#lamento mucho la demora

[dabna]

@cjosvn — frunce el ceño en un instante cuando lo escucha, entre sus dígitos descansa una tasa blanquecina que solía estar repleta de vitae, ahora no le queda más que un par de sorbos. aún así, aprovecha de enroscar sus dígitos, y mantener oculta la mueca de extrañeza que se forma en sus labios. hasta que entiende. ‘ ¡¿me estás jodiendo?! ’ exclama, entre una serie de carcajadas, la última de las posibilidades que pasó por su cabeza fue aquella. ‘ ¡no puede ser! pensé que se iba a derrumbar la posada e íbamos a morir ’ propia estupidez causa gracia, final de conjetura provoca que incline la derecha de su cuerpo contra el masculino, chocándolo de costado y con suavidad. ‘ no puedes quitarme las preocupaciones y luego hablarme de demonios así como así ’ reprocha, antes de volver a tomar un nuevo sorbo de su bebida y posar mirada en cielo nocturno. se separa de puerta corrediza de bambú y tela, solo para terminar sentándose en borde del suelo, justo donde sus pies podrían continuar colgando por considerable distancia con el suelo. ‘ ¿qué tan fuerte deben ponerla para hacer crujir las paredes? ’ se pregunta, más para sí misma, y cuando cae en que quizás contrario la escucho. ‘ ¡no me contestes! es pregunta retórica ’ aclara con rapidez.

a. Juro que anoche escuché las paredes crujir. [@dabna]

Resopla con burla, volviéndose hacia la contraria con una ceja enarcada, la máxima expresión de incredulidad en facciones. "Claro que lo escuchaste," inicia, elevando los hombros antes de agregar: "Las paredes, y el piso, y las camas... Más de uno está aprovechando el viaje para tener un poco de acción," al menos él había escuchado a sus vecinos de habitación ya, la noche anterior, siendo todo menos discretos. "Debe ser algo en el aire de Kyoto," o no, realmente, que excusas está seguro que existen en Tokyo o allí. "O a lo mejor es alguno de los demonios que viven aquí."

[sabi-star-blog]

Feliz aniversario mi amol!!!! (≧▽≦)Lamento mucho la demora q-q...sé que han sido días difíciles para ambos,pero espero poderte alegrar un poco con este regalito,ti amu mutsho y estoy muy feliz y emocionada de pasar muchos muchos añitos más a tu lado!!! (๑>◡<๑) Ti amudoru! o(≧▽≦)o ♡♡♡ Gracias por todo, amua amua <3

@jglyanoro

[the-californicationist]

¡Hola Cali! 🩷 Te dejé un mensaje con un DILF que pesqué hace algunas semanas, pero creo que se perdió por aquí o no pudiste leerlo. ¡Te extraño tanto! El trabajo me está consumiendo porque estamos en plena campaña política y solo quiero que termine, con el mejor resultado, e ir a descansar (y escribir).

Leí que estabas de vacaciones o algo así. ¡Espero que la estés pasando increíble! *Besito en la frente*

Vine con una idea que me está rondando la cabeza: Precio como candidato a Senador y Lector asesor, deciden mandar todo a la verg* y simplemente ACEPTAN QUE ESTÁN ENAMORADOS Y TIENEN SEXO CALIENTE Y DESORDENADO.

*guiño guiño*

Griss!! Lamento mucho la demora, mi amor. Espero que esto sea lo que esperabas <3

After serving in the SAS, John Price has decided to run for a seat in the House of Commons. You are one of his closest political advisors, helping him deal with a runoff election. The only problem? Your incurable crush on your giant, hot, bearded, future member of Parliament.

English translation of the ask: Senator!Price and Advisor!Reader, decide to send everything to hell and simply ACCEPT THAT THEY ARE IN LOVE AND HAVE HOT AND MESSY SEX.

Unfortunately, this fic is in English, but if you are looking for Spanish-language fics, please go read (and reblog!) @pricesugarwife and her amazing work!! She's the best!

The Runoff

The tremble in your hand wouldn’t be abated by the drink you clasped in it, the alcohol losing the battle against your nerves, and the brown neck of the beer bottle kept waving in little shivers, giving your fears away. You squeezed the glass tighter, feeling the sticky glue of the label you’d picked bare, its shards still caught under your fingernails, but you kept trying to control your muscles; mind over matter. 

Only the blue, hazy glow of the computer screen reflected in your eyes as you watched the election results come in. Down twenty-two, up seventeen, down four, up twelve; you watched the number fluctuate as if it was your life hanging in the balance. Hell, this wasn’t even your race. 

But, it sure felt like it was. You were entrenched in this campaign, elbow-deep in the muck of it, wearing its failures like dark purple bruises and its successes like lipstick-stained kisses, feeling the highest of highs and trudging through the lowest of lows. Every rally felt like a homecoming, and every debate put your nerves on edge. More than anything, you believed in your work. You stuffed envelopes and pressed flyers into the palms of your fellow constituents as if you were bringing them food for their empty bellies, passing out prayers for their unsaved souls. It was the most important work you’d ever done. 

You needed John Price to win. 

Being elected to the House of Commons was a big deal for an independent in his district. Luckily, John’s reputation quietly but effectively preceded him. His service to the RAF and SAS, his commitment to defeating agents of terror, his loyalty to the Crown – all of it gleamed just like the shining medals that hung on his chest, even if he grumbled about them. Despite his distaste for pomp, he sure did wear it well. The accolades looked good on his broad chest, each one more splendid than the last, all lined up in neat, indomitable rows. 

Maybe I should spend more time looking at my stat sheets than his uniform, you thought, feeling guilty at just how many times you’d turned on incognito mode and searched for his award ceremony on YouTube.

The video had a few hundred thousand views, but it felt like most of those were from you. Seeing him walk out on stage, every bit the hero they’d introduced him as, made your breath catch in your throat. His sharp hat, the starched fabric of his coat, the bright, red sash slashing across his big, heavy body… you wanted to feel him sinking his weight on top of you, that power stealing your breath away, crushing your ribs, stopping your lungs from gasping in their precious oxygen. You wanted to feel the cold of those shining brass buttons upon your breasts, their rounded edges curling and chilling your heated flesh. You wanted the stubble of his beard to burn your soft cheek. 

You wanted John Price, and that would be a huge mistake. The last thing he needed was tabloid pictures with a garish, screaming title like “MP CANDIDATE SNOGGING HIS OWN STAFF!” No, you wouldn’t embarrass him like that. You wouldn’t risk it. Even if the way that he looked at you across the war room table made you think that you could, you would never. His seat was too critical. 

You needed John Price to win. 

Your eyes flashed up to the screen, again, noticing a change in the counting. You watched the numbers slow their terrible give and take, the shifting ups and downs slowly trickling to a halt. You did a double take, checking the clock. The recount was over. It was a tie.

Your phone started to buzz. Then another. Before you took your next breath, it was vibrating fast enough to cancel out each subsequent ping, like a barrage of alerts, all fighting for the front of the line. You shut it down, hoping you could get a kill command through the thunderous notification storm. Finally, the screen went dark, and you saw yourself staring back through the black mirror, startled to see your sunken eyes, as if you were confronting a stranger. You kept the dead phone centered in your hand, gazing into your own face just a little longer as if to ask what she was looking at, daring her to flinch. 

“Yours, too?” 

A dark, smoldering voice rumbled toward you through the quiet of your shared office. You snapped your head to find him leaning against the doorway, the collar of his oxford missing its tie, unbuttoned thrice, wrinkled and lilting from sweat and rain and the stress of the day. His beard was shaggy, and his five o’clock shadow bristled across his neck, spreading on his cheeks as he gave you a half-smile, wiggling his dead phone in the air. 

“Yeah,” you sighed, coming back to yourself, “Don’t look now, but Twitter is going absolutely mental.”

You pointed your chin at the screen, tilting your head up and leaning back in your chair so that he could look over your shoulder. There was barely a meter between the wall and the desk, so between you and the chair, John needed to lean close to see the final score. As he watched the screen, you watched the pulse of his heart beat through the wide vein in his neck. You could smell his musk, the human of his earthly form filling your nose and mouth, then his aftershave, fading, only the woody base notes remaining. A lingering scent of his favorite cigars clung to his hair and clothes. He smelled like a fire, a whirling inferno of vanilla and licorice and sweet tobacco that you had grown to love, to crave. 

“Christ. A fuckin’ runoff. As if I haven’t put you lot through enough already.” He shook his head, crossing his thick arms across himself, sighing from a resigned frustration. 

“We wouldn’t do it if we didn’t believe it was worth it,” you murmured in a hushed half-tone, your voice almost gone from all the shouting and mayhem you’d been a part of earlier when they’d called for a recount, “We believe in you, John.”

