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Kinktober 2019

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            It may be too blunt to say that Edelgard has barely changed at all in five years past, and yet, Byleth cannot help the thought slipping from her mouth, prompting a joyous chuckle from her majesty.

            Edelgard plays with the hem of her shorts, fitting her remarkably well despite their old age. Her breasts no longer fit quite into her old top, blouse buttons struggling to fit along her chest, and she’s alike given up on tossing on her jacket after realizing her arms wouldn’t fit through. She’s got her new cape, fitted shoulder ornaments and all, tucked over her shoulders instead. Her old tights, glossy red, are spread wide across her thighs and calves as she turns in the mirror, admiring herself.

            “Not quite the same look. What do you think, professor?” Edelgard’s cape flows as she twirls, bringing her arms out to grasp either end of her cape. Byleth laughs and claps her hands at the display, cheering softly when Edelgard stills to a stop with a crossing of her calves, bowing deeply.

            “I think you look lovely.” It is the truth. Years gone by has done nothing to diminish Edelgard’s nature allure, her white hair flowing gently to frame her face. If anything, it has only made her very more elegant, with a stronger set in her shoulders, a starker line from her breasts to her waist to her hips. Her face, often hardened from the chill of war, is softer here, her and Byleth tucked away in an old classroom in Garreg Mach, playing pretend with remnants of their past.

            “You’re so kind, Byleth,” Edelgard sighs. Byleth shrugs, shaking her head as she picks at her own attire. Unlike Edelgard, her change was merely the coloration of her hair, from a cerulean blue to a light green reminiscent of her once friends in the school. They play here now, knowing that in less than a week’s time they will have to take up arms yet again, preparing themselves for another slaughter in the name of victory.

            Conflict, the only home Byleth has ever known.

            War, the only mercy Edelgard can give.

            Edelgard gives another swirl at herself in the mirror, humming as she pats down at her chest. The button gaping only makes her growth more prominent, and it is easy enough to notice Byleth’s line of sight in the reflection of the mirror. Edelgard huffs a laugh, turning again to tease her beloved.

            “Where is your eye wandering, I wonder, professor?” An age-old name that seems to sweeten her tongue.

            Byleth startles, eyes widening just a smidge before falling to her usual stony face. She’s gentler now, quite a bit easier to read, and Edelgard revels in the change. It must be trust, and fate, and nothing more than the simple promise of desire that warms her cheeks.

            She is a crimson flower, and Byleth’s to take.

            “Your breasts.” Straightforward, not curt, just blunt. Edelgard stifles her giggles, though her arms coming up only further emphasizes her growth. Though otherwise her body hasn’t changed quite so much, something that only mildly pricks at her when glancing at Dorothea’s and Bernadetta’s… growths, she’s come to appreciate that at the very least she grew in an area that Edelgard thought would never improve. Byleth was quite popular in the academy those years back, and it wasn’t just for her teaching skills.

            But well, here they are now, and Edelgard has Byleth all for herself.

            “Why, professor, how scandalous.” Edelgard’s voice ticks upward, teasing, and she flicks open the struggling button barely keeping the blouse together at her breasts. Now open, her bare flesh in the air, she shivers at the interest dawning on Byleth’s face. “What would the nobles say?”

            Must less the church. Edelgard files that little tidbit to herself, just a little extra vengeance.

            “Bad things, probably.” The shrug from Byleth is casual, though her arms tighten in impatience. It’s rare for her to wait for Edelgard, usually the first to grasp her empress and kiss her in a frenzy, though her uniform must really be playing tricks on Byleth’s mind. It is certainly true that, though there were often teasing glances and remarks from her professor, Byleth had never touched her as teacher and student.

            It’s a good thing they’re no longer as such, even with Edelgard in her tight garb.

            “So callous. Shouldn’t you protect me from such rude words?” A game that she never had a chance to play, back then. Edelgard wouldn’t call her mischievous, scheming, all words she attributes more to a certain half blood from another nation. Still, a giddy playfulness at adorning her old uniform has her stomach in knots, and she extends her hand into the air. “Kiss me, professor.”

