to learn how to control his abilities,” Ahsoka insisted.

Daivi bit her lip, and her hands twisted nervously in front of her. She looked at Ahsoka pleadingly for a long moment, but Ahsoka had no idea what she was pleading for. This whole situation was making her confused and uncomfortable.

“Please, Master Jedi,” Daivi said, bowing her head low. “Yalit will be fine with us! He… he really doesn’t have very strong powers. He can barely do anything. It would be a waste of time for the Jedi Temple to train him.”

“That’s just because he’s not trained! If he were trained he’d pick up so much!”

“It… It… He’s too old, isn’t he?” Daivi said, looking near tears.

Was she worried her son wasn’t good enough? That was silly, Ahsoka was telling her the Jedi Council would be pleased to have him. It was strange that they hadn’t picked him up earlier, but she knew that children sometimes slipped through the cracks. The galaxy was such a big place.

“He’s a little older than the Temple usually takes, but I’m sure they’d make an exception-”

“Commander Tano,” Rex said, taking her by the arm and pulling her towards the guest rooms. “It’s late, and our host looks tired. Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

Ahsoka looked up at Rex in confusion, but his stony expression revealed nothing. She let herself be pulled, though, trusting his judgment.

“Well, thank you so much for hosting us, Daivi. We’ll see you in the morning,” Ahsoka said, following Rex into the guest suite.

“Good night,” Daivi said, her voice small in the retreating darkness.

Rex shut the door behind them and stopped in the middle of the room, his back to Ahsoka. “Are you really going to take that child away from his parents?” he asked, his voice low and calm but with an underlying tension that Ahsoka had learned to pick up on over time.

Ahsoka looked blankly at him, not sure what was wrong. “The Jedi Temple is the best place for any Force-sensitive child to grow up. It’s an honor to go there—a rare opportunity very few people are ever given.”

“Hmm,” Rex grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing but simply accepting.

He set their luggage down on the table in the middle of the sitting room and started for one of the guest rooms off to the right.

“Wait up, Rex,” Ahsoka said.

He stopped but didn’t turn back towards her. “Yes, Commander?”

Ahsoka pursed her lips. He was doing that thing. That thing where he disagreed with her but wouldn’t just come out and say it. “Come on. I know you have something to say.”

Rex’s head bowed and he shook it once before turning to face her. “It’s not my place to have opinions about the Jedi, Commander.”

“Well, I’m asking you for it. What are you thinking?”

He looked up, meeting her gaze with his own steely stare. “I don’t think you should take that child away from his family.”

Ahsoka raised her eyebrow markings in surprise, genuinely taken aback. Her first instinct was to say it was Jedi business and he wouldn't understand, but then that’s what he’d said and she’d insisted he tell her anyway. “Oh…”

“As I said, sir. It’s not my place to have opinions.”

Ahsoka’s brow furrowed. She knew Rex would follow whatever orders she gave him, but that wasn’t the point. She wanted him to agree with her. “It’s not like we’re stealing children from their parents, Rex. He’ll have a good life at the Temple—the best life. He’ll have training he can’t get anywhere else, a safe home to grow up in, a place of privilege and respect galaxy-wide. Most parents are thrilled when their children are identified by the Council.”

“Most parents, maybe. But obviously not these parents.”

“What are you trying to say, Rex? That it’s bad when the Jedi Council invites children to go to the Temple?” she said, getting annoyed. “That it was bad when I was taken to the Jedi Temple? That Jedi are kidnappers stealing unwilling children away from their parents?”

“I don’t know if that child is willing or not, but his parents clearly don’t want him to leave them. Are you going to take him anyway? Because if that’s what you’re planning on doing, then yes, I think it’s bad!” Rex said, his voice rising in volume with each word. By the end of his speech his skin had reddened and his golden-brown eyes flashed. Ahsoka had never seen him this angry before. Angry at her. Judging her way of life.

“Have you even considered that if the Jedi Temple don’t train that child, someone else might? Someone with bad intentions? Someone from the Dark Side?”

“He’s made it this far without being noticed by any Force users, so he’ll probably be fine.”

“Look, Rex. This is how it is for all Jedi. I won’t apologize for my people and our traditions.”

“You asked for my opinion, Commander.”

“Well, that was when I thought your opinion might be reasonable!”

Rex narrowed his eyes at Ahsoka and folded his arms across his chest. “You were taken before you could even remember your parents, but that’s not true for this child. He’ll remember his parents, he’ll remember that they willingly gave him up to strangers to be raised on a faraway planet. I won’t pretend that I understand all the Jedi ways, but I know something about not having parents.”

His words cut her like a vibro-blade, slicing right through everything she’d prepared to counter him. Ahsoka had never been one to shy away from conflict, but she’d never been in such conflict with Rex before, and it hurt. She wanted to run away and hide. She needed to find a way to end this conversation now.

“Well I don’t have much of a choice in the matter, anyway,” she said, arms crossed and shoulders hunched up under her jaw. “The Council has protocols for these kinds of situations, and it’s out of my hands. Judge me all you like, but that’s the way it is.”

Rex sighed and unwound his arms, letting them fall to his sides. “Look, little’un. I’m sorry. This is your world, and I trust your judgment. I’ll follow your orders.”

“Thank you.”

With that he retreated to his room, and Ahsoka gathered her things together and went to the bedroom opposite his. Sleep was a long time coming that night, and visions of Rex’s disappointed, angry, sad face haunted her dreams.

---

The next day dawned bright and clear on Ahsoka’s misery. Rest had provided little comfort, since sleep did nothing to fix the disagreement Rex. Yes, Rex had told her he’d follow her orders, but she didn’t want him to follow her orders because he’d been trained to no matter what. She wanted him to follow her because he believed in her and believed in what she was trying to accomplish.

What the night had done was provide Ahsoka with space to consider Rex’s points. She’d been raised at the Jedi Temple, and she knew what that life entailed. She’d rarely missed her parents—barely remembered them, really—and the Jedi masters, padawans, and younglings had been her family. It was a good life, and she knew that firsthand.

But maybe Rex had a point. Her parents had willingly given her up, and as far as she knew, the same was true for the others younglings at the Temple. As much as she didn’t want to accept it, Yalit’s parents obviously didn’t see their child being trained at the Jedi Temple as a blessing. And… well Ahsoka and Rex were both equally parentless in most respects, but he obviously felt differently about it than she did. His perspective was valid, even if it was different from hers.

Ahsoka got up and got dressed for the day, thoughts stewing all the while. Daivi knocked gently on her door and invited her to breakfast, so she emerged from her room and found her way to the dining table. 

The table was set with sizzling thimiar bacon and plom fruit, but Ahsoka found she didn’t have much of an appetite. Daivi and her husband sat at the head of the table, their expressions tight with worry, and Yalit sat next to Ahsoka, smiling and oblivious. Rex was across from her, shovelling thimiar bacon into his mouth and avoiding her gaze.

Ahsoka could speak up. She could explain that the Jedi Council believed all Force-sensitive children should be trained at the Jedi Temple, that it was a great honor, and that Yalit would be well taken care of for the rest of his life. She knew his parents wouldn’t object. The Jedi were a powerful organization in the galaxy, with near mythic status as warriors and defenders of the Republic. How could they refuse?

And Rex would support her. As he’d said last night, he trusted her. It wasn’t just that he had no authority to contradict her, he trusted her. She wanted desperately to be worthy of his respect.

She cleared her throat, and the eyes of everyone around the table turned to her. Daivi took Yalit’s hand in hers and squeezed.

“I think I may have had too much to drink at the feast last night,” Ahsoka said with a weak laugh. “I can hardly remember anything after getting home.”

A confused expression crossed Daivi’s face, then understanding dawned. Ahsoka thought she saw tears forming in the older Togruta’s blue eyes.

“It was a long night, Master Jedi.”

“It’s my own fault. I can’t resist madyam wine, and I’m not allowed to drink it back on Coruscant.”

“Well, you should take some with you then!” Daivi said, getting to her feet with a smile that was heartbreakingly hopeful. She rushed over to the pantry and pulled out two large bottles of wine—drink that Ahsoka knew was a luxury in this fledgling colony.

