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louddydisturb · 6 months

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what's the matter harry? you look like you've seen a ghost

Depois do estouro da franquia de panico londres se tornou um alvo dos ataques do ghostface, harry, seu namorado e melhor amiga estavam na procura de só mais uma festinha com drogas e bebidas mas tudo tomou um outro rumo

Louis, 28

Harry, 23

Tw: h!fem, cnc, agressão, sequestro, manipulação, rape play, knife play, traição, morte, sangue, fear play

Viu deixar aqui minha recomendação se quiserem ouvir com change (in the house of flies) e cherry waves dos deftones

Boa leitura e espero que gostem :))

Sol.

“Essa festa vai ser incrível! Juro passamos horas tentando fazer essa maquiagem parecer real” Madison tagarelava no banco de trás do carro exibindo o “machucado perfeito” que ela e harry demoraram pelo menos 2 horas e refizeram pelo menos umas 3 vezes, ela estava fantasiada Lara croft com um extra de uma facada na barriga

“Vocês realmente levaram isso a serio” Tyson, namorado de harry, estava fantasiado de jack skellington fazendo par com harry que estava vestida de sally

“Essa é a maior festa do ano, literalmente todo mundo estava esperando” Madison continua

“Não sei não, não fazem nem 48 horas que acharam mais um corpo e é obvio que tem um serial Killer a solta” harry fala apreensiva enquanto arruma a peruca vermelha

“Relaxa, amor. Seja lá quem esteja fazendo isso não iria ter a cara de pau de matar em uma festa cheia de gente” Tyson estaciona na frente da casa de festa “e caso aconteça você sabe que eu vou estar aqui pra te proteger” o cacheado passa o braço pelos os ombros de harry que suspira desconfortável

“Se eu fosse não falaria isso, o filme favorito dela é pânico e os namorados não são muito uteis” Madison zoa antes de sair do carro

“As amigas são as primeiras a morrer” Tyson rebate antes de sair seguido de harry

🔪 🩸

‘I was made for loving you baby’ tocava alto pelo salão, harry cantava junto com Madison enquanto Tyson buscava mais bebidas

“Te falei que iria valer a pena!” Madison falava alto

“Tirando o fato que parece que alguém tá observando a gente o tempo todo”

“É uma festa harry, tem pelo menos 200 pessoas aqui”

“Certo” os olhos verdes caem em Tyson que voltava com dois copos de bebida, ou melhor, na figura escura atrás dele

Um arrepio correu por toda a espinha da cacheada

“Tinha uma fila imensa no bar” o garoto entrega os copos com bebida e abraça a cintura de harry que estava estática sem ao menos piscar “amor? Tudo bem?”

“S-sim” ela toma um pouco da bebida focando no mais alto em seu lado

O celular de harry vibrou, uma notificação de uma mensagem de um numero desconhecido.

Harry aproveitou a distração dos outros para abrir as três fotos enviadas

Ela obviamente reconheceu o local, era a balada que eles estavam porem em uma área mais afastada perto do bar onde tinha vários sofás e mesas. Oque fez o sangue de harry ferver foi ver o “casal” se beijando no canto da foto, era a porra de seu namorado e uma loira desconhecida

“Que porra…” harry xinga baixo

“Oque aconteceu?” Os olhos castanhos de Tyson a encaram em curiosidade

Seu celular vibra novamente

Era outra foto mas agora no centro da foto estava harry

A cacheada olha em volta mas não parecia ter ninguém olhando ou com o celular

“Vou no banheiro” ela se afasta caminhando rápido até o local

Para sua sorte o banheiro parecia estar vazio, ela entrou e trancou a porta

“Canalha” ela sentia seu peito doer só de imaginar que a pessoa que ela mais confiava estava a traindo sem o mínimo peso na consciência

Seu celular tocou, “chamador desconhecido” brilhava no display

“Alô?”

“Alô” uma voz grave sooa do outro lado da linha

“Quem é?”

“Ha ha muito engraçado zayn, chega da brincadeirinha”

“Zayn?” A voz continua “não conheço nenhum zayn, harry. Ou melhor sally” harry sente todo seu corpo arrepiar

“Quem é você?”

“Quem é você? Quem é você? Quem é você? Todo falam a mesma coisa. Acredito que tenha feito a pergunta errada, harry”

“Oque você quer?”

“Brincar”

“Brincar?”

