#radiant and bright frame

[maithamhamed77]

Galaxy Celestial Framed Posters

About product

Add a touch of space-themed elegance to your home decor with these Galaxy Celestial Framed Posters. Perfect for astrology enthusiasts and stargazers, these posters create a calming and dreamy atmosphere in any room. Ideal for gifting during birthdays, holidays, or housewarmings.

Product features - Vibrant colors with MI maki UV Inks - Ready to hang with back and wire hanging kit included - 200 gem semi-gloss coated paper - 18 sizes available with horizontal, vertical, and square options - Visit Our Store from Here

[leclerc-hs]

73 Questions with Mrs. Leclerc - cl16

pairing: husband!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you do a 73 questions interview with Vogue OR charles can't help but third wheel your interview warnings: none??? just cute fluff basically, NOT PROOFREAD word count: 2.1k author's note: I actually got a request by someone to do this and thought it was such a CUTE idea and concept. I obviously didn't do ALL 73 questions cause that would've taken forever. But thought this was a cute little piece to do. I hope you enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think don't be shy !! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE DELICATE FOLDS of the pale pink sundress fluttered like petals in a gentle breeze, framing your figure with a soft, ethereal elegance. As the front door yielded to the push, the fabric danced around your legs, caressing the tender skin of your thighs with a whisper of touch. Your radiant smile illuminated the scene, a beacon of joy amidst the fluttering fabric and nervous flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey!” The male voice chimed brightly, his tone cheerful as a songbird greeting the dawn, echoing through the air with an infectious energy that mirrored your own bright smile.

“Hey!” You respond with effervescent warmth, your smile stretching across your face like a sunbeam breaking through clouds. With a graceful gesture, you swing the door open wider, revealing the inviting warmth of your home’s foyer. The soft light spills in, casting a golden glow over the polished floors and elegant furnishing. The first thing to notice is the giant painting of a Ferrari Formula One car, hung high above the entry way table.  

“Look who we have here! It’s Mrs. Leclerc!” A delicate blush warms your cheeks, a subtle reminder of the tender affection that tingles within you whenever you’re addressed as such. Though you and Charles have been together for many years, your marriage has infused your relationship with a fresh sense of intimacy and closeness. And despite that it’s been almost five years, the title of “wife” feels forever new and unfamiliar.

“On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“I would say 8, so I’m super excited!” With a gentle click, you shut the front door behind you, enveloping the foyer in a tranquility as you made your way down the hallway to the kitchen. Along the way, you stooped to pick up a scattering of children’s toys that lay scattered like confetti on the polished wooden floors, offering a quick apology for the perceived “mess.” However, you couldn’t help but inwardly smile at the orchestrated chaos around you. While the house was meticulously maintained by the cleaning company before the video shoot, every detail was carefully curated to strike the perfect balance between lived-in warmth and elegance, ensuring a setting that felt both inviting and authentic to you and the viewers.

“Any reason for that?”

In the heart of the home lies a kitchen adorned with a stunning green cabinet motif. The cabinets, painted in a rich emerald hue, exude an air of sophistication and charm, perfectly complemented by gleaming brass hardware. Sunlight filters through the vast array of windows, casting a warm glow over the polished marble countertops. 

“You mean other than the fact that the kids go back to school soon?” You and the interviewer let out a soft laugh as you made your way behind the kitchen island, opening the fridge in a smooth motion to pull out a water bottle. “Want one?”

“No, but thanks though!” His voice is light-hearted. 

As the fridge door remains open, a tantalizing glimpse is offered to the audience of its well-stocked interior. A colorful array of fresh produce fills the shelves, showing an abundance of vibrant fruits and crisp vegetables. Among the healthy offerings, assortment of juice boxes catches the eye, adding a playful touch to the wholesome scene.

“That’s a lot of juice boxes you have in there.” He makes a comment, it’s not a question, but you take it as one.

“Two kids and a husband,” You start, your tone light and casual before lowering your voice into a conspiratorial whisper for the camera, “who practically is also a kid, results in a lot of juice boxes.” With a playful wink directed at the lens, you punctuate the statement, adding a touch of humor to the scene. Setting the water bottle down on the expansive kitchen counter, you resume your easy demeanor, effortlessly blending candor and charm for your audience.

“Hey!” Your head shoots over, the camera seamlessly following your gaze to where Charles, your husband,sits on the floor of the living room, two of your kids, aged two and three, beside him with an abundance of toys strewn about. “I heard that!” Charles retorts with mock offense, a playful grin lighting up his face as he joins in the banter.

The living room exudes a chic sophistication with a distinct Formula One flair. Charcoal-gray walls provide a sleek backdrop, accentuating the mounted flat-screen television. A striking statement piece dominates one corner—a display of artwork showcasing all of the racetracks Charles has conquered – infusing the room with a sense of triumph and energy. A plush white sofa, adorned with an array of vibrant red pillows, invites relaxation and style. Across the room, a sizable shelf proudly showcases a collection of racing helmets, some belonging to Charles and others gathered over time, adding a personal touch to the space. Below the television, was a long console table that was adorned in various plants and photos of your family. You couldn’t help but smile as you glanced at them.

With a casual wave of your hand, you dismiss Charles’s playful interruption, maintaining your position at the kitchen island as the camera refocuses on you. The gesture carries an air of affectionate familiarity, a gentle reminder of the dynamic energy that permeates your bustling household.

“If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be?”

“Definitely Austin Butler.” You answer almost immediately, no hesitance in your voice.

“Hey!” Charles’s playful yelp echoes through the room once more, accompanied by the joyful laughter of your children. One nestled in his lap, the other engrossed in a picture book, their presence adding warmth and vitality to the room. You share a knowing smile with Charles, the affectionate banter a familiar melody to your family life.

The laughter of the interviewer joins the playful exchange. The camera effortlessly captures the dynamic interaction between all of you with ease.

You roll your eyes playfully, “Restez en dehors de ça.” Stay out of this!

“Arrête de faire semblant de vouloir faire l’amour avec quelqu’un d’autre que moi!” Stop pretending you want to make love with anybody but me!

With a mischievous gleam in your eye, you turn back to the camera, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Can I change my answer?” You inquire, injecting a hint of playful anticipation into your tone.

“Sure,” the interviewer replies.

“You’re supposed to say no,” You quip with a chuckle.

“Oh, um no?”

With a playful pout, you glance over at Charles who is already staring at the interaction. A smile adorned on his face like he is in complete awe of you, regardless of what you are saying. “Sorry honey!” You wave your hand around. “Answers are final!”

Leaving the kitchen behind, you make your way towards the backyard, where the promise of relaxation and leisure awaits. Stepping through the door, you’re greeted by the sight of a large pool shimmering under the sunlight, its crystal-clear waters beckoning for a refreshing dip. Surrounding the pool, lounge chairs are strategically place, some on the pool’s ledge, inciting you to bask in the sun while enjoying the cool water. A wide arrangement of pool floaties from unicorns to racecars litter the pool as well.

It’s a breathtaking sight: a vast expanse of bright blue skies stretching overhead, adorned with barely a wisp of cloud in sight. The warm rays of sun dance upon your skin. With a stylish flourish, you slip on a pair of your favorite Ray-Bans, a subtle nod to your husband’s sunglass collection. 

“Vintage or new?”

You ponder for a moment as you stand in the backyard, a breeze blowing your hair behind your shoulders. “Depends, but definitely vintage.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Aisle, although Charles likes to take the aisle more.”

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“Wait, do my children count as two of the three?”

“Up to you.”

“Okay, so my two children. And my lip gloss.” You laugh, pausing for effect. “Kidding! My two kids, and my lip gloss…” You pause, jokingly. “And my husband of course.” The light-hearted remark reflects the joyful chaos of humor and love in your life. “He’s really the sweetest man. I’m so lucky.”

The glass door slides open with a whisper, and into the frame steps Charles, his presence incessant. With a carefree demeanor, he approaches you clad in a pair of baggy jeans and a plain white t-shirt that stretched at the seams from his muscles. He presses soft kisses to your cheeks, the stubble of his own rubbing against your smooth skin, his love evident in each tender kiss.

“Désolé,” Sorry. He apologizes before pecking another kiss to your cheek. “Tellement ambrassable.” Just so kissable. He places one more on your cheek, your face bright red from the camera’s catching all of this.

“Looks like he can’t be far from you for very long.”

Charles looks at the camera, a glint in his eye with a large smile, like he was the happiest man on earth, and nothing could dampen his spirits. Especially with you nearby. “Est-ce que tu la vois?” Do you see her?

The interviewer, unaware of Charles’s words, simply nods in response behind the camera lens, acknowledging the affection in his tone. Later translations will reveal the depth of Charles’s words no doubt. Elle est tellement belle. Bien sûr, je ne peux pas rester loin longtemps.” She’s so beautiful. Of course, I can’t stay far long.

Your face is bright red as Charles remains at your side.

“Where are the kids?”

“Put them down for a nap!” Charles answers, his arm slung over your shoulder as he leans on you comfortably. 

As the interviewer continues the questionnaire, Charles can’t resist interjecting with playful remarks and comments on almost every question. His spontaneous interruptions add an element of humor and spontaneity to the video, turning what could have been a standard interview into an entertaining and engaging exchange.

“How do you define beauty?” “My wife.” “Charles, the questions are for me!”

"What do you love most about your body?" "That's an easy one...I think her--" Charles begins, but you swat his chest and cut him off. "I love my arms. Not because they're that nice but they give me the ability to hold my children." Charles clicks his tongue, hating that you even implied something about yourself as 'not that nice'.

"Least favorite color?" "Red." Charles lets out a large gasp with a string of phrases in French, clearly hurt by your response. "It's a joke, mon amour!" "How did you know you were in love?" You look at Charles then, his eyes already on you, a soft smile pulling on both of your lips. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with him. Probably when I realized I would rather be awake in the middle of the night, since he was traveling so much, just to talk to him for even a few minutes, instead of going to sleep." Charles plays with the ends of your hair, twirling the ends around his fingers as he chimes in. "We've known each other for so long. But, when I first met her, it was like meeting someone I've known my entire life. There was no awkward silences between us. We just clicked."

“Diamonds or pearls?” “Pearls.” “Mon chou, don’t lie.” “I’m not!” “The diamond on your finger says otherwise!”

“If you made a documentary, what would it be about?” “Charles’ brain. I seriously question what goes on in there sometimes.” “Hey! It’s only you…”  You raise your eyebrows at him, like he’s a liar. “And racing.” “Definitely racing.”

“If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Charles smirks deeply, like he knows something the world doesn’t, the interviewer picks up on it. “Wait, you have a tattoo? Can we see it?”

“No! It’s for me only.”

You playfully swat at Charles’ chest, a playful blush coloring your cheeks as you both wander throughout the house, showcasing its beautiful décor. Despite your embarrassment at Charles’ antics, you can’t help but be thankful for him easing your nerves. You weren’t one for the public eye, normally. So, when you agreed to this interview it came out as quite a surprise.

“Okay final question of the day.” 

You both stand by the front door, the interviewer on the front step outside of the home. 

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Definitely ki—” You don’t get to finish your answer as Charles’ fingers grasp onto your neck, his fingers sprawled along your jawline as well, and tugs your face into his. He shuts the door as soon as his tongue slips into your mouth.

It’s a few seconds before you push him off you. “You’re unbelievable!”

A giant smile spreads across his face as he looks down at you. “Only for you, mon chou!”

[misswynters]

Ambessa spoiling her girly s/o just because

requested by. @seraphineandkamilahs2

Soft pink silks draped over a canopy bed, sparkling jewelry scattered across a vanity like fallen stars, and the gentle lyrics of your favorite song filled the air. Filling the room with color, looking like a kaleidoscope as the sound danced around the room. The new clothes Ambessa had bought for you were stacked neatly in boxes near the window, their luxurious fabrics peeking out like treasures waiting to be unveiled.

You twirled in the center of it all, your bare feet brushing against the plush rug, the silver bracelets on your wrists jingling with each movement. The world outside might have been grim, heavy with ambition and the weight of war, but in this moment, in this room, life was bright, simple, and carefree.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a wide smile stretched across your face. “I love it all,” you whispered to no one in particular, your voice filled with joy. “She’s amazing.”

The music swelled, and you couldn’t resist. You danced with joy, your body swaying to the rhythm, your heart light. You were so lost in your little world that you didn’t notice the door creak open or the heavy footsteps that followed.

Ambessa Medarda stood in the doorway, her broad frame filling the space. Her usual imposing demeanor seemed more calm tonight, her face shadowed with exhaustion. The weight of her responsibilities clung to her like an invisible cloak, her sharp eyes dimmed with fatigue.

But as she leaned against the doorframe, watching you twirl and leap, something softened in her expression. You were radiant, your happiness infectious, and for a brief moment, the world’s burdens seemed a little less heavy.

“Enjoying yourself, I see,” Ambessa said, her deep voice cutting through the music.

You spun around, startled but delighted to see her. “Ambessa!” you cried, rushing toward her. Your arms wrapped around her waist as you buried your face against her chest. “You’re back!”

Her arms encircled you almost instinctively, though the gesture was far less enthusiastic. “Obviously,” she murmured, her tone weary. “I see you’ve been busy.”

You stepped back, gesturing toward the room. “Look at all of this! The dresses, the jewelry, you outdid yourself this time. I feel like a princess.”

Ambessa let out a low chuckle, her hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You are a princess,” she said simply, though her voice carried a hint of amusement.

Your smile faltered as you took in her tired features. The dark circles under her eyes, the way her shoulders slumped just slightly—it was clear that the day had been long and grueling.

“Ambessa,” you said softly, taking her hand in yours. “Come here.”

“What are you—?” she began, but you were already tugging her toward the center of the room.

“Dance with me,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I don’t dance,” she stated firmly, though there was a faint hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Yes, you do,” you countered, pressing your hands against her shoulders to guide her movements. “Tonight, you’re going to dance with me. No excuses.”

Ambessa sighed, though it was more for show than genuine protest. “You aren’t going to stop asking, are you?”

“Nope,” you teased, stepping closer so your bodies were almost touching. “Now, just follow my lead.”

You swayed gently, your hands resting on her broad shoulders as you encouraged her to move with you. At first, her steps were stiff, her body hesitant, but slowly, she began to relax. Her hands settled on your waist, her grip firm yet tender, and soon she was matching your rhythm.

“There,” you said, grinning up at her. “Not so bad, is it?”

Ambessa shook her head, her expression softening as she looked down at you. “This,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a rare vulnerability, “this is why I fell in love with you.”

Your breath hitched at her words, your heart swelling. “Aw! Ambessa…”

“You bring light,” she continued, her gaze unwavering. “In a world filled with shadows, you’re the one thing that reminds me there’s still joy to be had.”

You reached up, cupping her face in your hands. “My strong anchor,” you whispered.

For a moment, the two of you simply swayed together, the music a gentle backdrop to the sweet chemistry between you.

As the song shifted to something slower, more intimate, you leaned your head against her chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart beneath your ear. “You work too hard,” you murmured.

Ambessa huffed a quiet laugh. “Someone has to keep the world turning.”

“Well you can take a break from all that, y’know.” you said, pulling back to look at her. “Let me take care of you the way you do to me, please.”

Her hand came up to rest against your cheek, her thumb brushing your skin. “You already do,” she said simply.

Later that night, after the music had faded and the room had grown quiet, you sat together on the edge of the bed. You leaned against her side, your head resting on her shoulder as she absently played with one of your bracelets.

“You really like them, don’t you?” she asked, her voice low.

“I absolutely love them,” you said, smiling. “But not as much as I love you.”

Ambessa turned her head to look at you, her expression unreadable. “You are sweeter than a piece of candy,” she said finally.

You shook your head, reaching up to touch her face. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in my life,” you said firmly. “And I’ll never mentioning it.”

Her lips quirked into a faint smile, and for the first time that night, the exhaustion in her eyes seemed to lift.She pulled you closer, curled you into her side, her arm wrapping around you protectively.

note. any mistakes let me know and i’ll fix it! thanks 🙏

taglist. @cestlaprincesa

banner @anitalenia

[hyunesent]

: ̗̀➛ A HIDDEN VULNERABILITY

"Tsukishima's whisper sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but melt into the bed. "I could give it to you," he murmured, his words dripping with temptation. "I could give you the best fuck of your life, without any strings attached."

a tsukishima x reader oneshot (afab)

cw: jealous tsukishima, mentions of kageyama and reader, some angst (tsuki doubting himself + relationship troubles), oral sex ( m + f receiving), tsuki is mean at first, rough sex, edging, teasing.

Under the pale luminescence of a waxing moon, Tsukishima Kei stood at the edge of the gymnasium, his golden eyes watching you with an intensity that belied his typically aloof demeanour. 

The cool night air wrapped around him like a shroud, concealing the turmoil that churned within his chest. He was the picture of calm indifference, his tall frame leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, yet his heart beat a frantic rhythm against his ribcage.

Inside, the gym was alive with the echo of laughter and the rhythmic thud of volleyballs meeting floors. You were there, a radiant presence among his teammates, your smile bright enough to rival the moonlight. As you laughed at something Kageyama said, Tsukishima felt a sharp pang of something unfamiliar-jealousy.

He hated how his stomach twisted when he saw the two of you, hated the way his insecurities gnawed at his resolve.

He bit down on his tongue hard when he saw how close the two of you were, laughing together, closing the proximity between you two. At one point Kageyamas hand had snaked around your waist to gently move you out of the way and Tsukishima had to watch as it loitered there for way too long paired with eye contact that made him murderous.

Tsukishima had always prided himself on his detachment and ability to keep people at arm's length. But you had dismantled his defences with ease. Your kindness, your genuine affection. And now, the fear of losing you to someone more worthy threatened to undo him completely.

The night wore on, and the gym began to empty, the sounds of the game fading into the quiet of the evening. You lingered, still chatting with Kageyama, unaware of the storm brewing in Tsukishima's mind. When you finally noticed him, standing in the shadows, a flicker of concern crossed your face.

"Kei?" you called softly, your voice a gentle soothing to his raw nerves. "Everything okay?"

He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. Vulnerability was a foreign land to him, one he had never willingly ventured into. But tonight, the fear of losing you overpowered his pride. There was a tremor in his gaze, a plea for reassurance.

Tsukishima forced a tight-lipped smile, his facade of aloofness slipping slightly as he replied, "I'm fine. Just tired from practice." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to voice the turmoil swirling within him.

You studied him for a moment, your expression soft with understanding. Tsukishima felt a surge of gratitude towards you, mingled with an ache for something more he couldn't quite name. As you bid Kageyama goodbye and walked over to him, the air between you crackled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

As the two of you walked home, there was something different in the way he looked at you. Something dark and possessive. It sent a shiver down your spine, but also a thrill that you couldn't quite explain. His golden eyes held a depth you hadn't seen before as if he was trying to convey a message without words. The hostility in his tone lingered, intensifying the breeze rustling the leaves overhead.

Eventually, a heavy silence stretched between you. Tsukishima's usual aloofness was tinged with an undercurrent of something primal, something raw that made your heart race

As you approached his apartment building. The click of the key in the lock echoed through the empty hallway, a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere between you. Tsukishima led the way inside, his footsteps purposeful and unwavering. The silence enveloped you both like a heavy cloak, suffocating any attempts at conversation.

You watched as he shrugged off his jacket, the fabric falling to the floor in a haphazard heap. Without sparing you a glance, he made a beeline for the bathroom, his movements swift and controlled. The sound of running water soon filled the air, a sharp reminder of the distance between you.

Confusion and tension wrapped around you like invisible chains. Tsukishima's sudden change in demeanour had thrown you off balance, leaving you grasping for some semblance of understanding. The way he seemed to be wrestling with his inner demons made your heart ache with a mixture of sympathy and fear.

You stood in the dimly lit living room, uncertain of what to do next. The seconds stretched into minutes as you waited, the sound of the running water creating a dissonant background to the turmoil brewing within you. His apartment felt unfamiliar now, shadows lurking in every corner where there used to be only familiarity. You sinked face. first onto his bed and struggled to look up to rest your face between your hands.

Your mind was running a mile a minute overthinking every interaction you had with him today, desperate to know what was wrong.

Minutes passed in a suspended state of uncertainty, each tick of the clock echoing loudly in your ears. The water from the shower continued its steady rhythm, a barrier separating you from Tsukishima. You debated whether to stay or leave, unsure of where you stood with him at that moment.

As you tried to gather your thoughts, the door to the bathroom creaked open, and Tsukishima emerged His hair was damp and tousled, strands sticking to his forehead while his shirt fit in a way that allowed his collarbone to peer through.

Suddenly, Tsukishima was behind you, his breath fanning the top of your head. You could feel the heat radiating off his body as he reached out his hands to slide them against your waist, you gasped softly at the new touch. Your heart pounded in your chest, the moment stretching taut between you like a drawn bowstring.

“What was that with Kageyama?” Tsukishima murmured, his voice low and gravelly, you felt a sharp stab of remorse upon hearing the pain in his voice. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, sending a jolt of anticipation through you. His lips traced barely-there kisses along your neck and shoulder. Starkly contrasting the form grip he now had on your hips, igniting a trail of tingling warmth in its wake.

You remembered the closeness between you and your boyfriend’s teammate and you hoped that he had interpreted the situation differently. Taking a deep breath, you turned to face him. The expression in his eyes was undeniably dark and hard, and you could understand why.

"Kei, I’m sorry," you said, stammering. "I didn't mean to—I just got—"

"Swept up in the moment?" Tsukishima interrupted with a sneer. "Come on. Did you really believe I'd accept that excuse?"

Without another word, Tsukishima gently wrapped his arms around your body, his gentleness confusing yet comforting given the situation. He turned you around onto your back and looked into your eyes with a now unreadable expression.

His presence loomed over you, a dark cloud suffocating any sense of self-control. You were nothing but a puppet in his hands, helplessly succumbing to his every whim and desire.

“I know you better than anyone y/n” he reminded you with his lips ghosting against yours. He pulled back with a smirk when you chased them and opted to press his thumb to your bottom lip.

You lean forward slightly to take it between your lips sucking it gently as Tsukishimas gaze becomes more intense. His other hand trails down your front, stopping just above where you needed him most and you can see the anticipation written all over his face. He pressed down gently eliciting a sinful whine from you.

Your tongue swirls around his thumb, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin, watching in fascination as he fought to maintain his composure by closing his eyes.

They snap open with a new drive as he removes his hands from you only returning them to press his fingers against your clothed cunt. Already desperate you moan out craving more from him and he settles between your legs to pull you in for a heated kiss.

You kiss him back matching his intensity and exploring each other’s tongues, his lips are soft and demanding against yours, his hands roaming your body with a heat that sets your skin on fire. Your fingers tangle in his hair, relishing the feeling of his short strands against your skin. You felt lightheaded and being able to feel his hardening erection against your pussy with only thin material between the two didn’t help.

His hand sneaks up to wrap his slender fingers around your throat applying just the right amount of pressure to the sides.

Your eyes screw shut as he turns your head to the side, giving him full access to the expanse of your neck. His lips part slightly to trail his tongue tantalizingly slow up the side of your neck finishing with a kiss to your most sensitive spot while grinding his cock onto your pussy, every movement calculated to elicit pleasure and desire from you.

Your legs instinctively spread wider needing more from him so you plea with a moan:

“Fuck Kei, I want you so bad.” Those words came out more breathless than you intended but he lacked the amusement he would usually have.

“No, you don’t.” He rolls his hips into yours again, harder this time. “You want someone else.”

Tsukishima couldn’t even bring himself to say the other man’s name and the conflict was evident in his gaze as he groped at your chest. Even though he was behaving in a certain way, his underlying insecurities were still palpable. After the events that occurred earlier, these feelings seemed to have heightened and become more prominent.

You struggled to form coherent sentences as Tsukishima kept stimulating you. You were hot and bothered and you felt distant from the man on top of you despite your proximity.

Tsukishima's whisper sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but melt into the bed. "I could give it to you," he murmured, his words dripping with temptation. "I could give you the best fuck of your life, without any strings attached. You could leave and go to him right now." You didn’t know whether to moan or cry at his sheer lack of emotion when stating his offer.

But what you did know is that you didn't want anyone else. "No," you whimpered, grasping onto Tsukishima's arm. "Please, I only want you. It's always been you."

Tsukishima's rough hand slips into your pants, his fingers moving expertly as he searches for your slick heat. Faint streaks of wetness cling to his skin as he pulls his hand back and messily spreads your arousal over your lower stomach.

Tsukishima's fingers are cool against your heated skin, his touch sending shivers through your body. As he spreads your slick over your folds as well, fingers brushing over your clit, you feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through you, causing your body to arch and writhe beneath him.

“I bet he doesnt know how messy and rough you like it when we fuck.” His fingers are focused on your clit now and you’re a moaning mess.

“Think he could make you moan like this?” he coos at you “I’m barely touching you”

“Kei! Please—”

“But really, it’s up to you,” Tsukishima said nonchalantly, smirking a bit as he spread your pussy lips open, hearing you moan. “maybe he’s better than me,”

“I’m not going anywhere, Kei,” you begged, nearly crying. “I’m yours, I promise!”

“Promise?” his tone was now soft as he tilted your chin down to search your eyes for sincerity.

“Yes!” You reached out to tangle your fingers in his hair.

Tsukishima let his eyes flutter close for a moment and melted into your touch. When he opened them again he collected you in his arms tenderly and then through you onto the covers the way he wanted you, pinning you down your head on the pillows.

"Good girl," he murmured, pulling down your pants and soaked underwear. He then traced his tongue up your slit, making you gasp with pleasure."

From this point on tsukishima was not gentle and showed you no mercy, devouring your pussy like a starved man focused solely on your pleasure. With every lick and suck, he dialled up the intensity, using his tongue in ways that had you panting and moaning with each thrust.

He went deeper, his rough tongue darting inside you, hitting your G-spot just right, making your back arch off the bed, your hands gripping the sheets in a vice-like hold. His lips were soft, but his tongue was a force to be reckoned with, flicking, teasing, and exploring your most sensitive spots.

You were a mess now, your entire body trembling with pleasure, your breath coming in short gasps as you begged for more.

And so you gave in, desperately clinging to him, writhing beneath him with each thrust and lick. The world was reduced to that one moment, that one sensation. You no longer thought about the other man, the one who had caused this turmoil within you. All that mattered was Tsukishima, his skilful touch, and the way he made you feel.

Your eyes scrunched shut once more as he placed his hand on your chest, his thumb gently grazing your nipple. He knew all of your sensitive spots, your weak points.

“Don't stop! I’m—”

Before you could even finish he pulls away, expressionless, lower face covered in your slick. You whine and lift your hips off the bed but you can’t deny your arousal heightening at the sight of him.

Without saying a word he taps the outside of your leg while kissing your inner thigh signalling for you to get up. He chuckles when he notices you struggling slightly but you manage to crawl towards him nevertheless and push his shirt off. He looks down at you with an admiring smile and responds immediately, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, along with his boxers.

Her eyes grew wide at the sight of his length: rock hard and already dripping. You marvel at him in awe while he’s attentively watching your expression.

“Looks like someone wants me bad,” Tsukishima purred, leisurely stroking his length as his eyes watched you carefully, challenging you to make a move.

His constant teasing had finally reached its limit, and you were determined to get back at him. You sat up and crawled over to him, where you slapped his hand away from his length, taking control with your own hand.

Tsukishima inhaled sharply, tilting his head back, but he immediately brought it back down, not wanting to take his eyes off of you.

"Faster," he demanded, his voice strained. 

You hurried your hand up and down his length, occasionally grazing your thumb over the tip and relishing in the sounds of pleasure that escaped him. When you noticed his fists clenching the sheets, turning white with tension, you knew he was close. So without hesitation, you did what came naturally to you.

He groaned and swore as you took all of him into your mouth. Tsukishima's body shuddered as you slowly moved your head up and down, maintaining eye contact with him. Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of your hair and forcefully pushed your head down, making you take all of him in at once.

You choked and gasped for air, and it seemed like your body was reacting in his favour – the tightness in his stomach began to loosen, and he was on the brink of losing control. He repeated your name like a mantra as if pleading to anyone listening.

Before he could give in to his desires, he suddenly snapped out of it and pulled you off him. You trembled with anticipation as Tsukishima's expression turned into one filled with pure lust. He manoeuvred you around, forcing you onto your hands and knees.

He stood behind you, leaning in close to whisper in your ear. "I'm going to make you feel so good," he breathed, his words sending shivers down your spine. You let out a moan, unable to resist his dirty talk. It was always a turn-on for you.

You feel your breath hitch at his weight shifting on the bed before you feel his cock against your glistening opening.

He uses his top to spread your slick around and gently pushes your legs wider. He begins to push into you struggling at first.

“shit- baby relax.” he hisses and leans forward to kiss your shoulder and hold you tenderly for a moment, relieving some of your tension.

You feel his soft lips part on your shoulder as he pushes his length into you slowly letting you feel every vein against your walls.

Once he was fully inside you, he pulled out almost entirely, a slow, teasing motion that left you yearning for more. Then, he began to thrust, creating a rhythm that left both of you gasping for air. 

You’re moaning load so he pushes your head into the pillow, the new position allowing him to thrust deeper causing you to let out a muffled scream.

He groaned and picked up the pace, his hips slapping against your ass. You were lost in the moment, feeling his cock deep inside you, and the passion between you growing with every thrust.

Tsukishima groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as he felt the pleasure building within him. His cock slammed against your G-spot with each brutal stroke, sending waves of ecstasy through you both.

You were panting now, your body trembling with the intensity of the sensation. You felt his hands digging into your flesh, possessive and needy, driving you wild.

“Oh god, Kei! Right there, just like that!” you cried out, cupping at your slick, needy mound.

Tsukishima slapped your hand away, replacing it with his own as he messily stimulated your clit. He pounded into you harder, his cock swelling with each thrust, you could feel the build-up of his climax.

"I'm going to cum, baby," he growled, his voice low and thick. "You want my cum, don't you?"

You nodded vigorously, looking back with eyes wide with desire. He smirked, his gaze locked on yours, and then he began to thrust even faster. Your screams filled the room as he hit your sweet spot over and over again.

With one final thrust, Tsukishima whispered your name, releasing a torrent of intensity within you, bringing your climax crashing down upon you. Your body shook with pure bliss, every nerve ending ignited by his touch.

He collapsed on top of you for a moment, his breath ragged as he tried to catch his breath. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, feeling both relieved and exhilarated.

Slowly, he pulled away, leaving a kiss on your forehead, before helping you to lie down on the bed in a more comfortable position. The afterglow was just as intense as the passion, leaving an unspoken comfort between you. You opened your eyes, to see Tsukishima’s golden ones staring right back at you.

You reached out to brush the wet strands of hair from his forehead and he sighed softly pulling you closer to him. The two of you shared tender kisses and he looked up at you with a flash of raw vulnerability.

“You’re mine. No one else’s.” he rasped.

You nodded in agreement causing you both to crack smiles before you kissed his cheek softly and held him as he fell asleep almost instantly.

You observed him as he slept; it was during these vulnerable moments that you were reminded of the gentleness that always resided within him, hidden beneath his tough facade. You lightly traced the line of his jaw, completely enamoured with him.

𝘼𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: This is a work of fiction not a portrayal of anyone in real life. this was supposed to be much shorter but I got carried away lol. This is not proofread so I'm sorry for any mistakes! Likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated. Happy reading .ᐟ

[faebled-stories]

A Night Beyond the Stage

Kinkvember Day 25: Deflowering/Mommy

Red Velvet Irene (Bae Joohyun) x Male reader

TW: Age gap, reader is 19

14k words

AN: The timing of this fic aligning with Irene’s solo comeback is such a funny coincidence. I’ve tailored the story to fit with the excitement of her big moment—hope you enjoy it 💖

The crowd is a living sea of excitement, the lights dimming to signal the start of a moment fans have dreamed of for years. The air hums with anticipation, every breath charged with electricity. Brightly colored banners, lovingly adorned with Irene’s name, heartfelt messages, and slogans, ripple like waves in the soft breeze created by thousands of hands waving light sticks in unison. The synchronized glow bathes the venue in hues of soft red and shimmering white, a radiant tribute to her. You instinctively wave your light stick, matching the crowd’s rhythm as though tethered to the shared devotion filling the air.

You’re one of those fans—a devoted 19-year-old boy, standing near the front of the crowd. For years, you’ve admired Irene’s artistry, her poise, and the quiet yet commanding presence that sets her apart. She’s been your bias since the moment you discovered Red Velvet, captivating you with every performance, every glance, every smile. But tonight is different. This is her night. Her solo comeback. The energy is unlike anything you’ve felt before, and the significance of this moment echoes in the rapid thrum of your heart.

