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cno-inbminor · 1 year

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repertum (pt. 2 - final)

summary: no matter how much you want alhaitham, you don’t think you can ever have him. he may or may not try to prove otherwise. // cameos from lumine and nahida // wc: ~15.1k

a/n: well, here it is! many, many thanks to @allsaiint for being my beta once again, especially for this monster. i love her to the ends of this universe. fair warning though, the smut at the end is un-beta’d so you’ll probably come across many grammatical/syntax errors. sorry, in advance.

cw: afab!reader, fem!reader, more angst (but with comfort), 3.4 spoilers, probably some incorrect game lore and timing/mechanics, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags: derogatory/degrading terms (slut, cocksleeve, cumslut, cockslut), referring to alhaitham as ‘sir’, size kink, twinges of dacryphilia, one (1) pussy slap, some overstimulation, light bondage (reader’s wrists get tied together), blowjob, cunnilingus, hints of reader entering subspace (dom!alhaitham, sub!reader), will add more if i remember later but i think those are the highlights lol

please read part 1 for context! | AO3 Link for better viewing if the app is being a bitch

As agreed upon you meet Lumine and Paimon on the walkway leading up to the Sanctuary. The traveling duo go inside first, as you’re sure they have much more private and serious matters to discuss. While you wait outside, you gaze over the ledge at the breathtaking view of Sumeru in the direction of the Lokapala Jungle, and its waterfalls still bright even in the darkness of dawn. Taking in everything around you— the breeze and the stars— you feel some peace in your heart knowing you have a place to call home and return to.

The doors swing open with Lumine looking a little less happy than earlier. Paimon mutters – or at least attempts to – under her breath, while a man with a wide-brimmed hat trails out after them. The traveler provides no explanation,and instead informs you that Lord Kusanali wishes to speak with you for a minute. Perhaps the time together will let you know more about this mysterious man – child? – and why he seems to have put Paimon in such a bad mood.

“Y/N,” the Dendro Archon greets you warmly. Her voice is gentle as ever and full of compassion. “Thank you for coming here. I simply wanted to see if you had everything you needed for your travels and research.”

You show her your bag with thinly-veiled enthusiasm. “Thank you for the opportunity and your consideration of my proposal. The fact that you took the time to read through it and ask me about it really means a lot to me. It was luck that the traveler happened to be heading in that direction as well.”

“She will be a good companion. Please watch over her whenever you can.”

“Of course, though I imagine she’s going to watch over me more than her,” you jest and Lord Kusanali shares your amusement. “Is there anything else you needed?”

“No. May you have safe travels, and please visit whenever you return. I look forward to your findings.”

You bow with as much reverence as possible before waving goodbye to the Archon and heading out the doors. The man from earlier is nowhere to be seen, and Lumine appears more relaxed.

“Everything all good?”

“Yes! Should we head out then?”

“Very well.”

Those with Visions have always fascinated you with the way they could make their weapons appear and disappear, and materialize things in midair. Lumine does so with what appears to be a map of Teyvat, humming to herself as she pinpoints a location. She waves it away with dainty fingers and holds out her hand.

Though confused, you trust she means no ill will and Lumine grips your hand tight when you take hers.

“Teleportation is always a little rough for first timers. Just hold on and you’ll be okay.”

“Teleporta–”

You disappear in a flash of blue light. For a split, disorienting second, you see nothing, and in the next you’re greeted with a view of what appears to be part of the Mawtiyima Forest, if the luminescent treetops are any indication. Slight nausea overcomes you and your stomach does a small turn – shit, she wasn’t lying.

“Are you alright?” Lumine asks with concern, searching through her pack for a remedy..

“Do you want a cold towel?” Paimon adds on and flutters around you to search for any signs of injury.

“I think I just need to breathe for a second,” you say, collapsing against the cliffside. “And sit for a minute.”

“Take your time. We’re quite close to the border. I would’ve taken us straight into Fontaine, but since I’ve never been before, none of those teleport waypoints have been activated.”

You point towards one in front of you. “You mean these?”

“Convenient, right?”

“...very.”

Distraught, perhaps, is one way to describe Alhaitham’s current state of mind.

By all means, it makes no sense. Did he get to know you well in an alarmingly short amount of time? Sure. Did he really look forward to those initial 36 hours passing, to the point where he felt time was crawling by at a turtle’s pace? Perhaps. Was he trying to satiate a curiosity that he had never really felt before and attempting to answer a personal unknown? In some way.

The attempting-to-resign Acting Grand Sage has read his fair share of historical texts – especially conflicts driven by love and lust. A force so powerful that it could twist the minds of even the brightest and most logical – what was that like? From a young age, he was only ever introspective in an academic sense, and the scholars touted him to be a genius. But feelings, emotions, felt abstract and out of reach as he grew up. He only ever understood his lust as a byproduct of his development as explained in the textbooks. A branch of psychology mixed with biology described everything from why humans feel attraction and the need to copulate to what is deemed healthy and alluring in a potential partner, all in the name of posterity and evolution.

Alhaitham first concluded his initial draw towards you could be explained away by all of these findings.It didn’t quite fit all the checkboxes, but enough for him to deem it understandable and valid. Those checkboxes had been visited once before when he lost his virginity, but that was all there was to it. He wouldn’t be blind enough to deny that it was a pleasurable experience, but there were other, more pressing matters at hand. Yet, even after drawing his conclusion, nothing academic could help explain why his desire to be near you was so strong. The more carnal desires took a backseat to his need to pick your brain, to make you laugh, or to have you challenge him. He learned as many of your little mannerisms as possible, all the while pretending he was completely unfazed by your presence. Your different smiles, your nervous movements, your stressed looks, your interests and dislikes – he wanted to know all of them, and not so he could store it in his brain for cautionary purposes. It was all for the sake of getting to know you.

And then he became greedy.

Another sin Alhaitham didn’t quite understand before meeting you was the growing, bubbling pit of a constant want want want for you to be by his side. To have the fantasies of coveting your soul, retching on the inside at the mere thought of others seeing you the way he did you – he was starting to see why individuals were so often thrown into a fit of rage over their loved ones and why the law has separate stipulations regarding “crimes of passion.”

And even as he sits at his usual table in his usual seat (especially on days when he really doesn’t want to be in his office during work hours), sending glares to anyone who dared to approach him or even come near your seat (which was very much not your seat by any legal means), he finds himself buried in books of philosophy. Not that they are so far out of his usual reading, for they typically align with his understanding that there are universal questions that will never be answered yet should be stated, but he has never felt the need to dive deeper than the tip of the iceberg on different schools of thought. One line in particular catches his attention, however.

“Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions.”**

Moral philosophy, the area where this statement hails from, was intriguing, yet Alhaitham knew the respected experts could talk in circles for days and do their best to argue their reasoning. This particular philosopher suggests that passion is the cause for reason, for understanding why humans do the things they do. And as the word connotation suggests, there is no room to discuss whether or not this line of thought is rational. Just as passion drives reason, reason can also serve as the breeding ground for the passions.

Abstruse to several, esoteric to many, ambiguous to the masses – Alhaitham wonders if he’s found some sort of solution to his internal dilemmas. To have it all summed up in a single sentence resonates deeply with him. Simple and succinct, yet speaking volumes to the implications; finally with a deep breath.

The next day in his office, he leans and falls back into his seat, gaze focused on the domed ceiling above. He’s always hated this chair; far too grand and impractically large. One thing he doesn’t mind is the proportionate size of the desk, as he’s learned over the years that if you give him the space, he will inadvertently cover every inch of it with his materials. Even with their dwindling number of research applications, he manages to fill the voids with his own research, books laid open and aged parchment collecting dust. For being so far above the ground level of the House of Daena, it makes sense that silence is usually his sole companion, as he tends to ignore the other researchers and matra milling around. But there must have been some memo sent out because no one is there today, and no one has come up in hours.

Surprisingly, he finds the quietude and quiescence unnerving rather than welcoming, so much so he removes his treasured earpieces and places them in his lap. The white noise he’s often found bothersome is… comforting?

A distraction, perhaps, from the absence of you.

A long, heavy sigh leaves his chest as he pulls himself up and ambles over to a locked filing cabinet with all the approved research project applications. Before he became Acting Grand Sage, the remaining applications had been split between him, Lord Kusanali, and a few other individuals. First sorted by subject area and then by last name, he rifles through with an absent mind until he catches your name on a tabbed folder. Alhaitham wastes no time plucking it from the confines of the drawer and opening it, taking care to make sure the stacks of reports and research diagrams don’t spill out onto the floor. Kaveh would have a field day if he knew just how enraptured he was by the mere sight of your handwriting. He may even take him to Lord Kusanali herself for psychological treatment or interrogation because there was no way this Alhaitham was his same sarcastic, scathing, infuriating roommate – and despite the slight amusement the thought gives him, he cannot ignore the painful pull in his chest.

It’s been five weeks since you were last seen in Sumeru, and five weeks since he had knocked on your apartment door only to be greeted by your next-door neighbor, who announced you’d left early in the morning with no definitive time of return and no mention of your destination. You would be back eventually, but would it be in six days or six months? Nobody seemed to be the wiser.

He had had half a mind to reach out to Cyno and call in a special favor to track you down for his own internal peace, but he knew the request would be irrational and unnecessary. So once a week, he stops by your apartment to see if you’ve returned, and with each unsuccessful visit and your doormat collecting more and more dust, his heart sinks just a little bit lower. If he wasn’t in his current position, he’d be halfway across the desert by now (and ultimately in the complete opposite direction) under the guise of searching for ancient ruins. Merely searching for facts and truth; nothing more, nothing less.

All to say, Alhaitham wishes he had looked through this filing drawer earlier because the file on his desk contained all the answers to his questions of your whereabouts.

The relief of knowing you were safe in a nearby nation surges through every vein in his body, tension in his muscles disappearing with the rays of sunlight beating down from the stained-glass window above. He would’ve been much more concerned if you’d gone to Inazuma – even if this Captain Beidou that Lumine spoke highly of was more than adept at crossing the treacherous seas from Liyue, the mere possibility of you falling overboard or being forced to stay in the nation was still unsettling, to say the least.

Leaning his weight onto the desk, Alhaitham drinks in everything your research has to offer. There are a few mistakes and edits that could be rectified here and there, but nevertheless, it is well done. He remembers now seeing some of these papers before, as notes you had been scribbling down on some early afternoons in the cafe. Pleased isn’t enough to describe the hum in his chest when he notices some of his suggestions incorporated into your application, fondly recalling the moments when you had picked each other’s brain regarding the topic at hand. Never once did you mention that any of this had been in preparation for your big research journey, but he would be remiss not to believe recent events had served as the catalyst for your sudden departure.

“Do come back to me,” he murmurs to no one. As he lifts his head, the cosmical, automated orb— reminiscent of an Auspicious Branch— just above the elevator platform seems to mock him. It’s An inaccurate teller of time as it spins and spins in its orbit, and Alhaitham yearns for the day you return home.--

The day you return to him.

Traveling with Lumine is fascinating, to say the least.

Ignoring the fact that feeding Paimon is like feeding three grown adults, watching the Traveler gather and store every fruit and herb and loot in sight makes you wonder what kind of life she had led before all of this. The way she takes down some wayward Treasure Hoarders is a sight to see, like a well-rehearsed dance. It lends to your understanding of why the term is “martial arts” because the way Lumine maneuvers around the enemies and her sword is, very much so, an art.

But more time together means more time into probing the real reason you’ve decided to come to Fontaine with her, and for whatever reason, she is really good at getting you to spill the beans. Lumine’s heard most of your life story at this point.

“Who are you running from?” she asks one night. After checking in with the Adventurer’s Guild in Fontaine’s capital, you’ve joined Lumine in her journey around the nation to activate the rest of the teleport waypoints. You send her your sheepest look, begging with your eyes for her to not ask anymore. But you’ve skirted around this topic the last few weeks and you figure it’s time for her to know.

With a heavy breath, you set down your bowl of biryani on the grass. “Promise you won’t judge?”

“Promise.”

“...it’s Alhaitham.” The crackling of the little campfire Lumine had put together is deafening, even louder than the ripples and waves of the river crashing onto the sand in front of them.

Naturally, Paimon speaks up first, though speaking is an understatement. “Alhaitham?! You mean that– that super mean Acting Grand Sage? The know-it-all? Can’t really care less about others? Condescending?”

“That’s a pretty big word there, Paimon–” Lumine cuts in.

“Hey!”

“See?” you respond, the smile on your face small, awkward, and bittersweet. “Things happened and well… I thought it’d be better if we stopped seeing each other.”

“You were seeing each other?!!”

“Paimon, stop!” Lumine interjects and shoots the floating fairy a disapproving glare.

You really wish you had some alcohol with you right now.

“Well…”

For the next several minutes, you provide a detailed summary of how you came to meet and learn more about Alhaitham, the nature of the budding relationship, how all your insecurities came to a head on that night, and how you ended up here. Lumine remains silent when you finish explaining everything, clearly thinking through all the information and trying to find the right words to say.

“You know,” she begins, “Alhaitham may be one of the most infuriatingly logical men that I’ve ever met. And a really good actor, too. Remind me to tell you the details of what he did when we rescued Nahida.”

“...I don’t think that makes me feel any better.”

“I’m just saying, but I also think you know by now that Alhaitham isn’t someone who does anything that isn’t for his own benefit, in some way.”

“Again, not helping.”

“What I’m trying to say is if he just wanted to get his dick wet, I’m sure there are plenty of other people who would agree to help out in much less time.”

To which, Lumine has a point. A very good point. But still you say, “He’s super picky though, I don’t think he’d just sleep with anyone regardless.”

“Which brings me to my original point: he picked you for a reason.”

“Because I’m easy?”

Lumine flicks your forehead before you can even blink, and with a decent amount of force as well. Your resulting indignant yelp pierces the atmosphere as you rub the sore spot. “What was that for?!”

“For being unreasonable. I’m trying to say that you must be special to him, that’s all.”

“... but what if he didn’t want to see me again after sleeping together? Sure, let’s say that I am ‘special’, heavy emphasis on my air quotes right now, but I want more, an actual relationship. How do I know that’s also what his end goal is?”

“You don’t,” Lumine affirms. “But there’s no use in wading through the what-ifs. You know what you want, and I think you’re allowed to communicate that to him, regardless of what he says.”

It’s hard to come to terms with the underlying implication that you’re being something of a coward, with not a whole lot of reason to be. You’re grateful for the open water before you, its lullaby comforting with the breeze it brings. Years of academic research have made you painfully familiar with the concept of trial and error, but to apply it to human relationships? It leaves much to be undesired. Five weeks, in the grand scheme of things, are certainly nothing more than a miniscule blip of time. But in your limited life with the overhanging unknowns of the world, it was a sizable enough amount of time filled with passive rumination and downward spirals.

“You’ll figure it out when you get there. But I’m warning you, we’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.”

You can’t help but laugh in relief. “That is completely okay, I promise you.”

Running away might as well be your newly developed skill at this point.

A few weeks later

“I mean, I could stay with you there in Fontaine, right? You know, extra set of hands and all?”

“You’re not getting out of this.”

“Lumiiinneee,” you whine, petulant pout making itself known.

“Just talk to him – whatever happens, happens. If it’s not meant to be, then it’s not meant to be. But you owe it to yourself to say your piece, as well as to him for an explanation that he needs to hear. Now go.”

She all but (gently) shoves you into the Akademiya, watching over you with an encouraging wave of her hand. When you’re less than five steps away from the door into the House of Daena, you look over your shoulder once more for any signs of escape. As expected, the Lumine-shaped obstacle stands firm in her spot.

You clutch your final report to your chest, mind racing with a thousand thoughts per second, and don’t even realize you’ve already made it to the elevator platform. And once it gives a mechanical shudder and starts to go up, you want to scream and simultaneously steal a glider to jump off and land safely back on the ground level.

Is it good or bad luck that no one seems to be around? Maybe he won’t be at his desk and you can just leave the report there and fucking bolt. Maybe it’s not even Alhaitham in the Grand Sage’s chair. Maybe the man is gone altogether and is somewhere in the desert looking at ancient runes.

Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore and has forgotten about you. Maybe he told himself to let bygones be bygones, and that you were simply another scholar in the Akademiya. No one special.

Your initial hopes of his coincidental absence are dashed as you walk up the stairs. His silver hair stands out among the sea of azure and viridian, and he doesn’t even bother to look up from the stack of papers in his hand. Not that you were a bull in a china shop by any means, but the man would even notice with his eyes closed if there was a fly on the complete opposite side of the office. Your heart is ready to burst from your chest with each shaky step, and too soon, you stand in front of his sprawling desk.

“My office hours will be ending in a few minutes,” he states in a matter-of-fact tone without looking at you. You risk a sharp inhale at the sound of his voice, an all too familiar mix of gentility and sternness. “If it’s something that requires more than that length of time, come back tomorrow.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck – “I’m just, um, turning in a research report?”

At the sound of your voice, Alhaitham doesn’t even bother to amuse himself. He’d much rather not look and not be disappointed, than to do so and become reacquainted with dashed hopes. “...And the necessary cover sheet is on top? Does it have your name, project number, and corresponding title?”

“Y-Yes.”

Still perusing through the paperwork in his hands, he frees one hand to point it at a basket on his far-right corner. “Leave it there. Your advisors and I will be reviewing it within the next two weeks.”

“Oh, o-okay.”

You do as instructed, but with each second that passes without any eye contact or direct acknowledgement of your presence, you begin to wonder if he’s purposely ignoring you. Or maybe he forgot about you entirely and wrote you off as a failed pursuit. Perhaps that would be the best-case scenario and you could hole up in your apartment for the rest of… eternity. Maybe. Lumine can come and scold you later and you can take it like a champ.

But your heart, ever so fickle and occasionally diabolical, plays one last card and causes you to stop at the top of the stairs. “Have a good night,” you muster out. “Thank you, Alhaitham.”

The rustling of his papers ceases as you turn and hurry down the steps, taking extra care to not trip over your feet. Just before you can activate the elevator, a frazzled “Y/N?” is called from above. With sweaty hands, a sullen heart, and a leadened brain, you nervously orient towards the scholar inhabiting your dreams, who stands on the edge of the platform above and peers down to confirm his suspicion. His stance looks as if he had leapt over his desk and sprinted at top speed towards you.

