#i yearn for this man

[thefandomsfervent]

Personal Pigments Viktor x Reader (Part 2) - Burnt Umber

Find the premise and first part of the fix here. Find my imagine that inspired it here. Thank you for reading <3

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An enforcer led you down the long hallway. Your footsteps echo out of time with his. You were supposed to have met with the Dean two hours ago but Piltover’s council had a meeting that ran long. You can’t imagine the stress of all those titles, yet it still irks you that he barely spoke to you before passing you off to an enforcer promising to “be there in the turn of a cog.” Something about the enforcer’s gruff sigh tells you he must say that a lot. The air of the hallways seems still, and you can’t tell if your nervousness is what puts an eerie feeling on your walk or the lack of people. For a city of progress, you figured the Academy would have more bustling inside the walls. But you do appreciate the peace, hands tracing the spine of your portfolio as you follow alongside the man in blue. 

“Is it usually this empty?” You chance the question.

“Mm, it’s break season ma’am. You’ll see more people in a couple weeks.” Right. This was technically a school. Students would be making up most of the populace. 

“Do you enjoy the quiet?” Small talk attempted.

“I do.” The same sigh he let out in the Professor’s company follows the two words. Small talk denied. 

You hum in acknowledgment, tightening your grip on your portfolio. The awkward silence that follows is broken up by sounds of boots on tile, someone ahead of you. Another enforcer by the looks of it, she glances at you before giving your guide a terse nod. He returns the gesture before slowing his pace in front of a door. He waves his hand towards it and starts walking away. 

“Shouldn’t we wait for the Dean?” Mostly you just didn’t want to be left alone in this huge building for another hour if the Dean loses track of time again. Another sigh, much more exasperated than the last two. He turns around to face you, annoyance on his face. 

“The Dean,” he practically hisses the word, “will be here eventually. Do not wander, just wait here.”

You just nod as he turns around again. Damned enforcers. This day is off to a wonderful start. He goes around a corner a dozen feet away and you drop your shoulders. You didn’t realize that your jaw was clenched either, opening your mouth to unflex the muscle. After waiting about ten minutes and not seeing anyone the annoyance of the day settles in your feet. You’ve kept an eye on either end of the hallway and go to lean against the wall when you realize the lab door isn’t fully shut. The locks are half jutting out, keeping one door barely propped open. You knock on it, hoping someone was in there. For company to pass time with, or to at least introduce yourself to the duo you were hoping to spend the foreseeable future with. 

“Anyone in there?” You say against the crack in the door. Nothing. The doors are heavy though, and you half wonder if anyone could even hear you. Tucking your portfolio under one arm you reach for the handle and give it a tug. Like it takes convincing, it takes a moment before it moves. 

“Hello?” Your voice isn’t loud but it startles the man inside, a head of fluffy brown whipping up from his work.

“Who are you?” The man is sitting at a desk and abruptly stands, reaching for a cane propped up next to him. 

Viktor hears those heavy doors open, and he’s expecting Jayce. Heimerdinger or even Councilor Medarda would have been expected over this person in front of him. You don’t have time to give him a reply before a voice answers. 

“This is Miss L/N. It seems I’ve lost track of this particular project, but she’ll be here to work with you boys.” Heimerdinger shuffles in behind you and Jayce behind him. 

“What? With all due respect Professor we don’t need more minds for Hextech. Viktor and I have it covered.” He walks past you and stands next to Viktor. The lithe man nods curtly.  

“You misunderstand me, she is here in accordance with a collaborative project with the Arts Institute.” The yordle turns to face you. “I am sorry my dear, I was supposed to have briefed them days ago, but as you know a scientist’s mind can be full of conclusions just waiting to be reached. We do not always fully think about the paths to get there.” He gives the two men a knowing look and you offer a small smile in return. “Perhaps you could explain it better.” He gestures to your portfolio still tucked under your arm. 

“Yes, I, uh,” You reach for it, fingers undoing the string that keeps it shut. “Your Hextech invention has sparked a lot of conversations across Academia as I’m sure you know. So much that it reached the Arts Institute. It seems that the Academy has been looking for a new art hall, several of my peers are meeting with your best students and researchers here.” You gesture to a relatively clean table with a “May I?” 

Viktor just looks at you but Jayce nods and Heimerdinger finds a step ladder to stand on. You begin to remove several papers from the carrier you’ve brought with you. A few blueprints of a new art hall, some letters from the Academy and from the Arts Institute, and finally some of your work. 

“The idea is the artists will make entirely new pieces for the gallery hall that’s to be unveiled at an eventual Progress Day, to do that we stay close with the scientists. It’s thought of as both an experiment and a hopefully beneficial relationship.” Viktor steps closer, cane tapping lightly on the tile of the lab floor. He picks up one the blueprints, his amber eyes scanning them over before handing them to Jayce. 

“And what exactly about this relationship would be beneficial?” He asks, he is looking over the letters now. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you that he hasn’t even looked at the art you’ve brought with you, or really you for that matter. Jayce is still looking over the blueprints when you answer Viktor.

“Mixing the Arts and Sciences, new ideas for both groups? On a larger level it helps both schools with funding and connections. It can help smaller artists get out there, being in an Academy art hall is huge and can get them connections to very profitable commissions and galleries. As for you inventors, it can memorialize you and your accomplishments. It gives your work a face! Er, well, faces in this case.”

“We have no need for this,” he’s shaking his head. ‘Hextech is to better lives, not be some glorified art project.” he flicks the corner of a letter. The dismissal stings, but you know something he doesn’t. 

“I am sorry my boys, but it is a non negotiable! Hextech may be to better lives, but it has caught a lot of attention. This is only the first step to controlling its image in a public way. You boys will be doing more dinners and speeches and galas and the like. It comes with the territory, trust me.” You notice he gesticulates a lot, and it's honestly endearing. His small fur covered hands moving around with one finger in the air. 