His smile widened, not enough to show those straight, white teeth, but enough to soften his eyes as he looked down at you. He tapped you on the shoulder and motioned for you to come with him. 

As he disappeared through the door, you followed him into the office hallway, past the common room, scooting past half-dead interns, rabid with a new task. One of them was juggling three phone calls at once, but another was curled up beneath her desk fast asleep using a cheap fleece blanket for comfort. Your campaign office had been through Hell, and it was far from over. 

A few of them tried to stop you and ask some questions, but you put them off, telling them to take a breather, get their minds right before making another phone call, and you continued to follow John as he led you through the winding office maze. 

Finally, he pulled you into his office, grabbing your forearm with some force, and locking the door behind you. 

“Got a surprise for you,” he said, pulling out two white bags from under his desk. 

You smelled it before he revealed it to you, and you couldn’t help but gape in excitement,

“Is that… oh, my God. Is that Padella’s? Are you serious right now?”

You helped him tear into the bags like a feral hound, ripping at the tight plastic bow, pulling out the takeaway boxes greedily and without shame.

His grin was smug and satisfied as he watched you open the box and take in a huge whiff of the hot food, 

“Yeah, it is. The seafood alfredo, right? Your favorite.”

“John,” you said his name like he had given you something far more salacious than food, ignoring his rolling chuckle, eager to get a morsel in your mouth as soon as you could. 

“If I knew it’d get you to say my name like that, I’d bring it by every bloody night,” he laughed, hiding his pleasure under a joking tone. He leaned in closer to the open takeaway box, peering inside, “Go on, love. Give us a bite.”

“This is how you know I’m devoted to the John Price campaign,” you joked with him, raising your eyebrows with some sass as you prepared a forkful for him. You speared a juicy scallop, twirling some pasta around on the plastic tines of the single-use utensil, crafting the perfect bite for him. “Giving you first dibs?”

“Lucky bloke, me,” he said quietly, winking at you. 

You pulled the fork into position, lining it up with his mouth, and you watched him open up those full lips for you, showing you his flat, pink tongue that bent to anticipate the creamy taste of the pasta. You placed it gently inside, the act of feeding one of the most dangerous men in the world suddenly too intimate, too endearing. His eyes watched you through the whole ritual, only fluttering closed when he shut his lips and began to chew his bite, savoring the flavors. 

He let out a long groan, the sound of which made you want to squeeze your thighs together, your mind repeating it over and over like an echo, imagining your name falling in between his ragged, guttural sighs. You felt your cheeks run hot.

“Mm, fuck,” he smiled, talking with his mouth half-full, “That is damn good.”

You took your own bite, nodding, tasting the buttery alfredo, the perfectly-cooked noodles, and the light, savory scallop. It was almost better than sex. Almost. 

Sharing the same fork, since you only had the one, you and John traded bites, sitting in silence for a while before the conversation turned back to work.

“They wanna put us in the runoff in less than ten days,” he said ruefully, understanding that timeline would be a brutal one.

“Ten days? Are they trying to kill us? The interns are falling asleep standing up,” you sighed, exaggerating a little, but making your point. 

“You should head home. Get some rest. I’ll hold down the fort here, love,” John said, wiping a smear of stray alfredo off of his lip decisively. 

You balked,

“No. Absolutely not. I can’t leave you now, not when we’re this close to winning this thing.”

He studied you for a moment, leaning his hulking forearms on his desk, spreading his wide hands across the soft wood of its tabletop, letting you see the small muscles in his hands as they stretched and pulled across his bones. He looked down at the space between his palms, grounding himself before he spoke, his voice just above a whisper, 

“You make me feel like it’s actually possible.” 

You reached out, your hand holding onto his wrist, making him look up to meet your eyes,

“John. It is possible. You’ve got Stallworth’s endorsement. Marchande will lose if you can get the Labor constituents behind you. I’ve run the numbers. Believe me, you can do this.”

“I can’t do it without you,” he frowned a bit, his brow knitting together, the timbre of his voice low and steady. 

You smiled up at him, feeling his fingers lace themselves into yours, experimentally testing the boundaries of his touch, 

“I’m here until the bitter end,” you let out a short laugh, nervous from how good it felt to be held in his hands, “And probably even after that.”

John was silent for a while, his thumbs massaging your knuckles in little, slow circles, his touch becoming more and more sensual, and then, he abruptly pulled away, leaving your palms face up on the table, your fingers bent in the shape of a shallow bowl as if begging to be filled. But, you remained empty, so you pulled your hands back to your lap, suddenly unsure, your body wanting his touch but mentally feeling as if you shouldn’t ask for it back.

He looked away, staring past you at the closed door and muttered, 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You challenged, keeping your volume as low as his, not wanting to break the fading spell you had cast over each other. 

“I ask too much of you.”

You listened to the words as he sent them out, hearing two implications fighting within that one phrase. 

Too much of my time, or too much of my body? You wondered. 

So, you tried to make it easy on him. You didn’t want to be the distraction that ruined his race. You stood, closing up the box of food, cleaning off the tiny smear of alfredo that painted the corner of his desk. He stood with you, waving you off of the mess, taking over to clean it himself. 

The bag rustled, the box popped hollowly as he closed it, paper and cardboard and plastic all swishing and clattering, a cacophony of noise. And then… a deeply still silence. 

He was standing right in front of you, too close for you to think straight. You let yourself linger there, leeching the warmth from his heavy body and taking it into yourself, letting it seep into your skin. You vowed to keep the memory of it in some recess of your mind, saving it for dessert when you could be alone to savor its silky texture, tasting a ghost of all of the mirror universes where you knew what it felt like to be covered in him.

Suddenly, you felt his finger under your chin, a coaxing pressure, lifting your face to look at him. It was hard to look into his eyes. Some part of you knew that the moment he peered into them, when he studied what they were trying to hide, he would know your secret. He would be able to see all of your guilt, all of your stolen pleasure, all of the nights where your hand tried to replicate his presence, working itself between your legs to indulge in your fantasies about being taken by him, about serving him not as his campaign advisor but as his woman; his shelter and his release. He would look into your face and he would immediately know that you dreamed of being used like his own personal toy, helping him unwind after the stress of this election, putting all of his frustrations into you as he pounded himself into your mouth or between your spread legs, using you like a salve on a burn.  

But, you showed him anyway. Your eyes flicked up to his, and you let him see it. 

John towered over you, his shadow darkening your vision, framing you with his round shoulders. He had his thumb pressed just below your bottom lip, opening your mouth a little, watching your breathing crash heavy into your lungs.  

You stood frozen in place, watching as his neck bent over you, the great trunk of his body craning down, shading you, closing around you like the boughs of an immense oak, promising that you were safe here nestled in his roots, some sort of primal argument, convincing you to stay still so he could devour you in peace. A rabbit, statuesque beneath the snarl of a wolf.

His face was now upon yours, close enough for you to see the little silver scars that crossed over his cheek and brow, hints at a dangerous life, whispers of old pain. A light spattering of freckles littered the bridge of his nose, fanning out beneath those pale blue eyes he had fixed on your mouth, staring into it as if hypnotized.

Finally, when he was near enough to taste your air, to feel the heat of your breath against his mouth, his lips broke their seal, opening in anticipation of another first bite, another chance to sate a different type of hunger. 

His lips brushed yours, every moment taking an eon to pass, seconds stretching into thousands of hours, the office, the building, the city melting away from you like wax from a flame, the world giving way to dark infinity, and you opened your mouth to taste him, allowing your tongue to slip over your teeth so that you could know the sweetness of the smooth skin of his lip. 

The moment you touched him, you were taken. He crashed into you, his mouth to your mouth, his chest to your chest, scooping you up like a greedy falcon, trapping you in his arms, flying away with you. Or falling? You felt like you were falling; like you had leapt too high and now would tumble through the sky forever, whirling helplessly. He tasted of the rich alfredo, and of his cigars, buttery and rich, masculine and heady. He was prying your jaw apart with his own, eager to fill your cheeks with his broad, heavy tongue. John pulled back just enough to allow you to take a breath, but he returned, unable to stop himself, softly sucking at your bottom lip, slanting his mouth over yours, the fever in him beginning to cool. Then, he pulled back altogether, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes wrenched closed, his body heaving from his desperate breaths. 

He leaned back, staring at you with a worried look on his face, his voice deep and gravelly, a demonic purr, 

“I… I’m so sorry.”

You nodded, lowering your eyes, 

“I know. We can’t.”

“Can’t?” He panted, still reeling, looking at you like he was lost, like you knew the way out, “Do you want this? Me?”

