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lupinmoonlight · 1 year

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Submission Part 2: Establishing Rules

Masterlist AO3 Submission Part 1 Submission Part 3: Obedience

Summary - You finally gather up the courage to approach Professor Lupin and share with him your desire to give up control to him. He agrees to take on that role for you, but not without establishing clear rules and boundaries.

Warnings - teacher/student relationship, heavy D/s undertones, professor/sir kink, rules, mention of pushing limits, mention of safeword, self-degradation, mention of masturbation, my grammar.

Notes - It is NOT necessary to read part 1 to read this part. I don't know what this is, but I am planning to make this extremely kinky so brace yourselves. I am also aware that this is very out of character for Lupin, but it's nice to have a little fun with him :')

It had become an obsession now. An unhealthy obsession. Every night, once everyone in the dormitory had drifted off to sleep, you would slip a hand down your pyjamas, touching yourself to the thoughts of your professor bending you over his desk, gripping your hips as he rammed into you, telling you to take it and calling you a good girl. It was wrong, so very wrong and filthy. But you loved it. You wanted him to take control of you, to dominate you. You were so desperate for it that you would take anything he'd give you.

In his classroom, it was even worse. Though you attempted to maintain some form of self-control, your body betrayed your inner turmoil. The slightest instruction from him would cause your cheeks to flush crimson and a familiar warmth to spread through your core to the point you sometimes had to excuse yourself to the bathroom to regain your composure. It was pathetic. You were pathetic. The feeling of self-loathing was inescapable.

But even so, you found yourself at the professor's office door. Your body seemed to possess a will of its own, determined to get what it craved the most: submission. You were terrified. What were you going to tell him? What would he say? Was he even capable of all the things you imagined him doing to you? He was the kindest and softest man you'd ever encountered. Surely, he would gaze at you with his gentle eyes, wearing an expression of concern, and wonder if you had been cursed or something. But you didn't care. It was your last year at Hogwarts and you had nothing to lose, except maybe your dignity.

With a gentle knock, the wooden door creaked open, revealing the towering figure who held your thoughts captive.

"Y/N! Good to see you. Is everything alright?"

He was already concerned. Great.

"Professor. Yes, everything is okay. I just wanted to talk to you about something," you lied.

"Of course. Come in, come in!" he said warmly.

You tentatively walked in, your knees already about to give out when the scent of him filled your nostrils. It was intoxicating.

"Cup of tea? I was just about to make myself one," he asked.

"Please, that would be great," you lied again as you sat in the chair facing his desk.

"So, what can I help you with?" he asked as he placed two steaming cups of earl grey tea on his desk before taking a seat in front of you.

You didn't know what to say. Suddenly your mind was blank and you were ready to bolt out. You took a sip of your tea to give yourself time to regain your composure and set the cup back on the desk a bit harder than intended.

"I-I haven't been…feeling myself lately…" you began.

He stayed quiet, studying your face and giving you time to continue, but you couldn't find the words. How could you tell your professor to use you, dominate you, degrade you, hurt you, love you in an appropriate and respectful manner? You couldn't.

As if sensing the seriousness of the situation, he flicked his wand casually to ward the door of his office, his eyes never leaving you.

"I don't want to be in control anymore," you finally blurted out without thinking. You closed your eyes shut and held your breath, bracing yourself for the worst.

He was quiet. Too quiet. And you felt stupid. You could feel the tension in the air, almost suffocating you. You wanted to leave, to obliviate him and yourself and go back to your pathetic fantasies.

"Look at me," his voice had changed, now carrying an authoritative tone that you hadn't heard before. You opened your eyes, hesitantly meeting his gaze. The warmth in his eyes was still there, but there was a new intensity as well.

"Can you explain what you mean by 'not wanting to be in control anymore'?" he asked, his tone surprisingly even.

You took a shaky breath and tried to put your feelings into words. "I-I want someone else to take charge. I want to be told what to do. I want to give up control, but to someone I trust."

His silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity, the tension in the room almost palpable. His gaze softened for a moment, and then his expression darkened. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, his eyes piercing through you.

"You're very brave to come to me with this," he said, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "I understand that this is a significant and personal request."

He paused, considering his words carefully before continuing. "If you truly mean what I think you mean, it is highly inappropriate for a professor to engage in such a relationship with a student," he continued, his tone serious.

"However, I appreciate the trust you place in me and am willing to provide you with the guidance and structure that you need," he said sternly. "If you truly want me to take control, then I need you to understand that this isn't just about fulfilling your fantasies. This is a responsibility, and I take it seriously."

You swallowed hard, feeling a sense of relief that he didn't reject you. All you could do was nod slowly, unable to even look at him.

"Good," he said, his tone softening lightly. "Before we proceed any further, there are a few things I need to make clear," he began, "this is a choice you've made, and you have the right to change your mind at any time. I will only proceed if you are fully comfortable and consenting to everything we discuss."

Your heart was threatening to burst out of your chest. You nodded again. You didn't trust your voice. You didn't even trust yourself not to combust if you looked up at him, so you kept your eyes trained on the desk.

"There will be boundaries and rules that must be adhered to. For the sake of maintaining our professional relationship, these rules will differ inside and outside of the classroom," he continued, his tone shifting to a more authoritative one.

"From now on, in the classroom, you will address me as 'Professor Lupin' and behave as any other student would. No special treatment, no exceptions," he continued, his voice unwavering.

"Outside of the classroom, when we are alone, you will address me as 'Sir.' You will follow my instructions and adhere to the boundaries we set. Should you ever feel uncomfortable or wish to discuss any aspect of our arrangement, you will do so respectfully and openly."

You nodded, your pulse quickening at the thought of addressing him as 'Sir.'

He stood up and walked around the desk, stopping just a few feet away from you. "Furthermore, our arrangement will never interfere with your studies or safety. You will be expected to complete your assignments, attend classes, and maintain your grades. I will not tolerate disobedience or dishonesty, and if you fail to meet my expectations, there will be consequences."

He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. "Do you understand and accept these terms?"

"Yes," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes what?" he pressed, seemingly unsatisfied with your answer.

"Yes, Sir," you quickly corrected yourself, feeling a thrill at the simple act of addressing him in this new way.

"Good," he said, his voice softening slightly as he returned to his seat.

He looked at you intently, gauging your reaction. "You must understand that I will not hurt you in any way that you don't explicitly consent to. This means that we will establish a safeword or signal, something that you can use to communicate your need to stop or pause our interactions. This will be a non-negotiable aspect of our arrangement. The safeword will be 'chocolate'."

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you managed to nod, understanding the importance of his words, although you didn't think you would need a safeword. You didn't want one. You wanted to give yourself up completely, but you knew better than to argue.

"You are expected to maintain the highest level of discretion regarding our arrangement, as it is important to maintain the integrity of the student-teacher relationship in the eyes of others," he added, pausing to look you in the eye.

"I understand, Sir," you agreed, feeling a little intimidated but also excited.

"While you are under my guidance," he continued, his voice deepening with authority, "you will follow my instructions without question. You must trust me completely to provide the structure you need."

"Lastly" he said, his voice firm, "know that I will be pushing your limits, but I will always prioritize your well-being. If at any point you wish to end this arrangement, you have the right to do so without judgment or negative consequences."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and care behind his words, and felt a new sense of trust and connection forming between the two of you. It felt surreal. You had been fantasizing about this, obsessing over this. But now that it was happening, you were suddenly terrified. Terrified of disappointing him, of not being good enough.

"Come here," he commanded, gesturing towards himself. You obeyed, your heart pounding as you stepped closer to him. He shifted in his chair, parting his legs for you to stand between them. You felt the heat rising to your cheeks. You had to fight yourself not to drop to your knees right then and there.

