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teliphone · 10 days ago

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VIP

Thank you @sunshinefever for allowing me to use these pics

Summary: You’re a VIP in Squid Games. While watching the players, you notice a difference in your servant. Someone so alluring yet hidden behind a bejeweled mask. Soon you will realize this person is not your servant… but a guard seeking to escape.

Warning(s): Smut, Degradation, Toys, Oral, Edging, Slight fingering, Slight Overstimulation, Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

A fancy wine glass gets placed next to you gently. You take a moment to look away from the screen of players to focus on your servant. He stood still and wordless, almost doll-like. His black suit was looser on his body than usual, as if they were wearing someone else’s clothes. You slowly cross your legs, exposing your thighs within the slit of your dress. You pick up the glass and lift the rim to your nose. You twirl the glass, allowing it to send scents of sparkling citrus. You lower the glass to your lips to take a small sip before humming in delight. The taste of alcohol sinks onto your tongue. Hints of citrus and nutty undertones. You bring the glass up to your server.

“Server… What drink is this?” You softly ask, peering through your eyelashes. You can see his body tensing. Strange. But he doesn’t respond, making you upset. You begin waving your hands in front of him.

“Um, excuse me? I asked you something,” You point out. He refuses to move, not even a tiny nod of acknowledgment. You furrow your eyebrows in frustration. You paid millions of dollars for this special service… You can not tolerate disrespect.

You get up from your seat and face your server. You stand up to his face, trying to peek through his mask. Due to his height, you have to crane your neck to look up. You feel a bit hypocritical wanting to see his face when yours is half covered by a golden animal mask. You move your hands to grip his collar, but he quickly clenches onto your wrist. You widen your eyes in shock. Judging by how small, slim, and delicate their fingers look… You realize your server is a woman. You move your eyes from her hands to her masked face. The corner of your lips begins to lift into a smirk. You lean towards her ear.

“…You’re not my server,” You whisper. Her chest begins to move up and down quicker. Your original server is a man whom you’ve picked from day one. Before you could question her, she quickly slides her hands off your wrist and returns them to her side.

“Is there a problem here?” You hear a deep, robotic voice coming from behind. The game master stands, staring straight at you and your server. You narrow your eyes at her. Even though you couldn’t see her face, you can feel her begging you not to expose her. You smile and lift your hands to touch the buttons of her suit.

“We're perfectly fine,” You smile.

“I am pleased to hear that. I shall leave you alone for your pleasure,” The game master says before returning to his spot.

You continue analyzing your new server. Many questions rush into your head. Who is she? Where did your original server go? Does she actually work here? To satisfy your questions, you knew you couldn’t do it here in public. You have to go into a room.

“Come with me,” You order her. You bring out your hands for her to hold. She hesitates for a moment, then decides to place her hands on top of yours. You slowly wrap your fingers around hers. You begin walking, tugging her along. A couple of other VIPs giggle and whistle at you.

You open the doors to the private room. You enter first, lightly twirling in the middle of the room. You softly giggle and turn to face her. She stands by the door, unsure to enter.

“Come. I don’t plan on hurting you,” You assure. She stares at you for a moment before entering. She gently closes the door, and it automatically locks. She remains at that spot. Her posture is straight and tall. Her presence alone causes chills to run down your spine. She’s enchanting.

“Who are you?” You question. You lift your fingers to touch your lips, biting back a smile. The room stays still for a moment.

“I’m a guard here,” She finally says. You widen your eyes in slight surprise. Her voice is deeper and more stern than you thought.

“Where is my server?” You continue walking around the room. She turns her head to the side, hesitating to tell you. You make it about three feet away from her when she speaks again.

“…I shot a bullet through his head,” She reveals. Your blood turns cold. You freeze in your place.

“… Are you going to kill me?” You breathe out. Death is an interesting topic to you. You’ve paid to watch players die for money. It’s entertaining. Seeing multiple people die in the most horrific ways… yet the idea of death at the end of your door scares you. It’s selfish and inconsiderate, and you know. You bathe in the inheritances of your ancestors' dirty money.

“I won’t have to… if you agree to follow my orders,” She calmly explains. You blink. You continue to pause for a moment before lifting your hands to your chest. You start to giggle and chuckle.

“Phew… for a moment there, I thought I finally got what I deserved,” You laugh. Following orders should be easy work. Anything to get out of death. She clenches her jaw.

“Why are you here?” She says, causing you to stop chuckling. She wanted to understand the minds of people like you. VIP’s. Rich and inhuman. You wipe the edge of your eyes to collect tears of joy.

“Boredom. Curiosity. Adrenaline. Research,” You drop several words. You turn your attention fully to her.

Her silence and stillness bother you. Never have you talked to someone like this. As narcissistic as you have been raised to be, you felt like you could change that. So you decide to grab onto her wrist and tug her towards the bed. She stumbled on her footing, but still kept up with you. You walk over to the luxurious bed and sit at the edge. She stands a few feet away from you.

“This mask is stuffy,” You complain. Your fingers clench onto the edge of your mask and you take it off. You toss it at the end of the bed. You smile sweetly at her before running your fingers through your hair to fix it.

“Your turn,” You tease. She doesn’t move again, making you roll your eyes.

“If one of us is making it out of here, might as well go out without hiding,” You suggest, lifting your eyebrows. She hesitates for a moment, then nods her head and grips her mask. You straighten your back and lean forward in excitement. Like a drug addict waiting for their dealer to pull out the goods.

The tiny red scratch on her cheek catches your attention first. Her plump lips are slightly pink. Your eyes follow her long nose bridge to her dark and dull eyes. Her face is stern and emotionless. Her hair is messy and slightly sweaty. You also notice the cute freckles around her cheeks. You unconsciously nibble your bottom lip. You swing your legs over to cross them. Her eyes flicker to your exposed thighs. She has no shame in eyeing your body before looking back up

“What’s your plan? Are you trying to escape? Destroy the game?” You babble, twirling your hands around.

“Why do you want to know so much?”

“So that I can make it out alive… and maybe with you?” You lamely flirt. She lets out a soft laugh of disbelief. Her lips curl into a smile. Your heart swells in pride. You finally got an expression out of her! You lean slightly onto the bed, your chest peeking above the dress. You shyly smile while rubbing your foot against your calves. She grips her fist tightly behind her body.

A small idea pops into your mind, and you waste time doing it. There’s no point in waiting in a place like this. You cautiously graze your legs up her thighs. You don’t know what this woman could do, but you were intrigued. She clenches her jaw, exposing the muscles in her jaw. You sneakily wrap your legs around her thighs, bringing her body closer to yours. Her core is nearly rubbing against your panties.

“Do you do this with all your guests?” She whispers, slight curiosity in her tone. You giggle, still looking at her pants. You slowly drag your fingers along the lining of her zipper.

“Usually with money,” You whisper. She scoffs in disgust, which sends an ache down your stomach. No one has ever treated you like a dirty scum. People usually worship the ground you step on, hoping to grab money that slips out of your bag. Or beg to be friends for privileged reasons. But here she is. Someone with a lower ranking, staring at you like you’re the worst person on the planet. You lick your lips and peer up at her. You bat your eyelashes and she grimaces, yet the pink blush on her cheeks exposes something different behind her facade.

“Entertain me,” You purr. A slip of your narcissistic character. You’re so used to ordering people around. She narrows her eyes at your hands as you try to grip onto her clothed core. She doesn’t move, letting you roam your hands around. Your touches are light, to allow her to shove you away if she doesn’t like this. You peek up to test her expression. She gulps, and her chest moves up and down slowly. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she battles with her inner thoughts. You push it further by rubbing along her inner core. A red blush forms on her cheeks.

“Is this okay?” You smile. She nervously nods her head up and down, signalling yes. The desperate look on her face makes you chuckle softly.

“I guess I’m not the only dirty one,” You whisper to yourself, but she hears. She slaps your hands away and shoves you down onto the bed. She grinds her core into yours as she sharply stares deep into your eyes. Your dress hikes up your thighs and exposes your panties. Your breathing quickens.

“I’m not,” She grunts in anger. She hates to even think about being similar to a VIP. Your hair spreads all over the bed. You start laughing harder, making her more frustrated. You knew you two weren’t so different. If she was, why is she still here… why are you even alive? Let alone allow you to entertain her. She would’ve killed you already the second you entered the room. She lifts her hands and grips your throat. She squeezes your neck, nearly making you roll your eyes back.

“Shut up,” She snaps. She shamelessly buckles her clothed core against yours. She bites her lower lip in pleasure.

“You’re the messed-up one. You obey me,” She mumbles while she feels herself getting wetter. Your eyelids lower and your cheeks turn red. You keep yourself silent by biting your bottom lip. The buildup in your lower stomach feels too good for her to stop. Her core grinds perfectly against the material of your panties. It rubs against your clit over and over. On top of that, her grip on your neck tightens.

“Fuck,” You accidentally grunt out. She breathes out a laugh and snaps her hips into you. She removes her hands from your neck and places them beside your head. You reach up and wrap your fingers around her wrist. You turn your head to gently kiss her wrist.

“Look at you,” She grimaces. She feels an insane amount of power at the moment. You’re so weak and limp underneath her. She could do anything, and you would love it. She can see it in your face. She continues to rub herself against you, chasing after her own high. The wetness coating on her panties is starting to become stuffy and uncomfortable. She wishes she could feel you.

“Please,” You cry out. She ignores your begging and focuses on how her clit rubs against her panties. She quietly examines how damp your panties have become. You could feel it. Each time she would rub against you, you can feel how easily the material slides on your clit. An embarrassing blush forms on your cheeks. You bring your arms across your face to cover your face. She stops rubbing her core to grab onto your arms. She pins them above your head.

“Don’t cover your face,” She demands. She needs to see how she can make you come undone with your clothes still on. She dips her face into your neck and begins to kiss it. You arch your body and moan. She hums and playfully nips your skin. She slides her other hand down to your core. She rubs two fingers on the wet patch. She sucks your neck while sliding your panties to the side. Without warning, she thrusts two fingers in. Her fingers slide in easily, your juice quickly coating her digits. She jerks her hand in and out. She can feel your gummy walls trying to wrap around her. She chuckles and adds a third finger. The stretch causes you to choke out a scream. Your thighs twitch and try to close, but her hips prevent that from happening. She thrusts her fingers into you and soaks in pleasure. You moan into her ears. Words of nonsense and praise.

“I’m close,” You choke out. The wave of pleasure builds up. Just a few more and you can reach your high. You arch your back and shut your eyes. She continues to harshly thrust her fingers into you a few more times before completely removing her hand. Your pussy clenches around nothing, sending an aching throb in your stomach. You lean up using your elbows to look at her.

“Why did you stop?!” You pant. She quietly wipes her hands covered with your silky juice onto your dress. She removes herself from your body and glances around the room. She hasn’t been in here before, but she could tell this is no ordinary room. She curiously walks to a closet. She swings the doors open, revealing all kinds of toys. She rolls her eyes at how filthy the VIP’s are. Nothing but money and sex.

She drags her fingers along the many toys until she stops at a certain item. She lifts up a strap-on, and the toy feels nice in her hands. She tilts her head to look at you. Her eyes were still dull and tired. You sit wordlessly on the bed with a blush on your face. Her lips curl into a small smile while she uses one hand to unbuckle her pants. Her eyes never leave yours as she slides her pants off herself. She gestures with her chin at your core, signaling you to take yours off.

You start pulling your dress over your head. You loop your fingers around your panties and pull them off your legs. The cold air touches your wet pussy, causing you to clench your thighs. She takes a moment to examine your body. So naked and vulnerable. VIP’s are so… easy. You’re so easy.

She takes a moment to look away to focus on putting the strap on. It takes her a couple of minutes to finally settle and perfect the toy. She peers at the cock then up to you. You nervously gulp. Your mouth begins to water at the sight of her.

“Come and suck,” She orders. You quickly slide off the bed and rush over to her. You kneel in front of her. Your chest moves up and down in excitement. You place your hands around her thighs, pulling her closer to your mouth. Desperation is written all over your face.

“You disgust me,” She grimaces, a blush on her cheeks. You squeeze your thighs together as it throbs, but you cannot think about yourself right now. You wanted to please her. You carefully swirl your tongue on tip of her cock. She looks down at you, waiting for your next move. You take a deep breath before putting more of her into your mouth. The veiny toy slides against your wet tongue. Her stomach tenses in pleasure. You move your head up and down her cock. She tilts her head and places one of her hands on your head. She laces her fingers along your hair and grips it. You wince in pain.

She starts buckling her hips into your mouth while keeping you in place. She leans her head back and a soft moan escapes her lips. You shut your eyes and try your best to keep still. She shoves your head down her cock til your nose brushes against her lower toned tummy. You feel the toy hitting the back of your throat. Your gasps and gagging noises were muffled by her toy. You tap onto her thighs, signalling her to pull out. She tugs your head off her cock, a saliva trail connecting her cock to your mouth. You cough and gasp for air. She lifts her thumb to wipe the corner of your lips.

“That’s all you can take?” She taunts. You wordlessly shake your head and angle your mouth back onto her cock. She watches you slide your tongue on the sides of the toy before putting it back into your mouth. She lets out a shaky breath. She puts her hands on top of your head again. Without another warning, she shoves your head up and down while jerking her hips. Her moans are soft and quiet. Your saliva starts rolling down your chin. You allow her to set her pace without stopping.

“There you go,” She praises with a small smile. You pathetically roll your eyes back at the weak praise. She starts to rub your hair nicely instead of gripping it. She moves her cock out your mouth and taps it onto your cheeks. Your lips and eyes are wet and red.

“You sick fuck,” You rasp. You could not believe she refuses to admit she’s just as dirty as you. She darkly chuckles and tugs your hair to stand up. You quietly cry out as you stumble to stand. She walks away and you follow her to the bed. You lay at the edge of the bed with your thighs spread apart. She angles herself between your legs. Her tip teasingly rubs the outside of your folds. She looks up at you with tired eyes. She starts to slowly push herself into you, watching your face scrunch up. The toy sank in deeper til she could no longer go any further. Your mouth opens as the stretch of the toy feels good. She moves her hips, letting the toy go in and out. She reaches her hands up to touch your chest. She aggressively grips it, leaving red finger marks on the skin. She then pinches your nub, making you whine again. Her thrusting pace starts to increase. Your body grinds against the bed at each snap of her hips. You tilt your head back and you moan loudly. The toy rubs against her clit.

“You take me so well,” She blushes. Sweat makes her bangs stick onto her forehead. She snaps her hips into you and watches your eyes roll back. She smiles, revealing her teeth. She leans her face down to your ears.

“What makes you think you can come?” She whispers, still thrusting into you.

“Please! Anything! I will do anything for you!” You cry out. Her teeth nibble your earlobe.

“Anything?” She taunts in your ear. How easy was it for her to switch roles? A VIP taking orders from a guard… Who is basically a nobody in the public view. She moves her face to nip at your neck again. She knows that once she’s done with you, she is going to use you to escape the building.

