#sorry this took a second and thanks for indulging me with these again<3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[bromcommie]

For the ask game ;)

🏜️,❄️,🥐,🌻 aaand 🥤

Hope you are having a good day!

Hiya, thanks for the retaliatory hit! (affectionate) hope you're having a lovely day too :) 🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work? Ooh, can I just say any? Kidding, albeit I am very grateful for everyone who takes the time out to comment, even if it's just a string of emojis or something! But I am eternally grateful for long, detailed comments and especially love when people point the things that they related to in my work or things that clicked for them (particularly the ones I thought might be overlooked or alternatively, too heavy-handed to land) or even line up certain things or parallels that didn't fully register to me while I was writing except as a vague ~vibe~. I just appreciate it a whole lot, and it makes the whole exchange feel like a conversation. ❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

Hm, I don't know - I don't think I have one specific dream theme/plot. That said I have been thinking a lot about Red Room/Department X plotlines recently. I really love the throughline of the struggle for identity + shifting ideologies/definitions of what it means to be a good person + autonomy & free will vs. wanting to belong dichotomy in those stories. Especially when it's grounded in interesting dynamics that aren't very black and white (i.e. Nat and the other widows, the handlers, the WS.) That era is also just very interesting to me in terms of real world circumstances and events, and the scifi potential to explore trauma and psychological fuckery in general is endless. So I guess I'd really love something that deals with Natasha's memories as a child + teen in the war and how that shaped her both before the Red Room even got their hands on her, as well as during and after; how she became this kind of mercurial person who is still (maybe surprisingly so) solid at her core. Something a la Name of the Rose, if you've read that run.

As for who I'd like to write it, I am in fact attempting to write something to that effect into my current post-CATWS wip, so I guess me? Not to say I wouldn't love to read something similar by someone else - there have been several fics out there that dealt with Natasha in a way that had me staring into empty space for an hour (in a good way) - just that I enjoy the process of developing ideas like that in my head differently than I do reading about them from another angle, if that makes sense!

🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh 

that vine with the two guys with heavy NY/NJ area accents screaming at a duck. wait no - any patrick william charlton vine where he suddenly acquires a german accent. wait no - the can I PLEASE get a waffle one.

oh man. any one vine really. I'm very nostalgic about vine. 🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis

I feel like if I started doing that I'd end up spamming way too many people haha. I do wanna say I very much appreciate everyone I've gotten to interact with and follow during this CATWS10 event and over the past two months I’ve been on here more!

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love Oh, god. GOD. This is so tough, I'm really blanking right now. I've been around for a loong while lol and there are so, so many insane, brilliant ones. It doesn't help that I really haven't read that many in the last few years as much as I've been writing them.

Off the top of my head though, I recently went back to Speranza's All the Angels and the Saints. One of the all-time old school Cap greats. All of their stuff is just wonderful, foundational Steve, Bucky & SteveAndBucky content. Also everything by magdaliny. I don't even know what to say there, except maybe goddamn.

I’ve also been reading a couple Red Room fics that I can’t find right now but that were great, so I’ll have to dig through my old laptop bookmarks and get back to you with a personalized list, hehe 🫡

[cher-rei]

Hey babe

Your such a good writer please more lamine yamal fics im acc begging there literally none🙏🙏🙏🙏😪

the sitter— lamine yamal [ l.y ]

met you at the right time. this is what it feels like– feels like [gracie abrams]

pairing: lamine yamal x fem!reader

summary: a rushed call from lamine's mother to babysit kenye turns into more than just a regular afternoon

genre(s): toothrotting fluff (have your dentist on standby)

[w.c: 2.8k] masterlist

notes: I wrote this instead of watching the real sociedad match to cope with the fact that we're losing. I got a bit carried away with this one but I hope you like it <33

as you stepped into the familiar house, not even having to ring the doorbell you were greeted with the smell of fresh baked cookies and comfort. you shut the door behind you and easily walked through the familiar hallway.

when she saw you, lamine's mother's shoulders relaxed a heavy amount along with the breath of relief she let out. “my saviour,” she said with a smile and pulled you into a tight hug, her gratitude evident. “I'm so sorry for calling on short notice but I have an emergency— ow!”

she bit her tongue in frustration and looked down to see the toy car that she stepped on, her head spinning at her son's carelessness. “never have kids, you’ll regret it eventually,” she said half-joking and hurriedly led you to the living room where kenye was sitting on the floor, a toy car in his hand while he watched tv.

she didn't even have to call out to him, the second he saw you he was up and in your arms with a toothy grin. “hey, buddy. didn't expect to see me today did you?”

the older woman watched with a smile as you interacted with her son, the moment being cut off by her ringtone. she didn't even bother to look at it and instead grabbed her purse and made a beeline for the front door, yelling out instructions and goodbye's as if you hadn't been doing this for a year already.

“and thank you, sweetheart! I owe you! kenye, behave!”

the door slammed shut, leaving you to the 5 year old's energetic grasp. you quickly settled into your usual routine, skipping the snack part because he had his breakfast already since it was only after 10 am.

you took your usual seat on the carpet with him because he was usually full of energy this early and jittery. so to get it out of his system, you played games with him— built some lego, played with his toys and so on.

an hour had passed and you found yourself trying to make his yogurt seem edible. it was never an issue to get him to eat, all it took was one “hereeee comes the airplane” and he was more than compliant.

“there you go,” you said with a smile and lifted the final spoonful of yogurt to his lips, the boy clapping alone happily when it was finished. “you took that like a champ.”

that didn't last long however and he was starting to grow antsy again, his suffocated whines piercing your ears. it was obvious that he was sick of the house and needed to get out, so without another thought you cleaned him up and took him out to the backyard.

it was any kid's dream back there. a playhouse, jungle gym with a slide, a ball pit and his personal favourite— the mini football net that was more of a self indulgent addition from his older brother.

you'd known lamine for over 3 years now seeing that you attend the same high school but it was a cute coincidence that his mother picked you for the babysitting job. the job wasn't even needed, you were just bored and needed something to do on weekends, there wasn't even a proper answer for how she found you.

as you and kenye played in the sun-drenched backyard, laughter and joy radiated from your every move. the mini football net, a testament to lamine’s passion for the sport, stood like a sentinel awaiting kenye's energetic kicks. your eyes sparkled with delight as you cheered him on.

the air vibrated with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, infusing your playtime with an idyllic charm. kenye's giggles echoed throughout the yard, mingling with the chirping of the birds.

meanwhile inside the house, lamine stirred from his sleep, rubbing the remnants of sleep as he descended the stairs to look for his mother. he called for her a good few times but she didn't reply, so naturally he searched the kitchen and her bedroom only to realise that the house was awfully quiet.

she would of said something if she had something planned today, and the tv was still on so someone was definitely home. then he entered the living room, his feet padding on the tiled floor as his eyes adjusted to the light from outside.

with a yawn, he neared the sliding door to check the backyard, but just as he was about to open it his hand froze on the handle. his mind blanked, his immediate reaction to seeing you play with kenye being to hide behind the curtain.

his thoughts were reeling, not expecting you to come over today. in panic, he took one last peep outside which only made his pounding heart thump even louder at the sight of you passing the ball to his brother so effortlessly.

run. that's what he did when he got the clearance, not wasting a second to rush back upstairs and grab his phone and hit the facetime button in the group chat. after 3 rings, hector and pau were on the line with him— their confused faces synced as they watched the boy lock himself in his bathroom and start pacing.

“what happened to ‘hello'?” hector said, judgement evident in his tone but lamine didn't have time to fight his snarky comments.

he propped his phone up against the mirror and rushed to get his toothbrush, his palms sweating against the toothpaste tube.

“bro, are you going to tell us what's going on or is this some type of ‘get ready with me’ gimmick?” pau spoke up finally and put another spoonful of cereal his mouth, quickly getting distracted by the cover on the box and commenting on it.

“she's here. she's not supposed to be here today so I don't know why!” lamine muffled out through his mouth full of toothpaste but his friends got the gist of it. perks of knowing each other for nearly their entire lives.

hector couldn't suppress his laughter, his smile on the screen teasing lamine. “this is even funnier because it's actually never that deep.”

pau joined in on the laughter. “imagine asking why your brother's babysitter is over to babysit,” he snorted. “it's been a year, you're insane.”

lamine finished rinsing his mouth, double checking to see if there was anything in his teeth before splashing cold water on his face. “does it look like i just woke up?” he asked and touched up his hair. “is it giving ‘I just woke up and look this good’ or ‘I freaked out and had a panic attack in my bathroom’?”

his friends went silent, their jaws on the floor at the amount of overthinking that he was doing. he's liked you since he could remember. at first it was simple attraction, and then came the longing to know you more personally, and when he did that's when everything went to shit.

you were beautiful, that's for sure but you had this natural charm that he couldn't get enough of. you made an effort to talk to him, to help him with anything that he needed and your selflessness was barely the tip of the iceberg. family was the most important thing to him, and the fact that his family loved you and treated you as their own had him on his knees.

“it's giving, ‘I can't talk to girls I'm actually interested in'” hector deadpanned and pau was quick to follow.

“I got a better one,” he said in between his laughter. “It's giving, ‘professional winger by night, but professional wreck by day.”

the bathroom echoed with pau and hector’s non-stop laughter, both boys having rolled onto their sides by now while lamine stood with his head in his hands to try and calm himself down.

worst wingmen of the year, he liked to call them. the only advice he got was to breathe and not trip over his own feet. it was pathetic of him to let his attraction towards a girl make him this… messed up? but what was a teenage boy to do?

he put on his game face and made his way downstairs again, a smile tugging at his lips when he saw that you were watching kenye as he played in the ballpit.

when you turned around you saw him there, your heart skipping a beat as he opened the door with a warming smile. it was your turn to take a deep breath. “hey, I didn't know that you were home today,” you greeted cheerfully, you confidence oozing.

“yeah, we got the day off so I took the liberty to sleep in,” he answered a took a seat beside you on the grass to greet his brother who immediately threw one of the plastic balls at him.

laughter tickled at your throat as you watched lamine playfully throw them back at him but kenye took it personally and began hurling them at him. “we're going to have to put a warning sign on him or something,” you joked in between laughter and lamine scoffed.

“the real threat is his ability to kick a ball,” the footballer said with this lips pursed.

you playfully rolled your eyes at his comment. “oh, please, you're just mad because he already has better dribbling skills than you.”

lamine's face was contorted with mock offence, and he leant back on his hands to look at you. “are you talking about the same guy who won the kopa trophy less than 2 weeks ago.”

you couldn't shake off how laid back he looked in that moment. the way he was looking at you with such ease and playfulness made your head spin. “yes, yes I am.” you answered confidently to which he put a hand over his heart.

“you wound me,” he joked. “I'm going to start making you nurse me back to health.”

funny. he was joking. right?

kenye, thrilled by the attention hurled another ball at lamine to which his older brother caught and tossed it back at him with a gloat. “nice try, but we already have the backyard champion sitting next to me right now.”

you smile faltered for a moment. “that's only because you let me win.”

lameye's eyes twinkled as he took notice of your slightly flushed cheeks and he thought that maybe he was doing something right. “you literally crushed me.”

you shook your head at his retort, ready to counter his argument as you put your hands in the air, and swiftly as if it were second nature lamine gently took them into his own to stop you from talking further. “consider my ego bruised, you're just too good,” he joked with a shrug, his hands still holding yours.

it was for a moment that you stopped breathing, unable to function properly until you realised that kenye fell asleep in the ball pit. his light snores took the attention off from your banter and onto his peaceful figure that lamine effortlessly picked up and carried to his room.

when he came downstairs again, the house had gone quiet while you cleaned up kenye’s mess that he eventually helped with. “oh wow, okay mr house husband,” you teased and tossed one of the toys at him, his smile not wavering as he continued to help you in comfortable silence.

after lunch the two of you found yourselves in the backyard again, chatting as per normal while lamine kicked the ball at his feet. he ended up stopping mid sentence to propose an idea that you weren't too eager about. a rematch at what cost? your embarrassment?

unfortunately for you, he was persuasive as hell.

“what do I get if I win?” he shrugged at your question with a knowing smile.

“anything you want, amor.”

you nearly choked on air at the term of endearment that came from literally nowhere. he didn't seem fazed by saying it though so you were almost certain that you heard him wrong and pushed it to the back of your mind and focused on the little tournament in front of you.

the sun was high, the barcelona heat was warm on your skin as you watched lamine ready the ball. the game wasn't supposed to carry on for as long as it did, but both yours and his passionate calls for cheating and distractions played a huge role in the 40 minute rematch.

“okay, this is the last round I swear,” you said with a tired huff which he was more than happy with. the ball was at your feet for a split second before you felt lamine's hands on your waist, holding you close to his chest as he sneakily took the ball and shot it into the back of the net with ease.

you jaw dropped at the utter foulness of the round. “you cheater!” you said in shock and turned to look at him, but he was too busy relishing in his glory to care. he let go of you with a proud laugh and picked the ball up again, giving it one last kick.