“Um jogo, se eu ganhar temo que essa seja a ultima coisa que você vai fazer” harry sentia seu corpo tremer ao que ela tirou o celular da orelha na tentativa de desligar a chamada “Não desligue caso queira continuar com todos os orgãos em seu copo, harry” a voz soou mais grave

“Ta bom ta bom, qual é o jogo” ela tentava esconder o medo em sua voz

“Perguntas e respostas sobre filmes de terror, você gosta certo? Se errar você terá uma surpresinha que não acho que seja muito agradavel para você”

“Pode começar”

“A primeira pergunta, harry. Qual o nome do assassino de sexta-feira 13?”

“Pamela”

“Pamela?”

“Pamela voorhees! A mãe de jason!”

“Certo… está com sorte, harry. Oque chris faz para não ser hipnotizado em corra?”

“Corra… ele arranha o braço do sofá!”

“A ultima, harry… quem era o assasino em panico 1?”

“Billy! Billy loomis” um silencio toma conta da chamada

Derrepente a porta do banheiro estoura revelando uma figura alta vestida de preto com uma mascara de ghostface

“Errado” harry sente seu corpo entrar em panico e não conseguia ao menos correr “qual o problema harry? Parece que você viu um fantasma” a faca brilhava na pouca luz do lugar

“Puta que pariu” ela começa a revirar sua propia bolsa ao que o desconhecido começa a se aproximar

“Procurando isso?” Ele gira o taser nos dedos “não acho que tenha muita escolha sally” ele avança e harry se abaixa se arrastando até uma das cabines do local

“Quer brincar de esconde esconde?” Um murro é deixado na porta de madeira fazendo-a quase quebrar “qual seu filme de terror favorito, harry?”

“Sai daqui!”

“Todo mundo tem um favorito” outro soco é deixado na porta e ela finalmente cede

O ghostface a encurrala contra a parede do pequeno cubículo “sabe qual é o meu?” A lamina da faca passeia pelo pescoço de harry antes de cortar a blusinha do vestido da garota ao meio “o nosso”

“Você é louco” ela se rebatia mas só fazia o aperto em seu braço ficar mais firma

“Todos nós enlouquecemos as vezes, harry” a garota achou que por um segundo ela reconhecia aquela voz

“S-sai”

“Acho que devia ter mais atençao com seus bolsos” harry tira o teaser do bolso da calça jeans preta e consegue escapar do aperto

Ela corria pela balada lotada, não conseguindo localizar madison ou tyson no meio de toda a gente

Ela se arrependeu no exato momento em que pisou na rua escura do lado de fora da balada, era 3:00 da manhã não passava um misero carro na rua

Harry correu.

Correu até seus pulmões pedirem uma pausa e suas pernas não aguentarem o peso de seu próprio corpo

Ela entrou em um beco escuro enquanto tentava ligar para alguma ajuda mas nenhuma ligação completava

“Achou que eu não ia te achar, gatinha?�� Harry congelou sabendo exatamente quem estava por trás daquela mascara

“Tomlinson” ela se rastejou ate suas costas baterem em uma parede, as botas pretas do outro soando na brita do chão

“Tomlinson? Gosta de brincar de advinhar né?” Ele se agacha em frente a garota observando os olhos verdes se arregalarem “acho que errou mais uma vez”

Um pano é forçado contra o rosto de harry, ela se debate sentindo seu corpo ficar leve e sua visão começar a embaçar. Era como se ela estivesse flutuando sobre nuvens

“Dormindo como um bebê” ele pega harry no colo ao que a garota perde completamente a consciência em seus braços

🔪 🩸

Harry acorda sentindo seu corpo inteiro doer. Ela abre os olhos lentamente observando a sua volta

Ela estava em uma especie de porão que era iluminado apenas por uma lamparina e a luz da rua que entrava pela pequena janela, tinha uma especie de mesa com uma mochila e oque ela reconheceu ser sua bolsa. Harry tentou se levantar mas alem da fita em sua boca ela também estava amarrada em uma cadeira no centro da sala

A porta de metal se abre e louis passa por ela, ainda com a mascara cobrindo seu rosto porem agora a camisa preta tinha os botões abertos e com marcas de sangue em seu peitoral

“Que bom que acordou, bichinho. Por um momento achei que tinha exagerado no sonifero” ele caminha devagar jogando uma bolsa preta no chão “está com frio? O aquecedor daqui parou de funcionar deve ser por isso que está tão inquieta” louis retira a luva e então acaricia a bochecha macia de harry, essa que afasta o rosto em uma tentativa falha de se afasta do toque “oque foi? Sempre gostava dos meus toques” ele puxa a fita da boca de harry fazendo as bochechas cheinhas arderem

“Louco! Você é louco, Louis!”