The stage glows with a soft light, and the room erupts as Irene steps into view. She’s radiant, a vision so perfect it feels almost otherworldly. Her outfit sparkles under the spotlights—a sleek, fitted ensemble in deep, jewel-like tones that catch the light with every graceful step she takes. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, glossy and flawless, framing her face in a way that feels too perfect to be real. Her smile is soft yet confident, the kind that somehow feels personal, like it’s meant just for you, even in a crowd of thousands.

Clutching a freshly purchased album close to your chest, your fingers tremble as you grip it tightly. The ReVeluv T-shirt you carefully chose this morning feels almost too bright under the glow of the stage lights, but you wear it proudly, a small token of your devotion. Around you, fans scream and cheer, their voices weaving together into a deafening symphony of love and support. Yet, for you, the sound fades into the background as Irene’s first note cuts through the air. Clear, emotive, and powerful, it sends a shiver down your spine, rooting you in place.

Her performance is mesmerizing. Every move she makes is fluid, every note she sings filled with a kind of vulnerability that feels intimate despite the size of the venue. The air vibrates with her presence, her voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The scent of faint perfume and the electric tang of stage smoke mix in the air, creating a sensory backdrop that makes the moment feel surreal. You’re rooted to the spot, utterly captivated, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as the realization hits: you’re witnessing something extraordinary.

When the final note fades and the crowd erupts in a deafening roar, Irene stands still for a moment, soaking in the adoration. Her gaze sweeps across the sea of light sticks and banners, scanning the crowd as if she’s trying to meet every eye. For a brief moment, her eyes seem to land on yours, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s fleeting, and you know it’s probably not meant for you—just a random glance in your direction—but the slight smile that pulls at her lips feels like it’s tied directly to your racing heart. You take what you can get, holding tightly to the illusion of connection in the vastness of the crowd.

As she raises a hand to wave, the gesture is simple but impossibly magnetic, radiating warmth and gratitude. It’s enough to make you feel like you’re the only one she’s looking at, even though you know better. You wave your light stick fervently in response, your heart pounding as though it’s trying to reach her across the distance.

When she finally bows, the crowd’s cheers swell to a fever pitch, the sound thunderous and all-encompassing. She steps back into the shadows of the stage, her figure slowly disappearing as the lights dim. You can barely remember how you managed to stay on your feet, the wave of emotion washing over you threatening to knock you down.

Clutching the album tighter to your chest, you stand frozen for a moment, determined to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible. The memory of her voice, her smile, and the undeniable presence she commands stays with you, a bright, glowing ember burning in your chest. You know this moment—this fleeting connection, imagined or not—will stay with you forever, a reminder of the night she shone brighter than ever.

The crowd gradually settles, but the buzz of excitement remains, rippling through the room like an unspoken connection. The event transitions to the fan interaction segment, and you feel the air shift as Irene takes her seat on the stage. Fans file into neat lines, each holding gifts, albums, and handwritten notes, their nervous energy palpable. Your heartbeat quickens as the line in front of you inches forward, each step bringing you closer to the moment you’ve dreamed of.

You grip your album tightly, the edges pressing into your palms, grounding you as your nerves threaten to take over. Around you, there’s a cacophony of sounds—the chatter of fans in line, the occasional burst of laughter, and the soft hum of background music. Yet, all of it seems distant, muffled by the pounding of your heart. You’ve rehearsed what you want to say countless times, but now your mind feels like a blank slate, wiped clean by the overwhelming reality of being so close to her.

As the fans ahead of you step forward, Irene greets each with her characteristic grace, her warm smiles and soft chuckles filling the space like a gentle melody. Watching her interact, you can’t help but notice how genuine she seems—her gaze attentive, her demeanor effortlessly charming. She accepts every letter, every memento, with a delicate touch, her hands brushing against those of the fans who hand them over. Each small moment feels precious, and your chest tightens with the realization that soon, it will be your turn.

When the fan directly in front of you steps aside, the world slows to a crawl. Irene’s eyes lift, locking onto yours, and the breath catches in your throat. The stage lights frame her like a halo, her features soft yet dazzlingly vivid—every detail etched into your memory. Her expression shifts to one of gentle curiosity as you approach, her lips curving into a small, encouraging smile that makes your legs feel like jelly.

You step forward, gripping the album so tightly now that your knuckles are white. Her presence is magnetic, pulling you in with a force you can’t resist. She’s even more breathtaking up close, her skin glowing as if lit from within. The subtle scent of her perfume, fresh and floral, reaches you, blending seamlessly with the charged air around her. Her hair, perfectly styled yet natural, catches the light in soft waves, framing her face in a way that seems impossibly elegant. Everything about her radiates a quiet confidence, a strength wrapped in warmth.

Your lips part, and for a moment, nothing comes out. The pounding in your chest drowns out everything else, your thoughts a tangled mess. Then, somehow, you find your voice, shaky but audible. “Hi… uh… Irene-noona,” you manage, the words tumbling out awkwardly. Your voice cracks slightly, and you feel your cheeks flush with heat, but her reaction erases any embarrassment. Her smile deepens, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that feels impossibly reassuring.

“Hello,” she says softly, her voice smooth and melodic, each syllable grounding and disarming all at once. “Are you having a good time?”

You nod so quickly it’s a miracle your head doesn’t fall off. “Y-yeah! It’s been amazing,” you stammer, clutching the album tighter before awkwardly holding it out for her. “I—I’ve been a fan of yours for… a really long time.”

Her delicate fingers brush against yours as she takes the album, and the gentle contact sends an electric jolt up your arm. You’re sure she notices the way your breath hitches, but if she does, her expression remains serene. “Thank you,” she says, her eyes lifting briefly to meet yours before they focus on the album. Her pen moves fluidly across the glossy surface as she adds her signature. “It means a lot to me that you came.”

You blurt out the first thing that pops into your head, your voice louder than you intended. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything!” Your face flushes immediately, and you scramble to backtrack. “I mean, not just this… I mean, anything you do is worth it. Like, you’re just really… uh, incredible.”

Her lips curl into a small, amused smile, and she tilts her head slightly, as if trying to figure you out. The soft light catches in her eyes, making them sparkle. “You’re sweet,” she says, her tone light and teasing. “Is this your first fan meet?”

You nod vigorously, then clear your throat, trying to compose yourself. “Yes. First time seeing you… like, in person.” Your words come out disjointed, and you wince internally. “I mean, obviously in person. Because otherwise, it’s just… online. Or videos. But now it’s real. Not that the other times weren’t real—”

Her soft laugh interrupts your rambling, and you freeze, realizing just how much you’ve been talking. “I get it,” she says, her tone warm and full of amusement. “You don’t need to explain.”

You bite your lip, nodding sheepishly as your fingers twitch nervously around the album. “Right. Sorry. I just… it’s surreal, you know?”

Her smile softens, and something in her gaze shifts, growing warmer. “Well, I’m glad I get to be part of your first experience,” she replies gently. Her voice feels so personal, so inviting, it’s almost as though she’s speaking directly into your thoughts. “Are you nervous?”

You laugh awkwardly, a dry, choked sound that you instantly regret. “A little,” you admit, your hand moving to the back of your neck in a clumsy attempt to play it cool. “Okay, maybe a lot.”

Her soft laugh feels like a reward, and you swear you see a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Don’t be,” she says, her voice light but carrying an undercurrent of sincerity. “It’s just me.”

“That’s kind of the problem,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “I mean—not a problem! It’s just you’re, you know, you. And I’m… me.”

Her laugh is more open this time, a genuine sound that makes your heart flip. “And what’s wrong with being you?” she asks, her teasing tone laced with sincerity.

You open your mouth, then close it again, unsure how to respond. “Nothing, I guess,” you mumble, your voice so soft you’re not sure she even hears it.

Her expression softens further, and the simplicity of her next words catches you off guard. “It’s nice meeting you,” she says, and somehow, it feels like the most genuine thing you’ve ever heard.

As she finishes signing, she holds the album out to you, her fingers lingering just slightly against yours as you take it. The sensation is fleeting but searing, and your grip tightens around the album as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything. Your music, your… everything.”

Her head tilts again, a habit you’re quickly finding endearing. Her eyes meet yours in a way that feels unguarded, and for a moment, it’s as though the chaos of the room has dissolved into silence. “Take care,” she says softly, her smile lingering like an imprint in the air as you step back.

You clutch the signed album to your chest as you move away, every sensation from the past few moments replaying in your mind like a loop. The warmth of her fingers, the sound of her voice, the way her gaze made you feel seen. Each memory burns vividly, etching itself into your heart as one of the most precious experiences of your life.

After your encounter with Irene, you leave the signing area, your heart still hammering from the interaction. The world outside the small bubble of that moment feels oddly distant, like you’re walking through a dream. Clutching your signed album tightly, you wander aimlessly, letting the energy of the lingering fans wash over you. Everywhere you look, posters of Irene smile back at you, her image larger than life and yet somehow still not quite as radiant as she was up close.

You pause by one of the posters and instinctively pull out your phone. The absurdity of the moment hits you as you angle the camera for a selfie, trying to capture yourself next to her glossy image. “As if this could compare to the real thing,” you mutter under your breath, but you laugh softly at your own awkwardness and snap a few pictures anyway.

Other fans, catching sight of your antics, approach with wide smiles, eager to strike up conversations. Their excitement is infectious, and before you know it, you’re swapping stories about your favorite songs, performances, and how incredible Irene looked tonight. For a while, the warmth of shared admiration eases the nervous flutter still lingering in your chest. You even manage to laugh along as one fan reenacts their over-the-top reaction to Irene’s smile during their brief meeting.

But just as you’re starting to feel like yourself again, the easy atmosphere is interrupted by the arrival of a staff member. Her polished, professional demeanor contrasts sharply with the casual energy of the fans around you, and her gaze is sharp as it lands on you.

“Excuse me,” she says, her tone polite but firm, her eyes scanning you as though assessing every detail.

You blink, startled. “Uh… me?” you ask, your voice coming out higher than you intended.

“Yes, you,” she replies, nodding briskly. “Please follow me.”

Your stomach twists into a knot, and a flicker of anxiety sparks in your chest. “Did I… do something wrong?” you ask hesitantly, clutching your album tighter.

“No,” she says, her tone still impassive. “We just need you to come with us. This way, please.”

Her vague response only fuels your confusion, but curiosity outweighs your hesitation. You nod mutely, trailing after her as she leads you toward a side entrance. The farther you move from the bustling crowd, the more the energy of the venue fades, replaced by a quieter, more subdued atmosphere.

The staff member guides you through a discreet door, and you step into a backstage area. The contrast is jarring. The distant hum of fans is replaced by the low murmur of crew members and the soft clatter of equipment being packed away. The air feels cooler here, tinged with the faint scent of stage makeup and metal. Overhead lights flicker dimly, casting long, uncertain shadows along the corridors.

Your pulse quickens with each step, your mind racing to understand what’s happening. Was this a mistake? A misunderstanding? Why would someone like you be brought backstage? The question loops in your head, unanswered, as you follow the staff member down another hallway.

Finally, she stops in front of a small door, slightly ajar, light spilling softly into the hallway. “Please go inside,” she says simply, stepping aside.

You hesitate, glancing at the door with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. “Wait, what’s—”

But before you can finish, the staff member gives a small, polite smile and walks away, leaving you alone. You swallow hard, your palms clammy as you reach for the door and push it open.

The room inside is unexpectedly intimate. The warm glow of ambient lighting reflects off vintage mirrors, casting a golden hue over the elegant draperies and minimalist furniture. The faint scent of her perfume drifts through the air, calming but somehow charged with an undercurrent of mystery.

Your breath catches as your gaze lands on a familiar figure. Irene is standing by one of the mirrors, her back to you, adjusting a few strands of her hair. The sight of her in this quiet, private space feels almost unreal—like stumbling into a dream you hadn’t realized you were having.

She turns slowly, her movements so fluid and deliberate they seem almost choreographed, and when her eyes meet yours, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. A physical jolt courses through you, your body instinctively tensing under the weight of her gaze. Her expression is calm, but the glint of mischief in her eyes makes your pulse race. She exudes confidence, yet there’s an undercurrent of something playful—something that sets your nerves on edge in a way you can’t quite describe.

“Hi again,” she says softly, her tone light but with an intimacy that seems to wrap itself around you. The space between you feels charged, the kind of tension that makes the smallest movements seem monumental.

She takes a step closer, her presence magnetic and overwhelming. “I’m glad you didn’t leave right away,” she murmurs, her voice warm but carrying an edge that sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

You swallow hard, managing a shaky nod as you clutch the signed album against your chest like a shield. “I—I didn’t know this was going to happen,” you admit, your voice trembling under the intensity of her gaze.

Her lips curve into a deeper smile, the kind that feels dangerous yet alluring. “Did you hope for it to happen?” she asks, her tone teasing but laced with a gravity that makes your heart stutter.

“I… I don’t know,” you stammer, the words spilling out clumsily. “I mean, I didn’t expect—”

Her laugh is soft and melodic, wrapping around you like a silken thread. “You’re nervous again,” she observes, tilting her head slightly, her sharp eyes studying your face as if she’s savoring your reaction. “You were like this earlier too.”

“I’m not… that nervous,” you blurt out, but your voice betrays you, trembling just enough to make her raise an amused brow.

“Not that nervous?” she echoes, taking another deliberate step closer. The warmth of her proximity washes over you, her presence filling every inch of the space between you. “Then why are your hands shaking?”

Your gaze darts down instinctively, and your stomach twists when you see she’s right. Your fingers tremble as they clutch the album, and you quickly adjust your grip, trying in vain to steady them. “I’m just… overwhelmed, I guess,” you admit, your face burning as you glance back up. “This whole thing is just… so unexpected.”

Irene chuckles softly, the sound low and intimate, sending a shiver down your spine. “Unexpected, hmm?” she muses, tilting her head as though savoring the moment. “Did you not hope for a moment like this? Even a little?”

The weight of her words presses down on you, and your mind scrambles for an answer. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. The silence stretches, her gaze unrelenting, and the way she looks at you feels like she’s peeling back every layer, leaving you exposed.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” she says, breaking the quiet, her voice playful yet carrying an edge that sends heat coursing through you. She lets the words hang for a moment, the corners of her lips curving up just slightly. Then she steps closer, so close now you can feel her warmth like a physical touch. “Tell me something,” she continues, her tone dropping lower, almost conspiratorial. “Have you thought about me before?”

The question spins in your mind, sending your thoughts spiraling. “I—I mean, yes,” you manage to stammer, each word a struggle. “I’m a fan, so of course—”

“No,” she interrupts, her voice steady but with a sharper edge that makes your breath hitch. Her eyes narrow slightly, the teasing glint giving way to something more focused. “Not like that. I mean… have you ever thought about me in a way that’s… more personal?”

The meaning of her words crashes into you, and you feel your face flush hot. “I—uh, I don’t… I didn’t—” The words tangle together, and your voice dies in your throat, leaving you stammering helplessly.

Her smile widens, the satisfaction in her eyes unmistakable. “Relax,” she says, her tone softening, though the teasing lilt remains. 

She lets the silence stretch again, her presence consuming every corner of the room as her gaze lingers on yours. Then, with a tilt of her head and a shift in her expression, her voice drops to a softer, almost vulnerable tone. “Do you think I’m sexy?”

The question lands like a thunderbolt, the weight of it knocking the breath out of your lungs. “W-what?” you stammer, your voice cracking slightly under the pressure. “I—I mean…”

Her eyes remain steady, unwavering, as though she’s daring you to answer. “You heard me,” she says simply, her lips curving into a faint smile that feels both inviting and dangerous.

Your mouth goes dry, and the air between you feels impossibly heavy. After a long pause, you finally manage to croak out, “Yes. I—I think you’re… you’re very sexy.”

Her smile deepens, a flicker of excitement lighting her eyes. She steps even closer, the warmth of her body brushing against your arm. Her fingers trail lightly across your skin, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. “Good,” she purrs, her voice low and melodic, dripping with satisfaction.

She pauses, letting the tension between you build before her gaze sharpens again. “You know,” she begins softly, her voice intimate and steady, “it’s okay to be honest with me.”

You blink, struggling to steady your breath. “Honest about… what?” you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Her smile turns coy, but the intensity in her eyes only grows. “You’ve thought about me before, haven’t you?” she asks, her voice slow and deliberate, every word rolling off her tongue like honey. “Not just as a fan, but… in other ways.”

Your heart slams against your ribs as you scramble for a response. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” you stammer, though the heat rising to your face makes it clear that you do.

Her soft laugh is low and indulgent, sending a shiver down your spine. “Don’t be shy,” she says, her tone dropping to something more sultry. She leans in slightly, her presence dominating the space between you. “You’ve thought about me while touching yourself, haven’t you?”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, your body going rigid as your mind scrambles to process the question. “I… uh… I…” The words tumble out incoherently, your face burning so hot it feels like it might catch fire.

Her smile widens, her satisfaction evident. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she murmurs, her tone rich with amusement and a hint of something deeper. The flicker of excitement in her expression grows, her eyes bright with the thrill of the moment. “It’s okay,” she adds softly, her voice softening slightly but still charged. “I was just curious.”

The tension in the air is palpable, the intimacy of the moment sinking deeper into your skin as her gaze holds yours unflinchingly. Irene’s lips curl into a faint smile, the kind that sends your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes flicking down for the briefest moment before meeting yours again, her expression softening just enough to keep you teetering on the edge of unease and fascination.

“And have you… done this before?” she asks, her voice quieter now, almost gentle.

Your throat tightens as her question lingers in the space between you, its meaning unmistakable. “Done what?” you ask, though your voice betrays that you already suspect where this is heading.

“This,” she replies, her hand gesturing vaguely between the two of you. Her movements are fluid, deliberate, her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that feels impossible to look away from. “Have you been with someone? Touched someone? Kissed someone?”

Your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your ears, the blood rushing to your face as the words settle over you. The room seems to shrink, her presence consuming every corner of it, making it impossible to focus on anything but her. “No,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t.”

Her expression shifts subtly, a flicker of intrigue passing through her eyes before something deeper—something almost predatory—takes its place. “A virgin,” she says softly, as if testing the word on her tongue, savoring its weight. “That explains so much.”

You feel your breath hitch, your chest tightening as you struggle to respond. The silence between you stretches, thick and charged, every second heavy with anticipation. She takes a step closer, her movements unhurried but purposeful, and her hand lifts, her fingers grazing your cheek with a featherlight touch.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she whispers, her voice like velvet, each word wrapping around you and sinking into your skin. Her thumb brushes gently against your cheekbone, the touch so tender it sends a shiver down your spine. “In fact, I think it’s… beautiful.”

She pauses for a moment, her gaze holding yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. Her lips curve into a soft, almost wistful smile, and there’s a flicker of something unspoken in her expression. “This world,” she murmurs, her tone shifting, almost reflective, “it’s changed so much. People rush through things, chasing fleeting moments without ever stopping to truly feel.”

Her fingers trace a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, her touch grounding yet electrifying. “But you,” she continues, her voice dropping lower, as if she’s sharing a secret meant only for you, “you’re so… pure. So untouched. It’s refreshing, really.

Her gaze darkens, her expression unreadable yet deeply captivating, as though she’s peeling back every layer of your thoughts. “Do you trust me?” she asks softly, her voice barely more than a breath.

You hesitate for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest, but there’s a vulnerability in her question that steadies you. “Of course!...I mean… I think so,” you reply honestly, your voice shaky but sincere.

Her lips curve into a faint smile, one that feels equal parts reassuring and dangerous. “Good,” she murmurs, her voice dipping into something even softer, almost a purr. “Because I’m going to show you things you’ve only dreamed about.”

Before you can process her words, she leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss so gentle it feels like it might vanish if you move too quickly. The warmth of her breath mingles with yours, her scent enveloping you, subtle but intoxicatingly her. Her hand moves to the back of your neck, her fingers threading through your hair as she deepens the kiss, her movements unhurried but deliberate, as though savoring every moment.

Your body freezes at first, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, but her other hand comes to rest lightly on your waist, her touch grounding you. Slowly, you find yourself melting under her, her warmth and presence consuming you entirely. The sound of your uneven breaths mingles with the faint rustle of fabric as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours with a natural ease that leaves you breathless.

Every sensation feels heightened—the softness of her lips, the faint tickle of her hair brushing against your cheek, the way her fingers grip you just tightly enough to send a thrill down your spine. Time seems to slow, the outside world dissolving until there’s nothing but the two of you, wrapped in a moment that feels both impossibly real and utterly surreal.

When she finally pulls back, her lips linger close to yours, her breath warm against your skin. Her eyes search yours, her expression a mix of satisfaction and something deeper, something unreadable. “You’re trembling,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with amusement as her fingers trail down your arm. “Are you okay?”

You nod wordlessly, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, the rhythm of your pounding heart almost deafening in the silence. Every nerve in your body feels heightened, attuned to her every movement. Irene’s gaze remains locked onto yours, her eyes lingering with an intensity that leaves you rooted to the spot. She seems to savor the moment, the weight of it stretching as her soft smile transforms into a knowing smirk.

Her hands move with deliberate grace, reaching for the hem of her blouse. The gentle shift of fabric brushing against her skin fills the air, and her voice, low and commanding, cuts through the silence. “Let’s take this off,” she murmurs.

Your breath catches as she slowly lifts her blouse, the smooth motion revealing more of her flawless skin. The dim light of the room casts a warm glow across her body, accentuating the curve of her waist, the soft slope of her stomach, and the graceful line of her shoulders. The air feels charged, every subtle sound—her blouse slipping away, the soft rustle as it lands on a nearby chair—heightened to a point of almost unbearable clarity.

Your eyes widen as she reaches behind her back, fingers deftly unclasping her bra. The delicate garment slides effortlessly from her shoulders, falling away like water, leaving her bare before you. Her skin is smooth, luminous in the golden light, every line and contour of her body exuding confidence and an undeniable allure. The gentle swell of her breasts, the softness of her curves, the way she holds herself with such effortless poise—it all leaves you completely spellbound.

Your chest tightens as you struggle to process the sight before you, your mind stumbling over itself in disbelief. She’s breathtaking, like a vision plucked straight from your wildest dreams, and the sheer reality of the moment sends a shiver racing down your spine. This is happening. She’s here, with you.

Irene’s eyes flick to your face, catching the way your gaze lingers on her, and her smirk deepens, a playful glint lighting up her expression. “You’re a lucky boy, aren’t you?” she teases, her voice rich with amusement and dripping with confidence.

You nod again, dumbly, your throat too dry to form a response. Her words hang in the air, teasing but undeniably true, and the way she steps closer, closing the space between you, only magnifies the sense of intimacy crackling in the room.

Her hands reach for your shirt, her fingers moving with purpose as they work their way down the buttons. Each flick of her fingers sends a jolt of electricity through you, her touch light yet deliberate, igniting your skin with every graze. “Let’s see what you’re working with,” she murmurs, her tone equal parts playful and commanding.

The fabric slides off your shoulders, falling to the floor in a whisper. Her touch lingers for a moment, her fingertips brushing against your collarbone, tracing the line of your chest, before she steps back, her gaze sweeping over you with an approving glint.

Her eyes move slowly, deliberately, taking in every detail of your bare form as though memorizing it. The weight of her attention leaves you feeling exposed but not uncomfortable—there’s something almost reverent in the way she looks at you, her expression softening just slightly as a small smile tugs at her lips.

“Not bad at all,” she murmurs, her voice low and rich with satisfaction. The words are simple, but the way she says them sends a rush of heat through you, her approval a balm to your nerves. Her gaze flicks back to yours, her smirk returning as she leans in closer, her presence overwhelming in the best possible way.

The heat between you was palpable, every breath shared and every touch igniting the tension that had been simmering between you. Irene leaned in, her lips brushing against your neck as she guided you down onto the plush couch, her movements unhurried yet deliberate. The soft cushions pressed against your back, and her warm, bare skin against yours was a sensation so overwhelming it made your thoughts scatter. Her breasts, soft and inviting, molded against your chest as she pressed closer, her body moving with a fluid confidence that left you breathless.

Her presence was intoxicating. Every shift of her weight, every brush of her smooth skin against yours, sent jolts of electricity racing through you. You felt your arousal surge uncontrollably, your body betraying you as you leaked against her thigh. The heat pooling between you was undeniable, impossible to ignore.

Irene noticed immediately, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she shifted, her thigh pressing more firmly against you. Her lips curved into a knowing smile, her gaze dipping briefly before meeting yours again, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Looks like someone’s eager,” she teased, her voice low and sultry, the sound wrapping around you like silk.

Her teasing didn’t stop there. She adjusted her hips slightly, her movement deliberate as she ground against you just enough to make you gasp. The sensation was maddening, her warmth and wetness brushing against you, heightening your sensitivity to every tiny shift and touch. You tried to steady your breath, but the way she looked at you made it impossible.

“I like seeing you like this,” she murmured, her fingers trailing lightly along your jawline. The touch was featherlight, her nails grazing your skin as she studied your face with a mix of amusement and desire. “So vulnerable. So… willing.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, but it was her next move that truly unraveled you. Irene’s lips curled into a smirk as she leaned in closer, her breath warm against your ear. “Before we go any further,” she began, her tone dropping to a low, commanding purr, “there’s something I want to hear from you.”

Her fingers tilted your chin slightly, her gaze locking onto yours with a playful intensity that made your heart race. “I want you to call me Mommy,” she said, her voice steady, laced with a confidence that left no room for hesitation.

The words hung in the air, heavy and electrifying. Your breath hitched, your mind racing as you tried to process her request. “M-Mommy?” you stammered, the word foreign on your tongue, your voice shaky as you struggled to say it.

“That’s right,” she murmured, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she whispered, “Call me Mommy. I want to hear it.”

Her tone was firm but coaxing, and the raw need behind her words sent shivers cascading through you. You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing against you as you finally whispered, “Mommy,” barely audible.

Her reaction was immediate. A sharp intake of breath escaped her lips, her hands tightening slightly on your shoulders as her body trembled with excitement. “Again,” she demanded softly, her voice trembling with arousal, her eyes dark with anticipation.

“Mommy,” you repeated, louder this time, the word rolling off your tongue with surprising ease. It felt strange at first, but the way she responded—her thighs trembling, her lips parting slightly, the subtle arch of her back—made it feel right. Natural, even. The connection deepened, the tension between you amplifying in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

“Good boy,” Irene purred, her voice thick with satisfaction and desire. Her hips moved against you again, her wetness brushing against your length, and the sensation made you twitch with need. “You have no idea how good that makes me feel,” she continued, her tone laced with unrestrained pleasure.

Her excitement was palpable, her arousal feeding off your submission to her request. The way she ground her hips against you, her movements becoming more deliberate, made your pulse race, and the soft, breathy moans escaping her lips spurred you on.

As you shifted, positioning yourself over her, a sudden thought struck you. You hesitated, your hands trembling slightly against her hips. “I… I don’t have a condom,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the moment made your confession feel like an interruption.

Irene’s eyes softened, her expression shifting instantly to one of reassurance. She cupped your cheek, her touch warm and firm as she pulled you down, letting your foreheads touch. “It’s okay, baby,” she whispered, her tone soothing yet steady. “Let’s just feel each other. This will be a proper first time.”

Her words washed over you, dissolving the last of your hesitation. The unwavering confidence in her voice and the tenderness in her gaze filled you with a sense of safety you hadn’t realized you needed. You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as she spread her legs wider, welcoming you in with an openness that left you breathless.

You align yourself with her entrance, your body trembling with anticipation. The moment felt impossibly real, every nerve alive with the electric charge of what was about to happen. But as you moved to press inside, you missed—the head of your length slipping against her slick folds instead. A flush of embarrassment washed over you, and you stammered, “S-sorry,” your voice shaky as you avoided her gaze.

Irene let out a soft, melodic laugh, her hand reaching for yours with a gentleness that steadied you. “It’s okay, baby,” she said softly, her voice full of patience and understanding. Guiding you with practiced ease, she adjusted your angle, her touch deliberate and sure. “Here… just like this.”

With her guidance, you slid inside her, and the sensation overwhelmed you instantly, like a tidal wave crashing over your senses. The heat was all-encompassing, a searing warmth that seemed to pull you deeper, while the wet, silken texture of her body wrapped around you, cradling you in a way that felt impossibly perfect. It was as though she had been made for you, every movement drawing you further into a connection you’d only dreamed of. Your chest tightened, and your breath caught, the sheer intensity of the moment rendering you motionless for a heartbeat.

Your mind reeled as the reality of it sank in: you were inside Irene—the woman you had admired from afar for years. The one who had occupied your thoughts, your dreams, your quiet moments of longing. And now, her warmth surrounded you, her body fitting against yours like the last piece of a puzzle you never thought you’d complete. The intimacy was overwhelming, both physically and emotionally, and it took everything in you to steady yourself, to remember to breathe.

Your eyes darted to hers, seeking reassurance, and what you found made your heart swell. Irene’s gaze met yours, her eyes soft and full of tenderness, yet smoldering with desire that sent a shiver down your spine. Her lips curved into a gentle smile, one that held no judgment, only encouragement. She raised her hands to your shoulders, her fingertips brushing lightly against your skin, grounding you in the moment as she whispered, “You’re doing well, baby.”

Her words melted into you, a quiet melody that soothed your nerves and spurred your confidence. Slowly, she shifted, her legs wrapping around your waist in an embrace that drew you closer. The slight arch of her back, the way her body trembled faintly against yours, made the connection feel deeper, richer. Her warmth seemed endless, her body adjusting to yours with a fluidity that felt almost magical.

Each subtle movement of hers—her hips pressing gently into yours, her arms tightening around your back—spoke a language you didn’t need words to understand. The sensation of her, of being completely joined with her, was unlike anything you’d ever imagined. Her skin was hot and smooth under your palms, her breathing soft yet uneven as it matched your own.

“Look at me,” she whispered, her voice soft but commanding. One of her hands cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I want you to see how good you’re making me feel.”

You obeyed, your gaze locking onto hers. Her expression was raw, unguarded—desire mingling with affection, her lips parting slightly as a soft moan escaped. Her cheeks glowed in the dim light, her skin luminous with warmth as her breaths came quicker, matching your own. Every moment, every movement, felt like it was drawing the two of you closer, deepening the connection in a way that left you both utterly consumed.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmured, her voice like honey, rich and soothing. Her fingers traced the curve of your jaw, her touch soft yet firm, grounding you as your body trembled with anticipation. “Just take it slow. Feel me.”

You began to move, your hips shifting tentatively at first, each thrust deliberate and cautious. Your body quaked with a mix of exhilaration and nervousness, every movement guided by the quiet encouragement in her voice. Irene’s soft moans spilled into the air like a melody, her sounds coaxing you, pulling you deeper into the moment. The way she responded to you—the arch of her back, the way her nails lightly grazed your skin—sent waves of heat through you, spurring you on.

Her eyes caught yours, and a smile tugged at her lips, equal parts reassuring and hungry. She reached up, cupping your face in her hands, and pulled you down into a deep kiss. Her lips moved against yours with a fervent intensity, her hunger unmistakable. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a connection, a melding of desire and trust that left you spiraling.

The sensations were overwhelming—the warmth of her body beneath you, the way her breath hitched each time you moved, the intoxicating taste of her kiss. Every inch of your skin seemed alive, buzzing with electricity as her soft moans blended with the sound of your labored breaths. Your hips faltered, your rhythm breaking as the buildup reached an unbearable crescendo. The heat coiling in your core surged forward, unstoppable, and with one final thrust, you erupted inside her.

The intensity of your release hit you like a tidal wave, your entire body trembling as a raw, primal energy coursed through you. It was nothing like you’d ever felt before—every nerve alight, your mind completely blank save for the sensation of her warmth enveloping you. Your legs buckled beneath you as the strength drained from your body, and you slipped slightly, unintentionally pushing deeper into her. A sharp, unsteady gasp escaped your lips as your entire body shuddered, unable to hold itself up under the sheer force of the moment.

Irene let out a soft, breathy moan as your weight pressed into her, her hands moving to steady you, her touch gentle yet firm. Her fingers trailed along your back, grounding you as your chest heaved against hers, your breaths coming in uneven bursts. The world seemed to tilt, the edges of your vision blurring as the aftershocks rippled through you, leaving you weak and trembling.

“Mommy, I–I’m sorry,” you stammered after a moment, your voice shaky with embarrassment and panic. The realization of what had just happened hit you all at once, and you struggled to lift yourself off her, though your arms felt like jelly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” Irene interrupted gently, her fingers brushing against your lips to quiet you. Her touch was warm, reassuring, and her smile, soft and knowing, made your panic ebb slightly. Her expression glowed with a mix of affection and satisfaction, her eyes sparkling as she held your gaze. There was no judgment, only warmth and a hint of playfulness that sent a flicker of heat through your chest. “It’s okay, baby. That was bound to happen.”