“Anything, please! I don’t care what it is. Please don’t stop,” You confess. She chuckles against your skin in satisfaction. She leans her face away and stands up straight. She wraps her hands around your thighs and pushes them up to your chest. Your core becomes more open. She feverishly snaps her cock into your core. Chasing after your high. You can feel her cock sliding so deep, in and out. Your thighs start to shake, and your lower stomach tenses. She doesn’t stop this time. You clench onto the bed sheets. Your mind becomes numb as you feel your stomach snap. You come onto her, jerking your body. Your juices drip down your thighs and onto the bed.

She doesn’t stop. No, she continues jerking her body to chase after her own high. You thrash against her, but she ignores your cries of overstimulation. She slaps your hands away from her biceps. You feel your tears running down your cheeks.

“I’m not done with you,” She grunts. You moan loudly. The toy continues to rub against her clit sweetly. She bites her lower lip. Her lower stomach tenses. She soppily grinds her core til she cusses and finally comes onto the toy. She lets go of your legs and nearly falls onto your body. She tilts her head down to your ear, allowing you to hear the soft whimpers from her lips. She calms down from her high and pushes herself up to look at you. Her cock still inside you.

“Who are you?” You whisper, cheeks blushing.

“Kang Noeul,” She replies before leaning in to kiss you.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 8 months ago

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more words for characterization (pt. 3)

Mentality

abhorrence, absentmindedness, abstraction, ache, aggravation, agonize, alarm, allergy, amazement, angst, anticipation, apathy, assurance, attention, attrition, awe, bathos, behalf, belonging, bitterness, boast, bosom, breast, buoyancy/buoyance, capitulation, care, censure, cheer, clemency, cogitation, comfort, complex, compulsion, conception, confusion, consideration, constancy, content, contrition, corollary, credit, curiosity, darkness, decision, deference, delight, delirium, dementia, dependence/dependency, design, despair, difficulty, disaffection, discipline, discomfiture, discontent, discrimination, disinclination, disorder, disquiet, distraction, disturbance, dolor, dumps, ecstasy, elation, emotion, enjoyment, envy, esprit de corps, exaltation, excitement, exhilaration, expectation, exultation, fat city, felicity, firmness, fog, forbearance, foresight, forgetfulness, frame of mind, free will, fret, frustration, funk, fury, glee, gratification, grief, happiness, heart, heartbreak, heaven, hoopla, huff, humanity, humor, idiocy, impulse, indignity, insight, introspection, jealousy, joy, kick, lament/lamentation, letdown, levity, madness, mania, melancholy, merriment/merrymaking, mirth, monotony, mope, mortification, mourning, nausea, neglect, nervous breakdown, neurosis, objection, observance, obsession, optimism, outlook, panic, paroxysm, pathos, penance, perception, pessimism, pity, Pollyanna, pout, precognition, premonition, presence, psyche, push, qualm, rage, rapture, red herring, rejoice, repent, repose, resent, resignation, resolution, restlessness, ruckus, sadness, satisfaction, security, self-satisfaction, sensibility, sentiment, servitude, simmer, slump, solace, sorrow, soul-searching, status quo, strain, stress, surprise, sympathy, telepathy, temperament, tension, tolerance, torpor, trance, triumph, umbrage, unrest, vanity, waver, wonder, worry, zeal, zest

Attributes of Mentality: aback, absconder, absent-minded, absorbing, accustomed, affected, afraid, aghast, alert, amatory, angry, apathetic, apprehensive, assumed, attentive, averse, bad, beaten, believable, berserk, bewildered, bigoted, bleak, blue, breathless, broad-minded, brokenhearted, burning, captive, cautious, cheerful, chipper, clairvoyant, compassionate, concerned, confused, contemplative, contented, crabby/crabbed, crazy, cross, curious, daffy, dearly, dejected, delirious, depressed, desolate, desperately, disaffected, disbelieving, disconcerted, discontented/discontent, discouraging, disenchanted, disgusted, disillusioned, disinterested, dispirited, dissident, distressed, doleful, dotty, down, downcast, dumbfounded, elated, emotional, enamored, enraged, excited, exultant, fed up, firm, flushed, forgetful, forlorn, frenetic, frightened, fulfilled, furious, glad, gleeful, glum, grateful, grief-stricken, gut, half-baked, happily, hard, hard-boiled, harried, headstrong, heartsick, high, hopeful, huffy, hysterical, ill-tempered, impassioned, inattentive, inconsolable, indifferent, indiscriminate, insane, insecure, intent, interested, intoxicated, irate, irresolute, jaundiced, jovial, joyful/joyous, jubilant, keen, languid, lethargic, livid, lonesome, loony, low, lukewarm, mad, malleable, manic/maniacal, mental, mindful, mirthful, mixed-up, morbid, mournful, narrow-minded, nerveless, neurotic, new age, normal, numb, nuts/nutty, objectivity, observant, obsessed, off-guard, one-sided, on the fence, opposed/opposing, overjoyed, partial, pensive, pent-up, petrified, phlegmatic, platonic, pooped, predisposed, prepared, profound, provincial, psyched, psychological, pumped, punch-drunk, puzzled, rabid, radical, rapacious, realistic, regretful, restless, rigid, rueful, salacious, sanguine, saturnine, sectarian, self-assured, sensitive, sick, skeptical, small-minded, solicitous, sore, sorry, sound, spellbound, steady, strong, stupefied, sulky, susceptible, tearful, tender, testy, thirsty, thoughtless, tired, torn, tough, ugly, unbalanced, uncaring, uncommitted, undecided, unemotional, unfeeling, uninterested, unsound, untroubled, upbeat, versed, wacky, wary, weary, wide-awake, wishful, woebegone, wrathful, wretched

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Part 1 ⚜ Part 2

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lilliezzzzz-fics · 1 month ago

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Honeypie!

pairing: isack hadjar x male!reader author's note: thank you 2 @milessunflowers for helping out a little with the planning of this fic!!! isack brainrot has hit me like a truck lol,,, either way, this fic is just trying to encompass summer and sweetness all in one and i hope you can feel that while reading!!! as always, no use of y/n! hope u enjoy!! tags: childhood friends-to-lovers, two idiots in love, summertime romance warnings: small bits of french word count: 3.0k songs: honeypie by jawny. fine kind of day by max mittelman. best friend by rex orange county. the spins by mac miller, empire of the sun.

The summer breeze is a feeling you’ve missed throughout the entirety of winter and spring. The humid warmth and the gentle, chilling gusts of wind that brush past your cheek—barely grazing it.

Summertime is finally here. The air smells like pastries, strawberries, and cigarette smoke. The screeching of tyres and chatter outside your window is louder than you imagined—and despite it recurring every year—the streets of Paris have never felt busier.

Your room already smells like croissants and baked goods; the rustling in the bakery beneath you has been ongoing for hours already, baking in full. Your steps are slow, careful—yet they still manage to creak the old attic floorboards beneath the soles of your feet. You slip into your clothes, folding your pajamas into a careful pile in your drawer, letting your bed remain unmade for the morning. You tell yourself that you’ll fix it later, but really, you’re just fooling yourself.

The stairs twirl down into the side of the kitchen as you walk down them, and as the air-conditioned chill of the kitchen hits you, you catch the whiff of half-made dough.

“Mm, you’re baking already maman?” You hum, stepping into the kitchen. Eyes darting around the chaos ensuing, your father piping meringues onto parchment, while workers fished trays of pastries and breads from the oven.

“Bah ouais—we open in just a few minutes, amour,” her voice echoes out from behind the baking trays, her French accent laying thick in her words, hand gesturing for you to come closer, “vas-y. Help me put out these macarons in the display window.”

It’s still warm when she hands it to you, but cool enough to hold—barely. You hiss as the tray scorches your palm. Their scent is nutty and sweet, and this batch is mixed with strawberry and vanilla. As you feel no one is looking, you pop one into your mouth, the almond taste immediately exploding on your tongue, letting out a delighted sigh. As good as it always is, as it always has been.

The bell to your bakery chimes, too early—not quite yet open, you speak without glancing up, “desolé, we’re closed. We open in just a few minutes.”

“Not even open for me?” His voice is familiar. Too familiar, the same sweet accent and slight twinge of nasal in his tone as he had when you were kids.

“Isack?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, his smile so wide and warm—like he is the summer sun himself, “Mon dieu! It’s you!”

Your heart swells with comfort, familiarity, and something you cannot quite name, almost dropping the tray of macarons as you throw them to the side, rushing to hug him, your cheek brushing his before your arms catch up. His hug is strong, stronger than you remember it being—arms stiffer, tenser with muscle—but still just as gentle.

“Calm down, mignon,” his laugh bounces through the bakery, patting your lower back with more force than he probably intended, “I’m back for the entire summer, or most of it at least. I’m not disappearing, not for a while.”

His hands fall to rest at the bone of your hips, and you pull back to get a good look at him. You knew what he looked like—you kept yourself aware enough with all the Instagram fan pages and update accounts, but it felt so weird seeing him in real life. Taller, more muscular, his black tousled hair just a little bit longer, but he’s still the boy from Paris with a mole on his face and a grin that made your heart flutter. Just a little.

“I know, I know,�� you step back beaming, “but I’m just so happy to see you! It’s been ages!"

“It’s been like, five months.”

“Like I said, ages.”

Isack tuts, but smiles nonetheless. Glancing at you for merely a second, he shakes his head. His eyes drift across the bakery, almost lost in the warm locale. “You’ve renovated.”

“Barely. Moved the shelves and switched the places of some pastries.” Your eyes scan the shop for something to comment on, “nothing much. Only the regulars would probably notice.”

And as you’re busied looking elsewhere, Isack moves past you, sniffing the air and reaching out past the display, onto the tray of macarons you were supposed to put out. He grabbed one of them with slow and careful movements, quickly popping it into his mouth—like a master thief doing his grand heist.

“Ah- hey!” You exclaim, wafting your hand at him, “Don’t eat those! At least pay!”

“Come on! It’s just one!” He laughs, blocking your feeble attempts at smacks, “Besides, you took one too! I saw it on the tray. One was missing! Spare me, mignon! S’il te plaît!”

“That’s different!” You protest, “I work here!”

“Please, it was just one!”

You concede, pouting, letting your arms fall back to your sides, “fine. Just this once. As a welcome back gift.”

He takes just one step back, still staggering from your hits, “Since when did you become so aggressive?”

“Since people started to steal,” you retort, eyes narrowing at him without any heat behind them.

A beat passes, and he merely huffs and crosses his arms in response.

“Anyway, I came here to say that—well, I’m back, and if you want to hang out, just message me.” He says, arms still crossed. You can feel his eyes trailing down the back of your neck. One of your free hands flees to rest there.

You turn around to face him, “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

“Then I’ll see you around, mignon.”

You’d been staring at the blindingly white screen of your messenger app ever since your shift ended, writing, deleting, and re-writing messages like it was some sacred ritual. Hell, you weren’t even sure what you’d invite him to do. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure.

you 4:02 pm

hey! thought i’d take u up on the offer to hang out, what do you think about going around the city and the beach later? i’ll drive us

isack ★ 4:02 pm

since when did u have a real car??

isack ★ 4:03 pm

don’t tell me ur gonna be driving me around in ur old punch buggy…

you 4:04 pm

i’ll have you know that she’s my pride and joy. don’t u dare insult her, hadjar

isack ★ 4:04 pm

she’s small and odd that’s what she is

isack ★ 4:05 pm

i thought u had better tastes than that honestly

you 4:05 pm

WHAT DID I JUST SAY ISACK

you 4:05 pm

now are we hanging out or NOT

you 4:06 pm

ur honestly gonna make me retract my offer atp

isack ★ 4:07 pm

wait no i’m sorry she’s just... unique 💔

isack ★ 4:07 pm

i’m up to just hang though even if it’s in ur unique car…

you 4:08 pm

i’m not getting any better than that i guess

you 4:09 pm

meet me outside in like 10?

isack ★ 4:10 pm

u got it 👍

Music blasts through the walls of the kitchen, blaringly loud—some cheesy French love song your mother always turned on when she knew Isack was around. You step down into the heat of motion, brushing by someone hastily getting their dough out of the fridge, deliberately passing by your mother, and lowering the volume of the speaker. She turns to you with a smile.

“Mon beau,” she says. Too gleefully, mischief lacing her words, “Aren’t you gonna take something with you for Isack? I’m sure he’d like some snacks.”

Her hand trails down the trays in the back, the ones with pastries that are for the workers or close friends. Batches that went just slightly wrong, or aren’t good enough for the customers.

“Maman, he’s a Formula 1 driver now, une pilote de Formula Une—I don’t know if he can eat pastries anymore.” You reply, but walk towards her nonetheless, eyes gleaming over the goods.

“Mon fils, come on! I’m sure there’s something he could eat here.” She pulls out trays filled with desserts, some healthier than others, but you still have your doubts.

“Isack said he’s gonna be here for the entire summer, if I want to treat him, I’ll be sure to make something.” Your knuckles brush past hers, quickly pushing the trays back into place, purposefully disregarding the pointed look she shoots you.

She turns around with a huff, a quick Il arrive bientôt, vas-y, thrown over her shoulder as she heads into the kitchen once again. You’d retort something back, but the chime of your entry bell throws you off.

Isack steps into the bakery like he owns it. For a second, you think he almost does—with how he used to visit every day, or every day he could with karting championships and whatnot—his confident stride a little charming. There are two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Salut, mignon,” he smiles, reaching over the cup to you, “got it on my way here.”

You blink, but grab it either way. It’s lukewarm at best, which is surprising considering it’s not even raining out. “Thanks. It’s a little cold, though.”

There’s a beat of silence, and when you meet his eyes, there’s a hint of awkwardness behind them, “ah. Is it?”

“It’s— it’s fine, don’t worry,” you hold it in your hands, “well, let’s head out?”

Music whirs to life as your engine turns over. That old CD you burned years ago stutters, then bursts into sound—one of those scratchy French pop songs you’d probably be embarrassed to admit you still listen to.

You hear how Isack snorts in the seat beside you, and he blinks, caught somewhere between recognition and disbelief.

“No way,” he says.

You try not to grin. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“I think this CD was burned into my memory the second you played it the fourth time,” he laughs. “Honestly, I thought I’d escaped it at this point.”

You nudge the gear stick into reverse, pretending not to look as he settles deeper into the passenger seat like he belongs there. “Tough luck. You’re trapped now.”

Another song starts—an English song flaring up in the speakers. It’s one of those that had lyrics that didn’t make any sense, but still feel like they say everything that you can’t.

The drive is easy. The streets blur by, the city melting into open air and stretches of trees. Occasionally you take a stop to point out places that’ve changed over the years, or to point out the places you used to visit as kids, but there’s a comfort in the silence between songs, in the way Isack drums his fingers against his knee in time with the beat, in how he glances at you during red lights, always with that same half-smile.

Every time, it makes your heart flutter. Every time you pretend that it doesn’t. You pretend not to realize how his hand hovers over yours, resting on the gear, how his fingertips brush against your knuckles as they retract back to his lap.

You don’t speak much. You don’t have to.

Until Isack pipes up—quiet, casual—the kind of comment that was soft, but still kept your mind sharp:

“Ever think about the roadtrips we’d do? Just the two of us?”

There’s a short silence before you respond, contemplative, “kind of. Mostly when this CD plays.”

