#Towards the Hills of Triumph

[drondskaath]

Moortrieder | Towards the Hills of Triumph | 2023

German Black Metal

https://moortrieder.bandcamp.com/album/towards-the-hills-of-triumph

#Moortrieder #Towards the Hills of Triumph #Germany #German Black Metal #Black Metal #Medieval Black Metal #music #band #Mortal Rite Records

[slu7formen]

MDNI. luke x fem!reader

you’re back at camp after your quest with Luke, but your mind can’t seem to be able to forget what happened days ago like Luke has, and you’re in the need of a private conversation to clarify some things, and that’s all it has to be, a conversation… right?

part two to this fic <3

warnings: injuries, cursing, arguing, s3x, oral s3x (f receiving), non protected p in v, kissing, biting, slight fluff at the end, kinda dom!luke

lil taglist for those who asked for part two 🫶🏻: @pocototis , @amortiff , @angelfrombeneth , @niceskyler , @onegirlonewriter

₊˚⊹♡

Exhausted. That feeling was clinging to you and Luke like a second skin as you limped back into Camp Half-Blood with Percy and Annabeth at your side. The quest, a blur of adrenaline and monster-slaying, had been a success, but victory came at a price. Luke, his face pale despite the fading sunset, sported a nasty gash across his thigh, a souvenir from an unfortunate encounter with a particularly grumpy cyclop. You, on the other hand, cradled your right arm close to your chest, the throbbing pain in your shoulder escalating with every step.

Despite the aches and groans echoing within your small group, a sense of triumph resonated in the cheers that erupted from the campers milling about the Half-Blood Hill. Your arrival sparked a wave of excited chatter, a flurry of questions about the details of your adventure. The camp bustled with activity, a comforting normalcy after the chaos they'd faced.

"Whoa, guys, you look rough" Grover noted with concern as he approached you. He cast a worried glance at your injured arm.

The Apollo cabin had taken good care of you both. Lee Fletcher, the ever-patient son of Apollo, had fussed over Luke's wound with practiced ease, the gash healing miraculously fast under his ministrations.

"Luke, your cut isn't too bad" Lee declared to him, his voice calm despite the urgency in his eyes. "Just needs some ambrosia and nectar, and you'll be good as new."

You, however, were a different story.

"Dislocated and a hairline fracture" Lee had declared with a frown, his touch surprisingly gentle as he manipulated your injured shoulder back into place. "You've been harboring that injury for a few days now, haven't you?"

You winced, your face flushing slightly. Between the adrenaline rush of the quest and… what happened with Luke, your shoulder was the last thing you thought about besides the pain. "Uh, yeah" you stammered, ashamed even towards the younger camper.

Lee sighed, a hint of exasperation in his eyes, but he gave you a soft smile. “You´ll heal quick, don´t worry, but not as quickly as Luke. You'll have to stay a while longer."

Those "whiles" had stretched into two agonizing days. Two days spent staring at the whitewashed ceiling, the silence broken only by the steps of Apollo campers around you or at the Big House. The days blurred by in a haze of rest and ambrosia.

But you couldn´t stop thinking about Luke.

That-, thing that happened all of a sudden, a moment of raw emotion and desperate vulnerability, replayed endlessly in your mind. The memory of his touch, the warmth of his breath tangling with yours, sent shivers down your spine. It was a betrayal, not just of the rivalry that defined your relationship with Luke, but a betrayal of yourself. You weren't supposed to feel this way about him, the enemy, the bane of your existence.

But the morning after, you just acted as if nothing had happened, you never talked about it. The tension was your new best friend now, a suffocating weight that you couldn't seem to escape. How could you go back to the way things were after experiencing that spark of something —what felt like— more?

Frustration simmered within you. Ignoring what you both experienced felt like burying your head in the sand. Did it mean anything to him? Was it just a fleeting moment of desperation, a shared vulnerability in the face of danger?

Finally, the day arrived when Lee, with a practiced smile and a reassuring pat on your shoulder, declared you fit for duty. Relief washed over you, tinged with a nervous excitement. You practically stumbled out of the infirmary, the familiar sights and sounds of camp a welcome symphony after the sterile monotony of your confinement.

Your eyes scanned the crowded pavilion, searching for the shock of dark and braided hair that always seemed to set your nerves alight. You spotted Annabeth only because she ran to you as soon as she saw you. She pulled you in a hug that almost broke your bones.

"There you are!" she exclaimed. The concern etched on her face as if you had spent three weeks away from her. "How are you feeling? How’s your shoulder?”

“It´s good now, Lee took good care of it” you explained, walking back to the pavilion with her.

The well-wishes of the fellow campers offered a comforting sense of normalcy. Yet, your gaze remained fixed on the Hermes table, searching for a specific face.

"Where's Luke?" you finally asked Annabeth, a knot forming in your stomach.

"Right behind you” came the voice you knew too well.

He stood there, an unreadable mask plastered on his face. The air crackled with tension again, a contrast to the cheerful chatter surrounding you.

"I'm glad you're okay" he said, his voice flat. It was impossible to tell if he meant it or if it was simply a polite formality.

"Same thing" you replied, not really trying your best to put on show for the rest of the campers, or him.

A curt nod was all the reply you received, the gesture felt like a handshake from a stranger. He then turned and walked away, disappearing back to the Hermes table where his half-siblings awaited him.

You settled down at your own table, the clatter of silverware and chatter a welcoming difference to the sterile silence of the infirmary. You reached for the so sacred mashed potatoes you loved, but your appetite seemed to have vanished. Your gaze kept flitting towards the Hermes table, drawn to the mop of dark hair that seemed to defy gravity. He was there, talking with his half-siblings, a faint smile playing on his lips. Sometimes his gaze drifted towards you, his had features tightening, before he quickly looked away. Other times, you'd find his face turned elsewhere, lost in conversation with Chris or the Stoll brothers, who sat in front of him.

One of your cabin half-sisters leaned over, her voice filled with excitement in your ear. "There's supposed to be a party in the woods tonight. Wanna come?"

The temptation was strong. A night of revelry with your friends sounded far more appealing than dwelling on the awkwardness with Luke. But you shook your head instead. "Nah, I think I'll pass," you said, trying to sound casual.

Truth be told, your brain was working with the precision of a well-oiled machine. A hidden party meant curious campers, prying eyes. What you needed was a private conversation, a chance to finally address the elephant in the room.

As the campers began to disperse after dinner, Taking a deep breath, you made your way towards the Hermes table. Most of the campers had already vacated, leaving only a few lingering stragglers. Luke sat alone, a half-eaten plate of food pushed to the side.

His gaze flicked up as you approached. “Ugh. What do you want?” he asks, voice coated with venom.

“Wow, you really are a sweetheart” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “We need to talk”

“What about?” he asked with indifference.

“You know damn well what about” you declared. “Or do you want me to say it, here, how you basically came all over your pan-…?”

“Don´t” he jumped out of his seat, voice dangerously angry and threatening. He looked around, secretly wishing no one around heard you. “Fine. Meet me at the back of my cabin at midnight. I´ll be there”

“Good” you stammered, walking away before anyone else could hear you or see you standing in front of Luke Castellan, talking, for more than five minutes.

The thin wind hit your bare face as you approached Cabin Eleven. The glow from the windows had long been extinguished, replaced by a deep silence that accentuated the nervous pounding in your chest. It was past curfew, a risk you wouldn't normally take, but the need to talk to Luke outweighed the consequences. After all, most campers managed to sneak out for a forbidden rendezvous, why wouldn't you be able to manage a few cabins?

Hugging the shadows, you crept past the silent cabins, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Reaching Cabin Eleven, you tiptoed towards the back of it, the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath your sneakers a sound far too loud in the stillness of the night.

There, leaning against the wall, stood Luke. His arms were crossed over his chest, head down and apparently, lost in thought as he waited for you. Despite the outward facade of coolness he always emerged –or so he tried—, you swore you could detect a flicker of nervousness beneath the surface, a tremor in his gaze that mirrored your own churning emotions.

"Hey" you greeted him softly.

He pushed himself off the wall, arms still crossed over his chest. "Hey. About time."

You rolled your eyes. “I am on time, dumbass”

For a moment, he seemed to be struggling internally, debating the appropriate course of action. Should he maintain his usual bravado, the cocky smirk you hated so much? Or should he shed that facade, acknowledge the vulnerability of the situation, and let it go?

"How's that shoulder?" he finally asked, gesturing towards your shoulder with his chin.

"Good as new" you replied, unconsciously shrugging your shoulder to prove your point. "How's your leg?" you asked, returning the question.

"Fully healed" he mumbled, looking down at his thigh.

The small talk felt forced, the words hanging awkwardly between you. You both knew why you were there, but the silence seemed to scream louder than any accusation. Finally, Luke cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable tension.

"Wanna come in?" Luke finally asked, surprising you.

You blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly. "In?" you repeated.

He nodded, his gaze flicking nervously around the clearing. "It's safer than… well, you know, someone seeing us" he muttered, trailing off. The implication was clear – safer than being caught outside after curfew, safer than prying eyes and whispers.

You considered it for a moment. It made sense. This conversation needed privacy, and venturing deeper into the night, risking further trouble, didn't seem wise.

With a silent nod, you gestured for him to lead the way. You walked towards the front door, slipping inside the cabin in your tippy toes, Luke closed the door softly behind you, plunging the room into near darkness. The silence was thick, and loud. The stage was set for a conversation that could change everything.

"Okay, shoot" Luke finally said, his voice gruff.

"What?" you replied, thrown off guard by his brusqueness.

"What do you mean 'what'?" he countered, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "You wanted to talk. So do it. Speak."

His words felt almost like a demand, and irritation sparked within you. The confident, charming facade seemed to have crumbled, leaving him exposed – unsure and flustered. While your battle-hardened self might have found humor in his discomfort, just like it did when he basically walked in on you half-naked, right now, it just felt frustrating.

"Don't you have anything to say either?" you challenged. "Am I the only one who wants to talk about what we did?" It was hard to believe that the usually eloquent Luke Castellan, the golden boy, was now speechless.

Luke ran a hand through his hair, his face etched with frustration. "Well..." he began, sinking down onto his bed. He hesitated for a long moment, searching for the right words. "It was definitely... something" he finally came out with, his voice barely a whisper.

Gods, was he really this bad at expressing himself? A groan escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands in exasperation. "This was a fucking mistake, gods" you muttered, your voice muffled. "Forget I even came here, Castellan." You spun on your heel, heading towards the door, the need to escape this awkward conversation overwhelming.

Your hand reached for the doorknob, ready to walk out and face the consequences of curfew later, rather than deal with this frustrating silence. But before you could turn the handle, a warm hand clamped onto your wrist.

Luke spun you around, his eyes pleading despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "Don't go” he groaned, clearly frustrated with himself. "It's just – you can't expect me to speak normally to you when that isn't the relationship we have, you know?"

He was right. Your rivalry, for better or worse, defined your dynamic. What you did, that heated and uncontrollable moment that was one of the best sexual experiences that you ever had, had shattered the status quo, leaving you both scrambling for a new footing.

Your silence dominated you, quite a big difference to the nervous energy that had crackled between you moments ago. Luke's words echoed in the room, leaving you both grappling with the reality of the situation. He walked back to his bed, he knew now, you would stay.

With a defeated sigh, you walked over to his bed and stopped in front of him, hesitant to intrude further on his personal space by sitting next to him. "Luke, do you regret it?" you finally asked.

He ran a hand through his hair again, a nervous gesture that mirrored your own churning anxieties. "I don't know" he mumbled, his gaze dropping to his lap. A beat of silence followed, then he said, almost defensively, "But I can't deny that I... I liked it" he blurted out, almost comically frustrated.

"It's just that I never thought I would do something like that with you” he continued, his voice dropping back to a hushed tone. "Do you regret it?"

You shrugged your shoulders, still grappling with your own tangled emotions. “I mean… When it was happening," you started, searching for the right words, "I enjoyed it. But right now, with all the aftermath, I don't think I feel 'proud' of it exactly."

"You're not answering my question, yn." he said, a touch of annoyance creeping back into his voice.

"I don't know if I regret it, Luke, okay?" you admitted, frustration tinging your voice. "It's just… confusing."

The silence returned, this time heavier than before. The playful banter had faded, replaced by a deeper, more complex silence that spoke volumes about the uncharted territory you both found yourselves in. You decided to push the conversation further.

"Is this going to change things now?" you asked, your voice laced with a hint of apprehension.

Luke let out a loud, almost bitter laugh. "Why do you care? You hate me anyway" he said, his voice laced with a sharp edge. "This is the perfect excuse to not talk to me ever again."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "Hate you? I don't hate you" you declared, taken aback by his accusation. "I wouldn't be here if I hated you."

"Don't like me then?" he countered, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, not exactly" you mumbled, cheeks flushing a warm heat. "But don't say I hate you. That's not true."

There was a surprised silence from Luke. Maybe he hadn't expected that answer. "Then what is it?" he finally asked, his voice raising up a little, laced with a hint of curiosity.

Frustration bubbled up inside you. "You!" you blurted out, pointing at him. "It's you, it’s you because we never get to have a regular conversation without arguing, because you started this whole picking on me things and it’s been like this ever since we were fourteen, Luke! And I know you and I are pretty good at ignoring each other, but this…" you gestured vaguely between the two of you, "this isn't something we can just sweep under the rug. It's not something we can just pretend never happened.”

"Then what do we do with it?" he continued, his voice trembling slightly in anger "I told you I liked it" Luke repeated, his voice tinged with annoyance. "What else do you want me to say!?"

"It's not what I want you to say!" you yelled back, your voice rising in volume. "It's what I want you to do!"

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "And what is exactly that!?"

The words tumbled out before you could think, a desperate plea fueled by confusion and a strange sense of longing.

"Fucking kiss me!"

The words echoed in the cramped silence of the cabin, and a blush flooded your cheeks as soon as they left your lips. You hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the tension, the confusion, the simmering emotions within you – it all came spilling out in a torrent of honesty.

Luke stared at you, his eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, you thought you might have crossed a line, shattered the fragile truce that had formed between you.

He rose from the bed with a slow, predatory grace. You were standing so close that when he stood to his full height, you were chest-to-chest with him. His dark eyes locked with yours, and you felt small.

"So that's it?" he continued, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "That's why you're so worked up? You just want me to kiss you?"

His words, though seemingly lighthearted, stung. Was that all it was to you? A fleeting desire, a moment of impulsive rebellion? The anger you'd felt earlier flared anew, threatening to consume you.

"Is that all you think this is about, Castellan?" you spat, your voice shaking slightly. "Just some physical need?"

"That´s not what I meant" he drawled, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I know that if what happened left you with a physical need, you could go to anyone else. But you came to me, didn´t you?”

You wanted to punch him, to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. But a strange sense of honesty held you back. He was right, again. The truth was, a part of you didn’t crave just a taste of his lips, but something else, like an unexpected connection that went further more than physical. You didn’t know where it came from, or when, or why, you just felt it and thinking about it just felt right.

With a shaky breath, you tilted your head up, a silent answer to his question. Your lips brushed against his, breaths twirling together once again. He didn't hesitate or hold back this time. A low groan escaped his lips as he leaned down, his hands finding their way to your waist. His touch sent a jolt of electricity sparking through you, making your knees weak.

And the he kissed you.

It started slow, tender, almost reverent. He explored your lips with a newfound gentleness, as if savoring the feel of them against his. It spoke of exploration, of a tentative truce blossoming into something more. You wanted to feel him, to erase the line that had always separated you.

But then, as if a dam had broken, the kiss deepened. The tenderness melted away, replaced by a desperate urgency. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the soft contours of your cheeks. You responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him impossibly closer to your body. The kiss became a whirlwind of emotions – confusion, desire, the thrill of the forbidden.

You noticed the way his breath started to hitch. How whenever he had to fill his lungs with air, he would make sure it was just the necessary amount to kiss you back again. He didn’t want to forget the taste of your lips.

His kisses then started to start a slow, agonizing pace towards your neck. Right under your ear, over your pulse, on dip your collarbone; every hot kiss he placed only made your body unconsciously stick closer to his, head logging back in pleasure as your breaths became hitched too, turned into small gasps and little moans, all caused by the boy that got you on your nerves.

“Y-you haven’t answered my question” you suddenly said.

Luke was too concentrated on attacking your neck to even care looking at your face, but he still answered. “What question?”

“If you’re a virgin”

He could’ve stop right there, he could be mad at you for being so insistent, he could just go and leave you there, hot and bothered with your swollen lips and red neck attacked by his own lips, but he stayed. He stayed while his forehead rested against yours, catching his breath while his broad shoulders went up and down. His own skin was already sprayed with a thin layer of sweat, glistening by the only little peak of a curtain that didn’t fully covered the outside light.

“I’m not” he declared, hands dripping down to your hips. “But I’m not as experienced as you may think”

You nodded slightly. “And, do you-, would you like to experience a little more?” you asked.

See, you had a little problem. You didn’t realize how dangerous words could be, or how it could affect the other person until those words came out of your mouth, and you felt so stupid afterwards. So stupid you wanted to snap your fingers and let the ground swallow you whole and spit you right at the center of the Tartarus.

Luke chuckled. “Are you seriously asking me to fuck you?”. He asked it so casually, so calmly, that if only he had asked you with the tiniest bit of flirt, of teasing, you would’ve handled it easier.

Your blood rushed to your cheeks. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’re still so surprised” you try to laugh it off “Look what we’re doing”

“You’re right” he nods. “Yes. I would like to know what it is like to do what we did. No clothes this time”

He didn’t even let you think of an answer. His lips placed over yours again, but only for a brief moment before he started trailing down your throat. His curls tickled your chin, and his nose bumped constantly against the places he kissed. The tiny touch of the tip of his tongue with every kiss left behind a wet trail of saliva that started to go down, down, and down.

Even though he requested no clothes, your t-shirt didn’t seem to bother him at all. He pressed your lower body closer to his when he kissed your sternum. You didn’t know if it was because he genuinely knew how to make a girl feel good, or because it was simply him, but even over the fabric, his lips felt like fire against your skin, and you felt the goosebumps covering your arms.

Maybe it was both things.

He kept kissing until he sat down on his bed again. Your hands crept up his neck, just to have somewhere to hold, you needed to touch him. His neck, his hair, his back, everything.

His hands pushed up your t-shirt and as soon as he had the tiniest bit of skin visible, he attacked it. Just kisses everywhere. His lips were hot and wet, something that only added you both a immense pleasure. You hissed when his teeth took a slight grip of your hipbone, but the slight burning feeling it left behind made you release a stupid sound from your lips, a soft, small and broken whimper.

“Sorry” he said. He looked angelical like that; lips glistening, brown eyes looking up at yours, chin resting on your tummy. You could stay like this forever. “It’s just, you’re-” his fingers buried themselves at your sides. “You’re unreal”

You smirked. You knew this vulnerable and submissive state Luke was at would only last a second, but knowing that you were the one he would float up his surface for, how it made you feel, it was powerful. But you didn’t wanna be, you wanted him to crave you. You’ve been playing this game for way too long, it was time for Luke Castellan to prove what he could do.

You placed your hands over his, feeling your own small and delicate compared to his veiny and big ones. You pulled his calloused palms up your torso, the fabric of your t-shirt tangling in his fingers. He caught the message real quick, pulling your t-shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor carelessly.

He looked momentarily stunned, with parted lips and all. He felt dumb too. This was his second time seeing you like this —except that when he did for the first time, you weren’t wearing shorts—, but something about it was different now. A hundred explanations rushed his brain a second; the lighting, the shorts, the color of your underwear, your hair. Maybe even the fact that you looked so close, but so unreachable.

You didn’t let him stare for too long, forearms crossing over his shoulders as you, once again, sat over his thighs. You didn’t have to lead him into anything this time, he pulled you by the waist even before you finished sitting on him.

He hissed when you rolled your hips once, hands flying to your sides to stop you. “Don’t do that” he said in a low tone. He knew you were just teasing him, but he really didn’t want to deal with you right now, not in that way.

You stopped, it was hard not to when he applied so much force on you that his biceps flexed and his veins popped out. And that reminded you the lack of your clothes, and the excessive amount of his.

His white t-shirt was long forgotten after if joined your own on the floor. He leaned back, hands resting over the mattress as your hand trailed down his torso; a bumpy ride down his body that was strangely appealing to your eyes. You hadn’t seen Luke shirtless before, and that reminded you, why hadn’t you seen Luke shirtless before?

The man was hot.

He seemed to enjoy the way your eyes roamed down his body way too much, also how you suddenly held your breath. He might’ve kept it a secret, but he saw and noticed everything. His hand reached out to cup your breast. “Pretty” he whispered, knuckles caressing the lacy fabric that covered you. He didn’t have to be a genius to realize how that instantly made your skin shiver, most specifically your back, that arched towards his feather-like touch.

He pushed himself up, lowering his head towards your chest. He took your bra in his teeth, pulling the fabric aside just enough for his tongue to lick over your nipple. You moaned, the sudden feeling taking you by surprise. He didn’t want to behave this softly, so tender, so stupidly careful. He needed more.

He repeated his action with your other breast, a tight and strangled moan escaping from your throat. He groaned lowly at your own sounds, discovering a new way of basically communicating with you; if you liked it, he liked it.

His arms wrapped around you with ease, lifting you up just enough for him to place you ever his bed, his body covering yours as his hands placed along your sides. His pulled your thighs apart with one knee, then pressing it against your core.

“Ah, Luke” you moaned out, eyes shutting at the feeling, too good to let it pass.

“Shit, baby” he cooed. His eyes scanned your body under his, the way it rolled so delicious and delicately as you tried your best to push yourself further into his knee, desperate for some friction. “Can I go down on you?” he blurted out.

You opened your eyes, leaning into your elbows on the bed, eyes piercing his. “You want to?” you ask.

“If I’m fucking you, I’m doing it right”

And your shorts disappeared in a second. He moved your panties aside with a hook of his fingers, and suddenly a wave of embarrassment washed over you.

He was seeing you vulnerably and literally open to him now. You felt too self conscious. You were screwed. Your arousal left a wet patch on the inside of your panties; what a sight for eyes like Luke’s. You felt his thumbs slowly pulling your lips apart. He was taking his oh so sweet time with it, and you didn’t know if you loved it or hated it.

You let out a surprise moan when his tongue laid flat against your cunt. He moaned against it instantly, the vibration sending a different type of pleasure. His big arms wrapped over your thighs, providing you of any movement except for the ones he wanted you to do. He ate you out like a starved man; and yes, it sounds cliche, but you never experienced something like this before.

He was so slow with it, yet so deep. He wouldn’t let any drop coming out of you go to waste, he wanted it all. He sucked on your clit, hard, but quickly let go to continue his task on your hole again, tongue slipping in and out. The only time he took a break, was to slightly lift his head up and spit down at you. It was already wet enough, but the cold saliva, falling directly to your clit, only made you want more.

You grabbed his head with both hands, pushing him down against you, and he didn’t complain a bit, mouth instantly opening again to let his tongue dance around you.

“Yes, yes, yes” you moaned, chest heaving up and down. The sounds that came out of Luke’s mouth against your pussy were disgusting; wet and dirty, and you would’ve never guessed you actually liked it better this way. He actually acted like he needed you, and you noticed, because you saw the tiny bit movements he made with his hips against the sheets. “Gods, Luke, don’t stop”

Maybe this was not the perfect time to praise any of the gods above, but you couldn’t help it, you didn’t even know what words came out of your mouth, none really, just little sounds that escaped from your lips like oil, slipping down unconsciously.

Luke felt too good, better than you had expected. Not experienced as you might think? You could easily believe he lied to your face.

The moment he pulled away one of his fingers slipped in between your folds. His fingertip grazed over your sensitive bud, making your body jolt once. You heard him breath out a laugh.

Then he pulled in, slowly, and a second finger joined easily. You grabbed the sheets by your sides, arching your back and letting a moan of relief out. You felt him lean his cheek on your inner thigh. “If you’re this tight on my fingers, can’t imagine what you will feel like when I fuck you”

He could simply cum in his pants again just by the sight of you; legs spread open around his head, his fingers pushing inside you at a perfect pace, your pussy glistening with his saliva. Your moans sounded pornographic, almost too good to be true. He managed to not do it though, he managed to focus on you and only you, on the way your hips rolled, on what made you squirm the most, what made you whine louder.

His fingers scissored inside you. Your moan was guttural when he eventually started to move faster, his wrist started to quickly feel tired, but how could he give up so easily on you?

Your eyes rolled back. He just treated you so good. He knew just when to curl his fingers, stuff them deeper inside you, or just removing them from inside your pussy to focus on your clit, softly drawing circles over it. He knew how torturous it was, almost as torturous as that night, in the motel, in which you couldn’t stop moving over him; wouldn’t stop. He deeply wanted you to stop, but not because he didn’t like it, but because he wanted more, and right now, you wanted more, and he was well aware of it.

“Fuck me already, Luke”

“What’s that?” he asks, head tilting, a cocky smirk on his face. His fingers were still moving around your clit.

You managed to focus your eyes on him, fire illuminating your eyes. He looked so fucking perfect. Shirtless, a thin layer of sweat over his muscles, his camp necklace softly hanging over his collarbone, his fingers covered in your wetness.

“Fuck me, please” you whined, too desperate for your own liking.

He stopped touching you and crawled over you again, his camp necklace dangling over your face. His hand squeezed your cheeks before he stamped his lips on you once again. He swallowed your moan when you tasted yourself on his lips. “So fucking needy, huh? Fuck, look at you” his eyes roamed down your body like a hunter stalks his prey. “All ready for me”

He praised you as if you were a goddess, which was not far from true but, he was not scared to admit how much he would worship you if he had the chance.

You reached out for his sweatpants, pulling them down below his ass before taking his cock in your hand. He squeezed his lips and groaned, eyes flitting shut at the feeling of your hand stroking him over his boxer. Even over the fabric, you felt how warm it was, how hard he had gotten. “I can tell you’re ready too, big boy” you teased.

He didn’t really know where his sweatpants fell, taking them fully out along with his underwear and throwing it somewhere in the darkness of the room. His dick smacked on his stomach, and you lifted your head to peak just a little.

And yes, as you expected, he was big. Not monstrously big but, fair enough to feel a little bit scared of whether is it gonna hurt or not. His tip was so red, you highly doubted he would last long enough before cumming.

“Shit, wait” he said, looking around, brows suddenly frowning in worry. “I don’t have a condom”

You laughed. “So?” you asked. His worried expression was replaced by a confused one. “I don’t mind”

“You don’t?” he blurted out.

“Just pull out. It’ll be fine” you assured with a warm smile. He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of worry still pang in his insides. “Hey” you called out, sitting straight and placing one hand behind his neck. “Don’t worry, it’s gonna be okay. You don’t have to be scared. If you don’t like it, we can stop, okay?” you whispered.

It seemed as if he wanted to say something, but he only limited himself to nod, letting the invisible weight of his shoulders fall off. You pulled him towards you, mouth quickly letting his tongue in as you fell onto the mattress again.