“Não sou louco, amor” a lamina afiada corta levemente a meia calça de harry “fui tão legal com você, sequer te machuquei, e é assim que sou agradecido”

“Você é maniaco! Me sequestrou só porque ficou com raivinha?”

“Não te sequestrei, harry. Você precisa entender as coisas melhor” ele aperta o pescoço da cacheada fazendo o ar começar a ficar limitado “apenas te “trouxe para um passeio”, você já estava na rua e em um beco escuro, é perigoso existem muitos loucos por ai”

“L-louco” harry sentia que podia desmaiar novamente a qualquer momento

Harry tosse tentando regular sua respiração ao que louis se afasta de si

“Acho que ja ta bom do xingatório” em um movimento ele corta a fita que a prendia na cadeira, deixando somente a fita que prendia suas mãos, e puxando-a pelo braço fazendo a garota cair no chão frio “vamos lá, harry. Você sabe muito bem como isso funciona” ele desabotoa a calça jeans tirando o membro duro do aperto

Os cachos são puxados fazendo harry gemer baixinho de dor, o membro duro batia nas bochechas de harry sujando-as de pré-porra

Lagrimas escorrem involuntariamente ao que a mão pesada de louis se choca contra com seu rosto e ele segura seu queixo fazendo-a abrir a boca

“Isso, amor. Viu como mesmo depois do inutil do teu namorado você ainda sabe como eu gosto” o tomlinson estoca contra a garganta de harry fazendo a garota engasgar e se afastar tossindo assustada

“Talvez tenha se desacostumado mas não é nada que eu não possa te ensinar de novo” ele deixa alguns tapinhas nas bochechas vermelhas, harry abriu a boca sentindo o gosto do pré-gozo inundar seu palato ao que louis voltou a estocar gemendo rouco

Louis sentia seu estomago revirar ao sentir os gemidos da garota em seu pau, só assim notando como ela rebolava em seu sapato em busca de algum alivio

“Viu como já está voltando a ser uma puta, amor?” Ele se afasta chutando harry que se encolhe no chão “você não passa disso, Uma putinha sem cerebro”

“Louis… por favor” a voz de harry estava completamente fodida

“Vem, amor. Não ache que eu só vou te largar, nem sequer me fez gozar ainda” ele puxa harry com força, a jogando contra a mesa branca encostada na parede. Sua bunda ficando empinada no vestido curto que mal fazia o trabalho de a cobrir

Louis termina de levantar a sainha antes de cortar a meia calça fininha junto com a calcinha de harry

“Olha como você ta molhada feito uma vagabunda” o homem era agressivo e penetrar dois dedos na grutinha molhada fazendo harry gemer alto e bater os pés tentando o afastar “quieta”

Ele puxou o pescoço da garota tendo a visão rostinho choroso e os lábios inchados de tanto serem maltratados

Um tapa ecoou pela sala fazendo os lamurias da cacheada ficarem ainda mais altas

“Shh… tudo bem, bichinho” ele tira os dedos de dentro dela levando em seguida para os lábios gordinhos

Harry geme abafado sentindo o falo duro a preencher

Louis apertava a cintura fininha deixando a sua mão marcada perfeitamente ali

“Porra hazza…” ele puxa a garota para perto de si fazendo-a apoiar a costa em seu peito

Harry gemia chorosa com a cabeça apoiada no ombro tatuado, ela podia o sentir perfeitamente em sua barriga

As estocadas continuas faziam o baixo ventre de harry revirar e suas pernas tremerem

“Eu vou g-gozar” ela fala entre gemidos

“Que egoista, bichinho.” Ele brinca com os mamilos rijos sentindo a cacheada se molhar ainda mais em seu pau

“Por favor” lagrimas se formavam no canto dos olhos verdes e ela tremia desnorteada contra o peito de louis

Um grito agoniado ecoou pelo comodo quando a lamina afiada traçou um LT perfeito na bunda machucada de harry

“Quer gozar sozinha? não te ensinei a ser egoista, amor.” As estocadas começavam a descontrolar indicando o quão perto louis também estava

“Louis…”

“Goza” ele diz ríspido sentindo harry se apertar em volta de seu pau e gozar molhando toda a mesa e pelves de louis, esse que levantou a mascara puxando a garota para um beijo ávido e quente enquanto gozava

ele deixa mais um tapa na banda cheinha antes de cortar a fita dos pulsos pálidos

🔪 🩸

O suv estaciona no meio fio algumas casas antes da casa de Madison, harry desce do carro correndo e sentindo seu coração bater descontrolado

“MAD! MADISON ABRE PORFAVOR!” Ela batia rápido na porta branca que não demorou a ser aberta pela garota