“The sentiment is appreciated, Professor, but what does Art have to do with us or Hextech.” Jayce asks as he puts the blueprints down and takes the letters from Viktor’s hands. 

“Art and Science have always mixed!” You do your best to subdue the frustration rising in your chest. “Take fractals, golden ratio, your craftsmanship starts with craftsmen. Surgeons learned how to create sturdier and safer stitches from fiber artists. If what the Dean has told me is true, you both should know better than anyone that sometimes an extra perspective is all that it takes for an idea to shine.” Heimerdinger gestures to your work with both hands, nodding his head encouragingly. When they both start looking at the pictures of your larger paintings and the smaller scale sketches on the table you try to keep speaking with the same confidence. 

“As you may have read in the letters, it’ll also be good to secure you more investors. You guys are going to need promotional materials as well. Not everyone who wants a piece of your pie can make the journey to Piltover but they want some of it regardless. It can be expensive trying to make progress, adding your faces or prettying up proposals can help secure that. Council support is one thing, but you also need the support of people.” 

They still haven’t said anything, just sharing looks as they spread the images out on the table.

You wring your hands together behind your back. This is stressful, and you’d like to go back to the institute soon. “To be honest with you, I’m one of several candidates to do your painting. If you don’t like my work, my style, what have you, I’ll leave. But someone else will be back to bother you two at some point about it.” 

A silent beat passes, and you’re wondering if the walk here was even worth it. Eventually they both lift their heads from the table and Heimerdinger leans towards them expectantly. You try not to do the same. Jayce looks at Viktor and the pale man gives a simple nod. He turns to you, and what he says has you sighing in relief. 

“What do you need from us?"

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------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[vvabbitt]

i need to witness every piece of media that kyle gallner has been in or i will implode

[i-cast-bardic-inspiration]

Halsin with a Tav who had a toddler? Like they get back to Baldurs gate or theyve been nursing an egg(for the Gith and Dragonborn Tavs) that’s now hatching.

Pls let him be the dad he’s always wanted to be 🥹

Okay, first off thanks for sending in your request! I hope it’s alright to do this in a mix of headcanons and narrative blurbs because I have too many ideas for this wholesome content. Also, if I interpreted your Ask wrong please let me know and I’ll amend! 

But alright, here we go—let’s give our Big Bear some love and let him be Daddy Halsin because he deserves all the best things. 

*TW: Pregnancy talk, mentions of past trauma, wholesomeness so wholesome it hurts

Halsin will be in shock for a brief moment before going into Daddy Halsin mode. This man has just gone through the most traumatic hundreds of years; in pure survival mode after losing his family, being held prisoner in the Underdark, dealing with the Shadow Curse and all that it has brought upon him—he never once during that time was afforded the opportunity to simply…live. He always focused on doing what was necessary to survive. So now that he finally can let some of his walls down? Now that his lover just told him they have a child? 

He looks at you frozen in disbelief…he never thought he would be able to have his own family. And now you’ve given him one of life’s greatest joys in the mere blink of an eye. His whole world has turned on its axis in the best of ways and he needs a moment to find his feet on the ground again. 

Whether it’s biologically yours or you’ve adopted, it doesn’t matter—he views it all the same. He is in awe, deep gratitude bursting forth for this bounty of nature you’ve provided him with; that you’ve invited him to share.

“My heart…you,” Halsin’s voice breaks, “Why did you not tell me before?” the question falls past his lips with a tremble, but there is no trace of anger or hurt in his tone. Only awe, tinged with a soft skepticism as though this moment will slip through his fingers and he will wake to find it was all a dream. 

You tell him why. Maybe it’s because you were scared he wouldn’t want anything to do with you or your child…maybe you didn’t want to distract him from all that still needed to be accomplished…maybe you didn’t want to add another burden to his already heavily-weighed-down shoulders—whatever it is…

He understands your fears but tells you to put them to rest because nothing—absolutely nothing—could ever deter him from loving and caring for you and your child. He is more than willing to step into the role of a father…if that is what you should wish of course, to share this part of your life with him…

As soon as you give him the affirmative, he is all over you. Wrapping you up in his strong embrace, placing kisses wherever his lips can reach before settling his face against your neck and inhaling deeply. Your scent calms him, and he needs it to ground himself after the revelation that he finally—finally—has the one thing he thought he’d never have again…a family. He is a dad. 

He’s a dad! 

His deep laughter echoes through the air. He’s overjoyed, a little scared maybe too, but his unbridled joy is contagious and you find yourself tearfully laughing along with him. 

With your invitation, he quickly stepped into full dad mode, and wants to unleash all the doting upon you and your child that he possibly can. 

If the baby has not been born/hatched yet; he’s all about using his skilled hands to melt the tension from your feet and calves and anywhere else you might be tense from carrying the weight of another; letting his healing magic wash over you when your head is pounding and stomach is churning from the extra hormones; making sure you have proper nutritional meals to keep your stamina up…his healer capabilities really kick into high gear here.

If your little one is already in the world, they immediately take to Halsin like a moth to light. And he takes to fatherhood just as easily. It is a precious and priceless thing to watch the two of them bond so quickly. You knew he would take to it naturally, having all the qualities of a loving and supportive father. He was always a wonderful listener, he was just as good of a teacher, and he still held so much wonder and love for the world even after all his years. His zest for life was contagious and played right into the natural curiosities of a child. 