“Oh no, I couldn’t-”

“Please! Take it!” she said insistently, her eyes intense and pleading. She held the bottles out to Ahsoka, and Ahsoka took them, understanding that this was what the grateful mother wanted.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Ahsoka said, holding the bottles in her arms and getting to her feet. “We should be on our way—my Master is expecting us.”

Their hosts agreed and helped them pack up their things, insisting on carrying their luggage for them all the way back to the transport. Ahsoka and Rex climbed up the gangplank, and Ahsoka turned back to wave goodbye before getting aboard. Yalit smiled broadly at her from his perch in his mother’s arms, his red montrals jiggling back and forth with the force of his wave. Daivi and her husband clung tightly to each other like they’d just escaped slavery a second time. Ahsoka felt a pang of hurt, that they would be so averse to their child joining the Jedi, but she let the pang pass.

Soon enough the transport was in hyperspace, and Ahsoka hid in her quarters. She sat on the floor in a meditation pose, but serenity would not come. She simply stared at the floor, thinking of everything and nothing at once.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” she said.

The door whooshed open and Rex walked in, a bottle of madyam wine in each hand. “Can I join you?”

“Sure,” Ahsoka said, still staring at the floor.

He handed her one of the bottles, then opened the other for himself, taking a long pull before setting it on the ground. Ahsoka opened her bottle and followed suit, the sweet liquid clinging to her throat as she swallowed.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Rex said eventually.

“I know,” Ahsoka said, taking another drink from her bottle. “But your opinion means a lot to me. And I could see his parents wouldn’t take it well.”

“Thank you for listening.”

Ahsoka looked up and met Rex’s eyes, daring a small smile. He returned the smile, his eyes crinkling again in that way she loved. “I can’t promise I’ll always side with you,” she said, “but I’ll always listen.”

[fiannans]

WIP Wednesday/WIP Whenever

Thanks for tagging me, @dalish-rogue!!! <3

This week I’m sharing some Shakarian spiciness from the almost complete one-shot I’ve been working on inspired by Shep’s line about how they “have a lot of catching up to do” in ME3. Warnings for adult content, but nothing too explicit.

By unspoken mutual agreement, they tried not to mention the war or the Reapers, but it was impossible to avoid the topic entirely. It lingered at the forefront of their lives, eclipsing everything else.

“I’m still impressed you were able to make your father believe you,” Shepard said, when the subject inevitably turned to his ‘Reaper task force’ on Palaven.

“Well, I didn’t know if he would. You know we haven’t always seen eye to eye. But I couldn't see any other choice. Going to him was the only way to get the Hierarchy to listen.”

“It was the right choice,” she said. “Even if the Primarch wasn’t convinced, you got more from him and your father than I was ever able to get from the Council.”

“And yet it still wasn’t enough.”

“Hey,” Shepard said, softly but firmly. “You did good.”

Instead of replying, he put his glass of wine down on the table. With surprising delicacy and gentleness for someone of his size, he reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear. She put her free hand over his and pressed her cheek into his palm. Their gazes locked and held.

Without breaking eye contact, Garrus took her glass and put it down carefully out of the way. He cupped the back of her neck in his hand and pulled her towards him. Shepard went willingly, bracing herself with a hand on his thigh. Their mouths touched.

Circumstances had forced them apart before they’d had much opportunity to experiment with kissing, but she could see he hadn’t forgotten the basic idea. Turian mouth plates weren’t really designed for it, but they were more pliable than they looked. And whatever disadvantages there might have been to his lack of lips, he more than made up for with the dexterity of his flexible and talented tongue.

Garrus seemed eager to take the lead and Shepard was happy to let him. The opportunity to relinquish control to someone else - even if only for a brief moment - was a welcome relief. His grip on the back of her neck tightened, blunted talons scraping her skin lightly in a way that made her shiver. She had missed the strangely smoky taste of his mouth and the intoxicating heat of his body, so much warmer than her own.

His tongue teased hers, making her sigh into his mouth. The sound prompted him to move both his hands to her waist and shift her into his lap. Shepard didn’t protest, settling with her thighs on the outside of his and her knees pressed into the back of the couch. Garrus kept his hands on her waist, thumbs slipping under her shirt to stroke her bare skin. Their mouths met again, any lingering tentativeness that had remained giving way to desire.

Shepard ran her hands over the hard surface of his chest and around the back of his neck to scratch the sensitive skin below his crest in the way she knew he liked. He responded with a groan, fingers tightening on her waist. Knowing that she could draw a sound like that from him despite the differences in their biology was exhilarating. She scraped her nails down his neck and ground her hips against his just to hear him do it again.

His hands moved higher under her shirt, sliding up the curve of her spine to the bottom of her bra. Filled with an urgent need to feel him touching her without inconveniences like clothing in the way, she pulled back. Garrus made an impatient noise of protest that her translator couldn’t catch, but shut up when he saw that she was only taking off her shirt.

He watched intently as Shepard tossed the shirt aside and unhooked her bra, discarding it too. His mandibles flared at the sight of her breasts. Turians weren’t as fascinated with them as some other species, but Garrus seemed to appreciate hers anyway. His eyes rose to meet hers, asking for permission. Shepard nodded.

Her breath caught in her throat as his hands skimmed up her sides. He cupped her breasts lightly and slid his thumbs over her nipples, watching with fascination as they grew hard. The pleasant heat that had been building between her thighs intensified and she could feel herself growing wetter. His thumbs drew slow circles around her aching nipples as he leaned in to trace a line from her collarbone to her ear with his tongue. When he nipped at her earlobe gently, she gasped.

“The bed. Now,” she told him.

He chuckled, a sound that went straight to her core. “Is that an order, Commander?”

“Shut up and fuck me, Vakarian.”

He inhaled sharply. “Yes, ma’am.”

Not tagging anyone this week, but if you want to share what you’ve been working on, I’d love to see it!

[songzhong]

@zorkaya  🎭🔶

He is not one to share a bed with someone so quickly, before he doesn’t get to know them on a deeper level... but when someone catches his fancy ? He can fun, definitely. Although instances of sharing passion with a mortal were extremely few and far between, Zhongli was no stranger to matters of pleasure.

The secretary of the Aurora Borealis theatre was a dangerous person, he had no doubt that there was so, so much more underneath those cold eyes. She was not only a charismatic and beautiful lady, the depth he could see in every inch of her person told a long story... and it was terribly attractive.

With the both of them keeping decorum, he was more than receptive to her advances, and she was more receptive to his. However, the difference between them was that she played less of the long game and was going for what she wanted right away... with such an admirable character he had grown to see so much passion and allure in, the consultant thought to himself that this lady was more than welcome to be humored.

He was being given a tour backstage of the auditorium where they’d play and he’d narrate, each movement and word they spoke echoing in the large, empty room... same when she was looking at a list of props after they had exchanged clear innuendos, and he had slid behind her, gloved fingers caressing her sides and stomach, before moving down her thighs as her touch encouraged him to continue further.

He gently pressed her so she’d bend down on those heavy cloth covered crates, the consultant’s thin lips caressing her nape in raspy sighs, while he was patient, still feeling the more modest details of her form under his fingers, so both her body and soul would be appreciated the way they deserved.

She was his equal, he’d worship the privilege of sharing this moment together while it lasted the most he could, as his movements were gently asking for permission to touch her further as she leaned into her back to him. Though when she started to be more and more obvious that their desires were shared, he made his intentions clear while he had been moving his hands up her thighs, raising her dress above her hips while she was still slightly bent over.

A rough, hard spank was given to her buttock. Once. The impact echoing through the theatre, and pushing her whole weight against what she was leaning on, pushing the heavy crates dangerously a few inches forwards.

All his gentleness needed to not be mistaken : he desired her, on the most carnal level.

A strong figure leaned against Zarina’s back, muscles tensing against her while the consultant kept softly kissing against her, slightly undoing the slider of her dress so he could praise the lines of her shoulder and shoulder blades, her elegant spine, pale skin, and every single mark he could find. While his gloved hand was gently moving up and down between her thighs above the thin fabric of her lingerie, exploring the outer curves of her modesty. Zhongli’s fingers gently spread, putting pressure against Zarina without intruding, just enough so the pressure would gradually stimulate her intimacy, only promising the incredible sensation direct caresses would procure.