Her hand moved to the back of your head, her fingers threading through your hair as she pulled you down to rest against her chest. The rise and fall of her breathing was steady, soothing, a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “It just means you couldn’t help yourself,” she whispered, her voice low and dripping with satisfaction. Her words were gentle, but there was a glimmer of something deeper in her tone—pride, even delight.

“And honestly…” Her voice dipped lower, almost a purr as her fingers lightly trailed down your spine, leaving a tingling warmth in their wake. “It makes me feel sexy knowing how much I excite you.”

Her words hung in the air, thick with an electric tension that made your heart race all over again. The confidence in her tone, the way her lips curved into a knowing smile, only magnified the pull she had on you. She shifted slightly beneath you, her body still warm and soft against yours, her every movement exuding an effortless sensuality that left you utterly captivated.

“Feeling this way,” she murmured, her nails lightly grazing your scalp as she held you close, “it’s like you’re showing me exactly how irresistible I am to you. And that… makes me want you even more.”

She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, her fingers threading gently through your hair. “Don’t worry,” she murmured, her voice a calming balm. “We have plenty of time to work on your stamina.”

Despite her reassurance, your face burned with embarrassment as you slowly pulled out of her. The sensation left you trembling, your heart racing as your eyes fell to the sight of your release seeping from her entrance. The visual was hypnotic—raw and intimate—and it sent an unbidden twitch through your already overly sensitive length. A mix of awe and arousal coursed through you, leaving your thoughts scrambled.

Irene sat up on the couch, her movements unhurried and graceful despite the intimacy you had just shared. Her bare skin glistened faintly in the soft light, her chest rising and falling with her steady breaths. When her eyes met yours, there was no judgment—only a playful glint dancing within them. She leaned back slightly, spreading her legs just enough to hold your gaze captive.

“Don’t look so embarrassed,” she teased, her tone soft but laced with amusement. “We’ve got plenty of time to figure this out.” Her voice carried an air of authority that both comforted and electrified you as she motioned for you to kneel. “Now, come here. Let me teach you how to pleasure a woman.”

The mix of her confidence and warmth quelled some of your lingering nerves, though your hands still trembled slightly as you lowered yourself to your knees. The position felt both humbling and thrilling, your gaze flickering between her face and her glistening folds, still dripping with the evidence of your earlier climax. The scent of her arousal hung in the air, musky and intoxicating, sending another pulse of heat through your body.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against the back of your head before gently cupping it, guiding you closer with practiced ease. Her touch was tender yet firm, leaving no doubt about her control of the moment. “Don’t overthink it,” she murmured, her lips curling into a reassuring smile that sent a spark of courage through you. “Just follow my lead.”

The moment your lips met her warm, slick folds, your senses were flooded. The taste was intense and impossible to describe—earthy, musky, and utterly intoxicating. It was primal, a flavor that ignited something deep within you, rendering the nervous chatter in your mind silent. All that remained was the overwhelming need to please her, to feel her body respond to your touch.

“Good,” Irene breathed, her voice soft and laced with pleasure. “Now, use your tongue to tease me. Start with light strokes… right there.”

You followed her instructions carefully, your tongue moving tentatively at first, flicking gently against her entrance. The wet heat of her arousal coated your tongue as you explored her, drawing soft sighs of approval from her lips. Her hand remained steady on the back of your head, her fingers threading lightly through your hair as she guided your movements.

“Press a little harder,” she murmured, her hips shifting slightly against your mouth. Her voice was patient but tinged with desire, every word spurring you on. “Yes, just like that. Now move up… here.”

She pointed to her clit with one hand, her fingers brushing it lightly to show you exactly where to focus. You obeyed, your lips wrapping around the sensitive nub as your tongue began to flick against it in slow, deliberate movements. The effect was immediate—her thighs trembled slightly, and a low moan escaped her lips, rich and unrestrained.

“That’s it,” she gasped, her voice catching as her head tilted back. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

The weight of her praise lit a fire inside you, driving your movements to become bolder and more confident. Your tongue traced circles around her clit, alternating with quick flicks that matched the rhythm of her shallow, rapid breaths. Her body responded in ways that left you in awe—her hips shifting, her thighs trembling, her breathing growing heavier with each moment.

“Use more pressure here,” she urged, her voice breaking slightly with urgency. “Yes… just like that. Now flick… mmm, perfect.”

Her moans grew louder, her hands gripping your hair—not to guide you, but to anchor herself as the sensations overwhelmed her. The tremble in her thighs intensified, her body tightening as your tongue worked her closer to the edge. Her nails pressed lightly into your scalp, her hips rocking in time with your movements as she lost herself in the rising pleasure.

The rhythm of her moans and the way her body reacted filled you with a sense of accomplishment, a primal pride that pushed you to keep going. You adjusted, moving with her as your tongue worked in unison with her rising need, tracing every sensitive spot she pointed out. Her thighs quaked against your cheeks, her voice becoming a mix of gasps and cries as you brought her closer, her pleasure radiating through every part of you.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, her voice breathless and tinged with desperation. Her hips began to move instinctively, grinding against your mouth, her rhythm purposeful and commanding. The slick warmth of her folds pressed firmly against your lips, her arousal coating your tongue as the taste and scent of her overwhelmed your senses. Every soft cry, every tremble of her thighs, spurred you on, pushing you to match her urgency.

Her moans grew sharper, raw and unrestrained, her control slipping as her body chased its breaking point. Her hips bucked harder, grinding against you, her movements becoming erratic as you pressed your tongue harder against her clit. You flicked and sucked with everything you had, fueled not just by the pleasure radiating from her but by the sheer pride swelling in your chest. This was Irene—the idol you had adored for years—and you were the one unraveling her, the one reducing her to this trembling, vulnerable state.

Her thighs clenched around your head, her hands tangling in your hair as her moans became cries, each sound sharper and more desperate than the last. You felt the tension building in her body, every shift of her hips, every quiver of her muscles driving her closer and closer to the edge. The knowledge that you—someone so inexperienced—were capable of drawing this level of pleasure from her only deepened your determination.

“I’m so close,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her back arched off the couch. Her tone was raw, almost pleading, as she clung to the final threads of control. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop.”

Her words hit you like a command, and you obeyed without hesitation, moving with a purpose that mirrored her rising need. Her body tensed beneath you, her thighs trembling violently against your face as the tension inside her finally snapped. With one final, desperate grind, Irene cried out—a raw, guttural sound that filled the room. Her body arched as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, her muscles pulsing and quivering against your mouth as her orgasm consumed her.

The moment was mesmerizing, intimate, and deeply humbling. As she came apart in your hands, you felt an immense swell of pride, the realization hitting you with staggering force: you had done this. You had brought her to this peak. The woman you’d admired for so long, this untouchable vision of perfection, was utterly undone because of you.

Her grip on your hair tightened briefly, her fingers threading through it as though to steady herself, before her hands fell away, her body collapsing back onto the couch in a state of complete surrender. You pulled back slightly, your lips and chin glistening, your own breath ragged as you took her in. Irene was a vision—her flushed cheeks, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. She was beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly yours in that moment.

As her breathing steadied, her eyes fluttered open, her gaze softening as it met yours. A satisfied smile spread across her lips, a mix of pride, affection, and something deeper flickering in her expression. She reached out, her fingers brushing tenderly against your cheek, her touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry, each word dripping with satisfaction. Her praise sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body, your heart pounding with both pride and awe. The fact that she—your idol—was praising you, calling you her “good boy,” only deepened the intimacy of the moment.

“You’re a fast learner,” she added, her tone laced with both amusement and pride. But as her smile widened, there was something else in her gaze—possessiveness, a quiet but unmistakable sense of ownership. She loved knowing that she was your first and only, the one who had drawn this effort, this passion, from you.

“You know,” she murmured, her fingers tracing your jawline as she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping lower. “I love how no one else has ever seen you like this, felt you like this.” Her lips curved into a smirk as her fingers trailed down to your chest, lingering there as she added, “And no one else will.”

Her possessiveness was subtle but undeniable, a claim spoken through her touch, her gaze, and the way her words wrapped around you. The thought of being hers, of belonging to her in this way, sent a thrill through you that mingled with the lingering pride of having brought her so much pleasure.

As her eyes drifted downward, her smirk deepened. She noticed your arousal, now fully hardened again, throbbing with renewed energy despite the intensity of what you’d just shared. Her confidence radiated as she leaned back slightly, her movements unhurried, her body still glowing in the aftermath.

“Well,” she said, her voice teasing but filled with promise, her fingers trailing down your chest, “it seems like you’re ready for round two.” Her tone carried the same mix of pride and playful dominance that left you completely captivated, her gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race all over again.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, but the sight of Irene—her body still glowing, her skin flushed, her lips curled into a satisfied yet teasing smile—only drove your need higher. Her eyes, half-lidded but sharp, seemed to drink you in, a mixture of pride and hunger swirling within them. It was a look that sent a jolt through every part of you.

You knelt before her, determination and longing fueling your every move. “Mommy, let me try again,” you said, your voice low but trembling with nervous excitement. The smirk that spread across her lips deepened, her gaze sweeping over you in a way that made your skin tingle, as if she was already savoring what came next.

“Redemption, huh?” Irene teased, her sultry tone wrapping around you like velvet. She leaned back slightly, her hands trailing up your arms, encouraging and expectant. “Alright, baby. Show me what you’ve learned.”

Her legs parted gracefully, welcoming you in, and the heat radiating from her folds drew you closer, your arousal throbbing at the sight of her. You positioned yourself carefully, hovering above her, your hands steady on her hips as her fingers traced idle patterns along your arms. Every touch, every look she gave you felt like both a challenge and an invitation.

This time, you were resolute. With a slow, deliberate motion, you slid inside her, her tight, slick warmth enveloping you completely. A shuddering gasp escaped your lips at the sensation, the overwhelming pleasure igniting every nerve in your body. Irene’s head fell back against the cushions, her eyes fluttering shut as a soft moan slipped from her lips. Her hands gripped your shoulders, grounding herself as her body adjusted to your presence.

You began to move, your hips rolling in slow, steady thrusts, savoring every inch of her. Each motion elicited a quiet sound of approval from her, her breath hitching slightly as you set a confident rhythm. The connection between you grew with every movement, the sound of her quiet moans filling the space, spurring you on.

Then, an idea struck you—a bold impulse born of your longing to see her completely undone. Lowering your head, you brushed your lips against the curve of her breast. Irene’s eyes opened briefly, her breath catching in surprise, but she didn’t stop you. If anything, the slight arch of her back told you to keep going. Your tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing it with light strokes before pulling it gently into your mouth.

“Ah—” The sound she made was sharper than before, a soft cry that sent a thrill coursing through you. Her nails dug lightly into your shoulders, her body responding instantly to the new sensation. “Oh… good boy,” she breathed, her voice trembling with pleasure as your tongue circled her sensitive bud.

The pride in her voice ignited something deeper within you, driving your lips and tongue to lavish her other breast with equal attention. You alternated between gentle nibbles and slow, deliberate flicks of your tongue, watching as her chest rose and fell more erratically. Her reactions spurred you on, her soft gasps and low moans growing louder with every touch, every kiss.

“You’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice rich with approval but laced with a faint edge of possession. The way you explored her body, your eagerness and growing confidence, made her heart race. The thought that she alone had awakened this side of you, that no one else would ever know this version of you, filled her with a fierce pride that only deepened her desire.

After a few more languid thrusts, you felt yourself nearing the edge again, the tight heat of her body pulling you dangerously close. But this time, you pulled out, your resolve firm. Lowering yourself between her legs, you replaced your length with your tongue, eagerly lapping at her folds to keep her pleasure building. The slickness of her arousal coated your lips, the intoxicating taste spurring you to push past your own limits.

“Fuck…. Such a good boy,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in your hair as you worked her clit with focused precision. The way her hips bucked against your mouth, her breath catching with each flick of your tongue, filled you with a pride that matched her own. You wanted her to feel everything, to give her every ounce of yourself.

Her moans grew louder, her voice tinged with desperation as she clung to the edge. “Yes… just like that,” she panted, her body trembling as you brought her closer again. “Don’t stop, baby.”

When you felt ready once more, you rose above her, positioning yourself carefully. Irene’s legs wrapped around your waist, drawing you in as you slid back inside her. Her moan this time was deeper, her nails dragging lightly down your back as you set a steady rhythm. The wet, slick friction was overwhelming, but you were determined to match her pace, to give her everything she deserved.

As your thrusts quickened, you dipped your head again, your mouth capturing her nipple once more. The unexpected move made her gasp sharply, her back arching into you as her hips met yours in perfect rhythm. “Oh—yes,” she cried, her voice raw and unrestrained. The mix of sensations—your tongue on her breasts and your length driving into her—pushed her closer, the sounds of her pleasure creating a symphony that left you both breathless.

Her body tightened around you, her warmth and the sheer intensity of the connection sending you spiraling toward your own release. The way she moaned your name, the way her hands gripped your arms as if she couldn’t let you go, made you feel both powerful and completely hers. Every motion, every sound, every shared breath between you deepened the bond, leaving you utterly captivated by her and the moment you had created together.

“Mommy,” you murmured instinctively, the word slipping from your lips as if it were the only thing anchoring you to reality. Her name carried the weight of your longing, your admiration, and the raw intensity of the moment. The sound of it filled the air between you, intimate and charged.

The effect on her was immediate. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a look of wild hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. Her lips parted slightly, a soft gasp escaping as her body responded to the sound of her name. “Say it again,” she demanded, her voice trembling with need, thick with desire.

“Mommy,” you repeated, your voice rough and fervent, the syllables tumbling out with an urgency that mirrored the heat building between you. “You feel so good.”

Her reaction was electric. Her back arched off the couch, her nails digging into your shoulders hard enough to leave faint crescents in your skin. The way her body clenched around you, pulling you deeper with every thrust, made your pulse pound in your ears. Her moans became louder, more urgent, the sound of her pleasure igniting something primal in you.

The way she responded to you—her gasps, the tremor in her thighs, the flush spreading down her chest—filled you with an overwhelming sense of pride. You could see it in her face, the way she lost herself in you, and it made your heart race with the knowledge that you were the one drawing this from her. You moved faster, the rhythm of your hips frantic now, your control slipping as the tension coiled tighter inside you both.

“Mommy, I’m close” you groaned again, the title spilling from your lips like a prayer. Each time you said it, her reaction grew more visceral, her body tightening around you, her cries reaching new heights.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, her hands cupping your face as she pulled you down into a kiss that left you breathless. Her lips moved against yours with desperate hunger, the connection between you electric. Her taste, her scent, the warmth of her skin—all of it consumed you entirely, blurring the edges of the world around you.

“I’m so close,” she whispered against your lips, her voice trembling with vulnerability and urgency. Her body trembled beneath you, her hips meeting yours with unrestrained fervor.

“Me too,” you panted, your forehead pressing against hers as your thrusts grew erratic, the tension in your core threatening to snap. The sound of her voice, the way her body clung to yours—it was overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Her release came first, a sharp cry of ecstasy tearing from her lips as her body convulsed around you. The sound was raw, unrestrained, and it echoed in your ears, sending a jolt of electricity straight through you. The way her inner walls clenched and pulsed rhythmically around your length was unlike anything you had ever experienced—an intoxicating mix of heat and pressure that made it impossible to hold back. Her thighs trembled violently, tightening around your waist as though she were anchoring herself to you in the overwhelming storm of her pleasure.

Her back arched sharply, her chest pressing against yours as wave after wave of ecstasy wracked her body. You could feel every shudder, every tremble, her body’s response drawing you deeper into the moment. Her hands gripped at your shoulders, her nails biting into your skin as though she couldn’t contain the sheer force of it. Each convulsion, each flutter of her body around you, only intensified the sensations coursing through you, pulling you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” she purred, her voice a sultry whisper as she let her body sink deeper into the couch. “Fill mommy up. You’ve been so good for me.”

The sight of her—her head tilted back, her lips parted as breathless moans spilled from her, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim light—was enough to send you spiraling. You felt your own release building, coiling tighter and tighter until there was no holding back.

Your release surged through you, your body shaking as you spilled into her, the waves of pleasure crashing over you both in perfect unison. The shared intensity was overwhelming, each of you amplifying the other’s climax in a way that made it feel infinite, boundless. Your hips moved instinctively, prolonging the moment, the friction and heat drawing out every last shudder of ecstasy.

Her arms wrapped around you as you collapsed against her, your bodies slick with sweat and trembling in the aftermath. The soft rise and fall of her chest beneath you, the gentle rhythm of her breathing mingling with yours, created a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. Irene’s fingers traced lazy, soothing patterns across your back, grounding you as your heart began to slow. The scent of your combined musk lingered in the air, adding to the intimacy of the moment.

“Pretty good for your first time,” she murmured softly, her voice tinged with satisfaction and a lingering huskiness. There was pride in her tone, but also something deeper—an affection that made your chest tighten. Her hands slid into your hair, cradling your head against her as she pressed a tender kiss to your temple.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head just enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes sparkled with serene contentment, her expression relaxed but teasing as her fingers brushed through your damp hair. “So,” she murmured, her voice warm and playful, “how does it feel to finally cross that line?”

Your cheeks flushed, but the words came easily, carried by the warmth of the moment. “It’s… indescribable,” you admitted, your voice soft but earnest. “Because it was with you. Never in a million years did I think this would happen.”

Unable to resist, you leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder, your lips savoring the softness of her skin. The quiet intimacy of the moment wrapped around you like a protective shield, the glow of your shared connection filling the room with a warmth you never wanted to fade. Her hand found its way to the back of your neck, her fingers lightly stroking your skin as she held you close.

As the intensity of the moment began to ebb, you collapsed fully against her, your chest pressing against hers as her arms wrapped protectively around you. Her fingertips brushed tenderly through your hair, each motion laced with affection. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice soft and full of praise. “You made mommy feel so good… I’m proud of you.”

Her words sent a fresh wave of warmth through you, the sincerity in her tone soothing any lingering nerves. You remained pressed against her, your bodies entwined in the afterglow of your shared release. Her soft breaths ghosted against your ear, each exhale a tender reminder of the closeness you had just shared. Slowly, her hands began to move again, tracing gentle, soothing strokes along your back. Her touch was light but steady, radiating a quiet affection that anchored you to the moment.

The high of your climax still lingered in the air as your breathing slowed and synced with hers. Irene’s arms remained securely wrapped around you, her fingers drawing delicate patterns along your spine. The warmth of her skin against yours, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the faint hum of satisfaction in her chest created a cocoon of intimacy that made the rest of the world feel far away.

After a long pause, her voice broke the silence, quiet but firm. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” she said suddenly, her fingers stilling as she lifted your face to meet her gaze. Her expression was calm but serious, her eyes searching yours as though seeking a promise. “I mean it. I’m not letting you go after tonight.”

Her words sent a jolt through you, and your chest tightened as you processed the weight of what she was saying. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to stay with you.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes shimmering with a mix of relief and affection. “Good boy,” she murmured, her tone gentle but laced with pride. “Let’s go to my place, then. I want you there. With me.”

Her words sent a surge of excitement through you, a mix of nerves and disbelief swirling in your chest. Irene’s house—her personal space, her sanctuary—it was something you’d only ever dreamed of seeing. But the warmth in her eyes and the soft, grounding pressure of her hand on yours erased any hesitation.

She helped you dress, her movements unhurried and deliberate, her quiet confidence calming your racing thoughts. Once ready, the two of you stepped out into the cool night air. The hum of lingering fans still filled the space outside, their energy a sharp contrast to the quiet intimacy you’d just shared. Irene tugged a cap low over her face and adjusted her mask to obscure her features, her elegant jawline and sharp eyes barely visible beneath her disguise. But even with her face half-hidden, her presence was unmistakable to you.

The crowd wasn’t massive, but it was enough to make your chest tighten with worry. What if someone spotted her? The thought made your pulse quicken, and you instinctively glanced over at her. She caught your gaze, her eyes softening as she squeezed your hand lightly. “It’s fine,” she murmured, her voice calm but encouraging. “Just stay close to me.”

You nodded, but the nervousness lingered, your mind racing with the thought of her being recognized. Then, without really thinking, you tightened your grip on her hand, an idea sparking in your chest. “This way!” you whispered, breaking into a grin as you gently pulled her along a quieter path.

She blinked, momentarily surprised, before a soft laugh escaped her lips. Irene allowed herself to be led, her steps quickening to match your pace. You darted through the dimly lit side alleys, ducking past clusters of fans and steering her confidently through the maze of the venue’s surroundings. Every so often, you glanced back at her to make sure she was keeping up, your boyish energy bubbling over in a way you couldn’t suppress.

She didn’t say much, but the amused twinkle in her eyes was impossible to miss. The spontaneity of your actions, the way you move with purpose yet couldn’t hide your youthful excitement—it caught her off guard in the best way. She hadn’t expected this side of you, and it made her chest tighten with an unfamiliar warmth. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she let you take charge, the simple joy radiating from you pulling her in further.

“You’re really into this, huh?” she finally said, her tone light but carrying a teasing affection.

You glanced back, your grin sheepish but bright. “Just trying to keep you out of the spotlight,” you replied earnestly, your voice slightly breathless from the adrenaline of it all.

Irene shook her head, her smile deepening. “You’re cute,” she murmured, her voice almost to herself. The way you darted through the shadows, focused yet visibly buzzing with excitement, made her want to laugh—but not in mockery. There was something so genuine about your energy, so pure, that she found herself falling for it without even realizing.

When the two of you finally reached her car, you opened the door for her with an almost comical nervousness, as though you were escorting royalty. She chuckled softly as she slid into the driver’s seat, watching you fumble slightly with your seatbelt before settling in beside her. The sleek interior of her car was exactly what you’d imagined—elegant, understated, and carrying the faint scent of her perfume. You tried to stay composed, but the reality of being in Irene’s car hit you all at once.

“This is amazing,” you muttered, your voice half in awe. “I mean… your car. I can’t believe I’m here.”

Her eyes flicked to you, amusement tugging at her lips. “It’s just a car, baby,” she teased, though there was a warmth in her tone that made your cheeks flush.

“Yeah, but it’s your car,” you replied, barely able to contain yourself. You glanced out the window as the city lights blurred into streaks of color, your thoughts spinning as you tried to process everything. “I never thought I’d—this is just… insane.”

Irene smiled quietly, shaking her head as she returned her focus to the road. “Relax,” she said, her voice gentle but teasing. “We’re almost home.”

The journey passed in a surreal haze for you, but for Irene, it was something else entirely. She kept stealing glances at you out of the corner of her eye, watching the way your awe slowly slipped out in small, unguarded bursts. The way you ran your fingers lightly over the seat belt strap as if to confirm it was real, the way you gazed out the window with wide eyes, taking in every detail like you were living a dream—it all tugged at something deep inside her. She didn’t say much, but her heart softened with every moment, the quiet joy you radiated making her smile more than she realized.

When the car finally pulled into her driveway, your breath hitched. Her house was grand yet understated, its sleek lines illuminated by the soft glow of the outdoor lights. The manicured garden added a touch of warmth, the entire scene exuding Irene’s elegance. You barely managed to follow her inside, your steps faltering as you took in your surroundings.

Inside, the awe only deepened. Photos of Irene adorned the walls, each one more striking than the last. You paused in front of one—a candid shot of her backstage, her face lit up with laughter—and your chest tightened. Her house felt so unmistakably her, a blend of sophistication and comfort that made every corner feel like an extension of her personality.

“This is…” you began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the right words.

“Overwhelming?” she teased, her tone light as she watched your reaction.

You nodded, laughing nervously. “Yeah. It’s just so… you.”

Her smile softened, and she stepped closer, her hand brushing lightly against yours. “You’re so cute,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a hint of pride. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment before she tilted her head toward the hallway. “Come on, baby. Let’s get comfortable.”

She led you to her bedroom, and your breath caught as the door opened. The space was stunning, every detail carefully curated to reflect Irene’s elegance and warmth. The soft glow of ambient lighting bathed the room in a golden hue, highlighting the muted tones of the walls and the understated luxury of her furniture. Her bed, draped in soft, inviting fabrics that looked as though they’d been handpicked for comfort and sophistication, seemed impossibly large and welcoming. The faint scent of citrus lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Each step closer made the nervous excitement bubbling inside you intensify.

Irene guided you gently toward the bed, her touch firm yet tender as her fingers brushed against yours. There was something unspoken in her movements—a quiet confidence that reassured you as she tugged you closer. “Come here,” she murmured, her voice soft and steady, laced with an affection that sent warmth flooding through your chest.

She perched on the edge of the bed, her movements fluid and deliberate, and pulled you down beside her. Her arms wrapped around you easily, holding you close. Her hand found its way to your hair, her fingers threading through it as she began stroking gently, the repetitive motion grounding you. “Relax, baby,” she whispered, her voice low and soothing. “You’re home now.”

You leaned into her touch, the weight of her arm around your shoulders anchoring you. The warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her breathing—it all felt so calming, so intimate. Then she shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“You trust me, don’t you?” she asked softly, her eyes searching yours.

You nodded, the sincerity in her tone and the softness of her expression easing the nervous flutter in your chest.

“Good.” Her lips curved into a faint smile as she stood, her movements graceful and unhurried. She reached for the hem of her blouse and, without breaking eye contact, pulled it over her head in one fluid motion. The sight of her bare skin left you breathless. Even though you’d just shared the most intimate of moments with her, the sheer beauty of her still made your pulse race.

Irene’s fingers moved deftly, unhooking her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Her chest was fully exposed now, her skin glowing softly in the warm light of the room. Your eyes couldn’t help but linger, drinking in every detail as though it were the first time. She noticed your gaze and let out a soft, amused laugh, her lips quirking into a playful smile.

“Still staring?” she teased gently, her voice carrying a note of affection that sent warmth rushing through you. “You’ve already seen everything, baby.”

“I… I can’t help it,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “You’re just…”

“Perfect?” she finished for you, her smile widening slightly as she stepped closer. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Her tone was playful but tinged with a quiet pride.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “Your turn,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “Strip for me”

Your hands trembled slightly as you obeyed, pulling off your shirt and kicking off your shoes before working on your pants. The nervous excitement from earlier had returned in full force, your heart pounding as you stood before her in nothing but your boxers. She watched you with an intensity that made your skin tingle, her gaze unrelenting yet warm.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice low and satisfied as she took your hand and guided you closer. “Now, come to bed.”

The invitation in her voice made your chest tighten, and you followed her lead, climbing onto the plush mattress as she settled beside you. The softness of the bed cradled you, and Irene’s warmth as she pulled you into her embrace was both soothing and electrifying. Her hands found their way to your hair again, her touch gentle but deliberate as she stroked slowly.

“Let mommy take care of you,” she murmured, tilting your face toward her chest. Her fingers brushed your jaw, her touch tender but insistent. “Suckle.”

The word hung in the air, intimate and commanding, and your heart thudded in your chest as her gaze met yours. There was no hesitation in her eyes, only a quiet reassurance that melted away your nerves. Slowly, you pressed your lips against her, your mouth opening as your tongue brushed against the softness of her skin. The warmth of her breast was overwhelming, its tenderness enveloping you completely as you latched instinctively.

“That’s it,” she cooed, her voice soft and melodic, a lullaby just for you. Her hand returned to your hair, her fingers stroking through it in a gentle rhythm that matched her breathing. “Good boy. Just relax now.”

As you began to suckle, a wave of calm washed over you. Each slow, deliberate pull of your mouth deepened the connection between you, the act soothing you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft against your lips, the faint mixture of her musk and the lingering traces of her perfume filling your senses with every breath. The world outside dissolved, replaced by the steady rise and fall of her chest, her heartbeat thrumming softly in your ear, and the gentle hum of satisfaction vibrating in her throat.

Irene’s fingers continued their rhythmic strokes through your hair, her touch grounding you in the moment. Each sweep of her fingertips sent a tingling warmth through your scalp, a sensation that soothed the last vestiges of nervous energy. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh, your body sinking further into her embrace. Your limbs grew heavy with relaxation, your breathing naturally syncing with hers as you nestled closer.

For Irene, the moment was nothing short of exquisite. Every gentle pull of your mouth sent a ripple of warmth through her chest, a soft but insistent tug at something deeper within her. The sight of you, vulnerable and utterly trusting in her arms, filled her with a heady mix of pride and satisfaction. Your quiet dependence, the way your head rested against her so naturally, ignited an indescribable sense of fulfillment.

Her breath hitched slightly, the intimacy of the act stirring an unfamiliar but welcome heat in her core. Her nipples, already sensitive, responded to the gentle pressure of your mouth, the warm pull sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. She tilted her head back slightly, her lips parting as a soft, almost inaudible sigh escaped her. The mixture of the physical sensations and the emotional connection was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, her voice low and possessive, the words brushing against the top of your head like a promise. Her lips pressed a lingering kiss to your hair, the act both tender and claiming. “No one else will ever have this.”

The conviction in her voice wrapped around you, comforting and commanding all at once. Your movements slowed, the gentle rhythm of your suckling growing lazier as the soothing comfort of her embrace lulled you further into a haze of peace and safety. Her hand, still stroking your hair, pressed with just enough firmness to make you feel securely tethered to her.

Irene closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sensations wash over her. The warmth of your body against hers, the subtle vibrations of your breathing, and the soft sounds you made created a cocoon of intimacy she didn’t want to end. Her fingers moved from your hair to trace the curve of your cheek, her touch light and lingering, as if she couldn’t resist savoring the moment.

“Sleep, baby,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady, thick with affection. “You’re safe here… with me.”

The words settled over you like a blanket, and with them came an overwhelming sense of peace. The glow of the room, the steady hum of her voice, and the enveloping warmth of her body surrounded you completely. Each pull of your mouth became slower, more relaxed, as the last remnants of tension melted away.

For Irene, the sight of you—so content, so utterly hers—stirred something deep within her. The possessiveness she felt was matched by an aching tenderness, the realization that you had given her something so precious and irreplaceable. She cradled you closer, her hand resting protectively on your back as her lips brushed another gentle kiss to your forehead.

As your breathing evened out and sleep claimed you, Irene watched you with quiet reverence. The weight of your trust, your vulnerability, filled her with a sense of purpose she hadn’t known she needed. Together, wrapped in the glow of the moment, she knew this wasn’t fleeting. It was the start of something profound, something she would hold onto with everything she had.

[mariasont]

The Receptionist - S.R

a/n: i need this man on an astronomical level actually

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x receptionist!bimbo!reader

summary: spencer meets the new receptionist for chief cruz

warnings: fluff

wc: 0.8k

The click-clack of your polished nails on the keys mingled with the sharp pops of bubblegum as you focused on lining up Chief Cruz's appointments in the system. Taking a pause, you pulled out your notebook encased in pink frills from your drawer, and delicately turned its pages to reveal the week's agenda.

With the appointment freshly noted, you let your pen waltz around the margins, leaving behind a trail of doodles. With a subtle shift, you crossed your legs, the shiny pink heels tapping together, their color complementing the delicate fabric of your skirt.

You traced another heart around the date, and just then, a soft voice hesitantly broke the silence, "Excuse me?"

You looked up to find a pair of curious hazel eyes framed by brown curls that almost seemed to be begging to be touched, and his lips, which held a shy smile made your heart do a summersault. I mean, come on, what are these FBI guys made lab-grown or something?

He was draped in a form-fitting vets over a neatly pressed shirt, his sleeves were rolled up just so, in a way that paused your movements freeze and coaxed a heat to spread across your cheeks. Well, hello there.

He seemed briefly caught off-guard, his eyes flickering over your pink-themed workspace, a distinct departure from the former receptionist's subdued setup. He was almost overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things that now occupied the space.

With an enthusiastic bounce, you popped up from your seat, beaming brightly.

"Oh, hi there! How can I help you?" Gently straightening your skirt, you offered a hand, your name rolling off your tongue, "Are you here for Chief Cruz?"

The man's touch was soft against your palm, his attention caught by the soft clinking of your delicate bracelets, while your nails, painted a meticulous shade of pink that matched the color of your shirt, settled against the back of his hand.

"Spencer Reid," he introduced. "I have an appointment with Chief Cruz regarding a specialized training session for new recruits."

His gaze held yours a tad too long, cataloging the details of your appearance--the brightness of your eyes, the soft curve of your lips, the radiant glow of your skin.

A look of pleasant surprise crossed your face.

"You're the famous Dr. Reid! I've heard a lot about you," you remarked, a giggle accompanying your words as you eased back into your seat, giving a quick, knowing glance at your calendar. "Ah, here you are. I'll let Chief Cruz know you're here. He's currently in a meeting, but it shouldn't be too much longer."