He hums, “You were always the one driving.”

“Because you drive like it’s a competition, even when you’re off-track.”

At that, he laughs again. Loud, boisterous, yet you still feel it in your chest. A warmth creeping up through your body and gathering at your cheeks.

You pull up to the beach, your lukewarm coffee long forgotten in the cup holder in your car. The air’s a gentle breeze of sand and sunscreen hidden behind the sweltering sun. You slip out of your clothes and into the bathing shorts hidden underneath, glancing over to Isack, who’s done the same.

The car doors slam shut behind you. Sand clings to your ankles as you make your way across the shore, towels slung over shoulders and old song lyrics still dancing in your heads.

He throws you a sideways smile, stepping towards you with a towel wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak. His hand grabs your shoulder, “Come on. Let’s go sunbathe, yeah?”

The beach was far from empty. Kids' shrill yells and the crashing of waves fade into background noise as you lie down, basking in the sun.

Isack's soft breathing steadies you, the rise and fall of his chest slowly mimicking yours in deep rhythmic breaths. His bathing shorts hiking just a little further down his hips than usual, resting far down enough that his tan lines are visible in the bright shine of the sun. Your hand reaches out, fingertips grazing his skin. Hot. Silky. Just calloused enough that it's different from yours.

His skin is barely beading with sweat, glimmering like prisms along his toned stomach.

"Mon dieu," he sighs, voice barely audible amongst all other noise, "I'm so happy to be home for the summer."

Your hand lingers a second too long, resting just beneath the curve of his rib. He doesn't move.

You don’t say anything. Not right away. But when the moment feels like it might slip away with the tide, you murmur, “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s always true,” he replies. Then he turns his head, just slightly, just enough to catch your expression in the corner of his eye. “You don’t believe me?”

You smile, dry, barely there. “I do. I just think maybe you’re happy for other reasons, too.”

He shifts onto his elbow, weight pressing the towel down beneath him. His eyes find yours—not intense, but careful. Like he’s examining you, searching for something behind your gaze.

“And what reasons would those be?” he asks.

You almost laugh. Almost say ‘me’. Instead, you offer: “The beach. The macarons. The CD.”

He huffs. “You.”

And then he goes quiet, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

You blink. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because of him or the heat. “What?”

He doesn’t repeat his words, just lies back down with his head tilted up to the sun. His eyes are narrowed, eyebrows furrowed—moving past it like it was nothing.

“Wait, Isack—” you stammer, “what do you mean me?”

A beat. Then, he turns to you. There's a slight pout grazing his face, like he's not quite sure what you mean.

“I meant you, as in you are one of the reasons I look forward to the summer,” he states, as if that's the clearest thing in the world.

The sun has dipped just past the horizon, streaking orange and rose across the sea. Isack lies beside you, arm curled behind his head, gaze tilted skyward. Towel half-draped across his chest like he’d forgotten it was even there.

Your knees are drawn up to your chest. You’re still damp from the warmth, salt clinging to your skin, the feeling of him brushing against you earlier carved deep into your memory. Neither of you have said anything in minutes now. The beach is quieter—most people have packed up. The cries of children are distant. All that’s left is the hush of water and the occasional distant bark of a dog.

“I missed this,” he says, voice low. Thoughtful. His eyes are still on the horizon. “Not just the sweets and sand. I mean everything. All of it.”

Your fingers curl into the towel on your lap. You glance sideways. “So, you're saying you missed me?”

He blinks, like he didn’t expect you to speak. “Say what?”

“That you missed me.”

He exhales a short, half-laugh. Almost incredulous.

“I did. I missed you like hell.”

His admission slips out so quickly you almost don’t catch it.

Your heart skips. Then stumbles, like you didn't expect him to say it despite you telling him to. The sea creeps closer, waves brushing higher and higher onto the shore.

You swallow, “Then say it again.” A plea suffocating in your throat.

He shifts to face you, propping himself up on one elbow. The sun glows behind him, catching in the strands of his hair, softening the lines of his face. His smile was more blinding than the light behind him.

“I missed you,” he says. “I thought about you when I landed in new cities. In hotel rooms. On race days. When I had a second to breathe—it was always you. Always.”

You stare at him, lips parting just slightly, heart stammering beneath your ribs.

“I—” you start. But then you stop. Because you don’t know what to say. Because you’ve imagined this moment so many times and none of them prepared you for this.

“I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want to fuck it up,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But the thing is… it’s already ruined, isn’t it? Not saying anything didn’t make it better. It just made the silence louder.”

Your hand reaches toward him before you can stop it. Just a fraction. A small gesture.

He meets you halfway.

His fingers brush yours, slow. Ridden with emotions that have been kept under breach. Almost afraid to break the moment.

“I think,” he says, treading his words carefully as if he's unsure of them “I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen. Since you made me that stupid CD.”

You laugh—wet, barely held back. “You’re such a sap.”

He smiles. “Only for you.”

A beat passes. Then another. And in the hush between them, you whisper:

“I love you, too.”

He doesn’t do anything right away. Just lets the words sit there between you, letting the warmth of them simmer in his chest.

Then he leans in. Slowly. Softly.

And when he kisses you, it’s not rushed, or frantic. It’s familiar. Like you’ve done it a thousand times in another life. Like you were always supposed to. His hand finds its way to your cheek, thumb brushing against the flesh of it. Not forceful, not harsh, just a gentle caress akin to the morning breeze.

“So,” you mumble after a moment, “does this mean I’m your boyfriend?”

When you part, your jaw slackens. Your eyes are wide, your chest full of that quiet, giddy rush. His hand is still resting on your cheek, yours finding the meat of his thigh.

“Only if it means I’m yours.”

©lilliezzzzz-fics: please don't copy or distribute my work on any platform

credits: @/cafekitsune for the dividers <3

author's note: i don't have a laptop atm so for a while (p much the entire summer) my writing's gonna slow down!!! sorry!!!

taglist: @toodeepintofandoms @milessunflowers

#♬ snapshot #isack hadjar x male reader #isack hadjar x reader #isack hadjar imagine #f1 x male reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x male reader

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ficandkaboodle · 7 months ago

Text

Vaginismus: Terzo x Fem!Reader

A/N: Stg if I ever see this purple fucking freak darken the doorway of my mind, I'm going for his kneecaps. He will never be able to slut about on the floor again, and then what will he do? Thanks, y'all, for being so patient as I almost daily had a meltdown over the structure of this. And HUGE thanks once again to @angellayercake for being my ever-patient beta with amazing input and ideas!! I hope I did our bastard boy some kind of service.

Word Count: 8.8K. Sorry, this bad boy is a hydra: For every sentence I deleted, more words would come in its place

CW: Reader has a vagina, hurtful comments from past relationships, reader's mental state is kinda fucked at a few points, hints at extremely uncomfortable interactions to "make the relationship work". Sooo...Vaginismus and its delightful conditions, I suppose. Oh, and a hint of Google Translate Italian. I'm sorry, I tried referencing @/foxybouquet's ever so helpful guide the best I could but alas, I am still a moron. MDNI

Papa III was a notorious flirt, even by the standards of the sexually liberated Church of Satan.

Everybody knew this, from the Clergy to Sister Imperator to the ghouls to his many, many lovers. And yet, when his sights finally fell upon you, everyone knew: Something in him had changed. At the very least, his methods sure had.

Secondo raised a brow when he first saw his brother lightly jogging up to you in the hallways, panting for you to wait up. Primo sported a knowing smirk when he watched the normally suave man sheepishly inquire about the meaning behind certain flower arrangements. Quite the departure from his usual bouquet of red and white roses, the older man couldn't help but note.

A startled Copia quickly became suspicious when the brother that tended to tease him the most came to his office one day, armed with top-shelf juice boxes and nutty chocolate bars – just the starting price for whatever info he was willing to give his dear old fratello about his new favorite Sorella.

The ghouls had a field day whenever they came upon the old man either sulking or even swooning over how a recent interaction had gone. One even swore they had scrounged through his wastepaper basket (don't ask, it’s not worth it) and found crumpled up drafts of sonnets. Sonnets!

It was the Siblings, however, who seemed to take the most notice of his antics. And, unfortunately, the most offense.

Certainly, plenty of the congregation had received a bouquet or two from their beloved Papa Terzo. Many had been wined and dined, and some were even whisked away for a night of passion and excitement in a glamorous metropolitan hub. Terzo had gotten around, and he would probably continue to get around until he either died mid-orgy or until his dick fell off. (And even if the latter did happen, it probably wouldn’t slow him down. Not until his fingers and tongue followed suit, anyway.)

It was cyclical: You would be an interest for a week or two before your time would be up, and you would part ways as he turned his attention to another, leaving you with memories of a whirlwind dalliance to reminisce about for years to come.

This was simply something that was understood and accepted without much of any animosity amongst Siblings. This was just how things were. Or at least up until now.

They must have noticed there was something about the way Terzo pursued you. For starters, nobody could ever recall a time when the man actually needed to really pursue anyone, let alone to the extent and care he currently displayed.

They could tell when a peer was actively trying to heighten the tension, turning their back to him but still glancing over their shoulder to shoot a heated stare. An invitation for him to keep it coming. Really putting the “play” in “playing hard to get”. But generally speaking, most of what Terzo needed to do was snap his fingers and whichever Sibling or ghoul he had his eye on would eagerly crawl into his lap and then into his bed.

Maybe they saw a shine in his eyes that wasn't there when they had him. Or maybe they thought he leaned just the slightest fraction of an inch closer to you than he ever did with anyone else. Or maybe they swore his voice sounded different when he spoke with you. Lighter, but not out of an upturn in pitch to sound friendlier. It was more like it carried less weight. Almost as though he felt less burdened by some unspoken thing. Some thing he never cared to share with them.

Granted, you didn't help matters by actually enjoying the odd conversation or two (or over a dozen) with Terzo. (And by "odd", this meant the animated discussions that borderlined two-person seminars on subjects like the Hays Code, or how viewing certain films through a gendered or queer lens could enhance the suggestion of the story.)

And anyone who spotted you alone on the quad sharing a snack would've been convinced you were on an impromptu picnic, rather than the fact Terzo had found you and offered you pickings from his secret snack pocket.

Sure, it was just a sandwich baggy of cheese doodles, but the point still stood: You had Terzo's full attention, his intrigue, his consideration, his snacks, and you hadn't done a damn thing to deserve them! Any interaction between the both of you, every awkward joke, every instance of eye contact, every exchange of a genuine honest to Satan smile, had the Siblings of the abbey biting and clawing at the walls in envy.

You did your best to appear unaffected by it, preferring to keep your head down and say as little as possible when around them. Nothing to suggest you felt superior to them (not that you did anyhow). Regardless, you were fairly certain that, if it were up to them, they would bring back human sacrifice for the sole purpose of getting you out of the picture.

Thank Satanas, then, that none were present to witness the latest event.

There Terzo stood, his normally focused and powerful gaze fighting hard to be maintained. It was abundantly clear that he wanted to look anywhere but at you. Still, he resolved to keep that nervous on his face. His gorgeous, paintless face.

It was startling to say the least. Actually, no, scratch that: To truly say the least would be to just stand there, gaping like a goldfish as you failed to find the right words – any words – that truly encapsulated even a fraction of what you felt. Which, for better or for worse, was exactly what you found yourself doing.

After all, almost nobody outside of his own family had seen Terzo without his papal paints. They may as well have been tattooed on him the moment he’d perfected the design all those years ago! Not even the paramours he’d collected since then had gotten a glimpse of his bare face, despite the many opportunities they’d had from the nights spent in his quarters. The mystery as to why this was left plenty of room for speculation and imagination, creating a juicy mystique that Siblings and ghouls loved to salivate and chew on.

Admittedly, you yourself occasionally wondered what his deal was, but you ultimately chose not to ponder on it. If Terzo liked how he looked in makeup more than he did without, then that was his business. Honestly, it never even really occurred to you to ask him about it even as the two of you grew closer.

But as you took in the visage before you, you felt you had a good theory going: If Terzo went about the Ministry like this, he’d never know a moment’s peace again!

"Is . . . Is it . . . okay?" he asked quietly. Okay? Okay!? Satan’s taint, if it weren’t for the very apparent tension, you might’ve thought the man was teasing you! The man looked like an old movie star, all debonair and dashing!

The fight to respond in a timely (and coherent) manner was difficult, but you managed to stammer out, “More than okay.” You gulped down some shakiness. “Y-you’re very . . .handsome.”

Internally, you cringed at how wobbly you’d come across but thankfully that seemed to be enough. The warmth in your cheeks intensified as the nerves in his smile carefully evaporated, along with a slight tension in his shoulders.

Unfortunately, the consciousness did not remain, and almost immediately you found yourself delegating focus to other things. Like the beauty mark that lay just beneath the right corner of his pleasantly pink lips. Lips that were saying, “— if you would be interested, of course.”

You blinked. Were you interested? Wait . . . Interested in what, exactly?!

“Y-yeah, sure. I’m down,” you chirped before you could stop yourself.

While you tried your damndest not to look mortified or embarrassed, Terzo looked delighted. Possibly even elated.

“Oh, eccellente!” he clapped his palms together before offering you a mix of a nod and bow. That sharp characteristic of his eyes returned once more, pinning your form as he purred, “I look forward to it.”

Oh, fuck. “Can’t wait!” you replied. Of course, now the concept of urgency settled in.

As you walked back to your room for the night, you knew three things to be certain: The first was that that face of Terzo’s would likely be making many appearances in your dreams tonight. The second thing, branching off this, him showing you his face was a sign you’d let things get far too far.

And the third thing? You had to put an end to your exchanges ASAP.

Sure, you’d peppered this into your thoughts many times before, but after this? This moment of extreme vulnerability on Terzo’s part? No more peppering: It was time to actually pile in everything you had and outright reject Terzo’s advances. No room for stuttering or bending or swaying or swooning and second-guessing!

You repeated this like a mantra over and over, praying that the resolution would still be there in the morning. And it was – but only after you took an icy shower. You’d been spot on when you anticipated that gorgeous, gorgeous face invading your dreams. What you hadn’t counted on, though, was the nature of what all went on:

Snowflakes catching on his lashes as you ice skated on a pond (the power of dreams erasing his waking world clumsiness); his lips smiling around a forkful of the pasta you’d just cooked together; his broad nose nuzzling lovingly into your hair during a quiet night in; those entrancing eyes focused on the movie playing before you as his arm settled warmly around you. It gave you further comfort as you pressed into his side, so perfectly slotted that it was as though you only ever belonged there, right next to him.

You regretted disregarding the alarm bells that blared at the start of this whole nonsense, and now look where that got you: You needed a cold cleanse just because you saw a man’s unpainted face! You were worse than a pent-up Victorian! Did you really want to prolong things until you’d start to "feel" those smirking lips pressed against the column of your neck, or “feel” those large hands skirt along your form, leaving a deliciously pleasant fire in their wake?

Certainly, that might’ve made for a good night’s sleep in theory. But in reality? It was a nightmare in the making!

It was bad enough just wanting to do all those dreamy things and more with the equally dreamy Papa. But that, of course, meant the "more" part would eventually come around. After all, your waking life already wasn't too terribly far off from the things that went on in the dream.