            Byleth obeys, pressing her lips against Edelgard’s palm, before leaning back and taking her fingers into her mouth. Edelgard startles, moaning, staring while Byleth fixes her hair behind her ears to better focus on licking Edelgard’s individual digits.

            “Byleth, you shouldn’t…” her words are lost in another gasp as Byleth places both hands on her thighs, digging in sharply with her nails. Forceful, rude, and yet Edelgard can’t help the little breathiness overtake her voice. Byleth slides her tongue upward, past her palm and wrist to nip at her blouse, tugging just slightly before releasing.

            “Take it off.” Commanding, powerful, knowing that Edelgard is just a quiver in her path. Edelgard’s hands, one slick with spit, struggle to undo her remaining buttons. Byleth leans up, blowing and kissing on her nape, doing nothing to reduce her shivers.

            Her fingers finally manage to undo the final button, and then Byleth is tearing it down her shoulders, taking a heavy bite of her exposed skin. Edelgard yelps, loud, shrill, her hand instinctively coming down to smack at Byleth’s back. Byleth refuses to release her skin, drawing blood, before licking at the red flesh. Edelgard shivers, in pleasure and pain, when Byleth slips down to lick at her underarm.

            “By-Professor! Don’t, I’m dirty!” Her protests fall on deaf ears. Byleth simply hums and licks at her armpits, lined with dusts of hair. Edelgard flushes, shame and pleasure running blood to her face, the knowledge that she hadn’t had time for a proper bath due to the terrors of war meaning her body is unclean. Yet, Byleth simply drags her tongue from one side to the other, leaving Edelgard panting as spit dries on her skin.

            Edelgard begins to shimmy off her pants, grunting in realization at how tight they are on her now. Perhaps she really did grow in her bottom regions, though her hope is rather unnecessary when her shorts refuse to go down. Byleth kisses the bend of her side, the bottoms of her ribs, and Edelgard sighs.

            “Byleth, I need to get my shorts off.” Amusement clouds her words, doubly so when Byleth pulls away only to raise an unimpressed brow at her. Edelgard laughs, trying to wedge her fingers into the shorts in display of the fit. “See?”

            “I do.” With that, Byleth’s hands move to grab the hem of the shorts, and in one swift motion, tears them off Edelgard’s legs. Literally, based off the pitched ripping sound immediately following. Edelgard yelps, though she has nary a moment to mourn her old shorts before Byleth’s tearing a hole in her red tights.

            “Byleth!” What scolding flooded her brain is immediately erased by the sensation of Byleth flicking her tongue against her through her panties. Edelgard flushes, knowing they too are dirty, though it’s not enough to stop her wanton moans drifting out of her. She tries to cover her mouth with her hands, though it’s impossible when Byleth simply grabs at her wrists.

            “I want to hear you.” Request, and then return to her task. Edelgard moans, unable to stop herself from grinding onto Byleth’s face, the nose of her tactician poking at her groin. She shifts her hands closer to Byleth’s hair, one tugging at the locks, the other pulling Byleth back. Annoyance flickers through Byleth’s face until Edelgard pinches at the width of her panties, pulling them to the side to bare her wet sex.

            “Pro-professor,” oddly difficult to remember her title with the haze settling in Edelgard’s mind, “please lick me.”

            Amusement flashes by when Byleth lowers her head back onto Edelgard, tongue immediately tracing patterns at her lips. Edelgard moans, hips clenching, as she rocks against her teacher. Her panties feel tight, too tight pulled to the side, but she finds the idea of Byleth leaving red indents and hickies along her hips is only a good idea.

            “Good, oh, Byleth.” Edelgard sighs, back bending as she digs her fingers further against Byleth’s skin. Byleth scoffs a laugh, teeth just barely brushing Edelgard, and then Edelgard’s gasping at the sudden intrusion of a finger inside her dripping puss. Her thighs quiver, even more so when Byleth returns to lick at her clit.