The funeral parlor consultant didn’t necessarily care about his own, personal bodily desires right now, what he sought after, what he was currently panting in his raspy voice for between his kisses of worship, were discovering this woman’s intimate ins and outs. What made her melt, and which beauties only a select few would be able to see, because this wasn’t about the ones who shared a bed with her... it was about those even rarer individuals who’d make her wreath in pleasure, leave her panting and breathless as they’d reach so deep within her pleasure her complex mind would have no place for other thought than the overwhelming sensations going through every inch of her.

He was a patient man, moving in slow, circular motions before gently pressing against her for more direct stimulation, with only the dexterity, care and lust of one who wanted to have his partner truly lose it for him.

Only when she’d truly, truly start to beg for more, be it through breaking the silence or forcefully grabbing onto his wrist, would he push aside her underwear, and his still gloved right hand would start to caress her, finally, finally giving her the knee buckling ecstasy and satisfaction his direct touch would give her.

He just needed one hand to explore her intimately. The rest was observation, adaptation... anyway, it was too late for her to regain composure, what had happened beforehand seemed to be enough. How long had it been since she had shown this part of her ? Had someone have her stay back and enjoy herself, lose herself in such intimate sensations ? Zhongli wondered.

Soaked gloved fingers kept rolling around and against her clitoris, before caressing her lower lips again as she shivered, always keeping the same motion long enough until she started building up more pleasure as his muscles felt her body relax and tense under him, before stimulating the other area he felt she was leaning more onto to keep his momentum... he was, after all, an expert at reading others, and she’d only get the best from him...

... although when she was about to cum, he entirely stopped, unable to hold a grin as he did, although she couldn’t see him from this angle... certainly, a wise lady like Zarina could tell he was. Was his hand and wrist tired ? How long had they been there ? No. He was just doing it on purpose.

It took only a moment, however, and one finger was roughly shoved between her inner walls, sliding in so, so easily with how dripping wet she had been this whole time... and there’d be no delicacy this time around. The consultant’s muscles tensed against her back, as he pulled his gloved finger in and, making gentle circles as he teased her most sensitive spots. It didn’t take much time before another finger was slid in to satisfy her body’s urges when she’d ask for something more. Wet caresses were replaced by soaked spanking every time Zhongli’s raw strength would push into the artist against the heavy drape of the crate, mercilessly roughing her up in pleasure as he’d abuse her body that was pleading for more.

... and when they heard the auditorium room open while they were still backstage, he didn’t stop. Instead, his left hand covered her mouth to stop any noise, and his fingering only fucked her even harder, ring finger and thumb pinching her slit tightly so the whole of her intimacy would be stimulated at once, inside and out, with no escape. He continued, even as the casual voices held a conversation, and footsteps would draw closer, before going away, and then even closer again, with the two people seemingly visiting the place.

Only, and only when the archon felt his partner shake and tremble euphorically, with drool sliding through his left hand, and every bit of her pulsing against him in ecstasy as she came simply because of his hand, did he let go of her... The next second, he was promptly zipping the top of her dress back up, and grabbing onto her sides as he brought Zarina back on her feet without any ceremony. He shoved the to-do list back in her hand and, in one swift motion, straightened her dress back on her form as the consultant turned around with his soaked gloves behind his back, all of this in a flash : because the two theatre troop individuals were, at this very second, walking in.

Immediately, the consul gave a polite smile, his expression showing no other sign but decorum.

“Greetings to you both. I am honored to be invited to join your production for your time in Liyue.” He purposefully stepped closer so Zarina would be out of their direct sight, wiping his fingers discreetly behind his back. “I hope my amateur skills in the art won’t hinder you. Lady Zarina was showing me around the premises.”

“Are you alright, Mr. Zhongli ? You seem a bit unease. If you are sick, you do not need to join us right away.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine. The summer weather is just a bit...” He straightened his tie. “... hot, lately.”

[vminity21]

Whimsical | knj

Pairing: Student!Namjoon x female!reader

Genre: fluff/mildangst

Word Count: 4,788

Warning(s): mild language use, slight angst involving the struggles of adulting, tooth rotting fluff, Rating: pg

Summary: Living paycheck to paycheck after moving to Gyeongju has done nothing but plague a bundle of stress upon you. Deciding to take a stroll where the cherry blossoms abundantly bloom, you did not expect to run into an acquaintance of the past; and you definitely did not expect the measure he takes to make sure your burdens are lifted off your shoulders. 

“What do you mean it costs this much?” When shock mingling with frustration forms into an exasperated sigh, your hand rakes through your hair in disbelief portraying the definition of stress in its purest authenticity. Your fingers that are curled around the auto insurance bill leave small indents behind when the dreaded piece of paper is now being placed upon the table. “Damnit,” tears flood your eyes while your palms shadow over your cheeks. You have already set money aside to save for the rent for your apartment along with your car payment as well as savings toward your electricity cost. Today, the discovery of your current expense being fifty more dollars than usual means that, yet another week goes by with surviving off the little groceries you have left stored in your pantry.

Shoving out of your jacket, the light air of spring has begun, and for once, you would like to appreciate nature without the anxious feeling of life overwhelming your mind. Eyes scanning the vacancy of your apartment, loneliness returns, and the yearn to hear your mother’s voice has never felt so painful. It has only been six months since you moved hours away for a job offer that you felt would be a good opportunity to further you into the career you have sought for. But, never in your existence did you dream that living paycheck to paycheck could bring so much misery, and hardly being able to speak to your mother has been weighing heavy on your conscious, but your determination to make her proud is what matters to you the most.

The jingle of your keys resonates the living room congruent with the shift of your feet wiggling into your tennis shoes. If there is anywhere you want to be right now, it’s not in this apartment, not near the opened envelopes of woe, not near your bedroom that reminds you of your exhaustion, and not near the refrigerator that is empty of any content that can fill your tummy. The drive to the local park flourishing with pinks and whites of cherry blossoms comes into view quicker than you anticipate, and with schools being in session, the area is not as crowded as it would be on the weekends. Petals float in the wind, swooping to the ground to paint the cement with color- your footsteps slow when the tunnel of tree branches exuberates perfumes of the florets to ease your tense frame.

You return to work tomorrow, but gratefully there is plenty of hours left in the day to explore, and with the solace of the atmosphere, it feels nice to escape from the turmoil of watching your paycheck disappear in order to live. A bench appears further into the path, mahogany tint with protruding sunlight breaking through the trees. Memories of what you consider your ‘past life’ churns with images of times where your grandfather shared stories of his childhood speaking lines of wisdom that encouraged you to be the person that you will and have become. He was the first soul to bring you to a park when you were younger, giving you a tour of what all there was to see- your almond eyes widened with wonder, gripping his hand while you would point out all the sights.

You miss those days more than you will profess, wishing you can relive them especially with what you have been enduring since your move. Gaze dropping to your shoes, hands in pockets- you gasp in surprise when your shoulder meets the figure of someone walking from the opposite direction,

“I’m sorry!” Panic is etched in your voice while you swiftly bow, a blush creeping to your cheeks in embarrassment when your steps quicken along the path. The tone belongs to a man who apologizes in return, yet your eyes keep their focus away from him; you’re very timid, something you’ve struggled with since the day you were born, and it’s hard enough to face your fears as it is, and uncertain on if the stranger would have been angry with you, you find it best to pretend it never happened. At least here, you feel safe alongside nature, and when the familiar sound of a rippling lake perks your auditory senses, a small tug of relief pulls at the corner of your lips, and the earlier chagrin of interrupting someone on their tread will no longer disturb your meditation.

 Something seems familiar about this place. Blusterous winds streaming through strands of your hair that tickle your shoulders beneath the blinding rays of the sun where grass pokes at your legs that are exposed from the end of your dress wrinkled upon your thighs. Cumulus clouds keep their distance from the beams flickering immensely within the blanket of blue, brightening the vibrancy of yellow flowers swaying beside stems of rubicund leaflets enhancing the field in iridescent whispers of delicacy.

