#sorry if you saw this on ao3 already lol

[introspectivememories]

was it casual when i sat in your lap in public? was it casual when i said "recently my heart is crying because you're leaving"? was it casual when we decided how your last name would fit with mine? ("yuki tsunoda-gasly" / "no tsunoda, only gasly" / "yuki gasly?") was it casual when we sang adele's "someone like you" together at your going away party? was it casual when i knew it was you just by touching your ass? was it casual when i knew it was you by smell alone? was it casual when "will you miss me?" / "for 2-3 minutes maybe" / "i'll take that. even if it's just 2-3 minutes, i'll take that"? was it casual when that bus was completely empty and we still sat right next to each other, all the way in the back? was it casual when i picked you up multiple times so you could dunk a basketball? was it casual when i begged to come over to your house multiple time and then you finally let me and we cooked fried rice together? was it casual when we played christmas twister together and i said "your big eggplant is touching my ass"? was it casual when we were pressed up against each other on a scooter going two miles per hour? was it casual when-

[mpsideadump]

Excited to see the result?

Second chapter of Detroit: Lie or Die is ready to be read!

Connor meets P!

Disclaimer: Results of Poll had no effect on the outcome of the encounter. I had already planned how this would go beforehand.

[blustainedfingertips]

remind me never to look up a kpop group on here again, i was just looking for funny text posts and memes WHY ARE YOU ALL SO FREAKY 😭😭😭😭

[rosylix]

flower

짙은 어둠 속에 피어난, 한 송이 꽃처럼 𔓘

after practicing with felix, you try to go back to normal. unfortunately, the universe doesn't seem to want that for you.

pairing: bff!felix × gn!reader

wc: 7.3k

content: two pining idiots, inexperienced reader, fluff! (but make it awkward), slight angst, smut?ish, only one bed trope kinda lol, wet dream (like kinda somno? not really but just in case), 'dude' is used gender neutrally. umm yea! college au

a/n: so i got a bit carried away and added way more plot than necessary here. woops. also made it a college au bc why not! kinda made them nerds sorry lol (they were always nerds.)

so this is the first segment of the final part. aka part 3 but there will be a part 4 [dizzy emoji].. for now i hope you enjoy this bit! 𖹭

[also read on ao3]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

—

A week passes, and contrary to your expectations, the two of you actually do go back to normal. At least, Felix seems to have, so even if your brain still feels a little funny around him you follow suit and pretend nothing happened.

Not that it's been easy. Especially when his neck was still covered in those stupid marks you left. Thankfully, he can cover them up pretty well (you know, considering the state you left him in) but it was still irritating as hell; seeing the shape of one just barely peeking out of his hoodie or the way you’d find your eyes instinctively drawn to his neck whenever you saw him throughout the week.

The marks have faded to the point of being barely visible, but they're permanently seared into your brain, along with the memory of him underneath you. But that’s all it is now, a memory. You make sure of it.

And it's fine. Mostly. It’s easy enough to ignore any lingering awkwardness by focusing on more important things. For instance, midterms are coming up, and Felix is losing his mind.

He’s sprawled out on the floor of his room, papers spread out around him and a pout on his lips. “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m gonna have to study all weekend,” he whines, throwing his pencil down in frustration. He’s been studying for hours and he’s already at the ‘pulling his hair out’ phase.

“Yeah…” you agree with a half sympathetic, half amused smile. He always gets like this around exam time. 

He lets his head fall onto the ground in front of him, narrowly avoiding the various papers, pencils, and textbooks littering the floor. "Why do they have to make these fucking tests so hard? It's not like the stuff we're learning is even relevant to anything. Oh my god. I'm gonna fail,” he says, voice muffled from under the carpet.

“You’re being dramatic,” you laugh as you toss the textbook you’d been reading for your own class aside.

Felix groans and (dramatically) turns over on his back. “I am not being dramatic. I’m suffering!” he exclaims, bringing his hands to cover his face. “I am dying. I’m a dead man and you don’t care. You're gonna have to plan my funeral after this.”

You roll your eyes. “Ohh nooo. You have to study over the weekend. It’s the end of the world.”

He peeks out from under his hands to glare at you. “I'm glad this is so amusing to you. You're supposed to be my best friend but you're doing nothing to help. Wow. I’ll haunt you when I'm dead after this.”

You laugh and roll your eyes again. This time, your eyes seem to catch on how his hoodie is pushed up above his waist a little from when he flopped onto the floor, showing a sliver of skin. 

...Seriously? Focus. Think about literally anything else right now.

Shaking your head, you slide off the bed and make your way to him, sitting down and crossing your legs next to his head. “Sit up and I’ll help you study,” you sigh.

"But I don't wannaaaa,” he whines, but he starts to sit up anyway. “I just wanna relax,” he pouts like a child, looking up at you with his signature puppy eyes. “Help me procrastinate instead?”

You laugh in disbelief. “You've procrastinated enough. Shouldn't you focus?”

(You haven’t been very focused either, but that's besides the point.)

He shakes his head fervently and slumps against you with a groan. “Nooo. Stop being responsible. Let's take a break.”

You huff, choosing to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster when he leans against you. “You’re so annoying,” you say, trying to sound frustrated but you can’t help if it comes out a little fondly. “Alright, fine. We have been at it for a while,” you admit.

He pulls back and grins, all too familiar with your inability to deny him when he’s being a big baby like this. It's too effective. It’s actually a little infuriating how good he is at being cute, and how effective it is on you. You cave. Every time. Though, this time he looks particularly pleased with himself.

“See? Even you couldn’t be the responsible one for that long,” he snickers. “I knew you’d give in.”

You groan and look away, as if that will somehow counteract his point. “You're a bad influence.”

He laughs again, shifting backwards before flopping back down to the floor, but this time he lays his head in your lap, smiling up at you. The close proximity has your heart fluttering in your chest and you swear you can feel yourself overheating a little. Why is he like this?

This is normal. It’s normal. Chill.

He grins up at you, oblivious to your internal crisis, and he makes himself more comfortable in your lap, shifting his body a little. "There. See? Isn't this so much better than studying?"

You swallow. The warm weight of his head in your lap, the way he peers up at you through thick lashes, hair falling around him like a halo, some of it falling into his eyes... It's— it's something.

You clear your throat, gently pushing him off, ignoring his little frown as you do so. You stand up and extend your hand down to him and sigh. “Come on. Let's go procrastinate then.”

“Ugh, why—” he starts to protest but you grab his hand and help pull him up anyway. “What are you doing? I was comfy,” he pouts.

You give him a sly look. “So, you don't wanna make cookies with me?”

You have to resist the urge to laugh at the look on his face. “Wait, really?” He perks up instantly, eyes glowing.

“Yeah, I mean, if you want,” you smile.

He bounces on his feet. “Yes! Can we make the ones with the white chocolate chips? The store finally had them when I checked last time.”

You make a face of mock disgust as he starts pulling you towards the door. “No, we are not making the ones with white chocolate chips. They're atrocious.”

“What?!” he gasps, acting scandalized. “Fuck you. They're good!”

You roll your eyes at him as he pulls you into the kitchen. He’s still holding onto your hand. It should be normal, but since when has anything felt normal these past few days?

“White chocolate chips are fine! I don’t get why you don’t like them,” he continues with a pout, finally letting go of your hand to rummage through the kitchen cabinets.

“They're not even chocolate, Felix,” you point out, watching in amusement as he struggles to reach the top shelf.

“Okay? I'm failing to see your point," he replies, making a little noise of triumph when he finally reaches whatever he’s looking for.

You just shake your head. “Yeah, whatever…” You help him set some things on the counter before sighing. “You're so lucky your dorm has a kitchen. If I had one I swear I'd be baking stuff like every single day.”

“I guess I am lucky.” He laughs, grabbing the mixing bowl from the corner cabinet and placing it on the counter. “Isn't there a shared one for your floor or something?”

“Yeah, but it's…” you shudder.

“Ah. Yeah…” He pauses, pondering something, before raising an eyebrow. “So that's why you come over so much? For the kitchen?”

“Duh.”

"I knew it… You’re only using me for free oven access?” he teases. "I’m wounded.” He drapes his hand over his forehead in a dramatic flourish and slumps against the counter.

“Yep, you caught me,” you laugh. “You and Hannie keep it somewhat clean at least.”

“My own best friend… The betrayal…” he tries to pout but ends up giggling. Then, he seems to think of something and claps his hands excitedly. “You should move in with me!”

Whoa. “W-What?”

“You know how Jisung is always over at Minho's? He's gonna officially move in next year,” Felix explains. “Like, I'm happy for them but Sung's ditching me? What happened to the bro code? But, anyway,” he laughs. “There'll be an empty bedroom. You should totally take it!”

You blink at him, brain short-circuiting for a second. "You— you’re serious?"

"Yeah," he says casually, like he didn’t just propose something so life-altering. "It’ll be like a sleepover every night!” he exclaims, grinning widely.

You can’t help the way your heart thuds a little faster in your chest, a fluttery feeling in your stomach. Living together? With Felix?

The idea is tempting. Like, incredibly so. Your own place is small, the communal kitchen area is… horrific, and your roommate tends to ignore your existence. It's a bit less than ideal.

But… you know there's a big risk of things becoming very awkward very quickly. It sounds like a dream, and at the same time, it’s a recipe for disaster. Spending that much time together could either bring you closer or push you apart. And with your recent… weirdness.. about him… you’re not sure which one is worse.

You must be silent for too long because Felix glances at you and looks a little unsure, like he suddenly regrets saying it. “I mean— you don’t have to, of course! It was just an idea. I’m sure you’re comfortable in your place and all. I didn’t mean to, like, push that on you—”

You cut him off before he can go too far. “No! No, it’s—” you shake your head, trying to choose your words carefully. “I… I'll think about it.”

He looks surprised, like he wasn't expecting that response. He lets out a breath, relief and a tentative excitement evident on his face. 

“Okay,” he says softly, the corners of his mouth twitching a bit like he’s trying to keep himself from breaking into a big smile. “Uh, yeah, of course. No pressure,” he continues. “But, y'know, I'd be way happier to have you than some random new person. You practically live here already anyway. I think it'd be fun.”

Or it could ruin everything. But when Felix smiles at you, a hopeful look in his eyes… you can't bring yourself to shut down the idea completely.

“Yeah. It might be fun,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral.

He grins, and a wave of excitement suddenly washes back over him. "We can bake all the time, and play games, and watch movies— Oh my god, it would be so fucking awesome.”

You laugh at the sparkle in his eyes. "Yeah, okay," you tap his head with a mixing spoon. “Shut up and grab the sugar. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Yessir.”

—

You end up splitting the cookie dough and making half with normal chocolate chips and half with the ugly white sugar chips. They turned out better than they had any right to be, considering you and Felix goofed off a bit too much while making them. (Even the white chocolate ones are pretty good). The two of you munch on them as you return to studying. Felix doesn't argue, content having taken a long break and sugar in his system.

You work in comfortable silence, listening to the soft pitter patter of rain until the sun starts to set. With a yawn, you shut your laptop in front of you.

"I think I'm done for today," you say, standing up and stretching.

Felix glances up from his spot on the floor, chin in his hand, surrounded by a mess of books and papers. "Really?"

"Yeah. How about you?"

He sighs, leaning back and stretching. "I still have so much left to go through," he complains, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"That's your own fault for playing games all week instead of studying," you laugh softly.

He pouts at you. "I know, I know." Then he groans and falls backwards on the floor, throwing his arms over his face. "Man, I'm tired. I'm done too."

You giggle at the sight of him splayed out on the floor. “Alright, cool. I should be heading out anyway,” you say, starting to gather your things. Then, as if on cue, a loud rumble of thunder echoes outside.

Oh shit. You both glance at each other, then towards the window, where the rain you thought would have passed by now is quickly developing into a full-on storm. Great. The universe must be out to get you.

Felix gets up from the floor and walks to the window. "Damn, can you even go home in this? It looks pretty bad out there.”

You join him at the window and peer outside. The rain is coming down harder, droplets hitting against the windowpane incessantly. You grimace. Well, it's not that bad, but it still isn't something you'd like to walk through.

Oh well. You sigh. “It's.. it's alright. Could I borrow an umbrella?”

He doesn’t answer right away, continuing to peer out the window. A frown spreads across his face before he speaks. “Of course, but… are you sure? You can stay the night if you want.”

“Uh—”

Well… normally, you wouldn't mind. You've slept over tons of times before. But this time feels different, and suddenly the thought of staying is a bit nerve-wracking. 

"A little rain won't kill me,” you settle on saying. 

Felix glances back at you, eyebrows furrowing in concern. He looks like he's about to say something, but another crash of thunder interrupts him.

He frowns and crosses his arms, leaning against the frame of the window. It's undeniably attractive. “A little rain? I can't let you walk home in this, are you crazy? It's dangerous.”

“But—” you start to protest.

"Nope,” he cuts in. “You’re not risking it. It's getting dark too,” he points out. He looks outside, then back at your face, sighing. His face softens. “...Okay. If you really want to go, at least let me walk you.”

“You don't have to walk me, Felix.”

“Yeah, I kinda do. Who knows what could happen to you? You could get struck by lightning! Or…” He gives you a once over. “You could, like, slip and bleed out in a puddle or something. Or die of hypothermia or some fucking thing. I don't know!” He throws his hands up.

You let out a breathless laugh. You don’t want to argue with him, but staying the night is definitely making you anxious to think about. You don't want to trouble him with walking back and forth in that weather either, but Felix seems stubborn on the matter. What's worse, the look on his face has you worrying he might think you're trying to get away from him or something.

(Which isn't… wrong. But Felix would misunderstand. It's not because you don't like him. It's…)

You exhale, looking outside one more time. With the rain getting worse by the minute, staying the night seems like the only reasonable choice. 

Felix taps his foot impatiently, observing the growing storm. “So?”

“Okay, fine. I'll stay… You're right, it's getting pretty bad out there," you concede.

He opens his mouth but then quickly shuts it again, suddenly looking a bit unsure. He studies your face and you almost want to hide at how intently he's staring. Why, why is he staring like that? Like he can see right through you. Didn't you just say what he wanted? Did he change his mind about letting you stay?

But, the moment passes before you can do anything and he looks away. "Thank god,” he huffs. “I was really fighting off the mental images of your dead body in a ditch.”

You scoff. “I'm not that weak.”

“I know,” he says with a soft smile. Then he smirks, glancing back at you. "You're not weak. Just clumsy.” 

You shove him in response and he laughs, the smirk on his face turning into a grin. The tension from earlier dissolves a bit and you can finally breathe again; the air starts to feel less awkward, comfortable.

“So,” he says, standing up straight. "Since you're staying, want some clothes to change into? I don’t think you wanna sleep in jeans.”

He doesn't wait for an answer, already shuffling through his drawer and handing a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants over to you.

You take them gingerly, trying to ignore how your nerves suddenly spike again. "Thanks," you murmur, clutching the soft fabric in your hands.

Maybe he senses something because he keeps his distance, eyes roaming over your face once more, curiosity and something else in his gaze. 

Then, he clears his throat. “You know the bathroom is all yours if you need,” he says, turning back to his mess of papers on the floor. “I'm gonna try to get a little more studying done. Maybe. I'm really fighting the urge to open League right now.” 

"Felix," you raise your eyebrows at him with a laugh, "If I find you mid ranked match in twenty minutes, I'm pouring water on your computer."

He purses his lips. “You wouldn't.”

“Try me,” you taunt and make your way to the bathroom. You close the door behind you and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

That was good. See? You can banter with him and everything like normal. There's nothing to be weird about. You can be normal about this.

You sigh. Yeah, right. This is so dumb. You’ve stayed over countless times before. You’ve worn his clothes before, shared a bed with him before. It's just Felix.

So why… Why is it so hard to be normal right now?

(You're not so stupid you don't know the answer to that. You're definitely in denial about… something, and you'll gladly stay that way for as long as you can help it. It's easier to not think about it.)

Your head hurts. God. Maybe a shower will clear your mind.

It does. You feel lighter and refreshed when you step out and you quickly change into the clothes Felix gave you; his scent envelopes you as you slip on the shirt and you instantly feel more at ease, comforted. You're good. Everything's cool.

When you step into Felix's bedroom, you find him exactly where you left him, leaning on a pile of pillows on the floor, hunched over a textbook. True to his word, he's trying to study again but he looks like he's seconds away from giving up.

"Hey,” you announce your entrance. “Successfully resisting the clutches of League?” you ask, giggling at the sight of him sprawled on the floor.

“Heyyy,” he drawls, not looking up from his book. “Proud of me? I'm actually studying. Not like I'll ever reach silver no matter how much I fucking—”

His words seem to die in his throat as he finally glances up and sees you standing in the doorway. His eyes widen instantly, scanning up and down your body, lips parted in shock.

"That's, um, um. That's—” he stutters, tongue tied all of a sudden. 

You frown a bit at his reaction, feeling self-conscious. Is your hair too flat? Are the clothes not right? You adjust the falling neckline of the shirt before taking a seat on the floor, trying to ignore the way he's still staring.

You swear you see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and he quickly looks away as you sit next to him.

“...What?” you ask, trying not to assume the worst.

“You— uh, the,” he gestures to your outfit vaguely. “It fits, uh— better? Than it used to? Yeah. Looks nice.”

He sounds a bit strangled and now you're definitely convinced you look strange.

“Um, thanks…" you mutter, trying not to show how thrown off his reaction has you feeling. You toy with the hem of the soft material self-consciously. Obviously they don't fit properly, they’re Felix’s clothes after all. You’ve borrowed them before, why is he suddenly being so weird?

Felix fidgets with the corner of his textbook, avoiding eye contact as if the words on the pages are suddenly the most interesting thing he’s ever read.

He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, anyway. I'm pretty much done. Was just waiting for you.” He closes the book and finally lifts his eyes to meet your gaze and he has a strange, shy smile plastered on his face. You open your mouth to ask if he’s alright, but he starts speaking again, barely giving you a moment to get a word in.

“I— Dude, I'm like— I'm honestly gonna fail this class,” he groans, burying his face in his hands. “Like, I'm actually just not built for academia. I’m gonna drop out and then start working at the… fucking convenience store or something.” He lets out a long sigh. “Or, y'know, I'll start streaming. That seems pretty nice. I could be, like, a huge streamer guy. Tons of people will watch. I'll be famous. You could be my manager.”

You blink, trying to make sense of the sudden topic change. 

“Uh, First of all,” you say, gently knocking his knee with your own, “You're smart as hell. You'll graduate just fine. Second, I highly doubt many people would suddenly start watching some nerd’s League streams.”

He whines and gives you a pouty look. “Why not?? I’m funny, I’d be great,” he protests, sitting up with a huff.

“Yeah, right. I’d be managing a streamer who can’t even get to gold rank. Embarrassing.”

He scoffs, acting offended. “Hey! I didn’t say I'd make League streams. I could be a variety streamer, y’know.”

“Oh yeah? So you can stream how fast you lose at every game?” you say, grinning at his sulky expression. You understand him, the way he teases you all the time. It's fun when you're not on the receiving end. 

He places a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Wow,” he deadpans. “Can’t believe you're attacking me like this in my time of despair.”

You grin a bit and roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Stop being dramatic, you know I’m right. You need to get better if you want to start your streaming career.”

“Dude. I could get to gold if I wanted to. I just... choose not to. Bronze is a good rank, y’know. It’s like, the vibe.” The pout returns on his face. “Plus, my viewers wouldn’t care about that. They’ll be there for my personality.”

You arch a brow. “Your personality.”

“Yeah, my personality! Shut up. If League doesn't work, I could play like, Call of Duty, or… or like, Animal Crossing! Hey, I can't lose at Animal Crossing now, can I?”

“You might be onto something,” you muse.

“No…” he groans. “It’s never gonna happen. My dreams of becoming a famous streamer have to die because of… stupid calculus and… all these boring things.”

He drops his head on your shoulder, pouting at the thought of having to spend more time studying. You laugh and reach a hand up to pat his head, playing with his hair absentmindedly. 

"It's not that bad. You'll get through this," you say, trying to console him. "But seriously,” you continue, “I can’t believe you play so much League but never got past bronze. What are you even doing?”

He whines and buries his face in the crook of your neck, mumbling something about “bad teammates”.

The contact is familiar and comforting. He gets clingy like this often, especially when he's tired. You can feel his warm breath against your skin, its steady rhythm sending tingles down your spine. His hair is soft under your fingertips. And you are so, so normal. 

“Have you ever considered… that maybe you… are the bad teammate?” you can't help but tease.

“Heyyy,” he whines again, lifting his head to look at you with an offended expression.

You giggle at the sight of his disgruntled face and it seems to only make him sulk more, the pout on his face growing deeper. Cute.

“After all we've been through…” he breathes out. “After I’ve trusted you with my life. I can’t believe I’m hearing this from my own best friend… the absolute backstabbing…”

He's ridiculous. "You might wanna think of some new material, Mr. Variety Streamer,” you laugh. “The theatrics are getting a little old.”

He continues to pout, his gaze fixed on you. He’s so close, face just a few inches away from yours, and your heart jumps at the realization. Or maybe it jumps because of the way he’s looking at you; scrutinizing your face intently, his eyes flitting across your features like he’s trying to commit them to memory. You shift around nervously. Something's off about how he's looking at you. You thought you’d seen a flash of… well, you don’t know what it was. But it makes you feel…

Warm and fluttering in your stomach, but in the worst, most uncomfortable way. You hate the way your body reacts so vividly to literally nothing. You really, really hate it.

Luckily (or unfortunately?), a particularly loud rumble of thunder echoes outside and he jumps.

He instantly leans away, as if he just realized himself how close you were. “Sorry, I— Geez, this weather sucks,” he complains, glancing toward the window. The storm outside is still raging, rain pelting against the window mercilessly.

“Yeah,” you say dumbly, feeling cold now that Felix has pulled away.

You push down the thoughts of how badly you want him to lean on you again, or how you wish he could hold you like he usually does. It’s easier to ignore whatever you’re feeling while he’s busy being all silly and clingy.

This is stupid. It's just so… frustrating, and you have no idea what to make of any of the thoughts that are running through your mind.

There’s a pause as he continues watching the rain outside, eyes following the raindrops dancing down the window panes. You try to study his expression; it’s pensive, almost contemplative, much like the look in his eyes earlier. 

“Are you tired?” he finally asks.

You blink. “Uh.” You realize that you are actually pretty tired. “Yeah, a little.”

The admission makes you yawn and Felix smiles in return, his expression softening. 

He pushes himself off the floor and looks at you for a moment, like he's about to say something — and then he doesn’t. Instead, he offers a hand to help you off the ground.

“Come on,” he says, hand extended. “We should get to sleep before the electricity inevitably goes out.”

You let him pull you up and he lets go of your hand quickly as he motions for you to get on the bed.

“I’ll go and— um,” he stumbles over his words, taking a few steps back. “I'll go shower real quick and then we can, uh… sleep.” 

He disappears before you can say anything and leaves you sitting on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling more tense and awkward than earlier.

You release a long breath. Okay. Okay, everything's fine. Just the two of you, sleeping in the same bed. No big deal. That’s happened plenty of times before. You try to steady your breathing as you sit there on his bed, surrounded by his pillows, his blankets, his scent.

You run a hand through your hair and scroll through your phone, trying to distract yourself. It’s going to be a long night.

When the door opens ten minutes later, you look up. Felix's hair is damp and he's wearing a loose white t-shirt with sweatpants, the material hanging low on his hips. His skin is a little flushed from the shower. He looks so soft and effortlessly pretty, you kind of want to scream.

“Hey,” he whispers as he shuts the bedroom door behind him, “You good?”

You nod, throat suddenly dry.

He clears his throat and walks towards the bed, standing there quietly. He doesn’t look at you for a long minute and you start to wonder if he’s thinking the same things you are, or if you’re overthinking everything and he’s fine.

“Well, let’s head to sleep then.” He breaks his gaze from the floor and turns to look at you again, a hint of worry on his face. “Uh, you can take the bed tonight, alright? I’ll just sleep on the floor or something.”

“What— Why?” you exclaim.

“I—” he blinks, taken aback, as if he didn't expect you to ask that. “I don't know? If, I mean, if you... like…” he trails off, looking away again. “The floor doesn't look that bad.”

It does. The cold, worn floor does look that bad. You must look worse. You're not an idiot, you can read in between the lines. He's uncomfortable sleeping next to you.

There’s no other reason for him to not want to sleep in the same bed as you. You've shared this bed with him countless times before. If he's not comfortable with you now…

Your mind is racing. Even if your awkwardness is because of your unbidden… lunacy towards him… he explicitly told you he doesn't see you like that. As much as you've been trying to repress everything and act normal like he's been… it hasn't worked. This is decidedly not normal.

There's a tense silence as you try to figure out what to say. The knot in your stomach tightens with every passing second and you try to push down the hurt that’s threatening to surface. You're making him uncomfortable. If you could just be normal about all this— Fuck. It's all your fault. 

"Shut up," you finally manage to mutter, starting to shuffle off the bed. “It's your bed. I'll take the floor."

“What— No, hey, stop—” he protests quickly, stepping forward to grab your arm. “Don’t— I couldn't let you do that. It's not— no.” he sputters.

You meet his eyes in confusion. He still has a grip on you, fingers warm and soft against your skin.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he says firmly, voice a bit lower than usual. “That's stupid. I just thought, maybe…” his grip on your arm tightens the tiniest bit.

“...What?” you ask quietly. 

He shakes his head, releasing your arm with a sigh.

You look at him, really look at him, the way his eyes won't meet yours, shoulders slumped, fingers tapping his thigh nervously. “Just,” you sigh. “You said it's stupid if I sleep there. Same for you. Just come here.”

He looks at you once more, searching your face. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod, hopefully sounding more confident than you feel.

Your heart is pounding. You’re trying your best to ignore the tension in the room and act like everything’s fine. Like spending the night sleeping with your best friend when he clearly doesn’t want you to be close to him anymore isn’t breaking your heart. 

You give him a tight-lipped smile as you finally get under the blankets and lay on your side with your back towards him. 

Felix hesitantly climbs into bed next to you, keeping a fair distance. He doesn’t say anything at first. You think he’s just going to sleep and you’re both going to ignore whatever that was about. Cool, you can do that. You're great at doing that. Then, he huffs. 

"I’m so fucking tired," he mumbles as he shifts beside you and you hum in agreement.

“Yeah, now imagine sleeping on the floor.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thank you. Um… sorry for being weird.”

You don't know what to say to that. “...You’re always weird,” you manage quietly.

He lets out a low chuckle and you feel some of the tension leave your body. It’s a familiar banter, one you’ve done with him for ages, so you grasp onto it, desperate for any semblance of normalcy.

“I’m sorry, though,” he says seriously. “I’m kind of an idiot, you know.” 

“...Yeah, I know.”

“I— wow,” he laughs softly. “Chat, what did I do to deserve this?”

You mirror his laugh and turn on your back to face him. 

His hair has gotten longer. The messy locks are fanned around his head on the pillow. His eyes are wide underneath his bangs, studying your face with an expression you can’t quite pin down. 

He’s so pretty. You wonder how you ever thought you could act normal after everything that's happened.

“Is the chat in the room with us?” you ask around a smirk, and pray your voice doesn't sound too breathless.

He snorts and you swear you can almost see the pout on his face. Yeah, he’s fine. He’s back to his regular self. You should be, too. 

“Shut up,” he pokes your shoulder weakly. 

Your heart does something stupid in your chest at the contact and you press your face further into the pillow to hide the flush that’s undoubtedly on your face right now. 

A few moments pass in silence and you close your eyes, hoping sleep will come soon and end this mess of a night. You don’t know how much time passes. Felix is silent and you feel yourself drifting off, sleep tugging at your consciousness, when you hear him whispering in the dark.

“Hey,” he says your name quietly. “You awake?”

You hum in response and reluctantly blink your eyes open. His face swims into view and you realize he's closer than before. Now only a few inches separate you from him.

“Sorry… um, I'm cold. Can… can I...?” He hesitates, leaving the question unfinished as his eyes search your face.

His breath ghosts your cheek and you freeze, trying to keep your breathing even as your body stiffens.

“Yeah,” you murmur, trying to sound nonchalant. “Yeah, of course.”

A flash of relief fills his face before he moves even closer to you. He lays next to you, resting his head on your collarbone and draping one arm over your waist carefully. You hold your breath.

“Is this alright?” he mumbles.

You’re not sure if you can speak without sounding like a goddamn idiot, so you just nod in reply.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and you have to remind yourself that it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just Felix being Felix: the most physically clingy person on Earth. Also your best friend who you definitely do not have untoward feelings for.

That would be really, really bad.

Especially in a situation like this, where Felix’s nose is pressed in your neck, and his arm is around your waist, his leg tangled with yours at some point and his hair is tickling your chin. He’s everywhere. It's entirely overwhelming.

And he's so warm. You didn't even realize you were cold until he pressed against you. Warmth seeps deep into your bones as he sighs and pulls your body further against his. It's cozy and familiar and you try to focus on the comfort of the action instead of the way your heart is hammering in your chest.

It’s quiet for a few moments as he settles against you and you try to relax, waiting for the rise and fall of his chest to even out beside you, signaling he’s fallen asleep.

Instead, he shifts and you feel his lips brush against your neck, his breath fanning over your skin. Oh.

“Hey,” he murmurs in that low, low voice of his that only really comes out when he's sleepy. “Hey, I… um.” 

You can feel the vibrations from his voice against your neck as he speaks. Oh. You’ve definitely thought about this in a much different context before.

He’s silent for a moment as if collecting his thoughts. But he just sighs, pulling his head away slightly. “Nevermind… Um, good night.”

“Night,” you manage weakly.

It’s silent again. The only sounds that fill the room are the incessant beating of raindrops against the windows and Felix's soft breathing by your ear, drowning out the occasional faint rumble of thunder.

—

You wake to the sound of groaning.

Unsticking your eyelids, you attempt to get a look at your surroundings. It’s still dark, but the room slowly comes into focus as you blink slowly, trying to discern what woke you up. 

The first thing you notice is that it's warm. Hot, even. The air is thick and heavy in your lungs and there's a warm weight pressed against you.

It takes a few moments before you become aware of your current predicament — Right, you're at Felix's place, sleeping in his bed. His body is completely pressed against yours, his chest to your back, his head nuzzled in the nook of your neck. You’re practically spooning. There’s a leg thrown over yours and an arm wrapped snugly around your middle, making it virtually impossible to move.

And — it's not that unusual. It's not far off from the position you fell asleep in and Felix's clinginess is really quite endearing, even if your fragile heart can't handle it anymore. No, what's unusual are the sounds coming from him.

He’s making small noises as he fidgets against you, like he's in pain. He's probably having a bad dream. You start to turn over in order to wake him up, but his grip on you tightens and his breath hitches and—

You freeze.

That was definitely not the sound of someone having a nightmare. 

It was more like… like… Quiet, soft, and breathless; little sounds caught in his throat that spill into your ear.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, his body is moving — restless, shifting against you. His hips moving minutely. It takes your sleepy mind a second to put it all together.

Holy… Holy shit. Is he…?

You're suddenly very awake, fogginess replaced by a white hot rush of panic and disbelief.

He’s— Oh no.

Felix is asleep. He's definitely sleeping but— He must be… having some sort of… dream and… What the fuck are you supposed to do? Wake him up? Absolutely not. You literally— You'd rather die than face him like this. Not to mention how mortifying it would be for both of you. You would actually rather choose death.

He twitches slightly, his hips pushing up against your body. A low groan leaves him as he pulls you closer, completely against his body now, the thin material of his clothes doing nothing to hide his—

You squeeze your eyes shut. Oh my god you are going to die right now. You're seriously going to pass away for real this time. This— this is—

“Mmmn…” he moans, low and needy and right by your ear and wow, that’s… wow.

You have to be dreaming… this is just some very fucked up dream, the sane part of you implores. The rest of you is ignited in flames. 

It's not a dream.

Another little sound slips out and he presses even closer to you, his body flush against yours, like he’s trying to get as much contact as possible. His hips move against yours with a subtle roll and you feel shameful sparks of heat pooling in your gut.

This is so bad. This is so, so bad, fuck. Fuck.

He’s grinding against you in tiny movements, little gasps and moans escaping out of his mouth every few seconds and your entire body is burning. His arm is tight around your waist, his whole body pressed flush against your back. You don’t even dare to breathe as he rocks his hips forward ever so slightly, his nose nuzzling your neck as he lets out a soft whine. It takes everything you have to keep your own whimper at bay, suddenly desperate to grind back against him but— Christ. Are you insane?

You’re frozen. You’re not supposed to be here, you’re not supposed to be feeling this, you really should wake him up, this is so wrong, yet you’re still frozen like an idiot. You can't think. Your brain is made of cherry slushy. The heat death of the universe is imminent. 

Your mind is completely blank but your body is overstimulated and you’re just trying your best to figure out how not to die in this situation. Not easy when Felix is moaning into your neck and it sounds so good and he’s shifting and his body is impossibly warm and he’s—

His breath stutters abruptly in the midst of a long moan and he goes completely still around you. All you hear is heavy breathing for a few moments.

Shit, shit, shit. Is he awake? You're caught between relief and something like disappointment but aren't left enough time to dwell on that thought before you hear a shaky whispered, “F-Fuck.”

You hold your breath. 