            Professor, Byleth, one and the dizzying same worshipping her cunt. Edelgard shouts, unable to quiet her reactions. Byleth hums in amusement, the vibrations of her lips on Edelgard shooting sparks up her body.

            “Byleth! Wait, I’m.” Edelgard yelps, feeling familiar heat rush down her stomach. Byleth simply enters her with another finger, scissoring ruthlessly as her tongue laps at her clit, careful to catch her skin just slightly with her teeth. The sensations are cruel, overwhelming, and Edelgard finds herself sobbing as the waves of pleasure grow.

            “Professor, professor, I’m—” Sullying herself in a school under the church, wearing the remains of her old uniform, and the knowledge of the filth caking her skin despite Byleth’s readiness to eat her up swirl in Edelgard’s brain. She shouts, hands scrabbling to find purchase against Byleth as her knees crumple, weight now resting entirely on Byleth’s tongue and head. Her response is only to tuck a third finger between Edelgard’s sensitive folds, causing another sob to rack Edelgard’s body.

            “Close!” Edelgard shouts. She’s on the edge, tipping overboard, barely capable of staying afloat in the sea of pleasure brought by Byleth. Her gasps overtake her words, voice barely more than a series of pants. Her toes curl, ankles shaking, as she ruts against Byleth’s face once, twice.

            Then Byleth places her lips against Edelgard’s clit and sucks.

            Edelgard screams, her hips ramming straight as pleasure clouds her vision. Byleth’s tongue remains relentless as wracks of orgasmic pleasure travel along Edelgard’s body, leaving her shivering. Byleth stretches her fingers inside her, curling and twisting, her tongue pressed mercilessly against Edelgard even as aftershocks of orgasm leave her oversensitive.

            “Byleth, please, I, I,” Edelgard whines, voice trailing off into another helpless moan. Overstimulation curdles her stomach, the thought of another orgasm wrung out of her delightfully tempting despite the looming danger overhead. Still, logic and reason break through her cloudy judgement, and she pulls sharply at Byleth’s hair. “Please, we must rest for tomorrow.”

            The reminder of the looming battle is enough to break the mood, Byleth finally removing her fingers from Edelgard’s wet cunt. Edelgard’s chest rises and falls, her pants echoing in the emptiness lingering after her statement. Guilt and resentment tighten on her heart, the constant echoing of the blood coating her hands thrumming back as her body cools.

            She expects Byleth to be upset at the sudden end, but instead, her professor only has kind eyes as she stands, wet hands taking Edelgard’s.

            “Edelgard.” Byleth leans in, lips pursed. Edelgard shuts her eyes tight, waiting, but only the ghost of Byleth’s lips on hers passes before Byleth speaks again. “Are you alright?”

            She nods, unsure how to voice the chilling cold settling in her veins. It is—too much. The school, the uniform, the reminder of the woman hidden in the basement below. The face of her professor, unchanged, and even though Edelgard knows her body has barely changed other than her breasts, she knows that she has. Truly.

            A crimson flower.

            “I’m fine,” Edelgard promises, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against Byleth’s lips. Her arms come around to embrace her beloved professor, sighing gently as she rests her head on Byleth’s shoulders. Her legs are cold, wet and sticky still at the tops of her thighs, and she knows that she should be offering to help finish off her lover. Yet, sudden exhaustion pulls at her shoulders, and she settles for gently rocking in place against Byleth instead.

            “I’m fine.” Here, with Byleth, in her old classroom, in the ruined remains of her old clothes. She is no longer that sordid girl five years past, one with nothing more than empty promises and ruined blood to pave her path. They’ve made it this far, Byleth and her, carving out a road to the future.

            Three houses to choose from, and Byleth chose her.

            The reminder never fails to press a smile against her face.

            “Tomorrow,” she murmurs, and Byleth’s arms tighten around her waist. Edelgard sighs, eyes slipping shut for just a moment.

            “Tomorrow, we win this war.”