As you pretended to focus on the screen, your mind raced. Dr. Reid--the genius with multiple PhDs, and now, the man who stood before you, unexpectedly  drop-dead handsome.

It was a challenge to maintain professionalism, especially when every fiber of your being yearned to do nothing but drink in his appearance. I mean, you were only human.

"Just Spencer is fine," he offered with an easy smile. "Where's Mrs. Henderson?"

You were beautiful to say the least, not at all what he was expecting to see when he walked in this morning, quite the difference from the former receptionist, whose age had been marked by the hard candies she offered.

"Oh, she retired last month!" you said with a bright smile. "So now, Chief Cruz is stuck with me!" Leaning in, chin cradled by your hands, you gaze at him incredulously. "Three PhDs, huh? That's, like, beyond Einstein-level smarts, isn't it?"

Spencer's cheeks tinged with a hint of color as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

"Well, not quite," he admitted with a modest shrug. He then glanced around the office before his eyes settled back on you. "How are you finding the job here so far?"

"Impressive, yet so modest," you commented. Standing up, you clicked print on the computer. "And it's great, I really love it here. I mean, it's not as thrilling as chasing down bad guys, I'm sure, but I think I'll stick to what I'm good at."

As you made your way to the printer, Spencer interjected. "No, I got it."

He returned with the papers, handing them to you with a gentle smile. 

"Thanks," you said, taking the papers. "So, you do that profiling thing right?" You tapped a finger against your lips, pretending to ponder. "Let's see... I'm guessing you're a Libra, aren't you? Probably born in early October, I'd say."

"What gave it away?"

You flashed a wink, the pop of your bubblegum punctuating the air. "I may have taken a sneak peek at your file."

With a light-hearted laugh, Spencer revealed a smile so grand it seemed to light up the entire space and you couldn't help but smile in response. You liked his smile, a lot. 

Spencer's response was cut short by the ring of the phone. You quickly answered as the great receptionist you are.

"Okie dokie, sir, I'll send him right back!" You listened for a second, then replied with a giggle. "No, thank you, sir!" You turned to Spencer, your smile wide, "He's ready for you!"

"Thanks," Spencer said with a nod, "It was great to meet you." He took a few steps towards Chief Cruz's office before pausing and turning back. "You know, maybe I should give you my number. For work purposes, in case you have questions or need help with anything."

You nodded eagerly, your smile reaching from ear to ear. "Absolutely, for work purposes."

[nightingale-prompts]

Space Fae- DCxDP prompt

So ending up in another dimension wasn't necessarily part of the plan. The plan was to stop the portal from being opened and letting countless demons flooding the mortal realm.

Constantine had said portals were finicky and interrupting the summoning can throw off the destination that the portals go to. But not the hell sounded pretty good.

So Tim might have "accidentally" ended up on the other side of said portal after attempting to see what was in it. He didn't actually think he'd fall in.

On the other side, he ended up in what he thought was a lounge. It looked like one or maybe it was a living room.

Regardless 4 tall luminescent figures looked at him from their reclined positions.

Their bare starry skin was bearly covered by translucent shawls. Their bodies were dappled with constellations against their colarshifting skin, it was like looking at space itself but cut out and melded to humanoid forms. It was clear they felt no need to cover themselves when they were so radiant as is.

The figure in the center of the room who was reclined on a fainting couch laid her eyes on him. Her eyes were a glittering blue surrounded by amber lashes. Her long hair was a metallic copper that moved like molten metal. She was the tallest as she stood up reaching 10 feet. You'd think she was a goddess at first glance. Her shroud covered her head to toes stopping short of the floor. She donned copper rings and necklaces around her with form.

The other 3 figures gazed at Tim with curiosity.

The tallest male had red patterns of stars on his skin like a dying cosmos against his dark skin. The main difference between him and the tallest female was her skin glittered with hues of purple stars against the black space. But he was mostly void. His eyes glowed like blazing red dwarfs determined to not go without a fiery blaze of glory. His ashen-tinted shroud was wrapped around his hips with a silver pin. His hair was a metallic silver. The only part of him that caught the light. He crossed his arms as he stared down at Tim at 9 feet tall.

The smallest girl stood only 7 feet tall. Her white hair flowed upwards in a ponytail that moved like a cloudy mist. Her skin was a bright cluster of colors like fireworks. Her skin was so bright the black spaces of her skin didn't exist yet because the space she embodied was so young and new. She mainly shined shades of blue and white of new stars Her green eyes were so bright they glowed a mint green. Here shroud was tied around her like a dress with a golden chain. She bounded towards Tim only to be stopped by the last of the figures who leaned down to meet Tim's gaze.

The last one was male...kind of. Male and female of these beings were judged only by their outlines so far and their way of wearing their translucent coverings. But this last one was neither but completely breathtaking. Their Lazarus green eyes framed by silver eyelashes like fresh powdery snow. Their long white locks reflected like the morning sun shining off untouched snow making holographic like rainbows ripple down the hair. His skin was a swirling mass of cloudy green stars. The center of their body made up the center of a rotating galaxy around a star. His shroud was tied in a toga that fell off one shoulder. He accessorized with jade bracelets and earrings that glowed eerily on his arms, legs, and neck.

The 8-foot-tall being placed a finger under Tim's chin and smiled kindly. He said something to the others and a language he didn't know. It sounded like humming.

There was something in that sound like it promised everything Tim had ever wanted could be found here. Limitless knowledge, love, and someone who understood him in every way.

Then Tim was thrusted back into his dimension with faint memories of his time there. Learning, flying, a warm embrace, and the faint taste of nectar on his lips. The memories faded to vague dreams when he crossed the threshold and only minutes had passed since he left.

[starsandsuch]

The “Dollface” Placements Of The Zodiac 👱‍♀️🎀🍭

The following are astrology placements that make one appear “doll like”. Typically girls seen as “flawless”, cutesy, adorable, sweet and “dollish “ or Barbie-like. Especially as it pertains to one’s facial features and physical appearance overall.

*the examples pictured are celebrities who have at least one or multiple of these placements*

P L A C E M E N T S

PISCES ASCENDANT🐟

They have a petite, delicate frame and tend to be smaller than average. They have doll-like features, emphasizing large wide set eyes that seem glassy and ethereal. They look dreamy and otherworldly, mimicking something you’d see in movie or cartoon. Their gaze seems distantly hollow, enhancing the impression of big empty innocent eyes dolls have.

They prefer doll-like hairstyles: sporting bangs, bows in their hair, ponytails etc

Sabrina Carpenter (Pisces asc), Jenna Ortega (Pisces asc), Barbara Palvin (Pisces Asc)

CANCER ASCENDANT 💐

These natives have the ultimate feminine appearance. They have round, softened features, devoid of harsh lines or angles. Their face is perfectly structured, having definition but remaining soft looking. Their skin is luminous and glowy, often with cool undertones , similar to the moon itself. They are delicate looking with graceful demeanor.

Twiggy (cancer asc), Angelina Jolie (cancer asc), Margot Robbie (cancer asc)

⭐️ JUPITER INFUENCE ⭐️

Jupiter was the most common pattern amongst the charts of women with this energy and physical expression. Especially Jupiter conjunct the luminaries or the ascendant. Jupiter Ruled signs: Sagittarius and Pisces were very prominent as well. Especially Sag/Pisces in the big 3 (Vedic placements) as well as Jupiter Atmakaraka.

Jupiter’s influence on a person makes them seem honorable, wholesome, trustworthy. Much how you’d perceive a doll to be innocent and child-friendly. They have features that are pleasant to look at and others often idealize them and what they represent. These natives become symbols for representing different aspects of femininity.

Jupiter Conjunct Ascendant / In The 1st House

Jupiter’s influence creates features that are prominent and well defined. Yet it also softens one appearance’s giving its natives a “dreamy” look about them. They look confident , healthy and picturesque.

Jupiter conjunct moon

This placement makes one seem innocent, wholesome and trustworthy. These natives have a sweetness to them, emphasizing and pleasant voice, speech and demeanor. It gives smooth and glowy skin that is glass-like.

Mercury in the 1st house

This placement makes one seems cutesy and adorable. Giving a demeanor that one is innocent and harmless. Physically they are petite and delicate. They have a youthful beauty about them, where people automatically see them as a girly girl.

VEDIC ASTRO PLACEMENTS

*this applies to Sun, Moon, Ascendant or Atamakaraka placement”

REVATI 🎀

Revati is THEE face of the “Dollface” aesthetic. From their fashion to the facial features, most of these natives have been compared to a Barbie doll or bratz doll at some point in their life. Claire Nakti posted about how Revati natives naturally look like bratz dolls.

Their nose is soft/rounded and blends in well with the rest of their face, where it’s natives seemingly don’t have nose bridge. They have wide set bright eyes that look innocent and curious. They have a natural pout to the lips and a pronounced Cupid’s bow.

Their skin appears glowy and radiant, giving them this unreal, fantasy-like aura. They seem naturally perfect like a doll.

Rihanna (Revati Moon & Ascendant)

PURVABHADRAPADA 💄

Purvabhadrapada women embody the Barbie girl look both physically and philosophically. Physically, they have well defined, sculpted features. They’re are usually proportionate head to toe and have natural symmetry to their face and body. They tend to look unique and dream-like, where people identify them with having the desirable feminine physical features.

Philosophically they align with what Barbie represents: being empowered, doing things on your own and looking good while doing it.

They are the idealized modern woman where they are very “girlboss” , but still remain s3xy and desirable to many. Hottie-girlboss-s3xy-angelic-independent-femme fatale is their multi hyphenate description. They are the girl’s girl that empower other women.

Lori Harvey (PBP moon) Jhene Aiko (PBP Moon) Latto (PBP Jupiter Atmakaraka)

PUNARVASU 🌻

These natives have large wide set eyes and overall feminine appearance. Their features are defined yet softened. They have clear smooth skin that is naturally luminescent. They appear distant and dreamlike, possessing otherworldly beauty. They seem to embody the ideal of what a “wife” looks like. (See examples: Margot robbie, Sharon Tate, Keke Palmer.)

PURVA ASHADA 🌊

Women with this Nakshatra have emphasized feminine features: curvy bodies, soft skin, and dainty disposition. They have a soothing demeanor , when others are around them they feel at ease and child like, much like how a girl would feel around her dolls.

Ariana Grande (Purva Ashadha ascendent, Jupiter conjunct moon)

PURVA PHALGUNI 💋

These natives have smooth skin and well sculpted features. They have practically perfect facial symmetry where the distance between their eyes-nose-brows-mouth is perfectly spaced. They oftentimes don’t wear much makeup and have a fresh faced doll like beauty and girly appearance.

People perceive them to have no physical flaws much like a doll would. They remain girly and youthful looking most of their lives.

Zendaya (Purva phalguni Sun), Beyonce (Purvaphalguni Sun), Sharon Tate (Purvaphalguni moon)

ROHINI 🍭

These natives embody the “babydoll” aesthetic. With large curious eyes and puckered lips, they’re usually described as adorable by others. Their voice is soft and babyish, enhancing their aura of femininity. They often appear helpless and delicate, people feel protective over them.

Lily rose depp (rohini sun), Brigitte Bardot (Rohini moon), Lauren London (rohini asc)

ASHLESHA 🐈‍⬛

Ashlesha features are known to be catlike and feminine. They tend to look “hyper-feminine” having lush thick shiny hair, curvy body, full lips, upturned eyes. Their nose is naturally sculpted and pointed, with high cheek bones and full cheek apples.

It’s thought that Barbie is the most idealized symbol of what a women looks like, and these women embody “Barbie” without trying. People tend to reference them when discussing what the ideal woman looks like.

The main theme of this Nakshatra is going from girl-hood to women-hood and being aligned with feminine energy. This essence is captured in trendy movements like “coquette” and “dollette”.

With the Mercury rulership, their overall appearance is delicate, and is often perceived as dainty and soft. They are petite and have small/pinched facial features. They seem innocent or angelic to others.

Alexa Demie (ashlesha asc), Brit Ekland (ashlesha moon and asc), Marilyn Monroe (Ashlesha Asc)

Ciao for now, dolls 💋

-starsandsuch ✌️💕

[soulofapatrick]

Snap into place - Azriel x female reader

Summary: You meet Azriel and the mate bond snaps into place

Words: 2.7K

Warnings: None really; heated make out session

Notes; debating on a smutty part two...

Y/N's POV

I land softly in the grand dining room of the House of Wind, the air thick with the scent of fresh herbs and a hint of something sweet. Rhysand’s arms release me gently, and I steady myself on my feet, my heart racing from the exhilaration of flying through the skies of Velaris. The room is filled with soft, glowing light, casting an inviting warmth over the beautifully arranged table. A high ceiling adorned with intricate carvings seems to echo with laughter and conversation.

Before I can take in my surroundings fully, a stunning figure catches my eye. A woman with long, flowing blonde hair and striking features stands nearby, wearing a form-fitting red dress that barely conceals anything in the front. It clings to her curves, exuding confidence and allure.

“Ah, my cousin,” Rhysand announces, his voice filled with warmth. “This is Morrigan—though everyone just calls her Mor.”

Before I can respond, Mor crosses the room in a heartbeat, pulling me into a fierce hug. Her laughter is bright and infectious. “Welcome! I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaims, her voice a melodic blend of mischief and sincerity. I feel an instant warmth in her embrace, a sense of belonging I didn’t expect.

“Thank you,” I manage to say as she releases me, taking a step back with a bright smile that makes her appear even more radiant.

Feyre steps forward, her expression friendly and open. “Let me introduce you to my sisters,” she says, guiding me toward a small group nearby.

Nesta stands with her arms crossed, an aura of guardedness surrounding her. She meets my gaze with a sharp look, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders. “You’re Rhysand’s guest?” she asks, her tone skeptical.

“Yes,” I reply, trying to match her intensity with a friendly smile.

Elain, their sister, smiles softly at me. She has an ethereal quality, with gentle features that instantly make me feel at ease. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she says sweetly, her voice warm and inviting. “If you need anything, please let me know.”

I nod, feeling a flicker of appreciation for her kindness.

Cassian stands next to Nesta, his muscular frame radiating strength and energy. He grins widely, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just don’t let her intimidate you,” he teases, motioning toward Nesta. “She’s really just a big softie at heart.”

“Hardly,” Nesta retorts, rolling her eyes but the corners of her mouth lift slightly.

As they all welcome me, I feel a tug in my chest, an inexplicable pull that draws my attention across the room. I turn my head, and my breath catches in my throat. Another Illyrian soldier stands there, much like Cassian but not. His arms are crossed over his toned chest, looking out the large windows at the stars. His dark hair catches the light, and there’s an air of quiet strength about him. He seems lost in thought, his posture relaxed yet commanding.

“Azriel,” Rhys speaks to his friend, his tone light but expectant. “Won’t you greet our guest?”

Azriel turns slowly toward me, and I find myself momentarily entranced. He is classically beautiful, though nearly unreadable, an enigma wrapped in shadows. He stands tall, his dark hair tousled and framing his face perfectly. Golden-brown skin gleams softly in the warm light, and his massive Illyrian wings are folded elegantly behind him, giving him an imposing yet graceful presence. The planes of his face are striking—high cheekbones, a strong jawline—carved by years of rigorous training. His hazel eyes, a blend of green and gold, hold a depth that makes my breath catch.

As our eyes lock, that tugging sensation in my chest intensifies, pulling me closer to him, and then—snap. It’s as if an invisible bond has snapped into place, an undeniable connection that leaves me momentarily off-balance. I stumble, my breath hitching, and I reach out instinctively for support.

Rhysand’s violet eyes widen with concern as he steps closer, his hand steadying me. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry.

I nod quickly, but my attention is drawn back to Azriel, who steps toward me in large, graceful strides, closing the distance between us with an effortless fluidity that only heightens the charged atmosphere.

He reaches out, taking my right hand in his scarred one, the warmth of his touch igniting a thousand sensations within me. Then, with a deep bow, he bends slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice low and velvety, wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

At his touch, a wave of emotions floods through me. I can feel everything he feels—an undercurrent of fear at this unexpected connection, a deep anticipation for my response, and there, beneath it all, an undeniable want and lust that makes my cheeks heat with embarrassment. It’s as if our souls are whispering secrets to one another, threading together in an intricate dance of intimacy and longing.

I try to pull my hand back, overwhelmed by the intensity of his emotions coursing through the bond, but he holds my gaze, and I find myself rooted to the spot, caught in the depths of his hazel eyes. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying, a whirlwind of sensations that leaves me breathless and wanting more.

I glance down at Azriel’s scarred hands, tracing my thumb along the rough texture of his skin. The warmth of his touch sends a soft shudder through him, and I feel it travel down the bond between us—a wave of heat that washes over me, igniting something deep within. It’s an intimate gesture, one that feels both innocent and charged with unspoken promises.

But suddenly, I feel something else—claws prying at the edges of my mind, a persistent probing that sends a shiver down my spine. I snap my head to the side, my eyes landing on Rhys and Feyre. Rhys stands with his head tilted slightly, a focused expression on his face as he tries to break through my mental shields, searching for what I’m thinking and sensing what’s happening between Azriel and me.

“Rhys!” I snap, my voice sharper than intended. “Get out of my head!”

His bright violet eyes widen in surprise, but there’s no malice behind his glare—just concern and curiosity.

I squeeze Azriel’s hand slightly, seeking comfort in his presence as I feel the bond shift, allowing a flicker of privacy to return. With a subtle sigh, Azriel finally lets me go, his grip loosening but the warmth lingering on my skin.

With the weight of too many eyes on me, I feel exposed and overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of it all. I take a step back, my heart racing. “I need some air,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. Without waiting for a response, I move toward the balcony, seeking solace in the open air. The stars shimmer above me, bright and unyielding against the velvet backdrop of the night sky. The cool breeze nips at my skin, sending a shiver through me, and I realize with a pang that I shouldn’t have let Feyre dress me up so much; the delicate fabric feels too thin against the chill.

I take a deep breath, looking up at the stars, trying to quell the turmoil in my head. They are more beautiful than I ever imagined, each twinkling light a reminder of the vastness of the world beyond this moment. The Night Court is far more peaceful than anyone ever says it is, a soothing embrace of tranquility that wraps around me, lulling my racing heart.

But then, just as I begin to gather my thoughts, I feel the presence behind me. Scarred hands rest on the balcony railing between mine, and a solid body presses against me, immediately calming the raging thoughts and anxiety within me. It’s as if now that Azriel has been found as my mate, he can calm me with just a touch. My parents always told me stories about mates, about how their presence could soothe even the most tumultuous of storms.

Suddenly, I’m no longer cold. The heat radiating from him envelops me, grounding me in the moment. I seem to fall back against him instinctively, feeling the solid strength of his body as he envelops me in a comforting warmth. I breathe him in—the scent of dark wood, cool night air, and something uniquely him that sends my heart racing anew.

I take a deep breath, letting my eyes slide shut as the back of my head rests against his shoulder, feeling his presence wrap around me like a protective shroud. I can’t help but open my mind to him, allowing our connection to deepen. I show him every thought I’ve ever had about mates—the way my parents were so perfectly entwined, the love that seemed to glow around them like a beacon. I share my awe from moments ago, the overwhelming rush of emotions when our eyes first met.

I can feel him absorbing my thoughts, understanding the weight of them as they flit through our bond like soft whispers. And as I let go of my worries and fears, I realise that in this moment, with Azriel, everything feels right. The bond between us is no longer just a connection; it is a sanctuary.

When I finally open my eyes, I realize it’s not just Azriel’s presence wrapping around me but his massive wings have unfurled, forming a dark cocoon around us. They block out the view of the dining room and the curious gazes of the others, creating a sanctuary that offers me the privacy I’ve always craved, especially in gatherings like this one. I’ve never liked being the center of attention, and now, in this moment, I’m grateful for his instinct to shield us.

His wings are magnificent—dark and leathery, reminiscent of a bat’s, stretching wide to envelop us in shadow. The texture is smooth yet powerful, each wingbone prominent and elegant. I slowly turn to face him, our bodies close but still connected through the warmth of his wings. His arms remain on the balcony railing, and the soft look on his face takes my breath away. There’s something in his gaze, a mix of vulnerability and fierce desire, that makes my heart race.

I reach out tentatively, fingers brushing against one of his wings. At my touch, he lets out a breathy sound, a mixture of surprise and something deeper. A surge of sexual want travels straight through the bond between us, igniting every nerve ending in my body and leaving me breathless.

Azriel’s hazel eyes flutter open a moment later, the warm color gone so dark they’re almost black, filled with an intensity that makes me shiver. His voice is low and gravelly as he speaks, the words rolling off his tongue like a whispered secret. “I need to kiss you.” There’s a desperation in his tone, almost like a plea, and my hands instinctively reach up to cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms.

In that moment, everything else fades away, and it’s just the two of us in our private world. His hands finally move, wrapping around me with a possessive tenderness that makes my heart leap. He pulls me closer, pressing my hips into the balcony railing, creating an exhilarating friction between us. One hand weaves into my hair, the other slips to my thigh, lifting my leg and wrapping it around his waist as if to draw me even nearer.

And then, as if the world outside has disappeared, he dives down and kisses me like I’m the oxygen he needs to breathe. His lips are soft yet insistent, sending sparks of electricity through my body. The taste of him is intoxicating—warm and rich, like dark chocolate laced with a hint of something sweet. With every brush of his mouth against mine, I feel my heart race, igniting a fire within me that spreads from my chest to my fingertips, making me dizzy with desire.

I can’t seem to get enough of him. My hands instinctively roam over the contours of his back, searching for a break in his Illyrian armor, eager to find hot, bare golden skin beneath. I’m met only with cool metal and the hard lines of his physique, a growl of frustration escaping me when I can’t reach my destination. The sound draws a deep chuckle from him, vibrating through our connection and sending shivers down my spine.

As we pull apart just enough for him to speak, I’m breathless. “I have waited hundreds of years for you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion and longing. The weight of those words settles over us, filled with the gravity of a bond forged over lifetimes.

Before I can process what he means, he surges forward again, crashing his mouth against mine with a heat and passion that sends my mind reeling. I feel every dip and curve of his body pressed against mine, the solid strength of him overwhelming me in the best way possible. I don’t care how hard the railing is digging into my back; everything Azriel is consuming me, and I want him—no, I need him—right here and right now.

A low sound of agreement rumbles in his chest, deep and resonant, making my insides flutter with excitement. But just as I lose myself in the warmth of his embrace, a sudden clearing of the throat outside our cocoon of wings startles me, and I yelp with fear, pulling back from the kiss.

“Darlings!” comes the voice, sickly sweet and teasing. Rhys’. “As hot and amusing as this is, please do whatever this is somewhere else where your mental shields won’t go down and blast unwanted thoughts my way.”

I glance over at Rhysand, who stands just outside the shadow of Azriel’s wings, a smirk playing on his lips. His violet eyes dance with mischief as he takes in the scene, clearly amused by our moment. I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, my heart still racing from both the kiss and the unexpected interruption.

Azriel's presence remains a steady anchor behind me, the heat radiating from his body enveloping me in a comforting embrace. Despite Rhys's teasing, I can’t shake the feeling of exhilaration coursing through my veins.

Without breaking the intense gaze between us, Azriel flips Rhys the bird over his shoulder, a smirk dancing on his lips. It’s a surprisingly playful gesture from someone as serious as him, and it sends a flutter of laughter through me, lightening the tension in the air.

Then, with a sudden and fluid motion, he scoops me up in his arms, mirroring how Rhysand had carried me here. The world shifts around us as he cradles me against his chest, his hold firm and secure. My heart races, not from the shock of being lifted, but from the thrill of what’s to come.

He strides out of the House of Wind, his powerful legs propelling us into the night, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on his dark wings. I let my head rest against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him—woodsmoke and night air, a mixture that calms me even as my pulse quickens. Anticipation and want settle deep in my bones, intertwining with the warmth radiating from him, making it hard to think straight.

What does my mate have planned for us once he gets me to his bed? The mere thought sends butterflies swirling in my stomach, a mix of excitement and nerves. I close my eyes, surrendering to the feeling of safety in his arms, relishing the electric connection that pulses between us.

With each step flap of his wings he takes, I feel the promise of the night stretching out before us, a canvas of endless possibilities. All I can think about is how I’ve finally found him—my mate—and everything is about to change.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[w1w2]

Taste

Karina x Fem!Reader feat. Winter

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: Amid the shimmering lights of an exclusive party, Y/N finds herself drawn back into the orbit of a complicated past. Memories and emotions collide as she faces unspoken truths and unresolved tensions with two familiar figures. As the night deepens, Y/N is forced to reckon with what she’s lost, what remains, and the strength it takes to walk away.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The venue exuded understated elegance, its high ceilings and minimalist decor a perfect canvas for the glamour of the night. Warm golden light spilled from modern chandeliers, catching the shimmer of sequins and polished champagne flutes as Korea’s entertainment elite mingled and posed for photographers.

Y/N stepped inside, the click of her heels muted by the soft carpeting. She wore a sleek, tailored dress that hugged her frame, a vision of quiet confidence. The air was alive with the hum of conversations, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses.

Her lips curled into a practiced smile as Irene, tonight’s host and star, approached.

“Y/N,” Irene said warmly, her shimmering gown catching the light. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Congratulation.” Y/N replied, her tone as smooth as the champagne she plucked from a passing tray.

They exchanged pleasantries—industry updates, compliments on Irene’s solo debut—but Y/N’s attention began to waver, her eyes scanning the crowd over Irene’s shoulder.

She’s here.

The realization hit before she even saw her. There was an electricity in the room, a pull she couldn’t ignore. And then, as though drawn by instinct, her gaze found her.

Yu Jimin stood near the far wall, radiant as ever. Her long, dark hair framed her sharp features perfectly, her elegant black dress accentuating her tall frame. She was smiling, laughing softly at something Kim Minjeong had said.

Minjeong.

Y/N’s throat tightened as her eyes shifted to the smaller woman at Jimin’s side. Minjeong’s blonde hair fell in soft waves, her white dress glowing under the golden lights. She looked effortlessly beautiful, her laugh bright and unrestrained as she leaned closer to Jimin.

They looked perfect together. Too perfect.

"Oh, I leave quite an impression. Five feet, to be exact."

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line as the lyric echoed in her mind, bitter and sharp. She forced her attention back to Irene, nodding at something she’d said, though she hadn’t processed a word.

“Excuse me,” Y/N murmured, lifting her champagne glass in a half-toast before retreating toward the bar.

The bar offered a small reprieve from the crowded room, but it did little to quiet the storm brewing in Y/N’s chest. She tapped her nails against the glass, her thoughts racing.

She hated how easily Jimin still got under her skin. The way her presence filled a room, the way her laughter—so effortless—could drown out everything else.

And yet, here Y/N was, stuck in her orbit again.

Her eyes betrayed her resolve as they flicked back to the far side of the room. Jimin had leaned in closer to Minjeong now, her hand resting lightly on the small of Minjeong’s back. The touch was subtle, casual even, but it screamed intimacy to Y/N.

"You’re wonderin’ why half her clothes went missin’. My body’s where they’re at."

She clenched her jaw, the memory slicing through her composure. Did Minjeong know? Did she know about the stolen nights, the whispered promises, and the way Jimin’s voice used to tremble when she said Y/N’s name?

Y/N turned back to the bar, signaling for another drink.

Flashback

“Do you always have to be so dramatic?” Jimin teased, leaning against the kitchen counter as Y/N searched for a coffee filter.

Y/N spun around, brandishing the empty box. “You’re telling me you live here and don’t have coffee filters? What kind of monster are you?”

Jimin laughed, that low, melodic sound that always made Y/N’s heart skip. “A tea person. Obviously.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. She stepped closer, the box still in hand. “This is unforgivable.”

“Is it?” Jimin asked, her voice softer now. She reached out, her fingers grazing Y/N’s wrist. “How are you going to punish me?”

Y/N tilted her head, her breath catching at the way Jimin’s eyes softened, her teasing replaced by something more vulnerable.

“I’ll think of something,” Y/N murmured, leaning in until their lips met.

End of the flashback

Y/N blinked back to the present, setting her glass down with more force than she intended. The memory still clung to her, its edges bittersweet and raw.

From across the room, as though sensing Y/N’s turmoil, Jimin’s eyes met hers.

The connection was immediate, electric. Jimin’s laughter faded, her smile dimming as her gaze lingered. For a moment, the noise of the party seemed to dull, leaving only the unspoken tension crackling between them.

Minjeong, oblivious, tugged lightly on Jimin’s arm, pulling her back into their conversation. Jimin tore her gaze away, her expression unreadable.

Y/N exhaled sharply, her chest tight. She turned back, signaling for another drink.

Y/N took the fresh glass of champagne from the bartender, her fingers wrapping around the stem as if it were her only anchor. She hated how easily Jimin still got under her skin. The way her presence filled a room, the way her laughter—so effortless—could drown out everything else.

And yet, here Y/N was stuck in her orbit again.

Her eyes betrayed her resolve as they flicked back to the far side of the room. Jimin had leaned in closer to Minjeong now, her hand resting lightly on the small of Minjeong’s back. The touch was subtle, casual even, but it screamed intimacy to Y/N.

Does she know?

The thought twisted in her mind, sharper than she wanted to admit. Did Minjeong know about her? About the stolen nights, the whispered promises, and the way Jimin had trembled in her arms? Did Minjeong know that, even as she smiled so sweetly now, Jimin still carried the ghost of their time together?

Y/N clenched her jaw, her polished exterior barely holding under the weight of it all.

“Are you okay?” a soft voice interrupted her thoughts.

She turned, startled to find Irene standing beside her. Irene’s sharp eyes missed nothing, though her smile remained polite.

“Fine,” Y/N replied quickly, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Just needed a breather.”

Irene studied her for a moment, the corner of her mouth twitching. “A breather or a distraction?”

Y/N chuckled softly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re too observant for your own good.”

“It’s a gift,” Irene replied, her tone light but her gaze pointed. She glanced toward Jimin and Minjeong, her expression unreadable. “You know, some things have a way of lingering even when you think they shouldn’t.”

Y/N’s lips tightened around the rim of her glass, but she didn’t respond. Instead, her eyes flickered back toward Jimin, unbidden. The sight of her, standing so effortlessly close to Minjeong, stirred something sharp and restless in Y/N’s chest.

The room felt warmer, the noise of clinking glasses and muted laughter pressing in. Y/N took a steadying breath, her fingers tracing the edge of her flute.

Irene seemed to sense her unease. “Don’t let the ghosts win,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the hum of the crowd.

Y/N blinked, turning to look at her. “What makes you think they have?”

Irene smiled faintly, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she offered a polite nod and slipped away, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts.

As Y/N let her gaze drift back across the room, her breath caught. Jimin’s eyes flickered toward her, the connection immediate and electric.

Jimin felt Y/N’s gaze like a static charge in the air. It prickled at her skin, pulling her attention no matter how hard she tried to focus on Minjeong.

“Jimin?”

Minjeong’s voice was gentle, her head tilted in that familiar way that always made Jimin feel safe.

“Hm?” Jimin blinked, realizing Minjeong had asked her a question.

“Are you okay?” Minjeong asked, a hint of worry creeping into her tone. “You seem... distracted.”

Jimin forced a smile, giving Minjeong’s hand a light squeeze. “I’m fine, just a lot on my mind.”

Minjeong seemed to accept the answer, but her eyes lingered on Jimin’s for a moment too long. There was a quiet curiosity in her gaze, as if she sensed there was more to Jimin’s distraction than the weight of the event.

“Okay,” Minjeong said softly, her voice tinged with a gentle reassurance. She turned her attention back to the room.

Jimin exhaled, her shoulders sagging slightly when Minjeong wasn’t looking. Her gaze wandered again—inevitably—to Y/N.

Y/N, leaning against the bar, looked unshaken on the surface. But Jimin recognized the tension in her posture, the way her fingers traced the edge of her glass as if holding herself in check.

For a brief second, Jimin allowed herself to linger, her chest tightening with the weight of everything unspoken.

Y/N was halfway through her second glass of champagne when her resolve finally cracked. The air around her felt too thick, the noise of the party too loud. But it wasn’t the room that suffocated her—it was the unanswered questions, the lingering tension that stretched between her and Jimin like a taut string.

Y/N had just set her glass down when she saw Jimin approach. Her movements were deliberate, her expression poised, but Y/N could see the cracks beneath the surface.

“Y/N,” Jimin said softly, the sound of her name almost lost in the noise around them.

“Jimin,” Y/N replied, her tone smooth but edged with something sharp.

Before the tension could unravel further, Minjeong appeared beside Jimin, her timing impeccable. Her expression was curious but polite as she took in Y/N, her smile warm and unassuming.

