#it just didn’t click at all. and the harder I tried the more I felt myself slipping away again. bc I kept getting overwhelmed. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

storiesforallfandoms · 1 year ago

Text

herogasm ~ soldier boy;the boys

word count: 3678

request?: no

description: in which she’s trying to leave the supe orgy, just to stumble into the room of the man who started it

pairing: soldier boy x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (fingering, praise, unprotected p in v), mentions of herogasm (the event, not the episode)

masterlist (one, two, three)

I didn’t want to be there. There was a number of reasons why, but the most prominent one was definitely that I did not want to be involved in an orgy full of Supes.

My best friend, Maria, had convinced me to come. I had gone through a pretty hard breakup that left me basically inconsolable for days. I only left the house to go to work, and even then I was very much just operating on autopilot. Maria wanted to get me out of the house, so she came over and told me she had gotten an invite to some big Supe party and intended to take me with her to get my mind off of things.

She didn’t tell me until we showed up that the “party” was the infamous Supe orgy known as “Herogasm”.

Apparently, Maria had hooked up with a Supe who had an in to the party. She got the invite and thought an orgy would be the perfect idea to get me over my breakup. There was just one little flaw in her plan: I was not an orgy person. I was insecure enough about my body that I felt awkward being naked in front of one person, let alone an entire house full of strangers. Supe strangers at that.

Maria abandoned me the minute we walked through the door, taken by the Supe she fucked to get here. I was left, on my own in the corner, while a lot of naked people walked or fucked around me. A couple glanced in my direction, one even tried to proposition me, which I politely declined. I wasn’t sure how long I was stood there before everything became overwhelming. I needed to get away from all those people. I needed to be somewhere with no moaning or screaming or sex noises. Somewhere that I could calm myself down before I left.

I stumbled through the house, feeling my heart pounding harder and harder with every overwhelming second that passed. Behind almost every door I could hear more moaning and squelching. It felt like there was no true escape from it - there was even people fucking outside - until I turned the knob on a door that led to a seemingly empty room. I stumbled in, slamming the door behind me and sliding down it until I was sat on the floor. I brought my knees up to my chest and rested my head against my knees.

“Well, hello there.”

I jumped at the sudden sound of someone’s voice. I looked up to see I had hidden myself away in a bedroom. The main bedroom, I concluded, judging by the huge size of the room, the bed, and the fact there was a mini bar in the corner of the room. A mini bar with a man stood behind it. A very handsome man in nothing but a silk robe.

“Shit,” I sighed. “I’m sorry, I - ”

“No, don’t be sorry,” he said. “Judging by the fact that you still have clothes on, you’re not here for the orgy.”

I shook my head. “One of my friends brought me here. She didn’t even tell me what it was until we pulled up.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment before stepping away from the mini bar. I tensed up as he got closer to me. I was trying to figure out if I’d get out fast enough when he reached me. He reached over me and turned the lock on the knob.

“Stay as long ad you want,” he told me. “Not that anyone usually comes in unannounced anyways. I think you’re the first person to stumble into my room in years.”

My eyes widened as he started walking away. “Y-Your room? So...you’re the host here?”

He turned back and raised an eyebrow at me. “You serious?” I nodded. “I created this whole fuckin’ thing. Herogasm is my baby.”

That’s when it finally clicked. “Holy shit, you’re Soldier Boy!”

He grinned at me before he took a sip of his drink.

I couldn’t believe it. I had stumbled into the room of the most famous Supe in the entire world and I didn’t even recognize him at first! God, this couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

“You don’t have to huddle up by the door like a scared kid,” he said. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

I wasn’t sure if I could take his word for it. I knew he was a Supe and all, and Supes were supposed to protect people, but he did have me locked in his room, while he was naked no less. Well, besides a robe. I’d be helpless against him if he did decide he wanted to hurt me.

Despite knowing this, I still slowly got to my feet. He was pouring up another glass as I walked further into his giant room. It was like the size of my living room and kitchen combined. I was in awe of it so much that I could hear Soldier Boy chuckling to himself. He extended a glass to me and gestured to the bed. I took the glass, hesitantly, and sat down.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Bourbon,” he responded. “Some of the best shit money can buy.”

I wasn’t much of a drinker. I could smell the strong, alcoholic scent before even raising the glass to my lips. I took a small sip and immediately cringed at the stinging feeling that ran down my throat. Soldier Boy laughed.

“That’s God awful,” I groaned.

“You just don’t appreciate fine alcohol,” he said.

“I appreciate it when it doesn’t taste like battery acid,” I retorted. “What are you doing in here, anyways? If you created this...thing, shouldn’t you be partaking?”

He grunted and took another mouthful of his own drink. I figured that was the best I would be getting from him.

“How did you get in?” he asked. “It’s invite only, and usually the only non-Supes invited are hookers.”

I looked down at my glass again, debating on taking another sip. “My friend hooked up with a Supe who gave her the invite. She lied at the door and told them I had been invited, too.”

“Then she ditched you?”

I nodded. “Probably getting her pussy super-stretched as we speak.”

That made him laugh. I felt some sense of pride at that. The most famous Supe in the world was laughing at my jokes. That had to be bragging rights.

“Sounds like a shit friend, then,” he commented.

“No, she is a good friend. She’s very...sexually liberated. This type of thing is very up her alley. Me, not so much.”

“Then why did she take you here?”

I gazed down at the glass of auburn liquid. The memory of my recent breakup brought back all my negative emotions. With one swift gulp, I finished the contents of the glass. I shuddered as it burned down my throat.

“My boyfriend of four years dumped me,” I said. “Just woke up one day and told me he didn’t feel the same way anymore. After we had just moved in together a few months prior.”

Soldier Boy whistled. “That sounds rough.”

“It was the worst fucking day of my life,” I muttered. “Maria, my friend, I guess she thought a super-sex party would be the best way to get me to move on. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, and all that.”

“That never works. Trust me.”

Oh, there was a story there. I could tell. One that was probably connected to the reason he wasn’t participating in his own orgy. Normally, I wouldn’t pry. I didn’t know Soldier Boy. He would probably forget all about me once I left his room. But the bourbon was starting to get to me. I found myself leaning forward, close enough that I could smell his aftershave.

“What happened?” I asked him. “What made you not want to participate in Herogasm?”

He looked at me. I could tell he was debating on telling me. I wasn’t sure if I should push the issue further than those questions, even if my curiosity was getting the best of me.

Finally, he sighed and said, “My girl left me because of one of these things.”

Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. I couldn’t even remember who Soldier Boy’s “girl” was in that moment.

“We used to host together,” he explained. “Once a year, we would allow each other to fuck whoever we wanted at Herogasm. One night, one meaningless orgy, and that was it. Then, a few years back, she comes to me the day after Herogasm and she tells me that she met someone that night. I don’t know, I guess they talked in between the fucking or some shit. She dumped me on the spot for the guy. Took all of her shit and left that same day.”

Okay, definitely a lot worse than my sob story. My ex completely shattered my heart, sure, but he didn’t leave me for someone else. Especially not someone that he fucked in our own house, during a party that we were hosting together. Even if they had an agreement that they could sleep around during Herogasm, that was a huge hit to trust. One that I don’t think I would’ve ever gotten over in his shoes.

“Since then, I haven’t participated,” he continued. “I’ll host, since it’s my creation, but I usually just walk around, make sure everything is going okay and everyone is having a good time, then I hide away in here until everyone gets too tired from the fucking and either leaves or falls asleep.”

“Why keep hosting it if you don’t want to participate anymore?” I asked. “Why not hand it off to someone else?”

“Because it’s my thing. I created it, and it got bigger than I could’ve ever imagined. I thought about cancelling it after Countess left me, but it’s become this huge thing to Supes and their groupies. I don’t want to disappoint anyone by cancelling it, and I wouldn’t want anyone else stealing it from me and making it a shit version of what it used to be.”

Before I could respond, there was a bang against his door. We both jumped and turned towards the door. Judging by the rhythmic beating on the door and the shouts of pleasure, it was just a couple that had decided to use Soldier Boy’s door as another fuck place. I chuckled and turned back to him. My laughter died out, though, once I realized how close we had gotten to one another. My face was mere inches away from his. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face. The closeness made my heart start pounding a little harder.

The alcohol had definitely kicked in because I did something that was very unlike me in that moment: I leaned forward and kissed him.

He was receptive right away. His free hand moved to hold the back of my head. His lips moved perfectly in time with mine. His tongue slid against my lower lip, asking permission for entrance, and I gave it to him. I let my empty glass fall to the floor, luckily the fall being cushioned by a rug next to his bed, while he placed his on the nightstand next to the bed without breaking our kiss. In one swift movement, he moved me so that I was straddling his lap, not once breaking our kiss.

His hands explored my body, running down the sides of my torso, to my hips, then over my ass. He grabbed the meaty flesh there, rocking my hips forward unintentionally (or maybe it was intentional) against him. His cock was growing hard and I could feel that the tip was starting to peak out from his robe. Suddenly, I felt very overdressed compared to him, and I wanted to change that.

I broke away and Soldier Boy watched with lust filled eye as I pulled my shirt over my head and discarded it onto the floor. I stood from his lap to unbutton my jeans and let them fall to the floor. I stepped out of them and stood in front of him, just in my lingerie. Realizing how naked I was, I felt a little shy suddenly. Like I wanted to cover myself up or make all the light in the room disappear so that he couldn’t see me. But when he pulled me forward again, standing me between his open legs, and leaned forward to start kissing over the exposed skin of my stomach, the insecurities melted away into desire again.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Don’t you dare think of hiding this beautiful body away from me.”

I was shocked that he knew what I was thinking, but I didn’t have time to figure out how he knew. His hands were on me again, pulling me down onto his lap and then quickly turning the two of us so that I was laying beneath him on the bed. I could feel him pressing against my inner thigh as he kissed me again, a pool of wetness starting to fill in my panties.

He moved one hand between my legs, opening them up for him, and ran his finger over the clothed material. I gasped and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into my mouth again.

“You’re already so wet,” he noted. “How long has it been since you were touched?”

The answer was a bit embarrassing. That probably should’ve been the first sign that my relationship was going downhill, but I was too naïve to notice that we hadn’t been having sex. Or maybe just too blind to the downfalls of my relationship.

When I didn’t answer, he pulled my panties to the side and slid a finger into me. The sudden protruding felt painful at first. I dug my nails into his arms hard, but didn’t leave any marks or didn’t seem to hurt him in any way. He slowly started thrusting his finger in an out of me until the pain turned to pleasure, and then he added a second finger.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he commented. “That asshole must not have stretched this pussy out in a long time. Either that, or he had a microdick.”

His fingers gained speed. I could hear them becoming wetter and wetter every time he thrusted them inwards. I was well beyond cloud nine, probably cloud twenty at this rate. Whenever I opened my eyes all I could see was stars, and Soldier Boy’s face watching me as I came undone beneath him. He was an expert in ways I could only dream of, reaching places I didn’t even know could feel so good. He had me on the edge of my orgasm, when suddenly the pleasure was ripped away as he pulled his fingers from me.

I whined, trying to reach for him to get the feeling back. But he pulled away from me, putting the two fingers covered in my slick into his mouth and sucking them dry.

“You taste just as sweet as I thought you would,” he said.

“Please,” was all I could manage. It almost sounded pathetic how desperate I sounded.

He smirked down at me. “I’ll give you what you want. I just want you to cum on my dick instead of on my fingers.”

He sat up and untied his robe, throwing it to the floor along with the other discarded clothes. His cock finally sprang free, standing at attention against his stomach. My eyes widened at how big he was. I should’ve anticipated it, I figured most Supe men were probably well hung, but it a shock none the less. I wondered if I would even be able to take his whole length.

He spit on his hand to lube himself up, moved my panties to the side again, and then lined his tip up with my entrance.

“Ready?” he asked. I nodded and he began to push into me.

My gasps and moans filled the room as he slowly slid into me, inch by inch, almost at a painfully slow rate. I felt so full with him completely inside of me. I could feel the burn of him stretching me out around his girth, but even the burn felt like pleasure. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pulled him back down to me. I kissed him again, hungrily, desperately, and he got my silent message to start moving.

His thrusts were slow at first, testing the waters. It felt so good to feel him pushing in and out of me. His dick was so long that I could feel it not only poking my g-spot, but absolutely abusing it with every thrust. It sent shockwaves of pleasure through me that I wasn’t even sure I had felt before. My head fell back onto the pillow, letting moans tumble from my lips as they felt the need to.

“F-Fuck,” I breathed. “S-Soldier Boy.”

“Ben,” he said, not breaking his pace. “Call me Ben.”

“Ben,” I moaned instead. Definitely a better name to say in bed. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“Yeah? I think I can tell.”

I didn’t have to open my eyes to know he had a cocky smirk on his face.

I ran my hands from his shoulders down his toned back to his ass. I gave it a squeeze, urging him to go faster. I could feel my high coming back, and I desperately needed to chase it. He did as I wanted and his thrusts became faster, rougher. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with my moans and his grunts. He took hold of my legs and wrapped them around his waist, giving himself a better vantage point for his rough thrusts. I screamed out as his dick pounded against my g-spot, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

“I can feel you’re close,” he said. “I can feel this fucking pussy getting tighter. Cum all over my cock. You can do it, beautiful, I know you can.”

His words of praise and encouragement sent me toppling over the edge. Stars exploded from my vision as my body trembled and convulsed around him. It was the hardest I could ever remember orgasming in my life, and it was definitely the best orgasm I could remember having. I felt like I was flying off of the bed and high into the sky, never to return to Earth again.

If it weren’t for Ben above me, still thrusting and whispering words of praise into my ear, I probably would’ve thought I had actually floated away.

His release came shortly after my own. I could feel his dick twitching inside of me before he was coating my walls. His arms tightened around me as he rode out his own orgasm, grinding into me until he has squeezed every last drop into me. He pushed himself up so he could look down at me again.

“You look fucking gorgeous after being filled with my cum,” he commented.

I felt myself grow hot at the compliment, but my body felt too heavy to cover myself.

“Are you...are you on the pill or anything?” he asked. “I probably should’ve thought of that before, but I was kind of...busy. I can get you a plan b. We have plenty of those lying around for this day.”

I lazily shook my head. “I’m good. I’ve been on birth control since I was a teenager. Besides, I don’t think Supes can reproduce, can they?”

“We’ve been unsuccessful in that field thus far. Thank God.”

I started to chuckle, but it turned to a gasp as I felt him pulling his soft cock out of me. Even when it was soft, it was big. I could hardly believe all of that fit inside of me.

He took hold of my panties and pulled them down my legs, gazing at the mess he had left between them.

“That’s a fucking beautiful sight,” he commented. I rolled my eyes and tried to close my legs, but he quickly held them open. “No, let me see this for another little bit at least.”

“You’re fucking weird.”

“You just fucked me, what does that say about you?”

He eventually climbed back into his bed next to me. I could still hear the orgy raging on outside of the door. I chuckled to myself, causing Ben to look over at me and arch an eyebrow.

“I fucked a Supe at the Supe orgy,” I explained. “But just one Supe, and it was the guy who created the whole fucking thing. I was planning on leaving when I stumbled into your room.”

“Well, thank God you didn’t.”

He put an arm around me and pulled me into his chest.

“Maybe getting under someone does help you get over someone,” I said. “I don’t even remember my ex’s name now.”

His chest vibrated as he laughed. “That is a good thing. If you find yourself remembering, though, you know where I live. You can always come over and I’ll help you forget again.”

I looked up at him. “Really? This wasn’t a one time thing?”

“I don’t intend for it to be. Did you?” I shook my head. “Okay, good. Since we’re on the same page, my offer still stands. Although, the offer actually extends to any time you want to come over, for any reason. Not just for some rebound sex.”

“That’s a dangerous offer. In a house this big, a bed this big, I might never want to leave. I might just live in this bed, honestly.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

We both laughed as he pulled me in to kiss my forehead. I made a mental note to thank Maria for dragging me to the super-fuck party when I finally found her again. Turns out, it wasn’t such a bad time after all.

#soldier boy #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles imagine #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles x reader #the boys #the boys imagine #imagine #one shot #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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xxsabitoxx · 1 year ago

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Look, Don't Touch

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Warnings: Major DUBCON, pervert Satoru, somnophilia, jerking off, whiny, whimpering, need Satoru.

A/N: this is literally a dream I had so naturally here it is in written form... hehe

WORD COUNT: 2,148 | Not proof read (forgive me)

“Sa-to-ru '' you drawl slowly, giggling as he only whines in response. “I can walk ya know, Sa-to-ru~” but the man refused to put you down, carrying bridal style down the streets of Tokyo with your apartment as his end destination. “Stop talking.” But there was no malice in his tone, he was just getting antsy, and it was all your fault.

You had been teasing him relentlessly, in the club, at the bar, even now as he carried you home. You weren’t even that bad off but he still didn’t trust you to walk by his side if he set you down. Given the fact that Satoru himself had a couple drinks, he was in no state to chase after you. “Never, you know you love the sound of my voice, Sa-to-ru.”

He did, and the way you drew out his name was sending shrills of need down his spine.

“You’re so mean to me… so fucking cruel.” He whined, not caring how desperate he sounded as he rounded the next corner. “You love how mean I am to you, makes you hard, huh?” You whispered the last part in his ear, giggling softly as you felt him tremble. “So cruel.” was all Satoru could mutter in response, nearly crumbling when your building was in sight.

“Tell ya what, Sa-to-ru.” You started, head swaying a bit before you decided to rest it on his shoulder. He didn’t answer, trying to ignore your hand gently trialing across the broad plains of his chest. You could feel his heart racing, it excited you to no end. “C’mon, answer me.” You pouted, fingers still trailing along his chest before finding your way to his neck.

“Go ahead…” his voice strained as he spoke “...Tell me what you want to say.” He knew he’d regret it, the moment you shimmied in his grasp so your lips could ghost his ear. “If you can remember the code to my apartment, I’ll let you spend the night.” You laughed softly as he sighed. “I don’t need a place to sleep, sweetheart.” He tried to sound uninterested but dammit…

“Not to sleep, silly boy.” You teased him further, dragging your nail under his chin and watching him try and fight off the shiver that it sent through his whole body. You watched his throat bob, the grip he had on your body tightening a bit. “I wanna play with you.” You whined softly, legs kicking a bit where they dangled in his grasp.