“Harry?! Oque aconteceu? Meu deus você tá bem?” Ela ajuda a cacheada a entrar na casa, trancando a porta principal logo em seguida

“Ele me achou” harry soluçava abraçando a amiga “o assassino” os olhos verdes a encaram em agonia

“Oque? Você ta machucada? Harry…”

“Ele me torturou mads” harry continua sentindo as lagrimas quentes molharem sua bochecha e o moletom da outra garota “liga para o Tyson”

“Harry… ele foi encontrado morto não muito longe da balada ontem”

“Oque?! Como…” os lábios de harry perdem completamente o sangue

“28 facadas e-“ a fala de Madison é cortada com a figura mascarada que aparece no reflexo do espelho “harry… harry ele ta aqui!” A garota tenta corre mas é segurada por harry que continuava parada no lugar “harry? O assassino ta aqui!”

“Eu sei… se tivesse prestado atenção nas vezes que assistimos filmes saberia que sempre tem dois assassinos” a lamina afiada é cravada no estômago da outra “se não estivesse tão ocupada ficando com o meu namorado” a pupila de harry estava tomada pelo preto e aos poucos o casaco laranja sujava mais com o sangue “agora você pode ter ele todinho pra você, filha da puta” a lamina atravessa a cabeça da garota que cai inconsciente no chão, uma poça de sangue se formando no carpete claro

“Muito bem, amor” louis se aproxima retirando a mascara e deixando um beijo no topo da cabeça cacheada “melhor irmos”

#larry stylinson #harry styles #louis tomlinson #one shot #smut #one direction

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nayadefenix · 26 days

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artist:https://twitter.com/summer_chill14/status/1680386591494406144?s=12&t=FIK9SKr2dWvjaBv1hSNI7w

mano o primeiro trisal a gente nunca esquece,isso nao te lembra de certo grupinho de perrsonagens a 3 ?

tipo nao sei eles combinam,romanticamente esta mais pra sexualmente,nao sei se o batman aceitaria um trisal com seus amigos possivelmente sim.

ja sei quem voce esta falando mas nao vai rolar ,olhando a imagem talvez eu repense em trisal na fancanon XD

Like, I don't know if they match, romantically it's more like sexually, I don't know if Batman would accept a threesome with his friends, possibly yes.

I already know who you're talking about but it's not going to happen, looking at the image maybe I'll rethink trisal in the fancanon XD

ARTISTA:

#dc #dc comics #dcu #dc universe #bruce wayne #batfam #batman #dc fanart #clark kent #superman #diana prince #diana of themyscira #wonder woman #shipp #trisal #polyamory #hollyhollynigthmare

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ramblingoak · 19 days

Note

Kiss prompt!

Papa x Swiss

#27

Plz & thx 😜

Thank you Anon! I had a lot of fun with this one since I haven't really done much Papa x Ghoul stuff yet. I hope you like it!

Copia x Swiss with a kiss "as a suggestion"

Warnings: just a very thorough kiss hehe, maybe slightly suggestive so nsfw just in case, about 1k words and aggressively not beta read (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers!)

Swiss hated seeing Copia like this.

Tired and stressed, Papa had been working practically nonstop in preparation for the upcoming tour. Even the black makeup around his eyes couldn’t hide the signs of strain that were there. His wrinkles were a little more pronounced from squinting at budget sheets and the skin beneath his eyes was swollen from lack of sleep. The man needed a good meal, a good night’s rest and as Swiss let his eyes wander over the handsome Papa’s body a few other ideas came to mind.

“Why the fuck does Dewdrop need all these guitars?”

Copia’s irritated voice broke Swiss from his thoughts and the ghoul straightened up from the couch he had been sprawled across, “Don’t know, skill issue?”

“Skill iss–,” Copia looked up sharply from his paperwork, his eyes narrowed as he glanced over at Swiss. When all he saw was a pointy toothed grin Copia snorted and looked back down at his desk. “Phantom didn’t ask for any new guitars, neither did you! Why does Dewdrop need six?”

“Papa, can I make a suggestion?” When he nodded, Swiss stood up and made his way over to his desk. “Let’s leave Dewdrop behind.”

Copia grinned immediately, the big one that Swiss was pretty sure was only reserved for him. The smile that he definitely didn’t go out of his way to try to see on a daily basis.

“I’m on board as long as you’re the one that breaks the news.”

Copia smiled again when Swiss made a face but it quickly faded when he focused on the paperwork in front of him again. Well this wasn’t going to do at all, Swiss needed to up his game a bit. He idly started to tap his claws on the dark wood of the desk, slowly walking around to the side and leaning his hip against it.