You’re not sure how to take it all in, how to take him in – the “feeble scholar”, for once, appears as such. If possible, his cheeks seem a little more sunken in, further accentuating the sharp edges of his jawline. His hair looks mussed, as if he’d run his hands through it several times too many. The cloak around his shoulders rests askew from his sudden movements.

But his eyes—

Those seafoam irises and amber pupils pierce through your soul, but not in an inquisitive and calculating manner. In fact, it’s quite the opposite – he looks unsure, disbelieving, and hesitant. To elicit such a reaction from this man should be recorded in the most prominent historical annals, but you do have to admit it’s a bad look on him.

When you open your mouth to say something, anything, the elevator begins its descent. Any words you had are wiped from your mind, and you do everything you can to maintain this staredown. Weeks ago, you couldn’t even begin to guess what this man would be feeling based on his eyes, but now? His heart is on his sleeve, and you can’t help the green envy in your veins at the possibility that others have seen him in such a vulnerable state.The constant battle between an illusional desire to be his everything and knowing that you never could and never should be, rages on.

You’re the first to look away. Sorry, Lumine, you think, as Alhaitham’s figure disappears from view. All you’re left with is the rotating orb above, spinning and spinning until it makes you sick to your stomach. You just want to get back to your apartment and start sweeping the dirt away, to return to some sense of normalcy before all of… this appeared. You never should’ve indulged in your whimsical desires.

Alhaitham hovers in a state of shock as he watches the elevator take you back down – after weeks of catching a glimpse of who he thinks is you at the cafe, hearing your voice in his head as he scribbles away on paperwork, or dreaming of escaping his duties to find you in Fontaine, he’s not sure if he really believes you were here or if it was some effective lucid dreaming. But the sudden pull, the impulsive need to just check the cover sheet when his name left your lips, was far too strong and he had dived right in without a second thought.

And there in your handwriting, in all its glory, was your name printed neatly at the bottom. One second, he was at his desk and the next, he was at the edge of the outer office ring for confirmation.

The last few minutes of his workday have never gone slower as he paces back and forth in front of his desk. He’s doing his best to stay calm and formulate a plan, but even that has become difficult for him. There are too many extraneous factors at play, several he can’t be sure of – did you meet someone new in Fontaine? Were you going to leave again?

Did you even want to see him?

You could’ve left without another word once your research paper landed in that return basket. He would’ve been none the wiser until he physically picked up the report, which probably wouldn’t have happened for another few days, what with all the cleaning up he’s trying to do before his resignation is official. All that lost time in between would have left him even more distraught.

But the fact that you had stopped and made a point to thank him, to call him out by name, means something. Like him, it seems you are just as unsure of where the two of you stand.

And that’s all he needs to move forward.

Granted, moving forward didn’t initially involve climbing up the fire escape ladder behind your apartment building.

With a takeout bag of your favorite foods from Lambad’s Tavern, he was originally going to knock on your front door like any other individual. But before his knuckles could rap against the Adhigama wood, he thought, why not check to see if you’re even home? That would eliminate the possibility of you seeing him through the peephole and then pretending you’re not home – or worse, you opening it and then slamming it back in his face.

His unparalleled logic led him to skip the ladder and jump onto the first floor. It’s not that he wouldn’t be able to climb it with one free hand – the food would’ve gotten messy with all the jostling around. He ignores the sound of laughing children as he ambles past, but allows the semblance of a grin to dawn his face when he hears, “Whoa, look at that mister!” Alhaitham looks above him as he climbs the next set of stairs, noticing a light peeking through the living room window. That’s one good sign, at least, because it means you’re home, right? He peers past the half-open curtains when he arrives at your floor. He’s just checking. Nothing suspicious or untoward. Yet all of that is scrapped— another deviation from his initial plan— when he sees you sitting on your couch, sorting through a pile of mail on your coffee table. With a mind of their own, his knuckles knock lightly against the glass and he can’t help but let a humorous snort slip out when your body jerked with a visceral startle, head whipping towards the source of your adrenaline spike.

You don’t need to verbally question his sudden appearance when it’s written all over your face. Your eyebrows are knitted and arched, mouth turned down in a slight frown, hands clenched in fists with visible tension and unease. “Alhaitham, what– I mean–”

He holds up the food behind the windowpane for you to see. “I wanted to bring you dinner since you probably don’t have anything prepared on your first night back.”

Without another word, you slide open the window, letting him clamber through as you take the bag from him. He retrieves it as you lock the window and yank the curtains together, setting it on the table away from a mound of what he presumes to be junk mail. You scramble for words and coherency as you search for clean plates and utensils, but the effort is fruitless. There’s a trapped shriek in your chest and you don’t know how to snuff it out.

Dinner is a quiet affair, save for some awkward small talk here and there. He makes it a point to give you extras, whether it be a little more mint cilantro or tamarind chutney for the samosas (despite it being his favorite) or more of the lamb from the biryani. Each little morsel pushes your heart further up your throat, further sending you into a downward spiral. Why is he so kind and caring when you had essentially kicked him out last time? Why is he going out of his way to make up for a wrong he never committed?

Alhaitham basks in your company, taking in every detail of your outward appearance. You seem skinnier than before, hair just a little bit longer. A few fresh, healing cuts on your hand stand out to him and he hopes they were all accidental and not intentionally created by another human being. There’s so much he wants to say and question, but for once he cannot find the right words. Rarely has he ever felt as though he was skating on paper-thin ice with someone – years of not caring or sparing thoughts for how others might perceive him lends nothing to resolve his state of incertitude. So the only way he can currently try to communicate is through actions, hence the extra foods and your favorite parts of them, making sure you have a usable napkin at all times, refilling your cup of water when it starts to look low, and more.

With a full belly, you sigh with satisfaction, a breath that appeases Alhaitham just the slightest bit. “That was good. Thank you for bringing it.”

“You’re welcome. Was the food in Fontaine not to your taste?”

You hum in thought. “A bit bland, honestly. Not as many spices are used in their foods like they are here.”

“Ah.”

The two of you sit silently for a few moments. You’re looking anywhere and at anything but him, your knee bouncing and hands wringing together. Is he trying to let you down easy? Soften the blow? What is his end goal?

His fingers tap the table in a silent rhythm, noticing that despite the small talk, the tension in the air is still viscous. He ignores the gnawing desire to hold your hand and squeeze it tight, to graze his thumb over those scabs and kiss them. He’s not ready to leave yet, which is why he juts his chin towards the only unopened bag on the table and says, “I also brought dessert. Would you care to have some now?”

No. Yes. I don’t know. I can think of something else I want for dessert but that’s not the point right now, is what runs through your head.

“Sure. What is it? I might have something to go with it.”

“It’s baklava.”

For him to remember that baklava from Pupusa Cafe is your preferred dessert when eating your favorite dishes is even more mind-boggling in this whole situation.

You stand on shaky legs and walk towards the pantry. “Does wine sound okay?”

Alhaitham ponders your last mutual experience with alcohol, which had ended in a disaster, even if he knew full well that it wasn’t a cause by any means; an unintended catalyst. As long as neither overindulged, it would be harmless. Right?

So he nods. “That sounds good.”

You return with a corkscrew opener, two stemless wine glasses, and one of your better bottles of aged wine. Alhaitham remains silent as he takes the opener from you and drives it into the cork, hand twisting the top knob with ease. You feel shameless in the way you stare at his arms, watching his muscles flex. The veins in his hand become more visible and you can see the tension in his forearm through his arm guards, all the more when he pushes the levers closed and wiggles the cork out of its confines. He takes good care to tactfully remove the cork and place it on the table, and pours a glass for you first.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you take it from him with both hands, ignoring the way his fingers seem to linger after making contact with yours. You portion out the baklava as he pours a glass for himself and he voices his gratitude in turn.

As you nibble on the delicacy, the silence weighs heavily on your chest, both a burden and a source of comfort. “Did you find everything you needed in Fontaine for your research?” he asks, once again attempting to make some neutral conversation. Alhaitham has never been one for sweets, but he’s willing to eat it for and with you. The cafe’s baklava is one of few desserts he can handle, as it’s not as sickeningly sweet as some other places’ when they’ve added too much syrup.

You chew slowly as you think of your answer. “I think so. I feel pretty good about my report.”

“I’ll be sure to read it soon,” he responds. After all, he is a pretty quick reader, and with the dwindling number of research project applications, he can efficiently get through the other reports to make sure he reviews yours before he goes back to being the Scribe.

“You know, there’s no need to rush on my account,” you say. Honestly, that’s the last thing you need because it would confirm your worst fears and assumptions. Everything discussed with Lumine would’ve been tossed violently out the window, and you so badly don’t want it to manifest.

“...I won’t,” he assures you. Alhaitham understands your research paper needs to be treated like every other one passing through the Akademiya, especially if he is going to be one of the formal reviewers.

You feel your lungs losing air, your heart rate soaring through the roof. With a stroke of luck, your glasses of wine are finished off and the plates hold nothing but crumbs, which provides a perfect excuse for you to get up and get away.

“I’m gonna wash the dishes,” you announce, voice doing little to hide how nervous and shaky you’re feeling. It’s another miracle that you don’t drop anything on the trek from the dining table to the sink as you wonder if you’ve killed any chance of being with Alhaitham. Where was the confidence you possessed when you first met the man?

Even being mere meters away from him becomes painful. His presence alone provides a sense of security, strong and silent. The lack of warmth, the string between you two pulled taut, ignites an obdurate yearning – the very same yearning experienced when you spent days avoiding the man prior to your departure for Fontaine. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, as they all say, and there certainly was some merit to it.

The silence remains suffocating, in some ways, but also comforts you with its deep pressure, distracting you enough that you fail to notice Alhaitham moving around. He removes his cloak and earpieces, draping them neatly over the couch armrest before he comes to stand next to you at the sink. He grabs a towel and is ready to dry when you’re done washing the dishes. Your muscles begin to relax, that earlier frost of loneliness gradually dissipating with his presence nearby. He dries everything with the utmost care and lines them up neatly as you hand them over, and you ignore the little brushes of his fingers against yours with each relinquished plate. You can’t help but wonder if he can feel the heat emanating from your cheeks because honestly, you feel like your face is on fire.

Alhaitham finishes drying off the last item – the second stemless wine glass – and turns to lean his back against the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He waits as you rinse down the sink and passes you the towel to dry off your hands. Your timid smile leaves him hopeful that you’re not visibly shying away from him— not visibly, at least. Seconds pass, and now there is nothing left for you to do or keep yourself busy. He waits for you to gather your bearings and settle to show that you’re ready to talk about… whatever this is.

Those haunting irises suddenly meet his with an alarming amount of determination, holding steadfast and searching his for something, anything. He can’t bear to lose and look away, not that he wants to. Yet you remain quiet, and Alhaitham leans into his impulses.

With firm, sure hands, he pulls you toward his original spot and lifts you up just enough so that you’re sitting on the counter. Alhaitham plants them by your waist and bends down to be level with your gaze, which now holds hints of fear and surprise. They’re open wide, your pupils slowly dilating, and he catches a glimpse of your fingers curling around the edges of the counter. He so badly wants to cradle your face in his hands, to feel your physical presence and prove to himself that you’re really here before him. But that is intimacy he hasn’t quite been granted yet and he can’t mess this up. He must’ve done something wrong the last time he was here, and he most certainly doesn’t want to risk the same outcome again.

“I like you,” he proclaims with a resolute tone. Alhaitham has always hated beating around the bush when unnecessary, and at this point he needs it said out loud for you to know. “I have been attracted to you since the moment we met, and I used to believe that it was purely a biological response. But then I wanted to know more about you. I wanted to learn more about who you are and how your mind works. To be quite honest, I can’t stand the thought of anyone else being in my position right now. I will not hide the fact that I am selfish and want you all for myself, if you would have me.”

You are struggling so hard to keep the smile off your face, your mouth pursing while your teeth dig into the inside of your bottom lip. Three months ago, you would never have seen this coming, and you would have laughed in anyone’s face if they had suggested it.

“If you need time, I can wait. I am not always the most patient person, but for you, I am willing to do so. And–”

“I was worried that you wouldn’t want to see me again after having sex,” you interject and confess. The embarrassment of your thoughts and actions quickly becomes a heavy weight in your chest. Your nerves strain to get the better of you and shut you down before saying more, but you force yourself to push past them. Alhaitham provided you with honesty and transparency, and he deserves the same from you. “We had so much tension between us and I was worried that once it was all resolved, you wouldn’t feel the need to see me again.”

Alhaitham takes a moment to process your words, but he can still see the tension in your shoulders. You won’t meet his gaze as you look past him or at other parts of his body. “There’s something else, is there not?”

You look down at your hands in your lap, your fingers intertwined and fingertips applying pressure where they land. With how forthcoming he has been, you owe it to him to extend the same courtesy, despite how silly it feels now.

“I couldn’t understand why you would even like me,” you say, voice soft and barely audible in the silence. You’re unable to mask the melancholy in your tone when you remember how it felt to internally question his affections and assume the worst. A quiet chuckle slips past your lips, but it’s derisive and bittersweet. “I’m just another scholar and you— you were the Scribe and later Acting Grand Sage. I thought maybe people would accuse me of… providing sexual favors, to put it lightly, if you showed me any leniency or favoritism in my academic career.”

The back of your knuckles brush against his cheek as you lift your head up to take him in. “You could have anyone in the world and you deserve nothing but the best. So why me?”

“I would need a few all-nighters and several pieces of paper to pen down every reason why.”

His quick reasoning with all indicators of certainty – his tone, the lack of any dishonesty in his eyes, the way he holds your eye contact – takes you for a loop. You’re only able to let out a soft “oh” as you let the implications of his words swim in your brain, leaving you helpless to find a suitable response. How do you follow up on an answer like that?

When he feels your fingers slipping down his jawline, he stops it with his own to press his cheek into your palm. “If it provides you any comfort, I will no longer be the Acting Grand Sage by next week. You know how long I’ve waited for them to process and approve of my resignation. And as the Scribe… it still does not matter. People who would assume something so salacious are simply capitalizing on their own insecurities, and they do not deserve a second of your time or an ounce of room in your thoughts. I do my best to exercise fairness and reason in all matters for the Akademiya, and even as my partner you would not be safe from that.

“I’ve never shied away from telling you how things are and you know this. I can ensure you would not earn any favoritism or leniency within the boundaries of the Akademiya, should my presence be involved in your research.”

The smirk that creeps up at the corner of his lips ignites a small flame in your belly – thrill and heat and trepidation all melding together. “Now, outside of those boundaries, it’s a different matter. If I may pry once more, what is your answer?”

Liquid fire pumps from your heart and into your veins, further fueling the heat in your core. Just as it dips dangerously lower, so does your hand, and the other joins in lightly scraping your nails down his abdomen. You feel him jump beneath your touch and relish in the sound of his swallow, and how his breath hitches when your fingertips dip into the band of his pants. They tug him forward until he’s standing between your thighs, just centimeters of nothingness between you two. Even as close as he is, Alhaitham can’t help but think there’s still too much space unoccupied.

Your eyes scream, beseeching him to understand your actions and for him to respond in kind. It can only mean one thing, but he wants to hear those words. He wants it engraved in his memories for the rest of time, despite the desperation to give in and give you both what you desire and need. Alhaitham grasps your chin between his thumb and curled index finger, leaning forward closer and closer until his lips barely touch yours.

“Use your words.”

Arousal seeps through your underwear as the subdued tenor of his voice sends shivers down your spine. Wholly unfair, this man is. Devilish, demanding, teasing, controlling – but most of all, he is yours.

“Please let me have you, if you will have me,” you whisper against his lips, eyelashes fluttering closed at the faint touch.

No sooner when you are greeted by darkness does he fully slot his mouth against yours, hands gripping tightly on your hips to pull you against him. A groan slips past and into you because gods, he’s missed this so much. After nights of waking up with the ghost of your kisses, he never wants this to end and longs for a reality where time can stop and he can take his sweet, sweet time to worship every millimeter of your body with his lips, and then some. Excitement electrifies his whole body when you reciprocate his desire ounce for ounce, and even more so when you let out a pretty little whine, just for him.

When he pulls back for a chance to breathe, he doesn’t move far. “Good girl,” he praises so sweetly, the words washing over you in something akin to pride for eliciting his approval and pleasing him. Alhaitham slides the tip of his nose against yours, moving to kiss your forehead, then your cheeks, your jawline, and the pulse point on your neck. Even the slightest pressure has you tilting your head to the side, granting him permission and room to do as he pleases. Alhaitham bides his time to press whispers of kisses onto your skin until he nips a sensitive spot. A sharp inhale pierces through the kitchen when he sucks on the patch of skin caught between his teeth, taking the utmost care to break the little capillaries underneath. He wants you to experience his phantom touches on these spots in the hours when he’s away from you, a constant reminder that you are his and his alone.

Your fingers dig into Alhaitham’s silver locks, torn between pressing him further into your neck and pulling him away. “Haitham,” you plead and tug on his strands, which only prompts an even harsher abrasion from him. “Wanna kiss you.” Your voice is breathy, and you feel as if you’re on the verge of tears. Who is he to deny such a reasonable request?

Though instead, he pulls you off the counter and rushes to your bedroom with you in tow, granting your wish as soon as you enter. The back of his knees hit the foot of your bed and Alhaitham drags you with him when he sits on top of your blankets. Despite your eagerness to clamber over and straddle him, he disapproves when you attempt to exercise a modicum of control over the situation by leveraging some height over him, utilizing gravity to lean into his embrace and kisses. His palms slide up your thighs with reverence until they dig into the crevice of your hips and yank them down. To have you pressed fully against him is most certainly a blessing, and there’s no way you don’t feel his growing arousal against yours.

When he feels his bottom lip stuck between your teeth, Alhaitham smiles. It still seems you’re not fully understanding the position you’re in. Perhaps, he might need to remind you of just who exactly is succumbing to who.

You keen when his hands dip underneath your shirt to draw meaningless patterns into your waist, but also to make his mark as he holds tight enough that you think you would feel some internal bruising tomorrow. They dance higher and higher, until they meet the bottom seam of your bra, and you nearly choke with the arousal suffocating your lungs.

“Can I?” Alhaitham almost begs, but watches for any sign of hesitation.

“Yes,” you breathe back. You lift your arms up, waiting with thinning patience, and he wastes no time in following through, tossing the shirt to the side with one hand as the other busies to unhook the metal clasp of your bra. Soon enough, your upper body is bare for him to see, to touch, to love – and his breath is taken away because you are so, so beautiful; perfect breasts with hardened nipples, an empty canvas all for him. He made a mistake last time for not seeing them properly, having been too focused on the way they felt against his chest instead.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs. His subsequent scoff feels derisive, sardonic, self-destructive, and his thumbs ghost over your areolas. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous – this is unfair.”