"Look at me," he instructed, tilting your chin up with his fingers. You raised your eyes to meet his, they were warm yet there was a darkness in them, a subtle reminder of his control over you. "Tomorrow in class, I want you to wear your hair up, so I can see your neck. It will serve as a reminder of our arrangement. Do you understand?"

You nodded, your breath hitching at the thought of exposing your neck just for him. "Yes, Sir."

"Additionally, you are to meet me at my quarters after dinner," he continued. "Be punctual and prepared. Is that understood?"

You swallowed hard, the anticipation growing inside you. "Yes, Sir,"

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then released your chin. With a flick of his wand, he removed the ward from the door. "You may go now," he said, his voice returning to the softness you were familiar with. "Remember our rules and your instructions."

Feeling flustered, you managed a quiet "Thank you, Sir," before turning to leave the room. As you stepped out into the hallway, your legs felt weak, and your heart raced. This was really happening, and the thought both thrilled and terrified you.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #professor remus lupin #professor remus lupin x reader #dom!remus lupin #sub!reader #d/s #teacher/student

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deacons-cut · 4 months

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Cegan student/teacher 📓/✏️/📓 ✏️/📓/✏️ 📓/✏️/📓 For ✎Anon✎

#stimboard #visual stim #gif #the walking dead #twd #carl grimes #negan smith #twd negan #carl x negan #teacher/student #cegan

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candycane969 · 4 months

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Not my silly ass making my own fanart instead of writing chapter 3 if you ever wondered how the readers drawings/famous "daddy?" drawing looked like then it might have been like thiss tee hee. my math notes look exactly the same (donatello included)

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husbandhoshi · 9 months

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besides the obvious ones, what’s a trope in fic u can Never read/write yourself

#teacher/student #also dilf stuff idk . like trust me i have some irl problems but in fic it’s silly

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jeon-s-sins · 1 year

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Middle Of The Night | Index

Synopsis : In the world you lived in, humans were not the only inhabitants of Earth. For years, you had fantasized about your homeroom teacher without knowing his true nature. At night, you thought and dreamed only of him, unaware of the weight of your actions. What will happen when you finally discover what he is?

Incubus : An incubus is an evil spirit or demon who appears in the masculine form to sexually prey on sleeping women during the night. An incubus is what the stories from ancient myths and folklore also characterize as an entity that could impregnate women or even kill people while they were sleeping.

Warning : teacher/student relationship, age gap, demon!Jk, dom!jk, sub!reader, masturbation, pleasure (mutual), and lot more

n.a : English is not my first language, so it’s possible that there are some mistakes that I missed while proofreading.

Parts

Part I || Part II

n.a : I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do. To make sure you don’t miss the progress of the chapters as well as their release, don’t forget to check out the Working on and Updates section, where you’ll find not only updates on “Middle Of The Night”, but also other stories and “One Shots” that you’ll probably enjoy as well. Also, don’t forget to check out the Masterlist, you’ll probably find something for you among my other stories in progress and those to come.

#Middle Of The Night | Index #yaya #jeon s sins #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #teacher/student #jk demon #jk incubus #jk smut #jk middle of the night

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klaineccfanficlibrary · 4 months

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I just finished reading all of MrsCriss2012's works (I am completely devastated there's no new ones). Do you have any recommendations for authors/works similar to hers?

From a similar ask from January 2021 (which I can't tag) but Lynne recommended the age!gap tag, or these: ~Jen

Off Limits by munchkinpandas

For once in Blaine Anderson’s life he was pretty happy with how his life was going. He had an epic college experience with his best friend Jamie. They partied way too much, studied way too little and slept with their fair share of the best ASU had to offer. But one rejection letter later and Jamie was moving to San Diego to pursue his PHD while Blaine got accepted to the doctorate program at their Alma Mater. ASU without Jamie didn’t make sense to Blaine and he was not happy about it. To top everything off Jamie asked Blaine to look after his little brother Kurt who was starting his freshman year of college. Kurt wasn’t the little kid he pictured when Jamie asked Blaine to let him move in and it was clear things were about to change even more than Blaine had expected. In short, Blaine Anderson was screwed.

~~~~~

Pressed against the Glass by @gleefulpoppet

Is it possible that the most extraordinary love story ever told starts on a chilly October morning in New York with an impromptu twirl and an elbow to a stranger’s face? Kurt wouldn’t have thought so, but when it happens, his heart stops. It’s just one touch, but is that all it takes to believe? Should he take a chance and never look back? But what happens when the stranger runs away, even though he finally feels complete and brought to life? Is it just a dream—or will he let his walls come down? Will they live with regrets or find the love that will make them feel young forever?

AKA: The one about soulmates (by choice) and the italicized Oh.

~~~~~

Bite Your Lip, Pull me In by rayychelinfinity

Age difference: Blaine is 40, Kurt is 19, and this is the story of how a chance meeting between a successful businessman and a struggling young intern blossoms into something wonderfully unexpected.

~~~~~

Or MrsCriss2012 writes teacher/student relationships:

In The Key Of Us by beautifulwhatsyourhurry

Kurt Hummel has an instant crush on the new English teacher, Mr. Anderson, at WMHS his senior year. Trouble is, Mr. Anderson might just have a thing for Kurt as well. How will they deal with the mutual attraction when Mr. Anderson offers to give Kurt piano lessons in his home, outside of school?

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Consonance and Dissonance Verse by @whenidance

AU in which Blaine is four years older than Kurt and therefore they never meet at Dalton. Kurt ends up at OSU instead of in NYC, where Blaine is a grad-student-turned-professor, and also the object of Kurt’s crushing his sophomore and junior years. [Warnings: Student/Teacher relationship (both over the age of 18)]