Beneath all of the stoic wisdom is a man who loves to play. Loves to experience everything life has to offer. And it shows when they decide to have storytime before bed…or any other time your little one asks for stories. Which is a lot of the time because Halsin is rather good at it. He could be a bard if he wanted. But all he wants is to see the expressions of wonder on your child’s face, the shrieks of laughter and gasps of surprise filling his ears as he twists and turns the stories, acting them out with grand gestures and motions. 

Sometimes storytelling evolves into playing “Adventurers”—or so that’s what the two of them call this game anyway…you call it pure chaos, but you don’t mind one bit. Not as your little one rides on the back of a giant wildshaped bear through the forest, roars and laughter tickling your ears. You join in at times, and it usually ends in one big giant cuddle pile as morning turns into afternoon and sleepy little eyes close for a short nap. It’s at times like these his heart threatens to burst, and you can see it in his eyes—feel it in the way his fingers trace your jawline and move softly, reverently into your hair…soon you’re drifting off in the peacefulness of it all too. Halsin just lays there holding the two of you in his arms, listening to your soft inhales and exhales. In the slow moments is when he really feels it hit him. How contented he is. 

They’ll go on walks around the forest together, sometimes stop to examine a plant or a flower, your child asking Halsin 123812378 questions about everything they come across, and he answers every one of those questions with the utmost of patience. He genuinely loves to share his knowledge with young and curious minds. You can tell by the way his eyes light up, and how his voice excitedly carries across the meadow as he explains things like how flowers grow from the ground with the help of the sun and water and air. 

He even asks some questions of his own to get your child thinking and talking, and also just to be silly and play: “what kind of animal would you be?” ~ “what is your favorite thing to eat?” ~ “do you think cats can have fins?” ~ “what is your favorite thing to do with mommy and daddy?” 

When your child is sad or upset, he is there guiding them through their big feelings. Oak Father knows, Halsin has had his fair share of coping with tough emotions through his years. Even with all the practice he’s had though he still gets overwhelmed at times. Children need help getting through these sorts of big feelings, not to be admonished or chastised for feeling something natural. Of course while he usually spends time wildshaped when he needs to think, he knows that might not work for a child, and there are certainly other solutions. Like physical connection—hugs, and holding a safe space for your little one to feel. Maybe they need help labeling what they’re feeling, and Halsin is right there ever-observant and gentle with his words, “I see that you fell, does it hurt anywhere? Were you scared when you fell from the tree?” Your child responds tearfully, “it was scary,” so then after a quick scan Halsin knows he doesn’t need to mend any broken bones. He just needs to hold them and tell them it’s okay to be scared and to cry, and that they are very brave for doing so. 

It’s moments like this that you find your heart swell with fondness so vast it nearly hurts. Because you know how capable of ferocity he is, how much strength and fortitude he has shown in battles past…that seeing him like this, so patient and supportive, so loving and gentle…you know he has finally been able to take the armor off both literally and figuratively.

He walks lighter, laughs louder, plays harder. His love knows no bounds, and he makes sure the two of you know it with every breath he takes. With every scratch he mends. With every toy he whittles. With every blanket he tucks in and every kiss he lays atop a sleepy little head. With every word and kiss and hug…he embraces this simpler but no less meaningful side of life with arms opened wide.  

One day, after a very important and engaging conversation about “daddy, where do babies come from?” your little one asks him another question. “Daddy, can you and mommy make a baby?” His eyes lift to find yours, a heat there so smoldering you swear you could feel it sweep over your skin in a dizzying rush. “Little One,” he starts, tearing his gaze from you to look down softly at your child, “would you like that—a brother or sister to play with?” Their little eyes light up and they shout “yesyesyes!” 

Halsin’s smile lines deepen as he laughs loudly. “You will just have to wait and see my little heart, all will be as nature intends.” He knows that is a conversation to have with you in a more private setting. Though he’s pretty sure he can tell by the speed of your breathing, the flush of your face, and the warmth in your gaze that you are no doubt feeling the same sentiment he is in that moment.

Adding to your little family might happen sooner rather than later…and he definitely would not say no to having more little ones running around.

[sunshine7queen]

@windlullaby @preciousamethyst @081231 @samaraxmorgan @thefallofruins

@linpunny @actuallyvalerie

POV: you get caught staring

[vyllaynark]

hello tumblr. today i bring you hot man.

[boytransmission]

I kept mishearing a lyric from Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” and this is what it said to me

Top surgery fund!!!!!!!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Be wary not of the beast, but the hand that tamed it.

(Read more dog training tips over at Tiger Tiger)

[sunwhispers]

mizuki... my little dress up doll.... when i dont know what to draw i can just draw her however i like <3

[justdavina]

Lets go for a walk!

[yujateaandpi]

Thought Fiddlestan was a purely comedic ship for a while but now I get it, I see the light. It’s about a man who nurtures and cares for others to the point of heartbreak meeting a man who doesn’t remember what it’s like for anyone to care about him. It’s about them being warm together around the absence of someone they both love. It’s about Fiddleford’s innate domesticity comforting a man whose deepest desire was to come home. It’s about falling in love with the same face again but in a new context that heals your past trauma. It’s about Stan’s unbridled affection finally validating someone who desperately needed the recognition. It’s also about very funny old man yaoi.

[iliothermia]

[vaguely-concerned]

rook falling asleep on the red couch in the lighthouse dining room while lucanis is making dinner....... they were helping out by keeping him company and peeling and chopping potatoes for a while there but then the potatoes are done and the room is so safe and warm and smells like coffee and good food and lucanis is trying to explain something to spite and his voice is low and soft and good to listen to and rook's eyes only slip closed for a moment. they'll get up to save the world again or whatever in a second just. one moment. while the world is warm and kind. and then they're being shaken gently awake an hour later because it's time to eat and everyone's starting to drift hopefully dinner-wards

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - II

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur's obsession with you intensifies and reaches a point of no return when you catch him red-handed... ✦ Warnings/tags: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation (again), Arthur is still a little pervy, stripping, p in v, Arthur's self-esteem's still shitty, sub!Arthur at first then switches into dom, Reader is a BIG tease. Mainly Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 5k (oops) Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Part I - Part II

 A ruby, squared, soft form.