“I didn't cheat,” he said through a cheeky smile and took a few steps towards you. “it's a contact sport, so it's fair.”

you rolled your eyes jokingly at his counter, still in disbelief that he'd go that far. but you weren't a spoilt sport so you congratulated him on his win, fair or not and he humbly thanked you.

you turned back with a smile and began heading inside but his hands were on your waist again, the familiar tingle setting your body on fire as he turned you to look at him, the smile on his face making your heart race.

“I'll be taking my prize, thank you,” he said with a boyish grin and let his lips gently brush your cheek, a gentle, fleeting kiss that had your knees weak for a split second.

he craned his neck to look down at you, a blushing mess and he couldn't help but coo even thought he was internally jumping off buildings. “aw, don't get shy on me now.”

you quirked your brow at what you took as a challenge, mild irritation clear in your eyes that were fluttered shut seconds later when your lips met his for what was supposed to be a quick peck.

keywords: supposed to be.

the feeling of your lips on his sent a surge of electricity through his body, and he couldn't waste the opportunity. he dropped the football that was underneath his arm and pulled you in, one hand resting on your cheek and the other on your waist as he relished the taste.

the long-awaited kiss finally came and it was everything that he hoped for and more. the way you melted into him, sent a warmth through his chest that had his head spinning and hoping that you'd never let go.

when you eventually pulled away to catch your breath, your lips tugged up into an amused smile at his lovestruck look and flushed cheeks. “isn't that a better prize?” you joked, your hands still loosely wrapped around his neck.

“I want a rematch, now,” he said immediately after, and pulled you back into the yard, his eagerness getting the best of him because he was not going down like this— “if I win then you have to marry me.”

“what?!”

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

exhibitionism

part VI

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: He dressed you up, paraded you through rooms full of monsters, made you beg for release with a smile on his lips and a hand on your throat. He didn’t just want their eyes on you—he needed them to know you were his. Fuck the price of that drink anyway.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex, somnophilia, sexsomnia, dub-con, orgasm control/denial), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 6,817

A/N: It's done!!!!! Omg!!!! I am so sorry for how long this took. And I can only thank you guys for the reception to this series. I've loved every second of it. <3 God, do I hope I've proofread this one properly. I also LOVED writing Victoria into this one. I love Neuman so much. :') Please give me any feedback, my disgusting little mind loves hearing y'alls thoughts on my depravity. Smin signing off. Over and out. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

Friday evening.

The end of the week, the start of his time.

You stood in your bathroom, steam curling around you, skin still dewy from the bath, a towel wrapped loosely around your body as you moved through the motions. Moisturiser. Perfume. Little rituals that felt more like routine now.

The bag on your bed was barely packed. A formality more than a necessity. There wasn't much you needed to take—Ben already had everything for you at his place. Clothes, toiletries, things you hadn't even thought to buy for yourself.

You glanced around your apartment, the one he picked, the one he paid for. It was beautiful, curated, a place that should have felt like home. It didn't. Not really.

It felt like a waiting room. A place you stayed until it was time to go back to him.

Your stomach fluttered at the thought, and you weren't sure if it was anticipation or something else. Something darker.

Last weekend replayed in your head in flashes. Hot. Filthy. Unrelenting.

The sex on the floor—feral, desperate, raw. The way he dragged you against him, fucked into you with bruising force, kept pushing and pushing until you broke apart above him. The way he came with his hands gripping your hips like a vice, eyes wild, jaw tight, filth spilling from his lips.

Then later—another round, softer, slower, but just as consuming. The way he woke you up in the morning, face between your legs, hands pinning your thighs apart like he had no intention of letting you go. The low groans against your skin, the way his tongue worked you open, lazy and indulgent.

Lunch was an afterthought, a moment of normalcy that never lasted. The dinner you made? Completely forgotten the second he reached across the table, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you into his lap. The food went cold while he fucked you against the dining room chair, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your ass, growling Mine, mine, mine.

Sunday, he took you out for a drive. One of his vintage cars, because apparently, he had an entire fucking collection. The speed, the power, the way he smirked as you clutched the seatbelt while he pushed the car to its limits—everything about him screamed excess.

Then the week came, and you fell back into your other life. Classes, textbooks, essays, deadlines. But even then, he bled into it. Your remaining books arrived at your apartment, courtesy of Ben. So did a box of toys, lingerie, things you wouldn't have even known to ask for. You never questioned how he knew your sizes.

Tonight though? You had no idea what he had planned. The thought thrilled you. And maybe, just maybe—it terrified you too.

The knock came sharp and impatient, cutting through the quiet of your apartment. You blinked at the door, surprised—it wasn’t time yet. Ben was never early.

Then—

"Open up, love. Need to take a fuckin’ slash. Normally wouldn’t ask, but I’m about to piss meself."

Butcher.

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes as you padded over, unlocking the door and pulling it open.

He stood there, looking as unimpressed and impatient as ever, arms crossed over his chest like he had better places to be.

"You couldn’t have gone before you got here?"

"What, and use a public loo? Be serious." He grunted, stepping past you without waiting for an invitation. "Where’s the shitter?"

You just shook your head, smirking as you gestured down the hall. "Same place it’s always been. You did find this apartment, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. I find ‘em, Ben buys ‘em. Ain’t that how this works?"

You didn’t answer. Just watched him disappear into the bathroom while you turned back toward your bedroom, finishing the last touches of getting ready. Your bag sat open on the bed, barely filled. Just a formality at this point. You didn’t need to take much—Ben had everything waiting for you at his place. Everything.

Perfume. Final touch-ups. A glance in the mirror, and you were ready.

When you walked back out, Butcher was already by the door, arms crossed again, watching you like he was assessing something.

"Ben said to make sure you got to the car safe."

You scoffed. "It’s literally right outside."

"Yeah, well." Butcher shrugged. "'E’s particular about things, ain't he."

That was an understatement.

You grabbed your bag, shaking your head as you stepped past him, heading toward the elevator. Butcher followed, hands in his pockets, too relaxed, too knowing. The car was already warm when you slid into the backseat, the city stretching out beyond the windshield as Butcher started the drive to Ben’s. You exhaled, settling in. The leather seats were too familiar now, the routine too easy.

A thought struck, and you glanced up toward the rearview mirror. "You know what we’re doing tonight?"

Butcher smirked. "Course I do."

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you gonna tell me?"

"Nope. Not allowed to spoil the surprise."

Your stomach twisted. That meant you weren’t just spending the night in. That meant Ben had plans. You weren’t sure whether to be excited or terrified. Maybe both.

The car slowed to a familiar crawl, the towering silhouette of Ben’s building swallowing the skyline, all glass and steel and quiet menace. Your stomach twisted—not with nerves anymore, not really. With anticipation. With hunger. With the ache that only he could satisfy.

Butcher didn’t say a word until he pulled to the curb. Just flicked his eyes toward you in the rearview and muttered, "Go on, then. Try not to be late next time."

You rolled your eyes, grabbed your bag, and stepped into the city’s pulse.

The lobby swallowed you whole in a hush of marble and low lighting, security nodding without a word as you crossed to the elevator. Everyone here already knew who you were.

Ben’s girl.

The elevator purred upward. Your reflection in the polished chrome walls stared back at you—lips glossed, dress strap slipping from your shoulder, hair curled just enough to look like you hadn’t tried too hard.

You looked like something curated.

The second the elevator doors opened, he was there. And then he was on you. He didn’t wait. Didn’t say hello. Just grabbed you by the waist and dragged you inside, kicking the door shut behind him with a low grunt, his mouth already crashing down on yours.

Hot. Claiming. Open. Tongue and teeth and possession.

Your bag slipped from your hand. You didn’t even notice.

His fingers found your jaw, tilting your face as he devoured you, groaning low against your lips like he’d been waiting days to taste you again.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped between kisses, lips brushing yours, then your cheek, then your jaw. “Missed you. Been thinkin' about tonight all fuckin’ week.”

You barely got a breath in before he was on you again. Hands under your ass, palming the curves he paid for and protected like art.

Your laugh was breathless, dazed. “Hi to you too.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes hooded and greedy, lips wet and parted.

“Don’t need ‘hi,’” he muttered. “Need you. Right now.”

You melted. You always melted.

His hand smacked your ass once, hard enough to make you jump. He grinned at the reaction. “Come on,” he said, tugging you along. “Got your dress ready.”

Your heart fluttered. “You picked it out?”

“Course I did.” He looked over his shoulder with a crooked smirk. “You think I’m gonna let you wear whatever the fuck you want to somewhere like this?”

The bedroom door swung open, and there it was. Laid out like an offering. Cream satin. Barely there. Draped like water, strappy, cut to cling. It shimmered under the soft light, delicate and obscene.

You blinked. “It matches your shirt.”

Ben smirked, tugging his own cuffs down, the fabric clinging to his arms. His dress pants fit like sin, tailored within an inch of their life, the crisp line down his thigh pulling your eyes right where he wanted them.

“Yeah,” he drawled, smoothing a hand down his stomach. “Thought we’d coordinate. Make it real obvious you’re mine.”

You couldn’t stop staring at his thighs. Or his ass. Or the way the muscles in his back flexed under the thin fabric.

“Jesus,” you muttered.

His smirk sharpened. “Wanna ride it?” He asked, voice low, dirty. “Get your slick all over my pants? Hump me like a fuckin’ desperate little doll?”

Your breath hitched. You nodded before you could think.

Ben stepped closer. Close enough for his breath to ghost across your lips. His mouth hovered over yours, and you could already taste him.

Then—

“Too bad,” he whispered into your mouth. “We’re already late.”

And then he pulled away, leaving you reeling, skin hot, thighs clenching, dress untouched. You were already undone, and the night hadn’t even started.

You stepped toward the bed, the soft sigh of satin whispering beneath your fingertips as you lifted the dress. It felt like liquid in your hands—cream-coloured, near-sheer in the light, slinky and obscene, the fabric cool and supple as it slipped through your fingers. It had no sleeves, only delicate straps that promised to sit high and tight on your shoulders, leaving the curve of your collarbones and back exposed to the world.

The neckline was a shallow cowl, dipping just enough to hint at the tops of your breasts, but the real danger was the hem—indecently short, barely grazing mid-thigh. One wrong movement and the dress would bare you entirely.

Ben lounged in the doorway, watching like he was starving.

"You gonna let me see, or you just gonna stand there fondlin' it all night?"

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were already flushing. You turned away, stepping out of your clothes with a practiced grace you hadn’t known you’d learned until now. His gaze burned into your back, heavy and indulgent.

"Jesus fuckin’ Christ," he muttered, voice low and sharp. "That ass is a goddamn masterpiece."

You slipped the dress over your head, the satin cascading down your skin like a lover’s tongue, clinging to every dip, every curve. When you turned, his breath caught—audibly.

He stepped forward slowly, like a man approaching a shrine.

"Turn around," he rasped. "Slow. Let me see it all."

You obeyed.

His groan rumbled deep in his chest. "Fuck, baby. You look like sex and royalty had a kid."

You glanced down, brushing invisible wrinkles from the fabric, your skin prickling beneath the intensity of his gaze.

"You done ogling?"

"Not even fuckin’ close," he breathed.

He crossed to you, unhurried, one hand dragging down your arm to where your fingers were still clutching the hem.

"Heels. Now."

You slipped into the little black stilettos he’d left out for you—simple, strappy, cruel. They elevated you just enough to make your legs look endless. You felt dizzy already.

When you looked up, Ben was holding a small velvet box. He popped it open with one thumb.

Gold, emerald, and pearl.

The necklace glinted like it had been plucked from royalty. Emeralds the exact shade of his eyes, cut to catch the light and throw it back like fire. The pearls were soft, creamy, luminous against the sharper stones.

Matching earrings. A delicate clip for your hair.

“Ben—”

“I fuckin’ know,” he murmured. “They’re perfect. Like you.”

You didn’t know what to say.

He took the necklace out, stepping behind you. His fingers brushed your neck, and you shivered as he fastened it in place. The cool metal kissed your skin like a promise.

Then the earrings, one by one, careful, reverent. The clip came last—nestled just above your ear, gleaming against your hair like something holy.

When you turned to face him again, his expression had darkened. His tongue swept slowly over his bottom lip, then he bit down on it, hard.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he said, voice hoarse. “I should cancel tonight. Should drown between your fuckin' thighs instead. Spend hours there. Days. Never come up for air.”

You blinked, throat tightening. “Ben.”

He stepped in, chest brushing yours, one hand gripping your hip, the other ghosting down the front of your thigh.

“I mean look at you,” he said, nose dragging up the side of your neck. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen. You got any idea what you do to me, baby? Any idea what it’s gonna take for me to keep my hands off you tonight?”

Your breath hitched.

He grinned, then reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and smooth. He pressed it into your palm.

A toy. Discreet. Sleek. Wicked.