“Play with me?” he huffed out, legs carrying him quickly as you spoke. “Yeah, wanna play with your co–” but he cut you off with a choked “Woah!” which only made you laugh harder. “Sorry, Sa-to-ru. The drinks make me feel more than I should.” But the white haired man only shook his head, if he spoke he was certain his restraint would go out the window.

He wasn’t mad nor was he uncomfortable. Quite the fucking opposite, he was seconds away from taking you up on your drunken offers. He was shouldering the glass double doors open, ignoring any glances the two of you may get by any passersby. He knew your apartment code just like he knew your phone number, he spent enough time over at your place to know.

“So what you’re telling me…” he clicked the button for your floor as he stepped into the elevator, strong enough to hold you with one hand as he did so. “... you’ll let me fuck you if I remember your apartment code?” He finally smirked down at you, trying not to chuckle at your lidded eyes and smeared lipstick. “Mmhmm, thats exactly what you can do… fuck me really good.”

His moment of confidence fizzled away at your tone, so seductive, so needy.

Fuck he wanted you bad…

By the time the elevator door opened, Satoru was uncomfortably hard. It was the only thing he could truly focus on, the way his cock was stiff in his boxers, straining against the material and slowly leaking. Every step sent shivers up his spine, the material brushing his sensitive cock just right as he stopped in front of your door. “You better know it, Sa-to-ru.”

Your words had begun to slur from a mix of alcohol and exhaustion, you could feel your own arousal dampening your underwear but you had a funny feeling you wouldn’t even be awake by the time he got you in bed. It took three seconds for him to type your code, door clicking to signal it had been unlocked. “Ha…” soft and triumphant as he pushed his way inside.

You had been right of course, Satoru hadn’t bothered looking down at you again until he was moving to place you on your plush mattress. “No way…” he choked as he set you down, your eyes shut and chest evening out as you began to snore softly. “Such a fucking tease…” he whined, he should have expected you to pass out. He could feel his own exhaustion the entire walk here…

But you had worked him up so well that his tiredness was long forgotten. Now all Satoru could think about was the aching hard-on he had in his pants. “You’re lucky I’m a gentleman.” He mumbled to you despite you not being able to hear, carefully taking off the shoulders of your dress and pulling it down your body. He would only undress you and tuck you in, that's it.

At least that was what the rational portion of his mind was saying, the other part was starting to lose its cool at the sight of your bare skin. “You’re so fucking perfect.” Satoru muttered again, trying to restrain himself as he pulled off your pantyhose to toss into the hamper as well. Your panties had dragged down a bit with it, revealing soft skin that made him salivate.

“This is a form of torture.” he whined, moving to place you up against your pillows. He admired the way you looked, peacefully asleep in nothing but a lacy bra and panties… teasing him thoroughly even in your sleep. The thing is, Satoru couldn’t seem to pull himself away, not even to pull the blankets up and give you some modesty. His feet were glued to his spot on the floor.

“You… you wouldn’t mind, right? Surely you would understand…” he babbled softly, hands moving to hook in the waistband of your underwear. “Just… just to look. I won’t touch…” His breathing stuttered as your cunt was revealed to him, so soft looking and utterly perfect. Satoru’s cock twitched, reminding him of what he really needed.

Large, warm hands were spreading your thighs, revealing the sticky, shiny arousal coating your pretty cunt, leaving Satoru’s throat dry. “Fuck…” he was shaking as he undid his pants, pulling them off completely and letting them drop to the floor before stepping out of them. His boxers followed, slightly soiled from his precum dampening the front.

Satoru was careful, climbing onto your bed and sitting on his knees. You laid before him, fast asleep with your legs spread and cunt out in the open. That was more than enough for him, fuck was it more than enough for him. Satoru’s fist wrapped around his shaft ,giving it a hard squeeze, whining lowly as his pretty eyes locked on your cunt.

Carefully, he tugged at himself, collecting spit in his mouth to drool down over his length. “You’d be such a fucking tease right now, huh?” he spoke to you, hand moving faster now that his saliva was acting as lubricant. “Bet you’d be telling me how bad you want my dick, huh?” he groaned out, his free hand reaching down to fondle his balls as he watched arousal leak from your cunt.

“Fuck you’re so cute… even your fucking cunt is cute…” his lips twitched, cheeks flushing pink as he spoke those words to you. Dirty talk was never his forte… unless he was alone… or in this case, the other party was sleeping. He could never say the things he imagined when the other person was present. He could only fantasize about the things he would like to do.

“I wanna eat your pussy so bad… you’re so mean for falling asleep on me…”

Satoru whimpered as he thumbed his slit, collecting the precum and massaging it around his sensitive tip. “Fuck it looks so good… wanna bury my face down there and eat you out…” he gasped, squeezing his balls so tight he nearly doubled over from the wave of pleasure that passed through him. “My fist is nothing compared to your pussy…” he drawled out now… cheeks flushed red as his pleasure only grew with his words.

“Bet you’d feel so good, your nails digging in my hair and keeping me there…” he could feel his mouth water, the thought of going down on you was going to have him blowing his load before he was ready too. “You probably taste so good, fuck I want to eat you out so bad…” he whined, brows creasing as he repeated his desires, his fist gliding up and down his shaft in fluid motions.

Your thighs twitched in your sleep, threatening to close but Satoru’s hand shot out and stopped you. “A-almost done… please let me keep looking at your pretty pussy… almost done I swear…” but you had long since relaxed again, and his fingers had found their way back to his cock head. Satoru massaged himself, his tip flushed a pretty pink and leaking desperately as he pleased himself to the sight of your cunt. “So good… but your hands would be so much better than mine.”

He was going to cum, he knew he was, he could feel his cock twitching in his grasp as he whimpered about how badly he needed you. “So cruel to tease me and then leave me hanging, especially when your cunt is so pretty and wet for me…” He kept moving, his pleasure building deep in his gut and making his balls tighten. He was going to cum at any second. “You wanted to play with me and now I’m just playing by myself…” Satoru huffed, chest rising and falling faster.

“You wanted me to play with your pretty cunt and now you’re sleeping… your punishment is not getting off like I’m about to… but still.” He whimpered as he thumbed his slit again, head falling back momentarily to let out a guttural moan, he certainly knew how to get himself off… but it wasn’t you. Fuck it wasn’t you, your hands, your cunt… “So mean…” he gasped out again.

Satoru could feel sweat dripping down his brow as his fist pumped along his length over and over, he’d cum soon, so soon, but he didn’t quite want this to end yet. Your cunt looked so inviting, but he wouldn’t dare touch you while you were sleeping. He needed to see your sweet face contort in pleasure when he impaled you on his dick.

“Fuck I want your pussy so bad…"

He could really feel it now, especially with the way his cock was twitching. One glance downward and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Blue eyes focused back on your cunt, the idea creeping up his spine and reminding him just how perverted this whole thing was. “You’ll let me cum on your pussy, right? I mean it’s the least you could do…” He wanted to cover your cunt in his release, he wanted to see sticky globs of cum coating your pretty pussy.

“Y-yeah… no better place…” He mumbled, tugging his fist faster as his cock felt heavy in his own grasp, twitching and aching to spill his release. So he scooted closer, pulling your body closer to him as he did so. His cock was hovering just above your cunt now, the heat teasing him as he pumped himself closer and closer to his end. “Gonna cum…fuck I’m gonna cum all over this pretty pussy… so fucking mean.. You’re so mean… so fucking mean…”

He whimpered out, over and over as his eyes squeezed shut. Thick ropes of cum spurted from his head, covering your cunt in sticky white. Satoru didn’t stop, hand moving up and down his length over and over even as the pleasure turned into overstimulation. Whimpers and moans fell from his pretty lips as he watched his cum leak down your cunt and pool just under your ass.

“Ruined your sheets…” Satoru spoke to himself, still incredibly turned on by the sight of your cunt covered in his release. “A-again.. You wouldn’t mind if I did it again…” His cock hadn’t softened after all, still stiff and aching in his palm despite dumping a load on you. “You just drive me crazy… you and that cunt…” He whined, fist already moving again while you slept

#banner from @cafekitsune #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x reader

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badbtssmut · 3 months ago

Text

5. Silent watch | Kinktober

Your bodyguard Jimin is standing right outside your bedroom door when you moan his name as you play with yourself.

Contains: riding, yn knows Jimin can hear her mastrubate, pillow riding

—

It was only natural that you would be attracted to Jimin. He had been guaranteeing your safety for years and was always around, 24/7. Jimin always stayed professional around you, and you’d dare to even say it was impressive how he didn’t take the bait for days in a row.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you rocked your hips back and forth on the pillow, the grinding feeling good against your clit. You could feel your wetness spreading onto the fabric, your mind wandering to how good it would feel if it was his hands on your body.

“Jimin…” you whimpered out, the thought of him underneath you making you even wetter.

Why was he not coming out? It was driving you mad. You needed him.

“Jimin, Jimin…” You tried again, a bit louder, there was no chance he wouldn’t hear that, right?

But unfortunately, there was still no answer from the other side of the door. It made you pause, wondering if Jimin must not be in to you so much. You had thought that his reactions to you were signs, but maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe you had been wrong this entire time.

You felt yourself grow a bit disheartened, stopping the motions of your hips.

Maybe—

The door clicked open, the creaking sound echoing through the silent room.

You froze, eyes wide as the familiar figure of the guard you wanted so badly came into view.

“Why did you stop? I liked hearing your voice call for me.” Jimin slowly approached you, a small smirk forming on his face. He stood before you now, looking down at your naked figure. Before you could say anything, he climbed onto the bed and pulled you closer, pressing his lips against yours.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in even more to deepen the kiss. The feeling was everything you wanted, and you didn't want it to end. His hands roamed your body, one gripping onto your ass while the other caressed your breast.

—

It was finally happening.

You didn’t need to fantasize about riding him anymore. Your dirty thoughts came true.

“Fuck, there you go princess, you have been fantasizing about this cock, haven’t you? So take it, you have it now. Fuck yourself on my cock. I will give you everything you have been craving for all these nights.”

Jimin's thrusts were slow and deep, every time he moved you felt the room spin around you. You moved in tandem with him, resting your hands on his chest as you moved your body up and down his cock. His hands were on your waist, guiding you back down every time you raised your body, pulling you closer and closer with each thrust.

“Is it as good as you imagined?” Jimin whispered as he looked up at you. You whimpered, unable to speak properly. It was everything you imagined and more, so much more. Your breathing picked up as you got greedier, your head arched back as you forced yourself to bounce faster, harder, more desperate.

“Yes!” You weren’t sure if you were answering his question or if you were responding to the way how good you felt.

Jimin’s hands moved to your ass, gripping and squeezing as he guided you down. He pushed your ass down, his own hips snapping up to meet your thrusts, forcing himself deep inside you.

“Jimin…” You whimpered, your hips rocking back and forth. “Can’t, too much, too good…”

His response was a grunt and he pushed his hips up, wanting to feel every inch that you could give him.

“Then let go, don’t hold back.” He whispered, his thumb rubbing against your clit, helping you get off.

His cock hit deep inside, and his touch made you tremble. Your legs shook, your breath hitched, and your muscles tightened. You felt like you were going to burst, the sensation almost overwhelming.

Then, it came. You felt it in every inch of your body, your orgasm surged through your body and you collapsed into his arms, breathing heavily as you came down from your high.

Jimin wrapped his arms around you, his pace slowing down as he chased his own high, not stopping until he filled you up.

#bts smut #bts x reader #bts requests #bts smut requests #bts fanfic #bts smut fanfic #jimin smut request #jimin smut #Jimin x female reader #Jimin x reader #Jimin x yn

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lov3notts · 13 days ago

Note

Theodore Nott x Reader where they are doing 7 minutes in heaven? But instead it's hell. Love you <3

reopened wounds

theodore nott x reader

Summary: the request up above. You and Theo are Ex's, being stuck in a small space, reopened wounds from your difficult relationship with him

warning: minor heartbreak

a/n: new title , thank you for the request anon!!!:)) also I will be doing anon emojis soon!

The game is supposed to be fun, but the moment the bottle stops spinning, you know this is going to be anything but. It lands on Theo, and a wave of dread washes over you.

Your ex. Of all the people in the room, it had to be him. Your heart sinks, but you force yourself to stand up, the weight of all the eyes on you making it harder to breathe.

Theo doesn’t even look at you as you both head to the small, suffocating closet. The door clicks shut, and there’s an instant, heavy silence between you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Theo mutters, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped space. His shoulder brushes yours, and you can feel the tension between you rise like smoke.

“Nice to see you too,” you snap, your voice tight.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he lets out a frustrated sigh and shifts again, knocking into you. “This is ridiculous. We can’t even move in here.”

“Gee, you think?” you snap back, the words almost escaping before you can stop them. The anger from your past with him surges unexpectedly, and your chest tightens. “It’s not like I wanted to be stuck in here with you, but here we are.”

Theo’s eyes flash with irritation. “You think I wanted this too? You’re the one who spun the bottle.” He shifts awkwardly, trying to make room for himself but only making things worse. His elbow jabs into your side, and you flinch.

“You could at least be a little more careful,” you mutter, your voice strained.

“I am careful! You’re the one moving around every time I try to do something. Just stop fidgeting, alright?”

“Stop blaming me for your mess,” you snap, trying to push him away, but there's no space. “You can’t even stay still for five seconds without knocking into me.”

Theo groans in frustration. “God, you’re impossible!” His voice is low but full of venom, and for a moment, you’re reminded of how it felt when you two fought like this before. How everything escalated, how he always made you feel like you were the one overreacting. You take a breath, pushing that thought away. Now’s not the time.

“Don’t start,” you warn, your voice shaky but cold. "Not in here."

“Not in here?” Theo sneers, and suddenly there’s a sharp edge to his voice. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. You gave that up when you broke up with me.”

The words hit you like a slap. For a second, you can’t breathe, the weight of that old wound opening up again. His words are like salt on an old, raw scar. You had tried so hard to forget that night—the way everything fell apart between you two—but hearing him say it out loud makes it all feel fresh again.

“I didn’t—” you start, your voice cracking, but you stop yourself. You had your reasons for ending things, but now isn’t the time to rehash it. “That’s not what this is about.”

Theo scoffs, his face contorted with frustration. “Then what is it about, huh? You act like we’re fine, like this isn’t killing you inside. You think I’m enjoying this? Being stuck in a closet with you?”

“Then why don’t you leave?” you hiss. “If it’s so bad, why don’t you just go?”

“Maybe I will.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but the bitterness in it is unmistakable. He shoves his hand through his hair, then steps on your foot.

“Great,” you snap, your patience finally running out. “You’re making it worse.”

“Me? You’re the one overreacting,” Theo grumbles, stepping back only to bump into you again.

“I am not overreacting,” you retort. "You’re the one acting like this whole thing is a tragedy. But you know what? It’s not my fault we’re here. It’s your fault for—”

“For what? For loving you?!” Theo cuts you off, his voice cracking with old pain, the raw emotion surfacing despite his attempts to hide it.

"And for some reason loving me involved you constantly flirting with other girls? always canceling dates? only coming to me when you were hurt but never when I was? that wasn't love Theo. I was just convenient for you."

The words hang between you, thick and suffocating. You can feel your pulse in your throat as your chest tightens. your anger, your hurt—it all comes rushing back. All the feelings you thought you buried. All the love, the heartbreak, the why behind everything that happened.

Theo takes a shaky breath, but before he can respond, the buzzer goes off, cutting the tension like a knife.

You both stumble out of the closet, not looking at each other, your hearts pounding in your chests. Your friends are watching, but all you can hear is the echo of Theo’s words. You’re both pretending it’s over, but the damage is done, and the old wounds between you two are raw and open again.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

tag list: @juliet-017 @shityoudidntaskfor

#theodore nott #theo nott #slytherin boys #theo nott x reader #ᯓᡣ𐭩my asks #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic #theodore nott drabble #theo nott angst #theodore nott angst #theo nott drabble #anon request

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1425fivefive · 8 days ago

Note

oscarmark + chastity (+virginity?) 🥺

i did chastity only. also baby's first oscmark 🥹 (for this kink prompt ask)

“You can’t be serious,” Oscar said.

Mark shrugged. “Seb swore by it.”

“Sure, but”—Oscar glanced down at Mark’s phone, flushing at the sight of the metal cage still filling the screen—“he didn’t wear a cage.”

Mark laughed, mean and mocking. “Think Seb had a bit more self control than you.”

Oscar’s flush deepened. Mark had walked in on him wanking in his driver room one time and acted like Oscar was a fucking sex addict. Mark hadn’t even told him to stop, had just shoved Oscar to his knees and had Oscar suck him off, made Oscar get off humping his leg like a dog. Oscar didn’t think Mark had any leg to stand on when it came to self control.

But Oscar didn’t stop Mark when Mark added it to his shopping cart and hit purchase.

After it arrived, Mark dragged Oscar into the shower, shaved the sensitive skin around Oscar’s cock and balls, Mark’s rough hands gentle and precise. Oscar’s skin was pink and fresh and new after he stepped out of the shower. He felt pretty, almost, as he settled on the edge of the bed, spreading his thighs to make space for Mark. He wondered if Mark thought so too.

Mark didn’t say anything, but he traced a finger over the soft, newly-shaved skin above Oscar’s cock. When Oscar shivered, cock starting to firm up, Mark smacked Oscar’s balls, just hard enough to hurt.

“Fuck,” Oscar groaned, folding in on himself.

“Can’t put the cage on if you’re hard,” Mark said shortly.

Oscar whimpered but he tipped his head back to look up at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything other than the sight of Mark holding the cage.

Though Oscar wouldn’t admit it, he’d been thinking about it ever since Mark showed it to him. Thinking about Mark putting it on him before and after races, making sure Oscar didn’t touch himself when it was off. Thinking about Mark taking it off to shave him, keep him clean. Thinking about Mark fucking him with it on, how much it would hurt when he tried and failed to get hard.

Thinking about all that had his cock firming up again and Mark aimed another slap to his balls, harder this time.

Oscar yelped at the ache that shot through him, blinking back tears.

“If you can’t stay soft on your own,” Mark said, voice firm, “I’ll have to get ice.”

“No,” Oscar whimpered, cock already softening at the thought of Mark pressing ice to it, the searing cold against his sensitive skin.

Mark sighed, the long-suffering kind that always made Oscar feel like one of Mark’s kids. It probably said something fucked up about Oscar that he sort of liked feeling that way.

“Think this just proves why you need the cage,” Mark said shortly, before reaching down to tug Oscar balls through the ring. He was quick about it, efficient, almost like he’d done it before. Oscar tried not to think about where Mark might’ve practiced.