His eyes are stuck on it as his thoughts unthread and tangle endlessly in his brain. 

Arthur was a damned man. He had been for a while now and this fatality had settled into his head for a few years already. His sins were so numerous and varied that he hadn’t even considered the thought of going to rest in Heaven when the Grim Reaper would finally put an end to his sufferings. 

But even considering all of this, the gunslinger had definitely not planned on adding a new sin to his list by jerking himself off while watching you almost every night for more than half a month. Oh, the same old speech was still playing in his head; his gesture leaking with shame and muscles sweaty from fear of getting caught. The adrenaline and depravation of the act, the sweet, sweet relief of his orgasm, and the momentary satisfaction he was pulling out of it every time was a very dangerous cocktail; he knew it.

He knew, knew, knew everything of that, of course he did. And still, his fingers opening his fly carelessly. Still, his eyes searching for this sublime silhouette of yours. Still, his cock hardening, itching, burning, begging to be grabbed. And still, his hands taking the doomed responsibility of answering the call. Still his muffled groans, his lips bitten, his silent words spoken in his head, your body joining him. Still, your hand, instead of his. His spend, less and less consistent, spurting quickly and spreading on his dirty clothes, the silence following, the emptiness, the shame, the guilt, the coldness amplified by his intimate fantasies. Like those dark loud nights of storms, air charged with electricity, and left in heavy disturbing quietness after the last lightning struck. Still, dreaming, wanting, longing. 

Still you.

He felt insatiable, like an enraged, mad dog, pathetic bastard. And paradoxically, as he finally had found sleep again after allowing his body what it needed, he felt weaker than ever. Weakened by you.

You hadn't left him after the first night he had succumbed to temptation. You had branded his spirit with a red-hot iron. Damned him to a lifetime of ache, a mortal succumbing to a Mermaid's melody and sailing in search of her on an infinite sea.

 A ruby, squared, soft form. 

It’s your shawl lying on a chair. You forgot it a few minutes ago, but he didn’t say anything about it. He’s still looking at it, hands fidgeting, mind pondering. What’s good and what’s bad. The ugliness of his self and soul. The risks, the benefits. 

He thinks back to the day you and him just shared. A job in Rhodes, “needing to be taken care of by two people”, Dutch’s words. He had sent him, which was predictable —the gang’s workhorse rarely knows rest. But you? It surprised him a whole lot more. Something about the job requesting some “feminine charm”. He hadn’t complained. Not when he had realized he would be able to spend some time alone with you. 

And his gaze had been wandering way more than what common decency was allowing him to. Staring and dreaming were all he had been doing lately, anyhow.

Looking at the delicious cleavage your fancy dress was offering when you got out of your tent and joined him back at camp, your breasts pressed up and round, almost impossible not to devour with his eyes. All he could do was make a sarcastic comment about it as the only defense against his urges. You moron Morgan, just say something nice for once. Luckily -or not- for him, you had wrapped your appealing shoulders in the sophisticated cherry-colored cape to prevent the coldness of the night.

Looking at your back as you both rode into town, looking at your neck when he helped you off your horse once into Rhodes. Looking at your lips as you two were sat in one of the Parlor’s house boxes, the job long-forgotten when he had noticed this little wrinkle next to your lips, that one you have when you laugh and find something funny. He would have to add it to his endless sketches of you.

Looking at your thin, sneaky hands from afar as they were slipping into that wealthy gentleman’s pocket to steal the papers you were both here for in the first place. It all felt distant and insignificant to him now, as a forgettable theater play set in the background. 

Later, you had been the one looking at him when he had come to your rescue. The “gentleman” was being insistent with you. As you both had crossed eyes from across the reception room, Arthur had read your apprehension and silent call for help in just a split second. And here he was, puffing out his chest, look dark and intense, muscles tensed. The perfect look of a man you don’t want to cross, that look he and Hosea had worked hard on building, scars and broad shoulders gained after all these years of intimidation. He was so used to it by now he wasn’t even sure he knew how to be anything else. His pointer finger tapping threateningly on the shiny Deputy Star he had on his jacket and his deep, menacing tone had acted as the final details. You should leave the lady alone and get some fresh air, pal. The fool had dropped the case and returned with his tail between his legs without any clue what had actually happened.

And then, your sweet voice asking for a drink. “Come on, we got to celebrate! Finally, a job well handled without a drop of blood.” How could he ever say no to that? It was almost too good to be true. Spending the evening with you, laughing, talking, philosophizing.

Arthur didn’t know he could be that talkative. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was your presence. Maybe a bit of both. And he had paid for everything. A good hot dinner for both of you, your drinks, and two rooms the moment you told him you were too tired to ride back to camp. Oh, he could have given you all the Wolrd’s treasure if that meant you would keep looking at him with these pretty playful eyes.

As the evening passed, the gentle flow of your endless conversations had led you from the bar to the stairs, to the second floor, to the hallway, and eventually to his room, naturally and serenely, like a rowboat ride on a summer lake.

And finally, after a few yawns exchanged, some delicate eyelids rubbed by you, you had left him to sleep, completely forgetting about your shawl, hanging on one of his room’s chairs. And you had greeted each other goodnight. As friends. This was all he would ever be to you, he knew it. And it was better that way. Like this, he was preserving you from having a pathetic man and a pathetic life being his. He was like an infertile soil, anyway. Any seed you would plant and try to harvest with him would end up rotten, corrupted. Fruitless.