Your heartbeat is ringing in your ears, body buzzing with tension, but you do your best to stay completely still. The air is so thick. You almost can’t believe what just happened, but the evidence is pressing into your back as Felix lets out another quiet swear.

His grip on you tenses for a moment before releasing you entirely. He untangles himself from you and pulls his body away from yours so suddenly that you nearly think you hallucinated the whole thing. 

His breathing is ragged and you don’t dare move a muscle. You keep your back resolutely facing him, try to relax, and you are asleep. You are asleep. You are asleep. You repeat it like a mantra. 

You don’t know if he believes your act, your eyes pressed shut, as you try to keep your breaths even and slow.

The sheets rustle a bit. You stay motionless, heart pounding in your ears. He’s sitting up now, you can feel the weight shifting beside you. It’s completely silent for a few seconds before he whispers your name in question.

You are asleep. You are asleep. You are asleep. You pray he believes it.

“...Thank god,” he breathes. You hear more rustling, sheets moving, and he's getting up.

Only when you hear the door shut do you allow yourself to breathe, wondering how the hell you made it out of that situation alive. What the fuck. 

Like, what the fuck.

You stare at the wall in shock, eyes wide and heart hammering hard in your chest.

He doesn’t know you were awake. You’re alive. You survived.

You bury your face in the pillow and try to collect yourself, shaking slightly in the aftermath of whatever the hell just happened. The heat of his body is still surrounding you, his presence lingering on your skin and you can’t help the traitorous part of your brain that wishes for him to crawl back into the bed and hold you again. That wishes you were brave enough to do something other than lie there.

You push the thought away with a quiet groan. You can’t think about that. You can’t. You're barely holding onto the last threads of your sanity as it is. 

But you can’t fall back asleep.

Of course you can’t. After what just happened, your brain will probably never be fully operational again. You press your hands to your face and let out a pathetic whine, wondering if it's possible to die of embarrassment. You're sure this is what a heart attack feels like. It's a wonder you're still breathing. 

This is so much worse than last time, when you got too into practicing. At least that was mutually agreed on and Felix made light of it pretty easily. But this? How are you supposed to act normal after this? That wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to know what it feels like to have his body up against yours, to hear him moaning in your ear. And you pretended to be asleep instead of stopping him. So he doesn't even know… It's so wrong on so many levels.

You sigh. Felix doesn't know you were awake, so he doesn't know you know and maybe, maybe you can get away with pretending it didn't happen. You'll have to play it cool, of course. Or even better, you can forget about this entirely, convince yourself it was all a fever dream.

Maybe.

—

a/n: AHHH. so it really wasnt meant to be a cliffhanger here lol but then i ended up splitting it so... sorry. the next (and final for REALL THIS TIME) part will be out very soon! nothing like the 3 month long wait for this (ty SO MUCH for ur patience) andd yeah! i hope this is at least somewhat living up to expectations so far, tysm for reading!!

[ha-rinrin]

Mischief and Healing

summary: Jinx injures herself, again, leaving you to heal her.

wordcount: 1.3k

pairing: Jinx x fem!reader

note: sorry if I disappeared for a while, I got my first hate comment in ao3 so thats demotivated me a lot lol, but im getting over it little by little. I really hope you guys like this.

masterlist

The afternoon light streamed into the room, casting a warm glow, as you and Jinx lay stretched out on the couch, using it like a makeshift bed. You were on your back, with Jinx curled into your side, her arm draped lazily across your stomach. The couch wasn’t quite big enough for the both of you, but that only made it better—cozier. Her head was resting on your chest, and the warmth of her body pressed against yours made the moment feel peaceful, making you smile unconsciously, closing your eyes.

For a while, everything was quiet, her breathing steady as she traced absentminded circles on your arm. It felt like one of those rare times when the world wasn’t spinning out of control.

Then, all of a sudden, she sat up, her eyes wide with realization, “Oh, shit!  I forgot—I’ve got something to take care of.” her expression shifting, playful concern flickering in her eyes.

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift from cozy to chaotic. “What? Now?” you asked with your eyes half closed, watching as Jinx scrambled off the couch,Already distracted, her mind clearly racing ahead to whatever chaos was next.

She shot you a playful grin, her hands already grabbing random tools from her workbench, shoving them into a backpack, you always found it cute when she wore it, acting as if she wasn't a menace to society. “Top secret. Can’t tell you,” she said with a wink. Before you could protest, she leaned in, pressing a quick peck to your lips. “Don’t wait up!” she called over her shoulder as she bolted out the door.

“Be safe,” you called after her, sighing as the workshop door closed behind her. With Jinx, that phrase always felt like wishful thinking.

After Jinx had dashed out of the workshop, you decided to step out for a moment too, thinking she’d be alright handling whatever it was. You figured she was just tinkering with her gadgets—nothing she couldn’t handle, right? But as the minutes ticked by, a nagging feeling crept into your chest, something you couldn’t shake. You knew Jinx well enough to sense when things weren’t going smoothly.

With a sigh, you turned back toward the workshop, hoping to find her lost in one of her chaotic, creative moods. But the moment you stepped inside, the silence felt off—like the kind of stillness that comes before something bad happens.

Your eyes scanned the room, and there she was, sitting at her workbench with her back to you. The usual sounds of tools clinking, the soft hum of machinery—it was all absent. The air around her was unnervingly still.

“Jinx?” you called as you walked into the workshop, your stomach sinking when you saw her sitting at the workbench, her leg was bleeding, the drops of blood pooling on the floor beneath her. And in her hand was that damn staple gun, aimed right at her skin, you swear one day you were throwing that shit into the void.

“Jinx, what the fuck are you doing?!” you snapped, hurrying toward her. Your voice was sharp, but your heart raced with panic, already dreading what she might have gotten herself into this time.

She didn’t even flinch, her eyes wide and focused on the wound like it was just another one of her projects. “Chill,” she muttered, the corner of her mouth curling into a grin. “I’ve got this, toots. Just a quick fix, y’know?”

You snatched the tool out of her hand before she could staple her leg shut. “Are you out of your mind?! You can’t just staple yourself together like this every time you get hurt!” You looked down at her leg, wincing at how deep the cut was under her knee.

Jinx raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by your outburst, though the blood dripping down her leg told a different story. “I mean, I could,” she said with a sly grin, leaning back in her chair as if she wasn't bleeding heavily. “I’ve patched up worse, and hey—who needs stitches when you’ve got a staple gun, right?”

You shot her a glare. “You’re not fixing a damn thing with this,” you muttered, tossing the staple gun onto the workbench. “Let me take care of it before you make things worse.”

She groaned dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine. I’ll play nice,” she grumbled, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. “But only because you’re cute when you’re bossy.”

Ignoring her bravado, you grabbed the first aid kit from the shelf, your hands already moving with purpose. “Sit still,” you instructed, Your voice carrying a hint of frustration mixed with concern. you kneeled down so you could see the wound better “Let me take care of this before it gets infected.”

Jinx winced as you began cleaning the wound, though she tried to play it off with her usual nonchalance. “Ow, ow, okay, okay… You’ve got a heavy hand there, doc.”

You shot her a glare, though the worry in your eyes betrayed how scared you were.

She gritted her teeth, her fingers gripping the edge of the workbench as you carefully stitched the gash. The pain was clear on her face, but she stayed quiet, letting you work.

“You’re gonna give me gray hair one of these days, I swear,” you muttered as you worked, your tone softening.

Jinx chuckled, though her voice was strained. “You’d look cute with gray hair,” she teased, trying to distract herself from the pain.

Once you finished the last stitch, you leaned back slightly, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Jinx was still, her eyes focused on you, watching as you carefully finished bandaging the wound.

Then, without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss over the bandage, right where you had stitched her up. Jinx blinked, caught off guard by the gentle gesture, before her usual grin slowly crept back onto her face.

“Kissing it better, huh?” she teased, her voice lighter now, despite the pain.

“Yeah, well,  you nearly gave me a heart attack,” you muttered, still trying to catch your breath after the panic of finding her like that.

Jinx watched you for a moment, her grin softening into something more genuine. “You worry too much,” she said, but there was no bite to her words this time. She leaned forward, her fingers brushing against your cheek as she tilted her head, her eyes searching yours.

“Can you blame me?” you shot back, though your voice was gentle now. “You have a habit of throwing yourself into danger like it’s no big deal.”

Jinx smirked, though her usual self seemed to falter slightly. “That’s kinda my thing, y’know?” She shrugged, trying to play it off, but there was something more vulnerable in her eyes—something that made your heart ache.

You reached up, cupping her hand on your cheek, and for a moment, the two of you just sat there in the quiet of the workshop. The world outside seemed far away, and all that mattered was her—right here, safe, and finally still.

“Next time,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm as you stand up, “let me help before it gets this bad”

Jinx rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her gaze gave her away. “Fine,” she grumbled, clearly trying to sound annoyed, though her lips twitched into a smile. “But don’t think this means I’m gonna stop getting into trouble.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jinx leaned in, closing the space between you, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both teasing and tender. When she pulled back, that familiar spark of mischief was back in her eyes, but there was something else too—a quiet appreciation that she rarely let show.

“Thanks, doc,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual.

You smiled, your hand resting on her leg, careful not to press against the freshly bandaged wound. “Anytime, Jinx. Just… try not to make it too often, alright?”

She snickered, leaning back in her chair with a playful grin. “No promises.”

Despite her words, the tension melted away as the two of you settled into the quiet. For once, the chaos was still, and Jinx, for all her wildness, was right where she belonged—safe in your care.

[risustravelogue]

While You Sleep

◐ summary ◑

Wriothesley likes watching you sleep. Maybe he likes it too much.

◐ featuring ◑

Husband!Wriothesley, fem!reader

◐ tags & warnings ◑

minors dni, somnophilia (lol bet y'all saw that coming from miles away)

◐ a/n ◑

I just woke up from a nap when this idea popped into my mind. Might not be my best work, but eh. I needed to get this out there. Damn. My brain is Horny™️.

🔗 AO3 | masterlist 🔗

Wriothesley likes watching you sleep.

It started as an innocent thing. He’d kiss your face while you’re napping, and hold you tighter in bed after an all-nighter with his piles of paperwork.

But it grew darker after you got married.

His eyes would roam around your naked body, skin sweaty and marked by his fingers and mouth—fixating on your lips, then on your still-wet pussy. His mind would wander, fingers wrapped around his shaft, cock already hard from the fantasies he would have.

You should be thrown into a cell for having such a delicious-looking body, he thought.

And so he would play with himself night after night, accompanied only by the sound of your breathing beside him. This is enough, he thought to himself, no need to wake her up to satisfy my desires.

Until tonight.

You wake up from a wet dream to find your husband panting while holding you tight, his cock balls deep inside you. You moan when he bites your shoulder, startling him.

He stops and pulls back.

“Y-you’re awake,” he stutters. His icy blue eyes droop, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You should’ve done just that,” you croak.

“Sorry.”

You flash him a sleepy smile.

“It’s okay, I guess,” you decide. “I’m fine with this.”

His eyes perk up.

“You’re not mad?”

“Not really,” you shake your head. “I’ve known for a while. Actually liked listening to you moan to yourself at night,” you confess with a smirk.

He blushes. You chuckle and pull him down into a long, sweet kiss.

“Time for round two, don’t you think?”

© @risustravelogue 2024 • FEEDING THIS WORK TO GENERATIVE AIs IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. • do not repost. • reblogs are precious. • feel free to send an ask to suggest, chat, etc. 💖

the gorgeous mdni banner template by @/cafekitsune 💙

[slut4thebroken]

tit for tat

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Robert Fischer x dom!reader

Summary | Robert gets all bratty when you won’t deepthroat him, so you decide to show him how hard it actually is.

Warnings | Smut, strap-ons lol, blow jobs, deep throating, gagging, he’s a bit of a brat, praise, and a dash of dacryphilia hehe, he’s so fucking pathetic 😩🫶

Words | 1.1 k

Notes | god I want to ruin him so fucking bad

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 5: strap-ons

He whined loudly and tugged on your hair, forcing you down further on his cock. When the tip hit the back of your mouth and you gagged, you pulled back. 

“Stop it. I won’t tell you again.” You warned, making him pout. You took him in your mouth again and he mewled as his back arched off the bed. While you mostly paid attention to the tip, you’d occasionally bob up and down. Every single time you went down, he whined and his grip on your hair tightened. For a while, he obeyed and didn’t try to do anything else, but when he pushed you down on his cock until you gagged again, you finally snapped and pulled off. 

“No..” He whined, jerking your head back down. 

“Do I need to tie you up?” 

“Why can’t you just go all the way down?” He whimpered pathetically. “It feels so good.” Something about the way he said that— the way he made it seem like deepthroating an entire cock over and over again was such a casual thing to do— really irked you. 

“Because, Robert,” he whined when you didn’t use a pet name, “it’s hard and I’m not in the mood for it right now.” 

“Hard?” He scoffed, only getting brattier. “You do this all the time, how can it still be hard?” You stared at him, already coming up with a plan in your head, and you could see his expression slowly start to falter once he realized. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think deepthroating was an Olympic level skill.” He huffed sarcastically, originally trying to backtrack to avoid being punished, but unable to resist giving you another bratty retort. 

This would’ve been when you punished him— maybe ruined his orgasm or spanked his cock until he came… but you had a far better idea. 

When you suddenly got up, he whined brattishly. “Where are you going?” He pouted, watching you walk to the closet where all of the sex toys were stored. You ignored him and grabbed the strap, as well as a dildo that was just a little bit smaller than Robert’s cock. “I thought we weren’t gonna do that today.” He didn’t necessarily sound upset, just a little caught off guard that oral was suddenly turning into pegging. Still ignoring him, you walked back over and put everything on, then grabbed his hair and dragged him off the bed, making him cry out. Once he was kneeling at your feet, you kept a firm grip on his hair and pulled his head closer so he was right in front of the strap.

“Suck.” You said plainly. His brows scrunched together and he looked between you and the dildo. 

“But I wanna come.” He frowned. 

Tightening your grip on his hair, you lowered your voice into something more menacing, “Suck or you’ll be wearing the cage for a week.” His frown deepened and you could tell he wanted to protest, but he just huffed and shuffled closer to you. He grabbed the base of the dildo and reluctantly wrapped his lips around the tip, starting to suck slowly. 

When you saw his free hand reach down to start touching his own cock, you jerked his head back by his hair, making him hiss in pain. “Hands behind your back.” You ordered, and he huffed again, all but rolling his eyes. He put his hands behind his back and started bobbing up and down slowly, not even reaching halfway. 

“Take it all the way down.” You said sternly. 

He pulled back and looked up at you with a pout. “Can’t...” He whined pathetically, no doubt trying to guilt trip you into changing your mind. 

“What’s your color?” 

“…Green.” He muttered. 

“Then fucking learn.” Your voice was significantly more harsh than just a second ago and you started guiding him back on the dildo before he could protest. He went down and tried to go back up, but you kept him in place, slowly pushing him down even more. When he gagged, you finally let him pull off to catch his breath. “C’mon,” you demanded, jerking his head impatiently, “go all the way down, it feels so good.” You said dryly and he immediately frowned when you mocked his previous words. 

“I said I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t care. Suck.” 

You forced him back down and adjusted your grip to have both hands holding his head instead. He gagged again and tried to pull off, but you kept pushing him down, trying to breach his throat barrier. When he coughed and sputtered, instinctively bringing his hands up to push at your thighs, you let him have another break. A string of saliva connected his lips to the dildo and you could already see the tears in his eyes.

“I don’t know why you’re struggling so much. It’s not like deepthroating is an Olympic level skill.” You sneered, pulling him back down on the dildo again. You were determined to actually get it all the way in, so you continued pulling him down. “This would be a lot easier if I could actually feel where it was in your mouth…” You muttered to yourself, then addressed him directly, “Relax your throat, angel.”

He gagged and sputtered, tears streaming down his cheeks and saliva rolling down his chin and the toy. Just when you were about to give him another break, the dildo popped past his throat barrier and the gentle force you were using made him go all the way down, his face hitting your pelvis. 

“Oh good boy.” You moaned, bending over a little and wrapping your arms around his head, holding him firmly in place as he struggled. “Hold it, baby. Just a little longer.” He let out a strangled sound that was muffled by the dildo and squeezed your thighs, digging his nails into them. After another moment, you finally let him pull away and he coughed almost violently, taking in ragged breaths. 

“That was so good, angel.” You said softly, using one hand to pet his hair, trying to soothe him. “Can you tell me your color?” The way he kept coughing and breathing heavily made you start to worry that you went too far. 

He finally calmed down and cleared his throat to speak, looking up at you with teary eyes, his lashes even prettier all wet. “Green… ‘m sorry.” You cooed and brought your hand down to cup his cheek, tilting his head up to face you. 

“I know. I think a little more of this will make us even, hm?” It definitely would not make up for all the times you’ve deepthroated him since you started dating, but it wasn’t really about that. When he nodded, your lips curled up into a small smile and you brushed your thumb over his bottom lip that was still lightly coated in his spit. “Good boy.”

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ ch 1

note: tysm for all the support on the first part! it made me so happy to see that people were enjoying it!! also sorry if you're not british bc i'm british-ing the reader in this story lol.

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 3.2k

no use of y/n reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: you decide to walk to work with ghost instead of driving yourself. what could possibly go wrong.

warnings: ghost is a bit mean again, reader is going through it, some angst, a lil bit of fluff at the end

ao3

【prev】 || 【next】

you didn't sleep well these days. your dreams are more often than not consumed with your newfound fear of fire – something you'd be taking to the grave, rather than give ghost something new to grill you about. the memories of waking up to your house filled with smoke haunted you, ever present in the back of your mind, even as you slept. it was all you could think about. distracting yourself with work had been effective so far, so that was how you'd continue until it either went away or became a bigger problem.

in the week since the fire, you'd yet to actually see ghost in the morning before you both went to work. it was like you were living with an actual ghost. you would never see him, but every now and then you'd hear a noise from upstairs and be reminded that he exists. honestly, it was kind of a relief – he obviously didn't want to see you any more often than necessary, and as much as his avoidance hurt you, you're not sure you could handle being berated before you've had your morning coffee.

he stayed out of the living room, for which you're thankful. you're overly aware of how unhappy he is having someone who is essentially a stranger occupying his home, and you're glad he's allowed you some modicum of privacy.

today, however, you'd woken up early by some grace of the gods and decided that, instead of going back to sleep for an extra forty-five minutes, you'd get an early start to the day.

that of course meant that you encountered your ever elusive lieutenant in the kitchen, as you sit at the incredibly small table drinking your mug of incredibly sweet coffee. you'd just finished off a bowl of cereal when he appeared in the corner of your vision, and you jump slightly when you notice him.

"...morning." you utter, somehow surprised to see him standing in the doorway as if this wasn't his house in the first place. unsurprisingly, ghost doesn't respond, he simply puts the kettle on and starts making himself a cup of tea, all without looking at you once. you can't help but sigh at how he blatantly ignores you, but it's not out of character for him, so you resign yourself to sipping your coffee in silence.

you watch as he shuffles around the kitchen, his large frame making the space look even more tiny, if that was even possible. somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder if he sleeps in his balaclava, since it didn't look like he'd even washed his face since you saw him yesterday.

when he suddenly turns and meets your eyes, you freeze and quickly look down. of course he knew you were staring at him, why wouldn't he? he always seemed to be acutely aware of every mistake you make, much to your chagrin. heat rises to your cheeks and you subtly clear your throat from the embarrassment of being caught. you can't see what expression he's making, but you'd be willing to bet he was giving you that patented death glare.

"do you walk to base? every morning?" you ask, if only to break the painfully awkward silence between you. a moment passes of you looking at him expectantly as he finishes making his tea.

"yeah." his mumble is barely audible, and you have to strain to hear it despite sitting less than two metres away from him.

"but it's, like, a half hour walk," you muse, tilting your head at him. it made sense, you supposed, you already knew he didn't have a car, and it would explain why he always left so early.

"twenty-five if you're quick about it." he mutters, turning away from you to face the window. you see him lift his mask over his nose and bring his cup up to his lips. there's another beat of silence between you as you stare holes into the back of his head.

"do you, uh… want a lift?" you ask, hesitancy lacing your voice. he's still facing away from you as he downs the rest of his tea, setting the cup down in the sink. 

"no."

"okay…" your voice trails off, quieter than before. it doesn't matter that you expected it, his blunt dismissiveness never fails to make your stomach sink. as you finish off your own drink, an idea lights up your eyes. you stand up, bringing your cup and bowl and placing them in the sink, before turning to ghost. "then i'll walk with you." you give him a warm smile, taking note of how he quickly pulls his mask back down as you look at him and the way his eyes widen the slightest amount at your words.

"no–" he begins, shaking his head, but you're already set on the idea.

"just let me grab my jacket," you give him another small smile, and without another word, you disappear into the living room – your very makeshift bedroom – to search for where you discarded your jacket when you got home the night before.

when you come back out to the entryway, hiking your jacket over your shoulders, the first thing you notice is ghost's boots are no longer by the door. you poke your head into the kitchen, and find the spot in front of the sink where he was standing distinctly empty.

the bastard left without you.

with a whispered string of curses, you pull on your own boots as quickly as you can manage, and race out the door after him. you get a few paces down the path before you remember you have to lock the door behind you, practically sprinting back to it and securing it at record speed. in less than a minute, you're running down the road after ghost's retreating form, swearing under your breath the whole way.

when you finally catch up to him, he doesn't even spare you a glance as you try and catch your breath beside him.

"damn you walk fast…" you huff, straightening your jacket and looking up at ghost. he gives you a look out of the corner of his eye, but still doesn't say anything. "well, you're not shaking me that easily, l.t."

"anyone ever told you you're a pain in the arse?" he grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets.

you mirror his movement, raising a brow at him. "yeah, you do – all the time actually." 

his gaze darts to you for a split second, almost unnoticeable, and then he's back to looking straight ahead like you're not there. there's nothing you want more in that moment than to know what he's thinking, but you'll just have to make do with his blank expression.

"so, uh…" you clear your throat, drawing a blank on anything you could talk to him about. "so, what's your favourite colour?" you cringe as soon as the words pass your lips, but it's too late to stop yourself now. "you strike me as a forest green kinda guy."

"god, shut up sting." he sighs, glancing briefly at you with a frown you can see through the balaclava. you frown back, throwing your hands out in exasperation.

"so you really wanna just walk in silence all the way to work?" you ask, jogging slightly to catch up with him as he takes a corner you weren't expecting.

"didn't wanna walk with you in the first place." he says, his shoulders hunched with tension. "you're more than welcome to drive yourself."

"i'm just trying to be friendly."

"well… save your breath." he mutters. you think you hear a hint of sadness lacing his tone, but you can't be sure.

"then i won't bother on the way back, how about that?" you reply, hoping that your voice doesn't betray the disappointment you feel.

he doesn't say another word for the rest of the time it takes the two of you to walk to base. you're left essentially talking to yourself, while he gives you the silent treatment. it's disappointing, but not at all surprising – a feeling you've become familiar with around him.

you point out a woman walking her dog that you thought was cute, but he only hums and continues staring ahead. you comment on a fox in the road, but he pretends not to have heard you. any attempt you make to get him to engage again, he shoots you down every time. it's almost enough to make you give up, but you really do want him to like you, if only because you live together and not because of your admiration for him.

when you finally arrive at base, you don't bother trying to keep pace with him anymore. the commute, which in reality was only about thirty minutes, felt more like hours thanks to ghost's avoidance. you watch with a defeated expression as he disappears around the corner ahead of you and decide to go to the rec room, in the hopes that your more friendly teammates will be there.

"sting! there you are!" soap's voice from your left draws your attention as you walk through the door, and you give him and gaz a smile as you make your way over to where they're sitting. "was worried you got lost or somethin'."

"did you walk with ghost?" gaz asks. you nod, flopping down onto the sofa next to him with a quiet groan.

"yeah, but he basically just ignored me the whole way." you sigh, your disappointment evident in your voice. they both nod in understanding, having expected as much from your icy lieutenant.

"surprised he didn't shove you into a bush and leave you there." gaz chuckles, patting your shoulder as you rub a hand over your eyes.

"honestly? me too."

soap jumps up from his seat next to gaz and comes to sit on your other side. "how's it been, living with him?" he asks, his voice teasing. you groan again, and squeeze your eye shut.

"it's great," you grumble, resping your elbows on your knees and hiding your face on your hands, "now i get told i'm annoying at home and at work."

before either of them can respond, price's voice interrupts from the doorway "come on, you lot get a move on, we've got work to do." he commands, and with a quiet 'yes sir' the three of you get up and follow after him.

the rest of the day went by in a blur, in part thanks to the unfulfilling sleep you'd been having lately; the sofa-bed left a lot to be desired, paired with the adjustment period your body needed whenever you sleep somewhere new.

thankfully you didn't need to do anything too taxing today; paperwork, training, and due to an unfortunate bet, you were stuck doing inventory for the next month. it was your own fault, really, you should've known better than to make a bet with soap.

by the end of the day, you're practically dead on your feet and more than ready to get home and collapse into your horribly uncomfortable bed. you're on your way out when you remember, you don't have your car, because you walked here. so you have to walk back. with ghost.

as you drag your feet through the winding corridors, your eyes drift to the window to see that it's now raining – and quite heavily, at that. as luck would have it, you actually keep a spare umbrella on top of your locker for situations exactly like this. rolling your eyes to yourself, you turn around on your heel and make your way quickly back towards the locker room. the sun was already setting, and you still had to find ghost, preferably before it got too dark.

well, you didn't have to find him, but since you'd walked here together, you wanted to walk back with him too – no matter how grumpy he was. even if you walked in complete silence, you'd still enjoy the company.

you push the locker room door open with your shoulder, beelining for your locker along the back wall. you reach a hand up and feel around for your umbrella on top, cringing at the feeling of dust all over your hand. when you don't find it, you frown. you could've sworn you left it up there. you step up onto one of the benches nearby to get a better look, but it's still nowhere to be found.

someone stole your fucking umbrella.

you let out an irritated groan. did the higher powers have something against you? why has everything been going wrong for you lately? you have to take a second, standing on the bench in the empty locker room, to compose yourself before you burst into tears from the frustration of it all.

more than anything you just wanted to go home; but your home was gone, and now you live in a house with a man who probably couldn't care less whether you made it back or not, and to top it all off you had to walk back in the pouring rain with him with no umbrella.

now, as you make your way back to ghost's office, you're marching through the corridors with frustrated desperation; you needed to go to sleep and not wake up until you need to go to work again on monday. you're not even sure you could face going to the pub with the others this weekend, something you usually enjoy no matter how much you're aching.

you arrive outside his office, but the light is off and the door's locked when you try it. you get a sinking feeling in your chest as you think back to this morning. maybe he was just waiting by the exit?

as quickly as you can manage, you head to the front of the building, where you'd come in that morning, but when you round the corner, there's no one there. you sniffle, trying to bottle your frustration for when you're alone, and decide to try one last option before calling it a day.

you lean around the door into the rec room, spotting a group of a few privates you don't know the names of sitting around a table, playing some card game.

"have you guys seen lieutenant ghost?" you ask them, your exhaustion clearly showing on your face by the way they look between themselves before responding.

"uhm, yeah, i think i saw him leaving about an hour ago?" one of them answers.

"oh." you mutter, blinking dumbly as you process his words. "right, thanks."

the bastard left without you.

again.

it takes you a great deal of restraint not to scream.

the journey back in the dark, by yourself, is painful, to put it lightly. you get splashed by passing cars exactly twice, and you're practically soaked to the bone within the first ten minutes of walking.

the lights are on when you finally round the corner and have the house in your sights. you almost slip on the small patch of grass outside, but manage to save yourself that embarrassment and stay upright.

you wrench the door open, stepping inside and dripping on the entryway floor as you slam it behind you. you wipe your hand over your face, flicking the excess rain onto the floor as well before sharply tugging your boots off and dropping them next to ghost's.

you move to stand in the doorway to the kitchen, glowering at your lieutenant who stands in his usual spot by the window with a nice warm cup of tea in his hand.

well, good for him.

"dickhead." you hiss, taking note of how he seems to be perfectly content and, most importantly, dry. he sets his cup down on the counter next to him and turns his body to face you, expression consistently unreadable with the mask covering him.

"...figured you'd left already." he mutters, his eyes flickering to your soaking wet clothes and then back up to your face, not quite meeting your seething gaze.

"no you didn't." you spit, wiping your eyes sharply as more water drips into them. "you just didn't wanna deal with me. well, you got your peace and quiet, i hope you're happy."

"thought you had an umbrella?" his voice is quieter still, and you think you see his eyebrows pull upwards with what could've been concern, but you brush the thought off.

"i did, before somebody fucking nicked it."

"that's–"

you appear back in the kitchen doorway, throwing your hands out to your side with a wobbly frown. "you win, alright? i'll–" you can't help the way your voice cracks, "i'll stop trying to be friends with you. i'll leave you alone. you win."

and with that, you storm into the living room, slamming the door behind you before he can get another word in – before the dam breaks and you can no longer stop the tears from falling. your knees give out and you sink to the floor where you stand, leaning your back against the door and burying your tear-stained face in your hands.

you just want to go home, but this isn't home and you're afraid it never will be. it hurts, a lot, that no matter how hard you try, you never make any progress with him, and even though you said you'd give up trying, deep down you knew it was a lie. more than anything, you just wanted him to like you; it didn't even matter of he never cared about you the same way you cared for him, you were just so tired of being hated.

it takes you the better part of ten minutes to gain control of your breathing again, and another five to gather the strength to stand. you muster just enough energy to tug your soaked clothes off and change into your pyjamas before collapsing into the sofa-bed and burying yourself in the blankets.

you must've drifted to sleep at some point, because the sound of the door opening startles you awake. with a tired frown decorating your face, you sit up and turn around. to your utter surprise, you see ghost standing half in the doorway, illuminated from behind by the hall light, holding something out that you can't quite see in the darkness.

for a moment all you can do is sit in silence, staring and waiting for him to say something.

"...what's that?" you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"hot chocolate." he replies in a similar tone, taking a small step forward. you blink and open your mouth to say something, but no words come to mind. so instead you take the cup from him, and let it warm your hands as you take a sip.

"how'd you know i like hot chocolate?" he's about to leave when you ask, his body already poised to disappear. he turns his head back to look at you, never quite meeting your eyes.

"belarus, last year." he mutters, "you ordered it. in the caff."

you're not quite sure what to say, so you settle on a confused, "...thanks?"

"if you get a cold, it'll be your head, sergeant." he tells you, the slightest trace of something teasing in his voice, before stepping out of your sight.

"copy that." you mumble after him, a faint smile pulling at your lips as the door clicks shut again.

maybe he would warm up to you after all.

taglist: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @rafaelcallinybbay , @shuttlelauncher81 , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy

if your name is crossed out, i can't tag you for whatever reason, sorry!

[st-eve-barnes]

Leverage (Michael Gavey x fem Reader)

Chapter 3

Summary: When your ex threatens to release some very personal videos you are left with no choice but to do what he asks: seduce the biggest nerd on campus, Michael Gavey. Will you rock his world or will he fundamentally change yours?

This chapter: You try to bring Michael out of his shell but he's not making it easy on you. After a few confessions at the pub things get heated. First kisses and first oral (male receiving). Touch starved sub Michael.

Word count: +4200

Warning for the entire fic: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

Fluff, smut and of course angst (my favorite combination! lol) I haven't watched Saltburn yet so all characters in this fic except for Michael are my own.

Read the first chapters Here

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

The pub felt overcrowded, too warm and too loud and the majority of visitors was drunk or halfway there. This right here was exactly why you had stopped going out every week. You’d only been here fifteen minutes and you already missed the comfort and silence of your room.

It was hard to imagine these people in front of you were among the best and smartest students in the world and were supposed to be the future of the country. It was clear you were all doomed.

You took another sip from your Bacardi Breezer and scanned the room for Michael but there was no sign of him yet. When someone placed a soft hand on your shoulder you turned around with a hopeful smile but it faded as soon as you saw who the hand belonged to. 

“Oh, it’s you,” you sighed.

Ben leaned in much too close for your liking to be able to talk to you over the music,”How’s it going?”

“It was going great until just now,” you replied, trying to ignore him and praying for Michael to arrive any minute now.

“Let me rephrase that,” he smirked,”How are things going with you and Michael?”

“It’s going, don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” you nodded, looking into his eyes,”I had to improvise a little but I’ll make it work, don’t worry.”

“It better, you know what’s at stake.”

“Yes, I fucking know, okay,” you snapped, shooting daggers at him,”You fucking pathetic asshole.”

Ben just laughed and you were ten seconds away from slapping him in the face when you noticed Michael stepping through the door.

He looked like a fish out of water, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes cast down to the floor as he tried to make his way through the crowd and tried to avoid bumping into people. When he noticed you his lips curled into a small smile and he gave you a little awkward wave. You couldn’t help but smile back and you rushed over to him, and as far away from Ben as you could.

“Hey,” Michael nodded, avoiding your eyes and biting his lip anxiously. You had never seen him this nervous before. He looked like he was about to bolt any minute now and you couldn’t exactly blame him.

“Hey,” you give him an encouraging smile,”Can you at least try and look like you want to be here?”

“Sorry,” he sighed,”It’s just…yeah, sorry.”

“It’s okay, I know this probably isn’t your thing. But thank you for doing this, I really appreciate it.”