You leaned your head into the strength of his hands as he cradled your skull, drunk on hope,

“More than you know. But, I don’t want to distract–”

John lunged at you, his mouth pressing to yours again, hurting you with his power. The weight of his jaw crashing into your lips, making you wonder if you would bleed from it, your own teeth cutting into the delicate membrane inside. But, he didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t concerned with your comfort. He was only there to consume you, to steal your breath, to drink your soul from your throat. 

He moved his body against you like a python, curling and squeezing you with his arms, constricting your movements, pushing and pulling you this way or that, whatever would give him deeper access to your pink tongue. His aggression shocked you, and it was everything you could do to just keep your balance, unsteady on your feet, your hands clutching at his waist for support. 

John’s kissing made you feel weak, like he was drugging you, forcing your mind into a daze. You tried to remember why you had tried to stop this from happening, unable to even imagine a consequence. You felt his hands wander away from your face, rushing down your neck, finding your breasts and roughly fondling them over your shirt. You’d ripped off your bra long ago, hot and tired, needing relief. 

When he realized that your heavy tits were hanging freely, hidden beneath your oversized button-down, you felt him shudder, groaning into your mouth at the mere fantasy of seeing them, of marking your nipples in dark hickeys as he suckled you, letting his teeth tattoo his claim on your flesh. 

You were brought back to the physical world when you felt your ass shoved into the long edge of the desk, stopping his forward progress. He pulled away from the kiss and stared down at you with a look that made you feel as if you might be in some kind of danger, even if you were relishing every fearful moment of it. 

John had only shown you this expression once before. You’d been working late again, trying to keep yourself awake by brewing coffee in the break room. There’d been an incident or two with one of the interns, a bloke who didn’t know how to take no for an answer. You’d shut him down twice, and now, you hadn’t realized he had followed you inside the small kitchenette. This time, he wasn’t asking, and when you felt his hand on your neck, you’d screamed, fighting back, but not making much difference. Mere seconds later, John had marched in wearing this same expression stretched across his face. 

It was a sort of ravenous joy, almost playful, but it was terrifying. He’d broken the intern’s wrist in his crushing grip, and then his jaw bone, striking the smaller man down to the dirty, tile floor with a single, cracking punch. Then, he’d stared at you, trying his best to control his visage, to push down that fiery arousal. Eventually, he was back under control, helping you out of the office, checking you for any wound, no matter how minor, worrying himself over you, promising that you’d never see that arsehole again. And you never did. You’d put it out of your mind until just this moment, always having more work to do. But now, you wondered if that intern was still walking around out there or if John had let his old ways return just for that evening. He was always good at eliminating threats. 

You had assumed that his feral heat had been for the fight, an expression of rage. But now, you thought that perhaps it had been for you. The thought that this reckless lad had dared to put his hands on something that John had claimed as his own, righteously possessive over you to the point of fury, baring his teeth and curling his lip into a lupine snarl, briefly revealing his wrath before tamping down on it and hiding it from you out of fear that you would not agree to be his. 

Now, he was not controlling his face. There was no polite gentleness in his eyes, no casual ease in his shoulders, no respectful distance between your body and his. No; now that you were in his grasp, he had no plans to let you go free. 

He grabbed you around your waist, his fingers cutting into your full form, squeezing your hips and lifting you with ease onto the desktop. He distracted you with kisses, lulling you back into a hazy, pleasure-filled lust, making you aware of his desire by shoving himself between your thick thighs, the threat of his heavy erection pressing through his slacks and onto the crotch of your jeans. 

Your body reacted on instinct. You felt yourself widening your legs and canting your hips to rub against his hardon like you were in heat, your biology doing everything it could to get his attention. 

But, you had it regardless. He tugged off your shirt with a deft sort of accuracy that took your breath away. When he let his eyes drink in the sight of your round breasts, peaked with smooth, puffy nipples, his rushed movements stilled, and you waited while he studied you, reaching out his fingers to see if you were as soft as you looked. As he discovered the truth, his big fingers wrapping around each of your heavy tits, applying pressure, caressing the sides of them, feeling the thin ridges of your stretch marks, plucking delicately at each nipple, looking up at your face to watch your reactions; all the while, you could feel the throb of his fat cock fighting to touch you through your clothes. 

Then, his touch became feverish again. Instead of a caress, it was a burning friction; instead of tender plucking, it was a shocking pinch. He was making you writhe beneath his hands, manhandling your tits to his own end, enjoying your whimpering cries of pain that fizzled into bright pleasure, the pressure of his dick against your sex making you aware of the growing wetness there, your panties proving your desire to you, warm and slippery. 

You reached up your hand to touch his chest, mimicking his affection, admiring the firm muscle that spanned beneath your palms. Your fingers found the gap between his buttons, running through the dense patch of hair that lay on his sternum, raking your nails lightly across his skin. He furrowed his brow, wanting more, looking down at your touch and starting to unbutton his dress shirt. Within seconds, he was peeling it off of his shoulders, leaving it rumpled and inside-out on the floor. 

Sitting up, you started to explore him with your mouth, letting your lips drag along his furry skin, licking your way across to his highest ribs, to that sensitive spot just below his armpit, changing your gentle exploration into a sucking, lustful kiss, aiming to leave a mark of your own. He let you bite him, enjoying the pain and groaning from it. Then, he grew impatient, and he fisted your hair at the nape of your neck, yanking you away from him, bending over you again, forcing you to kiss him as he pressed your jaw up to his, controlling your head. 

But, he did not have control of your hands. Without breaking eye contact with him, you began to fumble with his belt, hurrying to open the latch, moving on to his button fly, popping each one away to reveal his boxer briefs, the cotton of them soft across the back of your hand. You watched his face, chaotic and full of a decadent sort of desire, as if he couldn’t believe what he was feeling. 

He kept his hand in your hair and let you work his pants away, peeling his underclothes down as far as you could get them, glancing down as the pink, swollen head of his dick peeked over the hem as you revealed him. The head was pointing at his hip, trapped there by the wide elastic of his briefs. Now that he was free to move, his length stood at attention, fully erect with a girth that made you dizzy. 

“Holy fuck,” you gasped, muttering a curse under your breath. 

He jerked your head back, tearing your eyes away from his heavy phallus and forcing you to look at him instead,

“Something wrong, love?” 

You gave him a submissive look, curling your lips into a sly smile, your eyes wide like a fearful doe, 

“I don’t think you’ll fit.”

He smiled down at you, pleased by your appraisal, his gaze turning sinister,

“You’re not leavin’ ‘til I do.”

Quicker than you could breathe, he released his hold on your head and used both hands to ruck off your jeans in one violent pull. Your panties got stuck halfway, getting caught in the rough stitching of the denim. John looked down into your lap, staring at the silky fabric clinging to your wide hips, hanging off to one side at a messy diagonal, showing him the top of your unshaved mons. 

You heard him sigh through his smile, his hand reaching forward and ever-so-gently helping the edge of your panties back into place. You were confused. He was supposed to be ripping them off and fucking you stupid, but he slowed things all the way down, returning to his delicate caresses. 

John played with your breasts again, kissing your mouth, sucking on your neck. Then, he reached between your legs and touched you, his hand slipping over your covered pussy, groping you through the thin fabric. His fingers were warm, and the way he pressed them beside your tender clit made you tremble, your thighs shaking a bit as your legs hung off the side of the desk. 

He fell to his knees in front of you, his hands wrapping around the curve of your ass, pulling you as far forward on the edge of the desk as he could, throwing you forward like you were as light as a feather, his grip fierce and bruising. Then, he leaned forward, eager to put his mouth over your pussy, but you protested, gasping,

“John, my… my panties.”

He pinned his bright blue eyes on yours, looking at you unblinking, and leaned forward, showing you that he didn’t give a fuck about your panties. His hot tongue began to push and prod at your lips through the fabric, and you could feel your pussy clinging to the gusset, the wet cloth conforming to your shape as he licked and sucked.

As his tongue delved deeper, he discovered your sticky precome that had been soaking you right through ever since he’d found you staring at the vote count. He used his lips to suck on your folds, the knit of the fabric allowing only the tiniest bit of air to escape, making little chirping sounds as he applied more and more pressure. Then, you watched in a sick sort of awe as he took the gusset fully into his mouth, pulling it away from your body to suck your wetness from it like he was lapping up the last bit of ice cream from its cone. He even used his hand to loop it over his fingers, stretching out the thin triangle, making sure to get every last drop. 

By this time, you were pretty sure you had dripped your stickiness straight onto his desk, and you could feel your pussy slipping around on the smooth surface with every little movement. John decided to finally give you what you’d been whimpering for, and he pulled your panties aside to drink from the source. 