~~~~~

Of Love And Literature by @star55

When Kurt Hummel started his senior year at Dalton Academy for Boys, he expected it to be normal. He would attend class, get good grades and graduate, all while being subjected to his two best friends being absolutely smitten with each other. He didn’t expect, however, to fall in love with his English teacher.

~~~~~

Walk The Line by canarian

AU where Blaine, who is 4 years older than Kurt and fresh out of college, comes to teach at McKinley. When Schue gets fired, Kurt asks Blaine to coach New Directions, but things get complicated when they discover their mutual attraction.

#klaine fanfiction #fic finder #MrsCriss2012 #age!gap #teacher/student

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 9 months

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Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC Romance

genre: pre-Infinity War, slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, teacher/student to friends to lovers characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC), Moraine of Hadeeth (OC), additional OCs as Kamar-Taj staff rating: general audience to begin with, later chapters contain 18+ material

Ngl - I'm really hoping some of the authors in the Doctor Strange x Reader community will be kind enough to give this a read.🥺🥺 Even more so, a reblog - because I'm quite proud of my writing in this work, and I believe it deserves some love. Maybe some love could see me on my way to updating, even finishing, this WIP. It's lain fallow for far too long!

Chapter One

“Stephen, it’s nearly time.”

Wong’s voice pulled him from his scrutiny of the thick, weathered tome that had become his latest project. Since the passing of his mentor, the Ancient One, Stephen Strange was one of very few left in Kamar-Taj who made a regular practice of studying the advanced manuscripts, spell books, and obscure histories, which she had amassed during her centuries of service as the Sorcerer Supreme. His eidetic memory served him equally well in this pursuit, as it had in his previous vocation; as one of the world’s most talented and successful neurosurgeons he had learned the lesson early on—that knowledge was power—though the power he sought now he would wield for a even nobler purpose than those of his previous life.

“Remind me, Wong…it’s nearly time for…” Stephen let his voice trail off with the question, focusing just a few moments more on the script marking the page before him.

“For the arrival of the emissary from Hadeeth, Stephen,” Wong replied, “As well you know. Need I remind you that our alliance with Hadeeth goes back nearly four hundred years?”

“Not at all, Wong. I’m acutely aware—down to the smallest minutiae—of the terms of our accord the with the Hadeethans, having familiarized myself with every scrap of parchment the Ancient One left behind, detailing the particulars of our relationship.” Strange closed the leather-bound book before him, stretched a mite, and then rubbed thumb and forefinger upon his closed eyelids. “I’ve got a rotten case of eyestrain in the process, but I suppose I’m as ready for this as I can ever be,” he grumbled, “Although I’m not entirely certain why I have to be the one to meet with their envoy. A Master with years of experience—and not one with barely twelve months--would surely make a better representative of Earth. Let alone Kamar-Taj.”

Refusing to be pulled back into the ongoing debate, Wong remained impassive. “Of the Masters left in Kamar-Taj, you are the best qualified by virtue of your life experience. And in the absence of a Sorcerer Supreme, a Master of one of our Sanctums is the best that we can offer.”

He clapped Stephen on the shoulder, “Accept that you’re destined for this bit of diplomacy, Stephen. It can’t be anywhere near as complicated as navigating your way through the human brain to excise a pin point sized tumor.”

Strange rose to his feet, favoring Wong with a scowl, “As usual, Wong, your vote of confidence is underwhelming—but I will do my best not to provoke a diplomatic incident with an ally that has had Earth’s back for hundreds of years, and in some hairy situations.”

A young attendant placed the tray with fresh-brewed tea and a sampling of Nepalese delicacies on the low table before him. Without a word, she filled a cup with the hot liquid, and set it down beside the pot, before sliding a plate of almond honey cakes closer at hand to him. Stephen nodded, murmuring his thanks—though he was a little too nervous to partake of one of his favorite dishes. Instead, he stirred a bit of honey into his tea, briefly reflecting on the first cup of honeyed tea he had partaken in this very room, barely more than a year ago. With a shock to his system, he had been quickly educated as to how very much he did not know about the world, the universe, and the human mind and spirit; and since then, he had learned much more than he would ever had imagined of things he’d never even entertained as plausible. He considered himself a work in progress, truly humbled for the first time in his life, when he took into account how much he still did not know.

Yet, he had earned the respect of his peers here and—just moments before her death--the Ancient One had appointed him Master of the New York Sanctum. Strange took that responsibility ever seriously, having seen and experienced for himself the sort of assaults from other dimensions which Earth would be prey to were it not for the ancient protections provided by the band of sorcerers, bound in service to mankind.

The man he once was—before the accident that had deprived him of his livelihood, and the purpose by which he defined himself—Doctor Stephen Strange had the hubris to consider himself the best his specialty had ever known, and the ambition to pursue the loftiest positions of influence and power in his field. Now, as he split his time between New York and Nepal, he was in a constant quest for knowledge that would enable him to do this job to the best of his ability, while never seeking glory for himself. He would not—could not, in fact—allow himself to aspire to the title of Sorcerer Supreme…although more often than not these days, he was given--by some silent agreement (to which he was no party)--the deference and the responsibilities that came with that designation. Today, he would prefer to be a mere rank and file mage—but he could not turn his back upon the service that was asked of him.

Stephen rose when Wong appeared in the entrance way, ushering a stately, robed woman into the room. “Master Strange, allow me to present Mistress Moraine of Clan Kayolo, member of the Hadeethan Ruling Council,” Wong gave her a nod of respect, before moving to Stephen’s side.

Following the formal protocol which the Ancient One had chronicled, Strange bowed at the waist before speaking. “Welcome to Kamar-Taj, Mistress Moraine of Hadeeth. We are honored by your presence, and offer hospitality and friendship to you, and any others under your protection, for however long you sojourn here.”

She bowed in reply, and recited her opening remarks smoothly, her rich voice that of a woman accustomed to oratory, “The honor is mine, Sir. On behalf of my people, and in the name of our alliance, I accept your hospitality, Master Strange.” Moraine paused, studying him closely, before adding, “May the worlds we serve continue to benefit from our partnership.”

Strange motioned her to take a seat, then sat himself, while Wong moved forward to pour tea for the Hadeethan woman; the ensuing silence enough to allow Stephen an observation or two. She was definitely dignified (royalty was the first word that came to his mind), aloof and otherworldly; she wore her thick, silver hair loose and unadorned, for surely nothing could flatter her more than it’s natural glory; and the only subtle sign of age he could discern, were small crinkles at the corners of her pale grey eyes--but since he knew the average Hadeethan lifespan was upwards of 150 Earth years, they gave no clue regarding her actual age. There was a palpable feel of strength of will about her, as though her spine were made of steel. Moraine appeared—in short—to be a power to be reckoned with. He vowed to tread carefully regarding whatever topic she had arrived to discuss.

She sipped her tea, then nodded her approval, “Ah…it’s been far too long since I sampled this welcoming taste of Kamar-Taj. Though I regret I shall never raise my cup with the Ancient One again.”

“Her loss remains a heavy one for us to bear, Mistress Moraine,” he replied, a truth he felt most keenly every day, “And nothing would make me happier than for her to be here in my place.”

“I bear the condolences of my people for the dread passing of a wise leader and constant ally,” she told him, “And for myself, I share in your grief; for I had known the Sorcerer Supreme from my youth—as a teacher, then a mentor, and at the last, a friend.”

“I envy you that,” he admitted, “We all miss her guidance—but we have done our best to go forward as we believe she would see fit.”

Moraine narrowed her eyes, looking for the truth in his reaction, “And you do not seek to guide in her place? To bear the mantle she wore for centuries?”

Stephen shook his head vehemently, “I assure you, I am not that man. And honestly, I can’t think of anyone who could fill her shoes.”

She nodded, pleased with his reply, than raised her cup. “It is always so with the best of leaders. May we all do her proud in the service we provide to our worlds.”

“May we indeed,” he echoed, drinking from his cup as well.