“You’re the one who’s unfair,” you retaliate with a shaky breath as you nearly tear off his shirt. One look at his muscular and toned frame, and it takes everything to stop the drool from spilling past your lips. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Be careful,” he warns, his fingers digging into the flesh just underneath your breasts. Alhaitham holds onto you as he scoots further back onto the bed, and once he deems there’s enough room, he rolls over until he’s hovering above you, panting and hair splayed and lips swollen. “I’m just a feeble scholar.”

When you roll your eyes with an excessive amount of sass, he dips down to capture your right nipple in his mouth and gives a harsh suck as punishment, satisfied when all defiance on your face morphs into pleasure. Pretty, responsive, little angel, all for him, so sweet, so delicate, so adorable when your spine arches into his mouth and continues to suspend itself as he pays his respects to your other breast. You feel your conscience become fuzzier and fuzzier, dissolving into mush as the tendrils of overstimulation begin to grow, and once again, you find yourself torn between wanting to let him continue and wanting him to stop.

He decides to grant you some mercy when you can’t help but twitch and shy away. Alhaitham’s primal desires begin to crest and wash away any rationale, desperate to keep the taste and feel of your skin between his lips and on his tongue. He doesn’t quite understand this newfound desire to nip and bite, but all he knows is that when he does, his arousal pulses and nearly threatens to break past the seam of his pants. Alhaitham moves lower, lower, ghosting past your stomach, nudging past the band of your bottoms and underwear to tug them down all the way. Those are thrown out of view and he finally, finally, gets to continue from where he last left off, taking no time to push your legs away towards your chest and give a lascivious lick up the length of your cunt. The tip of his tongue meets your clit at the end of its journey, and he firmly holds you down when your hips buck into his mouth as it circles the nub.

It’s game over when he takes it fully in his mouth.

Your hands twist themselves once more into his silver hair, expletives slipping off your tongue as you chase your high. You feel your pussy clench around nothing the higher you climb, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter. He eats you out like a man starved, enthusiasm unveiled and clear. His passion unbridled and sending you further into the clouds, you feel tears in your eyes begin to well up from sheer bliss, so sensitive and so unbelievably unprepared for everything this man was going to give you tonight. “Haitham,” you cry over and over, his name a mantra and prayer.

When he leans back, you catch a glimpse of the sheen on his chin and the way his eyes remain focused on your arousal, pupils blown. “You taste so good,” he compliments, his voice somehow having dropped an octave lower. “Could eat you out for hours. So good for me, fuck.” It’s dangerous how much you love to hear him curse, knowing that you are the reason why. The rational, feeble, well-spoken scholar, his prose extending to situations such as now, is almost reduced to such crude and filthy vocabulary.

Alhaitham would need to be blind to miss your sticky precum practically spilling from your core after what he said. It’d be a shame to let any of it go to waste, he muses, as he drags his tongue up the length of your cunt and pays attention to your clit again. He watches for every reaction, what makes you tug him closer, what makes your body twitch and convulse, what causes the shakiest exhales from your lungs, what contributes to your squeals and cries – he wants you to get a taste of just how unhinged he becomes in your presence.

Each moment of friction, so wet and slick, against your core seems to send you further and further into oblivion. Tears overflow when your heart bursts and Alhaitham doesn’t miss them – the sheen sliding down the sides of your face shines in the moonlight and he knows there is no reason to fear you’re in pain. He drinks in your moans and feels your fingers tangle further in his silver strands, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, your hips with a mind of their own as you grind against his tongue and nose to chase your release. Alhaitham pays no mind to the way his cock twitches once more in his pants or the unmistakable wet spot that’s formed from his own precum.

The coil in your abdomen wounds tighter and tighter. There is nothing on your mind but the man between your legs and your impending orgasm, one with an intensity you haven’t experienced in ages. “ ‘m close,” you gasp and meet his burning gaze. “Please, wanna cum – yes – please, sir–”

How he doesn’t cum in his pants at the title is beyond his comprehension, but the stroke to his ego is welcoming, to say the least. Alhaitham never felt any type of way when others addressed him as so, sometimes annoyed even, but from you? It is everything. A verbal indication of relinquishing your power to him, your existence at its highest vulnerability, the underlying respect, the implicit trust hidden between three letters – only has him pushing down harder against your thighs, leaving no room for you to fight. The resolve and determination to have you cum on his tongue only increases and his thoughts plunder further into hell. Cum for me, cum on my tongue, let me taste your release that I give you, so fucking addictive – his silent commands painted on your tight bundle of nerves.

With Alhaitham exercising a dizzyingly sinful strength against you, leaving you helpless and defenseless, you let yourself succumb as your heart rate increases. Your breathy warnings and pleas, the oh fuck!s, the whimpering sir!s, confessions of love on the tip of your tongue – you have one minute, moment of clarity when your body freezes, and the coil snaps.

You don’t think you’ve ever cum so hard before, reality-shattering, nerves on overdrive, your body trembling beneath his palms as you ride out the pleasure for as long as you can. The quiet scream from your lungs is inevitable as it dissolves into sobs and Alhaithm follows you when your hips buck. There’s not enough oxygen for you and you can feel the visceral clenching of your abdomen as you fight for air and some semblance of control again – but that flies out the window when, for the first time tonight, Alhaitham slides his tongue inside your quivering cunt.

Said Scribe cannot help but groan, and he wishes he’d done this earlier. To feel your creamy walls squeeze as his taste buds slide amongst them, your keening ringing in his ears, the shaking of your thighs a prisoner between his fingers, the intoxicating taste of your cum – all of it is more than he could have ever dreamed of. Right where he wants you, and all his, his, his.

The incessant tugging of his hair tells him to stop for now, as much as he doesn’t want to. If it were up to him, he’d have you cumming on his tongue for hours, his hard cock be damned. But your convulsions of overstimulation manage to generate the slightest bit of sympathy and he laments when pulling away. His eyes hone in on the way your pussy contracts around nothing, almost begging for something to fill you again. “Good girl,” he praises, tenor delicate and charming, as he rubs gentle circles on your abdomen in an attempt to ground you. There are stars in your eyes, and he waits for you to come back to him.

You barely register Alhaitham’s hand on your body as you stare up at the ceiling, brain and soul somewhat disconnected due to the high of your orgasm. So good to me, your thoughts coo. Haitham, sir, how can I show my gratitude to him?

“Y/N,” and at last, you make eye contact with him. He preens at the blissed out look on your face and moves forward until he’s lying next to you, his weight supported on one arm while the other brushes away your baby hairs. A dreamy smile graces your lips, and he can’t help but lean forward for a soft kiss. Languid, sensual, pliant – several minutes fly by as you bask in each other’s presence until the need for more begins to bloom again. Alhaitham lets out a chuckle when he feels your hand wandering down his frame until it rests on his crotch. Making out with you has kept him semi-hard, and he’s happy you’re taking the initiative. Not that you’re in control, by any means, but it’s cute that you might think so.

Your mind reels from just how big he feels beneath your palm. You can’t deny the times when you’ve sneaked glances at his crotch, his tight pants outlining a slight bulge from day to day – but you never thought your fingers would be splayed so far apart, and you just know they would struggle to meet when gripping his length. Your whines reach his ears as you fumble with the clasp above the zipper, and Alhaitham is so kind, kind enough to take over and do it for you. Seconds later, his pants and underwear join the pile of forgotten clothes, and you immediately look down at what you’ve been waiting for.

The instant pooling of saliva in your mouth is embarrassing, shame and lust spilling into your chest and through your veins. Alhaitham’s cock is so beautiful, just like the rest of him, and you’ve never wanted something in your mouth so bad. It twitches under your reverent gaze, and the tip glistens with his precum. Even the noticeable veins drawn along his length are beautiful, and his balls seem to be engorged, heavy with cum. You prove your earlier hypothesis when you hold it in your hand, and your fingers truly do not meet around the circumference. A gush of slick leaks and paints your inner thighs, your hand seemingly tiny in comparison as you slowly stroke him.

Alhaitham hisses at your touch, so cold against the heat of his cock. There’s a passing thought of wanting to keep that fawning look on your face at all times, the metaphorical hearts in your eyes with his dick in your hand. In a moment of weakness, the thought begins to spiral into darker fantasies, how to keep you hooked and dependent on him, his cock, his mouth, his touch. A flash of a daydream crosses by of him sitting in his office chair, you on your knees between his legs, his shaft bullied deep in your throat as you keep it warm for him, drool and spit spilling from the corner of your lips, so submissive and desperate for him to fuck your face–

Your thumb glosses over his frenulum and he is ripped from his reverie. At risk of cumming too quickly, he thinks of how to keep your soft hands away for now. What can he use? How can he restrict you?

Ah.

Confused whimpers follow after him when he abruptly stands up from your bed and walks over to the pile of discarded clothes. You miss the warmth of his body next to you, goosebumps from the sudden chill rising on your skin. But before you can begin to chase after him, he returns to sit on the bed and beckons for you to sit up for him.

He loves how willing you are to obey him, your eyes wide and a little awestruck as you follow his gesture – almost as if he were your puppeteer. Alhaitham holds out his hands in front of him, palms facing the ceiling, and you match the posture with intrigue painted across your face. As you wait, clarification comes to you when he reveals the patterned, teal sash that usually encompasses his hips. Slow, deliberate movements as he wraps the cloth around your wrists (in case you don’t want it because he would never force you to do anything you were uncomfortable with), indicate this uncharted territory. And when the tie is made and the knot is pulled tight, you look up at him.

“Is this okay?” He asks. When you give a mute nod, he clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Words, Y/N.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “Yes, sir, it’s okay.”

Alhaitham watches as you lay back until your head meets the pillow, and your bound wrists lay prettily above your head. Your constrained and exposed body greets him. He sees your eyes strain to catch another glance at his cock, and the smirk on his lips is nothing but smug as he gives it a few quick pumps as a gift to you.

“Can you come here?” You plead because you know there’s no room to make any demands, and it’s his turn to be curious. Nevertheless, he resumes his original position by your side, but you shake your head. You can tell he doesn’t know what’s happening, but you are feeling shameless and powerless, at the mercy of this man, and you want him to really, really, drive that point deeper.

“Can you…straddle me? Like above my chest though?”

If this is going where Alhaitham thinks it’s going, he might just abandon the Akademiya altogether, whisk you away to his house, kick out Kaveh and have him live in your apartment instead, and keep his own doors locked for eternity. He does as you ask as he thrums in excitement, his cock weighty and leaking when you’re satisfied with where he is.

Time slows to a crawl as he watches you lift your head up with your pretty mouth open and take the tip of his cock between your glossy lips.

The tight heat is maddening, a strangled “fuck” falling off his tongue, and you push forward to take more of his length in your mouth. So dutiful and loyal, you have proven yourself, as you suck his cock with your eyes closed and moans vibrating around him. Given certain physical limitations, there’s only so much you can take in, which is where he believes it’s his time to act his part. He places a hand on the back of your skull to provide you some relief, but also to sink deeper down your throat. Naturally, you fall back until it’s just the head between your lips again, but he is right there to drag you back towards him and fill your depraved mouth.

“Look at you,” he hisses, controlling your pace. Such a good little fucktoy, no? “Who knew you would want my cock so badly? For me to sit on top and watch as you struggle to even take half of it in your mouth? I don’t think you have any idea of what you’ve started. Your lips are stretched so wide, but just wide enough for me to fit perfectly in between them, like it was made for me. Maybe that’s what it is.” His perverse thoughts run wild without any composure or filter, and he is unable to hold it in. “You were made for me and my cock, and– oh fuck – it seems like you love the idea of being my personal cocksleeve.”

Your eagerness to please him increases as you strain to take more in, his tip slipping into and catching the back of your throat. The sound of you choking on his cock rings in your ears, sending you further and further into oblivion. Every word from Alhaitham sounds true, and he’s right – right that maybe you were specifically made for him, his own blessing from the Archons, and right that you deeply, painfully, love the idea of letting him use you as he wishes. A garbled cry, followed by more sticky release dripping from your cunt, doesn’t go unnoticed when his voice sounds ragged on the word “cocksleeve.” It’s a lascivious tone of accord and approval, and your tears flow when he pulls you as far down his length as your quenched throat allows, your chained wrists resting atop your skull, and he keeps you there.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” He asks with a teasing lilt in his voice. “I have no objections to fully commit to being yours, your sir. But you must understand I expect the same commitment in return. This cock is yours,” Alhaitham promises, relishing in your muffled whimper of agreement. “And you are mine. My,” – a pause – “personal, depraved, slut.”

At first, he worries he might have gone too far with such a derogatory term, but they are all dashed aside when he watches your eyelids flutter closed and eyes roll into the back of your head. A long whine sends him into overdrive, and even more so when you try to fit more of his cock down your throat. Expletives slip from his tongue as he pulls you away completely, a tendril of saliva connecting your lips to his tip, your mouth still wide open while gasping for air. He sees your own tongue peek out and rest on your bottom lip, pliant and waiting for him to return.

Alhaitham lets go of your skull and watches you fall back to your pillow. He moves your tied hands above and over your head until they settle right above your belly button. The position allows him to trap your arms beneath him and move just a little further up the bed for the bottom half of his length to weigh heavily on your eager mouth. It remains open as he drags his shaft along your tongue, teasing you by slipping the head of his cock in your mouth. Your lips immediately close around it, but they are no match for when he pulls away, and you’re left empty once again.

“Truly a cockslut,” he chides as his hand takes a hold of his length and smacks it against your tongue. “You’ll take everything I give you, won’t you?” And he smirks when you nod, still beckoning, still waiting. “You’ve done well for me so far. Perhaps I should give you a gift.”

There’s little time to regain your senses when he shoves his length in until it hits the back of your throat once more and grabs onto your headboard. Just that angle gives him enough leverage to fuck your face as he pleases.

“If your mouth is this tight, I can only imagine what your cunt will feel like on my cock,” he grits out. Your brain goes numb as you take it all in, content and satisfied to please Alhaitham. You focus on making sure your teeth don’t drag against his skin, tongue swiping patterns and circles around his cock when possible. “I’ll need to take my time stretching out your tiny pussy, won’t I? Fuck, need to make it fit inside you. Isn’t that right?”

Alhaitham pretends to be dissatisfied with your moan, all garbled and thick with drool. “How many times do I need to tell you to use your words?” He teases, knowing full well there’s no way for you to form any right now. But a wicked, joyous laugh rings in your ears when he can tell you’re attempting to do it anyways. It goes straight down his dick and into his balls, and as they tighten further, he knows he’s close.

You don’t know how it’s possible for him to grow any thicker, but somehow it happens when his pace increases, and he tells you, “I’m going to cum, okay? Going to give you all my cum, make you my cumslut. You want to be my cumslut, you’re doing so well, so perfect, letting me fuck your mouth. Shit, cumming, cumming –!”

At the very last second, he pulls out and furiously pumps his cock, shifting back just in time for his cum to paint your breasts. “Fuck!” He growls and rides out the high until there’s nothing left to give you, blinding light beneath his eyelids before he snaps them open so he can watch you become covered by his release. Viscous, white ropes paint over you, some even landing on your cheek and neck. His chest heaves and his eyes remain unfocused from the fog in his brain.

That is, until he watches you swipe his cum from your neck with your fingers before it drips onto the bed, and place them in your mouth. Your sigh screams content as you lick them clean, and as far as he can tell, you’re enjoying the taste of him – as if he was the one to sate your thirst rather than the other way around. In a trance, he joins you in your meal by feeding you more with his own appendages, and his dick returns to half-mast once all the cum is visibly gone and slid down your throat.

“Thank you for your cum,” you say, your voice dreamy and euphoric. Alhaitham pulls you by your bound wrists again until you’re sitting up close enough, and buries his head into your shoulder, embedding his own kisses of gratitude into your skin. It doesn’t matter that there’s dried spit on your chin and your hair is a mess – you’re still so incredibly stunning to him.

To look into your eyes, to cradle your face in his palm, to ghost his thumb over your cheekbone, how lucky he is to be in a position to even ask you, “Was that okay?”

“Very,” you smile, unabashed and clearly happy with everything that had just happened. A small giggle slips out as well.

“Good,” he murmurs after kissing your forehead. “Would you be open to one more round? It seems I haven’t gotten enough of you.”

You see the evidence of his claims, how his cock gradually grows and rises under your watchful stare. His earlier words of needing to stretch you out before he can fuck you play in your head, and they remind you of just how wet you are. Still tied up, you scoot back away from him until you can stretch your legs out, parted to reveal what you so desperately wanted to touch as his dick was lodged in your mouth. Alhaitham’s pupils dilate and zero in on the mess between your thighs, and he chases after you to spread your legs farther.

“You became this wet from me fucking your mouth?” His fingers slide against the folds of your puffy cunt, your clit peeking out and swollen. “Tsk, all this pre gone to waste,” and you whimper when his nails barely graze that bundle of nerves, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. There’s no resistance when he works his middle finger inside you and your breath hitches. He turns his wrist as he fingers you, creating more and more arousal coursing through your veins. Alhaitham is proud that one finger of his affects you so. You whine and reach for him with grabby hands, managing to latch onto his wrist so he can keep his appendages buried inside you. “My my,” he teases, and his fingers curl, searching and searching until his fingertip taps against the exact spot that makes your back arch.

“You’re so eager to be filled,” Alhaitham taunts as he lubes up his ring finger with your slick. You feel even tighter when it slips in with his middle finger, and he finds that spot again in no time, already having memorized where it is. “You don’t have my permission to cum yet,” he warns, a decision just made when your walls are really beginning to clench around him.

“B-but–”

A third finger joins in, cutting you off from any protesting. “You either cum on my cock or not at all,” he offers and you think it’s beyond cruel. Why can’t you cum on his fingers and his cock?

With every last thread of your existence, you stamp down the growing desire to cum again. It feels like hours have passed, your sanity barely intact, when Alhaitham hums, just loud enough to be heard amongst your moans and whines. “I’m beginning to question whether I truly am too big for you,” he contemplates out loud. “What do you think, Y/N?”

It’s so hard to answer his question when you’re using everything else inside you to not break around his fingers. The depraved squelching of your slick only adds fuel to the fire in your core, and you’re trying to think, you really are–

The friction ceases, and before you can even address it, there’s a light, punishing slap across your clit. “Fuck,” you whimper, throat dry.