You have seen this all before somewhere in the slumbers of imagination where your heart aches for peace such as this. Steeps of ornate mountains encompass the field in lavender shades collecting the finishing touches of scenery your dreams desire. But, there is something different. Rather, the sense that you are alone diminishes which prompts your vision to parade the panorama of daylight until a figure enters a distance ahead of you. A pile of wispy, light hair clears to reveal a man, eyes closed- the backs of his hands posed upon his knees leading to his fingers aimed upward mirroring the position you are in. How he seems so close when he is far away startles you even while you memorize the sight of his thick lips lying in a straight line of content.

Your head tilts in profound concentration of where you may have seen him- where you may have known him, but you come up empty, for here in this world of tranquility, you have not seen him here before. There is a strange ponder of wanting to rise to your feet, but you lean forward instead, observing the slow rise and fall of his chest where he breathes in and out deeply. He is clothed in white, darkening his already tanned skin- your stare tracing from his neck to see his face once more, and when your lids squint to study him,

He opens his eyes-

“Ma’am? Ma’am,” the echo of a calm voice breaks through enough to awaken your bleary eyes, “Ma’am, are you okay?” Drool gathered at the corner of your mouth you swipe with the hem of your sleeve; your eyes are sensitive from how bright it is outside, and it takes a moment for them to adjust once you turn your head gradually in order to remember where you are. The flowing trickles of water, the soreness of your back scratching from the log of a tree, and the soft squeeze of a large hand on your shoulder alarms you enough to realize you fell asleep while reminiscing at the lake.

You refrain from cursing under your breath when nerves shoot through your veins, gathering yourself enough to look at whoever is hovering above you. Stuttering to find words, you weakly accept the strong hand offered to you to help you up. Concern is etched in the shape of brown irises reading your stare while nostalgia fogs your brain. “Do I- do I know you?” Your voice is hardly a murmur, but he timidly steps away, the familiarity of his face bringing a quiet gasp to your parting lips.

“We, uh, we um, ran into each other earlier,”

“Oh no,” shame shudders your shoulders when you press your forehead into your palm to lightly rub your eyes, “God, I’m so sorry-”

“No, no it’s okay! Really, it’s okay. It was an accident-”

“I should have watched where I was going-”

“Well, I should have, too.”

With a creased forehead, your body is still recovering from your unexpected nap, and you’re trying to feign bravery to return your eyes to the stranger whose hair is hidden within a black beanie, yet blonde tufts brush the tips of his ears. Dimples illuminate his rising cheeks from the tiny grin embellishing his expression, and dialogue disappears from your tongue at the noticing of how exquisite he is.

“Kim Namjoon,” his large hand swallows yours as it did minutes ago, but this time in a polite shake of greeting.

“I’m [Y/N],” you nod seeing his grin widen to cause a silent sweep of relief to your system.

“Wait a minute,” your eyelids enlarge from the recognition now embracing your thoughts. Flashbacks from high school smother you immediately when the images of a quiet persona who sauntered the hallways with the intelligence of an Einstein clicks on a lightbulb subconsciously. “I do know you, we-” wetting your lips, you stammer in fear of being wrong, “We went to the same grade school. You- you beat me at the math competition! Wh- what brings you to Gyeongju?”

“College,” his voice is shaky for you to jolt at the realization that you are still shaking his hand- roughly you might add, awkwardly releasing to return your limb to your side. It’s already humiliating enough to stand before him after plummeting into his side when first arriving to this destination, to then making a fool of yourself sleeping in front of him to also awaken to ruin all ounce of potential conversation you could have had. Preparing yourself for the worst, you wince, wishing you could slip under the covers of your bedroom to hide away forever. “What about you? Are you attending University here, too?”

“I- erm, about that-” There is not a way for you to explain, because there isn’t much to say other than your heart belonged to another career path. “I received a job offer here. One that I thought would provide good benefits than my original plan, but it’s not what I expected,” Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow igniting a surge in frantic slews of sentences from your mouth, “I mean, I love it. I really do, it’s- it’s what I love to do, but I guess- I want- I want more from it. But I don’t know how to- I-” Warm chuckles leave his lips that halts your rambling in a heartbeat, “I talk way too much, I’m sorry-”

“You’re not talking too much. You’re fine, I promise.” a brief spark settles a reminder of your budding attraction toward him that your chest heats with a dark hue of red; your arms slide to cross over your chest in an attempt at hugging yourself- timorously beaming up at him to search his tender gaze. “You know, if you’re up for it, there’s a restaurant not too far from here that has the best pasta I’ve ever had,” Namjoon’s fingers disappear into the pockets of his jeans- nervously rocking on his heels because after all these years he never thought he would run into anyone he once acquainted with in his younger days, but here you are, standing before him in all your glory. You were someone he admired from afar who treated him as though he was part of the team versus an outcast as others preferred him to be. But you were different. You never saw anyone as below you, and though the pair of you never blossomed into a friendship, you at least treated him with kindness despite the rumors pupils whispered in the foyers. “I already planned on going there today actually-”

“I’d love to!” Your fingertips shut your lips from the excitement you didn’t mean to interrupt him with, “I mean, I uh, I’d- I’d like that very much, thank you,”

It’s strange how the imagination of a world can seem so real, and the awareness of how close he is bringing flutters of butterflies within your stomach while your ears tune in to the scuffling sounds of your footsteps prodding along the route. No matter how hard you contemplate, whatever vision you had at the lake isn’t coming to you, but the consistent feeling that you’re experiencing brings the suspicion that whatever you dreamt is now becoming a reality. 

 The air is calmed in a manner that reflects a pleasant silence where your focus happens to remain on the cold mush of fibrous moss gathering between your fingers. Eyes are closed momentarily yet the hint of the sun is evident, but the source of your confusion isn’t from the odd wonder of why your hands are gripping the earth, instead, it is for the question of why your back is pressed to the ground as though you have fallen into slumber.

Blinking open to the blue of the sky, you are paused for only a mere moment to discover this time, sparse altocumulus clouds entering your vision enough to ease yourself to sit up. Freeing your digits from what you see to be a deep shade of magenta mingled with numerous hues of green festooning across the land, it is astonishing the beauty your vision is encountering prompting you to whirl your head in every direction to take in the glacier gray of the mountains you observe to be cratering a lapis glow of a lake.

The familiarity of a reminiscent involving a body of water decides to accompany your mind, but the difference between your memory of what you assume regards to reality, is that what you are gazing upon now, is nothing but magical. In wondrous awe, you find yourself standing, taking a slow bare foot forward, just to be halted when the feel of something is settled around your head. Furrowed eyebrows, you lightly tap along what feels to be numerous twigs tangled together with stems of bloomed petals. You raise your other hand to retrieve the item, glance widening at the myriad of dancing colors in the form of flowers embellishing what looks to be what one would call a crown.

Has it been there all along?

An inkling to turn around urges you to do so, lips parted in a gasp though not one sound escapes. He stands before you, the man from a preceding ponder, dressed in white, angelically beaming from head to toe, imitating the enchanting resonation of the atmosphere, causing you to long for whatever bliss he has within his touch. Did he give this to you?

Tenderly, he reaches to place his fingertips beneath the flower crown where your heart leaps at the faint brush of his skin. Lifting it ever so steadily, he returns to set the emblem where it belongs, to the empress of his heart, of his universe, completing you in all entirety. Your eyes flicker between his in suppressed doubt; is this real? You are so enveloped in the amiability of his gape, your palms extend to fold along his shoulders, leading his hand to rest at the side of your neck. He is reading your soul as much as you are trying to decipher his, but there is a connection that no other will ever be able to gain from you as much as him.

The nearness of him is what you are now in concentration of, leaning closer, waiting for what you are hoping for-

Namjoon’s long frame slides upon the plaid picnic blanket, abdomen first, while he folds his arms to where he rests his cheek, “I’m feeling the weight of that essay from last night,”

“And, you still turned it in late,” you tease, munching on a snack while he throws a playful side glance. It’s been a month since the reuniting, and the friendship has become exactly what you have been needing. Unfortunately, finances have still been a heavy burden, but at least you have found an ally in Gyeongju who is just as excited to see you as you are him.