Formalities now aside, Moraine was swift to reveal the surprising purpose of her visit. “I come on a personal matter, Master Strange. ‘Tis my hope you will entertain my request, if not for the sake of relations between our worlds, but for she whom we both miss.”

“I am certain we can accommodate you, Mistress Moraine. The resources of Kamar-Taj are at your service.”

“Even as I had anticipated,” she asserted, wearing a small relieved smile, “As you may know, Hadeeth has a good share of practitioners of the mystic arts. And in our culture, this is a thing well-known, even aspired to. In fact, by long standing tradition, the majority of those who sit on our ruling council are skilled in magic.”

Strange nodded, having gleaned those facts from the Ancient One’s notes, “Magic being the primary reason our worlds are well-suited as allies.”

Moraine bobbed her head in a brief acknowledgement, then continued, “On Hadeeth, we have found that the aptitude for magic, and the strength to wield it properly, are most prevalent in certain bloodlines. As a result, it is not uncommon for a particular clan to hold a council seat for several generations.”

“I take it that is your own experience,” he inferred.

“It is, Master Strange. But seats are not granted automatically—and those aspiring to them must pass a series of tests, unique to the individual.”

“And these tests involve the use of magic?”

“Exactly so—and thus arises my need for your assistance,” she admitted.

A bit perplexed, he might’ve asked, but Moraine had anticipated his question. “Not for myself, Master Strange—for my daughter, Teyla.” And then surprising him, she added, “A daughter of both our worlds.”

Not having known such a mingling of their races was even possible, it took a moment for him to respond, “You’re asking that we train her here, in Kamar-Taj?”

Moraine’s face took on a pleasant sort of softness, clear sign of the depth of her feelings for her child. “She has ever been my greatest treasure, and from the moment in which I discerned that she possessed aptitude for the mystical arts, I had planned to entrust my own best teacher with her tutelage.” She lowered her eyes, her voice become sorrow-tinged, “Who could have anticipated that such a plan would go unrealized?”

Stephen remained speechless, moved by her quiet show of grief. In the months since the Ancient One fell, he had learned things about her he had never expected—always making him long for the fruits of the wisdom she might have shared with him.

Having set aside her sorrow, Moraine looked to him again, firm of purpose, “Teyla’s skill--her strength—lies in the healing of body, mind, and heart. And though this ability is a miracle in itself, it does not suit well the sort of trials she is likely to face in the fullness of time.”

The doctor in him wanted to ask more of Hadeethan healing magic, but the situation would not allow for it—though he made a promise to himself to learn more of their practices when possible, with an eye towards the exchange of knowledge that might enable him to fulfill again that purpose of more than half his lifetime. “What training would best prepare your daughter for these future trials?”

Moraine looked please at his show of willingness, “She will need to develop defensive skills, for both her own safety, and for those who may someday fall under her protection.” She paused, gauging his reaction, and then concluded, “Teyla also possesses a small degree of prescience, although she is not yet capable of employing it at will. She dreams, yet cannot tell when the images may come to pass; she has strong, yet unpredictable, flashes of intuition, which she finds difficult to interpret. This gift is useless to her until she can cultivate the proper wisdom and discipline.”

“There are no teachers on Hadeeth that might guide her?” he asked, “Seers are rare, even in Kamar-Taj. I can’t guarantee our knowledge is enough to guide her beyond the most rudimentary training.”

“They are rarer still, on Hadeeth,” Moraine shrugged, “So rare they come but a handful of times in each generation. Though I am her mother, I haven’t even a touch of that gift.”

Stephen nodded, considering her request a moment. “We will do our best, Mistress Moraine—but in this case, I can make no promise.”

“I understand, Master Strange. And with this understanding, I will entrust you with Teyla’s further education. For the sake of our alliance,” she reminded him, “And for all the hopes a parent has for their child’s safety and happiness.”

They had concluded their meeting by settling upon three Earth days as the interval until Teyla would arrive at Kamar-Taj. “Of course, we’ll need to see what magic your daughter is already capable of, before we proceed with any training plan,” he cautioned her, as he and Wong escorted her back to the courtyard for her departure. “Please be sure she understands what lies ahead.”

“Oh, she is already more than prepared for that,” Moraine told him gratefully, “And she has spent a share of time on Earth--living with her father for several years--so you should find she will easily acclimate to your world.” With that, she drew on her sling ring—the magical tool which the Ancient One had shared with the Hadeethans, in consideration of their partnership—and conjured a portal back to her home world. Stephen could discern very little of what lay on the other side; a room half lit with what could be daylight, vague shapes that were likely Hadeethan furniture.

Moraine turned his way, and bowed low, and then rose to meet his eye. “Please keep in mind, Master Strange, that some of the tests Teyla may come to face are dangerous. I beg you to see she is properly prepared to survive, beyond the training I have already given her. I will be in your debt, and Earth’s, for the remainder of my days—and look forward to the day when I can be of service to your world, in return.” She stepped into the portal, and raised her hand in farewell, closing the circle before he could utter a word in reply.

“Well, this should prove interesting,” Wong observed, “How much experience do you have dealing with teenagers?”

“Barely to none,” Stephen confessed, “And I hadn’t counted on being asked to play a schoolmaster to a rookie sorcerer.”

Wong chuckled, amused at Strange’s befuddlement, “I’m thinking diplomacy will turn out to be child’s play, compared to the task you have ahead of you.”

“Yes,” Steven agreed grimly, heading back to the library to continue his studies of earlier. “And I’d much rather be navigating my way through the human brain, then babysit an angsty adolescent.”

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monster-cock69 · 1 year

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something about peter sitting in class and watching Tony carry on teaching like Peter doesn't have his cum staining the inside of his pants

#starker #nff starker #professor tony #teacher/student #tony stark #peter parker #nff #prompt #someone please write this #avengers #marvel #spiderman #iron man

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xoxiu · 11 months

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autumn outside the post office - jin x reader

chapter four table of contents masterlist join the taglist

≪ how long will beautiful things last? ≫

summary: it wasn't your fault that dr. kim was the most beautiful man you've ever seen. falling for him was entirely your fault, however. first semester at college and you're already dreaming of a student/professor relationship- so naughty and against the code of conduct. you like the thrill, though.

tags/warnings: smut, teacher!jin, college au, cute yet forbidden romance, daddy dom!jin, love triangles, frat boys jungkook and taehyung, age regression, age play, ddlg, spanking, eating disorders, mental health, first love, exhibitionism, lots of blowjobs, age gap

taglist: @severecatsheep

"Today we're going to be starting our first novel, Our Twisted Hero."

For once, you stared outside the window during literature class, looking at something other than Dr. Kim. You felt too guilty, uncomfortable, and dirty after what you did. He was your professor, and you kissed him.

And you liked it.

What made it all worse is that you wanted more. You wanted to be absolutely destroyed by this man, and then lovingly cuddled immediately after. You wanted him, nothing but him, and all of him.

"y/n?" A voice called out your name- it was Dr. Kim. You snapped out of your thoughts and turned your focus back on the class. Seokjin smiled as you did so.

"Thank you for rejoining us." You blushed out of embarrassment- you had been caught daydreaming.

The class continued with no other distractions. Still, you were in a dazed high from yesterday. Nothing felt real as you jotted down assignments in your planner. Just like that, you were distracted again. Little hearts covered the empty spaces of your planner as you mindlessly doodled on.

"y/n!" Dr. Kim scolded this time, slamming a book against the desk. You jumped in your seat, sitting up straight and giving your full attention to the professor. A blush heated your face as everyone turned to look at you.

"Since some of us don't want to pay attention, class is over now. Remember to have up to page 20 read and your study guide done for Monday." He looked back at you, solely addressing you, "y/n, I'd like to speak with you for a moment."

You slowly began to pack up your backpack as students filed out of the classroom. Dr. Kim made his way to the back of the class towards you, his eyes burning holes into you. He smirked as you kept your head down, refusing to look up at him.