“Answer my question. Do you think I might not fit inside you?”

You know what answer he’s looking for. You know he wants you to surrender to his hidden intentions, that, “It doesn’t matter,” and you swallow. “I will…make it fit.”

In turn, he removes his fingers with care, but leaves you horribly empty with the void expanding into your chest. “Do you have a condom?” Alhaitham asks while looking around your bedroom.

“The bottom drawer on the right in the bathroom.”

Your sir leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your stomach. “I will return soon.”

For the seconds that you try to catch your breath, to calm your beating heart, to ignore the vacuity between your legs, you realize just where you are and who you’re with. You haven’t had much of a clear mind since the second he knocked on your window, caught up in the whirlwind of your nerves and paranoia – and then to have it turned on its head where you now lay in your bed, free of any prior anxiety, and drown in your lust.

Alhaitham wanders back into your room, focused on the package in his hand. Shameless and perverse, your eyes drink in his length, bobbing with each step. Even you’re beginning to doubt your ability to take him all in, but the anticipation, the threads of excitement that you may be filled again clouds over everything else.

“Hold your legs for me,” he commands gently, and you obey once he unties the sash around your wrists. Your arms hook beneath your knees so that everything is displayed and exposed to him. He sets the condom to the side when he shuffles closer so his hips meet the bottom of your thighs. Your breath hitches when he presses his cock onto your abdomen, and it pleases both of you so much to see that his tip just about reaches your belly button. “Look at how deep it’ll be inside you,” he coos, your whine following. “But it’s okay if you can’t take it all, you can’t help it that your little cunt is so tight.”

There’s a twinge of faux disappointment in his words. As if on instinct, you shake your head in vehement disagreement. “I’ll make it fit, sir, I promise,” you gasp and pull your legs closer to you. “We have to make it fit.”

“Mmm, my eager cocksleeve,” he responds with mirth, his regales washing away the panic from your system. You wait with bated breath as he grinds the underside of his entire length against your glistening folds, purposely catching onto your clit when possible. You’re not sure how much longer you can stand the torture, becoming wetter and wetter with each glide. “The color system is okay to check in with you?”

“Yes.”

He nods and leans back so the tip of his cock is just outside your entrance. His fingers roll and stretch the condom down his length. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to tear his gaze away from your core so he can obtain your consent to start, and the determined nod he receives sets his heart aflame.

A sinful perversion enters his mind as he watches your messy cunt split open and stretch over the head of his cock. He thinks about the future and wonders when the day will be for you to be in his lap and sink down his cock with no hesitation. His thumbs spread your folds further apart so he can get a better look, his lustful illusions from many lonely nights finally coming into play. Your breathy gasp when the head pops in is alluring, and he craves more of it. That perversion echoes its lack of satisfaction, that this is not enough, and he needs it all. Pride fills his chest as you take the first few inches with no problem, trying to take deep breaths as he continues to bully his way into your pussy.

Though internally, your mind is on the verge of breaking from how thick Alhaitham is. The emptiness from earlier has long been fulfilled, and you take a look to see that he’s barely fit half oh him inside you, and you already feel so full.

You were made for me.

I was made for him, you remind yourself, rationality thrown out the window because serving Alhaitham is all that matters in this moment. He’s giving you his cock, taking his time for you, providing a subtle reminder of just who you will belong to from here on out. Alhaitham has been so kind to you, you think. The least you could do is to be his good little slut, so eager and always yearning for him.

“You’re doing so well,” Alhaitham praises, though his voice chokes. You’re terribly tight around him, so much so that he wonders if he would even be able to pull out once he’s buried all of himself inside you. It wouldn’t be much of a problem, he thinks, to have you stuck on his cock for eternity, fucked dumb with nothing on your mind but him and pleasure. His hand puts the slightest pressure on your abdomen, but it’s enough for you to break with an “oh!”

“Fuck, I can almost feel myself inside you,” he marvels. “Color?”

It takes you a few seconds to process his question. “Green,” falls off your tongue with a whimper. But the bit of hesitation is enough for Alhaitham to stop in his tracks.

“Y/N, look at me.”

A dreamy hum on your lips, your blown out eyes meet his, and he realizes how far gone you are. “We can stop, it’s okay if we do.” But that may have been the wrong thing to say because your face falls, tears prickling your eyes. “I can do it,” you sniffle. “Please, sir.”

There is no way for him to remain unaffected by the way you address him, but he ensures to take extra care for the last few inches.

“You’re doing so well, taking all of me in. You’re keeping your promise, I’m so proud of you,” Alhaitham coos. The bottom of his shaft is just a little bit thicker, and you let out a happy squeal when your cunt stretches as much as it can to accommodate him. His tip barely grazes your cervix, and through your floaty thoughts, you almost wish it was deeper. The groan from Alhaitham as he bottoms out provides you comfort. It can only mean that you’re making him feel good, and that you did manage to have him fit inside you. So pleased with yourself, your pussy clenches around him and coaxes for more, for his cum.

If Alhaitham didn’t have better control of himself, he would’ve cum right then and there. Buried deep inside you, warm velvety walls sucking him in – it’s hard to believe that this is really happening. The person he loves is in his arms, joined with him in the most intimate way known to mankind. He never wants to leave you, leave this, yet his cock begs for friction. Your adorable whine of protest as he slides out a couple inches beckons him to return, and return he does as you let out a sound of pure satisfaction.

“Loveyou,” your words slurred together and fuzzy. “Love, love your cock, please, wan’ more, please?”

Archons, how are you so perfect for him? Alhaitham sets a steady, moderate pace and focuses on you, ensuring that you’re okay and pleased. It seems there’s a permanent grin on your face, even when you gasp or scream, and he’s determined to keep it there. When you seem completely accustomed to his pace, his strokes become longer and more indulgent. “Fuck,” you cry each time he fills you up with more and more of his cock with each stroke. His thumbs rub circles into your clit and drive you closer to your peak – you don’t know if you’re ready to cum yet, or if you want this to end. You don’t, but you’re so close–!

“Such a good girl for me – your little cunny was really made for my cock. There’s no one else for me, just you, pretty girl,” he breathes, seeing the hesitation on your face as your walls clench tighter than before. “I know you’re gonna cum soon, I want to see you cum on my cock. Can you do that for me?”

Anything he asks for, you would go to great lengths to give him what he wants. So if he wants you to cum, then you have to. You nod with a pout on your face, but Alhaitham leans forward, pushing your legs back further as he reaches to kiss the pout away. “That’s my good girl, so perfect.”

He pulls out completely, but why?

Alhaithm grabs and maintains eye contact with you for two agonizing seconds, and then commands you to, “Cum for me.”

And you do just that when he slams his entire length inside you as soon as those words leave his lips.

Alhaitham basks in your scream and sobs, your body convulsing and trembling beneath him, your walls an impossible vice around his cock. He grinds against you to go as deep as he can, “fuckfuckfuck”, and a growl buried in your neck as he cums. In your high, you think you can feel the heat and its spasms of it all, passively wondering what it would feel like to have him cum inside you without a condom. Perhaps one day you’ll be granted a nice little breeding session, but that is neither here nor there.

Alhaitham plants pecks and kisses all over your face, neck, and shoulders, smiling when your little giggles reach his heart. If anything, he’s just happy that everything turned out okay and didn’t end up in a disaster like last time. As he observes the serenity gracing your complexion, he cannot contain his affection any longer.

“Thank you…for having me.” I love you.

Another giggle. “I love you, too, Haitham. A lot.”

You’re kindly gifted a most adoring eskimo kiss. “I need to get you cleaned up, so I need to pull out, okay?”

The pout returns despite your agreement, and Alhaitham spends much needed time to pull out without you breaking. The devil on his shoulder protests otherwise, as it attempts to coax him into keeping you speared on his cock for the night, or more. Your whine of loss tugs at his heartstrings and feeds into his greed, and he embraces you once more to keep you grounded. Slowly, but surely, you return to your senses. Alhaitham is heavy and sweaty against you, but it’s more than you could ask for. A few taps on his shoulder are enough to tell him that you’re back on the same plane of reality with him, and he dives in to kiss you again, painting compliments and praises of how amazing you were along your lips.

Alhaitham then sweeps you off the bed, into his arms, and takes hurried steps towards the bathroom. You’re like a delicate flower with the way he places you on the toilet, and he reminds you of the importance of peeing after sex. Your privacy is granted when he leaves to remove and tie off the condom to discard it in the kitchen trash can, and later returns with a warm, wet towel. He waits until you’re back in bed and comfortable before he tenderly wipes away any excess fluids and leaves it on your nightstand before cuddling next to you. You turn towards him and burrow into his chest, content as his arms embrace you with an air of security and protection.

He mumbles something into your hair, but you’re out before you can even think to ask what he said.

When you finally come to, you can’t remember the last time you slept so well. No tiresome dreams, no sporadically waking up in the night – weeks out in the nature with Lumine had turned you into a light sleeper, and you missed this feeling of being so well-rested.

But the soreness in your thighs screams otherwise, and you wince when they refuse to cooperate. A muscular arm rests around you as if it has always belonged there. At first you question why it’s there, but then your brain decides to wake up and remind you just exactly of what transpired last night. Despite the mixture of shock and embarrassment (mainly at just how wanton you acted), you look up from where you are buried into Alhaitham’s chest. Somehow, you’re surprised to see him already awake. Well, surprised may not be the right word. But the clear adoration in his eyes is unmistakable, seizing and pulling on your heartstrings.

Alhaitham quite enjoys watching you think and process, imagining the fine-tuned gears and cogs in your brain working in overdrive. He remains silent as he smooths out some of the tangles in your hair, and he patiently waits to hear from you. You two had already experienced many hours of quietude before, so this was nothing new for him. There are very few moments in his life when he’s felt this serene and content, half-naked and you pressed against him, both drinking in each other and the light of day coming from your window. He could get used to this. He wants to get used to this.

“You’re making me breakfast in bed,” you decide with your first words of the day, grumbling with a pout on your face. “I don’t think I can walk properly.”

The former scribe arches a perfect silver brow, but the shit-eating smirk stretching along his face is anything but confusion. He knows exactly what you’re implying, and he’s quite satisfied with himself for causing such a situation. Perhaps he should do it more often.

“That I can do,” he agrees, his morning voice deep, yet full of mirth. After a quick kiss on your forehead, he rolls out of bed to do just as you command.

The growl from your stomach prevents you from calling him back because you’re cold now. A shiver runs down your spine as you tighten the blanket and sheet around you, tucking some beneath your chin in an attempt to trap whatever warmth you have left. But when you catch a hint of Alhaitham’s lingering scent, you feel yourself immediately calm down and breathe evenly. The gentle cluttering from your kitchen provides another layer of security as well.

Lost in your basking, you’re quite startled when you feel Alhaitham’s lips on your cheek, a tray in his hands with a light, yet nutritious breakfast arranged. But as you continue to lay there, he can’t help but laugh.

“Do you need help sitting up?”

“No.”

“Don’t be stubborn.”

You do, in fact, need his strength to sit up comfortably against some pillows. The embarrassment hasn’t quite worn off by the time he slides back underneath the sheets to sit next to you, an arm slung over your shoulders as you eat. But in seconds, it dissipates, and is replaced with something akin to love. For you both to finally be here, together as if you two have been dating for years, is exactly the outcome you have been wishing for.

“You know,” he starts before being interrupted by a forkful of food shoved into his mouth, courtesy of you. “You’re a perfect reason why I can finally kick Kaveh out of my home.”

You swat his shoulder with your free hand. “That’s so mean!”

“He can just move in here. I’m not that heartless to leave him homeless. Is that what you think of me?”

You answer without hesitation, “Yes.”

With the hand hanging off your shoulder, his nails scrape lightly in retaliation against the skin beneath your collar bone.

“If I recall, I was pretty fair with you last night,” he murmurs into your hair. “Perhaps I need to remind you just how fair when you’re done with breakfast.”

And you’ve never finished a meal so quickly.

fin.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact

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twptwp · 2 months

Text

Please share

Hello, I contemplated it a lot, I decided it would be best. I will be sharing this beware on a rather big artist here who hurt me personally.

I will write more at the end. Please take care. Warning: the post is very big

Pestkitty is also known as Nopperabou if I remember the name correctly on other platforms such as Artfight and Youtube

*It should be noted this is very blatant lying on that guys part, I was keeping to myself for this entire time and harassed nobody, on the contrary his friends had been harassing me. I regret not writing that more clearly

I don't think I mentioned it in the original post images but I would also like to note at the time I was not an adult yet and it was my first time going on a plane... 11 hour flight completely alone is scary, no family, nobody in my family has ever travelled so far. It was a very big deal

END OF IMAGES

Description from original post on Instagram (it's a lot so I'll make it small):

HI HI PAWB! Lots and lots of people wanted me to put this together, please do share, even if you do not know the people it would be great help. The more people who know the more people who can stay safe. This post is a little overdue but I was gaslit by them into thinking these were not big issues and that I was the one being strange so it took a while for me to gain the stability to put this together, I ended up downplaying my feelings a lot and it wasn't untill somewhat recent when I realised I may be developing a new disorder from their abuse that oh... I was not wrong for my concerns and feelings; these people really are harmful. I do not condone harassment so please do not go messaging these people. Block, share, and move on. Stay safe. That is my internet mission for you🚀

I make this post because they are rather gross and dangerous and have considerably big audiences, people have told me their opinions that they should not have the platforms that they have because their behaviours are dangerous. There is more things they've done that I have not included because I would like some of my own privacy even after my private information was leaked in a comic haha... I've displayed enough behaviour from them to show who they are and what they do though, so this is enough!

This is quite intimidating for me, so, I will be going offline off of this account for a few days and just let this post simmer... Not for too long because I have some awesome art cooking HEHE but YA! If there are questions in the comments my friends will answer for me! Though, I think I've been rather transparent so I don't think there would be any.

I will also be providing more proof in my story, specifically proof that slide 10 IS that guy because quite frankly anybody could be "Instagram user" and they have fabricated stuff against me in the past so I think it would be good to prove it is that account.

Okay bla bla that is all, apologies this is such a scary and serious post especially as I like to keep my account a friendly nice place but ahhh it really has been burning at me. So, thank you for reading so very much. Bye bye pawb!

End of description^

That was a lot! So here is why I'm sharing it to Tumblr:

☆Awareness! NOBODY should have to risk getting close to these people. NOBODY.

☆Better circulation! My Instagram post got over 3000 likes, lots of shares, 100s of comment and many saves so it did very well however after a while things leave the light and become something "of the past". I notice this does not happen so much on Tumblr and things continue to be shared

☆This still effects me. The original Beware is from 3 months ago however I am currently doing this because I was restless from lastnight nightmare (I had a nightmare about these people) and now I'm all nauseous and shaky again! It's 3am and I was panicking a lot so I put this together, I'm yet to rest

And finally....

☆TAGS

I notice that if an image in a tag becomes popular enough it shows up on things like Google! Isn't that cwl! So, if a fan of these people searches for them on the internet the beware could show up which may deter them from the artist. This is great, which is why I also need your help in making this popular!

Thank you sincerely for your time, it is greatly appreciated. I feel calmer now that I have made this post, I regret not making it earlier but it is better now than never. Nos da ac breuddwydion melys pawb♡

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greenorangevioletgrass · 9 months

Text

fever pitch (b.b.) - part two

previous part | series masterlist

soundtrack: lavender haze - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: you and Bradley go on a date. they say the wrong things --or right things-- and surprise each other as they get to know each other better. warnings: language, so much unresolved tension, mentions of character deaths, fluffy heartfelt stuff, but also like sexy stuff 👀 notes: i had so much fun writing this! special shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse who had to deal with my annoying thots at all hours. comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated as always. happy reading! <3

✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

Subject: Guest Attendance Confirmation From: [email protected]

Dear Madam,

Thank you for confirming your information regarding your upcoming visit to Annabel’s.

It is our pleasure to host you for your dinner reservation on the 23rd of March, 2023, as a guest of our member Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. We hope that you have a wonderful experience dining and entertaining at the Club with us.

In order to ensure your positive and memorable experience with us, we kindly ask all members and guests to be aware of a few key rules of the Club:

DRESS CODE. We encourage individuality and style in your smart attire. After 6PM, gentlemen are required to wear jackets. Read the full dress code guidelines here.

PHONE & PHOTOGRAPHY. As a Private Members’ Club, we kindly ask Members and Guests to refrain from taking photographs within the Club’s premises. Posting content to your social media from your visit to the Club is not permitted. Phones must be kept on silent at all times and are only permitted for use in limited areas of the Club.

For guidance, read the Rules & Bylaws of the Club here.

If you require further information or assistance, please do not hesitate to reach out through this email address or by phone at +44 20 7946 0011.

Thank you and see you soon.

Best wishes, Maude Adams Floor Manager.

***

You’re not sure why you’re bracing for something to go wrong.

The restaurant is rife with opulence, with rich chartreuse and bronze walls and Japanese-style paintings over classic British architecture. Bradley booked a little corner booth just off the fireplace, the privacy still granting a nice view of the grandiose bar across the room. He pulled up your chair and told you that you look beautiful—a good three or four times, and it feels just as genuine as the first. With your show and his training the next day, you both had to pass on the booze and settle with some green tea to go with your food. Conversation flows effortlessly, exploring easy topics like your shared love of old movies, the Venn diagram of your music tastes, the novelty of the sport that he plays…

“Okay, but how did you get into soccer—I mean, football?” You smile sheepishly as you correct yourself. “Sorry. Wouldn’t wanna get maimed to death by the locals.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” And then he takes a deep breath as his finger toys with the condensation on the side of his glass. “It’s… uh, my dad, actually. He bought me a soccer ball for Christmas when I was like 2 and… it’s most of the memories I had with him, playing kickabout in the backyard.”

“Oh?”

He smiles—diplomatically, all things considered. “He died when I was 4.”

Your face falls. Fuck. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry…”

“Nah, don’t be. It was a long time ago. And I feel like he’s with me every time I step on the pitch.” Bradley nods, ever so reassuring. He’s had enough ‘I’m sorry’s’ for every time his dad comes up in conversation, and he doesn’t want you to feel obliged to do the same.

“But hey, I think it’s wonderful… that he’s right there in spirit with you every game.” You smile back, trying to save this slip-up in conversation. “And I bet your mom’s really proud of you, right?”