Mark slid the rest of the cage over Oscar’s cock, the click of the lock deafening in the quiet of Oscar’s flat.

Oscar’s cock immediately tried to stiffen at the sound, aching as it pressed against the bars of the cage. Oscar whined, bringing a hand down to press at his cock, like his hand would give him any relief. It felt good, in a fizzy, far-off sort of way, but Oscar knew he’d never be able to come like this.

The thought had Oscar blinking up at Mark with what he was sure was a desperate expression, hand still rubbing uselessly over his locked-up cock.

“Please,” Oscar whimpered. “I want to—I have to—”

“God,” Mark said, barking out a laugh. “Only a minute in and you’re already begging for it.”

Oscar was, he was, he felt so fucking desperate for it now that he couldn’t have it, desperate to touch his cock and stroke it and have Mark’s mouth around it. He pressed harder against his cock, tears springing to his eyes when he couldn’t get any relief.

“Stop,” Mark ordered.

Oscar let out a devastated little whine but he dropped his hand, staring mournfully down at his cock, swollen in its cage.

Mark made a small noise and when Oscar looked up at him Mark’s jaw was slack, a dark hungry expression on his face as he stared at Oscar’s cock.

Oscar wondered if Mark had really done this for himself. Told Oscar it’d help with his racecraft, help with his focus, when really Mark just wanted him like this. Locked up and needy, desperate and aching for it.

Oscar couldn’t hold back a moan at the thought, the idea of Mark wanting him like this, only for him.

He spread his thighs wider, putting himself on display, trying to show off the tight little package of his cock.

“Jesus,” Mark groaned.

Oscar ducked his head down, looking up at Mark through his lashes in the way he knew drove Mark crazy. “Y’can still fuck me.”

Oscar couldn’t imagine how awful it’d feel to be fucked like this, his cock red and leaking in its cage, rocking with every thrust of Mark’s hips. Oscar wanted it more than anything. Maybe Oscar could buy Mark a chain, have Mark wear the key on it while he fucked him, force Oscar to see what he’d let Mark do to him. The thought had Oscar reaching down to palm at his cock, whining when it only made everything worse.

Mark didn’t say anything, just reached forward and snatched Oscar’s wrist, yanking his hand away from his cock.

“Stop. Touching,” Mark gritted out. “That’s not yours to play with.”

Oscar whimpered, thighs spreading wider.

“Whose is it?” Mark asked, fingers tightening on Oscar’s wrist.

“Yours,” Oscar whispered. He debated for only a second before adding, “Daddy.”

Oscar barely had a second to breathe before he was being shoved back onto the bed, hips dragged right to the edge. Couldn’t catch his breath as he watched Mark pull his shirt over his head and shove his boxers and trousers to the floor all in one go, his thick cock bobbing.

Mark stepped to the edge of the bed, slapping his cock on Oscar’s stomach, right next to Oscar’s, tiny in comparison in its cage.

“Look at you,” Mark said, fond and mocking all at once.

Oscar whimpered, cock leaking feebly, trying and failing to get hard.

“Not really good for anything, is it?” Mark asked, dragging his cock over Oscar’s caged one. Mark spit on his hand, before bringing it down to rub at Oscar’s rim, checking that he was still open from when they’d fucked that morning.

Oscar didn’t answer. He’d sort of thought the question was rhetorical, honestly.

But Mark pressed against Oscar’s hole, his spit and the leftover lube and come from earlier barely enough to ease the way, and asked, “Is it?”

“No,” Oscar whispered, so turned on and ashamed he thought he might cry.

“Good boy,” Mark said, sounding pleased, proud, almost, before dragging his cock down to Oscar’s hole, pressing in, hot and huge and overwhelming.

Oscar gasped at the stretch. It wasn’t nearly wet enough but Mark grabbed the lube off Oscar’s nightstand before Oscar could complain, squirting a bit directly onto Oscar’s hole.

Oscar shivered at the cold but he forgot as soon as Mark kept pressing in, making Oscar take it, staring down at Oscar’s swollen cock.

“God,” Mark moaned. “You need it so bad.”

Oscar sniveled, nodded.

“Reckon I was right to lock you up,” Mark said, starting to move, pushing little gasps out of Oscar with each slap of his hips against Oscar’s arse. “Need it too bad. Probably why you keep letting Norris beat you. Can’t stop thinking about getting your cock in him.”

Oscar gasped, staring up at Mark in shock. He’d never thought about Lando like that, wasn’t interested in anyone other than Mark, really, but the thought of it, of Mark being jealous. Of Mark caring enough to want Oscar all to himself.

Mark sneered. “Imagine if he saw you like this,” Mark said. “Saw what you were really good for.”

Oscar whimpered, cock pulsing in its cage, drooling pre-come over the metal bars. Oscar wanted to beg Mark to touch it, drag a thumb over the swollen head, but he knew it wouldn’t feel good. Knew it’d only be an awful reminder of what he couldn’t have.

Mark angled his thrusts up, dragging his cock against Oscar’s prostate. Oscar had never been able to come from just prostate stimulation before but he felt desperate enough that he tried to focus, tried to will his body along, rim tightening around Mark.

Mark groaned at the feeling, hips stuttering. “Fuck, Oscar, gonna make me come if you keep that up.”

“No,” Oscar gasped, wrapping his legs around Mark’s waist, dragging him closer. “Don’t—I have to—need to—”

“Aw,” Mark said, voice mocking even as Oscar saw the arousal plain on his face. “Trying to come?”

Oscar whined but he nodded, frantic. “Please.”

Mark barked out a laugh. “Nah,” Mark said, bringing his hand up to splay across Oscar’s stomach, just above his caged cock, “don’t think you’ll be doing that for a while.”

Oscar gasped, eyes filling with tears. His cock pulsing in its cage, red and dripping and angry and he let out an awful sob, deep and devastated, the gravity of what he’d let Mark do sinking in. That he’d be like this for as long as Mark wanted him to be, needy and strung out and desperate, swollen and begging for it.

Oscar let out another sob, a tear slipping down his cheek, and he brought a hand up to scrub desperately at it, trying to hide it from Mark.

But Mark seemed to notice because he let out a low fuck and pressed in deep, wet warmth flooding Oscar as Mark started to come. It only made Oscar sob harder, feeling Mark get to chase his pleasure and get it.

“Please,” Oscar begged, voice wet. “Please, Mark, please, you have to—”

Mark shushed him, bringing a hand down to squeeze Oscar’s cock.

Oscar whimpered but he stopped begging, trying to blink away tears.

“Good boy,” Mark murmured, bending down to press a kiss to Oscar’s forehead, still buried in him. “Good boy, letting me have you like this.”

Oscar shuddered, wanted to keep begging, but when Mark pulled back and looked at him, eyes gentle and awed, Oscar forced himself to stop. Forced himself to remember that if this was the way Mark wanted him, he’d keep doing it until the day Mark stopped wanting him.

#kink prompts #oscarmark #oscmark #drabble

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ohbueckers · 13 days ago

Text

HEART OF A WOMAN. she has choices she should make i think she’s choosing it right now.

09, CHAPTER NINE. LET ME GO.

ju speaks. i sincerely apologize for the delay on this. i still think it’s poorly written despite the fact that i rewrote it so many times but i needed to get it out lol. i’m breaking hearts but i promise you’ll be somewhat satisfied with the ending. features some more crash out paige but more in a player’s prayer type of way… alsooo please vote on this. pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x female!oc. warnings. angst, maya appearance (she comes in peace)???

flashback, july 2022.

it feels like another lifetime—back when everything was louder, sharper. we were at that point where the distance between us wasn’t just physical but emotional, and it seemed like every call was another argument.

i almost didn’t make it to nai’s birthday in la that year. she was already stuck there because of her internship, and it was the one time she really wanted me there. we’d fought for days leading up to it, about God knows what, as usual. it always started with something small, like a misunderstanding or something i said without thinking, and then it snowballed. the kind of arguments that made you feel like you were suffocating in your own words, digging your heels in just to avoid apologizing.

but then… it was her birthday, and i couldn’t stand the thought of missing it, even though we couldn’t seem to stay on the same page. i almost said, fuck it, and didn’t go. but i knew i would regret it, so i pulled myself together and got on that damn plane.

i was in connecticut, locked into summer workouts with the team, drowning in exhaustion, trying to get through the motions and keep myself healthy. i kept putting off calling her, though, too busy wallowing in the mess we’d made, thinking about how far away we were, how it was easier to fight than make up.

but then that morning came. i called her in the middle of my frustration, half-hoping she’d just pick up and yell at me because, hell, i didn’t know how else to make things right. and when she did, when she finally answered and said she was waiting for me, everything felt like it clicked into place again.

we barely got to speak that day. the others were around, laughing, singing, but all i could do was watch her. nai. there she was, sitting across from me, a quiet storm in the way she held herself. i could’ve sworn everything about her felt like home in that moment, even when it was all so messed up. and when they started singing “happy birthday,” she was still just the only damn thing i could focus on. how she looked. how she sounded. how she made everything feel like it was meant to be, even when we were fighting for our lives.

i was supposed to be done with her. more importantly, she was supposed to be done with me. i told myself that a million times. but the truth was, the more she tried to leave it all behind, the harder it got to stay away.

and all i could think was, i’m not done with you. i’m never going to be done with you.

present day, july 2025.

“you still watching her?”

rickea’s voice broke through, her sneakers squeaking against the court as i dribbled my ball against the hardwood almost absentmindedly. it’s a game day. crew is here, some of the team, but kea, cam and i had been about an hour earlier than shoot around just for the hell of it.

“i’m not watching her,” i snapped back with a low grunt, lining up my jumper. it bounced right off the rim, almost to taunt me, and i didn’t miss the way rickea’s smirk widened. my head isn’t in this game. it probably won’t be by the time seven rolls around either.

i was watching. too hard. nai had noticed only once, and instead of waving me off or sending me a smile, she looked away and pretended it didn’t even happen.

“yeah, okay. so how’d you know i was talking about nai?”

i shot kea a side glance, annoyed that she’d even said her name out loud. “got her there,” cam chimed in, strolling over from the other side of the court with her own ball. she leaned against it, watching me with an all-too-knowing grin. “you two been a little quiet lately.”

i hesitated for just a second. not long enough for anyone else to notice—at least, i hoped not—but just enough to think about the silence between nai and me. quiet wasn’t even the word for it. it was like being stuck in a purgatory i couldn’t escape, knowing exactly what i wanted to say but being too damn scared to say it.

i hated how easily my thoughts drifted to her, even now, with kea and cam prying at me. i could still feel the last conversation we had replaying in my head—the way her words had cut deeper than she probably even realized. she probably didn’t even mean for them to. she said it like she didn’t. no more half-steps.

i know what i want.

i don’t know if i’m capable of getting it and keeping it.

and i couldn’t keep expecting her to wait around for me to figure it out.

“it’s called being busy,” i shot back, offering a forced smile that would hopefully get them off my back. it didn’t. “you know, prepping for a game? the thing we’re all ‘posed to be doing right now?”

“yeah, we’re busy,” cam said, dragging out the word like it was some great revelation. “but you’re distracted, and we know why.” she raised an eyebrow, looking like she was having way too much fun at my expense. “when was the last time you two even talked?”

“oh, wait,” kea interjected, putting a hand to her ear like she was trying to remember something. “was it that awkward ‘hi’ in the tunnel yesterday? or did you manage a full sentence this time?”

“ha, ha,” i deadpanned, dribbling my ball almost aggressively to drown them out. “check up, bro. let’s see who’s focused,” i said with the smuggest smile on my face, tossing the ball to rickea and squaring up in front of her.

“you’ve got a lot of nerve for someone who been bricking shots all morning,” kea pointed an accusatory finger at me, and i rolled my eyes, pulling up my joggers.

“less talk.”

she jab-stepped left, then tried to blow past me, but i was ready, cutting her off with a quick shuffle to the side. “nah,” i mumbled, poking the ball loose and snagging it before she could recover. “try again next time.”

“you’re feeling yourself now, huh?” kea challenged, jogging back to defend as i dribbled toward the hoop.

“always,” i shot back, faking right before crossing over to my left. i breezed past her and went up for an easy layup, the ball spinning perfectly off the backboard before dropping through the net.

as soon as my feet hit the ground, i turned to cam, sticking my tongue out at her like a kid who just won a playground game, sticking a big, fat ‘L’ on my forehead. “too slow!” i said, grinning as i jogged backward toward the three-point line.

“one layup isn’t a highlight reel!”

i was about to fire back when it happened—nai walked by on the sideline, clipboard in hand, her focus seemingly on the players warming up. but just as i turned to look, she glanced my way and caught me mid-stare. she didn’t look away this time, and before i could think too much about it, she gave me a smile. not one of her usual polite, professional smiles, but something softer. brief but intimate, just enough to pull me in and spit me right back out when she turned away again. it was so quick, i almost convinced myself it didn’t happen.

my heart did this annoying little flip, and i nearly tripped over my own feet as i turned back to the game. the ball rickea had passed came flying toward me, smacking me lightly in the chest.

“oh, my God, we lost her again.”

the door to the supply room squeaked as i nudged it open with my shoulder, balancing a stack of extra towels in one hand and my clipboard in the other. game days were always crazy—organized crazy, thanks to me—but i was good at it. every minute was accounted for, every detail triple-checked. there was no room to think about anything else, and i liked it that way.

setting the towels on the shelf, i glanced down at my clipboard, double-checking the inventory count against my list. the sound of faint footsteps caught my attention, and i glanced over my shoulder. my heart dropped—i think to my ass—when i saw her.

maya.

she hovered in the doorway, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, her expression hesitant. it was a strange look for her—maya never hesitated. she moved like she always knew exactly where she stood, always so sure. but now? now she just looked… conflicted. i think everything that happened knocked her down a notch.

my first instinct was to tell her to leave, but i refrained. “hey,” i said finally, turning fully to face her. my eyes narrowed slightly as i studied her. “what’s up?”

she stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind her, and suddenly the room felt smaller. “can we talk for a second?” she asked, shifting on her feet.

i leaned back against the shelf, crossing my arms over my chest. “talk about what?”

maya hesitated, her eyes flickering to… well, everything but me before meeting mine again. “about everything,” she said softly, almost like she wasn’t sure the words would come out. “about… you, me, paige. all of it.”

“you don’t have to do this.”

“i think i do,” she replied quickly, almost too quickly, like she’d been waiting for the chance to say it. “i just… i wanted to say i’m sorry, nai. for everything. for how it all played out.”

i studied her for a moment, trying to gauge how much of this was for me and how much of it was for her. “i should’ve told you.” still, it was hard to hold onto any lingering anger when she looked at me like that—like she genuinely meant it. “about me and paige. i shouldn’t have kept it from you, maya. that was fucked up.”

maya’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes dropping to the floor for a moment. “yeah,” she said softly, almost like she hadn’t expected me to admit it. “maybe. but i wasn’t exactly innocent either.” she glanced back. “i should’ve walked away when i realized.”

“realized what?” i asked, tilting my head, though i already had a feeling i knew the answer.

her laugh was small, humorless. “i mean… it was obvious, nai.”

i froze, still gaining the nerve to ask, “obvious how?”

maya raised a brow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “oh, you’re serious.” she shook her head lightly, as if the answer should’ve been clear. “even when you weren’t saying it out loud, it was all over your faces. the way you talked to each other, the way you didn’t.”

i feel terrible. “maya—“

“it’s not a dig,” she interrupted, holding up her hands. “it’s just… the way you two are. it’s not something you can really hide, nai. trust me, i tried to ignore it. thought maybe i was overthinking or projecting or whatever. but i wasn’t.”

i swallowed, hard, trying to find the right words, but nothing felt like enough. maya sighed, leaning back against the door like she was anchoring herself there.

“look,” she said, softening her words up as if i was fragile. “i get it. you don’t owe me anything. but i wanted to tell you that i talked to paige.”

my head snapped up at that, her name alone making my heart skip. “you did?”

maya nodded, her eyes steady on me. “on the phone a few nights ago. i needed to get it off my chest, you know? everything that went down… it was a mess. and i don’t think paige even realized how much of it was on her until we talked.”

i nodded, and she continued.

maya squinted at me. “paige said she loves you.” the words didn’t sound new. paige had been telling me she’s loved me since high school—sometimes with her words, sometimes with her actions, and sometimes in the quiet spaces between. so why did it strike me like a blow this time? “and i believe her. but… i don’t know. does it ever feel like she only tries when she’s scared you’ll leave?”

my breath caught, and for a moment, i couldn’t think of anything to say. the question wasn’t meant to hurt me—at least, it didn’t feel that way—but it landed right where it was supposed to. deep, direct, in the places i tried not to think about too much. i was immediately defensive. “you can’t—“

maya tilted her head slightly, studying me like she was trying to figure out how much of this i already knew. “maybe not. but it’s worth asking, isn’t it?”

i wanted to deny it. to tell her she didn’t understand, that she didn’t see the weekends during college, the little moments that no one else got to witness. the times when paige showed up, not because she was scared of losing me but because she wanted to be there.

but maya wasn’t entirely wrong, was she? there were times when it felt like paige’s love came in waves—strong and all-encompassing when the fear of losing me loomed, and quieter, more distant, when she felt secure. it wasn’t that she didn’t love me; it was just… complicated.

“she tries,” i said finally, convincing myself of it. “paige does try. maybe it’s not perfect, but she loves me. i know that.”

maya’s lips pressed into a thin line. “i just needed to say that. to let you know i’m sorry for my part in all of this. and… i hope it works out. for you and paige.”

i could see the sincerity in her eyes. she wasn’t here to stir the pot or make things worse. she was here because she cared, even if her timing was terrible.

“thanks,” i said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

and then she was gone, leaving me alone in the supply room with her words ringing in my ears. i leaned back against the shelf, closing my eyes as the weight of it all settled over me.

maya’s voice played on a loop in my mind: paige only knows how to love when she’s afraid of losing something.

and for the first time, i wondered if maya was right.

i’d gotten to the office earlier than usual, telling myself it was because i had work to do. but really, i just wanted to be alone. birthdays used to mean something, but now they felt more like a reminder of how much had changed. the kind of day where you couldn’t help but take stock of everything and everyone in your life—who was still there, who wasn’t, and who only came around when it suited them.

my desk was a mess of papers and sticky notes i didn’t feel like sorting through. i kept staring at my laptop screen, pretending to work while my mind wandered. i thought about the flowers that would probably show up later from people i barely spoke to. the texts i’d get from coworkers who’d remember because of a calendar alert. and, of course, i thought about paige.

the no-contact rule was still in place, and even though i knew she was respecting it, part of me still wondered if that was her way of playing it safe. keeping distance until she was sure i wasn’t going anywhere. that had always been how it felt between us, and i couldn’t help but think that today, of all days, would be the one day she might break the silence.

and i was right. “we can make an exception for a national holiday, right?” she teased.

there she was, leaning in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in her hands. her grey nike tech was speckled with rain droplets, her hood pulled up but not doing much to hide the strands of blonde hair sticking to her forehead. still, her eyes found mine instantly, scanning me like she was trying to read me before i even said a word.