“Not doing it for you,” he said quickly,”Just don’t want him to get what he wants.”

“Well, regardless, thank you for coming tonight,” you gave him a grateful smile and leaned in to wrap your arm around his shoulder for a swift hug. Michael froze when you pressed your body against his.

”I should get you a drink, help you relax a little bit,” you said after you leaned back.

“I don’t drink,” he stopped you.

“Oh, okay well, then this is going to be harder than I thought.”

“I’m just…not used to this,” he tried to explain.

“Define this.”

“All of it,” he gestured.

“Okay,” you sighed.

He gave you a sad smile and you actually felt had for him. You realized it must have cost him a lot to step out of his comfort zone tonight, yet he was here, just like he had promised you, to help you deal with Ben. Whatever his motivations were, he was proving that you could count on him.

“Okay,” you gave him another smile,”Why don’t we find a quiet spot to sit somewhere? Get away from the crowd for a bit?”

Michael nodded in relief and followed you to the bar until you found a spot away from all the noise but still close enough for Ben to see you both.

You ordered drinks and tried your best to bring Michael out of his shell, which proved harder than you thought.

“So what do you do for fun then?” you asked.

“Fun?” he shook his head with a little smile,”Fun is nothing but a distraction, I mean look at them…I can practically hear their brain cells deteriorating, one drink at a time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh,”Okay, but you don’t need to be drunk to have fun.”

“I’m here to graduate and secure the best future I can for myself, that’s the only thing that matters,” he continued to ignore your question.

“Right,” you sighed.

“We don’t all have mummy and daddy’s money to fall back on,” he explained, letting his eyes meet yours,”As you know, I think.”

You nodded,”Yeah, unfortunately I do. It’s just me and my mum, we’re not bad off but…ever since dad died it hasn’t been that easy, money wise.”

“I’m sorry, that must have been a hard loss to deal with,” he spoke softly, his sudden empathy taking you by surprise.

You shrugged,”Thanks. It happened years ago, it’s fine, I’m used to it by now.”

Just as you were starting to give up your attempts at keeping the conversation light Michael turned the question back around. “So, what do you do for fun then, Y/N?” he asked. 

He seemed relieved when you responded with a smile.“Me? I don’t know, I hang out with friends, we go see movies or get something to eat mostly. Sometimes we go out and I get a little drunk. But not too often, wouldn’t want to kill those precious brain cells.”

Michael laughed at that and then shook his head,”Very funny.”

“I know,” you teased, making him smile some more and you felt proud at finally making him feel a little more relaxed.

“What else?” he asked, now actively doing his best to keep the conversation going.

“Sometimes I take a guy back up to my room,” you blurted out, causing Michael to blush.

“Of course you do,” he nodded.

You took another sip from your drink while you kept your eyes on him,”You ever taken a girl up to your room, Gavey?”

He shook his head with a grin,“Is that your clever way of asking me if I am a virgin?”

“Are you?”

He blushed again and avoided looking at you.

“You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to,” you quickly added, realizing you were probably overstepping but he just nodded his head.

”It’s okay,” he shrugged,”I mean…it’s not like it’s a secret. I’m a virgin, there. Happy now?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, as long as you’re happy with that choice. I mean, several of my girl friends are virgins, it’s nothing to be ashamed of and it’s not as uncommon as you’d think.”

“Really?” he asked, seemingly comforted by your words.

“It’s not that big of a deal anyway,” you continued,”Having sex with someone isn’t going to fundamentally change you, it’s just sex.”

“Trust me, for someone who hasn’t had it…it’s not just sex.”

You nodded with a soft smile,”Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“And…don’t you think that it should fundamentally change you?” he then added,”Being with the right person, I mean…otherwise what’s the point?”

“The point is to cum, Michael,” you answered bluntly and he laughed at your words, almost choking on his drink.

”Sex is fun, anything else is just what books and movies would like you to believe,” you added,”It’s not like that in real life.”

“You don’t believe in true love then?”

“True love?” you shook your head and laughed,”Oh please, you do? You actually want to wait for the right person to come along before you have sex with someone? What if she, or he, never comes along?”

Michael just shook his head,”First of all, it’s she. And second of all…I guess I’m better off alone than with the wrong person, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes,”You’re so naive.”

“And you’re so bitter,” he answered quickly.

“Yeah, well, having Ben as an ex will do that to you.”

“Maybe you should think twice before fucking someone then,” he blurted out.

You looked at him,”Okay, that’s kind of rude.”

“What? Am I wrong?” he continued,”How well did you even know him before you slept with him? And how many other guys like him were there?”

“That’s…none of your fucking business.”

“What? I showed you mine but you’re not going to show me yours? That means the answer is plenty, I guess,” he answered his own question and you wanted to punch him. Who did this guy think he is?

”You shouldn’t be so willing to spend time with assholes,” Michael then added.

“You know what, you’re absolutely right, Gavey,” you gave him an angry look and moved away from him and out of your seat.

“Shit,” Michael sighed,”Wait…fuck, I’m sorry.”

He rushed after you and reached for your hand, pulling you back to him,”Wait, please, don’t go, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I just…I don’t know how to talk to girls.”

“You can’t keep using that as an excuse to be a dick.”

“I know,” he sighed,”I know. I'm sorry.”

He was still holding your hand in his and much to your surprise it didn’t feel unpleasant, quite the contrary. You squeezed his hand and he let go instantly, as if he just realized he was still touching you.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s…fine.” You weren’t sure if he was still apologizing for his words or because he grabbed you but you realized it didn’t matter. Your urge to flee was gone now.

“Sit back down with me?” he asked,”Please?”

You nodded and followed him and you both sat down again, in silence.

“I’ve never even kissed anyone,” Michael blurted out after a while.

“You haven’t?” you asked, genuinely surprised,”Why not?”

He blushed but smiled, clearly embarrassed by his own confession,”Girls just don’t look at me and see something they want, I guess.”

“Maybe you should try being a little nicer then,” you pointed out.

He shook his head,”I used to be…nicer, it didn’t matter. They take one look at me and bail so…now I don’t even bother.”

“There’s nothing wrong with how you look,” you tried to reassure him but he gave you a knowing look.

“Come on now, I already called you a bad liar once, don’t make me say it again.”

You shook your head but smiled.”Okay, fine, so the clothes could use an upgrade and…maybe you’re not conventionally handsome,” you tried to explain and Michael just started laughing.

“That’s the most polite way I’ve ever been called ugly.”

“You’re not ugly!” you objected,”That’s my whole point, it’s like…oh, it’s like Adam Driver, you know that Star Wars guy?”

“You're really asking a nerd if he knows Star Wars?” he teased you.

“Okay, so Adam Driver isn’t conventionally attractive either but he’s got tons of fangirls everywhere who adore him.”

“Yeah, well, my fangirls seem to be absent, for now.”

You smiled and let your eyes meet his.”You have really pretty eyes,” you then confessed,”And you’re really tall and lean. Girls like that. And your hands are…really nice and…your lips look very soft.”

Michael was blushing hard now and he looked away from you but his lips curled up into a warm smile.”Thanks,” he whispered.

“My point is you’re not ugly, Michael,” you added,”And I’m sorry if people made you feel that way.”

He sighed with a smile,”Thank you. It’s just…I thought it would have happened by now, you know, that first kiss. It’s stupid and I don’t even care but…I just wish…”

“Do you want to kiss me?” you blurted out.

He shook his head with a shy smile,”No, I don’t want your pity kiss, it’s fine.”

“It wouldn’t be like that.”

“Oh, really? What would it be like then?”

“Well…we’re trying to convince Ben we’re fucking, right? If he sees us kiss that might make it more believable. So it’s not a pity kiss, you’d be helping me out with the plan. It’s a win-win.”

He stayed quiet.

“But it’s okay if you don’t want to,” you added,”If you want to wait for the right person, I get it, no pressure…”

“No, I don’t,” he interrupted you, quietly, as if he was surprised by his own words,”I mean I…want to…I want to kiss you.”

“You sure?” you checked.

He nodded eagerly, putting a smile on your face.

“I’m sure,” he confirmed,”I just…I don’t know…how to do it right.”

You turned to face him and allowed yourself to really look at him. His beautiful sincere eyes and that deep blush on his cheeks, the way his mouth twitched nervously as he tried to avoid your eyes but also couldn’t stop himself from wanting to look at you. You had never in your life met anyone like Michael, he was insufferable at times but he was also the purest soul you’d ever met. 

And you wanted to kiss him with every fibre of your being.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him,”We’ll start slow. Look at me.”

His eyes met yours and you could tell he was struggling to keep direct eye contact, he was so flushed already and you hadn’t even touched him yet.

“Keep looking at me,” you asked firm but gentle.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, breaking eye contact.

“That’s alright,” you gave him an encouraging smile,”Maybe we should…take these off.”

Your hands reached for his glasses and you carefully took them off and placed them on the table next to you.

“Is that better?” you asked.

“You’re all blurry now.”

You smiled,“Well, I’ll just have to get a little closer then.” 

You inched closer to him on the couch and Michael turned so you were both facing each other. You were so close to him now you could feel his warm breath on your lips.

“This better?” you asked softly,”Can you see me now?”

Michael nodded nervously, his blue eyes locked with yours.”I see you,” he whispered.

“Good,” you smiled and then you both just stared at each other, letting him get used to being this close to you.

After a little while you carefully moved your hand up to gently trace your fingers over his cheek. His breath hitched at the contact.

“It’s alright,” you whispered and gently cupped his cheek in your hand,”Don’t be nervous, it’s alright.”

Michael’s eyes closed for a moment as he leaned into your palm. You ignored the way your heart melted at the gesture. Then you leaned in closer, his nose gently bumping against yours before you leaned in further and kissed him softly. It was just a peck of your lips against his but it was enough to set off a very unexpected spark in you.

You looked at each other again. Michael’s gaze was hungry but he didn’t move, patiently waiting for you to make the next move and guide him through it.

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whispered.

“Hmm,” he nodded.

You kissed him again, just as soft as the first one but this time you opened your mouth slightly to move your lips against his and he reciprocated immediately. 

His lips were incredibly soft, as you has expected, and he tasted of mint and the sweet fruity soda he’d been drinking and he kissed you as if you were the best thing he'd ever tasted. When you carefully teased his bottom lip with your tongue he was quick to do the same, slipping his tongue into your mouth and deepening the kiss.

He didn’t need much more guidance after that. His technique might be clumsy and he was a little over eager but he was also a goddamn natural. You felt dizzy from how good it felt to have his lips on yours and after a few minutes you were panting into his mouth and had to stop yourself from crawling into his lap. 

What was happening?

You were clinging to his neck with both hands, needing to touch him but he still hadn’t touched you back. His hands were nervously digging into the fabric of the couch as he whimpered into the kiss.

“Put your hands on me,” you breathed,”Please, Michael.”

He whimpered again at the sound of his name from your lips and then his hands were on your waist, pulling you closer to him as he teased your tongue with his and kissed you even deeper.

You were drowning in him. All the other guys you had kissed before were nothing but a distant memory and you’d give them all up in a heartbeat if you could just remember this one kiss. 

Who knew nerds could kiss like that?

You weren’t sure how much time had passed but after a while you leaned back to get some air, your lips red and swollen and still aching for more of him.

Michael’s entire face was flushed a deep red and he was breathing so hard it was making you lose focus.

“Fuck,” he breathed,”Was that…was that okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh and you pressed your forehead against his and nodded while biting your lip.

When Michael noticed he leaned in and bit your lip as well, then pulled you in for another long, slow kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered afterwards,”God…what have you done to me?…I don’t want to stop…I just…please can we keep kissing?”

You innocently kissed his cheek and then moved your lips down, kissing and licking the curve of his neck and his collar bone until Michael whimpered into your ear. His hands firmly clinging to your back.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Michael was cursing under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I’m..I’m hard,” he confessed with another whimper,”Fuck, I’m so fucking hard.”

You just smiled at him,”Yeah, a few good kisses will do that to you.”

You continued kissing his neck, relishing in the soft little moans spilling from his lips and then you noticed how he was bucking his hips up, seeking for contact that wasn’t there, desperate for some friction or relief.

You moved one hand over his hip and then down to his inner thigh, the huge bulge in his pants was growing right before your eyes and it made you absolutely feral. You hadn’t planned for this at all, you’d just wanted to kiss him and maybe tease him a little bit. But having him squirming under your hands now and moaning so desperately into your ear you realized you wanted to give him so much more.

“You want me to take care of it?” you whispered into his ear, caressing his erection slowly. Michael just moaned and buried his face against your neck while he nodded his head.

“I’m going to assume you’ve never had a blow job before,” you whispered to him,”Would you like one?”

He looked up into your eyes, shock all over his face as he breathed,”I…no, I haven’t…obviously I…fuck…Are you for real?You would…you would do that? With me?”

“Do you want me to?” you asked softly.

“Yes,” he breathed,”God, fuck yes…yes. Please. Please.”

You pulled out of his arms, making him whine in frustration at the loss of contact but it was forgotten quickly when you took his hand and dragged him with you towards the bathrooms. 

Ben smirked at you both as you passed by him but neither you or Michael noticed.

You pushed Michael inside one of the stalls and locked the door behind you.

He was quick to grab you by your hips and push you up against the door while he kissed you again. You reciprocated eagerly, letting your hands caress all over his messy hair, down to his chest and then his stomach.

When you started fumbling with his belt Michael started cursing again, trying his hardest to keep it together. His hands moved over your ass and tried to push up your dress but you stopped him.

“What?” he asked, disappointment all over his pretty face.

“This is about you tonight, not me.”

“No, I wanna touch you, please, let me touch you,” he whined.

“Not tonight,” you pulled his pants down, freeing his erection and it made the both of you gasp out loud, for very different reasons. He was big, exceptionally big, and really beautiful, and so fucking hard. You knew he must have been desperate for that sweet release.

You bit your lip and leaned in to whisper into his ear,”I want to put my mouth on you, Michael, is that okay?”

He nodded quickly, his breathing picking up again. ”Yes, yes,” he whimpered,”Oh god, please…please. It’s so painfully hard, just…just touch it please.”

No guy had ever begged so beautifully before and it had you down on your knees so easily, your eyes looking up at him while you carefully placed your hand over his length and started jerking him, slowly. He sighed in relief at your touch, eyes closing in a blissful moan.

You couldn’t help but smile up at him.”You’d better not cum on me within two seconds, Gavey,” you warned him with a teasing grin.

Michael laughed in between heavy breaths,”Can’t make any promises.”

And then your mouth was on him and all he was left with were heavy moans and whimpers as he fought very hard not to burst on the spot.

His hands were nervously balled into fists until you grabbed them and guided them into your hair, giving him something to hold onto. He caressed your scalp so gently it was pulling at your heart strings and distracted you from what you were doing for a moment. 

You took him deeper into your mouth, all the while jerking the rest of him in your hand. Michael’s fingers tightened into your hair while his hips bucked forward desperately. The moans spilling from his lips were enough to make your cunt throb for him but you had meant what you said. Tonight wasn’t about you. You just wanted to make him feel good and you knew he wasn’t going to last long anyway.

When you started moaning around his cock he was done for and he finally gave in, holding the back of your head while he fucked up into your mouth with hard short thrusts, making tears spill from your eyes and the next thing you knew he was spilling into your mouth with a muffled cry. 

He wanted to pull out but you didn’t let him, keen to swallow every last hot drop and make him cry even more.

“Oh god, oh holy shit, that was…fuck, that was so good,” he was babbling again and trying to catch his breath, coming down from his high and you smirked while you wiped your mouth.

He was quick to pull you back up into his arms and into a deep, hungry kiss.

“Fuck,” he breathed, licking into your mouth,”I can…I can taste myself on your tongue…that’s so fucking hot.”

When he cupped your face he could feel the tears on your cheek and he pulled back, looking at you while he gently wiped them away.

“Made you cry,” he whispered and then he leaned in to place a few soft kisses on your cheeks, taking his time to gently kiss your tears away,”Sorry…I’m sorry.”

His soft and sweet caresses almost made you want to cry for real.

You grabbed his wrists and leaned back,”It’s okay, they’re not real tears, having a dick shoved down your throat will do that to you.”

“Oh. I didn’t…hurt you, did I?”

You smiled softly and shook your head,”No, you didn’t hurt me, Michael, you’re good.”

You wanted to step back but he was quick to place his hands on your hips and keep you in place. His eyes were staring at you, satisfied and tired but also still hungry and you smiled softly and shook your head.

“No, not tonight,” you whispered.

“Come on, why not? Aren’t you horny as fuck right now? Don’t you want me to…touch you?” he leaned in to place a soft lingering kiss on your lips,”Don’t you want me to fuck you?”

You almost gave in right then but you pulled away and shook your head.”Shouldn’t your actual first time be in a soft, comfortable bed with candles and sweet music?” And someone you actually love?

He smirked,”You just sucked me off in a dirty bathroom stall and it was the best experience of my life, you think I care about music and candles?”

You couldn’t help but laugh.”I think you’ve had enough firsts for one night.”

You pushed him back and he didn’t object this time even though his face was clouded in obvious disappointment.

“Next time then?” he asked hopeful and relief flooded his features when you smiled and nodded.

How could you refuse him anything when he looked at you like that? 

You leaned in to place a soft lingering kiss on his lips, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach,“Yeah, maybe next time."

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 11: seeing double

Totally not what this prompt meant, but I don’t care lol. I do care that I keep making Wild cry though, sorry buddy 😬

No clue if anyone cares anymore, but this has some brief age of calamity spoilers in it. Just a heads up.

Warnings: broken bone, discussed past character death

Ao3 link

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Wild had two thoughts as he went plunging through the portal, the others’ frantic cries in his ears:

One, that hopefully Legend wouldn’t give him too smug of an ‘I told you so’ the next time he saw him, since Wild had entirely forgone his advice to stay away from Dark Link and was now plunging rapidly through the air. And two, well, at least I’m going to fall into the water down there.

Which he promptly did with an explosive splash.

It wasn’t so high up that he was badly hurt, but Wild was still thrown for a loop, and found himself crashing down a river with little sense of which way was up.

Water got in his mouth and he spluttered, trying to spit it out and also get his head above the surface so he could breathe. The current was fast here though, and Wild couldn’t do much except flail around like a drunk Zora.

Wait, could Zora get drunk?

He actually had no clue.

The current got suddenly faster, and Wild breathed in some water as he got smacked against the rocks, coughing and hacking as he struggled to get any air. He managed a wet gasp when his head briefly poked up, but then he was pulled under again.

Air wasn’t the only thing Wild had gotten when he went up though— he’d also gotten a sight of the river up ahead. And at the sight of the waterfall rapidly approaching, his struggles grew even more frantic.

I need to reach shore, he thought as he continued to cough and claw his way to the river’s edge in a panic. I need to reach shore now, I need air I need—

The angle of the water shifted, and Wild was shot out of the waterfall, the rapid change in direction making his head spin.

He found himself in open air, water still in his lungs, and he clumsily grabbed for his paraglider as the lake below rapidly approached. Wild managed to snap it open just in time, but he didn’t manage a good grip on the handle.

His arm slipped, and Wild slammed into the sand near the shore, a choked yell escaping him as pain blazed up his shoulder.

All he could do was cough up water for a minute and catch his breath, trying not to wrench his shoulder more. Something was broken in there; he wasn’t sure if it was his shoulder itself or his arm or collarbone, but it hurt. He could barely move without his whole arm lighting up in agony, and hoped blearily that none of the others had suffered the same fate as him.

Then he heard a splash behind him, and his stomach sank.

Had one of the others fallen in the portal already? Or was it something else? That hadn’t sounded big enough to be a splash from something falling from the waterfall, but then again, he could be wrong.

“There, look!”

The voice sounded familiar, but Wild couldn’t place it over the sound of the water behind him and the blood rushing in his ears. He tried to raise himself up, and pain tore across his senses, and for a minute all he could focus on was the fire ripping through his shoulder.

“—know who he is? He looks just like—”

“—in the water, don’t—”

Two voices floated around his head as the fire eased, and Wild took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. His hair had fallen in his face, and between that and his blurry vision he couldn’t see much, especially through the damp strands. Unless he moved again, but that seemed like a bad idea.

Wild groaned, blinking to try and get the hair away from his eyes, but he barely succeeded. His wet hair slipped to the side, but all he could make out were two blobs, silhouetted by the sun shining behind them.

Then he heard a soft gasp, and the sound of a weapon being drawn.

“How is this—”

“This has trap written all over it,” a different voice than the first interrupted, soft, but sharp. Cold steel nudged Wild’s chin, and he stiffened. “Don’t go near him.”

The other voice made a worried noise as Wild weakly coughed. “I don’t think he would have fallen down a waterfall on purpose and hurt himself like this if that were true.”

“It could still be a trick.”

“I know... but we won’t get any answers if he’s too dazed to speak.”

Wild heard a huff, then the sound of footsteps padding towards him in a familiar way. A hand settled over his shoulder, and Wild groaned again, a soothing noise coming from the voice.

“Hold on just a moment.”

Then a feeling like that of a gentle stream swept over his shoulder, quiet and small, but carrying the mighty power of water along with it. Wild automatically relaxed, sinking into the bubbly feeling. A blue light flickered in his vision, healing his shoulder in a familiar way, and Wild relaxed even further before he abruptly stiffened again.

Wait...

The smooth magic trickled into his middle, down to where his lungs were still burning from the water he’d inhaled. It soothed the ache, and though Wild still felt exhausted, he could tell his shoulder had been completely fixed as well. Even the various scrapes and bruises from the fight before the river had been healed.

Which meant...

The bubbly rush of magic faded away, Wild’s vision fully cleared, and his stomach dropped out.

Red scales. Yellow eyes. A petite figure covered in scales that were smooth and shiny in the sunlight, and healing magic that was fading from slender hands.

“M... Mipha?” Wild choked out.

The Zora woman (it couldn’t be Mipha, it couldn’t—) gave him a concerned look, but before Wild could do or say anything further, the steel was back at his neck.

Wild stilled, and followed the blade resting at his neck up to the person holding it. His already fast heartbeat tripled, and he choked for a second time.

The person holding a blade at his throat was himself.

His double’s hair was much shorter, pulled back into a neat ponytail, and instead of the champion’s tunic he was wearing the Zora armor Wild had received. His eyes were steely as he watched Wild, but the most shocking thing about him was the fact that the right side of his face was entirely smooth.

He didn’t have a single one of the scars that had killed Wild.

I’m unconscious. I’m dreaming. I hit my head on a rock and I’m hallucinating—

“Explain yourself. Who are you?” his double demanded, not appearing to notice how Wild’s world was caving in on itself. Wild stared, and coughed once, still feeling tired from his fight with the river, and just... unable to process this. What could he even say?

What was going on?

“I asked you a question, who are you? What are you doing in Zora’s Domain?” his double repeated, voice even sharper.

Mipha sucked in a worried breath as she stared at Wild, and touched the double’s arm. “Oh no, did... did a little guardian bring you?” she asked, and Wild stared at her, her words jumbling in his head as he stared.

Mipha.

Mipha.

Mipha was alive here. Wild was alive here, and missing his scars, and wearing the Zora armor that Mipha had crafted to give to him as a—

“Wh... who are you?” Wild whispered, throat suddenly dry as bone. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was just a mistake, a strange coincidence, but he— he had to know. He had to know.

“We asked you first,” Link’s double replied suspiciously, and Mipha set a hand on his shoulder.

“Link, he was just injured and half-drowned, I believe he’s confused. If he were here to kill us, he already would have tried,” she said pointedly, studying Wild with an intent look. “I think he looks too much like you to be a coincidence.”

“It could still be a trick. A Yiga or something,” his double said suspiciously. Wild didn’t blame him. That did sound like something the Yiga would do.

“But why add the scars and long hair?” Mipha countered, and the double looked frustrated.

“To confuse us, I’m sure there’s a motive. He’s probably here for you, you know you’re—”

“If you say “at risk” again Link, I will set Sidon on you,” Mipha said with a little huff, and turned back towards Wild with a kind-if-cautious look. “My apologies. I am Princess Mipha of the Zora, and this is my husband, Link.”

The words were like a slap, even though Wild knew they were coming.

Husband. Mipha. Zora armor.

Husband.

Link.

Wild would have fallen over backwards if he’d been upright in any way, and he stared between Mipha and his double, wondering if he was about to be sick.

They all knew the portals were transporting them through time. Wild had been a part of Time and Wind’s discussion on fractured timelines, and they all knew that there were splits and sections where the history of Hyrule didn’t make sense.

But this...

Was this a timeline where Wild hadn’t failed?

Mipha’s face grew more worried the longer Wild stared at them without speaking, and even his double started to look a little concerned.

“Did I miss an injury?” Mipha asked, scooting closer again, and Wild froze as she approached.

“No, no you got— you got everything,” Wild choked out. He felt perfectly healthy apart from being tired and his falling-apart mental state, just like if he’d used Mipha’s grace. Even though he hadn’t used it in nearly a year because the champions were finally at rest and they’d passed on and Mipha—

Wild lurched to his feet, using a rock for support, and immediately the other Link’s blade was raised again.

“Stay where you are,” he said sharply, and Wild stumbled backwards towards the water. His double’s face grew fierce and he leapt around him and blocked him off from the river. “I said stay where you are! We’ve told you who we are, now tell us your identity or I will treat you as a threat.”

Wild stilled, and swallowed. He might as well explain.

“I’m... well, Link,” he began, and the other Link didn’t move. “You... probably figured that out. I... I don’t know how I got here— I mean, I do, but it wasn’t on purpose, I-I... I don’t know what you mean about a guardian, but one didn’t bring me here.”

Wild looked at Mipha again, and swallowed thickly, his eyes stinging.

“This isn’t a trap. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not here to hurt you,” he croaked, and the other Link pulled his sword back just a hair. “I— my companions and I are traveling through time, but... I think something went wrong,” he finished in a whisper.

We’ve never had anything like this happen with the portals before.

Did the Shadow do this?

“Time travel...” Mipha said thoughtfully, and exchanged a loaded look with the other Link.

His face had creased further, but in a different way, and he finally pulled the sword away from Wild’s neck. He kept it at the ready though, and watched Wild intensely.

“How did you get here?” he asked again, a little less accusatory and a little more curious.

Wild exhaled. “It’s a long story... but it was through a portal,” he said, deciding he would just... ignore what was going on for now. It was that or completely freak out, and he wanted to know more before passing out due to shock. “My group is hunting a Shadow, one ripping holes in time. We’re trying to stop him.”

“So no Terrako then?” Link questioned, and Wild shook his head in confusion.

“No? No... Terrako. Just portals that sometimes spew powerful monsters.”

Link and Mipha both stiffened.

“These monsters, do they have darkened blood?” Mipha asked, and Wild nodded. “Oh my. We’ve seen some up in the highlands, remember that moblin, Link?”

Link grimaced. “Yes. What a disaster. We assumed it was just leftover magic from Astor or something of that nature, not... time travel related. Bazz is still recovering.” He paused for a second, then his eyes went wide and he whipped his head back towards Link. “You said you came through a portal that expels these monsters?”

“Yeah, from upriver somewhere,” Wild nodded. “But it’s not sending out monsters right now. I fell through it, then fell right in the river.”

Link frowned. “So no monsters were coming out when you went through?”

“No, they were all on the other side, my group was fighting their leader. But I don’t know—”

“Papa?”

Link froze, and Mipha looked worried as Wild turned around towards where the voice had come from.

A young, orangey colored Zora was poking his head up from the water, and he looked between Wild and Link, a wide look on his face.

“Papa?” he repeated in a curious voice, and Wild stared, studying the little Zora’s features.

“Stay in the water, Ty,” Link said seriously, and the Zora hesitated, eyes darting between Mipha and Link and Wild. Then he hopped out and scurried over to stand next to Mipha. He hid behind her leg and watched Wild with large blue eyes, and Wild began to shake, recognizing them as his own.

Oh Hylia, haven’t you put me through enough?

Mipha put a hand on Ty’s arm, and he continued to watch Wild, his expression concerned as he studied his face.

“Papa... hurt?” he said worriedly, and Link shifted around so he was standing beside him, and placed a hand on his head.

“No, I’m not hurt,” Link reassured, and Ty switched to clinging to his leg instead, still staring at Wild. His orange scales shone brightly in the sunshine, like the last rays of light before the sun set.

“Wh... who is...?” Wild choked out, and Mipha gave him a look that was as conflicted as he felt.

“This is our son. Tyde,” she explained gently, like she knew the words would hurt.

They did, hitting Wild like a laser, and he felt a mixture of longing and wonder and grief so intense he was nearly sick.

Tyde was small, and as he shifted around the other Link’s leg, Wild saw that his left arm was shorter than it should be, the fins the wrong size. He had Wild— Link’s eyes, and his frame was proportioned more like a Hylian, but he had golden-orange and white scales all along his body, and had the Zora tail on the back of his head.

All in all, he was exactly what Wild would expect a child of his and Mipha’s to look like.

A tear fell down Wild’s cheek without his permission, and he sank back down to his knees, overwhelmed. He was married here. He had a child here.

This was what would have happened if he hadn’t failed?

This was how much Mipha had loved him?

Wild began to shake, and barely even noticed as Mipha approached and knelt beside him, so lost was he in his own mind.

“You’re from the world the older Sidon came from, aren’t you,” Mipha said quietly, and Wild shakily raised his head to look at her. “I... doubt he remembered in order to tell you. Zelda theorized they all wouldn’t recall anything from their time here.”

Wild gave a small shake of his head, and Mipha sighed.

“It’s complicated I’m afraid, but we’ve dealt with time travel before,” she explained. “And me and Sidon, we... we talked a little, about things. He said that in his time the champions were slain, and that you nearly were along with us. But you were placed in a sleep for one hundred years in order to heal, and then you saved the princess.”

Wild nodded mutely, and Mipha’s face turned further grieved. She carefully reached forward, and Link couldn’t help his flinch as her cool palm rested on his cheek, right over his scars.

The other Link behind Mipha had gone white, his sword finally lowered. Tyde tugged at his pant leg, and Link wordlessly picked him up, holding him tightly to his chest as he locked gazes with Wild.

Wild could only imagine what was going through his head.

Mipha wiped the tear off Wild’s cheek then withdrew her hand, giving him the same smile that he barely remembered from a hundred years ago. It almost made Wild fully break down, but he choked back his tears. He didn’t want her to feel like she had to comfort him.

“I’ll h-have to hear about this adventure Sidon had,” he said, managing not to make his voice sound too watery. “Sounds like it w-was something.”

“It was,” Mipha said quietly. “He always spoke so highly of you.”

She looked like she wanted to say more, but Wild’s double spoke up then, Tyde still nestled up to his chest.

“In your world, we... lost?” he asked in a quiet voice, and Wild swallowed thickly.

“We... did. I failed,” he whispered, not looking at Mipha. “The champions... our weapons turned against us. Overwhelmed us. I only survived because of a Sheikah invention that took a hundred years to work so I could fix my failure. So many died...”

He took in a shuddering breath, and looked at Mipha and his double again, their child still watching him intently.

“But you won here. You did it, you won—”

Wild’s voice choked off, and he barely noticed Tyde tug on his father’s sleeve, trying to get his attention. He did notice when Tyde pointed at Wild though, his brow scrunched up.

“Hurt,” he said with another tug, and for some reason that one small word made Wild lose the rest of his composure.

Suddenly it was too much, the sight of himself holding his and Mipha’s child, Mipha herself sitting beside him, her hand on her husband’s arm. It was a family Wild never had, never would have, and the fact that there was a timeline somewhere where Wild hadn’t failed them, where they had the opportunity to exist, it was just—

A small sob escaped him, and he pulled back, his shaking starting up again. Before he could bolt though, Tyde suddenly squirmed out of his father’s arms and padded over to Wild. Wild froze as he put a tiny hand on his arm, and when Wild looked down at him, he ran his hand up and down for a moment before nodding.

“Better,” he declared, then scampered back to Wild’s double.

Wild could only stare, tears dripping down his cheeks as Tyde climbed back into his father’s arms.

“He’s seen me heal before, he thinks he can too,” Mipha explained with a faint smile. “He does that whenever anyone cries, he thinks they’re hurt.”

A thick laugh burst from Wild’s throat, and he smiled shakily through the tears only running faster down his face. Tyde kept watching him, and Link swallowed back the gigantic lump in his throat in order to speak.

“Thanks,” he managed through his tears, and Tyde gave him a shy smile before hiding his face in Link’s chest.

Wild breathed out shakily, shuddering with a sob he tried not to let escape, and Mipha and his double stayed quiet as they let him cry, Tyde quietly watching them all. Mipha put her hand on his arm at one point, and Wild only cried harder, wishing he could remember her more, wishing she hadn’t died, wishing he didn’t even know what.

He merely cried, and Mipha let him, a different version of himself watching in pale-faced silence.

That was where Wolfie found them barely a quarter hour later, Wild’s eyes red as he quietly explained more about the infected monsters, Mipha and his double asking worried questions about what was going on, Tyde resting against his knee.

And nine Links became ten.