“I mean I was pretty distracted,”

Scoffing, you smack his shoulder lightly with the back of your hand, “That video of that kitten was so cute, and you know it,”

“I never said it wasn’t cute,” the way his lips break into the widest smile, his eyes squinting in the way they do that then reveals his dimples; as much as you’d like to deny the way your heart feels a sense of longing, you mask it quite effortlessly.

“You literally giggled so much, I thought you were going to pee,” breathy laughter escapes him prompting him to bury his head into his arms, your gaze never leaving his shaking shoulders. “Well, it’s true!” Moments such as these bring a joy you are thankful exists, but little does Namjoon know, or so you assume, that once you step into your apartment to be reminded of how little you have moneywise, the depression seeps in. It is hard enough to work every day as hard as you do, just to watch your paycheck subtract away right before your eyes with each bill. It is something you haven’t necessarily opened about, because you just don’t know how. And, the last thing you need is for someone to offer help that you know they may not have.

“That’s only happened one time!” He exclaims, him shifting to lean more on his side so he can peer up at you. This area particularly is further within the park where there are not as many trees, which gives enough space to lay out a blanket and view the scenery. Sunshine brightens the atmosphere as well as warming your skin, and though you’re continuing to cackle with Namjoon, you slide until you are upon your back, using your arm to shade some of the sunlight. One perk regarding the park is it’s free, which is why you always ask to come here when hanging out, and you refuse to let Namjoon pay a dime for anything, not even a candy bar.

The nearness of his body does not heighten your senses until you turn to look at him, and that’s when you melt wishing nothing more than to kiss him. Which explains the dreams you’ve been having lately. Laughter has ceased for the time being, instead the conversation moves into a different subject, one you hoped wouldn’t happen, but considering your avoidance of going to many places, and the embarrassment of Namjoon seeing the emptiness of your kitchen one too many times, the paranoia of him catching on to why you have been slightly more stressed than usual may enter his suspicions.

“Have you been okay?” By the tone of his voice, you can tell right away he is aware of something. But, how can you tell him you are fine, when you are nowhere near one hundred percent. You definitely feel that way when with him, because he makes you forget about the reality at home, but gives you a time to escape, a time to embrace the joy he provides you every chance he gets. Should you tell him the truth? “[Y/N], I never mentioned this before just because I figured it was just coincidence, but when was the last time you’ve gotten groceries? Like, actual groceries,”

“Ramen is groceries,”

“I-” Namjoon pauses, “What I mean is, more than just ramen noodle cups and stale chips,”

“Maybe that’s how I like my chips. Corny and stale,”

“That sounds-”

“Listen,” you lift an index finger, “if vegetables and fruits would last longer than a week, I totally wouldn’t feel like I’m wasting money.”

“You know if you need anything, I’m here for you,” his words nearly bring you to tears, leading you to turn your head in the opposite direction to avoid his concerned expression. He knows you are making excuses at this point and of course, he is not entirely sure of why, but he may be able to guess correctly if he tried.

“I don’t need anything, I promise I’m fine,” your reply is soft, but loud enough for him to hear. Though you can’t see it, Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, him picking at his fingertips while in deep concentration. He is learning that you, stubbornly, are most definitely not going to let him help in any way, but unbeknownst to you, is that he will stop at nothing to make sure you are okay no matter what.

“Look at me,” your heart skips a beat immediately when you slowly return to where he is within your glimpse, his thumb reaching to brush your bottom lip where he inches much closer than you anticipated. All you know, is that if he reads every word that your mind is screaming, your heart may burst out of your chest. Yearning for his kiss, he is close enough to where his breath sweeps your chin, “[Y/N], really, if there is anything at all that you absolutely need, please know I will do anything for you,”

Your fingers bundle into the collar of his shirt absentmindedly, letting his forehead press upon yours before you dare to close the gap you are so anxiously wanting to do. His thumb now strokes your cheek, tickling your skin to the point you feel breathless.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, a hushed tear dropping onto your cheek before he swipes it away.

“I just want you to be okay,”

“I am,” you try your best to sound reassuring, “Joon, I promise you I am,”

“Okay,” he whispers, and even then, you have no idea the best that is yet to come.

Sleeping cherry blossoms encircle you save for the entrance of a tunnel gleaming piercingly bright in the distance that seems so close yet so far out of reach. The iridescent shades of the petals glitter in preparation for what is to come, but your focus solely remains on the escape ahead into a world you have always dreamed of. Or is this the world you have always dreamed of? Scents of the florets waft past your nose in a way to ease you, and the lingering thought of the man clothed in white shadows the crevices of your conscious. Just the mere reminisce of him prompts his appearance and as he stands behind you in all his glory, he knows the desire looming beneath your chest for the magic you crave.

His arms reach to link around you, chin nestling on your shoulder; there is no fear for he is the only being welcome in your world of serenity. Your hands smooth upon his folded arms that remain resting against your abdomen, and forever seems to be in the forefront of your mind. Spinning within his embrace, a subtle smirk graces his mouth while your hands glide to his chest, and finally after many dreams of pining, he leans in to close the gap- snatching your lips as softly as you have imagined causing the closed petals all around the pair of you to bloom endlessly, flourishing every ounce of space the two of you may have had a fraction before. The power is within his kiss, summoning the blossoms to awaken as they are meant to. The same as he is meant to be with you.

 “I miss you, too, Mom,” you smile into the phone, sifting through the mail you just checked, eyebrows furrowing when you feel as though something is missing. “Yeah- yeah, I have, I mean, yes mom, I may have a boyfriend,” you giggle, shaking your head at your persistent mother who has been dying to catch up with you since you moved. “I think- yeah, I think he may be who I’ve been waiting for,” when a knock at the door alerts you, you quickly bid your mom a farewell with the promise of calling her back tomorrow before you start work again.

Staring at the pile of mail, you wonder why the utility bill has not been sent. It is around the time that it should have arrived meaning you may need to take a short trip to the leasing office if Namjoon doesn’t mind. Giddily, you skip to look through the peephole to see him, standing tall with his slim fingers slipped into his pockets. Unlocking the door, you run a swift hand through your hair in an attempt to neaten the strands before opening the entrance. “Hey!” You breathe, gesturing for him to come in, and when the door closes, you leap into his embrace before smiling into a sweet kiss.

“Are you ready for today? The weather is beautiful out,”

“Beyond ready,” you kiss him again. The anticipation to explore another location involving nature is what you enjoy especially with someone who equally enjoys it as much as you. “But I must make a quick trip to the leasing office if that’s okay? I have Netflix if you want to chill for a bit- it shouldn’t take too long.”

Namjoon chuckles, leaning in to press a slow kiss to your lips, “Everything okay?”

“Mm yeah,” you reply in a daze, “I just haven’t received my utility bill yet and I’m concerned. Can you um, can you do that again? I may need the extra umph,”

Breathy laughter is interrupted when he kisses you again, and it takes everything in you to pull away, “Okay, I feel better now,”

“Good. Whatever it takes,”

As much as you would love to not have to pay any bills, you saunter across the road to where the leasing office lives, encompassed by sparse trees and a small swimming pool off to the side. You are happy to see Jung Hoseok, leaned on his desk, spectacles slid down his nose, and gaze distracted by whatever he is reading on the computer screen.

“Good morning,” you greet, Hoseok immediately looks to see who has walked in, gesturing with a smile toward a seat in front of his desk.

“How can I help you today?”

“Yes, um, I just went through my mail today and I realized I hadn’t received the utility bill for this month, so I wanted to check to make sure I didn’t miss anything,”

“Ah, yes, let me pull up your account here,” his fingers fly over the keyboard, the clicking noise being the only sound filling the space. “Hm, looks like it’s already been paid for.”

“Excuse me?” Confusion is evident within your voice as well as plastered upon your entire expression. “When did I? I paid it?”

“Mhm, as well as your rent for the rest of the year among all of your other bills. There’s enough money on your account to just automatically draft-”

“But I didn’t-”

“Well it says it right here,” he pokes the screen once.

“Are you able to see when the money was put in? I have no idea how-” The realization hits you suddenly prompting a small gasp.

“Er, is everything okay, Ms. [Y/N]?”

“Yeah,” you say quite breathlessly, gradually standing to your feet, the world spinning faster than you could have prepared for.