And now left in the stillness of the room, in this deafening silence without the sound of your voice, his vision fixated on your abandoned piece of clothing, the most sinful of all thoughts is digging its way through the fibers of his brain, fed by need and alcohol, gnawing at his neurons, eating up any rational reasoning. 

A ruby, tempting garment of yours.

He wants to grab it. To smell it. He wants your perfume to completely fill his nose, so much it would be like drowning in your scent. You wouldn’t be coming back for it anyway, considering how tired you looked a few minutes ago. And you’d never know about it. Just like you didn’t know he was watching you all this time through the fabric of your tent. After all, he was already so deep down into this rabbit hole of lust, what would it change?

And just like that, before he can even think about it more, his arm is already extending, his fingers wrapping around the forbidden fruit.

A descent into Hell he is not able to stop nor control. And at the same time, it feels like getting closer to Heaven.

He lays on the bed, back against the coarse sheets that still felt better than his cot back at camp, and brings your stole to his nose, almost covering his face with it. He closes his eyes.

And he breathes in.

Hell. If God wanted him to stay virtuous, why did he create such a temptatious woman like you? Your scent is without any surprise just as irresistible and bewitching as your whole self.

The fruity notes of it remind him of your skin and lips he wants to taste so badly, a mouth-watering gourmet scent. The floral and fresh ones, of this sparkling mischievousness in your eyes. And in the end, as he exhales, warm and spicy aromas rain on him. They fill his mind with a deep sense of comfort, as if scenting directly your hair. It’s intoxicating, spellbinding. Driving him deeper into his madness. He doesn’t try to resist, not anymore, this delightful fresco of fragrances painted just for him.

Naturally and almost subconsciously, his vicious right hand reaches his crotch. He’s already hard. Just by smelling your shawl.

This time you’ve really hit rock bottom, old bastard.

He doesn’t even bother thinking about it more, he already knows he’s too deep in; already knows he won’t be able to stop himself. 

Ah shit, screw it, jus’ a quick wank.

He quickly unbuckles his holster belt, then unbuttons his pants, and snakes his hand between the folds of his union suit. A silent swift dance he is used to repeating by now. 

He breathes again a long, deep whiff, and wraps his fingers around his cock thinking of you, once more. 

He sees you and your perfect body, and everything blends and blurs in his heated psyche. The form of your breasts and ass through the tent's canvas he knew by heart at this point. Your smirk, your eyes looking back at his, only his during this night spent together. Your heady, addicting scent surrounds him and fuels his fantasies even more, making them more vivid than before, the soft fabric of the stole against his skin a light caress he imagines yours.

He strokes and strokes and strokes, he needs it more than ever, even if, truth be told, every time is more than ever. His pinkish cock’s head is reddened and swollen from having been rubbed so many times lately, sensible and almost pained. But he doesn't care. It makes him feel even more alive. Even more here. Simply better.

He wants his body to feel pleasure. Pleasure, for once, instead of pain. Pain all the time, pain everywhere, bullets through his muscles, knives on his skin, cutting through his flesh, fists against his bones, breaking his jaws, his nose, his cheeks. Broken, used, beaten, ripped, bruised, overworked, abused. Oh, he’s tired of it. Only in those prohibited moments, he can experience pleasure. No matter how wicked and profane.

The room is now filled with those wet, fast-paced sounds, his rustling against the sheets, and the smallest of grunts coming from his unholy lips as he fucks his fist. Your name escapes him from time to time, muffled by your shawl he's still holding all against him with his left hand, and breathing the air from.

As if all the World’s oxygen would never be as good as breathing through it. As if everything else would feel thick and fusty in his lungs. No Mountains, no Oceans, no flowers, not the tastiest food, nothing could ever compete with smelling your scent. 

Stroke, stroke, stroke. Goddamn it, she’s perfect. A big, hard stroke. Oh God, yes, just a bit more…

Too absorbed by his delirious daydream, he doesn't notice right away the creaking of the door as you enter his room again, searching for the very thing he's using to masturbate right now.

“Arthur, I’m sorry to bother you again but I think I forgot my sh—”

You freeze.

SHIT! He instantly curses loudly and jumps from the bed so suddenly that he almost falls to the ground. A stumbling mess, his holster crashes on the wooden floor with a loud percussive sound as he shoves his member back into his clothes as fast as possible, looking like a disjointed chaos of limbs. He is mortified. There is no way in the world you won’t understand what was just happening. He ends up standing next to the bed, after having thrown your cape at the other corner of the room with such force it looked like the damn thing was made of burning iron. And he doesn’t even know why. Maybe to distance himself from his sins. To try and erase this horrible vision from your pretty eyes. His labored breath and fast-beating heartbeat are now ruled by panic instead of lust. For all his life he had never experienced such shame and felt so utterly stupid. 

There is a small moment of silence, heavy and embarrassed. A little time of denying. No, this can’t be happening. But your look turns in circles from the bed, him, and the scarf, circling him like a cornered animal. That’s it, his pride is dead right here in this stupid hotel room. You see right through him, he’s sure of it. Your piercing beautiful gaze lands on his ears a few times, and he knows they’re crimson just by the heat he can feel on them. But the worst thing of all is his bulge, obvious and raised up as a flag right in the middle of his thighs, under his badly buttoned fly. Like a Mausoleum to his Dignity. The damn thing refusing to shrink and obviously screaming loudly his offence to the whole World. All the contrary, your gaze falling on it produces the exact opposite of what he wants, his cock almost twitching in return. 

Damn it!

Damn it, damn it, damn it!-

“Where you… Hum…” You start, before clearing your throat slightly.

“ ‘m sorry, Am… I didn’t mean to… ‘m such a goddamn fool.” This is the best he can come up with. What excuses could he have anyway? Nothing could justify what he did.