He leaned close, lips brushing your ear.

“Put it in,” he whispered. “You got five minutes, doll.”

You swallowed hard.

He smirked. “Remote’s in my pocket. Which means your night? Belongs to me.”

The toy felt obscene in your hand. Small. Innocent, almost—until you slid it inside and realised just how not innocent it was.

You braced a hand on the bathroom counter, heart fluttering as the slick heat of it settled deep inside you. It didn’t vibrate. Not yet. But it felt like a wire pulled tight beneath your skin.

You straightened your dress, adjusted the hem. Checked your lipgloss. And stepped back out into the fire. Ben was waiting by the elevator, jacket slung over his shoulder, jaw working as he looked you up and down. He grinned the second your eyes met.

“Got it in, baby?”

You nodded once, already breathless.

“Good,” he said, hitting the button. “You look fuckin’ edible. Might not make it out of this building.”

The doors opened. You stepped in first. He followed. And the second the doors slid shut, he pressed the remote. The vibration hit low and sharp, punching a gasp out of you. Your knees buckled. Your hand flew out to brace against the mirrored wall.

Ben laughed. Deep and smug. Ravenous.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted.

He winked. Click. It stopped.

“Just checkin’ it works,” he said, casual as ever. “Wouldn’t wanna take faulty gear out in the wild.”

The elevator opened.

You tried to remember how to walk.

The air outside hit your skin like glass—cool and sharp and thick with the city’s low hum. The black car idled at the curb, Butcher leaning against the hood, arms crossed, cigarette pinched between his fingers.

He flicked it away when he saw you and pulled the door open without a word.

Ben helped you in first, one hand firm on your lower back, another trailing down the curve of your ass as you bent to slide in.

“Gotta start wearin’ longer dresses, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Or don’t. Shit, don’t.”

You flushed and sank into the leather seat. Ben climbed in beside you, legs wide, arm already around your shoulders like a fucking throne.

Butcher glanced in the rearview, deadpan. “Jesus. You two done dry-humpin’ or we takin’ the scenic route tonight?”

Ben grinned. “Shut the fuck up and drive.”

Butcher snorted but put the car in gear.

City lights streaked past in a blur. The toy inside you pulsed with phantom memory, your thighs pressed tight together. You shifted slightly, but Ben’s hand gripped your knee and dragged it back open.

“Don’t even think about hiding,” he said. “You wanted to play, you fuckin’ play.”

His hand slid higher, inching toward the hem of your dress. His fingers teased just under the edge, not touching the toy, but close enough to make your breath catch.

“She’s soaked already,” he said, loud enough for the front seat. “Fuckin’ faucet.”

Butcher didn’t even blink. “You keep talkin' like that and I’m gonna end up drivin' into traffic.”

Ben grinned. “That a compliment?”

Butcher’s eyes flicked to the mirror, landing on you.

“Never seen you like this, mate,” he said. “You’ve lost the fuckin’ plot over her.”

Ben didn’t deny it. Didn’t blink. Just grinned wider, like being unhinged over you was a badge of honour.

“Wouldn’t you?” He said. “Look at her. Fuckin’ perfect. Should’ve heard her the other mornin'—cryin’ on my tongue like she wanted to marry it.”

You slapped his chest, mortified. But Ben caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it, slow and filthy.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t,” he murmured.

Butcher groaned. “You two need a goddamn leash.”

The car rolled to a stop. Outside, the venue loomed—faceless, nameless, but humming with power. There was no line. No music. Just velvet shadows and the hush of wealth. Ben stepped out first, adjusting his jacket, looking every inch the monster in silk and tailored wool.

He offered you his hand. You took it. He pulled you in tight.

“Try not to make too many people fall in love with you tonight,” he said, lips brushing your temple. “I fuckin’ hate sharing.”

And then you walked through the doors, straight into the mouth of the beast.

The venue looked like nothing from the outside—just a black door, tucked between glass towers, guarded by two men in earpieces who didn’t ask for names. They didn’t need to. Ben nodded once. The door opened.

And you stepped into something else entirely.

All shadow and heat and reverence.

The floors were black marble, veined like smoke. Velvet curtains carved out the space into dark corners and dim alcoves, while the ceiling arched high above in glass and steel and soft gold light. The air was thick with perfume, cigars, and the kind of money that didn’t speak out loud.

Everywhere you looked—eyes.

Men in tailored suits with expensive watches and hungrier stares. Women like sculptures. Everything glittered, but none of it outshone the possessive heat of Ben’s hand on your lower back.

You felt exposed. Seen. Desired.

Displayed.

Ben leaned down as you stepped deeper into the space, his mouth brushing your ear. “You feel that?”

You swallowed.

He smirked. “They’re lookin’ at you, baby. Every one of ‘em.” His palm slid a little lower. “They wanna know who the fuck you are.”

You pressed closer into his side. Your heels clicked like a heartbeat against the marble. The dress clung in all the wrong—and perfect—places, and the toy inside you was a presence, a promise. Not on. Not yet. But waiting.

Ben steered you through the crowd like he owned it. And maybe he did.

You saw them before you reached them. John—smug, drink in hand, grin like a blade. His eyes lit up when he saw you. Not kind. Not warm. Just sharp. Earving stood beside him, dressed to kill and silent, a girl tucked against his arm like an accessory.

And then—

A woman. Short hair, sharp suit, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She was laughing at something another man had just said—immaculate in grey, expression unreadable.

Ben led you straight to them.

“Stan Edgar. Victoria Neuman. This is my girl.”

Stan looked you over like you were data. Victoria’s smile sharpened.

“Pleasure,” she said, voice smooth. “Ben’s been...talking.”

You nodded, barely able to speak under the weight of their attention.

Stan only nodded once. “She’s very... visually efficient.”

Ben barked a laugh. “She’s more than that.”

You were still reeling from their gazes when John stepped forward, cocking his head as he looked you over with that same dripping smirk.

“Benjamin! You finally brought her out again, huh?” He whistled low. “Fuck me, you’ve been hiding a masterpiece.”

You stiffened. Ben didn’t. He stepped in front of you slightly, shielding you with his frame. “Careful, John,” he said, smile tight. “She’s not a museum piece.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” John replied, eyes still on you. “I’d pay to take a closer look.”

Ben’s laugh was dark. Low. Dangerous. His arm locked tighter around your waist.

“You wanna keep your teeth in your mouth, you keep that fuckin’ look off your face.”

John just raised his hands in mock surrender, but the hunger in his eyes didn’t fade.

You pressed closer to Ben, dizzy from the lights and perfume and how exposed your thighs felt under all that satin. He bent low again, his mouth hot against your ear.

“You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good,” he murmured. “Takin’ it all like my perfect little doll.”

His hand found your thigh.

The toy was still silent.

But not for long.

The booth was tucked into the back corner, elevated just enough to offer a panoramic view of the velvet-drenched chaos below. Private, but not hidden. On display. Designed to be watched. Just like last time.

Ben slid in first, legs wide, jacket draped lazily behind him like he owned the entire venue—he probably fucking did. He crooked a finger at you without speaking.

You stepped into the curve of the booth, your body already trembling with the residual tension from the car, the entrance, the stares. He caught you by the waist and pulled you down into his lap.

"Legs open," he muttered into your neck, the command so quiet it might have been a breath. "Whole fuckin’ night. You hear me?"

You nodded.

His hands skimmed your thighs as you settled, one arm anchoring around your waist like a chain.

And then—

The toy buzzed to life inside you. It was soft at first. Barely a tremor. But it landed like a punch. Your thighs tensed instinctively.

Ben didn’t look at you. Just reached for his drink and sipped. Moved you gently from his lap to slip further into the booth. The buzzing didn’t stop. You tried to hide it—to school your face into something neutral. But your hands clenched against your lap, and your breath stuttered. Your pulse was in your throat.

Ben leaned in like he was going to kiss your cheek. He didn’t.

"What’s the matter, sweetheart? Can’t sit still?"

You swallowed.

His mouth brushed your ear.

"Keep your face pretty. That’s all you gotta do."

You exhaled slowly, legs trembling, clinging to the champagne flute that had just appeared in front of you.

You didn’t even see her sit down. Victoria Neuman smiled like a shark in silk. "Ben hasn't stopped talking about you for weeks," she said casually, crossing one leg over the other. "Good to see he’s not losing steam."

Your lips parted—words stalling. The toy pulsed harder. A moan threatened to escape. You bit it back. Nodded.

"You okay, sweetheart?" She asked, eyes twinkling with a dangerous kind of amusement.

You nodded again. Barely.

She tilted her head. "He’s cruel when he likes someone. You’ll get used to it."

Ben hadn’t moved. He was still across the booth. Watching. Smirking. And then he turned the toy up. High. Constant. Devastating. Your hand trembled as you set the glass down. You could barely breathe.

"He likes them obedient," Victoria murmured, swirling her drink. "But not too quiet. You’ll do just fine."

And then he was behind you. You hadn’t even seen him move. His hands were on your hips, pulling you back into his lap, then your waist, then your throat. His mouth on your neck. Kissing, sucking, biting.

You gasped. He didn’t stop.

"God, you’re fuckin’ shaking," he rasped, voice raw against your skin. "You gonna come in front of her?"

Victoria just sipped her drink, unbothered. "You always were theatrical, Ben."

He grinned into your neck.

"You should see what she gets like, Neuman," he said. "Tries to ride my face so hard she almost passes out."

You whimpered. He bit your ear.

"Don’t come yet," he said, sharp now. Low and dangerous. "Not unless I say. You don’t want me to embarrass you, do you?"

You shook your head, lips trembling.

"Smile," he whispered. "You’re the prettiest thing in the room—act like it."

Victoria laughed. "She’s a mess. You always pick the messy ones."

Ben’s tongue dragged up your neck. His hand slid between your thighs, pressed over the buzzing heat.

"Look at her, Vic," he growled. "Isn’t she a fuckin’ masterpiece?"

You couldn’t answer. You were burning. Shaking. So close it hurt. And he hadn’t even gotten started.

They came in slowly, like the tide—first Stan, silent and surgical in his presence. Then John, already smirking. Earving behind them, ghost-quiet, eyes unreadable. Victoria didn’t move. She just sipped her drink, crossed her legs the other way, and looked amused.

Ben welcomed them with a lazy tilt of his chin, but he didn’t let you go. His hand stayed on your thigh. His breath stayed in your ear.

You were still trembling when you turned. One slow, shaking motion. You straddled him. Face to face, chest to chest, your thighs wide around his lap. Satin clung to your skin, the toy still pulsing inside you like a secret heartbeat. Your hands pressed into his shoulders like you needed the anchor—like you’d float away if he let you.

He didn’t let you.

His hands gripped your waist, strong and certain. And when you dropped your face into his neck, he hummed, low and pleased.

"There she is," he murmured, loud enough for them to hear. "My pretty little mess."

You could hear the clink of ice in glasses. The murmurs of expensive conversation. Stan speaking in numbers. John muttering filth.

But Ben’s hands were creeping lower. The toy buzzed higher.

You whimpered into his throat. He laughed.

"You feel that? Huh? Right here, surrounded by billionaires and snakes, and you’re shaking like you’re gonna fuckin’ break."

You nodded into his skin.

Victoria’s voice came soft beside you. "You’re doing fine, sweetheart."

You turned slightly, cheek brushing Ben’s jaw as you looked at her. She smiled. Not cruelly. But not kindly, either.

"He’s like this," she said, dry. "He just likes the ones who squirm."

Ben’s hand slid up your spine.

"You gonna be polite, baby? Or you gonna come all over my lap while Stan’s tryin’ to talk taxes?"

You whimpered.

Victoria’s hand brushed your back, light as silk. "Don’t worry. No one’s looking."

That was a lie.

Ben kissed your cheek like a lover. Then bit your jaw like a predator. "Beg," he whispered. "You wanna fuckin' come? Say it. Say it out loud."

You opened your mouth... and he turned away. "Edgar," he said, casually. "What’s the projection on Neuman’s little tax stunt?"

Your mouth stayed open. No sound came out. The toy didn’t stop.

Stan’s voice was cold. "Stable for now. But volatile next quarter."

You nodded at something Victoria said. You weren’t even sure what. She was still smirking. Still sipping.

"You're shaking," she whispered, voice meant only for you. "He won’t stop. Not yet."

Ben turned back to you. His eyes were molten.

"You’re close, huh? Gonna come for me, sweetheart?"

You nodded. Whimpered. Your legs were trembling. He kissed you—hot and slow and brutal. Then pulled back.

"Too bad."

He clicked the remote. And the toy went silent.

You collapsed into his chest, blinking through heat and tears and shame. He held you like a prize. Like a trophy.

Like something earned, but you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

Then, it started again. A hum—low and cruel—deep inside you.

You gasped before you could catch it. Not loud, but sharp enough to draw Ben’s eyes to you from the corner, his arm tightening around your waist like he felt it too.