“I mean, I can ask my coworker, Taehyung if he knows anything. I got back from vacation today, so I may not have the answer for you-”

“No, no it’s okay. I- I think I know who is responsible. Thank you so much, Hoseok.”

“Anytime, dear!”

Being slightly dizzy while running is an interesting combo, but you make it to your apartment without tripping over your own two feet and you stand before the door, your chest heaving. The dreams you have been having- it all makes sense now. You wanted nothing more than a reason, or a miracle, to feel as if you were home, or where you belonged, and finally, it was given to you in the most unexpected way. When you came to Gyeongju, you had no idea that Namjoon would show up in your life and turn it into the most beautiful adventure you have ever had. You were willing to suffer through the bills if it meant being close to him, and how he figured out your hardship, you are uncertain- you always avoided the subject when it came to hardly having any money. Slowly stepping into your apartment, you click the door closed, Namjoon’s focus turning from the tv to you as he rises to his feet. You are speechless as you gaze at the man of your dreams. When he said he would do anything for you, you never imagined this.

“Whatever it takes?” You croak, hardly sure even now what to say. Namjoon will do anything to make you happy, and that is how you knew after getting to know him the past few months that you were wholeheartedly in love with him. You will spend the rest of your life trying to thank him no matter the circumstances, and as soon as his frame entangles with yours, he whispers,

“Whatever it takes.”

[hecohansen31]

Reaching Ecstasy:

Art Teacher! Michael Langdon+Student! Reader.

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I know that it has been quite some time since i last wrote these things, but I have been rather busy with life and other things and writing is kind of a rather busy thing for me, so I hope to be writing more once some things go off my schedule.

So, please forgive me, and I hope to be writing more during the holidays!

(Alongside trying to do a masterlist!).

This was an idea that I worked up after a few history of art lessons, about the sculptures of Bernini, which are absolutely beautiful, so do check them out!

With this being said, I hope you’ll enjoy this, andy! as always: if you want to be tagged in it, you just have to like the picture and it’ll be out on Sunday!

SUMMARY: When the times come for your interview with Mr. Langdon, your art teacher, you can’t help but be rather confused by his requests.

WORDS: 4,7 K

WARNINGS: Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Compromising Situation and Slight Dub-Con (Michael using his position of power over Reader, although she is consensual to the entire thing) (also Reader is absolutely legal, since she is 20, in this fic!), Blasphemous talk abotu Ecstasy.

The arrival of Mr. Langdon had brought some kind of change in the life of the students of Saint Therese, a private catholic boarding school, where troubled young ladies were sent so that they could be taught to be wives, able to properly satisfy their husbands.

The peculiar teacher wasn’t only a male, and attractive as sin, but he had rather interesting methods of teaching, constantly pushing boundaries and trying out new teaching techniques, which resulted in a major interest in his subject history of art from his students.

But what was the strangest thing about him was his way to examine student’s knowledge of his subject since he didn’t ask questions about it in class, in front of many people, but he asked the students to meet him in his office for a private interview.

At first it had seemed dauntingly terrifying and everyone thought he hid more, than just a simple interview about Picasso, Rubens or Giotto.

But once Coco had tried to “seduce” him, which resulted in her getting a complain on her behavior and failing the class, something for which she still complained with her ‘Marie Antoinette attitude’, meanwhile you just rolled your eyes at her stupidity.

Although Mr. Langdon asked each interview to remain private between him and the student for the student’s privacy, some of your fellow students had revealed you some details, mostly because you were extremely anxious about the exam.

History of art was one of your favorite subjects at the boarding school and you were fascinated by Mr. Langdon’s ingenious lessons (although all the girls would joke about him being a male version of “Mona Lisa Smile”), so you didn’t want to fail it.

And from what you had gathered from your friends, Mr. Langdon wasn’t only interested in your knowledge of his subject, but he was also questioning you about your most inner soul.

But deep down nobody had wanted to reveal you some of the questions.

“They are private, (Y/N)” had mumbled Mallory, looking at you as if she had been burned by fire “… I am sorry but I think that it isn’t something that I can tell you, but believe me, nothing will ever make you feel ready enough for what it is to come”.

So, you weren’t truly calm when you walked in Mr. Langdon’s office, escorted by than governess Mrs. Venable, who liked Mr. Langdon less than anybody else did, since according to her, and from what Madison had referred to you, after an accurate mission of spying on the strict governess, ‘he was the portrait of any debauchery and sin’.

She was probably bitter, because he didn’t believe in her mindless rules, alongside acting like he owned the place, stealing everything she had built with her steady and merciless hand.

“Mrs. (L/N), remember to answer Mr. Langdon truthfully” she mumbled as she left you on the threshold of the closed studio, where the art story teacher interviewed his subjects “… good luck”.

You just bowed your head in submission, before you approached to knock onto the door, being immediately welcomed by Mr. Langon’s dark and hoarse voice, as he adjusted himself behind his desk, where various drawing stood, alongside many more books, which laid open.

The scarce light gave the office some kind of gloomy atmosphere and this didn’t ease the anxiety you felt churning in your stomach, desperately wanting to call for Mrs. Venable, but as you set your feet over the threshold Mr. Langdon’s eyes were onto you, staring at you predatorily.

“Mrs. (Y/N) such an honor to finally meet you” he mumbled, inviting you with an elegant gesture of his hand, ordering you to come forward and sit, in front of him, to which you obeyed quickly.

Unlike many of your fellow students, you didn’t have any behavioral trauma or problem, you were more a shy child your parents had no use of in their travels.

‘Why can’t you just smile more?’.

‘Why can’t you have friends?’.

‘Why can’t you just be more like us?’.

You had no clue why you were so closed off, sensitive and gentle, anything your parents didn’t approve of, since they were socialite of the highest steps of the celebrity ladder: you were an ashamed dot on their immaculate records.

Hence, they had thought that the private boarding school could hide you well enough and maybe had they remembered about you they would have some day come to take you back.

You didn’t hate the boarding school, as many of your fellow students did: it gave you a chance to appreciate your usual calm style of life, which you loved with all your shy heart, but still…

… in some moments you wondered whether you were losing something of the outside world.

Maybe it was men like Michael Langdon that made you blush just as they looked at you.

You took a seat, in front of him, focusing your attention on the conjoined hands in your lap, although Mr. Langdon’s gaze stayed on you, in an heavy velvety caress that got you to tremble lightly, meanwhile a thrill of an unknown emotion moved down your spine.

“… you are rather interested in my subject” a quick nod was all you were able to reply “…although you don’t intervene often, I see that you listed in your future work options of wanting to to take a job in the art sector”.

Although it wasn’t an inquiry you knew he was expecting an answer.

“… I would love to work in a gallery or with children, teaching, although it can be difficult sometimes”.

“I can absolutely agree with that” his tone was almost heartfelt and it eased you on a more comfortable note, with you straightening your stance onto the chair, although your eyes were still linked to your hands “… have you ever visited any art gallery or museum?”.

“Oh, I have been in Italy for a whole month, meanwhile my parents were on a tour” you replied immediately, excited that now you knew somebody who would appreciate the same delicacies as you.

“Are they musicians?” you were sure that the answer could be found not only in the latest tabloids but also in your file so the fact that Mr. Langdon was ignorant on the matter surprised you.

Positively.

“Actors, they are mostly performing in theater, lately” you explained, thinking about the Italian tour you had gone on, barely sixteen and meanwhile your parents slept off their hangover you visited many beautiful cities, recognizing some of them in Langdon’s drawing.

“Acting: when life imitates art” he mumbled, his tone lightly sarcastic and you couldn’t stop a little giggle to leave your lips “… but I am glad to know that I am not talking only with lost causes: people like you make teaching worth it”.

Although they were compliments, there was some darker tone in Mr. Langdon’s words, seducing and hypnotizing, which got you to finally raise your head and meet his cerulean eyes, a mix of beautiful blue was tinted with the shades of grey, mostly for the influence of the dark room.

His blonde curls were elegantly styled as a veil of gold, soft at the sole sight and you wondered whether he had simply woken up like this or took care of it, and you thought what it would feel to card an hand through it and pull it, meanwhile you straightened it, entwining it through your fingers.