“paige,” i dragged out, my name on her lips almost like a scolding, but the slow upturn of my smile completely gave me away.

she bit back her own grin, her lip caught between her teeth. “happy birthday, nai.”

i stood up, the flowers still in her hand as i crossed the space between us. she handed them to me without a word, and i hugged her almost instinctively. she was still damp from the rain, but it didn’t matter.

“you’re very early,” i said into her shoulder, my words muffled.

“nah, this is perfectly timed,” she replied, pulling back slightly but keeping her hands on my shoulders. her thumbs pressed gently into them like she knew how tense i’d been all morning. “besides, i didn’t wanna risk showing up and missing you.”

i rolled my eyes playfully. “you think i’d skip out on my own birthday?”

she smirked. “i dunno. you don’t exactly seem excited about it.”

“hmm,” i paused, screwing my eyes shut as i leaned into the massage. “it’s too early to be excited,” i shot back.

“fair,” she settled, tilting her head as her thumbs hit just the right spots. “nika and them flyin’ in today.”

that pulled a genuine smile at me. she mentioned it a bit ago, how some of her old teammates would be coming to see her play soon. “yeah? when’re they landing?”

“this afternoon. nika texted me last night about it,” paige said, and i can’t help but think about how good we are at this small talk thing. it’s so easy to get lost in what feels normal. “we play storm in two days, so… figured we’d spend some time together before the game.”

i nodded, knowing nika had been one of the constants in paige’s life since their freshman year at uconn, and i’d always admired the way their friendship seemed to hold its own weight, no matter what else was happening around them.

“i’m assuming you wanna see them,” paige added.

“duh,” i replied easily, cracking one eye open to give her a pointed look.

“i’ll set sum’ up,” she replied, and i nodded. her hands stayed on my shoulders, pausing just long enough to tap them before stepping back. “you good? you seem… off.”

i hesitated, caught off guard by the question even though i shouldn’t have been. paige had always been good at reading me, sometimes better than i wanted her to be. “yeah,” i said quickly, too quickly. “just… long morning already.”

“mmhm,” she replied, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t push. instead, she leaned against the edge of my desk, her hands slipping into the pockets of her hoodie.

“you sure?” she asked again after a moment, and i knew i wouldn’t be getting away with saying nothing.

she stated at me, and i found my lies slipping away. my mouth fell wider with each passing second, and when her eyes darted to my lips, i seemed to snap up out of it, busying myself with the tax of fixing an already perfect vase of flowers onto my desk. “i just—i talked to maya.”

i could hear paige shift in front of me before letting out a quiet chuckle. “okay,” she said, dragging the word out like she already knew where this was going. “what she say?”

her tone was casual, but when i looked up at her fully turned figure, she had that look in her eyes—guarded, careful, like she was already bracing herself. “nothing bad,” i started, furrowing my eyebrows. “just… stuff about us. about how things went down.”

paige raised a brow, crossing her arms over her chest as she tilted her head slightly. “uh-huh. like what?”

“like how it always feels like you only show up when you’re afraid of losing something.”

i couldn’t help but watch her, waiting for her reaction. for her to say something, anything.

paige’s posture shifted immediately, her arms tightening over her chest as her lips pressed into a thin line. “you letting her feed you bullshit again, nai?” she asked.

“don’t do that. it’s not bullshit,” i replied. “it’s how it feels sometimes.”

“to who? you?” she challenged, taking a step closer. her eyes searched mine, narrowing slightly, but there was no malice in them—just frustration. “or maya? ’cause she loves spinning her little stories, and you know that.”

“paige.” i sighed, shaking my head as i tried to keep the conversation from spiraling. i didn’t exactly want to argue. “this isn’t about maya. it’s about me, about us.”

“nah, you just said you talked to her,” paige shot back, gesturing vaguely toward me. “and now you’re standing here like she knows me better than you do. like she knows us better than we do,” she argued, adding a, “c’mon, that’s not fair.”

“isn’t it, though?” i asked, meeting her gaze head-on. “you’re here now, but only because it’s my birthday. because you knew i’d expect you to show up.”

paige’s eyes flickered away for a split second, down to her pocket, before snapping back to mine. “you really think that’s the only reason i’m here?”

i didn’t say anything. i didn’t need to—the look on my face must’ve told her everything.

her shoulders dropped slightly, and she let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “that’s crazy, nai. you know that’s crazy, right?”

“it’s not about how i see you, pai—“

her expression had hardened, like she’d put up a wall i couldn’t reach past. “you know what? maybe you’re right. maybe this whole thing is just me showing up when it’s convenient.”

“you know that’s not what i meant.”

“nah,” she cut me off, stepping back toward the door. “if that’s how you feel, then what am i even doing here? clearly, it don’t matter.”

“it does matter,” i said quickly, but the words didn’t seem to land. fuck, i’m an idiot.

“not to you, it don’t,” she replied, her voice clipped. she paused for a second, her hand on the doorknob, before turning back to look at me. “it’s cool. you got your flowers. happy birthday, nai.”

and just like that, she was gone. the click of the door felt louder than it should’ve, and i stood there, staring at the empty space she left behind, wondering how we managed to end up here—again.

“nai… she… fuck, nika.”

i swirled the half-melted ice in my glass. the bourbon wasn’t hitting the way i needed it to, but it was definitely hitting. i don’t drink fucking bourbon. i’m sure i’d drink about a gallon of it right now though. “we had this argument earlier. it’s like she doesn’t see how hard i’m trying, you know? like she’s convinced i only show up when i’m scared i’m losing her or something.”

nika leaned back in her seat, eyebrows raised. “those her words, or yours?” she asked, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“hers,” i mumbled, tipping the glass back for a too-big sip.

“damn.” right!?

i scrubbed a hand down my face, leaning into the bar like it could hold me up. my stomach twisted, and for once, it wasn’t from the alcohol. “she just—she don’t get it, you know? like, yeah, i fucked up before, but i’m trying now. i’m really trying, and she doesn’t even see it. she doesn’t even try to see it. at least i’m trying, like—“

“maybe ease up on the drink first before you start spiraling,” azzi cut in from the other side of the bar. she was nursing a soda, her judgmental stare boring into me like an older sister i didn’t ask for.

i shot her a glare. “you’re ‘posed to be team paige.”

“i am team paige,” she said, crossing her arms and smiling sweetly. i stuck my tongue out at her.

the bar in nika’s hotel was louder than i expected for a wednesday night. maybe it was the group of us taking up the corner table, or maybe it was just me being on edge. i felt like i was moving through the motions, laughing when everyone else did, nodding along to conversations i wasn’t really following.

it all started to show as soon as the alcohol kicked in. i could feel myself slipping, letting it take me to that reckless place i always ended up in when it came to her. i stared at my phone, the glow of the screen blurring slightly as i typed out another text. i didn’t care if she was out, if she was at her party surrounded by people who probably cared more than i ever showed. i just needed her to hear me.

and here i was, sitting in a damn hotel bar, drunk as hell, making everything worse just because i couldn’t leave her alone. but i texted.

and texted and texted and texted.

paige: so youure just gonna ignore me? 10:21pm

bet

paige: you wouldnr even be mad rn if you just let me fix it 10:24pm

but you don’t rven want to let me try bro

paige: i hate when we don’t talk 10:26pm

can we talk?

the words blurred slightly as i reread them, but i didn’t delete anything. instead, i kept going, typing out every thought that popped into my head, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

paige: please baby jus wanna hear your voice 10:27pm

paige: i came w my mind made uo today 10:31pm

i just couldn’t sau it i’m so sorry

could’nt give it to you

delivered. delivered. delivered. not a single one read.

my phone buzzed in my hand, and for a second, i thought it was another notification. but no—her name lit up the screen, a call coming through. my heart jumped into my throat. i stared at it, frozen, until it rang out.

“shit,” i mumbled, fumbling with the phone as i stumbled out of my seat.

nika grabbed my arm to steady me. “where you going?”

“outside,” i mumbled, shoving my phone into my hoodie pocket.

the rain hit me as soon as i stepped out, the cold shocking enough to sober me up just a little. i ducked under the hotel’s awning, the noise of the rain hitting the roof above me almost drowning out the sound of my phone. my fingers shook as i called her back. the phone rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. i swore, pulling my hand into my jacket pocket.

well, the first call goes to voicemail.

the second one does too.

i try a third time, pacing.

finally, the line clicks. “paige,” nai says, and i can hear the hesitance in her voice. i can hear it, and i hate that i put it there.

“nai,” i breathe, her name coming out in a rush. the rain’s loud on my end, and i know she can hear it. “i—i’m sorry, okay? just—please don’t hang up. i had to talk to you. i can’t… i can’t keep doin’ this, fuck—“

“you’re drunk?” she asks flatly. i could hear the music in the background, and i conclude that she probably hadn’t seen my texts.

“you’re mad at me…” i continued. “i get it… i walked out on you, but you could barely look at me today, and—“

“paige, shut up. where are you?”

“outside nika’s hotel,” i muttered, wiping my face with my sleeve even though it didn’t help.

“stay there,” she said, and the line went dead.

a party hadn’t been my only surprise tonight. hell, it hadn’t been my only surprise of the entire day.

i should’ve been celebrating, right? enjoying the fact that people cared enough to throw me this party, that everyone had gathered in one place for me. but all i could think about was paige. and everything that came with her.

i hadn’t expected to hear from her at all tonight, let alone get the damn text messages that practically screamed desperation. though, half of me still passed on the alcohol for tonight as some kind of gut feeling. i knew she was drunk. i could tell from her words—hell, i could tell from the way she sent them in a blur, as if she couldn’t hold the phone still long enough to type a single coherent sentence.

i should’ve been upset. angry even. all those stupid things she’d done, all the mess she’d made, all the times she’d promised to change and then didn’t—it all came rushing back. i should’ve been furious. but there i was, standing in the middle of a damn party, my damn party, staring at my phone like it held the answers to every question i’d ever asked.

and then came the call.

it wasn’t even a question of if i would answer. i couldn’t not.

“nai,” her voice came through, shaky and full of guilt. “i—i’m sorry, okay? just—please don’t hang up. i had to talk to you. i can’t… i can’t keep doin’ this, fuck—”

i had to step away from the group. i couldn’t focus on anything but her voice, the sound of it cracking through the static, pulling at something deep inside me. the music in the background was too loud, but i heard every word she said.

“you’re drunk?” i asked, my voice flat, trying not to let the frustration leak through.

“you’re mad at me…” she trailed off, and i knew exactly where this was going.

her text messages had been pleading, full of “baby, please”s and “i’m sorry”s, but this? this felt different. it wasn’t just her trying to get me to forgive her. it was her trying to convince me to fully let her in again. it was her realizing i was slipping. again.

and there couldn’t have been any more confirmation.

i drove through the rain, the windshield wipers squeaking as they tried to clear the downpour. i pulled in front of the hotel’s awning, the lights from the sign reflecting on the wet pavement. i killed the engine and just sat there for a moment, my fingers gripping the steering wheel as i took a deep breath.

the knock on my window pulled me from my thoughts. i glanced up, and there was nika, standing in the rain, her coat pulled tightly around her. i rolled the window down just enough to hear her.

“she’s over there,” nika said, nodding towards the edge of the awning, her finger pointing to one of the hotel’s pillars. “she wouldn’t come inside or anything until you got here.”

i stared at the spot for a second. the rain was coming down so hard, the air was cold for it being summer, and paige was still out there, waiting. waiting for me. i didn’t know if that made it worse or better.

“thanks,” i muttered, forcing a tight smile. nika didn’t say anything else, just gave me a quick nod before heading back inside. i guess she figured this wasn’t a time for pleasantries.

i got out of the car, the rain immediately soaking through the jacket i threw over the nice blouse cam had gifted me. i could hear paige before i saw her, her voice cutting through the sound of the rain.

“nai, baby, look, i swear i didn’t mean to fuck everything up—”

“paige,” i interrupted. i couldn’t let her ramble on, not like this. “you don’t need to explain anything right now. just—”

“no, no, just listen! i’m so sorry,” she cut me off again. she took a step closer, and i pushed at her hips, trying to keep her at a distance. “i know i messed up. i know i fucked up, so many times. but—fuck, nai, i’m here. i’m here right now, and i’m gonna make this right. you don’t really believe maya, do you?”

this was a side of paige i hadn’t seen in a long time. she wasn’t trying to be strong, wasn’t trying to prove a point. she was just…asking.

“i believe you,” i stated plainly, avoiding her eyes as i tried to pull her toward the car.

paige’s shoulders dropped, her brows furrowing as she complied to my pulling. “you’re lying.”

i exhaled sharply, finally getting somewhere as i wrapped my fingers gently around her wrist. “i want you to get in the car.”

“i don’t… wanna get in the car, bro. i wanna talk.”

“we can talk in the car,” i insisted, not wanting to drag this out any longer. it was already too much.

paige dragged her feet along the pavement, her rambles continuing, making it harder to get her to the passenger seat in a timely matter. “you look so good tonight.” “fuck.” “i’m sorry for ruining your night.” “i didn’t mean to mess this up.”

finally, i opened the passenger door, and paige slid in with a small, unsteady huff, like she was relieved to be inside. i crouched down beside the door, lowering myself to her level as i reached for the seatbelt.

paige shifted slightly, still muttering under her breath, her words blurred together in the same cycle of regret and self-reproach. “i’m gonna fix this. i promise i will.”

“i don’t need you to,” i said, my voice barely above a whisper as i clicked the seatbelt into place, making sure it was secure. paige paused, and i tightened the strap for her, putting my focus solely on that.

“what? i know…” she hiccuped, shifting again as she tugged on the zipper of her jacket, scrunching her face up like the fabric had been bothering her. i reached out and helped her get it off her arms, the motion feeling almost automatic. “i haven’t been the best girlfriend, ex.. whatever.”

“it’s fine.”

“it’s not fine.” and she said it again, almost as if to tell the truth for both of us. “it’s not fine and… i’m gonna do right by you, swear, baby.” her words trailed off into another hiccup as she looked at me, her eyes pleading. i didn’t respond.

i’m sick of words. so sick of fucking words.

“did you have a good birthday?” she continued, her voice small now, and i could tell she was getting tired too. “i know i’ve been a mess—”

“it’s okay,” i said, my tone flat, trying not to let her guilt weigh on me. “we’ll talk when you’re sober.”

“nai, i just need to—” she started, but i cut her off, shaking my head.

“we can get everything straight… when you’re sober. not now.”

her face fell. “i got you a promise ring,” she blurted out, her eyes wide and frantic. “i was gonna give it to you. but i… i couldn’t. i couldn’t, nai, i was gonna do it today. i really was, but i didn’t know how.”

i was frozen for a moment. “what?” the word came out before i could stop it. i blinked, trying to process what she was saying. “promise ring? you… had a ring for me?”

i stayed silent, my chest tight as i processed everything she was saying. the ring, the flowers, her promises. it all felt like a cruel reminder of everything i had to let go. everything we had been and everything that we weren’t anymore.

paige hiccupped, the alcohol causing her words to slur further. “yeah… had it in my pocket. i came all ready to give it to you, but… i couldn’t. just couldn’t.”

“paige, stop it,” i finally whispered, my voice breaking slightly. i finally looked at her. really looked at her before attempting to get up. “you’re embarrassing yourself.”

her face faltered, but she didn’t let go of me, her hands trembling as she reached for my face, pulling me closer. “what do you want, nai?” the way she said it... “you want me to stop showing up? you want me to leave you alone? ‘cause i can do that. i can leave you alone. i can do that if that’s what you really want.” the way she pleads like she’ll do anything, has me on the verge of believing it.

my heart pounded in my chest. she was still holding onto this idea, this hope that i could come back. her eyes softened, and she leaned in closer, like she was trying to get through to me, but it felt suffocating.

“just let me go, paige,” i said, my voice hoarse. “let me go. please,” i muttered, lolling my head to try and get out of her grasp. i pressed my hand into her thigh, steadying myself on the ground.

her hands only gripped my face tighter, her thumb running over my jaw, her touch too familiar to the first time. too much.

silence. and then, “that’s what you want?”

i closed my eyes, trying to ignore the way her hands felt on my cheeks. the way her voice cracked, desperate and pleading, it hit something deep inside me. no, i wanted to say. no, i don’t want this. but living a lie had been outdated.

“yes,” i finally managed.

her thumb slid up under my eye, gently brushing away a tear that escaped. “look at me when you say it.”

no. no, no, no.

“look at me, nai. tell me you mean it,” she repeated.

i mean it. the words felt heavy, like they were being dragged out of me, but they were the only thing that made sense anymore.

i lifted my eyes slowly, meeting hers. “i mean it,” i said, barely a breath, but enough for her to hear. “i need you to let go, paige.”

for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the rain against the pavement and our uneven breaths. her grip didn’t loosen at first, like she was weighing the words, like she was holding onto the last shred of something she didn’t want to let go of.

but then, just like that, she pulled her hands away from my face, the movement stiff and mechanical. her eyes became empty, almost like they were looking right through me. she didn’t say anything—didn’t try to argue, didn’t plead. she just withdrew, the shift in her demeanor so abrupt it was as if the weight of everything we had was just… gone.

“okay.”

i turned then, slowly at first, and then more decisively as i made my way back to the driver’s seat, the rain still coming down hard around us. i didn’t look back, even though i felt her eyes on me, even though i knew she was still there.

after so many tries, i realized i couldn’t do this again. i couldn’t let her in.

and for the first time in what felt like forever, i let go, and it felt… right?

#paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers x fem #hoaw #wlw fanfic #wlw fiction #angst #i’m sorry #hahaha

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soap-ify · 11 months ago

Note

ruru!! i hope you are doing well, i'm sending hugs ♡(˶˃ᆺ˂˶)

my brain is currently filled to the brim with the idea of gaz being such a lil shit!! he has you on his lap in a crowded bar, all of task141 piled into a tiny booth. it starts off relatively normal, an average pub night for the five of you but then he get's playful, touching you teasingly and soap is the first to catch on, watching with googly eyes that makes you flustered and shy!!

gaz acts like you aren't even there, just a stress toy for him to play with while his team watches and talks about you :((

LAURY HELLO! sending you lots of hugs too this is so filthy... he's such a little shit! (this is unedited btw so like... yeah.)

cw — f!reader, pre-established gaz x reader, majorly suggestive.

gaz couldn’t care less about the fact that his whole team was simply watching you while you squirmed on his lap, his hands wandering over your body.

it was supposed to be a sweet, innocent, hangout — just relaxing after all the stress and catching up with each other. though you snuggling up into your boyfriend’s side was clearly a mistake since he was so quick to pull you on his lap, catching you off guard. all you could do was giggle sheepishly and try to ignore the heat rising up on your cheeks, doing your best to focus on the conversation.

though gaz made it harder for you to properly concentrate, his hands lazily fondled the plush of your thighs, sometimes moving up to your stomach.

“kyle-” you tried to warn him by whispering softly. you realised that you weren’t being discreet once you looked over at soap, catching him staring at you with an amused gaze, lips curled up into a cheeky grin. ghost was staring at you too, his eyes observing you intently while he took slow sips of his drink,

you were too afraid to look over at price, knowing that he was most probably staring at you as well. your eyes instead looked around the cramped bar, making sure no one was looking over at the booth you five were sitting in.

“teasin’ her too much eh, sergeant?” price chuckled gruffly, taking a puff of his cigar, the scent seeming even more stronger than before. you could swear that your senses were getting even more aware due to all of this attention, gaz’s fondling doing nothing but making your head all blurry.

“ye showin’ her off tae us!” soap feigned offense and pouted grumpily, crossing his arms. ghost didn’t bother to say anything, though his intense gaze spoke louder than anything.

“am i?” gaz pretended to be oblivious, ignoring the soft whimper that left your lips once his fingers slipped inside your shirt, the contact with your skin making you shiver. “you don’t mind it, do you lovie?” he cooed into your ear, his lips grazing against the side of your jaw. you dumbly nodded, your hands clenching into the corner of the table.

“no i don’t…” your whisper made soap shuffle closer to you and gaz, his hand reaching over to cup the side of your face, tilting your head over to him.

“bonnie lass…” his tone made your insides warm up even more. gaz leaned back a bit so soap could touch you a bit more, his hands eagerly beginning to paw onto your thighs. you shifted on gaz’s lap, squeaking quietly once you felt his boner pressing against the back of your ass, your subtle shifting causing you to unintentionally grind against him

“careful there, johnny. you’re acting like a starved dog.” ghost clicked his tongue, scooting over to price so they both could watch the two sergeants grabbing you like their personal stress toy, eager to devour you up.

price knew that he was taking you all home once your eyes met him briefly, flipping some switch on inside him.

“i’ll pay the bills, you go and start the car. alright?” he whispered over to his lieutenant.

#you're soon becoming the whole 141's partner #just their sweet thing!#gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #141 x reader #cod x reader #call of duty #rurufic #ruru mail

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beah388love · 5 months ago

Text

Fight or Flight

Full Masterlist Lando Masterlist

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!F1 Driver

Summary: You have an anxiety attack before a race and Lando comforts you

Warnings: Anxiety,reader has an anxiety attack, mentions of trauma,swearing,bad language!!! (Please tell me if I missed any!!!)

This wasn’t your first race. So you didn’t know why you felt so…Anxious?

It’s not like you was scared to go against your boyfriend Lando, you always go against each other and made a promise to each other that no matter who wins or loses it won’t interfere with your relationship after all it’s just a race.

But today you felt so scared, like you wanted to just run anywhere literally anywhere.

You woke up and felt landos soft fingertips stroking up and down your arm and you could feel him staring at you.

“you awake?” He asked and you nuzzled your face into his chest deeper before looking up at him with a smile “yeah” you breathed out tiredly.

As soon as you woke up you could feel that pressure on your chest. And the feeling like your hearts in your stomach.

But you tried to ignore the feeling hoping it would go away, maybe it was just pre-race nerves…

yeah it’s just pre-race nerves!

Nothing to worry about….its not like before.

“We better get up soon baby….i can hear my phone pinging with messages” Lando joked making you giggle, you sat up and lando pulled you back down on top of him, giving you a kiss on the forehead making you squeal “lan!”

“What? Can I not give my girlfriend a kiss?” He laughed and you rolled your eyes playfully

“You don’t have to yank my arm down to give me one” you sassed back making him laugh.

As you and lando walked in, you felt your heart fall down into your stomach and your breathing go and that pressure on your chest tighten and hit you ten times harder as you saw the huge crowd and the sound of everyone talking echoed through your head.

Lando could feel you holding onto his hand tighter than usual but he assumed it was probably because you didn’t want to lose him in the crowds, you both managed to get through the crowd and lando was about to head over to max but you stopped him “Lan I’m gonna go to my drivers room Kay?” You said loudly so he could hear you and he nodded before you left walking away.

“Where’s y/n going?” Max asked “oh- her room she’s fine don’t worry” Lando answered but it was more directed to himself, he could tell you was hiding how you felt from him.

You shut your door and locked it before sitting down on the chair and you could feel your breath going, like you couldn’t get any more in just enough that you could live with. It felt like you was suffocating.

And you could feel the pressure on your chest like your heart was going to explode.

You held a hand on your chest and tried to slower your breath in but it didn’t work.

“Fuck…shit please don’t not now.” You muttered to yourself as you felt tears brimming your eyes.

You managed to pull yourself together and wiped your eyes. You put one of landos caps on that you stole and held it down as you left your room.

You sat in the garage on a spare chair in the corner flicking through your phone and you shouldn’t have done it but you clicked onto landos instagram comments on his latest post.

UserA: She literally sucks! She can’t even race! And she obviously doesn’t treat Lando right! Their relationship is probably a social media stunt or a bet or something.

UserB: totally agree with the racing part - I know she got P1 and P2 for her last two races but she got lucky! If you watch her she doesn’t actually know what she’s doing! She’s awful.

That was only two comments at the top and you continued to read the other ones which were way worse…You frowned switching off your phone and tucking it in your hoodie pocket until, you overheard two guys walk past you and say your name.

“Nah she won’t be in the top three, she’s not that good” “yeah bro I agree”

It hurt reading people’s comments and it hurt even worse hearing them in person. You pursed your lips as you tried to hold in your tears.

You quickly walked back to your drivers room and locked the door.

You could feel the pressure in your chest tighten and ball up and it hurt so bad. It was like someone knocked the breath out of you and you could feel your brain going into fight or flight mode and you choose flight. You definitely choose flight-

You sobbed against the wall holding your legs to your chest tightly.

“why isn’t she answering my calls?” Lando huffed worriedly to max and he patted him on the arm reassuringly “I’m sure she’s fine Lando..she said she was going to her drivers room no?” Max reminded him and he instantly turned his heel to find you. Max rolled his eyes before heading to go talk to someone else.

“Y/n? Baby? Are you in there?” Lando said loudly so you could hear him “baby open the door it’s me” lando said but froze when he heard that familiar cry…

“Y/n, baby? Open the door” lando said as he kept jiggling the door handle until it unlocked and he saw your tear stained face.

“Baby what happened? Are you okay?” He asked you but you just threw yourself into his arms and sobbed “I- I can’t it hurts s-so bad-“ you cried into his neck and he frowned when he felt your hot tears on his skin.

“Baby…sh whats wrong? What hurts?” Lando hushed softly as he rubbed your back and gently swayed you both as he sat you down on his lap, on the sofa.

“I- I can’t! I can’t go out there- I- I can’t-“ you panicked through broken sobs and he had no idea where this came from.

He could tell you was nervous but he didn’t think you was going to have a full blown anxiety attack. He knew you usually had anxiety attacks over the crowds and people so he always made sure to keep check of you but he thought you was okay today…but he was wrong

Fuck.

“Baby! Hey hey! It’s okay. Just calm down breathe.” He said and held you face to make you look at him. his heart broke when he saw tears coming down your wet puffy cheeks and your now wet eyelashes.

You panicked and could feel your heart beating faster and faster “Lan- I can’t do it! I can’t! I’m gonna mess up! Im gonna embarrass myself! The-there are so many people! I can’t do it-“ you shook your head with broken whimpers and Lando could feel the anxiety coming from you.

“It’s okay” Lando whispered softly repeatedly as he swayed you in his lap. He knew this would help you calm down and it did.

“Baby. Listen to me. You listening?” He asked you and you nodded.

“Breathe with me okay?” Lando said and you nodded softly, he held your hand gently and held it on his chest and breathed with you and eventually it worked and your breathing evened out with his.

“Better?” He asked you and you nodded with a hum “good. Can I tell you something?” He said and you paused for a moment before humming a yes into his chest

“You are one of the best drivers I know. Except for me of course-“ lando said making you giggle. He smiled feeling like he just achieved a life goal, “I’m just kidding but on a serious note. You are going to be amazing. Don’t panic okay. Anxiety is a dickhead.” He said making you giggle again.

“You can do this. You’re an excellent driver and so many people know that, and I know there are dick heads online who say shit but it’s not true.” Lando said and you smiled sadly at him.

“But I know that you’re going to do amazing out there no matter what position you get as long as you try then I don’t care. - a wise person told me that once.” Lando said making you laugh as you thought back to the memory.

- flashback:

Lando had finished P6 and he felt like he failed not only himself but everyone else too. But like he just said.

You had told him those exact words.

You wiped two tears off his cheek and said “lan, I mean this when I say to you. I don’t care no matter what position you get as long as you tried. Then I’m proud of you.” You said softly and he smiled at you and gave you a kiss which you obviously returned.

-back to present:

“Thank you baby, I love you so much.” You said hugging him tightly and nuzzling your face into his neck.

“1. Don’t thank me it’s what I’m here for, and 2. I love you too….even more” he smiled giving you a kiss on the temple.

“Are you ready to go? Or do you want to stay here for a bit longer?” Lando asked you and you shook your head “I’m ready. Let’s go” you said resting your head on his chest.

He nodded as he held your hand rubbing circles on it.

You finished at P1 and lando finished at P2 in qualifying - he said he didn’t let you win but you know he did.

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chaotic-birds · 1 year ago

Text

strong for you || j.pt

Jason comes home injured, prepared to patch up and rest with you, but he soon realizes something isn't right.

❤️‍🩹 Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

❤️‍🩹 Genres/AUs: Action, some angst & fluff, established relationship

❤️‍🩹 Warnings: Use of guns, mentions of killing, hostage situation, blood, injuries, reader referred to as girl

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 2.3k

❤️‍🩹 Author's Note: Just felt like writing more Jason 🥰

masterlist

Jason uses the rest of his strength to lift open the window. His panting grows louder after he tumbles inside, feeling a bit safer in his home. He doesn’t have to worry about people hearing him in pain and taking advantage of his weakened state.

He knows you’ll be by his side in a matter of seconds. He hates how he came home injured since it always worries you, but he rather be hurt here than anywhere else.

His eyes shut tightly as he tries to calm down. It’s becoming harder to breathe under his helmet. He feels suffocated. He needs fresh air.

With a shaky hand, he begins to raise it to unlatch his helmet. However, an all too familiar click makes him halt; his eyes open wide and he forces his breathing to slow so he can hear better.

It’s then he realizes you should’ve been tending to him by now. You should be easing him out of his suit as you comfort and scold him simultaneously.

He lowers his arm as slowly as he can, worried whoever it is will act irrationally if he moves too quickly. Maybe if he was somewhere else and not injured, he would’ve leaped up and snatched the weapon from their hand.

But he can’t.

He’s home. He can’t put you in any more danger.

In slow motion, he turns his head to assess the scene.

There are five men in total. Each has a rifle in their hands, accompanied by a handgun on their hips. You’re seated on one of the dining table chairs that’s been moved, hands and feet tied together. You’re staring at him with big eyes—a mix of worry and panic.

Jason curses to himself mentally.

You’re already fearful of being held captive, but now you’re fearful of his wound too.

He already knows what questions are floating in your head: How deep is it? How much blood has he lost already? Are there any more injuries?

Jason hates that he was stupid tonight. He hates how out of all the nights to have fucked up, he fucked up tonight. But that doesn’t stop his determination. He’ll power through the pain if it means you’ll be safe in the end.

You turn your head to the man on your right. He holds himself to a different status than the others. The amount of confidence this man must have makes Jason want to gag.

“I’ll give you the files if you let me tend to his wounds,” you bargain.

Macho Boss smirks down at you before moving his sight to Jason.

“Well, you’re surely an unexpected guest. Didn’t think one of the bats would come to rescue a mere civilian when there are bigger crimes out on the streets,” he observes, then glances at you. “I guess this one’s special, huh?”

Jason suspects that this guy thought he could get away with his act since he’s not committing a big crime, compared to others in Gotham. Illegal activities happen all the time here, right? Jason almost snorts at his bad luck.

Macho Boss nudges your shoulder with the barrel of his gun. The cold metal touches your bare skin exposed by your cardigan, making you shiver. It must’ve fallen in your scuffle earlier.

Jason narrows his eyes at him even though his glare is hidden by his helmet. He’s grateful he etched a permanent scowl on it now. He wants your captors to know that despite being injured, he’s still got enough strength to incapacitate them.

“Please,” you grab the captor’s attention again. “Let me help him.”

“Why should I let you? His injury means he’s weak. I can’t let him stop us, now can I?” he questions, slightly mockingly.

“You can tie him up after I’m done.”

“Like hell you will,” Jason gruffs and the other person holding a gun to his head jabs him with it.

You send him a glare—signaling it isn’t the time to be snarky. Jason rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything more.

“Do you want the files?” you ask Macho Boss.

“You’re going to give us them whether we let you play nurse or not.”

“Perhaps, but you’re wasting time. Why take the hard way when I’m offering to give them up so easily?”

The man hums in thought. Finally, he nods at the man to your left.

Within seconds, your ropes have been cut. You gesture to the bathroom.

“First aid is in there,” you inform and carefully make your way to the room.

One of the men follows you, gun pointed to your head. You expect nothing less.

If they weren’t here, you’d be rushing to the kit, but any sudden movements will get them trigger-happy.

Your movements are slow as you retrieve the first aid along with a wet washcloth. You make your way to kneel beside Jason. Blood continues to seep through his fingertips, creating a pool of red beneath him. You fight back the worry consuming you.

You gently guide his hand from the wound so you can begin cleaning it.

Jason watches you for a second before shifting his gaze to the others. They’re staring at you both, weapons aimed. They seem impatient and ready to fire.

“You should be making a run for it,” Jason says to you lowly. Though it doesn’t matter the volume of his voice, it’s so quiet that everyone will hear him regardless.

“And get shot in the back? No thanks,” you argue, setting the bloodied rag to the side to start patching him up.

Jason wants to reply he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d have his hands on his guns, shooting everyone before you could get hurt. But he doesn’t want them to know how much he cares about you. Perhaps that’s a fruitless wish since they’ve probably already gauged their affection from their body language.

Jason grunts when you touch a certain area. He’s been trying to keep his cool—for the sake of seeming stronger than he appears to his captors, and for the sake of your sanity.

Your eyes move to his helmet, and there’s a silent “sorry” in your expression. He can tell you’re trying to appear strong, too.

All Jason wants to do is fill these guys’ heads with lead, then snuggle you in bed.

As you continue attending to his wound, he asses his options. He could quickly shield you with his body while he took out the men, but even then, he wouldn’t be able to move and risk the potential of you getting shot. The thought about tossing you out of the window since there’s a fire escape there is strong—get you out of harm’s way so he doesn’t have to worry about you in the crossfire.

Jason’s thoughts get interrupted when you lean in. He watches quietly as you kiss his helmet softly. His lips twitch in an immediate response, but then he feels something slip into his palm.

Clever girl.

With one hand, he slips the small knife you gave him up his sleeve; with the other, he caresses your back. He hopes his action distracts the men from the quick exchange.

You pull away carefully as Macho Boss grits out, “Touching. You done now?”

“Yes,” you reply.

The second the word leaves your lips, a pair of hands are pulling you from Jason roughly.

Jason quickly begins to stand but a heavy boot stomps on his fresh wound, forcing him down again. He breathes in a sharp inhale at the impact, head tilting back and fists clenching.

“Red!” you gasp, struggling against your captor’s hold. More so for his health and safety than yours.

“Relax, love,” Macho Boss coos, but it’s nothing close to soothing. “You can’t expect us to trust your buddy here.”

Then, he turns to the person who’s pinning him down. “Tie him up.”

“You better be treating me to dinner after,” Jason huffs.

Suddenly, Jason’s hauled up and shoved into a nearby chair. His arms get pulled back, forcing a grunt out of him because of his injury. His feet are then secured.

“What a charmer,” Macho Boss scoffs. “Now, the files.”

Your gaze lingers on Jason to make sure he’ll be okay before walking to your bedroom where your laptop is.

“Put me in that room,” Jason demands as he watches you leave.

“Not a chance. You can sit pretty with me right here,” the man behind him says.

Jason clenches his fists as you disappear from view. There are only three of them in the room now. Two went with you.

Easy.

Jason shimmies the blade low enough to reach the rope around his wrists. He waits a few minutes for everyone’s focus to dim before beginning to slice at the material.

“So what’s Red Hood doing in some rando’s apartment, hm?” Capture Two says.

Jason shrugs, subtly cutting the rope as he speaks, “Would you believe me if I said I have a magical power that lets me sense trouble? Because wow… My inner crime detector was blaring.”

Captor Two huffs in annoyance. “Yeah right. You probably got cameras set up around here.”

Jason catches on to the man’s agenda: Find the location of the cameras so they can take them out next time.

“There’s even one over there,” Jason says with a nod to the left.

“There is?” the guy questions and turns.

The second he does, Jason breaks through the rope and disarms and knocks out the man behind him. Gunfire erupts and Jason quickly takes cover in the kitchen nearby.

“Fucking liar,” Captor Two growls.

Jason laughs. “Sorry, man. Let me make it up to you.”

Jason peeps around the cabinets and aims with proficient precision. Two down, one to go.

Upon hearing the scuffling in the living room, you quickly retrieve the gun that’s taped under the desk. For once, you’re grateful for Jason hiding guns around the apartment.

Before you can second guess your actions, you shoot Macho Boss in the kneecap before ducking and shooting the second man in the same place. Once they’re both down, you take away their guns in case they try anything on the ground.