When the hot curl of his tongue finally connected, sealing wet flesh against wet flesh, you cried out, biting into your hand to keep yourself from being heard. You watched him eat you from your center, writhing his tongue deep into your hole and sucking on the head of your clit, using his bottom lip to reach that space underneath, teasing you within an inch of your life. Without thinking, your hand went to the back of his head, fingers raking through his hair, and you watched his eyes flutter, loving the feeling of your nails on his scalp. 

Your legs were partly resting on his shoulders, and John stood up quickly, slamming you back onto the desk and hauling your legs over with you, shoving your knees into your chest, putting your pussy on full display. You felt his fingers curve down through your wet lips and into the sensitive divot where you were leaking from. As he sank his hand into your hole, you felt like you were so close to coming. All of his licking and teasing had put you on the edge, and now that his thumb was sliding beside your clit and his longest fingers were stretching out your pussy, you felt the spark of an orgasm ignite in your belly. 

“Yes, love… That’s… ungh, fuck��” John felt it, too.

His hand was making all sorts of noise as he fucked his fingers up into you, the messiness only getting worse as your body flooded you with shock after shock of your orgasm. You were convulsing, your abs tight and protruding beneath your layer of fat, your feet pointed straight like a ballerina, all of your limbs frozen and tense, letting the orgasm wreck you and leave you boneless. 

He pulled away from you, gently removing his hand, and he bent his mouth to you again, aiming to taste your fresh come, hot and silky, coating you in natural lube, doing its absolute best to convince him to listen to his instincts and sheath himself inside of your body. 

But, John was careful. He pulled your legs back down to a bent position, one hand on each knee, prying you apart slowly, his eyes fixed on your flower so he could watch it bloom, covered in your sweet nectar. 

“You okay?” He asked, his voice husky and broken. 

You nodded, 

“Yeah, I’m more than okay.”

He smiled at you, using his hands to push your breasts together, playing with your nipples in his warm hands, pinching you cruelly and then soothing you in small circles, never letting you know when the pain or the pleasure would come. 

On the outside of your pussy, John rested his cock, spreading your outer lips with its weight to fit his girth right on top of your clit. He thrust forward, and you watched as the drooling head of his prick was shoved toward you. 

He humped himself against you in a steady pattern, pumping himself across your wetness, trying to relieve some pressure. Eventually, you thought he was about to come, but he stopped, slowing to a slick grind. He looked up at you and ran his palm down his face, frustrated and beyond horny.

“I wanna fuck you so goddamn bad.”

“So do I,” you moaned, rocking your hips up and down, adding to his thrusting friction, using him like a toy to bring yourself back to a shivering edge. 

“I don’t have a condom,” he confessed, helping you use his smooth head to massage the body of your clit. 

“I’m clean. I actually don’t think I’ve had sex since I moved to the city,” you shrugged, slowing down with him, waiting for his consent before giving in to your mind-altering want, “But, if you wanna stop, it’s okay.”

He kissed your ankle, holding your foot in his hand, leaving little licks and love bites down your calf as he warred with himself, 

“Haven’t been with anyone since Dahra.”

His ex-wife. She’d gone back to Urzikstan one day without so much as a note, packing a bag and leaving her rings on the counter. Apparently, when they’d finally met to fill out his divorce papers, he said that she looked happy in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time, so he signed without question. You remember when he had told you about it, three whiskeys deep and sharing a cigar on the roof of his loft, too late to go to the pub, but too early to stop drinking. He’d held your hand while he talked to you that night. You’d just thought he needed the support, and you tried to be a good friend. But now that he was getting himself off by slipping through your come-covered lips, playing in the mess that he made, you imagined that moment much differently. 

“I trust you,” you looked up at him through your lashes, holding your breasts and teasing your nipples between your fingers, your skin feeling as if you were electric, sensitive beyond comprehension, every touch and pinch feeling like ecstasy. 

Apparently, he didn’t need much convincing. In your next breath, you felt his head sloppily notching against your throbbing core, fitting snug in the soft entrance of your cunt, cradled there in your warmth. You gasped, enjoying the sensation of being gently licked by his cockhead in the center of your folds, filling a void, a missing piece slotting into place. 

Then, he met your eyes, staring into them with a fondness that you had only dreamed about, framed by that same furious arousal, like staring at a white-hot flame and knowing it could kill you but admiring its beauty anyway. 

“Hands on your knees,” he said, jerking himself a bit as he dipped into your entrance.

John watched as you grabbed your knees, pulling your legs apart, opening yourself up to him in the most vulnerable way, presenting yourself to him fully, without shame, all the guilt you’d been dragging around now gone, giving yourself to him freely and wanting him to take you like a prize. 

“So damn pretty,” he muttered to himself, staring down at your coupling, watching as he stuffed himself inside of you as carefully as he could, trying to let you adjust but unable to stop himself from thrusting deeper and deeper. 

He pulled himself all the way out and tried to sink into you again, his eyes snapping up to your face at the sound of a hiss coming through your teeth as he made his way through your tight muscles. You felt him stop, thinking he had hurt you, but you shook your head, 

“Don’t stop. I need you, John. I wanna feel so full.”

An animal noise escaped from his throat, and he rewarded your bravery, finishing the job with a snap of his hips, sealing himself fully inside of you. The root of his cock knocked the breath out of you, making you gasp in wonder at the sensation of being stretched beyond any memory. Yes, it had been a while, but you were no virgin. Nevertheless, John Price’s fat shaft was making you question whether you had ever truly been fucked before. His girth was changing your definition of the word.

If you had thought that he would treat you reverently, like you were made of precious lace, you had another thing coming. It was as if he had been waiting for this very moment, and he planned to take every advantage of the opportunity. Now that he had you, he used you. 

His huge hands scooped up your legs, silently instructing you to lock them around his hips, keeping your thighs wide as he rutted into you. You hooked your ankles together, admiring the pulsing feel of his large glutes as he thrust forward, feeling him squeeze and release, pounding himself into you with his heavy weight. 

John was too big. You had to admit that to yourself at this point. You could feel him stretching your hole, pushing your flesh beyond its usual limits. But, you were drunk off of the way his dick made you feel like you were constantly coming. You’d never truly been able to find your g-spot. Every now and then, when you had a really great partner, you thought that you’d orgasmed from the grinding thrusts of his rod, but it was rare. This, though, how John’s cock was spreading you, how you could feel him on all sides, the unimaginable pressure… he was hypnotizing.

He would pound himself into you, slamming his weight into your hips, and the shudder of your bones would make your body tremble. Then, when he was in, the pressure of his dense cockhead would flash a glittering wave of orgasmic pleasure through your core, making you think that you were about to explode. But, you never did. The pleasure never stopped. It never found a peak. It would just build and build in crashing, tumultuous waves, whirling through your blood like a cyclone, each throb feeling like spark lightning. 

Your mind was racing. Should I stop him? Is this normal? Am I gonna pass the fuck out? But, you couldn’t speak. If you tried to form a sentence or even a coherent phrase, he would bottom out again, flooding his shaft with your wet slick, and you would be overcome by another wave of bliss, nothing more than a warm sheath for his mighty sword. 

The edge of you lip was cool and wet, and you realized you were drooling, your tongue resting on your bottom teeth like a panting dog, helping you whimper and mewling your moans as you felt him mold you to fit. 

“Shit, you are still so tight, love. Can barely put it in. Squeezin’ me… fuck,” he was sweating, hoarsely groaning in long, deep breaths, his belly expanding and contracting as he labored over you. 

You didn’t reply. All of your words had been crushed into whining cries, helpless gasps. You took his hand and lifted it up to your mouth, placing it on your tongue, hoping he would fuck your throat with his fingers. The look on his face was one of desperate curiosity, wanting to please you, to serve you however he could. So, taking the hint, he curled his fingers away and pushed his first and middle fingers deeper into your mouth, exploring you softly. 

You moaned loudly from the relief and closed your lips around his knuckles, shoving him all the way in to the top of his palm, beginning to suck and lick him as if it were a heavy cock instead of his hand. 

His eyes rolled back in his head, and he tilted his chin up to the ceiling, his neck bulging with his ragged breaths. Then, he turned his gaze back to you, watching you comfort yourself with his fingers, suckling on them like a hungry calf, needy and persistent. 

“Fuck,” he exclaimed, “Tha’s bloody hot. Suck them deeper for me. Wanna feel your throat.”

You obliged him, your lips now reaching over his last knuckles onto the back of his hand and the callused ridge of his palm. If you stuck out your tongue, you could lick the middle of his palm, choking yourself with his fingertips and swallowing around them, clenching your throat in time with his thrusts. 