“Hi,” Minjeong said, offering a small nod.

Y/N’s chest tightened. She managed a faint smile. “Hi.”

The silence stretched, awkward and palpable. Minjeong glanced between them, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Minjeong,” Jimin said, her voice unusually tight, “would you mind grabbing us some water? I’ll be right here.”

Minjeong hesitated for the briefest moment but nodded. “Sure.” She touched Jimin’s arm lightly before walking away, her presence leaving a noticeable void.

Y/N didn’t wait for Jimin to speak. “She’s sweet,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

“She is,” Jimin replied, her voice quieter now.

Y/N tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “And yet, here we are.”

Jimin’s breath hitched, but she said nothing, her eyes darting to the glass in her hand.

“Funny,” Y/N continued, her voice low but cutting. “She doesn’t seem to notice the way you keep looking at me.”

Jimin opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. The tension between them was a living thing now, thrumming like a heartbeat.

"I heard you’re back together, and if that’s true, you’ll just have to taste me when she’s kissing you."

Y/N took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Does she know, Jimin? Does she know that when you touch her, you’re thinking of me?”

Jimin flinched, the sharpness of the words slicing through her composure.

Before Jimin could respond, Minjeong returned, her bright smile cutting through the haze like sunlight after a storm.

“Here you go,” Minjeong said, handing Jimin a glass of water.

Y/N stepped back, her mask slipping back into place as easily as a curtain falling over a stage.

“I’ll see you around,” she said smoothly, her gaze flicking between them before she turned and walked away.

As Y/N disappeared into the crowd, Jimin’s grip tightened around the glass, her knuckles white against the delicate crystal. She drew in a slow breath, but it did little to steady the weight pressing down on her chest.

She turned back to Minjeong, who was mid-conversation with another guest, her soft laugh cutting through the noise of the room. For a moment, Jimin envied Minjeong’s lightness—the way she could immerse herself so fully in the moment without the shadow of someone else pulling her attention away.

Jimin’s gaze darted back to where Y/N had been moments before, but she was gone. The space she’d occupied felt like a void, lingering in the back of Jimin’s mind like a stubborn echo.

The sound of laughter from the far side of the room blended into a dull hum as Y/N leaned against the bar. Her polished exterior—so carefully constructed—was starting to falter, and she hated it. Every glimpse of Jimin and Minjeong together chipped away at the armor she had built around herself since the breakup.

The memories came unbidden, vivid and cruel, pulling her back to moments she thought she had locked away.

Flashback

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jimin had whispered, though the way her hand lingered on Y/N’s wrist told a different story.

Y/N smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe not. But here I am.”

They were in Jimin’s hotel room, the city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything in shades of gold and shadow. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the world outside nothing but a distant hum.

Jimin looked at Y/N like she was a question she didn’t know how to answer. There was hesitation in her eyes, but it was overpowered by something deeper, something hungry.

“You’re trouble,” Jimin murmured, her voice soft but unsteady.

Y/N tilted her head, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “You like trouble.”

Whatever restraint Jimin had been clinging to snapped in that moment. She pulled Y/N closer, her lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. Y/N’s hands found their way into Jimin’s hair, tugging gently, earning a soft gasp that sent a shiver down her spine.

For a while, it was just them—no consequences, no questions.

End of the flashback

Back at the bar, Y/N’s fingers curled around her champagne flute as the memory faded. She exhaled shakily, her chest tight.

"Every time you close your eyes… Just know I was already there."

The lyrics twisted in her mind, bitter and taunting. Y/N took a sip of champagne, willing the ache in her chest to dull.

Flashback

“What are you smiling about?” Y/N asked, her voice soft and teasing.

Jimin turned her head, her cheek resting against the pillow. Her dark hair was a mess, her face bare, and her expression unguarded in a way that made Y/N’s heart ache.

“Nothing,” Jimin said, though her smile grew.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, rolling onto her side to face her. “You’re terrible at lying.”

Jimin laughed, the sound low and melodic. “Okay, fine,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I was just thinking… this feels nice.”

“Nice?” Y/N repeated, pretending to be offended.

Jimin rolled her eyes but leaned closer, her hand finding Y/N’s beneath the sheets. “You know what I mean.”

Y/N’s teasing faded as she took in the sincerity in Jimin’s eyes. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I know.”

They stayed like that for a while, tangled in the quiet morning light, the world outside their little bubble forgotten.

End of the flashback

Y/N’s jaw tightened as she watched Jimin from across the room. She leaned in to whisper something to Minjeong, earning a soft laugh in return. The sight sent a fresh pang through Y/N’s chest, though she refused to let it show.

She used to smile like that for me.

The thought was bitter, yet undeniable. Y/N knew she had left her mark on Jimin, even if she’d been cast aside.

Flashback

“You’re really going back to her?” Y/N’s voice wavered despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

Jimin stood near the door, her arms crossed, her expression conflicted. “It’s not that simple, Y/N.”

“It is,” Y/N said, taking a step closer. “You’re making it complicated.”

Jimin’s shoulders slumped, and she turned her gaze to the floor. “I can’t… I can’t keep doing this. With you. With her.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to speak. “So, what? You’re choosing her? After everything we—”

“It’s not about choosing!” Jimin interrupted, her voice rising for the first time. “It’s about… it’s about history. And safety. And not ruining everything I’ve worked for.”

Y/N froze, her chest tightening. “Ruining everything?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jimin’s expression softened, regret flashing in her eyes. “Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” Y/N said, cutting her off. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You meant every word.”

Jimin reached for her, but Y/N stepped back, shaking her head. “Just go,” she said, her voice breaking. “If that’s what you want, then go.”

And Jimin did.

End of the flashback

The memory still felt fresh, even now. Y/N closed her eyes briefly, the noise of the party becoming a distant hum as her thoughts spiraled.

"You can have her if you like. I've been there, done that once or twice."

She hated how true the words felt, how much of herself she had given to Jimin, only to be left behind.

When she opened her eyes again, she caught Jimin looking at her from across the room. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded.

Y/N held her gaze, refusing to look away, even as her chest tightened with everything unsaid.

And then, just as quickly as it happened, Jimin turned back to Minjeong, her expression unreadable.

Y/N exhaled slowly, setting her empty glass on the bar. The night was far from over, but she was already exhausted. The air felt too thick, the noise of the party too loud, pressing against her like a weight she couldn’t shake.

She glanced over her shoulder, half-tempted to slip away unnoticed, but something held her in place. A pull she couldn’t resist.

Her gaze drifted across the room, searching for the source of her unrest.

The crowd ebbed and flowed like a tide, vibrant and alive, but Y/N stood still, her gaze fixed on Jimin and Minjeong across the room. They looked effortless together, a picture of ease and harmony that made Y/N’s chest ache.

Minjeong’s laugh was bright and unrestrained, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. She had an openness about her, a warmth that drew people in without trying. Y/N watched as Jimin leaned in closer, her tall frame almost curling protectively around Minjeong’s smaller one. The movement was subtle, instinctive, and painfully familiar.

She learned that from me.

The thought hit Y/N before she could stop it, sharp and unrelenting.

She couldn’t unsee the parallels. The way Jimin tilted her head just so, nodding along as Minjeong spoke, her lips curling into that soft, private smile. It was the same smile Jimin had once saved for Y/N, during late-night conversations and whispered secrets.

Y/N’s grip tightened on her glass as another laugh rang out. Jimin was teasing Minjeong now, something clever and understated that had Minjeong giggling and swatting at her arm playfully. The sound of Jimin’s laugh—low and melodic—sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine.

"She’s funny now, all her jokes hit different. Guess who she learned that from?"

The thought was bitter, yet undeniable. Y/N had taught Jimin how to wield humor like a weapon—lighthearted but disarming, a way to draw someone closer without them even realizing it.

Jimin glanced up, her gaze flickering to Y/N for the briefest of moments. Her expression remained unreadable, her polished composure firmly in place.

But Y/N saw through it. She saw the crack beneath the surface, the hesitation that lingered in Jimin’s movements every time their eyes met.

“Jimin,” Minjeong said, her voice cutting through the moment. She tugged gently on Jimin’s hand, smiling up at her.

Jimin blinked, her attention snapping back to Minjeong. Her lips curved into a smile. Warm, reassuring, but not quite reaching her eyes. “What is it?”

Minjeong tilted her head toward the dessert table. “They’ve got those little tarts you love. Want to grab some before they’re gone?”

Jimin hesitated, her gaze darting back toward Y/N’s direction, but she caught herself quickly. “Yeah,” she said, squeezing Minjeong’s hand lightly. “Let’s go.”

The two moved together, weaving through the crowd, but Y/N’s eyes followed them like a magnet.

Y/N set her glass down on the bar, her fingers tracing the rim absently. She hated how much power Jimin still held over her, even from across a crowded room. But there was something else there, something she couldn’t ignore.

Pride.

Despite everything—despite the heartbreak and the bitterness—Y/N couldn’t help but feel a small, stubborn sense of pride in the way she had shaped Jimin. Their time together had been brief but intense, and it had left an imprint on Jimin that couldn’t be erased.

The way Jimin leaned into Minjeong now, her touches gentle but deliberate, mirrored the intimacy they’d once shared. It was a habit Y/N had teased her about endlessly, back when they’d stolen moments away from the rest of the world.

From the dessert table, Jimin glanced over her shoulder, her eyes seeking out Y/N once again. Minjeong didn’t seem to notice, too busy chatting with the person next to her, but Jimin’s focus wavered.

Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but the words died in her throat. The weight of Y/N’s gaze, the history between them, lingered like a ghost in the air.

Minjeong turned back to Jimin, holding up a tart with a playful grin. “Got one for you before I ate them all.”

Jimin laughed softly, shaking her head. “Thanks,” she said, her voice gentle.

But as Minjeong handed her the dessert, Jimin’s hand trembled slightly, the crack in her facade growing just a little wider.

Minjeong, ever perceptive, tilted her head curiously but said nothing, her focus shifting to a nearby conversation. Jimin’s eyes darted back toward Y/N, the weight of their shared history tugging at her chest.

Across the room, Y/N noticed the hesitation. The tremor. The way Jimin’s gaze flickered toward her as if she couldn’t help herself.

Y/N exhaled slowly, letting the tension settle in her chest. She didn’t need to fight for Jimin’s attention; she already had it. Every glance, every hesitation, every joke Jimin told was proof of the mark Y/N had left.

But it wasn’t enough—not anymore.

Her gaze shifted away, back to her own reflection in the bar’s mirror. The woman staring back at her looked composed, confident. But underneath, she was tired. Tired of being haunted by someone who had chosen stability over passion.

"You’ll just have to taste me when she’s kissing you."

The lyric echoed in her mind, bitter and unyielding. Y/N straightened her posture, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

Let Jimin remember her. Let her feel the weight of Y/N’s absence every time she touched Minjeong. Y/N wasn’t going to fight for someone who didn’t choose her—not anymore.

The thought gave her a fleeting sense of closure, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the restlessness thrumming in her chest. The noise of the party felt louder now, the air heavier.

She needed to get out, to find some space where she could breathe without feeling like the walls were closing in.

Y/N turned away from the bar and slipped through the crowd, weaving past clusters of chatter and bursts of laughter until she found a side door leading to the balcony.

The balcony was quiet, the distant hum of the city below muffled by the soundproof glass doors behind her. A faint breeze teased at the edges of Y/N’s dress, the chill of the night air biting against her skin. She leaned against the railing, her champagne flute dangling loosely from her fingers, the golden liquid untouched.

The room inside had become too much—the laughter, the stolen glances, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on her chest. Out here, under the glow of the moon and the soft glitter of city lights, she could breathe.

But not for long.

The sound of the door sliding open made her stiffen. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Y/N.” Jimin’s voice was soft, hesitant, but it carried through the still night air like a whisper in a cathedral.

Y/N didn’t look at her. “I was wondering when you’d come,” she said, her voice steady but devoid of warmth.

Jimin stepped closer, her heels clicking against the stone floor. “I just... needed to talk to you.”

That made Y/N laugh, low and humorless. She turned, leaning her hip against the railing as she finally met Jimin’s gaze. “Talk?” she repeated. “Now you want to talk?”

Jimin’s lips parted, but no words came. For the first time tonight, her polished composure wavered, cracks appearing in the armor she’d so carefully built.

“I saw the way you were looking at me,” Y/N continued, her tone sharper now. “Or maybe you were just trying to see through me. Is that it, Jimin? Hoping I’d disappear if you ignored me long enough?”

Jimin flinched, her hand tightening on the clutch she’d brought with her. “That’s not fair,” she murmured.

“Fair?” Y/N took a step forward, her voice dropping into something softer, more dangerous. “You think this is fair? Watching you play house with her while you look at me like—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Forget it.”

Jimin took a shaky breath, her voice quieter now. “I didn’t plan this, Y/N. I didn’t plan on you being here tonight.”

“And yet, here we are,” Y/N said, a bitter edge to her words. She swirled the champagne in her glass absently before setting it on the railing. “So, what do you want? To explain? To apologize? Or are you just here to make yourself feel better?”

“That’s not why—” Jimin started, but Y/N cut her off.

“Spare me,” Y/N said, her voice laced with exhaustion. She looked at Jimin, her eyes sharp and unyielding. “You chose her. Again. And maybe that’s what hurts the most—not that you left, but that you always seem to come back just to remind me of it.”

Jimin’s carefully constructed walls began to crack, her breathing uneven. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” she said, her voice trembling.

Y/N laughed again, shaking her head. “Congratulations. You failed.”

For a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of traffic below.

“I still think about you,” Jimin admitted quietly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. Her gaze dropped to the ground, as if saying it out loud was too much to bear. “I see you everywhere—in my head, in my jokes, in the way I…” She trailed off, her voice breaking.

Y/N’s throat tightened, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she tilted her head, her lips curling into a small, wry smile. “You’ll just have to taste me when she’s kissing you.”

Jimin’s head snapped up, her eyes wide and glassy. She looked like she wanted to respond, to fight back, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Look, Jimin,” Y/N said, her voice softening slightly, the sharp edges of her anger dulled by exhaustion. “I don’t want to be your regret. But I know I’ll always be your ghost.”

Jimin flinched at the word, her composure crumbling further. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to argue, but no words came. Instead, her hand lifted halfway, fingers trembling like they were caught between reaching for Y/N and letting go entirely.

“Don’t,” Y/N said quietly, her tone not harsh but resolute. The single word carried a finality that made Jimin’s hand falter. It dropped back to her side, and she took a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her own indecision.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispered, barely audible over the soft hum of the city behind them.

Y/N’s gaze softened, but her expression remained unreadable. “Yeah,” she said after a long pause, her voice steady but distant. “Me too.”

The silence that followed was deafening. They stood there, inches apart but separated by a chasm neither of them could cross. The memories between them felt alive, pressing down on the air, filling the space with everything they couldn’t say.

Jimin looked at Y/N one last time, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I never meant to hurt you,” she said, her voice breaking.

Y/N’s lips quirked into the faintest, bittersweet smile. “I know,” she replied, her words softer now. “But you did.”

For a moment, Jimin hesitated, as if she might stay, as if she might say something more. But the moment passed, and with visible reluctance, she turned and took a step back.

Her hand hovered on the glass door, her reflection ghosting over the city lights beyond. She paused, casting one last glance over her shoulder, her face shadowed with regret.

Y/N met her gaze evenly, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. There was no anger left in her expression, just a quiet resolve that made Jimin’s chest ache.

Jimin finally slid the door open and stepped back inside, leaving Y/N alone on the balcony.

Y/N didn’t move, even after the door slid shut behind Jimin, leaving her alone on the balcony once more. Her chest felt hollow, her breath shallow as she leaned back against the railing. The chill of the metal seeped through her dress, grounding her even as her emotions churned.

She tilted her head back, letting her gaze drift to the stars scattered across the vast, inky sky. They seemed impossibly far away, distant and untouchable. For a moment, she envied them—their silence, their constancy.

The tears came quietly, slipping down her cheeks unchecked. She didn’t fight them. It wasn’t the kind of grief that demanded sobs or outbursts; it was quieter, more resigned. It wasn’t about what could have been anymore. It was about what never truly was.

There was no collapse, no shattering. Just a slow, aching acceptance of something she had always known deep down: Jimin had been a ghost in her life long before tonight. A flicker of light she had tried to hold onto, even as it slipped through her fingers.

Y/N wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile. It wasn’t a smile born of joy, but of understanding—of the weight finally lifting, even if it left a scar behind.

The city stretched out before her, endless and alive. The buzz of traffic below, the distant glow of streetlights, the muffled hum of voices inside the venue—they were reminders that life continued, indifferent and unstoppable.

She was still here.

She straightened, pulling her shoulders back, the breeze teasing her hair as she turned to glance at the glass door. A part of her wondered if Jimin would come back, but the thought didn’t linger. Y/N no longer needed her to.

The party was beginning to slow, its earlier energy now replaced by a quieter, more reflective buzz. Conversations grew softer, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and bursts of laughter that seemed to echo in the half-empty room.

The golden glow of the chandeliers felt warmer now, casting long shadows across the thinning crowd. The music had shifted too, slower and subdued, as if the night itself was winding down alongside the guests.

Y/N stood near the edge of the room, a fresh glass of champagne cradled in her hand. She hadn’t taken a sip yet, the glass more of a prop than a comfort. Her gaze wandered over the room, though her focus was elsewhere, her thoughts still tethered to the balcony.

Ghost.

The word lingered in her mind, heavy but strangely freeing. She had spent so much time fighting to hold onto pieces of what she and Jimin had shared, clinging to memories as if they could somehow make her whole again. But out on that balcony, as Jimin had walked away, Y/N had finally felt something shift.

It wasn’t closure—not entirely. Closure suggested an ending, clean and final. What she felt was more like an exhale, a slow loosening of the grip she had held on something she no longer needed.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The familiar voice drew her back to the present, and Y/N turned to find Irene standing beside her. The singer’s earlier, crowd-working smile had softened into something quieter, more personal.

“Not worth that much,” Y/N replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

Irene chuckled, raising her own glass to her lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You’ve had that look all night.”

“What look?”

Irene tilted her head, studying her. “The one that says you’re carrying something too heavy to set down, even though you want to.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, letting out a quiet laugh. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me, maybe,” Irene admitted, her tone gentle. She set her glass down and leaned in slightly. “You don’t have to tell me, but... if it helps, you’re not alone. Everyone’s haunted by something.”

The words hung in the air, simple but resonant, their weight settling over Y/N like a warm blanket. She let the silence stretch between them, her gaze shifting back toward the far side of the room.

There they were—Jimin and Minjeong.

Minjeong was speaking animatedly, her hands gesturing as she laughed at something Jimin had said. Jimin was smiling too, that soft, private smile Y/N had once known so intimately. They looked happy, a picture of comfort and stability that could have made Y/N ache.

But as she watched, Y/N caught something else. Jimin’s fingers tapped lightly against her glass, a nervous habit Y/N recognized all too well. There was a faint crease between her brows when Minjeong wasn’t looking, a flicker of something unspoken in her expression.

She’s carrying it too, Y/N thought.

The realization didn’t bring comfort exactly, but it brought something close to peace. They had both been changed, scarred in their own ways, but Y/N was no longer tethered to that pain.

She exhaled, the breath steady and deliberate, her grip on her glass loosening as she set it down. The weight wasn’t gone entirely, but it was lighter now, easier to bear.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” she said, turning back to Irene.

Irene nodded, her expression soft with understanding. “Sometimes leaving is the bravest thing you can do.”

Y/N smiled faintly, the corners of her lips curving upward with a quiet gratitude. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it carried weight—a silent acknowledgment of the truth in Irene’s words. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, the movement simple yet deliberate, as if shedding the last remnants of hesitation.

The walk toward the exit felt longer than it should have, every step echoing with memories she was letting go. The golden glow of the chandeliers flickered over her, each footfall a quiet rebellion against the weight in her chest. Conversations buzzed faintly around her, their cadence softer now, as if the party itself was winding down.

As she reached the door, her hand brushed against the cool metal of the handle. Something made her glance back—a pull she couldn’t entirely resist.

Across the room, Jimin and Minjeong remained in their own world. Minjeong’s laugh floated through the air, light and uninhibited, and Jimin’s lips quirked into a smile that once had been reserved for Y/N. The pang in Y/N’s chest flared briefly, a sharp reminder of what was and what would never be again. But there was a difference now—an unexpected softness to the ache, like a bruise fading under time’s patient touch.

She turned back to the door, her fingers tightening briefly around the handle before she pushed it open. The night greeted her with a crisp embrace, the chill biting against her skin yet somehow refreshing. It was a stark contrast to the warmth of the venue, a reminder that outside those walls, life stretched on in endless, unpredictable patterns.

The city spread out before her, alive with a thousand stories, none of which she was beholden to. Y/N paused at the edge of the sidewalk, her breath visible in the night air. Tilting her head back, she let the city lights blur into the stars above, her heart settling into a calm rhythm she hadn’t felt in months.

“If you want forever, and I bet you do. Just know you'll taste me too”

“She’ll taste me every time.” The words slipped out softly, carried away by the breeze. They weren’t bitter or triumphant—just an acknowledgment of the truth she had lived.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of those words settle. They weren’t about holding on anymore. They were about release—a final reminder to herself that she had left her mark and didn’t need to keep proving it.

When she opened her eyes again, the world seemed sharper, more vibrant. The streetlights flickered against the pavement, and the distant hum of traffic reminded her of everything waiting beyond this moment.

With a steady breath, Y/N straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she began walking, each step sure and unwavering. The night stretched ahead, vast and full of potential, and for the first time in a long time, she felt ready to embrace it.

She didn’t need to look back.

She was done looking back.

The memories, the pain, and the lingering echoes of Jimin’s presence—they would always be a part of her, but they no longer defined her. Y/N was more than what she had lost. She was the sum of every moment she had survived, every choice she had made to stand back up.

As the cool night air wrapped around her, Y/N allowed herself a small, private smile. This wasn’t the end of her story—it was a new beginning.

She was ready to reclaim herself.

[joelmillerisapunk]

Lonely Hearts Club

Joel Miller x His Hand ★ 2.5K

Summary: idk Joel meets Sarah's teacher, masturbates about it, and then buys a sex toy about it?

-Or-

Joel's first time with a sex toy

Warnings: male masturbation, use of a female sex toy with female anatomy and breasts.

Notes: I have no words, only a big tysm to @thundermartini for always listening to me ramble off ideas and always being their number one fan I love you so much. A big tysm to my wifey @evolnoomym & @syd-djarin for reading this over as well you're the mvps & finally thank you @enchanthings-a for the divider

Joel Miller wasn’t sure what he expected when Sarah asked him to come to her school for parent-teacher night. Maybe some stern-faced woman with reading glasses and a pencil skirt, the type to make him feel like he was back in high school and getting scolded for not paying attention.

What he didn't expect was you.

When he stepped into the brightly lit classroom, his eyes were immediately drawn to you. You stood by your desk, shuffling papers with a warm smile as you greeted parents. Joel felt like he’d been hit by a truck. You were gorgeous—radiant in a way that knocked the breath out of him. The kind of pretty that made his chest ache, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

Sarah tugged at his sleeve, snapping him out of his daze. “Dad, c’mon,” she urged, dragging him closer to the desk where you stood.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you said, looking up at him with a smile that made his heart stutter. “I’m Sarah’s teacher. She talks about you all the time—says you’re the best dad ever.”

Joel felt his face flush. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like an awkward teenager again. “She, uh... she says that, huh?”

“She does,” you confirmed, your eyes sparkling with warmth.

He found himself staring, his gaze lingering on the curve of your lips, the way your hair framed your face, the faint scent of your perfume that drifted in the air between you. It had been a long time since Joel felt... this. Like the ground beneath him was suddenly unsteady.

“Daddy, stop staring,” Sarah whispered loudly, nudging him with her elbow.

Joel blinked, mortified, and quickly turned his attention back to you. “Sorry about that,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

You laughed softly, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Don’t worry, Mr. Miller. Happens all the time.”

He couldn’t tell if you were teasing him or not, but damn if it didn’t make his pulse race.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Joel listened as you talked about Sarah—how bright and inquisitive she was, how she always made you laugh with her clever observations. He nodded in all the right places, even managed to ask a question or two about her progress, but his brain was still stuck on how pretty you were. The way you smiled, the way you spoke, the way you looked at him like he was the only one in the room.

Later that night, back home, Joel sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Sarah was already asleep, her laughter from earlier still echoing faintly in his mind.

When it was finally time to leave, Joel thanked you, his voice gruff but sincere. You gave him another one of those dazzling smiles, and it took everything in him not to trip over his own feet on the way out.

But his thoughts weren’t on Sarah anymore.

They were on you.

He could still see the way your lips curved when you smiled, the softness in your eyes when you talked about his daughter. Could still hear the lilt of your voice, feel the phantom warmth of your hand when you’d shaken his at the end of the meeting.

Joel leaned back, his breath hitching as his mind wandered further, the images of you becoming more vivid. He imagined what it’d feel like to have you close, to run his hands over the curves he’d tried so hard not to stare at in the classroom.

His hand drifted lower as he let himself sink into the fantasy, his body responding to the thought of you—of how soft you’d feel, how sweet you’d sound whispering his name.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. He knew that. But, fuck, he couldn’t stop himself.

For the first time in a long time, Joel allowed himself to want.

He leaned back against the headboard, his eyes slipping shut as he let the memory of you take over. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his sweatpants suddenly feeling too tight as his mind conjured up the soft lilt of your voice and the curve of your smile. He thought about the way your shirt hugged your body, the delicate slope of your collarbone, and how your lips had parted just slightly when you laughed.

“Jesus christ,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand over his face like he could scrub the image of you away. But it was no use.

With a frustrated groan, Joel shifted, his hand trailing down to undo the string of his pants. He hesitated for a brief moment, guilt prickling at the edges of his thoughts. You were Sarah’s teacher, for god’s sake. This wasn’t right.

But the ache in his body drowned out the protests in his head, and before he knew it, his hand was wrapping around himself, his calloused palm stroking slowly as he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

He imagined it was your hand instead, soft and teasing, guiding him with a confidence that left him breathless. In his mind, you were sitting on the edge of the bed, your lips curved into that sweet, knowing smile as you leaned closer, whispering his name like a secret.

Joel’s hand moved faster, his breaths turning ragged as the fantasy deepened. He pictured you on top of him, your hair tumbling around your face as you smiled down at him, your hips rolling slowly, deliberately, as you took him in.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, his mind consumed by thoughts of you—how you’d feel, how you’d sound, how perfect you’d look with your lips parted around his cock.

The tension coiled tighter in his stomach, his strokes growing uneven as he chased the release he so desperately needed. He imagined the way you’d moan his name, soft and breathless, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pulled you closer, deeper.

It didn’t take long before the fantasy overtook him completely, and with a low, guttural groan, Joel’s body tensed, pleasure crashing over him in waves as he spilled into his hand.

He sat there for a moment afterward, his chest heaving and his mind still clouded with thoughts of you. Guilt tried to creep in again, but it was dulled by the lingering warmth in his body and the memory of your smile that refused to leave him.

Joel sighed, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand and cleaning himself up.

Joel sat at the edge of his bed the next night, the box on his nightstand catching the faint light from his bedside lamp. His jaw tightened as he stared at it, an undeniable pull gnawing at his resolve. He’d been alone for far too long, and no amount of guilt was going to extinguish the ache in his chest—or lower—that had been consuming him.

“You're gonna be trouble,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he laid back against the pillows. But even as he closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep, all he could see was you.

He hadn’t planned on walking into that adult store. Hell, he’d almost turned around and walked out. But the memory of you, with your bright smile, the way your laugh lingered in his ears, and the warmth in your eyes when you spoke to him—it haunted him. Every detail of you was seared into his mind, a constant presence he couldn’t shake.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, but his hands were already working to pull the contents free. The toy, a Body Banger Silicone Masturbator, felt heavier than he expected as he set it down on the bed.

The masturbator sat there mocking him, with its realistic breasts, curves, and inviting openings, seemed absurd—and yet, his imagination filled in the gaps. It wasn’t you. It could never be you. But in the dim, lonely quiet of his room, it was the closest he would get to feeling you beneath him.

“Goddamn it what am I doin’,” Joel muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

He placed his hands on the toy, testing the lifelike silicone under his fingers. It was soft—uncomfortably realistic—and when he gave the butt a firm smack, the flesh jiggled slightly in response. Joel froze, his lips twitching into a half-smile despite himself.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He slapped the toy again, harder this time, watching the way it moved under his hand. “Huh,” he said, his voice low and rough as his fingers kneaded the soft silicone.

His hands roamed over the curves, squeezing the hips and brushing over the small of its back. He flipped it onto its back, his gaze drifting over the chest, the inviting curves of the molded breasts. “They really went all out on this thing,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over the silicone nipples.

A spark of heat flared low in his stomach as he explored further, trailing his fingers along the narrow waist and down between the thighs. The openings were tight, smooth, and designed to feel as real as possible. Joel’s breath hitched, his arousal stirring as his imagination filled with thoughts of you—how you’d feel, how you’d react to his touch.

“Shit,” he murmured. His pants were already uncomfortably tight, and he tugged them down. He positioned the toy on the bed, his hands once again roaming over its chest and hips.

Before long, he was lost in the moment, his rough hands squeezing and teasing, his hips shifting as his arousal grew impossible to ignore. He turned it over and slapped the ass one more time, groaning softly at the way it bounced under his palm, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet room.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice low. “This’ll do just fine.”

His palms lingered on the roundness of the ass, giving it another firm squeeze before he flipped it back onto its back.

The chest rose invitingly, and his fingers instinctively found their way to the breasts. He squeezed one, his thumb circling over the firm peak, marveling at the lifelike feel beneath his hand. His other hand slid down the toy’s waist, brushing over its soft surface as he adjusted it on the bed.

He paused, his gaze settling on the toy’s inviting opening. For a moment, he just stared, the vivid image of you flashing in his mind. He imagined you lying beneath him, your body trembling as his hands roamed over you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the heat in his stomach flaring as his arousal grew harder to ignore.

“Goddamn,” he muttered under his breath. His hand moved lower, his rough fingertips brushing over the toy’s entrance. The soft material yielded under his touch, and he groaned quietly, his imagination filling in the details of how it might feel if it were you instead.

Joel leaned closer, his thumb teasing at the opening, spreading it slightly as he explored it with his fingers. He slid one thick digit inside, the tightness making him suck in a sharp breath. “So fuckin’ tight,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. He worked his finger in and out slowly, adding another as he imagined the way you’d react—your soft gasps, your body shifting under his touch.

Unable to help himself, he spat directly onto the entrance, watching as the wetness coated the material. He worked it in with his fingers, twisting and curling them as if testing how it would feel to have you clench around him. His breathing grew heavier, his hips shifting against the bed as his arousal pressed painfully against his boxers.

The thought of you consumed him, and before he realized it, he leaned down, his tongue darting out to taste the opening. The silicone was smooth under his tongue as he licked a slow, deliberate path, his breath hot against the toy. He teased the entrance with the tip of his tongue, groaning softly as he imagined the sweet taste of you instead.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to spit onto the opening again, his fingers spreading it wide to coat it thoroughly. His arousal throbbed in response, the thought of finally sinking into the toy was almost too much to bear.

Sitting up, he tugged his boxers down, freeing himself. He spat into his hand, slicking himself up with a low groan as his cock twitched in anticipation. His hand gripped the base as he positioned himself, the tip pressing against the entrance.

He paused, exhaling a shaky breath as he imagined it was you—your warmth, your softness, your voice whispering his name. “Wish it was you, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough with longing.

Joel pushed forward, his tip slipping inside, and he groaned at the sensation. The tightness was almost too real, and he sank deeper, his hips moving slowly as he buried himself to the hilt. “Shit,” he hissed, his head falling back as his hands gripped the toy’s hips to steady it.

His rhythm was slow at first, his body adjusting to the overwhelming sensation. His hands roamed over the toy’s chest, squeezing the breasts, teasing the nipples, but his mind stayed on you. He imagined your body arching beneath him, your lips parting with gasps as he filled you completely.

“Goddamn, you feel so good,” he murmured, his hips moving faster now, the sound of his body meeting the toy filling the room. He slapped one of the breasts, groaning at the way it jiggled beneath his palm. “So fuckin’ sweet, darlin’. Could have you like this all night.”

His thrusts grew rougher, deeper, his need taking over as his fantasies consumed him. He pictured your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, your nails dragging down his back as you begged him for more. His breathing was ragged, his voice hoarse as your name spilled from his lips like a prayer.