Your days weren't filled with skating on the pond or chatting over romantic dinners but at this rate, they very well could be a possibility. In an ideal world, the wait for these things to happen would be filled with anticipation. But the sad, shower-cold reality was that this wait was weighed down by dread and predictions of what was to come. After all, for all Terzo's patience and kindness, even he had limits. Sometime soon, his patience with your inexactness would run out and he would come to collect. Experience told you that was just how it was.

You may not have had a pursuer as passionate as Terzo, but you’d had enough instances that ran about the same: There was that high, that thrill in an almost honeymoon period-like chase. Then there came the actual vulnerability where you’d tell them of the conditions that came with a relationship – the conditions that came with you. And yeah, they’d start off insisting that nothing about that changed how they felt about you . . . But then they’d realize your condition would outlast their gimmick.

You felt your face twist with displeasure as sentences of the past began slipping through the cracks and into the forefront of your mind.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Calm down already.”

“Just relax already.”

Then came the pain (both kinds); the giving up; and then you were right back where you started: Alone together, with a body that hated you that you hated right back. The only real difference would be how much your weariness increased, making you more and more reluctant to play along with the idea of any potential romance. Meanwhile, to them, it was a game: You were just playing hard to get, that was all. But you’d surely stop when they and they alone were able to conquer you, to cure you.

Did you really want to wait around and see Terzo become like that?

Your stomach twisted at the thought.

No. Absolutely not. You weren’t sure your heart could bear it, much less your body. Besides, if word got out that he’d shown you his face, then it’d be all over for you. You’d rather incur the wrath of rejecting what many would kill for than face what might happen if they learned how far you’d gotten by doing nothing at all. At least with the former, there was a chance the Siblings let you keep your bones intact.

You had a plan as you prepared yourself to step out and face the day: Keep calm and function as normal until the chance to say those simple words hit you: “Terzo, I am not interested in you in any way, shape, or form. While you are attractive, I am not attracted to you. Please leave me alone from now on.”

A devastating lie, perhaps, but a necessary one. One you would need to deliver by tonight.

But hey, the day was still quite young. There was plenty of time for you to find the courage, right?

. . . Well, you didn’t find it in the hallway when you heard that oh-so familiar, cheerful call of, "Buongiorno, Mia Sorellina !", prompting you to pick up speed and disappear down a different corridor. Nor was it there when you caught sight of a black flutter of robe. It could’ve been a wandering Cardinal’s cassock but you weren’t prepared to stick around and find out.

And even though you spent nearly the entirety of afternoon mass, head bowed, praying for the Dark One to simply grab the strength and shove it into you, you didn’t feel any more emboldened. Apparently, your body meant it when it didn’t allow for anything to enter it – intangible things included, it seemed.

You groaned inwardly from both disappointment and discomfort as you lifted yourself off the kneeler and back into the pew. There was also the added stressor of feeling sets of multiple eyes on you: From Siblings stewing in envy; from ghouls who wanted to take a gander at the Sister who had flirty Papa III wrapped around her finger; and, worst of all, from Terzo himself.

The one time you dared to look up at his seated form on the altar, you caught a hint of a small smile directed at you.

You tried to return it, at least enough to suggest to him you were fine and happy to see him despite your earlier actions, but the sorry attempt lost any pretense of pleasantness when your eyes got caught on something: Even in the sea of his dark robes, you could make out the dull shine of leather gloves poised in his lap. Helping them to stand out more, however, was how each fingertip was adorned with a golden nail.

Correction: A golden claw. The fine barbs would fit right in on the hand of a ghoul or perhaps some other dæmonic creature.

Normally you were fascinated by the accessories but in your increasingly unwell state, these gloves intimidated you. It was like you had been reduced to a fearful prey animal and all you saw was a threat.

A thought, sharp as those gilded talons, slashed beyond your imagination and into the walls of your most sensitive place. They pierced and drilled into the intimate area just long enough for you to know they were there – both in your mind and your body – shanking their way into a place nothing was meant to enter, let alone something so dangerous.

Although a primal need to defend yourself shot through your nervous system, you were too incapacitated to do much more than body-jolting inhale. Your only defense, you had long-since learned, was to freeze. Your brain buzzed in an unpleasant manner as you started to come down from the imaginary fingering.

“You’re overreacting,” scoffed the voice of a past partner. “It’s just a finger.” You hadn’t spoken to them in years, but the disregard in their voice remained fresh, further embittering you to the fact that that was what managed to creep into you rather than the bravery you so desperately needed.

You had to pray once more that Terzo hadn’t noticed anything. A change in your already shifty demeanor, the way your legs twitched inward but not out of lust (not when Primo’s sermon was focused more on wrath today), or how your body’s momentary lurch. Much like your prayer for strength, though, you suspected this plea went ignored. You didn’t need to look up and see Terzo’s smile falter to think that.

The moment Papa Primo dismissed the congregation, you made quick work of the camouflage offered by the uniforms of habits and lace.

When a quick glance back allowed you to catch sight of a confused-looking Papa Terzo, you forced yourself to swallow the pathetic truth: You were never going to find the courage to even say sorry, let alone that you no longer wanted to see him.

What you did find – or rather, what found you – was an overwhelming torrent of grief and frustration as you flung yourself into your room and back into the bed where your day had started with a massive hitch. You shoved your face into your flattening pillow and hoped there was just enough down still left in it to muffle up your screams. And tears. Belial, you told yourself you wouldn’t cry over this sort of thing anymore. Over anyone. You should’ve been used to this type of thing by now, so what was the use in wasting energy like this?

What was the point in dwelling on how nice it all was, how nice Terzo made you feel, or how you secretly looked forward to your conversations, no matter how bizarre or intellectual? You gained nothing but the label of immature whenever you indulged in the schoolgirlish feeling of letting Terzo accompany you in the halls. Indulgence might have been encouraged by the Church, but not when it hurt or disrupted the paths of others’ own pursuits.

There was absolutely no way what you had done wasn’t going to inevitably end in pain of some kind, be it physical on your part or mental and emotional on Terzo’s.

But then again, maybe . . . Maybe you didn’t have to do this after all? Maybe you could make peace with where things were headed. You wouldn’t be able to let him inside of you in the traditional sense, no, but surely that just meant that you would just have to . . . adjust things? Yeah . . . Yeah, maybe that could work . . .

Maybe I could earn his love in other ways? Prove that I’m not ungrateful and won’t waste his feelings? Intrusive visions of you “earning” that love projected onto the walls of your mind. Under more pleasant, more normal circumstances, some of the ideas would’ve been a delight for you in some way. Par for the course of a healthy relationship.

But the possibility that these might be the only ways to grant you worthiness, to allow you to deserve Terzo’s attention and love, to deserve Terzo . . . It felt tainted. It felt like an even worse lie to perform. It burned like a poison through your mind and heart before becoming incorporated with all the other pains rising to the surface.

The knock at your door was a welcome distraction, but only long enough for you to forget the possibility of it being Terzo on the other side.

You contemplated pretending that nobody was home before a muffled voice said, “I can smell you through the door, y’know.” Ah. A ghoul. Better in that it wasn’t Terzo, but worse in that you couldn’t avoid them. To your chagrin, the trek from your bed to the door wasn’t nearly long enough to look presentable or like you hadn’t been crying.

You could practically feel their eyes through the mask, studying your tear-stained ones as they smelled the salt that had settled on your cheeks. Nonetheless, they continued ever professionally with, “Papa III has sent me to come retrieve you.” From the way they barely contained their tail’s amused wagging, it was clear that they were getting a rise out of the insinuations of the invitation.

You may as well have been off to the gallows (or worse, Sister’s office) with how dour your disposition was. Being a part of the Emeritus line, Terzo’s chambers were further away from your humble digs in the Siblings’ quarters. Still, it felt as though there wasn’t nearly enough time from your door to his for you to concoct whatever it was you could say or do. Which, to be fair, wasn’t really much to begin with anyway. You were screwed, your fate sealed the moment the ghoul knocked on one of a pair of the large, wooden doors.

“Entrare,” the room’s occupant answered. Your heart beat icy pumps as you and your escort obliged.

You’d never been inside Terzo’s quarters before, not that you hadn’t been invited. Granted, the first few times had been in the very beginning, before he’d realized that his usual tricks weren’t going to work on an unusual suspect. He never brought it back up again, even as the two of you appeared to grow more comfortable with one another.

It was a shame, then, that you were too possessed with anxiety to properly take it all in: In another, more pleasant mental space, you would have adored the large, framed vintage posters that decorated the rich purple walls, or giggled at just how much purple and gold this guy actually used in one admittedly spacious but still single space.

You couldn’t properly see it, being in what appeared to be more of a lounging area (really, how big was the average Emeritus’s room compared to the lowly Siblings’ quarters?), but you could just make out what appeared to be a bedroom down a small coridor. From what little you could see, there was a bed made of rich, dark wood with a velvety canopy.

Dramatic, but fitting for someone like Terzo, you mused in a split second of clarity before the gravity of the situation returned with ten times the weight as before. After all, here you were, standing in the boudoir of the man whom you’d been avoiding all day. Avoiding because you’d failed to do your due diligence and warn him against pursuing you. And there was his damn bed right freaking there – !!!

That prey animal instinct from mass began to skitter back as you instinctively began to look for ways out of this. Maybe you could leap out that Satanic Tiffany glass window? You’d be killing two birds with one stone if you did: You could get out of a confrontation, and the action would surely unnerve Terzo enough for him to draw back, right?

However, the make-believe agility and will to do so quickly dissolved out of you the moment you heard the voice you’d been avoiding all day once more. “Grazie, Wisp,” he addressed the ghoul. From the sounds of it, he must’ve been in a room off to the side, away from view. Despite Terzo not being visible to them, the ghoul still offered a bow in respect before taking their leave (though not without their nosiness prompting them to sneak one last look into the room).

You winced in sync with the door clicking shut, the soft padding of footsteps on the plush carpeting thundered in your ears as Terzo made his appearance. Even though he made sure to keep some space between the both of you, you still felt increasingly like a trapped animal.

As much as you wanted to cast your eyes down and pretend to be intrigued by the fact that the flooring was black instead of some shade of purple, acting as though nothing was amiss was your best course of action. Even if you felt your breathing hitch both with uneasiness and infatuation over the fact that, yet again, the man’s face was bare of his usual paints. It did, however, carry a small look of concern. While you felt guilty, perhaps him being worried would be easier to work with than him being outright upset?

You tried to predict the sort of things a concerned Terzo might say and what responses would be appropriate when you noticed something else about him: His clothing. You didn’t expect Terzo to be lounging in his own living space in his robes but even then, he tended to favor going about in his suit. This was the first time you’d seen him in anything that could be considered casual and not relating to his position as a Papa. The first time you’d seen him in pants that were actually tailored, actually! It was questionable if a men’s blouse made from what might’ve been silk could qualify as “informal”, but your brain was currently unable to drum up that inquiry.

Instead, it was too busy focusing on how the top was being worn: With only the top two buttons undone, the edge of what was more likely than not an absolute thicket of black chest hairs was visible. (If you were a stronger person – a better, more functioning one – you would’ve absolutely braved that thicket like a safari explorer.)

You gulped, realizing that maintaining eye contact was going to be harder than usual. If you were quicker about keeping your wits, you might’ve tried to speak up first. Maybe with a “Hi, Papa. How ‘bout that afternoon mass, amirite?” But Terzo beat you to it.

“. . . How are you?” he inquired. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a hint of accusation in his tone. “Are you doing alright today?”

I’m anxious to the point of sickness and contemplating vandalism with your window, you wanted to say.

“’M alright. Just tired, I guess,” you shrugged. Judging by the way Terzo’s lips pressed into a thin line, he probably didn’t believe you. However, if there was anything you’d learned in your time together, it was that Terzo wasn’t exactly the type to prod. It was easy to assume from the flamboyant persona that he was far nosier than he really was. But the unfortunate and lovely reality was that Terzo trusted you. Worse was that he trusted you enough to both see his true face, and to tell him how you felt when you were comfortable. Your stomach dropped when you remembered the fact you’d been crying before this. Were your eyes still reddened and puffy? Did he notice?

“Vedo,” he replied before slowly crossing his arms. "Well, if that is the case, then perhaps we must do a bit of a raincheck for the evening, yes?”

Your brows lightly twitched in a nonplussed fashion. It was then that you finally noticed the full scope of the room you were in. It was more like a den than an actual lounging area, complete with a TV on a DVD loading screen and a couch sat before it.

You forgot to blink as it hit you. This was what Terzo had been referring to during his face reveal yesterday: He was asking you to watch a movie with him! And you, in your lovesick stupor, had agreed wholeheartedly to it!

Logic (and a sense of cowardice self-preservation) would have dictated that you leap at the opportunity to leave. You needed time to regroup. Maybe make a sacrifice to Satanas in the hopes that that might win you some courage to do what needed to be done.

But before you could commit to it, you reminded yourself: You needed to act unbothered. You’d already aroused suspicion in Terzo as it was. If Terzo thought you really wanted to watch a movie with him, as you had outright stated, then you needed to watch a movie with him. All you had to do was sit down at a reasonable distance and appear completely invested. Too invested to possibly think about how you wanted to tangle your fingers into his chest hair. Or how you absolutely shouldn’t want to do that at all.

“N-no, I’m good!” you insisted a little too eagerly. “I can stay up, I’m not that tired.”

He quirked a brow but questioned no further. “If you insist. Come: I have a small setup.”

The setup being an oddly-shaped popcorn bucket (why . . . did it look kind of like a pope hat?) filled with cheese doodles and a bottle of red wine to be shared between two glasses. You took only the smallest handful of doodles to be courteous but turned down the wine under the claim that you were trying to cut back. The reality was you couldn’t risk letting alcohol lubricate you into either melting down or melting into his lap as you both settled in.

The Man Who Laughs, read the title card. A name just vague enough to sound familiar though you didn’t really know a thing about it. When Terzo briefly explained that its main character, Gwynplaine, had been the visual inspiration for The Joker from Batman, you expected some early horror flick. Perhaps being treated to an hour or two’s worth of a spiteful man seeking revenge and wreaking havoc on the innocent. Odd choice in what you could only describe as a movie date, but you were already in too deep and far too high-strung to comment.

But as the film progressed, you found yourself surprised. Not only because the plot was far from what you’d predicted, but also because you also hadn’t been expecting a sense of solidarity. Sure, you’d never been a stage performer whose disfigurement made him a laughingstock to the pauper and nobleman alike. But nonetheless, Gwynplaine’s plight resonated with you. Something about being an introverted, soft-hearted person who feared their worthiness of love was thwarted by something they had no control over.

When you’d settled on the couch that evening, your goal had been to merely pretend to take the movie in. But the tenderness exhibited by the film’s two main love interests made that all but impossible for you. You now existed in a strange and uncomfortable middle ground: Too invested to keep your wits, but too aware of how uncomfortable the relation was. If this were some vintage horror flick, there might’ve arguably been a chance to hide any visible anxieties as suspense-born fear.