One of his hands started to trace delicate figures on your waist, stopping at your ribs to squeeze tightly as he lets the tip of his cock brush against you. He strangled a moan before aligning himself and you lift your hips slightly. His own hips start to move forward, slow. You gasp at the stretching, stealing Luke’s last breath before he let his forehead collapse on the crook of your neck.

You squeezed him fully, tighter every time another inch entered inside you. When you felt the base of his cock against you, he moaned out against your skin once, then his shoulders started to go up and down as he breathed heavily. “How do you feel this good when I haven’t even started yet?” he asked, more to himself that to you.

You tugged on his curls, forcing him to get away from your neck and look into your eyes. “And what’s taking you so long?” you whisper.

He took his bottom lip in between his teeth as he began to pull out just as slow as he had pushed in. He only let the tip of his cock in before moving forward again. You hugged him, his muscles clenching at the touch of your fingertips on his shoulder blades. He started agonizingly slow, but it felt so good. It was so intimate, not only because of the fact that your legs tangled on his lower back and you pulled him in with your heel, but because suddenly, a warm embrace hugged you both. The sudden feeling of hugging him tighter when he started to move faster, and his need to let his fingers mark over your thighs, tightly gripping on the flesh when you moaned into his ear, something about the lines of going faster and how good it felt. He doesn’t remember.

He wanted to keep you like this forever, his legs thrown around his waist, your pussy sucking him in every time he pulled out, your moan and whimpers in his ear, your hands touching him everywhere. Your hands felt so good, so smooth over his rough skin, over his scars. He wanted to kiss them, every single knuckle, massage them, hold them forever. He wanted to keep you forever. Your embrace, your laugh, your voice, your feelings. He wanted you to open yourself to him, to feel safe around his arms, to know that he would always be there, no matter what you need him for.

“You’re greedy, baby. Aren’t you?” he teased in your ear. He whispered so low that your back arched at the sound. “Yeah, like that. Just sucking me right back in, huh?”

You felt speechless. You were. Also, it was hard to speak when he was pounding into you like an animal, grunts and moans filling the room despite the soaked slapping of skin to skin. He tugged at your hair, pulling down and forcing yourself to push your head back further into his pillow. His tongue flattened against the base of your neck, licking all the way up to the back of your ear. Even though you didn’t see him, you felt him smirk. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this for. Wanted to fuck you ever since you wore that fucking dress to the fireworks”

Oh, the dress.

Fourth of July at camp. Well, it got lots of compliments. How pretty it looked on you, how it showed off your curves, how the color fitted you nicely, how you managed to find the perfect shoes to combine them with. And yes, you had noticed that Luke’s stare towards you was intense. He was staring, jaw clenched and his stupid face towards your directions at all times, head following you wherever you went. But you would’ve never guess that a simple white dress, was gonna start it all for him and the painful ache in his cargo pants.

If you knew, you would’ve wore it before. And more frequently.

“Luke” you moaned out when he particularly pushed too deep inside you.

“Say it. Say my name again” he demanded, hand squeezing in between your bodies to touch your clit again, smacking it with two fingers, stealing a high pitched whimper from your lips. He started his expert circles around it again. You tried your best to do as he said, but the pounding of his cock inside you, the skin slapping and the sensitive touch of his fingertips over you was driving you crazy.

You finally managed to call his name, over and over again, like a prayer. He felt too good when you did so, slamming harder against your body when his hand movement became sloppy, stopping momentarily only to start again.

In a swift, blurry motion, he placed both hands on the mattress on the side of your head, pulling himself up and his cock out of you. You covered your face to muffle your screams when he started to rub himself on your clit. The tip of his cock hurt against you, rubbing over you again and again and again. It was fast, not giving you enough time to recover before his red tip caressed over your clit again.

This felt much better than any other feeling you felt with him, maybe even replaced by the feeling of his cock stretching you out. But this, something you never tried before, made your walls clench around nothing and your clit scream in agony, the warm feeling in your belly only growing more and more with each thrust of his hips.

His movements stopped as abruptly as his moans. You only heard him release a held back moan when he let his hips thrust once more, and you felt his warm load fall over your stomach just at the same time that you came. It reached so high up that you immediately felt out of breath, chest heaving up and down as Luke cursed under his breath, and his cum kept dripping down over you.

He would’ve collapsed over your body, but he didn’t wanna get you all dirty. It was a dumb though, considering the fact that you were sweaty, hair messy, lips parted as you cursed too, and a very slight signal of tears in your eyes. You were destroyed, and he was too.

“Wait here” he pointed at you with one finger, carefully climbing down his bed and putting on his boxers, disappearing in the darkness. He later came back with paper towels, taking the first one and folding it, cleaning the parts of your body that were left behind with him on it.

He cleaned himself after, hissing at the sensitivity of his head, before throwing the dirty wipes to a small bin. He hopped on the bed again, arm throwing around your waist as he pulled you closer. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

He kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips, your collarbone, leaving behind his mark on you. He placed two of three kisses on your shoulder as his hand circled your lower back, before playfully biting on it.

“Stop” you pushed him on the chest. “You’ll get me all marked up”

“What if I wanted to?” he asked, head falling down on the pillow. His eyes twinkled when he looked at yours. “Would you let me?”

“Depends. Will we still pretend we don’t like each other?”

He snorted. “Who said I like you now?”

“Ha-ha” you panted, staying silent for a moment. Your finger traced his features, so harsh yet so delicate. His jawline, his nose, his cheeks. His scar. You let your thumb softly touch it, Luke’s eyes closing as you do, sighting at your warm touch. You knew how much he hated it, how much he wanted people to avoid looking at it, how embarrassed he felt about it. You never truly understood why. Yes, he failed his quest but, it gave him such a different type of look. Brave, warrior-looking, fearless, hot. “I like it” you whispered.

“Don’t lie to me” his voice changed, a sudden dark, sad tone.

“No, I mean it” you blinked fast, concerned at his mood change. “It makes you… pretty”

He would’ve expected any word, any. Badass, tough, bad boy-looking. But pretty? He wasn’t prepared for it. “You think I’m pretty?” he asks, shiny dark eyes piercing yours.

“And a pain in the ass, sure”

He let out a laugh, you joined him. It was a soft symphony that momentarily filled the room with wholesome energy. “So what now?” he asked. “What are we?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know” your fingers played with the little wooden pendants of his necklace. “We don’t need to know it now, though”

“But I don’t wanna pretend I don’t like you either” he explained. “ ‘Cause this is actually kind of fun”

“Kind of?” you asked, tilting your head. Luke rolled his eyes.

“Okay, it’s the best sex I’ve had so far” he admitted.

“Thaaank you” you replied. He laughed again, less this time, but still managed to crack a smile. He didn’t know he could smile this much with you. “And, you don’t have to worry about pretending. We don’t have to”

“No?”

“No” you shook your head. “Let it be. Let ‘em think what they want. We were sent on a quest, something happened and now, we’re friends”

His signature grin marked on his face. “Friends?” he asks.

You gulp, visibly flustered now. And yes, friends. Friends who lay in bed naked, friends who fuck, friends who kiss, friends who dirty talk to each other, friends who break curfew to find themselves making out in the most remote places at camp, friends who stare, friends who care. So, yes; “Friends” you assure.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan smut #pjo series #pjo #luke castellan x you #luke x reader #luke castellan one shot #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #pjo x you #pjo smut #luke castellan x female reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan imagines

[st4rtar0t]

Love story of you and your romantic soulmate

Pick a picture

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Requested by @divya444

Picture one

Cards: 6 of pentacles, queen of cups, the knight of wands, strength, two of cups.

In a quaint town nestled between rolling hills and blooming meadows, he, a charismatic and adventurous soul, met her, a compassionate and nurturing spirit. He was the Knight, always seeking new horizons, and she was the Queen, her heart overflowing with kindness. One day, as he was passing through the town, he noticed her sitting by a fountain, her eyes reflecting the depth of the water. Intrigued by her aura of warmth and empathy, he approached her. She, in turn, saw the fire in his eyes and the determination in his stance. Their connection was instant, as if the universe had orchestrated their meeting. He, with his passionate tales of distant lands and daring adventures, fascinated her. She, with her soothing words and caring gestures, captured his heart. The Knight, though adventurous, had a generous heart. He would spend his days helping the townsfolk, sharing his stories, and aiding those in need, all the while stealing glances at the Queen. She admired his strength not just in battles but in the way he stood up for the less fortunate. As their bond deepened, they found solace in each other's arms. their resilience and determination to overcome any obstacle together. Through trials and tribulations, their love only grew stronger, proving that true love could conquer all. Under the light of the moon, with stars as witnesses, they exchanged vows of love and commitment, sealing their union. Their love story became a beacon of hope, inspiring others in the town to believe in the power of love and kindness. And so,they embarked on a lifelong journey together, their love story written in the stars and echoed through the ages, reminding everyone that love, coupled with strength and generosity, could create a harmony that was truly magical.

Picture 2

Cards: The sun, The moon, page of cups, 5 of wands, 3 of cups, 6 of swords.

In a small coastal town, beneath the radiant glow of the sun and the enchanting embrace of the moon, he, a sensitive soul, met her, a vibrant and joyful spirit. Their connection was immediate, like a cosmic force drawing them together. Their love story, however, was not without challenges. The arrival of the enemies of love signalled moments of conflict and tension, testing their relationship. But every disagreement only deepened their understanding of each other, making their bond stronger like tempered steel. In the midst of chaos, they found solace in the tranquil energy. Together, they embarked on a journey, leaving behind the troubles of the past and sailing toward a peaceful future. Hand in hand, they navigated the uncertain waters, relying on each other for support and guidance. Under the golden hues of the sun, he admired her like the moon admires the night sky, with a love so profound that it illuminated his entire being. She, in turn, found comfort in his kindness and the sincerity reflected in his eyes. Their love story became a testament to the power of understanding, patience, and unwavering affection. They marked milestones together, rejoicing in the triumphs of their relationship. Their love, like the sun and the moon, was a perfect balance, each complementing the other in ways that words could not capture. And in the quiet moments between the stars and the sea, they knew they had found something rare and precious—a love destined to shine eternally, just like the sun and the moon in the vast, endless sky.

Picture 3

Cards: The chariot, knight of cups, page of swords, judgement, 9 of wands, 7 of wands, the world and the star.

In a realm where fate wove its tales, there existed a spirited young woman. She had dreams as vast as the world, and her ambitions sparkled like the stars above. One day, she crossed paths with a gallant and poetic soul. His heart overflowed with emotions, and he carried a cup of love that he offered to the world. Their story began in a small town, where she used her sharp intellect to challenge the norms of their society. Him, on the other hand, had recently found his purpose. He was a healer, mending not just bodies but also wounded spirits. Their paths intertwined as they shared their dreams under the vast, watchful eye of the World. But their love was not without challenges. Her resilience, her determination to protect their love from the adversities that tested them. His bravery, his willingness to fight for their relationship even in the face of opposition. Amidst their struggles, they found solace in the Stars, in the night sky. They both found solace in hope. Her dreams illuminated their path, guiding them through the darkness. His gentle heart provided the unwavering support she needed. Their journey was an epic tale of love and perseverance, where the energies of the cards converged to create a bond as unyielding as the mountains and as boundless as the sky. And in each other's arms, they found the strength to conquer every obstacle, writing their love story in the constellations above—a story whispered by the winds and immortalised in the hearts of all who heard of their extraordinary love.

#pick a card #tarot #divination #tarot reading #pick a photo #pick a picture #pick a pile #spirituality #tarotcommunity #pick an image #future spouse #st4rtar0t #love reading #tarot pick a card #tarot community #tarotblr

[dduane]

For the Solstice: “Invictus”

In the dimness he woke and knew it was too late. Morning never came so late unless the world was ending.

Fortunately, he knew what to do about that.

He blinked and ruffled his feathers, looking around. This was his place. Surrounding a patch of grass were two holly trees, a pine, a cypress whose branches all went the wrong way, and much shrubbery, mostly beech and thorn. The shelter was good here, even on nights like last night. And in the holly, food appeared hung up: good food that tasted of fat and meat. It was all his. Later, when it was time for sex, there would be someone else who’d get some of it. But right now, he owned it.

This cold white stuff on the ground did complicate matters. It came and went without warning, and here it was again. Now, others who might have spent the morning scratching around the ground instead of stuffing themselves full up here would be turning up in his territory, eating his food. His feathers ruffled up again, this time with rage at the thought. Bastards. Bastards. Kill them all.

He hopped up onto the branch that had the best view across the patch of grass and into the bushes, and sang. Bastards! Who wants a piece of me? Come and get it! Because this was when it had to be said, no matter how much you might have preferred to sit quiet with your feathers fluffed up, conserving your heat. The dim sky was already paling toward that too-cold blue. It would be a bad day, cold, everybody and his family would turn up here trying to get at the tree food, which was what you needed this time of year if you meant to stay alive until dusk —

And suddenly he heard the harsh dark cawing coming from across the hardened path, across the wall, in the wood full of tall starved pines. He shivered. Not so early! he thought. What are you doing up at this hour? But he knew. That one wanted the tree-food too. It had come for it before. Now, in the silence before the morning wind, he heard the flapping of its huge wings.

Hastily he turned to the food cage, ate a few mouthfuls, felt the fat melt down his throat like blood, like life. Almost before he finished, the darkness had landed with a noisy thrash of leaves and branches up in the holly. A great expressionless black eye gazed down at him.

He sang. It was almost all he could do. It’s mine! Stay away, or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! But the outcome was hardly so simple. The black-headed, white-backed shape with the axe-like beak bounced down another branch, and another, its eye on that tree food, that meat. It liked meat too. He’d once seen it zoom down onto the pond and simply pick up a baby duck and fly off with it. I’ll kill you if you get any closer! Don't push me! I will!

It came closer. It was winter, it was death, the shape now only one branch of holly away. He sang as if life depended on it: because it did. If he had enough to eat, the sun came up. If the sun came up, the world was safe. It was as simple as that. Go away! I have to eat the food or the world will end! I’ll kill you to keep that from happening! Monster, go away, don’t make me rip you up—! He fluttered at the monstrous gaping head, enraged, desperate.

A clacketing, rattling noise came from behind. The black eye went wide. The awful pale-backed bulk roused its wings and flapped clumsily out of the holly tree. Desperate with relief, he flung himself at the food-cage again, and ate with frantic speed as the sky paled brighter, toward day-blue: and between mouthfuls, he sang at the top of his lungs, shuddering with relief and triumph. Bastard! I warned you not to mess with me! Victory! Victory!

The sun peered up over the far hill. The shadows fled. He gorged himself as the black bird flew off, and stopped, and shouted again, Victory!

...She stood there with her tea mug in one hand, looking out across the backyard snow at the dot of red breast deep in among the holly branches, pecking furiously at the suet in its little cage. “Wow,” she said to the husband, back in the kitchen, “listen to that little guy. You’d think he’d just won World War Three.”

“Yeah. ...Where’s the milk?”

The door closed. On the snow, the sun of the shortest day shone.

Victory!

#winter solstice #in the northern hemisphere #fiction

[docgold13]

Batman: The Animated Series - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Lock-Up

Lyle Bolton was a military veteran who went on to become a corrections officer.  He was tasked as head of security abroad the USS Halsey when the decommissioned naval ship was used as a temporary prison during the construction of Blackgate Penitentiary.  Thereafter Bolton was hired as the chief security officer at Arkham Asylum.  

Arkham was renown for its lax security and the alarming pace at which inmates were able to escape.  Bolton was brought on board to address this matter. He issued severe, draconian measures to ensure the patients of Arkham stay in line.  Bolton’s authoritarian regime over the asylum caused great duress among its patients, so much so that many sought to escape just to get away from Bolton’s intolerable treatment.  

Batman took note of the terror The Scarecrow showed toward Bolton when returning the villain to Arkham.  To further investigate the matter, Bruce Wayne asked for a board review to assess Bolton’s efficacy as the asylum’s chief of security.  The review descended into chaos when the inmates began to complain about Bolton’s treatment and Bolton lost his temper. In a violent rant, Bolton expounding on how the inmates were mere animals and should be treated as such.  He was promptly fired.

Several months later, Bolton resurfaced as ‘Lock-Up’ a masked vigilante looking to bring about a more permanent type of justice.  He had decided that the root cause of crime in Gotham was the inept politicians, the liberal media and the permissive psychiatrists... all of whom neglected to see criminals as mad dogs needing to be put down.  As such, Lock-Up’s initial acts were to kidnap Mayor Hill, television journalist Summer Gleeson and Arkham’s chief physician, Dr. Bartholomew.  He kept his hostages on the now-abandoned USS Halsey.  The Dynamic Duo were able to track them down and Robin tended to releasing the hostages whilst Batman took on Lock-Up.  

Lock-Up was greatly disappointed Batman did not share his vision and attitudes toward criminals.  He thought they were of the same clothe, men fed up with the broken system and willing to take the law into their own hands.  Batman could catch the criminals and then Lock-Up could put them down.   For Batman, however, the sanctity of life and the belief in a person’s ability to change were essential components to his notion of justice. In some ways Lock-Up’s moral skepticism was exactly what Batman had dedicated himself to fight against.  

Batman ultimately triumphed over Lock-Up. In an ironic twist, Lyle Bolton ended up incarcerated in the very asylum he had once been hired to secure.   

Actor Bruce Weitz provided the voice for Lock-Up with the authoritarian villain appearing in the fourteenth episode of the second season of Batman: The Animated Series, ‘Lock-Up.’  

#batman the animated series #Batman #Lock-Up #Bruce Weitz #cut-out #paper art #DCAU

[labellefleur-sauvage]

Heat Above

In the sudden uncertainty of her life, Elain Archeron seeks comfort in an unlikely source: her mate Lucien.

For Elucien Week 2023 Day 1: Mates

The specifics of Elain's visions don't exactly seem well-described in the books, so I'm interpreting her visions (and how the end of ACOSF could affect them) and their potential ties to Lucien here. I like to imagine that Elain's visions will guide her towards her mate, and I wanted to try writing something in the ACOTAR universe for my favorite pairing, so here we are!

Thank you for everyone @elucienweekofficial for organizing this event!

Rating: Explicit. Word Count: 3.9K

Read on A03

XXX

In the span of a day, both of her sisters nearly died. 

And there was nothing Elain Archeron could do to save either of them. 

It all worked out in the end, they each soothed her. Nesta triumphed over those wanting to destroy her and became a Valkyrie, a living legend and feared warrior even the Illyrians idolized. Feyre survived the birthing bed—how, exactly, no one deigned to explain to her - and introduced her son Nyx to her family, everyone weeping joyously.

Everyone was safe. Everyone was fine.

And Elain’s visions had been out of control ever since.

It was as if a momentous shift occurred, like something—or someone—had altered the preordained fates the Mother lovingly crafted for each and every Fae and set everyone a new, uncertain future.

Her visions had never been regular or clear, but now they were chaotic and overwhelming. Death, blood, war, grief, terror and interlopers, interspersed with breathtaking happiness that Elain felt with her entire being: family dinners, Solstice celebrations, walks in unknown meadows, tending a garden on a bright, green hill, and holding hands with a foreign yet familiar male with flaming red hair.

That red-haired male was a frequent guest in her visions now, for whatever reason. Nearly every day she saw a glimpse of him, sometimes alone—his handsome face wreathed in sunlight, an open window behind him, a contemplative look on his face—or with someone she quickly realized was herself, such as when she saw him kissing down, down, down her body…

Elain shut her eyes. It was just like when she had been newly turned and her visions were constant, to the point where she didn’t know what was the present and what was the future, what was real and what wasn’t.

It was all too much, yet not enough. Elain wanted to turn her brain off, to have no thoughts at all, yet she craved more, needed to know what may happen. 

She was alone, yet surrounded by people. There was no one who could help her.

Except one. 

There must be a reason he kept appearing in her visions.

Elain leapt up from her bed and hurriedly dressed. She hoped he still kept his apartment by the river.

“Oh, hello Elain,” Feyre called quietly from the couch in the living room downstairs. Rhys was on the ground next to Nyx, swooping a toy bat over his head. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Just for a walk,” she called, gathering her shoes. 

“Would you like some company? Nyx is due for a nap, and a trip in the stroller—“

“No!” Elain yelped so loudly even Rhys raised a surprised eyebrow at her. “Er, thank you, but it’s just something I need to do by myself.”

Elain let herself out of the River House with Feyre and Rhys’s gentle murmurs behind her, then made her way into Velaris. She didn’t actually know where he stayed or if he spent his time with someone else.

No, she thought resoundingly, turning down a sleepy street lined with attractive apartments, Elain knew her mate hadn’t been with anyone since that horrible day in Hybern.

She stood in front of a clean and unassuming building. Something told her this was it. But how to get in? She was just about to knock on the front door of the building and hope someone would let her in when the door opened and she saw Lucien for the first time in months.

“Elain?”

He looked good. Handsome, clean, and put together in a deep green jacket and brown pants. Two small sections of hair were braided at his temples. 

Elain wondered if he would ever braid her hair, if she asked.

“Elain?” Lucien asked again, confusion and concern flooding his voice. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Elain said, remembering herself and why she was here. “I came to see you.”

Lucien paled. “I see. Would this be better handled inside?”

“Hm. Yes, I think that would be for the best.”

Without a word, Lucien opened the door and led her up a series of staircases to an apartment on the top floor. Like everything about Lucien, it was clean and quietly elegant and put together: soft curtains fluttered on either side of the windows thrown open wide to let the cool breeze in, and several tasteful chairs were arranged around a low table in the middle of the room. A simple kitchen was in the corner, and a closed door was on the opposite side of the room.

Lucien sighed. “Are you here to break the bond?”

Elain looked startled. Why would he assume that? 

True, Elain had been ignoring her mate for years now, too frightened to belong heart, body and soul to any one being. After Graysen, after Azriel, after her entire world upended when she was pushed into the Cauldron, Elain couldn’t bear the thought of having another supposed constant in her life turn away from her. 

But to permanently sever ties with Lucien, especially now when her visions were pointing him towards her, left an empty, hollow feeling in her stomach.

“I—no, I’m not here to break the bond,” Elain replied. Lucien let out a deep breath and visibly relaxed. “I’m here to ask you why I keep seeing you.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed. “Seeing me? I haven’t seen you in months.”

“No, not like that,” Elain said with a slight roll of her eyes. “I see you. Constantly. In my visions.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “And there must be a reason,” Elain went on. “I see you in my mind everyday, without fail, between my… other visions.” Elain winced. “But the only good visions—if that’s what they really are, and not just some type of hallucination—only feature you. And I want to know why.”

Silence greeted her. “You came to see me,” Lucien said slowly, an eyebrow still raised, “to ask me why I keep appearing in your visions?”

Elain flushed. When he said it that way…

“I thought you previously said you couldn’t control your visions. How would I have any control over something you can’t?”

Elain bit her lip. He was completely right—there really was no good reason for her to have come here, to see Lucien and demand answers for something he had nothing to do with. But some part of herself knew Lucien was connected to her sudden violent visions—why else would she have visions of him constantly, and feel the urge to see him now, if he couldn’t help her?

“I—I thought—“

“I’m sorry Elain,” Lucien said quietly. “I don’t know if I can help you.” He looked away, a pained look on his face. “Would you like me to escort you home?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “You want me to leave?”

Lucien raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I just told you I don’t know how to help you. You ignore me for months when I give you gifts and space—I imagine you can’t stand to be in my presence since I told you something you didn’t want to hear.”

Elain glared at him. “Don’t assume to know what I want.”

“You’re right. I can’t assume to know anything about you, because every time I’ve tried, you’ve ignored me like a coward,” Lucien replied coolly.

“I’m not a coward!” Elain hissed, her cheeks turning hot.

Lucien chuckled unkindly. “I bet that’s all you’ve ever been. Hiding behind your sisters, using them as shields so you don’t have to confront anything in your life that bothers you.”

Elain grit her teeth, unable to deny Lucien. Why did she think he would help her, even if he could? Lucien probably detested her, loathed her for everything she’d put him through, and she couldn’t even blame him. 

“Even if I were somehow able to help you,” Lucien went on, putting distance between the two of them, “who’s to say you’d do anything but ignore me after I somehow banished myself from your visions?” Lucien leaned against a kitchen counter, directly in front of a wide window, the morning sunlight streaming in and bathing him in light. “At least this way, I can find comfort in the fact that I’m on your mind in some capacity.”

Elain sucked in a breath. It was identical to her prior vision: Lucien, surrounded in sunlight, his red hair gleaming. His golden mechanical eye paled in comparison to the glow he gave off now. The anger and frustration she felt for the male in front of her faded away. 

If this vision was true, what about the rest of them? Danger and sadness, but also eventual joy and happiness. Could one be had without the other? Was it worth risking everything to find out?

“You’ve been so cold to me for so long,” Lucien went on, ignoring how Elain was looking at him. “You ignored me, tossed me aside—“

“You’re my mate,” Elain breathed, and everything suddenly clicked in her mind. Yes, it was inevitable that there would be death and grief and bone crushing sadness in her life. They had been ever present in her life before she was turned, when she was human, and those emotions would be with her, in some way, shape or form, in her current life. The only difference was that now she had someone to weather the storm with her, and make her remember that happiness was always worth the sadness.

“What did you say?” Lucien asked quietly, looking at her.

“You’re my mate.” The more she said it, the better it felt, settling in her body and cementing her to the present. “You’re my mate. There’s only you.”

Lucien stared at her. The only sound in the room was his mechanical eye, ticking and moving faster than Elain could track. 

“Don’t say things you don’t understand,” Lucien said quietly, staring at the ground. “To say that to me, it’s, it’s…”

“Admitting what we both knew and have been avoiding?”

Lucien took a deep, steadying breath. “How do I know this is real?” Lucien jerked his head to look at Elain. His eye was wide and Elain could hear the fast beating of his heart. “How can I tell if this is what you want?”

Elain cocked her head, staring at the open vulnerability sketched on her mate’s handsome face. “Because I’ve seen my future. I thought it couldn’t be real, that some things must be wrong, but…”

“But? But what?”

“They’re all real,” Elain said quietly. “Horrible, horrible, things, coming soon and also later, but great things as well. Happiness, a family—all with you.”

Lucien’s eye widened. “You’ve seen that? Us? Together?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not saying this because of what you’ve seen? You still have a choice in your future.”

She did, and her own heart sped up to match Lucien’s at the tenderness in his tone. Even now, he wanted Elain to have a choice, and wanted Elain to choose him.

“I think my visions have been urging me towards you for a long time. They know what I’ve been too afraid to admit.”

“And what’s that?”

“That I could be happy with you. That I will be happy with you.”

Lucien swallowed but didn’t move towards her, a wary look on his face. From what she’d heard about her mate from Feyre and Rhys, Lucien was never short on words, but his silence hung over their heads in the room.

Elain had already taken the first metaphorical step towards healing her relationship with Lucien—what were a few physical steps to convince him of her words?

Walking towards Lucien like he was a frightened animal, Elain stopped right in front of him. His heart was still beating fast—nerves, excitement, anticipation, she couldn’t be sure. 

“I still hear your heart.” Elain took one of Lucien’s large hands in hers—he was so warm—and held it against her chest, over her own stuttering heart. “Do you hear mine?”