“Mmmf-fuckkk,” he rasped, his face set in an agonized fury, “Gag yourself again. Choke on me, love. Just like that.”

You knew why he liked it. You could feel his response. Because every time you choked on his hand, your body would heave, trying to get air, trying to fight him away, and your pussy would contract, milking his thick shaft like a strong, wet fist. So, you gave him more, ignoring your mind’s fear and confusion, mentally moving past it, focusing only on his pleasure, and yours. 

After a few more thrusts, the look in his eyes became one of concern, a worried flash of panic. He was going to come, and you knew it. 

John tried to pull his hand back, gently attempting to leave the warmth of your mouth, but you didn’t let him go. You held his giant wrist in both hands, gripping him cruelly, forcing his fingers even deeper, bobbing your head as if you were sucking his dick. 

“Gonna come. Fuck, I’m gonna – ungh. C’mon! Come with me, baby. Come with me. Lemme feel –”

He used his free hand to swipe roughly over your clit, changing those waves of cracking pleasure into a blistering orgasm, the heat of which seared over your whole body, making you feel like you had a fever. You felt yourself gushing between your legs, all of the wetness he had been churning within you being pushed out by the rhythmic clamping of your own muscles. You were screaming, but no one would hear you. All of your keening was subdued by his heavy hand, getting lost every time you choked for air. The only thing you heard was the rushing of breath from his spreading lungs and the creamy, slapping impact of his body against yours.

Then, a barking, guttural growl that he tried to hide, cutting it off and grinding his teeth to prevent himself from screaming as he emptied his load into you. You felt it hit your flesh within your core, like a burning splash of lava, shooting into you over and over, foaming and folding around the swollen head of his prick. His come felt heavy as it pooled at your end, deep in your belly, coating you like a glaze and settling over your womb.

You wanted him to stay inside of you forever, but he was finished and totally spent, his strength fading to a relaxed daze. You unhooked your legs and let him step away, feeling the loss of him in your mouth and your pussy, unable to even roll yourself off of the desk. So, you had to hang there, your legs unsupported, dangling wide apart, showing him exactly what he had just done to you. And he looked like he was enjoying the view. He stared down between your legs and watched his cream ooze out of your fucked hole, the flesh red and shining from its ordeal. 

There was nothing in his office for comfort. But, he needed to soothe you. Some instinct within him was screaming in his mind to hold you in his arms and keep you safe. So, he pulled you off of the desk, holding you in his arms, and guided you down to the carpet, sitting with his back against the wall and letting you lean against his body, keeping you in his lap with tired arms. 

You were both so sticky, but the sweat didn’t bother you. You were happy to rest your cheek on his shoulder, caressing his furry belly with your hands, trying not to pass out. 

“You alright, love?” He asked in a low whisper, “Did I hurt you?”

“Gonna be sore tomorrow,” you smiled, not lifting your eyes to look at his face, choosing instead to stare at how his soft body hair ruffled over your fingernails as you lightly scratched them across his skin. “Are you okay, John?”

“Worried about you. About this,” he murmured, some of his strength coming back to his voice. You looked up at him now, watching as he carefully crafted his next words, “Don’t want this to be a one-time thing. But, we can’t… I’m –”

“John,” you interrupted his turmoil, “In ten days, you’ll be in the House of fucking Commons. Then, you can do whatever you want. Until then…” You reached down and fondled his exhausted cock tenderly, making his body jerk from how sensitive he was, “I can be your little secret.”

He lifted your chin with his thumb just as he had at the start of this dreamlike encounter, kissing you tenderly, making sure he could feel your mouth against his, slipping his tongue over your lips just to reach the ridge of your teeth before pulling back again, his eyes turning back to that lascivious rage, 

“You don’t deserve that. I want them to bloody well know that you’re mine.”

You didn’t ask who “they” were. That was just how John spoke to you. It was always you and him versus them. The media, the Parliament, the world… it didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. But, you knew better than to let idealism cloud your judgment. 

“Be patient, John,” you caressed his cheek, “Win your seat. I’m not going anywhere.”

Finally, a small smile twitched on the corner of his mouth and he held you closer, hugging you to his chest,

“Not true,” he paused, looking down at your quizzical expression, a playful gleam in his eyes, “You’re coming to my flat, crawling in my bed, and letting me fuck that perfect cunt again.”

AO3 Link

[editorialtazadegato]

CUANDO VUELVA (FIC) (AGNES/AGATHA X LECTORA) Una historia de Agnes of Westview PARTE 2

Algo pasó contigo y a Agnes no le va a gustar nada.

Angst, drama!

2

La puerta sonó tres veces y Agnes dio un suspiro para después dirigirse a abrir la puerta. Se le había erizado la piel de los brazos, sabía que eras tú. Sabía que llegarías con tu característica sonrisa a tratar de subirle el ánimo, tal vez con otro vaso de café traído de quién sabe dónde (no habían cafeterías cerca pero siempre llegabas con una), pero después de los cinco primeros días de trabajar contigo se estaba empezando a acostumbrar a tí. A verte llegar en las frías mañanas envuelta en un abrigo que te cubría hasta las rodillas, el cabello ligeramente despeinado por el viento que corría afuera y con la punta de la nariz algo enrojecida. Le sonreías, la saludabas con dulzura y te disculpabas por haber llegado tarde aún sin haber llegado realmente tarde, haciendo que, sin darse cuenta, te devuelva la sonrisa. De un modo u otro, tu comportamiento había dejado de significar una molestia para ella. En esos días empezó a llevarte a casa en las noches después de trabajar largas horas y a veces la descubrías volteando a ver en su dirección antes de entrar por su puerta.

Trabajar contigo resultaba más satisfactorio de lo que pensaba y en esos cinco días la comunicación entre ustedes fluía de una forma que Agnes jamás había logrado con ningún asistente u oficial de policía. El anterior auxiliar fue violentamente echado a patadas por la misma Agnes por no recordar datos clave de otro caso anterior, y otro sujeto que trabajó para ella se fue maldiciendo y quejándose fuertemente con el jefe, esas cosas hacían que se agote su paciencia, algo que contigo no sucedía. En ocasiones, Agnes se oía a sí misma decirte "Gracias" e incluso modular su tono de voz para hablar contigo. Sonreía y se aseguraba de que nadie la vea, excepto tú.

La detective pensaba mucho en ello, y a veces notaba que tal vez lo hacía demasiado. Muchos detalles sobre ti llegaban a su mente en los momentos menos oportunos, como cuando intentaba leer algo importante, o cuando estaba conduciendo, o cuando estaba preparando el mismo sándwich de queso para cenar, ahí estabas tú en sus pensamientos hablándole con la misma sutileza y la misma tierna mirada, al punto de que ella misma tenía que ponerse un alto.

"Bueno, basta" Se decía firmemente a sí misma en voz alta en medio de su sala, o la oficina cuando tú no estabas presente, como en aquel momento antes de abrirle la puerta. 

"Detective, buenos días, lamento la demora..."

Agnes abrió la puerta y te encontró algo inclinada tratando de arreglar algo en uno de tus zapatos, aún sin verla a la cara.

En aquella ocasión no llegaste con el café y tampoco con el abrigo, cosa que la sorprendió. Llegaste con la respiración agitada, el cabello muy alborotado y una expresión de incomodidad, cuando terminaste de colocarte de nuevo el zapato te levantaste a verla, aclarar tu garganta y a frotarte las manos. Agnes frunció el ceño, notó que sólo llevabas un suéter y una falda, no comprendía qué hacías vestida así con ese clima.

"¿Qué sucedió, T/N?" Preguntó Agnes, aún parada frente a tí y bloqueando sutilmente tu camino, deseaba que respondas y saber si tuviste algún inconveniente, no era común que llegues en esas condiciones y si había un responsable de aquello, el jefe la echaría de nuevo por las cosas que haría. 

"¿Dónde está tu abrigo?" Continuó. "¿T/N...?"

Desviaste la mirada hacia el piso e intentaste seguir caminando para sacar algo de tu portafolio con las manos temblorosas, estando éste también deteriorado. Agnes empezaba a desesperarse.

"¿Quieres decirme qué carajo ha pasado? ¿Te robaron?" Preguntó levantando la voz y tú sólo volteaste a mirarla algo sobresaltada. "Si fue así ¿Fue alguien de por aquí? Ohh...¡mierda!..." Comenzó a murmurar Agnes dándose cuenta de que existía la posibilidad de que sí hayas sido asaltada y te encuentres en shock o algo así, se cubrió los ojos con una mano y tomó aire lentamente, dando pasos lentos hacia ti. 

"Alguien me atacó" Dijiste después de una corta pausa, haciendo que Agnes continúe dando pasos hacia ti, esta vez más rápidamente y tomando tu hombro con una mano.