“Papa?” Swiss stayed quiet until Copia looked up at him, “Can I make another suggestion?”

“Uh, sì. Certo.”

“How about we take a break?” He could see Copia immediately stiffen and Swiss had no doubt he was about to be on the receiving end of a speech on how much work there was to do so he quickly reached out and laid a hand over Copia’s arm. “You need to eat and get some sleep.”

“That was two suggestions.”

“Oh, really? Well then how about I throw in a third one?” Swiss pushed off the desk and moved around until he was standing behind Copia. He gently laid his hands on the man’s shoulders and started to rub the tense muscles there. “You also need a massage.”

Copia’s only answer was a deep groan and Swiss took that as permission to rub his shoulders harder. The man was quickly putty in the ghoul’s hands, the most delightful sounds falling from his lips. Swiss had to bite his own to keep from making any himself, right now his focus was on Copia and making him feel good.

He always enjoyed taking care of his Papa.

When Copia had mostly quieted down, the muscles that Swiss had been working on finally relaxed and loose, he slipped around the chair and hopped up to sit on the desk.

“Swiss! Stop playing around I still have lots of wor–”

“I actually have one more suggestion.”

“I haven’t even done the other two you asked for yet.”

“Oh I know, but this last one is something we can fit in whenever.” Copia was looking up at him with an exasperated expression on his face but Swiss just kept smiling. “Whenever and as often as you want.”

“Is it leaving me alone?” Swiss could see Copia fighting a smile when he gave him an exaggerated pout. “Fine, fine. Let’s see, you already suggested food and rest…”

“And firing Dewdrop.”

“Sì, and firing Dewdrop.” Copia sighed, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair and stared up at Swiss. “I can’t think of anything else I need.”

“A kiss.”

“Un bacio?” Swiss nodded eagerly, pleased beyond words to see a blush building on Copia’s cheeks. “Just one?”

“To start with.”

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, both just watching the other. Swiss was trying not to stare at his lips but he was failing miserably. When one corner of them quirked up and Copia looked away shyly Swiss felt like letting out a whoop of triumph.

“Okie dokie. I accept your suggestion.”

Copia nervously began to shuffle the papers on his desk, only stopping when Swiss planted a hand right on top of them as he leaned in towards him. The kiss was gentle, far gentler than was necessary but Swiss wanted to savor this moment. He wanted to memorize every little detail he could. The fullness of Copia’s bottom lip, the taste of the black makeup he wore on the top one, the sound of their teeth lightly clacking together as the kiss deepened…

Swiss was too damn big to be crawling into Copia’s lap but here he was, his legs straddling him and his fingers buried in the man’s brown hair. Copia’s tongue flicked at Swiss’s lips, demanding entrance and easily getting it. As Swiss raked his claws along his scalp Copia tugged at the ghoul’s shirt so he could slide his gloved hands along Swiss’s skin. The leather was warm and soft and Swiss broke away from his lips with a deep groan.

After a handful of minutes panting into each other’s mouths Swiss finally leaned back to look over his work. Copia’s hair was all over the place thanks to his hands and Swiss probably had more makeup on his face than Copia did at this point. He licked his lips to get a taste of the metallic paint again, grinning when he saw Copia’s mismatched eyes tracking the movement of his tongue.

Oh yeah, there were definitely going to be more kisses.

“What do you think, Papa? Did you like that suggestion?”

Copia nodded, his hands still idly rubbing along Swiss’s body under his shirt, “I did, sì.” Without warning he gave a quick tug and Swiss found himself pressed tightly to his Papa’s chest, their faces barely a breath apart. “Got any more?”

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you! Also if you'd prefer to only be tagged in my reader insert stuff that's ok! Feel free to let me know!

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#copia x swiss #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #copia fanfiction #swiss ghoul #nameless ghoul fanfic

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markiefiles · 3 months

Text

— AUTORIDADE

fem reader x mark lee

avisos: professor!mark (de inglês), diálogos inglês, tensão sexual (?), dirty-talk, bigdick, uma menção a spit, professor de faculdade☝️, ambos maiores de idade apesar da idade não especificada.

notas: isso aqui foi um surto após eu escutar uns áudios do rum (um dos primeiros dele é ele sendo tutor de matemática) e pensei “ok… mark fala inglês… mark professor de inglês….” então tá aqui essa confusa pouca vergonha. btw inspirado também numa época onde eu tinha um crush no meu antigo prof de inglês, a última vez que falei com ele foi em 2023 depois de me formar (ele era tãooooo legal…). perdão pelo inglês porco gente ☝️

Mesmo que nunca tenha conversado o bastante nas aulas avançadas de inglês, sua gramática era ótima, você era aplicada de um jeito irritantemente técnico.