Lucien gasped, his eye wide and mouth open as if he could finally hear the constant drumming of his mate’s heart, like Elain had heard ever since she emerged from the Cauldron. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but she swore she saw some type of shimmering cord wrap around Lucien’s hand from where it connected with her chest and traveled along his arm—

Elain lost sight of the cord entwining them together when Lucien leaned down and kissed her, consuming her mind, body and soul. 

It was blissfully silent in her mind for just a moment before a wave of images flashed before her eyelids, one after another after another, too fast for her to comprehend. It was like a lifetime’s worth of visions being crammed into the space of a few seconds and Elain gasped, overwhelmed with everything—

“Elain, what’s wrong? Breath, breath for me.”

And just as soon as they appeared, her visions fled at the first touch of Lucien’s touch, one hand on the back of her head, another on her lower back and rubbing soothing circles against her with his thumb.

“There, that’s better.” Lucien continued comforting her, and Elain realized what a fool she’d been the past years, to deny herself the sheer solace her mate provided her with just a few soft words and touches. “Was that…?”

“Yes.” Elain worked to steady her breathing. “I saw everything.”

Lucien paled. “Everything?”

Elain nodded, staring up at him. “We’ll travel… somewhere together. And Vassa will be wreathed in a crown of flame and feathers.”

“Elain—“

“Your father will rise to his full glory—”

“Beron?”

“No, the other one,” Elain snapped, massaging her temples. If only he could see. “And you’ll take your place next to him.”

“Other one? What are you—?”

“The man at the lake will fall and his birds released into the wind, but not without great cost.”

Lucien stared at Elain aghast.

“The Dread Trove will be restored, with the help of visitors from worlds so close to ours, but separated by the thinnest of veils.”

“Elain—“

“But we’ll be happy together, in the land of perpetual sun.”

“We will?”

“Yes, the two of us. You glow in the future. And we’ll have children—I’m not sure how many, at least two—“

Lucien’s lips stopped any more words from leaving her mouth. “Elain,” he chuckled against her, his lips kissing the corners of her mouth. “Let’s leave some things as a surprise, hm?”

“But what about—umph!”

Lucien’s lips slotted against her own again, his hands cradling her jaw, and Elain let her train of thought taper off. 

“We don’t need to worry about any of that now,” he whispered. “Let your mate take care of you, hm?”

Elain wanted to argue, that they absolutely should worry about what she had just witnessed, but then Lucien was kissing her again. His big hands trailed down her waist, then over her hips and behind her to cup her bottom. Whatever would come to pass would come—not admitting to her feelings and spending time with Lucien wouldn’t change that. 

So Elain twisted her hand in Lucien’s shirt and nipped at his lips and smiled in triumph when she felt him gasp against her. Her victory was short-lived: with one graceful swoop, Lucien carried her in his arms towards the closed door in his apartment.

As she suspected, it was a bedroom. Elain didn’t have time to study the room in detail, as Lucien tossed her on the bed then followed after her, climbing on top of her and resuming his heated kisses.  

“Is this alright?” he whispered, his lips trailing down her jaw, throat and collarbone.

“Yes!” she gasped as his lips skimmed her upper chest. She was on fire, and knew Lucien would only stoke the flames of her desire the more he touched her. “Off, off—!”

Together, they wrestled her dress off and soon, Elain was bare in front of her mate on his bed. Before, she might have felt self conscious—she’d only been with Graysen, and that was in a dark room—but she had no reason to be embarrassed, not when Lucien was staring at her like his world had just been shattered and made new in the span of an afternoon.

“Elain,” he croaked, glancing at her body before settling on her bright face. “You’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen.”

Elain smiled, her chest warm and beating, before Lucien was on top of her again, his lips against hers. She threaded her hands through his long hair and moved her hands over his neck, his back, his chest, anywhere that she could, just to feel more of his body. 

Lucien moved down her body, his lips licking and pecking at her sensitive breasts, her bellybutton—Cauldron, she had seen this too—before settling between her legs.

“Yes?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. Still checking on her, making sure she wanted this, wanted him. Lucien was breathing heavily, his eye darting to the curls between her legs and her heated face. He swallowed, like he was barely holding onto his restraint.

Elain wasn’t faring any better. “Yes,” she responded desperately, canting her hips towards him. Lucien needed no further persuasion: gripping her inner thighs, he wrenched her thighs apart and lowered himself between them.

The first, hot press of his tongue against her folds had Elain arching her back against his bed. The next swipe of his tongue against her clit made her grab Lucien’s head and keep him right where she wanted him. 

Lucien didn’t seem to mind; groaning into her cunt, Lucien kept licking and sucking, gradually inserting one, then another thick finger inside her tight channel and thrusting. Elain moaned her approval, too delirious with pleasure to form words. 

After nearly no time at all, Lucien crooked his fingers a certain way inside her, his tongue flicking her clit and his eye intense on her face, and Elain was coming. It was all consuming, but immediately her body craved more, more, more.

“Lucien!” Elain gasped, pushing his head away from between her legs, where he had been gently lapping at her swollen bud. “I need you!”

Lucien sat back on his haunches, breathing heavily but studying Elain. “You already have me, Elain.”

Elain felt her heart twist, knowing he’d given himself to her the day she crawled out of the cauldron and the mating bond snapped. But although Lucien had long ago given himself to her, Elain hadn’t yet done the same for him. She needed to reassure her mate that she wanted him.

Silently, Elain rose from the bed and helped Lucien discard his clothes. The more and more golden-brown skin he revealed to her, the warmer Elain felt; whether the heat was coming from Lucien or herself, she couldn’t be sure. 

Soon, he was naked, and Lucien’s glorious body was on display. Elain felt a sudden rush of pride: this strong, clever, handsome male was all hers, and no one else’s.

“Have you…?” Lucien began when he was over her once again, the tip of his cock brushing her folds.

“Yes,” Elain responded, shifting her hips to get comfortable. He was so close to where she needed him.

“Are you sure—“

Elain stopped his question with her lips, soft and sweet, against his. Lucien was on his elbows above her, his face inches from her own. Silently, she moved her hand over the scars on his face and traced them gently, then leaned up to kiss them lovingly. 

Shivering, Lucien pressed against her, working himself inside her tight channel. He went slowly, letting her adjust, until finally he bottomed out inside her. 

Elain felt full. Not just from Lucien’s length, but from it all meant for her: having someone with her, always, to defend her, protect her, care for her, and support her. She belonged to someone, and someone belonged to her. She could cry from how happy she felt. 

And as Lucien finally shifted his hips and began moving, his body and his heat above and within her, Elain felt grounded for the first time since she was turned. Her mind quieted, no longer tormenting her with what would happen, but blessedly blank, letting her focus on being with her mate. 

Elain was thankful; she didn’t want to miss any of what she was experiencing. Lucien was thick inside her, moving slowly but steadily. He was being so polite, exactly what she expected from the gentleman Elain knew Lucien was.

But Elain was selfish, especially now, and she wanted more.

“I need—“ Elain gasped, unsure how to communicate what she wanted.

Like Lucien could read her mind, he shifted one of her legs up against his hip and thrust hard inside her. Stars exploded behind her eyelids and Elain could hear the smirk in Lucien’s voice. “Is that what you needed?”

“Yes!” Elain moaned as Lucien leaned back on his knees, her leg still propped up against his body. 

“What else do you need, Elain?” Lucien crooned softly above her, increasing his pace inside her. He swiped a thumb over her clit.

“Yes, Lucien, more,” Elain begged quietly, quickly approaching her peak.  

“Ask nicely,” Lucien grunted. He was fucking into her hard now, hilting his cock fully inside her. Sweat rolled down his neck and chest. “Tell me what you need.”

“Keep touching me and stay with me, please.” She hadn’t meant to say that last part. After everything they’d been through, it was too much to ask of him. Elain expected Lucien to freeze, but it only seemed to spur him on.

“Anything. Anything you want,” Lucien groaned, his thumb furiously circling her clit and like an explosion, Elain came. It was like nothing she’d felt before; indescribable pleasure raced up and down her spine, pleasure that came from not just Lucien touching her, but the knowledge that he was hers, and she was his.

Elain was dimly aware of Lucien cursing to himself before he pressed his length inside her and came, collapsing on top of her as his orgasm petered out. He rolled them over so Elain was on his chest.

If Elain thought his heartbeat was loud before, it was nothing compared to the explosive drumming now. It soothed her, though, and Elain felt her eyes drift close after only a few moments.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien whispered against her temple later that afternoon after they had woken up for a second round of lovemaking. “For those horrible things I called you earlier. That wasn’t fair of me.”

“But they were true, as much as it hurts to admit it.”

“But that doesn’t mean I needed to say them.”

Elain sighed into Lucien’s chest and twined her legs with his under the thin sheet on his bed. “If you hadn’t said them, I’m not sure we would have ended up here, right now.”

“But surely you saw this coming.” Elain could hear the grin on his face. “Surely one of your visions—“

“My visions have told me quite a bit about the two of us,” Elain admitted, her cheeks red. “But didn’t you say earlier that some things should be a surprise?”

Lucien dropped a kiss to her nose, and Elain felt his heat suffuse her entire body with that one peck. “I did say that. I may not be terribly fond of them, but if they all concern you, then I’ll gladly let each day with you be a surprise.”

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar #my fic #my fics #i have given up on moodboards #and will now be making crappy banners for fics #gRAphIc DesIGn IS mY pASSioN #like this is laughably bad lmao #anyways this fic is my first canon universe fic for these two #a court of thorns and roses #happy elucien week!

[sw33tsnow]

Sculpture and you

Keegan x Artist!F!Reader (18+)

Summary: It was an accident which led to you both separation but Keegan knew how to fix his wrong doing, fixed it real good.

Warnings: NOT FOR MINORS, College!au: older!reader & younger!Keegan, mentions of injury, slight angst, fluff, heavy plot, smut: mommy!kink, desperate (?), swearing, footjob (m!receiving), oral (f!receiving), heavy praises, nipples play, mating press, unprotected sex (p in v), cum on stomach, etc. Wordcount: 8k1

NOTE(s):

I'M TERRIBLY APOLOGIZE FOR ANY GRAMMAR ERRS

Here are the paintings that've been mentioned in my writing: The Triumph of the Name of Jesus , Michelangelo’s titanic portrayal of the Old Testament Book of Genesis , Starry Night , Café Terrace At Night

So sorry for the wordcount ૮(˶╥︿╥)ა

Love equals a piece of artwork. It is brittle and prone to being damaged when it's initially incomplete, yet becomes remarkably solid when subjected to heat. But, it'll eventually shatter if you don't treasure it or put your mind to it well.

Situated on a nearby hill, your university is prominently displayed in the city flanked by the scent of damp soil and vibrant lush foliage that varies in shades depending on the seasons. A vast campus is formed on either side of the river that flows through the middle with the ever-present fog on the surface creating the most picturesque scenery you'd ever catch in your entire life. The majestic yet graceful architecture of seven buildings took years to design by the brilliant professors from all departments and to build, standing tall and proud like sentinels guarding your campus from all directions.

It could never be boastful to state that your university has a significant influence on the fine arts scene globally, and that you have worked so hard to succeed here.

The Visual Arts building - your course's tower, which housed the painting, drawing, and sculpture, was placed between the Architecture and Literature ones. That's quite convenient for you because, despite receiving excellent comments on your expertise and collaboration, you failed to get along with others in your course because nearly all of your buddies were Architecture department alumni. Perhaps that helped explain why you're sitting happily in the study hall which did not belong to your building, where from the librarian to the sophomores were so familiar with your constant presence that they didn't care to question.

However, you didn't show up to have fun this time. The theme for the architects' project was History and Religion and your bestfriend reached you because her junior had picked a topic closely related to the Visual Arts and required assistance.

"As an exemplary senior, I've to help my juniors as much as I can. Especially when it only costs three meals to repay the favor, right bestie?" And she batted her lashes at you, only to get a nod of approval from you to escape the cringeness that she offered. 

Since your closest friend chose the construction of the Kölner Dom, a stunning specimen of Gothic architecture, as her topic, you must admit that you were a little dubious about this proposal. Architecture's learners do not show interest in any particular paintings, drawings, or sculptures. What fascinates them are the construction, the length of time the projects require to develop, the value and backstory.....blah blah blah, so much dull information that you couldn't help but groan each time she babbled into your ear.

Until you met Keegan.

He was a freshman, passed the tensing admission of your college four months ago. On the opening day, there was one pastime that the girls of all faculties had in common: gushing on the new students. Although you're not one of them, the seemingly never-ending parties and overwhelming adoration towards outstanding individuals undoubtedly added to the widespread fervor for Keegan. 

A picture is worth a thousand words.

The boy had deep blue eyes and a remarkable height, he even had to bend down when going through the doors. You mistakenly thought he was a model because with that attractive visage and that masculine jawline, not to mention that his sturdy yet slim waist and protruding chest muscles were flaunted beautifully in a simple black T-shirt tucked into matching trousers. Silver belt buckle and chain necklace swing rhythmically with each step he took, the leather backpack hanging off one shoulder and those Timberland boots; it's awkward knowing that the keen eyes and meticulousness you inherited from your mother and have utilized primarily in your studies has proven to be so beneficial.

"Keeg, over here" One of the group's friends yelled.

The dark head spun around, his eyes shone like a lost child who had just found his siblings. He marched over to your table and took a seat opposite to you right away. Much to your surprise, Keegan’s quite reserved, which is pleasant for you because at least the boy still has something in common with those who constantly have a pair of thick glasses glued to their face; and because you’re pretty bad at dealing with arrogant punks.   

Impressively, not focusing on gigantic and iconic geometric features, Keegan has picked two of the finest ceiling decorations in Rome. 

“I still can't decide between The Sistine Chapel and The Gesù, so I need your advice. You don't mind, right?”

Attentive and respectful. He was probing your expression, as if didn't want you to feel uncomfortable working with him.

"Of course not"

Keegan grumbled softly at hearing your courteous response and turned away to retrieve his laptop from his rucksack.

"Uhm hmm, not yet" Your best friend murmured, prompting you to turn and stare at her with a puzzled frown.

Then the boy took out his laptop, and instead of the original casing, there was the well-known Starry Night painting by the begetter Vincent Van Gogh.

"Did you draw that?" Pointing at the case, the corners of your mouth curved up and your eyes widened slightly in amusement. 

"Ah, yes.....this's just my own taste cus I'm not really drawn to Picasso's blocks and color scheme nor adopt the surrealism like Salvador Dalí" Genuinely he spoke, "Do you also like Van Gogh as well?"

Raising your eyebrows before flipping the phone onto a table over, the drawing of Café Terrace At Night was likewise repainted on your phone case. That successfully earned a comfortable chuckle from Keegan, and you casted a innuendo glance at your best friend, who was already beaming mischievously at you.

From his penchant for style to his distinct standpoint on artists to the two religious structures he opted for as the focus of his task, Keegan has more surprises than you expect from him. There also did not appear to be a disagreement between your ideas, since your aesthetic preferences were clearly comparable.

The venue that he selected was Rome, also referred to as the Eternal City. Any discussion on ceiling paintings in this ‘never-ending array of fabulous churches and palaces’ city must start with what is arguably the most well-known artwork in art history: Michelangelo’s titanic portrayal of the Old Testament Book of Genesis. It’s hard to envision the sheer scale of the work of 175 separate pictorial fields containing over 300 monumental figures, including thundering prophets, ancient seers and statuesque nudes, also known as ignudi, framing the central narratives of the creation of the world. At the very centre of this epic biblical narrative is the most iconic scene of all - the moment when God gives life to his magnificent human creation with a single touch of index fingers. Elsewhere God is working diligently to complete the endeavor of creating a world that his human charges can thrive in. Here he divides light from darkness, and there he separates land from ocean. Tosses the sun, moon, and distant planets into the void in one scenario, and becomes a divine horticulturist by conjuring flora and fauna out of thin air in another. Yet not each and every detail is rosy upon the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Not too long do Adam and Eve find themselves in challenges, incapable to resist the forbidden fruit that an evil serpent offers, and all that follows falls to hell in the next scenes as the sorrowful couple is banished from Eden. Things only become worse as humanity descends deeper into depravity, culminating in the horrific Flood sequence where much of the world is submerged beneath the swelling waves of God's wrath. When Michelangelo's astounding fresco cycle was eventually shown in just four years of almost superhuman activity to a feverish public in 1512, the world was suitably amazed. He was hailed as the greatest artist of his, or any other generation, and the history of art was to be altered forever. 

About The Triumph of the Name of Jesus, which you suggested more. In the wake of the call to arms of the Counter-Reformation for a renewed emphasis on the ability of art to astound the faithful with astounding feats of painterly virtuosity, Roman artists went above and beyond in their pursuit of pushing the boundaries of their craft in the numerous magnificent new churches that were appearing all over the city. Among the most luxurious of them all was the Gesù, the mother church of the newly founded Jesuit order. The magnificent church's interior, finished in 1584, is a treasure trove of priceless artwork, but what truly excels visitors is the spectacular paintings that were painted on the dome and ceiling a century later. Il Baccicio, the artist, seemed to have created a miracle that is solely appropriate for the hallowed surroundings. As you cast your gaze upwards, the church's vault appears to vanish into a whirling mass of clouds, providing a clear glimpse into the celestial sphere of heaven. The Triumph of the Name of Jesus was the one dear subject matter to the Jesuits' hearts. Immersed in dazzling rays of celestial light, the monogram of Christ's name looms at the very core of the ceiling, encircled by a plethora of angels and holy beings enthralled with the miracle. By the mere mention of Christ's name, rebel angels tempted by Satan's hollow promises of power were defeated and tumbled illusionistically from the vault in a tangle of grotesque limbs and painful poses. Baroque bombast at its best together with the free combination of painting, sculpture, and architecture fosters a theatrical, multi-sensorial, and three-dimensional ensemble - Baccicio's enormous fresco guaranteed The Gesù's place as one of the most significant pilgrimage sites in Rome during the 17th century.  

The fact that Keegan shared and conversed the knowledge which every Visual Arts learner has plainly knew like the back of their hands with you was certainly impressive. Disparities with shapes, colors, and patterns; the balance between the frames and, more especially, Keegan's art-related approach is incredibly unrestricted and free. Much too refined an aesthetic sense for an architect of his caliber.

You two were so wrapped up in your work that the other friends had to remind you that it's almost time for the study hall to close, not realizing the two hours went by rather quickly. Silently, you sighed as you packed up your stuff, aware that you might not get to see Keegan again. It's extremely difficult to come across someone who suits you like that, after all. Despite your pout of discontent, you said everyone farewell and began to leave.

"Wait!" The boy called after you in a hurry, so you stopped and gestured to your best friend to wait for you in the parking lot.

Even though you're shorter than Keegan, this posture of him was as if he just got scolded by you as the boy scratched his head and stared down to the floor. Humming speechlessly because he couldn't find the right word , you were patient to wait for him to continue.

"Every day after school.....are you free?" He raised his voice timidly.

"It depends, what's wrong?" You inquired again, carefully, so as not to press the issue.

"Just, if it's okay, can you teach me how to paint.....I mean, doodling is fine" He quickly added, "Please....don't say no"

With a grin, you lifted that attractive face to face you by your index finger under his chin, "I can teach you everything about visual arts, as long as you don't criticize my limited abilities sweet boy"

Keegan flushed as he heard your teasing and the pet name you gave him, but managed to nod with his lips pursed.

For several months, Keegan consistently showed up on time. He waited for you to finish your lectures before the two of you headed to any random tools room in order to practice. You taught him almost everything: molding ceramics, sketching then painting on canvas frames, or how to create tertiary hues......

Exams requiring greater expertise, such those for oil painting or sculpturing, could come around sometimes. If you allowed Keegan to assist you, you'd stand right next to him, holding his hand, and pressing his larger fingers onto those details that needed extra attention. Of course, you were deliberately interacting closely with the boy but there was no denying the sparks between you both as well.

You're different from the people Keegan knew. You refuse to care about things that didn't concern you, so when you first met you seemed quite formal; you also possessed quite dark humor, which definitely interfered with your artistic fancy. 

Actually, you admired Italian painter Roberto Ferri even more. Roberto's works reflected what you're seeking in various pieces of art - the shading and coloration, the nudity and amalgamating were not jarring or confusing, but rather extremely precise and incisive. You elaborated once that 'Contrariety is necessary', nevertheless, as with other fields. It was previously remarked by your professor that your taste in artistry is sort of….dark and vulgar, they suggested that an extremely distinct portrayal would be beneficial for stimulating the artist's brain system. So you decided to go with Vincent Van Gogh. You valued him because he was influenced by painters like Monet and Renoir, who embraced New Impressionism, and shared a fascination in light with them. But he quickly established his own unique: powerful brush technique, mainly using warm reds, oranges, and yellows. Subtle brush strokes resulted in powerful and striking visualizations.

“And basically because a tiny frame as my phone case couldn’t fully convey Ferri's painting and the content was also more sensitive” Similar to Van Gogh's art was definitely the more suitable option.

That's how you explained when the younger one started to ask way too many questions rather than focusing on his work. 

Keegan found it fascinating that you're quite flirty and enjoy calling others by pet names as he got to know you better. The boy flushed upon hearing you calling your best friend by tons of intimate names that you gave her. You also compliment a lot, but what's bothered Keegan was the way, the tone in which you delivered them. 

Your voice is a bit lower, sounding like you're purring. Good job, That's it, Perfect for his efforts and Pretty boy, Sweetheart, Love for the times when you two talked outside the box.

Keegan always felt as though there was a dulcet shiver traveling down his spine after earning praises from you; itching but intriguing somehow. And in return, he called you Tutor, his tutor, to both tease and offer his appreciation for the guidance which you're happily imparted without assuming any explanations from him. For instance, why did he choose Architecture and not Visual Arts?

You respect his privacy, he knew. You still tended to him, but not in an uncomfortable way, making him willing to be lured to your side more and more. 

Everything was going so well until a few weeks ago. Keegan abruptly grew more and more aloof. Frequently, he would either cancel in the last-minute or the night before, leaving you disappointed and not understanding why. You assumed there was something special between you and him. Yet, after he returned, you were overjoyed at first but eventually grew uneasy around him as he became angrier, more easily agitated, and no longer wanted to be close to you.

He wanted to try whittling this time. Unlike stone or clay, which could be readily crafted, the main substance used was wood. 

Wood and other hard materials are usually tough to mold, and Keegan was plainly not capable of handling them given his greeness. But whenever he gave up and you just sighed then redone the whole log, it still simply caused disappointment if it didn't turn out the way he wanted. You knew that Keegan was under a lot of pressure due to the art program's periodic exams so you've attempted to steer him toward a more agreeable subject, but his stubbornness proved to be a bothersome obstacle. 

So you merely stood in the corner of the room and gazed at that enormous back for that reason. Your head slightly tilted to take a better view of a coating of sweat adhered to his forehead and his eyebrows furrowed as his lips pursed when the boy was unable to come up with ideas. The soft gestures in stark contrast to his veiny arms always made you wet your lips in silence.

They said ‘Men are most charismatic when they're focused’. And you couldn’t agree more.

If he caught you, like before, he would purposefully poke fun at you and garner an eye roll from you before your enraged fingers pinched a part of his sculptures. Superb reprisal.

But shit was different that day....

"Fuck me, why is it so difficult?" Keegan complained with his raspy voice, throat as parched as the Sahara desert from dehydration for quite a while.

"I'll go fetch something to drink” 

“No need….here” You quickly stopped him, reached into your bag and pulled out your water bottle, and tossed it to him, “Don’t want you to get kicked out of here” 

According to the rules at your university, you risk being expelled if, after office hours, you enter the wrong building as a non-student belonging to that specific department.

“Alright, whatever you say” He spoke as holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture.

Which made you scrunch your face due to his disrespectful manner.

"Are you upset about me raising my voice?" Catching your grimace, Keegan mockingly raised his question.

He was always playful, but at the time, he's being snarky toward you. And you detest that so much.

"Concentrate on your work" Maintaining the monotone tone but lowering your voice a bit in order to show authority, you slowly moved closer to his standing. 

"Don't touch" The boy glared.

You folded both hands behind you, focusing entirely on the piece of wood rather than Keegan. He also resumed his motion, occasionally crouching down to search for sketches that had been discarded somewhere or different carving knives. 

Interruptedly, you and Keegan would talk about approaches to improving the origin log, but the discussion quickly devolved into another argument, so he snubbed you and turned away to continue. For fuck sake, these teenage lads' egos are so goddamn tremendous. You're solely offering advice, not imposing; why would he behave like that? 

Just take a look around....The floor beneath his feet, where tools were being flung and numerous strewn bits of pared timber scattered all over. Your mother used to frequently nag you when you were a kid because of your untidy traits, plus, that terrible habit would get you into trouble eventually. 

And as predicted, when the boy turned to retrieve his palette, he neglected to take out the blade, leaving it lodged in the wood. So undoubtedly, you have to remove it to avoid any potential dangers.

"I told you not to touch it!" 

Turning back and seeing you touching the most difficult mosaic area that he had just completed, Keegan barked and quickly paced to violently nudge your hand away.

There was a faint sound of something sharp cutting through the spongy softness, and the knife had left a sweet, delicate line which broadened from your palm all the way to your chelidon. Because the blade is designed to precisely carve into small spaces so your veins did not splash out any gallon of your sweet crimson; instead, one drop, then two drops, and at last, like sap oozing out from a tree trunk - your arm have unleashed waves of red fluid, dripping onto the chilly surface below. 

With a hiss, you quickly reached for your thin blouse and tightly wrapped it around your arm to halt the bleeding. It wasn't painful, but the stinging and burning that were given seemed as if your skin was being roasted over an intense flame, forcing you to shut your eyes to block out the suffering.

"F-fuck...oh fuck..." Keegan's voice trembled, "I told you not to come closer"

You slowly turned around, tightly sealed lids opened and penetrated straight into his sapphire pupils. Menacing expression made him gulp.

"Don't blame others for your carelessness, Russ" You gritted your teeth, "If it weren't for me, you would have to ask the professor’s permission for submitting your assignment late, so be grateful and quit that attitude of yours, eh?"

Every word, laced with venom as you amplified them. It's true that he's also working on his test, so the boy was too stunned to speak, dumbfounded and did not dare to chase after you as you stormed out of the room. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

It's the beginning of autumn, the sky was pouring, and dry leaves that are tinted with ocher and lemon were falling everywhere throughout the campus, adding to your already melancholy mood.

Two weeks of nonattendance on account of an implausible excuse, such a car accident, as it's a violation to the law to arbitrarily use the college facilities and supplies other than during regular instructional sessions.

The lobby, which was crammed to excess and devoid of standing space, had become vacant by now. After all, your class was the last one of the day, thus it's unsurprising that the place was quiet without a soul in sight. You stayed back late to wait and chat with the professor about some unfinished school work since you dislike having to jostle, surely not to avoid meeting somebody.

Dark green moss off-shoulder knitted sweater with stretchy jeans and a pair of Dr.Martens leather boots. As you drainedly opened the locker to store your things, the voice that had become ingrained in your memory appeared somewhere behind you. 

“I texted you about the injury, but you didn’t reply”

Fucking bad timing, you cussed under your breath.