"¿QUÉ? ¿Quién? quién...digo...¿Viste su cara?" Te preguntaba Agnes, muy alterada, esta vez tomando tus dos hombros. "¿Te robaron?¿Te golpearon?"

Agnes revisaba cada centímetro de tu cabeza, cara, y parte del cuello, todas las áreas descubiertas. "¿Te has roto algo? ¡Responde!"

"Fue una mujer" Respondiste, aterrorizada, y la mirada de Agnes se quedó puesta en la tuya, pudiste ver cómo sus pupilas se hicieron pequeñas. "Yo venía hacia la oficina y...Ella parecía esperarme en una esquina, me empujó y el café cayó al piso, sé que era una mujer, tenía el cabello recogido"

Tu voz empezaba a quebrarse y tu mirada a bajar, pero Agnes se iba acercando a tratar de oírte con más claridad.

"¡Me dio una patada, detective!...y no sé cómo pero cuando me dí cuenta había caído en medio de la calle y un auto casi me aplasta, me pude levantar antes de que suceda" 

"No..." Repetía Agnes, llenándose de ira. "No puede ser...Tienes que decirme que recuerdas cómo era...¿recuerdas algo?"

"Me amenazó, detective" Respondiste. "Me dijo que me mataría si le decía algo, creo que lo hará, ¡No sé cómo sabía mi nombre! ¡Ni el suyo!" Exclamaste, Agnes seguía sosteniendo tus hombros, bajó un poco hasta tus brazos.

"Te amenazó..."

"Tenía...cabello largo, oscuro, estaba enojada, me llamó cosas ofensivas, la palabra con "P"" Dijiste y Agnes frunció más el ceño, haciendo que la línea que se había marcado en su rostro vuelva a acentuarse. "Y me dijo algo en otro idioma...creo que era español, detective...No sé qué hacer..." De tus ojos acuosos empezaron a brotar lágrimas, y Agnes quedó en shock. Te envolvió fuertemente en sus brazos por un acto instintivo y pudo sentir tus palpitaciones. Empezaste a sollozar pero te contuviste lo más rápido que pudiste. Una mano de Agnes pasó lentamente sobre tu cabello antes de separarse y darse cuenta de que la distancia tal vez no era la más apropiada, podían oír sus respiraciones agitadas. Tus sollozos podían oírse en la oficina principal pero no parecía llamar la atención de ningún oficial. Algo no andaba bien.

"Cabello oscuro...Habló en español" Agnes pensó en alguien en específico pero no lo creía posible. Sin embargo, algo dentro de ella le indicaba que sí podría tratarse de esa persona.

"¡Va a matarme, detective!" Agnes notó que entraste en pánico, así que te tomó de nuevo de los hombros y te hizo verla de nuevo de un movimiento.

"ESCUCHA. Te quedas aquí, ¿Entendido?" Te ordenó Agnes, mirándote detenidamente como si siguiese buscando algo en tus ojos. "No salgas hasta que yo te diga y te llevo a tu casa hoy. Voy a informar lo que pasó, pero tienes que calmarte para que hagas la denuncia. Espérame aquí" Te decía Agnes pasándote un pañuelo para secar tus mejillas. 

"¿La conoce, detective?" Preguntaste en voz baja, tratando de calmar tu llanto, Agnes te hizo sentarte en su asiento y te colocó su propio abrigo en tus hombros. No supo qué contestar, no estaba segura. "Ella mencionó su nombre...Y algo de que era su trabajo ocuparse de este caso, y que me aleje de usted"

Agnes caminó hacia la puerta a paso firme y se burló al escuchar lo último que dijiste. 

"Entonces no me conoce" Dijo Agnes apretando los dientes, para después tirar la puerta haciendo que se produzca un pequeño movimiento en los cuadros colgados y el pizarrón. 

---------------------

El jefe Phil Jones se interpuso en su camino y abrió la boca para hablar, detrás de él se podía ver a alguien sentado.

"¡Dese prisa Jefe, maldición! La agente T/A ha sufrido un asalto" Exclamó Agnes antes de que la expresión de ira se le borre de la cara al ver a la persona detrás. El hombre empezó a decir algo sobre un cambio, sobre alguien nuevo en el caso. La detective sintió una mirada que le hirvió la sangre de ira y en instantes pudo conectar los puntos con todo lo que había pasado.

Una mujer joven de cabello oscuro recogido con una hebilla, camisa blanca y mirada penetrante se puso de pie, dando pasos hacia ustedes y sonriendo maliciosamente.

"La agente Vidal será de gran ayuda, de hecho, ¿en estos cinco días hubo algún progreso?- Preguntó el jefe y Agnes contestó de inmediato, con lo que parecía ser un ladrido en su cara.

"¡T/A se queda!" Exclamó Agnes. "Me la asignaron a mí, y yo digo que se queda, ¿me oyó?" El jefe y el oficial herb miraron a Agnes confundidos.

Rio Vidal. La mujer que te atacó era Rio Vidal. Una supuesta detective, una supuesta asistente, con quien Agnes tuvo un largo y tormentoso pasado fue capaz de atacar a alguien de ese modo. Definitivamente fue ella, Agnes lo confirmó. Había un motivo por el cual ella te haya investigado y Agnes estaba segura de que tenía que ver con el vínculo que se formaba entre ustedes. No quería admitirlo pero su intuición se lo decía, a Rio no le hacia gracia que Agnes esté conociendo a alguien más. 

La mujer arqueó las cejas. Su sonrisa se había borrado, dejando una expresión de disgusto mirando hacia todos lados.

"Y tú, ¿Qué haces aquí?" Le preguntó secamente Agnes a la mujer.

"Mi trabajo" Contestó. "Al parecer soy la única que puede ser de ayuda aquí, ¿Qué hiciste en cinco días?"

"¡¿Y tienes el maldito descaro de decir eso cuando TÚ atacaste a T/A?! ¡Tú la empujaste a la calle!" Exclamó Agnes y el jefe se quedó pasmado al oirla.

"¿Es cierto eso, Agente Vidal?" Preguntó el jefe, muy confundido. Agnes lo ignoró y volvió a dirigirse a Rio. 

"No te quiero aquí" 

"Me necesitas para ayudarte con el caso, a menos que tu otra asistente te haya servido de algo en estos días más que el café y mostrar sus piernas" Respondió Rio de forma altanera, de nuevo con la sonrisa. "Es más...¿Dónde está ella?" Rio caminó hacia la puerta de tu oficina y a través del vidrio ambas pudieron ver que ya no estabas. Agnes se sobresaltó y abrió la puerta de golpe.

"¿T/N?¡T/N!" 

Exclamaba Agnes, pero no había rastro de tí, se llevó una mano a la boca. El abrigo de Agnes estaba colgado en su asiento y Rio fue a sentarse al otro asiento, fingiendo tristeza.

"tal vez se fue a su casa, Agnes...yo no le prestaría tanta atención" Dijo Rio cruzándose de piernas. "¿Cómo una agente no podría defenderse sola?"

Agnes la interrumpió y salió corriendo de la oficina, el caso de la mujer fallecida ni siquiera cruzó por su mente.

[benedich]

“¿tanto así?” alza sus cejas con interés. “digo si hablas tan bien la verdad es que si se me antoja ir ahora mismo” asiente con su cabeza. “espero no haya muches vástagos, la última vez que pasé por ahí parecía que era la única atracción” @kaitoxw

l.  ¿Realmente probaste las aguas termales? @benedich

con una placida sonrisa asiente suavemente. " sí, ya las probé. me la pasaría todo el día ahí, honestamente. ¿no quieres ir ahora? " tenía que aprovechar mientras estuviese aquí en kyoto, y estaba preparado para pasar un rato en las templadas aguas.

[keibi2718]

Feliz aniversario

18 Feb - 18 Dic 2023

Mi amor de mi vida y de mi alma 💕

Lamento mucho la demora

Se que han sido días difíciles para ambos

pero espero poderte alegrar un poco con este mensajito

Te amo mucho corazón 💞

y estoy muy feliz y emocionada de pasar muchos muchos añitos más a tu lado!!!

Eres lo más hermoso que me ha sucedido en estos años, encerio corazón gracias por llegar a alegrar mi vida con tus risas y bromas

Eres un excelente novio

Bueno ....