All these thoughts made you unfocused and when you realized that Michael Langdon had caught you in your fantasy you blushed immediately softly retiring again your gaze onto your hands.

And you felt Mr. Langdon’s smug look on you, as if his plan was working.

“Then I hope you visited Rome, and Galleria Borghese” you nodded immediately, remembering walking the beautiful mansion in the middle of the chaotic Rome, just to be welcomed with your own retire from the chaotic city life, in a peace of the senses that had brought you to lose yourself.

Mr. Langdon fidgeted with some drawings, before he moved to you a polaroid with the beautiful “Apollo and Dafne” statue by Gian Lorenzo Bernini.

The two statues entwined in a fatal embrace that had doomed Dafne in becoming Apollo’s favorite plant.

“Then you won’t mind telling me what this is” and you immediately replied with the most classical of answers, explaining the dates and the commission behind the sculpture, before moving onto an explanation of what this statue stood for.

You gaze was linked to the photo, but you felt Mr. Langdon’s heavy eyes on you.

“… can you also tell me the reason behind the inscription on the base of the statue” he stopped you halfway your mumblings to point to the basement, where a Latin phrase was written.

“It’s a warning against the temptations of lust” you immediately replied, moving your eyes onto Mr. Langdon’s face, since it wasn’t something you had talked in class: you could barely mumble something about ‘lust’ or ‘temptation’ without having to explain the meaning of it to Mrs. Venable.

“… oh, truly delightful” praised you Mr. Langdon, making you blush, but you withheld his stare, proud of your answer “… do you think that lust is bad, Mrs. (L/N)?”.

You couldn’t help but blush, because since you had isolated yourself from your fellow peers, you had never experienced lust to the point that you had thought it wasn’t in your destiny.

But there was something downright sinful, that made you feel lust, indeed, towards Mr. Langdon.

You weren’t the first one to fall to his charms, hence the reason why you tried desperately to be so in control with him.

“…I do think that it depends” you mumbled, meanwhile Mr. Langdon shifted his head onto an hand, looking at you closer, making you feel even more intimidated, although his eyes showed a true light of interest, as if he valued your opinion “Measure is something important in each thing: Lucretius would condemn lust, alongside Virgil… the impossibility to fulfill desire is something that damns Dido, but…”.

“But?” he was literally pending onto your lips, wondering what would be coming next and you couldn’t help but be beyond proud of that effect, straightening your position on the chair.

“… but is life worth without pleasure? Passion can be devastating, but Lord Tennison doesn’t say 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’, doesn’t Ovid find damnation and his greatest glory in love?”.

“A true classicist, Mrs. (L/N)” commented Michael, softly, his eyes caressing you and his interest sparking up “… but we are making all this pagan talk … when Bernini was a loyal collaborator of the Catholic Church, such as in this work of his”.

And then “Saint Theresa” was shown to you, the beauty of the form intensified by the marble chosen and the décor around the entire chapel, where the Cornaro family watched the miracle happening in the center of it.

After a brief description of the chapel, you moved onto explaining Saint Theresa’s legend: she had been documenting this in her diaries, talking about how she had been transfixed in the chest by an arrow, shot by an angel, like drawn and sculpted in the complex statue.

And this brought the saint to prove what was described in the Sant Scriptures as “ecstasy”.

“Ecstasy could be described in a more earthly way as…” and you tried to calm down, smothering the blush that was fighting to show up on your face “… an orgasm, since Bernini used the depiction of sexual ecstasy, which gained quite a few times some rather problematic critics and accuseo f being blasphemous, mostly because we are in the Counterreformation era…”.

You tried to shove off your uneasiness trying to cover the embarrassment with overtalking, which was something you always did and would function most of the time…

… but not with Mr. Langdon.

“… Mrs. (L/N) there is no need to be shy, I am not Mrs. Venable” he laughed, sending you a very pointed look, before he smirked “… Bernini does indeed have an… ambiguity to his sculptures, which I honestly find like it’s one of the most interesting about his style, don’t you think?”.

You were all red in the face, you could totally feel it, immediately reaching out to gently pull up your sleeves and pushing the collar of your modest uniform, a simple plain shirt under a black overalls, with a skirt instead of pants, which covered both your chest and your legs, since the skirt was over the knee.

The only tempting exception to the rules was the stockings, rigorously black but slightly sheer.

“… I found it…” you tried to take some time ignoring the question and looking around Mr. Langdon’s desk, more to fake some kind of delirious confusion than to actually hide your gaze “… interesting”.

“Certainly, a girl who can speak about Bernini and Tennyson and Lucretius can surely use some better term than simply ‘interesting’ “ the arrogant way with which he spoke got something to act up in you and suddenly you lost any pretense of embarrassment.

“… of course, I can! And I find Bernini extremely interesting because of his beautiful depiction of ethereal beauty, mixed and stained with some human pleasures, hence the depiction of such pleasures in his statues”.

You hadn’t looked even in the slightest at Michael for the entire time of the discourse as you met his gaze knowing perfectly that you had gone over your role as a student, probably disrespecting him in some way.

But Mr. Langdon was simply looking at you as if he had the “Saint Theresa” of Bernini shown in front of him, and you just took a deep breath trying to recompose yourself, and as your hands retreated from Mr. Langdon’s desk, but he quickly reached out for them, holding them in an extremely tight grip as you reached out to look in his eyes.

“Truly wonderful, Mrs. (L/N)” he mumbled, looking at you completely absorbed in your eyes, before he left your hands and your gaze, making you almost stumble on the desk lowering yourself on it and almost falling ungracefully on your elbows, as he moved to retrieve something.

What he tried to find, meanwhile you wondered whether what had just happened was just your imagination acting up or had truly happened, was the little block of paper where he teachers wrote their grade of the students, which would be given to Mrs. Venable and added to the other grade for the final exam.

He then moved it to you, offering it to your eyes and although the grade was definitely impressive you couldn’t help but gawk at it.

“Something is wrong, Mrs. (L/N)?” he asked, meanwhile you scrunched your nose, and although anything screamed in your body to just shut up, you were unable to obey it and muttered, without even thinking.

“I think that I deserve more than the grade you have me, sir”.

He smirked, meanwhile realization slowly came over to you about what you had just said.

“Well, well” he commented, slowly pushing himself in a more relaxed position in his chair, his legs crossing over and his ankle touching perfectly his knee “… I gotta admit that I love a girl who is ambitious”.

Again, your mouth spoke again, and you were unable to withhold your words.

“I am not ambitious. I know what I deserve and won’t settle for anything else”.

After your little discourse Mr. Langdon was definitely intrigued, amusement and something darker shining in his eyes.

“And to think that you appear like such a shy and meek girl” he mumbled, his lips following perfectly each word in a sensual dance, that ignited your cheeks, but you didn’t back down, standing to your phrase “… the little mouse has the personality of a fierce lioness, I gotta admit that I like that about you, Mrs. (L/N), almost as much as I love that pretense of innocence you hid behind…”.

“I don’t know what you mean” you muttered, finally your embarrassment setting up, in your guts, although nothing in you wanted to stay and be lost in those provocative eyes.

“Exactly, you act like this pure sweet girl, shy and scared by anything, when in reality you don’t want nothing more than a proper competition, somebody who understand what you think and will challenge… you want to roar and somebody who will answer”.

You couldn’t help but agree with the entire thing, although you were too ashamed to admit it.

For all your life people had tried to change you to shape you in their prospective, but nobody had ever tried to lower themselves to your level and understand you.

Give you a proper challenge that would burn out the rest.

Except Mr. Langdon.

“It is true, you, Mrs. (L/N), deserve definitely something more, more than this boarding school, more than feeling like you mean nothing and that you count less than that” his hand again shot out and this time it caressed your arms, naked due to the fabric that had ridden up, meanwhile you attempted to relax and cool your body temperature “… but you are the one who stuck yourself in this position, hence you are the only one who can help yourself out”.

“But I don’t know how” the entire discourse spoke to you in a soulful way that you couldn’t help but answer with your deepest soul exposed.

“… ecstasy is the freest of the expressions of glory” you didn’t follow Mr. Langdon’s discourse, what “ecstasy” had to do with you, but still with the way he was gently caressing you and the way his tone had become so serious “… in ecstasy saints and martyrs discover the deepest of secrets, and you, my dear, little mouse, should do the same”.