O término das aulas era sempre um problema. Não porque depois de todo um estudo você teria que ir pra faculdade, mas sim porque, seu professor de inglês, Mark Lee, te deixava nervosa.

Ele era excepcionalmente didático, a pronúncia perfeita te deixava de pernas bambas; tinha o modo descontraído, como ele conversava com os alunos dos mais novos aos mais velhos, acompanhando o ritmo de todos, ele arrancava o inglês de qualquer um sem que percebessem. Era muito divertido ir para as aulas, a dinâmica te incentivava…

E o professor também.

Mais um final de aula, alguns alunos tiravam suas dúvidas, mas você esperava que o professor Mark prestasse atenção somente em ti. Talvez soasse menos humilhante, não gostava de toda essa atenção.

Você permaneceu sentada na cadeira, as pernas expostas roçando uma na outra, aguardando pacientemente os últimos dois colegas de turma saírem. A mente viajou um pouco, parecia desatenta.

Mark olhou pra você, deu um gole na garrafa d’água mas não desgrudou os olhos de ti, em silêncio veio ao teu encontro, perguntou “Algum problema, querida?” e você soltou um sorriso, desviou os olhos e achou fofo todo carinho… O seu quarto ano com ele.

— Sim. — você respondeu — Na verdade, tenho algumas dúvidas sobre a prova de admissão…

— Mesmo? Não acho que seja um problema pra você.

— Por que não seria?

— Apesar de não falar com o restante da sala, você é incrivelmente boa em gramática, suas notas são boas.

— Não sei… talvez eu precise de um incentivo, quero aprender a falar como você, Mark.

Vocês, mais uma vez, trocaram olhares, longos, talvez um tentando ler a mente do outro. Mark mostrou-se pensativo, suspirou, balançou a cabeça e valseou pela sala, trancando a porta. Um calor incômodo tomou conta do seu corpo, você prendeu o ar no peito, a barriga revirando.

— Quero que olhe nos meus olhos enquanto conversamos, certo? Quero respostas só em inglês.

— Claro, o que você quiser professor.

Sua resposta foi ambígua, um tom sexual que deixou-o enervado. Ele sentou-se ao seu lado, fez algumas perguntas e você respondeu-as de maneira muito direta, ainda que tivesse certa hesitação na sua voz.

Tudo em você, no seu comportamento pareceu satisfazê-lo.

Então você se levantou e caminhou pela sala o observou de longe, sentou na mesa dele e esse silêncio o indispôs. Mark te seguiu, parou de frente para você, as palmas dele nas laterais da mesa, fechando seu corpo no dele; o peito dele batendo contra o seu. Muita intimidade.

Um arrepio corroeu o sustento das tuas pernas, você quase gemeu ao sentir a tensão que se formava debaixo da sua saia, entre vocês dois.

“...You look like you’ve got something to say” Mark disse, sussurrando. Você fechou os olhos, revirou por baixo das pálpebras e soltou o ar quente pelos lábios, tocou a gravata dele suspensa no ar. Você pensou…

E repensou várias vezes.

“Want you to teach me how to dirty talk.”

Mark te observou, o brilho nos olhos dele demonstravam certo controle. Você sentia que estava prestes a tombar na mesa com a proximidade, seus lábios quase se tocando, o hálito roçando um no outro.

“Is that why you spend so’much time looking at me, pretty? Fantasizing about your professor?” Ele te perguntou e você pareceu muito confusa, entendeu exatamente o que Mark disse mas não respondeu. “You’re so fucking naughty, my dear.”

Aí, suas pernas prenderam a cintura dele, os dedos dele te tocaram e você gemeu, desfez muito rapidamente o nó da gravata, o beijou ansiosa e Mark retribuiu, com fome. Ele te deitou sobre a mesa, brincou com o elástico da sua calcinha e você soltou uma risada, murmurou “Porr—” mas foi interrompida.

Mark apertou suas bochechas, cuspiu na sua boca e te relembrou “English, sweetheart.” Você engoliu, obediente.

Você sentiu uma umidez na sua calcinha, amolecida, escorregou pela mesa e mudou sua posição, seu rosto em contato com a madeira, esfregando a bunda contra a ereção de Mark.

“Fuck… you have such a pretty ass, sweetie” você soltou mais um repuxar zombeteiro, Mark expôs sua bucetinha e voltou a te esbanjar elogios, com um dos dedos, provocou sua entrada traseira “Your pussy is dripping, babe… hmm bet you wanna me to fuck that juicy ass of yours too.”