"You really can't keep me off your mind, can you?" He teased, putting a finger under your chin, forcing you to look at him. His stare soon turned cold again, "Look at me when I'm speaking to you, hun."

"Yes, sir," you blushed at the pet name. Looking down, you noticed a growing bulge in Seokjin's slacks.

"My eyes are up here, y/n." He gripped your chin forcefully. "See something you like?"

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Seokjin released your face and reached behind you to close the blinds. The room grew significantly darker, especially in the back where a fluorescent light above you had burnt out. Wetting your lips, you couldn't keep your eyes off the professor as he leaned against the back wall.

"Knees, now."

Without hesitation, you kneeled on the floor, shuffling closer so you were closer to Dr. Kim. He smiled down at you, running a hand through your hair. You leaned into the touch and closed your eyes.

"Such a good girl, so obedient for Daddy." Seokjin tugged at your hair, forcing a small gasp out of you. Your panties grew wetter from his words. Not a single thought was running through your mind except for Dr. Kim.

The man chuckled above you. "I'm not sure if you deserve this after not paying attention in class. Or was this exactly what you were thinking of?" All you could do was let out a pitiful whine, looking back and forth between his bulge and his face.

"Hmm? What's that? Not as brave as you were yesterday, huh?"

Kissing him felt like nothing; you had kissed guys before this. However, not once were you so close to another person's private area, teetering on the edge of sex. It felt exciting, yet intimidating.

"I-I don't know..." You mumbled, feeling a lot more shy and exposed. You looked away towards the door, anxious that someone may come in. Seokjin seemed to pick up on your worries.

"No one has this room reserved for another hour, don't worry. It's just us." Another hand ran through your hair, gently stroking it and placing a stray strand behind your ear.

You weren't ready for this. It felt wrong. As your eyes darted around the room, you anxiously bounced on your legs. Leading the professor on like this was a horrible thing to do, and for what? All you had was a little crush and now look at you, kneeling in front of your teacher with soaked panties as he palmed his hard-on.

"Maybe you're not ready for this cock, is that it?" You nodded your head, embarrassed tears glazing over your eyes. Your hands came up to cover your face from any more embarrassment or shame.

Seokjin picked you up and placed you on the table next to your bag. You moved your hands away from your face, allowing him to deeply kiss you. Kissing him felt so easy, and when he tugged gently on your bottom lip, you went crazy. Your hands wrapped around his broad shoulders, pulling him deeper. His tongue found its way into your mouth, and your eyes shot wide open. You pulled away from the kiss, not liking the feeling.

"What's wrong?" Dr. Kim asked, his face full of concern. Biting your lip, you stared at his beautiful, full lips, now tinted red.

"I don't like tongue," You felt ashamed to admit, "Sensory thing..."

He giggled at your bashfulness, placing a gentle peck on your lips.

"I'll try to remember that."

————

The Korean Cultural meeting took place in the library. You decided to skip your meeting at the last minute, deeming it pointless. Classes had been going well, better than well in fact, so you saw no point in attending.

As you approached, Dr. Kim sent you a smile. He pulled out an empty chair for you right next to him. All eyes were now on you. You tensed up as you took a seat, looking around the table with a wavering smile.

Jimin and Taehyung sat across from you, hyping up your arrival. 'There she is!' 'The party can start now!' 'As beautiful as ever!' You blushed at their cheers, desperately wanting them to just shut up. They were so nice and friendly, maybe a bit too much, but it always made you smile.

There were many people you didn't know. They stared at you with confusion, questioning who you were and why Jimin and Taehyung acted so excited to see you. At the end of the table sat Cara with another boy. She was all over him, her legs over his lap and arms embracing his neck, basically sitting on his lap. The boy looked mighty uncomfortable and tired until his eyes landed on you. He looked you up and down, smirking.

You couldn't help but notice his shirt with 'TKE' on it in giant letters. Oh, he was in Tau Kappa Epsilon with Taehyung. Upperclassmen had warned you about them, and how they were the unruly frat house constantly on the verge of being suspended from Greek life. Taehyung made you believe the rumors were all exaggerated lies, but one look at the boy across the table only confirmed the stereotypes. He looked like trouble.

By the time the meeting start time came around, roughly 16 students were in attendance. Once the table capacity was reached, Seokjin gave up his seat next to you, opting to stand between the tables the club was using. There was another professor you didn't recognize who lead the meeting, with Dr. Kim commenting every once in a while.

You felt eyes on you at all times. From the boy at your table to Dr. Kim, you knew you were being watched. You tried your best to ignore it, listening to the speaker, but you couldn't help but take quick glances.

The boy looked you over as if examining you closely. He looked impressed by you, making you feel small under his gaze. His eyes watched your every move, focusing a bit too much on your chest area, as if you were a theatre act. He didn't want to miss a moment of you.

Dr. Kim's eyes were softer, more welcoming. He looked almost proud of you for showing up tonight, thankful that you came. You didn't miss his wink as your eyes met, making you blush and quickly look away.

The meeting concluded sooner than you thought- only lasting a solid 15 minutes. A packet was passed out to everyone, detailing upcoming meetings, events, and a study abroad trip to Korea.

Led by Mr. Kim.

You were the last one remaining at the meeting, logging the meetings and events into your planner. A hand on your shoulder made you jump- you swore you were alone.

"Thank you for coming tonight," Dr. Kim looked down at you with a smile. Smiling back, you closed your planner, giving Seokjin your whole attention.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he said, looking genuinely remorseful.

"It's okay, you didn't know."

Seokjin checked the time on his watch. "I think the buses stopped for the day by now. Shall I drive you home?"

Flustered, you stammered out gibberish. You knew the buses hadn't stopped their routes yet, not until 10 pm. Dr. Kim was lying to you, trying to persuade you into getting into his car. Hesitation flooded your thoughts. You knew that if you got in his car, this relationship would cross the boundaries of a professional relationship. Leaving campus with a teacher was a major red flag. There would be no going back.

"Sure."

#bts fanfic #seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #teacher/student #bts smut #college au #kim namjoon #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bts #autumn outside the post office

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judeeatstherude · 5 months

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hannibal/will priest smut >:)

i know, i know, i took my time

but...

tadaaa!!

tiny life update in the notes explains why i haven't updated for a month but i hope you enjoy!! (also. i am now every ao3 author stereotype. 'sorry i didn't update this smut fanfiction guys. i was busy having an important life event' :D

#ao3 #hannigram #fic rec #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x will #hannigram fanfiction #hannigram fic #nbc hannibal #fanfic #teacher x student #teacher/student #hannibal is a priest #priest kink #hot priest

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candycane969 · 4 months

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Hey. I did something. cropped versions under the cut

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muse-of-gods · 1 year

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Peter has had a crush on their sports teacher ever since accidentally walked in on Mr Stark while he was in the shower of the gym and saw him naked. He was still glad to this day that Mr Stark didn't notice him standing there, nearly salivating, before he got himself together and quietly left the room.

And his crush made it all the worse when Ned embarrassed him during gym class in front of everyone, including their teacher. And Peter just saw all his chances of ever catching the attention of Mr Stark, may they be as little as they already were due to the teacher/student relationship they had, dwindling.

But what he didn't know was that Tony had noticed him during the shower incident and ever since had to hold back from letting his mind play games of creating scenarios where he and Peter could be together. And the most recent incident, watching Peter's cute little face turn red and his eyes turn to the floor because he was so embarrassed, made it all the harder to keep those thoughts at bay.

#starker #starker moodboard #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #teacher/student #myedits

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truly-morgan · 7 months

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[Kinktober 2022: Somnophilia (18+)]

GoYuu | Jujutsu Kaisen 18-10-2022

Day 18: G̷l̷o̷r̷y̷ ̷H̷o̷l̷e | S̷h̷o̷t̷g̷u̷n̷n̷i̷n̷g | [Somnophilia]

Yuji realises that GOjo has a hard-on while asleep. He ends up giving him a handjob and stops when Gojo stirs up. But he liked the trill and tries again at night, until he’s caught.