You had never heard his deep asserted voice so chagrined. Utter fear and shame. You didn’t even know he could feel that way.

His gaze is fixated on his dirty boots, refusing to cross yours. Just as goddamn dirty as me. 

“Were you pleasuring yourself, Mister Morgan?” You ask, your tone slightly playful. He doesn’t see it, but a mischievous grin settles on your face.

He takes your tone as a mocking one. You would have all the right to mock him. That’s all he deserved.

He tries to answer but doesn't even dare to admit it verbally, as if it would aggravate his situation. He just nods slowly, as seriously as if he was at a funeral. 

“With one of my clothes?” You ask again, your grin widening.

Another nod, his eyes shutting as if he had been hit by something, your sentence making the whole thing even worse. Oh, just a few seconds ago, he was feeling more present and alive than ever, and now all he wanted was to disappear or die.

He hears more than he sees your steps on the parquet. Every stomping sound hurt him a bit more. He doesn't even dare to move. As if everything he would do from now would offend you. Even breathing, no, even existing is too much.

She’s going to slap me. A step. She's going to yell in my face. Another step. I’m dead. A final step.

You’re so close to him now he’s holding his breath, eyes closed, ready to face the well-deserved punishment of your choice for his trespass.

But he's only met with stillness until you speak again.

“Arthur, do you really think I was that hot in my tent, every night?”

The words reach his ears but his brain refuses them. His mouth opens in astonishment. He closes it to swallow loudly and opens it again as if trying to speak in utter confusion.

“You… I… Wait, really?”

“I never thought you could be that naive, honestly.” You answer, a little chuckle escaping you. One of your hands slowly reaches the side of his face, but he still shivers slightly when it touches him. You guide his head back up for him to finally look you in the eyes.

Arthur's two blue sapphires are topped with anxious brows. A bright confusion and a soft vulnerability. They don’t settle too long on one point of your face out of nervousness, as if they could burn you.

“M-me neither.” He simply whispers, a bashful, nervous smile settling on his mouth. He still doesn’t move.

“Do you really think I wasn’t aware of what I was doing, mmh?” You continue, your fingers traveling from his face all the way down his neck, gently caressing the base of his hair.

You can’t be serious right now.

“I… I don’ know…” And he really doesn’t. This is all so unbelievable to him that he’s persuaded this is all a dream and he’s going to wake up any moment.

The only thing anchoring him to reality is your fingers exploring him, making him slowly let out the breath he had been holding in his chest.

“Let me help you finish what you've started…” You murmur, voice low and obvious to what you’re implying, sultry, suggestive.

He feels his shaft pulsing again instantly in answer, his body once again taking the lead. He’s about to say something, to ask you if you’re sure you want to do this with an old bitter moron like him, but one of your hands is already reaching straight to his crotch, palming his warm, needy erection.

“Anh…!” The moan turning into a groan he lets out duplicates your own arousal.

His hips rock against your hand involuntarily, the need for contact of any sort getting more powerful than his shame. He still doesn’t dare do much to you though, not wanting to cross any more limits. He lets you handle him just like you want. He lets the flow of life take him instead of fighting against it, for once. The only gesture he allows is settling his big hands on your back, sweaty and almost shaking.

Oh, your sneaky fingers. They touch and grope and palpate, and he sighs louder. It feels so much better, to have your hand touching him.

After a few more teasing caresses, you sway in a smooth motion and playfully push him backward, making him fall on the bed. He sits there, looking up at you with those two adoring cerulean pupils, as if you were the Sun itself. A distant magnificent star, impossible for him to reach, condemned to only contemplate.

“Get your clothes off.” You order, his reactions making you more confident and straightforward than usual. 

He is quick to obey. You could have asked him to jump off a cliff and he would have done it without even thinking. His clothes fall one by one on the floor and you feast on every area of skin he’s offering you. He ends up entirely naked for your eyes. This Titan, cascade of virile hairs everywhere, prominent scarred muscles carved into stone by Ares himself, gorged with raw powerfulness and designed to kill. To survive. And between those open thick thighs, his aroused member. The one he thought of as the triumph of his shame a few minutes ago, is now the Apotheosis of his Glory. Thick, long, hard like him, surrounded by a crown of tawny curls.

“Look at you…” You let out, almost licking your lips. But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t see what you do at all. Instead, he let his gaze wander on your chest, and you can almost hear the silent plea in his gaze for you to join his nakedness.

Standing right in front of him, you begin to strip yourself out of your clothes, agonizingly slowly, your face displaying this provocative grin that turns him on so much. It’s purposeful, and you feel your own arousal rising as you notice the red coming back to his cheeks and ears.

First, your boots and socks, discovering your delicate legs. Then your blouse, showing your shoulder and chest, then your skirt. He stays silent all the while, enjoying your little show more than you could imagine. Your hips swaying, your arms gracefully dancing, each piece of clothing falling on the ground, this is all a trance he's getting hypnotized by.

Seeing you undress just for him after all those nights spent on his cot touching himself watching your shadow is like adding all the missing color from a masterpiece, enhancing and fulfilling.

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about?” You purr proudly, now in your undergarments.

“God yes. Yer a real’ angel.” He praises in a fevered-like whisper.

You smirk as all answer. “Come on now, show me those dirty things you’ve been doing.” You speak while nodding at his crotch in an almost challenging way.

His hand instantly reaches for his cock. It was itching him to since you had looked at it earlier. He presses his fingers hard around it and he grunts softly, the sound incredible to your ears. Obeying you and surrendering fully to his depravation, he slowly starts stroking himself again while watching you intensely. What did he do to deserve such a splendid spectacle?