To his own surprise, he chuckles. It really is true that tragedy plus time equals comedy. “I mean, I like to think so.” He notices your questioning look, and realizes he needs to let you in on the joke too. “My mom died when I was 17. Cancer. I moved out here and lived with my godfather. Got scouted for Arsenal.”

And there it is.

You’ve been so worried about all the external factors going wrong, that you didn’t consider that the faulty one might be you.

The clinks of plates and cutleries suddenly become so loud. The subtle piano playing over the speakers sound garbled, like you’re underwater. And the salmon sashimi in your mouth tastes like lead now. How the fuck does lightning manage to strike twice?!

“I’m sorry, I…” and now you can’t even muster up a proper apology, because what do you even say?! The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a lame excuse, “I… thought it was a good idea not to Google you.”

His heart catches at the sight of you, all wide-eyed and dumbstruck. You wouldn’t believe it if he told you, but he thinks he might have just fallen in love with you there. Foot in mouth and all.

But you… you think you must’ve looked so stupid right now. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No, no, no. It’s alright!” Bradley quickly interjects, that twinkle of amusement in his eyes still lingers. “I appreciate it, actually. I’ll take awkward moments with you over anything else you can Google about me.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Of course. I mean… it’s not like you killed them, did you?”

There’s a split second of silence, when you meet his playful gaze, and his mouth pulls into a grin over your petrified look, and then… the tension simply melts away in a sigh of tentative laughs. The garbled underwater music has come up to the surface, the dining noises dissipates, and everything turns back to normal… ish.

“Anyway, what about yourself? How did you get into… all of this?”

“Oh, it’s all I’ve ever known, really. Pretty sure I sang before I knew how to talk. I was always pestering my mom about ballet and piano lessons and living room concerts… I was that kid, you know?”

The image makes him smile, and it sends butterflies to your stomach. “Your mom must’ve been thrilled.”

“Eh.” You shrug flippantly, and that non-answer is enough of an answer for Bradley. “But she knew I was stubborn as hell, and she’s better off letting me tire myself out than trying to stop me, so…”

“But you didn’t.”

You shake your head. “By 5, I was on Broadway—”

His jaw falls open, and he looks at you like grew a new head. “I’m sorry. Five years old?”

You raise your hand in defense, not wanting to oversell yourself. “To be fair, though, it was mostly luck. My mom was working in the theater company and they needed a kid, so I volunteered to stand in—I mean, naturally,” you roll your eyes at yourself, “And they liked me. So they put me on. But I didn’t have to do anything but pretend to be asleep while the adult cast carried me around.”

“Still. That’s more than most people can say. You continued doing it afterwards, right?”

“Mm-hm. Stage, commercials, TV, the occasional movies… anything I could get my hands on.”

Bradley studies you with this look of awe—not an unusual reaction, he’s sure; it’s a pretty impressive feat. But he also catches a lost sense of melancholy in the way you say it, and he can’t help but ask, “Did you have a childhood at all?”

And your heart catches. That’s something nobody ever asked you before… “What do you mean?”

He pauses, realizing he may have inadvertently touched on a sensitive subject with this line of questioning. So he tries again more carefully. “I just meant… you’ve been working most of your life. Did you ever just get to be a kid?”

“I…” you trail off, considering your answer. You want to say yes, of course you did, but the little sting in your throat makes you question yourself: did you?

And with the soft look in his eyes, you know he knows the real answer to that. Both of you do.

It’s alarming how disarming he can be, and you would hate it… except you don’t. At least not enough to make you run off. “I guess, being in that kind of environment, I didn’t really know how to be a kid…? If that makes any sense.”

Bradley nods, understanding. He’s not entirely sure how to respond, but he wants to be empathetic.

“I went to school and made friends for a while, but…” Normally this would be an uphill point in your story, but tonight… this part is tinged with distant sorrow. “I got a record deal when I was 15, and suddenly I was living in LA and working in the studio or going on tours and… I just wasn’t a kid anymore.”

It breaks his heart, the thought of a childhood lost on you like that. “Wow. You really have lived a life, haven’t you?” He can’t resist but reaches out for your hand.

The touch makes your heart catch, and it feels overwhelming. It feels like you’re gonna burst, so you chicken out with a lame joke. “Haven’t slept in 22 years.”

Bradley can’t help but smile at that, squeezing your hand three times in comfort. And just like that, the bubble bursts and the world continues on its axis once again. He finishes his last slice of tuna tataki and washes it down with his konacha.

“You know, for how much you’ve done since you started out, I thought you’d be more… Hollywood.”

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. “Hollywood?”

“Okay, that came out wrong,” he admits bashfully. “I just… you’re very down-to-earth. And real. I guess I expected more, like, an attitude?”

“Oh? I can have an attitude…” you smirk coyly over your tea, “...if you can handle it.”

Fuck. You’re gonna be the death of him. It’s insane how easily you switch from being sweet and vulnerable, to flirty and borderline devilish. But he wasn’t born yesterday, and he knows he’s well-equipped to handle this back-and-forth.

“I think you’d be surprised by what I can handle.”

Oh, here comes the fun part. “Is that right?”

He nods, leaning into you a little bit from across the table. “I think you’d find a lot about me surprising.”

If the whiff of his Tom Ford Black Orchid catches you off-guard, you don’t show it. Instead, you mirror his body language, propping your chin on your knuckles for good measure. “Like what?”

God, he really wants to kiss you… but it’s way too soon, and he doesn’t know how you feel about public displays of affection. “Like… I’m a pretty decent cook. And I like reading.”

“An athlete who can read? My, my…” you smirk teasingly.

Bradley laughs. He walked right into that one. But he’s not ready to admit defeat yet. Instead, he makes use of that bedroom voice girls like so much to push the point further. “That’s right. I know how to use the washing machine, too.”

You bite your lower lip and sigh, shuddering a little from his low rasp but definitely playing up the dramatics. “You do? Mmh…”

Jesus. If that’s you faking it, he can’t wait to make you all wet and needy for real. “And you wanna know the best part?”

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, the lustful tension is real. “Yeah?”

He leans in just a little closer, head tilting as if he’s moving in for a kiss. Maybe if he throws it out there… “I can put together Ikea furniture.”

You throw your head back and feigns a quiet but dramatic moan for your one-man audience. “Oh my gosh, I think I just came in my pants a little.”

Fuck. He really wants to make you come now. With his fingers, his tongue, his cock—

Your gaze drops to his mouth, the stupid 80’s pornstache you’ve never been into before this, the soft inviting lips underneath. The ball is in your court now, and you know he would kiss you earnestly if you close the distance…

But you burst out laughing instead. Bradley releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, although your bright laughter doesn’t deter him from thinking dirty thoughts about you. If anything, it just makes you ten times hotter in his eyes.

“Well played. That was a good one,” Bradley concedes, his face turning just a little bit pink.

“We should probably stop before the staff kicks us out for having too much fun,” you lean back into your seat, looking around the restaurant, making sure no one is listening. Squeezing his hand three times as the next course arrives… not entirely putting the kiss off of the table either.

Bradley recommends the vanilla mille crepe to close the meal, and you come up with the idea of sharing a slice. The dessert arrives, a lush little golden brown thing with thin layers of cream in between, so simple and so intricate at the same time. He lets you take the first bite—insists upon it, actually. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

That, and he wants to watch your face twist in pleasure again. Eyes fluttering closed, chest falling in a sigh, lips parted ever so slightly... God, he can’t wait to be the one responsible for it.

“Amazing, right?” He beams at you, very pleased with himself.

“Mm, it truly is,” you hum in agreement, watching him take a bite. It gives you a naughty idea… “It’s so amazing, I might just hijack this whole thing.” You jokingly pull the plate a little closer to you.

Bradley playfully holds the plate back, looking faux offended. “Hey! Come on. You know I’m a little bit stronger than you, right?”

“Please. That’s never stopped me before.”

“Really?”

“I have my ways…” your finger reaches out just enough to touch his, just slightly.

Between that and your eyes darkening in mischief, Bradley fights hard not to turn into goo under your slightest touch. He bites the inside of his cheek to contain himself. “You’re really making me earn this, aren’t you?”

“Why? Girls never gave you a hard time before, Mr. Big Time Football Man?”

He laughs. “No. But you’re probably the only one giving me this hard a time for a bite of dessert.”

“Is that all we’re playing for? A bite of dessert?” you smirk, egging him on.

“What else do you think we’re playing for here?” He takes a second bite, maintaining eye contact as he does so.

You take another bite and lick the cream off of your fork. “I don’t know. A bite of… something else?”

Ah. So we are interested. Bradley is unfazed as he gently warns you, “Careful. I might take you up on that.”

“Good. I was hoping you would.”

The tension rises as reality sinks in. You both want to fuck, and looking at the trajectory of the evening, there’s a good chance you will. And it sobers you the hell up, pulling you both straighter in your seats. Sharing the slice of cake in quiet civility. Keeping a completely respectable distance, as if worried you don’t trust yourself not to climb over the table and kiss him senseless.

But the game… oh, the game is on.

“I don’t know about you, but… I was thinking maybe a few bites, though.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yeah. I intend to explore every part of this… dessert.”

You stop chewing for a moment. There’s something so hot about how he says it so casually. “That’s… very optimistic of you.”

“Not optimistic enough to decide if kissing you out here was a good idea,” he admits sheepishly.

“Why is that?”

Bradley shrugs. “Just a hunch.”

He’s right, of course. He didn’t choose an ultra-exclusive, members-only establishment with a no-phone policy just for kicks. He sees the security detail that follows you around, lurking at a safe distance—from back at the club. And tonight, you’re traveling light with just two bodyguards, each strategically posted near you and the exit, but it’s still more than he’s ever encountered. There’s no way you would risk a first kiss in public, no matter how discreet the place is. No matter how much you like him.

And you like him a whole lot.

“Tell you what…” you put the fork down as quietly as you can. This is the moment of truth. “I’ll let you kiss me all you want back at my hotel, hm?”

Bradley’s eyes light up instantly. He takes a moment, not so much to consider his options, but to process what’s about to happen. “I would like that very much, yes.”

“Alright, then. Shall we?” you smile brightly, flagging the waiter for the check.

“Uh, yeah. Totally. We shall,” he stammers a little, recovering fast enough to snatch the check and slips his credit card in the tab. Barely addressing the waiter as they walk back to the till.

It all happens so fast, and you whine in complaint. “Oh, come on!”

“What, was I supposed to let you pay or something?”

“You were supposed to let me pretend to fight for it, at least…” you huff.

He smiles in amusement. You are so adorable, it makes his heart fucking swell. “Okay. Next time I’ll let you pretend. I’ll even give you a little pushback for good measure, how about that?”

“Perfect.”

“Now, let’s go back to your hotel and… I don’t know, pretend you have to try really hard to resist my charms.”

“Yeah, okay.” You chuckle in agreement. This is really happening. Wow. And just as the excitement sets in, another point of concern pops up in your head, like a really annoying notification. “Did you drive here or…?”

He nods. “You wanna take my car?”

“No, I got a car waiting for me…” you smile apologetically, glancing at her bodyguard. There’s no way they’re gonna let you jump into some guy’s car. “And there’s gonna be paps out front…” Here comes the tricky part. “Would you… mind if we… go separately and meet up at my hotel?”

Oh. Bradley’s face falls a little upon realizing that he can’t just walk out the door with you. He sees how this works. You don’t want the media to jump on this first date, and it’s actually a smart move. Besides, what’s a few more minutes to a whole night of complete privacy? “Sure, no problem.”

You nod tentatively. Well, that was surprisingly easy… “And just to be clear, this has nothing to do with you. It’s just… this whole thing can be a circus, and I don’t want you to deal with anything you didn’t sign up for.”

He smiles at you. Bless you for being so thoughtful, but it does make him wonder if other people have had trouble with it. But maybe that’s a question for another time. “Hey, I totally understand. We’ll just meet up at the hotel and leave it at that.”

“I’ll text you, okay?”

You squeeze his hand gently before you get up, making your way out of the restaurant. Powering through the camera flashes as soon as you walk out of the front door. Giddy because you know something these vultures don’t.

Meanwhile, Bradley sits. Waits. For one minute, and two, and three. Looking at people walking in and out, wondering how inconspicuous he would be if he walks out now.

And then…

His phone buzzes.

#stick around for some more fun stuff 👀#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #footballer!bradley #footballer!bradley x popstar!reader #top gun imagine #top gun au #ava writes #fever pitch

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starcrossed-sky · 1 year

Text

Hey Twitter(/Reddit) alternative seekers

Okay, fandom. Everyone's all worked all the time about this or that new alternative to Twitter and how it's either awesome or it sucks. I'm here to tell you about an OLD alternative: Plurk.

(Note that this was originally formatted for Twitter so forgive the jank thread paragraphing)

Disclaimer: This information is specifically aimed at people who use Twitter for fandom purposes; it is not intended to cover the exhaustive list of things that people use Twitter for (professional networking, art/photography promotion world news, etc). It's friend-centric rather than follow-centric, at least as the existing site culture goes.

So what is Plurk? It's a threaded microblogging platform dating back to 2008 that has only ever seen extremely niche use in English-language use. (Its primary userbase is Chinese-speaking.) It has a purely chronological timeline and a lot of privacy features that you haven't seen since the LJ era (assuming you're old enough to remember that).

Plurk functions through an exclusively-chronological timeline on your homepage (desktop) or in the app. Algorithmically sourced content? We ain't got it! (There is a different page for viewing top content but you have to go there specifically.) Instead, your timeline shows your own content and the content of other plurkers you friend or follow, and the occasional ad (MUCH more occasional than Twitter).

Each top-level plurk can be replied to, and this creates a chain of replies that can be used for conversation. Unlike Twitter and Reddit, replies don't form branching threads; each plurk is only one stream of conversation. Plurks with unread replies will be lit up as unread; however, they can be "muted" to stop them from giving you notifications.

(Two small caveats: You cannot mute your own plurks, and there is actually a cap of around 200 muted plurks. Mutes will fall off from the oldest, so you'll sometimes see an ancient plurk pop back up on your timeline if someone comes back to it. You can just mute it again.)

Your plurk timeline has a global privacy control. If your timeline is set to private, only people you have friended can see what you say on there. If your timeline is public, then anyone who comes to you page can see what you've posted, AND logged-in users can share your post on their own timeline with the "replurk" function (works just like a normal retweet), as well as reply to it.

There is also an "anonymous" option, which anonymizes you and also the names of everyone who replies (it randomly generates names like "lemon354" and "libra262" for repliers to differentiate them). Anonymous plurks will stay within your timeline if your plurk is set to private, but can be replurked if it's public.

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE, because individual plurks can also be given specific privacy levels: -> Friends only (if your timeline is public but you don't want this one getting around) -> Private to "cliques," which are Twitter circles but you can have more than one -> Individual users (including those not on your friends list - this is plurk's equivalent of DMs)

Your own plurk homepage is also insanely customizable, if you want to break out the CSS or even just have a custom background. You can also alter your display name (though the character cap is VERY short), and your display name color, as well as the standard avatar change. Usernames cannot be changed as a free user, but can be changed by paid users (more on paid options in a second).

Plurk also has its own image hosting, and a pastebin-alike plaintext called Plurk Paste that has no character limit. (The character limit for top-level plurks is longer than Twitter's.)

It also has CUSTOM EMOTES in addition to its (somewhat wild) default selection. They're similar to Discord's customs, except that you can use GIFs from the get go; what's restricted is the number of slots you have as a free user. (And size is capped at 48x48 px.)

Plurk has ads, but they're mostly unobtrusive (and can be clocked entirely with ad blockers, but I didn't say that). Plurk keeps the lights on through a subscription model called Plurk Coin, which is very cheap (under $2.50 USD/month) and can be gifted to other users. Coin gives you a number of benefits including the "Except" privacy option, more username colors, response editing, and a bunch more custom emote slots.

Concerned about harassment? Plurk has one of the most robust blocking systems in social media that I've ever seen. You block someone, and they can't see you (even by going to your profile) and you can't see them. That's it, done. Full no-contact.

NSFW/18+ content is allowed. There's a specific flag for it when you first post a plurk. Plurk does expect you to use that tag when appropriate, but is otherwise very forgiving of NSFW content, at least in my experience. (Again, though, English plurk is a very small community ATM).

The thing to remember about Plurk is that it is very much a remnant of an older internet, from the days before algorithms. Like Tumblr, it's a social media where you won't see anything if you don't reach out to follow and friend people. It predates "going viral" as a goal of internet usage. The goal is to talk to people.

As an aside: Since I originally wrote this up, I've seen rumors about Japanese fanartists moving to plurk and even seen one or two mentions of it in the wild on my Twitter timeline as people talk about following those artists. Fantastic! If that's you, then I hope you find this slightly more in-depth guide to features helpful.

If this sounds up your alley, I've made a public plurk specifically for Twitter refugees to come meet people and get more information on how plurk works! You can find it here.

Twitter version: [link]

Please replurk to spread this information about!

EDIT Sept 7 2024: You can mute your own plurks now, whoo!

#plurk #social media #twitter exodus #reddit exodus #twitter

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vioartemis · 1 year

Text

Act 5

(Amber Freeman x fem! reader)

Summary: After joining a discord server, you meet a girl... Warnings: (+18), smut, oral, fingering, blood, violence, injuries, characters are 18+ (English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)

As far as you could remember, you had always been a horror movie fan. Halloween, Friday the 13th, Saw, The exorcist, Stab... you enjoyed watching these movies. Recently, you had even joined a discord server for Stab fans.

It was really fun talking about these movies with people you knew liked them as much as you did, and it felt nice sharing your passion with others.

There were only two rules in this server: 1. If you were to make video calls, you would all wear Ghostface costumes and masks; and 2. Never, under any circumstances, say your name.

At first you thought that was weird, but it was a matter of safety. Stab fans were considered crazy after what happened in 2011 -and other side events.

Keeping your identity secret had become a must, if you didn't want other people online to hate on you and/or accuse you of crimes.

Fortunately, in the server, no one seemed to have a problem with the rules. And neither did you.

Until that day.

There was this girl on the server, with who you had been talking to in private for some months now. You may or may not had developed a little crush on her.

She was so nice, and it was so easy talking to her. You had the same opinion about almost everything too. But you didn't tell her. What if she thinks I'm weird? you thought.

You were currently on call with her, and the fact that you lived in Woodsboro just slipped.

"Wait- you live in Woodsboro? Me too! Maybe we know each other? What about we meet in real life?"