====

Yuji had never gotten the occasion to be so close and casual with Satoru as when he started living (or rather hiding) in his house after his “death”. The older man was friendly and pretty casual compared to other teachers Yuji had in the past.

But if someone had told him he’d be watching movies with his new teacher while the man gave commentary, he would probably not have believed them.

He’d also not believe it if someone had told him he’d be confronted with the following situation:

his teacher was asleep beside him while being very visibly rock hard for some reason.

He had stopped focusing on the movie playing before them since he noticed it, biting his bottom lips as he wonder what to do with this situation.

Wouldn’t it be awkward for Satoru when the man wakes up?

The teen couldn’t help being a bit flustered as his eyes kept glancing back at his teacher’s lap. The man was wearing grey sweat pants and it was pretty easy to see the tent made by his erection.

Yuji bit his bottom lip as an idea came to his mind, trying to chase it away. He’d be lying if he were to say he never found the man handsome, probably sexy even, from what he had seen by accident when Satoru got out of the shower one time.

It all had him a little bit confused and wondering if maybe he wasn’t as straight as he believed he was.

Yuji knew he shouldn’t be doing this, his teacher was asleep, but he was a bit curious and thought that if he could help Satoru get rid of his hard-on there would be no awkward situation. He’d just need to find a solution for when the older man came, otherwise, the clue would be all over the place.

“Sensei?” Yuji tentatively tried to call, holding his breath and the doll in his hand tightly, waiting. Yet no answer came, not even a twitch, his teacher’s breathing staying even.

He could do this. No one but him and Tsukamoto would need to know.

He slid closer to the man on the couch, a hand reaching shyly to his teacher’s lap, hand creeping higher until he finally cupped his dick. He tensed when Satoru’s breath hitched, before going even once more.

He slowly started to rub through the fabric, gaining a little bit more confidence as time went by. He couldn’t help but look at his teacher's face, the way he would react to his ministration. But also to make sure he wouldn’t be caught, he was quite lucky the man was wearing his sunglasses and not his blindfold.

He drank in the groan that escaped the man, biting his lips when he dared sneak his hand inside the sweat pant. He was somewhat surprised to realise his teacher was wearing no underwear, although it did make his task easier.

He was now fully jerking him off, trying not to be too rough so as to not wake him up either. This was way too thrilling for Yuji, not expecting to like taking advantage of his teacher so much.

He couldn’t help feeling his jeans start to feel a little bit too tight.

His hand felt really hot, trapped inside his teacher’s pants. Getting all hot and wet from the precum leaking from the tip, helping his hand slide more easily onto his length.

It is a bit strange, jerking someone else off, he has never done it before, only on his own. But he actually enjoys it quite a lot, he even wonders what it would be like if Satoru was also touching him.

He grinds a little bit against the poor doll, a groan escaping him at the sensation and the idea of also being touched like this by his teacher. If only the man was also awake.

Then Satoru started stirring up from his sleep, making Yuji feel panicked despite his fantasy, nearly losing focus on the doll too. He retracted his hand quickly, going back to the doll as he stood up as casually as possible.

“Yuji?” his teacher called out after seeing him get up like this, Yuji noticed the movie that was playing earlier was now rolling the credit. For how long had he been indecently touching his teacher in his sleep?

“Movie is over, I’ll go to the bathroom before starting another one” Yuji laughed awkwardly, making sure Tsukamoto was hiding his own hard-on. He was mentally cursing himself for making things more awkward than they could have ever been.

The worst part was that he had enjoyed taking advantage of his teacher and wanted more of this thrill. He felt ashamed when he came after jerking himself off in the bathroom to the memory of Satoru’s reactions in his sleep.

And Yuji tried to forget about what he had done, tried to push away the thrill that came with what he did. But many times he found Satoru sleeping on the couch, be it in the basement or upstairs. And slowly he tried again.

At first, he only teased him, barely actually getting him hard. He’d also give him kisses here and there, always getting a bit deeper as his confidence grows. Or at least, as deep as it can be as to not wake him up. Satoru’s lips always taste so sweet against his, like candy.

Then he gets more serious, getting the man fully hard so he can jerk him off. just like the first time, the first couple of other attempts is through his pants, despite the mess it leaves behind.

Then when he really gets the hang of it, and needs more, he starts pulling his pants down, often happily surprised to find nothing under. He didn’t quite imagine his teacher being a commando kind of guy, but it’s only made it easier for him.

It’s surprising how much of a heavy sleeper his teacher is. It’s nearly concerning even, what would he do if someone was attacking him in his sleep? At least, with the intent to kill and not to get him off.

He even considered secretly feeding sleeping pills to his teacher so he’d be sure he was asleep more deeply. But this feels like he’d be going too far. He’s already going too far in a way, but that feels just even worst.

He’d not only be abusing how much of a heavy sleeper Satoru was, but drugging him.

He gets confident with how much he can get away with that he even dares suck him off, which means he doesn’t necessarily see his face well from where he is kneeling between his legs.

He’s pretty sure he cannot be that good, but really, his teacher probably doesn’t feel it fully and he still manages to make him climax. With practice, he’ll get there.

He even gets greedy enough that he gets up at night to sneak into his teacher’s room to do more.

He wants to feel guilty about what he’s doing to Satoru, the man trusts him and he’s totally taking advantage of that. But the excitement and pleasure he gets out of it always outweigh the guilt when he’s doing it.

He also cannot help getting hard while doing all this, jerking himself off at the same time as abusing Satoru. He even jerks the both of them together a couple of times, enjoying the rubbing of another dick on his.

One time, he even straddled him at first, slowly grinding their clothed cock together. feeling the both of them growing harder and harder as he slowly rolled his hips, biting his lips so he wouldn’t make any noise.

He’s getting so much pleasure out of this and doesn’t feel like stopping anytime soon despite the guilt.

Then one evening, as Yuji looks at the movie Satoru has left on the coffee table before going back upstairs to get snacks, he finds a weird movie.

The jacket of the movie is so dark the colour looks nearly black. The only thing on the cover is a computer screen with what looks like CCTV feeds.

“Invisible Touch” Yuji whispered to himself as he reads the title, wondering what kind of movie this could be.

It sounded a lot like a horror film and the lack of anything on the cover piqued his interest, so he put the DVD in.

Yuji is surprised by the movie starting directly on footage taken of a room.

From the angle, the camera seems to be filming from a corner, mostly overlooking a bed. Is this a found footage movie from the security cameras of a house? Then this must be from the bedroom, making him wonder what kind of event will start the film.

But then he realises… The bedroom looks eerily familiar.

Too familiar.

And just as the sound of a door opening in the footage happens it downs on him.

This is Satoru’s room.

Yuji realises with horror that these were taken from his teacher’s room, the “movie” fast-forwarding by itself until someone else entered the room. /Him/.

He watches as the screen shows him taking advantage of his sleeping teacher, night after night.

He can’t get his eyes away from the screen, completely forgetting that Satoru was supposed to come back soon with snacks. He felt even worse when footage from the living room here and upstairs are shown.

Satoru knew.

He was absolutely fucked.

“What an interesting movie you’re watching, Yuuuji~” he then heard whispered right next to his ear, making him jump nearly out of his skin.

He went to get up and bolt away, hide somewhere and just die properly this time.

But he’s forced to keep sitting on the couch with large and strong hands on his shoulders pushing him back down. He’s trapped there as the homemade “movie” keeps playing before them.

Yuji then starts to feel really agitated, scared and ashamed.

Scared that Satoru will now hate him for what he did and ashamed that he actually did any of this. “I-I sorry, I didn’t… I swear” Yuji starts to say a bit incoherently, his vision starting to get blurry as panic is raising even more.

He nearly gets punched by the doll, which Satoru managed to stop before throwing it away. Really, Yuji thinks he should have left it hit him, he deserved it.

But before he could spiral down into even more panic, Satoru is pulling him close, large hands holding his face so he can look at him directly.