Jason rushes into the room hearing the gunshots, both pistols raised. He pauses in his trek when he sees you—seemingly unharmed—standing between the two men on the ground.

The men are groaning, blood soaking the carpet he vacuumed yesterday.

“Next time come when the carpet is already dirty,” he says before slamming the heel of his gun onto his head—knocking him out. He walks to the second guy and does the same. It’s tough for him to do so since he really just wants to shoot them instead, but he told Bruce he’d attempt his no-killing rule. It’s day four, and he already feels like giving up.

“Nice teamwork,” you comment and place the guns on the desk.

Jason stuffs his pistols in his holsters before he unlatches his helmet. He tosses the item on the bed, then pulls you close until his mouth captures yours in a heated kiss.

You yelp in surprise into his mouth. Jason smiles at the sound and squeezes your body tightly against his armored one.

When you pull back, you’re looking at him with a silly smile.

“Don’t tell me all this is what gets you hot and bothered?” you tease, fingertips gliding down his chest gradually.

Jason grins and pecks your lips with a proud grin. “Can’t help it. You’re sexy when you’re in action.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest until he’s loosening his grip reluctantly. “You’re sexy too.”

Jason can’t resist but lean in again, although this kiss is shorter.

“You okay?” he asks, mood turning serious. He holds you at arm’s length to examine your body.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Nothing but a flesh wound,” he beams.

You shake your head and glance around the untidy room.

“Can you call Dick or someone to clean this up while we go to a safe house?” you plead, too lazy to help with the cleanup. You just want to sleep with Jason next to you.

“We don’t need him. I’ll take care of it,” Jason informs and bends to pick up one of the men.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself more, Jay,” you sigh, words meaningless as he throws the second body over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“I’ll be fine, babe. Give me ten then we can cuddle. I know that’s what you want.” He smiles knowingly.

You roll your eyes playfully at his light tone. He isn’t wrong, but you wish he wouldn’t exert all his energy now when he’s injured.

But this is Jason.

Stubborn ass.

Jason takes two trips to carry the men out. You rest your elbows on the window seal, watching him drag the unconscious men in a small circle with their backs to each other. He takes a chain and secures it tightly around them. You think he’s done but he pulls out a paper. You squint, leaning a little out the window.

Sprawled in black ink is:

BAD GUYS FOR PICK UP

Jason steps back to admire his work, then turns to look at you. Although you can’t see his expression due to his helmet, the two thumbs up he gives you indicate there's a smile adorning his handsome features beneath.

Chuckling, you shake your head playfully and return the thumbs up before nodding to come back inside.

Your gaze follows the tall man as he struts back toward the building. You tuck yourself inside, shutting and locking the window as you stare at the silly paper with his handwriting.

He wouldn’t be your Jason if he wasn’t mischievous. After all, it’s one of his many talents.

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

#jason todd #jason todd angst #jason todd fanfic #jason todd action #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you

851 notes · View notes

nvuy · 3 months ago

Text

dulcet — sunday

summary. it is within the safest parts of the world that sunday loses himself, and it seems that only you can provide him the salvation he desperately searches for.

notes. i wrote this for mags :)))) hiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!! confiteor part three THATS IT. DONT ASK ME FOR ANOTHER ONE. you can read part one and two here or on tumblr if you want. i'd recommend because this series is mind boggling. i wish you all an open mind, because if this confuses you, that's the point.

warnings. mdni, 18+, gn reader with fem anatomy, you are implied to do street work, crazy freaky shit, long ass 11k post, whatever form of body worship this counts as, sunday needs to be medicated asap and needs therapy, angst if you look at it with your eyes open, religious guilt & themes, and again its literally just a dirty smashing session. nobody is surprised.

Sunday laid and simply waited for sleep to come. It was dark now, and the clock on the other side of his room was ticking and ticking with each minute that passed. Something twitched with every noise; a finger, his eye, his lips.

Exhaustion crept behind his eyes, and yet they refused to remain shut. Every tick of the clock, every creak of the bed, every single noise he heard put him on edge. He stiffened like a corpse when the sheets moved.

It’s just him.

It was just him and nobody else. It had become harder and harder to convince himself that he was alone. This was his bedroom; the same four walls he surrendered himself to every night and prayed to see tomorrow morning. A home such as his didn’t warrant nor promise his safety when he laid his head to rest.

And that was what had scared him. The window to his bedroom was cracked open just a tad; he had his rhythm. All the windows shut and the door locked tight from the inside. Any draft of wind from outside would stir him awake in an instant, as well as the fact that anyone would contort through the gap and come forth and touch him and–

Sunday only clutched at the neckline of his shirt to calm himself. Usually, he’d twist his hand into the pendant he wore around his throat, but that was stowed away in its jewellery box — and Robin had highly discouraged the bad habit because he was growing ghastly scars on his palm from repeatedly splitting the skin open on the white gold charm.

He swallowed hard, and the lump in his throat remained. He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tight in frustration. He tried to relax, loosening the tension in his shoulders and stiffness in his legs, but he locked up again almost immediately.

Like a corpse.

He could hear tapping outside of his room again. Clicking of heels, footsteps trailing back and forth down the hall. There was no light bleeding beneath the door, but shadows passed beneath as if someone was standing outside. Waiting.

Sunday turned over and faced the window. It’s open. He stiffened up even more and swallowed even harder. It shouldn’t be open. He found no courage to stand up and close it himself; the floor would be too cold. His feet are bare. The wind picked up hastily and the silk curtains drifted lazily like the breeze did not freeze him to his bones.

At the same time, he felt hot in his skin. Burning like the sun, like hot wax and sweat glittering down his skin. Like rain and sand and molten metal mixed into his chest, ready to burst through the flesh and leave him without a heart. The pathetic muscle beat frantically despite having to convince himself there was nobody here.

He knew there was nobody in the room with him. He knows this. There’s never anyone with him.

And yet, he felt as if one thousand different eyes were peering down from the shadowed corners and staring and peeling back every layer of his skin and delving into his very being. And it hurt. Like lead weighed down his bones. Like he couldn’t move a single muscle in his body.

So he laid there and hurt.

He tried to breathe as the feeling entrenched through his veins and twisted against the walls of his organs until he was swallowed whole by whatever this was. Stabbing and burning and bruising blossomed in his legs. Breathe. Just breathe.

He tried to think of birds. The old small doves outside of the window that used to visit him when he was very, very small. Small enough that he remembered being accompanied by his mother, and too little that Robin wasn’t even in the picture yet. He would lean over the windowsill and reach out a small hand to one of them. Usually, they’d run away, but he found if he remained still for long enough, they’d curiously come close and use his hand as a branch.

That was years ago.

He shook harder and pressed his lips together. He couldn’t tell if he could see something in the corner of the bedroom, but he couldn’t move his head to affirm it. He felt eyes. Eyes and mouths and hands and they reach lower and lower and beneath his clothes and he can’t breathe.

He felt claws.

The pointed ends of them sank deep into his stomach, the flesh denting and daring to tear beneath the tips. He swallowed hard, hard enough that the lump in his throat cut into his jugular.

And that familiar sensation of heat began to return. Again. He finally found the strength to let a finger by his side twitch, and he realised then the hand delving towards his navel was his own. His nails tap at the skin again and again as if waiting, as if his hand had its own mind. He felt it did.

He felt it was yours.

He finally turned over to face away from the window and tucked his hands beneath the pillow underneath his head. The clock in his room ticked away. His heart beat in tune.

Why does it hurt?

Paranoia set its teeth into his neck, and he had the love bites to show for it. He remembered the feeling of sharp canines digging into his flesh and ruining his throat. And he remembered crying out, not from fear as he did now, but from the pain, the rushing of blood through his veins, and the hot press of skin against skin. And that feeling.

Alive.

That’s what it was. His blood boiled, and he was afraid, but he felt alive. Above this plain, and the next, and in your arms instead.

The paranoia persisted.

He finally sat up and stared at the back wall of his room. The walls were barren, stripped of character, and his room was something of the same. There isn’t much on display. That’s too much clutter. There’s a jewellery box for his earrings in front of the mirror he refuses to look into. He doesn’t own a lot of things — and what is there to own? Other than a few books he has at his disposal, they tell nothing of his character.

If he had it his way, the bookshelf would be filled with romance novels. The terrible kind. The ones that were so over the top that he simply had to put them down and stare at nothing for five minutes before turning to the next page.

And then he’d think of you.

Idiot.

He pushed the blankets aside and swung his legs over the bed, careful to readjust his shirt. A light sheen of sweat stuck to his skin like hot glue as he stood up. The floor was freezing, and he promptly made it over to shut his window and lock it tight. He did it quietly, tip-toeing across the floorboards with shaking fingers.

He ignored the pain in his limbs, tugging on the window until he was sure the lock wouldn’t slip free. He did this hours ago before he tried to sleep. His mind was muddied.

He closed the curtains swiftly before trudging towards the bathroom. He locked that door, too, and tried to cool his face with water. It seemed to work for only a second before the burning returned. That sweltering heat lingered again and again, and the bruise on his neck was only growing darker.

The only thing on the bench is his toothbrush and a pair of scissors. There were bits of leftover blue feather tufts on the sharp ends.

He doesn’t look at his reflection, afraid of the silhouette forming behind him.

And then there was a creak from outside the door.

He choked on his breath before he held it silently. The window. He recognised that sound; the dry hard rubbing of the sill against the joints. His teeth gritted hard, and he swore the shells cracked in his mouth. And that is pain. Pain and pain and pain and fear and it swallows him whole and he feels small still. Like he’s little. Like he’s that little boy who cried with a scraped knee for his mother.

And that hurt.

His heart ached and his stomach dropped. He held onto the bench, leaning his weight against it, afraid he’d double over and dry heave — when’s the last time he ate anything?

Breathe.

It’s nothing. This has happened before. Many times.

He stood up straighter and pushed off of the bench. He ignored the pain shooting up his legs, and he grew lightheaded as he tried to move towards the door. The blood rushed to his head and his vision dimmed into nothing for a moment.

His hand rested against the door handle, and his fingers wrapped tight around the cold steel. It bit at his fingers like ice and he fought the urge to retreat and stay locked inside of the bathroom. It was too cold here. He was already shaking just staying in here for three minutes.

He swallowed hard and tried to control his breathing.

And then, and only then, did Sunday swing open the door as quick as he could and shut it briskly behind him. He rested his back against the hardwood of the door and held his breath. Hold. Hold. Breathe.

The window was open.

He could’ve sworn he closed it.

He could’ve sworn he–

He could still feel the cold wood of the sill on his fingers. He did. He can’t do this again because he knew he closed it and he remembered closing it and why is it so hard to breathe–

He barreled toward the window sill and shut it again. His stomach twisted and his lips parted to try and suck in more air. He only succeeded in accelerating his heartbeat.

He stepped away. Closed. It’s closed. It’s closed it’s closed. He closed it. He knew it now. He breathed out again, this time slower, trying to calm himself down. The back of his heels hit the foot of his bed and he sat down on top of the blankets. It’s cold.

It’s cold but the window was closed. He knew it. He knew it, he knew it.

He heard a knock from the wardrobe.

The inside.

His breathing stuttered and stirred in his chest, and it felt like small animals crawling through his lungs and clogging his throat. Like rats. Creeping rodents clawing into the weak muscle tissue and tearing through his bronchi. Violating.

It was dark. So dark he couldn’t see the figures in the corners of the bedroom. His feet were cold from the floorboards. The acid in his stomach churned and burned, and feared the worst. He scanned over the room once, twice, before he slowly took a step towards the wardrobe.

It knocked again, and this time the door jolted on its hinges as if something were trying to break out.

Another step.

He hurt.

Just go back to sleep.

He opened the closet.

Two shadowy figures, one hunching over the other, too close for comfort, and ants wedged themselves through every pore and blemish in his skin. It’s him, and you. You’re half undressed, and he looks worse for wear, covered in stains and spit and taking it all in stride. His clothes were a mess; pants ruffled and loose, his hair was wild from being tugged on, and despite your hands roaming dangerously low around his hips, his own hands drew around your face and pulled your lips onto his again and again.

One blink, and he was there. In the church again, in the back in a storage cupboard, and he was startled. He’s dreaming. He had to be. His clothes were different; his usual attire, though he’s shedded his overcoat and you were busying yourself undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“I told you not to come back,” he remembered whispering defeatedly.

Your hands dipped lower down his navel.

“Getting cold feet, priest?”

And, yes. His feet were cold, because now the closet was empty, and he was standing in his bedroom again with his hand on the knob. The bruises on his neck ached with the memory.

He shut the door.

Then, he turned, almost like less of a person and more of a shell, and stumbled back to bed. The sheets were still warm from the imprint of him, and he held the blankets to his chest defensively as his eyes searched around the bedroom again.

Nothing to see. All empty and dark and neat.

His eyes flitted toward the window.

It’s open again.

His heart skipped a beat, but he made no move. The draft froze him stiff. He contemplated leaving and searching for Robin’s room; he was sure she’d understand — and she would. She’d make room on her bed instantly for him.

But he’s not a child anymore. Humiliation stirred in his stomach like acid, and he swallowed the fear rising in his throat. It’s closed, he reminded himself. He has closed it. Twice now. It’s just all tricks of the light, or his own mind, or you.

There was the familiar rhythmic tapping of heeled shoes from outside his door. They sounded louder than before, but he knew they weren’t really there. He had heard the same footsteps for weeks now, bordering close to months. He had purple rings beneath his eyes to show the constant dreams he’d been forced to endure.

Ignore it. He laid down again, curling beneath the blankets. Pain withered and whittled his bones like frostbite, and the wind that blew through the gap in the window made him shiver.

The blankets were still warm, at least. It must have been only just past midnight. He still had hours to hold onto and toss and turn.

“What have you done?” he asked you one day, the only soul remaining on the podium in the church. “What did you do?”

You stood quickly. “Nothing, sire,” you answered. “What are you talking about?”

“You play dumb when the sun is out and crawl on your knees at night.”

You stood, stiffening like a corpse. “What are you–” You cut yourself off, frantically searching around the room for some sort of answer to your question.

He stepped forward, finding a somewhat semblance of strength to face you fully. He wanted to scream, or fight, or flee, or do something other than gape like a fish.

Lying. Bearing false witness. It’s all the same cardinal treachery he knows too well. He saw it now on your face like you were carved permanently in the stone of the statue behind him on the podium.

“It’s my job, sir,” you responded meekly. “I didn’t willingly–”

“I don’t care whether this is a job. You don’t understand,” he snapped quickly. “I am not paying you to torment me.”

“‘Paying me?’” you repeated. “Sire, you have not asked me for my service.” You took a step back, closer to the entrance of the church, but the aisle was long, and you had an even longer way to go until you reached the exit. “I only attend here because I am guilty of where my life has led me.”

“I did not ask for your service, nor did I ask you to lead me down your path of destruction.”

“We have not slept together, Reverend.”

Sunday stirred again. The same thing. His pendant being discarded left him only to clutch the neckline of his shirt and breathe harder. He’d already torn his palm to shreds. The cut through the bandage around his hand still stung, but it was no longer bleeding.

Maybe he is losing his mind. Maybe he’d be locked away again and forced into confinement until he was finally let out. Maybe he’d be brought to his death; he’d wake up standing on a chair with his hands tied and a rope around his neck.

And you’d be the one standing by his side with your foot ready to nudge the chair out beneath his feet.

He swallowed hard, and his hand moved to soothe the ache around his neck. Like rope burn. He’d already been shunned from church today for an inadequate morning service. One of the priests had commented on his behaviour.

Sunday had thought nothing of it at first. He hadn’t been sleeping properly for weeks, and any sleep he did achieve was plagued with you, your scent, and your legs, and his fingers twisted into the soft and warm flesh of your breasts. And he’d woken up without failure after every single one with his hands clammy, sweat pouring down his neck, and a flaming ache between his legs.

Liar. It’s just shame and guilt that wracked your rotten guts. He wanted to rip your organs from you and tie your neck with them. And the fear ate at him again, and again, and again until his bones were gnawed to their limits.

“Y’know, Rev,” he started slowly. “You’ve been… distant.”

Sunday’s eyes flitted away from you quietly chatting to another attendee on the pew. He said nothing but only gave the priest a strange look.

“Are you feeling okay?” The priest placed a hand on his shoulder after a moment. “If you need to talk, or… confess…”

“‘Confess,’” Sunday echoed quietly. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” His eyes searched for you again, and you were still attentively listening to the other person with your hands laced together in your lap.

Beautiful.

You glanced up and found his eyes as if you’d impeded through his head and gotten to his mind.

He sneered.

Your face twisted with confusion for a moment, maybe even guilt, before you offered a small nod of your head and an awkward smile before you turned back to continue your conversation.

“I am only looking out for you.” The priest’s eyes followed Sunday’s gaze. He grimaced. “Perhaps you should go home and rest. You look tired.”

Robin thought the same, that poor girl. She’d sit by him before service and try to coax him with some encouraging words, maybe even singing if he allowed it. She couldn’t get through. She couldn’t understand what was going on. She tried with all her might, and all the care in her small frail little heart to find the strength to make his beat again, but nothing would work.

Because nothing was going on.

It’s just him.

There was another creak from the window. He stiffened up harder to the point where his limbs threatened to snap from their tendons.

He doesn’t understand what it is. Attraction, fear, interest, connection, loneliness. If this is love, he doesn’t want it. It hurt, like a rope around his neck, like being pelted with stones until his skin and bone caved, like being tied and burned, like being nailed through the hands and feet and left for dead.

Just him. Just him.

“Are you lonely?”

He lost his breath.

There were arms wrapped around his middle from behind, and there was hot breath running down his neck. And it’s so familiar, and it’s so warm, and he startled a gasp from his throat.

Sunday tried not to throw his head back as he’d done so many times before. Instead, his hands almost immediately found yours, as they had so many times before.

His tongue failed him.

There were lips on his neck. Gentle, warm, and so so familiar he grew breathless within an instant. The bed was soft, and he melted into the mattress, and the warmth. He swallowed hard, and he was so exhausted he must have been dreaming. He mumbled under his breath, and his hands instinctively moved to yours.

They’re yours, right?

“‘Lonely?’” he murmured.

You hummed in acknowledgement. “You look lonely.”

He’s just tired.

His hands wrapped securely around yours, holding tight. Let this be okay. He dreamed it for so long. This is what he wants. He wants your warmth, and you, and your devotion. To use whatever faith he has in the church, in THEM, and everything you’ve ever worshipped, and spin all these twisted lies into him. Him and only him.