But between the “smiling” man swooning into the beautiful Dea’s touch, to him hiding into himself when his insecurities got the better of him, you just kept being reminded of your own circumstances, and how Terzo had given you his full face when you couldn’t even give him the truth.

A wave of self-directed disgust began to boil in you, causing you to briefly tic. Otherwise, though, you remained stiff. It was a fair film, after all, and it was a shame that you were corrupting yet one more thing that was dear to Terzo by equating it with your own problems.

But inside you were the beginnings of a nor’easter of biblical proportions: Deluges depicted you forcing yourself through your fears in a pathetic effort to prove to him he could still love you; the voices of failed relationships past split through your mind like thunderclaps; even the howling winds sounded like your whimpers whenever you trapped yourself in the bathroom, determined but failing to conquer Q-tips and dilators and even your own pinky finger. The flood they all created sloshed and battered about your insides and squeezed at your lungs, brutalizing your mind.

Just relax already, they said.

You’re just being difficult! they had accused.

Quit holding out! they demanded.

The film became less and less visible to you as you tried to steady your breathing and cling to something inside. Please, Dark Lord, great Old One, you prayed once more. Did you want silence? Freedom? For the moment to end, or for everything to pause? You couldn’t tell with all this noise. Please –

Forget it.

Despite being born from the storm, it hung over it, breaking through everything and silencing all. Even your prayer felt muted compared to how deafening the command sounded in your head. The voice did not belong to the Dark One, however. It didn’t even belong to the other Big Guy. You knew this voice, actually. It had been years since you’d last seen or heard from its owner, but you still heard it nearly every day since. And they always said the same thing every time:

No one is going to put up with this if you can't fix it!

You fought to contain any reaction from reaching the surface, but you failed: You shuddered. Violently so. You had to quickly cover it up with an overcorrection of tensing, but you thought you’d managed.

You didn’t even have time to make up an excuse when you caught Terzo moving from the corner of your eye. He was getting closer – no: His arm was getting closer. Angling to wrap around you.

There shouldn’t have been anything intimidating about the idea of Terzo, coming at you with 30% of his hairy chest out, possibly aiming to get some over-the-shoulder action. Unfortunately for you, at this point, you were beyond intimidated. This was made clear with your reaction of jerking away, emitting a gaspy, yelpy whimper you never knew you could even make.

And for a moment, everything but the film froze.

It was an odd juxtaposition, the swelling orchestral music playing as you both just stared at one another without a single hint of romance. You truly were like Gwynplaine now, hands covering your mouth as your eyes stared wide. Terzo’s own eyes being wide was rather commonplace, but the way he stared at you now made you feel uneasy. It was almost as though those big eyes of his were suddenly seeing everything in high definition, able to see now see every crack in the structure that was you.

The soundtrack could’ve played on for an eternity before his low voice quietly spoke above it.

“Mia cara. . .? Are you okay?” He sounded even more uncertain than he did yesterday when he asked you about his face. When you failed to respond, he tried much softer: “(Y/N).”

Your breath hitched, icy and cold in your burning throat. You could count the times he’d used your actual name on one hand. Nearly all of them had been during the very beginning of your interactions. Back when he was trying to prove the extent of his interest. Otherwise, it was always a term of endearment: “Mia sorellina” or “Tesoro mio” or “Piccina mia” and so on.

Always “mio/a”. Always his, even when you had no right to be. But now, as he stared at you, having to resort to using your actual name, he must’ve been starting to realize that . . .

Even though it had done you no favors this entire evening, you let panic guide you to spring into action. You stammered and struggled for words as you tried to make yourself untense.

“I-I’m – I’m sorry, I was just so enthralled –” Did that word even fit here? “I was really into the movie, the sudden movement startled me and –” But it wasn’t so sudden, was it? “I’m really sorry, I just –”

But you just what? You did not know, and it was extremely apparent the more you talked.

“I thought you were cold,” Terzo gently reasoned once your words tapered off. At this, the arm you’d feared was coming to corner you shook gently. In his hand was the edge of a throw blanket you’d been leaning against. “I was going to offer you some cover. I thought you’d been stiff this entire while, and then you shuddered, so I . . .”

His movements were notably slower now. Felt the need to be more careful, even if all he was doing was reaching for the remote to finally pause the ongoing show.

His eyes were less wide as well, but what they left in their wake was a firm yet troubled stare. It wasn’t meant to make you feel so afraid, but the feeling was there regardless.

“(Y/N),” he stated carefully. “If you are not comfortable, then I need you to tell me. I am a big boy, I can understand boundaries. If I’ve been moving too fast or made you uncomfortable in any way, I –”

“The problem isn’t you, it’s me,” you interrupted. God. Satan. Whomever had stuck around to witness this travesty. Being the truth didn’t make it seem any less lame. And judging by how Terzo’s demeanor shifted into being unimpressed, he clearly thought so as well.

“To be brutally frank, Sorella, I was hoping for a bit more . . . honesty.” The delivery of that last word faltered somewhat, but it was more than enough to provide a healthy punch to your gut. Actually hearing Terzo express disappointment towards you was far more devastating than anything your mind could have concocted. He’d already implied on multiple occasions how he’d often found himself on the shorter end of a seemingly mutual trust. Now you were just another person who’d failed to uphold their end.

While true, something in you felt the need to still fight back.

“No, you don’t get it,” you hoarsely insisted against the tightening of your throat. Your fingers immediately set to biting into your arms as they crossed.

“Then help me to!” he finally demanded. “You’ve been acting strange ever since yesterday, so what? Is it me after all? My face? What?!” The frenzy, while warranted, made everything inside you curl inward. Everything suddenly felt too big, too loud for the decreasing space inside you. Your lungs couldn’t expand enough, and you could practically feel the hurricane inside you banging at your eyes to be let out. Your teeth sank into your lips just as your nails sank even more into your arms. Anything to bite back and fight back what was quickly becoming inevitable.

He must have realized what he’d done, or perhaps he just used his eyes to see you practically shrinking. His expression uncrumpled into something more tender and apologetic, but creases of quiet frustration remained.

“Cara. (Y/N),” he corrected, his more patient voice from before returning. “I apologize for my outburst. Really. I do. But . . . Please: What is going on?”

If you opened your mouth, you were fucked.

“I cannot fix things if you don’t tell me what needs to be fixed.”

Soft like dynamite. The dam splintered, it cracked, and then it collapsed entirely. Your body was never one to take things in or hold them, after all.

“You can’t fix me . . .” It was quiet and light and it weighed down on your insides like no other.

Terzo’s brows gathered. “. . . Perdono?”

“I said you can’t fix me, okay?!” you repeated, your sentence made jagged and uneven by its sobbing delivery. The sudden explosion left the normally calm Papa taken aback. His lips parted, surely about to question what you could possibly mean, but the flood was unrelenting as it poured from your eyes and lips.

“I’m sorry! I lied! I lied, I lied, I lied, okay!? My body doesn’t work, okay, it’s fucking broken, and I knew it all along but I couldn’t tell you because I’m a f-fucking coward a-and I’m s-s-elfish – And – !” But this point, though, your throat far too tight and painful to even try continuing. Besides, you’d said all of what mattered, right? That you’d lied to him by omission, that you were broken, and that you were a goddamn selfish coward for pretending otherwise.

The truth hurt but you deserved this pain, having only yourself to blame that you were experiencing this on this man’s couch instead of in the privacy of your room. Everything in you screamed to get up and run back there, in fact, but you lacked the will to do anything other than stay put in a near-blinding fit of crying, probably fucking up the sofa with all the tears you were leaking onto it. You might’ve stayed that way even longer if it weren’t for a sudden nudging at your knee.

Apparently at some point during your pity party, Terzo had taken the opportunity to get up and . . . retrieve a box of tissues? Not leave? Or call for a ghoul to come and get you? Actually, that made a bit of sense: He was too much of a gentleman to kick somebody out while they were crying, no matter how awkward the circumstances.

As much as the punishing part of you wanted to reject it, the suffocation of your snotty nose was intolerable. You accepted the tissue box and dug in until your face stung with how much you had to wipe at it.

Terzo meanwhile resumed his seat, making sure to allow you space as you let out whatever nonverbal emotion you needed to let out. He didn’t force you to talk – not that you could, remaining a coughing, hiccupping mess even as the emotional tempest began to recede.

In fact, he himself didn’t say a word until you’d managed to work yourself down to pathetic, wet sniffles and tremors.

“. . . You know you’re not broken, right?” he asked. You almost didn’t hear it about you

You sniffled, perplexed. Terzo watched patiently as he continued, “Look: I don’t know exactly what’s going on. But what I do know is that you make me laugh. I like talking to you. I like talking with you. I just. Like you. So clearly, something about you must work, si?”

You shook your head. No. No, that’s what they all said. Maybe not like that, but they all said one of two things:

Either they claimed this didn’t bother them and that they could work with your condition, only to later realize they couldn’t keep up the lie; or they would ask to go your separate ways. He hadn’t done the latter yet, but after everything you’d put him through, he at least deserved specification to make that decision.

“No, I mean,” you took in a deep, shaky inhale. Mostly to calm the discomfort. “I mean. My body – It literally doesn’t – I have a condition, Terzo.” You paused just enough to let the words sink in – for the both of you. It never got easier to say no matter how many times you said it. “I can’t have sex. Not in a normal way, anyway. So, like. No penetrating or whatever. Not even, like, a tongue. Shit hurts so I don’t – I can’t bother with it. And like.” You twisted your fingers. “That feels kind of antithetical to the whole ‘living deliciously’ vibe or whatever you’re supposed to be promoting. So . . .”

So there. That was it. In a sick sort of way, you did feel somewhat of a weight lifted. The heavy, gross feeling of rejection still sat within you, but you had a familiarity with it. In time, it, too, would fizzle back into the recesses of your mind. You could . . . live with it there . . .

“. . . So what?” Terzo practically huffed, barely fighting back a smirk, one you couldn’t tell if it was from his own words, or in response to the stunned expression you now wore. “First off – and forgive me for missing any point – but you do realize that the whole of that whole ‘living deliciously’ shit comes from making choices, right? If sex is what you’re talking about, I don’t necessarily need sex. Is nice, yes, but. It’s not my whole fucking life, you know.”

. . . Well, no, but . . . To be fair, that rockstar persona certainly made that easy to not consider. Before you could argue this, he continued.

“Second off,” Terzo held up two fingers. “You do realize sex is more than just insert-dick-in-pussy, yes? Your Papa is . . . Well, he knows he is no blushing virgin, we shall say. No offense.” (At this, your expression blanked. Bemusement was superior to distress, though, you supposed.) “But do you really think that I think there is only one way to make sex count? Cara, per favore: Sex is sex! So long as everyone is having fun – and consenting! – then what is there to worry about?”

“E in terzo luogo,” he added a third finger before giving all three a wiggle, “do you really think that I would do all this if all I wanted was a quick fuck? I mean, think about it, piccina. Give me more credit.”

Well, when he put it like that . . . Your cheeks and ears burned less from humiliation, but from a much softer breed of embarrassment.

“Well . . . no . . .” you admitted. “B-but going back to the choice thing – I thought the idea was to make choices that don’t hurt anybody.”

He nodded with agreement. “Questo è vero. But here we are. And no one got hurt, si?”

You bit your lip, “But . . . I lied to you. I wasted your time, and – ” At this, Terzo’s hand rose, signaling for you to shut your yap.

“I’m gonna stop you right there, dolcezza,” he spoke, his features tame but stern. “You did not waste my time. Okay? I gave you my time. And I wouldn’t ask for a moment of it back. And do you know why?” He didn’t even allow you enough time to make a snarky response: “Because I chose to spend it with you. Even if I’d known, I’d choose you. And why would I not? Sei una bellisima compagnia, and I already love what we do together, even if it’s not fucking. Now, have I thought about us fucking? Yes! Often!” (You felt your blush deepening at his rather blunt confession.)

“But I have also thought about things we have talked about; things I would like for us to talk about; things I would like for us to do – besides each other, I mean. But it here’s a fourth thing.”

No fourth finger this time. Just him offering you his hand. You felt every particle in your abdomen squish and flip over the simple gesture, but curiosity made you pushed through to accept it. Even as his other hand came over on top of yours, any trapped feeling you might’ve had mere moments before never came forward. If anything, you felt . . . here? And for as buzzy as “here” felt, you didn’t want to run from it.

Terzo gave your hand a grounding squeeze as his eyes remained locked with your own. “I’m never gonna do something that hurts you. Alright?” he swore. “And if I do? Then I need you, I beg of you to tell me. Because if you don’t want to do anything, then we don’t do anything. We do nothing but enjoy one another’s company. That is plenty enough for me, dolcezza, I can promise you this. Do you understand?”

You gulped. You didn’t even realize your eyes had widened until you found yourself needing to blink back a fresh, much smaller batch of warm tears. You could practically feel your mind scrambling, trying to reference past experiences that could help you work off of this. Maybe proof he was lying, an argument you could present – something to make this all make sense!

But it found nothing of the sort. No one, in all those times, had ever offered a third thing, let alone one where you felt like you had an actual say in how things went.

Should . . . Should you nod? Could you be trusted to make the right decision here? You nodded. It was uneasy and uncertain, but the smile it gave Terzo seemed to be the proper answer.

“Good girl,” he affirmed. Oh. Yep. That was the right answer, you decided with a jittery exhale.

“Now!” Terzo exclaimed before giving the back of your hand a gentle pat and releasing it. “If it’s alright with you, I would like to finish our movie. Call me a firm nerd but I’ve waited all night to hear your thoughts on this, no joking.”

The change in atmosphere was dizzying as Terzo readjusted himself into a more comfortable position, as though you hadn’t just bared your soul and literal intimacies to him and had him respond in the most genuine and affirming way possible. Not as though it were nothing, but more like it was just not nearly as distressing as what you’d prepared yourself to face. With the storm settling and the fog of anxiety clearing, it became increasingly apparent just how discolored your thoughts had become by your past experiences. Of course Terzo wouldn’t be so rigid about sex: It went against everything he stood for, everything he was!

Of course, complete acceptance on your end wouldn’t be immediate. But you could work with this. Though, there was admittedly one last concern you had before movie night resumed.

“B-but.” You stopped short as Terzo turned his attention back to you. You had to remind yourself that the nerves you felt now were nothing compared to before. You could do this. “But . . . What if I . . . do want to do something?”

A bushy brow at the insinuation.

“N-not now! Not immediately,” you clarified. Suddenly the fringe of the throw blanket required your attention as you began fidgeting with it. “I just . . . You know.” You gave an awkward shrug and glanced up at him, a look of pleading twinkling in your eyes as you hoped he understood what you meant. Not any time soon, perhaps, but . . . Some day? You watched as the right corner of his mouth, the one where that darling beauty mark lay, rose up into a smile.

“Then, cuore mio, we talk about it,” he answered simply. “And, if you still want to ‘do something’ after?” He leaned in, the warmth of his smile heating into a devilish smirk.

“We do it. Whatever that may look like for us.”

You nearly blacked out when the bastard had the audacity to wink at you.