“My mother said she’d chop me into pieces if I dare to hold a paintbrush, let alone texting” You answered curtly, wanting to shoo Keegan away. 

“Oh….so is yo—”

“My arm ‘s alright by now, you don’t have to worry ‘bout it…” You shutted him off, clearly didn’t have enough patience to deal with him, “I have to go, bye Keegan”

Turning swiftly on your heel then immediately getting captured by the younger person by your wrist, you pushed out a deep sigh before frowning and glancing up at the person who was blocking the path in front of you.

“Slow down, hey, I just want to talk—” He retreated his palm right away, “I-I want to apologize for what…uhm...”  

It's been a while since you've witnessed this withdrawn and reserved side of him, but you're so fatigued that you didn't want to talk to or give a damn about anyone. The boy seemed to have realized how you were suppressing your discomfort and has moved back, returning you back your personal space.

“Please, I’m terribly sorry for my precipitation, I didn’t mean to make you bleed”

Keegan didn't want you to ever leave on your own again because of his past foolishness, so he reminded himself to maintain his distance and remain composed. You understanded that Keegan was truly sincere in his intention to make it up to you, and yet you did not ask him to. It's not like you saved him or something, plus, you hate the thought of someone owing you a favor or anything similar.

“It’s just an accident, Keegan” You exhaled, punctuation, end of discussion. 

If possible, you wish to never see him again. You always find a way to avoid confronting your complex emotions since you're not very good at facing them and nothing else can give you a sense of security other than that.

"Then can you, please, one last time...." He spoke in a somewhat softer, more beseeching tone, ".....Be my tutor"

As if being haunted by his previous mockery, you searched for irony in those stunning eyes, and you found none. There's also a determination that rendered it impossible to argue against, so you have no choice but to approve.

Keegan followed you to your regular spot. Because it's the weekend, even the janitors had fled as soon as their shifts ended, leaving the entire campus to you two. You were correct to assume that, all thanks to the two-way, one facing the parking lot and the other towards the campus, which had taken the place of the room's two walls, showing only Keegan's bike there. Since the art building is regarded as your university's maze, students from other departments couldn't find you two so you certainly wouldn't be disturbed.

Unfortunately, there weren't enough necessary items and tools, you decided to paint on the canvas as usual.

Setting down your backpack, you faced the exterior and silently observed the younger one, waiting for his request. Keegan swallowed hard, hating the distance between you two. You fixed your gaze on him as though a slight movement of yours might result in a reprimand.

Fucking fool, he scolded himself.

"I....I want you to model f-for me" He scratched his head.

"A-and I got this piece of white silk....y-you can do whatever you want with it" he said hurriedly, frightened you might turn him down.

Seriously? Do whatever you want with it. What Keegan just said made him truly want to smack the shit out of him so bad. 

You tilted your head in silent thought. Obviously, sketching the body lines proved difficult enough but adding the garments unveiled an extra challenge entirely. That explained for your nod and your gradual removal of the clothing covering your body. Starting with your boots, then your jeans and panties, but for your upper body, you couldn't do it yourself.

"Get the silk then come here, please, I need a hand"

The request wasn't coerced, and you did not send it out like a command. Though you were not a people pleaser, Keegan always both loathed but admired your civility. The boy was aware that you're not the type to readily undress for others to view, yet something about your professional face unnerved him.

Grabbing the silk, Keegan cleared his throat and walked over to you. He waited for you to grant him permission before gingerly catching the edge of your sweater and pulling it over your head. Then the bra, which was simple to unclasp with one hand. The final bit of cloth slipped off your body, revealing you to the boy whose ears and face were as red as a ripped tomato due to your angelic bare physique.

"Are you gonna start?" You inquired and took the silk from the other person's hand.

And Keegan frantically ran to drag a divan for you to sit on.

The white silk piece was extremely lengthy but thin, resembling a stream that covered your entire body. The feather-like friction caused your nipples to tighten a bit, and your palm nonchalantly covered the tender region between your legs, creating an elegant yet equally alluring sight. You were aware that you weren't blessed with an aesthetically pleasing figure, but the tent that could not be appeased at the crotch of the artist across from you was enough to provide you a boost in your performance. 

Whether it's an ordinary biological response or another type of reaction... 

Your muscles were sore from maintaining the same posture for a long time. As you raised your gaze to Keegan, he saw and paused to give you both a moment to rest.

"Tired?" You asked when the boy stretched.

"I'm the one who should ask that, tutor" Keegan snickered. Oh the sound he made never failed to make you smile as well.

Standing up, the boy pushed past his work and knelt down before you to gently massage your calf with his warm hands. Keegan didn't raise his head, rather, he concentrated on aiding you in stretching your muscles. Needless to say, Keegan was deeply ashamed for his reckless behavior as well as the impulsive words that followed. Though it's clearly not between the two of you, there's still a problem, and since you're not a nosy person, you weren't sure how to approach him.

"My parents found out...." He bitterly confessed, "They broke the clay piece I made with you - two halves of the face kissing each other"

At that moment, your breathing stopped and your chest tightened when you learned the reason for the boy's sudden alienation.

"But that's not an excuse" He bit his lip, "I was an asshole, a truly fucking asshole.....You know, art a-and you are the only safe place I ever had. But I’ve treated you wrong, so wrong" 

Reaching for your wounded arm, he planted kisses along the sunken scar that owned a brighter pigmentation on your flesh. His tender and mindful gestures truly broke your heart.

"I'm sorry...I'm really sorry, I shouldn’t have, I should never treat you that way" His voice sounded ruptured, like it had been violently trodden upon, yet it likewise sounded like a growl.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You gingerly whispered.

Keegan's eyes were glassy and his orbs compared to two polished pearls, constantly wavering in misery. He didn’t know what to say or how to say it.

The divorce that resulted from one of Keegan's parents having an affair was the lowest point in his life. They filed a lawsuit in court, but neither one was willing to give the other child custody, so he ended up living under a rotten roof. All the dreams the boy had have been extinguished, they no longer meant anything. Allowing them to control his life in the way they wanted, forcing him to study like a dog day and night, and only bringing him the meals that were enough to meet his basic nutritional needs. When his passion for painting was once again re-awakened, Keegan did all in his ability to persuade his parents for the first time to let him decide his future, but they disdained art so much that they made him study architecture instead. Once again, Keegan's purposeless life has returned. He took a gap of four years to join the military, but his parents refused to leave him in solitude. They threatened to use greater punishments if he resisted again, stating that they forbade him from dying on the battlefield. 

How ironic, can you be forbidden to die? Ever?

Thankfully, after entering in this university, Keegan no longer had to live with his parents, letting him have more freedom for himself. Up until Keegan met you, it appeared that his typical university years were not proceeding along in the same way anymore. 

The boy fought to not shed a tear in front of you as his lips quivered whilst he recalled those painful memories. Knowing that no matter what, you wouldn't defame him, but vulnerability has never been on Keegan's mind.

“Hush, my sweet boy” Bending down and connecting yours with the boy's forehead, you cooed.

It was some time before the younger one calmed down. As Keegan's breathing steadied, you gradually withdrew to look him in his eyes, your hands caressing his cheeks and your thumbs lightly rubbing them in comfort. It made you smile warmly to hear him purring in his throat like a cat being cuddled by its master.

“Feel better now?” 

“Mhmm” He shook his head.

“Oh poor baby, what can I do to cheer you up then?” You giggled.

Out of the blue, Keegan took hold of your foot and placed it on his crotch, gently applying pressure and moving it back and forth to arouse the sensitive area beneath the fabric. And you were so taken aback that you couldn't take your eyes off where the boy was using your foot to pursue his pleasure. You've never imagined Keegan would be so straightforward.

"Ah...I-I'm...oh g-god..." He lowered his head and nibbled the skin on your thigh, "Can you -ah- feel my cock twitching f-for you, ma’am?"

Ma’am? 

“Can I call you ma’am….?” He’s breathing heavily, “In the end….ha a-ah…you’re still gonna be my tutor anyways, right?”

You blinked and then suddenly burst out laughing, and Keegan foolishly laughed along with you. Whipped your head down and moved your digits closer to his lips, you eagerly allowed Keegan to play with your foot as he moistened your fingers with his tongue. His soft tongue gilded back and forth between your pointer and middle fingers, and each time you bit your lip, his cheeks would sink in to suck them. It's amazing how different Keegan looked from what you imagined.

“How ‘bout mommy?” Poking your tongue to your inner cheek, you asked while still dancing your fingers with his tongue.

Of course, without hesitation, he nodded aggressively and continued to suck harder on your digits. But then you withdrew your hand and leg, making the boy whined in frustration and rubbed his head in your lap.

"N-no...no please don't do that...." He pouted, "I was so close...."

"Shhh...be a good boy and you'll get what you want" You murmured softly, and Keegan's body shivered as your lips touched his sensitive ear.

You raised an eyebrow and gave Keegan a satisfied smile in response to his yearning gaze. Instantly the boy drew closer, his lips meeting yours. Tongues intertwined, teeth scraping and lower lips bitten and swollen, you lowered your head to deepen the lustful, making Keegan groaned in pleasure.

"Moan for me, Keeg" You broke away from the kiss, moved down and bit his neck, "I wanna hear you, loud and clear"

And he obediently tagged along, his lips trembling as he continually let out muffled whines and mellow groans. The boy's body swayed in response to the sensation of your lips against his flesh.

"C-can I make you feel good, too, mommy?" He wetted his lips, hands reaching up to gently knead the soft plumpness on your chest with an unabashed greed.

"Hmm? You wanna suck my tits?" Your voice trailed off, teasing him

"Yes, yes, please" 

As soon as you nodded, the boy reached to the thin layer of silk and started squeezing your breasts which were set underneath. His large palms dutifully kneaded your feminine parts, mouth bit and sucked, leaving countless love marks from your jawline to your cleavage. You're just so soft, he couldn't get enough of it, of these beautiful breasts waiting to be fed to him. As his movements took over his mind, Keegan threw away the unhandy cloth, lunged forward to nibble the sides of your chest; his tongue circled each, constantly retreating to bounce them in his hands, making satisfying noises while latching on them again and again, non-stop.

“C’mon, don’t be shy” You cocked your head down to your chest, beckoning the younger person who was drooling over your delicious rosy nipples.

Keegan was indeed a good boy when you didn't have to repeat, shoving his face right into one of your bosoms without wasting anymore time. The first sensation you felt was his lips; he kissed them, then kept pinching and rotating them around with his teeth, prompting you to growl at the sting he brought. His fingers massaged the other one, taking good care of both sides equally, just like that - the boy was too devoured into you. However, that was still not enough. With a 'pop' as Keegan released you, he lifted your breasts and pulled them in, pointing your nipples towards the middle of your chest. Warm, pink tongue deftly rolled up and down, in between, wrapping around your buds. He twirled it, circled it around your hard nipples; lusty saliva was way too audible, irresistible ecstasy clenched your legs together and you kept pushing your chest harder to his face. 

“F-fuck…you’re doing so good -ha- so good” And he glazed his teeth tighter, “Yes! Fuckin— just like that pretty boy”

Your fingers reaching the boy's scalp, your nails clasped and lightly scratched his cleanly shaven nape, evoking more sinful groans from Keegan. His orbs, dilated with need, blown wide to meet yours, and his lashes fluttered somewhat, as though he wanted you to keep praising him. 

The thought of Keegan focusing on you as if you're a goddess, a faith, to be treasured and worshiped only by him, gave you chills.

Tilting your head back, your own feverish thoughts had heightened your arousal yet left the younger person unfulfilled.

“Tch…no” Keegan let go of your breasts, cupping your cheeks with both of his hands and pulling your face back into its place, “No, no….why’re you turning away, mommy? Keep those eyes on me, let me see…let me see them piercing a hole into my soul”

Trailing his strong, muscular arms down your lower body, Keegan grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to him. The suddenness of your knees buckled by your shoulders, exposing the glistening pussy dragged a quite loud yelp out of your lips. As your back sank down the divan cushions, your midsection had been folded in and the stomach rolls which always gave you insecurity made you hesitant to keep extending your legs. So you attempt to sit up, how on earth did Keegan allow that?

“I know what you’re thinking mommy, and I don’t give a fuck ‘bout that” The boy spoke, maintaining his intense eyes on you.

“I want you to own me, treat me like your fucking slave, use me as much as you fucking want, yeah?” He spitted on your cunt, making you moaned out like a bitch in heat. “I’m your little slut” he grunted, “I’m your little toy….I am, I am, fucking just for you” he whispered, teeth gritted as he punctuated on each word.

The boy kissed your ankle, bent down and nibbled on the back of your thighs and the sides of your buttocks. His large palms greedily caressed your asscheeks, not forgetting to add a few spanks.

“Use me, give me fucking confidence….give me a will to live, mommy” He plead, “Give me that fucking pussy”

All your embarrassment has vanished into thin air, leaving only devastating elation. And Keegan, who had been waiting for that, launched himself at your glistering cunt and immediately became addicted to the taste of your arousal. He lavishly covered your entire pussy with open-mouth kisses, his lips pressed firmly and gulping nonstop, smearing your juices all over his visage and down to your asshole, getting some fucking prohibited moans out of you.

The younger then stopped, long enough to take in your beautiful two holes close up as he examined the sweet long slit.

“Lemme sniff on it”  He inhaled the sweet, musky scent of your cunt, “Let your boy breathe on it, mommy, lemme look at it twitching for me”

Your body responded instinctively, pussy quivering beneath his heated breaths. Before you realized it, he had already let go of your legs to fully spread out your folds and was burying his face against your bare cunt once more. His nose nudged above your entrance and his tongue began to work in seconds, sinking and churning the inside of you. 

“Oh fu— YES, more Keeg….more” Your body trembled violently as your desire for additional pleasure grew, reaching out to clutch on him.

Keegan’s four fingers pressed firmly on your lower abdomen as he began to lick up and down your slit while using his thumb which was only inches above your pearl to pull the folds around away. And when your hood moved away, the boy finally had your blood-swollen clit sitting there in front of his lust blown pupils. It’s puffy, aching and throbbing. It’s calling for him, he assured that. Receiving your loud moans as an encouragement, Keegan softly hummed directly on your rock hard clit as he continued to stimulate your hole by landing his tongue against it. His digits buried deeply inside your pussy and he increased the pace, pumping in and out, rotating them, and curling them so as they scratched your walls vigorously.  

Without backing down, the younger one flicked his tongue, rubbing it up and down unforgivingly on your pearl. You jointed and fought to squirm out of Keegan's hold, only to be held back by him as his teeth bit down. You were too fucked out when his lips swallowed on your clit, thighs began to squeeze either side of his head due to the fantastic feeling.

“Mhm hmm, that’s it….” The boy continued to work his tongue and fingers on you as quickly as possible, “That’s my mommy, c’mon, keep squeezing me with those thighs….yeah, stare at me -uhm- stare at your pretty boy as he eat your pussy out”

Those fucking praises and the way he avaricious desire to attain your climax at all costs as a reward has successfully pushed you to the edge. The familiar hot cramping in your womb beneath your lower belly was fleeting for just a moment and then your scream of satisfaction came out, your hands clamped down on Keegan's head above your cunt to jerk your hips on his naughty mouth, riding out your high.

“Fuck…f-fuck” Your chest heaved rapidly, “You’re a fucking beast”

“And you did not let me go, tho I’m not intending to pull away either” The boy peered up with the shit-eating grin on his face before lowering down to smooch around your cunt one last time.

You giggled as Keegan scattered a trail of kisses all over your physique. Your lips, your navel, and your collarbone. You additionally show your gratitude by tucking your arms around his solid shoulder blades, lifting him above you to prolong the passionate kiss.

Exquisite - the divine taste of your release from his mouth, delicate - the way your lips clung firmly, and submerged - the way your tongues entwine without separating.

The moment was short lived since your waist was scraped by something stiff. You winced a little as you recoiled from the kiss, peered down, and were enchanted to catch a glimpse of Keegan's manhood - it was just... gorgeous. Only when you two pressed right against each other did the freshly shaven pubic hair of his gave you a nice itchy sensation. Your pelvises were adhered together so you could gauge the length, and the tip of his cock, which was already partially hard, was leaking precum onto your stomach. 

“Satisfied?” Keegan lifted his brows and inquired when he noticed you gulping and staring at his lower torso.

You beamed up at the younger one, stretching down to grab his ass, “I promise to make a sculpture of it”

The boy's low and seductive laugh was suppressed when he forced retained his breath while your grip moved lightly to position him directly in front of your awaiting cunt, not before brushing his head to gather the most of your slick. As a gesture to allow him to climb up to kneel on the divan, your other elbow pushed down to slightly elevate the center of your body up a bit. 

“Ready?” 

Keegan only gave you a brief kiss on your temple and leaned your foreheads together without saying anything. The two of you seemed to share the same breath, holding together when he plunged into you and exhaling together as he truly bottomed out. Your own eyes blurred with the startling fullness he provided you with.

“You’re so warm mommy, fuck, too warm” The younger hissed through a barely contained growl. 

Swallowing hard, you shifted your airflow and wiggled your hips in an attempt to adjust with the new intrusion. Fortunately, you're not an imposing person. Little by little, your pussy gradually loosened and accepted him, and his head flew back as his unwavering control slipped inch by inch, not so different from the way his shaft was slowly entering you.

“Move, love, need to feel you deep inside me” 

Sheathing Keegan deeper into you, you purposefully pressed your hips against his, whispering into his ear. For a few while, the younger one remained idling, realizing that you were showing him the sweet spots inside you. So whenever you heard him mewling like a horny dog, biting upon your lower lip gently as he felt your walls fluttered around him. You knew he was memorizing for his own pleasure, as well as that of you.

Failing to bear it any longer, Keegan sat up and tenderly pulled out his manhood. At first, you assumed him to be gentle, but you were incredibly naive. He struck with such ruthlessness that your breath left your lungs in a passionate symphony of his name and contented moans. Angling your legs on one side of his shoulder, Keegan caged your thighs with both of his arms and pinned them there. His pace was too rough, and the tension that followed made it simpler to sense the boy's steadfast heartbeat as your skin rested smoothly on his broad chest. 

“Keeg– Keegan, shit…” 

Keegan knelt in front of you - hair slightly damp from perspiration that partially stuck to his forehead and partially dangled with the tempo of his body's movements, those massive biceps, muscular legs, and taut waist all flexed as he hammered into your core. The room's dim lighting and your glassy eyes granted the younger person the appearance of a finely sculpted statue, an unreal portrait.

Fuck, “You look so beautiful, oh my beautiful boy”

I knew it might be an exaggeration but here, is your Björn Johan Andrésen. Exclusively yours.

“Ha–ah….yours, I’m all yours” With an ominous grin, Keegan drew forward to murmur, "And you're also mine, right?"

However, you were so engrossed in the pleasure that you failed to respond. That explained why the person above suddenly pulled back, leaving you there clenching around nothing. When you started to prop yourself up, he swiftly folded you in half, locking you in that position.

“Put your co—”

“Nah….you’re gonna say it” With one hand, Keegan pressed your knees to your chest while the other was lazily stroking his cock. Glazing the tip so damn nigh to your bloated entrance.

“For fuck sake, of course I’m yours” You huffed out, “As if any fucking cock could ever allowed to be inside me”

Surely the younger one's erection had returned because a lustful stupor hit you as his pelvis immediately slammed into your plump ass. Up to the hilt. He had reached your cervix with the tip of his cock, ache yet madly numb.

“You’re my mommy, my mistress, my fucking big tough mistress aren’t ya?” He eagerly pounding into you, in a more primal way, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckkk…..you’re so damn hot when you’re mad, y’know that?”

“Yeah?” You smirked.

“Fucking yeah”

The harder Keegan pounded into you, the louder the moans of you both came to a crescendo, almost at the peak. Since you knew you wouldn't be able to hold off for much longer, you had to encircle him more tightly with your legs, flutter your walls, and swallow his cock more deeply to ensure that his body would soon follow you.

“You're gonna cum mommy? Yeah, yeah, cum for me mommy, cum, cum, cum” Keegan shifted down and rubbed your swollen clit with great effort, making you cry as his finger plucked nonstop on it.

The younger person's chants ended with a growl from both you and him. He replaced his shaft with his thick digits, slipping out barely in time since you didn't have a condom. You both focused on the earth-shattering orgasm, on how his cock twitched in his palm and on his ropes of hot seed shooting onto your abdomen, dripping down to your wide-opened cunt, unable to stop.

Swore that you two had never felt so euphoric.

You laid limp under his sight, eyes flooded in darkness as you looked to the drop of sweat slowly leaving his chin then down to your navel, mixed together with his cum. 

Keegan collapsed on top of you, head buried into your neck. His weight was comforting, and as your fingers trailed to your lower body, you collected the white thick texture there and brought it to your lips, sticking out your tongue to taste then smiled with a satisfied hum. 

"I want to draw you like this" The boy stared upward at you, smiling brightly.

“Should take a photo too, in case you mess up and let me down for posing for you” Keegan tickled you when you kissed him on the lips in response to your cruel mocking.

Having said that, you still truly want to see his painting - of you, what it'll turn out once completed. 

Taglist: @shadowlali , @ghostlythots , @fl3xgio (is it alright if i add you?? 😫😫) , @brickwall035 (saw u a lot on my posts, wondering if i can add u?? 👉🏻👈🏻)

#call of duty #cod #cod smut #cod x reader #cod ghosts #call of duty ghosts #keegan p russ #keegan russ #keegan smut #call of duty keegan #cod keegan #keegan russ smut #keegan p russ smut #keegan p russ x female reader #keegan p russ x reader #keegan p russ x you #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #cod x you #cod fluff #cod angst

[youphoriaot7]

He hasn't seen Roier awake in nearly a week. The two keep managing to just barely miss each other, one crawling into bed mere hours after the other has already started to warm the sheets. They haven't managed to wake up at the same time, either: the amount of times Cellbit has awoken to an empty bedside this week is unmatched.

But there is a call to the main square today, and nearly everyone is there. It isn't until they've been standing around for a few minutes that the thought truly works its way up from the depths of Cellbit's mind: cadê o guapito?

Moments later, a united buzzing on their communicators fills the air, a note from an unknown number telling them to "follow the lights." Mouse cries out, pointing towards a nearby trail of torches, and Cellbit quickly bolts after her, eager to keep an eye out ahead of everyone in case of danger.

Familiar shouts from just behind him catch his ear, and his face melts into a grin as he glances over his shoulder. "¡Guapito!"

"Gatinho!" comes the easy reply, Roier locked sword to sword with a straggler zombie. Cellbit can only pause for a moment to watch as his husband slices the arm of the zombie clean off. He swings the sword in a wide arc, twirling it around his wrist to bring it back bladefirst as he shoves it into the zombie's torso.

He always was the better fighter. 

The pull of the blade out isn't quite as clean as it usually is, Roier's hands seeming to shake a bit with the force, but before Cellbit can mention anything, Mouse is exclaiming from behind him. He smiles instead, shaking his head as he sets one foot on the staircase. "Ven aqui, vamos!"

"¡Sí, sí, sí—vamos!" He can hear Roier's quick steps behind him as they barrel up the stairs, quickly arriving at a small landing built into the hill. Mouse is already up there, scratching her head in bewilderment as she stares at the trail of torches that have simply…stopped. Dead ended against the wall.

The ledge starts to fill out with people behind them and Cellbit quickly moves aside, scanning the crowd for the familiar face he knows so well. Eventually, he manages to spot the classic flash of red and moves forward, catching the corner of Roier's hoodie and tugging him over. 

"Óla, guapito," he smiles, though the expression fades the moment his husband looks up.

Roier looks exhausted. The circles under his eyes are as dark as coal, and so deep that for a moment, Cellbit wondered if he hadn't been punched. He seems somewhat paler than usual, and it looks as though he hasn't showered in days, judging by his unruly hair. 

"...hey, ¿qué pasó?" he asks quickly, hands finding purchase against Roier's forearms, even as the younger man tries to take a step back. "You alright?"

"Nada, nada, ¡bien!" Roier responds, a bit too quickly—and he won't meet Cellbit's eyes. "Estoy bien."

It's not convincing, even despite his bedraggled state. "...certo?" Cellbit presses, but Roier just shakes his head, tugging his arms away.

"Sí, sí, estoy bien."

There's a loud shout of triumph from over by the wall, making them both jump, and Cellbit casts one last look in his husband's direction. "...we'll talk about this later, okay?"

Roier nods, throwing him a small, half-hearted smile. "Claro." Before either of them can say more, they're swept into the rush of excited people, but for the rest of the night, Cellbit can't help keeping one eye on his husband. Something's wrong, whether he's willing to admit it or not, and he is determined not to head to sleep tonight without figuring out what's going on.

— — — — — — — — — —

Fuck.

He already knew he couldn't hide from Cellbit forever. This discussion had been coming for a while, ever since the kids had vanished, really. (Died.) But with all the excitement around the new islander, and the way he'd managed to postpone it further by showing Cellbit around his newest construction, he had been hoping maybe the other man had forgotten.

But Cellbit wasn't the head of the Ordo for no reason, and Roier was definitely not the best at lying to his husband. (Plus, his current appearance made it really, really fucking obvious—even Forever had stopped him the other day; he'd only just managed to escape the other man's questions.)

But now, outside of the hospital with nothing but air between them, as Cellbit rests an arm on his shoulder—now, Roier realizes, there's nowhere to run.

"Still no news on the kids?" Cellbit asks softly. He already knows the answer.

Roier shakes his head anyway. "I think they're dead, Cellbit."

Cellbit freezes for a few seconds, his arm slipping off of Roier's shoulder. Moments later, he lets out a small laugh, gently punching Roier's bicep as he shakes his head. "Callaté, pendejo. Não é verdade."

Roier watches him step away, taking a deep breath before letting it out in a rushed sigh. "Listen, Cellbit—you wanna know what's going on? I'll tell you."

Cellbit glances back at him, sharp eyes fixed on his own. He inclines his head to indicate he's listening, reaching a hand out to take Roier's own. 

"I'm tired, Cellbit." There's a lot more weight behind the words than Roier really intended to give them, but, well. He's in it now. Might as well go all in. "I'm tired of not being able to sleep. I'm tired of lying awake in bed all night, staring at the wall, thinking about where the children could be. I'm tired of feeling alone. The kids have been gone for so long, Cellbo, so fucking long—and I don't think they're coming back."

Cellbit's face softens, an expression Roier hates to see slowly overtaking his features. It's not pity, per se—and thank the lord for that—it seems more…guilty. It's guilt.

Ay, mierda.

"...we can't give up on them, guapito," Cellbit murmurs. "If we give up on them, then who will go after them?"

Roier nods, staring at the ground. "I know. We said it was up to us to find them." He does not tell Cellbit that there may not be anything for them to find.

"Exatamente." Cellbit sighs, running his other hand through his hair as he shakes his head. "And I'm sorry I haven't been around, okay? I've been so caught up in the work at the Ordo that I haven't really…paid much attention to anything else—"

"No se preocupe." It's Roier's turn to shake his head. "I know you've been busy." He grins. "It's not like the work ever stops, so how could you?"