"Jesus, Ben," you whispered, the words barely shaped.

He hummed against your ear, unbothered, his voice molasses-slick. "Thought you were relaxin’, sweetheart."

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t ease up. The toy kept humming—steady, deliberate, tuned to that unbearable pitch between ache and ecstasy. Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his. Your hands fisted the fabric at his shoulders.

And yet—

You looked at him. Really looked.

Ben was talking to Stan again, some quiet, low-stakes business chatter about offshore accounts or quarterly damage control. His voice was smooth, lilting, laced with sarcasm. He leaned back like he didn’t have you straddling him, wrecked and pulsing, on the brink of total collapse.

His beard caught the low light like it had a sheen. Soft at the edges, trimmed at the jaw. His throat moved when he laughed at something John muttered, a sharp bark that exposed those too-sharp canines. The corner of his mouth lifted as he sipped his drink with one hand, the other still heavy on your back.

And his eyes—

God. His fucking eyes.

Green like bottle glass and back-alley secrets, sharp as knives and stupidly beautiful. Bright even in shadow. They sparkled when he laughed, narrowed when he smirked. And he was smirking now.

Not at you. Not yet.

You pressed your cheek to his shoulder, the silk of his shirt damp with heat and breath and sweat. Your heart ached with how much you wanted him. Not just his cock, not just his control.

Him.

You swallowed the whimper building in your throat.

And then, soft as sin:

"Ben."

He turned. Just his head. Just enough to look down at you, eyes slipping slow over your face. One brow arched.

"You okay, baby?"

You nodded. Breathless.

"Take me home."

His face changed.

It wasn’t visible, not fully—not to anyone else. But you felt it. The way his hand stilled. The way his spine straightened. The breath he drew in, low and slow.

"Home?"

You nodded again.

"Please."

The word was a whisper against his collar.

His smirk didn’t return all at once. It built like thunder—low, slow, inevitable. His palm slid up your back, fingers curling at your nape. He kissed your temple. Then stood. Lifted you with him. Like you weighed nothing. Like you were made to be carried.

You buried your face in his neck, felt the beat of his pulse against your lips as he turned from the table.

"Excuse us," he said smoothly, like he wasn’t holding a trembling girl half-fucked in his arms. "She needs a breather."

Victoria’s smile curled like smoke. John’s eyes followed you, grinning like he knew too much. Stan barely looked up.

And then Ben was walking—shoulders square, strides long, your body cradled to his like some obscene treasure.

Through the hush of velvet and vice. Out the black door, into the night, back to where he’d promised to take you.

Home.

The car door shut with a soft click. And then you were gone. Ben didn’t wait. Didn’t give you time to breathe or prepare or brace—he just reached between your thighs, clicked the remote in his pocket, and the toy inside you purred back to life like it never left.

You jerked in your seat, legs trembling, a soft gasp curling from your lips before you could catch it. The city lights blurred past the window, glittering and disjointed, but you couldn’t see them. Couldn’t feel anything but the heat already pooling low in your belly, the friction of satin and skin and heat, and Ben’s hand on your thigh.

His voice came slow and slick in your ear.

"There she is. My girl. My good fuckin’ girl."

You whimpered, already clinging to his shoulder, your body melting into his side.

"You hear that little sound you make when I touch you?" He murmured. "Fuckin’ music. Could write a goddamn symphony off the way you moan for me."

He pushed the hem of your dress higher, fingers teasing at the edge of your underwear, toy humming so deep you swore your bones vibrated.

"Be loud, baby. Butcher doesn’t give a fuck. Hell, he’s seen worse."

As if to prove it, the partition between you and the driver stayed half-lowered. Butcher’s face was blank in the mirror, eyes flicking away like he’d seen this show before.

Your head tipped back as the pressure crested—your toes curled, your thighs trembled. You bit your lip but it didn’t help.

You came with a gasp, a moan slipping loose, high and broken. Your whole body shuddered.

Ben groaned like he felt it too.

"That’s it. Fuckin’ hell, that’s it," he rasped. "Goddamn you’re perfect." His hand didn’t leave you. Didn’t still. "You got another one in you, sweetheart? Huh? I know you do."

The toy kept going, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. You whimpered again, hips twitching involuntarily.

"You’re mine. You’ll give me as many as I want. You fuckin’ love it."

You came again before you realised you were close. A full-body quake, a cry buried in the thick fabric of his shirt, your nails digging into his arm.

The car slowed. Pulled into the private garage beneath his building.

Ben was out of the seat before the engine cut, hauling you into his arms. You barely remembered the door opening. You just remember the lift of your body, the strength in his arms, the way he growled in your ear:

"Can’t fuckin’ wait."

The elevator doors shut behind you, and before it even moved—he had you against the wall.

Dress up. Legs spread. One hand braced beside your head while the other slid between your thighs and pulled the toy free with a slick sound that made your stomach drop.

He stared at it for half a second, then shoved it in his mouth, sucked it clean.

"Jesus fuck," he groaned around it. "You taste like sin."

His fingers were already working you open again, sliding through your folds like he’d die if he didn’t feel you. Your body was limp and shaking, mouth parted, helpless.

You whispered his name.

"Say it again," he growled, tongue pressing the toy against the inside of his cheek before he tossed it to the floor.

"Ben."

The elevator pinged. The doors opened.

He didn’t stop touching you. Carried you into the penthouse with your legs wrapped around him, fingers still buried inside you, mouth on your neck.

The front door slammed shut behind you with a deafening crack. And then you were pressed to it. Your spine against solid wood. His mouth on yours—biting, hungry, rough.

"My fuckin’ girl," he breathed, tongue dragging over your lower lip. "My perfect little toy."

He rolled his hips into yours, cock thick and straining through his slacks.

"You know how long I waited for this? Huh?"

You could barely nod, already panting. He kissed you again. Lower this time. Jaw. Throat. Collarbone.

"Didn’t think I’d ever find someone like you. Someone who gets it. Who gets me."

Another kiss. Another thrust.

"You’re it, baby. You’re fuckin’ it."

And he was going to ruin you. Right here. Right now.

You didn’t feel your feet hit the ground.

Ben carried you across the penthouse like you were weightless, a trembling thing made of silk and need. The city glittered ahead, sprawling and brilliant, a thousand stories blinking against the sky.

He didn’t speak—not at first.

Just pressed you to the glass. It was cool against your back, shocking in contrast to the heat rolling off your skin. You gasped, arching into him, palms flat on the surface as the world stretched out before you like a stage.

Ben’s hands slid up your thighs, dragged along the hem of your dress.

"You feel that, sweetheart?" He rasped, breath hot against your jaw. "World’s right fuckin’ there. Every light, every eye."

His lips crushed yours before you could answer.

The kiss was filthy. Wet and starved. His tongue licked into your mouth like he was claiming it, biting your lip, licking over the sting. You moaned, open and soft for him, arms around his neck as you sagged into his heat.

"Fuck, you kiss like you’re already fucked dumb," he growled, barely pulling back, lips brushing yours. "Droolin’ for it. You hear yourself?"

You whimpered. Nodded.

His hands gripped your ass, lifted you slightly, enough to press you higher to the glass.

"Should see yourself," he muttered. "Lit up like a fuckin’ exhibit. My own personal display case slut."

Your body jolted with the words, thighs squeezing around his hips.

He laughed—low and wrecked—and then he turned you. Spun you slowly, reverently, until your front pressed flush to the glass. Your hands braced high. Your cheek flattened to the cool surface. The view blurred with heat and haze.

Ben crowded in behind you, one hand on your hip, the other sliding up your spine, fingertips dancing over the zipper at the back of your dress.

"You know how long I’ve wanted this?" He murmured. "Since the first fuckin’ night. You stood right here. Right fuckin’ here. And I thought—I’m gonna fuck her against this window. Gonna press her tits to it and split her open so the city knows she’s mine."

He kissed your shoulder. Bit it.

"And you came back. You fuckin’ came back."

You moaned, shaking. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers stroking through slick heat, spreading you open.

"Christ, baby. You’re soaked. You’re drippin’ down your fuckin’ thighs."

The sound he made when he sank to his knees was almost reverent. You barely had time to register the heat of his mouth before he was licking you open, biting softly into the curve of your ass, tongue working in tight circles over your clit while you sobbed against the glass.

And then—he stood. Dropped his slacks. No warning. Grabbed your hips. Pressed in. One long, brutal thrust that knocked the air from your lungs.

You screamed. Hands slipped on the glass. Your body jolted forward, breath fogging the skyline.

"There it is," he groaned behind you. "Tight little cunt, made to be fucked right here. Right where everyone can fuckin’ see."

His thrusts were vicious. Deep. Each one lifting you onto your toes. Your cheek rubbed raw on the glass but you didn’t care.

"Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect. Ruined. Mine."

He wrapped a fist in your hair, tugged your head back.

"Don’t close your eyes. I want you to watch yourself come apart."

You could see your reflection in the faint smear of light on the glass. Blurred. Wild-eyed. Lips parted. You didn’t recognise yourself.

Ben slammed into you again. You cried out.

"Whole city’s out there, sweetheart. But I’m the only one who gets to fuckin’ touch."

You were gone. Drenched. Gutted. Wrecked on the glass like art. And he was still going. Your cheek was still pressed to the glass when he pulled out of you with a low, guttural sound—like it hurt him to stop.

"Fuck this," he growled. "Need you on the floor."

He grabbed your hips, turned you, and you didn’t even resist—your knees buckled, dress hiked, thighs slick. He dragged you down with him, your back hitting the floor with a thud that rattled your lungs. Cold marble kissed your spine. The city lights spun above like stars on fire.

Ben loomed over you, shirt open now, chest heaving. His hair was stuck to his temples, his pupils blown wide. He didn’t look human—he looked like hunger in its final form.

He pinned your wrists above your head, straddling your thighs, eyes dragging over your body like he was committing it to memory before the end of the world.

Then he spit in his hand. Stroked himself.

Slow. Mean. "You’re so fuckin’ good for me it makes me sick."

You whimpered, legs trembling. He let your wrists go just to drag his hands down your body, over the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, gripping your thighs until you gasped.

"I’ve had every kind of pussy," he said, voice low and ragged. "And none of it ever felt like you."

He slapped your cunt. Not hard—but enough to make you jolt. Enough to make your eyes fly open and your breath catch.

"Like God made you just to take my cock, didn’t He? Huh?"

You nodded, lips parted, helpless. A mess beneath him.

He leaned in, nose brushing yours, voice dark and reverent.

"Tell me who you fuckin’ belong to."

You choked on your breath.

"Say it. Let the city fuckin’ hear it."

"You," you breathed. "You, Ben."

He kissed you like he needed it to breathe—sloppy and deep and consuming. Then he pressed inside you again with a groan that sounded like it came from his chest.

And started to move. Hard. Deliberate. His pace was brutal, hips snapping, sweat dripping from his chest onto your skin. Every thrust punched a sound from you—soft, broken, pleading.

"That’s it," he hissed. "Fuckin’ take it." His hands fisted in your hair, dragged your mouth to his. "You’re not goin’ anywhere, you get that?"

You nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

"I’d kill for you," he breathed against your jaw. "Burn this whole fuckin’ city down if someone touched what’s mine."

His thrusts stuttered. His jaw clenched.

"You’re it. You’re fuckin’ it for me."

You came with a sob—your body locking around him, clenching, shaking, teeth sunk into his shoulder. He cursed, loud and raw, bracing himself on one forearm as his other hand gripped your thigh.

"Fuck, I’m gonna—shit—I’m fuckin’—" He slammed in deep, buried to the hilt. "Take it. Take all of it, baby."

You cried out, fingers clawing at his back.

"Say you’re mine while I fill you up."

"I’m yours, Ben," you gasped. "Yours."

His hips jerked as he came—loud, guttural, filthy. You felt it spill inside you, hot and endless, his body collapsing over yours as he breathed you in like oxygen. He didn’t move right away. Just lay there, pressed to you, breath ragged, mouth at your ear.

"Mine," he whispered again.

Like a prayer. Like a promise. Like prophecy.

His chest was still pressed to yours. The air between you both felt heavy with salt and sweat and something so much deeper.

Ben didn’t speak. Not at first. He just lifted his head, gaze dragging slow over your face—like he was checking to see if you were real. Like if he blinked too fast, you’d vanish.

And then he kissed you. Soft. Just once. Not hungry. Not greedy. Just a press of his lips to yours that felt like a whisper, like a secret folded into skin. His breath stuttered as he pulled back an inch, eyes still locked to yours.

"Jesus Christ," he murmured, voice wrecked and reverent. "Look at you."

His hand traced your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. His brow furrowed like it hurt to see you this way—wrecked and glowing, trembling and perfect.

"I don’t know how the fuck I found you," he whispered. "But I did. And I’m never lettin’ you go."

He leaned in again. Kissed your cheek. Your brow. The tip of your nose.

"Not ever. You hear me?"