“Yu… Yuji!....alm dow…. Oi, listen to me!” the man tries to tell him, managing to make Yuji snap back to reality. “There, breath with me,” he says, helping the teen regulate his breathing.

“Geez, I didn’t expect you to panic like this, I was thinking of teasing you about it” the man sighed.

Yuji watches in confusion as Satoru climbed over the couch to sit with him, pulling his student onto his lap. He sighs again, dramatically this time, putting his head on Yuji’s shoulder as he watches the events happening on the screen.

“The time when you ran away at the end of a movie I was a bit suspicious, then you did it again but I decided to fake being asleep” Satoru explained.

Yuji felt mortified that the man had known since the very beginning and had said /nothing/ about it.

“I found it pretty hot, my cute little student trying to take advantage of me in my sleep” he teased.

“Since I really liked it, I decided to start taking naps where you could find me and lowered my guard even more so I wouldn’t be awakened so easily. I did end up taking some sleeping pills to help even more” he continued.

Yuji had some difficulty properly processing everything. Satoru had known all this time and had actually liked it? To the point that he had filmed it?

“Of course I filmed it” Satoru replied with a pout, making Yuji realise he had probably thought that aloud.

“I thought your first attempts were really cute and hot, but if I was asleep I couldn’t really see it, right? So I decided to set up a camera so I could watch it later, even in my room to see if you’d ever come”.

Yuji nodded at this, still unsure what to say, feeling really flustered and embarrassed that the one his teacher had witnessed while conscious was his first rather poor attempt. He hid in his hands, not wanting to watch anymore, feeling too embarrassed.

Although, in a way, he did feel relieved that Satoru had actually known all this time and even somewhat planned everything. He didn’t feel quite as guilty anymore.

He yelped when he felt a hand palm him through his jeans, another one capturing his hands so he couldn’t hide behind them. “Of course, even though I am telling you all of this, I don’t want you to stop doing it” his teacher whispered into his ear, kissing his temple.

“G-Gojo-sensei wants me to continue?” Yuji asked.

The man hummed at his question, pushing his cheek against Yuji’s as he looked at the screen. “Of course, look how cute and eager you are to please me in my sleep” he points out, “and how adorable you are when rutting against your own palm because of how excited you get” he continued.

This made Yuji blush even more, he couldn’t help feeling flustered at his words. It wasn’t every day someone talked about him as “Cute” and “Adorable”.

Sure the man did it before, but it was usually more teasing. He could feel himself growing hard under the hand that was teasing him.

“Ah, but sometimes I want to be awake so I can eat you up” Satoru grinned, grabbing his chin so he could turn towards him, giving him a kiss, “And tonight I’ll do that, I’ll return all the pleasure you already gave me~” he stated before kissing him again.

====

(Yuji being a bad boy and being caught by sensei, good thing it turned sensei on too)

Original - AO3

#tweet archive #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #goyuu #satoru gojo #yuji itadori #kinktober 2022 #somno #somnophilia #consensual somnophilia #consensual noncon #teacher/student #nsft

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 8 months

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Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC Romance

Chapter Seven (ANGST, wherein Stephen experiences a guilt induced nightmare)

Stephen had suggested that they return to the Sanctum, hoping to allow Teyla a chance to process all that had happened, and to begin to grieve. She had declined, her eyes brimming with determination and an eagerness to share with him, her happiest memories of her father. He watched her move about the flat, while telling him a series of stories in a sort of stream of consciousness--leading him to realize that this was how she chose to mourn. Eventually, she came to sit beside him on the sofa, her focus on showing him the contents of several photo albums encompassing the time she’d spent living with her dad.

In the quiet moments in between, Stephen sensed how desperately she was trying to fend off her heartbreak. He hurt for her, but remained patient for the moment she might trust him enough to ask for what she needed.

As dusk colored the sky outside, Teyla located those pieces of her father’s work which he had saved for her, covered loosely in several layers of muslin cloth, waiting for her hand to reveal. Worn and weary as she was, she found the fortitude to hang on just a while longer—though with each piece she unveiled, Stephen noted her tears remained barely in check

First there was a thick sketchbook that Charles had kept during the years that Teyla lived with him. Much of its content was concerned with Teyla herself; studies of her at the breakfast table or amidst a pile of schoolbooks; sketches of her laughing, or at play; even a few which caught her sleeping--all of them created with a father’s loving eye. Stephen enjoyed seeing this younger version of Teyla, imagining the daily joy she had brought to her father’s life.

There was a softly romantic portrait of Moraine in the nude, which Teyla explained had been painted early in their courtship; that the Artist was head over heels for his model was evident in every brushstroke. A second painting depicted Moraine in the fertile bloom of pregnancy; set against the night sky, framed against an open window of a smaller apartment of decades ago, she was clothed in a translucent ivory nightgown, her hands resting protectively upon her protruding belly. Stephen found it nothing short of breathtaking; a magnificently rendered image of womanhood in its unassailable glory, and beautiful with understated sensuality.

“You like this one,” Teyla observed quietly, but clearly proud of her father’s handiwork.

Stephen let out a low whistle, “This piece is amazing, Teyla. Your dad was a talented artist.”

Her voice caught a moment, but she readily agreed.

Two sculptures sat draped in linen slip cloths, lined with tyvek for extra protection from moisture; Teyla uncovered them reverently to reveal a bust of her mother—looking like some Grecian goddess—while the other captured Moraine with a wee Teyla. Though made of marble, the piece was alive with their family bond, as mother bent low, cupping her daughter’s hands in her own, allowing both to study a small winged creature (Stephen’s mind insisted it was some sort of Hadeethan butterfly) which rested upon Teyla’s open palm. “Fantastic,” he murmured.

“That he was,” she agreed, with a plaintive finality that voiced her sorrow. A large, rectangular shape rested beneath the remaining storage cloth. Teyla gasped as she slid the cloth away. “I have…I have never seen this one…” She bowed her head to hide the tears she could no longer hold at bay.

Stephen draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She shivered against him. “He must have done this after I left Earth. I wish…” Teyla sobbed, “I wish that I had known.”

This painting was unquestionably the finest of the works that Charles had set aside for his daughter. A crowning achievement. Teyla gazed wide-eyed at them from the canvas, her truth beautifully captured; the small curve of her smile, the soft fall of her hair, the unassuming kindness that lived in the depths of her doe-eyes. She rested her chin against her palm, her hand angled so that the rich purple stone of her mood ring was visible. She looked happy—and as though she knew the secret to happiness and would share it freely if only the viewer could awaken her image to speak aloud. Walter Charles had painted the quiet miracle that had brought him fulfillment as no other soul in the world ever had, in a language that articulated his heart as no written or spoken word ever could.

Surely Teyla understood the image for all it had meant to her father. She breathed hard several times, then made a desperate, strangled sound, before nestling her face in the crook of Stephen’s neck.

The bitter taste of remorse filled his mouth, and Stephen’s hands flared with fresh spikes of pain, as he considered the talented hands that had created this striking portrait of a beloved daughter. An artist’s hands that might have been given more time to share his talents with the world, if only a ‘hot-shot genius doctor’ had actually cared about the patients that had sought his help. The painting seemed infused with the soft light of her gentle spirit, imbued with all the love her father held for her. An exceptional creation—and I failed the man without a second look back.

“I’m so sorry, Teyla,” he whispered, “So, so sorry. I’d give anything to make this right…”

She was shaking her head against his words, “Please, Doctor, please just take me from this place. I cannot bear this pain inside my heart. I feel my father as though he is near, yet I will never hear his voice or feel the comfort of his embrace again.”

“Of course,” he assured her, “Whatever you need, honey.” He released her as gently as he could, to conjure a portal back to the sanctuary of Bleecker Street.

Understandably, Teyla had no appetite, but at Stephen’s stern insistence, she ate a little yogurt, and a few slices of mango, before retiring to the small room he directed her to for the night. Though her body’s clock was still set to Kathmandu time—where it was early afternoon--he had a hunch he could coax her into some healing sleep. Failing that, he would employ a small sandman spell, though that turned out to be unnecessary.