“Mark… don't tease me, just… just— fuck me already.” Você choramingou, sentiu uma das mãos dele nos seus seios, explorando cada parte do seu corpo.

As palmas dele correram para seus lábios, te mantendo quieta, ele esbofeteou a pele da sua bunda, te impondo regras “No, sweetie. Repeat with me, professor Mark, I’m the authority here” e você moveu a cabeça, mordeu os lábios e afirmou “Oh— ‘kay professor Mark”.

Concentrado, Mark voltou a brincar com suas dobras, o tom cínico da risada te fez contrair levemente, ele rosnou, espancou seus lábios melados antes de forçar sua entradinha com o pênis dele, que, até então, você não tinha visto.

Você choramingou desesperada, a espessura deixando suas pernas tão trêmulas que Mark achou patético seus joelhos um contra o outro.

“You’re so cute, baby. That tight cunt of yours getting me soo well…” Você rebolou fortemente contra ele, sentiu os dedos perfurando a carne da sua bunda, precisava de mais “M’gonna be addicted to this pussy, right? Shit— Bet you can't even think straight right now, just love being destroyed by my huge cock, yeah?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Yeah, yeah, P-Professor.”

“You’re so fucking cockdrunk, whore.”

Mark praticamente afundava sobre sua bucetinha, sentia suas paredes o esmagando sem que você notasse o aperto e umidez. Suas pernas já não aguentavam mais, ameaçando ceder, a porra e seu mel sujando o chão, espirrando contra a calça dele e sua pele. Vocês dois eram uma completa bagunça.

“Mark..!” Você exclamou, o orgasmo te deixando em um só fio de voz, a garganta seca. Mark sentiu seu canalzinho o apertar, ele praticamente enterrou o pau em ti, partindo seus lábios ao meio, completamente alucinado, vendo o entra e sai frenético, sem que houvesse pausas. Ele soltou um gemido áspero, imobilizou seu quadril e permaneceu dentro de ti, seu clitóris contorcendo sem ter sido tocado.

As têmporas estavam suadas, o cabelo preto desfeito junto com os botões da calça e camiseta. Mark te olhou e mais uma vez você pode ouvir aquela risadinha gostosa, malandra. Ele serpenteou os lábios até seu rosto, beijou sua boca e disse “Let me help you.”

Você aceitou quieta, a saia cobrindo parcialmente a visão das suas pernas arruinadas.

— Cadê minha… calcinha…?

Mark te olhou, o português alto e claro relembrando o antes da situação. Ele mostrou o pedaço de pano, guardou no bolso e você corou, gozadora..

— E papéis pra… sabe… me limpar?

— Que? Absolutamente não.

— Como assim?

— Você vai ficar com minha porra guardada aí, até chegar em casa, querida.

— Mark–

— Me deixe falar o restante — Ele se aproximou, ajeitou a gravata, colocou os fios para trás, como se nada tivesse acontecido.

— Sim.

— Se você passar na prova de admissão, eu fodo seu cuzinho.

#mark lee x reader #mark lee x you #mark lee smut #mark lee imagines #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines #nct smut #nct imagines

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star-elysiam · 8 days

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na minha mente o Enzo e o Pipe AMARIAM ir num churrasquinho de família com a loba, tomar uma brejinha, ficar assim 😵‍💫😵‍💫 olhando ela dançando pagode e depois ir (tentar) dançar junto com ela, sempre dando beijinho no pescoço e cheirando ela aiaiai 😭😭😭

Nossa sim 🥹

Eu super vejo o Pipe meio envergonhado no começo, indo todo arrumadinho e ficando mais na dele no começo. É educado e simpático com todo mundo, lógico mas no começo fica mais observando e entendendo os costumes da sua família.

Depois que se acostumar com sua família e ficar mais confortável (que não vai demorar muito), vai passar o dia sem camisa com a blusa do River no ombro o tempo inteiro, a correntinha que não sai do pescoço dele, vai usar um boné virado pra trás, uma bermuda, a havaianas branca que você deu de presente e a latinha de cerveja para terminar de compor o look para o final de semana com a família da namorada.

Vai querer ajudar com a churrasqueira e vai fazer questão de te dar os primeiros e os melhores pedaços que forem assados. Seu prato tá vazio? Aqui amor, toma esse pedaço de carne e um pão de alho. Que um suco, cerveja ou refrigerante? Desse jeitinho. E não pensem que é para impressionar sua família, ele só gosta de cuidar da amada dele.