[violettaskies]

Maybe, Just Maybe

prompt: exhibitionism

pairing: neighbour!steve x f!reader x neighour!eddie munson

genre: romance, smut, autumn vibes

notes: wc 12k // this is literally a halloween story oops // lets pretend that i posted this when it was NOT November lmao // steddie smut lol // eddie and steve are roommates // reader is their new neighbour

warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, NSFW // exhibitionism, balcony sex, eating out, blow jobs, doggy style, sex, cozy sex lol, vaginal fingering // threesome // mfm // smut // please let me know if there are any more that need to be added!

ao3 // kinktober masterlist // full masterlist // lazy ghoul’s kinktober prompts

-:-:-:-:-

Maybe moving into a new apartment during the month of October seems like a good idea to a normal person. It’s right after the busy summer months that are filled with vacations and plans with friends. But, also just before the holiday season with back-to-back family parties that can become borderline awkward. 

Well, looking at it now, maybe it wasn’t the best idea.

Maybe you shouldn’t have put the idea in your head that you wanted to update your decorations every season. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent three paychecks on cute pumpkins and fake cauldrons. Maybe you should have asked your parents to leave the ladder they brought when they helped you move in. Maybe you should have just grinned and bared it when you weren’t able to reach the ceiling of your balcony, and you couldn’t hang up the cute lights you bought.

In a world full of maybes, full of possibilities that were drowning in regret towards what could have been; you didn’t regret a thing once you looked upwards to see your extremely handsome neighbour helping you hang up the lights. He saw you about an hour earlier, standing on a chair and some books attempting to install a bunch of string lights that looked like candles. But with one moment of imbalance, causing you to drop the broom which was supposed to help you push the tape onto the ceiling — your neighbour ran out of his own apartment to see what all the noise was about. Especially since he heard a high-pitched scream coming from your lips. 

“What’s going on—” he ran out to his own balcony to see you in a state of shock, looking down at the ground below. 

“Sorry, I overreacted. My broomstick fell,” you said sweetly with a pout. Truthfully, you could already hear your parents’ scolding as you imagined the moment you would attempt to tell this moment as a funny story during Thanksgiving dinner in a few weeks. 

“Were you practicing your flying before Halloween?” he smiled as he saw the definite shape of a purple broom on top of a bush. 

“No, Steve, I was just trying to put up my decor,” you tried to hide your embarrassment with a bit of giggling. “Maybe I should’ve asked my parents to leave their ladder the other week.” 

The man looked over at the red curtains, fake spider webs on the window, and gigantic box of fake candles — he smiled at the way you seemed so excited to decorate for the upcoming holiday. Steve didn’t know you, his new neighbour, well. However, your kindness was something he adored to see every time he did get the opportunity to speak to you. Noticing the softness in your eyes every time he offered to help you with your grocery bags, or when he offered you a ride to the bus station, Steve promised himself that he would find a way to see that sparkle as much as possible. 

“You’re really going all out, aren’t you?” he said in a teasing tone. 

“Oh, of course. Halloween is always so fun. But, you should see what I have ready for Christmas,” decorating just always seemed so exciting to you. Yes, maybe you should be saving your money to buy regular things you can use on a daily basis. But, this was way more thrilling.

“Can’t wait, doll,” the nickname made you feel so warm amidst the cool autumn air. “If you’d like, I can hop on over there and help you.” 

Steve looked like he was about to lunge himself to jump the metal gate that separated your balconies, but you stopped him before he could. “There’s a front door for a reason, please don’t join my broomstick down there. What if there’s a huge gust of wind or something?” 

“Fine, fine, I won’t. But that’s mainly because my ladder will be too hard to jump with.” Steve winked.

“You have one?” you gasped and tightened your grip around the railing in excitement. 

“My roommate and I used to do some construction jobs,” Steve shrugged nonchalantly. 

Right, the roommate. 

In truth, that man was the first person you met in the entire building. You had just gotten your keys and were bringing up two suitcases full of your everyday clothing. Right then, a man with crazy hair and even crazier tattoos, that could be seen with his low-cut top, took the elevator with you to the sixth floor. He was about your age, and no matter how much you wanted to say hello to the handsome man, he couldn’t stop staring at you. 

But, not in a menacing, extremely creepy, kind of way — instead, Steve’s roommate looked at you in a sort of shock. It made you believe that he was just an extremely shy guy. You try not to think about the times he and Steve would have friends over and you could hear his deep voice talking about books and mythical creatures, all things that you wished to talk about with someone too. It was not difficult to admit just how badly you craved to have a moment to talk to him. 

“Eddie?” you nearly felt your cheeks explode with heat. 

“Yup, that’s him. You seem to be getting the hang of everyone’s names here, smart girl,” Steve chuckled as he saw the way your eyes darted around from his own eyes then to the floor. 

“Well, he is the only person I haven’t been able to speak to yet.” 

“One day, I promise I’ll get that guy to talk to you.” Honestly, Steve wished that Eddie would stop being so annoying about his bad habit of never talking to you, but always talking about you when you weren’t around. “Now give me a minute and I’ll knock.” 

-:-:-:-:-

And so, after about five minutes of waiting — and you pushing boxes out of the way of the front door so that no one was about to trip whilst finishing up the decorating — Steve appeared with a small ladder that would be the perfect size to hang up all the lights you wanted. The man looked around the interior of your apartment first. It was the same as his, only a lot cleaner, with less pictures of dragons and movie posters on the walls. The young Harrington noticed that you represented just about every haunted creature in your tiny apartment. Even going as far as having all of your horror genre books laid out on the coffee table for guests to read when they desired. 

Although you had only been here for a few weeks, this was already becoming home to you. “Looks like you made this your own little haunted mansion,” Steve teased as he set up the ladder outside. 

“It’s not much, just things to get into the spirit,” you smiled up at him. 

“Now I really gotta put your lights up. It’ll be boring if people are looking into your balcony and there are no decorations,” he chuckled as he looked to the balcony ceiling to see only one candle light successfully hung.  

“Thank you, Steve,” you bit your lip as you remembered all of the hostess manners that your mother engraved into your brain. “Let me at least offer you some coffee, beer — oh, I think I have some cake in the fridge.” 

“No, it’s fine. Just keep me company and that’s all I need. Some eye candy is sweeter than the real thing sometimes.” The man in front of you finished setting up his ladder as he finished speaking those words and winked at you. In truth, you weren’t so sure if the shaking of your legs was due to the cold breeze passing through and under your skirt, or if it was because the wink sent a thousand warm vibrations through your body. Regardless, you didn’t notice the way you squeezed your legs together as you went to the other side of the balcony to finish decorating — and trying to hide your slightly embarrassed face away from the man. 

But, Steve noticed. He noticed it right away, and it only made him wonder just how many times you try smiling to yourself every time your cheeks would feel warm.  

Over the next hour as the sun set, Steve hung up your lights one by one in a cute pattern. He talked about how often his own mother would make him do similar work during Christmas time because he was always home, as opposed to his father. You listened intently as you learned more about your neighbour, all while fixing a few plants and the pillow covers on the small seat on the balcony. Once the sun set a part of you got a little sad because that would mean the work was almost done and Steve would have to head back to his apartment. It was nice to finally get to talk to someone for the first time in weeks. The busy time of unpacking, on-boarding at a new job, and getting used to the new time zone, was over. Now you actually are able to start your life. 

What also made you a little sad was that you would soon need to say goodbye to your neighbour for the night, and try your best to forget about the way the muscles on his arms would flex whenever he would focus on sticking a light to the ceiling. Even making you gasp when his shirt would ride up slightly and the little sliver of his chiseled stomach would tease you. And every time, you would look away immediately, only to cause a hitch in your breathing. 

It would be a lie to say that Steve wasn’t intentionally on a lower step of the ladder because it would force him to flex his muscles a little bit harder in front of you. It would also be a lie to say that Steve wasn’t doing his own little form of spying. He would always glance down to see what you were up to; his favourite moment would be when you would go to sit down and your thighs would be squeezed a bit under your skirt. 

Steve wondered what it would be like to be between them and eat you ou— 

“Would you like a bite?” you whispered, bringing him out of a haze. 

“W-what?” he genuinely thought he was caught in his escapades. 

“Maybe we could order some take out. If you weren’t busy tonight, of course.” The shyness in your eyes and tone made Steve’s heart melt. 

“So pizza, Chinese, or maybe something new in town that you haven’t tried before? Take your pick, sweetheart.” Steve winked as he sat on the little rattan couch you just put pumpkin-themed pillows on. 

The sweet pet names he had been calling you this evening have been making you giggle every time out of pure giddiness. Even as the name slipped from his lips, and his figure sat in front of you with arms spread wide, waiting for you to join him; you prayed that he wouldn’t notice the way you sat to his left with slightly shaky legs in excitement. Truthfully, it wasn’t helping that he put his arm respectfully behind your back and would fix your hair whenever it fell close to your face throughout your next conversations. You felt like you were experiencing your first crush ever, that’s how excited you were. Adding your little delusions of grandeur to the mix, and you were equally as hypnotized with Steve as he secretly was with you. 

It had been so long since someone had taken the time out of their day to slyly flirt with you. Adding the fact that there was a sunset happening from the corner of your eyes, with the lit up candles and slowly appearing stars becoming witnesses to your sweet autumn evening with Steve; it was all aspects to becoming one of your favourite nights to happen since moving in. 

-:-:-:-:-

Once the white cartons full of noodles, fried rice, chicken balls, and steamed vegetables arrived, you and Steve stayed on the balcony to bask in the cool autumn evening. Luckily, you kept blankets nearby for moments like these. So the two of you continued to talk under the coziness of the fluffy fabric and dim lighting of the fake candles. 

Just as Steve finished up his large portion of noodles, he leaned back to stare at the ceiling. “These are really nice. You could be a professional decorator one day,” he teased you. His actions made you mirror his neck movement. 

“As long as I can borrow your ladder then I’ll be set,” you giggled. 

“Or I can always help you out too,” he looked to his left to see the silhouette of your face. The glow from the lights made you look like a beautiful doll. 

“I’ll pay you in Chinese takeout,” a small dimple on your cheek showed your giddiness. 

“Deal,” Steve sat up slightly and turned his body towards you. “Another option would be for you to come to my party next weekend. All my friends will be there and everyone goes all out with their costumes.” 

Just as the words were said, you looked up at him, then to the metal railing behind the rattan couch. It had been placed at the separator between your two balconies. Knowing that you actually made a friend who lived so close to you, caused a warm feeling through your body — one that made you cuddle in deeper with your blanket. “Really? You’d like me there?” 

“Of course. Someone who doesn’t invite their pretty neighbour to a party they’re hosting needs to be out of their mind,” considering that Steve’s roommate has never spoken to you, it could be seen as a miracle to be invited over. 

“Well then it looks like I gotta go through my closet to find a costume,” you smiled. 

The sparkle in your eyes, reflecting the light shimmer of the lights above, hypnotized Steve. “Why do I feel like you already have at least five options in mind?”

“Only three.” 

“Would you tell me?” Steve chuckled at the way you took a bite of egg roll in order to hide your excitement. 

“No, it’s a surprise,” you looked away from your neighbour’s gaze. 

In truth, you had about thirty ideas in mind, but there was no need for your new friend to find out that you had a collection of clothes you bought from the thrift shop — with its only purpose being for last-minute costume parties. Everything from a vampire to a zombie, there were at least enough costumes for everyone in the party in the first place. Admittedly, a part of you wondered what Steve was going to wear. Throughout this evening, you saw the way his muscles were so defined. Even now, as he put an arm on the couch, above your shoulders but not touching them, you wished so badly that he would dress in anything that would show them off. 

God, you really did sound so boy-crazy for your neighbour of all people. 

It really wasn’t helping that Steve brought his arm down slightly to pull you in closer, mentally giving himself the excuse that he wanted to keep you warm. “Then, would you help me decorate?” 

“I knew there was a catch,” you giggled before slapping him lightly on the chest. “But, yes I will. I still have so much decor left in the storage locker from back home.” 

“Just not these lights though. I swear my arms are about to fall off,” the man tensed his shoulders dramatically.  

“Fine, there are probably some sort of easy string lights we could use though. The ones with the little pumpkins are too cute, and maybe —”

“Our friends are gonna love you.” Steve accidentally cut you off by letting his thoughts be heard aloud. 

Anyone from a mile away could see the way the man’s demeanour softened as you spoke. Even his own voice was so soft, yet deep. The sound resonated through your body — causing a few shivers to roll up your spine. The moment anyone hears the way he speaks with you, they’re all going to berate him about it forever. Yet, Steve could already tell that Robin was going to love your excitement about life, or the way Dustin would adore how you listened so intently in any given situation. Well, mostly everyone he knew was talkative anyways, so a good listener was something they all craved. 

“Our?” you asked, tilting your head to the side in slight confusion. 

“Yeah, they’re friends with Eddie too. A bunch of them are driving up from our hometown,” Steve noticed the way you backed away from his body a little, leaning closer to the left corner of the couch. 

“Right, right.”  

“Are you scared of him?” he asked concernedly. “You always seem so shy when he comes up.” 

The way Steve placed a caring hand on your thigh, above the blanket, made your heart flutter. But, you wanted to subdue any thoughts he had towards you disliking his roommate. “W-well, no, not at all. It’s just—”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” 

Well, it’s now or never. Millions of scenarios went through your head — both reality-filled moments, and imaginative possibilities of what you believed Eddie’s ill-fitting thoughts were in that situation. But, would it be polite to even mention your concerned thoughts? What if Eddie found out that you were gossiping to his roommate? That could make the situation worse, making him believe that you enjoyed talking about people behind their backs. 

Alas, you decided to keep it vague. 

“No, uhm, I just don’t think Eddie likes me so much,” you shrugged before smiling at Steve. 

“That’s not true,” he would know. Now would probably be a horrible time to mention the amount of girls Eddie invites over who had similar hairstyles to you; or there was even one time you were wearing a new sweater, and Eddie was able to find someone wearing the exact same one then proceeded to take them out that night. 

The lengths his stubborn roommate would go through astounded Steve. The little gossip fiend within him desperately wished to know your perspective of the curly-haired man. 

“He looks at me all funny when we take the elevator together, or whenever we are in the hallway at the same time,” you pouted. 

“How so?” Steve asked, his arm reaching around you now a little tighter. You savoured the warmth immensely, causing you to lean your head on his shoulder comfortably.  

“There was this one time this girl was in the elevator with me and so I started talking to her since I really loved the purse she had, plus she seemed super nice,” you paused for a moment as you looked up to Steve, almost placing your chin on his side. “She was, by the way.” 

The puzzle pieces were connecting in his head. “Was she the one with the blue streaks in her hair? Kinda tall?” 

A light gasp fell from your lips as you moved away from Steve to have better eye contact. It almost felt like second nature to put your hands on his left thigh as you became more immersed in the storytelling. In truth, the man next to you was about to lose his mind. Just as you found your balance, your right hand was a bit too close to his member. The young Harrington prayed that you didn’t move much more, as your arms squeezing together made your cleavage become more visible as you continued to speak. 

“And then when we got to our floor,” you said after nodding. “She was walking with me and said she was heading in the same direction. So after a few minutes, Eddie opened the door to see what the chatter was all about. H-he looked so mad.” 

“You probably woke him up from his nap,” Steve chuckled at the way your voice became quiet with the last few words. 

“I suppose so. Then I said goodbye to the girl and she went into your apartment with Eddie. The door wasn’t even closed by the time they started — you know — making out.” 

There it was: the confirmation that you and him were definitely thinking about the same girl. But, what intrigued Steve more, was the way a hint of awkwardness and jealousy flashed before your eyes. Then, as you bit your lip, Steve wished so badly to kiss them until they were more plump. 

He really needed to stop himself. 

“Munson must’ve been real stressed that day then. He only calls her up when he is,” Steve leaned his forehead closer to yours. 

“Why would he call up his girlfriend only when he’s in a bad mood?” you couldn’t help but lean closer as you asked the question, completely oblivious to Eddie’s situation. 

“Oh, sweet girl. That is definitely not his girlfriend,” the man chuckled politely as he leaned close to your face.

“But they were —”

You barely got the words out before Steve’s lips bypassed yours. The deep amber notes of his cologne filled the air as his breath tickled your ear sweetly. Just this small movement made you gasp in surprise before smiling to yourself. A pleasurable chill went up your spine as he whispered deeply into your ear. 

“Do you know what friends with benefits are?” He asked, his right hand placed softly on the side of your face. “They just fuck whenever they feel like it. They’re not actually together though.” 

As secretly as you could, you squeezed your thighs together as the words were felt between your legs. Steve’s small touches, his low voice, his soft brown eyes — it all made you want to kiss him so sweetly. There was a part of your brain that craved it, the same part that was imagining what it would be like if he were to lean a little closer and place kisses down your neck. 

And oh, Steve was wondering the same things as you. The way your body was reacting was making him notice how your breathing hitched. His eyes even saw the way your thighs squeezed together. The man wasn’t sure if it was the blanket or both of your beating hearts that made everything feel so warm. 

“Oh, this is my first time hearing about this,” you finally breathed out. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so vulgar,” he smiled as he touched your chin to look at him. 

“No, you weren’t,” you giggled. “I’m still a little confused though. Does Eddie like having sex when he’s in a bad mood?” 

“Don’t you? It brings out the passion in him, I think. Hate sex and all that,” Steve rambled casually. 

You move away slightly to laugh to yourself before looking up at Steve again. “So maybe he doesn’t hate me that much since he doesn’t want to have sex with me.” 

If that’s what you want to believe. 

“Well, I can tell you that he definitely doesn’t hate you in a bad way.” 

“You’re so sweet to me, Steve.” He weirdly knew just how to comfort you, even after only knowing you for a short while. 

“What type of neighbour would I be if I didn’t help you with your worries?” He leaned back slightly and twirled his fingers in the air, symbolizing for you to turn around. So you did, slightly tilting your body and following Steve’s lead to have you lean a bit on his front as he started massaging your shoulders. 

You were so beautiful like this, to the point where the man couldn’t help but be entranced by your delicate skin and soft whimpers of relief as each moment passed. 

Just as much as Steve could tell that his roommate had a schoolboy crush on you, he desperately felt the same way too. The young Harrington was used to girls throwing themselves at him. Especially working the odd job here and there to make ends meet — there was no shortage of new women in his life. Just some flirting with someone at the bar and he could let out all of his pent up energy with someone. In the same way that Eddie had a tendency to go out with people after his shows, the apartment almost always had a guest of some sort. No one could count just how many times a sock on the door was used on a random day of the week, and not a Saturday night like a normal person. However, that all seemed to stop when you moved in. The day you came into town to look at the apartment for the first time, Eddie and Steve were hanging out on their own balcony and heard a soft voice from the slightly open window next door. 

There you were with a sweet smile and soft voice, it seemed to hypnotize both men instantly. After some prying, they found out through the landlord that you were one of ten people who had interest in renting the place next to them. Needless to say, the two men did everything in their power to seem like annoying, loud and obnoxious neighbours — thank God that Eddie’s band was up for the game too and decided to have rehearsal in the apartment for a few days. Slowly but surely, you were the last interested party; the goal that Steve and Eddie were aiming for. When you officially moved in, the playboy days were dwindling down for the roommates. Of course, there was maybe the bi-weekly partner whenever things became really stressful. However, sometimes a right hand and imagination go a long way. At the very least, Steve had more ammo than Eddie, since he actually spoke to you. Eddie just kept to himself about the crush and tried to do everything to forget about you. 

Such a stubborn man , Steve constantly thought. 

In truth, the men were not strangers when it came to sharing a partner or five. They were like a fantasy come to life when some women walked through the apartment doors. Imagine going home with a hot guitarist, only to head to his place and find a muscular pretty boy lounging on the couch in a tight white shirt. Anyone with a sound mind would feel their legs go numb at the thought of taking both men at once. 

Alas, Steve and Eddie were of sound mind as well. They knew that sharing was caring, and if all parties were up for it, then it was bound to be a long and pleasurable night for everyone. 

Currently, it was all up for the younger Harrington to see if you were even slightly interested. And by the way you bit your lip every time Eddie’s name was mentioned, or how your eyes would glaze over every time Steve would unintentionally flex his muscles; he hoped that maybe he would get the chance to place a soft kiss on your lips. Especially since his roommate would not be able to get rid of his stubbornness and make the first move on you.   

“Feels nice,” your voice brought him out of his thoughts. Slowly, your shoulders began to relax beneath his fingertips. “Sorry I kept asking about your roommate’s sex life.” In truth, you felt shy with the fact that you spoke so heavily on such a private matter with someone you barely knew.  

“It’s not a problem at all. You get so cute when an embarrassing topic comes up,” Steve whispered as he got close to your ear whilst massaging you. 

“Honestly, I’ve never really talked about this stuff with other people. Even my ex-boyfriend rarely spoke about it with me,” you said honestly as you closed your eyes.  

“Curious?” 

Softly, Steve placed a kiss on the back of your neck. The small action made you whimper accidentally. It shocked you in the nicest way possible, so much so, that you didn’t think before speaking. “I-I suppose. There are just a lot of things I want to experience but no one to do it with.”

“You don’t need to do it with anyone. You can always have some fun on your own,” Steve teased as his hands went further down your spine to massage you.  

“Oh, I can?” 

With soft eyes, you looked at him over your shoulder. You saw the way there was an intense look behind his gaze — full of fire and lust; it made you bite your lip out of excitement and desperation. Steve’s hands were barely massaging your back now, they were caressing your sides up and down. Every few movements he would brush against the bottom of your clothed-breasts before going back down again. It was causing tingles to vibrate throughout your body. In an instant, Steve kissed your shoulder before looking at you intensely. 

“These walls are thin, baby. I haven’t heard you bring anyone over. A pretty girl in a new city deserves to be taken out on dates. But, most importantly, I haven’t heard you touch yourself since you moved in either,” he teased, his face getting closer and closer to your face with each word. At this point, your lips were barely a centimetre apart. 

“How did you — there’s no time for me to try,” you said honestly with a pout. 

“Aweh, pretty girl is stressed out with everything going on, huh?” he whispered, his breath tickling your nose. 

“Yes, but this makes me feel so good,” you moaned as Steve’s fingers moved down to massage the sides of your thighs. “Do you talk like this to all your neighbours?” 

Steve chuckled as he stopped his movements to look at you with a grin. “Only the most beautiful ones. Especially the ones who want to help with my horrid interior design.” 

“So there really is a catch,” you giggled, hoping that Steve didn’t feel your cheeks warm up as he held your face in his hand. 

This was it, the smile you showed him, the lust in your eyes that increased as time went on, and the way you kept squeezing your thighs together — Steve was about to lose it. In so many ways, everything felt so easy-going with you. He could barely remember a time where he actually enjoyed having a conversation so mundane with anyone. 

“I wanna kiss you so bad,” he thought aloud. 

“Please do.”

With that, both of you leaned forwards to feel the softness of each other’s lips. It was a kiss that was so unchaste that you prayed no one would even attempt to look into the balcony. Goodness knows that there actually is a very religious old lady who lives above you. So a near impossibility floated through your head, wondering if she had the flexibility to use the fire escape. But, that thought easily left your head as you felt Steve’s tongue tease your lips. That, along with his hands roaming your entire body made you moan just enough for him to tease his tongue with yours. 

In truth, you couldn’t handle the angle of twisting your body around, so you moved the blanket slightly before moving your back a little straighter. Steve got the message and moved forwards too, to allow you to be more comfortable as the kiss progressed. After a few moments, he had you lay down on the arm of the couch, secretly placing a pillow above your head in the process. 

You looked so angelic like this. With the light from the fake candles above making you glow from your hair to your eyes to your smile, Steve wished so badly that he was able to capture this moment forever. Even as you slowed down the kiss to catch your breath, the small noises you were making only solidified the fact that he adored this night. Slowly, Steve kissed down your neck, noting the way you whimpered louder when he hit your pulsepoint. When you arched your back, it coincided with the moment the man placed a hand right above your breast. The cold autumn air made your nipples a bit hard, even through the dress you were wearing. As if by instinct, Steve pushed the neckline of the fabric down so that he was able to bare more of your soft skin to the evening stars. 

“Such pretty tits,” he whispered as he exposed your nipples to the cool air. Steve’s mouth began to drool at the thought of putting his mouth on them. “It’s a shame it’s almost winter time and they’re gonna be covered up.” 

“Well, you don’t know my costume yet,” you giggled sweetly as you unknowingly lifted your body up, bringing your breasts closer to his mouth.  

So, the man kissed down your skin, ensuring to linger on his lips in his path. “What’re you gonna be? A bunny? Little puppy?” he teased, placing a chaste kiss onto both of your hardened buds with the final two questions. 

“I was thinking of a pirate. Could be really nice with a little dress and a corset—oh,” you moaned as Steve sucked and bit your nipple. 

“You’ll be the death of me that night,” he whispered onto your chest as one hand moved the blanket to the side and began massaging your bare thighs. 

“Not if you get to me first,” you giggled. The man’s hands were moving further and further up your thighs before it reached a sliver of lace. Desperately, you moved your hips forwards and squeezed your thighs together to give yourself some level of relief. No one has ever dreamed more for someone’s hands to move faster. “What if people see?”

The question filled your mind as the cool air seemed to touch more of your skin. A mixture of hot and cold overwhelmed you now, alongside conflicted feelings about whether or not to ask Steve to bring the activities inside. 

However, if the throbbing between your legs was telling you one thing, it was to please find the climax of your pleasure as soon as possible. 

“We’re on one of the top floors, plus everyone is inside already,” Steve comforted you, moving his body upwards to kiss you sweetly. 

“How about Eddie?” you asked in a whisper. 

“Not home for another hour, I think,” he mirrored the volume of your voice as he continued to kiss your cheek and neck. 

“Oh, alright, keep going,” you smiled whilst helping the man out by lifting the skirt of your dress higher in order to expose more of your thighs to the cool-air. 

Steve nearly came in his pants as he looked down to see the glowing skin. “Yeah?” he teased, biting your ear in the process. 

With one last kiss down your neck, the man next to you looked down to see the way your arousal was seeping through your black lace panties. Even in the darkness of the evening, your thighs were glistening with the wetness that has grown throughout the night. Steve took a moment to capture the image of you squeezing your thighs and rocking them slightly to satiate your desperation, before slowly taking his hand and removing the drenched fabric from you. Once it was off, your pussy began to throb in anticipation as to what was going to happen next. 

You both looked down to see how Steve’s hand slowly made its way between your thighs. He was so easily able to make you bite your lip and look back and forth between his focused face and his large hand. 

“Please, touch me,” you begged sweetly, moving your hips upwards to get his fingers to meet your needy clit. 

“Like this?” the words barely left his lips before he finally touched the wetness between your thighs. He began to massage the little nub in circular movements, then from side to side. Any small touch was enough to make you mewl and lean your head on his shoulder as you moaned in pure ecstasy. “So sensitive, doll.” 

“Feels so nice, Steve. I need more.” Moans and whimpers were releasing from your throat like a song. 

Steve decided on a fast pattern that made you breathe heavily next to him. You were so beautiful like this, so needy and throbbing beneath the evening skies. The cool air made your nipples hard, silently begging Steve's lips to go upon them again. However, he wanted to kiss you first, savouring the way he was drinking up every moan and whimper you were emitting, whilst his other hand went to massage and squeeze your breasts softly. 

It was when the man next to you slowly inserted one finger into your wet hole, that you moaned louder than you have tonight. “I-I-Steve, I really like that,” you whimpered incoherently between kisses. 

“Can I add another one?” he asked with a smile against your lips, but you barely needed to nod before your hips were thrusting themselves upwards in excitement, urging another finger inside of you to stretch you out. 

“More,” you whispered as you arched your back. Steve continued to thrust his fingers deep inside you, his thumb massaging your clit every few movements. He wanted to continue this moment of ecstasy by kissing down your neck and then going to suck on your hardened nipples. 

“You’re so beautiful like this. So wet for me. Look how well you’re taking me.” 

“Your fingers are so much thicker than mine,” you giggled through bitten lips. 

“When was the last time you’ve been fucked, doll?” Steve asked as he looked up at you as he sucked on your left nipple, the most sensitive of the two. 

The question was a simple one, one that embarrassed you quite a bit. But, remembering what it was like to be stretched out, made you throb upon Steve’s thick fingers. Your mind couldn’t stop itself from wondering one thing: what would it be like if the man before you was going to be the one stretching you out. 

Judging by the hardness that he has been sporting for the past little while, you had a pretty good idea. 

“It’s been too long. Months, Steve,” you admitted. “C-can you, please help me?” 

You wished so badly to be more vulgar with your words; however, your brain was so focused on the climax of your pleasure, and the fact that Steve’s fingers were thrusting in and out of you at a faster pace. 

“Not even a toy? Hairbrush? How about using a cute pillow as something to rub your pretty pussy on?” Steve’s perverted mind kept urging him to ask the questions. He noted the way your heat clenched with each word. 

“No, I have no time,” you moaned loudly. This time, Steve kneeled in front of you now, leaving your breasts feeling colder as the wind hit the trail of saliva he left. 

“You poor thing. Well, looks like we gotta find a way to let out all your pent up stress,” he kissed your clit sweetly with the last word. 

The words failed to leave your throat. Instead, a breathy moan escaped instead. Steve began to kiss and lick your sensitive clit as his thick fingers were making their way inside of you. This felt like such a dream. There have been countless nights where you have awoken from a rather active imagination — wondering what it would feel like if your neighbour were to help you release your sexual energy. The dating game has not been extremely friendly to you, and the only person who has come up in your mind as someone who made your legs involuntarily squeeze together, was your neighbour. 

But which neighbour exactly? 

It would be a lie to say that only Steve has been the main focus. Sometimes you have dreamed that it was Eddie thrusting his silver ring-clad fingers inside of you. Maybe it was both of them at the same time. But, good god, Steve was so good that you nearly forgot everything in your brain. His soft lips began to suck on your clit, circling it with his tongue slowly. He noticed how you would clench on his fingers and gush a little more if he sucked hard and moved his fingers upwards. And so, he did it over and over until you were moaning so loud that he could even hear it when your thighs squeezed around his head. 

“You’re so good at this, Stevie. My pussy feels nicer than it ever has,” you thought aloud. 

“And here I thought you were too embarrassed to do it outside,” he winked up at you before going down to kiss your swollen clit. 

“Maybe I’ll use a blanket to cover you up a bit, just in case,” you smiled before putting the warm fabric upon his shoulders. 

“Such a sweet girl,” he whispered onto your clit, with two meanings behind the words. 

Remembering how nice it felt when Steve’s lips and fingers were squeezing your nipples, you mirrored his previous actions with your hands. Thankfully, it added a little bit of warmth to your skin. 

“I-I’m so close, Steve.” 

“Gonna get louder for me, doll? Your noises are so fucking nice.” He started to thrust his thick fingers inside of you faster. He was able to hit a sweet spot that made you cry out in ecstasy.

“Someone might hear, Steve,” you whimpered as you grasped onto his hair with one hand. 

The man looked up at you and winked whilst sucking on your clit. You couldn’t stop staring at the hazel eyes, focusing on them and the pleasure he was able to give you. However, it was when his eyes broke eye contact with you, that your heart dropped to your stomach. 

“It’s a bit too late for that.” 

Fuck. 

The voice was familiar, clouded by a raspiness that made your body shiver. Then, there was the smell of cigarettes lingering in the air that felt comforting to your senses in the cold weather. No matter how much you knew you should turn around and confirm who was behind you, your instincts knew exactly who it was. So you didn’t take your gaze away from Steve, who gave your clit one last kiss before straightening his back — his fingers were still knuckle-deep inside of you. 

“When did you get back?” Steve asked with a tilt to his head. 

“Like five minutes ago. I stopped by the grocery to get eggs and some sliced cheese because we ran out yesterdat,” Eddie said calmly. 

How dare they act so nonchalant as you lay here, extremely exposed to the elements? 

“Thanks, man,” Steve nodded as he took his roommate’s cigarette for a slight puff. His movements made his fingers inside of you twitch slightly 

This made you turn around to see the curly-haired man leaning on the railing that separated your two balconies. He probably hates you so much right now. Every time you two have interacted, it has been moments of silence and awkward stares. This was surely the most awkward situation of them all. Thus, you got some of the blanket to cover yourself up, covering your chest and the top of your thighs. 

For some reason though, everything seemed to excite you. Steve noticed it too, how you were getting wetter and wetter by the second. It made him smirk when he looked down to see your thighs squeezing together slightly. 

“Did you invite more people to the party this weekend?” Steve continued. 

“Nah, I think our guest list is finalized,” Eddie shrugged without breaking eye contact with you. It was you who looked away first. 

“Add in our neighbour here, she said she’ll help us with decorating too,” he added, about to give you the cigarette before you shook your head. 

“Steve,” you whispered annoyedly, your eyes looking between his own and the hand between your legs. 

He got a hint, not the right one, but a hint nonetheless. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said. Steve simultaneously gave Eddie the cigarette back whilst thrusting his fingers in and out of your throbbing centre. 

It felt so nice that you tilted your head back without realizing you did so. With bitten lips and a slightly frustrated whimper, you were about to respond. Instead, it was Eddie who spoke up first, looking at the both of you. 

“Cool, it won’t be too crowded anyways. Maybe I’ll head out and find a costume,” Eddie said. It would be a lie to say he didn’t glance over to see the glistening arousal on Steve’s fingers. 

“If you see a punch bowl then buy it, I think the one we have broke,” Steve said nonchalantly as he easily brought his other hand to your core and started to circle your clit. 