That’s when you decide to slowly bend inward and undo the last pieces of clothing you still have. Just a few gestures and your breasts are bare and hanging for him to look at. Jeee-sus. You see and hear his hand speeding up. 

Lastly, you reveal your own sex to him, a pearl between those gorgeous thighs of yours, and he curses out loud this time.

“You're so goddamn beautiful. I could... Damn, I could finish right now jus' lookin' atchu.” He confesses, his cheeks, ears, and chest getting even redder at his own words.

“Really, uh? You're quite easy to tease, Mister Morgan.” You tease, before turning around and bending again, wanting him to see your bottom, taking a more than suggestive position with your ass up.

“Oh, for God sake.” He nearly chokes, his rhythm accelerating again; almost frenetic. This is all he ever wanted during those cold lonely moments. All he ever needed to see. And he can’t help but engrave every little detail in his mind; the little scars you have here and there, the different tone and grain of your skin, your hairs, your body’s hollows and bumps. Every little imperfection. And they make it all even better. Better than any fantasies he had ever pictured in the past few weeks. Because they are making you yourself.

You turn again to face him and straddle his lap, unable to resist your own urges that had been building and building since you had found him touching himself to the thought of you.

That’s when something finally lights up in his mind. The moment he feels your soft, warm thighs around him, and how you’re soaked in between them, it hits him. You’ve been wanting him just as badly as he wanted you. As odd and surprising as it sounds to him. This new reality is right there against his tip as you start rubbing your entrance against it, teasing, playing, pressing just a few inches in, gently praising how big he looks and how good it would be to have him inside of you. 

That thing inside of him explodes.

Suddenly his hands are all over you. Touching everything they can, discovering, molding your curves under his fingertips. Hands on your thighs, hands on your hips, waist, neck. Each part of you touched is breaking every chain that was holding him back, one by one. These perfect sensations blind him to any reasoning, any sense of restrain, and push him to palm your breasts. God, the softness, the warmth. He sighs in appreciation as he kneads both of them and you join his pleasured breathing.

More.

One of his hands leaves your chest to grab your ass, roughly, and he squeezes, hard, while he sucks on the breast that has been abandoned. “Arthur!” You moan out in return, pleasured and surprised voice, mouth left open in delight. Oh, he will satisfy you. Those renewed vows appear as clear as day between the mess of his head as he keeps devouring your nipple endlessly, almost suckling at it. He will push that voice of you to its limit, break it until you won’t be able to scream.

“That’ what you wanted all this time, uh? Drivin’ me insane?”

You search for something clever to throw back at him but the calloused hand on your breast suddenly reaches your cunt and you gasp instead. 

“That’ what you do? Torture poor devil like me until they can’t help but fall for you?” He asks again, his confidence heightened by your sweet sounds, his tone getting darker and darker. Touching your folds pleasures him almost as much as you, his brows furrowing into a needy and intense expression.

“J-just you… ‘Just wanted you to notice me…” You admit, your hips rolling on his lap and against his hand. His fingers part your cunt and trace their own way through this little Heaven, exploring this place he had craved so much; and it makes him more excited than any thoughts he could have had on his own.

“Well, that sure worked, girl.”

He lets go of your pussy and you squeal in protest, almost ashamed of your own sound. He smiles triumphantly at you, feeling satisfied to give you a taste of your own medicine. He wraps both of his arms around your waist, your chest ending up pressed against his face; his nose is shoved in it and he sighs louder this time. 

He can’t wait any longer. Not when he has been dreaming of this for weeks. Not after discovering your unforgettable perfume. Not after having felt this wet, warm promise of your entrance. He looks up at your face, searching for any trace of disgust or apprehension but you're completely free from any. Mouth agape, breaths deep and hips shamelessly searching for his, you're even more gorgeous than before, and he snaps.

He guides you carefully, his hands warm and hard against your bare skin. And he pushes.

His sex entering you slowly is deliciously hard and hot. His cockhead is big, way bigger than what you’re used to, and feels so good already. His arms hold you in place as he pushes again, wanting to be completely stuffed in, a long, low growling sound accompanying his movement. Oh, Christ Almighty. He had never felt so good than buried like this in your warm, silky, divine cunt right now.

Once fully settled, you both sighs and breath loudly for just a few seconds, your gazes meeting and silently agreeing on how fucking delicious this feels. Then you move up, wanting to ride him, feeling his shaft pull out as you do, but his arms grab you tighter and put your hips back in place.

“God!” You whine as you feel his length plunging again and hitting that spot inside of you.

He starts to buck his hips up against yours, unable to resist anything anymore. His rhythm, he wanted slow and meaningful at first, is quickly turning fast and hard, a remnant of how incredibly frustrated and needy he had been all this time.

“I’m gonna -Ohh, shit- I’m gonna show ya what ya get teasin’ me like that.”

Arthur's southern drawl is even more prominent, his voice hoarse and deep from effort. His thrusts up are more and more powerful, making you jump up and down on top of him and for the first time in days he thanks himself for having pleasured himself so many times lately, otherwise he would have come instantly right there in your heat. Your breasts bounce in this erotic, unresistible dance that he’ll remember for every future night he'll spend alone.

“Oh Arthur, don’t stop!” 

His cock pulls out and shoves into your cunt so fastly it's rubbing perfectly how you want it deep inside and you reach for his shoulders, needing to hold onto him, already so close. “Yes, yes, yes, right there!”

He hears your accelerating breathing, your higher-pitched moans turning into screams and he searches for your lips with his. Your tender petals against his dirty mouth. But he doesn’t care, there’s only your pussy right now, and your incredible smell he’s filled with once again, just like you’re filled with his tongue and his dick inside of you.