"I- We're not supposed to do that... Remember the rules? No personal information, so identity reveal or whatever..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But you trust me, right? 'Cause I know I can trust you"

"Of course I- I trust you but-"

"Well if we both trust each other, why not meet? It's better talking face to face, don't you think? Plus I'm dying to see what you look like. I'm sure you're super pretty"

You blushed at her words, and stuttered a quiet ‘okay’.

Two hours later, you were waiting in front of the high school, nervous. What if she didn’t like you irl? What if it was awkward? What if-

"Y/n?"

You turned around as you heard your name.

"Amber…?"

You couldn’t help but stare at her. She was gorgeous. The most beautiful girl you had ever seen.

"It’s so nice to finally meet you!" she started "And I was right; you’re really pretty"

You spent the whole day chatting and laughing together. There was definitely chemistry between you too.

"That’s my house" you said softly

You were a little sad your time with her was already over, you wanted make it last more.

"Oh, okay… We’ll meet again, right?"

"Yeah, of course! I’d love to!"

You smiled at each other, and waved goodbye, before you started making your way to the door. But you couldn’t just go like that.

"Amber I-" you started as you turned around

Before you could finish your sentence, her lips were in yours, soft against your own. It took you a second to register what was going on, but soon you were kissing back.

Amber pulled away after a moment. Her lips were inches away from yours, her eyes not leaving your own. Then she leans in for another kiss, more passionate.

Her hands were on your waist, keeping you close, as her tongue slipped past your lips. You made for a while, before running out of air.

When you pulled away, you could see that her lips were red and swollen, and so were yours.

"Maybe we should continue this inside, hm?" Amber said with a light smirk

You blushed and nodded, before trying to open the door. Your hands were shaking a bit in excitement, and Amber being flush against your back, arms around your waist and kissing your neck didn’t help.

Eventually you managed to open the door, and as soon as you closed it behind you both, you got pinned against it, Amber’s lips back on yours.

As the kiss grew more and more feverish, you felt her cold hands sneak under your shirt, and going up to your ribs, stopping right under your breasts.

"Is this okay?" she ask in between kisses

"Yes" you hummed in response

You could feel her smile against your lips as you let out a moan when she groped your tits through your bra. Then, her lips dipped to your neck as her hands made their way under your bra.

Before she could go any farther, you pushed her slightly away.

"Wait- let's go to my room"

You grabbed her hand and led her to your bedroom.

As soon as you were in the room, she reached down for your shirt and took it off you before unclasping your bra and pushing you on your bed. She straddled you, and started to undo her belt with a smirk.

She grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, before tying them to the headboard with her belt, making sure it's not too tight.

Then, she sat up and looked down at you, biting her lip.

"Look at you; so pretty all tied up under me..." she whispered, brushing your cheek softly

She leaned in to kiss you once more, her hands sliding down to unbutton your jeans, before going back up to play with your now hard nipples. Again, her lips dipped down to your neck, where she sucked angry red marks.

This, and your nipples being rolled between her fingers made a series of moans leave your throat. You wanted to run a hand through her hair, but with her belt around your wrists, you couldn't move at all -which turned you on even more.

Your eyes flutter closed when you felt her lips wrapping around one of your nipples, and her tongue running over it, before she started sucking gently.

Your back arched slightly as you moaned her name, encouraging her to continue.

After a moment, she released your nipple with a 'pop'. You looked down just in time to see a string of saliva linking her mouth and your hard bud.

She smirked and kissed her way down your body, taking off your pants slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. She took her time, kissing the inside of your thighs, slowly getting closer to where you needed her the most.

You whined at the tease and rolled your hips slightly.

"Amber... please..."

"Please what, baby?" she teased more, sly smirk spread on her face

"Please I need you so bad... please fuck me..."

"How can I say no if you ask so nicely?" she hummed, sliding your underwear down your legs and throwing it somewhere in the room

She looked down at your dripping cunt with a hungry gaze and licked her lips before diving in to get a taste of you.

She hummed against you, loving the way you tasted on her tongue. She hooked her arms around your thighs, keeping you in place while she ate you out.

Her tongue was driving you crazy, you were a moaning mess, and felt you wear already close to the edge. But all of a sudden, she stopped.

You let out a frustrated whine at the sudden loss of contact and pleasure, before she placed her index on your lips.

"Shhh... Don't worry, I'm not done with you"

She quickly replaced her index with her middle and ring finger, which she pushed into your mouth gently.

"Now be a good girl and get my fingers wet"

You complied, and once she was satisfied, pulled her fingers out of your mouth to slide them into your pussy, eliciting another moan from you, before starting to thrust in and out at a fast pace.

If you thought her tongue was skilled, her fingers were even more. She hit all the right spots and curled her fingers just right.

You were so overwhelmed with the pleasure that you couldn't even form a coherent sentence. But she didn't need you to say it to know you were close; she could feel you tighten around her fingers in the most pleasant way possible.

She stopped marking your soft skin and brought her other hand to your throat, squeezing slightly, while her thumb was circling your clit in rhythm with her thrusts.

"Cum all over my fingers, don't hold back"

You came hard, in a white blur, seeing stars as your orgasm crashed in.

Amber continued to fuck you through your high, watching you with a lustful look in her eyes. She had waited so long for that. She had dreamt of it so many times, and now you were truly hers, looking oh so pretty coming undone under her.

When she pulled away, you had recovered enough to see her shove her fingers in her mouth and lick them clean, before leaning in to kiss you lovingly and untying your hands.

"Ready for round 2?" she asked with a smirk

"Fuck yeah" you replied, already taking off her shirt

<><><><> ♡ <><><><>

It had been almost a year since Amber and you were together, and only a few months since Stab 8 was released. Let's just say that you were thrilled to go to the movies together, and that you were terribly disappointed.

You both thought the movie was terrible.

"What are you doing?" you asked gently as you rolled over to your girlfriend, who was scribbling on a paper at the other end of her bed

"I was thinking... Maybe we could do our own Stab movie? Or at least do things to give the producers better ideas. What do you think?"

"What do you have in mind?"

She gave you a slight smirk as she turned to you and exposed her plan.

"So let me get this straight; you want to kill your friend to force her sister -the daughter of Billy Loomis- to come back here, and then kill everybody and blame it on her?"

"That's the idea" she replied, visibly excited "Are you in?"

You sighed and shook your head.

"What wouldn't I do for you, huh?" you smiled and cupped her cheeks to place a soft kiss on her lips "Are you sure we have to kill Tara though? She's my favorite out of all your friends... And if she dies her sister won't necessarily come back"

"You're right! So we just attack her then. Or I just attack her, I don't want to force you into hurting/killing people. I'll do the killing, and you'll make the calls if you want" she offered

"I don't want to let you do all the dirty stuff..."

"Don't worry about that, baby"

She smiled and kissed you again, this time pushing you into the mattress, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping a hand into your underwear with a smirk.

"I don't mind doing the dirty stuff"

Surprisingly, so far, everything went as planned; Amber attacked Tara, her sister cam back to Woodsboro, and the killing spree was continuing. The only thing that wasn't planned on was Sam's boyfriend, but he was just another pawn to kill.

"You ready babe?" Amber asked, adjusting her mask "I kill Judy and Wes, and then I'll go to the hospital to attack Tara and you"

"Don't forget to slash my arm -not too hard if possible!"

You helped her, and pressed your lips at the top of the black mouth of the Ghostface mask as a good luck kiss.

Once again, nothing went wrong. Until the moment where Amber was supposed to slash your arm.

When Tara saw Ghostface behind you, you turned around, just as planned, and lifted your arms up to 'protect' yourself. But instead of feeling the blade on your arm, you felt it sink in your stomach.

Your eyes widened, and you tried to kick her away, a hand on your wound to stop the bleeding.

Why did she do that? you thought, grabbing Tara's wheelchair to head to the elevator. That's not the plan!

Before you could reach it, you got thrown into the nearest wall, hitting your head hard against it.

The shock had the world spinning around you; you struggled to stand properly.

Ghostface took that opportunity to make Tara fall of her wheelchair and was ready to stab her when Sam and Dewey arrived.

You were waiting for Amber to come to the hospital after a nurse called her to warn her you had been hurt. You had so many questions.

When she finally arrived, she looked concerned, worried. She wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug.

"What happened?" she asked

"I don't know, you tell me. You were supposed to slash my arm, not stab me in the stomach...!" you whisper-shouted

"It wasn't me, Y/n..."

You blinked, and pulled away to look at her, confused.

"Fuck you mean it wasn't you...?"

"I couldn't make it to the hospital in time, my car broke down... I never would've hurt you baby..."

She hugged you tighter after saying this.

"If it wasn't you... there's another Ghostface in town..." you whispered

"That's a bad thing for our plan..."

"Not necessarily... If they get caught, we can get away with the previous killings. The police will think they did it too... And we'll be out of suspicions!"

"Yeah but what about our big finale...?"

"Well have to pass on that, I'm sorry my love... But think about it, we'll be the first Ghostface to have survived!"

"You're right baby, both of us living is better than having our ending"

She smile and placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

"Who do you think it is?"

"Hm... It can't be Tara, that's for sure. I don't it's Sam either, or Chad"

"So that leaves Mindy and Liv..."

"And Sam's boyfriend, don't forget about him"

"You’re right, I don’t like him. He didn’t give me a good vibe"

You nod at her words.

"What do we do now? Do we still throw the party?"

"Yeah. If the other Ghostface is a Stab fan too, he’d never miss the occasion to recreate the og party in Stu Macher’s house"

Amber drove you to her house and you both got ready for the party. You had already stolen Tara's spare inhaler when you were in her room before being attacked, so you were sure she would come to Amber's.

And as expected, half an hour after the party begun, Sam, Richie and her came. Your girlfriend dismissed everyone else, and led Tara upstairs to look for her inhaler, leaving you with Sam and Richie.

Mindy was in the living-room, you heard her talk to Liv a few minutes ago, and Chad should be near too.

Sam received a phone call, and Richie walked towards the living-room. You decided to follow him, pretexting you had to rest.

"I'm gonna get some beer, anyone wanna come with me?" he asked after you sat next to Mindy

"No, but you were right to ask!" she replied, her eyes not leaving the tv screen

So he went to the basement alone while you stayed with Mindy watching Stab. When the scene of Randy being attacked arrived, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

While Mindy was busy screaming at Randy to turn around, you looked behind you, just in case.

Ghostface was behind Mindy, ready to stab her. You pulled her away from the knife right before she could get hurt badly, but her shoulder got slashed anyways.

You both screamed, hoping to get the others' attention while you tried to fight the killer. He managed to corner Mindy. You grabbed the lamp next to the sofa and slammed it on his head.

He didn't seem to like it, and punched you in the stomach, reopening your wound. You grunted in pain and pressed a hand on your bleeding stomach.

You were about to come at him again when Sam entered the room, scaring him away. You looked at each other and rush to Mindy, to make sure she was okay. She lost a lot of blood and passed out in Sam's arms.

A scream behind you made you jump. Amber and Tara just came downstairs. Sam opened her mouth to say something but got cut off by a sound of glass breaking; Richie was back, and just dropped his beers.

"Oh my god!" he said

"Where were you?" Sam asked him

"I was getting mor beer!"

"You went to the basement alone?" you girlfriend asked

"I asked them to come with me and they said no!" he replied, gesturing toward Mindy and you

"I was with Tara, and Y/n was with Mindy but the rest of you were wondering around. One of you is the fucking killer!" Amber spat

Liv suddenly barged into the room, looking panicked, hands covered in blood.

"Why is there blood on your hands?" Sam asked her

Liv looked down at her hands and seemed even more panicked.

"I- I found Chad..."

"Chad?"

"He's... he's..."

"You're the killer...!" Richie said

"No I-"

She looked at everyone in the room, seeking support, but neither of you knew if you could trust her.

"I'm not the fucking killer!" she finally yelled

"I know."

You all turned to Richie as he pulled out a gun and shot Liv in the head.

You felt someone grab your hand and drag you away as another gunshot resonated in the room. Amber pulled you upstairs, to her parents' room.

"Are you okay? God, you're bleeding again..."

She started looking for something to bandage you up with, but you stopped her.

"We don't have time, we need to kill him before he can do his speech about his motive, or he'll say that he didn't do the first killings..."

"But-"

"I'm okay, I promise" you reassured her "Let's just make it quick and I'll be fine"

She looked at you hesitantly for a second, before nodding and coming back next to you to place a soft kiss on your lips.

"What do we do now?" she asked

"Do you know where your dad hides his gun?"

Fortunately for the two of you, Sam stabbed Richie to death before he could say anything about another killer, after Amber shot him in the chest.

You made it to act 4, just like Jill Roberts 11 years ago. But you weren't going to screw everything up like she did, no.

And that's how you became the first Ghostface to get away with it, to make it to act 5.

#scream #scream 5 #amber freeman #amber freeman x fem reader #amber freeman x reader #amber freeman smut #amber freeman x reader smut

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sav-not-tav · 3 months

Note

Okay but what about Rolan having a crush on Tav but he wants to figure out if they would ever be interested in him so he cast a spell to make him look like someone else to dig up information (I think he would embarrassedly as the companion and they would be on board)

But, turns out Tav clocked it was Rolan by things that he does and decides to mess with him. (Tav likes him but he should be messed with for being sneaky)

Thoughts?

Oh, anon. This popped up on my phone while I was in the mountains and did not have enough signal to respond—so I have been stewing on it nonstop since then.

asdhbfzgld I love this. Rolan is definitely the type to try to be sneaky about his feelings and use magic to get his way. I also think he'd be so tunnel-visioned with his goal that he'd forget to ask the right questions or learn even the tiniest bits of context, such as if the companion he transforms into is already in a relationship ;)

I was so excited to answer this one! Ugh, what a cute prompt. This one got long.

Rolan’s nerves are on edge. After the fall of the Netherbrain, the city had been wrought with chaos, and he has not seen Tav since before the final battle. Now, a tenday later, the "Heroes of the Gate" have decided to celebrate their victory at the Elfsong Tavern. Rolan only knows due to Lakrissa sharing the details of the impending event with Lia. Though he feels a pang of disappointment at not receiving an invite, it seems the perfect opportunity for him to finally learn if Tav harbors any feelings for him. His crush has lingered since the events at Last Light Inn, only growing after they dealt with Lorroakan. He simply can’t bear the uncertainty any longer.

After an awkward conversation with Gale, who was surprisingly supportive, Rolan began working on tweaks to the Disguise Self spell. After many days of nonstop effort, Rolan finally successfully adjusts the spell to allow him control over how the transformation looks. The familiar form of Gale takes over his own in the mirror, and he practices Gale’s mannerisms, determined to pull off the deception.

Entering the bustling tavern, Rolan spots Tav by the bar. Taking a deep breath, he approaches with what he hopes is Gale’s calm, thoughtful demeanor. “Tav, may I have a word?”

Tav looks up with a friendly smile. “Of course, Gale. What’s on your mind?”

Sat in a private booth in the corner of the Elfsong, he manages polite conversation, dodging questions about the other companions he has had no way of answering. Tav asks about Tara’s whereabouts and Shadowheart’s health, and Rolan deflects with vague comments and nods, trying to maintain Gale’s composed exterior. After a believable amount of small talk, Rolan starts with subtle probing.

“That Rolan was a great help at the final battle. Have you spoken with him at all since then? I do wonder if we'll see him this evening.”

Tav’s responses are thoughtful, but their lips hold a playful twitch at the corners. “Rolan? Oh, yes. Very helpful." They lean in slightly, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Hmm. Maybe he’ll turn up eventually... he’s been quite busy, I'm sure.”

Rolan feels a growing unease, sensing they know something is off but not letting on. The way Tav’s gaze lingers on him makes his pulse quicken. Just as he is about to steer the conversation back to safer ground, suddenly too nervous to go through with his plans, Tav’s demeanor shifts.

“Gale, you seem different tonight. Nervous, almost. More... attentive.” Tav’s voice takes on a teasing lilt, their eyes narrowing playfully. “You wouldn’t happen to be hiding something, would you?”

Rolan’s heart pounds and he finds himself unable to summon a response. He simply laughs off the accusation, folding his arms across his chest defensively. Then Tav starts flirting outright. They lean closer, their smile turning mischievous. “You know, Gale, if you keep showing me this extra attention... I might begin to think you have a crush on me.”

Rolan’s mind races as his heart pounds. “A crush? Of course not,” he stammers nervously, feeling his cheeks burn.

Tav’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Oh, no? A shame, then...” They pout teasingly, their playful demeanor making Rolan’s stomach ache. As they reach under the booth and place a hand atop his knee, he feels suddenly both giddy and sick.

The teasing and flirtatious comments directed at "Gale" make Rolan's heart sink. Is Tav interested in Gale? How has he not realized that after all this time? He tries to keep his composure, but his discomfort grows with each passing second. Tav’s laughter, though light and pleasant, feels like a dagger twisting in his chest.