You nodded, dazed. Stunned. Still too full of him to know where he ended and you began. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugged gently until he was hovering above you again, nose brushing yours.

"Same goes for you, Ben," you said softly. "I don’t want anywhere else. I don’t want anyone else."

His breath caught. And then he kissed you again. Deeper. Slower. Tongue licking into your mouth like he needed to taste every word you just gave him. His hands held your face like you were breakable. Precious. His. The kiss didn’t ask. It didn’t take. It promised.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were pink and swollen, and his eyes were dark with something softer than lust.

Something terrifying.

"Mine," he murmured against your mouth.

A whisper. A vow.

"Fuckin’ mine."

And you were.

You always would be.

Power is not always taken. Sometimes, it is worshipped. Wrapped in silk and spit, crushed between bodies, bared beneath glass. Given freely, and never returned.

It begins with a glance. A single indulgence. A breathless yes.

And ends here—on a pedestal of bruises and diamonds, teeth and devotion. A prize. A possession. A ruin dressed in reverence.

Because men like him do not love. They claim.

And some altars are built just to be bled on.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @kayleighwinchester @lyarr24 @imtheworst123 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl <3

[usoppsstar]

HI!!! I hope your healthy and happy :) your fics make me happy and I check to see if you've updated all the time 💗 but I got this stupid idea for a fluff drabble were a fem reader x Sanji is just the biggest hugger ever. Literally anything =hug Hes made a really hard dish? Hug. something made him really sad? Comforting Hug. Something really cool happened? Jump up and down hug. She just LOVES hugs but if he catches on and gives her one back? She will literally die and melt into the floorboards. Nah, she'll probably just turn into a blushing mess lmao

It makes me happy that my fics make you happy, thank you for requesting and I'm sorry this took so long!U⁠ ⁠´⁠꓃⁠ ⁠`⁠ ⁠U (⁠≧⁠(⁠ｴ⁠)⁠≦⁠ ⁠)

Sanji with an affectionate reader🌱🌱🌱

Pairing: Sanji x f!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tw: Spoilers for Skypiea arc

Notes: I've had this 90% finished in my drafts FOREVER, but couldn't think of a way to finish it until just now; This is not proofread cuz it's 3 in the morning and I wanted to post this instead of waiting any longer. Sorry this theme is so wonky🌱🌱🌱

The first time Sanji ever received a hug from you was the day Luffy brought down Arlong Park. You had been by his side during the lasts of Luffy's fight and the moment Luffy broke out of the rubble and it sunk in to everyone that he'd won, you threw your arms around his neck. You both were battered, bruised,and floating in the water, but you wrapped your arms around him and cheered loudly along with the townspeople and usopp. Sanji had been in too much of a happy(bleeding) daze back then to really compute anything else that had happened after that.

The second time you hugged Sanji was only a few days later and caught him completely off guard. He pretty much thought that the first time was a fluke, that you hugged him in the heat of the moment, so he wasn't expecting you to embrace him again. He was just setting down everyone's plates for breakfast while the crew was shuffling into the kitchen,when you walked in.

“Good Morning Sanji.” You greet him softly, in the middle of stifling a yawn, and surprise him by holding your arms open. Sanji just pauses and for a moment he wonders if you're even talking to him, even though you said his name, until you walk over and wrap your arms around his lean torso. It's like the entire kitchen stops and stares, Nami, Zoro, and Usopp not believing what they're seeing. That someone of the female gender actually,willingly wanted to hug Sanji. Sanji himself is standing there like a statue,his principle of not wasting food being the only thing keeping him from dropping the plate he's holding. Your warm body only presses against his chest for a second before you're pulling away and happily taking a seat in front of your plate, ready to start breakfast. Again, Sanji can hardly recall the rest of that meal, not even the masterfully cooked food he personally made. From then on whenever Sanji received a hug from you, he just about melted into a pile of goop.

After that, Sanji finds out that you hug not just him but everyone rather casually. Even if they're just side hugs, you can be found wrapping your arms around anyone that you deem needs you to. He's seen you console Usopp this way, comfort Vivi, and wrap even the newest member, Chopper, into a welcoming cuddle. He guesses you're just an affectionate person and proceeds to indulge in your hugs with all the heart eyes and goofy declarations of love you can think of, skillfully ignoring any disappointment he had felt in that moment of realization. Still, despite his antics and how happy he seems, he never initiates a hug first. He never even really returns them either actually. He usually just freezes up in a lovestruck state, just happy that he's being touched by a woman at all. Too happy to notice that you hug him just a little more than everyone else.

It isn't until after the battle in Skypiea that Sanji finally notices that you've got a soft spot for him. He was unconscious for a long while after taking a direct bolt of lighting from Enryu when protecting Usopp, so he has no recollection of when you first saw him. All he knows is that you're holding his charred body tight against you when he wakes up, your gaze on the way Luffy was trying to climb the beanstalk leading to the Golden ship. It wasn't until he grunted quietly that you cut your eyes towards him. He didn't even have time to ask what was going on before you hugged him into your neck, accidentally squeezing an injured person harder than you should but Sanji didn't care. You could've been crying so hard and holding him like that because you thought of him the same way as everyone else,sure, but Sanji has a harder time convincing himself of that this time.

Sanji is a little more appreciative of your hugs now, proceeding a little calmer when your arms wrap around his torso while he's cooking, or when the crew is having a drink. It was no longer just receiving a hug from a pretty woman, but now being shown affection by someone he cared deeply about, not necessarily his friend, but someone important to him nonetheless. Maybe that's why he finally decided to reciprocate that affection.

“Ugh it's so hot! Someone please shave all my fur off!” Chopper complains as a few of you walk through a desert city in search of Sanji, Zoro, and Robin. As per usual, you'd all gotten spilt up while exploring, Luffy started a problem, and now you all had to find the rest of your crew so you could hightail it out of here. You're currently checking near the docks with Chopper. You pout sympathetically at your furry crew mate.

“Don't worry Chopper, we'll find them soon.” You attempt to console him, right at you hear a smooth voice call your name. Both you and Chopper turn your heads and find Robin jogging down the pier.

“Y/n! Chopper!” She calls out with a wave of her arm. You wave back while chopper cheers gleefully and runs over to her. You're walking over to her too when you finally notice the two men behind her. Sanji and Zoro are busy butting heads and you don't have to be a lip reader to know it's because Zoro got them lost.

“Sanji!” You call out happily, excited to see him after these long hours. Sanji stops bickering immediately at the sound of your voice before leaving Zoro to meet up with you. You jog to meet him halfway before stopping once you both get close enough.

“It's good we found you! C'mon we've gotta get out of here-!” You say with a smile before your face is suddenly cradled into the crook of a shoulder.

“God, I'm glad you're alright! I heard from a local that there was a fight near where your group had head off to.” Sanji sighs in relief with an arm wrapped around your shoulders and a hand cradling your head against him. You just squeak with round eyes, for the first time not knowing how to respond to a hug.

“I-I’m alright!” You assure him with your heart thumping so hard in your chest, there's no way Sanji doesn't feel it against his own. Sanji lets you go with a warm hand on your head.

“Good. Hey mosshead! It's time to go!” He says with a cute smile before turning to wrangle over Zoro. You just stand there wide-eyed before placing your hand over your beating heart. You're still processing what just happened when Robin clears her throat beside you. You look over and she's standing with a pleased look on her face, chopper beside her and covering his mouth with a giggle.

“W-what?” You ask, already knowing why they're smiling like that. Robin just sighs happily with a hand on her cheek.

“Although one can't see the blood that's undoubtedly rushing to your cheeks, the look on your face says it all-.” She sighs eloquently before you cut her off with a whine. Sanji had gotten you good.

A/n: Again I'm so sorry for waiting so long to finish this, I overthink my writing so much that it takes months and months and months to finish anything, even something I have lots of ideas for. Thank you for requesting, hope this was satisfactory! Thanks for reading!🌱🌱🌱

[fallen-w1ngs]

okay, here goes nothing, first ask (ough,,,it’s 6 am and I cannot sleep…weeeewoooo)

How about Hawks with a reader who stims? (I am not being self indulgent shh. Also the best way I can explain stimming is that it’s a form of expression/self regulation or means of coping with certain emotions. How it feels? Personally, it feels like I’ve just been shocked and the only way to “get rid of the electricity” is to stim, or that swimming is just a way to relieve tension, idk how else to explain it. Sorry for the info dump😔)

Some examples of stimming I can think of at the moment are pacing, cracking knuckles or other joints, repeating words/phrases/noises, twirling or pulling on hair, bouncing leg, rocking back and forth, and flapping hands!!!! (for me personally I only really flap my hands when I’m super excited…if I don’t do it I feel like I’m going to explode :3 wait aww omg I think it would be cute if reader never fails to get that excited when they see him eugh)

anywho, thank you for writing this if you do!! I love ur writing, as I said in the previous ask but I have to say it again! Hope you have a lovely day/afternoon/night :3

THIS IS SO CUTIEEE :33!!! I stim so often for more reasons than one and it kills me that i didn't think of this yet <33 AAA!

'' MY LIGHT ,,

|| pairing : hawks / keigo takami x gn!reader

|| warnings : none! pure fluff :3

|| wc : 0.7k words

The day went on as usual. Fighting crime, helping people out, being the number two hero of Japan. Y'know, all that jazz. Sure, it made Keigo's adrenaline pump whenever he sees people in danger, in.. A stressful way. But what he looks forward to? Going home, not surprisingly. Not to rest, no no, it's to see you. His beloved one. The two of you started dating a 2 years ago and there's not one instance he could think of where you hadn't brought butterflies to his stomach just by being near him.

His wings flapped against the wind as he flew back to your shared home. Keigo's heavy boots clacking against the balcony as he took a deep breath in and slid the door open. The second he entered, he could smell the delicious dinner you'd cooked. You had a system, he made breakfast, both of you made your own lunch, you'd make dinner. Win-win situation.

"I'm home, baby!" He called out. In an instant, a grin appeared on his face as he saw your head pop out the kitchen and you raced over to him. Running into his arms and pressing a big kiss to his lips. God, you were sweet.

The two of you stayed there, losing track of the world for a few moments that felt like an eternity. In the best way possible. The second you pulled away, he felt immediately cold. You were his warmth, his light. Oh, but when you pulled away and started rambling on your day, your hands flapping and making gestures with excitement as you spoke. That was all the warmth he needed.

He shrugged his jacket off as well as kicking his boots off, his eyes never leaving you as you paced around. Explaining some issue you had with someone today. He listened to every word of yours as if it were scripture and you were a god.

"Yeah?" Keigo walked back to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. A dopey grin on his face as you hugged his neck whilst he pressed tiny kisses on your neck.

"Yeah! It was wild! Oh, but, god, it was so worth it!" Keigo felt as you started playing with his hair. He loved when you did. It let your energy out as well as it felt nice. "I wish you were there, you would've loved to watch it unfold."

"And watch my darling get all riled up?" He chuckled, his stubble rubbing against your skin. "You're damned right. I would've loved seeing that."

You huffed and pressed a kiss against his temples. "C'mon, hero, let's have dinner" You grumbled with a fake pout.

He hummed, as if contemplating your words before a small smirk tugged at his lips and he pulled away. "Promise you'll keep talking?"

"Is the number two hero really asking to not be the center of attention?"

Instead of rebuttling in his usual fashion, he just had the softest smile dawned on his beautiful face. God, he looked like an angel. The moonlight pushed through the curtains and danced on his features, showing off every sharp and curved edge on him. Something that you'd never let the public see. "Baby, I'd rather be silent forever and listen to you than be the center of attention for a second."

This made you just explode, your foot tapped against the floor as you tightened your hug around his neck. Out of everything, he was what made you feel joy. Not just happiness, pure joy. Keigo, out of everyone, was one of the only people who would watch you pace around the living room rambling on about how the ending of a show you loved ended so poorly. How you played with his hair whilst you talked about how a certain function worked for a hobby of yours. Or how your arms would flap, much like how his wings would, the second you'd see him.

"I love you, my Keigo Takami" You whispered against his chin. Your soft lips brushing against his ticklish stubble.

You could feel the twitch of his skin as he smiled to your words, his arms wrapping around your waist. His thumb making circles on you as he whispered back. "I love you too, my light."

|| i feel like i strayed from the request a bit :( IM SO SORRY IF I DID DSSBHSCBLASN AAUGH!!! BUT I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!!

also, to anyone who's waiting for fsonf's update, trust im working on it <3

[valentine-cafe]

And we're back yet again ! LMAO

With respect to a conversation Eden and I had a while back, may I pretty please request a fem!reader riding the character and when he goes to pull out because he doesn't have a condom, she refuses to let go and just slams her hips back down against his ? Very breeding, very yummy! With vesp, alessio 781, alessio 164 and tal 164 pretty pls!! (Two of those were at Eden's request I'll let you guess which ones LMAO)

Thank you pookies I love you both 💜💜

˖⁺. “ put a baby in me ! ” :

﹙ multi monster bfs x fem reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁ 

. . . multi monster bfs x fem reader !! 🍒 : ﹙  alessio 781 ˖ vespasiano 781 ˖ talisen 164 ˖ alessio 164 ﹚

he's about to pull out - he doesn't have a condom after all! but then you go ahead and push him back in. tell him to put a baby in you. 