Un excelente esposo jejeje

Porque para mí eres mi esposo corazón 💓

Me importas demasiado

Siempre voy a cuidarte y buscar que estés bien corazón

Eres muy especial para mí mi vida

[by-speaker]

Matrimonio Arreglado (ESP. VER)

prompts por @raven-cincaide-words

Cuando eres un Dios menor muchas veces no tienes muchas libertades, cuando eres el hijo de la muerte tienes aún menos libertades. Ahora estaban sentados en una fina sala de estar, esperando pacientemente al emperador del imperio ártico, el Blood God, Missa realmente no estaba contento con lo que estaba a punto de pasar, pero no tenía ni voz ni voto en esta situación.

"Ah," luego de esperar un rato, un hombre de cabello rosa y colmillos de jabalí entró a la sala, "Mi querida muerte, siempre es un placer tenerte aquí." Dijo el Dios abriendo sus brazos para saludar a su madre.

"Oh, Techno, nos conocemos desde milenios, por favor dime Catrina." Dijo su madre, levantándose para aceptar el abrazo del Dios.

La mirada color sangre del Dios se fijo en Missa, y lo observo de arriba hacia abajo, "Como tú deses, Catrina, ¿Así que este es el muchacho?" Dijo el Dios con una sonrisa burlona.

"Es un placer conocerlo, señor." Dijo Missa con una reverencia.

"Espero que hayan tenido un buen viaje," dijo el Dios, "Sientes por favor, Philza estaba en una reunión, se unirá a nosotros en 10 minutos."

Philza, ese era el nombre del mortal con el que se iba a casar. Era un compromiso que hizo cuando tenía alrededor de 500 años, no sabía por qué su madre le había hecho mantener su promesa.

"Por supuesto," dijo su madre con una sonrisa, sentándose en uno de los elegantes sillones y palmeando su lado para que él se sentara cerca de ella.

Se quedaron un par de minutos en un silencio tenso, mientras el Blood God bebía algo rojo de una copa, Missa prefirió no pensar en que era.

"Entonces... joven muerte," dijo el Dios, girando la copa entre sus dedos, "¿Qué piensas de todo este asunto?"

La pregunta lo desconcertó, se había metido tanto en su pequeño mundo que no había estado prestando atención, "Es un honor cumplir mi deber, señor" respondió, de manera automática, nunca lo había pensado, simplemente le habían impuesto esta misión, y como los mortales morían en un par de años, Missa no esperaba apegarse al hombre.

Techno soltó una carcajada que sonó casi como un gruñido, “Ah, los dioses jóvenes, siempre tan políticamente correctos.”

En ese momento las puertas dobles de caoba se abrieron, “Lamento la demora.” En la entrada había un hombre rubio, de grandes alas negras, que brillaban con el reflejo de las velas, su mera presencia parecía ocupar toda la sala de estar.

Missa giro su mirada para observar al hombre, su voz era suave, pero sonaba firme, sus ojos eran de un azul gélido, e inmediatamente se posaron en Missa, donde sus ojos morados se toparon con esos azules hielo haciendo que un pequeño escalofrío corriera por su espalda.

“Tú debes ser Missa,” dijo el mortal extendiendo su mano para que él se la diera.

“No sabía que los mortales estaban tan cómodos con los dioses como para llamarlos por su primer nombre.” Dijo Missa, no tocando al hombre, no se había puesto sus guantes y probablemente podría matarlo con un solo toque.

Philza arqueó una ceja ante la respuesta de Missa, su sonrisa cordial transformándose en una mueca disgustada. “Y yo no sabía que los dioses menores eran tan groseros como para no estrechar la mano del emperador del Imperio Ártico.” Dijo, retrayendo la mano que había extendido.

El silencio era demasiado tenso, hasta que Catrina se levantó para intervenir, “Disculpa a Mors, Emperador, no está acostumbrado a interactuar con mortales, siempre olvida sus guantes” dijo su madre tomando a Missa por el hombro y apretándole con fuerza, lastimando a su hijo a propósito. “Su toque es fatídico para los mortales, lo lamento mucho.”

Philza entrecerró los ojos y bufó, “está bien,” dijo con una voz cargada de desagrado, “supongo que hemos de perdonar la inexperiencia del joven dios”

Missa gruñó ofendido, “¿Inexperiencia? Disculpe Emperador, pero espero que no confunda mi precaución por la inexperiencia.”

La temperatura de la habitación parecía haber descendido un par de grados, la tensión en el aire se podía cortar con un cuchillo.

“Lamento no haber estrechado su mano,” dijo Missa extendiendo su mano con una sonrisa macabra, “¿Desea estrecharla ahora y averiguar qué pasa?’

Philza soltó una risa seca, “Buen intentó, darling,” dijo en un tono enfermamente dulce, “pero no podrá deshacerse de mí tan fácil.” La sonrisa de Phil se volvió fría como el hielo, “Me temo que me has malinterpretado, pequeño dios, no estoy aquí para ganarme tu aprobación.” 

Missa entrecerró los ojos, su aura oscureciendo sutilmente. “Y yo no estoy aquí para ser su mascota divina, Emperador.”

Catrina y Techno intercambiaron miradas preocupadas mientras la atmósfera en la habitación se volvía cada vez más hostil.

“¿Por qué no firmamos el contrato?” Dijo Techno tratando de romper la tensión.

Catrina lanzó una mirada de advertencia hacia Missa, sus ojos chispeando con un reproche silencioso. Missa se obligó a calmarse, aunque seguía sintiendo el peso de la mirada gélida de Philza, quien no apartaba los ojos de él, como si quisiera cortar su cabeza en ese mismo instante.

Philza, con una sonrisa que no alcanzaba sus ojos, se dirigió hacia el enorme escritorio de caoba que dominaba un lado de la sala. "Me parece adecuado. Así ambos podemos terminar con esta ridiculez en cuanto antes," dijo con un tono de aparente despreocupación mientras se sentaba en la silla y extendía un pergamino. Sus ojos no abandonaron los de Missa, desafiándolo a retroceder.

Missa avanzó lentamente hacia el escritorio, cada paso resonando en la sala como un eco frío. Se detuvo junto al Emperador, quien inclinó el pergamino hacia él sin decir una palabra. Las letras en tinta negra parecían brillar a la luz de las velas, describiendo detalladamente el pacto que los uniría.

Sin dejar de mirar a Philza, Missa tomó la pluma que Techno le ofrecía. "¿Esto es todo lo que se necesita para sellar la unión?" Preguntó, su voz impregnada de sarcasmo, como si aquella formalidad fuera una mera burla de su libertad.

Philza soltó una risa seca. "Te sorprendería cuántas uniones imperiales se han firmado así. Aunque, claro, tú puedes tener otras ideas sobre el compromiso, little god," replicó, con un tono burlón.

Missa entrecerró los ojos, cada fibra de su ser gritándole que desintegrara a aquel mortal insolente, pero sabía que hacer algo más solo pondría a su madre en una posición incómoda. Firmó con un golpe final de la pluma, su nombre apareciendo en el pergamino con un brillo sombrío.

“Bien,” declaró Philza, firmando con su nombre bajo el de Missa, sin apartar su gélida mirada. “Parece que estamos… atrapados.”

Ambos se miraron, sin ceder un centímetro. Techno se aclaró la garganta, rompiendo el silencio con un tono que intentaba sonar casual. “Supongo que pronto tendrán tiempo de conocerse mejor. He preparado un ala especial en el palacio para que vivan juntos.”

Philza y Missa parecieron tensarse al mismo tiempo, ambos mirando a Techno como si acabara de decir el comentario más absurdo del mundo.

“¿Vivir juntos?” Preguntaron al unísono, sus voces cargadas de incredulidad.

“Oh, vamos,” dijo Techno, apenas conteniendo una sonrisa maliciosa. “Sería lo más conveniente. Después de todo, ahora están oficialmente comprometidos.”