The pleasure was becoming too much. The sound of both their voices was doing things to your body which were inexplicable. Adding the warmth of the blanket around you, you began to sweat with pure eroticism running through your veins. But, you weren’t about to orgasm in such an embarrassing situation, with a neighbour who always seemed to be on his last nerve around you. 

“I can't do this,” you whispered. Steve stopped his movements and placed his hands on your thighs instead, looking at you with concern. “This is so embarrassing.” 

“Eddie and I have walked in on each other dozens of times, it’s fine, doll.” 

“It’s true,” the dealer admitted. “I’ll leave you two to it.” 

“N-no,” you exclaimed. Closing your legs and turning your body towards Eddie’s. 

Unsure of what came over your body, you bit your lip, looking between the two men. Your entire sex life has been filled with mediocre relations — men who just enjoyed the missionary position more than anything else. Even if you asked for a little bit of a change, the guys would pretend to be up for it. But, in the final minute, claim that the previous actions have worked before, so there was no need to try something new. But right now, your body is on fire in the best way possible. This was a situation that only your imagination could think of. But this wasn’t a fantasy, this was the realest your life has been thus far since moving into this apartment. The throbbing between your legs only solidified your feelings. However, you did want to get something out of the way first. 

“Do you hate me more now?” You whispered to the curly-haired man before you. 

“Why do you say that?” Eddie asked in return, leaning over the railing and placing a hand on your cheek. 

“This is the most you’ve ever spoken around me, a-and it’s such a lewd act I’m in.” The words fell from your lips, tears welling up in your eyes slightly. 

Steve noticed the nervousness exuding from your body, so he slowly drew soft circles on your thighs to comfort you. He knew that Eddie probably had a million thoughts in his head, but he wanted to hear it be said from the man himself.  

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t hate you,” Eddie wiped a tear from your cheek. “I-I—” 

“Say it, Munson. Admit it already,” Steve teased. Eddie looked at him in a slight annoyance before looking at you again. 

“What does he mean?” You asked sweetly. 

“I-I want you. Fuck , I’ve always wanted you from the start. But you seemed so angelic, so untouchable. It pissed me off that you were so close yet I didn’t have the guts to talk to you.” 

His words shocked you, so much so that you gasped and looked away from him. Your head turned towards Steve who gave you a sweet smile. The men before you seemed to read each other’s minds as they looked at you with a warmth that filled your body. For a moment, you pulled yourself away from Steve’s touch on your legs, and Eddie’s hand on your cheek and sat close to the corner of the couch. In that second of contemplation, you tried to listen to the millions of thoughts running through your brain.  

However, it was Steve whose voice comforted you amongst your thoughts. “Are you alright, doll?” 

All you could do was nod as a response. 

“I’ll be going —” Eddie said as he finished his cigarette and put it out on the ground. 

“N-no, stay here. Please, Eddie.” It came out as a desperate plea. 

“You mean that, sweetheart?” The man asked you. 

With a look in your eyes that told the world that you were so unsure of where the situation would go next, you looked towards Steve, who was kneeling next to you. He smiled at you so sweetly that you brought your face close to his and kissed him chastely. A moment later, you brought your body upwards, blanket still covering you, and sat up near Eddie’s figure. 

“I mean it. I need you, the both of you,” the words were so filled with lust that it shocked the roommates. 

Steve went to stand behind you, a hand grasping your hip and pushing you forwards slightly. With a soft whisper in your ear, he said, “you know exactly what you want to do next, don’t you, doll?” The man winked at his roommate before moving your hair to the side to kiss the back of your neck, his eyes still looking at you and Eddie. 

And so, with a deep breath and a hand on the guitarist's cheek, you leaned forward by merely an inch. There was barely a need to move far as Eddie was meeting your halfway. The smell of tobacco filled your senses for a moment. But then, whether it was a gust of wind, Steve’s kiss upon your neck making you tingle, or you and Eddie’s bodies moving simultaneously — you kissed him. You kissed him so deeply that you moaned into the kiss as if it was something you have been longing for. 

You have. 

So has he. 

So has Steve, but he was going to keep his perverted thoughts to himself for the next little while as he saw the way you were finding pleasure just through kisses. Also, if the way Eddie’s cheeks were blushing with each movement and touch your fingers laid upon his collarbone, he definitely was enjoying this just as equally. 

“Look at you, doll, you look so pretty when you get what you want,” Steve teasingly whispered in your ear. “Needy girl.” 

“Am not,” you pouted as you separated your lips from Eddie’s to look at the man behind you. “I just know what I like,” you giggled. 

Steve chuckled with you as he took his turn to kiss you now. Eddie took the opportunity to jump the railing and find his way to the couch seat next to you. The man pushed the blanket down to expose your breasts to the cool-air again, taking a moment to admire the way they bounced every time you moved your head slightly to deepen the kiss you were sharing with his roommate. 

“Fuck, they’re so perfect,” Eddie whispered loudly to himself. 

“They’re so sore,” you teased, bringing a hand up to squeeze your right nipple. The pleasure from the pinch, as well as Steve’s lips leaving little love bites on the left side of your neck made you moan. 

“Oh, I can definitely help you with that, sweet girl.” After the words left his mouth, Eddie brought himself closer to you. After going to kiss you once and winking at Steve in the process, he dove down to suck on your tits in a motion that caused you to lean forward to feel more of the pleasure. 

You didn’t notice, however, the way your hips were grinding on the squished pillow that found its way beneath your thighs. Steve saw how you were riding your waves of ecstasy with all of the sensations you were feeling. He swears his cock couldn’t handle it now. So much so, that he leaned back from you to stroke his hardness through the fabric of his pants. Even the little bit of pressure made him moan alongside you now. 

The noise made you turn around to see the way Steve’s cheeks reddened as he stared at you and Eddie like his own personal porno. “Having a hard time, Stevie?” Eddie teased between licks to your breasts. 

“Fuck off, man. My doll looks so beautiful like this. I’ve been hard for hours.” 

“Would you want some help with that?” you giggled as you pushed Eddie further onto the couch, nearly laying on top of him. All in order to bend over in front of Steve. 

“Still so wet,” he said deeply, admiring the glistening arousal between your legs and the roundness of your bottom. 

“Please, Steve. Your fingers felt so nice, but I want to be stretched out by something more,” you nearly whined. 

Eddie was kissing your neck now, loving the way your voice sounded when you begged. “Come on, big boy. Looks like our girl can take it.” 

“I’ll take you real nice,” Steve said as he stroked his fingers from your clit to your sopping hole. “Will you tell me if it becomes too much?” 

In truth, this was the most exhilarating your have ever felt during a moment of sexual relations with another man, let alone two. Everything before this was so vanilla, that anything besides the usual seemed scary. However, this didn't. This made you want to experience pleasure whilst giving it simultaneously. Adding the fact that someone may see at any moment was causing waves of thrill and excitement to flow through your being. Steve must have seen the plethora of emotions in your eyes, as he was so hypnotized by them. 

“I promise. Now, please,” you moaned while bringing your butt back to grind on Steve’s clothed-hardness. Even through the layers you could feel the heat emitting from it. 

“Your wish is my command.” With that, he pushed his pants and started to tease your entrance with his tip. 

Although you couldn’t see it as you looked back from your left shoulder, you could tell it was thick. So thick in fact, that even him spreading your folds was enough to make you whimper and giggle. 

“He’s never had a complaint thus far,” Eddie whispered in your ear before kissing you again. 

“Maybe I’ll give a review—oh,” you moaned into Eddie’s lips as Steve slowly entered your throbbing pussy. 

“That’s it, taking me so well,” he said, thrusting into you at a slow but pleasurable pattern. Inch by inch, he swears that heaven was before his eyes. Seeing the way you held onto Eddie’s shoulders with a tighter grip made Steve smile with the amount of ecstasy you were feeling. 

“F-faster, please, Steve. I h-haven’t felt this good in so long,” you nearly began to move your hips to meet with his thrusts. Desperately, achingly, you adored the way his cock felt inside you. Each throb was met with a new inch for you to get used to, and it was the easiest thing to fall in love with. 

Before you could even take a breath after saying a sentence, Steve grabbed your hips tightly and began to rock into you faster and faster. Eddie looked at his roommate with pride, noting how entranced Steve looked as he fucked you deeper and deeper. Then, when the dealer looked at you, and the way you bit your lip and placed your head on his shoulder because of all the ecstasy you were experiencing — Eddie had never thanked the gods of fate more than he was right now. For some reason, he was feeling utterly horny beyond belief throughout the day and promised himself when he got home he would smoke a bit and indulge in some X-rated films and a squishy plastic toy. The fact that he got every green light on the way home, and his parking spot wasn’t taken by the annoying downstairs neighbour; it was like the universe wanted him to be home right on time to get a live show of you and Steve on the verge of fucking. 

Now, as your body squished against Eddie’s, your thighs brushing against his hardness, he swears he could get off on only this. 

“Can I suck you off, Eddie?” The words brought him out of his thoughts. 

They were the best words to do so, too. 

“Oh, my darling. You seem to be enjoying Stevie over here,” he kissed you as you moaned loudly, wanting to drink up your sounds. 

“But, I need you too. My mouth feels s-so lonely.” You pouted as you brought your left hand down to place a trail of light touches from Eddie’s neck to his stomach then to his bulge beneath his jeans. 

“He’s big, doll. Are you sure you can take our two cocks?” Steve leaned down to whisper in your ear as he continued to thrust into you. 

“Yes, I can. I promise it’ll be alright,” you whimpered as you felt Steve throbbing within you, before turning your face to pout and say: “he’s so hard too.” 

With a grip to Eddie’s hardness below, you stroked it through the denim to emphasize your point. When you finally got a moment to breathe, you looked down to see just how thick — and maybe even longer — Eddie was in comparison to his roommate. Just like Steve was doing before, you slightly drooled and looked at the rockstar’s member with hypnotized eyes. 

“It’s a dream come true. Isn’t that right, Munson?” Steve teased as he went to straighten his back and continue thrusting into you. 

“What do you mean?” you asked innocently. In truth, the possibility of Eddie dreaming about this moment made you clench slightly; the younger Harrington definitely felt it. 

“I mean — fuck — he’s been waiting for you, doll.” 

“Harrington, I swear to god,” the other man said through clenched teeth, due to both the pleasure of your hands and his roommate’s annoying mouth. 

“Have you dreamed about me, Eddie?” You looked at the man in question now whilst biting your lip. “Pictured me just like this: fucked out in front of you?” 

This was a look that neither man has seen in your eyes before: one that was filled with lust and teasing. Every time before this, you had such a serene and sweet look behind your eyes, with the remnants of a smile always lingering on your face. But this, this was as if you were a succubus on earth for the two roommates before you. The drool dripping from your lips was enough to solidify that thought. “Every night,” Eddie grunted. 

“Your cock is so long,” you said with a whimper. “May I?”

“Please,” Eddie was able to say in his haze, right before you started to unzip his pants slowly. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me.” 

The words made you throb harder on Steve’s cock as he thrusted into you, making you imagine the moment when the two roommates would switch places. The younger Harrington was staring at you both like he was watching his favourite film come to life. Even the words you were saying were right out of an erotic movie he saw the other day. 

“Can I ride you one day?” You whispered to Eddie, kissing down his shaft slowly. 

“You’re so needy,” Steve grunted. “Just the thought is making your pussy throb on me — unh, fuck ,” he moaned. 

It’s true, getting a taste of Eddie made you throb slightly at pleasure of it all. Especially once you started to lick the head, tasting the precum and hearing the guitarist moan above you, you felt yourself throb around Steve harder and harder. 

“Sweetheart, are you gonna be our good little fuck toy?” Eddie asked once you started to envelop your lips around his cock.

The image of you looking up at him and drooling over his hardness will be something ingrained in his mind forever. Then the humming got louder and louder as you nodded, causing vibrations to flow through Eddie’s cock. It felt so good that he tilted his head back slightly as you moaned on him, the warm and sucking sensation only making him get closer to the edge. After a moment he looked down to see that the source of your mouth’s vibrations weren’t just due to the fast pace Steve was thrusting into you; but it was also the fact that younger Harrington also was reaching down to circle his fingers in your clit. 

You were so overwhelmed with pleasure that your hands took over now to squeeze Eddie’s hardness, all so you could whimper and moan loudly for both men to hear. 

Here’s hoping the neighbours won’t complain tonight. 

“Your mouth is so good, you know that?” Eddie said in a tone deeper than usual. 

“I can take you deeper, use my throat, Eddie,” you looked up at him whilst moving your hips to meet with Steve’s. The pleasure was overtaking all of your bodies now. 

“I wanna see you cum while you’re sucking my cock, can you do that for me?”  

“Y-yes,” you nodded quickly, your hand stroking him faster out of pure eagerness.  

Eddie smiled, nearly sinisterly. “Can you do that for me, Harrington?” 

“We both know I can,” Steve grunted, moving faster into you. 

In truth, he was so happy that Eddie said those words. Steve swears he was about to combust at any moment, but he was just waiting for you to find the climax of your pleasure. He was only praying that he would last longer. However, with the way you were throbbing so beautifully on him, nearly glowing with ecstasy, Steve wanted to see the climax of it all. “That’s it, pretty girl,” Steve teased, he knew exactly what you needed to bring you closer and closer to the edge. “You look so pretty with two cocks in you. This is what you wanted, huh?” 

“Yes, yes, every night I think about it,” a loud groan fell from your lips as you responded, Steve’s cock hitting you from an angle that was hitting your sweet spot over and over. Then, Eddie was the one who felt the remnants of your pleasure — with your hands and mouth going back to milking his own hardness in the process. 

“Looks like we’re all on the same page. The amount of times I’ve imagined fucking you on this balcony. You look so pretty when you’re reading here in your little shorts.” 

Who knew the exhibitionist bug within Steve rubbed off on you in more ways than one? 

“Keep going, Steve,” Eddie moaned as he gripped your hair with his right hand. “I think she’s close. Sweetheart loves to hear how pretty and fuckable she is.” 

“Feels nice,” you whispered quickly before going back to suck harder. 

“Oh yeah? You should hear about Eddie’s little escapades about you, doll.” 

All you could do was tilt your head whilst The guitarist was still inside your mouth. Eddie got the hint as he looked into your eyes, his hardness thrusting deeper and deeper into your throat slowly as he spoke. “Every time I see you in the hallways I swear I can’t control myself. I feel like such a perv with the dreams that float through my head.”

The man barely had a moment to savour the feeling of being fully into your mouth now, because you released him quickly to tease. “Wanna make them come true one day?” You asked with a wink. 

“One of them already is, sweetheart,” Eddie smiled, noting the way your legs began to tremble as Steve continued to circle your clit again whilst hitting the soft spot within you with his cock. 

“Now how about you cum for us to really make this dream one to remember?” the man behind you said.  

“Faster,” you nodded, accepting his challenge. 

“Good girl.” 

The words were echoing through the air, but you weren’t sure who said it. In truth, it could have been both of them. The roommates were so prone to playing off of each other, seeing what exactly the third person liked and enjoyed. Most of them adored it when one of them was sweet whilst the other was slightly degrading. Some wanted them both to be a little mean. But then there was you, who enjoyed the feeling of being praised and teased like such a good girl for them. So with the words echoing in your head, of different compliments which bordered the line of perversion each time — you swear that the pleasure you’ve been feeling had been turned up a thousand times. On one hand, Steve was doing such a good job on you: thrusting back and forth into your throbbing hole, whilst bending down to circle your nub. The stretch was everything you needed after such a long time of being single and busy with life. From behind you, he would whisper just loud enough for you to hear. 

“Such a sweet girl for me, huh? So tight and wet for us,” he would chant like a prayer — a prayer to the gods who were probably looking down upon this scene from the starry sky. Steve was nearly thanking them for putting him in this moment where he was able to see how you nodded in response upon Eddie’s cock, and then feeling your pussy throb below as you reacted to the little compliment. 

Then, there was Eddie, who was doing such a wonderful job stroking your hair lovingly as you looked up at him. Now it was your turn to give the pleasure, noticing how Eddie would thrust his own hips upwards into your mouth every time you squeezed his balls with the right amount of pressure. He also adored the way your moans would vibrate through his own body every time you felt good. So the guitarist used his skilled fingers to reach down and use one hand to twist your lonely nipples. The way you would moan and whimper was felt on him ten-fold. With a light grip on the side of your hair, he would help you swallow more and more of his cock: his main goal wanting to feel your ecstasy. 

“If we knew you were so horny, these holes would have had a lot of fun by now,” Eddie teased as he saw your eyes start to roll back a little. “Come for us, sweetheart.” 

With that, Eddie looked at the way you nodded up at him with pleasure-filled tears in your eyes. Your climax was so close now as your moans became louder and the grip on Eddie’s shaft tightened. 

Eddie looked up at Steve with a smile, knowing that his roommate was close to the edge as well. And so, Steve circled your clit faster and faster — the movement making your pussy throb. It wasn’t until you gave one hard suck on Eddie, tasting his cum, while Steve massaged your nub at the right angle that it happened. You felt the orgasm take over your entire body in an instant; it was like a vibration that you didn’t know how to control. It was evident to everyone on the balcony that your climax was extremely overwhelming. You were arching your back more, creating another angle for Steve to thrust into you. All while you had to let go of Eddie, who was inside of your mouth, in order to release your moans to the world. Your hands continued to stroke his hardness until you saw that his hot tip was ready. With a slightly open mouth, you looked up at the man to show him you were ready to taste his cum too. 

“Are you boys gonna cum for me too?” You teased sweetly. It was enough for both men to finally let go from the pent up ecstasy they were feeling. 

You were so beautiful, taking the creamy liquid everywhere. Moans filled your ears as both men thrust deeply inside of you; at the same time, you were being filled from two different holes as the men fell deeply in love with the feeling of your warmth. For all three of you to ride out your orgasms so sweetly, was the most erotic part of it all. With the situation nearly looking like it was out of a painting as all three of you took a few moments to bask in the evening breeze, a blanket intertwined between your bodies, and sweat glistening upon your skin. 

Both men looked at you with adoration, noting how you were glowing as you relaxed your body. Just as Eddie pulled out of your mouth first, grabbing one of the leftover napkins from dinner to wipe away at your mouth, he noticed how you had swallowed nearly all of it. 

You really were such a good girl , he thought but didn’t say aloud as he wiped your mouth that was covered in saliva. 

Then, Steve took his softening cock out of you, taking a moment to admire the creamy fluid in between your legs. He pushed your skirt down to cover you up and whispered,  “are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, thank you, Steve.” Your voice was tired out — mainly from all the moaning and whimpering you were just doing. The serene sound will never leave the men’s thoughts. 

“I hope we weren’t too rough on you,” Eddie sweetly chuckled whilst pulling you up to move your body and have you sit comfortably on the couch. 

“Not at all,” you giggled sweetly as you sat closer to the guitarist. “It was quite fun.” 

The giddiness in your voice was apparent as you smiled to yourself. Steve adored how you became slightly shy, even after all of the lewd acts you three have committed on this balcony. He would do anything to continue seeing the heat rush to your face, even in the coldest of weather. Just as he sat down on the couch, leaving you in between both men, Eddie continued to tease. 

“Yeah? Looks like we gave you a nice housewarming gift.” 

“Maybe we gotta christen every part of the apartment — it would only be right,” Steve said whilst smoothing the blanket over your thighs. 

“Is he always this kinky?” You questioned towards Eddie now, with a chuckle in your voice. 

“Oh yeah, sometimes if I know he invited this one girl over, I don’t go to the apartment for a few days so the smell of sex can leave the air,” Eddie groaned jokingly, putting an arm around you. 

Honestly, you do remember the way you heard a patterned noise that sounded really similar to a headboard hitting a wall, alongside moans and laughter. Your innocent mind genuinely thought that Steve was watching a funny movie with a date — not, well, you know . “That explains why you didn’t come the other weekend. I thought you hated me. Who knew it was because Steve is so horny.” 

“Hey, I didn’t bring you two together to gossip about me,” Steve gasped in disbelief as he saw the way you and Eddie had quickly gotten past the phase of awkwardness.  

“But it’s fun,” you pouted, moving over so your cheek could rest on Steve’s broad shoulder. 

“There’s definitely something more fun than this that I could think of,” Steve teased, looking in his roommate’s direction 

“Maybe we could —” you paused as you looked between both men, fearful that you looked too eager. 

But, they seemed to admire the excitement in your eyes, looking at one another before focusing their gazes on your figure which was sinking into the couch. A teasingly sinister smile crept up on Eddie’s face as he touched your thigh softly. “We could do what, sweetheart?” 

“Maybe we can head inside? It’s so cold now,” you giggled, shivers running through your body. 

Luckily for you, warmth ran through your body, shooting straight to your heart amongst the cool autumn breeze overtook your senses now. No other moment in your life has ever made you feel so exhilarated like this. Just as Eddie placed a chaste kiss on your lips, whilst Steve teased his mouth over your neck — a million thoughts ran through your brain. Then, when you felt a hand reach under the blanket and touch the soft skin of your thighs, one thought became louder than the rest: 

Maybe, just maybe, moving into a new apartment during the month of October was a good idea after all.

-:-:-:-:-

[percivaljacksons]

preview

hi ive decided to stop taking myself so seriously -- when i finish this it'll go on ao3 as a oneshot, but this is what ive got so far of angsty divers au (no it still does not have a title). rated somewhere between t and m. can i get a hell yeah in the chat? um have fun lol.

..

NYT: A lot of headlines have already declared this as the discovery of the century—one even as the discovery of the millenia. Did you envision such a momentous breakthrough in your career?

PJ: Uh, no. I didn’t think I was gonna graduate high school. You can laugh, dude, but I’m not joking. This has all been one crazy ride. My life changed forever the moment I met Annabeth Chase. 

//

What Annabeth remembers, during the nights she tries not to:

The cold. The blackness so thick they might as well have been diving in ink. Percy’s mouthpiece, warm when he pressed it to her lips every twelve seconds. She’d breathe in, then tap his wrist twice, and it would disappear once more.

They’ve always been good at nonverbal communication. A twitch of an eyebrow here, a sideways glance there. She knows when he’s rolling his eyes without having to look. He always manages to pass her a tissue right before she sneezes.

Annabeth wonders if they’ll ever get out from beneath what they said to each other, down in the Pit, where neither of them could utter a single word.

//

The phone rings five times, tinny and faint in Annabeth’s ear as she waits. She’s breathing hard, her hair still dripping and her suit peeled down to her waist, a pair of sunglasses her only real protection against the late afternoon Mediterranean sun. 

The ringing cuts off, and a groggy voice says, “yeah?”

Annabeth glances down at her watch. “Percy?” She asks. 

There’s a beat. When the voice speaks again, it’s perfectly awake. “Annabeth?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I…I thought you’d be awake by now.”

“I’m in San Diego.”

“Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine. Good, I’m good. Are you?”

“Yeah.” His voice is quiet, almost wistful. “Why the new phone number?”

“It’s temporary. I’m in Greece.” She listens to him breathe, feels her own heart settle. 

“Greece,” he repeats.

Her thumb smooths over the shard of pottery in her hand. “Yeah. How soon can you get here?”

“To Greece? Shit, Annabeth, I don’t—”

“I found it,” she says. A glance over her shoulder tells her that her two grad students are laughing as they organize her gear and not paying attention to her at all, but she lowers her voice anyway. “I saw it, Percy. It’s real.” She breathes in, then out. The boat rocks under her. “I found it,” she repeats.

Static crackles in her ear. “I’ll be there in 24 hours,” Percy says.

//

They’d gone down together, which was stupid. So much of it was stupid with even a few hours of hindsight. No one coming down after them, thinking they knew the cave too well to get lost, believing that doing everything right meant that they were safe.

Stupid. 

The light clipped onto her suit only illuminated about a twelve inches past her flippers. She could see the walls on either side, the familiar steadily making way for the unfamiliar as they descended to the section only Percy had explored. 

Percy’s flipper tapped her head. He was reminding her to stop and equalize her ear pressure, so she did. He was more experienced diving in salt water. It saved her life, in the end—she had her nose pinched and her mouth firmly closed when she got slammed into the wall regulator yoke first. 

The straps on her chest jerked from the release of pressure, but it was the feeling of the bubbles rapidly flowing up her that let her know she was really, truly fucked.

//

It’s been six months since the Pit, and three since they last saw each other in person. Annabeth thought he was in New York, Percy probably thought she was—well, Annabeth doesn’t actually know. Probably not where she’s been. 

She’s been in Sicily and Ostia and around sixteen different Greek and Turkish islands. She hasn’t stayed in one place long enough for her mind to settle, has managed to outrun every shadow that clung to her pumping heels, only now her throat burns and her muscles ache and Percy meets her at the arrivals gate in Athens with a fresh tan and an unsure smile and Annabeth is all too aware that her months of avoidance have come to an end. 

Percy comes to a stop a foot or so away from her, tantalizingly close. Within arm’s reach. “Hey,” he says. 

His hair is long enough that he needs a band to keep his bangs out of his eyes. She recognizes it—it’s the same one she’d used to keep her own hair from falling in her face when it started to grow back after she’d chopped it five and a half months ago. The duffel bag thrown over his shoulder is also hers, and so is the necklace peeking out from beneath his collar. 

Annabeth hugs him because she wants to kiss him. “Hi,” she responds. 

The duffel bag hits the floor. His arms wrap around her, fierce and firm, and she buries her face in the warm skin of his neck. Stubble scratches against her cheek; Annabeth breathes easy for the first time in something like twelve weeks. 

“I thought you might send one of your grad students,” he says. His arms stay locked around her. 

“You got on the first flight you could,” Annabeth responds, her voice muffled. “Least I could do was meet you halfway.”

His fingertips press the tiniest bit harder into her spine. “Thanks,” he whispers into her hair. 

Annabeth’s own necklace digs into her jaw. I’ve missed you, she says with the nudge of her nose against his pulse. 

He rocks them back and forth, just barely. I’ve missed you, too, he responds with the graze of his palms over her back. 

Annabeth takes a breath, takes in the unchanged feeling coursing through her blood, and finally manages to take a step back. “You ready?” She asks. 

Percy’s smile is dazzling. “You bet your bippy I am.”

Annabeth leads him to her rental with loosely linked fingers, her steps so light she’s half convinced she could walk right over the Mediterranean itself. 

//

The last time they saw each other—the last time she saw him—it had been in the artificial brightness of their living room. Annabeth hadn’t slept in days, Percy hardly ever looked her in the eye, and neither of them could muster the strength to turn off even their tiniest, most ineffective lamp. 

No matter how many times Annabeth took deep breaths, she was still gasping for air. 

Percy would turn on the shower and stare at the water hitting the other side of the curtain, the bathroom door firmly shut, and then turn the faucet off again without ever stepping in. 

They curled up together every night, their bedroom lit up like a department store, her fingertips leaving bruises in his hips and shoulders, and if they were lucky sometimes one of them could fall asleep. 

Annabeth left New York. Percy didn’t follow her. 

//

One of her grad students picks them up from the dock. They were the only passengers on the boat from the mainland, so she’s the only person waiting, leaning against a rusty pickup truck filled with scuba equipment. She’s also lazily smoking a cigarette, her bright blue hair lit up a striking cobalt by the sun. 

She drops the cigarette and twists her foot over it the moment she sees them approach. “Doctor,” she greets with a grin that’s a little too innocent. 

Annabeth glares at her. “Pick that up. We’re not here to litter.”

The grad student sticks a hand out to shake Percy’s. “Hey, I’m Lucy. You the pottery guy?”

“I leave for one day and your hair is blue,” Annabeth mutters, taking the duffel bag from Percy’s shoulder and tossing it into the back. “If you’ve been smoking in the truck…”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “No, Mom, I haven’t been smoking in the truck. My hair’s blue because Mitchell won our bet, don’t worry about it. I didn’t even stain the towels.”

“I like it,” Percy says. 

“See?” Lucy says. She bends down and picks up her cigarette butt when Annabeth keeps glaring. “The pottery guy gets it.”

“Um—” Percy tries to say. 

“This is Percy,” Annabeth explains. “He’s not a pottery guy.”

“When’s the pottery guy getting here, then?”

Annabeth goes around to the driver’s side and gets in the truck instead of answering. Lucy shrugs and moves the passenger seat up to slide into the rear bench, waving Percy away when he tries to get in. He sits in the front with a shrug once Lucy’s knees are out of the way, and the moment his seatbelt is buckled Annabeth tears out of the marina parking lot. 

“So.” Lucy’s fingers tap along the backs of their chairs. “If you’re not a pottery guy, who are you? ‘Cuz Annabeth found a piece of pottery on her dive two days ago and took off outta here like Icarus on his way to freedom.”

It’s a weird simile, but Annabeth doesn’t respond. When Percy turns to look at her, her eyes don’t even stray from the road. 

“You didn’t tell them?” He asks. 

Annabeth grunts. Percy keeps staring at her, wondering which question he should answer, and eventually says to Lucy, “Annabeth and I…” He sighs. “Well, we go way back. How long have you been her student?” 

“A few months,” Lucy says. 

Percy smiles and turns to look out the window. They’re along the coast now, and the ocean is blue like a jolly rancher. “She doesn’t need a pottery guy,” he says.

Lucy raises her eyebrows. She looks at Percy, then at Annabeth, then back to Percy again. “Totally explains everything,” she says, and the rest of the drive passes in silence. 

//

For weeks after the Pit, Annabeth was on the edge of a panic attack whenever she couldn’t feel Percy beside her. She knew why, logically. The therapist explained it, and everyone was so goddamn understanding. Grover, and Sally, and Piper, and Nico, and Clarisse.

Even her mother, under the thick layer of I-told-you-so that she didn’t bother to try and hide.

What can you say, when your head finally has broken free of the water? When all light is blinding, when you can’t get rid of the taste of salt on your lips?

What can you say to the person who pulled you back to life, when you’re the only reason his soul grazed the razor edge of death in the first place?

//

“Why are the vibes, like, literally rancid?” Mitchell mutters, loading the extra gear his advisor always insists on bringing onto the boat.

“Girl, if I knew,” Lucy responds, shaking her head. 

“You could help, you know.”

“I picked them up from the dock! No, don’t put the yoke by the O2—”

“You do it, then!”

“Fine.”

She joins him, loading in silence. After a minute:

“$5 they’ve boned.”

“You’re so on.”

//

They put their gear on together, her reaching out to zip him up without prompting and him holding her tank steady so she can slide her arms through the straps. They don’t have to look at each other to do it, so they don’t. 

Annabeth only glances over once they’re finished. His eyes are hidden behind his diving mask, and Annabeth’s heart migrates to her throat.

The last time she’d seen him like that had been—

“Ready?” She asks.

Percy nods. She goes in first, and he follows.

He’s still following, even now. But that’s Percy. 

From above the surface, it looks like a rock. A big rock, sure, but not dissimilar from the jutting stones that surround a lot of the Mediterranean, the jagged edges that contrast the white sand beaches. That’s been her main research tactic, recently—where do the tourists avoid? What stone has been left unturned, what looks so innocuous from above that no one would ever suspect it was an X, marking a very secret spot?

Under the surface, it’s a different story. Not an obvious story, but at this point Annabeth could navigate each curve and edge in her sleep. She does, on the nights she doesn’t dream of a blackness like tar. 

It’s a bright enough day that sunlight streaks through the water a good twenty feet down, exposing the imposing face of stone. There isn’t an entrance, really, but there’s nooks and crannies and crevices, and Annabeth is the particular kind of crazy to have wiggled her way through every single one she could. 

On instinct, she reaches down and clicks on one of her flashlights. With a confident flick of her feet, she propels herself towards the opening that started it all. 

There are three flashlights clipped to the straps around her shoulders. When she had zipped up Percy’s suit, she had noticed the four he had clipped to his.

She finds the optical illusion, the uneven meeting that looks like a solid wall. If you stare at it long enough, the ripples of light coming through the water reveal it for what it is. She presses forward, and just like six months ago Percy goes where she leads.

From there, it’s memory. Through the cave system, careful and slow, even as her heart pounds. Under the archway, chipped away from the rock, a little too even to be natural. She pauses under it and taps it with one hand. Percy nods in response. He sees it. He knows.

After the archway, it’s left until the opening below, leading down to darker and colder waters. Annabeth checks her backup flashlights, braces herself, and heads down. 

She doesn’t look to see if Percy follows. He either will or he won’t. 

The space gets smaller, then larger, jagged edges of rock cutting into the path. This wasn’t an entrance, as far as Annabeth can tell, but it’s the only way in she’s found so far. Everything else has been long since blocked off by time. Earthquakes, rockslides, storms, erosion, all of the above. It’s proper cave diving because of it, something that Percy has infinitely more experience in.

She reaches the air pocket and pops her head out. She takes a breath of stale, cave air and waits. A faint light grows steadily brighter.

Percy’s head pops above the water. He lets his rebreather drop from his mouth.

“Holy shit,” he says. “Annabeth, this is—”

Annabeth reaches through the water and grabs onto his rebreather with her left hand. Her right hand is busy clutching her own. They’re both attached to their diving tanks, obviously, but…

His hand covers her own. “I’ve got it,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Annabeth yanks her hand back. “Right,” she says. “Did you see the arch? I’m thinking 4,500, maybe earlier.”

Water drips from the low ceiling above them onto Percy’s diving mask. He doesn’t even blink.

“Plato said 9,600,” he teases.

“I know what Plato said.” Annabeth rolls her eyes. “What did he know?”