He then clicked play, shifting back into place as Gwynplaine and Dea came back to life. By the time you’d managed to regain your composure and refocus on the movie, Dea was cradling Gwynplaine’s tearful face in her hands. Assuming you hadn’t missed anything, this was the first time the poor soul had actually ever let her touch his face in all its deformed glory. And judging by her jubilant reaction, Dea couldn’t have been happier.

Good for him, you quietly delighted. It was absolutely what he deserved after all that time spent torturing himself over nothing. As you resituated yourself back into the cushions, you briefly noted how the voices from before, while still there, were much quieter. They lacked the power provided by the storm, and any time one of them seemed to try and get louder, you’d hear Terzo’s voice smother it out.

I’d choose you, he affirmed.

Good girl, he praised.

You know you’re not broken, right? he reminded.

It gave you goosebumps, though not the kind that the throw blanket could pat out. But you had a theory.

It seemed that the Old One had finally chosen now to put some courage in you. Better late than never, you supposed as you began to inch closer and closer along the couch until you could feel the heat radiating off Terzo’s body. The proximity in itself was thrilling enough, but the boldness didn’t stop there.

You tested the waters, leaning a little further into him, only for his arm to calmly come around you. Whatever space that remained was quickly closed as you felt yourself being tugged and cushioned into his side. You had only a nanosecond to catch the barely-contained smile on his face before you practically melted into place. Terzo’s touch, his scent, his warmth, his everything flooded into you, filling you with a simultaneous calmness and a vigor you hadn’t felt in years.

Your dream from before had been right after all: You belonged here, right next to your Papa.

#the band ghost #ghost band x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus x reader #papa terzo x reader #cw vaginismus #terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x fem!reader #terzo x fem!reader #papa terzo #papa emeritus x fem!reader #stg if Copia gives me any hassle even vaguely similar to what i had to go through with this asshole #i'm getting my goddamn gwimbly ghoul gun #fun fact: i could not for the life of me recall Terzo's speech patterns when i needed them most so i took to youtube #and instead kept having to pause because i kept blushing at the stupidest shit he'd say #it's the Voice man #anyway go watch The Man Who Laughs if only to see a dog named Homo #and to see Conrad Veidt be an absolute babyboy who is disgustingly smitten with Dea #i would've picked a sluttier movie but honestly that movie made my heart so slutty

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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What would the yokai gangs favorite ice cream flavors be!! I must know!!

Ha, I think their reaction to ice cream or modern food in general would be interesting. Imagine taking a bunch of ancient demons on a stroll in modern times and you spot an ice cream truck.

Murasaki would go for something very simple, like vanilla ice cream. He's also eating it with a very serious expression and in small, careful bites, facing away from everyone (too embarrassed to show his enjoyment).

Kiritsubo is excited to try everything out, but eventually he'll settle for those flavors usually popular with kids. A bright blue bubblegum scoop will get his tail wagging. He'll beam with delight for some rainbow twirl with popping candy.

Suma is not too picky, maybe he'd go for nutty flavors like pistachio or pecan. As long as it's something in a big tub (that, or he'll empty most of the options and the truck will have to close up early).

Yuugiri likes sweet, fruity flavors like cherry or strawberry. He might also go for something fancier like salted caramel or coffee. He'd probably use this as an opportunity to tease you by licking it in an intentionally clumsy way with his forked tongue, maintaining eye contact and smirking.

Sekiya probably likes some bizarre or not-so-popular flavor like mint chocolate chip. Which adds to his nervousness as he points to his desired choice and hears some kid behind him going "ewww, people actually go for that?"

Sakaki prefers neutral flavors, nothing too strong or too sweet. Vanilla, simple chocolate, matcha and the likes. When I read your ask, I also had this image of him kind of wandering away from the group and just observing you having fun with the others. He likes seeing your smile, so he idly begins sketching it; ever since meeting you he's started a sketchbook of 'happy memories' to look at when he's depressed (almost always).

#yandere yokai harem #yokai harem #reader insert #doodle #sakaki #sekiya #monster boyfriend #yandere monster #yandere boyfriend

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bokettochild · 8 months ago

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Your Violet Incident series is halirous, and I just HAD to write grandpa Time.

Wind was, in simple terms, fucked.

He darted through the crowd, ducking under arms and around legs. The shopkeep remained in quick pursuit, yelling obscenities as he shouldered through the crowd.

“Thief! Stop him!” the man hollered. Wind dodged a hand that reached for his collar. He hadn't even stolen anything this time, dammit!

Wind kept an eye out for a red tunic or blue scarf. He didn't really want to cause another Violet Incident, but right now, it was the only thing he could think of. It was embarrassing, sure, but nothing subdued an angry shopkeep quite like an angry mother.

Wind glanced back at the wrong time, tripping over someone's foot. He scrambled to get up, but before he could, a burly hand grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. Wind gasped in pain.

“I got you now, punk,” the shopkeep growled, roughly pulling Wind upright.

“Let me go! I didn't do anything!” Wind kicked at him, gasping again when his arm was pulled farther behind his back.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice glowered. Wind looked up. Maybe he did have a way out of this. He would have to apologize to Time later.

“Grandpa! H-he's hurting me!” Wind cried out, adding a pathetic sniffle in there for good measure.

Time glanced at Wind with an exasperated look. Luckily, most of Time’s expressions passed for a glare to someone who didn’t know him. Time fixed his attention back on the shopkeep.

“Put down my grandson.” Time took a menacing step forwards. Wind choked back a laugh, hiding it as a strangled sob.

“He's a thief!” the shopkeep scoffed, although the fear in his voice shined through. How the man wasn't pissing himself, Wind was unsure.

“No I'm not!” Wind struggled. Noticeably, the man didn't twist his arm any more.

“Put him down and we can talk about this like adults.” Time put a hand on the man's arm. A crowd had begun to form, murmurs drifting through the town square.

The shopkeep reluctantly let go of Wind. Wind darted forward, plastering himself to the front of Time’s armor. He grabbed on tightly, making a show of sniffling and shaking. Time placed a protective hand around his shoulders.

“What did you think he stole?” Time asked flatly.

“W-well, there was this dagger-” the shopkeep began a description, shifting nervously.

Time kneeled down, making a show of patting Wind down. Wind complied while Time checked his pockets and bag, sniffling all the while. “The only dagger on him is the one I gave him for his tenth birthday. Unless you want to claim my best friend's craftsmanship as your own, we'll be on our way.” Murmurs drifted through the crowd as Time turned on his heel, bringing Wind with him. “Come on, Vincent, let's go find your mother.” Wind choked down laughter.

“Vincent? Really?” Wind laughed once they were back at the inn. Time crossed his arms.

“Grandpa? Really?” Time parrots back, raising an eyebrow.

“What options did I have? Would you like to be Grandma instead?” Wind huffed.

You know, there is no delight like finding other Violet Incidents out there that I didn't have to write myself!!!

Vincint, oh my Hylia, that's gold! If Wind wasn't already known as 'Tune' in Warriors' time than I would have loved to give him a nutty name, but I love Time being the grandpa!!! And, I mean, Legend did technically name Time as Kit's Dad back during Violet Without The Violet, so Wind has his excuse lined up for him!

I love this, Thank you for this lovely pick me up!!!

#asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu time #lu wind #the violet incidents

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bethanydelleman · 14 days ago

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I started reading Spy x Family on a friend's recommendation and it is so fun! It's the most cute and chaotic thing I've ever read.

The premise is that a Spy has to form a family with a child for a mission. He accidentally adopts a child telepath (Anya) and then marries an Assassin who is looking for a cover relationship (It reminds me of Mr. & Mrs. Smith in that way). They are all incredibly nutty together

I've only finished book one but it was delightful and I'm going to get more tomorrow!

#spy x family #summer reading #I read the entire thing in one sitting which maybe isn't that impressive but it does indicate how much I liked it #manga

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bigassmoth · 4 months ago

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Inspired by this post from @r0-boat

Beelzebub x Reader x Foras

Synopsis: You drink a mystery gift and find yourself changing. Beelzebub, ever opportunistic, and Foras, always watching, help.

Contains: lactation, breast growth, 3some, GN reader

You often received gifts from the devils, sometimes they were a bit on the naughty side but always disclosed the nature of the contents. But the bottle before you- transparent with a gold cap and containing what you can only liken to eggnog- doesnt feel infernal at all. The note is in an elegant sprawling cursive that you cant even read. You selve the liquid in your fridge for a few days before curiosity finally gets the better of you.

You decide to have it along with some cookies while you do your afternoon reading. The drink is cool, rich, sweet, nutty, and slightly floral. You lick your lips with satisfaction after every sip. Before you know it, the drink is done. It and the cookies were so filling that you feel yourself beginning to drift asleep. Only a few minutes of docile unconsciousness is granted to you before your chest begins to feel...hot. Worse than the heat was the sudden uncomfortable rub of your clothes.

You unceremoniously strip your top and wrap yourself in your blanket. Wiggling into your seat and trying to go back to sleep doesnt help though- as now your chest begins to tingle.

It starts deep within, likes its rooting in your sternum. The pulse of arousal then spreads through the inner most part of your breast to the outside. The strongest feeling, almost your pores are beckoning tongues and fingers to touch them, is around your areola and nipples. You cant even understand the noises coming from your mouth. Whines and whimpers and long moans. Curious, you lower the blanket and marvel as your chest begins to swell. Instead of alarm, the changes made you throb all over. Your breasts grew heavy, heavy enough you felt compelled to hold them for your own comfort. Your areola and nipples popped distinctedly from the mounds of your breasts, puffy and hard. There would be no hiding them as they protruded from your body, not that you think you could withstand the burn of fabric right now.

Without meaning to, you were groping your own breasts while canting your hips. It felt good but it also hurt, like you were holding onto something you shouldnt.

"I was wondering what smelled so good. I should have known it was you." Beelzebub is in front of you- had been for a while. The sight of your growing breasts and rolling hips had made him hard and leaking but he had more than a sexual appetite.

"Be-elllll..." you whined out and tried to still your hips only to find it painful to do so. "Hurts."

He answers your plea with a smile and drops to his knees. He massages your breasts. His hands are slightly rough but strong and practiced. Piercing and tattooing required a steady hand, which lent itself to the stimulation if your body.

"Ah...you are blocked up." He spoke with false pity as his fingers begin tweaking, rolling, and stroking your nipples. You had never seen nor felt them be so large, so lewd. In his hands they looks especially erotic, like your chest was designed for sexual pleasure. As he rubbed your areola you finally felt it- moisture. It followed his fingertips and he smeared it around your skin as he encircled your nipples.

"There we go." Beelzebub spoke proudly while you panted and moaned miserably in the chair. "Now..." he grabbed one of your large breasts by the base with one hand and used the other to pull at you teat. It was pure relief as milk shot out onto Beelzebubs satisfied face. He licked his cheek and then licked off your chest. He did the other breast but this time aimed the milk into his open mouth.

You moaned with delight but now the sexual need between your legs felt even more urgent.

"Beelzdbub..." you clung to him and whined his name, trying to grind your hips onto his torso. But he ignores you pleas and focuses on sucking your breasts directly.

The room is full of the sounds of your desperate moans and Beelzebubs deep gulps. At one point he groan into your breast and takes in a sharp breath- there is the unmistakable sounds of ejaculation as his cock (barely poking out of a hole in his pants by the thigh) spills onto your floor.

You grow ever more desperate and begin to pull your chest away so you can fuck him properly. Your attempt only riles him up as he grabs you by the waist and whirls around to place you belly down on your coffee table- with your breasts hanging over the edge.

"Just let me drink it, yeah? Im so thirsty and you taste sooo good." Beelzebub is pushing forcibly on your back to keep you from sitting up.

"I need to be fucked." You glare up at him, forwardness usually made him concede. But his eyes stayed on your hanging breasts which seemed unable to release milk unless his skilled hands and tongue willed it.

"Hm....hey, you. Fuck her while I eat." Beelzebub seemed to call out to the empty room and released your back. He laid down under you and took one breast into his mouth. His sigh of content as he once again began sucking only stoked the fire in your belly.

"Beelz-" you started to whine again when you felt a hand rub at your entrance. After so much time with no stimulation, it was so good your vision when black. You recognized these gentle touches, which expertly worked your hole open and lifted your hips. This pressed your chest further into Beelzebubs face who let out an appreciative groan in response.

"There, there, please go harder Foras." You begged your gentle lover, who was still unseen. He ignored you though and continued his steady pace of exploring and fingering you. In front of you was a prime show as Beelzebub unzipped his pants and moved aside his thong to fully grip his cock.

As Foras slowly pleased you, you were forced to watch Beelzebub jack himself off at a quick pace. His gulping and groaning now accompanied with the slick sounds of his cock in his hand.

"Foras please!" It was unbearable- even as Beelzebyb dutifully switched breasts and milked you more efficiently than any machine. You needed to be pounded to rid yourself of this discomfort.

Seeming content with his prep work (not that he needed much with how desperate the milk had made your system) he finally pulled out his cock. The tip pressed against your hole, Foras held your hips still as you tried to grind into him. Slowly he entered you and you finally closed your eyes and sagged forward in relief. After a few testing thrusts, Foras readjusted himself and began fucking you hard. Like Beelzebub, his pace was steady and dedicated. More than hitting the deepest parts of you or stretching you deliciously, what you needed was a consistant fucking. To be fucked while you were milked meant the sway of your body and breasts. Beelzebub began to murmur praises but it was hard to understand with a mouth full of boob. He came again, one hand twisting his dick while the other gripped his balls.

Eventually the king decided to place both of your nipples in his mouth and suck. His hands roughly squeezing your breasts as he went. His grip occassionally slipped from the combination of milk and cum. He was resolute and devote under you.

Foras also seemed close to cumming, his groans getting louder and huskier. You moan and wriggle against the slap of his hips.

But concerning, despite feeling sexual pleasure, your climax eluded you. The stimulation should have been enough to make you finish multiple times by now. Foras came hard but didnt stop thrusting his softening dick in your hole. You knew the devil would fuck himself raw if it meant satisfying you. But you werent satisfied. This made you whine again.

"Why, cant I- ahh ahh ahh!- cum?" Foras, understanding your concerns, began rubbing your front.

"Soon, after your breasts have finished developing." His soft and reassuring voice tickles your ear. Having his chest pressed against your back feels nice and comforting even if his words raise alarm bells.

"D-developing what?" Beelzebub pops your breasts out of his mouth and fondles them as he replies.

"Breasts growing, nipples staying erect- probably. The milk will only happen sometimes though unfortunately."

You felt your stomach drop as you looked at the intimidating size of your breasts.

"No- no no no I cant- the backpain!" You protest but its hard as Foras begins to pick up pace. Your mind feels foggy, Beelzebub is fully milking you now while Foras spreads your ass to watch his dick plunge in. Everything felt good, fuzzy, conplete. Like you needed hands on your chest and a dick in you in order to feel comfortable.

"We can fix it." Foras reassures you while using his thumbs to encircle your asshole.

"Probably." Beelzebub puts his mouth back on you and once more grabs his throbbing dick.