The tension inside him built rapidly, his muscles tightening with every stroke. “Fuck,” he groaned, his grip on the toy tightening as his hips snapped forward. The thought of you—your warmth, your voice, the way you’d feel around him—pushed him over the edge.

With a guttural cry, Joel came hard, his body shuddering as pleasure crashed over him. He stayed still for a moment as his chest heaved with every labored breath.

When he finally pulled away, the room was quiet except for his ragged breathing. He cleaned himself and the toy carefully before setting it aside.

Collapsing onto the bed, he draped an arm over his eyes, his thoughts a mess of guilt, relief, and a longing for you that refused to fade. Next time he saw you, there was no way he’d be able to keep himself together.

[jymwahuwu]

When I was picking up starfish for Neuvillette, I was illuminated by a light outside the Fortress of Meropide and automatically taken back to prison💀💔 So I'm thinking about the story of the reader trying to escape by diving and being caught by Wriothesley🥴

CW: yandere, abuse of power, non-con, escape failed, non-consensual spanking

Just today. You can escape, now or never.

You've bribed one of the guards, using all the credit coupons you earned from working in the cafeteria. He quietly brings you a set of diving equipment from outside and briefly teaches you how to use it. He's on duty today. On this day, this day only, you can take advantage of the laxity and loopholes in the guards to escape. For the past few days, you had been submissive and radiant in front of Wriothesley, warming his cock for hours. He promised to give you a day off. You can walk around the Fortress of Meropide and chat with people, or you can just sleep and read, write, munch delicious breads and desserts. It's up to you.

And you use it to escape from prison.

You were sent to the Fortress of Meropide for some ridiculous crime… or maybe even something you didn't do at all. It only took three days from the accusation to the conviction. The members of gardes somehow searched your home for "evidence of guilt". The testimonies of the witnesses all subtly accused you, as if a strange net fell from the firmament. You tried to argue and analyze the irrationality of these logics, but tears and logic… were all useless. This ordinary trial, devoid of drama, ended quickly. They escort you to an underwater prison, where you are exiled in full view of the public.

"Mmm, raise your head and let me see you."

Your eyes widened, recognizing him, a customer you met when you worked part-time in the teahouse. He helped you deal with a customer who was harassing you. Dressed in work clothes, you introduced him to new refreshments, giggling at his witty remarks. He always comes on the same afternoon, orders tea and dessert, and sits quietly, waiting to talk to you.

Once, he asked you whether the sun was so bright outside the water, and whether the people at the top of the water were the same as you. You were confused by his question at that moment.

A confession changes something. Such a peaceful life continued until one day, he hinted whether he would be lucky enough to go on a date with you, but… you had not thought about establishing any romantic relationship with the guest. Unexpectedly, the customer just nodded, kissed the back of your hand and left.

(Underwater. Inexplicable charges and sentences.) The mind is buzzing, and those clues and emotions are flooding into you. You have some understanding of what's going on-

"…It's you. It's you who is framing me…"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He smiled - with confidence and teasing. "But falsely accusing me will only make your crime worse."

You bit your lip, shaking, tears falling.

Your cell is somehow quite close to Wriothesley's office. He summons you to his office at any time, puts you on his lap, or presses on you at night. You want to resist. Once, you yelled at him in the cafeteria. Wriothesley just held your waist with one hand, took off your underwear, and slapped your exposed and swollen butt. Other prisoners were frightened.

You arrived at the appointed location, and the guard nodded to you. You prepare to put on your diving gear, but your thoughts spread like tree roots - When will Wriothesley realize you're missing? What will he do? Where can you go...Mondstadt? Sumeru is closer, but there are Matras there. They may be working with Fontaine...Wriothesley...He...

However, these are not worth mentioning in the face of freedom. You can't hide your current smile, the joy of freedom dances on the tip of your tongue, urging you to take steps forward. Beautiful sunshine. Market. The sound of people talking. The steam from the machine when brewing tea. Detective novels and newspapers. You will be able to have these again, even if you can't appear openly anymore, but it doesn't matter, anything is better than an underwater prison and a large factory.

Anywhere is better than here…

The moment you were about to dive-

a pair of arms grabbed you.

You started screaming almost immediately, broke into a cold sweat from fear, and struggled like a fish out of water without even looking at who the person behind you was. You just want to dive into the sea, but those arms are unexpectedly strong - just like when he pulled you into his arms and kissed your lips countless times. No room for rejection.

"Hey-hey, calm down, okay? Stop." He takes off your diving equipment. What Wriothesley said was like you were losing your temper, not that he was using a trick to force you to stay with him. You turned around and met his gray pupils, crying. The man still smiled and patted your head, "there there…" But as soon as he finished speaking, you found that the guard you bribed was being subdued and pinned to the ground.

"Take him away. Inform Neuvillette." He said coldly.

The guards received the order, saluted, and then forcibly escorted him away.

"…W-when did you know?" He wrapped his arms around your waist, allowing you to sniffle and whimper. You just want to ask this, to know how much you've been predicted. Does he laugh inside when he sees you being so well-behaved…? Wriothesley paused for a moment, as if he was considering how to reply, not wanting to hurt your pride. "…Is it important?"

"I want to know."

"I told you, I know everything that's going on here, the difference is whether I want to take action or not." He placed a kiss on your forehead. "I'll use the belt later, by the way."

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3] ｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ [PART 4] (coming soon)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT

Tags: Modern AU, NSFW, DILF professor Viktor, trans Viktor, old man boobs and pussy!!!, reader being a desperate mutt when it comes to Viktor, sub Viktor AND dom Viktor, oral sex (Viktor receiving), handjob (reader receiving), sniffing & scent kink, nipple play, they are transgender and so so desperate for each other your honor

Word count: 15k

Notice: This chapter is written with a transmasculine reader in mind.

Notes: Seeing all of you guys fall in love with this fic and our beloved DILF professor has inspired me to extend his story a little more! So stay tuned for that, and enjoy the smut... for now. ;] Words used for Vik & reader's genitals include: cock, cunt, clit, pussy and similar variations.

The bustle behind the door almost has you hesitating to knock — and after about five seconds of the thuds and clanks intensifying, you go for your phone to double check the given information. Until you hear Viktor’s familiar cadence dampened by the wood, and the lock turns with a clack.

“Hello.” 

The rest has done him well.

He’s a man reborn, a good ten years younger, leaning on just his cane, eyes sharp and glittery with excitement, smiling like the cat that got the cream — or is about to. 

His hair is fluffy, wispy, most likely just washed, and as is his face, freshly shaven. His sweater hangs off his frame to just the middle of his thighs, looser than what he normally wears — which comes with the lovely perk of revealing more of his collarbone. Everything about him is more vibrant, bathed in a warm yellow light and radiant skin and shallower eye bags.

You do your absolute damndest not to let your eyes linger.

“Hi.”

“Come in quick.” His voice sounds conspiratorial, like he’s about to let you in on a special little joke. “I don’t want her getting ideas about escaping — she hasn’t in a while, but, you never know.”

The scent of warm apples and vanilla smothers you the moment you step foot past his doorway, and it’s not the only thing smothering you. At your shins, something orange, fuzzy and warm smooths against you, a bushy tail wrapping around your calf almost all the way up to the inside of your knee, pink nose sniffing curiously.

The her who’s not meant to be getting any ideas, you’d presume.

A pair of green eyes stare up at you from between your ankles, triangular ears perked attentively. She’s fluffy, so much so her tail could count as a duster and the fuzz in her ears competes with the length of her whiskers. 

Viktor has a cat.

“This is Persichka,” he says, sounding prouder than a father on the graduation day of his favorite child.

Of course he’d have an entire picture folder dedicated to her. 

There’s something well-loved about her, like an old plush toy — the stiffness of her movements and the gangliness of her limbs betrays her old age, but everything else speaks against it. Shiny coat, curious gaze. She lingers around you until her pink, spotted nose has had its fill of your unfamiliar scent, then she returns to Viktor, and the rumbling purrs in her chest turn on as if on command, key turned in the ignition.

You test her name in your voice, and though she does turn her spotted little nose towards you in acknowledgment, you come to understand there are few things that could pry her away from Viktor, with how adoringly she’s practically stuck to him.

“She’s very pretty,” you say.

”The prettiest,” Viktor corrects. He watches her bump her head against his shin and purr as if in agreement — she’s so rumbly it’s almost concerning. Viktor points you to the dark blue couch in his living room. “Make yourself at home. I’ll join you in a moment.”

With that, he leaves, presumably for the kitchen, with Persichka following closely behind.

His apartment is far from impressive — at least in size. Though you can’t exactly go exploring the place, based on what you’ve seen of the living room and the hallway, you can make a half-decent estimate of the overall size. 

Certainly big enough to avoid feeling cramped, but nothing beyond that. At its root, Viktor’s living space is humble, cozy, and jam-packed with details.

The rug in his living room, though sturdy and freshly vacuumed with how it has fluffed up just a hint, is decorated with traditional motifs in dull, aged colours. His walls are lined with bookshelves, dark wood, most of them on science, a good chunk on arcanism. 

Except…

A good three shelves’ worth in the furthest corner of the room catch your eye. Their shiny, paperback covers glisten with warm pinks, yellows, purples and oranges, spelling out titles in frilly, pretty fonts.

Romance books. A whole lot of them. 

You tilt one out just enough to glance at the cover — and surely enough, there is a shirtless man on the cover, seemingly in heartaching agony. His Love Of Thorns is the title. 

A little lower, on some dustier shelf that doesn’t seem to get as much traffic as his other books, is a picture frame. A family in black and white — a tall, mid-thirties aged man with sunken, somber eyes and a mustache, along with a woman with Viktor’s cheekbones, chin and gentle eyes, sitting with a little girl. The kid is looking into the camera with a sombreness that’s fraying at the edges with a suppressed smile, and she has pigtails, reaching all the way down to the middle of her chest.

You’re about to reach for the photo to check the back for more information.

“Ahem.” Viktor stands in the doorway with a tray of two plates, steaming with heat. At your embarrassment of being caught red-handed, he can’t help but smirk a little, before he raises the tray meaningully. “I made us sharlotka — it’s my babulya’s recipe. I hope you’ll like it.” He sets the tray on the worn coffee table right in front of his couch.

There’s something catlike about how he moves to take up space on his own couch opposed to how he holds himself in public. It’s surprisingly intimate to see him lounging as he awaits your company — dejected and warm. His left side faces the backrest, left leg folded and tucked so that his ankle fits just under the inside of his right knee. His right foot is planted firmly on the floor. 

It’s a lovely change of pace to see him so distended, so informal, in spite of his still formal clothes. You want to believe he’d dressed up for you — the thought of Viktor in slacks at home is otherwise haunting. 

He leans back onto the armrest with his plate neatly held in front of himself, and while he shaves off a piece off for himself, he closely observes you sit down and reach for your own plate. 

The slice is decadently filled with thin apple slices near the bottom. It positively wafts with cinnamon and vanilla, it splits on your teaspoon surprisingly easily for how spongy it is.

The taste hits your tongue tenfold with the first bite — you should have let it cool more, but alas — autumnal flavors swirling together in a delightful mix that has your head spinning. It makes your soul turn into something wet and sappy to realize Viktor made this for you. Peeled the apples, mixed the dough, sprinkled in cinnamon. For you.

“What do you think?” The way he cocks a brow and leans further back against the armrest tells you he already knows the answer. But you want to see him preen under a compliment regardless — it’s a rare and good look on him.

“It’s really good,” you say. “I think I burnt my tongue.”

At that, he huffs out a laugh, tilting his head to watch you — small chest puffing out just a fraction, smile going from playful to proud.

“Take it slow.” His voice falls just short of a purr. So much so you find yourself losing it trying to figure out if there is an implication behind it, or if you’re just wishing one into existence. “There is more, should you want it.”

How could you be blamed for thinking about anything except for seconds when he tells you that?

You know better than to let yourself be deluded, you know better. He knows better. 

This is nothing. This is fine.

“Now,” Viktor does not give you the time to let his words swim in your head; he braces his hand on the couch cushions just shy of your thigh as he leans down to pull his laptop out from under the coffee table. At the ruckus, Persichka walks into the room. “On to what I was hoping to talk to you about. I know you were, eh, wrestling with the detailing of movements of the hexion components in their areals, but, I think I might have some suggestions regarding the specifics.”

You watch him put om his glasses, unfold the laptop and set it on the table, fans whirring within its mechanism, sounding like they’re struggling quite a bit with some dust buildup. With Persichka around, you don’t doubt they are.

She climbs onto a chair that, now that you’ve seen her do it, looks deliberately placed near the windowsill specifically to create an upwards path for her. From the chair, she hops onto the sill, where she claims a dark red pillow like a throne. After an obligatory spine-curling, yawning stretch, she curls up on it while she turns her attention to the barren tree branches outside Viktor’s window.

He sets his cake on the table, and places his laptop on himself, deft fingers moving across the keyboard. You take a shameful delight in the circling of his index on the mouse pad. The way it hyperextends just so at the last knuckle when he presses, the way he strokes, upward, over and over, as he scrolls down a document. The way he stops, presses a button with his thumb, strokes with his middle finger — oh, that hand. 

You wonder how those knobby finger joints would feel, crowding your clit into submission and pleasure, or popping into— 

“I did the math with oscillations in mind, and though I suppose it mostly fits, it still felt kind of, eh, what is the word for it, shoehorned.” Viktor tilts the laptop screen for you to see.

You lean in to look over his calculations, and, with some horror, realize you have to brace a hand on the backrest right beside his head to hover over him while you’re looking at the laptop.

Viktor is right under you, practically begging to be laid on top of, to use the heft of your weight to push him into the creaky cushions, to rub yourself against the space between his legs, wide open for you to take. 

He’s applied a light fragrance today — maybe even just deodorant. He smells of nothing in particular, beyond fresh and that pleasant, powdery clean musk of freshly showered skin.

You haven’t gotten through a quarter of what he’d shown you before he tilts his laptop back towards himself.

“But then, I thought, why oscillations?”

“O-oh?”

Your voice comes out strained. Which you are — especially in terms of paying attention to him.

“Oh, you must be uncomfortable,” he luckily concludes, and unfolds his left leg, sitting up straight on his couch, before he sets the laptop on the table between the two of you instead. “Better?”

You nod.

He has to hunch forward to see the screen properly, and it makes you sting with shame that he’s chosen to give up some of his comfort for what he interpreted as your discomfort. Considering what had just been running through your head, you don’t deserve a fraction of—

“Now, look here…” Viktor taps the top of your thigh to get your attention, but does not dignify you with a glance — he’s laser focused on the task at hand. And it’s for the best, with how it sets you alight in the least metaphorical way. You lean in, obedient to a fault, shoulders touching in front of the blue light screen. “I redid the calculations but with rotation in mind this time around, and…”

You look over the math diagonally, your eyes chasing the end result, rather than the equations, and, “Oh, it fits like a glove.”

Viktor beams at you. “It does.”

“Can I have—“ Your noses almost touch when you turn to him. It makes the both of you pause, faltering, swallowing, retreating, before you find it within yourself to continue. “Can I have a piece of paper?”

“Of course.”

You know better. 

Viktor plucks his cane off the ground, and awkwardly shuffles to a nearby cabinet, where he retrieves a stack of them, as well as a pen.

You take one, and set off to write on the nearest surface that’s ample for it, which happens to be your thigh.

“I want to see how the numbers you got would act in Holloran’s equation,” you explain. “If you’re right about the rotation, they should track, shouldn’t they?”

Viktor nods. “Good thinking. They should.”

His body tilts to you as you start scribbling away, watching your hand from just above your shoulder. His bated breath comes lukewarm on the side of your neck, just a tickle, and when the numbers don’t line up, you hear him swallow.

Long neck craned over you, chin just above the slope of your shoulder, Viktor sets his hand on the top of your thigh — a safe spot, a normal spot for a friend to be laying their hands on you. 

But not for Viktor. Not to you.

The heat of his hand on your leg is making your stomach sink, pulse rushing in your ears, head spinning, the numbers a distant dream. On instinct alone, you want to spread, for him. To lay yourself down at his hands, at his mercy, at…

Fuck.

Your thoughts absolutely refuse to cooperate when his pinky rubs focused circles into the material of your jeans.

“God. What did I miss…” Your lip starts to ache with how you bite down on it, looking over the numbers again, searching, trying—

“Here.” 

His middle and index finger brush down, down, then in. To where you’re sensitive, to where you’re soft, to where it hurts for him. He’s pointing you to an embarrassingly obvious mistake — at the very bottom of the page, just a fucking hand’s width away where you start to drip.

This close, you can’t hide a shiver from him. 

It crawls up from the bottom of your spine to just below your skull, it expands into something warm but stifling in your chest, like a pillow that’s too soft, a tea too hot, somewhere on the pleasurable, delightful edge of horrific and painful.

“Oh. Sorry.” Hit with the realization, Viktor retreats. Hands gone, heat amiss, breath distant. You need him back. You need more. You need him. Viktor looks terrified — of himself, for you. He swallows something else that laid just on the tip of his tongue, you can hear his thoughts blundering and racing before he does the only thing he can: repeat himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

You need to splash some water in your face before you do something stupid. Something irreparable. 

“S’okay,” you rasp. “It’s okay. No worries. I just— uh, can I use your bathroom? I… headache.”

Viktor generously provides you the space you so desperately don’t want, and points you to the bathroom.

“Just down the hallway,” he says. “And there should be something for your headache in the cabinet above the bathtub.”

“Thank you.”

Dazed and confused, you stumble your way out of his living room, and somehow end up in his bathroom.

Dark blue tiles line the walls and the floor. You shut the door with your back, letting it steady you. It’s strangling and somehow actually genuinely bordering on a panic attack, how your throat wrings itself shut and your heart hammers and your lungs go tight. The sink is in the midst of your tunnel vision, and against all odds, you do somehow reach it, turning the faucet on so hard it creaks.

The cold water does you some good. You splash it onto your face, dab your own cold hands down the sides of your neck, facing yourself in the still-foggy mirror as you force yourself to breathe. Slow. Steady.

The shower curtain is stuck to the inside of the bathtub, the air has just the smallest hint of humidity and soap to it still. The mental image of him, sprawled out in the bathtub, letting the warm water soak his weary joints in preparation for you makes you tingly and nauseous all at once.

Your skin still burns where his hand was. Rubbed. Touched.

He’s your boss. And by now, your mentor. You can’t just… would he even want to… 

It’s wrong. It’s so wrong.

You splash water in your face again. 

He’d done it by accident. He must have. 

Viktor wouldn’t want you. Because he knows better than that — knows better than to put his job in potential danger for the sake of lust or perhaps even romance. Knows better than to put you at risk too, and you suspect he certainly has learned his lesson about workplace romance after Talis. 

Plus — what have you done to deserve the attention, the affection, of one of the greatest men in your scientific field? 

Naive, to think just showing him a shiny new theory and offering some insignificant helping hands in his work would, no, could land you anything more than, at the very best, his friendship. 

He doesn’t want you.

This was just an accident on his part, and a mistake on yours. A mistake for even wanting to believe there could be more he’d want from you, than… than just your assistance. 

You don’t even know what there is that could fix the gnarly twisting and turning in your gut right now, the guilt, but you figure a look at the medicine cabinet can’t hurt.

You find the translucent door, grasping the small handle between your thumb and forefinger to open it.

A box of Advil is at the very forefront of his impressively stocked cabinet. Just behind it, is something labeled Targin. In smaller writing, it states just below: oxycodone hydrochloride and naloxone hydrochloride. 

A shelf above is a small glass vial.

Testosterone Enanthate. 

Everything in your mind goes quiet.

You’d been right.

The name change, the sticker, the little girl in the picture.

And it makes you shut the cabinet with shaking hands, trembling with the realization you’d dug up something so very personal on account of snooping. It wasn’t your business to know; it still isn’t.

But somewhere suppressed, under the putrid shame, you still can’t help but swell with joy. The joy of finding, of recognizing, of belonging. 

You don’t even realize you’re staggering out the door of his bathroom, your breath moving undoubtedly lighter, your chest a little less heavy, in spite of the new layer of shame.

Viktor’s waiting for you on the couch — and something about how you look paints his face with another layer of concern, brows furrowing as he moves to stand in front of you.

“Again,” he begins. “I am… so sorry. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you assure. You can’t look him in the eye. “I just, I needed a second.”

“I didn’t realize…” he trails off mid sentence, plucking at his brain for the right words, frowning when they slip from him. For the first time since you’ve known him, Viktor shrinks, shoulders slouching, cradling his forehead. “It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable. I want you to know that.”

“You didn’t.” He doesn’t know half of it. That all those moments he’d deemed uncomfortable has been gasoline on the fire of your wanting.

He chuckles awkwardly, and repeats a familiar line: “I thought we had gotten past the point where you felt the need to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

Viktor shakes his head, unmoved by your words. “I was unprofessional. That is the truth.”

“So was I.”

“You weren’t—”

“I thought we had gotten past the point where you felt the need to lie to me, Viktor.”

That shuts him up — for the first time since you’ve known him, you get to be the one to knock the breath out of him with just your words, to make him falter.

It’s terrifying. It sets you alight.

Your words sink into him like a rock down a well, hitting the walls on the way down, reverberating with something deep and heavy when they reach the bottom — Viktor understands.

“I, eh…” He blinks at the floor, gathering what he can of what you’ve so terribly scattered of him. With a roll of his shoulders, he finally looks at you — eyes dark and wide and hesitant — and he swallows thickly. Swallows his fear. Looks at your lips. Licks his own just so, a subconscious tick rather than deliberate — but all the more alluring because of it. “If I do that, I fear I may be… more unprofessional than ever before.”

“Unprofessional how?”

“I think you know exactly how.”

He lowers his gaze to the ground. Hit with the weight of what he’d just confessed, Viktor’s shoulders sink, all of his frame caves in on itself more than it already is, and you have to say something.

“Fuck. Can I kiss you?”

He inhales slowly, shakily. Finally looks at you. 

“Please.”

You reel him in, you lay both hands on the hollows of his cheeks, sculpted for you to grasp, sculpted to fit into the curves of your palms, made for you. 

Like a final breath before diving, you take him in like it may be the last time — all the lines of his skin, the molten gold of his eyes, burning for you.

And you kiss him.

He’s so tense. Rigid all the way up to his neck, all hard lines where you press into him, lips meeting yours in a stiff, terrified brush. He tries to mold to you, but somehow always ends up a step behind; a tactless, nervous dance. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps under his breath, his words reaching your lips before they reach your ears, noses nudging. “I… it’s been… I need a moment…”

“It’s alright,” you whisper it into the plush of his lips. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Actually, I…” He inhales as if bracing himself for contact, settles his hands on your shoulders to steady himself. Pulls away just a painful hint — just enough to have you understand that what he wants to tell you is important. “There is one thing you should know, before we go any further.” He says it with little fanfare, without a doubt or fear, but like it’s something holy. And it is. “I’m trans.”

The confirmation, though obvious, reverberates in your head like a prayer in a tall, empty church.

“I know,” you say. And after a moment’s hesitation, you add: “Me too.”

The smile that graces him is divine — moreso than any of the ones you’ve had the pleasure of witnessing so far. 

Viktor kisses you so hard your mutual collision clacks in your skull. He kisses you so hard your nose hurts, he kisses you so hard breathing becomes optional — and a stupid option at that.

But then you lick his crooked teeth, he melts for you, reborn into something softer. He suckles on you, on the tip of your tongue, come here, before he licks it in welcoming, before he lets you taste him wholly.

There we go.

He’s so slick. Like he’d been hungry for your mouth, he tastes heady and potent like apples and cinnamon and makes your neurons fizzle with all the deftness of smooth rum. 

You let it swirl in your pleasure-numb mind, let the room spin with just the vehemence of how well he kisses you, undulating tongue, eager lips, curious hand, sliding down your back.

When you pull back for a breath, he follows you with desperation before he catches himself.

Viktor’s breath comes out in quick bursts, his hair falls in front of his eyes wildly, he licks his own lips as if to eat what remains of you. 

“You don’t know how long…” he begins, voice hoarse and lips cherry red slick and eyes lidded, staring at your lips, then climbing up your features gently, lovingly, until they settle into your own gaze, adoring, knowing, undressing, “I’ve waited to do that.”

“Not as long as I have.” You cup his face and he leans into it with all the indulgence of a sleepy cat. “God, from the moment I first walked into your office…”

That makes him laugh — something airy and quiet, almost like a whisper. His eyes crack open and his smile turns smug.

“Oh?” Viktor’s grin presses against your lips, canines and incisors slick and sharp. “Is that why you wanted the job?”

Two can play that game.

“Is that why you gave me the job?”

“Mmmh…” Viktor pulls back as if to appreciate you, runs his hand down the length of your back, stopping at your hip, squeezing appreciatively. You shiver — against him, this time, and it’s tenfold more satisfying than to shiver an arm’s length away. “It was on my list of reasons. You have… many qualities.”

You can’t bear not having him any closer for any longer.

“Hm.” You nudge your nose under his jaw at his flattery. “Likewise.”

Viktor tenses at the touch, the front of his throat bobbing nervously, tilting his head towards you, rather than away to grant you access. A peck on the sharp edge of his jaw almost knocks him off kilter.

You set your hands on his hips to steady him. That makes him jump, too.

“What do you need?” You ask.

“You.” Viktor chuckles at his own boldness, before he leans back, trusting the grip you have on him. And you’re not about to let him down. “But unfortunately a seat, as well.”

You consider being raunchy — but you decide the time for that is not ripe just yet.

“We can definitely do that,” you offer up instead, steadying him on just one side while you let go of the side where he needs to use his cane. The couch isn’t far — but it feels like it, with how badly you want to kiss him again.

You’re on him the second he’s down.

And he parts his legs for you as willingly as you’d hoped and dreamed, he lets you bury your face in his neck and lay him back down the length of the couch. Viktor molds to you willingly, slots himself into the shape of your body, wraps his arms around you as though he wants to cocoon you. 

“Touch me,” he whispers, and who are you to deny him? You brush your hand up his sweater, marveling at how his ribs slide like polished piano keys under your fingertips, how his ribcage arches for you in spite of the tired creaks of his spine. Viktor presses himself into your hands like he’s hungry for touch — and you come to understand with how he moans for it, that he is. 

Your hands come to a brusque, sudden halt at his chest.

There’s a subtle swell to it — but soft and lax. You give an experimental squeeze, stoking your thumb along the curve of his tits, soft and droopy with age. You know you’re handling tender, sensitive flesh. And you treat it accordingly, carefully, even moreso when he gasps.

“You don’t have to…” The front of Viktor’s throat jumps under your lips. 

There’s a much more important answer you need to get.

“Would you like me to?”

He squirms for just a beat, like your sentence alone shook him to his core, before he breathes:

“God, yes.”

He lays back limp and pretty, like caught prey into the mouth of a hound dog, lets you bite at his neck with nothing but a low moan. Your thumbs press down the middle of his breastbone, hammering pulse beating back against your fingertips, before you envelop his chest in your palms. His tits barely take up the space offered up by the hollow of your hands, sit in them dainty and perfect. 

His nipples harden into the heft of your palms, perk up only further as you knead him like a cat. 

You have to taste them. 

“M-mhm…” Viktor’s thighs twitch around your hips as you softly tug on his tits and pinch the skin of his neck between your teeth, but he doesn’t protest against the pain for not even a moment. His knees do, just barely, popping as he crosses his ankles under the curve of your ass. 

As much as you like them there, as much as his neck is such a willing canvas for your mouth, you need to go lower. You want to paint the entirety of his expanse in kisses, in bites, in touch. You want to know the different parts of him by the scent of his skin, you want to know his body through the brush of your palms alone, you want his unique bouquet to grace your palate.

You let go of his chest to brace yourself with one palm, and lift the hem of his sweater with the other.

His heart hammers at your lips, through the shell of his breastbone.

“Can I—“

Viktor moans in agreement before you can finish. “Yes,” he cries, “I want your mouth. I want it… everywhere.”

He brushes his hand through your hair to guide you where he wants you — which is coincidentally exactly where you want to go. Where his skin goes a light pink like the inside of a strawberry, where he’s soft, where he’s sensitive.

You prime his nipple with a swipe of your tongue, marveling at how it glistens like candied fruit, before you suck him into your mouth. The peak of his nipple sits between your lips like a cherry, swollen and soft all at once. His spine bows with the first suckle, he pets your hair like you’re a good, obedient little thing. You would not dream of being anything else.

Something in his hip joints pops, first one, then the other — and then, his clothed cunt is rubbing into your stomach. You can’t fathom the thought of letting him go untended to, the thought of him having to do a thing below you other than take pleasure and sob with it, and you aren’t about to change your mind now.

You brush one hand between his legs, cupping the swell of his mound in your palm. Seconds later, Viktor’s index and thumb wrap around your wrist, and you fear you may have gone too far, too fast.

“Sorry,” you begin, “I should have asked—“

“Shush.”

He undoes his pants with his other hand. And guides you within.

You simply let him slide your hand down the flat front of his boxers, guiding you down, down, until the soft meat of his pussy sits in your cupped palm like water in a thirsty man’s hands. 

“Ah…”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, at the same time as he exhales with relief at being touched where he hurts for it.

His cunt is markedly warmer through just his boxers, but not nearly as slick as you are — barely at all, actually. Are you moving too fast for him? Isn’t he enjoying this enough? What else there is that you could do—

“Are you going to start moving?” He teases. “Or does simply holding someone’s cunt usually get you the desired outcome?”

“Smartass,” you mumble into his chest. “I was just… is there more I could… do for you? To enjoy yourself? You’re… I mean, you’re not…”

He giggles a little at how you stumble.

“Wet? It takes me a while — and often doesn’t happen at all,” Viktor admits. “You are doing wonderful. Don’t worry about a thing, and just…“ he lifts his hips into your hand, “keep touching me.”

“Okay,” you mutter.  “I just… I wanna take care of you.”

You brush your thumb up between where the lips of his cunt dip into a slit, brush up, up, until you find the bulge of his clit. His breath catches.

”O-oh… You— mh,” He pulls you closer, cheek to his chest, and bows his head to kiss your forehead. “You are. You are.”

His cunt molds around your fingers even through the fabric of his boxers, his little cock pulses in between your fingers like it has a mind of its own. You can feel him swelling. 

It’s featherlight, how you touch him at first, just barely stroking his cunt with the palm side of your fingers, before he leans into it more bodily, before he stops settling for receiving pleasure and starts taking it. You can’t have that — not yet, at least. You press against his cunt a hint harder, rub the seam of his boxers against the head of his cock, and, yeah, that does it.

Viktor mewls for you, a pitchy little catlike sound, when you lick his nipples back into your mouth — first the left, just three little suckles, then the right, tender sucking turning into open-mouthed devouring. He pulls you into his chest with all the force of a man spoiled rotten. His cock pulses in your hand with every stroke, the cotton of his boxers warm and clinging to him just enough to tantalizingly give away the rough size of him as he hardens. His worn body soaks up and softens with the pleasure you give him, Viktor clings to you like you’re the only thing.

You feel watched. 

And you are — more than just watched, actually.

“Mrp!” 

Next thing you know, there’s fluff worming itself between you and Viktor, wet little nose pushing at your face, pushing you away.

What—?

“Persichka!” Viktor chastises. You sit back on your knees to watch the scene unfold — the way she possessively nuzzles her head under his sharp chin and looks at you from just the corner of her vision to let you know it will always be her first and you second. As if to drive her point home, she purrs with a ribcage rattling rumble.

Viktor pushes himself back up against the armrest to sit, and scoops her up into his arms, before he shifts to the side of the couch to set her down on the floor gently. As he sits up straight, his sweater slides down the length of his torso — unfortunately covering him up wholly.

“Sorry,” he tells you. “She likes to be… paid attention to. Let me just…”

He absently pets between her ears while he takes his phone and opens youtube. And he doesn’t have to search far at all — his recommended page is filled with birdwatching videos for cats. 

As Viktor shifts his focus to picking out a video for her, you seize the moment for some appreciation. The world seems to have gone quiet and still only for you to watch the swoop of his hair down the sides of his forehead, the gentle shadows the setting sun throws not over just the hollows of his cheeks, but the deep lines in his skin — the ones near his mouth and eyes especially, because they’re borne of what he does best: smiling. His grey hair goes platinum white in the sunlight, something about his brown-yellow eyes turns liquid honey gold, his normally pale lips now raw and puffy because of you, and something about his form, in all its humanity, becomes bigger than itself. 

You marvel at him the way you’d marvel at a landscape — enamored with every detail of the grand vista, enamored with the traits that come with the autumn of his life.

He smiles a wry, sheepish smile.

“That will keep her busy. She hates being alone, but, like this, it will take her over an hour to notice.” 

At the first sound of birdsong, she’s already rushing to the TV, watching with perked ears and a twitching tail. 