Feeling misunderstood and heartbroken, Rolan makes an excuse and leaves the Elfsong Tavern early. “I just remembered I have something to attend to. Please, excuse me.” He hurries out, his heart heavy with disappointment and confusion, convinced he has misread everything and that Tav’s affections lay elsewhere. He quickly finds himself back at Ramazith's Tower, head hung low as he dispels the transformation and makes his way to the wine cellar.

~~~

Tav arrives at the Elfsong Tavern, ready to celebrate their hard-fought victory alongside their companions. The atmosphere is lively, filled with laughter and music. As they make their way through the bustling crowd, Tav notices Shadowheart arriving with someone unfamiliar. Tav finds it odd, considering Shadowheart and Gale had become close at the end of their journey. Even though they aren’t publicly "together" yet, it seems strange for the cleric to show up with someone else.

As Tav approaches to greet them, Shadowheart’s behavior is even stranger. She avoids eye contact and offers short, evasive answers when asked for an introduction to the new man. This piques Tav’s curiosity even more.

Just as Tav gives up and leaves to get a drink, Gale appears, greeting them with a casual, “Tav, may I have a word?”

Tav turns, surprised to see him looking so content, given the unfamiliar man Shadowheart has arrived with. “Of course, Gale. What’s on your mind?”

They move to a private booth in the corner, and Tav can’t shake the feeling that something is off. Gale is evading their questions about Tara, and when they subtly probe about Shadowheart, he avoids the topic. Gale then begins asking odd questions, particularly about Rolan, of all people.

Tav’s responses are thoughtful, but they can’t hide their amusement. They know Gale well enough to sense that something is different. They watch closely as he picks at the hem of his tunic, bounces a leg nervously under the table, and chews on his lip. He displays clear signs of distress, nervous ticks Gale had never once shown on the road.

Tav watches as he laughs nervously, folding his arms across his chest. The discomfort is palpable. Deciding to push further, Tav leans closer, their smile turning mischievous. “You know, Gale, if you keep showing me this extra attention... I might begin to think you have a crush on me.”

Seeing “Gale” stammer and blush confirms Tav’s suspicions. “A crush? Of course not,” he manages nervously. Tav glances across the tavern, catching a glimpse of Shadowheart and her "new" beau laughing happily at the bar. Their body language is quite familiar as they lean into each other, and Tav realizes the same could be said of the man opposite them, just in a different way.

Tav and Gale had already been down this road, once. They'd agreed very early on that they were better only as friends, and as the rest of Tav's companions seemed to pair up and find love elsewhere, Tav had been left as the odd one out. Others, such as one particular Master of Ramazith's Tower, would not know this, however. The nervous movements and slight lisp that Tav has failed to notice until now give him away. They decide to play into this knowledge, seeing just how flustered "Gale" could get.

Tav’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Oh, no? A shame, then...” They pout teasingly, enjoying his flushed reaction. As they reach under the booth and place a hand atop his knee, feeling him squirm, they feel a mix of giddiness and amusement at how easy it is to unravel the façade.

The act seems to have worked too well. He looks genuinely pained, and his discomfort visibly grows with each passing second. Tav’s playful teasing and laughter, meant to be light-hearted, seem to cut deeper than intended.

When “Gale” abruptly makes an excuse and leaves the Elfsong Tavern early, Tav feels a pang of guilt. They watch him hurry out, his posture defeated and his heart clearly heavy. Tav realizes they might have pushed too far. Determined to set things right, they decide to follow him.

Soon, they arrive at Ramazith’s Tower through the portal in Sorcerous Sundries. They are met by Rolan in the foyer, a bottle of Arabellan Dry in hand. The spell has dropped, and Rolan is back in his normal form, but he is still wearing the same clothes from the tavern. The sight of him, looking so dejected, tugs at Tav’s heart.

"Rolan," Tav says gently, approaching him. “I knew it was you.”

Rolan looks up, stunned. “The whole time?”

“Well, not the whole time.” Tav smiles softly. “But I figured it out pretty quickly. Gale and Shadowheart are... a bit of a thing.”

"Ah. He... did not share that with me." Rolan sighs, his face holding a mix of relief and embarrassment. He sucks in a deep breath before steadying himself, seeming resolute. “I just... Tav, I have not been able to stop thinking of you. Since Last Light, and then Lorroakan, you have plagued my thoughts. After... everything. I needed to know if you felt anything for me.”

Tav steps closer, their expression tender. “I’ve liked you for a while. You could have just asked.”

Rolan blinks, processing their words. “You mean... all this time, you...?”

Tav nods, a gentle smile playing on their lips. “Yes, Rolan. All this time. You didn’t need to go through all this trouble.”

Rolan’s posture relaxes, the tension visibly leaving his body. He takes a tentative step closer, his eyes searching Tav’s, seeming to look for any sign of hesitation. Tav offers none, and he lets out a breath so shuddery it wracks his shoulders.

“I’m sorry for being so foolish,” he murmurs, his voice trembling slightly. “I just didn’t know how to approach you.”

Tav’s smile widens. “Well, now you know.” They close the remaining distance between them, their hand gently cupping Rolan’s cheek. “And next time, just be yourself.”

#i got carried away again #anon ask #thanks anon!#bg3 rolan #drabble #sav speaks

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da-rulah · 11 months

Text

Rituale Septem - Day 1: Lust

Pairing: (Terzo x f!reader)

Summary: You agree to partake in the Ritual of Seven, devoting yourself entirely to a sin each day. And Papa Emeritus III is there to guide you, starting with some harmless flirting to build up to day one...

Rating: Mature, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Teasing, brief footsie, pent up lust, aggressive but consensual, lingerie, fingering, hair pulling, minor choking, fishhooking, p in v sex, squirting, creampie

AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Prev: Prologue | Next: Day 2 - Sloth

“You’re sure?” “Yes.”

“Double sure?”

You sigh. “Yes!”

“...Triple sure?”

“Papa, yes! I’m sure. We’ve been over this. Just tell me what the rules are, how do I make sure I do this correctly?”

You sat in another private meeting with Terzo, this one just over a week before the ritual was due to begin. You needed more information, you needed the rules and the quid pro quos ahead of time. No way were you going to mess this up... No silly little slip ups, nothing to derail your devotion.

“Okay well, from my research I’ve figured out that it is one sin per day, beginning on October 25th. October 31st, you perform your final sin. They don’t need to be in any particular order, and you can either embody the sin yourself, or make somebody else perform the sin as long at it's with you. So uh, if you were to make someone else angry at you and then act on that – to His taste, of course – that would count towards wrath.”

“Understood. Do we... plan these things?” you asked, wondering if it might be easier to map out which sin you would perform and how. Terzo looked up at you from the notes he’d created, sprawled out on his desk. He’d done extensive research; solo, to keep the prying and judgmental eyes of the clergy unaware of what was to come. This was your shared secret.

His research had been difficult. There wasn’t a lot of readily available material on such a ritual. But then, there rarely was when it came to the rituals that invited Lucifer himself to talk directly to the subject. Still, when he found himself ready to give up on the matter he would remind himself of the desperation in your eyes, your tiredness, your devastation. And he’d remind himself of Sister Imperator’s doubt in him.

It was plenty fuel to the fire. He would not give in. He would not let you down.

“A plan, cara? Boring.” He smirked in your direction, “I shall plan a few things, I suppose, but I think it might be more fun if I surprise you. After all, who schedules sin?”

You supposed he was right – for the ritual to work, the sins need to be genuine, to be authentic. You couldn’t simply force them. And Terzo was certainly more experienced in sin that you... Strangely, you trusted him.

“Y-yeah, okay...” you mumbled in agreement.

“Bene, then we will begin when the moment feels right on October 25th.” He stood from his desk, gathering his notes into a neat pile. He looked down at you, his eyes darkening and a smirk settling on his face. Before he dismissed you, he left you with what you could only imagine was a promise...

“I’ll see you around, Sorella ...”

October 17th

Terzo had been making up excuses to have meetings with Secondo – which of course, you had to attend as his assistant. But there was a purpose for this, one that he considered to be an important one.

He had no idea if you were attracted to him or not, if you had ever even looked at him in that regard. Usually it was fairly obvious to him, but with you... Secondo had kept you to himself, he hadn’t spent a whole lot of time around you to know if your eyes had ever wandered, if your thoughts were ever slightly impure towards him. And so, he needed to use the time he had left to woo you, essentially.

He had eight days before the ritual was due to begin, and he was going to use every opportunity in those eight days to wind you so damn tight that when the 25th did roll around, neither one of you could keep yourselves apart for long.

It was all in the anticipation. The chase. The temptation.

In today’s meeting – a pointless endeavour that Secondo whined about, complaining this could have been a phone call or an email – Terzo refused to tear his eyes from you. Even when speaking to his brother, he would be staring at you. You tried to ignore it, to remain professional but you could feel his eyes burning into you, as if scorch marks were being left in trails over the skin he imagined exposing.

Secondo noticed. There was no way he could not. But knowing his brother, Terzo had just decided you were the new object of fascination to him. He had no idea of the upcoming ritual, the agreement you’d made. He assumed his fratellino was just interested in pursuing you, the latest in a long line.

“Terzo, if you could concentrate...” he grumbled.

“I am concentrating, fratello,” he quipped, eyes still never leaving yours. You gulped and looked nervously between the two men.

“On me, piccola merdina (little shit),” Secondo demanded. Terzo tore his eyes from yours slowly, inhaling through grit teeth as if it pained him to do so. “Grazie. ”

Secondo continued to talk mindlessly about colours for drapery at the All Hallow’s Eve ball while you squirmed in your seat. You knew Terzo’s eyes kept flickering back to you, watching you, studying you. His gaze was heating your cheeks, setting your teeth on edge. He looked at you as if you were prey, like he was waiting for the opportune moment to pounce.

You almost wished he would.

Eventually, the meeting had to end. And by the time it did, Secondo was in a foul mood, annoyed at his brother’s actions. You must remember to thank Terzo for that later...

As you were heading out of the door behind him, Terzo gripped your elbow, pulling you back against his chest as his brother stepped outside. Your gasp was muffled by a white glove slapping over your mouth to keep you quiet, avoiding suspicion.

“I just wanted to tell you,” Terzo whispered into your ear, the warmth of his breath tickling your lobe and exposed neck. The hand on your elbow now dancing with the hem of your short skirt, the fabric of his gloves tickling your bare thigh underneath. “You look deliziosa (delicious) in this habit, sorella. Potrei mangiarti per intero se solo tu me lo permettessi (I could eat you whole, if only you would let me.)”

And then he let you go, running on unsteady feet to catch up to your grumbling Papa ahead.

It was now clear what he was doing. And not being one to back down from a fight, you silently took on his challenge.

Game on, Papa.

October 20th

The monthly clergy dinner. This was your chance.

Once a month, the clergy and papas – along with their assistants – would sit down for a meal together. After Papa’s little games in the last few days, teasing and gawking at you wherever he could, you figured this was the best time to get your revenge, to put the wheels in motion, so to speak.

Because Papa had to be on his best behaviour here.

You’d waltzed in with Secondo and sat in your seat opposite Terzo’s own assistant, Sister Christine. Papa sat at the head of the table, to your left. Secondo, to your right. You felt his eyes on you immediately, and you were almost certain you’d heard a ‘cazzo’ under his breath when his eyes fell on you.

The monthly clergy dinner was an opportunity to wear something nice, other than your habits, as long as you kept your veil on to show your standing. So you picked something you figured Terzo may have a hard time ignoring.

There was nothing wrong with the length of your dress, past the knees and quite conservative. But the way it exposed your shoulders, your collarbone and your breasts... That was where the struggle lay. The sleeves – more like separate gloves – began halfway down your bicep and hooked around your middle finger in a point, a deep red material to match the wine you were drinking. The neckline was level with the sleeves, your cleavage pushed up and on display, grucifix nestled nicely in between. Only when you walked in could he see the tight material clinging to your curves – once you were sat, he had nowhere to look other than your exposed shoulders and chest.

When you had gone to Secondo’s office that evening to ‘pick him up’ for dinner, even his gaze had lingered a little too long. That’s how you knew this would work.

“That’s a beautiful dress, Sister _____,” Christine pointed out, smirking as she noticed the look on her boss’ face. “That colour is sublime on you.”

“Thank you, Sister. I’ve had it for a while and the occasion never really called for it, but I just thought to hell with it,” you toyed, leaning forwards on your elbows and subsequently pushing your breasts together to torment your poor Papa further.

When the Ghouls brought out the meals, you took another opportunity. Making what you would call ‘yummy noises’, except... exaggerated. Wanton moans and little gasps with every new flavour as your painted lips wrapped around your fork.

Papa’s hands tightened around his own cutlery, his jaw clenching as he glared at you.

Secondo beside you was aware you were doing more than usual, but rolled his eyes and focussed his attention on Primo beside him. Perhaps he could have a mature discussion with him, instead.

Terzo was struggling beside you, trying to remain professional, to keep up conversation with the cardinals and clergymen at the table. Cardinal Copia had tried to ask him what his plans for this Sunday’s Black Mass were and if he needed any help at all, but Terzo couldn’t think straight, claiming he hadn’t thought about it yet.

Dessert nearly killed him.

“Sorella, what do you think you’re playing at, eh?” he whispered to you when the Ghouls took your empty plates.

“What do you mean, Papa?” you asked sweetly, right as you began to raise your heeled foot to graze against his inner calf. His eyes widened in shock – he'd never known you to be this bold, this provocative.

You felt his legs part as he sat back against his chair, his eyes lingering on you, daring you to continue. And you did, raising your foot to the inside of his knee, able to manoeuvre your way to graze his inner thigh to about the halfway point before you could reach no further at the awkward angle.

His gloved hand gripped your ankle under the table, tightly squeezing in warning before he pushed it away. You subsided, knowing you had won this one.

You left him alone for the rest of the night to his sinful thoughts and dark glares your way.

October 22nd

You’d stayed out of Terzo’s way since the clergy dinner, hoping to build a little tension between then and when you would have to see him again at Black Mass.

The Mass itself was uneventful. You sang the hymns, partook in the prayers like a good Sister should. And then came communion.

You’d planned this already, and as you waited in line on your knees on the chapel steps beside your Siblings, your eyes homed in on Papa.

You’d never noticed before, perhaps because you’d never really looked, but he looked incredibly powerful in his robes. Thinking of the way you were teasing your Papa recently, building the anticipation towards that first night together... it sent a pang of heat between your legs, and you shuffled in your spot.

He came to you and remained professional. He was surrounded by siblings, cardinals, clergy... he couldn’t slip up. Not now. He had to remain stoic, no matter how torturous it was to have you on your knees before him...

You stared up at him through your lashes, opening your mouth and laying your tongue out for him to place the little cracker on. As he did, you closed your lips around his thumb, sucking a little on the leather of his glove, the cold gold nails tasting like old pennies. His eyes hardened, and he retracted his hand quickly as if you had bit him.

Around his thumb you could see the remnants of your red lipstick, and you smirked in triumph. He wiped his thumb on his robes before taking the chalice of wine from Cardinal Copia behind him – who whilst assisting him, had also noticed your little tease and gulped to himself at the sight – and tipping it against your lips.

A droplet spilled from the corner, dribbling down your chin which you quickly caught with your finger and licked off, all the while holding eye contact.

Terzo filed that image away for later of the red wine dripping down your chin. Information he could store for the future...

But for now, he ignored you – and the aching hardness beneath his robes.

October 24th

He hadn’t anticipated you would be as feisty as you were, that you would play his little game with him and more so, end up winning. He couldn’t allow it. He had to try and get the upper hand.

But he was already so pent up, refraining from indulging in any of the other Siblings or Ghouls since your agreement had been made. He hadn’t even jerked off, although that was getting more and more difficult to fight...

The amount of teasing, of flirting and being downright obvious that you were both riling the other up was starting to get to his head and now even the slightest thing was enough to drive him wild about you. He felt like a caged animal.

And so who could really blame him when he walked past you, alone in a hallway where you had smirked and avoided eye contact with him, and he had turned on his heels and dragged you by your elbow into the nearest alcove...

He shoved you against the wall, his body covering yours and trapping you in the confined space. Before you had time to register what was happening or utter a single syllable, his mouth crashed against yours.

His hands were on you, holding your hips against the wall as he pressed himself against you. You didn’t fight; frankly the willpower to fight it had dwindled days ago, and here he was giving you what you both wanted, what you’d both been working up to.

You kissed him back with reverie, your fingers threading through his dark hair and pulling him impossibly closer. The need between your thighs grew incredibly strong with every roll of his hips against you. You were drowning in him, finally ...

Terzo let out a low growl, fighting a battle in his head. He wanted you now. But if he could wait one more day... He had to wait one more day.

With a grunt and a loud smack to the wall beside your head he pulled off you, smoothing his hair and walking off down the hall with a scowl on his face, as if nothing had happened.

You leaned back against the wall panting, mouth agape in shock. He didn’t look back at you once, just rounded the corner leaving you with heart palpitations and a pooling feeling in your core...

Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

October 25th

Today, it began.

Your schedule was busy, which concerned you. You had work with Secondo, several meetings in the diary. But your evening was free, and you assumed that Terzo would find his way to you then. With just a few hours left until you gave in to him, until you could finally have him, you were incredibly on edge.

It had taken you entirely too long to roll out of bed that morning, needing to hurry getting ready and haphazardly dressing in your pre-thought-out habit and veil – with a sneaky little surprise underneath... When you’d rushed to Secondo’s office, you barely made it in time for your first meeting of the day; a Latin curriculum debrief with Cardinal Copia you were due to take notes from.

You liked the Cardinal, he was the kind of man who put you at ease. Mostly because he was so timid himself, a very sweet man who would try to brighten anyone’s day he could. You were glad when you’d been told he was your first meeting with Secondo, thinking maybe he could ease your anxiety. Alas, he seemed a little on edge himself, refusing to look you in the eye for too long at all. You couldn’t entertain it today – you focussed solely on your notes and the meeting at hand.

The morning passed painfully slowly, drab meetings with bishops and cardinals alike dragging on as if the earth had slowed on its axis. When Secondo dismissed you for lunch, you let out a breath of relief.

“I need you back before 1pm, Sorella. We have a meeting with Terzo at one o’clock sharp,” he stated plainly as he scribbled on some documents.

Shit. This would be torturous.

This had been a good idea at the time, an easy way in, to tempt you into coming back to him that evening. But Terzo had misjudged his decision wildly, not knowing when he’d put this meeting in Secondo’s diary that he would be down so fucking bad for you that every tiny little thing you did made him swoon like a touch-starved Victorian gentlemen. He was simply grateful he’d asked Sister Christine to run some errands for him today, and she wasn’t also present to witness his agony – she would have picked up on it immediately.

He noted how uncomfortable you looked, squirming in the chair in front of his desk next to Secondo. He noted how you refused to look at him, busying yourself with a notebook and pen as Secondo droned on and on about the All Hallow’s Eve ball and the preparations. He noted how fucking beautiful you looked, with flushed cheeks and anxiously bitten lips.

His composure was waning, eyes raking over your form as you bounced your leg nervously. Your thigh wobbled under your short skirt and with every bounce his muscles tensed in his body just a little bit more. You twirled your pen in your fingers, and he imagined what magic you could possibly do with them. You fidgeted in your place, hips circling to find a comfortable position to sit, and he wondered how it would feel if you’d been sat in his lap.