Breath was taken from your lungs and your answer took a few minutes.

“How can I experience ecstasy?! I am not even a believer!” desperation shone in your tone, since as you had been put in front of your sadness, your existence explained and reduced to nothing more than a cliché, you felt nothing more than an emptiness that threated to consume you.

“What is truly ecstasy, if we cut off the entire religious part?” his hand moved in elegant gesture, completely hypnotizing your face “… it isn’t nothing more than when you feel the freest, Mrs. (L/N): sex shows us the most vulnerable side of us”.

Your cheeks were definitely on fire and you immediately raised from the chair, some part of you indignant to his indecent proposal, and some other…

… desperately wanted to follow on.

“This is abuse of your power!” you screamed and grabbed the first drawings that you found on his desk and threw them in his face, but he didn’t have any reactions, instead remaining perfectly icy and glacial, and before you knew it, the part of you that was aroused by his suggestion made wet heat recoil in your nest, the one between your legs.

“Then run away, Mrs. (L/N)” he was extremely serious “… you can tell it to Mrs. Venable, give her a reason to throw me away, please…”.

But you didn’t move, you didn’t run away and you didn’t say anything to Mrs. Venable instead shooting a quick look at the door to find that it was closed perfectly.

“… or stay here, be my guest and found out how much better life can be” his voice was an erotic whisper and you were sure it was meant simply for your ears “… it can be strangely freeing to let our darkest desire finally get the best of us, after we oppressed them for so long”.

You didn’t know if it was the fact that Mr. Langdon had chosen you, beside your schoolmates, prettier and more interesting than you or his discourse, but something had started being ignited in your chest and suddenly you were just unable to stop the fire from spreading.

And soon you were onto the desk, leaning down to kiss Mr. Langdon, you, who was barely able to have a normal talk with people, doing the first move, which was gently welcomed with a sweet answer of Mr. Langdon’s lips, pressing against yours with an emphasis that brought down any resistance you had.

You broke apart just for air, and when you did, although Michael was hiding everything in his gaze you caught a bit of surprise as if he hadn’t expected you to act up on your desire.

And soon his mouth, barely away from yours, was turned in a smirk.

“… you are a delight, Mrs. (L/N)”.

“(Y/N)” you mumbled shyly, before hiding your gaze “… you might as well as call me by my first name since you seem to know everything about me”.

“Then I insist you call me Michael” he grabbed your chin to push you to meet his tantalizing beautiful eyes “… you taste so much sweeter, than I thought”.

“You have thought about this?” you asked, surprised, enough for Michael to push you back in your chair, with a light push, meanwhile he raised from the chair, effectively towering over you.

“Oh you have no idea how much the thought of you crosses my mind” you blushed, immediately at his meaningful words, pushing yourself further in your seat, meanwhile he came around the desk to effectively tower over you, making you shiver in your sit “… the only girl with a mind that is capable to attract me”.

You blushed, feeling yourself unable to stop a giggle from coming to life in your stomach, meanwhile Mr. Langdon… Michael was in front of you.

“Twice as beautiful as a Raphael’s painting…” he continued, meanwhile he gently lowered till he was between your legs and you couldn’t help but blush, knowing what would come next.

Had your stack of erotica spoken the truth.

“… and if you taste sweet from your mouth, I wonder what you’ll taste like down there” and before you knew it, your stockings were pushed down on your legs and discarded without minding them any interest, he then raise dlightly your long skirt, making you blush and attempt to close them “… don’t deny my little piece of heaven, little Theresa”.

The words made a thrill go down your spine and suddenly your legs, slowly opened revealing your simple green panties, nothing too much, simple cotton since it did the job pretty well, and didn’t irritate you, but also didn’t hide your arousal very well.

And you were suddenly conscious that Michael knew about it all too well, as his eyes reflected lust and satisfaction.

“I could smell you perfectly as you walked in here, you were scared, but wanted more…” his hands come up slowly to your thighs, effectively caressing the tender skin of the inner part, just a few millimeters from your nest, perfectly hidden by soaked panties, shining in the dim light of office “… and then you started talking about ecstasy and passion flowed in you, you are a fucking masterpiece”.

And his hands finally came up to your panties and pressed down onto your puffy folds, excitation having pushed them to swollen lightly and you were unable to stop a moan from leaving your mouth, but luckily you caught yourself, biting your lips to suppress the sound.

And Michael smirked at that, before his fingers traced a little line between your fold, teasing you further, before they came to a halt right on your clit, and there his touch becoming even more featherlight.

He looked at you in the eyes, after that, and your cheeks were again moderately red, this time due to arousal and not embarrassment.

This was definitely freeing.

He smirked knowing exactly how you were feeling, meanwhile his hand moved down your thighs pushing lightly in them and you were sure that marks would be in there, although the pressure helped you focus on an earthlier level..

“… doesn’t it feel good?” he muttered, meanwhile you breathed down, heavily “… doesn’t it feel right?”.

You were just able to nod, begging for more and Michael didn’t hesitate to give you more, again caressing you with the back of his hand, before he pushed your panties to the side, with such ferocity that you couldn’t help but blush, and hide your face in your hands.

You were vulnerable and open for him, your arousal evident and you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious for a single moment, before Michael’s tongue came down between your folds tracing the same line he had touched with his hands, and if you had been left breathless by his hands-

His tongue caught all your breath and you held it in your lungs.

Surprise coursed through you and a tremble went through your body.

“So responsive” he mumbled, truly amazed by your reactions and suddenly shyness started disappearing in your soul, solely focusing on your pleasure “… my little girl”.

And he pushed himself further in you, his tongue finding your clit and his lips attaching on it, sucking it, till he got enough and moved to collect the wetness you held between your thighs, your juices glowing on his face.

And then his tongue parted your folds, penetrating you in the deepest and most secret part.

You were past the point of no return.

You didn’t know what was going on through your body, only pleasure coursed through you and before you knew it, you were lost in your own personal ecstasy, with Michael’s expert mouth, pushing his tongue in you, teasing your little pearl with slow strokes and then fucking you with his tongue, in fast thrusts, knowing exactly what to do to make you crazy.

“… I am close” you mumbled, not knowing why you felt the need to make Michael’s attention fall on you, as he raised his head to finally meet your eyes and the sight was so intensely erotic, that you felt even more arousal flood in your center “… fuck, this is just… I don’t know if I can…”.

Michael looked like an angel, with his long blonde hair, perfectly styled and before he even knew it you tangled your hands in them, pulling them till his mouth came to the point where you wanted and he smirked, against your pearl, gently biting it, a little pain that brought you back to reality.

But then the real fun began because Michael intensified his moves till he brought you over the edge again, helping himself with his fingers, after he eased one in you, a sudden penetration which had been strange for a few minutes before Michael crooked his finger gently in you, hitting that perfect spot and making you almost fall from your chair.

From that moment on Michael held a hand against your waist, to restrain you from buckling up against his face and his fingers, gently easing pleasure in you.

And this was enough for you.

Your ecstasy came onto you not like some kind of stabbing or poking made by an angel (although you had to admit that you heard some kind of angelic choir) but in waves of pleasure, and with Michael’s teasing smile, suckling lightly on your clit.

Your breath became shallow and your fingers dug in the chair, meanwhile you tried to push yourself through it, feeling the pleasure take over and never wanting to leave this kind of sensation.

When you came down, after Michael let you ride the waves of your orgasm with the gentle help of his finger since his tongue was too rough for your oversensitive folds, gently ushering you in your afterglow and when you were able to breath down without feeling like each breath lasted for ever…

… you saw the expression on Michael’s face.

Shame came to your mind first, at the knowledge that you had just done ‘that’ with your teacher, but he looked at you as if he had the true “Saint Theresa”, sculpted by Bernini in front of him.

“… I am…” you tried to apologize, quickly closing your legs, ashamed by how free you had let yourself be.

It was true you had left yourself be too free with him, and you weren’t sure if you could go back to how you had been before.

“… you are beautiful, little girl” he smirked, and laid a soft kiss on your inner thigh “… my own little private Saint Theresa in ecstasy”.

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