“4,000,” Percy says, shaking his head, “is neolithic settlers in Thera, precursors to the Minoans. Annabeth, that’s…that’s—”

“—the Older Peron,” she finishes. “The timing makes perfect sense, but I think there was something else. I mean, look at where we are. There were the rising sea levels during Holocene Epoch, sure, but—”

“—it was never at sea level,” Percy realizes. He gestures around them, splashing her with water. “It was already below sea level. Which is why—”

“—the rise was so devastating,” Annabeth continues, building on his enthusiasm. “They had fortifications of natural rock but—”

“—they were effectively trapped when the levels rose unexpectedly!” His voice echoes off the walls around them. “We’ve been going deeper and deeper this whole dive.”

“Probably a storm,” Annabeth says. “It was gradual, and then a big storm caught them off guard. They…they probably starved, if they didn’t drown. Those who didn’t made their way to Crete and kicked off the Bronze Age.”

The slow drip of water is the only sound between them for a long moment. 

“Where’d you find the pottery?” Percy finally asks.

“Up ahead. Ten minutes, maybe.”

“Is it all submerged?”

“I don’t know,” Annabeth admits. “Maybe, maybe not. I called you as soon as I had anything concrete.”

He takes his mouthpiece out of the water and slots it between his lips. Annabeth does the same, then heads back under to show him the way. She’s so excited to show him that she can barely even feel how the water has gotten gradually colder during their dive. It had freaked her out, her first few times trying to navigate the crags of the cave. 

Caves are always cold. It’s why they have wetsuits. Annabeth only wishes it wouldn’t take so goddamn long for her to warm up again once she was above the surface.

//

NYT: Your preliminary article talks a lot about the Holocene epoch. What does that have to you with your discovery?

PJ: Right, yeah, so that’s—we’re in that right now. That’s our current geological epoch. It’s an interglacial period equivalent to MIS 1, and started around 11,700 years ago. Basically, ‘Holocene’ is two Ancient Greek words smushed together meaning an ‘entirely new’ age. In terms of, like, humanity, it’s when all of our written history and technological revolutions have happened. It’s all happened since the last ice age ended those 12,000 years ago. In terms of my research—which is our research, really—it’s thinking about the impact of the vast warming of the planet after the last ice age and what that might be able to tell us about pre-Minoan civilizations in the Mediterranean.

NYT: Are you talking about global warming? I think of that being a lot more recent than 12,000 years ago.

PJ: Eh. It’s kinda relative. Pretty much anything is global warming after an ice age, you know? We do split the Holocene into three main eras of slight cooling and warming, but our sweet spot is around 7,500 years ago, when the Mediterranean especially was having to deal with rapid sea level rise and colder waters. Can I be honest with you, dude?

NYT: Of course. 

PJ: Everyone thought we were f****** crazy.

//

Later, back on the boat, Mitchell throws together some PB&Js for them to devour. The two of them eat quickly, tired from the dive, and don’t speak. Mitchell always uses a little too much peanut butter, and it sticks to the roof of Annabeth’s mouth, but that isn’t why she stays quiet.

There’s a lot between them besides the silence.

“This is everything I’ve ever wanted,” she eventually says, staring at the unassuming point of rock above the water. Just a rock that was really the cave that held the answer she’d spent her life searching for. Will they call it Chase Cave? Probably not, at this point. She’s glad. Something about that smarts—her greatest achievement marked by her father’s name.

“Is it?” Percy asks. His hair is wet, mussed up from when he yanked off his hood. There’s still a faint red oval around his eyes and nose.

She turns to face him more fully. They’ve never worn jewelry when they went in the water, and earlier she’d caught the faint tan line around the fourth finger of his left hand. He still wears it, or wore it recently enough to still have its mark.

Annabeth looks back to the rock. It’s much easier to stare at. “Almost,” she says.

//

NYT: Where do you go from here? Back to Berkley? Columbia? Are you staying in Greece?

PJ: Honestly… [Laughs] anywhere that offers us a tenure track. We’re open to suggestions! Our RateMyProfessor scores are through the roof, man. At this point, I’d even say yes to NYU.

//

“Berkley’s funding you?” Percy asks.

Annabeth nods, swallowing the mouthful of wine she’d been letting sit in her mouth. It’s easy to get lost in it—early signs of the sunset, Percy backlit by it all, wearing a loose blue shirt with the collar open so she can see his collarbones, her necklace nestled right in the middle. Missing him has been as frequent as breathing. She doesn’t quite know how to handle having him right across the table from her.

“Damn.” His mouth twists in that charming, trying-not-to-smile way. “What a coup.”

Annabeth snorts. “Right? I don’t know that she’ll ever talk to me again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Percy grabs an olive from their shared plate and pops it in his mouth. “She’s going to milk your relationship for every grant she applies for until the day she retires. Or dies.”

“Fuck.” Annabeth takes a larger sip of wine and closes her eyes. “You’re right. Goddamn it.”

“Hey, it’s been known to happen.” She opens her eyes again just in time to see the smile slip properly onto his face. “Good thing she made sure that you didn’t share any kind of name.”

Annabeth raises her wine. Percy grabs his water and follows suit, his tan-lined finger wrapping around the glass. “To Dr. Sofia Athena,” Annabeth says. “A name that has had no lasting impact on the study of archeology and the world’s shittiest mother.”

“Hear hear!” 

They clink their glasses and drink. 

The sun sinks below the ocean, pink orange red streaked across the sky, and below the table Percy rests the length of his leg against her own. 

//

Percy kept waking up with bruises on his wrist, his forearm, along the edge of his ribs. She never remembered grabbing him that tightly, hadn’t roused from sleep for a moment, didn’t even know that she was capable of gripping him like that.

She kept thinking about his life before she came into it, kept thinking about his childhood and his aversion to alcohol, and kept spending her mornings throwing up bile.

He held her hair back. He kissed the space behind her ear. He took it all, right up until the day she left.

//

They leave the restaurant as dusk slips into evening. Everything drips blue, and they could go back to the ramshackle house Annabeth’s been renting for three weeks and go to sleep. They should, really. Tomorrow all of the difficult stuff starts, the phone calls and the grant applications and fierce defense of their life’s work. 

But Percy takes a deep, sucking breath in, and his hands in his pockets. He lets it out again, a satisfied sigh, and jerks his head towards the horizon invitingly, and Annabeth already knows she’s going to agree to whatever he’s going to ask. 

“What?” She asks. 

“Want to go for a walk?” He asks. “It’s a beautiful night.” 

He’s right. She wants to. Still, she hesitates. 

“On the beach?”

“Why not? There’s a sandy bit down there.”

Annabeth can think of at least seven reasons that they really should not. Up against Percy’s relaxed posture and open expression, none of them put up a fight. 

“Alright,” she agrees. 

He doesn’t offer his hand, so she doesn’t take it, but when they start to walk towards the shore, their elbows brush with every other step. 

//

“Don’t be ridiculous, Annabeth.”

Annabeth’s head snaps back. “I’m not being ridiculous,” she says.

Her mother shoots her a look, her face half obscured by her office’s desktop monitor. “You’re turning one of Plato’s metaphors into a pipe dream of a discovery. It’s not like you.”

Annabeth takes a deep, controlled breath in. “I’m not basing the entirety of my research on Plato.”

“You’ve found another source that references Atlantis?”

“Not exactly,” Annabeth admits begrudgingly. “But—”

“Annabeth.”

“Just because they don’t call it the same thing that Plato did—”

“Lower your voice, please,” her mother says, turning her focus back to her computer. She starts to type, her face impassive.

Annabeth seethes. Quietly. “The study of Stone Age civilizations always requires careful historiographical reading into the Bronze and Iron ages. Their interpretation of history is a valid course of investigation for today’s scholarship.”

Her mother sighs and closes her eyes for a brief, devastating moment. “You’re a promising archeologist, Annabeth, but…”

Always a but. 

“...these caves, and the diving, well…” Her mother finally gives her undivided attention. “It’s not difficult to see where you got the idea.”

Annabeth digs the fingernails of her left hand into her palm and tries her best to keep the tears at bay. “I’m not plagiarizing research ideas.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“This research project just happened to pop up right as you started seeing a scuba diver? That’s a sheer coincidence?”

“He’s not a—”

“Oh, he wears an anklet.”

“He’s a marine archeologist! That’s literally part of your department.”

“They’ve tacked on an adjective before the word ‘archeologist.’ Is that supposed to—”

Annabeth slams her binder down on her mother’s desk, a savage satisfaction building in her chest at finally being the one who gets to interrupt. “I’m not debating this with you,” she says, her voice filled with finality. “My research has to do with Pre-Minoan Thera and early Bronze Age art and documentation. Read it or don’t. If you don’t fund me, someone else will.”

Her mother rises from her seat in one graceful movement, her eyes dark and swirling storm clouds. Annabeth realizes that they’re the same height; she’d never noticed that before.

“Who approached you?” Her mother asks. “USC? BU?”

Annabeth lets the smile that stretches across her face be as bitter as it wants to be. “I’m a Chase,” she says. She knows it’s a twist of the knife. “Who wouldn’t fund me?”

//

The sand is cold between her toes. The wind off the water is warm and makes Percy’s shirt flap around and hug the contours of his torso for brief, devastating moments. Annabeth focuses on putting one foot in front of the other and not on the way this whole night has felt like a date.

“I kind of want to get in,” Percy says. 

“What?”

“The water,” he clarifies. “I want to get in. Don’t you?” 

Annabeth gapes at him. It’s only been three months. He went in with her earlier, even followed her into a cave, but this is different. This is a walk along the beach with their shoes in their hands and stupid small talk that hasn’t been getting at any of the things they should probably be working through.

Percy drops his flip-flops. He only has to undo one more button to be able to pull his shirt off over his head. Annabeth keeps looking—obviously—as he shucks off his pants and adds them to the pile, too. 

There are little slices of pizza decorating his boxers. 

There’s a tiny, innocuous breath of hesitation. Is he thinking about stripping all the way down? Is he balking now that he’s facing the might of the ocean? 

In the end, he goes towards the water confidently, his boxers still on, and calls back once his ankles are submerged. “You coming?”

Annabeth slips the straps of her dress over her shoulders and lets it fall to the sand, kicking it over to join Percy’s pile of clothes. After her own moment of hesitation, she slips the chain around her neck off and wraps it around her hand, clutching the bulk of it tight in her palm. She won’t leave it on the beach, but she won’t lose it to the ocean, either. 

By the time she’s up to her calves, Percy’s already dunked himself under and come back up again, hair slicked back and water dripping down his chest. He’s got a slight t-shirt tan she hadn’t noticed before.

“How far do you want to go out?” She asks him.

“We’ll freeze if we stay like this,” he says, goosebumps all along his arms with his wet torso exposed to the breeze. A tiny wave crashes right behind him and sends him staggering a foot or so. “Past the break?”

The wave hits her next, soaking through her bra and splashing salt up onto her cheeks. “Sure.”

They wade out together and dive through the next wave in perfect unison. When she comes back up, brushing the water out of her eyes, all that’s left of it are bubbles bursting against her skin. The water settles around her shoulders; when she looks over, Percy’s eyes are lined up perfectly with hers. Bending his knees, probably. Staying under the water to stay warm, or stay on her level, or some mixture of the two. 

“Warmer than I thought,” Annabeth admits.

Percy smiles. She wishes the moon would rise, so she could see the emerald cut of his eyes better. “That’s almost like saying I was right.”

“Almost,” she agrees, smiling right back. 

“We probably could’ve stripped all the way down. When in Rome, and all that.”

“We’re not on Naxos.” She shudders. “Never again.”

That makes him laugh, finally. “Come on, it was a cultural exchange!”

“A-bah-bah,” Annabeth tuts, raising a finger. “It’s one of the sacred three.”

Percy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Ice water, air conditioning, and we don’t have to look at wrinkly old dudes naked. U-S-A, U-S-A.”

“And don’t forget it.”

“How could I?” He replies softly. 

Annabeth resists the urge to curse. There goes their lighthearted small talk. 

She dreams of Naxos. Not of the famous nude beaches or Percy laughing at her horrified expressions, but of the crisp white sheets of their hotel room and the faint red imprints of her teeth against the perfect bronze of his tan. She dreams of the purest conversations they’ve ever had, the ones they had crammed together on their Juliet balcony and the ones that passed with skin pressed close and no words spoken at all. 

The dreams are always exact mirrors of memory, flawless from start to finish, loving and being loved. She never wakes up before an orgasm or before the sun had finally risen that first morning and lit up the muscles of Percy’s back like a goddamn Yuriy Petrenko painting. It’s complete contentment, morning breath and a sort of pulled hamstring halfway through, no detail lost.

But she always wakes up, and Percy’s not there, and reality feels like a nightmare.

“You’re not wearing your ring,” Percy breathes out.

“Neither are you.”

“I took it off to dive.” His head tilts, just slightly, and Annabeth’s eyes slide down his neck to her necklace. She catches the smallest glint of metal through the water and clenches her fist around her own ring, so tightly that the chain digs into the meat of her hand. 

“So did I,” she says.

His mouth quirks up. “Okay.”. 

“San Diego,” she starts, weirdly confident from the wine or the quiet or Percy being right in front of her again. “Did you get an—”

“I’m still on sabbatical. Staying with Tyson.” A wave laps up and covers his chin for a second. “He says hi, by the way.”

“He’s good?”

“Mhm. Trying to teach me pottery.”

Annabeth grins. “Are you any good?”

“Obviously not. It’s better than, like, baby goat yoga with Grover.”

“So that’s why you’re not in Portland.”

“Uh, that and the human baby they’re very enthusiastically trying to create. Barf.”

She splashes him in the face. “Shut up. What? Since when?”

He spits the water that got into his mouth out in a beautiful arch. “I can’t believe he told me before you! Like, a few months now. I think they maybe kept it hush-hush because…”

The waves crash against the sand. Annabeth knows what he was going to say. She can hear it in the squint of his eyelids, the exact angle tilt of his eyebrows. It’s kind of comforting—she still knows how. 

“That’s amazing,” she says, her voice quiet. “He’s going to be such a good dad.”

A swell of water builds towards them, and their toes leave the sand in the same moment, the tiniest push to keep their chins above the surface. 

“He accidentally synced our Google calendars,” Percy admits after a second. There’s a dangerous kind of glint in his eye, the one that Annabeth has always been a little bit in love with. “They, like, scheduled it.”

Annabeth gasps. “No.”

He nods, dunking half of his face in the process. “I know so much about Juni’s ovulation cycle that I can’t unlearn—”

“Percy!” Annabeth objects, as though she’s not laughing through it. “That’s such a violation of their privacy—”

“It’s not like I wanted to know it!” He laughs right back. “Grover apologized, like, six times. Juni called to ask if we ever did any fertility rituals. I did not need that boundary broken.”

Annabeth covers her face with one hand and ducks herself under the water. The muted sounds, the sting of the salt, the knowledge that she could reach out and touch him—she breaks the surface again. “Why would we have done a fertility ritual? We don’t have kids!”

“I think maybe she thought we’d done one to prevent it. Anti-fa, right?”

“I know you know that’s not what that is.”

His straight face breaks. “You thought it was funny, though.”

“No comment.” 

“Hey, don’t be mad. I told her our sexytime is exclusively based on passion. No scheduling involved.”

Annabeth wrinkles her nose. “A good excel spreadsheet is kind of hot, though.”

“Oh my god.”

“Like, a color-coded one.” She rolls back her eyes and moans. “With tabs.” 

It’s so easy to tease him, so natural to fall back into their rhythm, to turn off the filter in her brain and let the conversation go wherever it’s going to. It’s so easy to forget why they were half a world away from each other. 

He splashes her this time, only she’s already laughing, eyes closed and ready for it. She hears his laughter join hers before she sees it, low and infectious. 

Annabeth could stay here forever, high on her life’s mission accomplished and Percy right in front of her, both of their heads above the water, both of them laughing. She would make this second of air stretch on forever, only then she wouldn’t get what comes next.

She opens her eyes against the sting of the salt and sees him, the jut of his collarbone above the foam, his hair curling a little bit around his ears where it’s beginning to dry. She could look at him forever, watch as the crinkles around his eyes go soft and fade, as his mouth settles from a grin into something smoother, more familiar.

“Wanna kiss you,” he mumbles. The waves push him closer, or he moves closer, or Annabeth does.

“I thought we based our sexytime exclusively on passion,” Annabeth responds.

The heat of Percy’s torso presses up against hers. “Don’t be a dick,” he whispers.

Percy’s mouth slides hot against hers, rough-soft in the very particular way he always is, and waves lap at their shoulders and Annabeth thinks something about baptism and then thinks about nothing at all for as long as she’s able.

//

“Sometimes I think we never got out,” she whispers to him one night. 

They’re wrapped around each other in the blaring light from both of their nightstands. It’s some time past three in the morning.

“Like, this is all a dream?” He asks.

“No.” She presses her nose against his chest, breathes him in. “I just still feel it. I started down there and it never stopped.”

She feels the breath shudder out of him. “Yeah,” he agrees.

..

[da-rulah]

Confessional - Cardinal Copia x F!Reader [Part 3]

Summary: At the request of Papa Emeritus III, you return to your duties around the Ministry, but when he reminds you of your absence from confessional in the past month, he asks you to return to where it all started...

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 12k (lol wtf sorry guys this one ran away from me...)

Warnings: Pillow Humping, cunnilingus, panty-sniffing kink (once again, the glove returns...), honestly Copia just gets more pathetic in this part, vaginal fingering, premature ejaculation, cum eating, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, dirty talk (a lot of it...), lots of feelings, idiots to lovers

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3

A/N: Guys... thank you all SO MUCH. The love for this fic has been bigger than I ever thought, and genuinely my heart is so full whenever I get a comment, a reblog, a message about it. I hope this is worth the wait, I know it's literally double the length of the other chapters but I really wanted you to enjoy and immerse yourself - there needed to be a decent enough pay-off after all the pining and angst 😂 Special thanks to @her-satanic-wiles for the beta reading and encouragement, and to @adinferix for their help with the Italian translation!

Copia had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t think of you today. Last night had been the last time. No, really.... He swore it. The moment he decided? When he’d woken up, face down in his pillows – after a night of self-indulgence that included another long-since dirtied and discarded pillow... - and realised that there was something stuck to his face.  

Your glove.     It had taken at least 25 minutes for the red imprint of that floral pattern to fade away from the pale skin across his cheek, and he’d been mortified - especially when brushing his teeth, having to stare at himself in the mirror with that pattern taunting him. He may as well have written “PERVERT” in sharpie across his cheek instead, for all the shame it brought him. 

That pattern was the reason for the Cardinal’s tardiness to his seminar that day, the man scurrying down the halls and checking his reflection in any and every passing surface possible to be sure that there was no longer an intrusive red flower burned into his pale skin.  

When he reached his classroom, everyone had taken to their seats already, some chattering away with each other as they waited, others impatiently tapping their feet or pencils with each passing second. Copia slunk into the classroom, muttering apologies with his eyes trained on the floor to avoid the death glares of the siblings who took their studies just a touch too seriously.  

Without further ado, the Cardinal began to make some notes on the chalkboard at the front of the classroom. The chalk squeaked against the board, some of the siblings in the room whining incredulously at the sound and the chatter ceasing as if he’d done it deliberately to shush them.  

“Okie dokie, we will look today to focus on Latin pronunciation, and-” the Cardinal froze as he turned back to the class, eyes settling on a figure in the back corner.  

He must have been dreaming...   

There you sat, in your most conservative habit possible – purposefully changing after your meeting with Terzo that morning, your guilt for derailing the Cardinal in the confessional booth forcing you out of your impressive ensemble meant to manipulate Papa. 

Coming to Copia’s seminar was not a choice; you just desperately didn’t want Papa to bring Sister Imperator into this or get yourself in any more trouble. Terzo had spared you a punishment and you weren’t to take this for granted. So, you’d made sure you arrived with a group of other siblings, pushing through into the seminar room and plonking yourself in the very back corner in the hope he wouldn’t see you. 

But of course, he saw you. As if his body was magnetically drawn towards you, you were the first he laid his eyes on.  

You avoided his gaze, scribbling something down on the paper in front of you to look busy. You hadn’t missed his cut off sentence as his eyes settled on you, nor the lingering silence as you scribbled.  

‘Say something, Cardinal... Please say something. I can’t bear this...’ you thought, the seconds ticking by.  

“Mi dispiace (I’m sorry), I lost my train of thought for a moment. Pronunciation, sì, that’s where we were. Okay...” he shook his head, returning his attention to the class. He couldn’t focus on you now, couldn’t jeopardise himself that way. One wrong move, and you may disappear for another four weeks, or worse, and Satanas, he’d never forgive himself. That was not the kind of hell he wished to endure.  

Throughout the seminar, he would steal quick glances in your direction, as if making sure you were indeed still there, that you were real. Trying to find you before now had been like trying to catch smoke... downright impossible. His guilt gnawed at him like an insect burrowing into his skin, shame creeping over him each time he saw you staring down at your page.  

You didn’t want to be here, that much was clear to him. He’d made you uncomfortable, avoiding him... It stung him more than it should. 

“I... I think we’re done for today, classe (class) . Good job, molto bene (very good),” he fussed over the book on his desk as the class rose from their seats, gathering their things and heading for the door. In a moment of what he would describe as idiocy, he called out, “Uh, Sorella ______? Could I just...”  

But you were gone.   

Copia felt like a moron, embarrassed and pining over you as he watched you leave so quickly, quite obviously running from him. All he wanted to do was to apologise, to make you feel like you didn’t have to hide from him anymore. But you were that repulsed by him that you fled at the first chance you could.  

He huffed, dropping into his chair at his desk as the room emptied. He thought it over for a moment – you didn’t want to be in his class, and yet you came anyway. Why?  

Terzo... He had noticed your absence, questioned the Cardinal over it... Perhaps he’d told you to return to your duties, punished you...   

And that was all his fault. He’d upset you so much you’d avoided your duties, hidden yourself away. You were so repulsed by him that you couldn’t even look at him anymore. His sweet, most innocent Sorella…  

The Sorella who used to smile at him in the hallways, no matter who she was walking with.   

The Sorella who never missed a seminar he was hosting.   

The Sorella who only ever confessed on a Thursday, during his duty.   

The Sorella who kept stealing glances at him as his brothers performed Black Mass.  

Not anymore.  

How silly of him to think there was ever any chance you might not hate him. How silly of him to think you might actually be attracted to him, that you could be at all interested in the blithering idiot Cardinale who still reads Beano comics and relaxes with a Juicebox and video games at the end of the working week.  

Copia was always brushed to the side, never good enough for a woman as wonderful as you, as beautiful as you.  

How daft he felt, and how sick he felt knowing how he had defiled your trust – and continued to do so every. fucking. night. Behind your back, in the shame of his private quarters. 

Perverted old Cardinale Copia...  

Those moans, oh how he could write a symphony with those moans. They sounded so visceral and somehow so melodic rolling from your tongue as his rolled against your heat. And Sathanas, the taste... he devoured that sweetness like it was his last meal on Death Row. Your hands clutching his hair scraped their nails against his scalp and he growled into your mound with a deep vibration that drew more sweet, sweet moans from your lips.   

With two gloved fingers, he breached your walls and with expert precision, he found the spot only you had found yourself – no previous lovers ever able to satiate you like he could. You were his.   

His his his.  

Even through the leather, he could feel your warmth on his fingers, hear the hungry slurps of your pussy drawing him back in over and over with every pump of his fingers inside you.   

“Cardinal... Cardinal....” you chanted like a mantra, eyes screwed shut and breath laboured as he drew you closer and closer to an end, more of your juices seeping out and dripping onto his eagerly lapping tongue, until...  

Until...  

Sweat beaded on Copia’s forehead as his eyes shot open, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he lay in bed, his skin hot to the touch in the dark around him. His head snapped to the side, seeing the glowing red of his digital alarm clock reading 3:09am.  

He rubbed at his paintless eyes, groaning into the dark at the sticky feeling all over his body, the sweat now cooling in the night air and chilling him.  

Just a fucking dream.   

He could still taste you, still feel you, still hear you... How could he stop this? How would he ever be able to move on from this fucking chokehold you had on him? Does time heal all wounds?     Copia sure hoped so.  

In the dark, he felt the familiar need in his groin – a stiffness he wouldn’t be able to shake so easily. He didn’t want to, not again. Already he felt like a total degenerate, jacking off to the smell of your used glove a nightly occurrence. But now he was dreaming of you?  

With reluctance, he shifted the sheets and let his naked form hit the cold air around him, thick cock standing to attention. He threw an arm over his eyes, his other reaching down until he could lazily stroke the shaft of his shame a few times.  

Here we go again, he thought to himself in disgust.  

But disgust wasn’t enough to quell the rising lust he felt, and his hand began to pump his length with vigour as he recounted the details of the dream that woke him.  

He whimpered into the night, the heavy arm across his eyes shielding himself from his own depravity only getting heavier. His hips started to roll against the mattress, meeting his fist over and over. He couldn’t take this, he wanted so badly to bury himself, to grind down, to feel pressure...   

He sat upright, reaching behind him for one of the silk pillows he lay on before. He got up onto his knees, folding the pillow in two to create a crease and pushed it into his mattress, lining his hips up with it.   

And like the dirty old cardinal he was, he pushed his cock into the crease, groaning into a tight fist as he did.  

He leaned his weight over onto the hand pinning the pillow down and began to roll his hips into the softness, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure as images of you flashed in his mind. That dream, it had felt so... so real? As if he could taste you still, smell you still... 

And he could, of course, once his hand had snaked under the remaining pillows to retrieve that damned glove he was far too lazy to hide properly these days. He humped the pillow he buried his cock into like a horny teenager, holding that glove against his nose and mouth as he got faster and faster, inhaling.  

“Ohhh, cazzo... (fuck),” he groaned, picturing you beneath him, his cock pistoning in and out of you. How good you’d feel beneath him, how slick, and wet, and warm you’d be for him. The noises from the confessional booth still haunted him, ricocheting off the inside of his skull as he buried himself over and over.   

“Sorella... Hmmm,” he hummed, “______, merda (shit).” His hips stuttered, the silk dampened with precum giving just enough friction... He wished it was you so badly, your pussy enveloping him. He craved it, like he couldn’t bear to go on without having you, even if it were just once.  

He bit his lip as he growled, hunching over the pillow like an animal and spilling his cum into the crease. His hips slowed, lazily rocking back and forth as he milked the rest of his spend until he could take it not more, letting go of the silk and falling face first into the rest of his bedding, uncaring of the mess beneath him. 

Integrating yourself back into the Ministry life hadn’t been nearly as hard as you had thought, managing to avoid the Cardinal everywhere other than that damn seminar. You’d heard him call out to you as you were leaving, but it only made your feet carry you faster past your Siblings and out into the hall to escape. You knew it was cowardly, but you weren’t ready to have to explain yourself to him, to see the disappointment in his face or to chastise you for what you’d coerced him into doing.  

You knew today you could evade him, his schedule keeping him busy all day and out of your current hiding place; the library.  

You adored this library... The corridors were like a maze, easy enough to get lost in your pursuit of knowledge. In dark nooks, high back leather chairs to read in sat in dim lamplight. Artistic renditions of Satanic teachings littered the ceilings as they might in a Catholic church – except, it was Lucifer who danced through each scene instead of Jesus. Dark wooded desks for studying or translating lined up in the middle of the lobby, two grand staircases winding up the walls opposite each other to the second floor. In between the staircases, was the most beautiful part of all... 

On the floor sat a reversed Pentagram, carved into stone with pictures of Lucifer and his most feared animals painted into the ramp where the staircases met – goats, cats, owls, bats... the misunderstood creatures tied to him. Carved into the outer edge of the pentagram sat purple stained Atropa belladonna flowers and vines, and atop the raised pentagram sat a marble statue of a white snake winding around a black pedestal. In the mouth of the snake, stuck between the fangs, was the ripest red apple – a symbol of Lucifer’s temptation, his greatest triumph in the Garden of Eden.  

That statue always seemed to steal your breath away, as it did anyone who gazed upon it. The care and attention to detail, the way it always shined in the faux candlelight – real was too dangerous around the ancient texts and antique furniture throughout the library – it was just so spectacular.  

It was a beautiful place to spend your day, but it served a purpose today. You chose one of the leather high back chairs just off from the lobby to relax and catch up on some reading you’d neglected in your time spent hiding.   

As you neared the end of the book you were studying – an old Catholic tome you struggled to translate from the dusty pages – you decided to find the book that you knew countered the Catholic teachings, so you could cross reference and perhaps understand the old book better.  

You stood, taking the Catholic tome with you into the rows of tall bookshelves in search of the Satanic counterpart. It had to be up on the fourth shelf, just out of reach. Sighing dramatically in your own laziness, you reached for the running ladder at the end of the shelves, dragging it along its tracks to the spot you had been standing. You rested the book in your arms on a lower shelf, and starting to climb the rungs of the ladder.  

In your haste, the long skirt of your chosen conservative habit – the ones you had taken to wearing every day now that you were to be out and about around the Cardinal again – became trapped under your foot and naturally, you slipped from a few feet off the ground, losing your grip and balance.  

Two unassumingly strong arms stopped you before you could hit the marble flooring, wrapping around your waist and tugging you to a body behind you to stop you meeting a rather bruising conclusion.     “Careful, Sorella...” the chest you were pressed against vibrated with a deep chuckle. “Pretty girls should not be covered in accidental bruises, eh?”  

You stumbled to your feet, straightening out your habit and turning to see Terzo smirking at you, his ghostly eye somehow even more bewitching in the dim lamplight.     “Grazie (thank you), Papa... I slipped on...” 

“Sì, your habit,” his eyes raked over your form, confusion furrowing on his brow as he remembered the other morning in his office – you'd been wearing something much more to his liking. “I must say, I preferred the shorter one, mia cara . With the red stitching...” he winked.  

Your cheeks flushed with heat as you averted your eyes from his.  

“Did you only wear that for me, tesoro? ” he winked, taking a step towards you, “Thought it would get you out of trouble, eh?” His teasing flustered you, and you couldn’t string a full sentence together as your heart pounded in your ears, breathing irregular to compensate for the rush of oxygen to your brain. He laughed as you stuttered a denial. 

“Speaking of trouble, have you been attending your duties, sorella? Did you go to Copia’s seminar?” he stepped back again out of your personal space, allowing you to breathe normally once again. 

“Sì, Papa.” 

“And was he... happy to see you?” he asked, arching a brow. His tone confused you, like he expected a specific reaction. But Terzo was fishing... he suspected the Cardinal had a crush and was doing anything he could to put you in Copia’s way. He was making you dance around him, like the carrot on a string to tempt the donkey.... 

“Uh... I don’t know,” you thought back to the way his face fell when his eyes caught yours, the way his breath caught in his throat and the look of fear as his skin had paled to a grey colour. “Perhaps he was surprised.” 

Terzo’s face screwed up in confused annoyance. He’d expected better from the Cardinal, for him to be more welcoming when he so clearly had missed you around the Ministry. He’d asked Terzo to keep an eye out for you, to tell him immediately if he saw you, after all.  

“Well, I’m glad you’re back to your schedule, mia cara. But you know,” Terzo had a plan... He enjoyed meddling in the Cardinal’s affairs, and well, anyone’s ... “I must insist you attend confessional before today is out.” 

Your heart dropped in your chest. You fought to keep your face neutral, quelling every natural urge to look absolutely petrified of the thought. Because of course he would want you to attend confessional today.  

On a fucking Thursday.  

“It’s been a while, no? If you were gone for four weeks, you must be overdue?” he quizzed.  

“W-well, yes...”   

“We can’t have you falling behind, mia cara. I’m sure you have something to confess to the Dark Lord,” he turned on his expensive Cuban heels, “I must go, I have some uh... business to attend concerning a rather beautiful Librarian,” he began sauntering off into the bookshelves, “By tonight, per favore, sorella !” he called out behind him. 

Just as before, your shoes echoed on the Ministry floors as you walked to the Chapel. Except tonight, they felt louder and louder, ringing in your ears with each step. Your legs carried you on autopilot, unable to disobey a Papa’s direct instruction.  

Why did he choose tonight of all nights? It felt like returning to the scene of a crime... You didn’t know what you were going to say, what you could possibly confess to the Cardinal this evening that you’d done in the last few weeks when quite obviously you hadn’t done anything at all... 

The Chapel was steeped in dim candlelight, completely void of any signs of life. You stood in the doorway for a moment, staring like a deer caught in headlights at the booth at the other end of the room. A shiver ran over your spine, a nasty reminder that you were supposed to move, to go and sit in that infernal wooden box next to the source of your embarrassment, your fear... your lust.  

Because of course, despite your efforts to pretend he didn’t exist, your brain liked to remind you at night that he most certainly did. Except now, the grunts and groans of his pleasure were accurate, burned into your memory and used against you as a weapon as you slept.  

With a push, you entered the Chapel, somehow speed-walking to sit inside the booth beside the Cardinal who jumped at the sound of the door slamming shut a little too hard. You wasted no time.  

“Bless me, Cardinal, I have sinned,” you deadpanned.  

Beside you, the Cardinal sat bolt upright, eyes staring into his peripheral vision, afraid to make a move and look directly at the shadow beside him. If he made any sudden movements, perhaps you’d disappear in a puff of smoke... 