Cellbit doesn't return the smile. Instead, he takes Roier's other hand, staring down at their interlocked fingers. "I know you, Roier," he says softly, rubbing his thumb over Roier's ring. "I know you hide your sorrow with jokes and giggles. I know you try to be the ray of light, always try to make others laugh." He swallows hard, glancing up to meet Roier's eyes. "But I know you, and I know you're sad."

Roier takes a deep breath, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat as he nods. Cellbit's gaze holds his own for as long as he can take it before he has to pull away. They say eyes are the windows to the soul, but Cellbit simply feels like he's pulling Roier's out for the world to see. And he trusts Cellbit with it, to be clear—but this isn't the privacy of the castle, and Roier feels horribly…vulnerable out in the open like this. 

Then, Cellbit opens his arms, and Roier tumbles into them. The other man's grip is tight, and Roier's chest shudders as he takes a deep breath. "I miss them," he whispers. "I miss Richarlyson. I miss Leonarda." He swallows the end of his sentence. I miss Bobby.

"Eu sei." Cellbit presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head, ignoring the leftover building dust stuck in his hair and smoothing pieces down with one hand. "I do, too." And Roier doesn't have to look at him to hear the way his own heart is breaking.

"We're going to find them, guapito," he continues firmly. "We're going to keep looking; I know they're here somewhere."

"Yeah," Roier mutters, "somewhere dead."

Cellbit ignores him. "This is all leading up to something, I can feel it." He squeezes Roier tightly. 

Roier sighs. "Yeah, leading up to them telling us they're dead," he repeats flatly. 

Cellbit finally pulls away, shaking his head. "Eu não acho, guapito," he says softly, "I really don't think so." Roier meets his eyes, watching him for a moment.

He recognizes that look. Not hope, the emotion he's watched drain from so many people's eyes the past few weeks. Not hope at all, no—this is the same look that Bad had in his eyes a few days ago, when Roier had almost the exact same conversation with him. It's the same look Foolish had when Roier had broached the topic of Leo's disappearance with him. It's the same expression he's felt on his own face before, when he had journeyed thousands of miles away from home…only to be told that his son was dead.

It's happened before. Roier knows how the Federation works, at this point. They get your hopes up, just so they can dash them all at once and bring you to your lowest point. 

He is not going to let them break him again. 

But Cellbit doesn't understand. Bad doesn't know. Foolish has never lost a child. They still have hope—desperate hope, but hope nonetheless. Just a single thread that they're left clinging to, before they shatter completely. Just like Roier did. Just like Roier is. Once again.

And he can't bring himself to be the one to cut that thread. 

Silently, he squeezes Cellbit's fingers, giving him a slow nod. "Okay," he murmurs, trying to muster up a smile. 

It's not very convincing, and Cellbit sighs. "We'll get them back. We have to."

"Sí." His response is quiet, without much hope. Roier takes a deep breath, clearing his throat. "Okay. Well, um…I'm gonna go get some rest, yeah? I haven't slept very well the past few days, so…" He shrugs. "I could probably use it."

Cellbit nods, kissing the top of his hand. "Okay. Look, I'm here if you need me, okay?" He smiles slightly. "If you need a hug or something, just message me. Eu estarei lá."

At that, Roier is finally able to crack a smile, the irony of his own phrase being tossed right back at him like a lifeline enough to ease a small weight off his shoulders. "I will." He squeezes Cellbit's hand one last time before finally letting go, waving over his shoulder. "Hasta pronto, gatinho. Wake me up when this is over?"

It's just a simple line—a half-joke, really—but Cellbit's smile turns sad, and he nods. "Prometo."

#wrote this the day after the stream but forgot to post it until now #sooo take some spiderbit hurt/comfort :3 #qsmp #qsmp fic #qsmp cellbit #qsmp roier #spiderbit #ev;hatch #if any of the spanish/portuguese is wrong i'm so sorry i used ALL my knowledge #let me know and i'll edit it >.> #cross-posted on ao3

[thefangirlofhp]

8. rainy day

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Rhys drawls.

“You’re not meant to help him,” Feyre reminds him.

“It’s all-right,” Elain reassures them. “It’s just a game.”

The trees in the garden outside shiver and shake their colorful leaves like banners atop hills, bow their strong trunks and misalign their choreography in an addictively individualistic dance. They are foggy and wobbly through the windows pebbled with weeping tears and pelting water. Though the weather does not yet call for active measures to be taken against the chill, there is a modest crackling fire in the house anyways. Small logs occasionally popping kernels of heat, sounding so interestingly like the rain falling against the earth.

Nyx sits cross-legged on the floor in knee-length pants and long socks, holding a deck of cards in his young hands and trying to assimilate the next best step to take against his aunt. She sits before him, between them a slowly growing pile of cards being played, a desk overturned on the carpet waiting to be drawn. An orange tabby sits at the windowsill like an ornament, monitoring the weather outside and occasionally turning to the family in the sitting room breaching his personal space. It’s unusual for them all to be gathered before lunch like this. Usually they’re busy making a living.

Fae are overly indulged these days, he figures. And do not get him started on this upcoming generation of felines who are abandoning their livelihoods for the cool milk of summer and the occasional nibble of cheese! Back in his time, cats were are fearsome as warriors, who hunted their next meal for survival, who could never afford to sheathe their claws for fear of their lives. He has earned the luxury of stuffed armchairs and freshly caught fish.

Rhys is sprawled on one of the sofas, watching his son face his aunt down and expertly masking his eagerness to point out everything Nyx should do to win. If Rhys was playing, Elain would have lost three times already. But he feigns indifference, only occasionally glancing at his son’s cards which are visible to him from this angle. Nyx hasn’t exactly mastered the skill of his mental walls—children are much too young for that—and so Rhys has to be the one to shut him out from his mind. And, well, if he hasn’t yet then it's no one’s business and no-one can know. If he can only stop himself from blurting out from time to time.

Feyre, on the other hand, is less interested in the game of cards and more engrossed in a report from one of their courtiers. She’s come here to read it in peace, back when no-one was in here, because Rhys’s study is always hosting someone and Nyx was out playing, supervised by Elain. She hadn’t anticipated the turn of the weather so suddenly, that brought her son back inside much to his chagrin and frustration. Elain, willing to keep the peace, suggested a game of cards they used to play that she could teach Nyx. He was slowly adjusting to it, his grumpy attitude softening with every triumph and card he plays.

“I’m gonna put this,” Nyx slaps down a card with much flourish and eagerness. “Your turn, ‘Lain!”

“Oh, that’s clever,” Elain gasps, the faint airy quality of her tone bypassing Nyx’s ears thankfully. “Oh no, I’ll have to draw a card. Your turn again, Nyx.”

The young boy cackles like a bewitched crone and slaps his thigh repeatedly. Elain hides a smile as she does indeed draw a card, one she tucks with its applicable brethren and watches Nyx study his deck once more.

“Daddy,” Nyx raises his deck to hide his face, and whispers very audibly. Elain pretends not to hear. “Daddy is this smart?”

Rhys to his credit does not look from beneath the arm he’s slung over his eyes. But a sneaky hand forms a faint upturn of his thumb, succeeded instantly by another round of cackling.

“Ha!”

Elain quickly sets down a retaliating card that wipes the smug victory off Nyx’s face.

“Huh. Okay. Okay, let’s see here,” he once again disappears behind his cards.

Elain’s eyes drift towards the cat at the window. Then to the dancing trees outside. She wonders if—

“Hello!” Cassian’s deafening shout comes from downstairs. “Anyone home?”

“Up here!” Feyre shouts back, halfway through her report.

“Uncle Cass is here!” Nyx beams. “Can he join the game, ‘Lain? Please?”

“Of course,” Elain replies, just as Cassian’s figure makes it through the open doorway and he announces his greetings at large.

“Nes wanted to come but she’s still training,” Cassian explains, not a drop of water on his muscled body. He wears a plain tunic and pants, and his hair is freshly combed and tied. Rhys raises his head, squints at him.

“And why aren’t you?”

“I’m done for the day,” Cass lands with a heavy thump in the spot next to Feyre, nearly catapulting her off into the air. “Easy there,” he chuckles, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s not even lunch-time and you’re done?” Rhys reiterates, his voice hoarse and heavy with drowsiness. “Usually you’re still warming up by now.”

“Ah, there’s something about today,” Cassian shrugs. “Can’t seem to find the point in doing anything. Besides, you’re one to talk. What are you napping for?”

“I’m not,” Rhys yawns, crossing his ankles and folding his arms behind his head. “’m taking a break.”

“From what?” Feyre snorts. “You barely went to one meeting.”

“Listening to Lord Hubber is enough work for a century,” Rhys mutters, sliding his eyes shut. “I subconsciously shut down the minute those clouds covered the sky.”

“Uncle Cass d’you wanna join us?” Nyx eagerly asks. “Elain taught me this game. I’m really good.”

“Seems like you are, little lord,” Cassian remarks, leaning forward on his elbows. “Sure. Deal me in.”

Elain does so, and shifts on the carpet to make room for a trio. Nuala suddenly appears in the doorway and blinks.

“Thought I heard the Lord of Bloodshed,” she mutters. “I’ll adjust lunch accordingly, shall I?”

“Please do,” Feyre confirms. “Oh and maybe for an extra guest as well, you never know.”

“I always do with these Illyrians,” she tells her High Lady. “They travel in packs.”

Elain stifles a laugh behind her hand. Nuala’s dark eyes turn to her for a moment before she disappears.

By the time lunch is served, the rain has not yet let up and the storm’s turned from a healthy display of will into a tantrum that whips the trees and tears branches off. Elain’s glad that they’ve had the foresight to bring in the washing early on, and that she hasn’t planted the new flowers she’s gotten and left them in the greenhouse. The sight of stray petals whirling in circles itches a spot in her fingers she needs to scratch.

The front door opens, giving voice to the muted storm outside and it is deafening. It is quickly silenced, as the door snaps shut.

“We’re here!” Nesta shouts.

“In the dining room!” Feyre yells back at the top of her lungs, as if they are not all equipped with above daily-requirements hearing capabilities.

“Is no-one working today?” Rhys demands when Nesta walks in, Azriel close by.

“You’re one to talk,” Azriel snipes back, drawing up a chair immediately and sitting.

“Usually, I can never get ahold of you,” Feyre raises a brow. “Now you’re free to join us for lunch all of a sudden?”

“This is no weather for work,” Nesta decidedly announces, sitting next to her sister. “Pass me that bread now. I’m starving.”

“From what, napping?”

“I sense some deflection, Rhys,” Azriel unhelpfully chimes, dragging a plate towards him. “Why, do you have something on your chest you’d like to confess?”

“No.”

“He’s been fighting off a nap,” Feyre elaborates.

“That hasn’t been clear enough,” Elain pitches in, striding into the room with roasted potatoes. She takes her seat, tucking her hair behind her ears and finding a filled plate delivered in-front of her. “Thank you,” she says to the shadowsinger next to her.

He inclines his head in answer, buttering his bread as his eyes focus on Cassian’s retelling of today’s uneventful training session.

“Uncle Az, d’ya know I’m the best at playing cards?” Nyx pipes up from his place between his parents.

“Is that right?”

“Uhu,” Nyx bobs his head. “I played against ‘Lain and Cass and I won.”

“Your aunt must have gone easy on you,” a faint smile blooms in the corner of his mouth.

“Nu-uh!” Nyx retorts, with no short amount of outrage. “No she didn’t!”

“Azriel,” Elain softly admonishes, giving him a nudge with her elbow. “He’s joking, Nyx.”

“Besides, I didn’t go easy on you and you definitely won most of the times,” Cassian reassures Nyx of his hard-won victories.

“That’s not saying something. Anyone could win a card of games with you. Even someone who doesn’t know the game.”

“That’s it!” Cassian stands up, slapping his fork and knife down. “Everyone off the table. Elain, you’re dealing. Nyx is judge and you—” he jerks a furious finger Azriel’s way “—outside now. We’re settling this once and for all.”

“You’re on,” Azriel too stands up. “Rhys, you’re going to join?”

Their High Lord smirks. “And pass on the chance of teaching you both a lesson? Never.”

“Here I thought you’d grown up in those years a little,” Feyre mutters, putting down her napkin and standing up as well. “This isn’t about cards only, is it?”

“It rarely is,” Nesta grabs her plate and hurries after the others. “But it’ll be worth watching.”

Elain is left sitting at the table, her mouth agape, fork piercing a potato and wondering when had they all evacuated the room so quickly.

“You’re coming?”

Azriel stands in the doorway looking over his shoulder, his eyes glittering. He holds out a hand.

Elain smiles. Lunch can wait.

(they were totally playing uno.)

#fictober #flufftober 2023: rainy day #flufftober 2023 #rainy day #acotar fic #family fluff #elain archeron #nyx #rhysand #feysand #feyre #azriel #cassian #nesta #acotar #nesta archeron

[imakemywings]

Summary: Maedhros gets a reward for a job well done.

Length: 9.2k

AN: Saved my piece de resistance for the last day of @silmsmutweek

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Photo credit to Dainis Graveris on Unsplash.

            When her secretary told her which number was calling, Thingol allowed it to be patched through, but she took her time answering and lifting the phone up to her ear. She could almost hear the intake of breath on the other side.

            “Do you remember what I told you about this number?” Her voice was not reprimanding, only reminding—giving her caller a chance to consider.

            “Only for remarkable circumstances,” breathed Maedhros on the other end.

            “So.” Thingol leaned back in her seat, twisting so she had a partial view out the windows behind her. “What is your remarkable circumstance?”

            “I was accepted to the journal.” A small smile spread over Thingol’s mouth despite herself. Unhurried, she let Maedhros’ statement sink in before replying.

            “Precisely as I expected,” she said, but there was a warm note in her voice. “Well done, little one.”

            “Thank you,” came the rushed response, and Maedhros sounded a little dizzy, as if she had called right after getting the news.

            “Are you celebrating tonight, or shall I see you at the apartment?”

            “I’ll be at the apartment.” Another smile tugged at the corner of Thingol’s lips.

            “I look forward to it then. Make sure you call your parents.”

            “I will,” said Maedhros with only a hint of impatience in her voice, even as she confirmed for Thingol that she had not called them before placing this call.

            “Good. Then I’ll see you later.”

            Maedhros bid a hasty goodbye, and Thingol set the phone back in the cradle, allowing herself another private smile. Even if she had anticipated Maedhros’ success, it was still good to hear her talent being recognized—and that Maedhros chose to share this moment of triumph with her didn’t hurt either.

***

            Thingol had an apartment in the city whose hilltop location allotted a view that looked out across the cityscape towards the mountains in the distance despite being under a dozen stories tall. She kept it mainly for its proximity to the office; her truer home was an estate an hour’s drive out into the countryside, surrounded by so many hills and trees it wasn’t visible until one was nearly upon it. Maedhros had been there only once, and the memory of it was like an intoxicated dream, something she couldn’t quite believe had been real. There dwelled Thingol’s wife, who had appeared bothered neither by Thingol’s absences into the city nor by Maedhros’ presence; they had greeted each other with kisses as if they had been apart only a few hours, rather than a week or two, and later that night Thingol had still taken Maedhros up to her bedroom. Melian did not enjoy the city much, had been Thingol’s only explanation.

            Maedhros did not ask questions about it, nor about their daughter and how exactly she fit into things or who she was related to. Thus far, Maedhros’ aversion to incivility had overcome her curiosity.

            That night, when she had finished a passable amount of work (Maedhros had never been known, when asked, to say she had done enough work)—or more truthfully, when she could not keep herself in her skin anymore—Maedhros threw a few things in her bag and hopped in her car.

            What exactly Thingol did for work was also not clear to her. She knew that Thingol ran a company she and Melian had founded, and that a part of it was a charity organization, but also that it had a strong production of artisanal wooden jewelry and home goods (sustainably sourced, as all the labels prominently asserted), as she had met one of their artist partners at an event. Thingol had bought her a new suit for the party, tailored to her measurements (when or where Thingol had gotten those she wasn’t sure), which now lived in a storage bag under the bed, as nothing in her closet was safe from Maglor’s grasping hands, no matter how many warnings Maedhros gave. The gold ring that had gone with it, Maedhros usually had in her pocket.

            Some time ago, Thingol had given her the passcode for the building, so she buzzed in only to let Thingol know she had arrived and was on her way upstairs. The building was a historical landmark and thus, despite the hefty price tag on its units, possessed an endless variety of “quirks.” Thingol had mentioned that she found them rather charming, and Maedhros had replied that she just wanted to know the elevator was going to take her all the way to the floor she needed when she got on it. It was so old she was fairly sure it was as large as it was to accommodate an elevator operator.

            Furthermore, there was no mirror in it, so Maedhros could not perform any last-minute assessments of her appearance beyond making sure her necklace was centered, a thin gold pendant hanging delicately against her chest, before arriving on Thingol’s floor. Each floor was devoted to only a single unit.

            She did not have a key to the apartment, so she had to simply ring and wait. She took the moment to silence her phone; she did not want to be interrupted that night, and she knew Thingol found her frequently checking her alarms and calendar tiresome. Thingol opened the door in slacks which Maedhros knew counted as loungewear for her, and a gray cashmere sweater.

            “Hello kitten,” she said, kissing each of Maedhros’ cheeks as she stepped into the unit. She had a smooth, deep voice that Maedhros found always soothing to the ear; a resonant sound that seemed able to reach inside her and call up peace, anger, passion, at Thingol’s will.

            She took them into the living room, where she waved Maedhros towards the couch and went to the positively antique drinks cart to fix them something each. This room of all the rest had been updated with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the twinkling cityscape below, the last of the fading light of day bleeding out of a dark sky. She set something peach-toned in a coupe glass in Maedhros’ hand and perched on the back of the sofa rather than joining Maedhros on the cushions, which was less than ideal. She could not put her head in Thingol’s lap like this.

            “Congratulations, darling,” she said, raising her glass to Maedhros’ success. “Clever as you are, these things do not always turn on what we think they ought. I am very proud of you.” There was a tenderness in Thingol’s gaze that made Maedhros flick her eyes away even as her cheeks flushed with pleasure. Thingol knew—even when Maedhros said nothing, but that wasn’t unusual—how stressed Maedhros had been about her professional progress. Her accident had kept her from graduate school for years, and she had felt ever since she was running herself ragged playing catch-up, something she detested.

            Thingol pried her with some questions about the journal, though there was little enough she had not asked about when Maedhros first shared she was submitting an application. Thingol was never rushed, never hurried, and sometimes she set Maedhros’ nerves to crackling with her languorous pace. Yes, she had already eaten. No, she was not hungry now and did not wish even for something small. Yes, she had called her parents and they were perfectly thrilled, and Dad already wanted a draft of her first article. Yes, her friends were pleased also (the nebulous friends Maedhros never mentioned by name, lest she give away how few of them there really were). No, she hadn’t seen Daeron’s latest concerto, but yes, she might be interested in going along with Thingol next week. No, she didn’t need a refill on her drink. Thingol had her in agonies on the sofa, wanting Thingol to come and sit with her, which she thought Thingol knew perfectly well. The woman was a devil of driving Maedhros out of her mind with want, and worse, seemed to take pleasure in it. Did she not mean to reward Maedhros tonight?

            “So tell me,” Thingol said, sliding off the sofa to meander around the room, half-heartedly looking at the view from the windows before turning her gaze back to Maedhros, “what are your plans now?”

            “I never mentioned plans,” said Maedhros, being childish (she knew that Thingol would indulge her, to a point).

            “I have never known you not to have a scheme in progress,” Thingol laughed, leaning back against a mid-rise wood cabinet, smiling at her companion. “So will you share, or will you surprise me later?”

            “Perhaps I have not yet determined them,” Maedhros said, which wasn’t entirely true. She had drafted a list of article ideas before she had even been accepted, and had seven folders of research on her computer relating to those, and had earlier that day broken down into her digital calendar her own self-imposed deadlines for her work. Thingol told her she needed more slow-paced hobbies. “I was only admitted today.”

            Thingol’s knowing smile suggested she had some preternatural sense about the research folders, but she said nothing else. While the conversation had subsided, she still showed no sign of coming over to the sofa again, and Maedhros was getting desperate.

            “Won’t you come and sit down?” she said at last, which was already more of a request than she liked to make. Thingol’s piercing gray eyes studied her and Maedhros knew that Thingol was well aware what Maedhros was doing, but being so caught out had the regrettable effect of only making Maedhros’ situation more dire.

            “Why don’t you fix me another drink first?” Thingol suggested, holding her empty glass out, the stem pinched gracefully between her long, tapering fingers. Maedhros’ pride balked, but she also sensed a game, and her desire for the rewards of playing along outweighed her resistance, after several moments of internal debate.

            Her rebellion was in making the drink without asking what Thingol wanted, which received no comment, only a raised eyebrow as she took the glass back and raised it to her lips. Maedhros was near enough to see the divots in her lip.

            “I forget how little taste you have for sweet drinks,” she said as she lowered the glass, her lips upturned as she studied Maedhros’ face. “Or perhaps your mind is elsewhere,” she suggested.

            “I can make another,” Maedhros said.

            “No, no, this will do,” said Thingol, seeming to confirm Maedhros’ guess that it was not about the drink at all. She took another leisurely sip and then declared, “I suppose you ought to have a reward for your achievement, hm?”

            Maedhros did not respond, her focus being on not quivering at that statement.

            “Do you think so?” Thingol asked her more directly, which always inspired hesitation in Maedhros, ever reluctant to out loud say that she thought she was owed something. “I think so,” Thingol relented quickly enough. She drew her fingers down the underside of Maedhros’ jawline, coaxing her nearer with a feather-light touch. Thingol was one of the few people Maedhros had to look up at in any capacity. “I know how hard you worked for this,” she said softly. “I hope you are giving yourself due credit.”

            “I should have gotten it,” Maedhros said.

            “I agree; you ought to have been a shoe-in.” That was not quite what Maedhros had meant, and she suspected Thingol knew it. “But many things are at play in these decisions and ability alone is not always the deciding factor. You did well, and you should be proud. There are many others who are not celebrating tonight.”

            Maedhros said nothing.

            Thingol tilted her chin more sharply upwards.

            “It is not nothing that you achieved this, even if we were quite sure you would,” Thingol said. “It is still an achievement, Maedhros.”

            “I know,” Maedhros said reluctantly. Still—she should have gotten it. She would have been disgusted with herself if she had not.

            “You did well,” Thingol said. “And you should be proud.” Then she leaned in and pressed her mouth to Maedhros’, and Maedhros sank into the kiss, resting a hand against Thingol’s ribs as her eyes fluttered shut. Thingol’s hands moved down to her waist, tugging her nearer, and it was only when the pressure of Thingol’s thigh between her legs made Maedhros gasp that she realize she was straddling one of her legs.

            “Is this to be my only reward?” she asked, hoping this would encourage Thingol to move things to the bedroom.

            “Perhaps not only,” said Thingol. “But first.” She pulled Maedhros into another kiss and shifted her leg, and Maedhros grit her teeth against the urge to rut. Without breaking their kiss, Thingol slid a hand down her lower back to her ass, pressing her nearer, and this time Maedhros could not resist bucking her hips against Thingol’s thigh, her body ravenous for that contact no matter how degrading it seemed to hump her lover’s leg like an animal.

            Thingol’s mouth had moved to her throat, the taller Elf bending for such access,  and Maedhros tilted her chin up without thought, eagerly welcoming more of Thingol’s touch. Her hands reached up for Thingol’s platinum hair, nearly always worn loose, and she dug her fingers into the fine, soft tresses.

            “Mm…”

            “Take more of your pleasure, if you want it,” Thingol murmured, and Maedhros surrendered to her body’s urging, grinding herself against Thingol’s thigh until her face burned and her gut was turning summersaults. Won’t you give me more? she cried silently.

            “I…this isn’t…” Maedhros panted, fighting against the please which bubbled up in her throat. “This isn’t enough!”

            Thingol only laughed merrily and nipped at Maedhros’ neck, drawing a half-aborted moan from her as she pressed urgently down against Thingol’s leg.

            “Not enough of a reward for my industrious student?” she teased, rocking her thigh a little, which made Maedhros bite her lip before she realized what she was doing.

            “No,” she replied, trying for ‘imperious’ and getting something, to her chagrin, more like ‘petulant.’

            “Hm…well that won’t do,” said Thingol, quick as molasses, running her hand up and down Maedhros’ back as she kissed the underside of her jaw. “I ought to reward my kitten properly…” Her mouth traced a path over to Maedhros’ ear, where she nibble at the earlobe, making Maedhros’ earrings tinkle. “Perhaps if she would tell me what she wants.”

            This was an exercise Thingol frequently employed, no matter that it was at least half the time unsuccessful. Maedhros hated asking for what she wanted almost as much as Thingol liked hearing her do it. Grown women ask for what they want, Thingol said. Maedhros preferred Thingol to just give it to her.

            Sometimes, as then, Thingol would pose the question when Maedhros was desperate enough to give in, at least partway.

            “I want you to touch me!” she said. This, of course, left her open to Thingol pointing out that she was touching her—just not where Maedhros wanted it, in the way that she wanted it—but she must have been feeling generous in light of Maedhros’ achievement of the day.

            “Is that all?” she said with feigned surprise. “You need only ask.” She tweaked Maedhros’ ear which made Maedhros jerk her head away, and then took her time undoing the tie belt and the button and the zipper of Maedhros’ slacks to be able to slip her hand down the front of Maedhros’ panties—which were shamefully wet, given how little had actually happened yet. She could not completely contain the whimper that burst in her throat when Thingol’s hand slid over the swollen bud of her clit, and she realized how tightly she was gripping the cabinet behind Thingol in her effort not to move.

            Thingol seemed ready to give her all she wanted and Maedhros thrilled with this triumph nearly as much as she had getting the email confirming her acceptance onto the university journal. She panted against Thingol’s neck as her hand moved deeper, plunging two fingers through the nest of brown curls into Maedhros’ hot sex; now, Maedhros could not resist rocking against the touch. It was so rare that Thingol gave into her wishes without playing games first! (Given, the frenzy Thingol worked her up into first made certain that these orgasms were an an entirely different category than the ones Maedhros hastily rubbed out while her sister was out of their apartment, but still! Shouldn’t she get what she wanted tonight?)

            Maedhros ought to have known how delusional she was with desire for an orgasm, and it should not have surprised her when, having settled into place with her fingers in Maedhros’ cunt and her thumb against her clit, Thingol stopped moving. Maedhros too, fell still, sensing too late she was about to get another lesson in the pleasures of taking one’s time with things.

            “Well?” Thingol drawled, crooking her fingers and almost drawing a gasp from Maedhros. “Is this not what you wanted?”

            “No,” Maedhros whined. Well—she would not have characterized it as a whine, but Thingol would have (and so would most others).

            “You wanted to finish?”

            “Yes! Why else would I—oh!” Thingol cut off her testy reply with a press of her thumb, the pressure of which did not last nearly long enough. Maedhros glared, but Thingol only smirked (smirked!) at her in that way that always made Maedhros both irritated and horny.

            “Then finish,” she said sanguinely, and Maedhros growled.

            “This I can do myse—ah!” Thingol curled her fingers inside of Maedhros in a way that made Maedhros instinctively try to shift closer to her.