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ breeding kink ˖ rough sex ˖ riding ˖ degradation ˖ praise ˖ creampie ˖ messy sex ˖ fucked-out boys<3 | wc : 1.2k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: dragging my ass like the bully you are !! anw hope you enjoy this <3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙ Alessio 781. ﹚. . . !! 🍒 : The second your hips shoved back down and your nails dug through his shoulders. The moment he felt the warmth return so tightly as he splattered your walls full — his eyes glossed over.

Just a second ago this man was bouncing you wild on his dick, and now he looks almost loopy. "Baby -" oh the way he breathes the endearment.

The rough jerks of his hips abruptly return. Two large hands clamp down on your waist and jam you into every thrust. Faster. Harder. As his head falls back and he grows messy. Haphazard. Who cares for a rhythm.

The tempered knocks at your cervix cross your eyes at the centre. You squeal out a sharp - "Al - essio-! Oh!"

"Yeah? Yeah you whore? This what you want?" He's crumbling. His head falls into your chest. Kisses pour over your tits and he whines when you clamp tight round him. "Fuuckkk baby if you wanted - wanted me to fill you up, should'a said earlier."

He's slurring into your tits. Using strength along to force you to meet each of his thrusts. Overwhelming the both of you until you're barrelling to another orgasm only a minute or so later. He'll splatter your walls, drop his gaze and withdraw just to see your cunt gush his slick before he rams back in. Sees it squirt all over your bucking thighs.

"Think I'm done?" He rasps out a fucked-out laugh. "Not close amore. Hold tight."

꒰  mercenary ˖ inhuman ˖ punkgoth character ꒱

﹙ Vespasiano 781. ﹚. . . !! 🍓 : A wave of panic washes over him. For a moment he splutters, "T-Tesoro wait - I'm coming -" but you so eagerly shove your hips down and hump on his limp lap.

"Vesspp, 'm sorry - " you whine. "Need you to put a baby in me. Please Vespasiano. Please." You're rambling. But it doesn't stop his emerald eyes from turning to hearts the second he's over his hitched breath.

The headboard meets his head and back. He limps back in a way that makes you wonder of he's the fucked-out one or you. Hips stutter into small bucks, then tempered, sensual rolls that send your body into a desperate sort of ride on his lap.

"Fuck." His hands have always been meant to worship you. So they scour your body and reach up to squeeze on your pretty tits. Heated gazes meet. Oh, he's lovesick. "That's what y'want? Want an old man t'put a baby in ya?"

He seems happy to indulge with the way he sloppily moves your hips together. Well, sloppy until it turns rapid. Desperate. His fangs sink into your shoulder. He hugs around your body and drives both of you to another slew of slick. Don't expect him to pull out any time soon.

꒰  lieutenant ˖ vampire ˖ dilf character ꒱

   

﹙ Alessio 164. ﹚. . . !! 🍒 : Your hips couldn't slam down into his quick enough. A second. That's all it took for his eyes to gape, then hang low once more. Fingers twitch round your waist. Witnessing the way he pumps you full. How well you take it. And most of all — your pretty doe eyes staring down at him.

"So. . ." he huffs out a breath, a claw pinching on your thigh as he leans back. "All that whining over nothing, hmm?"

His hips buck up suddenly. The look on his face all too familiar. "Well, since you want it so bad. Go on. Show me." With his head propped against the headboard, his slithered gaze trails you up and down. He knows damn well that he is far too big for you to take all by yourself.

He doesn't seem to care when he snatches your waist and slams you all the way. Give you a few tester thrusts and mean croon. "Oh come on. . . needy little pussy was so greedy just a second ago."

There's no other choice. You meekly grind and hump on his lap with the most pathetic of noises. He doesn't seem to move an inch. After all, you're the one who wanted to play your little game with him.

"Come on, stellina. Breed yourself on my cock. Since you want it so bad."

꒰  sorcerer ˖ corrupt god character ˖ punkgoth character ꒱

 

﹙ Talisen 164. ﹚. . . !! 🍓 : His head spun. That is the only thing he could comprehend before he's clamping your thighs and shoving forward. Your back hits the mattress, just as his hips starts rapidly smacking into yours. Shooting the air from your lungs as you throw your hands into his hair.

"T-Tal - Tal-!"

"You -" he heaves, snap! plap! "You want me to breed you so badly baobei? Mhhm? Then take it." His gaze glosses over. The sheer power of his hips against yours has your poor cunt squeeze round his thick dick. Squirting the mix of essence all over.

"Since you wish to waste it so much - since you are so eager." Guttural, that's all he sounds as he withdraws his head to watch the obscene bulge at your tummy. Riding has always been the go-to position because of his monstrous side.

Oh, how pretty it looks bulging your insides. He envisions the swolleness of your belly in the months to come. It drives him wild. Sends his cock barelling into you all the more.

All you can do is cling. Whine. Squirt around him and take his seed each time he topples over an orgasm. Stuffing you full of glittery come.

"That's it baobei! There you go. Get nice and full f'me."

꒰  snake monster ˖ corrupt god character ꒱

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﹙ tip jar. ﹚: like our work? consider suporting us 𖹭 

[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

[galedekarios]

#this took so much work#but i really wanted to make this#sorry it got so long

Personally I thank you for your hard work and that gif set is just as long as it needs to be. I for one can't recall hearing the dialogue in the second gif before so I'm glad to see it now.

thank you so much, i really do appreciate the support and kind words a lot! 🖤

the line is from early access! i touched on it in this post.

if you want to see and listen to it, tim's performance of it, i included a short clip from early access:

the quote itself is from gale's early access romance scene in act i after the tiefling party. that scene was cut and most of it is completely gone. some lines were re-used in the full release version of the game: in act 1, for the reveal scene where gale lets the protag into his mind, and others for the beginning of the act 2 romance scene/last night alive scene.

the conversation started like this:

Gale: I know we have to get moving again soon, but before we part, I’d like to tell you something. I’d like to tell you a story. It is a story full of answers long overdue. It is a story of a man who fell in love with a goddess. Player - Option 2: It’s clear as day you are talking about yourself, you know. Gale: I know, but a bit of narrative distance will make it all so much easier in the telling. Indulge me.

if you then chose to indulge gale, letting him tell the story with "a bit of narrative distance" to make it "easier in the telling" for him, this was the story he would tell the player in early access:

Gale: Once upon a time, not quite that long ago, there lived a wizard in a tower. The wizard was what one might call a prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the Weave, but compose it, like a musician or a poet. Such was his skill that it earned him the attention of the mother of magic herself. The Lady Of Mysteries, Mystra.

from there, the conversation branched again:

Player - Option 1: What did Mystra’s attention feel like? Gale: Love.  Player - Option 2: He sounds like a very talented individual Gale: He was. Even though it was in Mystra’s affections that his true power lay. Player - Option 3: Teacher’s pet, was he? Gale: He fancied himself much more than that. He fancied himself favoured above all others. Perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. It was most certainly love to him.

leading to the quote that i used for my gifset, highlighting gale's lines about the life of a chosen:

Gale: Mystra showed him the secrets behind the veils. The gossamer veils first, draped across the Weave. The delicate veils next, draped across her body. ‘Chosen One’ she whispered, as she slipped them off completely.

i'm thinking about dedicating a full post to the original ea romance scene in act 1 when i find the time to do so because it's an interesting scene.

anyhow, i hope that was helpful! 🖤

[spirit-of-felagund]

Late Night Calls - Blane's version

A/N: happy 4-year anniversary to one of my fave IFs <3 this is my Blane POV version of A’s anniversary story Late Night Calls, hope you enjoy~

Blane blearily opened his eyes, silently glaring at the incessantly vibrating phone on his nightstand. A stroke of lightning lit up the room, followed shortly after by a rumbling clap of thunder. The steady sound of rain falling on the roof and hitting his window was almost enough to lull him back to sleep.

With a weary sigh, he reached out for his phone. Who would even call him this time of night? Noele? He hoped not – she deserved to get some proper rest after the hectic week they‘d had.

What the-? Blane had to do a double take at the caller ID on the screen. Greene. The last person he‘d ever expect and a treacherous part in him felt something akin to joy.

“Do you know how late it is, Greene?” he asked as he accepted the call, sounding more gruff than he‘d intended.

A beat of silence followed before his fellow hunter spoke up. “Sorry, I-” Kira hesitated, a stark contrast to her usual confident persona. “I didn‘t mean to wake you.”

“And yet you called. What is it?” Blane asked impatiently, torn between wanting to hang up and wanting to indulge in this rare time they got alone. Kira and Arion  were usually attached at the hip, and it was frustratingly hard to be nice to her when the infuriating blond was around.

Being nice to her. It was something that would have never crossed his mind just a few months ago, but somehow something had changed between them and Blane wasn‘t sure if he wanted to allow himself to like it.

“Please don‘t make fun of me,” Kira said, voice barely more than a whisper. “I‘m scared of thunderstorms,” she confessed, sounding more vulnerable than he‘d ever heard her, and his heart clenched in response.

He wasn‘t all that fond of physical contact but in that moment, he wondered if he could‘ve brought himself to make an exception for her and wrap a protective arm around her if she were here with him. Just this once.

“I see,” was all Blane could muster in response. “And what does that have to do with me? Wouldn‘t you rather call Devereux?” He hated how dismissive he sounded. He could never get his words out the right way when it came to Kira, and it made him hate himself even more.

A shaky laugh came from the other end of the line. “You‘d think so, right? I don‘t know. You were the first one on my mind. Sorry, if I‘m bothering you. We can hang up if you want.”

“No, it‘s just- I‘m not sure what you want me to do,” Blane admitted. Comforting others wasn‘t one of his strengths but he found that despite himself, he wanted to try.

“We could just … talk, if that‘s all right? How was your week? I didn‘t see you around the office much.”

Blane huffed, turning around to lie on his back. “Annoying. Noele and I were assigned a werewolf bounty. The guy led us on a wild goose chase all over the city for days. Always seemed to be one step ahead of us.”

“But you got him in the end.”

“Of course. We‘re second on the board, after all.” He didn‘t bother suppressing the smugness in his voice.

“Please don‘t bring up the board,” Kira groaned. “I was just about to compliment you.”

“Old habits die hard,” Blane replied in a tone that was only half apologetic, trying to ignore how pleasant the prospect of receiving compliments from her was.

“Whatever,” she grumbled and took a deep breath. “Thanks for humouring me, Blane. I actually feel better.” Her voice was notably lighter than when he‘d picked up the phone and a victorious smile subconsciously crept onto Blane‘s face.

“I‘ll let you get back to sleep. Thanks again.” There was something achingly tender in the way she said it and for a split-second Blane wished he could see her face.

“You‘re welcome. If you ever need to talk and Devereux isn‘t there-” I‘m here for you. He couldn‘t bring himself to say the words, but it seemed like he didn‘t need to.

“I know. Goodnight, Blane.”

“Sleep well, Kira,” Blane whispered and hung up reluctantly, staring at his barely visible reflection in the phone screen for a moment before putting the device back on his nightstand. Why did he wish the conversation would‘ve gone on longer? Maybe he should’ve asked about her week as well.

He ran a hand across his face and let out a deep sigh, pulling the blanket up to his chin and curling in on his side. Whatever was going on between them, Blane knew he was in way too deep.

And for some reason, that thought didn‘t scare him nearly as much as he would‘ve expected.