Just love him.

That’s all.

He couldn’t admit it then. “Your concerns are appreciated,” he mumbled. “I’m just tired.”

“I can help you sleep,” you promised. Your hands grazed over his hips.

“I beg your pardon?” His teeth dug into his lips hard enough to draw blood. But he knew what you meant because it is what he meant. It’s just him. He refused to turn around and face you, and thus found content with the disillusion of your warmth draped over his back. It was comfortable, as two lovers should be, but it was all the more wicked when, through your body, he felt the breeze from the window.

His breathing shook when your lips returned to his neck.

Vile, this is. He had admitted it so many times before. All of this was vile and disgusting, and wretched and wrong.

And he loved it. He loved the traitorous words that spilled from your lips, and the trembling of your fingers, unsure — just as his were — as they delved beneath his clothes as they had done so many times before. He remembered every other second he’d spent with you.

Where he’d met you, where you’d returned again and again before you’d pulled open the confessional door and had taken him in the booth, and where you’d pried and delved deep into his head, up when you sat innocently during service and refused to look at him.

Where you’d forced his head down between your legs and ordered his tongue, or he’d stood frozen stiff as your hands delved over his thighs, or when you’d touched him in all the places he never used to dare venture.

Because it is real.

He found himself unable to ask if it was, much too afraid of the answer.

“Tire you out,” you explained softly. “Make you dizzy.”

He already was. He was grateful he was already lying down, for he was sure he’d have fallen to the floor by now.

He hummed lightly and your teeth set softly below his jaw. He hoped in some twisted part of him that you’d leave scars upon his flesh.

Then, he mewled when your teeth grazed over the joint where his wing protruded below his ear. Sensitive things, the feathers. The bones were brittle too, and thin enough to snap with one wrong move.

This wasn’t right.

It wasn’t right to convince himself he’d be fine if you cracked every bone in his body and left if you’d touched him all over and kept him yours to do as you pleased, or if you did nothing but bite and tear into his skin until he was nothing but shredded flesh and bone. And still yours. That’s what mattered.

He had been raised to climb above personal desires, much less his own carnal ones. This shouldn’t be what he wants — he should want nothing. It’s selfish of him to think of you like this, and to feel your hands on him every night, and to indulge in your touch. It was sin like hot wax dripping down his stomach, and it tasted like warm sugar.

He hummed lightly, heart fluttering as you kissed another bruise onto his throat. His thighs ached to part and to grab your hand and move your fingers between his legs. He was already throbbing with need and it made his stomach churn.

Your lips were warm, and they served well to block off the wind blowing in from the cracked window.

Your lips grazed down over his shoulder before your hands slowly slid over his throat and reached from behind to begin unbuttoning his shirt. He let it happen. Because he wanted it to. Anxiety jittered in his limbs and his throat, but he helped you in undoing his buttons. He was much too afraid to shed the item off entirely, terrified of judgment and his willing vulnerability.

Terrified of his own skin, he shut his eyes tight and turned his head to kiss you properly.

His stomach exploded, he felt. Warm lips and an even hotter tongue that slid past his mouth. He wanted to choke and swallow your spit, and as disgusting as it felt to realise all of these thoughts, it only made him dizzier.

And he fell in love.

He felt warmth burst in his chest. His hands trembled before they wandered. They settled hesitantly on your hips, and he was pushed roughly onto his back. His chest pressed against yours, and he felt your heart race against his skin. The familiar pulse put his mind at ease and his head pounded with the scent of your flesh.

He grew dizzier as the time passed. His lips refused to part from yours, spit stuck like glue. His face grew hot, and his cheeks flushed a gorgeous pink. Sweat pooled down his throat and his hands and he gripped harder at your hips and felt the world spin. Vertigo grabbed at the chains clasped around his wrists and ankles and pulled, and he spun around again and again with you until he pressed you into his mattress, and one of your knees lifted to rub between his legs.

His breathing stuttered and he gasped out your name, as ridiculous as it was.

This was pathetic. He knew it so. His stomach twisted with pleasure and panic and the dizziness surged so hard in his head he had to stop for a moment and bury his lips into your shoulder.

Your hands were busy pushing past the waistband of his pants and venturing low between his legs. Your hands were hot, palms tracing the smooth skin of his hips before your thumbs brushed over the side of his cock. He shuddered, already hard and growing worse with every second.

He moaned. Moaned. Him. The Head of the Oak Family. That simple touch made his knees buckle, and he almost toppled on top of you.

Instead, you shoved him over, and you weighed him down onto the mattress. He let out a startled noise when your hand abandoned his cock. Instead, your nails trailed upwards. Up and up and up until your fingers grasped at his neckline and pulled him up from the bed.

“You seek reverence,” he murmured against your lips. “At a time like this.”

“Surely you can fight it this time?” you asked.

He tried to kiss you again, but your grip held strong and your other hand twisted into his face, holding him still.

He swallowed hard. Anxiety bubbled in his veins like boiling water. “This happens every night.”

“And you’re still pining?”

He’s sick. That’s what this is. Sick and in love.

His father had told him that to love is to give in. Giving in was not a part of him; he wasn’t supposed to cut open his chest and offer you his beating heart on a silver platter. That was the consequence of obsession.

“This is your fault,” he tried.

“Is that what you tell yourself while you fuck your own hand every night?”

The humiliation stirred deep within his chest. He hadn’t even realised his hand had snuck beneath his pants to tease the head of his cock, flushed a furious red and weeping. He wanted you to ruin him and scar him and make him yours and–

“I’m in love,” he admitted to nobody. His words were muffled as you grabbed his face harder. He looked to the left. The window was closed. “And I’m a heretic.”

His heart leapt through his throat.

He understood it now. He knew then a nightingale was watching from the window. He knew it. This would taint him if whatever was left of his purity was not already stained the shade of your skin.

His wings fluttered. Fear. It crawled back up his spine.

He fought through your grip and kissed you again, this time with that newfound anger that had been boiling in his blood. His nerves and fury mixed to create some sort of poison that fueled him forward, grabbing your face and ignoring his twitching cock with a frustrated sound. He ended up sprawled on top of you, desperately trying to smother you with his lips, and pressing his hips to yours slowly. So slowly.

His kisses were frantic, uncertain. He wasn’t sure where to touch, what to do, how to respond when you nipped at his lip or your tongue crawled to press against his teeth teasingly. He found you tasted of nothing, but that was to be expected. Because it’s not–

His hands found the buttons of your shirt. That same shirt you wore when he first laid his eyes on you. All buttons and silk, and that awful embroidered stocking pattern ran up your legs.

Sunday slotted himself between your thighs, and his bedroom spun in a circle. The mattress dipped as he leaned against you, his hand sprawling across your chest to feel the rhythmic muscle beat frantically. He was sure he was in a worse condition; he felt as though the pathetic heart beneath his ribs would give out any second.

His cock twitched in his pants.

But he was a patient, patient man. He’d been drilled with this mindset, this front since he was little. So little he couldn’t think for himself. Now, he could, and he was distracted and losing sleep every night touching himself to the curve of your legs. Gopher Wood would be laughing in his grave, he’s sure. Laughing and jeering and shaming.

“What do you want, Reverend?”

He didn’t know.

He couldn’t answer.

Instead, he chose to kiss downwards from your throat, following the intricate lines of the bones and trying to remember what the scent of your skin was like. And it hurt to try because it was a reminder.

He decided to ignore it. Ignore everything entirely and focus on you, and solely you, and nothing else. It helped, if only a little.

Reverend Sunday worshipped like no other. It was instilled in him for so long that it was second nature, but never in his life had he been at the mercy of something much more important than a God. He’d never believed it to be true, but the way your breath hitched and you squirmed when his thumbs brushed over your nipples riled him further than he would have thought. He sighed, overwhelmed, and his teeth ran over the expanse of your breast, desperately coaxing that same noise from you again and again.

His heart spiked once, twice, and when he was convinced the muscle was truly about to stop, his lips continued downwards, centring lower to your navel. You squirmed, but his heart fluttered at the feeling.

“I want this to be–” He stopped himself, lips and nose squashed against the soft skin between your hips. “I’m–”

His father would be laughing at him.

Misery plagued his bones, and his halo flickered quickly the lower his lips dragged. Devotion. In and out. Pure, unbridled devotion. Taste and touch and blood and sweat. He breathed out finally, and his teeth came forth to pull at the waistband of your skirt. His canines caught on your stockings, and the fabric was dry on his tongue. He tugged downwards, snagging the wiring between his teeth.

He wanted to tear through the rose pattern, but he decided otherwise.

Instead, he pulled them down past your thighs, to your knees, and then your ankles, careful with the thin and delicate material. You kicked what remained off.

He grinned, but it was shaky and uncertain. It was suddenly cold. Another draft he felt from the window. He couldn’t undo the button of your skirt with his mouth, so his trembling fingers pulled their weight and decided to just shuck it upwards to your hips. Your bones splayed so nicely all for him, and his mind ventured elsewhere for a moment.

How many others have seen you like this? All pliant and pretty, covered in sweat and his spit and the marks from his teeth. His thumb pressed to the sensitive skin of your stomach.

Maybe it was twisted, the image of you both. A poor pining priest and the object of his desires. A scared little boy looming over the image of an Aeon. The scent of your skin and the touch of your hands. He pulled back for a moment, simply leaning over to admire you.

You reached up towards him and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. You tugged once, twice, before you said, “come, Reverend. Make this one real.”

“You cannot tempt me like this,” he argued weakly. Still, his hands splayed over your thighs, soothing over them. He couldn’t bear to look down past your hips.

“Scared?” you asked him.

And he was. Very, very scared.

When he glanced down at his hands, he noticed his fingers warped.

He ignored it.

He followed his hands then to your hips again, careful with his movements, slow and unsure. He moved between your thighs, watching closely for any twitches. His cock throbbed when he brushed his hips against the mattress.

He wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t sure about anything, really. But your thighs parted wide to accommodate his shoulders, then his head and his heart almost burst when you swung a leg over his shoulder. It pinned him further into the mattress, and a soft pull at his left wing closer to your hips made his cock twitch.

Devotion.

His unsteady hands held on tight to your hips, and one of yours found solace in interlacing your fingers with his.

Hesitantly, he brought himself forward to taste.

The mind plays funny tricks on its victims. Sunday knows he’s no stranger to disillusions, illusions, and the like. To the decayed mind, all things seem real. His tongue tasted, his hands felt, and he heard your breathing and your quiet mewls, and yet his eyes couldn’t seem to stay open for more than seconds at a time.

Funny.

Sunday lost his breath at the noise you made. It was a stir in his stomach like fine wine, and your hips encouragingly ground back on his lips when he reeled back for a moment. His mind grew foggy, and his eyes fluttered shut again.

Oh, is he a man in love.

His tongue moved slowly over your cunt, languidly stroking up and down with wet passes to test the waters. The tip of the muscle inched upwards slightly, curling over the small bump of nerves. That managed a sharp inhale, to which he curiously tried again. Any noise that escaped your lips, he chased it, over and over again like an addict.

The taste was, again, nothing.

Because it’s–

He shut his eyes tight.

Your hand found the back of his head, fingers curling in soft locks before you pulled him forward, closer, until his nose bumped against your clit and his lips were smushed against you.

His wings fluttered again, and the feathers tickled your thighs. His hands wanted to wander and touch himself, and he could have sobbed out at the relief he sought when his hips ground up against the mattress, but he couldn’t. Selfishness wasn’t a part of him. It never truly had been. He’d have much rathered to feel your legs wind tight around his face before anything else.

His tongue tried again, the flat of the muscle grazing along your clit until you twitched at the sensitivity and pulled his head back for a moment.

Sunday’s hand splayed on your hip moved to your cunt, and his thumb pulled back the wet plush skin until your hole stretched wide. He swallowed and his lips pulled taut and he kissed at the entrance once, twice, until you were giggling like an idiot, and a newfound delirium grew haze in his brain.

Your free hand pushed the hair from his face when he delved in again, tonguing at your clit before he decided to kiss there as well. Devotion. It is worship. It is the sight of you writhing—it’s everything.

His mouth followed you as your hips twisted and squirmed, teeth lightly sinking in around your clit in warning. He was still in control, for the most part. Maybe not of himself, but for how he kept you on his bed. He sucked lightly, feeling you jolt and squirm, and a smile grew on his lips at the sight.

He wanted to burn the imprint of his lips on your thighs, and he tried. He abandoned your cunt, now slick with his saliva, to try and mark your legs as his. He hummed to try and release the pressure of his nerves gathering inside of him, but it didn’t do much to help. Your thighs bruised easily. He could bite and tear if he wanted to.

He pressed his lips to the new bruise before his nose pressed against your clit again and he mouthed at your entrance. He held you firmly, enough to scar with his nails, and tasted again and again and found nothing and everything in all of the wrong places. Perhaps he was too enamoured, for when you grew too sensitive and attempted to push him away, he held stronger and tilted his head to push harder with his tongue.

Your clit swelled, and he felt it all the way. His hips stuttered against the mattress. His eyes remained screwed tight, even when your fingers petted his head gently.

He was being good. He knew it, and his heart thrummed at the idea. That was his job, his entire life. To be good, and to understand, and to please. He fell in love with every mumble and moan that left your lips. Every babble of praise, or every time you pushed his hair behind his ears. His cock grew harder somehow, despite his resistance.

His skin was growing cold again.

You were growing wetter with every pass of his tongue, and every flit of his lashes against your thighs when he tilted his head downwards to taste. His longing had grown into overdrive. He never should have been tempted like this. He was beyond temptations and desires and wants. He did not want anything. He had no need for things and love and music and art.

And yet, what’s it to a man of the church who falls in love with something as wretchedly beautiful as you?

All ruined and sweaty and mangled and all his to enjoy. That’s what you were — all his.

His mouth was slow, lips wrapping delicately around your clit to suck hard. It made you shiver without fail, and your hips bucked upwards at the feeling over and over again. The entire premise that it was him, and nobody else, that had you as you were now, almost made him cry out at that very moment.

It hurt to breathe and think and feel, but his fingers pulled at your skin to ground himself and press his tongue into your entrance. You clenched instinctively around him, and he tried again and again, forcing his tongue as deep as it would go. Your legs squeezed around his head and the warmth of your pulse and your blood beneath your skin only aided further in making his head spin.

He was sure his face was red to match.

Your legs wrapped tighter around him, enough to keep him still and his tongue on you as he returned his attention to your clit. You mumbled a spiel of praise he barely picked up on, and it went straight to his cock.

It would stay and remain devotion the more he ruined your cunt with his lips, but he couldn’t think straight. The world spun on its irregular axes, his hips winded quicker into the mattress, and your breathing was slowly growing into something heavier and harder.

He couldn’t hear your thoughts — he needn’t try. He was sure he’d be able to see pink and white and stars and nothing but the vile image of his head between your legs and your slick coating his face. Some priest. Lowly and unserving. He did not deserve any praise, nor nothing he received. If anything, he was born to remain here, by your side, and grabbed at the throat and the hips until he could think of nothing but your hand twisting around his cock again and again.

Complete pain and humiliation climbed up his spine when he pressed his cock hard into the mattress. It was instinctive at this point. His mind wasn’t working, and his hips moved of their own accord again and again until he came and still tortured himself with it. The fabric of his pants only made everything seem hotter and tighter, and as his hips twitched with every brush against the mattress, he moaned or whimpered, or made whatever other pathetic noise he didn’t realise he could.

You said nothing comprehensible, murmuring whispers of pleasure that only served to make him hard again. And so quickly, too, that he throbbed and outwardly cried out at the feeling, though it was muffled.

Curse his stupid tongue that was so smart and silver for tiring when he needed it working more than ever. Never could he exhaust himself of words, but he pushed and pushed now with whatever fleeting strength he had, and the blood rushed to his face when you stirred and pulled on his hair to lessen the distance. Grateful for some sort of grounding, Sunday nosed at your clit while his lips kept busy teasing more slick from your hole.

In love.

Funny how it works. It torments and shames and lusts and ruins.

He lost his mind.

The want to taste your cum grew stronger, as did the press of his tongue against your clit until you were mewling and squirming at the pressure. A finger brushed up against your thigh before it sank deep into your cunt. You clenched instinctively, and he rubbed at that sweet little spot that made you writhe around him.

He ached and ached and felt you twitch and tremble and he could have cum again if he wasn’t so distracted by the feeling of your legs squeezing around his head.

This isn’t how this was supposed to happen. He should be resting and trying to get better. He’s sick. He hasn’t taken his medication in so long. He shouldn’t be trapped in a confessional booth with a whore, or locked away in the wine cellar and brought to his knees, or–

You came, then, and his heart fluttered and stammered and stopped and started anew. You coated his tongue with slick, and his heart raced so quickly he was worried it would burst from his chest and run.

He was so enamoured and frazzled with how his mind could do this to him. How he’d been trapped in his own head for so long and curled in his blankets with all the doors in his room shut and the window closed and blinds pulled over.

A terrible blush painted his face when you weakly reached down to pet his hair again. His halo shimmered. He’s so well behaved. So, so good to you, and good for you, and he can be your everything if you’d let him.

Your thigh rubbed against his cheek, warm and trembling.

He reeled back after overstaying, and your clit throbbed when his lips kissed the poor bud one last time. Your hole clenched desperately for more of him, and his heart jolted.

His hands remained between your legs as you found the strength to grab his shirt and pull him upwards and over you. His heart pressed to yours and he kissed you again, this time intent on making his lips bruise. Eyes wound shut, he ground his hips up against yours.

You kissed at his jaw.

“Wretch,” he mumbled. His halo flickered again. His blood burned beneath his skin. He hummed, pleased at the warmth of your flesh. His hands wandered to yours and gripped your fingers tight. Another shove and his legs were entangled with yours in his side.

“You’re in love,” you whispered.

And he kissed you, again and again and again until he was breathless. Until his heart warmed and burst, until he was sure he could taste and smell nothing but you, and feel only you.

His lips were still unsure. His teeth clicked against yours, and perhaps his heart was thrumming so loudly in his chest it deafened him, but he pulled you harder against him. His hips were rough against yours, dragging his cock through his pants against your cunt in languid strokes. It hurt. The friction was too much for him, and yet he couldn’t stop himself.

And he was moaning and moaning and it was disgusting what terrible sounds ripped from his throat. He mewled and flustered and breathed so heavily that his lungs were about to combust.