You can’t help but smrik. Viktor catches it — catches you, staring, and can’t help one of his own, before he asks, voice bouncy with a suppressed little laugh. “What?”

“Nothing.” You shift a little closer, until you’re seamed to his side, and press a kiss to the corner of his lip. His smile grows, stretches towards your mouth like a plant towards sunlight. “You’re just… very pretty.”

At that, he actually grins — and laughs an amused little giggle so wonderful it sounds like the sweet song of a well-tuned violin. 

“Pretty?” He sets his hand at the base of your neck, just to the side, and slides it up gently, until it sits under your jaw just right. His thumb nudges at the tip of your chin in loving, tender circles.

“Yeah.” You swallow your fear of saying something stupid before you lean into the cradle of his palm, and bask in how well you fit in it. “Do you mind it? Being called that.”

He shakes his head.

“It’s just been… a while since I have been. But I like it — I like it very much.” With a soft exhale that washes down your lips, he tilts his head to kiss you proper. Slick tongue painting your lips with his spit like you’re a blank canvas, before he catches the swell of your lip in a suckle turned bite that makes your nerves light up. “However,” he shares your breath as he gasps it, “I am more than just pretty.”

“Oh, really?”

When Viktor talks again, he purrs so lovely it makes you shiver with how his voice rumbles. “I could show you.”

He doesn’t have to ask.

“I’d love that.”

“Accompany me to my bedroom?”

You’re on your feet before his voice lilts with flirtations questioning at the end of his sentence. It makes him laugh.

“Come on, then.”

The walk to his bedroom is torturous — long and painful even though you keep a hand glued to the small of his back, where his frame narrows before it tapers off into his hips. He guides you to a shut door down the hallway of his apartment. It opens with a creak, like the drumroll before a curtain rise.

His bedroom smells so much like him it’s driving you crazy.

A big, lavish rug is in the middle of the room, and various kinds of clothes hang over multiple available surfaces — a cardigan on the back of his desk chair, a big, brown arm chair in the corner is covered in multiple sweaters and a white shirt, and there is a vest laid out neatly on his bed. He folds it up fast, messy, and slots it away in some drawer, before he turns to you.

“I must admit I was not expecting.. company in my bedroom.” It’s endearing to see this more sheepish, tender side of him.

You crowd him further into his room, and he waltzes with it, even as you set your hands on the already open waist of his slacks.

“A bit of a mess is the last thing I could care about when I have you right in front of me,” you assure.

“I should hope so,” Viktor replies. “Or else we’ll have sex in a few hours at best. Tomorrow, if you’d prefer the rug vacuumed and the floors freshly mopped—“ His calves bump the edge of the bed, and he gives a soft little sigh of surprise.

The flaps of his open slacks serve as perfect handles for you to tug him closer and hold him still, dipping your head to trace the front of his throat, right up the very middle, with the tip of your tongue, until you reach that soft, vulnerable spot right under his chin.

“I’d prefer you on that bed.” You whisper into the space where a killing bite could very well be laid — into the soft lax skin just under his extended jaw.

His chuckle comes out something between a dark and a dreamy sigh — dripping with desire. Viktor fists your shirt, and draws you closer, never a step behind.

”You’ll have me,” he purrs. “You’ll have me everywhere you want. In any way—” his breath catches as something inhibiting in your brain flips, and you do bite, his windpipe between your jaws. When he speaks, his throat vibrates against your teeth, his voice reverberates in the depths of your skull. “Hah. Mh, God. I-in any way you’d want.”

You let go, and he practically sags with it.

“Then lay down, Viktor.” A kiss to where air wheezes into his lungs, a promise at gentleness. “I wanna take care of you.”

He drops his cane and shucks off his pants for you. Holds on to you as you steady him on his way down, expects you with open arms, open thighs.

You don’t want to join him just yet.

Instead, you kneel, just the way you’d fantasized for so long now, thick carpet under worshipping knees. 

Watching more and more of his skin come into view as you slide his sweater up his body is as magical as watching a majestic sunrise. Viktor leans into it, raises his arms once you get high enough, and slips out of it once it’s over his head.

Just like that, he’s all yours to marvel at.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” His ribcage expands under your palms with a delighted breath, sharp angles of his bones pushing gently at soft, alabaster skin. As sculpted as his face is, his body is anything but — angular from afar, yes, but giving and pliant under just the right touches, in just the right places. There is just a hint of tummy, of padding on his hips, that must have come with age, with comfort, spilling above his boxers. His tits sit pretty and near-flat on his chest — they could easily slip past even watchful eyes under thick enough clothing, and they had, because you’d never noticed them. But familiar scars at the side of his chest, closer to his armpits, tell you that must have not always been the case. Viktor leans back as if to let you take him in properly, in all his finely aged glory, like a rare wine. 

And you need to know his flavor, now, or it feels like you might start biting at anything, everything, like a rabid fucking dog. Like your brain’s on fire with desire and your neurons can’t fire off under the influence of anything but want, want, want.

You lean in to nuzzle the middle of his chest, tracing down the dip of his sternum with the tip of your nose to learn his scent — his real scent, the way his skin smells, unmodified, natural, true. Intoxicating. Musky. Human. Animalic.

You open your mouth for a taste, and by some miracle (or was it a subconscious intention?) you end up at his nipples again. Melting into him, wrapping both arms around his waist and drowning in his heat, his legs, around you, pulling you into the lulling scent of him like a pillow does to the exhausted. 

His nipple fits so well in your mouth.

Letting it happen — letting your head spin with the smell of him lodged deep into what feels like the front of your brain, letting the lovechild of desire and contentment take you — comes as easily as falling asleep. Your thoughts melt away with the first suckle at his tit, and they melt further still as you continue. 

Viktor envelops you, an embrace of pure comfort, resting his face on the top of your head and inhaling your scent while you work his chest with loving lips. At first, you have the brainpower to be tactful. To trace and flick your tongue at the pink peaks, to mold your lips to the soft, fragile skin. It doesn’t last long — especially not when Viktor sings your praises. 

“So good,” he praises you with a hushed whine, “oh, so good for me. How I’ve missed—”

His voice gets stuck somewhere in his throat when you glance up at him curiously, halted in your pursuit of pleasure in favor of knowledge.

“Missed what, Viktor?”

He pauses, uncertain.

“Someone touching me,” he confesses. He cups his hand over his left breast. Squeezes. Some of the flesh and skin spills tantalizingly between his thin fingers. “Especially here.”

“I can’t believe it,” and it’s true — you can’t. How could anyone resist the soft, senescent allure of his chest, the soft skin, the puffy pink nipples, pliant proof of what he once was, of the fact that he’s aged, lived, seen. “I meant it,” you kiss over the knuckles of his hand laid on his chest, “when I told you you’re gorgeous. You are, Viktor; everywhere. But I am very partial to your chest.”

He laughs at that — something tiny and fragile and disbelieving, but a laugh no less.

”Then, please,” he cradles your head closer to his tits. “Don’t stop touching me.”

Your tongue brushes his nipple like it were cotton candy, as though it would melt from the warmth, the spit. It’s only with a small suckle that you guide it back into your mouth, and you stay gentle with his tits — simply making out with wherever your lips reach — until he has half the mind to stop arching into you and demand more with a tug at your hair.

The temptation to tease, to make him beg for it, is not a small one. But you figure there will be better things to have him pleading for — right now, you want to indulge in the taste of him just as luch as he wants to indulge in having you mouthing at his breasts.

It’s intrinsically infuriating, that you can’t have both of them at once. It’s a difficult, terrible game, to decide which one of the puffy, pretty things goes into your mouth, and which one you twirl and tug between your fingers. It’s clearly difficult for Viktor, too, he arches his chest into your mouth every time you switch from one engorged, pink nipple to the other.

It’s a tempting reminder that there is more to him yet to indulge in when his hips start brushing against you. And it’s a confirmation he wants it when his legs spread for you in pleading invitation on the next brush of your tongue to the pink of his nipple.

You kiss his tits goodbye — for now, at least — before you work your way further down with the same reverence of hellos and goodbyes to every new inch of skin. To the hairs on his stomach, to the the way they grow coarser under his navel, to the waistband of his boxers. To the fabric nestled between his thighs, where you nose like a dog at the scent, the pliant meat of his pubic mound, and you whimper for it. For him.

“Lay back,” you gasp. “Please.”

Viktor doesn’t hesitate. Not even for just a moment.

He extends backwards onto the bed with all the grace of a ballet dancer, all long limbs and an elongated, arched spine that crackles with the tension of his hedonistic stretch.

And with the new angle, his hips tilt, and you’re granted what you’d been aching for. The plush of his cunt presses to your lips, chubby cock nudging at your cupid’s bow in a kiss broken by cotton. 

He smells so fucking good. It makes your head all woozy, like you’re starved enough to be dizzy for it. Your brain goes numb with just the musky, salty waft of his cunt, you open your mouth like you could devour him then and there, underwear be damned. And who could blame you for stifling a moan into the meat of his cunt when you have the first, stifled but heavenly taste of him? Who could blame you for licking and kissing at him through the fabric like you could sand it off with just your tongue and get where you want to be through desperation alone, who could blame you for hinging your jaw open wide so you can have as much of his pussy in your mouth as your limited, wretched anatomy allows?

“Please,” you suckle at the outline of his cock and care so very fucking little for the mouthful of lint you’ve gathered by now, because somewhere among the synthetic fibre that crowds your tongue, is Viktor, and nothing else matters. 

“Easy,” Viktor coos at you, thumbing at your cheek, “I’ll— ah. You have me.” He fists his waistband with his other hand, starts pulling at it. “Let me give you what you want.”

“What I need,” you correct, nuzzling at the by now soaked fabric. He must not realize how dead serious you are, because it makes him giggle.

“Come here,” he demands, and you do, you always do, you always will. You stumble up his body to his mouth drunkenly, and almost growl with frustration at being caught, being denied, just a breath’s width away from him, chin in his hand. Viktor’s thumb is on your lips, presses into them like your mouth’s a ripe plum. “Open.”

It pops into your mouth, and you’re about to start suckling, until he presses at your bottom teeth, forcing your jaw open. A moment later, his thumb swipes down the thick of your tongue, gathering the lint in your mouth with a tut.

“So desperate… couldn’t even wait for my underwear to come off, could you? Made such a mess of yourself…” he half-chastises, half-coos, like he’s talking to an animal that can’t understand its predicament, before his finger is gone and you hear him wipe it on the sheets. You don’t know why it makes you shiver, why it makes you tuck your face into his neck in blissed out, stupid shame. But Viktor pets the back of your neck like he gets it, even when you whimper and bite at him. “There we are.”

You feel his hand move, his hips shift, and though the logical, smart thing would be to help him get rid of his boxers, all you can really do is watch as his underwear slides off his hips first, then peels off his damp cunt — damp with your drool.

“Fuck, Viktor,” you whine, dropping your forehead to his shoulder because just the mere sight of his pussy, dusty pink and thick, chubby little cock, twitching for you, overwhelms you. “Can… I wanna… fuck. Oh, fuck. Jesus Christ.” 

He giggles softly against the shell of your ear.

“What’s wrong?” 

It could qualify as a rhetorical question. He knows that damn fucking well.

 “Your cunt’s so pretty it, it… makes me… stupid.”

He kisses you. Short and sweet on the lips, licking at the space between as if to sample the way desperation tastes in your mouth.

“Then I am quite worried for one of the brightest minds in our field.”

Smug fuckin’ bastard—

“O-oh,” you gasp lewdly enough that it would sound, to anyone else, like you’re the one getting touched. Like you’re wounded. But all he’s done is envelop your hand in his, and cup it over where his sex is swollen and aching for you. 

You can’t move — you can’t think.

Viktor grins like the cat that got the cream, while he tilts his hips into your palm generously, languidly, as encouragement. You savor the texture, skin downy with body hair, lips so soft and engorged they’re jiggly. His cock, the cock you’d dreamed about, humped your hand about, agonized for even thinking about — sits against the heel of your palm.

It’s better than a dream. It’s better than any fantasy — to have him. In your palm. Scorching hot and hard and twitching, he’s in your hand— 

“Breathe,” Viktor reminds. He squirms below you with the novelty of being touched, and the shiver that rolls down his back ends with a hard, stomach-clenching twitch of his little cock. When he speaks again, his voice leaves him breathily, shakily. “What… did you want to do, hm?”

“Anything,” you blurt, which is a far cry from the concise answer he deserves. “Anything you want me to.”

“Anything? Is that so?”

“Yes. Please.”

Viktor’s guiding hand presses into your own, and starts guiding it over his damp folds in languid circles. His hips follow, in tune with the rhythm he sets like a slow, tender dance. You can feel his foreskin dragging on your palm, the tip of his cock in the groove of your hand, grinding in, out, slowly, the way it pulses with pleasure.

“I could show you how I like it,” he lilts, dragging the tip of his canine over the shell of your ear before he licks. “Hands, mouth, whatever you’ll let me have.”

“My mouth,” you blurt, “or hands. I don’t care, either, both, all that’s left after that too. Show me.”

He laughs at your enthusiasm — not with mockery, but with amused, tender delight.

“God, you are just…” His hand comes up to pet the hair at the back of your head like you’re an obedient dog. You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Just what?” 

His grin is naked with vulnerability, with exhilirated desire.

“Everything.” He says it like it’s meant to be taken lightly, but the way he looks at you — ready to eat, to pounce, to kiss — tells you otherwise. “I’ll show you,” he breathes. “Let me.”

You’d be crazy not to.

Callused skin slides down the back of your neck, until the meat of your shoulder rests under his hand. Viktor barely has to give the faintest push before you’re following the impulse to descend. 

You’d like to linger at his chest again — his nipples are puffy and swollen from your sucking, warm under the tip of your nose. A flinch shakes him just from that faint contact. But you have other places to be, to taste, to love.

His stomach caves at the first kiss you lay below where his ribs end, at first going against, then, once you pass the dip of his navel, with the grain of his hair. It grows thicker under your nose and lips, fuller, until, until.

Until his cock bumps against the fullness of your bottom lip. Until you can smell him, his cunt’s unique fragrance enveloping your brain like dizzying smoke. Like a drug.

“Open,” Viktor says again, but it’s less of a demand this time. You do, parting your mouth with a wet, slick sound. You can already feel your tongue swimming in your own spit. 

His hips tilt, just barely enough to slot his cock between your lips, and your brain cushions it into a soft, sloppy kiss like it’s a reflex, like you were meant to spend your days with your mouth between his legs, worshipping at his glossy pussy.

He tastes so good. Rare-steak-soft as it splits on your tongue, tangy with the sweet, slowly dripping evidence of how badly he wants you, cock twitching in your mouth like it’s pressing on your tongue for more. 

And how can you be blamed, for wanting to cannibalize him then and there, to see just how much of the soft, tender meat of his cunt fits in your starving mouth? How he’d sob with it, live prey devoured, fluttering butterfly pinned to cork—

“A-ah, hah, s-slow, slow,” he gasps, knees drawing up to his chest and close to your head, like he’s trying to hide his pussy from your overwhelming affection. “Go… gently on me. It’s been some time since I’ve had anyone.” Viktor’s voice fades in the closest color of shame you’ve yet seen on him. 

It hits you somewhere tender that you’re the first one he’s doing this with in a while. 

“Sorry,” you kiss his cunt better like it’s a dripping scrape wound. “Sorry. You… fuck, you’re so… and I’ve wanted to… for so long.”

“Mm. I know. Me too,” Viktor pets your hair. Slowly, his legs fall apart, and even more eagerly so when you stroke them into it. “It’s alright.”

You listen. Though everything about his cunt, from jiggling softness to little cock hanging above your lips like a dark red cherry off a low branch, to ripe peach fuzzy soft lips, compels you to act otherwise; you want to be good. For him.

You lick his cunt gently at first, barely lapping at it like you’re trying to drink him, before it turns into something more languid, more bold — like a cat grooming its beloved. You leave his sex soaked with your spit, you leave him dripping, you leave him loved.

“Yes,” he whispers, grinding his cock along the width of your tongue, ”that’s, ah, better.” Gentle fingertips at your forehead, swiping at the dewy pearls of sweat before they come to rest around your hollowed cheeks. “Handsome, sweet boy… you have no idea how often, how much, I’ve pictured you like this.”

Viktor laughs a little, more from his chest than his belly, though it tenses a little with his laugh just the same. 

His cunt jerks, hole clenching around nothing, please don’t stop, as you retreat from between his legs just enough to talk to him. 

“You did?” 

He smiles as though it pleases him more than his mouth on you to hear you ask.

“When I used my wheelchair the previous week,” he begins. “I… the truth is, it wasn’t my leg acting up. I’d pulled a muscle in my thigh the night before. And I’m…” he chuckles,” well, I’m sure you can imagine how.”

You’ve done nothing but imagine. And even now, your mind flashes with the most salacious images — him on his back, arching off the mattress, him tucking his hand between his legs and against the mattress, grinding into it, him pulling and jerking at his swollen clit desperately—

No. No, you need to know.

“I can.” You lean your cheek into the plush of his thigh, and kiss at the top of his mound, where his stomach meets his cunt. “But I’ve done enough imagining until now — especially of you. Tell me?”

Viktor tilts his head back, covering his eyes with the crook of his elbow, and gives something between a laugh and a hum. His grin’s so boyish it’s making your synapses fizzle out, fizzle quiet. Long neck, sharp teeth, sharp tongue, and he’s yours, all yours. 

His cock flutters a little right below your chin, like the mere recalling of the memory is… affecting him.

“I, eh… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About you between my thighs, pulling on my hair, after… the incident with the goggles. When I got home, I…” His voice trails off, he buries his face further into the crook of his elbow.

You kiss his cock in encouragement — his entire pelvis jolts against your lips with delighted surprise. But you’ve learned the art of negotiating with Viktor by now — give him a little. Never enough.

“You what, Viktor?” Your breath washes cold down his damp clit.

He hesitates — but can’t resist you for long. It boosts your ego something fierce.

“I… I humped my hand, then… a pillow. At a certain point, I got… too desperate, too greedy, too sloppy, I…” He laughs — at himself, at the nature of his confession.

You walk your fingers up his sides as though your hands are climbing his ribs like a ladder, and once you settle on his chest and knead, it finally, finally coaxes him out of hiding.

You wish you could tell him he won’t have to worry about a too-soft pillow and rough fabric ever again — not when he has your mouth, your hands, you, all for himself. All at his disposal.

Viktor’s throat bobs, he swallows with an audible, parched click, as you lower yourself back between his legs, back where you belong, and you whisper: “I’ll take care of you, from now on.”

Viktor’s lukewarm fingers intertwine with yours, lacing hands before he squeezes as if to say I trust you and me too.

It comes naturally to return it, it comes even more naturally to smile as he grins at it, and nothing, nothing comes more naturally than savoring the way his smile melts and turns into a lax, open mouthed expression of pleasure.

You nudge into his cunt the same way animals nudge into each-other for warmth and comfort, you lick a fat, greedy stripe through the by now dripping slit, all the way to under his clit.

“Inside,” Viktor mutters. “I’d like you to fuck me. With, with your tongue.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. His lips part willingly under your fingers prying at them, and his pink, slick hole awaits with a desperate little clench.

“Slow,” Viktor reminds.

“Okay. Anything you need,” you coo. “I’ve got you.”

And you lick him where he’s wettest.

He arches with the slow, slick intrusion of your tongue. You can see why it’d hurt him to rush, with how tight his rim grips the very tip, especially without something to smoothen the glide. But your prodding tongue, spit drenched and molding to the clenching walls of his cunt, is what he needs. It feels vital to linger at the entrance; not just because his folds hug your tongue into a loose, messy kiss, but because you want it to be good for him. You suckle, you lick, you kiss, until you feel his cunt clenching to draw you in, rather than resisting. 

And that, as Viktor seems to drown under the onslaught of pleasure, is when you push in.

Once you make it past the tight ring of muscles, and hinge your jaw open to enable more length to push into him, Viktor starts gripping your hand, fisting the sheets. One of his legs even kicks out like he’s struggling against the pleasure. You cup his thigh, and guide it to sit pretty, sit comfortably, on your shoulder.

You’ve got him.

He tastes amazing. The faint aroma oozing from his cunt now delights your tastebuds tenfold, intoxicating in a deliberately slow, overwhelming way, like dark wine. Making your brain feel like a small bathroom after a hot shower, all foggy and humid and dumb and slippery.

“F-feels good,” he grits out, tummy tight with tension even though you attempt to stroke it into loosening. The rest of your hand lingers on his abdomen, but you let it slide further down, gently, until just your thumb can reach his clit, which sits neglected and twitching, against the tip of your nose. 

Leaning both your head and your jaw into it, you lick into him, devouring, claiming.

And you work him fuckin’ good. You grab his gaunt, little pelvis with both hands, and you take care of him, you make sure he doesn’t have to do the damndest thing, you just rock him onto your tongue, crush his clit with your nose. You fuck him with your tongue in the most proper sense of the word. If it weren’t a soft, slick little thing, you’d be plowing his willing hole by now.

“A-a-hng…” Viktor gasps in time with the thrusts of your tongue. “S-such… a good mouth. Oh.”

You can’t help the words that come to mind, and you wish you could somehow continue pleasuring him with your mouth and talk at the same time, but alas, you have to leave the job to your fingers. It feels like less of a crime when his cock slots so prettily between your index and your middle finger, dragging on the webbing with each stroke.

“Luckily for you, I take very kindly to flattery.”

He catches the little reference; it’s obvious in how he licks his parched lips, then grins.

“Quiet down and put it back to use, then.”

God, you’ve missed that sting, that mischievous playfulness in his tone. It makes you drip and clench around nothing desperately.

You’re not about to disobey.

“Fingers,” he decides when you prod at his hole with your tongue. “I can take your fingers. I want, ah, I want you to suck m-my cock.”

“So demanding, professor.”

It makes him falter; being called that. You’re not sure in what way it affects him, not with how he chokes on a breath and holds it. 

And it positively escapes him with a throaty, decadent moan that seems to rattle the very walls of the room the second you latch on to his clit. 

The soft, slick warmth of him soothes, stretching from the curve of your cupid’s bow to the tip of your chin, and his cock fits between your lips just so, practically made for it. You can’t help but close your eyes to indulge as though you’re savoring a delicacy, sucking on him until his tip pops from the foreskin. His clit lays on your tongue with the heft of a small berry, or the very tip of a small finger.

And it jumps. With the overwhelming pleasure of being known, prodded at, licked.

He’s so hard it must be painful. 

His cunt puts up little resistance once your index is past the entrance, and even less of it when you massage at his inner walls. They squeeze you, gripping just the width of one finger so tight it feels as though his pussy wants to swallow your fingers in the pursuit of pleasure.

“W-wait,” he warbles from above you. You cock your head to watch him, long thin and milky white arm stretching to the drawer of his night stand. There, he retrieves a small, transparent plastic bottle, and holds it out to you. “Use it.”

Gladly.

You pull your finger out just enough to make sure his cunt still barely kisses the tip, before you drip a generous amount onto your finger.

With it, you practically glide into him. 

“More.” Viktor twines his arms above his head like the branches of a barren tree, arches his ribs with the sensation. His pussy convusles around the length of your finger, begging the same plea as him, but in a different tongue. “More, I can take it.”

“I know you can,” you assure, and on the next pullout, join your index and middle finger together. 

His cunt gulps them eagerly, with a greedy shudder of it in its entirety: from cherry red, neglected clit, fat lips, to the depth of his hole. All of it gushes as it contracts around you, as if to thank you. 

“O-oh, perfect,” he gasps, in time with the thrusts of your hand. Your palm meets his chubby, jiggly lips with sticky little plap-plap-plaps. “Ta— hh, taking… care of me so well.”

“Yeah, you needed it, didn’t you?” You coo. “Needed someone to remind you of what it feels like, to be touched, kissed, sucked. Pleasured. I know, oh, I know.”

Viktor nods frantically, his brows knit like he means it solemnly. The way he receives pleasure so desperately, so willingly, makes you wonder.

“How long?” You ask, taken with both curiosity and jealousy. “Since someone’s taken care of you like this?”

He swallows, and peeks at you from beneath thick, wet lashes — god, he’s tearing up with pleasure. Then, he flinches with it, when you descend back down to his ruddy little cock with a pitiful kiss.

“I— don’t know,” he mutters. “I don’t know.”

“You know so much.” You flick his tip with your tongue, and he, brilliant, sharp-tongued, mean Viktor, the Viktor, squeaks. “Sweet, bright Viktor. I’m sure you know this, too. Think.”

“Mm—!” He shakes his head when you deliberately kiss above his clit, when you shove your fingers into his willing cunt so thoroughly it feels less like fucking him and more like stabbing him. Stabbing him in a wound that lights up hedonistically. His cunt takes it, delights in it — a wound that’s never meant to close. “A-ah, nn, fuck.”

He arches his pelvis to your mouth, a plea you ignore.

“Tell me.”

“N-no one. Never. N-no one’s ever—!” He hisses when you flick his cock in reward. “Ah, are… are you satisfied?”

You wonder how much of it is just him playing into it for your sake, and how much of it is the truth. But when you lap up his cock into your wet mouth the way you would the tip of a half-melted popsicle on a hot day, you understand that he hadn’t lied — not one bit.

Viktor crumbles, curling in on himself like a defenseless young animal, thighs around your neck, fingers in your hair, torn between throwing himself into the pleasure or escaping it, and he sobs.

“Yeah,” you grind the word into his cock like a pestle into a mortar, letting it reverberate into his flesh. When you pull away, string stretching between his aching cock and your bottom lip, Viktor looks like he might go insane. Eyes glazed, dazed, crazed, staring you down like he’s starving, like you’re just a vision in a dream. “Very.”

“Then ss-stop teasing me,” he grits out. “Please.”

You can’t deny a man who asks so pretty. You don’t have the heart to.

You dip back into his dewy folds with a lick so small and gentle it could pass for a kitten’s, before you sink into him proper. Nestling your face between his legs and licking at him while you rock your fingers back and forth. Steady, gentle, comforting, you know he’s going to find release in the familiar.

If you could, you’d start kneading him and purring like a satisfied, delighted cat. Something about his taste, his smell, has gone from frenzying to comforting, you feel as though you’d like to bury yourself in the depths of his warm cunt and stay there.

It goes on for what feels like both hours and seconds all at once; you get lost in the slick, smooth texture on his tongue like the inside of a plum, the savory taste of him.

“I can take more,” Viktor rasps, “I want it, mmh, rougher.”

“Rougher how?” You’re surprised at the sound of your own voice, all raspy and desperate. 

“Like the first time you got your mouth on me. I want to feel… devoured.”

“I’ve got you.”

You sink deeper into him, until you can wind the entire length of your arm around his pelvis, trapping him.

“Oh,” he gasps at just the prospect of being pinned.

And he screams at being ravaged.

His legs kick out as though he’s in pain when you hinge your jaw so wide you could swallow his pussy whole, but the way he arches into your tongue, the way he puts both hands on the back of your head and shoves until you end up with your teeth in the meat above his clit tells you he’s getting exactly what he wants.

You cushion the sting of your teeth with your lip, but maim him no less as you suck everything your mouth had engulfed, including his hard, hot cock.

Viktor’s nails scratch at your scalp while he’s being well and truly eaten, while you speed the gentle, boat-like rocking of your fingers to an unforgiving pistoning. 

And he takes it all so well. His pelvis sits dead-prey-still in your embrace, his cunt swallows the brutal length of your fingers as though it was made for it. Made to mold to you.

His cock bounces on your tongue with a twitch that runs up his spine and spreads through his body with bone-snapping tension.

Viktor’s fingers leave your hair, but they find your hands, perched atop his hips, and he fists them with all the unbridled feral fury of a wild animal caught.

“Close,” he grits out through the spaces between his teeth, far beyond unclenching them (or his cunt, for that matter) to speak. Something in his eyes is both dewy with vulnerability and clouded with vicious want. “M’ s-so, nnh, close.”

You wish you could have a better view of his face — you’re denied it when his chin tilts up towards the ceiling in a silent prayer, the calm before the storm. You picture it in your mind’s eye, the pinch of his brows, the bobbing in his throat, his lips parted in expectation of an oncoming moan.

Come on, you goad as you double your efforts, and you rub his clit with the thick of your tongue, curling your fingers to work the front of his walls, the spot that lies somewhere on the back of his bellybutton. He’s so slick it clings to your chin, fat cunt so hot it drives you insane like a ravenous hound with still warm flesh between its jaws.

You cannibalize his sex with how you push into him, how you suck on his cock as though it could reward you with anything other than spasms against your tongue. His hole flutters around your fingers before it squeezes so hard you fear for your circulation. Viktor curls up like he can’t, he tucks his chin into his chest and holds a breath, crushes your hand, and whines vulnerable and high like it hurts.

“A-ah, I’m—!”

Viktor’s body crackles like lightning. All the tension in him snaps with the grace, the vehemence, of natural phenomena, like something inevitable. His cunt gushes, and you know his twitching cock, were it capable, would be painting your willing tongue in white streaks by now. He cries something in a warbled, pained voice, and you grip him through the sobs that wreck him. His moans are hard to hear when they’re so terribly muffled by the meat of his thighs pressing to your ears, you’re stuck hearing your own breath, the sounds of your mouth as you nurse on his clit through his orgasm.

And then he starts melting on your tongue like hard candy. A slow, deliberate process, you delight in the convulsing of his cunt, the way his cock jumps against your lips with the overstimulation.

“Shh,” you whisper it more to his clenching pussy than to him, though he writhes like a bug turned wrong side up with the brush of fresh, cold air. “So good, Viktor. I’d like to keep going for a little while, is that alright?”

He sighs, overwhelmed and soaked with tears. But, a wet sniffle later, he nods.

You figure you won’t deprive him early — you keep your fingers inside him as you return to his red, sensitive clit with a gentle kiss. One that has him crying and flinching; away, legs clenching together. And you can’t have that.

Regretfully, you pull out to wrap your other arm around his pelvis as well, to immobilize him properly. The hand that’s holding his rubs at his knuckles gently, and the other one, still slick, comes to rest atop his pubic mound.

You tug at the place where his lips split and his cock emerges to slide his clit from the protection of its foreskin, for you to lap and suckle at. 

He sobs and cries like a baby bird removed from the safety of its nest, and though the muscles of his thighs tremble and clench with the effort, he never shuts them.

It’s endearing, how soft he is in the wake of his orgasm, how soaked, all over. His sweaty skin glistens like dewy leaves in the morning sun, and where the sweat hasn’t reached him, his tears do the job. His sobs sync to the hollowing of your cheeks — with every soft suckle, he exhales on a moan, and inhales quivering and wet during the brief reprieve.

You lap at his cunt the way you drag the edge of a teaspoon over the remnants of dessert on a plate, hungry for any crumb. Though it doesn’t come easily to him, Viktor is so willing. He fights every flinch of his protesting body, just for you to have what you want. He sits through your soft little laps at his raw, weeping cunt; dutifully at first, then eventually melts into the ebbing pleasure-pain once his body begins to recover.

From a clenched fist, his hand in your hair turns to petting, like an obedient animal with a job well done.

“Enough. Come here,” he rasps after another minute, raw voice oiled with the laxness of relaxing vocal chords.

Everything about him is soft — you notice it on your way up. He lays on the mattress limply, so much so that even his bones look pliant, and once you’ve reached your destination, he barely manages to crack his eyes open to look at you.

As small as the space between his lids is, as powdery pink as the skin is near his lashes from crying, you’d have to be blind to miss how they overflow with adoration.

He slides both his hands to the cusp of your jaw. His smile is dreamy.

“Kiss me,” he whispers.

It’s just a grazing of the lips, a mingling of breath, as if the mere notion of him had become unfamiliar over the course of however long you’d spent between his legs.

Before Viktor licks into your mouth with a delirious little hum.

You let him sample his own taste to his heart’s content, holding your breath for him when he smooths his tongue to yours.

When he pulls away, if’s clinging to his lips in a shiny, transparent string. 

“Look at what you made of me,” he says, and though you know it’s a rhetorical statement, you comply. “I’m… ruined.”

His chest rises and falls so thoroughly his ribs poke through, he’s glistening with sweat or cum or even both all over, and… and he smells so good. You can feel it in the crook of his neck, natural scent macerated in the nooks and crannies of his body, all potent and delirious.

His thumbs rub below your cheekbones on both sides, and you feel like a cat being caressed.

“You look amazing,” you say.

“I feel amazing.” He kisses your forehead, and pauses. Drinks in the moment, nuzzling against the top of your head, and simply basks in it like a cat in sunlight.

You follow his lead.