            “I want to see you cum,” Thingol murmured against her ear. “Do I not always give you a just reward? Do I not always satisfy you?”

            That was hard to argue against. Usually when Maedhros left Thingol’s residence, she was so thoroughly fucked it took her twenty-four straight hours to get her brain back online. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be impatient though!

            Thingol’s thumb circled her, as if to encourage her towards the desired response.

            “Be good for me.” Thingol’s breath was warm against Maedhros’ ear, her shoulder solid to lean against, and her thumb pressed idly against the root of Maedhros’ clit. “I know you can. Isn’t this what you came here for?”

            A whine built in Maedhros’ throat, but she swallowed it down and rocked lightly against Thingol’s hand.

            “There we go,” Thingol encouraged her. “That’s it.” Maedhros took in a trembling breath and forced herself to let go of her compunctions. Thingol was right, of course—this was precisely what she had come here for, and her resistance served her only as far as it was enjoyable to push back against Thingol, and not when it went as far as to deny her what she really wanted. So she began to move her hips more firmly and purposefully, riding Thingol’s hand as she was bade. She anchored her hands on Thingol’s chest instead of the cupboard behind her, and Thingol occasionally passed her thumb over the pearl of Maedhros’ need.

            Thingol raised the drink in her other hand, which Maedhros had honestly forgotten she still had, and took a surprisingly steady sip of it.

            “Good girl,” she said when she lowered the cup. “You’re close now, aren’t you?” Maedhros grit her teeth and nodded, shuddering against Thingol’s hand. “Do you need some help?”

            “No,” Maedhros gasped, shifting her angle and picking up speed, fucking herself on Thingol’s fingers. “I can do it. I’m so close!” Thingol set her drink down on the cupboard and dug her free hand into Maedhros’ hair, which she had worn only partially up that night.

            “Yes, you can,” she said, giving just a slight tug on Maedhros’ hair. Maedhros let out a sharp intake of breath and clenched her thighs against Thingol’s, half trying to climb up her to get Thingol’s fingers deeper into her heat.

            Almost, almost, she thought desperately, thinking she would not be opposed to Thingol shoving her entire hand inside at the moment. When Thingol opened her mouth to make another comment, Maedhros grabbed her wrist and pressed her hand more firmly against Maedhros’ sex, forcing her fingers deeper in, muffling her cry against Thingol’s shoulder as this tipped her over the edge.

            “Good girl,” Thingol said more softly as Maedhros’ hips continued to judder arrhythmically against her through the tail end of her orgasm. If asked, she would never have imagined that being spoken down to this way would be anything but repulsive, and yet—when Thingol said it, it didn’t feel like being spoken down to. It felt true. She was good. She was proud. She was accomplished.

            She was trembling and catching her breath against the older woman, who did not withdraw her fingers from Maedhros’ cunt until Maedhros had let go of her wrist (it took her several moments to remember how to loosen her fingers). This hand landed on Maedhros’ rear, while the clean one stayed stroking her hair, and so Thingol held Maedhros to her. Her hand moved down to scrape her nails gently along Maedhros’ spine in the way she knew Maedhros liked, soothing her through the end of it.

            “How do you feel?” Thingol asked gently.

            “Good,” Maedhros mumbled muzzily. “I’m good.”

            “Tired?”

            “No.” That got her more alert at once. It was Thingol’s preference, it seemed, to give Maedhros as many orgasms as she could take—and given how wound up Maedhros was that night, she did not want to give the impression one was all she was after.

            If Thingol was amused with her eagerness, it showed only faintly, and she straightened up and took care redoing the zip and buttons of Maedhros’ pants. She re-tied the belt as well, into a neat knot.

            “Let me get you something to drink,” she said.

            “No, I’ve had enough—”

            “I meant water, sweetling,” said Thingol.

            “Oh.” Maedhros didn’t really think that was necessary, but Thingol also often seemed to have a preference for insisting she stayed hydrated. She sat on the couch, her stomach full of butterflies in contemplation of the rest of the night, and Thingol returned with a glass of juice—cranberry, once she’d taken a sip—which she passed over to Maedhros. Now she sat on the sofa alongside Maedhros, but touched her only lightly—her fingers rested just so against the top of Maedhros’ thigh and she wanted to move for more, but she knew well enough by then that she needed to finish at least the better part of the juice before Thingol was going to touch her again—no matter how long that took.

            Thingol leaned on her elbow against the back of the couch and they exchanged light words about nothing—briefly, Thingol rhapsodized about a backpacking trip she had and Lúthien had gone on recently—while Maedhros nursed her juice. Once, just to be difficult, she had chugged the whole glass at once, and while Thingol had not commented, it had been clear she was less than impressed.

            When the glass was empty, Thingol stroked her fingers down Maedhros’ cheek, and the younger woman shifted nearer to her so that Thingol could slide an arm around her shoulders. For a few moments they just sat, Maedhros leaning against Thingol, and then Thingol asked quietly:

            “Are you ready?”

            “I have been ready,” said Maedhros. Thingol chuckled and kissed the top of Maedhros’ head.

            “Very well, along you go,” she said, and the smile that flickered across her face as Maedhros rose from the sofa set the butterflies to rampaging in her belly. “Time for bed.”

            Thingol finished the drink that Maedhros had made for her and then followed her into the bedroom.

            It was second only to the living room in sheer expansiveness, so that even the colossal teak bed did not manage to dominate the room. Half the windows followed the view of the living room over the city, while the others looked towards the darker edges of town trending towards the more rural surrounding areas. The room was large enough that several of the drawers of the antique dresser had been wordlessly set aside for Maedhros’ use. She didn’t keep much there, but Thingol kept them empty even when Maedhros added nothing herself.

            The dark green paint over the walls and ceiling always made the room feel tucked away somewhere, even when the bright light of morning was streaming in the windows. Thingol’s tastes ran very different from those of Maedhros’ own family, with their preference for high, open spaces and plenty of natural light, but if anything, this only increased the appeal of spending time in Thingol’s dark, cozy places.

            Maedhros went without direction to the bed, pausing to slip her shoes off just inside the bedroom door, and stretched out. Thingol’s bed—both here and at the country estate—was dangerously comfortable, and Maedhros had, humiliatingly, fallen asleep waiting for her on at least two occasions (more galling still, Thingol would not wake her in such situations, but simply let her sleep until morning). Now, though, she was too keyed-up for that, even if she did appreciate the impossibly soft mattress and plush covers—and the battalion of pillows—cradling her.

            Thingol went to the closet to take down Maedhros’ favorite box in the apartment (which was saying something, since one of those boxes housed a set of antique encyclopedias from the sailing age). Sometimes, if she had had a difficult day, Thingol would let her choose the phallus, but most often Thingol chose, and Maedhros rarely had complaints. (There wasn’t always a phallus—Thingol had other toys, and sometimes was content to drive Maedhros mad with just her fingers and tongue.) Tonight, she withdrew a particularly girthy number from the box, its vibrant teal-and-purple marbling giving it the air of a fresh summer fruit.

            “What do you think, kitten?” Thingol asked, holding it up for Maedhros to view. Feeling her mouth go a little dry, Maedhros nodded with a flash of eagerness.

            “I think that will do,” she said placidly. “If it pleases you.”

            “It pleases me if it pleases you,” said Thingol. She took from another box and displayed for Maedhros a little vibrator with a finger strap, and Maedhros gave another nod. “Do you plan to stay dressed for this?” Thingol asked as she she fished the harness out of the closet, half-teasing, half-genuine. Maedhros had cum too hard from being fucked in her work clothes for Thingol not to be at least a little genuine.

            Tonight though—tonight, she wanted Thingol to see all of her, and touch as much as she would. Maedhros rolled off of the bed and made efficient work of piling her clothes next to the bedside table, the soaked panties set a little off to the side, away from the rest of her things. She also rolled the duvet back to the foot of the bed. She knew herself what a wearisome task it was removing a duvet cover to wash—no sense soiling it if they didn’t need to do it. Before she could settle back on the bed, Thingol beckoned her over.

            “Help me,” she said, although what she really meant was do it for me. Maedhros made a methodology of it: First, she removed Thingol’s earrings and her necklace (the nose stud she left in place) and set them on the vanity; second, she helped Thingol wriggle out of the cashmere sweater, which she folded and placed on top of the dresser; then, feeling her heartbeat in her ears,  she leaned in closer and reached around to undo the clasp of Thingol’s bra and remove it from her as gently as she would have handled one of Grandfather’s decorative eggs (here, she became briefly distracted by Thingol’s tits, which she felt was not wholly her fault) and eventually folded it into the proper dresser drawer; next—her heartbeat was so loud she wasn’t sure she would have heard if Thingol had addressed her—she undid the side zip of Thingol’s pants and slid them down so she could step out of the soft black fabric; lastly, she became sorely distracted by Thingol’s black and lavender panties with the lace around the edges, and how much she wished to touch and see if Thingol had gotten wet in the living room as well, but when she saw Thingol’s hands twitch, she came back to herself and quickly moved her hands to Thingol’s hips.

            She lifted her eyes to Thingol’s amused gaze and for a moment, she thought Thingol meant to kiss her, but she did not.

            “You must be wandering in thought indeed,” the older Elf teased. “You are not often so lost anymore.”

            Maedhros flushed lightly.

            “I am not lost,” she said, pleased with the self-assurance in her voice. “I am…taking note.” Thingol carded a hand through Maedhros’ auburn hair and tucked the loose strands behind her ear.

            “Far be it from me to rush you,” she said.

            Maedhros wanted to touch—but she knew well enough that she was not to touch Thingol’s cunt without permission, which she was not likely to get, presently. So instead, she slid the underwear off and tried to content herself with caressing her way back up Thingol’s thighs to her hips to press her thumbs into the cushioned arc of Thingol’s hip bones. The hair between her legs was much darker than her head, a chestnut brown nothing like her silvery crown.

            “Are you still taking notes?” Thingol asked softly, the corners of her mouth curving up.

            “Yes,” Maedhros answered in an exhale, skimming her fingers lightly up Thingol’s sides, where Thingol captured them and then capitulated to drawing Maedhros into a kiss. She could not resist the smile that pulled at her lips at this triumph and she gladly leaned in, but Thingol broke it off much too soon.

            “Bed,” she said, but there was a softness in her eyes that Maedhros wanted to chase more than life itself. Nevertheless, she went to the bed.

            “You don’t want help?” she said, although she already guessed the answer would be no, and it was. Thingol got herself into the harness and situated the dildo on her own, and then simply observed Maedhros on display in her bed. Maedhros twitched, and wanted to pull the sheet up over herself, but she forced the impulse down, recognizing it as the senseless thing that it was. Instead, she made herself lay relaxed under Thingol’s gaze and gave her a look as if to say Are you coming?

            “Are you ready?” Thingol asked again, and Maedhros nodded.

            “I’m ready,” she said. Please hovered on her tongue again, but she swallowed that too. Thingol did not make her wait longer, anyway—she came to the bed and ran her hands up Maedhros’ legs from her ankle to her thighs, fingers brushing through the coarse hair, and then lowered her face between Maedhros’ breasts to kiss her there. Maedhros’ eyes fluttered shut as Thingol’s mouth moved down to her belly, her nose brushing over Maedhros’ ribs, and then began again at her sternum and moved up to the hollow of her throat. The sigh that escape her chest could not be helped.

            “My beautiful girl,” Thingol murmured, squeezing Maedhros’ hip with one hand as she nuzzled against Maedhros’ left shoulder, laying kisses against the crook of her neck. “My clever, beautiful girl.” A shiver went through Maedhros and her fingers curled up slightly in the sheets. The toy brushed against the thicket of hair between her legs and sent a bolt of electricity through her. Thingol’s mouth continued over the underside of Maedhros’ jaw and finally caught her lips again, and Maedhros surged up into this kiss, one hand going to grip Thingol’s hair, the other propping her up against the mattress.

            Accepting the intensity of Maedhros’ need, Thingol sat back on her heels and gave Maedhros the room to sit up and chase more kisses. She wound her arms around Thingol’s shoulders and finally took as much as she wanted, parting her mouth wetly against her partner’s, pressing her tongue to Thingol’s.

            “Are you pleased?” she breathed.

            “With you? Of course I am,” Thingol answered, caressing Maedhros’ cheek.

            “Really?”

            “Yes. I would not lie to you about such things; have you known me much to stroke your ego for its own sake?” Maedhros found no lie in Thingol’s deep gray eyes, so she gave her another open-mouthed kiss. “You work so hard,” Thingol murmured when Maedhros broke away for air. She kissed Maedhros’ pointed ear. “How could I not be proud of you?”

            It was awkward trying to get her mouth to Thingol’s breasts in this position, but she made the effort. (With some fluster, she had noticed that one of Thingol’s nipple rings had been removed, not unlikely because Thingol had noticed Maedhros’ penchant for giving her this particular attention.)

            “I feel I should lie down, before you injure yourself,” said Thingol somewhat dryly to this contortion. When Maedhros looked up, Thingol laughed. “Don’t look so serious, sweetling,” she said, running a hand through Maedhros’ hair. “As I said—you have earned a reward tonight.” So she lay down without being asked, and Maedhros pounced on her at once, though she was careful not to touch where she was not meant to do so (a fact which naturally only drew her attention there more). But for now, she focused quite happily on Thingol’s chest, lavishing kisses on her breasts, which grew into nibbling and grabbing. One hand traveled up to toy with and tug at the ring through the other nipple, which she knew Thingol enjoyed. She was not to leave marks without express permission, but that was no trouble today, for she moved quickly to taking one of Thingol’s nipples between her lips, laving her tongue over the tender skin, not even realizing how she was starting to press down against Thingol’s thigh again.

            She felt Thingol’s hand card up through her hair as she suckled on her breast. She broke away only when she needed to catch her breath, and then she laid her head on Thingol’s chest, panting.

            “You do have energy to burn off today,” Thingol remarked.

            “It is not just energy,” Maedhros said, somewhat temperamentally.

            “Of course not,” Thingol gave way, rubbing Maedhros’ back. “I am not patronizing you, dear.” Maedhros sighed, and pressed her face between Thingol’s breasts, and knew she had been too sensitive. Always looking for someone accusing you of incompetence, a former acquaintance had said to her once.

            “Even if it were, I should hardly complain,” Thingol added more lightly. “For I benefit of it.” Her nails scraped against Maedhros’ spine and Maedhros shivered in delight, lifting herself up to kiss at Thingol’s throat. As she did, Thingol raised her thigh to nudge it more firmly against Maedhros’ warming sex, and now Maedhros did not have the desire or the restraint to keep herself from rolling her weight against Thingol’s leg, relishing the pressure against her growing need.

            Slowly, Thingol pushed herself up with one hand, the other still resting against Maedhros’ lower back, capturing Maedhros’ lips in a kiss as she did so.

            “Let me take care of you,” she said, her voice in that low, melodic place that made Maedhros shudder and melt. Her hips twitched, seeking some satisfactory contact. “Let me look after my kitten.” When she kissed Maedhros again, it was so gentle as to cool Maedhros’ fire and make her lie obediently down.

            When Thingol drew her hands up Maedhros’ inner thighs, she could not control the shivers that went through her, or the aching frissons of desire that coursed through her, making her grip one of the pillows by her head and clench her teeth to keep from pleading with Thingol to touch her where she wanted it.

            “My sweet, wonderful thing,” Thingol breathed against her belly, kissing her just above her thatch of hair, making Maedhros squirm unwillingly under her. “I am so pleased you wished to come here tonight.”

            “Of course,” Maedhros gasped. “Why—why wouldn’t I?” Thingol did not reply, although later Maedhros would eventually suppose Thingol had been referring to the possibility of her having other plans.

            When Thingol leaned up kiss her, the toy pressed sharply between Maedhros’ legs and she couldn’t help the whine that left her, or the way her hips arched off the bed, seeking more of that.

            “On your knees,” Thingol said then, her voice shifting at once into the tone she used for commands. She sat back to give Maedhros the room and Maedhros, without hesitation, turned over onto her hands and knees. “Good girl.” She felt Thingol’s hand caress her ass, followed by the light dig of her nails, which made Maedhros crane her head back. Spanking was something she was only rarely in the mood for, but there were no slaps forthcoming—Thingol was only teasing, as usual (it would have been unlike her in any case, to strike without making it clear that was coming—and giving Maedhros the chance to refuse). This nís will be the death of me! Maedhros thought, both furious and aroused.

            “Tell me,” said Thingol, pushing Maedhros’ head down, “what did you accomplish today?”

            “I was accepted to the journal,” Maedhros recited dutifully.

            “And was it difficult?”

            “I have always been a decent writer—”

            “How many hours did you put into the application?” Thingol interrupted. Maedhros considered.

            “It was work,” she allowed, after some approximate calculations.

            “Are you pleased with your achievement?”

            “I am,” Maedhros said.

            “Are you proud?” Maedhros considered again.

            “Yes,” she said at last. “I should be on the journal.” Thingol’s hand was stroking her ass again.

            “How much of a break will you give yourself now that you have achieved it?” Maedhros said nothing. “Maedhros.”

            “I need to start preparing,” Maedhros blurted out.

            “You need to rest, too,” Thingol countered. “Do not make me take you out to the country again.”

            “Is that meant to be a threat?” Maedhros asked, nearly rolling her eyes. She’d commit arson to be permitted to return to Thingol’s country estate. Thingol laughed.

            “I suppose it is not much of one for you, is it? What if I reminded you there is no Wi-Fi there?”

            “There…” There wasn’t? Maedhros had to think hard back on the one visit to remember. She had not had much time to notice. Thingol snickered and Maedhros felt the warm press of lips against her back.

            “Take two days at least, little one,” she said gently. “Your work will be better if you rest first.”

            “I am trying to relax right now, but someone is making it difficult!”

            Thingol’s laughter suggested she was not in the least repentant for the throbbing of Maedhros’ sex.

            “We shall see what I can do for you here,” she said, that playful note still in her voice, “and decide on any necessary kidnapping later.” She slid the toy between Maedhros’ legs, making her exhale in relief that they might be getting somewhere, but Thingol was apparently not yet ready for that—she moved her hips to rub the dildo over Maedhros’ lips, but did not penetrate her yet, and it was impossible for her to grind down against it without merely pushing it further out of reach.

            “Thingol,” she whined at last, dripping with unspent arousal.

            “Let’s see if you’re ready,” Thingol said, as if Maedhros’ vagina wasn’t a textbook picture of insert here, now, please! She plunged two fingers in and hummed in satisfaction to feel Maedhros’ wetness and Maedhros resisted the urge to rock back against the touch. “That’s my good girl,” she cooed, but reached for the lubricant in the drawer of the bedside table anyway. Maedhros’ head fell forward, pressing her face into the pillow over the agonizing sixty-to-a-hundred-and-twenty seconds it took Thingol to lube up the dildo.

            “This is really not necessary,” she said, just to be difficult.

            “It will be more comfortable for you, kitten. I’m not going to hurt you.” Maedhros groaned, and refrained from claiming she didn’t care if she was hurt, as long as it happened while Thingol was fucking her. That would only draw out the conversation.

            Presently, Thingol placed the head of the toy at Maedhros’ entrance and she shivered in anticipation, able to feel its breadth already. Yes, yes, yes, please, she thought desperately. Thingol at last did not take her sweet time, and once the head of the toy had passed into Maedhros, thrust the rest in in one smooth, sharp movement. Maedhros cried out, fisting her hands in the pillows, and was not able to stop from shoving her ass back towards Thingol to take the phallus in as quickly as she could.

            “That’s my girl,” Thingol encouraged her, stroking the inside of Maedhros’ thigh. The stretch of it was delicious, bordering on painful, and Maedhros throbbed around it, unable to make some quip in return, being occupied trying to accustom herself to this considerable bodily intrusion. The ridges of it pressed and scraped against her walls, nearly overwhelming her. “Let’s take care of some of that energy, hm?” Finally, finally, finally Thingol fucked her! Done with the teasing, done with the coyness, done with the games—Thingol’s athleticism showed in how fast and hard she drove the toy into Maedhros’ cunt, making the old bed creak faintly in protest as she hammered away until Maedhros almost sobbed with pleasure, writhing in the sheets and no longer in even an approximation of control over the sounds that came out of her.  Her legs no longer felt like they could support her, and she was sinking further and further down into the mattress as Thingol pounded into her.

“Oh! Oh, yes,” she gasped, shaking as Thingol adjusted her angle and thrust hard and deep. Maedhros wailed, too far gone to even be relieved about the thickness of the walls in the old building. “Oh, yes, Thingol, please! Please! Fuck me, please!”

            “Anything for my good girl,” Thingol panted, grabbing Maedhros’ hips to haul her up into a better position. Here, Thingol trusted her to tap out if it was too much, but Maedhros had not yet found the exact words to describe how being pushed so far was part of the experience—one she had allowed herself with no one but Thingol. Fortunately, the older Elf seemed to understand at least a part of it without Maedhros’ ineffective efforts at explanation. Thingol’s fingers dug into her hips and Maedhros jerked backwards, clumsily trying to move with Thingol, trying to get more of the brutally large toy stuffed into her.

            Thingol responded by pushing her down against the mattress, but rewarded her acquiescence with reaching around to rub at Maedhros’ clit, at which point Maedhros realized she must have put on the finger vibrator she’d left on the bed. That forced her to slow down with the toy, but she had Maedhros so near the edge by then it hardly mattered, particularly once the vibrator started buzzing against her, sending waves of pleasure out through her and tearing a broken gasp from Maedhros’ throat.

            “Are you close, sweet thing?” Thingol asked.

            “Yes,” Maedhros replied, “I’m so—oh! I’m so,” she panted, “I’m so—!” She realized she hadn’t been breathing and drew in a ragged gasp of air. “Tell me again,” she begged, shuddering against Thingol’s weight. “Tell me again!”

            Thingol leaned over her to speak softly by Maedhros’ ear.

            “I’m so proud of you,” she said. Maedhros let out a cracked cry and her orgasm swept over her, turning her limbs to jelly, driving a babble of gasping and moaning out of her mouth as she jerked and shivered against Thingol’s hand and strap. She collapsed onto the bed, the toy sliding free of her with an obscene slurp, and Thingol drew back with the vibrator.

            Thingol’s hand was cool against her back, stroking very lightly, careful not to risk overwhelming her. After a few moments of this reassurance, the touch disappeared, and Maedhros felt Thingol move off the bed, heard the sound of her removing the harness, setting it all aside to be cleaned later along with the vibrator (Thingol always cleaned their things; she never delegated this task to Maedhros). Some part of her felt she ought to be sitting up and offering to help, or return the favor, or doing something besides laying there like a slug, but she could not begin to imagine moving her muscles, or that they might cooperate with her brain even if she wished to move.

            Thingol returned to bed and sat beside her. She pressed her fingers against Maedhros’ right shoulder and one could be forgiven, based on the noise that Maedhros made, for thinking they were still having intercourse.

            “Feeling alright?” Thingol asked in a low voice, which felt appropriate to Maedhros’ present state.

            “Mhm…that’s good…” Maedhros forced her mouth to say something coherent. Thingol began to rub more concertedly then, cautious with the amount of pressure she applied until Maedhros failed to wince or warn her off.

            There had been aches and pains that never left her since the accident, and it had become clear they never really would. Maedhros had only mentioned it once or twice, but—Thingol remembered. Thingol always remembered. She was always gentle with Maedhros’ right shoulder and never asked her for any favors that required fine motor skill. Since the one time that Maedhros had gone for pain medication in Thingol’s bathroom to find there was none—and been in quite a foul mood about it—there had never been less than half a bottle of two varieties of NSAID in the apartment (or in the house).

            Thingol remembered. She remembered how Maedhros liked her coffee, and her drinks, and where she liked to be touched and how, and when she had important events coming up, and her preferred pain medications, and how she liked to wear her hair, and the words she liked to hear when she wanted to be comforted.

            For several minutes, Maedhros let Thingol massage her shoulder, then she sat up abruptly and caught Thingol’s cheek with her hand, drawing her into a kiss, her stomach fluttering at how easily she gained what she wanted.

            “Can I take care of you too?” she asked, her tone still subdued. Thingol did not always permit it, even when Maedhros knew her to be aroused. She had probed around this before, but never got more of an answer from Thingol than that she was not in the mood, always said with a tone of finality which blocked further questioning. That night, though, Thingol was in the mood.

            “How would you like to do it?”

            Maedhros resisted the urge to look down at Thingol. She held the desire in the palm of her hand, savored it for a moment. She wetted her lips.

            “Can I use my mouth?” A smile spread fondly over Thingol’s face and she patted Maedhros’ cheek.

            “Yes, if that’s what you wish, you may,” she said. They still rested a few moments more, with Maedhros slumped against Thingol, idly tracing patterns over her ribs. She did not know how Thingol could summon such patience, as Maedhros felt like shredding a pillow with her teeth whenever Thingol made Maedhros get her off first before Maedhros was allowed a turn. Maybe it came with age.

            When Maedhros felt less like she would swoon if she stood upright, she turned her head to press kisses against Thingol’s breasts, nuzzling against the soft flesh, enjoying the heat of her lover’s body. In the winter, when the heat in the aged building was weak, and Thingol cradled Maedhros through the night in a cocoon of warmth under her covers, Maedhros felt as if she had retreated to some youthful vision of total and complete safety. Carefully, she shifted to straddle Thingol’s lap and, leaning in, paused a moment to study the familiar planes of her face—her sharp cheekbones; her thin, finely-arched brows; the scar, no larger than the tip of a fingernail, on her lower lip—before molding her mouth to Thingol’s.

            She rolled her hips against Thingol’s, a movement she had been honing since they first began this, and trailed her kisses down Thingol’s neck in the way she liked herself. Down Thingol’s pale throat she went, over her collarbone—she lingered again on Thingol’s chest, using her teeth to tug at the nipple ring this time as she sucked—and then down the sternum—she paused again to leave a mess of kisses on Thingol’s stomach—and then she was kneeling between Thingol’s legs, looking at what she wanted.

            “Can I?” she asked, looking up. Thingol nodded benevolently, and Maedhros drew her thumb up Thingol’s slit, parting her lips slightly, the sight of the glistening pink flesh thrilling low in her gut. (Was it silly, that she was still so pleased Thingol could get this wet for her?)

            Her eyes flicked back up to Thingol’s face, and then she pressed her thumb a little deeper, dragging it through the moisture gathered along Thingol’s entrance, breathing in the pungent, earthy smell of her arousal. Slowly, she slid down onto her belly—grateful as usual for the vast size of the bed—and pressed a breathless kiss against Thingol’s cunt. Her tongue flickered out against the lips and then she used two fingers to part them and tease her tongue against Thingol’s swollen clit. She heard an intake of breath from her partner and smirked, repeating the gesture.

            Flattening herself further still, she slipped an arm under each of Thingol’s legs and applied her mouth to the pearl of Thingol’s need with the same studiousness with which she approached her work. It was better this way, she thought, when she had climaxed already, and could focus more on pleasing Thingol without needing to be constantly redirected.

            For several moments, she focused purely on this, lapping and sucking at Thingol’s clit, nuzzling her folds, Thingol’s fluid coating her lips and tongue. When she looked up again, her chin was wet with it, and she gazed up at Thingol with intent, hazarding a (educated) guess about the effect of this look on Thingol.