That feeling was slowly returning. That guilt and fury and humiliation burned horribly in his stomach. You did this. All of you. He was not at fault for this. For the way you sat pretty in the church and kept your gaze locked onto the floor. How your hands would hesitantly touch the donation baskets as if you were unsure if it was worth the precious pennies you had left.

And he would watch silently. As he always did.

He’d watch silently, and then he’d go home that night and cum on his own hands with his eyes shut tight, trying to imagine they’re your fingers instead.

His hand rested in its rightful place between your legs, and his fingers returned wet. Soaked, even. And he realised then he’s brought upon much more than a twisted version of romance; this is desolate, and this is Hell. He is home in all of the Nine Circles, blown about in an endless storm with no hope of rest, a heretic victim to the clutches of flames, and he burns and burns and burns and burns but the pain never dulls, nor ends.

His pants were ruined with his cum and your own, and as vile as it was, he desperately clawed until he found leverage to finally be selfish and free the stupid awful thing and grind his cock up against you. The skin was already wet, and yet grew wetter and warmer with the friction. Slippery and grotesque, and yet he felt you clench every time the tip slipped around your hole, enticing him.

A fog grew heavy in his mind, and he went blind for a moment. He witnessed pure white and burning. And it was Hell.

Despite the incessant grinding, his fingers slid and slipped over your clit, desperate to hear your voice again. His free hand searched for the pendant that was usually strung around his neck. He found nothing.

Still, his eyes were shut.

He felt as though he was somewhere else. In the church again, where you’d ridiculed him as if this was his fault, and then you’d fucked him over the altar. Or maybe back in the confessional booth where you both had barely fit inside, and you bounced on his lap until he grew dizzy. Or maybe when you’d mouthed at his cock in the bathroom at a dinner to celebrate his sister’s success. Or maybe when you’d thrown him in the backseat of his own car and made him see stars.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But this was different. This was his bed, his four walls, his private quarters, his everything, and you were his, and this was the intimacy he’d been craving since he was a child. He’d been denied the closeness of another person, anyone, for so long he had forgotten the feeling of skin. Even his own skin, which he’d hidden away each day beneath layers of clothing.

Because he wasn’t a person, really. He did not think his own thoughts. He did not have the passion and desires others had; he had no interest in the mundane—not anymore, at least—like art and music and literature. He had no end goal that was his and his alone. The money he used to purchase things was not his. Nothing he had in his bedroom was really his.

But you.

He held tight onto your thighs and stopped.

His heart melted into mush when he realised you were still lazily grinding upon his cock, and the veins throbbed desperately.

You. Imperfect and terrible and everything he shouldn’t have loved in another person. And so disastrously awful for him, and all of the subtle changes of this face, and your real one. He can’t truly remember everything—there’s a small glint in your eyes when you’re perplexed, and there are few patches of colour across your features, and perhaps your eyes are a tad too light, but this is what he remembered.

And as imperfect as it was, and as unsatisfying as it was, and ignoring the fact that it gnawed at his insides, he was okay with this. He was okay, somewhat, with what he felt.

His palms were embarrassingly wet when he held you open, and guided the tip of his cock towards your hole. He swallowed hard before he softly canted his hips forward and drowned. He held tight, anxiety shooting up his veins and bursting at the seams.

He felt you tighten instinctively, trying to swallow him whole while he panted like a hellhound and pushed his hips deeper until the bones were pressed to yours. He stuttered, heat encircling his cock like a vice, and then swallowed as hard as he could to mask his voice.

He should be used to this feeling now. He’s done this before — has he really? Everything felt so familiar, yet so so strange, and so so foreign he held his breath and wished it all to be real. He held on so tightly he grew breathless.

His forehead pressed to yours.

You hummed.

He felt his lips twitch. “This is wrong.”

“But you keep doing it.”

He had no excuse then, and he still had no excuse now.

He’s just like his father.

He gritted his teeth. “I’m in love.”

You laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. “There it is.” His hips twitched forward and he buried himself deep inside of you. “You’re doing so well.”

Oh. The wings below his ears fluttered. His face burned hot like the sun, and a hand dropped low to grasp yours tight. You squeezed his fingers in affirmation, maybe even encouragement to move. He was stuck, frozen, twitching, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

He simply nodded along like an idiot.

Warm. So disgusting and warm and his breath grew staggered and uneven with every twitch of his hips. His stomach felt odd, but maybe that was the sickness that warped in his guts. Something so extremely nauseating that he felt alive. He swallowed hard and his fingers moved to your arms to steady himself. He buried his face in your neck. Pear and jasmine and vanilla. He recognised that scent every time he was given that sacramental wine. It was almost the same, yet so so different.

He laughed, then, right into your shoulder. It was much more of a huff of hot air against your skin. Because this was insanity. His knees sank further into the mattress, and his pillows were tossed askew. Hurt and pain and heat. It was all the same, for he knew no better.

It was so good. Cardinal sin and blood and skin. Good. Great, even. Greater than anything he'd ever tried before. You tasted amazing, better than the flesh of an Aeon. So soft and warm and all his.

Something to call his.

His stomach turned.

He couldn’t get enough. His hips bucked slow, so excruciatingly slow, as if to savour. He wasn’t sure when he’d ever feel like this again, if he ever would. If his body would ever want him to do this again.

His arms shook with his own weight, and he tried not to double over. Good. So, so good. His hips twitched impossibly closer to you and he breathed upon your lips. He melted when you kissed him, as chaste as it was. He hadn’t felt this way ever in his measly, putrid existence.

All for you.

He pulled away slowly, attempting to forget the feeling of you, only to stuff himself back inside, rocking his hips hard until his own met your bone.

His heart warmed. How twisted. Your tongue prodded out to poke at the corner of his lip and he buried his nose into your shoulder afterwards, trying to muffle the disgusting noises that snuck from his mouth. He wanted to cry; that familiar prickling behind his eyes teased him.

His stomach jolted when he rocked his hips softly. He was sure a tear slipped down his cheek, and it dropped silently on the marred sheets of his bed. He’d have to clean it later.

Slowly taking what he needed. He continued, slowly, slowly, slowly, because he was a thief,

and he did not deserve to force his pleasure upon you. Not like this. Not with you pressed down onto his bed and waiting.

He understood the addiction of scent, and blood, and skin, and why he would hear the same telltale stories through the mesh of the confessional booth. He used to scrunch his nose up at the topic—how could someone be so insistent that carnal cravings were a cure to anger, and hate, and treachery, and violence, and everything?

Your lip pressed to his ear gently.

It can’t be a cure. It’s not. He certainly didn’t feel fixed, or any better. For the moment, maybe, he felt as though he was in Heaven, but it was much more warped than that. Heaven was not a feeling; Heaven is not a place, or a person, or cardinal sin.

Truly, he’s not sure what it is. It can’t be you. You’re different, maybe even the opposite. You didn’t make him feel beyond the clouds. You made him feel… terrible.

Infatuated, but terrible.

You were whispering something in his ear, and he laughed softly, but he wasn’t quite sure what he heard. If anything, he’s relieved for the attention. You could have blatantly insulted him, and his skin would’ve melted like hot wax.

“You’re overthinking again,” you reminded him. Your voice was strangely steady.

His hand tightened around his sleeves. “You come for…”

“Salvation, I suppose.” That was you. You came here. To see him. Or hear him. And seek his guidance and better judgement. He wasn’t sure if he could offer you much of himself, seeing that his brain had short circuited the moment he’d heard your voice through the booth.

He had imagined this all before. If anything, he remained silent to see if he could listen to anything vulgar.

Seconds passed and Sunday swallowed hard.

“Reverend?”

“Of course,” he forced out. You’re not going to do anything—it’s all in his head. You’re not going to plead for him to open the booth and let you have his way with him. You don’t even know him, and he doesn’t even know you.

It’s all in his head.

“Just try to enjoy it,” you told him.

His hips thrusted harder and he could hear the awful noises that escaped from your throat, and he wanted to tear the vocal cords free so you would never sing again, and also kiss you until you were breathless and bruised. Just try to enjoy it. Just stay in your head. It’s better that way.

He could feel himself snapping at the seams.

You were probably in your own home, wherever you lived, sleeping soundly. Maybe you were doing the same as him, or maybe you were fucking another man and enjoying him rather than—

He had a headache. A blazing pounding behind his eyes.

Yet, he persisted. He held you tight against his chest, hoisting you upwards from his bed so your heart could press against his. He fell in love with how he felt around you, even if it made him ill and horrible. Even if it disfigured his mind; even if you killed him.

He kissed you again, this time harder. He tried to ground himself firmer to remain on this terrible planet with you, but his mind continued to wander. Overworking, overthinking.

Sunday couldn’t find himself to care about it anymore. He strangely welcomed the feeling of you attempting to suck on his tongue. He held onto your throat now, only gently, and his finger pressed to your jaw to keep you still.

He panted once, twice, and then his breath hitched when he managed to move into you with an increased pace. He tried to keep his rocking even, but he was quickly losing his strength again.

How vile. One of your legs was slotted nicely around his own, calf rubbing against his hip as he slammed his own against you. Hard enough to burn and bleed, and his cock twitched and twitched and twitched and twitched.

“What…” He leaned against the side of the booth. “What troubles you?”

He heard you laugh, though it wasn’t at all mirthful. Still, it may have been the most beautiful sound he’d ever been blessed to hear. “Everything.” You paused to take a breath. “My job… my life… my everything.”

He said nothing. He didn’t have to. He knew exactly how you felt.

“I don’t think I was made to live in a world like this.”

You’re the same. Maybe that’s why he had developed this estranged one-sided affection; this sickening obsession that’s torn through every working cell in his brain. That’s left him a horrible, shaken mess of a person.

The sounds are abhorrent. The way you wriggled in his grasp to force him deeper inside of you, and the sighs and whispers that left your lips are somehow worse.

Sunday lost his strength in one of his wrists, and he almost toppled over you. That only stirred him harder, and his hips winded and jolted when you squeezed tight around him. He could certainly get used to this. One day. With you.

“Enjoying yourself?” you asked.

He was enjoying you, but he refused to voice it. He understood. He understood the need to escape, to run to somebody else’s bedroom, to fix everything this way.

He kissed you impossibly harder, his lips purpling at the pressure, and that mere feeling brought him so close to the edge he stammered on his own breath. His thrusts grew sloppier by the second, and he cared less about how you felt, and more of that edge he was chasing and trying to grab by the reins.

So good. He could feel his cock bubbling at the tip, squishing up against your walls and the skin stretched and ached and warmth burst through his stomach. He wanted to fill you up again, and eventually, one day. He’d imagined this so many times before; the way you’d sound, or beg, or do whatever you really did. Whatever you did, he’d embrace it, and he’d thank you for a thousand years.

He’d cum again and again and he’d let you use him as your own personal toy to play with if it satisfied you. Even if you tossed him aside when you grew bored—he was used to that.

He’d feel this terrible feeling forever if you would just love him.

He hoped.

His stomach burned, and his cock was throbbing.

His bones grew tired, but he persisted, in and out and in and out until nothing left his lips but babbles of worship as he swung his arms around your neck and traced his lips along your ear. You’re so good to him. So good.

You would sit there all pliant and pretty and he’d take and take and take until the only thing left of you was the part that only cared for him, and nothing else. And then you’d watch as he was dragged down below the ground, while you would rise above the clouds. Because that’s what he deserved, and you and him did not share the same fate.

The clutches of a Sinner’s hands rest on his face, and they’re yours, just for a moment.

His hips stuttered.

“C’mon,” you whispered. His nose was cold against yours.

“I–”

“–Close?” you finished.

He frantically nodded his head like an idiot.

His lips twitched in some sort of pathetic smile.

You reciprocated. “I know.”

He couldn’t handle the teasing. If anything, it only made the headache worse. He wanted to cum. That was the only thing that mattered at this point. He wanted to ruin you, as you did to him.

He couldn’t afford to choke in the air as his cock twitched. He was right there, and his hip bones were aching as they smacked against your skin.

“I’ll be all yours, Priest,” you told him. “One day.”

Sunday’s eyes shot open in horror as he came, and he clutched desperately onto some semblance of skin—whatever his brain could attempt to conjure in a last-ditch effort to make this nightmare real.

His hand was twisted tight around his cock, covered in spit and sweat and his own filth, and he wretched the treacherous limb away as if it had developed a mind of his own.

He was trembling, layered in cold sweat as he shivered, his stomach convulsing as his cock slid against the mattress, an angry red flush enveloping the tip.

He couldn’t develop a coherent thought, nor movement, for when he felt around blindly for you, you were nowhere, and he was alive and awake again.

He choked on his own saliva as he tried to sit up. His pillows were soaked with drool, and his clothes were askew. He rested his back against his head and tried to breathe.

He glanced at the window. Closed.

Because he had closed it. He’d locked the bedroom door, too, and the bathroom. How would he have forgotten? That had been his routine for almost sixteen years. He wouldn’t have forgotten. Not ever. If anything, he’d have grown well aware of the old habit being missed that he’d scratch at his skin until he’d forced himself to get up and fix the window.

He heaved at what he had done.

He swallowed hard as if there were rocks stuck in his throat. His lungs refused to take in air. He kicked off the tangled blankets and they fell in a pathetic heap onto the floor. Dizziness surged in his mind, and the back of his eyes pounded and pounded the longer he sat there staring blankly at the wall.

His heart swelled horribly.

Oh.

His eyes slowly dragged over to the bedroom door.

Closed. No light bleeding beneath the door. No footsteps in the hall. Not Robin’s, certainly not yours. He faintly heard the echo of your heels, but that was drowned out by the aching in his head.

“Your services…” the priest started quietly. The booth creaked. “What do they entail?”

You didn’t answer for the moment. Perhaps you were nervous, or apprehensive, or a strange string of both. Maybe, even, your hands were busying themselves around the waistband of your pants, slowly unbuckling the belt and then–

“Men, sire,” you responded quickly, honestly. You tapped the mesh wiring of the confessional window in a strange rhythm. “I’ve never been proud. It’s dirty work.”

Sunday blinked awake. His hands were pulled tight at his sleeves.

“But you don’t have a choice?”

You made a noise. “Did you have a choice to be in the position you are now?”

“My position is very different from yours,” Sunday reminded lightly.

“Is it? We both serve to please the worst of people.”

And, in some sort of twisted way, you were right.

Just as if he was made to please you. That is his sole purpose; to be yours. It is why he felt this way. It’s why he was put in this terrible position; to meet you, and be yours, and nobody else’s, and escape off this treacherous planet and kiss you until he couldn’t bear to breathe the air that wasn’t yours.

That’s love, right?

Devotion.

He found it in himself to peel away from his bed and trudge to the bathroom.

He couldn’t bear to see his reflection.

He was afraid he’d see you standing behind him.

*ೃ༄

The next evening was like every other. He leaned against the confessional booth, eyelids slowly drooping shut as he listened and listened until his feathers shrivelled and his ears picked up on nothing but static.

Please the public.

He nodded along mindlessly to whoever was speaking to him through the wiring. He was grateful the booth was dark, and cold, for he was forming a sweat. His mind was running in circles, and though he responded to the lone soul through the window, he felt as though what he said was automated, and not at all a production from his heart.

That being said, he was thanked anyway, and they left.

That must have been the final one, for when he called for the next churchgoer, he was met with silence. There were no hushed shuffles of feet against the floor, nor the rustle of clothing, or breathing.

Nothing.

Alone again.

Sunday unlocked the door to the booth and stepped out, grateful he could stretch his limbs properly. He’d been cramped inside for what felt like days, but was only a few hours. Still, he felt his bones pop and crack as he exited.

He took the keys from his pocket and locked the small door.

Another day.

He could endure. It was what he was made for. He knew no better.

To breathe and feel for others.

That was all.

Now what?

Now, he’d go home. He’d go home, do the same mundane routine in order as he had always done for every day of his life—get changed, maybe have dinner, fill out forms until he was almost asleep at his desk, and then he’d try and sleep. And the same as always, he’d toss and turn and whine that it was too hot and then it was too cold, and all the while you’d mouth at his neck and strip him of his clothes.

He inwardly shuddered at the thought.

He grew sick with worry as he stared helplessly at the confessional.

“Room for one more?”

His heart leapt out of his throat, and he froze. His fingers tightened around the window of the booth and the material of his gloves stretched and squeaked.

He swallowed, unable to turn around. He pulled out the keys again. “Of course.” His hands were shaking.

He heard you let out a troubled hum. “You don’t have to–”

Sunday stopped you short, perhaps too quickly. “Nonsense. This is my job.”

“–We can talk face to face,” you finished. “If… if that’s easier.”

Right. He certainly could. It wasn’t so much easier for him, but if it pleased you. If that’s what you wanted.

Truly, you didn’t care too much about his final decision. But he was pretty in the face, and it was nice to speak to him properly for a change.

Sunday stepped away from the booth finally and turned to look at you.

He lost his breath almost instantly.

You grinned. “Hi.”

His lips managed to twitch into a smile. “Hi.”

Your feet shuffled against the tiled floor. He recognised the sound of your heels clicking quietly. The same noise he heard in his hallway, and he still heard it every night.

He held the keys tight in his clenched fist. The jagged ends punctured a hole through the palm of his glove. The scar that remained from his incessant habit would be opened soon.

Your eyes were slightly lighter than he’d imagined, and you wore your clothes neater, and you didn’t run your tongue rampant with terrible sullied words. That wasn’t you. That was his idea of you.

And now, reality sets itself upon him, and he still cannot grasp what is untrue.

“You haven’t visited the confessional in a while,” he started softly.

You shook your head. “No.” You glanced back towards the door, perhaps wondering whether it was locked, or maybe even contemplating running for it. “But I do sometimes attend service.”

He knows this because he’s searched and waited for you every morning.

Sunday was simply staring at you. “And what has prompted your change of heart?”

A laugh bubbled from your throat, and the sun bled through the stained-glass windows of the church, and flashes of green and yellow and pink and blue dotted along your face.

“You do generous and kind work, Reverend,” you whispered to him. “I hope it makes you happy.”

The offer of praise made him sit up slightly in the seat in the booth. Nothing made him quite as happy as your voice, and he’d hear you sing again and again until he grew deaf. Even then, he was sure he could remember the way your lips formed every syllable that spilled from your throat.

If anything, he remembered your sound, because your words were what mattered.

If anything, he hopes he can make you happy.

“I fell in love with a man.”

And he’d never let go of that hope for as long as he lived.

#✦ ( after hours. )#✦ ( the macrocosmos. )#sunday x reader #sunday x you #honkai star rail x reader

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