He cleared his throat quietly.     “Which of the sins have you committed, Sorella?” He stuck to his duty, as you stuck to yours. He wasn’t about to risk trying to have any other kind of conversation with you right now. Perhaps he could try after...  

But what the fuck would he even say to you? He wanted so desperately to apologise, but he couldn’t completely clear his conscience without admitting to everything that’s happened since the last time you sat beside each other in this damned booth. And there was no way he could do that, not without the promise that the ground would open up beneath his feet and plunge him into the deepest pit of hell the second he finished confessing. 

Beside him, you waited a moment, trying to think of something to confess to, but your mind was screaming the same thing at you.     Lust. Lust. Lust. Lust. LUST.  

“Sloth, Cardinal,” you huffed, “I’ve neglected my duties.” Coward, you scolded yourself. Not that it was a lie, of course. But... you couldn’t just own up to the worst of your sins. 

Copia’s shoulders relaxed next to him, a sigh leaving his lips. Part of him was terrified you might say lust again – he wasn’t sure he could take that torture. 

“Do you wish to elaborate, sorella? Is there a reason for your sloth?” he asked, as if he was trying to hurt himself further. He knew it was him – he was the reason. You were avoiding him, disgusted by him.  

“I did something terrible, and... I’ve been hiding,” you admitted. The cardinal was confused... What could you, his sweet sorella, have possibly done that was so terrible? Lucifer, you didn’t mean him? Were you that horrified by him?   

“Sorella, there’s no need to hide, you... uh...” he couldn’t think straight, his heartbeat rising in his chest as he panicked. He didn’t know what to say... Almost as if he were to absolve you of your sins but that wasn’t what confessional was for? But he wanted so badly to comfort you, to tell you it was okay, that he was so sorry... So very sorry for putting you in that position all those weeks ago.  

And on the other side of the lattice, there you sat, feeling sorry for ever entering the booth that night, for pushing him into such a situation with a member of his congregation, for defiling his position as Cardinal.  

Both two different sides of exactly the same coin. 

“I... I can’t do this, Cardinal. I’m sorry...” you rushed, pushing your way out of the booth and running through the Chapel. Copia sat for a moment, frozen in shock and disappointment when his body reacted before his mind could.   

He got up, and chased you. Out through the Chapel, down the hall where the clacking of your shoes was still echoing off the marble. But he kept running, desperately trying to find you without tripping on his cassock. He had to find you. He couldn’t let you stay like this, so angry and disgusted at him. He needed to apologise, even if that meant admitting to all the rest...    

“Sorella, wait!” he called, the halls empty for the time of evening it was. He was grateful, chasing a mere shadow through the halls like a predator on the hunt for his prey. Except that’s the last thing he wanted you to feel; hunted.  

You found it too difficult to run in your habit, far too long for you. You cursed as you stumbled, somehow managing to stay on your feet in the pursuit of your dorm but the Cardinal was faster than he looked, and before you knew what had happened you felt a grip on your arm dragging you into a nearby door, letting go as soon as you’d been almost flung into the room.   

The door slammed, and the Cardinal stood against it, breathless and looking distraught.  

“Cardinal, don’t make me s-” you wanted to apologise, to beg to spare you the shame of saying aloud what you’d been thinking since that first confessional... but he interrupted you.   “Sorella, mi dispiace if I frightened you, but I owe you an ap-” 

“Cardinal please, I can’t-”    “Mia cara, just listen...” he begged, but neither of you could get a word in edgeways.  

“I’m sorry, okay? I can’t help it, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable...” you cried, eyes filling with tears as you yelled your sorrows at him.     “What? What are you-” his confusion painted his features, hardened lines forming in his face.  

“Y-you’ve always been so good to me, and I don’t want to make you feel awkward or put you through that ever again. I should never have made you do that, I’m so ashamed of myself,” you rabbited on, wailing at him with four weeks of pent-up embarrassment spewing out your mouth. But the Cardinal stared at you as the cogs in his brain turned, realising what you were actually apologising for.  

“Are you sorry for your dream, mia cara?” he asked you softly, taking a step to stand of his own accord instead of leaning his back against the closed door.  

“Yes!” you yelled, “That and... well... what happened. It was too far, I put you in such an uncomfortable position and that’s not fair of me at all. Cardinal please forgive me, I’m trying not to have these thoughts-”     “You’re still having them?” his head cocked to the side, eyes squinting as he processed your rantings. 

“Well, um... I... yes, but I’m working on it, I’m trying to busy myself with other things and I thought that maybe if I hid for a while that I could stop it, not that I could look you in the eyes again anyway after what I did, and...” 

Copia had heard enough. He strode towards you through the rows of desks and chairs surrounding him, pressing the palm of his glove to your mouth to quiet you and in turn, pushing you to lean back against the solid oak desk behind you.     “Sorella, please...” 

That moment, singularly, was the beginning of your downfall. When you felt the leather of his glove press against your lips, his body pressing against yours as you stumbled back, and you whined against his hand...  

Copia’s eyes widened, like he hadn’t expected that at all. His movements were not meant to be at all provocative in nature; he had simply panicked, needing you to hush so he could speak, to apologise and not knowing how else to do so. But now... Well, he could see the crimson colour of your cheeks under his glove, matched with the look of shock on your own face. That noise; it was completely involuntary. But it came from a place of lust...    Of submission. 

A beat of silence passed between you, the air appearing to be sucked out of the room completely, suffocating you both where you stood. Your screamed at yourself inside your head, cursing how pathetically easily you had succumbed to the slightest touch and showed your hand before any kind of game had truly even begun.  

“You must learn when to quiet this pretty mouth of yours and listen...” The cardinal tested his limits, watching your response. He noticed the way your chest rose and fell deeply and slowly beneath him, and how your eyes softened a little as they scanned his face and found no real anger there, only the hint of a smirk. “Now, give me a nod or a shake of your head, eh? I want to ask you a few things. Nod if you understand.”  

You nodded, his hand still pressed firmly to your mouth.  

“Are you still having these dreams, Sorella?” You shut your eyes now, embarrassed, and slowly nodded your head.     “And are you still... enjoying these dreams?” he spoke slowly, deliberately. You nodded again, hesitant. 

“And have you acted on these dreams since, tesoro?” You took a few deep breaths before answering again; a slow, ashamed, but deliberate nod.  

Copia sucked a lungful of oxygen in through his teeth, watching your eyes on him as he did. His head swam in a dizzying array of images; thoughts of the dream you had told him about in such detail, thoughts of you alone at night thinking of him, touching yourself for him. As he exhaled, he looked away from you, breaking the eye contact you held in fear and finally looking around the room.  

The seminar room...  

… from your dream.  

A wicked smirk spread across the Cardinal’s face, and as you followed his gaze around the room, you realised why. You dare not move, holding your breath as he turned back to you, his beautifully monochrome eyes hooded and boring down into yours. 

“It’s here, no?” he asked. You didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. “This is where your fantasia (fantasy) takes place, eh? Answer me, tesoro. ..”  

You nodded against his hand again, shame flooding your cheeks with warmth. The stirring in your abdomen was growing the longer he stood pressing you into the desk behind you. It was maddening.  

“I press you against this desk in that dream, hm?” he knocked on the wood you leaned on with his free hand, in turn pressing just a little tighter against you. You could feel his body heat through his cassock, and it served to focus your own heat between your legs... “Will you remind me, mia cara , what exactly did I do here?” 

Slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth to let you answer him with words – except, you could find none. You stuttered and fumbled as you stared into his eyes, his face so close to yours you could smell his cologne stronger than you ever had. It was utterly intoxicating, a sweet yet smoky aroma. 

“Come, now, dolcezza ... Don’t hold out on me now, hm?” The back of his fingers met your cheek, lightly grazing the blush soothingly. “What. Did. I. do?”  

There was no escaping this, not that you wanted to. You were so close, your dream practically coming true before you. You may not be able to forgive yourself for pushing your Cardinal over the lines of professionalism all those weeks ago, but here he was, quite obviously flirting with you, enticing you.  

Tempting you.  

And you would never forgive yourself for fumbling this, for running and hiding once again. And that guilt would be worse, embedded with more shame and embarrassment than ever before. 

“You... were kissing me...” you whispered. The Cardinal smiled – not the dirty little smirk from before, more of a satisfactory smile, sweeter.  

“Tesoro, I’ll only ask you once – and whatever the answer, I will respect it,” he began, some nerves starting to bubble up in his chest. He feared rejection more than anything, having been rejected his entire life. Could he take it if you rejected him too? He wasn’t sure, but he had to try...  “Would you like me to kiss you?” 

Your chest bloomed with warmth, eyes flickering down to his half-painted lips and back to his eyes, somehow looking more puppy-dog like as the seconds ticked by. You realised then, he was scared of you saying no. Scared...   

But you could never deny your Cardinal.  

Words had failed you, that much was clear. And so, you opted for almost involuntary action, slowly leaning forwards against him until your lips barely grazed his. Copia could have sworn he felt his lips tingle where they’d brushed with yours; such a fleeting touch, unsure of yourself but it was all the answer he needed.  

He leaned in again, pressing his lips to yours for a kiss that took your breath away... His lips melded into yours with such a longing, both of you easily losing yourself in the moment. Just as in your dream, you sank into him, your hands gripping onto his cassock as he deepened the kiss. His arms had snaked around your waist, pulling your hips flush against him as he hummed into your mouth. 

Just as you imagined every night, one of his hands came to remove your veil, letting your hair fall freely while he worked his way past your lips with his tongue, gently mixing with your own as you fell further into him. You whined at the sensation, feeling his hands regroup and tighten on your waist as you did.  

He pulled away from you breathless, the black paint of his top lip smudged slightly. He pressed his forehead to yours, searching your eyes for any sign you wanted to back out, but finding nothing.  

“You look so beautiful without your veil, dolcezza...” he whispered before he could stop himself. Mentally, he scolded himself for being such a lovesick idiota, but the way you looked into his eyes and smiled was everything he had hoped for. He twirled a strand of your hair in his fingers, watching it as he curled it around the leather. “I had no idea you had all this under there, eh?” he chuckled, “ bellissima (beautiful).”  

He dropped the strand and instead came to hold your chin between this thumb and finger.  

“Now tell me, what happens next in that dream of yours again?” Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to punch straight through your ribs to get to him. This was happening. This wasn’t you pushing him into anything, you weren’t undermining his authority. He wanted this. He wanted you.   

“Your hands... they slide up my habit...” you muttered, shy.  

“Like this?” he narrated, crouching momentarily to hook his hand under your habit, trailing slowly up your leg until the skirt hung lopsided around your upper thigh. You nodded at him, watching as his eyes never left yours. “And do I touch you here, mia cara? ” His palm cupped your mound over your panties, and he could feel the searing heat emanating from your core through the leather of his glove.  

The noise you made was involuntary – a soft gasp that made his already half-hard length twitch with interest beneath the heavy wool of his clothes. He didn’t wait for you to answer him, his question more of a rhetorical tease. Instead, he slid his hand against you, pressing against your entrance while his palm sat heavy against your clitoris.  

“Cardinal...” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting to a perfectly round ‘O’.  

He continued to tease for a moment, enjoying the soft mewls and sharp breaths you took each time he would alternate the pressure between his palm and his fingers. But he only had so much control, after weeks of pining, of dreaming of you, fucking his damn pillows to the memory and the scent of you. 

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down your legs and letting them hit the floor around your feet. Without wasting a second or daring to look away from the blissful expression on your face, he dipped his fingers between your folds, dragging them painfully slowly through the mess you had made for him. The choked moan you let out at the sensation of that damned glove sliding through rang out against the stone walls of the seminar room.  

Copia collected some of your mess on his glove, lifting his hand into the dim candlelight of the room to see the way it shined. It reminded him of the moment he’d found your sodden glove in the booth, how it left the darker wet marks where he’d held it. Except this time, he was blessed enough to have it right from the source.  

“ Splendido... (splendid)” he mumbled, before you opened your eyes to watch him bring his shimmering glove to his lips, tasting what he’d taken. The way he groaned at the sweetness had you clenching around nothing, fisting the cassock you still had such a tight grip on. “I can’t deny myself, dolcezza ... Not anymore.” 

Before you had time to linger on his words – not anymore... - he dropped to his knees in front of you, as if ready to worship. He adjusted the skirt of your habit for you to hold around your hips, still covering your modesty for now. Both his hands slid up your thighs, parting them as he slotted in-between, finally coming to uncover you for him. 

The way you glistened for him made his concealed erection throb, and as much as he wanted to dive in and devour you whole, he didn’t want to rush this. He’d waited too long to be sloppy here. Instead, he pressed his lips to your inner thighs, enjoying the way they trembled in anticipation. Slowly, he made his way up, his breath tickling and warming the trail of wet he’d left with his tongue.  

Finally, his lips pressed against your mound. As painful as it was to have him tease, to gently kiss you where you so desperately needed more, you were grateful for any contact at all after the weeks of anguish believing he held no feelings other than disappointment and disgust for you.  

When the Cardinal at your feet finally allowed his tongue to slip between your folds, you couldn’t help the hand that flew to knock his biretta off his head, grasping at the peppered grey hair that grew beneath it. He groaned against you; at your taste, at your heat, at your grip. It was all so wonderfully intoxicating.  

As he let himself bury his tongue in you, he lifted one of your thighs over his shoulder for better access for him, and stability for you. He wrapped his arm around that thigh, gripping on for dear life as if you’d disappear on him again. But you were going nowhere anytime soon... 

As he mouthed at your clit, he couldn’t help the grunts and groans that rumbled like thunder against you, vibrating through you. You threw your head back in pleasure, uncaring of how loud your moans and whimpers were.  

When Copia started to slide his middle finger through your folds below his tongue, you almost collapsed back onto the desk. He pressed against your entrance, slowly allowing his leather-clad finger to slide inside you. He never stopped his tongue, never came up for breath.  

When he had his ring finger join the other, you began to see stars. He filled you so well, scissoring inside you and curling up towards that glorious spot inside you that no other had ever found.  

“C-Cardinal... ahh,” you whimpered. It fuelled him further, hearing his title fall from your lips above him. It was all too much for him; your taste, your grip. And now that? Oh, how sinful it sounded, how beautiful, like the prettiest songbird singing its morning melody.  

He was ashamed to admit that what you were doing to him had such a tight grasp on his sanity, he was losing himself in his mind and his body was following suit. While he had no friction, no pressure, nothing to help the painful need in his crotch, he was so close...  

In his reverie, he lifted your other thigh over his shoulder, burying his face further into you as he continued using his fingers to bring you closer and closer to the edge. You had to grip the desk under you to steady yourself, allowing his animalistic urges to take total control of your body. This was nothing like your dream.  

This was so much better.  

His tongue lavished against your clit unforgivingly, lips circling and suckling from time to time as he drank you in.  

“F-fuck, Cardinal... I can’t,” you begged for nothing above him, so close to the edge, dangling by a splintering branch over a deep canyon that was ready to snap at any moment. You couldn’t help the way you bucked your hips anymore, or the way you ground your pussy down into his face, his nose becoming a tool for pleasure as much as his tongue, lips and chin.  

That splintering branch snapped clean off when he growled into you, and suddenly you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, back slamming down into the hard wood of the desk behind you. If you felt any pain at all, it didn’t show – you were too busy writhing and squeezing your thighs around poor Copia’s head.  

What you didn’t know, was that the growl that had pushed you into your earth-shattering orgasm had been a growl not only of lust, but of anger. At himself.  

Beneath you, Copia was squeezing your thigh with the hand that wasn’t buried inside you, desperately trying to stop himself... But his poor, untouched cock had violently flinched beneath his cassock before spilling a hot load of his seed. Copia had cum just from eating you out.  

If he didn’t feel like a pathetic pervert before tonight, he certainly did now. Who cums from just going down on a woman?  

Oh, but you were not just any woman, were you? Not to him. You were the woman he pined over, stressed over, cried over, came over every fucking night for four wretched weeks. What it was about you, he wasn’t sure, but the Cardinal had never been so besotted with a woman in his life. Dare he say it, it had started long before that night in the confessional booth... He had been drawn to you since the day you took your vows.  

And no, he just couldn’t help himself.  

You lay on the desk, catching your breath and waiting for your head to stop spinning as your limbs went lifeless around him, one slipping from his shoulder. He detached himself from your core and stood up, readjusting himself in his pants for a more comfortable position now that the wet patch in his underwear was beginning to seep through to bloom into a deep red stain on his cassock. But there was no getting comfortable with his softening cock confined and covered in his own spend.  

He stepped towards you, between your legs and reached for your hand with the glove that wasn’t still glistening with your arousal. He lifted it to his completely smudged lips, peppering the back of it with chaste kisses as you came to.  

“Mia cara... are you... okay?” he mumbled between kisses. You hummed an affirmative response back, your mind still foggy in post-orgasm haze.  

Copia continued peppering kisses to the back of your hand, to each fingertip, your wrist, a little way up your arm and back down as he waited patiently for you to come back around to him. Eventually, you sat up, pushing your habit down to cover your modesty once again. He held your hand in his, gazing up into your eyes with a soft expression you couldn’t quite read. 

When you really looked at him, you couldn’t help but giggle. His paint was smudged around his mouth, a grey hue painting him from his nose to his chin, and his hair was so dishevelled he looked as if he had been dragged through a hedge.  

“What’s so funny, cara ?” he smiled with you, the kind of smile you can’t keep off your face when someone you adore is laughing near you.  

“You look a mess,” you laughed, smoothing out the parts of his hair that were sticking up.  

“Ah, sì, you have quite a grip,” he chuckled, looking away for a moment, suddenly bashful. “I trust that was not so bad, eh?” he bit his lip as he waited for your response, a little smug smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. 

“Better than my dream, Cardinal,” you shyly admitted. “But um... my dream doesn’t end there...” 

Copia’s smile dropped, realising what you were hinting at. You weren’t done yet... You wanted more from him. But in order to perform, he would have to reveal what you so far had missed.  

Before he could protest, your hand was cupping his bulge under his cassock, but as you pressed your palm there, your eyes grew wide, and your gaze dropped to look at what you’d felt.  

Wet.   

“Uh... mi dispiace, sorella... (I’m sorry, sister...) I... I couldn’t, um...”  

Someone had stoked the dissipating fire inside you once again, and a flame began to burn. You weren’t sure if it was knowing that Copia had cum in his pants at the taste of you, or if it was his dumbstruck look as he tried to rectify the situation with words but knowing he had been so enamoured with you that he’d reached his end even whilst neglected... that was hotter than you could have ever imagined.  

“What was it, Cardinal?” you interrupted him. He silenced quickly, cocking his head in confusion. “Was it how I sounded?” You pressed your palm to the soft bulge beneath you, not at all bothered by the wet fabric. 

“Was it how I tasted?” you asked, your confidence growing as his eyes widened in shock.  

“Was it how I pulled your hair?” The heel of your palm dug into him, rotating in a small circle over his cock.  

“Was it, how my thighs tightened around your head?” You heard him moan softly as you stared into his eyes. His cock was beginning to twitch in interest again.  

“Or was it how my pussy clenched around your fingers?”   

That did it. Without a word, the man before you wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you to him to crash your lips together. You’d awoken something inside him, a beast that he’d been keeping tame until now. Between desperate clashes of lips and tongues, Copia began to tease you back. 

“You want to know what it was, tesoro?” he panted against your lips like a dog in heat, “it was the thought that not only did I have you right where I wanted you,” he paused for another heated kiss, “ finally tasting what I’ve been desiring for so long,” and another, “but that I had infiltrated this pretty little head of yours, corrupted the sweetest of all the sorelle... I got to make you, mine...”   

You whimpered at his words, knowing every single one was no lie. But hearing Copia call you his had you arching your back to press against him, your hips desperately seeking him out and your lips messily found his again.  

 Terzo yawned as he walked down the halls of the ministry, the days of solid paperwork and papal duties - not the mention his library rendezvous earlier that day... - catching up to him as he slogged back to his quarters. The halls were dark, silent. He didn’t rush – he didn’t have the energy to. His mind wandered as he dawdled, taking in the stained glass around him with every step he took.   

He rounded a corner, and thought he could hear shuffling coming from inside one of the seminar rooms. He rolled his eyes, annoyed at the thought of having to put on his big scary Papa voice and tell whoever was out of bounds this late to go back to their dorms. Why did they make him work so hard, eh?   

As he drew closer to the door of a room he presumed was the one inhabited, he heard voices. He reached for the doorknob, until the voices registered, and he realised... These were voices he recognised...  

“Uh... mi dispiace, sorella... (I’m sorry, sister...) I... I couldn’t, um...” Was that Cardinal Copia he heard stammering away in there like a moron? Well, as a higher up member of the clergy, he was okay to be out of bounds at this hour. Terzo shrugged to himself and started to turn away from the door – whatever the Cardinal was up to in there was his business. And frankly, Terzo was too tired to even realise he had been speaking to someone...    

“What was it, Cardinal?” Terzo stopped, his brows pulling together in thought. That had sounded like you, Sister _____?  What would she be doing alone with the Cardinal at this hour?   

Terzo was now intrigued, and hung around for a moment. 

“Was it how I sounded?” What on earth was she talking about?   

“Was it how I tasted?” Terzo’s eyes widened, his jaw falling open. Had he heard that right?  

“Was it how I pulled your hair?” This was not the same Sorella _____ he knew, surely not? Such filth spilling from her mouth... He almost felt a swell of pride in his chest. 

“Was it, how my thighs tightened around your head?” Terzo all but jumped with giddiness at the door, keeping himself as quiet as possible to not alert those inside. He heard the Cardinal moan the most pathetic little sound, and slapped his gloved hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Oh, fratellino, you are down BAD...    

“Or was it how my pussy clenched around your fingers?”  

Terzo’s hand dropped when his jaw hit the floor, completely taken aback by your brazen use of such a sinful phrase. He’d clearly stumbled upon something already in motion... Suddenly, he heard a quick shuffle, followed by a suppressed moan from you and a hungry growl from the Cardinal. Terzo jumped away from the door as if it had burst into flames.  

Now, Terzo was certainly a pervert. But he was not about to eavesdrop on his brother fraternising with a sister of sin. He recoiled at the thought, shivering as he backed away to the far wall of the opposite corridor. He stood frozen for a moment, his body not reacting anywhere near fast enough.   

“You want to know what it was, tesoro?.... It was the thought that not only did I have you right where I wanted you... but I had infiltrated this pretty little head of yours, corrupted the sweetest of all the sorelle... I got to make you, mine...”  

That did it. Terzo turned and bolted down the corridor to get away from the lip-smacking sounds and the whines you let slip.  

As he rounded the corner and managed to get away from the noises that frankly would now haunt him in his dreams, he couldn’t help but feel a little... proud.    

That had been his doing. He’d pushed them together, forced them into each other’s presence knowing how absolutely pitiful and sciocco (foolish) the pair of you were being. Terzo certainly wasn’t blind – he'd seen the Cardinal’s affections, saw how your absence had affected him so. Now he was beginning to think your disappearance may even have had to do with him, in some way. Avoiding him, perhaps?  

Not that it mattered. For now, he was proud that his fratellino was making a move – however mentally scarring that move had been to overhear. 

And he told you that you were his, too. The meaning of that may have been lost in the moment, but it certainly wasn’t lost on Terzo. Copia meant that with every fibre of his being.  

He smiled to himself as he continued to walk to his chambers. For all the teasing and all the jokes Terzo made at Copia’s expense as they were growing up, he had to admit, he turned out alright in the end. His goofy little half-brother who kept his secret Beanos and drank his little juice boxes. He chuckled to himself – he certainly was proud of him. And finally, someone else saw him for more than a bumbling idiot. Someone finally didn’t underestimate him the way the rest of the ministry did.  

“Ben fatto (good job) , Terzo,” he smirked to himself. His little plan had worked; albeit, far sooner than expected, and just a little too well. 

He would be working hard this evening to forget what he’d just overheard...

Copia’s grip on your thighs around his hips tightened as he deepened your kiss, the leather of his gloves tightening and squeaking over his taught hands. You were sure he would leave bruises with how hard he held you, pulling you flush against him until your core pressed against his hardening length. You didn’t care though; any mark he left on you was like a badge of honour.  

“Dolcezza, what do you want from me, eh?” he pleaded, breathless as he trailed open mouthed kisses along your jaw and to your neck, never once disconnecting his lips along the way.   

“All of you, Cardinal...” you practically sang, “ please...”   

He hummed against your neck, lost entirely to his visceral need to devour you whole. You threaded your hands in his hair again, holding him tight to you as you let your head fall back, enjoying the kisses, the nips and bites, the suckling against your skin that bloomed in beautiful red and purple patches. 

Copia stood upright for a moment, biting at the leather on his right hand to free himself of his glove and spitting it to one side before he lay his palm on your cheek. He drank you in with his eyes, hooded and blown out with lust. You nuzzled into him instinctively searching out his touch, your lips finding his thumb to pepper kisses to the tip. It felt oddly intimate, more so than having his face buried between your thighs.  

No one ever saw the Cardinal – or any clergy member, for that matter – without their gloves. Their bare touch was saved for those they devoted it to, and here he was, baring himself to you . 

You pressed a final kiss to his thumb, before allowing your tongue to lave over the pad of it, your lips following to engulf his thumb in the warmth of your mouth. Copia hummed in front of you, his other hand squeezing your thigh tightly as he watched. 

“Cosa ho fatto per meritarti, tesoro? (What did I do to deserve you, sweetheart?)” he groaned, pushing his thumb to smear your spit over your lips, adoring the way they glistened for him in the low light. “I want to give you all of me,” he slid his hand to your neck, a wet trail left along your skin by the saliva still on his thumb, and gripped tight enough to send a wave of excitement through you. “Every last inch...” 

You whined for him again, as your body seemed to do of its own accord, and let him capture your lips in another kiss. You could no longer stand it – you needed him, like the moon needs the sun to glow brightly in the night.   

Hastily, you reached for the buttons of his cassock, making quick work of them until he could shrug out of the heavy red wool and let it fall to the floor. He helped you then, to remove his jacket underneath while you focussed on freeing his length.  

“A little messy, mi dispiace ,” he smirked, not sorry at all for the mess he’d made when he now knew how much that had turned you on. On another occasion, you would have liked to sink to your knees, clean him up and ready him for what came next but there was no time for that. Messy or not, you simply needed him.  

You didn’t even attempt to remove his pants, instead pushing them just a little further down his hips to allow you to reach into his underwear and take him in your hand. He hissed through his teeth like you’d scalded him, but instead rocking his hips to chase your touch. He had been correct, there was certainly a mess in there – one that coated your hand as you pulled his erection free and pumped along his length once, twice...  

“ Cazzo... (Fuck...)” he groaned.  

As your hand moved, you let your eyes wonder over his body, half exposed to you now. The physique you had dreamed of wasn’t far off, except he had a little more muscle definition than your imagination had given him credit for, particularly in the two lines that framed his abdomen, leading down to where your hand worked him over. But what caught your eye most of all, was the strange tattoo that sat over his heart, hidden by a thin layer of grey-speckled chest hair.  

Three 6’s, in a spiral, marked into his chest for eternity. Your free hand traced the black lines, fingertips grazing over it making him shiver at your touch. You didn’t ask about it, there was no need. He had kept it covered, hidden from knowledge of anyone else until right now – you were the only person he ever wanted to be this vulnerable to. Someday though, you might ask him about that...  

Copia moved to remove his other glove, letting it drop to the floor beside him with the rest of his garments. His red pants still clung to his thighs, and he struggled to draw his eyes away from where your hand stroked his cum-covered cock lazily.  

With one long, drawn out stroke back up his length, you lifted your hand – smeared in his mess – and pressed two of your fingers to your tongue, sucking the mess from them as you held his eye contact. His expression darkened, baring his teeth to you like an animal as he smirked, watching you lick and suck every last bit of his essence from your hand. A fire raged within you, like lava spewing through your veins at the quiet yet guttural groan he unleashed. 

In a flash, he was dragging you to the edge of the desk where you sat, both hands burrowing into the soft flesh of your hips. His hips slowly rocked against you, cock dragging through the plentiful juices you’d left for him. You hummed at the feeling of some contact, particularly the feeling of the veins and ridges of his hardness. You needed him inside you, filling you. You couldn’t drag this out anymore; it was like torture. Worse than torture.  

“Please, Cardinal...” you begged. And how could he deny you when you’d asked so nicely?  

“Kiss me, bella,” he huffed, his focus snatched away by the hypnotising sight of his cock sliding through your folds as he teased. It was as if he could only be diverted by your lips, that he couldn’t drag his attention away voluntarily.  

You grabbed him by the jaw with one hand, crushing your lips to his desperately. He growled again, the weeping head of his cock catching on your entrance and slowly, finally, he began to push inside...  

Your jaw went slack, kiss long forgotten as your eyes squeezed shut and you let out a staggered moan into his mouth.  

“ Sono qui, tesoro... (I’m here, sweetheart...)” he assured, holding your hips flush to him with a hand on the small of your back. He struggled to keep himself still, buried to the hilt and desperate to move, but you needed a moment. The feeling was overwhelming, stretched to the brink of pain and pleasure, dangling dangerously there as you got used to him.  

It was a true testament to his self-control and his character that he waited for you – as soon as his length had been buried in your tight, wet warmth he thought he was a goner. He figured that this was it – this was the glorious afterlife he’d been promised, that he prayed to Lucifer for day in, day out. 

Having you pressed against him grounded him as much as he needed. He watched the expression on your face, waiting for any sign of discomfort, of regret. He found none, because there was none to give. His lips hovered above yours, enjoying the warmth of your breath as you moaned for him.  

You were wearing too many clothes still for his liking; he wanted to be unbearably close to you, to feel the warmth of your skin on his, see you in all your glory. Still buried deep inside you, he used one of his hands to unbutton your habit, slowly revealing more flesh to him, kissing down your exposed chest until he could reach no further down.  

He was so gentle with you, so patient. He fought the urges to thrust into you, to take what he so desperately wanted from you. He simply wanted this to be perfect, and the thought had your eyes glazing with an adoration that went beyond a silly little wet dream. 

As your own way of signalling you were okay, you wanted more, you shimmied out of your now open habit, letting it pool around you where you sat, and pulled the straps of your bra down, unclipping it at the back.  

He watched your slow movements, tracing patterns on your skin with his fingertips. “ Più bella di quanto avrei mai potuto immaginare (more beautiful than I ever could have imagined),” he whispered, pressing his lips to your sternum, feeling your heart beating against him. If only he had known he felt this way, that it was more than just lust – if he had admitted that to himself... 

“ Copia ...” you whined, the first time you’d called him by his name all evening... His heart swelled, smiling against the swell of your breast between kisses. “ Per favore, h-ho bisogno d-di te... (Please, I need you...)” you stuttered in broken Italian, piecing together bits you had picked up in your time in the Ministry, but he knew – oh , he knew what you were saying.  

“ Qualsiasi cosa per te, amore mio (anything for you, my love),” he replied, sweetly pressing his lips to yours as he cradled your face in his hands. You wrapped your arms around his neck and sunk into him, only for him to begin moving his hips, slowly pulling back from where he had been buried deep within your warmth for a few minutes now at least... 

You mewled into his kiss, letting your tongues dance together so beautifully. It wasn’t until he had slid almost completely away from you that he pushed his way back in, gliding almost effortlessly in the slick you’d created for him. He built his movements over a few slow thrusts, gradually setting a pace that would never bring you to any kind of climax, but enough that the two of you were swirling in pleasure, able to enjoy your first moments anchored together.   

Copia’s lips never left yours, not to allow moans the freedom to escape or to allow his lungs the freedom to breathe. You were totally, utterly enamoured with each other.  

With every roll of his hips, you edged closer and closer to a point of begging for more, begging for a means to an end. He was struggling to keep himself composed, too scared to frighten you off if he unleashed what had built inside him for the last four weeks.  

“Copia, m-more... please...” you begged, finally separating the two of you to hazily look in his beautifully distinct eyes, show him the desperation in your own.  

“Amore, if I let go, I’m not sure I can control myself...” he warned, still forcing himself to stay at the pace he’d set.  

“Then lose yourself, Cardinal... Take me,” you offered yourself to him, trusting completely that he would never do anything you didn’t desperately want yourself.  

With no further encouragement needed, and a whisper of “ Cazzo, Sathanas perdonami ... (fuck, Sathanas forgive me...) ” he picked up his pace, effortlessly sliding into you over and over until the tops of his thighs were smacking into the underside of yours. The sounds ricocheted off the stone walls around you, a sinful mix of whines, pants, grunts and skin slapping on skin swirling in the air around you.  

The hands laying loose around his shoulders slid into his hair, pulling tight to press his forehead to yours. The desk beneath you groaned and creaked under the force, scraping along the floors with each hit. Your Cardinal’s cock filled you so deliciously, his hips angled to hit the back of your cervix and the top of your pussy where that tantalising sweet spot lay.  

“I wanted you for so long, amore mio...” he confessed, “so completely, like un patetico bastardo (a pathetic bastard).” He grit his teeth together, grunting like an animal as he fucked into you. He fought the urge to push you back down against the desk and lift your thighs up, spreading you open as much as possible for him, wanting to savour the closeness, the way he could feel your breath beading in condensation on his neck.  

“S-six months...” It was your turn to confess. “I’d b-been dreaming of... you... for six months...” you cried out as he slammed into you harder, fuelled by your admission.  