[boywithpinkcarnation]

tbh kinda wanting some jealous!jb like if someone is filtering w her gf OR ESPECIALLY IF IT WAS A ANOTHER GIRL AHH THE DRAMA 🕳️🕳️

alrighty... i am in no way a writer, so this is. going to be bullet point, blurb, word vomit, unedited chaos. additionally, this is gonna be so incredibly self indulgent and catered to me so i hope it suffices for u bug 💝

frankly posting this is very scary for a little tumblr baby like myself, but i feel a need to serve my community 🫡

they style of writing and tbh most headcannons/lore is coming straight from @gingerjolover their blog is lowkey bible and they are the sweetest pookie pie ever. luv u g fr <3 like seriously i recommend you go just read through their masterlist bc this will not compare (not trying to fish here, just being very real as someone who is a like fein for fics as a source of comfort, i fear this will not fully suffice)

rpf content under the cut (no hate if that's not ur jam, just ignore me!), minors dni!!!

refering to jb's parter in this as "gf" and sense i am a selfish selfish girl in this scenerio she is roughly jb's height/a little shorter bc i am and theres no shorter than julien rep ANYWHERE

personally, i see julien as lowkey so possessive in a cutie non toxic way... and sometimes that manifests in some cutie jeleousy that gf can not get enough of. i think it obviously would come out in like flirty enviornments like bars and parties where people are loosey goosey... but sometimes it's just like and about on a normal date. here's a little thought i cooked up for like a more domestic environment jealousy:

aquairum date

the date starts out very normal, classic boyfriend!julien activities are happening

she's making sure y'all are touching at all times. like she'll die if you guys are not physically connected

i'm talking arm around your shoulder, iron grip within intertwined hands, hand in ur jean pocket 16 candles style, hand on the small of your back,,,, but i think eventually (and her favorite, albeit a little awkward) she's hugging you from behind as you walk, almost hanging on you, head perfectly slotted on your shoulder kissing your head and neck at every stop to look at the pretty fish

"jay! look at this one" "real pretty princess" *kisses your head* (its over i can'tttt)

then maybe she leaves you to go get you like a bottle of water or a jacket from the car (idk something to make you more comfortable, very "can't have my baby thirsty/cold" vibes)

then of course, you are looking so cute and so gay, a girl approaches you

you are very focused on the fish bc they are truly just so pretty (can you tell i love fish?) and only look up when mystery girl nudges you

"omg i'm so sorry" "oh uh, you're good" "sorry, i have a bit of a habit for running into pretty girls"

and your're kinda caught off guard bc like... this is an aquarium??

"haha um thank you" "so what are you doing here all alone"

mystery girl is sooo fuck boy coded just go with it

"well um my girlfr-"

julien is back behind you, re koala latching twisting open the water bottle for you and handing it to you, GLARING at this girl

"sorry it took me a second princess, who's this?"

then her grip tightens pulling you even closer to her chest

mystery girl, bless her heart, replies "we just bumped into each other. i was just letting her know how beautiful she was"

oh jb did not like that

she reaches over grabs your jaw tilting your head to the side and back to look at her

"she is beautiful. my sweet girl" and kisses you DEEPLY

and ur blushing because you know jealous/protective/possesive!julien is in the room with us now and kind of giggle out of the kiss

"well then... i should be going, sorry again for running into you"

instead of letting you respond or responding herself jb keeps your face turned and starts kissing all over ur face as you giggle letting mystery girl to just shuffle away.

for the rest of the date she is SO overly affectionate

squeezing ur hips

keeping you so close

kissing your cheek and neck as you tell her about all the fish and animals

"really baby? that's so cool" "my little biologist" "ooo princess what about these?"

it's times like these julien wishes she wore lipstick to leave a mark on your face so everyone knows

she's probably taking you to the gift shop and buying you some random thing for fun because when she's jealous she doesn't take it out on you, she's secure with you and knows you aren't doing anything but being your pretty self

in fact it just makes her softer and more affectionate

when you finally let her drag you out she had you against the car kissing you lovingly and deeply and sets her forehead against yours

"i just love you so much. my sweet girl. my priincess"

"all yours j."

note from c: i hope this is at least semi ok? literally no editing or even proof reading, just love sick delusion.

[perseephoneee]

Ice-scating with Diego Hargreeves please 🥺

ice skating (diego hargreeves x gn!reader) ficmas 2023

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 3 of ficmas!

a/n: sorry this one is so short, but i hope it still brings all the holiday fluff vibes that are necessary.

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ join my taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Diego glared at the ice skates in his hand, looking at the rink currently populated by families, teenagers, and even the geriatric population. He didn’t want to ice skate. He didn’t want to be here at all. Except that you wanted to ice skate because “the-world-is-ending-and-if-we’re-all-going-to- die-I’d-like-to-do-this-with-my-boyfriend-once.” He had never been that good at turning you down. He just also wasn’t that good at ice skating. You, on the other hand, were a freaking angel. Diego couldn’t peel his eyes away as he watched you glide across the ice, smiling. You even managed to turn backward and let the skates take you. He hadn’t seen you laugh in a long time. You ended up sliding right over to him, hands stopping your motion against the wall as you stared at Diego sitting on the bench. 

“Are you going to ice skate or what?” You raised a brow, looking at your boyfriend in amusement. 

“I’m working on it.”

“You’re terrified, aren’t you?” you chuckle, poking him in the shoulder as he swats you away. 

“I’m not,” he snaps, letting out a huff of air. “Just…never done it before. Don’t want to embarrass myself,” Diego mumbled. You leaned over and took his hand in yours, your mitten-clad hand enveloped in his own. 

“You won’t embarrass yourself; you have me,” you smiled before gesturing back to the ice. “Plus, Klaus is embarrassing himself all on his own.”

True to your word, Klaus was prancing across the ice like no one's business. It's not that he couldn't skate (he was excellent). He was acting like he had taken shrooms before getting on the ice. Knowing Klaus, he likely had. His arms were wiggling around as he balanced on one leg and spoke out loud the whims and wiles of the ice. You were glad he was having fun, even though Diego was annoyed that Klaus had invited himself (again) to another one of your couple activities. 

“Please? We can get hot cocoa after,” You pouted, and with an eye roll, Diego finally relented. He tied on the skates and wobbled to a standing position, hobbling over to the entrance. You held out your hands, reorganizing your stance so you could support him if he started to fall. Diego slipped a little as he grabbed the wall and your hand, a panicked sound leaving him. “You gotta bend your knees, don’t freeze up.” He let out a hiss, which made you laugh, but he hesitantly moved one foot in front of the other, letting the ice carry him around the perimeter. You skated right next to him, reaching out occasionally to keep him studying. Eventually, he started to relax, and you smiled as he got the hang of it. Diego laughed excitedly as he let go of the side wall. He even whooped as he made his first lap without any help. By the second time around, you skated and grabbed his hand, interlocking your fingers with him. 

“Thanks for indulging me,” you said, looking up at Diego. He could be a stubborn ass at the worst of times, but he always made you feel supported in ways you hadn’t experienced before in your life. Diego brought your enjoined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your palm. 

“Ice skating is pretty cool,” Diego admitted. “Manly, since it has blades.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you chuckled, waving as Klaus circled you. To cause mass chaos, which you were starting to think was Klaus’ mission in life, he reached out for Diego’s open hand and dragged the two of you behind him. This didn’t work out with the intended effect and instead led to all of you sprawling across the ice like a hockey accident. 

“Klaus!” Diego growled, reaching to beat up his brother. Klaus rolled away, sending an apology as he skated away. Diego crawled over you like a starfish on the ice as you lay. “Are you alright?” You smirked instead of answering, grabbing the front of Diego’s jacket and kissing him. 

“I’m perfect,” you laughed. Diego kissed you again before helping you up, letting you lean against him as you shuffled over to the side of the rink. “Should we get hot cocoa now?”

“Oh, yes, please,” Diego huffed, helping you off the rink and holding your hand to the hot cocoa stand the entire time.

[sunny374940]

WIP Wednesday

Got tagged by the amazing @starfleetteddybear <3

So I still have a scary amount of wips, but I guess that doesn't surprise anyone by now. I stuffed them under the cut, cause this got long again.

The dang emmrook honeymoon. I think I'll have shared nearly all of it by the time it's done. But it will get done. So, the boys can't keep their hands off each other again (not explicit, saving that for ao3).

“The coffee table looks comfortable enough,” Rook said. “It most certainly does not, my dear. And I have been thinking of trying something different today, if you would indulge me.” The low purr of Emmrich’s voice stopped Rook in his tracks. This could be good. “Oh? What do you have in mind?” “All in good time, darling. Wait for me here, I will be but a moment.” “Alright?” Emmrich left the room and Rook heard him walk upstairs. He hated waiting. But waiting for Emmrich’s surprises usually turned into nice things. Or great sex, so he had no choice. Emmrich was soon coming back down the stairs and he had a canvas bag in his hand. Rook knew that it was heavy, because he had to lug it upstairs when they arrived, but hadn't yet found out what it held. Emmrich put the bag down and opened it. “That’s a lot of rope,” Rook said. It really was a lot and he just had to reach out and touch it. The coils of it were soft. And of course it was white. Emmrich made it his mission to get things in Rook’s favorite non-color as often as he could. “And it will all be used up, once I am done with you,” Emmrich said with a very promising smirk that made Rook’s breath hitch. He went to kiss Rook before continuing. “There is an art to this. I have been fortunate enough to learn it over a rather exciting summer in Rivain.” Rook just had to ask. “Did you get tied up?” “I did.” Fuck, how could he just say it like that? Like Rook wouldn’t be going out of his mind picturing it? “But you will be the one restrained today. If you feel so inclined, of course.”

What's this? Another Arcane fanfic? It sure as hell his and Jayce and Viktor are pining mightily.

Jayce was wringing his hands nervously, his eyes darting around. He mumbled something that Viktor didn’t quite catch. “Excuse me?" “I said that my place is closer,” Jayce said, studying a streetlight with great interest. Oh. He knew he would manage to walk home. But if he blamed his leg- No, this was ridiculous. What purpose would staying at Jayce’s apartment serve besides digging himself deeper? It was hard enough to push those sentimental and entirely inappropriate feelings away, he didn’t need to add to them by spending the night. “Viktor?” Jayce had turned to him while he was busy arguing with himself and he looked disappointed. Was he offering out of more than friendly concern? No, no, no, this was decidedly not something he should entertain. But Jayce was looking sadder by the second and Viktor shouldn’t allow his friend to be sad if he could help. This would be purely for Jayce’s benefit. “Sorry, I got lost in thought. Yes, it might be wise to not walk too far tonight,” he lied. There was nothing wise about this. Jayce clapped him on the shoulder and the grin that dawned on his face would outshine the sun, had it not been well past midnight. It certainly outshone the moon and Viktor was lost again.

Moving on to my original stories. Gareth is going to propose! I wonder how that will go.

“Hey, Sam,” Gareth said. “Gotta tell you something.” He really did need to tell someone, or he wouldn't hold it in and then Fern would find out and his plans would go to shit. “What did you do?” Sam was watching him suspiciously, eyes narrowed as she looked him over. “Nothing,” he said, making himself the very picture of innocence just for the hell of it, earning himself a raised eyebrow. “I just got this.” He took the little box out of his pocket and opened it, showing her the contents. Sam threw herself at him and the sound she made could have shattered glass. “Thanks,” he chuckled, patting her on the back. “Gareth, that's awesome! When are you gonna propose?” She was vibrating in excitement. He almost was too.

And the Shadows are still growing. This bit is from chapter 9. Drama!

Finn wasn't responding, they were holding Holly in their arms, but she was breathing still and Ciaran was nowhere to be seen and Rhys's heart was filling with horrible dread. He caught Finn’s shoulder, shaking them roughly into the present. “Where the fuck is Ciaran? He was with you!” “I don't fucking know, he got one of the Shadows off my back and then I lost sight of him when they ran,” they snapped, not taking their eyes off Holly. Their cheeks were wet with tears. “They got Hol,” they sobbed. Holly's chest had been pierced by a dagger and the wound was bubbling with awful sucking noises as she struggled to breathe. Rhys's hand stayed on their shoulder, trying for a comforting squeeze. Holly's breath was coming quick and shallow, she wouldn't last much longer. And Rhys could do nothing.

Tagging @lavender-tea-fling, @spinfins, @redheadsramblings, @mercars-musings, @pavuslavellan, @notyourmamasdeerbat, @andthekitchensinkao3, @bygonesigh (only if you want to <3)

[hakunahistata]

12345 Writer Tag Game!

Rules: Give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words and least words.

Thank you for the tag @gaiaseyes451 🖤

Most Hits: love not given lightly

Ah, LNGL, my beloved. I haven't forgotten you, and I think of you and your 10 semi-written parts often. Wait for me, my darling...

When Aziraphale Fell met Anthony J. Crowley a little less than a year ago, several things were apparent instantly: he was gorgeous, he was angry, and he was very assuredly fine.

2. Second most kudos: Paradigm Shift

Did I order the mug that makes an appearance in this fic? You bet your booty I did!

“Apologies, apologies! The time got away from me.” Aziraphale Fell entered the room brightly, a binder in one hand, tea mug in the other. Crowley’s languid sprawl went rigid as the senior accounting analyst who had been the indulgent secret in the back of his mind took the seat opposite him. Or, Crowley Pines at the Office: An AU.

3. Third most comments: S.T.A.Y.

Admittedly going a little rogue since the next few questions are yielding LNGL and Paradigm Shift over and over again but anyway SPACE PORN

When Lieutenant Crowley is caught in a dust storm on an unmarked planet during an exploratory mission, nothing seems amiss. It isn’t until he returns onboard the spacecraft, Astra Sequi, that it becomes clear that something is very, very wrong. — Or, Sex Pollen in SPACE 🌌🚀

4. Fourth most bookmarks: Untitled Bullshit

Remnants of a stucky time long past

“Date?” Steve smiles. “Yeah, you an’ me. Dinner and a movie, or we could always skip straight to the fun stuff. I’m easy.” Steve shakes his head with a small laugh. “Think you have the wrong idea, pal.” “One of these days I’m gonna convince you that it’s me who has the right idea.” Bucky says, just like he does every appointment.