Outside, a lonely street lamp flickers not too far away into the cold, early December night. Inside, against Viktor’s chest, in his arms, everything falls together like puzzle pieces. All is right in the world — all is right within. Every single shameful thought about him that you’d had sheds its bitter aftertaste and leaves your tongue laden sweet and heady like liquorous wine. 

He wants you, too.

“And I meant what I said, you know.” His voice rumbles against your ear, his breastbone vibrates with it. “That I haven’t felt like this… in a long time.” Viktor half sighs, half laughs at his confession. 

Still dazed from his orgasm, he reels you up, more hungrily this time. He pushes into your mouth like he wants to drink you up, shifting against the mattress so he can lean into the kiss, into you.

In the process, his thigh presses up between your legs, and you can’t help the spark that runs up your spine and explodes into something warm and thick like honey in your brainstem. You can’t help clenching around his thigh and grinding into it — like the dog you still are.

“O-oh, fuck… s-sorry. Sorry.”

He tuts, like your need, untended to, just won’t do.

“Oh, sweet thing,” he coos, palming between your legs. Even just that, the barest hint of a touch, is enough to have you falling apart, hiding your face in his neck, as you moan for it. He kneads you, over the shamefully glossy layer of your underwear. “I‘ve neglected you, haven’t I?”

“You haven’t.” Your voice is uncharacteristically meek, but it only makes Viktor clutch you tighter. “I don’t mind. I could die happily after… all that just happened.”

It earns a lovely little smirk from him.

“Well, I couldn’t. Not just yet. Lay back for me.” He leans in close, practically purring, “I’ll give you what you need. I’ll make it good for you.”

You practically crash into the mattress like a bird shot down from flight, and turn to lay on your back under Viktor’s guiding hand on your waist. The sheets rustle with how he slowly shuffles closer, twining his leg — his right leg, with the one of yours that’s closest to him, and uses it to pry you open. The rest of him settles against your side.

His fingertips slide down your stomach, under the waist of your underwear, and he nuzzles his nose into yours like two enamored cats. “May I?”

How could you object to finally having his hand exactly where you’ve wanted — ached — for it?

“Please, Viktor.”

You build up an inhale in the depths of your lungs, and have it positively punched out of you when his hand slides lower, slides home.

At last.

“Oh…” You sigh, arching into his palm like he’s feeding you.

“The mess you’ve made,” he whispers, parting your soaked underwear from the outline of your cunt. It clings to you as he does, and most likely clings to his knuckles as his warm, rough palm cups you where it hurts. 

“F-fuck… sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Never be sorry — not for this.”

His fingers dip to where you’re leaking like a broken faucet, smearing himself in the slick, before he slides back up to your needy clit.

It’s so good to be touched you can’t help but fist his gaunt shoulder and gasp. But you sit still for him, letting the pleasure happen to you, drinking it up like you’re parched for it.

He’s not a hands-on scientist for nothing — with all the practiced finesse of a clockmaker, Viktor takes your cock between his thumb and his index, and tugs. Away at first, as though he were trying to draw the pleasure out of you, before his fingers descend to where your clit emerges from your cunt, and your foreskin slides back with the movement. It leaves you terrifyingly open, vulnerable.

The next stroke of his fingers over your bared clit has you reeling.

“Viktor,” you cry, pawing up his back to the back of his neck, where his scruff starts, where your hand finds purchase. He pinches your cock just so, and, “o-oh, god.”

His nose nudges at your chin, before he licks, all the way from your jaw to the corner of your mouth, as though he were a cat grooming you. To catch him in the kiss he so clearly wants, you tilt your head for him, you welcome him with a desperate whine. He swallows it like it’s sustenance, swallows everything that comes after that too, once he twists your cock between his fingers gently, on just the right edge between pleasure and pain, and it shuts the lights in your brain clean off—

He can’t swallow your next moan.

So he simply lets them pour from your lungs as he rolls your tender, neglected little cock between two talented, loving fingers, so much so it sets you entire stomach alight.

“H-how did, aah, fuck—“ You can’t muster a coherent sentence with his hand on your cock, with how he makes your entire body sing as he plucks at just one string of your whole being, playing you like a familiar instrument. But, softened by how you writhe for him, Viktor grants reprieve, switching to softly jerking your convulsing clit at just the root. You can feel yourself pulsing in his hand, you can feel every ridge of his thumbprint gliding up, down, up, down, fuck.

“How are y-you… so… so good at this?”

“Practice.” He grins. “And fine-tuned motor skills most certainly contribute.”

He dips in to kiss you again, ravenous, and twirls your cock again in that delightful, delirious way that shoots straight up your spine. 

“My god,” he pauses as if to admire you, talk to you like a sweet pet, while he continues to work you. “Do you know how hard it was, staying professional all this time? Keeping my wits about myself, teaching my lectures properly when you were there watching me like some— some hungry hawk…“

“Vikt—“

He shushes your desperate cry, watching with a smug little smile the way you fall apart on his fingers. It feels as though your clit is an unstable hex gem, spinning in an accelerator, crackling and sparking with every stroke of his daft, precise fingers. He touches your cock like it’s long and thick, puts his wrist into how he jerks you off proper. It’s less gentle, and more like he wants to milk the orgasm out of your twitching, hot cock, like he’s demanding it.

And, much like your mind, your body bends to his will just as eagerly.

His next downward stroke sets your nerves alight.

“I’m…” your cunt squeezes around nothing, gushing, leaking, but your cock jumps into his hold desperately. 

“I know,” Viktor assures. “I know. So quick and desperate, aren’t you?”

“Can’t… ’m s-sorry…”

“Oh, don’t worry, I want you to,” he whispers it into your cheek like it’s a secret. Grinds his nose into your face like an enamored cat before he kisses you with all the tenderness and innocence of someone who isn’t tugging your clit into an embarrassingly fast orgasm. “It makes me… dizzy, to know you are so eager for me that you fall apart under nothing but a few twists of my fingers… So easy…”

The last word reverberates in your mind, the way his tone toes the edge of derogation. 

“Come on,” he goads, and pinches your clit between his index and thumb. Instead of jerking it the way he did before, he simply rubs it between his fingers like it’s a coin, pocket change, nothing significant — but the way he watches you like you’re the climax of a good movie says otherwise. His thumbprint catches on your hood, pulling it back just the right amount to reveal all of you that’s sensitive, prey to him. 

It walks the knife edge of too painful, how he squeezes your wet clit it to the very root, before he gives one last, synapse-wrecking tug, and—

You scream draws all the air from your lungs, akin to drowning, and so do the rest of your senses, as you cum into his hand. He stops assaulting your clit, simply cradling the swell of your needy, sloppy cunt as he lets you ride out your orgasm, as he matches the erratic thrusts of your hips.

You let yourself succumb to it, let the death-like vehemence of it take you, and go ragdoll soft while being tended to lovingly. You put yourself in his hands because you trust them, because they treat you so well.

When you open your eyes again, he watches you with all the unadulterated wonder of a scientist.

All-consuming.

“So wonderful,” he tells you, kissing your cheek, “coming apart for me so willingly. Better than anything I’d imagined.”

He pets your pussy even as you come down from the high, sweaty and breathing and alive as though reborn. It makes you clench your thighs around his hand, how every touch burns now.

“Viktor,” you gasp with a loose tongue and looser lips, as though you’ve just awoken and your muscles don’t want to quite listen to you yet. 

“I’m right here,” he coos it like you’re scared, and though you’re not, the affirmation runs down your spine with goosebumps in its wake. He kisses your forehead with a tenderness unmatched. “I have you. I have you.”

You cling to him like none of those things are true, despite better judgment, and he preens under it.

He has you. And you have him.

The both of you sit with the blissful realization, listening to your breaths, to the clock on his wall, to the sound of his lips when he kisses down your face, before he tucks your head under his chin.

You could stay like this forever. Letting your legs slowly fall back apart as he plays with your pussy with much the same motivation you’d eaten him out well past his orgasm — to indulge himself, rather than you, to laze and revel in the afterglow.

Time slows in its course honey thick — you don’t know how much time passes until he speaks.

“I never thought…” Viktor sighs when his voice goes wobbly. “That I could have you. Like this — I still can’t quite believe it.”

You kiss under his chin.

“You knew I wanted you.” 

“Not all of it comes down to want,” he argues, and circles his thumb over the chub of your outer lips, fiddling with your cunt as he thinks rather than touching it with intent. You still raise your hips into it, and are glad to find it makes him smile, before he returns to his thoughts. “Many people want me, even at this age. Rest assured that I feel plenty of hungry gazes my way. Students, colleagues, strangers. But all of — most of them know better. I most certainly thought I knew better than to…”

He trails off.

“Fuck your assistant?”

Viktor chuckles.

“Don’t put it so crudely. I hope that you’re aware you’ve become far more than that. Even before… we did this.” He slides his hand from between your legs and holds it in front of you, marveling at the way your slick webs between his fingers.

Before he raises it to his mouth and tongues at it like it’s a delicacy.

He sucks his index into his mouth, he licks at the split between his forefinger and his middle finger as though they were cunt lips, parting.

And as he slides them from, then back into his mouth, he watches you like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna get horny again,” you warn.

With all the practiced grace of an expensive whore, Viktor pops them from his mouth .

“All according to plan.”

He has you wrapped around his little finger — and he’s terribly aware.

You’re terribly alright with that. 

You burrow yourself into the space between his face and his pillow like a bunny, chuckling, and slinging an arm over his slender waist. Drowned in his scent, soaking up his warmth, you could die happily like this.

“Mrow?”

It comes muffled from behind the wood of his bedroom door. 

Viktor begins to shift the moment he hears the little cry, and you remember to stop him when you see him reaching for his cane.

“I’ve got it,” you say. “What do you want me to do?”

“Let her in, if it’s alright with you.” He smiles. “Judging by her tone, she wants to cuddle.”

The door barely has to crack open before Persichka tucks her whiskers back against her cheeks and noses into the space offered to squeeze into the room. She bumps your shins in greeting, but she doesn’t linger — not once she spots Viktor in the bed.

With a well-placed hop, she lands almost all of her body on the mattress. Viktor cups a hand over her butt to aid her in her climb.

“Moya printsessa…” he utters to her with a smile. You can’t help but linger at the door and watch the scene unfold, rather than join.

She puts her paw on Viktor’s hip, but she’s swiftly scooped up in his arms before she can get to make the climb herself. You suspect, based on the little grimace he pulls, that it has everything to do with how cats’ paws tend to become a lethal weapon the moment they put their weight onto someone.

There’s something intimate about Viktor, naked, blanket barely covering his hips, holding Persichka close like a baby as she nuzzles under his chin and begins to purr. He closes his eyes to savor it just like she does, and for a moment, they look to be spiritually related. Intrinsically aligned.

Viktor’s sigh ends with a contented little hum, before he slides his eyes open just enough to peek at you. 

His thumb rubs idle circles into her fuzz. They’re both aglow in the low, blue light of the winter evening outside. Somewhere distant, it starts to rain.

“Come here,” he purrs.

You’re glad you did. You’re glad you’re going to.

[aventurineswife]

Highschool au! Aventurine was walking around the school taking photos (you can choose the reason) when he accidentally caught reader smiling with their friends in his camera/phone's camera and his heart skipped a beat. He took the photo while smiling fondly

Basically developing feelings

“When I Picture You” | Part 1

Summary: In a high school setting, Aventurine is tasked with capturing joyful moments for the yearbook. While taking photos, he unexpectedly catches your smile on camera, and, in that instant, his heart skips a beat.

Tags: High School AU, Photography, Fluff, Aventurine x Reader, Developing Crush, Slow Burn, Unexpected Feelings, Yearbook

A/N: Reading this request remind me of Picture You by Chappell Roan 😪and I had to... Also funny thing, I was planning to do a high school au with Aventurine and Sunday because of a fanart but you beat me to it, anon :')

(Part 2)

It was a bright, late afternoon at Penacony High, and the air felt light with the buzz of chatter and laughter echoing through the hallways. Students gathered in small clusters, sharing stories, stressing over exams, and enjoying the last few minutes before the final bell. Aventurine—otherwise known as Kakavasha to a select few—found himself with his camera in hand, wandering the halls with a purpose. The school had trusted him with a photography project for the yearbook, capturing “Moments Of Joy” across the campus, and he’d taken to the task with an enthusiasm that surprised even him.

Aventurine wasn’t usually the sentimental type. In fact, if anyone knew him well, they’d know he often kept to himself, his charismatic charm balanced by a hint of mystery and a clever smile. But something about seeing others in their natural, happy moments sparked a strange warmth he couldn't shake.

“Just a couple more shots...” he muttered to himself, adjusting the focus on his camera, framing a lively group of students laughing near the lockers.

But then his eye caught someone else—a familiar figure standing off to the side, their head thrown back in laughter. It was you, surrounded by your friends, your eyes sparkling in the golden afternoon light. Aventurine’s breath caught, a sense of wonder blooming unexpectedly as he lifted his camera, trying to steady his hands.

Click.

He’d snapped the picture before he even realized it, the sound loud in his ears. Aventurine felt his heart skip a beat, his lips quirking into a soft, almost unconscious smile. There you were, frozen in a moment of pure joy, your warmth and vibrancy practically radiating from the photograph.

“Why… does it feel like this?” he whispered, lowering the camera, a strange mix of embarrassment and excitement fluttering in his chest. He’d been the one assigned to capture these “Moments Of Joy” around campus, yet here he was, feeling it himself.

Watching you with that easygoing smile and the way your friends gravitated toward you, he felt a pang of curiosity he couldn’t ignore. He’d seen you around campus before, exchanged glances in class, maybe a few quick greetings in passing. But he’d never truly noticed you—until now.

As you turned, catching sight of him with the camera in hand, Aventurine straightened, feigning composure.

"Hey, are you taking pictures for the yearbook?" you asked, curiosity lighting up your expression.

He nodded, maintaining his usual confidence, though his heart pounded. “Yes, capturing ‘Moments Of Joy’ for the school to remember. Lucky I caught such a radiant one just now.”

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden compliment, and laughed softly. “Well, I guess I’ll have to smile my best from now on if I see you around.”

He smirked, feeling his confidence return, though he was well aware of the flush creeping up his neck. “I’ll keep my camera ready then.”

As you walked back to your friends, Aventurine found himself watching you go, a rare, genuine fondness spreading through him. For a man who usually planned every move, calculated every step, and saw the world as a game of risks and rewards, the thought of seeing you again without knowing exactly what would happen… felt like the start of something new. Something he might be willing to gamble on.

And from that day on, he found himself seeking out the warmth of your laughter, the brightness of your presence, as if each moment he captured with his camera might reveal the answer to the feeling stirring in his heart.

Let me know if you want a part 2 🤭 I honestly loved this

[cinnamon-galaxies]

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲

(human!Alastor x f!reader drabble)

Masterlist

Some poetic and reminiscing thoughts from (human) Alastor about his darling-doe. This is unlike anything I've written before. Honestly, I’m not even sure what this is. I wrote it a while ago when I was severely sleep-deprived.

I know he's no longer human in this, but he's telling us about a time when he still was. That's why I tagged it as human!Alastor.

CW: Possessive thoughts, mention of murder and manipulation

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

I remember the day I first saw you so clearly as if it didn’t happen almost a hundred years ago – back then, when we were still human, nothing but mere people made of flesh and bone, born to live, and living to die. Oh, what a beautiful sight you were, so beautiful – the most beautiful creature of them all. Not only your face resembled the image of a goddess, but your soul shone so bright it made even the darkest of times turn day. You were a true angel sent from heaven, a kind soul and oh so fragile. Glancing into those beautiful doe eyes of yours made me want to ruin you. To take you with me, poison your every being and make you mine – and mine only.

It feels as if it was yesterday that you introduced yourself to me. That radiant smile on your lips, those long lashes framing those shining eyes like they’re the most valuable painting in this world, and I've lost myself in you. You made me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things, I didn’t even consider I was able to feel – because I never felt them before. I've heard those tales. Even read those tales about unconditional love. About how the heartbeat increases whenever you’re close to the one you desire. About how much you crave their touch, their voice, their love – completely and utterly devoted to the one person in this world. One out of billions of people. But I never dared to think I would ever feel the same. Did I feel the same? I was obsessed with you; wanted to possess you in every way possible. And when those full lips of yours parted and your angelic voice entered my ears for the first time, you already had it all. And I knew I wanted you to be mine – and mine only.

Were you fascinated by me? Oh, you were. I saw it on your face. In the tiniest details that betrayed your overly polite expression that you so strongly tried to keep professional. I saw that you were intrigued the very moment you laid your eyes on me. It was like fate had sent you to me. Like my mother in heaven twisted all the odds in my favor, just so I could meet you. Oh, the way you smiled at me. The way you looked at me. How your voice slightly raised when you spoke directly to me. It made my heart flutter and it filled me with an emotion I never thought to ever be able to feel my whole life. And I wanted you to be mine – and mine only.

We met again, after that night. More often than appropriate. In parks, at the bank of the Mississippi, at professional events and at a restaurant I so carefully chose. One that I knew would only serve the best of New Orleans’ cuisine. To make you acquainted with my home and my culture. To prepare you to be on my side. I saw you once, I saw you twice. I saw you an umpteenth times. And yet I was waiting for the perfect moment to ruin you – to make you mine – and mine only.

Were you as corrupted as I? Were you – beside your angel-like nature – capable to make the change, to become one like me, and sacrifice your very being to the darkness of twisted human nature? The desire to kill, the desire to hunt with you grew with every passing day. Day to day I've been waiting for the moment. For the perfect opportunity to make you see my true nature. To make you see my grim twisted morality, to make you see my darkest of secrets, to make you accept it with a smile, to make you succumb to your own darkness, to make you fall, to make you mine – and mine only.

The night we first shared a kiss felt like a dream. An oh so beautiful, yet so tragic dream – because I knew that once your lips touched mine, everything between us would change forever. I remember how you stood before me, much like the day we met, though that angelic smile of yours was replaced by a warmth that exceeded every ounce of adoration you gifted to me before. And then you leaned in, and we kissed. That feeling of your soft lips against mine wasn’t anything like I imagined before. It was so much more, an overwhelming explosion of fireworks. Oh, the hunger that roared on my inside, the need to pull you closer and take everything of you – in this very moment – was unbearable. But I waited. Because at this moment I already knew you were mine – and mine only.

Oh, you were my darling.

My darling-doe.

My angel.

My everything.

And now, I will make you fall.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

[corrupte3d-mindz]

His Angel

Possessive! Thomas Shelby x F! Younger Reader

Summary: Thomas can’t help himself when it comes to her, she gets everything she wants from him.

Wordcount: 3.4k

Warnings:

possessive! Thomas, head-over-heels! Thomas, lap sitting, kissing, soft talking, praise, lovey dovey things from Thomas.

Inspiration: Too Sweet - Hozier

The Garrison snug was thick with the familiar haze of smoke, the air heavy with the scent of whiskey and sweat. Thomas sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid yet relaxed, an oxymoron that only he could embody so effortlessly. 

Arthur was mid-sentence, his gruff voice detailing the latest shipment, but Thomas’s mind was already elsewhere, drifting into the echo of his brother’s words. John, Finn, Isaiah, and Michael murmured amongst themselves, the background noise a symphony of camaraderie and business. The soft knock at the door silenced the room instantly. It was a knock they all recognized, a signal that brought an immediate hush over the group. Thomas’s eyes flicked to the door, and his entire demeanor shifted. The sharpness in his gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing into something almost tender. He took a long and deliberate drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing bright in the dim light, before turning in his chair to face the door.

As the knob turned and the door creaked open, time seemed to slow. There she stood, framed in the doorway like a vision from a dream. Her off-white fur coat draped elegantly over her shoulders, contrasting beautifully with the dark, rich red of her dress. The dress hugged her figure perfectly, accentuating every curve with a grace that seemed almost unreal. The bottom hem brushed just past her ankles, revealing her black heels with their signature red bottoms—a custom pair made just for her by Thomas and his connections. Thomas felt a swell of emotion as he took her in. Her makeup was flawless, enhancing her natural beauty without overpowering it. The deep crimson of her lips matched the ruby drop earrings that dangled delicately from her ears, the diamonds in her dog collar necklace catching the light and adding an extra sparkle to her already radiant presence. Her hair was styled in a poodle bob, a classic look that gave her an air of timeless elegance.

He rose from his seat and stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table; the movement drawing the attention of the room, but he paid no mind to the eyes on his back. His focus was entirely on her. With a few long strides, he closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to pull her gently by the waist. As the door closed behind her, sealing them off from the world, he leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear.

"What did I ever do.." he sighed softly again, "...to get so lucky with someone like you?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and the smell of cigarettes, whiskey as well as his natural musk he has. He tilted his head slightly, inhaling the scent of her hair—a delicate fragrance that sent a shiver down her spine. The sensation of his breath and the intimacy of the moment made her heart flutter.

She smiled up at him, her eyes full of warmth and adoration. "Maybe it’s not about luck, Tommy. Maybe it's just meant to be," she whispered back, her voice soft and melodic.

Oh, how she spoke to him; he loved it so, it always melted his cold and dark heart; tugging at his vulnerable little heart strings, oh he would do anything she ever asked him. The quiet laughter from the table behind them went ignored. Thomas was lost in her presence, the rest of the world fading into the background. He traced his fingers lightly over her waist, feeling the delicate fabric of her dress under his touch. Her skin was warm, even through the material, and he could feel her heartbeat quicken under his fingertips. He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his own filled with a mix of awe and affection. "You’re too sweet for a man like me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a rough edge to his words, a hint of the darkness that always seemed to linger just beneath the surface.

She reached up, cupping his face in her gloved hand. "But you’re just right for me," she replied, her smile never wavering.

The sincerity in her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them; his eyes filled with love as he spoke softly just so she could hear. "ingerul meu," he said, his voice breaking slightly; as he spoke his romani language. It was a rare moment of vulnerability; but it was more rare for him to speak his language and say such caring words, it something that he only ever allowed himself in her presence.

For a few precious moments, they stood there, wrapped up in each other, oblivious to the world outside their small bubble. Her presence was a balm to his troubled soul, a touch of sweetness in his otherwise bitter existence. The noise of the pub, the business, the danger—they all melted away, leaving just the two of them. Thomas buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, holding her as if she might disappear if he let go. Her hair smelled like wildflowers, a scent that clashed so wonderfully with the leather and smoke that clung to him. Eventually, the world intruded once more. Thomas pulled back, but kept one arm wrapped around her waist. "Come, sit wit' me," he said, his voice a low rumble, guiding her to the table. He pulled out his chair and sat down, before tapping his lap slightly, the gesture almost gentlemanly despite the roughness of his exterior. She blushed slightly before taking off her off-white fur coat and hanging it on the small coat rack next to him.

She moved to sit down in his lap, her movements graceful and cautious. Thomas helped her get comfortable; his hands gripping her waist to steady her. Each touch was possessive yet tender, as if he were afraid to break her. He occasionally let out a soft grunt, groan, hiss, or a very, very quiet and still moan that only she would hear. These sounds were uncharacteristic of the man known for his stoicism, but with her, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. He eventually let go of her waist and rested his hands in the softness of her lap. Her presence grounded him, her warmth a stark contrast to the cold steel he often felt in his chest. The conversation Thomas once had with Arthur resumed, it was about a shipment of theirs, the details gritty and grim, but necessary. Time passed slowly as they talked about things she didn't need to worry about. She would occasionally feel uncomfortable in his lap, and moved slightly to sit differently. Each time she moved, he let out a soft grunt, groan, hiss, or a very, very quiet and still moan that only she would hear; his reactions a testament to how much he loved and needed her.

Soon, everyone had said what they needed to say, and they called the little meeting to a close. Arthur, John, Finn, Isaiah, and Michael started to get up and leave the snug, their goodbyes curt and businesslike. Thomas watched and waited as they filtered out, his focus shifting back to her as the room emptied. It was just them now, them and the air around them, them and the world only. Thomas sighed, the weight of the world momentarily lifting as he leaned forward to rest his chin on her head, his arms wrapping around her waist to hold her closer. He occasionally sniffed her hair; oh, how he loved how she smelled. The sweet scent was intoxicating, a reminder of the softness and sweetness she brought into his life. His arm now slightly wrapping around her waist; an action that held her more against him. His other hand found its way to her hands; cupping them both in his large, calloused hand, feeling the contrast between his roughness and her softness.

"I heard y' had problems when visitin' Polly the other day... why didn't y'-tell me? Eh'.." His voice was a low whisper as he leaned into her ear, his lips brushing against the soft flesh of her earlobe. The sensation sent shivers down her spine, a mix of his tenderness and the latent danger that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface with him. "I had 'em handle it, they won' give ye' problems anymore—" His voice filled with a mixture of slow-burning rage for the men who gave her problems she shouldn't have to deal with and a deep, abiding love for her.

His words were a promise, a declaration of the lengths he would go to protect her. His hand tightened around hers, his grip firm but gentle. She was the light in his darkness, the sweetness in his bitterness, and he would do anything to keep her safe. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and love, and he felt a warmth spread through his chest, a rare feeling for a man so accustomed to the cold. Her voice was soft when she replied, "I didn't want to worry you, Tommy. You've got so much on your plate already." Her words were filled with the kind of understanding and compassion that only she could offer. She was too kind, too sweet, too loving, and he was acutely aware of how undeserving he felt of her love. He shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "You never worry me, love. Yer the only good thing in this bloody world. An' if anyone tries to take that away, I'll deal with 'em myself." There was a fierce protectiveness in his voice, a promise of retribution for anyone who dared to threaten her peace. She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The pub, the business, the danger—they all became background noise to the rhythm of their shared breath. Thomas stroked her hair, his touch gentle, his heart full.

Her presence was like a soothing balm to his tumultuous soul, and in these stolen moments, he allowed himself to savor the peace she brought him. His entire being radiated a dangerous intensity, a brooding darkness that was barely contained beneath the surface. The sharp planes of his face were etched with a perpetual look of determination, his eyes glinting with a mix of love and ferocity. There was a rage simmering within him, a fury that was always ready to explode at the slightest provocation. But with her, that anger was tempered by a tenderness he rarely showed to anyone else. As he sat there, holding her close, his thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of emotions. He was a man used to control, accustomed to bending the world to his will. Yet, when it came to her, he found himself at a loss. She was everything he had never known he needed: kind, sweet, understanding, and loving. She was the light to his darkness, the softness to his hardness, and he was utterly captivated by her. His tone was dark, his words dripping with unspoken promises; he stopped petting her soft hair. He could feel the tension in her body as he spoke, her confusion evident in the way she shifted slightly on his lap. He picked her up slightly, turning her around to face him. His arm tightened around her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His other hand left her hands and moved to cup her face roughly, his touch firm yet somehow gentle.

"If people ever fuckin' knew..." he began, his voice low and menacing. His eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign of understanding. But she looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes, not comprehending the depths of his words. "The thin's I'd be willin' t'do for yeh," he continued, his touch becoming more possessive, his fingers digging into her soft skin. There was a darkness in his gaze, a promise of violence that he would unleash upon anyone who dared to harm her. "They woul' realize t'one they should b' scared of is not me..." he said, his nose scrunching in a gesture that was both menacing and almost tender. "It's you, love."

She still didn't understand, and that only fueled his frustration. How could she not see that she held more power over him than anyone else ever had? How could she not realize that she was the one thing in this world that could bring him to his knees? He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin as he spoke.

"They don't know what it's like, lovin' someone like yeh. They don't know what I'd do, what I'd sacrifice, to keep yeh safe," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I'd tear the world apart for yeh, I'd burn it all down if it meant keepin' yeh by my side."

His words were a vow, a promise of the lengths he would go to protect her. He could feel her trembling in his grasp, whether from fear or something else, he wasn't sure. But he needed her to understand, needed her to see that she was the most important thing in his life.

"You make me better, love. You make me want to be better," he confessed, his voice softening for a moment. "But that don't mean I won't do what's necessary. That don't mean I won't become a monster if it means keepin' yeh safe." He could see the thoughts piling up in her brain, in her eyes; he could tell by the way her lips quivered, he brushed a thumb across her cheek. His touch was gentler now, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before. "I love yeh," he whispered, the words carrying a weight that was almost tangible. "More than anythin' in this world. An' I'll do whatever it takes to make sure nothin' ever hurts yeh."

Her skin was soft and smooth, a delicate canvas beneath his rough fingers. He traced the curve of her cheekbone, his touch feather-light, almost reverent. His thumb brushed against her lips, and he felt the warmth of her breath against his skin. The crimson stain of her lipstick left a faint mark on his thumb, a vivid reminder of her presence.

"I've been thinkin' 'bout..." His voice trailed off, rough and gravelly, each word carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid thoughts. He paused, his thumb resting against her lips, feeling the soft, pliant flesh beneath his touch. The struggle to find the right words was evident in the furrow of his brow, the tension in his jaw. "I just wish I could've met yeh before all this." The words finally came, a rough whisper in the quiet of the snug. His thumb traced her lower lip, the sensation sending a shiver down her spine. There was a vulnerability in his voice that she rarely heard, a glimpse of the man beneath the hardened exterior.

He gazed into her eyes, those windows of softness and light that calmed the storm within him.

"Ești prea dulce pentru mine," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, rough and full of the gravel of his Birmingham accent. His Romani roots slipped into his words, a tender whisper of his heritage that only she was privy to. She smiled softly, her eyes reflecting the understanding and love she held for him. Her hand covered his, her fingers curling around his, feeling the strength and callouses of a man who had fought many battles. Before she could respond, he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was more battle than embrace. His lips crashed against hers with a force that spoke of desperation and need, a raw intensity that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

The kiss was a tempest of emotions—passion, anger, pain, and a lingering sadness that he could never quite shake. His arm tightened around her back, pulling her impossibly closer, as if he feared she might vanish if he let go. His other hand cupped her face, thumb brushing against her cheek in a gesture that was almost tender. She clung to him, her arms finally moving to encircle his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as if anchoring herself to him. The kiss deepened, his tongue slipping into her mouth, exploring and claiming in a way that was both possessive and reverent. He tasted the sweetness of her, a stark contrast to the bitter whiskey and smoke that lingered on his own tongue. Her taste was intoxicating, a heady blend of innocence and warmth that he couldn't get enough of. He gripped her face more firmly, his need for her bordering on frantic.

Time seemed to stand still as they kissed, the world outside the snug fading into oblivion. It was as if they were the only two people in existence, bound together by a connection that defied explanation. The kiss went on, a relentless exploration that left them both breathless. When they finally pulled apart, a thin string of saliva still connected their lips, a physical reminder of the bond they shared. Thomas's chest heaved as he caught his breath, his gaze never leaving her face. Her lipstick was smeared, a vibrant red that now adorned his own lips and around his mouth. She looked equally disheveled, her eyes bright with the same mix of emotions that churned within him. He watched as she leaned back against the table, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Without a word, he pulled her against him once more, her face finding its place in the crook of his neck, her breath warm against his skin. His hand moved to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he held her close. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words, a quiet that was both comforting and fraught with tension.

"îngerul meu dulce și dulce," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her skin. My sweet, sweet angel. The words were a confession, an admission of a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to feel. In her arms, he found a sanctuary from the darkness that constantly threatened to consume him.

Her hand moved to his chest, resting over his heart as if to soothe the turmoil that raged within. She didn't need to say anything; her presence was enough, her touch a silent promise that she wasn't going anywhere. He tightened his grip on her, drawing strength from her unwavering support. Thomas's thoughts were a chaotic swirl of emotions, memories of a past marred by violence and loss clashing with the hope that she represented. She was everything he needed but didn't deserve, a beacon of light in his dark, dangerous world. He knew he should push her away, should protect her from the storm that was his life, but he couldn't. She was his, and he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side. As he held her, he couldn't help but marvel at the way she fit so perfectly against him, as if she were made to be there. Her kindness, her sweetness, her unwavering love—they were the antithesis of everything he had known, and yet they were exactly what he needed. She balanced him in a way nothing else could, her softness soothing the jagged edges of his soul.

Author's Notes:

This song is actually so fucking perfect, like it matches Thomas so well. God I can't believe I let this one shot sit on the back burner for this long!!! The reader is literally too sweet for Thomas; because she's too sweet like wine....ahhhhh!!! Please check out these articles to understand it more!!: What does it mean? 'Too Sweet' by Hozier.

The person who asked for an older and dom! Cillian paired w a younger reader; I must tell you that's its being worked on it's just I've had weird problems with it, like it's cursed. I've spent a couple hours on writing for it; then saved it only for it to not save. I've had text formatting problems; the whole 9 yards; everything and the damn kitchen sink.

However it is in the works and should be one of my next uploads; if I don't have problems with it.

To just a simple passer by; I hope you enjoyed this one shot as I did writing it.