#whb smut #whb beelzebub #whb foras

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rachalixie · 1 year ago

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a/n: eid mubarak! i hope this reaches the people that i want it to :) i tried my very best as i don't celebrate personally, but i think that eid is an absolutely beautiful holiday and deserves to be appreciated by all. special thank you to @astraystayyh and @lino-nyangi i love you two so much i hope your celebrations are magnificent and that your tummies are full of good food and you eat lots and lots of sweets <3

chan arrives in a flurry of excitement, giggling as your younger cousins and siblings flock to him and hang off of his legs. he ruffles their hair, telling them how much they’ve grown since he last saw them, and finishes it off with folded bills that he presses into their hands along with a gentle kiss to the crowns of their heads. one by one, he gains their favor and they squeal about how he’s their favorite uncle - a thought that makes him blush and intertwine his fingers with yours.

minho helps you cook dish after dish, porcelain and ceramic serving plates stacking up as you cook together. the air in your kitchen smells absolutely divine, spices and saffron and nutty rice steaming away as the two of you flirt around each other and exchange kisses over the sink. he always enjoys learning how to make new recipes, but learning the foods you used to make with your mom as a child is something dear to him.

changbin takes the time to learn things - asks your father what he’s supposed to do because he wants to make sure he’s doing things perfectly. he cares less about the formalities and more of the hidden things he can do, wanting to surprise you just to see that pleased look on your face. you’re making that look now, as he approaches you after having coffee with your father and uncles, and he hands you his empty cup. it’s full of gold chocolate coins, and he sheepishly admits that he didn’t have real gold but he thought it would do. the way you lean up to kiss him, keeping his body between yours and the door so no one can see, tells him that he did just fine.

hyunjin revels in your beauty; though he thinks you’re gorgeous all of the time, something about seeing you in traditional clothes with threads of gold woven into colorful fabrics makes you glow in a way he can’t get enough of. he puts on the finishing touch, sliding intricate jhumkas into your ears, the weight of them a comforting reminder of his fingers brushing against your lobes. he tells you how beautiful you are countless times, whispering it to you so only you can hear, but everyone knows from the blood that rushes to your cheeks in turn.

jisung spends weeks after weeks in secret learning arabic, or rather trying. he stumbles upon his letters, syllables that make no sense to his tongue, but he practices over and over until he can say one thing that he whispers to you just as the clock strikes midnight. eid mubarak, he mumbles as he brushes his fingers across your brow, his eyes shiny in the moonlight as he keeps his gaze fixed on you. he’ll repeat the phrase to your family and friends later, but his clumsy pronunciation and small smile make this first one so special to you.

felix revels in the act of charity always, but sharing it with you brings a lightness to his heart that he can’t get enough of. he’s more motivated than you are, dragging you to homeless shelters and daycares and wherever he can find to volunteer and give back. on the last day, he shyly shows you a list of charities he’s donated to all month, in your name, and you tackle him into a hug with tears in your eyes.

seungmin fits in like he’s been celebrating with you for years. he stuffs his belly full with delicious food, chats with your parents with a wide grin on his face, plays with the children like he raised them himself. he does everything perfectly, knowing when to greet people and when to participate in prayer and where to go. it surprises you in a delightful way, in the same way that he always does when he knows something about you that you don’t even know yourself. you discover later, when you unlock his phone to take photos of him laughing across the room, the extensive research on eid traditions that he has open in his browser.

jeongin is so nervous to meet your extended family for the first time. he fiddles with his hair for an hour, making sure that not a single strand is out of place. he smooths down his clothes when he gets out of the car, and stares at the front door of your parents’ house with wide eyes and an open mouth, and you have to press his jaw up with gentle fingers as your mother opens the door. you watch the nervousness fizzle out as he’s greeted with warm welcomes from everyone, treating like he’s part of the family already.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids #bang chan imagines #skz fluff #lee know imagines #changbin imagines #hyunjin imagines #jisung imagines #seungmin imagines #felix imagines #jeongin imagines

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songforeddiemunson · 2 years ago

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Can you please do a Eddie X virgin reader where there has always been romance and they never acted on it until they confess when there watching a film and then a couple weeks after they make out then have soft sex

Thank you so much for the request!! I made some minor adjustments because that's just the route the narrative took me, but I hope you like it! I'm SO sorry this took so long, it's been a nutty few weeks.

NEXT SUMMER

Eddie Munson x Fem!Virgin!Reader (description vague apart from AFAB for inclusivity)

Summary: Eddie meets a cousin of the Wheelers who is visiting for the summer, and falls head over heels. The problem is, she lives in Chicago, and needs to return in the fall. Can they handle it?

Warnings/Tropes: longing with a bit of angst, fluffy affection, romantic soft smut, mild language, aftercare, mostly this is just really sweet.

Word Count: 5517

August 1990

You first caught Eddie’s eye on a late summer evening, standing under the twinkling lights of carnival rides at the county fair. It was the sort of cotton candy sky just moments before the sun dipped below the horizon, signaling the end of another august day. The droning cicadas were rapidly giving way to the cricket’s song, but all of those innocuous details faded away as Eddie watched you as you waited in line for the Scrambler, talking and laughing with your companion.

Eddie’s heart nearly leapt in his throat when he saw that the person you were speaking with was someone he actually knew. Nancy Wheeler! his brain screamed, and before he realized what he was doing, his feet were carrying him forward as if he was on autopilot, such was your magnetism.

Nancy caught sight of Eddie as he approached, and her face broke out into a broad grin. “Eddie!” she exclaimed with delight. “It’s so great to see you!” She hugged him as you stood by, a polite smile gracing your lips.

“Likewise, Wheeler,” Eddie replied fondly, and when his eyes slipped to you, your heart nearly ceased its rhythm. The breath was stolen from your lungs, and all you could do was stare wordlessly at the handsome man who evidently was a friend to Nancy.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie was experiencing the same physical paralysis under your gaze.

“Eddie! You have to meet my little cousin! She goes by Ivy, but her name is–”

“Oh my god,” you moaned, cutting Nancy off. Blood rushed to your cheeks in mortification. “I am not little, I’m twenty years old now!’

Nancy giggled fondly. “Well sure, but you’ll always be little to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m only two years younger than you, but whatever.”

Eddie laughed, and your cheeks pinkened even more. “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie,” you said. You struggled to meet his eyes; it was like staring at the sun.

“It’s good to meet you too Ivy, if– if you don’t mind me calling you that.”

You smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “Please do.”

And so you spent the rest of the evening with Eddie and Nancy, keeping things oh so casual but feeling like you might die every time he looked at you. You remained aloof because, after all, you didn’t even live in Hawkins, and eventually you’d have to return home to the city.

When Eddie first learned that you would be returning to Chicago at the end of the summer, he was crestfallen but struggled to mask it.

“I’m sure Chicago is really cool,” he said with forced bravado. “Way cooler than boring old Hawkins.”

“Oh but I love coming here,” you breathed enthusiastically. “Chicago is cool and all, but this is so nice. I love smelling the mown grass, and being able to go to the drive-in movie theater, and all that great summertime stuff.” You gestured around you. “And the county fair! I love coming to the fair.”

Eddie smiled despite his growing sadness. “You make it sound pretty nice. But really it’s just cornfields…”

“...I love corn,” you countered.

“And strip malls…”

“.....strip malls always have video stores, and I love movies.” you said with a grin.

Nancy returned from buying a candy apple.

You pointed at her. “Candy apples! I can’t buy candy apples in Chicago.”

“Hmm?” she replied, confused, chewing. “I’m sure you can buy candle apples in Chicag–”

“Not from the fair though,” you interrupted. “They’re better from the fair.”

“Point taken,” Eddie said with a chuckle, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“I do still want to jump in a creek though,” you said wistfully.

“Gross, no. There are leeches,” Nancy said.

“Not in creeks,” Eddie laughed. “Ponds, maybe. But creeks are fine.”

And so the evening wound down. You and Eddie went back and forth over the virtues of city vs country living, but Eddie had to admit, you did have a way of making Hawkins sound pretty great. When it was time to part ways, Eddie desperately wanted to kiss you, so much that his lips nearly burned from the need, but he refrained. What would a girl like you ever see in a guy like him?

Two days later, on a late Sunday morning, where the summer sun shone relentlessly through a bluebird sky, Eddie picked up the phone and dialed the Wheeler’s number with a shaking hand.

Mike answered, sounding like he just woke up.

“Mehllo?” he mumbled by way of answer.

“Mike! It’s Eddie.”

“Munson?!” that seemed to wake him up. “Dude! It’s been forever!”

“Yeah man! How are you doing?”

“Oh things are good, I’m going off to college next month, and–”

“Is your cousin around? Ivy?” Eddie blurted anxiously, covering his face in embarrassment over the way he must have sounded. “Sorry man, it’s just that I need to ask her something. I would love to catch up with you though! Before you head to school; we should get together.”

“Yeah definitely,” Mike responded, unbothered. "We’ll catch up. I’ll go get Ivy….”

Eddie heard the handset thump against whatever surface Mike set it upon, and heard him call your name. He faintly heard your voice respond, which made Eddie’s already hammering heart pick up its pace. More fumbling noises ended with a slightly breathless, “Hello? Eddie?”

“Hi Ivy,” he replied, and you thought maybe you could hear a smile in his voice. “Wanna go jump in a creek?”

Your summertime in Hawkins was coming to a close; in only a few days’ time you were due to return to Chicago and university. As the final days ticked away, a ball of sadness gradually grew in the pit of your stomach. It was the best summer ever, and you were sorry to see its end.

Since the night you met him at the fair, Eddie had taken you cliff jumping into the Bear Creek, something that simultaneously terrified and thrilled you, leaving you more exhilarated than you have felt in a long while. But when you weren’t jumping, you simply floated in the water, watching the dappled sun dance across its surface, loving life.

Eddie also took you to the drive-in theater. It wasn’t a date, since he didn’t technically ask you out like that, and Nancy and Mike also insisted on tagging along. You lined camping chairs up in front of the van and rolled down the windows with the sound up loud so you could all sit together. It was a lovely, balmy night of watching Total Recall, and you ate too many skittles while swatting mosquitoes. It was perfect.

And now summer was ending and it was time to go, and you couldn’t possibly want to return to Chicago less. Why did you have to meet Eddie now?

You sighed as you packed up your things, folding clothes and setting them in your suitcase slowly, unmotivated. Nancy perched on the side of your bed, watching.

“You seem really bummed out,” Nancy remarked.

“I guess I’m not looking forward to going home. I wish I could stay a bit longer.” you replied, not bothering to hide your low mood.

“Would this have anything to do with a certain long-haired boy that lives on the other side of town?” Nancy prodded. It’s not like you were hiding anything.

“That obvious? And he’s twenty-four, he’s not a boy.”

Nancy nodded, with a giggle. “Fair enough.”

“And…maybe. I don’t know. It’s not like he’s kissed me or asked me out properly....” You stalled your packing, and you folded and unfolded the same sweater over and over while you let your thoughts wander.

“But you want him to?” Nancy prodded gently after a moment.

You sighed. “Yeah, I do. It’s kind of all I can think about actually,” you added with a wistful chuckle. “But what’s the point when I live all the way in Chicago the other nine months of the year?” You flopped down dramatically on the bed with a huff.

“Maybe you can talk on the phone and stuff throughout the year, and pick up where you left off next summer?”

“Long distance?” You allowed a glimmer of hope to creep in. “Do you think that could work?”

Nancy shrugged. “I did it with Jonathan when he moved to California. It’s not easy, but it can work.”

You hitched a deep sigh. “What if he doesn’t want to?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Nancy replied.

The sky was overcast as you loaded the last of your bags into the back of the Wheeler’s car, matching your mood. You hugged Mike and Karen goodbye; Ted and Nancy were going to ride with you to the train station. You scanned the empty suburban streets for Eddie, but he was nowhere to be seen, causing your heart to sink even lower.

Just as you were about to climb into the backseat, you heard a sound that pulled your attention toward the woods at the edge of the neighborhood. There was some rustling and you saw that the flora was jostling about. What the–

Eddie suddenly materialized from the trees, calling, “Wait!” as he trotted over toward you. Your heart reversed its previous downward trajectory with haste, and happiness soared through you so abruptly and completely that you thought you might fall over.

“I cut through the woods,” Eddie stated breathlessly. “I was afraid I wouldn’t make it.”

“Just in time,” you grinned.

Ted poked his head out of the car’s driver window. “We’re going to be late if we don’t get going.”

“Oh– Okay, I won’t take long,” Eddie stammered slightly. “I just wanted to say good bye and ask you…is it okay if I call you?”

You struggled to contain your delight at the suggestion. “Yes Eddie, I would really love that.” You pulled a small notepad from your purse, jotted your number down, and tore the scrap of paper out before handing it over. “Don’t lose this.”

Eddie had the fleeting thought that he would have your digits tattooed on his flesh to ensure their permanence. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Ted honked the horn, even though you were all standing right there.

“Okay, well I have to go. Call me tomorrow?”

Eddie nodded, his throat suddenly gone dry. “I will.”

As you sat down and closed the car door behind you, Ted wasted no time pulling away. You twisted around in the seat to watch Eddie grow smaller as the distance increased. He raised a hand and waved shortly before you went around a bend, causing you to lose sight of him.

The temporary high of seeing Eddie was quickly supplanted by sadness. It was going to be a very long wait for next summer.

June 1991

Once you were clear of the train platform, your rolling suitcase and duffle bag appropriately situated, you bolted through the crowd as quickly as possible.

Nine long months you waited. Nine months of speaking on the phone for hours nearly every night, talking about everything, watching movies together, helping Eddie write his next D&D campaign, discussing books. You shared hopes, dreams, wishes, and desires. Nine months of longing. Nine months of imagining his lips on yours, his fingers gripping the meat of your thighs, picturing him doing things to you that you’d never done with anyone before. You were tired of waiting.

You never officially declared yourselves to each other, still hadn’t even kissed, so you couldn’t be completely sure that he felt the same way. But you had a pretty good idea; after all, would a guy spend that much time on the phone with you if he didn’t feel some kind of way? He said he was going to pick you up at the train station after all, so that had to count for something.

You were determined. Eddie would not slip through your fingers; this summer was going to change everything.

And there he was. As you entered the terminal with the other passengers, you spotted him immediately. He was leaning up against the wall, torn tight jeans and black band tee, long chestnut curls cascading around his shoulders. He was beautiful.

The way his face lit up when he spotted you could probably heal the world, if you could find a way to harness it.

You let your bags drop to the ground as you ran to him, and he opened his arms to you as you collided with him, slamming him back against the wall. His arms slid up around your back and gripped you tightly, his breath fanned across one ear, setting all your senses alight, and you simply resided in his embrace and felt the object of your affection absolutely envelop you. Oh how you had waited for this.

You pulled away just enough to look at his face. He was undeniably very happy, eyes bright, smiling broadly, his dimple making itself known.

“Hey you,” he said.

“Hi you,” you replied.

“I’ve missed you,” he said softly.

“I've been counting the minutes,” you said. You thought maybe you were going to cry.

“Try seconds,” he whispered, opening his eyes wide as if he was revealing a scandalous secret.

The rest of the bustling train station faded away. The voices and echoes were reduced to a muffled din, and all the people who hastened past you became less corporeal. As your eyes roamed his face, it felt like you were the only two people in the world.