            “Is this good?” she asked softly. “Does it please you?”

            She could see Thingol swallow and she could almost feel her body start to rouse again at the sight and the knowledge of how much she could get to Thingol.

            “Yes,” said Thingol, and there was a breathless note in her voice. “You are doing very well.”

            “Should I go on?”

            “Yes, if you would like.” An underhanded reply—Thingol knew Maedhros wanted to do it!

            “I would,” Maedhros replied, and bowed her head over Thingol’s sex again. She shifted down, tonguing at Thingol’s entrance, wishing she had asked if she could also use her fingers, but not wanting to break from what she was doing then to seek permission.

            When she returned to suck with vigor, she drew a moan from the other Elf, which almost made her shiver with delight, and she applied herself with double enthusiasm until she could feel Thingol’s hips twitching up towards her mouth. It felt like she held a fucking machine gun in her hands, a delusion of power she was all too happy to embrace. She hummed against Thingol’s heat and, muffled, she heard:

            “That’s my good girl,” which went right to her cunt, predictably. She could feel the tightness of Thingol’s muscles as she drew nearer to her finish and she paused to pepper kisses on her sex before thrusting her tongue between the folds again. Sometimes, this went on long enough to make her jaw ache, but it was worth it for the pride she got feeling Thingol shiver apart under her mouth (when she was so successful). “Nearly there,” Thingol panted. “You’re doing so well, sweet one.”

            Despite this proclamation, Maedhros went on several more minutes without a reward, at which point she decided more drastic measures were needed. Once again she lifted her head from her feast and looked up at Thingol, resting her cheek against Thingol’s trembling thigh.

            “For me?” she said delicately. She bent her head and kissed Thingol’s sex and laved her tongue over her clit. “I want to see yours too,” she murmured to Thingol’s heat. “I need it.” This time, when she went to work again, it was only moment before Thingol cried out softly as her orgasm rippled through her, one hand reaching for Maedhros’ head to grip her there as she arched back against the pillows. Maedhros laid her head contently between Thingol’s legs and listened to the sound of her lover’s panting as she caught her breath.

            When it had fully passed, Thingol coaxed Maedhros to lie up beside her, where Maedhros plucked a few unfortunate strands of curly hair out of her teeth to flick onto the mattress.

            “Shall I bring you the floss?” Thingol asked, amused.

            “Later,” Maedhros sighed, sinking back against the wall of pillows. She was too comfortable now to move, and she certainly didn’t want Thingol moving. She shifted nearer and wrapped her arms around Thingol’s hips, holding close to her, with her head on Thingol’s chest, rising and falling with her lover’s breathing.

            It was not the most taxing session they had ever had by quite a mile (after one particular encounter at Thingol’s country home, Maedhros had slept thirteen straight hours after and woken feeling positively reborn and also not certain what the year was), but she had nowhere to be and nothing which immediately needed doing, so she surrendered to the post-coital stupor.

            “You’ve gotten better,” Thingol observed. Maedhros smiled to herself with pride and turned her face more against Thingol.

            “If I had more practice I would get better faster,” she said, in something that did not really possess enough subtlety to qualify as a “hint.”

            “Mm…but then what would I do with you on special occasions?” Thingol asked.

            “Find a bigger dildo,” Maedhros suggested.

            “Soon I will need to have them custom-made for you,” Thingol said, but Maedhros was unabashed on this point.

            “Good thing you can afford it,” she quipped back.

            “A good thing indeed,” Thingol replied. She scraped her nails over Maedhros’ scalp as she stroked her head. “Perhaps a begetting day gift for you.”

            “One that stays in this apartment!” Maedhros needed to have that explicit.

            “Oh? Oughtn’t I send it to your house?”

            “Only if you want Maglor to steal it,” Maedhros snorted. “She is chronically incapable of keeping her hands out of my things. And once she’s had it, I will be done with it.”

            “I will save it for your celebration here then,” Thingol said as she cradled the back of Maedhros’ head, as if there had ever been any question of that. “I won’t have any magpies thieving from my starling.” Maedhros should not have been so pleased to be the more well-liked of the two birds, but for a moment it was tempting to tell Maglor about this rendezvous just to mention that particular comparison. “Do you want to have a bath?” Thingol asked, rubbing her hand down along Maedhros’ spine.

            “In a minute,” Maedhros mumbled. “I’m comfortable here.” Thingol smiled.

            “As you wish, kitten.”

#thingol #maedhros #maedhros x thingol #the silmarillion #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #rocky writes #silmsmutweek

[scotianostra]

January 20th 1356 saw Edward Balliol surrender his claim to the Scottish throne to Edward III in exchange for an English pension.

Edward Balliol was born around 1283, the son of the deposed King John of Scotland and Isabella de Warenne, daughter of John de Warenne, 6th Earl of Surrey and his wife Alice de Lusignan, who was the maternal half-sister of King Henry III of England. Edward married Marguerite de Taranto, the daughter of Philip I, Prince of Taranto (d. 1332) they had no issue and the marriage was later annulled.

When his father was forced to abdicate by King Edward I of England in 1296, the younger Balliol was imprisoned with him in England. John Balliol died in exile in France in 1314, Edward Balliol then in France, was recalled to England by Edward II in 1324.

On the death of the great Robert the Bruce, his four year old son, David II, succeeded to the Scottish throne. The Regency passed to the two men the Bruce had entrusted with the guardianship of his young son, Sir James Douglas and Thomas Randolph. Douglas died shortly after in a skirmish in Spain and Randolph soon followed him to the grave.

lThe Regency then passed to the Robert's the Bruce's nephew, Donald, Earl of Mar. Edward Balliol still harboured dreams that he would one day occupy the Scottish throne, a position he considered to be his by right of birth. He received support from Edward III of England and landing on the coast of Fife he proceeded toward Perth. Mar met them in a bloody battle at Dupplin Moor and was killed in the action.

Edward Balliol was duly crowned Edward, King of Scots at Scone Abbey, but Sir Andrew Murray, appointed Guardian of Scotland by nobles loyal to the memory of Robert the Bruce ambushed him at Annan and drove him back into England. The regency during the minority of the young David Bruce was taken by another Douglas, Archibald, the brother of the previous Earl. Edward III now gave further support to Balliol, he declared the Treaty of Northampton null and void due to border reiving and marched on Berwick.

The Scots met the English invaders at the The Battle of Halidon Hill, where they suffered total defeat. Berwick was forced to surrender after a long siege and Balliol was restored to the Scottish throne. The young King David was promptly sent to France for his greater safety. Balliol paid homage to Edward III for his kingdom, destroying the Scots independence that Robert the Bruce had fought so long for.

Following the English victory at Halidon Hill the town of Berwick and the lands of the Borders and Lothian were ceded to Edward III by Edward Balliol. This ensured that warfare between the two countries would continue as the Scots fought to regain their lands. The young King David was sent to France for safety, where Phillip VI lodged him at Chateau Gaillard.

For twelve years thereafter, anarchy reigned in Scotland. When Edward III declared war on France, Phillip VI sent David Bruce back to Scotland in the hope of creating a diversion. David II entered Edinburgh in triumph, while Balliol fled to England leaving the throne open to his adversary.

After the defeat and capture of David II at the Battle of Neville's Cross on 17 October 1346, Balliol again invaded Scotland, leading an uprising in Galloway, but had no realistic hope of occupying the Scottish throne again. On 20th January, 1356 he surrendered his claim to the Scottish throne to Edward III, in exchange for an English pension. Edward Balliol died in 1367 at Wheatley, Doncaster, Yorkshire.

#scotland #scottish #history #angloscot #usurper #pretender

[kuailiangshellfire]

almost home.

Our lips were barely apart before I felt myself being dragged away. The tension in Bi-Han's shoulders gave his anger away. His grip, tight, began to burn, as his ice cut into my skin. I cried out, grabbing his wrist. Bi-Han turned and Hanzo was there instantly, pushing him off me. His touch was light, absorbing the spot of ice that formed on my skin.

“Easy,” He whispered and my arm trembled under his touch.

The skin was red and angry. The sight of it caused him to press a small kiss to it. It tingled under his lips and I gasped, tilting his head up.

“It's okay,” I whispered. Hanzo frowned. I hated seeing that look on his face.

Bi-Han bristled, reaching for me again. Hanzo lashed out like a snake, grasping his wrist. The air around us started to turn frigid. The people ignorant to our presence began to stop and stare. Anxiety prickled at the back of my neck and I looked at Tomas for help. He returned it, the same anxiety in his eyes.

“Bi-Han, please.” I cupped where they met. “I'll go with you.”

“Liang...” Looking at my face, he swallowed back his words. Gently pulling them apart, I cupped his jaw before I kissed him breathless. He whimpered when I broke away.

“I'll come back to you,” I whispered, before I took my place by Bi-Han's side.

I don't miss the look of triumph on Bi-Han's face as we begin our walk out of the village. Tomas slid my mask into my hand as we got to the top of the hill. The weight of it was tenfold.

The Grandmaster forbade me from returning to the village and my heart plummeted to my stomach. Keeping my head down as he gave me a verbal lashing, my hands clenched into fists. In my mind's eye, I could see Hanzo back there, in his home, waiting for me to come back. Would he wait for me, or would he move on? Giving up on the fate we apparently shared. I swallowed hard, trying not to imagine Hanzo gone when I finally returned to the village. It hurt.

Tomas was waiting for me when I returned to my quarters. He was sitting unnaturally when I entered, as if I caught him by surprise. The silence on his side of the room was loud. I almost wanted him to get on with it, because I knew what he was going to say, siding with Bi-Han and the Grandmaster. As much as I confided in him, he knew a losing battle when he saw one.

“When are you going back?” He asked and I dropped my mask when I pulled it off. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“I just....thought you'd talk me out of it,” I replied, gaping at him.

“Ye of little faith, Tundra.” He smiled before it slipped away. He bit his lip. “It was him, wasn't it?”

“It was. Hanzo Hasashi.”

“Hanzo....Hasashi.” He rolled the name around in his mouth as he said. “Seemed like a nice guy.”

“He is.”

“How do you know? How did you know it was him? How do you know that you still know him?”

I sat down next to him. “I just do it. It was like...everything clicking into place. It was like the fog had lifted. Clarity. He knew me, too. He called me Liang.”

Tomas made a face. “No one calls you that.”

“No one...except him.” I tried to bite back a smile, but it was all for naught.

“So...when are you going back?” Tomas asked again, nudging me with an elbow.

“The Grandmaster forbid it,” I replied, the smile falling from my face.

“When has that ever stopped you?”

That was that. Tomas came up with a cover, as thin as it was, and I snuck out of the Lin Kuei compound. It had been easier than I expected, which shouldn't be as surprising as it was. As well trained as I was, our guards should have been trained better.

I got to the village in record time. Despite being late at night, some of the homes were still lit. A sea of light in the shadows. I slid down the hill, walking towards them.

It was welcoming. I hadn't noticed last time. The deeper I got into the village, the more at home I felt. I watched as a family strode down the street, a father, mother and two sons. All happy. I swallowed, hard. I wanted the life I could have here with Hanzo. I wanted....

“Hey,” I heard a voice whisper and I jumped, reaching for my kunai, only to find it gone. Hanzo was holding it, smirking.

I glared. “I could have killed you.”

“You didn't even hear me.”

“I....I did.”

“Uh huh.” He smiled before pulling me in for a kiss. I melted against him, wrapping my arms around his neck. We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity.

Pulling away for air, he whispered. “Follow me.”

Threading our fingers together, he pulled me with him. Up on a hill, near the edge of the village, but still able to see the surroundings, sat his home. My breath caught looking at it. Our quarters at the Lin Kuei were elegant, befitting kings, despite us being assassins. Our Grandmaster liked pretty things, and it was reflected in the Lin Kuei compound. This was simple, homey, welcoming just as the village had been and I could envision a life here with Hanzo. A life away from the Lin Kuei, from whatever missions our Grandmaster threw us into and I wanted it with all my being.

“You alright?” He asked, opening the door. I nodded, overwhelmed with yearning.

The door was barely closed before I crowded him against it, claiming his lips as my own. He growled, pulling me closer. We kissed until we couldn't anymore, with Hanzo sealing his lips over my throat. I moaned, grinding against his body.

It was a blur after that. A tangled mess of limbs and sweat. Our hard bodies grinding against each other. Calloused fingers brushing against my chest, hips before digging into my ass. Bruises left in their wake. Gasps and moans filled the room, dragging out his name like a prayer. When it was finished, we clung to each other, sharing breath and heat.

“I love you, “ I mouthed against his neck, silent. Afraid to say it out loud. Afraid that it was too soon, despite knowing him like the back of my hand.

He pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head and darkness overtook us.

Morning spilled in between the curtains and I groaned, burying my face into the pillow next to me. Hanzo had already risen, I had felt him move hours before, so the spot next to me had grown cold. I groaned again, snatching the pillow from his side. It smelled of him. Of pine and freshly fallen snow and something completely Hanzo that I couldn't describe it.

I must have fallen asleep again because I woke to a voice in my ear saying, “Who knew you were a pillow thief?”

I smiled but didn't open my eyes. “As a friend says, 'you snooze, you lose'.”

“Oh really?”

He gripped my sides, brushing them gently and I laughed, turning towards him. “Hanzo!”

“Still ticklish, I see.”

“That's not fair.”

“I think it is.”

I jutted my lower lip out at him, before pulling him down for a kiss. He smelled of earth and clean sweat. The harvest. He groaned against my lips, pressing his body against mine.

“You....are...bad.” He emphasized each word with a kiss and I smirked.

“The worst.”

He chuckled, climbing into the bed with me. Wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest, he buried his face into my neck and inhaled. I intertwined our fingers again, looking over the back of his hand.

“How did you end up with the ice?” I asked.

“Not sure. One day, it was fire, another ice,” He replied, kissing the back of my neck.

“Hm.” I thought back to the scorpion sting. Had it been the first step of fate to bring us back together?

“I'm sure your clan wasn't happy.”

“They weren't. I was expelled.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “It was ages ago. I've moved on. Did odd jobs here and there. Stopped in this village once and it was all over. I met my ex-wife here, Harumi. We were together for three years, and we have a son, Satoshi. He was with me that day.”

“You two have an arrangement then.”

“Yes. I think she was expecting something else, and I wasn't it. And, I was fated to someone else. Doomed before we could start.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. We still love each other, just not like that, and we have a son that we both love very much.” He kissed the back of my hand. “What about you?”

“Hmm..just Bi-Han, Tomas, and I.” I sighed. “Mother died when I was young and Father died a few years ago. Bi-Han wasn't old enough to take up the mantle of the Grandmaster, so my Father's second was awarded it.” I gritted my teeth. “He acts high and mighty, thinks we are bound for greatness, but all of the missions we have been on have not panned out, or flat out wrong. Bi-Han wants to take over, but it won't be until after our current Grandmaster dies.”

“That could be a while and he doesn't seem like the patient type, either.”

I scoffed. “You're right. I fear one day I will come back from a mission and Bi-Han will have staged of coup.”

“As long as you're not caught in the middle.”

“I'd help my brother as much as I can, but sometimes, I feel it's not wanted. He'd do everything himself if he could.” I shook my head. “Sometimes, I wish we were closer. Him and Tomas...they're all I have left.”

“I'm sorry.” He kissed the spot behind my ear. “And to be fair, that's not true anymore. You also have me, which ever way you want me.”

I turned toward him and smiled. Pulling him into a kiss, I tugged off his clothes, throwing them to the ground. He settled between my legs, pressing his body against mine. We picked up where we left off from the night before.

When I awoke again, Bi-Han was standing over us.

(cross posted on ao3)

#subscorp #kuai liang #hanzo hasashi #mortal kombat #part 2 #fated #bi-han #tomas vrbada #ingoring the fact that bi-han is grandmaster in mk1 #slight mk1 spoilers

[therealnightcity]

For Hiro: Demons of War, Lt. Mower, Where the Bodies Hit the Floor

Ares: Bloody Ritual, Discount Doc, House on a Hill

Avi: Letter of the Law, Lex Talionis, On Deaf Ears

:3

Character asks for @depyotee 😊💕

Hiro:

Demons of War: Is there a job that has left a permanent mark on your OC?

As much as he'd like to say that he's seen the worst Night City has to offer, that nothing ruffles him anymore, it still manages to surprise him. It's less of one gig that's so standout, than a parade of them, that showcase how cruel people can be, and how easily greed triumphs over the well-being of others. It wasn't the worst danger he'd ever faced, or the most terrible crimes but the gig of retrieving stolen medicine from Corporal William Hare, suspected cyberpsycho lingered long after he'd gotten his eddies. There's the feeling that maybe if he'd been there sooner, if someone else had been, the man could've gotten treatment, or in touch with Regina. But then again maybe he couldn't have, that it would have always ended the way it did, and at least he'd skirted a larger tragedy. He knows the feeling of having to make a go of it alone, feeling like you've been abandoned, but he was lucky enough to find someone who cared, who was willing to help. It makes him feel powerless, in the face of the corporate machine, and even if he can make a single person feel like it's not just them against the world, than maybe it'll all be worth it.

Lt. Mower: What is the worst betrayal your OC has faced?

Hiro isn't a stranger towards how self-serving people can be, but by far the worst was Wakako. He grew up thinking he didn't have any family aside from a brother he was estranged from, didn't know that she was his grandmother or that his dad had been her son, estranged from the family, or that he has a half-sister. She kept an eye on him growing up, but always held him at arm's length. She said it was because she didn't want him to turn out like his father, that it was for his own good but he wishes she just would've told him, been more involved. She let him make his own mistakes, firm iin her belief that if he was determined enough he would dig himself out of them, and while that held true, he's always resented her for it. He put his trust in the wrong people and she simply watched.

Where the bodies hit the floor: Is your OC vengeful? If not, what would it take for them to seek revenge?

Hiro is vengeful not when he is wronged, but his loved ones. In terms of himself, he's likely to just brush things off, especially if retaliation will simply bring more trouble. In the case of a continued threat, he will deal with it accordingly, and ensure his safety, but he's not going to go on a wild hunt in the name of revenge. If a loved one is wronged, it's a complete reversal, and he won't stop until he feels the debt has been paid--whether it's as simple as petty revenge, or making them disappear more permanently, it's unwise to provoke him.

Ares:

Bloody Ritual: Does your OC have any pre or post mission rituals or superstitions?

Ares always shoots a message to Dakota, or Iris before doing a particularly risky gig. She has the fear of something happening to her on a job, and nobody being there to take care of her dogs, and give them a home, or thinking they've been abandoned. They're like her children, and the idea of them alone and scared is enough to keep her up at night, so having a fail safe in place gives her a lot of peace of mind. She also double checks to make sure she's locked everything up before leaving, and it isn't uncommon for her to turn around and go back to check--the last thing she needs is coming home to her garage raided.

Discount Doc: Is your OC good at improvising? Would they survive a mission underprepared?

Ares thrives on improvising. She goes in with a loose plan, but with the expectation that it'll go to shit, and to be prepared for it. She doesn't necessarily have an entire backup plan, but it keeps her from being frozen in the middle of a crisis, for the most part. She has survived missions under prepared, particularly around the city, where she didn't know what to plan for in the first place. However, she's very, very careful in the Badlands, in terms of the hazards it contains (natural or otherwise), and it's something she's familiar with, unlike the city. Underprepared in the Badlands often means 'dead', and she doesn't plan on that happening anytime soon. She usually carries extra ammo, supplies in her car, and an extra gun or two, along with her tools, a tent, and sleeping roll, and of course an extra mask, goggles and more water than she thinks she'll need. She might find herself out of her depth in Night City, but a sandstorm or raid will never catch her unprepared.

House on a Hill: Is your OC easy to trust or are they paranoid? How vigilant are they?

Ares is too trusting, if anything. While she has a good scope of life in the badlands, and the challenges/specifics that come with it, Ares is less informed about the goings on in Night City, and this can lead her to come off as a little naive about how it works. She gives people the benefit of the doubt, occasionally to her disadvantage, and it's left it's lasting marks on her (in a very physical sense, her missing arm, and replacement cybernetic is a grim reminder). That being said, if someone has proven themselves untrustworthy, she's reluctant to extend the same trust again--she cares deeply and having that betrayed lingers terribly.

Avi:

Letter of the Law: How does your OC feel about Corps? Hatred? Necessary evil? Ect..

As a Corpo himself, he sees them as a necessary evil. He's self-aware enough to know they're not altruistic, but they were a means to an end for him, rather than a 'noble cause' and he saw siding with the Corps as his ticket out of the slums and into a more comfortable life. Although he'd like to pretend it doesn't impact him, his growing disillusionment with Arasaka let to him cutting ties with the company for good, in search of something with more personal freedom. He was simply a dog on a leash to them, even if his kennel was made of gold, and he didn't want to become the next Adam Smasher for them, their tool and completely at their beck and call. Not that his new ally is much less sinister, but his agency is much greater.

Lex Talionis: If your OC is a netrunner, or if they were a netrunner, what would their handle be?

Avi''s would be C3r83rU5 (Cerberus). He's referred to as 'Arasaka's Guard Dog' while working for the corporation, out of earshot of course, and the handle stuck.

On Deaf Ears: What does your OC think about human experimentation? Would they participate in a trial if they were hard up for eddies?

Avi's view of human experiementation is very dim, given his personal experience with it. It's part of the reason he cut ties with Arasaka. Although he condoned his mantis blades and lynx paws, he was filled with experimental cyberware that he hadn't agreed upon, and was missing chunks of his memory. He still doesn't know the full extent of what Arasaka did with him, and most of his records are dead-ends and redacted text. He's had enough of involuntary trials, that he'd rather do literally anything else for money, and Night City always needs another Solo. In his opinion, it's one of the worst things you can do to someone--hide the parts of themself, and leave them wondering what's really them--who is he really, and did Avi ever exist in the first place, or are they simply an Arasaka construct too?

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #oc: ares tanner #oc: avi kaiba #cyberpunk headcanons #character asks

[urrone]

as the road up ahead disappears

My heart was racing well before its time Time's running out, it's always running out on me As the road up ahead disappears

In general, Wyll has no use for a wizard’s tower. His power, untrusted and unwanted for the most part, never depended on books or study. He sometimes wonders, when his time runs out, if they all survive the coming battle, if he could learn magic Gale’s way. That is, years and years of study. He’d love to know he had years to figure it all out.

Gods willing, he’ll get the chance and then maybe Ramazith’s Tower will be more than just a stunning view of the sprawling city below him.

And it is a stunning view. Rolan considers the tower theirs as well, never has anything but a friendly greeting when he finds them sprawled on the balcony, traipsing about in the vaults, or reading one of the many, many books of magic or history. Just another life they’ve changed for the better, and Wyll has to believe the tally will somehow count in their favor when their judgment comes.

He climbs over the metal railing and perches on one of the stone parapets, facing east toward Dusthawk Hill, painted in pinks and oranges by the setting sun. He avoids looking at it when he can, it’s easy down on the streets when it’s blocked by buildings but up here, its blight on the landscape is unmissable.

And sometimes he needs to look at it, to dwell on the site of his greatest triumph and his greatest failure. Saved the whole city, and all it cost him was his soul. He wonders what it will cost them this time.

“Is that where it went down?”

Read the rest on ao3

#baldur's gate #bg3 #wyll ravenguard #karlach #prompt fic #crescentbunny

[neontokyoo]

Bound by Blood

Pairing: Ryūnosuke Akutagawa x Reader Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs Genre: Fluff Summary: You and Akutagawa decide to spend the day outside with your son. Warnings: mentions of assassination

You and Akutagawa sat side by side on a grassy hill overlooking the bustling city. The cool breeze gently tousled your hair, as the warm rays of the setting sun bathed the world in a golden glow. It was a tranquil moment, one that felt like a respite from the chaotic world you both inhabited.

As you turned to look at Akutagawa, a soft smile graced your lips. His normally stoic expression softened, mirroring the affection in his eyes. In that moment, you both knew that life had taken an unexpected turn.

A playful giggle filled the air, drawing your attention downward. There, nestled in the grass, was a child that bore the unmistakable blend of your features. With e/c eyes and hair as dark as night, they were a perfect fusion of your love.

"Come here, Kiyoshi," you cooed, extending your arms. The child, named Kiyoshi, crawled towards you with a mischievous glint in their eyes. They had inherited their father's tenacity and determination, yet their smile radiated warmth and gentleness that came from your own nurturing nature.

As you held Kiyoshi close, Akutagawa leaned in, his gaze full of adoration. The once unyielding assassin had transformed into a loving father, his heart softened by the presence of your child. His protective instinct grew, intertwining with his fierce dedication, creating an unwavering shield around his newfound family.

Together, you and Akutagawa embarked on a new chapter of your lives, balancing the responsibilities of your dangerous work with the joys of raising Kiyoshi. Akutagawa's keen intellect and resourcefulness, coupled with your compassionate guidance, provided a solid foundation for your child to grow and flourish.

Kiyoshi possessed a sharp intellect, curiosity, and a deep love for literature. They often delved into books, uncovering hidden worlds within the pages. You would sit with them, unraveling the intricate plots and discussing the complex characters, igniting a fire within Kiyoshi's mind.

In the evenings, as the moon cast its silvery glow, you gathered as a family. Akutagawa would regale Kiyoshi with stories of his past, weaving tales of hardship, resilience, and triumph. And you, in turn, would share stories of love, compassion, and the beauty of the world beyond the shadows.

As the years passed, Kiyoshi grew into a remarkable individual. They inherited your determination and Akutagawa's unwavering resolve, becoming a beacon of justice in their own right. With their radiant smile and fierce spirit, Kiyoshi carried the legacy of their parents, embracing the world with a compassionate heart and a determination to protect those in need.

And so, the three of you continued to navigate the intricate dance between the dangerous world you inhabited and the warmth of your family bond. United by love, resilience, and a shared purpose, you and Akutagawa watched with pride as Kiyoshi stepped confidently into the world, their own unique story waiting to unfold.

Together, as a family, you embraced the challenges and triumphs that came your way, knowing that love would always be the driving force guiding your steps.

#akutagawa ryuunosuke #bsd akutagawa #akutagawa x you #bsd anime #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs headcanons #bungo stray dogs wan #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs manga #bungo stray dogs spoilers

[twistedtummies2]

The Scarlet Pirate - Chapter 5

This is the penultimate section of a six-part "Chapter Story" for my OC for Twisted Wonderland, James Killian - based on Captain Hook from Disney's Peter Pan. (Also featured are Smitty McCarthy, based on Smee, and Matthew Satyr, based on Peter himself...oh, and Nakoda - my Kaa OC - also has a role here.) The basic premise of this story has been in my mind for almost as long as James has, but for numerous reasons, it wasn't till just within the past few weeks I finally got a chance to develop and write it out.

The result is, I think, the single longest "Chapter Story" for any of my OCs for TW I've created so far. Take that information however you will. So long as this tale, that it went from a planned three-parter, to a planned five-parter, to now being a six-parter, standing at approximately 150 pages in total! Hopefully, all the work and length will be for the best. XD

As is typical for my Chapter Stories, I will be posting this one chapter at a time per day over the course of this week. For future reference, you can find the previous chapter here.