Both his hands grab your ass and he fucks frantically, his balls slapping against it with each thrust, making your plump flesh jiggle and those hitting and smacking sounds resonating throughout the room. Again, and again, and Damn it again.

It’s too much for you. 

You cry out loudly as your fingers dig into his shoulders and your head tilts backward, and his big, solid arms keep you pressed against his chest, completely wrapped around you; and he finally, finally feels it. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, instead of pain. This irresistible release, your pussy clenching and squeezing all around his cock. “-Ngh, s-shit yes angel, give it t’me!”

You give it all to him without any resistance and in a obscene scream. And it’s too much for him.

“Ah, God…” He hisses as he feels it coming, quickly pulling you up —as effortlessly as if you weighed nothing— and pressing his cock against your clit, well nestled between your lips.

He reaches your lips again, needing to finish while kissing you, both of your bodies almost sewn together, his moans sounding more and more like primal growls and hisses at every rubbing movement against your core, movements getting faster and faster, impossibly faster, So fucking good, Jesus so goddamned perfect, Perfect, perfect!- Until he finally comes, translucent cum leaking all the way down his shaft and spreading on your lower belly, all panting and grunting, a complete mess; a satiated beast.

It’s better than any of the dreams he ever had, waking or sleeping. And it’s not just the release of this one and only time, it’s the pinnacle of all these lonely pleasures shared with no one in regretful secret.

For the second time that night, he thinks he’s dead. 

He falls backward, back against the mattress, and you follow, unable to stand without him. In that silence only disturbed by your exhausted breaths, he turns and grabs the first piece of clothing that he has at hand’s reach, his flannel. He gently uses it to clear your belly from his seed and seeing it, on your smooth and soft skin, makes a wave of culpability crash onto him once again. Shouldn't have done all of this. Should have taken care of her properly.

A dark, glum expression settles on his face and he wraps himself in a deep silence instead of your arms as he finishes to clean the both of you. God, did that man ever know rest for more than a few minutes? At this thought, you bend over to put a small kiss on his forehead, as a thank you for his aftercare.

“Satisfied enough?” You finally break the silence, getting up from the bed –not without stretching your back slightly and swaying your hips before bending to reach for your clothes on the floor.

Arthur cannot help but think of a Nymph as you do all of this still naked. Those irresistible, divine beauties that lure men with a simple move of their finger, as they say in books. He knew it was all stories from another time, but he was more and more convinced they would look exactly like you if they did exist.

“More than in a long time. You?” He replies, voice neutral and features closed as usual. He stays on the bed and put only his pants back, his cock finally softening under the coarse fabric. He never stops looking at you all the while.

“Couldn’t be better”. You assert, your blouse falling back on your upper body. You then roughly fix your hair in this casual, impish way that was yours.

That was driving him insane.

“You’re a little minx, ya know that? Gettin’ naked on purpose every night…”

“Oh, please. You didn’t really complain as far as I know.”

“Nah, but ya did make me insane. Teasin’ littl’ thing y’are.” He says with a fond voice he would have preferred less obvious.

You innocently shrug your shoulders, cheeky grin on your face. The way you're playing with him that easily should have been shaming to him, but he doesn't feel any shame anymore, not after what you have shared.

"Goodnight, Arthur." You throw as all answer, leaving him as you walk through the door of his room. He greets you back, the trimmest trace of longing in his rough voice.

Once again alone, once again cold, Arthur grabs a cigarette from his pocket to smoke before falling asleep; maybe to keep this lingering warmth just a bit longer, the sensations of your body, and especially your sex squeezing around his, still remaining on his skin. Lying completely in the bed, he smiles to himself as he notices you have forgotten your shawl —again. Or maybe you had left it on purpose. Maybe you had both times, now that he is thinking about it. The ruby fabric had landed wrapped all around his old, worn-out leather jacket, like a flame dancing around, enveloping, lapping at a tree.

It looks great that way.

Maybe you were only playing with him. Maybe this was only a one-time thing. But who cared? Tonight, Arthur had been taken care of by a Nymph. And no other mortal pleasure, no other solitaries delights, not even the most lustful and depraved images he could have pulled out of his tormented mind could ever compete with that slice of Olympe you had given to him.

a/n: Yeah, 5K words, I knooow! I'm hopeless. It's quite a lot, but I didn't feel like cutting, nothing felt right. What can I say except thank you, so much, for everyone's interest in the first part, for your notes, comments and reblogs, and for reading all of this! I am in utter PANIC rn because I feel like nothing I could write would be as good or as well received as the first part, but here it is! I really hope it didn't disappoint!

Also, to give Caesar what belongs to Caesar, the holster falling was completely inspired by my dear @zae-heeyyy's Piquancy (II)! I thought it would fit the comical aspect of the scene eheh (go check it out)

And also go check out this amazing piece Moons drew from this fic! Thanks again for this delightful treat! 💙

tag list: @a-court-of-valkyries, @redwritr, @cassietrn, @esquilone, @starlightt180, @narcoticv3nus, @thoughts-of-bear, @emjiroki, @prettyundeadgirl, @eternalsams @amyispxnk @babybatss-blog @ardeniaa @sauvignon-velvet @sweeterlilith (I tried to tag people who had shown interest in a part2, really sorry if I missed anyone!)

[sunshine7queen]

@preciousamethyst @081231

Toji invites you to take a bath with him~ Trying out new style, wanna do more of it, it was fun hehe

[obsessedoverwater]

Sometimes the doomed old man toxic yoai gets so bad you just have to start writing about fucking revenge guac to get over the pain.

[henrythehorse]

john lennon yelling "i need him" is sooo 😵‍💫😵‍💫 idk maybe my ears are broken bc i've never seen anyone talk about this. do people just not hear it or are we ignoring it because he had done much gayer stuff?