Feeling both the weight of his responsibility as her mentor, and the gnawing guilt that he might’ve made a difference in the quality and length of her father’s final days, Stephen sat at Teyla’s bedside, watching over her a while. Watching as her breathing evened out and the lines of her body softened, knowing she had found the sort of solace—for a time—that he’d been unable to give her. When satisfied she rested easy, he headed to his own room, planning to immerse himself in study, certain the peace of sleep would elude him—which was precisely as he deserved.

It was that same old dream again, but with a wicked twist. He dreamed it far less frequently these days, and if he took the time to analyze just why, Stephen would realize it was because he had finally shed much of the guilt which he had carried for more than half a lifetime. Accepting that he bore full responsibility for his horrific accident, facing his demons in the aftermath, and recognizing that his medical career had never been of one of true service to others, had been a struggle that rivaled the constant physical challenges presented by his ruined hands. Only the enlightenment that had come to him with his studies in the mystic arts had enabled him to accept the truth about himself, humbling him and inspiring him to be a better man than ever in his life.

His dream-self stood—as he always did--on the shore of one of the smaller Fremont Lakes, drinking a can of Coors, laughing with his friends, and flirting with the prettiest of his sister’s high school classmates. He was only weeks away from beginning freshman year, and Stephen had been thinking that a little fling with Chloe Butler might be the perfect way to end the summer before heading off to study medicine at Creighton University. His sister Donna had swum out toward the the center of the lake, headed for the swim platform to bask in the afternoon sun—swimming as effortlessly as she’d done at least a hundred times before, and he frankly wasn’t paying much attention. He should have been; if he had been, he might have reached her minutes sooner, reached her in time to keep her from going under that last time.

In reality, he’d only heard her call his name once, but in the dreams, her frightened voice always carried across the water to him, repeatedly calling for help, calling his name, begging him to save her. When he realized she was in trouble, he’d shucked off his scuffed leather boat shoes, the first of the young men on the narrow strip of beach to dive in, swimming frantically in her direction. He was never to know for certain what had put her in distress; without a full autopsy (their mother couldn’t bear the thought of one), the best explanation they’d been given was a seizure of sorts, or something as innocuous as an ill-timed cramp. And though his lungs burned with his effort to reach her, Stephen was still a dozen yards away when Donna sank below the surface with heartbreaking finality.

In his dream, he relived again his frantic search for her in the dark depths of the lake, finally finding her, bringing her to shore, and breaking down after he was unable to resuscitate her. But this time, instead of waking sweat-soaked and heart hammering the insistent beat of his failure and his guilt, the nightmare continued. Though she was long dead and buried, Donna was there, in the flower of eternal youth, riding passenger with him in his Lamborghini Huracan. You failed me, Stephen, she intoned, her eyes flashing with bitter accusation; you were my older brother and you were supposed to look out for me, but you failed miserably; and as the rain began to pound the windshield, she questioned him without remorse: how many others did you fail in your egotistical short sightedness?

Stephen faced her, helpless to change the past, knowing his own fate was already sealed; in moments would come the crash and his car would hurtle off the road, breaking his hands beyond repair, robbing him of the life he’d worked so single-mindedly to establish for himself. You failed me, Stephen, she repeated, as you always fail the ones in greatest need…and just before the collision, Donna’s face transformed, and she was Teyla, but not angry--only sad, her indictments delivered quietly, regretfully, with a tenderness that matched her spirit in the waking world. You failed him, Stephen Strange; a better man might have saved my father. Somehow her words stung even more, for the gentle way in which she delivered them. You were ever selfish, and blind to the needs of others, so perhaps there is some justice in your fate, after all. And then she was gone, as his car spun and spun, and the pain was excruciating, and he knew in that moment that he deserved the pain, he deserved to have his old life ripped away…and if he spent a hundred years expunging his guilt through selfless service, he could never erase the misery, the loss, the deaths, of those he’d failed. His dear, doomed sister. Walter Charles, and those patients, who, like him, were not challenge enough to merit his valuable time and attention. And now, his gentle Teyla…

“Stephen”. Softly, yet urgently, spoken. “Stephen, you must awaken.” A concerned, familiar voice, summoning him away from his pain and self-recrimination. Pulling him from the depths of his dream. A hand—her hand--upon his shoulder, soft but insistent, lightly shaking him back to consciousness.

“Teyla,” he murmured, still caught in the nightmare. He needed to tell her. Wanted to, but that would only bring her pain. “Teyla…”

“Yes, I am here,” she answered, “I am here, Stephen. Open your eyes. See me beside you and know that all is well.”

His eyes fluttered open, unable to focus at first, and his heart was pounding, just as it always did in the wake of that nightmare. Her hand on his cheek was soft and cool, her face hovering above his quietly merciful, the ends of her hair just brushing his skin. Teyla of Hadeeth. How was she here, sympathetic as she tried to soothe him, the embodiment of clemency when he deserved only her scorn? “Teyla?” he whispered, wondering if she was just the remains of his dream, and would vanish like mist if he dared to trust she was real.

“Yes, Stephen,” she answered patiently, “Leave those painful memories behind. You must not torment yourself so.” Despite the grief he knew dwelled in her heart, her focus seemed to be solely on comforting him.

“I was dreaming,” he rasped, feeling he ought to explain, and hoping he didn’t appear as weak as he felt.

“I know,” she told him, the calm of her voice and in her touch beginning to banish the anguish that had enveloped him. “I dreamt as well, Stephen. I saw enough to know, and I felt your distress, and now I am here because you are more than worthy of mercy—but such mercy must begin with yourself.” She laid a hand over his heart, and an unexpected warmth spread through his chest.

Amazed at her perception, Stephen searched her eyes, reading her sincerity, unbelieving that redemption could be so easily gained. He shook his head to clear away the vestiges of his nightmare, sitting up against the headboard. He laid his hand atop hers, swearing he could feel the beautiful life force that inhabited her slender form. “Teyla,” he confessed, “If you knew the truth, you might not be so generous…”

Her eyes told him before she spoke, that she was well aware of the part he’d played in her father’s story. “I already know all that I need to know, Stephen.” His given name upon her lips, spoken without a hint of her usual formality, was a balm against his shame. “You have paid a heavy penance for your past mistakes; you need punish yourself no longer.”

Stephen breathed deeply and closed his eyes, feeling entirely unworthy of the absolution she was offering. “Do you understand, Teyla? Your own father…”

She cupped a hand against his cheek, silencing him with a wise, sweet smile. “I assure you, Stephen—I understand it all…and I promise you that you are not the man you were in those days.” He opened his eyes, finding only compassion in her own. “You have become your best self, through trial and pain. I swear that you are now the man you were destined to become…but you must forgive yourself--for that will finally free you from this burden of guilt that weighs upon you so.”

Though awestruck by her heart’s true generosity, Stephen suddenly felt tired enough to sleep for a week. “Yes,” she smiled, relieved on his behalf, “You must rest a while now, and come the day this darkness will fade to naught.” Come morning he would wonder too, if she’d worked some gentle magic by simple touch alone.

At her prompting, Stephen slid back down onto his pillow, allowing her to tuck the blanket around him. He caught her hand in his before she stood up to leave; she didn’t seem surprised. “You are most welcome, Stephen Strange,” she told him, then headed to his door.

“Just tell me this,” he said, a ghost of his usual cheekiness restored, so that she turned back to him from the doorway, “How are you so young, and yet so wise, Teyla of Hadeeth?”

She raised a brow—quite insouciantly—and he saw in her a bit of Moraine’s regal bearing, as she proudly replied, “I am both my mother’s daughter, and my father’s child as well. I dare to believe that the best of both of them have found their union in me.” Teyla gave a little shrug, and left the room—though the surprising smile she left upon Stephen’s face lasted long enough to see him into a more peaceful sleep of his own.

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