5. Fifth most words: 21 Grams

Note to self: write more horror and really let it rip next time

A little boy was sitting up in bed, eyes wide as saucers, a well-loved bear clutched in both hands. He was small, no more than seven years old, but Aziraphale never had been good at estimating human ages. “Oh, erm, hello!” Aziraphale said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I’m Aziraphale. Terribly sorry to barge in like this.”

6. Least Words: What Fades Away

Co-written with the incomparable @gaiaseyes451

One angel Falls and prepares for another to join him.

No pressure tags @polychromicron-persei-8, @malachitegrey, @brenna, and viewers like you!

[kattythingz]

YJ x FMA Pt. 3

Yeaaaaah, I couldn't resist.

I've already made my bed with this one, man. I might as well commit to the bit lmao. This au has been incredibly self-indulgent so far and I'm honestly digging it.

New folks, the main gist of the au is explained in part 1, so direct all your confusion there first :P

Ed's design | 🧡 Pt. 1 💛 Pt. 2 🤍 read revamp here!!

“Holy fucking shit! Are you serious?!”

Ling could hardly contain his grin when Ed exclaimed in what could only be described as sheer scientific euphoria. Kaldur and Artemis let out similar snorts of amusement behind Ling and M’gann outright giggled as Ed ran up to Ship, the previous rush of getting to their escape point completely forgotten in favor of gawking starry-eyed at the majestic aircraft. His arms hovered back-and-forth with a familiar excitement to reach out and touch, before he inevitably caved.

“Holy shit,” Ed repeated, reverent as he brushed a hand over Ship’s indulgent surface. “I knew it. I’m dreaming. I got shocked one too many times and I passed out—”

Ling really couldn’t help the overflowing bubbling of laughter from his chest. It caught Ed’s shining gaze as he pivoted with one hand kept on Ship, the other flinging to jab at Ling. “Tell me I’m dreaming, Ling! Tell me right now!”

“Dude, how old are you again?” Wally chortled, though not cruelly, Ling noted with approval. He would’ve had words to emphasize with his sword if any one of his friends demeaned Ed’s bliss. “It’s like you’ve never seen an airship before. Ship’s pretty plain-looking as far as those go, you know—”

Ship made a beeping noise of protest, and Ed yelped, turning like he could pinpoint the source. Which, now that Ling thought about it—

“Hold on,” Ed said, lightning-struck, and touched his second hand to Ship again. “Hold on. Is this thing—?”

“Alive?” Ling said amusedly, and Ed whirled on him. “I believe ‘sentient’ is the more accurate term M’gann used, but—”

“Shut up!” Ed beamed, and Great Dragon on Ling’s heart—

He’d missed this sight something awful.

The rest of the team were clearly just as endeared. Especially M’gann, as she beamed right back, saying, “Thank you! Ship says she likes you too.”

“‘Ship’?” Ed said. He startled when Ship opened her hatch suddenly. Gently, though Ed didn’t know it. Ling read the moment for him and set a prompting hand on the small of Ed’s back with a tilt of his head, and Ed didn’t waste a second. He climbed slowly up the ramp, like he thought his footsteps could hurt Ship.

The team took their seats easily except for M’gann, who spun in the air to smile at Ed and say, “This is Ship! She’s a friend, even though she might not look it immediately. She’s just as much a member of this team as all of us. Isn’t that right, girl?”

Lights flickered along the side in eager answer, and Ed tracked the reaction greedily. Ling could already see the cogs turning behind those eyes, and the sight warmed his heart beyond comprehension.

“Here,” Ling laughed, pulling Ed back down to Earth and coaxing him by the hand to a vacant corner with two seats, no doubt provided by Ship’s thoughtfulness. Ed followed his second cue to sit, eyes still high above the ground as he took in the finer mechanics.

“Alright,” M’gann announced with noticeable cheer, finally at her seat at the helm. “Everyone strapped in? Sorry, Ed, this might feel a little weird at first.”

“Wha—?”

Ed cut off when Ship began lifting. He let out a yelp when the distance really grew, wobbling on instinct and hands shooting to grip the Ling’s bicep.

Ling remembered how strange the first fly had been on him too. He set an anchoring hand over Ed’s, catching the slightest fear in those eyes and smiling.

“Relax,” Ling told him quietly, to avoid embarrassing Ed with a spectacle. Judging by Ed’s rapid glance in his direction, the gesture was appreciated. “Your ears might ‘pop’ in a second from the air pressure, and it’ll feel uncomfortable for a while after, but you’re otherwise fine.”

“Did someone else tell you that?” Ed said between a grimace. His hands kept taut for a moment as Ship caught a steady pace, before he relaxed under Ling’s hand.

He let out an exhale, casting Ling a smile that time. “That sounds like the sort of talk you’d ask me to repeat ten thousand times for you instead.”

“Rude!” Ling gasped—to no avail. He’d smiled too wide again. “I learned a few things while you were gone, you know. A year’s a long time.”

Ed’s eyes sparkled in the literal changed atmosphere between them now. “Really? Then how’d you end up here immediately?”

“I had a moment of regression. You know how I get when I’m hungry.”

Ling was rewarded with a brilliant laugh for that. 

He completely understood when the sound drew several eyes back to them as well, and there was a pause as the team considered the two of them.

Artemis eventually broke the silence.

“So,” she started with an imperceptible smirk, crossing her legs and leaning back in her seat. “Ling’s infamous fiance.”

“Unfortunately,” Ed said.

The easy humor shifted something in the atmosphere, and faster than anyone could grin, Wally blurted, “What was that you did with the walls? I’ve never seen any earth powers that spontaneous before!”

“Yeah! What kind of power was that?” Robin leaned forward—sounding like his age, to Ling’s relief. Though Robin was undoubtedly much younger than Ling, he so often behaved like, well… Ed and Ling, back in their own teenagehood. This was a nice change. This was good. “You covered all that mass in, like, one motion. And you knew exactly where it would stop.”

Perhaps it was the nerves from being mass-stared at from all corners, but Ed flushed at the admiration. “Oh, well…” He cleared his throat. “That was pretty basic from me, really. I’d usually go for something louder, but I wasn’t sure entirely what was under the walls… It was better safe than sorry in the moment.”

“You couldn’t tell from a touch?” Ling furrowed his brow.

“Not completely.” Ed shook his head. “I had an innate understanding, but I couldn’t put a name to… a lot of the things.” He cast Ship a grimacing onceover. “But I guess I’ll have to get used to that.”

“So that is part of your power?” Kaldur asked, because, naturally, he couldn’t resist his curiosity either. Though his was more tempered. “You understand the components of the earth, and mold it?”

Ed blinked at the astute observation.

“That’s… exactly it, actually,” he said slowly. “I’m surprised you got it in one go…”

“Well,” Ling said, never one to miss a chance with a sly grin, “he is the esteemed leader around here.”

Ever since Ling had learned the team’s average age, he’d made it his life mission, while he was here, to soften them all to act their ages more often. Kaldur, in particular, was a tougher target on par with Artemis, but he, too, had a weakness. Recognizing his competence, for one. Recognizing his competence as leader, for two.

Ed clocked that in an instant, bless his perceptiveness, and he nodded easily. “Yeah, makes sense.”

Kaldur wavered. “You—can tell such a thing?”

“Sure. You’ve got the eye and attitude for it. And you sound a lot like a certain someone.” Ed cast Ling a sideways glance, and Ling pulled his most gracious face. Ed rolled his eyes back to Kaldur. “Next thing you’re gonna tell me, you’re a prince too.”

Wally immediately burst out laughing. “You got it in one! No way!”

“Well, not exactly on the nose,” Robin hummed. “But definitely close enough.”

Kaldur was far too well-mannered to gape, but he most certainly stared at Ed. “How—?”

“Like I said,” Ed snorted, but his grin was genuine as gold, “it’s obvious.”

Kaldur ducked his head, hiding that successful blush under a hand rubbing his neck. “That praise might be undue for the time being. I have only been in this position for a few months. But… thank you.”

And that, too, was a sight Ling had missed. The way Ed positively melted at the image of these kids, walking in shoes too big for their feet but filling the mold so well, for better and for worse. 

Ling had a great feeling about this world, suddenly.

<- prev ◆ next ->

[bromcommie]

🌹

Again, not sure how long these were originally supposed to be so I'm just posting snippets I had in the drafts. Thanks for the ask and sorry it took a hot second <3

I feel like I'm setting up a pattern with your asks at this point, but here's another bit from the 1953 fic:

He frowns at the picture of all of them together, yellowed and curving at the edges: mother, father, siblings, grandparents. Three little girls and a little boy, squinting at the camera, looking sun-worn and joyous. Looking restless and half-wild. Looking like they’re up to some trouble, you better not be up to– The man in the white coat watches him with careful eyes and freezes when he is caught looking. It’s just a tiny blip in his demeanor before it drains off into painstaking professionalism; it doesn’t hide the fact that his hands are shaking. And there's another axiom emerging from somewhere deep in the cobwebs of his brain: fear, the Soldier remembers for a fact, takes a whole lot of effort to conceal.

indulge me with a 🌹 to get a snippet

[breadandbees]

I just wanted to tell you that I love HCH4, and I'm so glad you made it. :3

Though if you wouldn't mind telling me, what does the acronym HVHDHC stand for? I know it's the next fic, but it took me until the end of the fic to understand that HCH4 stood for "Half-Cold, Half-Hot, Half-Hero" ^w^; lol

Also, just so you know, every time Todoroki (and/or Bakugo) publicly does something romantic (even if he doesn't think it's romantic or it really isn't romantic for him), it kills me. Legit, I had to take deep breaths cause of how uncomfortable I got. So, idk, maybe, for me, you could put that kind of content in your content warnings? (Your content warnings have saved me cause I don't understand most of what happens, so when I read the content warnings (and end notes!), I can finally imagine what happened with that context.)

THANKS THANKS THANKS!!! i’m so glad i made (and posted) it too!! reading everyone’s comments have brought the laughs, the head nods, all the emotions :-)

not at all!! i might’ve forgotten to post that lil announcement! Yikes! i’m gonna go search my drafts for it right after this haha!!

hvhdhc stands for Half-Villain, Half-Demon, Half-Cat! because i liked the rhythm of it (and the hard “C’s” mirroring one another if you cram the titles together) + parallels + i finally get to explain/indulge in several upcoming concepts hinted at as a more recognizable and formal departure from the main overarching storyline presented in canon so NEW title highlighting one of the biggest change, which is All Those Quirks!

tbh, i still have some of my drafts labeled HCHHHH haha!! it unintentionally distinguished my first drafts from my final ones and i stuck with the shorter one as a tag ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ so fun tidbit about writing process things!

AND AHHHHH NOOOO I’M SORRY FOR THE DISCOMFORT ( ꈨຶ ˙̫̮ ꈨຶ ) THE USAGE OF SECOND-HAND EMBARRASSMENT IN STUFF I LIKE ALWAYS HAS ME GETTING UP & WALKING AWAY SO I DID MY BEST TO LEAN INTO HUMOR AS MISCOMMUNICATION/MISUNDERSTANSING WITH LOW STAKES + IMPLYING THE SENTIMENT IS MUTUALLY UNDERSTOOD + THE SEMI-AWKWARD CONFESSIONS THEMSELVES WOULDN’T BE UNWELCOME/DENIED/SHUT DOWN INTENTIONALLY (Bakugō Katsuki) OR MEANLY (Todoroki Shōto) IF UNDERSTOOD/COMMUNICATED!! it’s the timing of the sincerity that would’ve been an issue for both of them so feel free to blame my characterization + plot for forcing my hand to bring in my most loathed memories that still keep me up at night to this day as references (ʘ‿ʘ✿)

and thanks thanks thanks for letting me know!! will DEFINITELY be putting something down in the content warnings as an edit in the chapters i think you’re referring to + for any future Moments (and..... oh boy...... the CDs too...... yeah.....)!!! “Miscommunication/Misunderstanding of Romantic Intent” + a little description of the scene(s)/whodunnit this time in parentheses is what i’m thinking?

also that is so, so Good to me because u are not the only one who looks to the content warnings & end notes for clarification when my writing leans into a more purple prose/intentional distancing from the POV character! a very, very experimental stylization i’ve been dabbling in! curating and figuring out how to best present what comes up in my story through show and tell and Dialogue-Heavy avenues has been a struggle, so i’m glad that the work is well worth it + it’s helped in more ways than one (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

THANK U AGAIN SO SO SO MUCH FOR READING + SENDING AN ASK MY WAY!! YOU’RE WELCOME TO ASK ABOUT CONFUSING THINGS OR DEMAND WHAT I WAS THINKING WITH X-Y-Z HAHA!! FEEL FREE TO STICK AROUND AS LONG AS YOU’D LIKE :-)