You can find the next chapter here.

WARNING: While this story, throughout all six parts, does not FOCUS on my kinks, there are instances of very mild stuffing/belching related content sprinkled throughout, as well as various instances of implied or near vore situations. If you're into these things, good on ya. If you aren't, just be warned they will show up here and there, although not with any degree of spectacle.

With that said...I hope you enjoy.

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“Heigh-ho, and up she rises! Heigh-ho, and up she rises! Heigh-ho, and up she rises, early in the mornin’!” The shanty’s tune echoed almost eerily through the bowels of the shadowy stone labyrinth. Down a sloping tunnel, at one end of the vast, maze-like network of passages in the old, abandoned mine, James Killian and Smitty McCarthy carefully marched. James had his right hand on the treasure chest, while Smitty used his left, as they cautiously carried it along between them. James grinned as he looked around at the dank cave at the bottom of the slope: long ago, the Dwarfs had found this spot in the midst of their mining. A part of the river, which ran through the woods and then down into the sea, came into the mountains via this cave. A deep pool of water stretched from the cavern into a short, black tunnel, beyond which was the river itself. There were several tall, rocky formations in the cavern, including one very high, flat-topped stone, almost like a miniature cliff or a rock hill, and a smaller, flatter spot towards the bottom. In one part of the pool, near the tunnel, a sailboat had been moored. Its sails were closed, its anchor stretching into the water; for extra insurance, a sturdy rope had been fastened (with an equally sturdy knot) around a stalagmite that jutted out of the cave’s watery floor. On the boat was brass plaque, which offered the name of the little craft: The Czarina. “Ah, my pretty little crate! We’re now only moments away from TRUE victory, Smitty!” laughed James Killian, his boisterous, booming voice rebounding off the cavern walls. “Who needs a contest prize, when I have enough treasure to pay off a King’s Ransom? This will be plenty for our purposes, once we reach a safe port!” “Aye, James!” smiled Smitty, and paused, closing the eyes behind his glasses and tilting his head upwards, almost dreamily. “Just think of it…finally, out on the open ocean…in a proper ship, doing what we always wanted…” “Indeed,” nodded James, with a more supercilious smile, flourishing his cane in his other hand as he spoke. “Where I shall be captain, and you shall sail with me! Split me infinitives, tis me hour of triumph!” James laughed again; Smitty winced, wringing out one ear with his free hand, and offering a nervous sort of smile. There was a sort of wild gleam in Killian’s eyes, which the smaller man didn’t much like…and there was a strange scent in the air, too. Not just the brine and the earthy odors of the watery cave, but another, chemical sort of odor…like ink… “I just hope it won’t take us too long to sail our way along the river to the sea,” McCarthy fretted. “Ha! Would you think I’m fool enough to not check the miles and depths along the path, Smitty?” scoffed James, resting the long end of his cane upon his shoulder. “I sailed Czarina here meself, and checked the distance to the ocean from this part of the island. I tell you, Smitty, I’ve reached my peak already! NOTHING CAN STOP ME NOW!” “HA HA HA HA HA HA!” James and Smitty froze as a sudden, shrill, deranged laugh echoed through the cave. They looked around, startled to say the least, trying to spot the source. “What in blue blazes?!” exclaimed James. “Wh-who’s th-th-there?” stammered a rather scared Smitty. The mad laugh came again; it sounded lower, more ominous. Cautiously, the pair put down the chest, glancing from the left to the right, peering all around the damp cavern. “Speak!” demanded James. “Who are you, stranger?” A diabolical sort of voice came drifting through the cave. “You have stolen the cursed treasure,” it growled. “Now you shall face the ultimate penalty!”

“What are you talking about?” sneered James, standing defensively in front of the chest. “Tell me your name and show yourself, you craven…!” “JAMES! LOOK!” Smitty’s frightened shout alerted James. He saw his stout little companion pointing with a shaking finger up towards the ceiling of the cave. The scarlet pirate looked up…and his eyes widened as a group of five white-cloaked figures flew out from behind the stalactites that speared down from the roof of the cavern. They giggled and laughed and jeered, drifting together in a circle, like a collection of vultures. Most were roughly human in size, but one was much smaller, no bigger than a tiny child, at best. Sizes aside, it was clear what the pale, hooded creatures were. “G-G-GHOSTS!” squeaked Smitty, and ducked behind James. “What jiggery-pokery is this?” bellowed James, trying to seem unintimidated, but his voice carried an unsteady quiver. “We are the Keepers of the Treasure!” declared the smallest figure, in a yowling sort of voice. “Return to us what is rightfully ours, human!” another snarled. “Or you may face the consequences,” another warned, in a sneaky, subtle, smooth tone. “HA!” James rapped, and grinned ferociously. “I fear no ghosts. We have dozens of them at Night Raven College!” “I fear them,” peeped Smitty, who was trying to hide behind his superior. “Surrender the treasure to us!” hissed a fourth phantom. “Or we will be forced to take it,” the fifth said, rather plainly. James glowered. He had not come all this way to be foiled by a collection of meddlesome specters. “You want it?” he growled, shifting his feet to brace himself. “Ha! Well come and get it!” He then nudged the scared McCarthy aside and snapped at him: “SMITTY!” “Eep! Y-Yes, James?” Killian gestured to the ghosts with a hard, stony sort of glare. “Blast them,” he ordered, in a cold voice. Smitty blinked. He looked pale as a ghost himself. “But…b-but James…!” “BLAST THEM!” James roared. “That’s an order, you blundering blue-footed booby!” Smitty gulped nervously, lifting his arms, as if he were afraid of being struck, then nodded. “Aye-Aye, James,” he whimpered, and paused to adjust his cap, jacket, and glasses before waddling forward. He looked up at the circling white spirits, who were making spooky “Ooooooooh…!” noises as they hovered. Smitty took a deep breath and seemed to pluck up courage…then lifted his right hand, holding the palm outwards.

“Hold back no longer. Throw restraint to the wind. Fire at will,” he intoned in an incantation…and as he did so, the ghosts could see what seemed to be a crimson aura, gathering around his right hand. Then Smitty seemed to physically brace himself, as he uttered the name of the signature spell he now planned to use: “CORKSCREW CANNON!” BOOM! With a sound like a cannon being shot, a crimson sphere of energy shot out from the gathered aura around Smitty’s hand. It blasted towards two of the ghosts, who darted out of the way as the ball of red light flew between them… …But as the sphere hit the stone wall of the cave, it suddenly rebounded back again, bouncing like rubber towards the ghosts once more. The energy sphere struck one of them, and - BANG! - burst like some magical balloon. The concussive explosion knocked the ghost aside as they cried out, and flew back into a wall. “What the…?!” exclaimed one of the phantoms. “HA HA!” James crowed. “My compatriot’s Unique Magic creates an eruptive blast that stuns any enemy it comes in contact with. However, it only affects living things…or, in your case, things that were once living. If it hits anything else, it just bounces off.” “It can only bounce three times,” peeped Smitty, seemingly blushing at James’ elaboration.” “Minor details,” shrugged Killian, and pointed dramatically at the other ghosts, as the one who had been hit rather dizzily hovered away from the wall. “FIRE, SMITTY! SHOOT THEM DOWN AT ONCE!” “Aye, James,” Smitty replied, and sent another ball of energy zipping up towards the cave ceiling, aiming this time for the smallest of the white-cloaked figures. The force of the blast was so great, that it actually made him stumble clumsily backwards, nearly knocking him off his feet. The tiny ghost spun through the air, twirling out of the way. The Corkscrew Cannon once again rebounded off the wall behind them, but this time, the ghost was ready for it, and flew higher, the sphere passing beneath the cut of their white sheet. One of the other ghosts, however, was less fortunate, and got struck, smashing into a stalactite. They had not recovered before a third sphere went zooming upwards. It passed over the head of one ghost, who ducked…bounced once, and missed another, who swerved to the side…bounced twice, missed ANOTHER, who cartwheeled out of the way through the air…but on the third rebound, it struck the tiniest phantom, who yowled and flew back… …Only for one of the other ghosts to catch them.

“We have to avoid those blasts,” the small one whispered. “I know,” their savior nodded, then looked to the others. “GATHER UP!” The ghosts all huddled together, weaving and bobbing through the air as Smitty turned around to try and get a solid shot at them…but they kept ducking behind the stalactites and other cave formations. “LET ‘EM HAVE IT!” James raged, waving his cane around like a madman. “COME ON, YOU IDIOT! HIT THEM AGAIN!” “I-I can’t get a clear shot!” squeaked Smitty. The ghosts suddenly dispersed once more, nodding to each other, as if they’d decided on a plan of action. One of them went flying at Smitty straightaway, while the other four flew off in other directions. Smitty opened fire, and the ghost zoomed out of the way… …And as the red sphere of power struck the wall beyond, it came bouncing back…straight at Smitty McCarthy. Smitty froze. “...Oh, no.” BANG! The little man’s glasses fell from his face, and his cap was knocked askew, as the concussive blast burst before him and sent him shooting backwards. Two of the ghosts caught hold of him and lifted him into the air from under his arms. Smitty kicked and squirmed, crying out in alarm as they carried him to the sailboat. One of the pale, hooded specters in the white sheets produced a length of rope, and they tied him to the mast, making sure his hands were firmly set at his sides. Smitty struggled against the bindings as fiercely as he could. “JAMES!” he hollered. “JAMES, HELP!” James Killian hesitated, torn between helping his associate and guarding the treasure still behind him. Just then, he felt a rush of air behind him, and turned fast…just in time to see the remaining two spirits lift the treasure, each cackling wildly with seemingly crazed glee. “GIVE THAT BACK!” James yelled, and threw himself forward…only for the chest to be pulled away before he could reach it. He fell onto his belly, growling as he pushed himself back to his feet, and watched the spirits lift the treasure into the air… …Then felt something inside of him turn to ice.

The ghosts lowered the chest…and placed it on top of the high, sharp, flat-topped “cliff” of rock, overlooking the water. And there, hovering just a foot or two over the very tip of that outcropping, was a familiar, boldly grinning figure, dressed in green. A pixie sat upon his shoulder. James felt one of his eyes twitch. His free hand curled into a tight, white-knuckled fist, as he gripped his cane tightly. “So, Satyr,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “This is all your doing.” Matthew Satyr grinned wider. “Aye, James Killian,” he teased with a wink, hands on his hips. “Tis all my doing.” “Hey!” one of the ghosts called out. “Don’t take all the credit…” …And at that moment, you threw off the white sheet Sebek had conjured up, revealing yourself. One by one, your fellow “ghosts” did the same. You knew who they were. “After all,” you continued. “It was MY idea.” “Meh. Minor details,” shrugged Matthew, in a joking sort of way. James Killian just glared with more hate than you’d ever seen another human being wear upon their face. And by now, you’d seen a LOT of hatred. “How did you escape the beast?” he snarled. “Beast?” Smitty piped up, stopping his struggling. His eyes widened. “James! Wh-what do you mean ‘beast’?” “I believe he’s referring to the giant monster that attacked us in the pit,” replied Azul, as he touched down upon the deck of the sailboat, standing beside the mast. Sebek touched down beside him, smirking and leaning back against said mast. Nakoda touched down on James’ right, while you touched down on his left. Grim landed directly beside you. All of you glared at him critically. James briefly glanced at the three of you, but soon turned his attention back to Matthew. “What saved you?” he demanded to know. “I would have thought that thing would have at least slowed you down.” “You knew?” Smitty gasped, jaw dropping. “About…wh-whatever was there with them?” James briefly looked back over his shoulder towards Smitty. His expression was dull and vacant. Smitty looked hurt. “But…but you said…” “Quiet,” growled James, and then looked back at Matthew with a vengeful sneer. “How did you get away? Faith and Trust and all that rubbish?” “That, and a little bit of help from my new friends,” Satyr shrugged cheerily. “Easy on the ‘friends’ thing,” muttered Nakoda, who looked a bit uncomfortable at that endearment. James just snarled at Matthew, his fingers tightening harder around his cane’s topper. “Don’t you DARE use that word around me,” he said, venomously. “That’s enough, James,” you interrupted, firmly, and began to approach him. “We’re going back to Night Raven-” “WAIT!”

You jumped back as Satyr flew down from his perch and stopped, hovering about six inches off the ground, and a few feet away from James Killian. He pulled out his metal fighting rod, whipping out the collapsible object to its fullest extent, a steely look in his youthful eyes. “We’re not going anywhere. Not yet,” he said sternly. James grinned, as if he were pleased. “Are you insssane?!” hissed Nakoda. “We’ve already beaten him, what’sss the point?!” “I agree!” Azul called out. “We have what we came for, we should-” “NO!” Matthew said indignantly…then a sort of sadness crept into his voice and his expression. “None of you understand. This isn’t a normal fight. This is a duel. And it’s been waiting for a very long time. I need this…we BOTH need this.” He pointed his baton at James. “This man is mine.” James chuckled darkly and lifted his cane, holding it lengthwise in both hands. “Well spoken, Satyr,” he slithered. “If it’s a final duel you want, I shall gladly give it to you.” CLICK. James gave his topper a slight twist, and a sound like a lock being undone was heard. Then - SCHLING! - the sound of steel scraping against wood rang through the cave. Yourself, Nako, and Grim all stepped back, and worry crept into the faces of Azul and Sebek alike. James Killian flung aside the wooden “sheath” of his cane…and pointed the sharp, dangerous, very real sword tip of the weapon towards his nemesis. “Proud and insolent fool,” he challenged, grandly. “Prepare to taste defeat.” Even in the presence of an actual sword, Satyr showed no fear at all. “Dark and sinister man,” he returned. “Have at thee!” With a sort of scoffing battle cry, James Killian immediately plunged forward, and swung his sword around his head. CLANG! It connected with Matthew’s blade, as the smaller, hovering young half-fae blocked the attack. James whirled about, sweeping out for another, rather theatrical slash. CLING! His blade skimmed the rounded edge Matthew’s weapon, as it was batted away easily. Matthew then went on the offensive himself, whipping his baton about to try and strike at James’ face. With sharp, jerking, almost imperceptible motions, James parried the attacks. From that point on, for a time, there was no advantage on either side. Matthew Satyr was a superb swordsman, jabbing with the baton the way a wasp does with its stinger, in between parries that knocked his rival’s attacks aside with dazzling rapidity. He had the shorter reach, and no cutting or stabbing edge, but his weapon was sturdy and his movements fast.

James Killian was scarcely inferior in brilliancy, but not quite so nimble in wrist play. The Pirate of Hearslabyul forced his opponent back by the weight of his onset, swinging hard and strong. Time and again, he thrust his weapon forward, and each time he did, a collective flinch flew through every heart of those of you that watched. Each time, however, the thrust was turned aside by Satyr’s dueling rod, and Killian was frustrated again. Kes flitted about the dueling pair, ringing her bells in alarm. Annoyed, James swiped at her with his left hand…then squealed as Matthew smacked him in the rear, just as he had in the forest. With a roar of outrage, James lifted his sword up in a chopping motion, but the harsh blow was blocked by Satyr. Kes zipped over to Sebek, flailing her arms as if to get his attention. He seemed to understand what she said… “We should stop them!” he bellowed. Nakoda hissed with a nod, and began to stride forward in an attempt to do just that…but Azul halted all with a sharp call. “Don’t!” he snapped, and his own attention was on the dueling pair, his expression wary and razor-focused. “Let them sort out their differences. This is between them. It’s out of our hands now.” “Then shouldn’t we leave?” Grim suggested, and winced at another loud CLANG! as the metal weapons met each other. Azul shook his head, still focused on the battle. You soon understood… “James is out for blood,” you whispered, worriedly. “If he manages to get an advantage…” Grim gulped nervously, immediately realizing the gravity of the situation. You could see that Smitty McCarthy, still tied up where he was, seemed more than a little concerned. He was watching with very nervous eyes, chewing on his own fat little lip. “B-be careful!” he called out to the fighters, as each swung and blocked the other’s weapon. Which one he was addressing remained a mystery thereafter.

James seemed to grow tired of the even nature of the duel. His sword had yet to gain its prize. He glared, trying to back Matthew towards a wall…but just as Satyr grew close to the stone behind his back, he leapt up and over James’ head, flipping clean over him and landing on the other side. James spun ‘round and lunged, but Matthew spun out of the way, flying over the water. He laughed and came swooping back, swiping with the baton. James ducked the attack, and scowled as he watched the young fairy-boy fly upwards again. At that moment, as he saw Matthew zipping about overhead, a lightbulb seemed to come over James’ own head, and he began to move up the slope of the “cliff” inside the cave. “Go on!” he called out, mockingly. “Fly! Fly! Fly, you COWARD!” Matthew paused in mid-air, once more at the “tip” of the stone hill. “Coward?” he repeated. “Me?!” James laughed tauntingly as he prowled up the slope in a creeping predatory manner. “Ha Ha HA! You’d never DARE to face me man-to-man, foot-to-foot! YOU NEVER COULD!” he barked. “You’ll always fly away, like a COWARDLY SPARROW!” The words “cowardly sparrow” echoed through the cave for several seconds, as James finally reached the flat top of the rock, standing upon it at the ready. Matthew glared down at him, clearly offended. “No one,” Satyr said, seriously, “Calls ME a coward. Least of all you, James!” And then, Matthew Satyr did something you didn’t think you’d ever see him do on his own: he hovered down slowly towards the tall, stone tower…and landed upon it, his feet finally touching the ground. “If that’s how you want it,” he said to James Killian, daringly, and held out his rod almost invitingly. “I’ll fight you man-to-man. One hand behind my back!” James grinned ferociously. He leaned close, lifting his sword. Steel and steel slid against each other as weapons crossed, and he moved till he was almost nose to nose with Satyr’s defiant face. “Do you mean…you WON’T fly?” he cooed. Something about the way James said that made your blood run cold. “Don’t agree to that!” you shouted up at Satyr. “Keep the advantage!” Azul called out. “LISTEN NOT TO THAT RUFFIAN!” bellowed Sebek. “It’sss a trick, I promissse you!” warned Nakoda. Matthew Satyr didn’t seem to hear any of you. “I won’t fly,” he promised. “I give my word, James.” You heard Grim facepaw at your side and mumble, “Moron.” James Killian, for his part, looked like he’d just been made the happiest sleaze to ever sail the seven seas. “Good!” he cheered. “THEN LET’S HAVE AT IT!”

Without warning, James slammed himself against Matthew, knocking the smaller young man backwards. Matthew stumbled back with a grunt, and barely managed to avoid falling off the edge of the cliff. He had just enough time to block a ferocious, hacking slash from James’ sword, before the taller duelist swung up again, hammering blow after blow upon his foe, in a wild, frenzied sort of way. Killian seemed determined to drive Satyr over the edge. Finally, Matthew managed to duck and get behind James, but if he hoped to find an advantage that way, he was sorely disappointed. James spun around and slashed again. Matthew barely had time to duck, and then lifted his rod to block another strike. James wasn’t slowing down at all, and - unable to flit and swerve out of the way as he so often did while airborne - Satyr was clearly beginning to lose the fight. “I’ve had enough of thisss!” hissed Nakoda, clearly growing anxious, and began to try and run up the slope. “NO, DON’T!” you called out, afraid he would end up cleaved by Killian in the proverbial crossfire. James soon spotted Nakoda approaching and glowered. “DON’T INTERFERE!” he roared, and shoved Matthew aside. Satyr cried out as he fell over the edge…but managed to catch himself before he could hit the water. As Nakoda approached, extending an arm in an effort to grab hold of James, the left hand of his quarry swung out and slapped him across the cheek. Before Nakoda could recover from the sudden smack, James snapped his fingers…and Nakoda hit the stone slope like a sack of potatoes, weighed down by the crushing intensity of his own negativity. “Nako!” you cried out, and hurried up the slope to check on him. Nakoda had his hands on his ears, gritting his fangs as he curled upon the ground. “Sh-shut them up,” he whimpered, as if the fear, loathing, and sadness that filled his heart was bringing voices to his head. “Shut them up, please!” Grim mewed as he trotted up beside you, nudging the naga, but Nakoda just flinched away. Both of you looked up with great concern as you saw Matthew then return to the top of the stone. James wasted no time and swung his sword again… …And, to your horror, just as Satyr regained footing, his metal dueling rod was sliced clean in half. It had been weakened by the battle, and a final, strong strike had rendered it officially useless. Desperately, Matthew flung the blunted half at James, who swatted it aside, then jabbed out with his sword. Satyr stumbled and fell onto his back. Matthew looked more scared than you’d ever expected, as James Killian pointed the tip of his cane-sword at his throat. “Looks like I’ve got the upper ‘hook’ now!” taunted James, showing off the tattoo on his left hand. He then swept it behind his back and reeled back with his sword hand. “And now we end this…”

“NO! JAMES DON’T!” you shouted. “YOU CAN’T!” Grim yowled in alarm. James wasn’t listening. There was murder clearly visible in his eyes… …But you two weren’t the only ones who saw it. “He’s…he’s actually going to do it!” Azul gasped, as he heard James’ words. “We should stop him!” insisted Sebek, as Kes frantically nodded in agreement beside him. “How?” Azul said. “If we get close he’ll use his power on us.” “We can hit him from afar!” Sebek insisted. “Don’t you think he’d be expecting one of us to try that?” Azul snapped back. “Let me loose.” The two looked up at Smitty McCarthy. “What?” they asked in unison. “Let me loose!” Smitty repeated, struggling against the ropes. “And fast, before it’s too late!” The head of Octavinelle and the guardian of Diasomnia looked at each other…then nodded. The octopus and the crocodile hurriedly undid the knots…and just as James began to ready himself for the killing strike, Smitty landed on the deck, and lifted his right hand. “JAMES!” he shouted. Killian looked up, alerted…just in time to see the red energy gathering around Smitty’s hand. His face showed something close to horror. “HOLD IT, YOU FOOL!” he shrieked. “NO! NO!” Smitty shut his eyes tight, as if to try and give himself deniability…and launched his attack. BOOM! The Corkscrew Cannon fired…and the sphere of concussive energy rocketed towards James. Killian quickly tried to plunge his sword down and finish the job…but Matthew, now with ample time and warning, was able to roll out of the way.

The sword’s edge was stuck in a crack in rock…and a second later, the concussive blast struck James Killian, and he was blasted clean off the cliff. He flew off the edge and plunged into the water below, landing with a murky, loud SPLASH! Thus the duel between James Killian and Matthew Satyr was finished by Smitty McCarthy. Smitty opened one eye…and when he saw the ripples in the water, indicating where James Killian had fallen, both eyes leapt wide open. “JAMES!” he shouted, and scrambled his way off the Czarina, racing around the rocky “port” to the side of the deep pool in the center of the cave. Matthew, no longer obligated to keep his word, flew over to Smitty’s side as they approached the water’s edge. Azul and Sebek crept off the ship and over to join them. You, meanwhile, helped Nakoda onto his feet, as he was still reeling from James’ Unique Magic. The naga was clutching his stomach with one hand, letting out sort of hissing whimpers, as if he felt as if he hadn’t eaten in days, or even weeks. “Easy there,” you whispered, and helped him limp along to join the others. “I’ve got you.” Nakoda just let out a feeble sound and slumped along beside you, one arm over your shoulder as your own arm slung over his. Grim followed close behind you both as you approached the lake. Kes was floating over Matthew’s head, a nervous look in her eyes, as if she was scared of the water…or something inside of it… “James!” Smitty called out again to the water, as the pool began to still. His voice held a note of panic. “James, please, come up!” “I’ll go in and get him,” Matthew said, sternly, and began to rise higher into the air. “But he tried to kill you!” Sebek exclaimed. “Yeah, I know,” Matthew sighed, and gave a sort of weary smile. He seemed ready to dive down into the water from his height. “It’s hard being a hero, isn’t it?” Kes suddenly rang her pixie bells in wild alarm, and flew in front of Matthew’s face, shaking her head frantically. “Don’t try to stop me!” Matthew snapped. “I can’t just-” KA-ZLOOSH! Satyr’s words were cut short, as was any attempt to rescue James Killian, when the water of the cave suddenly seemed to explode outwards, as if a bomb had gone off. Kes hid behind Matthew in an instant. All of you stepped back, Grim yelping and ducking behind your legs…as a familiar swirl of inky black mist came spiraling out of the cavern lake. In the middle of the black cloud, pulsing red and violet light could be seen, like a glowing heart beating rapidly. “Wh-what’s going on?” Matthew exclaimed, somehow jumping in startlement in mid-air. Azul and Grim shuddered. They knew very well. “Overblot,” hissed Nakoda, ominously; he was equally familiar.

Sebek growled, gritting his teeth and moving into a battle-ready pose. As for yourself and Smitty, the two of you watched with matching, anxious expressions, as the black cloud began to dissipate… …And the first thing you saw were the iron hooks. Upon James’ left hand was visible a metal gauntlet, the fingers of which ended in long, hook-shaped claws, almost like a raptor’s talons. Upon the back of the gauntlet was painted the image of a red skull and crossbones, a shade of crimson that matched his long, red coat. The coat now more closely resembled a red Naval uniform coat from days long past…the cuffs of which were completely soaked in black ink, as if they had been dipped in the stuff, some of the ink spilling in ribbon-like patterns back along the sleeves. The brass buttons of the coat also were speckled with ink, and the black lapels seemed to drip ink onto other parts of the tarnished red outfit as well. The coat and the skull-and-crossbones were the only signs of vibrant color upon the whole ensemble. Beneath this, James’ usual outfit was visible, but the colors had changed; the boots were still black, but now ended in what looked like steel toes, which were spattered with drops of ink. He wore black trousers, a black shirt, and a belt the color of mud, the Jolly Roger buckle of which had turned silver instead of gold. Instead of a bandana, atop his head was perched a tricorn hat, colored a sort of pale, grayish purple, with a raven’s feather stuck in it. To top all of this off, the rings around James’ fingers on his un-gauntleted hand had also turned to silver…and one of his eyes had turned a glowing shade of crimson, with a familiar, fiery aura surrounding it.

James glared at you all, sneering as he floated downwards, soon lighting upon the rocky poolside of the dank cave. His voice echoed through the cavern, and seemingly through the entire mine, as frigid as a bitter North Wind. “Children,” he snarled. “I am surrounded by children. Selfish, idiotic, backstabbing little monsters who think they know better, when they know absolutely nothing. And the worst part is, when I decide to show the same form, they seem to think I’m being unfair. Loathsome! All of you! Well, I’m through playing games. I’m through spoiling you all with victory after victory. This time, I’M going to win! This time, I’M going to come out on top! And so I think it’s time all of you recognized…” He held out the gauntlet clad hand, fingers splayed out. “...What it feels like to grow up.”

To Be Concluded in Part 6…

#fanfic #my writing #kink-related #but only peripherally #gonna tag kinks in each post #just in case #implied vore #stuffing #belching #burping #not sure if any of these apply to this specific chapter #but they permeate the others #so whatever #disney #twisted wonderland #chapter story #the scarlet pirate #chapter 5 #oc story #ocs #james #james killian #smitty #smitty mccarthy #matthew #matthew satyr #nako #nakoda #nakoda spivak #non-ocs