He blinked and pulled away, and as soon as it started, the spell was broken.

He hastened over to your bags and grabbed hold of them, slinging your duffel over his shoulder and taking your rollbag in one hand. “Let’s go,” he said with a look over his shoulder, his hair bouncing as he hurried through the terminal with you in tow. He slowed as he approached the doors to outside. “Uh, I’ll take you to the Wheeler’s to settle in, but I wondered…” He paused, his expression belying his own lack of confidence. He looked almost shy. “I got an apartment about a month back, finally…a space of my own,” he continued. “I wondered if maybe you wanted to watch a movie later?”

“Eddie!” you breathed, excited. “That’s so great! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said with a small shrug. “No pressure, if you don’t want to. I just wanted to put it out there, no strings attached.”

“I would love to,” you beamed.

“Do you want to know what movie I picked out?” Eddie asked.

“I really don’t care,” you replied, and you laughed together as you walked to the parking lot.

You waited anxiously for Eddie’s arrival later that evening.

“It’s a daaaate!” Mike sang as if he was still fourteen and not a freshman in college. Nancy slapped him on the arm.

“Don’t tease,” she admonished, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

“It is not a date!” you countered as you checked your reflection for the thousandth time. “Doesn’t someone have to say it’s a date for it to actually be a date?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Some things are just sort of….assumed.”

You and Nancy glared at him in tandem. “Uh, no thank you. Nobody should make assumptions about anything like that,” Nancy scolded.

You nodded in agreement. “Yeah I mean, what if he just thinks I’m a great friend, and I go and spoil everything going in there thinking this is a date?”

Mike gestured toward you as you touched up your lip gloss. “Says the chick who has been fussing over her appearance obsessively for the last 45 minutes.”

“I’m just being prepared,” you said.

“For what?” Nancy said with a chuckle.

“Just in case it is a date. I never said I didn’t want it to be.”

Nancy laughed as Mike groaned in exasperation. Fortunately, you were saved from further discussion by the doorbell. You ran from the room before anyone could stop you, grabbing your shoulder bag on the way.

You opened the door and revealed a slightly nervous looking Eddie, and he nearly stole your breath away.

Eddie was resplendent in a blue and black plaid button-up shirt with his black jeans and black converse sneakers. He had clearly made an effort to tame his hair, and his waves were soft and tidy. His breath caught when he saw you.

“H– hi,” he said with a grin.

“Hi yourself,” you said. You chanced a look over your shoulder, fearful of an audience. “Okay let’s go before Mike and Nancy get weird and interrogate us,” you said, grabbing Eddie by the hand and making him laugh while shutting the door behind you. Eddie held his van door open for you before walking around the other side and starting up the engine. Was that aftershave he was wearing?

Butterflies exploded in your chest. Oh my god, this is a date, you thought to yourself elatedly.

Eddie’s place was nice, simple, and clean. He didn’t have much in the way of furniture or decor yet, but he had the basics, and it was all his.

You were halfway through Goodfellas– which was really good– and sipping on bud light bottles on opposite ends of the couch. You were sitting with your legs curled underneath you, your left foot sticking out along the couch cushion. Eddie reached over and gently laid a hand on your ankle, pulling your attention away from the film.

“I’m gonna grab another beer. You want anything?”

“Sure, you want me to pause it?”

“Nah, I’ve seen this twice already,” he said as he headed to the kitchen.

“Eddie!” you said, smiling. “Why didn’t you rent something you’ve never seen?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he called. “I love this movie.”

You picked up the remote and paused the film anyway.

“But it just came out on VHS!” you said, laughing. "How have you seen it multiple times already?"

He returned with two freshly opened beers and handed one to you. He sat down again, a little closer this time.

“What– you don’t watch movies over and over again every chance you get? Is that…like….not normal or something?” He smirked at his own sarcasm.

“Not that quickly I’m afraid,” you said, and he laughed out loud.

“I guess I’m a bit of a fixator,” he said. “I fixate on things.”

“I suppose we all have things we fixate on,” you said.

“What do you fixate on?” He asked. He was leaning slightly in your direction. It made your heart speed up a little bit.

“Well lately,” you said, drawing out your syllables and pretending to think really hard about it. “Lately it’s been this guy.”

“Oooh,” Eddie said. “Tell me more.”

“Well, he looks a little rough around the edges, but it turns out that he’s the sweetest.”

“He is?” Eddie played along.

“Oh yes. And he has the biggest, most soulful brown eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s like he’s always seeing the world in new and interesting ways. And don’t get me started on his lips…”

“What about his lips?” Eddie asked.

“They’re so full and plump, like fruit, and I want to nibble on them.”

Eddie huffed a small laugh. “You want to nibble on his lips?”

“Among other things,” you said, a little breathily.

As your eyes flicked down to his lips, he licked them unconsciously, and you knew everything was about to change.

Eddie leaned forward, closing the distance between you, and he raised his right hand to cup the back of your head, pulling you forward. You felt his breath fan across your cheek as he rubbed his nose against yours.

“What other things did you have in mind?” he murmured.

“I want him,” you said simply. “But I don’t know how he feels.”

“Hmm,” Eddie cooed. “I think it’s safe to say he wants you too.”

“He does?”

“Oh yes,” he breathed, and then he kissed you.

Your breathing hitched– it was finally happening.

You enjoyed the simple feeling of his beautiful lips against yours for a moment before you parted your lips to deepen the kiss. You slotted his bottom lip between your teeth and applied gentle pressure. Eddie’s quiet gasp did things to you.

You chuckled, and rose up on your knees before pressing your body firmly against his, the movie now forgotten.

Eddie broke away, beaming. “I thought you probably felt the same way, but I wasn’t sure, and I was afraid to make a move and fuck it all up–”

“Shut up and keep kissing me,” you said.

He did as he was told. He also dialed up the passion, and you kissed each other hungrily, pouring nine months of longing into your efforts. Your tongues danced together, your hands roamed the expanse of his back, and you slid one hand up and under his shirt to feel his flesh.

Eddie gasped at your touch, and pulled away. His pupils were blown wide from the excitement, and you imagined that yours might look the same. He cupped the side of your face in his hands, boring his eyes into yours.

“Are we together? Are you mine?” he asked, and your heart broke and soared with equal measure at the sheer sweet earnestness of him.

“Yes, Eddie,” was all you could muster before he was kissing you again. He tipped you back and gently laid you down across the sofa, allowing his hand to travel up the length of your torso, keeping things chaste, but only barely.

You laid together and kissed deeply for a time, until you decided you’d had enough.

“Eddie,” you said. “T– take me to bed.”

“Are you sure? That’s really what you want?”

You nodded, but you couldn’t hide your nerves, and he gently pinched your chin to tilt your head up. “You seem anxious,” he said softly.

“Well, I – I haven’t actually done it before.”

Eddie’s eyes widened slightly.

“I’ve done some stuff, a little hand stuff mostly, but never, uh– it. Sex. I’ve never had sex.”

Eddie smiled affectionately at your display of nerves. “Relax, babe. It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to do.”

“But I am ready,” you said, more assuredly. “I really want to do this with you. I want you to be my first.”

Eddie searched your face for any further signs of nervousness or unease, but all he saw in your eyes now was conviction and honestly. You reached up a hand and laid it on his cheek.

“Nine months I’ve waited for this. I knew a long time ago that you were the one, Eddie. I’ve waited long enough.’

Eddie nodded. “Okay,” he said softly.

He moved to stand and gently scooped you up in his arms, making you giggle, and he carried you over to the bedroom. He kicked the door open with his foot, making you laugh some more, and laid you on his bed, which was clean if unmade. He leaned down and braced himself on either side of your body to kiss you.

“If you want me to stop, just tell me,” he said between kisses, and then stood back up to pull his shirt over his head. He did it in one fluid motion, letting his soft curls dance across his shoulders and back, and he was a sight to behold. You’d seen him with no shirt on last summer when he took you swimming, but somehow this was different.

“May I?” he asked, and paused with his fingers above the fly of your denim shorts. You nodded, and let Eddie loosen the buttons before pulling your shorts down along your legs and tossing them aside.

You smiled up at him as he loosened his own jeans and pushed them down before stepping out of them, leaving him clad in nothing but his boxers. He returned to the bed and laid next to you, gently trailing one palm up your body and pushing up your shirt, resting it at the bottom of your ribcage just below the underwire of your bra. Eddie resumed kissing you; it was something you were quite sure you would never tire of. He was amazing.

After a beat he pulled away to look down at you. “I need to get you ready,” he said softly. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

“Okay Eddie,” you replied. He pulled your shirt over your head gently, and then moved one hand to your back to unclasp your bra.

“You seem to have some experience with this,” you said, feeling a stab of self-consciousness.

Eddie paused. “A little. I’m not a virgin, but I’m hardly a Casanova or anything…”

“It’s okay, I don’t need to know.” you looked away.

Eddie was not pleased with the loss of eye-contact, and he could sense your discomfort.

“Hey,” he said softly, turning your face to his. “It’s only been a couple different girls. I really haven’t had much action for a guy my age, trust me. And nothing serious, ever.” He kissed your forehead. “You’re special. I want this– I want it to be special.”

You relaxed and smiled. “Honestly, I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely.”

“Okay then.”

He pulled your loosened bra off, leaving you in only your knickers. “If you want me to stop, just tell me.”

Your answering smile was cut short as he bent and placed a kiss on your nipple. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, before he sucked the little bud between his lips, setting all your senses alight.

“Oh–that feels nice.” you sighed.

As Eddie suckled you, he slowly trailed his hand down the length of your torso, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He paused at the elastic of your underwear, slipping one finger just under the thin white band, but continued no further.

“You can– ah– you can touch me Eddie,” you managed between gasps.

With no further preamble, he slowly slid his hand into the delicate cotton, and his fingers found your heat. He removed his mouth from your nipple, leaving it feeling cool and bereft, before kissing you lasciviously as he slowly pushed a finger inside of you. You gasped, but as quickly as he had entered, he was gone again. He dipped in smoothly a second time, but then turned his attention to your clit, applying gentle pressure and circling it with his moistened finger.

You arched your back and moaned at the sensation. Your senses were heightened, your heart was racing, and you couldn’t believe that you were here, with Eddie, after all this time. You were delighted; you’d waited so long for this, and you were going to enjoy it.

Eddie slowly picked up the pace and pressure of his ministrations. You felt as if all the blood in your body was rushing to the space between your legs, and your body began to tremble. It felt good– damn good. You could hear the wet sounds of your arousal as his fingers picked up speed, and then, without warning, he slid one back inside of you. You moaned as he pumped you with one finger, sliding out, stroking the sensitive button of nerves, pushing back in. You were teetering on the edge of climax when, suddenly, he stopped.

“Wha–” you said blearily, as Eddie padded over to his nightstand.

“I’m just grabbing a rubber babe,” Eddie smiled, as he pulled open the drawer and held up a foil square.

“Ah, right.”

“Just want to be careful, ya know?”

“Of course.”

Eddie paused to look at you, his face painted with adoration and concern. “You sure you’re still okay with this?”

You nodded emphatically. “Yeah, yes.”

Eddie looked angelic. Flushed with desire, his hair slightly mussed, lips reddened from kissing, his boxers tented by his arousal. He walked around the bed to stand at the end, and he gently pulled your underwear off, leaving you fully exposed for the first time. You had to fight to resist the urge to curl into yourself protectively. You weren’t the only naked one for long, however, as Eddie pushed his boxers down, and you were able to see all of him for the first time.

He was beautiful. He was perfect.

He deftly rolled the rubber along his length before he laid down next to you, and let his fingers return to your heat. He leaned down and kissed your neck while he worked you open, this time with two fingers. He slid them inside as he kissed your lips and licked into your mouth, and then he gently climbed on top, allowing you to rest your calves around his hips.

You felt his tip prod your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he breathed into your ear.

“Yes,” you said, and he captured your earlobe with his teeth as he slowly started to push in.

“Ah– fuck,” you cried softly. It felt like white fire had ignited where you were joined and traveled up your body, settling behind your eyes, and a kaleidoscope of sparks clouded your vision. You squeezed your eyes shut and ground your teeth together as you moaned through the sensation. It hurt, but it was a sort of pain you’d never felt before.

“God, babe,” Eddie gasped as another shallow, gentle thrust pulled him deeper. “This okay?”

It wasn’t okay exactly, it stung like hell, but it was okay because this was Eddie, and there was nobody else on the planet you were willing to experience this with.

“Uhhuh, yeah,” you panted. “I’m okay.”

Eddie sat back on his heels and grasped your thighs with his hands, pulling you flush against him and seating himself fully inside of you. His eyes met yours and he smiled at you adoringly as he began to move.

You moaned in sweet agony as each thrust ignited new fires within you, but before you realized what was happening, the pain began to give way to intense pleasure. Your gasps of pain grew to cries of ecstasy, and Eddie could feel you yield to him, could feel the resistance temper, and he delighted in watching the change come over you. White fire was replaced by pure bliss.

He lifted your legs to rest your ankles on his shoulders, and picked up his pace.

Eddie hugged your legs to his chest as he pumped, every thrust hitting deep, the mingled gasps and cries of your lovemaking growing in volume and timbre. You reached out a hand to touch his chest, but he was too far away. Eddie noticed this, and he released your legs to lean forward, bracing himself with his hands on either side of your shoulders, and he kissed you. It was damn hot, the passion of it all, making out so intensely that your teeth clattered together as he fucked you, all of your senses heightened and electrified.

You scratched at his back as your felt your climax building, causing his own pace to falter. Your cries of delight as you came caused his own orgasm to crash into him suddenly, and you both moaned as you rode it out together.

And then all was still.

You breathed together as you came down from the intense sensations you had just experienced, and you could feel Eddie’s heart beating in its cage, his chest pressed against yours. He could feel yours too.

After a moment, he got up, discarded the used condom, and slipped on his boxers, smiling down at your prone, naked body as he did so. “Was that okay? It didn’t hurt too much?”

You thought for a second. “It did hurt at first, that probably can’t be helped. But after a little while, it felt really good. Was I– was I any good?”

Eddie beamed. “Oh babe. You don’t have to ever worry about that. It was incredible.” He headed to the bathroom, and returned shortly with a damp washcloth. He sat beside you and gently tended to your sore, sensitive area. The cool terrycloth was soothing, and he peppered your face with kisses, making you giggle. He tossed the washcloth aside and laid down with you, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close.

“Do you want to stay here with me? You can, if you want,” Eddie murmured into your hair. He sounded sleepy.

“Eddie, I want to be wherever you are,” you replied. You were feeling quite drowsy yourself.

“I don’t want the Wheelers to think I kidnapped you,” he said with a small chuckle.

“They know where I am, and we’re all adults, so I’m staying put.”

Eddie grinned. You had no way of knowing what was happening in his heart, but he wished he could transfer part of his joy to you, so you could feel even a fraction of his elation.

Eddie had no way of knowing that you were feeling exactly the same way. He also had no way of knowing that you were planning to transfer to Indiana State in the fall. In time, you would share your hearts fully with each other, but for the moment, you enjoyed just laying in his arms, and drifting off into blissful slumber.

Together. ♥

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