[mikuzsoy]

El rubio asiente. "Creo que nos podemos dar un poco de libertad, hasta el punto que nos digan algo…" comentó para luego alzar sus hombros. Habían reglas y reglas, pero parecía que había dudas en su mente a pesar de todo, especialmente cuando se encontraban de esa manera. "Entonces, me gusta…" soltó en forma de respuesta, ante la gran idea que le había dado la contraria. "Créeme que si vemos algo interesante, no dudaré en tratar de sacarlo." Siempre andaba con su navaja suiza, es más, la llevaba encima, así que podía hacer cualquier cosa. "Pero, si en algún momento se pone complicada la cosa, no dudes que tomaré el mando," le advirtió. Mikhail soltó un suspiro, y con esas palabras, no dudó en ir a sacar el bote. En segundos, lo arrastró para que estuviera más cerca de ellos, tomó uno de los remos y se lo pasó a la muchacha. También agarró el chaleco salvavidas por si acaso y se lo entregó. "Venga, así podemos ver al monstruo del lago Ness," soltó con un tono jocoso y divertido por la situación en la que se encontraba. @alexxv

asiente, escuchando respuesta foránea. incluso si ella no ha recibido entrenamiento específico en aquel punto, cree que será capaz de sobrellevar eventualidades en un ambiente como aquel. manejo de armas es bueno y adaptación también. ' en eso sí puedo estar de acuerdo. ' no es la primera vez que debe acampar, incluso su padre se encargó de enseñarle puntos básicos de supervivencia a medida que crecía. uno de los muchos puntos a favor de progenitor. aún si en ese entonces elección de carrera profesional no era clara, agradeció cada enseñanza que le otorgó. ' es una buena idea, aunque no estoy segura de cuánta libertad podemos darnos aquí. ' es sincera, incluso si hablan sobre casa y supervivencia, desconoce si existen permisos amplios para ellos. ' podemos compartir el trabajo. ' concede. ' tu remas de ida y yo de vuelta. ' propone, entonces, pretendiendo hacer un poco más llevadera actividad. ' así también trabajaré un poco mi fuerza. '

[sabi-star-blog]

FELIZ CUMPLEAÑOS AL AMOR DE MI VIDA!!!! (≧◡≦) /♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Espero que hayas pasado un día super mega lindo!! Te amo con todo lo que soy, gracias por seguir adelante y por ser tan maravilloso! Mantente determinado y jamás te rindas, tienes mucho por vivir, disfruta la vida, todo siempre mejorará >W< y tu sabi siempre estará aquí para ti uwu

@jglyanoro

[ladyblackstarsmalewife]

hola!

puede que hayan notado que estoy teniendo otra desaparición del foro, esta vez con mis cuatro cuentas al mismo tiempo, cosa que no suele darse. usualmente, una se desactiva por un tiempo mientras la otra se mueve sin parar, como me pasaba antes con lan y rhoyll, que tenía semanas en las que solo le daba atención a uno. ahora, me pasa que no me interesaba escribir a ninguno de los pjs que tengo activos

pero hay buenas noticias! no me iré del foro, aunque hubiera estado con serias ganas de hacerlo hace tan solo días. mañana espero poder volver a tener un post (que, gracias a lo acordado según una ruleta de internet, será Todos ciegos, un tema antiquísimo de Rhoyll que llevo con Dario). muchas gracias a todos por su paciencia y lamento mucho la demora. por mientras, actualizaré el cofre de lan con nuevas relaciones, ya que no tiene mucho sentido cómo están estructuradas ahora. desde este momento (o uno no muy lejano), será así:

modelo relacional de lanraen vamhlat en su época de noble hasta que cumplió 16

modelo relacional de lan en su época de estudiante en la academia desde los 16 a los 21

modelo relacional de estrellanegra desde los 21 hasta la actualidad

espero compartirles más detalles de todo esto eventualmente, incluido mi proceso creativo para este personaje que tanta dicha y sufrimiento me ha dado. puede que sea cuando chhaya y yo hagamos la entrevista a lanraen (eso vendrá algún día, se los prometo. solo puede que tome un tiempo)

gracias de nuevo por su paciencia y cariño y entusiasmo con mis personajes, especialmente con lan, que será por siempre el hijo predilecto. cumple un año en el foro el lunes, y me da bastante miedo, pero me alegra mucho estar aquí. chao!

[harujng]

usa el dorso de la misma mano para retirar la suciedad que señala el otro joven. "no me caí" una risita brota de sus labios. "creo que más bien me recargué en algún sitio, venía más dormido que despierto" explica un poco avergonzado de su propia distracción. "oh no, no es necesario, estoy perfecto" hace una especie de jumping jacks para demostrarle que no hay ninguna lesión que le impida seguir. "¿ves? solo esa tontería que me ocurrió, nada grave"

mirada se posa sobre el semblante de opuesto, buscando entre facciones cualquier señal que afirme sospecha. ‘ no mucho. ’ negativa a medias parte de honestidad. ‘ tienes una pequeña manchita aquí. ’ su índice se alza señalando propio pómulo, precisando locación de lo que parece ser un poco de lodo. ‘ ¿te caíste o algo? ’ no es curiosidad sino consternación. dada la poca iluminación a lo largo del sendero, imaginaba era simple cuestión de tiempo para que alguien tropezara. ‘ podemos regresar para que te revisen si algo te duele. ’

[berito]

Chase ¿que comida te queda mejor?

Le saca de apuros y como no tiene mucho tiempo, suele comerla seguido. De vez en cuando le agrega mas cosas para darle mas gracia a la sopa

Muchas gracias por la pregunta Mei lamento la demora !! 🥐

[eyelessdoll-y]

¿Podrías hacer un tutorial de cómo colorear piel y ropa en Ibis Paint X? Tu arte es tan hermoso, eres mi ejemplo a seguir y espero algún día poder dibujar como tú. 🥹❤️

Hola cariño!! 💓💓🍬 Como ya no estoy publicando aquí más que reblogs o comisiones, pensaré en su solicitud.... 💓🥹 Tan encantador. Espero que se encuentre bien y lamento la demora en responderle. Sigue soñando, porque no solo dibujarás como yo, sino mucho mejor y más bello, a tu manera!!!!!! 🍬🍬

[dariann-garcia]

Holii.. que textos tan lindos.

Como ví que te consultan cositas, me animé, ojalá me respondas, imagino que tienes muchas en cola.

Imagínate que hace 9años acabo una relación que no supe porque terminó, nunca hubo una explicación, y nunca la pedí, me afectó mucho, pero seguí con mi vida, tuve otra pareja y tuve un hijo, pero esa relación siempre estuvo presente en mi pensamiento, tooodos los días, no logro sacar a esa persona de mi mente, es algo loco. Hace poco no aguante y le escribí, le dije que si todo acabo por mi culpa y había causado algún daño pedía una disculpa y que aún seguía en mi pensamiento, pero no me animé a pedirle explicación, después de 9 años no me sentí que podía exigir cosas, y dije que solo quería desahogarme, que no esperaba que él hiciera algo... Y que obviamente no estaba buscando algún tipo de relación o algo así. Pero efectivamente no hizo nada, no me respondió. Pensé que al decirlo me daría algo de paz, pero fue todo lo contrario...

Mi pregunta es, crees que si le escribo de nuevo, pierdo totalmente mi dignidad? Cómo encuentro paz a este tema?

Ahora te pido perdón a ti, por tanto texto, y por traerte mis problemas, no tengo a quien más decirle :(

Hola, lamento la demora pero es que los consejos realmente no son lo mío, hablé con alguien de ti y me hizo ver algo que yo no veía, para mí en resumen es un caso perdido, pero esta persona plantea que si para ti la manera de cerrar un ciclo es esa, no te quedes con la duda, libre de la respuesta que puedas encontrar, la cual coincidimos que será negativa, tiene mucho tiempo ya desde lo suyo y entremedio el hecho que formaste una familia, sumado a quién es él quien te dejo, y la única persona que vive aferrada a eso eres tú. No pidas perdón por ello, tengo los mensajes abiertos por interno, siéntete en la libertad de escribirme cuando quieras, besos y ojalá todo marché para bien.

[sunwng]

"lamento romperte las ilusiones pero no hueles a colonia" asegura frunciendo el ceño. probablemente ya se ha comprometido por tanto olor a humedad. "no he encontrado nada aún" encoge sus hombros. "voy a darle una última oportunidad antes de largarme... supongo que no tengo porque encontrar nada de mi familia si todo se quedó en corea, no tendría sentido" @yongsaengz

' tú hueles a mierda, yo huelo a colonia ' y si pasa la nariz por chaqueta probablemente obtenga una muestra de ambas cosas. no tuvo mucha delicadeza ni reparo cuando comenzó a buscar botín y ahora se arrepiente ' cosas para vender ' miente ' ¿y tú? escuché a alguien decir que encontró no sé qué cosa de su familia... ' ☆ @sunwng

[hyacinthrf]

*‌     picnic en el campo marte  :  @aleklss​ 

grande había sido su sorpresa tras leer correo electrónico, cita programada contra su voluntad cambiando parte de sus planes para el día de san valentín. no es que hyacinth tuviese alguien con quien celebrar, pero sí debía asistir a su cátedra en la universidad. razón por la que llega prácticamente corriendo a lugar indicado, cabello y vestido alborotado denotando la prisa en su camino. “ hola ” inicia, ubicando a persona con manta color rojo, aquella establecida en documento. “ encantada de conocerte, soy hyacinth rochefort. lamento mucho la demora, el tráfico está terrible a esta hora y... bueno, no quiero aburrirte tan pronto ” guarda demás explicaciones, tomando asiento frente a él, ojos inmediatamente brillando con interés. “ oh, no mentían con que habría vino. ”