Every. Tiny. Little. Thing. Was driving him to distraction.

You’d never been so uncomfortable in your life, knowing Papa was watching you very closely. In your haste to get ready this morning, you hadn’t quite dressed yourself properly. The zipper at the back of your habit was digging in between your shoulder blades where it had been done up in haste. Your tights felt uncomfortable around your behind where they hadn’t been adjusted comfortably. Your veil kept slipping back on your hairline, not properly pinned to hide your hair.

And with Terzo’s eyes scanning over you, a thick tension between you, you noticed these things even more.

You sighed quietly to yourself as Secondo droned on about the menu options for the ball, reaching up to your veil to push it forwards on your head, covering your hairline again as you had at least six times in the last twenty minutes. It just would not stay.

“Sorella, are you alright?” Secondo asked, noticing your exasperation.

“Oh, sì, papa. Excuse me...” you smiled awkwardly, willing him to continue and pay no mind to you. He did just that, continuing his waffle. Terzo ignored him, eyes trained on you as the veil slipped again.

This time you reached up, pulled it from your head, figuring you would just start a fresh. Your hair fell around your face, draping over your shoulders. Terzo would swear blind it happened in slow motion, like a scene in a shitty made for TV movie. But he couldn’t help the feeling of being punched in the gut, seeing you unveiled and exposed. How beautiful you fucking were...

“Get out.”

Both you and Secondo looked up at Terzo, his eyes dark and heavily lidded, staring you down.

“Fratello, don’t be so rude. She is just adjusting her veil, she means no disrespect. I need her to stay,” Secondo protested, annoyed at his brother’s tone. How dare he speak to his assistant like this?

“Not her. You.” His eyes never moved. His voice deepened.

“Scusi? ” Secondo seethed.

“Get. Out.” Terzo punctuated the words through grit teeth, annoyed that his brother hadn’t just disappeared in a puff of smoke like he so wished in that moment.

Secondo looked at you, finding you staring back at Terzo with wide eyes and parted lips, holding your veil in one hand that was still raised by your head where it had paused as you’d slipped it off. His eyes darted between the pair of you, seeing that neither one of you moved, neither one looked in his direction.

“Per l’amor di Satana (for the love of Satan),” he muttered and rolled his eyes, slamming his own notebook shut in his lap and standing quickly. The noise made you jump, suddenly looking up at your Papa. You wanted to speak, to ask he stay and apologise but Terzo’s hungry gaze stopped you.

Secondo stomped out of the room, but not before turning back to the pair of you to find you looking at him like a scared little puppy dog and Terzo still staring only at you.

“I need her back by 3:30pm, Fratellino. Or I will have your balls in a jar,” he warned, before slamming the door behind him.

The silence that fell on you as you stared at the closed door your boss had just left through felt eerie, as if static electricity was building around you before a lightning strike.

And strike, he would.

He stood from his desk with a startling scrape of his chair. Your head snapped back to him, only to be met with a glare that should have terrified you. Except, it only excited you... The embers of arousal that had been simmering on a low heat for the last week since he’d first caught your elbow and whispered sweet temptations to you were being stoked – by a simple glare.

He didn’t move though. Instead, he lifted his hand, curling his finger and beckoning you to him. Wordlessly, you rose from your seat slowly, laying your notebook and pen on the chair behind you and playing nervously with your veil you still held as you watched him.

“Here,” he pointed at his desk, prodding his gloved finger on the wooden surface before him. You stepped around, squeezing between him and the desk – he hadn’t left much room to work with intentionally, enjoying the way you tried hard to evade brushing your chest against his with a smirk etching into his paints. You leaned against the wood, waiting for further instruction.

“I’m sure you’ve been intentional, Sorella. Well played,” he congratulated, his voice dark and lower than usual. He pressed himself against you, leaning both his fists on the wood either side of you, trapping you. “But perhaps you have done too well in tempting me, eh? Because I simply cannot hold myself back any longer...”

“I...I...” you stuttered, wanting to reply and fumbling any kind of sense.

“We begin with lust,” he announced, and that was when the static in the room came to a head, and lightning struck.

His lips were on you in a suffocatingly heated kiss, hands gripping onto your habit at your hips and shoving you against his own. You too were so pent up from the week of teasing and flirting with each other you matched his ferocity, allowing the lust you’d built to spill over. Your hands were in his hair in a flash, pulling him to you by his roots and he groaned into your pliant mouth.

You were under no illusion that this would be particularly romantic, nor that it would last particularly long, but what you hadn’t expected was Terzo’s desperation for you to match your own.

He crouched slightly, picking you up by the swell of your backside and shoving you onto the desk to step between your thighs. You could feel his erection against your core, and already you couldn’t help the mewl that fell from your mouth. He chuckled as he disconnected his lips from yours for a moment, allowing you to breathe and for more little whimpers to escape as he ground himself into you again.

“Sorella, would you like to know a secret?” he asked as he sloppily kissed the corner of your mouth and under your jaw...

“Mhmm...” was all you could muster.

“Since you agreed to the ritual, I haven’t had another sibling,” he admitted between kisses, “haven’t touched myself once.”

His confession swam in your mind; he’d saved himself for this. Sure, it had only been a little over a week, but you thought for sure he would have taken his frustrations out on another sister if he couldn’t yet have you.

“All I wanted was you, Sorella. Was this...” he growled as his hand dove between your thighs to what he’d truly wanted for the last nine days. Somehow, he’d found his way under your habit, cupping his palm against you and grinding it into your clit, still hidden by your tights and underwear.

“Papa...” you moaned, unwilling to stay quiet at all. “I need you.”

The dark laugh that vibrated against your neck where his trail of kisses ended raised goosebumps on your skin.

“And whose fault is that, hm?” he quipped. “You rile your Papa up and then beg him for release?” he straightened up, smirking down at you. “Is that how this works?”

“I’m... I’m sorr-”

Before you could finish his lips were back on yours, his hand retracted from your core much to your dismay but now unzipping the back of your habit and dragging it down over your shoulders. He exposed you to him, although with his eyes shut as he dragged his tongue across your bottom lip, he was yet to see just what you’d worn for him.

But he was an impatient man after what you had put each other through, and to rip the rest of your habit from you he would need to see what he was doing, lift you to slide it from around your ass. But when he laid eyes on you, his stopped dead, fabric sitting at your hips instead.

"Shit ...”

You weren’t sure if Terzo was a lingerie kind of man, but then again, what man was not a lingerie kind of man? Your suspicions were proven when he saw what you were wearing for him.

A deep purple bra, made of mesh to leave nothing to the imagination, with an embroidered snake on each of the cups. The exact same purple as his Papal robes, hung up in a glass cabinet against the back wall of his office.

“Is this new, dolcezza ?” he asked, running a finger under one of the straps.

“Sì, Papa... The purple-”

“Matches. How sweet of you...” he grinned wickedly. “Is it part of a set?” he arched an inquisitive eyebrow. His spare hand lifted the skirt of your habit, running his glove along the top of your thigh and pushing the material higher and higher until he got a peak at more purple fabric, darkened by your sheer black tights.

“Do you like them?” you teased, leaning back on your hands and spreading your legs to give him a better view of the purple mesh that did nothing to hide your glistening folds, meant for tempting and not for practicality.

“Oh, but Principessa, I can’t see them properly...” he pouted, when suddenly his hands gripped the material of your tights on your inner thighs and ripped.

The fabric didn’t stand a chance, a large hole tearing around your inner thighs and crotch to expose the rich purple of the mesh that covered you. You let out a squeak in shock, the feral nature of it forcing your walls to flutter in arousal.

“Better. Now...” he held his fingers in front of your lips, horizontal, “bite.”

You did as instructed, biting gently on his fingers. He started to retract his hand, his white glove stuck between your teeth as he shimmied his fingers out of it. Then, he rolled the sleeves of his pale pink long-sleeved shirt up his to his elbows, exposing the dark hair and veins of his strong arms.

“Brava ragazza, keep it there. You drop that, you’re in trouble...” he booped you on the nose playfully, and suddenly that very same bare hand dipped between your thighs, pushing the mesh to one side and dragging a line through your folds with his middle finger.

The moan you let slip would have been pornographic if not for the glove you kept tightly locked in your jaw, your head lolling back and eyes fluttering shut. Terzo leaned into your now exposed neck, sinking his teeth into the flesh and sucking as his fingers continued to work you over, circling your clit in just the way you liked.

“I had plans for you, Principessa,” he mouthed against your neck as he spoke between each deep bruise he left, “but I’m afraid I can’t control myself much longer.”

The way his fingers felt against your entrance as he began to tease your quivering hole was euphoric, you wanted nothing more than to sink down onto the digits and take your pleasure from him where you sat. But he had other ideas.

“Still, you will cum on your Papa’s fingers first, sì? I will be sure of that,” he promised, finally sliding two fingers inside you. With how soaked you were, you took them with ease, back arching and pressing your chest against him. His lips mouthed wet and sloppy kisses from where the purple bruises had formed on your neck – prettily matching your chosen lingerie – down to your sternum and over the curve of your breasts.

Terzo began curling his fingers inside you, manoeuvring in search of that spot inside you that could make you see stars. Having never been with you before, he didn’t know what made you tick, what made you feel good. But he was going to find out and take mental notes. When he found it, you sure let him know...

“F-fuck, Papa...” you whined, stuttering as your head flew forward to look down between you, seeing his hand buried deep within you. You kept his glove tightly between your teeth still.

“There she is, eh?” he smiled smugly. Now he knew where, he began his vicious assault between your thighs. Over and over again, he curled his fingers and hit that same spot. You couldn’t help the moans, the way your fingernails dug into his bicep beneath his shirt, the way your forehead fell against his shoulder. And when his thumb began to work over your clit in smooth, calculated circles... You lost your damn mind.

“Papa!” you cried, glove long forgotten by both of you as it dropped to the floor. Your hips bucked wildly against him where you sat against the desk. He grunted as he bit the mesh of your bralette, pulling it down to expose your nipple to him and latching his lips around it. As he began to suck, laving his tongue over the nub intermittently, he couldn’t help but rut his bulge against your knee. He was so desperate for you, but he wanted you cumming on his fingers first, with good reason.

He knew that to have you cum before he sank into your heat would make you so much wetter, filthier, tighter. And the second orgasm on his cock would warp your mind completely.

Yes, that’s what he craved.

Your thighs began to shake, vibrating your knee against his clothed cock as his fingers worked furiously to drag an orgasm from you. His sloppiness as his mouth engulfed your nipple grew tenfold at the sinful noises you made for him, a litany of profanity and his title rolling from your lips. He could feel your walls clenching around his fingers, fluttering and producing a seemingly never-ending slew of slick he could use to his advantage, particularly on your clit as his thumb gathered it to use against you.

“Cum for me, Principessa,” he barked as an instruction, “NOW!”

As if you had given him the control over your body, you obeyed. The coil in your abdomen snapped, walls clenching Terzo’s fingers so tightly he could barely drag them out of you, only able to curl them to keep up his stimulation. Your hand flew to his wrist and squeezed, terrified he might retreat too soon, but he wouldn't dare.

“Brava ragazza, la mia Principessa... (good girl, my princess),” he growled, still rutting himself against your knee, just slower in time with his hand slowing to a stop as you came back down. He stood up straight in time to catch you slumping against his chest, nuzzling into the soft fabric of his shirt.

When he slipped his fingers from you, he tilted your head up to look at him from below, and slipped his slicked digits into his mouth, holding eye contact with you as you watched him clean your essence from him.

“Così dolce, (so sweet...)” he hummed. You giggled, breathless. He’d knocked the wind out of you, for sure. But you knew he wasn’t done with you yet, as whilst he had stilled his hips against you, he was still pressed against your leg. And you could feel his thickness, waiting...

“Papa... You haven’t seen my favourite part of my outfit,” you teased, words forming slower than normal in your hazy state.

“Oh?” he was confused, until you gathered yourself, standing from the desk and shrugging your habit off you completely to the floor. You pushed him back with just one finger, his confusion making him pliant and intrigued, following your instruction. You smirked, and turned around, laying your chest flat against the wood of his desk.

You heard a gasp from behind you.

The mesh panties you were wearing as part of your set were not simply just mesh across your backside. Instead, two embroidered purple snakes – much like the ones on the bralette – faced each other, one on each cheek of your ass.

The view Terzo had was impeccable, ripped tights allowing only some of the purple to be as bright as the rest, but he could clearly see where your panties were still pushed to one side, your glistening and swollen folds on display for him. You were presenting yourself to him, to use as he deemed fit.

“Cazzo, Principessa... Look at you, eh?” He bit the end of his remaining glove on his middle finger, pulling it off in one quick motion and dropping it to the floor so he had both of his hands bare. He stepped towards you then, both hands ghosting over the roundness of your ass. He pulled more at the tights, ripping a bigger hole to expose more of you.

He was taking too long for your liking, lost in the sight of you but you needed him so desperately. You couldn’t deny the ever-present lust brewing once again inside.

“Papa, don’t you want me?” you whined, wiggling your ass in his hands to tempt him further. You heard a dark chuckle behind you.

“Just enjoying the view, Principessa...” you felt his hands retreat, heard a zipper and fabric rustling.

Then you felt him... Slicking himself up between your folds, his head teasing where you needed him. You pushed back a little against him as his head caught on your entrance, barely pushing onto him when he decided he couldn’t fucking wait any longer. He needed to feel you on his cock.

His bare hands gripped your hips and his pelvis pushed against you, his length sinking inside you in a swift motion, knowing you were ready for him. You heard his grunt, imagined him biting his lip behind you as he stilled and struggled to remain composed, muffled whimper following his initial grunt.

Lucifer, you felt incredible. Had he known your pussy could feel this good, he would have claimed you as his long ago.

Slowly, he began to thrust inside you, filling you over and over again. He drove his hips down, knowing now where that damned spot inside you was and driving his cock home with every thrust.

Terzo was a very vocal lover, usually. He liked to talk his conquests through it, loved to praise them, degrade them, anything to make them squeeze around his cock but right now? He could barely form a sentence, wordless grunts and moans all he could manage.

“P-Papa...” you cried, “f-feels... so good.” His hips quickened their pace, the force becoming enough to slap his skin against yours as his pelvis met the flesh of your ass. He watched your cheeks ripple with every thrust, committing the motion to memory in case he never got this chance again.

He knew your first orgasm would do this to you... make you sopping wet for him, tighter, more sensitive. He would have smirked smugly if his face wasn’t permanently carved in a look of pure pleasured anguish. His plan had worked a little too well, his own lust for you too much and rendering him frankly animalistic. With all the teasing, all the flirting leading up to this moment he almost couldn’t believe he was here, and yet, your walls clenching on his shaft and creaming at the base of his cock was the stark reminder that yes, he had won his prize.

As much as he adored watching his cock disappearing into you over and over, he needed to see your face again. He needed you closer.

He slid a hand down the curve of your back. Running his fingers through your hair before wrapping it around his fist and pulling you up, chest leaving the desk. You grabbed his wrist for added stability, the sting of your roots being pulled adding a delicious toxicity to the moment. He pulled you back until your shoulders met his still clothed chest, and your face was exposed when your head lay back against his shoulder.

The look in his eyes should have frightened you, the lust clouding them over and what could easily be mistaken for anger etched into his face. But it wasn’t anger, it was restraint. He was desperately trying not to cum too soon, savouring every second.

“Look at you, eh?” he growled, “you look so fucked out, Principessa...” You couldn’t reply, just whimpered as the free hand on your hip slid up to rest over your neck and squeezed. You gasped at the pressure, not enough to make breathing a struggle but enough to excite you and earn Terzo another squeeze on his cock. He smirked at the feeling, knowing now that you liked that ...

That very same hand reached up a little further, pushing two fingertips to your lips and opening your jaw up for him. He hooked them both past your teeth, holding your jaw open slightly while he mouthed at the corner of your lips, hips so furiously fucking into you your whimpers came out as little screams.

Frankly, Terzo had lost control. The need to cum, to make you cum again was visceral and his brain wasn’t functioning, too much blood flowing to his cock. Lust had taken over the pair of you entirely.

At this pace, his assault on your g-spot was violent but so welcome, and when your orgasm hit you again, your eyes rolled back into your head, body going slack and convulsing in his arms. Tears dripped down your cheeks, eyes tightening shut as you screamed for him around his fingers. You didn’t know you possibly could, but your pussy squirted as he continued his stimulation, pace never slowing, but the noise that came out of him...

It was like a demon had crawled into him from hell itself.

When he felt the wet splash on his thigh, he lost what sliver of composure he had left and roared as he too climaxed, your walls contracting and dragging him back in with every thrust. His seed spilled inside, mixing with the mess you’d both already made and dripping from between you, hitting the floor between his feet.

Whilst his thrusts slowed to keep his and your orgasms prolonged, the strength of them didn’t waver. And with each, he punctuated it with a noise that sounded something between a whimper and a grunt. His arms had tightened around you, grip on your hair pulling at your scalp with each final thrust.

When he finally stilled, he didn’t let go immediately, scared that if he did you may slam onto the desk below you and him to the floor, completely boneless.

You both caught your breath for a moment, and when he did finally loosen his grip it was to slip out of you and pull you back against him when he slumped in his chair behind him. Wordlessly and still panting, he pulled you to sit in his lap curled into his chest. He didn’t care about the mess still seeping from your ruined cunt. He knew you’d need him close, comforting you.

And you certainly did. You nuzzled into his shirt, damp with sweat and now, your tears. Terzo wrapped his arms around you, hand stroking your hair as he whispered how good you’d been for him in your ear.

Given a few minutes, you were coming around again to being yourself. You sat up in his lap, looking back at his face – his makeup was ruined with sweat and smudged particularly around his lips where he’d mouthed at your skin. You couldn’t help the giggle that came out.

He chuckled with you, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his thumb and finger into his eyes as if to clear them. His head rolled back to lay against the high back of his chair, eyes on you.

“Well, I would say that was to the Old One’s tastes, eh?” You nodded in agreement, smiling shyly.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, biting your lip.

“For what, Principessa?” Ah, so he was still calling you that. Well, good. You quite liked that. “Orgasm number one, or orgasm number two?”

Smug bastard.

You swatted his chest, hiding your blush. “For helping me. Y’know... with the ritual.”

The smugness of his smirk faded into a softer smile, hand coming to pinch at your chin lightly.

“Prego, dolcezza... (You’re welcome, sweetie...) ” he winked. “Could you reach into that drawer there, for me?” he asked, pointing at a drawer to the left-hand side of his desk. You did as asked, opening it up to find a clipboard and a pen under the clip. When you looked, it was a list.

A list of all seven sins you were to perform.

You handed it to him, shaking your head in a silent laugh. He grinned stupidly and unclipped the pen, biting the cap off before spitting it to the ground and crossing off the first of the seven – Lust.

His eyes flicked up to you once more, and he flipped the board around so you could see.

“One down, six to go...”

Prev: Prologue | Next: Day 2 - Sloth

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