“ Bella , you’ll be the end of me, eh?” he chuckled between pants of breathlessness. “ Adesso sono tutto tuo (now I’m all yours...)”   

The coil in your abdomen wound impossibly tighter, threatening to fracture at any moment with the way he rolled his hips up into you, filling you deliciously with each pistoning motion. You felt the ripples from each violent thrust over and over against your clit where his body met yours, and the way his nails dug into your flesh, no doubt leaving bruises with deep crescent shapes imprinted in your skin.  

“C-can’t... hold...” you could barely string a sentence together in your current state, “ fuck...”   

“Cum for me, amore. Cum for your Cardinal, eh?” he roared. And well, you couldn’t stop yourself if you wanted to.  

Fire spread from your core through every nerve ending, spanning your entire body and you squealed and writhed against him. He never faltered, not missing a single beat as you shook and spilled around his cock. The way your walls fluttered around him, squeezed him impossibly tighter made every thrust a struggle, but he fought it – he couldn’t let you down now.  

He tensed his body, staving off another orgasm as long as he possibly could. He wanted you to revel in yours, wanted to watch you come undone on his cock like he’d dreamed of so many times. A litany of profanities and mumblings of his name spilled in incoherent babble as your limbs turned to jelly, barely clinging onto him to stay upright. If you were to fall back or forward, you were to choose forward, slumping against his sweaty chest, your head sitting where his neck met his shoulder.  

In your tired and overstimulated state, all you could do for him was mouth at the skin there, leaving sloppy kisses while your pussy continued to pulse around him until eventually, he gripped your chin tightly to lift your head and crash his lips to yours. He growled into your mouth, hips stuttering and slowing – he had cum inside you, needing to taste you again as he did so.  

With his final few thrusts, his spend leaked from around his cock, mixing with your own climax. He punctuated each thrust with a hum of satisfaction, until he couldn’t take the movement anymore, his cock too sensitive to continue. Still, he didn’t remove himself. Not yet...  

Somehow you both slumped together, keeping each other upright with your body weight alone. Your chests rose and fell together, trying to regulate your breathing to have an opportunity to speak at all. But honestly? The pair of you were happy in your blissful silence together for a moment. 

After a few minutes, it was you who spoke first. 

“I thought you would hate me...” you sighed against his shoulder. Copia’s brows furrowed together, and he stood himself up removing his softening length from you, holding you by your shoulders to get a good look at you.  

“Why would you ever think that, amore mio?” he asked, genuinely confused.  

“I thought I had overstepped, that night in the confessional. I thought you were ashamed, disgusted...” you drooped your head in sadness at the memory of him excusing you so abruptly that evening.  

“No... not with you, never you , tesoro,” he assured. “At myself, sì? I assumed you would despise how I took advant-” 

“Cardinal no, you didn’t... Sathanas, we’re both really stupid, aren’t we?” you chuckled, shaking your head at your antics.    “Idioti innamorati (idiots in love),” he laughed, until he realised what he’d actually just said – and then the colour drained from his face, his eyes blowing out wide in horror.  

You smiled softly, taking his hands from your shoulders and pulling him to take a step closer to you.     “Idioti innamorati,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to the end of his nose, still greyed from the smudging of his paints. Copia smiled sheepishly, a warmth spreading in his chest. He hadn’t felt like this before, much less ever had someone reciprocate his feelings. He felt strangely at peace, more so than he ever had.  

“Tesoro, promise me something, eh?” he asked. You nodded, willing him to continue. “Never hide from me again, okay? I damn near lost my mind.”  

You laughed at your idiocy. “I promise, Cardinal.” You leaned forward to press your lips against his, sweetly capturing the moment in a blissful kiss.  

When you pulled apart, he wordlessly helped to gather the garments that had been carelessly removed and dressed you again. You exchanged jokes about the messes you both were, how vile it felt to put your clothes back on with the feeling of your spend seeping from you and his still damp in his underwear... How truly ridiculous you both were.  

“Come, bella. I have a rather large shower cubicle I think we can both put to good use,” he flirted, pulling you to him by your waist now you were both fully dressed. You agreed, taking him by the hand and wondering through the corridors together back to the clergy suites.  

“Besides, I have something of yours I feel I must give back...” Copia laughed at himself, somehow no longer afraid to admit what he had been up to in your absence when he knew now just how depraved your own mind could be.  

Your mind ticked over at what on earth he could possibly mean, until it dawned on you... You had lost your fucking glove.  

“ You pervert!” you accused, smacking his chest playfully as you walked. “Maybe I don’t want it back, Lucifer knows what you’ve done with that thing...” The two of you giggled and flirted your way back, uncaring and unaware of any prying ears that may hear voices late into the night.  

And there were indeed prying ears, albeit accidentally, that perked up at the sound of voices outside his chambers... 

Terzo sat on his couch with a glass of vintage red in his hand, attempting to read a book to take his mind off the sinful noises he’d heard from his fratello earlier that evening. When he recognised the noises, he groaned to himself.  

‘Must they parade around to remind me of that?’ he thought to himself, rolling his eyes and standing to look through the peephole of his door. He saw the two of you waltzing through the dimly lit corridor, hand in hand like teenagers. The dopey look on his brother’s face was, to him, a wonderful sight; so hopelessly enamoured with you as you giggled and laughed together into the night.   

He had always hoped Copia would find someone like you – perhaps that’s why you were the one sister he never tried to bed, the one he felt was off limits to him. Maybe he had always known... but he was glad to see his fratellino acting like himself in your presence. Goofy, dopey Copia. Perhaps now, he could stop looking for approval from those he looked up to and looked down on him, and focus his efforts on simply being himself. After all, he had now found someone who liked him for who he was, not who he hoped to be .  

“Idioti innamorati,” he muttered to himself, chuckling at his win.  

Sì, his fratellino could be himself now – however pathetic he may be...   FIN

A/N: I hope you loved it as much as I loved writing this. This may be my first Ghost fic, but it will NOT be my last - so if you'd like to stick around for more, I'd be incredibly grateful. Send me some head canon requests or some drabble prompts - I'm MORE THAN HAPPY to do those for you. Endless love, Bee 🖤 TAG LIST: @melvilless @copiasprincipessa @siouxbauhaus @edensbuttercups @daughter0fcain @xnothingpersonalx @assassinprocrastinator @funfetti-furby @kadedoesthings @sunbleached-ghoul @gravehags @gbatesx @solluna00 @mae-mei-m @bolliancat @ghulehsin @socksandcr0cs @girlwithissuesworld @fallen-angelito @maccery @wjyndigo @thew0man @a-fools-circus @luxavier @saintedcooper @whatawonderfulexistence--blog @calamity-queen @eternaltiare @moongoore @wagooo @dolceterzo @emeritusing @letstalkstories @sacred-coffin @rainstorms-library @ryos-cruddy-side-blog @fruitmanstyles @relentlessmoon @cardinal-copingmechanism @werich @strawberriiblossoms @evepeve @portaltothevoid @casualghostfan @copias-juicebox @sl1psth3magg0t @enchantedbunny @pedro-pedrito-pascalito

[johnnyutah]

average adam faulkner stanheight fan: if adam isn’t in saw xi we riot! @lionsgate @kevingruetert @jameswan #adamlives #justiceforadam #corpseinconsistencies

average john kramer fan: What people don’t realize about John, is he’s such a genius that even when he makes mistakes, he planned on making the mistakes. He is the greatest villain of all time

average jill tuck fan: Appreciation post for the Women of Saw 🩷 [the same ten photos that get posted once a week]

average lawrence gordon fan: last night i watched a 2004 tv movie about serial killers called ‘the riverman’, followed by the cheesy family rom-com ‘a castle for christmas’. today my friends and i are going to binge the entire third season of netflix’s ‘stranger things’. none of us have seen a single episode of the rest of the show and we don’t plan on it. then we might rewatch ‘another country’ together

average amanda young fan: sorry i haven’t been online in 4 weeks i’ve been too busy trying to get the new pig cosmetic in the rift [posted 7 weeks ago]

average mark hoffman fan: [underneath a gifset of costas mandylor in a republican christian propaganda ‘sci-fi’ movie] #hes so fucking hot #i would give anything to put him in a sports bra and make him do jumping jacks in front pf me i would literally do #ANYTHING #i need to make him into a marionett and fist him lol

average daniel rigg fan: Here’s a quick low effort doodle I did of Daniel! I just love him so much ❤️ [a literal masterpiece, the best art you’ve ever seen in your entire life] [3 notes]

average allison kerry fan: i am hardcore attached to ONE ship which is probably either allison/amanda or allison/lindsey and my whole blog is devoted to them. there are dozens of us DOZENS

average lynn denlon fan: okay so i know bahar is a realtor now but in her last instagram post where she’s congratulating her son on some new achievement, both the first and last words in the post have 11 letters, AND there’s an X and an I visible in the background of her post 👀?? is this a reach???

average jeff denlon fan: No seriously let me finish seriously when you compare him to the other shitty men in Saw he’s NOT that b

average david tapp fan: i’m 39k away from publishing my 40k tappsing Everybody Lives AU <3 this is going to be epic [account has been deactivated for an indeterminate amount of time]

average brit stevenson and mallick scott fan: Hey I stayed up making this instead of writing my thesis paper for grad school. Here’s a 30,000 word document about the implications of Brit’s promotion within the Marshford group and how it would lead to her eventual demise and also how she rose to the top in her group. It also delves into her relationship with Mallick, whose existence, I believe, is an obvious literary reference to an ancient Roman play read by only me and three other people currently alive. I translated relevant passages and included them in my work. I got understimulated around page 8 so I did take a break to pierce myself in the same spot that I believe Mallick would have a piercing. If you read my fics on AO3 you will already be familiar with the location.

average peter strahm fan: haha peter does CRACK cocoaine haha i think he sniffeds some drugs! why else would he be so MANIC HYPER CRAZY!!! i love my crazy JUNKIE man LOL get him some andderall STAT!! if hoffman didn’t kill him the SPEED certianly would of! LOL!

average lindsey perez fan: i love lindsey perez i’m such a big fan of the character lindsey perez

average matt gibson fan: i literally would eat garbage out of a dumpster

average ezekiel banks fan: holy shit i just finished spiral what a good movie what the hell!!! what a cool addition to the saw universe! i bet everybody else loves this as much as i do! let me take a big drink of water as i check tumblr dot com to see all the nice things people will have to say about darren lynn bousman’s Spiral

average william schenk fan: my hobbies include: being a fujoshi,

average cecelia pederson fan: [pic of cecelia yanking on the metal loop around her neck and smirking] https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vT3f5IIzt5PG-M7G9_Z-gjY4gZaiUneTdMlYrFAcdBGcJo0-N-RDQcj2JfxOaBTxKa6J_DiDQNgqVpg/pub

average logan jigsaw fan: What people don’t realize about John, is he’s such a genius that even when he makes mistakes, he planned on making the mistakes. He is the greatest villain of all time

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 6

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.5k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: You can't avoid it any longer -- it's time for you and Din to talk.

a/n: I feel like this is the moment many of you have been waiting for, lol. I'm very excited to see your reactions! See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos), a bit more angst (sorry), but they are going to talk!

Chapter 6

You thought about your conversation with Kuiil as you walked to your rehearsal with Adrian, as you stretched and practiced in your morning classes, and as you took the stage over the weekend in Vince’s piece in the mixed program. You thought about it as you watched Din and Yuna in the Balanchine ballet and as you did your PT for your ankles and as you talked with Talia about your role in Midsummer. You thought about it as you sat on the bus home at night, so tired and achy that you needed something to think about to keep you awake.

You thought about it so much you barely had time to think about anything else.

Was Kuiil right? Was Din more uncertain than frustrated? Was he finding it difficult to communicate and connect in a way he hadn’t before, at CBC? You thought about seeing him on stage with Yuna, and how effortless that had seemed. But Balanchine’s choreography, more than so many others, was so technical, so focused on precision. There was so much less room for the dancer in a ballet where all of the space was taken up by striving for technical perfection. 

In class, you let your eyes stray to Din for the first time in two weeks. You watched as he stretched and jumped and wondered if perhaps you had just been talking past each other.

What if he’s trying, and you simply haven’t realized it? What if he just doesn’t know how?

He’s never done this before, you reminded yourself. 

Your mind was swimming as you stepped into the studio for your fourth rehearsal with Kuiil. You found Din was already there, as usual, and tried not to stare as you worried over your questions. You resolved to be more observant, this time.

And this time, because you were looking for it, you finally saw what Kuiil was talking about.

More than once, as you danced, Din reached for you, literally and figuratively. You leapt past and he oriented his body towards yours, echoing your movement. He turned, but kept his eyes on you as he did. You could see him trying in the ways he knew, to shape his movements around yours, to showcase his partner on stage, but his discomfort with improvisation shone through. The problem was that all of his movements were so stylistically different from yours, that there was little for you to hold on to. And so the two of you struggled to react to each other, as Kuiil had asked.

You tried. You tried to respond to him, to react, but it threw both of you off. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to improvise so drastically. Suddenly the dance was disjointed, and you fell so badly out of step in trying to turn towards him when he moved away from you that you stumbled. 

The music stopped.

Din turned to look at Kuiil and you spun around to do the same. 

Kuiil simply looked at you both for a moment, and then sighed. “I have pushed you too much, I think, and forgotten the basics of partnership. And you will need to work together, to connect more deeply, as we begin the second movement.” You started to shake your head, but Kuiil held up his hand. “No. Here is what we will do, as you prepare for Midsummer and Swan Lake.”

And then he gave you homework.

…

“So, what, is Kuiil going to lock you in a room until you talk to each other?” Adrian’s voice was teasing, but you could tell he meant it.

“Not quite,” you said. “But instead of rehearsal next week we’re supposed to try to get to know each other. To talk.”

He smirked at you. “Ooooh, to talk.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Yes?” You poked him in the side and he yelped. “Stop teasing me and help me figure out what to talk to him about.”

He laughed. “I think you know what to talk about. You just have to figure out how to get him to talk at all.”

You shook your head. “He’s talked to me. Just not about… this.” You waved your arm at all of the problems you’d been having in rehearsal.

Adrian seemed to consider that for a moment. “You know, you’re right. He does talk to you, in a way he doesn’t talk to anyone else.” He furrowed his brow. “Maybe all you need to do is ask.”

…

You followed Adrian’s advice and started with simply asking Din to meet you at the rehearsal studio, without Kuiil, to talk. He agreed readily and you decided to take that as a good sign.

It was the week of Midsummer’s debut, and you were focused to the point of distraction on your role as Hermia. You appreciated it for taking your mind off of the disaster that was the pas de deux, though, and by the time you found yourself outside of the studio where you’d meet Din you realized you’d barely thought about the meeting at all.

(Well, not much. Not as much as the week before, at least.)

He was, as usual, already inside.

You closed the door behind you and dropped your bag and shoes before moving to join him where he sat with his back to the mirror. As you slid down beside him, he nodded in greeting. 

“So,” you said, when it became obvious Din wasn’t going to jump in first. “I think we both know what the problem is, but where do we start?”

You looked at Din and took a moment to observe him up close. He was staring straight ahead, but you didn’t think he was looking at anything in particular. He seemed too inside his own mind for that.

Just when you began to worry that you’d have to push him, that this wasn’t going to work because he wasn’t going to meet you halfway, he spoke.

“I’m sorry.” 

You blinked, startled — you weren’t sure what he was apologizing for. Did he think you meant he was the problem?

“What? Din, no—”

He shook his head and finally turned to look at you. His expression was as closed to you as always. “No, I want to say this. Let me… let me say this. I should have told you this weeks ago, but I can’t…” he trailed off, but this time you didn’t interrupt. You turned slightly towards him on the floor, extending your left leg and drawing your right knee to your chest. You gave him your full attention. He looked down at his hands and continued, softly. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve been so worried that I won’t be able to… to let go of my training. To dance in any other way. To do anything else.” 

You wanted to reach out to him, but you were worried he would startle if you did. You laced your own fingers together and squeezed your hands around your knee.

“I can see the problems, but I don’t know how to fix them. I don’t know how to move like you do. I don’t know how to do anything but what I’ve always done. I don’t know…” Suddenly he looked up at you, and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sheer emotion in his eyes. “I want to dance this with you. I want to partner with you. But I can’t seem to figure out how — not because of you. Because of me.”

You were reaching before you could stop yourself and lightly rested your hand on his forearm. He didn’t startle, but he did look down at it, brow furrowed. You forced yourself to leave it there and squeezed his arm lightly. 

“Din, I…” you weren’t sure how to reassure him. You’d seen his discomfort in rehearsals and you knew this was new to him, even if he hadn’t told you so before. You decided to share your own worries instead, since he had just been so open with his own. “This is the biggest role I’ve ever gotten. I mean, you know I’ve got Hermia, and then the spring fairy in Cinderella… but I’ve never been chosen for something like this before. I’ve never had a chance like this.” He lifted his head and met your eyes again, and this time his eyes were soft. It encouraged you to continue. “And you’re so good, I’ve been so worried that I’m not…” you bit your lip and squeezed his arm again when he opened his mouth. You shook your head and he nodded, letting you continue. “That I’m not good enough. I’ve had bad reviews before and I’m not even a principal and I know there are people out there who think I’m not good enough to be one. I—”

This time, Din cut you off. “That’s absurd.” His tone was flat, like his point was so obvious he couldn’t believe he had to say it.

You blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head, his gaze dancing over your face. He covered your hand on his left arm with his right and squeezed. “Of course you deserve to be a principal. They should have already promoted you. Karga clearly wants to, anyway. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

Your mouth dropped open. “What?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in that barely-there smile and you felt your cheeks start to heat as his praise continued. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice me watching you. It wasn’t just for our homework. You’re… amazing. I don’t know how you put so much emotion into your dancing at the same time as so much such skill and technique. Like in Midsummer, everything you bring to Hermia, it’s…” His eyes scanned your face again, and you wondered if you were gaping at him. It felt like it. “It’s so real. And connected. I feel like a robot, compared to you. I’ve been trying to find that connection for myself, but…” he trailed off again and let his hand slip from where it covered your own. You took your hand back, too.

A connection, he said. “Um, thank you. Maybe…” you started, hesitant. He looked at you again. “Maybe we can help each other. Practice together, outside of our rehearsals.”

He nodded. You nodded back, and then you both laughed, a little. You’d never seen him laugh before and couldn’t help but stare.

You felt a bit shaky after all of that honesty and decided to lighten the air a little. “Ok, well, one thing we definitely need to do is get to know each other, right? So we’re comfortable together.” He nodded, and his expression was so open you had to force yourself to keep going, rather than to simply marvel at the fact that he’d dropped his mask. For you. “So. How about we each get 10 questions, but we can pass if we need to. Ok?”

One side of his mouth lifted in a smile. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

You shrugged. “It’s a good way to get to know someone, especially when you have to dance with someone new.”

Din nodded. “Alright. You go first.”

Over the next half hour you learned that Din’s favorite color was black (“come on, really?” “Fine, my second favorite is green.”), he hated smart technology (“I don’t want my fridge to talk to me. I want it to be a fridge.”), and his favorite ballet he’d ever been in was, surprisingly, Giselle (“it’s not in the normal repertoire there, and they didn’t like how I danced it. But I did. It was the most free I’ve ever felt on stage.”).

You wanted to ask more about why he’d left CBC, but that felt like too much for your first real conversation. You did learn, though, that he had a son.

“Grogu,” he said, “that’s his name. He’s five. He loves watching ballet.” Din smiled a little, looking off into the distance. “I don’t know if he’ll want to dance, but at least he likes watching me do it.”

You smiled. He was more open when he talked about his son, who must have been the little boy you saw him with, back in December. “Sounds like he sits through it better than my family.”

Din laughed, and shook his head. “We’ll see if it changes as he gets older.”

“Is that why you’re always in such a hurry?”

He nodded. “My friend takes care of him during the day, but I hate leaving him for so long. She lives close by so I try to go home for lunch, on the weekends, or to pick him up from school.”

That made sense. A new understanding of Din was forming in your mind — not an avoidant, aloof principal dancer, but a father who wanted to spend time with his son as much as he wanted to dance. Someone with more on his mind than fitting into this new company — you imagined the move must have been difficult on Grogu, too. 

“How’s he settling in here?”

Din looked at you, that little half smile back on his lips. “Just fine. He likes his new kindergarten, he’s made some friends. Better than I even hoped, really.”

You nodded. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s liking it. I bet that was a difficult transition for him. And you.”

Din sighed. “A bit. But it was necessary.”

Before you could even consider asking what he meant by that, you both heard commotion in the hall. You checked the time and realized you needed to get to your next rehearsal. Din stood first and offered you his hand.

You slid your hand into his, and he squeezed it as he pulled you up. 

“This was a good idea,” he said, squeezing your hand again. “Do you think next week will go better?”

You nodded. “I think so. But do you want to meet beforehand, to talk about the choreography? Maybe figure out where we can find each other instead of missing each other.”

He nodded. “I’d like that.”

…

You felt lighter after your conversation with Din. You hadn’t solved the problem, of course, but you’d at least talked to each other. It felt like the air was clearer, now that you both knew the other was struggling in some way. Neither of you was alone in it.

Over the weekend you focused on Midsummer — it was a big deal for you, getting cast as Hermia. You were excited to dance through her turmoil. She was so torn, as a character, and you wanted to portray that on stage. 

As you prepared and stretched on Friday night, you thought about what Din had said — that he couldn’t figure out how to dance in a new way, and that he felt like a robot. You shook your head. A robot? You weren’t sure what he was feeling while he danced, but Din never looked like a robot when he was performing. He’d said, too, that he loved being in Giselle, an overall more emotional performance than much of CBC’s usual repertoire. That he’d felt free. 

You thought about his face, every time you’d seen behind the mask, and you knew he could do it. You just had to help him figure out how to find that connection again, and how to lower the mask more while he was performing.

As you stepped out on stage that night, you let that certainty ground you. As you performed your variation, you’d never felt more like you were floating.

...

Prev | Next

a/n: they talked!!! what do we think?

Pas de deux & partnering -- Partnering in ballet is hard! There has to be a lot of trust and communication between partners, even though you don't necessarily need to be like best friends. These two are so advanced and have been in companies for so long that they are able to jump into something like this, but they still have to establish a partnering relationship, which is tough! To give you an idea of just some of what goes into partnering, here's a video of "beginning tips" (skip to around ~12:00 for some interesting stuff on balance). Din is used to verrrrry formal partnering, and that is some of the reason for their communication issues.

Midsummer - reader is dancing the role of Hermia in A Midsummer's Night Dream, which can go to either a principal or a soloist, just depending on the company. Here's a nice overview of the two acts and the ballet from the San Francisco Ballet. Here's a video of a dancer breaking down the role. Here's a couple examples of Hermia's famous variation (solo): one, two. Hermia has other big moments in the ballet but I've mostly been mentioning reader prepping for the solo. Companies might also spread out the roles over different nights or weekends -- in this case reader has Hermia for one weekend, like Adrian has Puck for one weekend (which isn't really mentioned in the fic because I didn't think it was relevant). (Is it a little unbelievable that reader is so unsure about her possible promotion if she got this role? Maybe. Soloists could get this role, especially a first soloist!)

Spring fairy - reader is dancing the role of the spring fairy in Cinderella, too. This and Midsummer are big story ballets that would draw an audience. Here's another two performances of the spring fairy variation and all of the fairies in one video from a 2003 Royal Ballet production. Spring starts ~2:30. The wiki page has a nice overview of the numbers in each act, so you can see where the fairies come in. The wiki lists 4 acts, though, and most companies do it like ABT I think -- with 2 acts. And here's a full length recording.

Giselle - Din mentions this briefly and we'll learn more later, but here's an overview of the ballet. (it's one of my favs)

tag list coming in a reblog!

[slut4thebroken]

Locktober

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Robert Fischer x reader

Summary | It’s day 11 of Locktober and you got Robert a ‘present’…

Warnings | Smut, chastity, prostate milking, orgasm denial?, praise, he’s whiny obviously, humiliation, mommy kink obviously.

Words | 2k

Notes | I can’t stop writing sub Robert lol. Also sorry if this is bad💀 I’ve never written this before lmao

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 11: prostate milking + chastity

“I have a surprise for you, angel.” You called out, walking into the living room with a small paper bag in your hand. 

“What is it?” He asked curiously, closing his laptop without hesitation and putting it on the coffee table. You sat down next to him on the couch and placed the bag on the floor, then pulled him into you. He immediately wrapped his arms around you and laid his head on your chest, making you smile. 

“How has Locktober been treating you so far?” You asked innocently, but couldn’t hide your smirk. 

“Wanna come…” He whined, nuzzling into your cleavage a little. 

“I’m sure I can make that happen, sweetheart.” You chuckled, already planning what to do with him. “Can you pull your pants down for me, love?” You asked, still holding him. Since it was his day off and he didn’t have any plans, he was wearing sweatpants, so he quickly pushed them and his underwear down to his thighs. “Oh… look at you.” You cooed, reaching over to trail your finger down the cage with a small smirk. When you cupped his balls, his breath caught in his throat and he hugged you tighter. They just looked so big and swollen— so full of come… “I think you deserve your present now, baby.” 

He whined when you got down on your knees, but that protest ended the second he saw you take off your necklace that had the small key on it. He was frozen in anticipation, not wanting to accidentally say or do anything to make you change your mind. You unlocked the cage and slowly pulled it off, making him breathe a sigh of relief. 

“You’re really gonna let me come?” He asked timidly, worried it was a trick. 

“Of course, baby.” You removed the ring that was around his cock and balls, then reached for the paper bag, not wanting him to have a chance to get hard so he’d actually fit in his new ‘gift.’ When you pulled out a new, smaller cage, his expression fell and you almost felt bad for him. 

“But…” He whimpered. You ignored him and put his balls and then his cock through the ring. Then you started trying to fit his cock in the smaller cage. “Mommy..” He whined pathetically, squirming a little. 

“Quit it. Or I’ll make you wear it through all of ‘No Nut November’ too.” You warned, making him frown. 

It took a little while for you to be able to squeeze his cock down enough to lock it, but once it was on, you placed the new key on your necklace and secured it around your neck again. 

“How does that feel, baby?” 

“Small..” He muttered, very obviously sulking. 

“Keep up the attitude and I’ll change my mind about making you come.” You said menacingly, but he just pouted. 

“I can’t come in this.” He scoffed quietly, making you immediately smirk. 

“No?” You asked rhetorically, a devilish grin gracing your lips. “Let’s find out then. Up.” You commanded, getting to your feet as he joined you. Without another word, you walked off toward the bedroom, trusting that he was following you. “Clothes off. Face down, ass up on the bed.” You ordered. While he undressed, you grabbed lube and a hand towel, then made your way back over to him. 

“Do I really have to wear this for the rest of the month?” He frowned, staying in position, but turning his head to look back at you as you settled on the bed behind him. 

“Of course not. You have to wear it until I decide you can take it off.” You said plainly, giving him a teasing smile. You laid out the towel between his legs on the bed, already knowing how messy this would probably be— it’s already 11 days into Locktober and Robert hasn’t had a single orgasm since you put the cage on him, so you knew he had a lot of come built up. 

“Ready?” In response, he whined and jutted his hips back, making you chuckle quietly, “Do you even know what you’re getting yourself into?” As far as you know, Robert hasn’t ever been with someone who’s dominated him the way that you do… He probably still thinks he’s getting an actual orgasm. 

“Please.” He whined, arching his back even more and pushing his hips closer to you. Rolling your eyes, you circled a lubed finger around his rim, then pushed in slowly. He whimpered into the bed and you placed a hand on his hip, trying to comfort him. 

“That feel good, baby?” You cooed, making him mewl and nod wordlessly. You pushed a second finger inside and didn’t bother fingering him the way you normally would to open him up. Instead, you immediately zeroed in on his prostate and started rubbing slow circles over it. 

“F-Fuck, I…” He choked out, body twitching, unconsciously trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure. You shushed him quietly and continued the slow, steady pace with your fingers. “Oh god…” He sobbed. His legs were trembling and he couldn’t hold back his sounds so he kept his face buried in the sheets to muffle them. A few drops of precum were already starting to leak from his cock onto the towel. 

“Let go, angel.” You urged gently. His breathing picked up and he was pushing his hips back, trying to fuck himself on your fingers, despite already feeling overwhelmed with the sensations. 

“Mommy,” he whimpered pathetically. 

“I know, baby. Just let go— I’ve got you.” You cooed. Almost as if on command, the milky liquid started dribbling out of his cock, landing onto the towel below. “Oh, good boy…” You moaned, using your thumb to add extra pressure on his perineum, causing him to cry out.

“It hurts..” He sobbed, making you smirk. You knew that getting turned on while his cock was physically unable to become erect would be uncomfortable, probably even a little painful… That’s why you liked it so much. 

“I know, angel, but you’re doing so good.” He wasn’t actually coming, that much was obvious just based on how tortured and desperate his sounds were. But this would hopefully alleviate the ache that had steadily built up after not coming for so long. 

You pushed a third finger in and applied even more pressure, forcing an anguished moan from him. His cock was still leaking and you regretted not getting a bowl or something because, with how much he had already ‘come,’ the towel was pretty much useless now. 

“You know… I didn’t have to help you. I could’ve left you aching and full of come.” You said suggestively, hinting at what you wanted from him. 

“T-Thank you.” He whimpered. 

“What was that?” 

“Thank you,” he cried out when you landed a sharp smack on his ass and quickly corrected himself, “Thank you, mommy!” 

“For?” 

“For helping me..” He whined, no doubt blushing furiously. You chuckled, savoring how pathetic he looked and sounded. 

“This must be so embarrassing for you, isn’t it?” You mused, making him whine. “Having your cock locked up… needing mommy to drain your balls just to give you a tiny bit of relief…” He let out a choked sob and you smirked, satisfied that you were furthering his humiliation. 

“Mommy…” He cried weakly, flinching away from the relentless assault on his prostate as his release continued pouring out of his cock in a steady stream, landing on the soaked dowel. 

“C’mon, give me a little more and you can be done.” You urged gently. He whined and shook his head, trying to protest, but his leaking cock gave him away— There was still more and you were going to milk every last drop out of him. “You should see yourself, baby.” You chuckled quietly, making him whine again. “Your poor balls look so swollen… Do they still hurt?” You cooed mockingly. 

“Yes, but… not as much.” He whimpered. 

“See? I told you I would help you, angel.”

“Wanna come..” His voice was so quiet that you almost didn’t hear him. 

“What are you talking about? I’m milking all the come out of you right now.” You said coyly, unable to hold back a smirk. 

“Wanna come for real.” He whined. 

“I’m sure you do, sweetheart, but you still have 20 more days until Locktober is finished and then another 30 for No Nut November.” You said cruelly, making him sob out a moan. Robert could safeword at any time and this would all stop immediately, but you knew he wouldn’t because no matter how much he claimed it hurt and he couldn’t bear it, deep down, he wanted it. He craved being owned by you— completely. 

“Keep being my good boy and I’ll milk you every week or two. I don’t want my baby to be in too much pain.” Any kindness that might’ve been in your voice was completely overshadowed by the real meaning of your words; he won’t have any orgasms for two months, but you’ll be ‘nice’ and occasionally give him a prostate massage to make him ‘come.’

After another few seconds, the stream leaking from his cock slowed into a sporadic trickle, then stopped completely. You gently pulled your fingers out of him and he let out a soft sound, but was focusing mostly on catching his breath. 

“Turn over on the other side of the bed.” You instructed. He seemed glad to give his quivering legs a break and rolled to the other side onto his back. “Look at the mess you made.” You said teasingly. He blushed and bit his lip, staring at the soaked towel. When he looked away sheepishly, you let out a quiet chuckle and carefully picked up the towel, then walked it to the bathroom, setting it in the sink for now. You quickly made your way back to the bedroom and joined Robert on the clean side of the bed, pulling him into your arms, letting him lay his head on your chest. 

“How are you feeling, angel?” You asked softly, petting his hair. 

“Needy.” He mumbled against you, making you laugh quietly. 

“I know… but you’re my good boy, aren’t you? I know you can do it.” He let out a soft sound and nuzzled into your chest to hide his blushing face. “But…” you added, talking slowly to make sure he was listening, “if you feel like you can’t do it, I don’t want you to hesitate, okay? I won’t be upset or disappointed.” He turned his head so his chin was on your chest and he was looking up at you. “Honestly, I didn’t even think you’d last this long.” You chuckled and he gave you a shy smile. 

“It’s hard, but… wanna be good for you.” He said sheepishly, making your heart practically melt. 

“Yeah?” Sometimes his unwavering devotion and submissiveness made you a bit nervous. Robert was the first person you’ve ever been with who actually gave you this much control over him and you weren’t really used to it. Part of you found the responsibility a little nerve wracking, but for the most part it was just endearing. It made you feel so special that he trusted you so much. 

He nodded with a blush and you cupped his cheek, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip. “Good.” You murmured, dragging your gaze all over his face. “Do you want to help me get off or do you want to lay there and watch?” 

“Wanna help.” He said without hesitation, but you could see the way he was pouting, feeling jealous that you were able to come while he wasn’t. 

“Good boy. Go get the strap then. Just because you’re locked up doesn’t mean you can’t fuck me.” You smirked, making his frown deepen. “Unless you’d rather watch me use my vibrator instead…?” He immediately got up to go retrieve the strap, along with your favorite dildo, and you laughed quietly at his eagerness.