O Enzo vai querer impressionar na roupa também, desde o primeiro encontro, lógico. Mas uma coisa é certa, desde o primeiro momento a papete vai estar lá.

Vai amar fazer alguns storys da sua família dançando e se divertindo. Vai postar com algum samba de roda mais antigo, pq é a cara dele

Vai se divertir com aquela pessoa da sua família que ama soltar piadinhas clássicas e que vai tentar ensinar ele a contar essas piadas também. Principalmente se chegar a hora da sobremesa e for pavê, aí você pode ter certeza que vai ouvir a clássica risada dele com a mão no peito

Ama aprender a fazer os acompanhamentos do churrasco, como a salada de maionese, vai ficar apaixonado por vinagrete e farofa, vai achar o molho de alho divino e vai querer comer sempre

E quando você resolve ir dançar? A única coisa que eles vão conseguir pensar vai ser um "Meu Deus, nena" e te encarar assim 🥴😵😵‍💫🤤

Eles vão te olhar dançar até alguém gritar "vai lá, dança com ela também" e eles vão. Porém se eles vão conseguir dançar já é outra história mas é certo que eles vão arriscar sim e vão se divertir horrores.

A parte favorita vai ser a possibilidade de ficar agarradinho com você, colocar as mãos na sua cintura (respeitosamente pq estão na frente de todo mundo) e sentir seu quadril se movimentar junto com a melodia

(eu quero eles no churrasco da minha família 😭)

#enzo vogrincic #felipe otaño #pipe otaño #enzo vogrincic x reader #pipe otaño x reader #felipe otaño x reader

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the-guilty-writer · 1 year

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What's in a Nickname?

Request: from @doctorsteeb

Okay okay one more in case the last one was too specific—

Rossi!daughter coming home from college or from traveling abroad?

David Rossi x daughter!reader

Summary: A stop by your dad’s office leaves the BAU with a few questions… Some of them are more sentimental than others.

A/N: I couldn’t not write this after the idea popped into my head and this request gave me free reign to work with. If you didn’t look up what the nickname was for the reader in my other recent rossi!daughter fic you will know by the end. And yes, this nickname will absolutely stick for rossi!daughter reader from here on out unless I get a specific request not to include it because we all know if Rossi had a daughter this nickname would be canon.

CW: lots of italian... like I went a bit overboard on this one so here are translations: rompere le scatole = literal translation is “to break boxes” but it is slang for getting on someone’s nerves. Non avere peli sulla lingua = literal translation is “not to have hair on the tongue” which is slang for tell the truth. la goccia che ha fatto traboccare il vaso = literal translation for “drop that made the vase overflow” equating to the straw that broke the camel's back. Ti voglio bene = “I love you” used for family and close friends. Mio passerotta… you’ve gotta read until the end to find this one out for yourself.

---

“I never thought I would actually miss sitting in traffic,” you said, a smile on your face.

You were finally home after a semester abroad in Jamaica. Having always lived in a city, it was nice to be close to the ocean and wildlife and small towns, but after five months you were ready to return to the concrete jungle that was Washington, DC.

Your dad, on the other hand, was rather grumpy about the back up on the highway. “I’ll remind you of that next week when you say that the traffic is rompere le scatole.” He looked down at his watch and hesitated. “Do you mind if I-”

“Stop by the office?” You finished for him. You didn’t hate the idea of stopping by work with your dad, but you would have much rather gone home to eat a nice warm meal.

“If it’s not okay I understand,” he said. “Non avere peli sulla lingua.”

For a second, you thought about his words. “It’s fine,” you told him, then held out a singular finger. “But only if you make pasta tonight.” David Rossi might have been a master at hostage negotiation, but you were a master at dinner negotiation.

“Certo, mio passerotta,” he said as he turned onto the exit towards Quantico.

---

“Hey,” Derek walked into the bullpen, a cup of coffee in his hands even though it was nearly 5 PM. “Anyone know who is in Rossi’s office?”

“Rossi, I assume,” Emily said. She glanced up at the open office door where you were sitting. “Well that’s definitely not Rossi.”

“Maybe she’s a groupie?” JJ suggested.

“I don’t think a groupie would have made it past security,” said Reid without looking up from his book.

“BAU team,” Hotch walked into the bullpen with a file in hand, Rossi in tow, and Garcia trailing closely behind. “We have a case.”

The rest of the team headed to the conference room, but Rossi walked to his office to deliver the news to you that pasta might not be happening that night.

---

“You’re sure this is okay with you?” Your dad asked. “I don't want this to be la goccia che ha fatto traboccare il vaso-”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “I'm sure. Pasta can happen another night. Stopping a serial killer cannot.”

The team filed out of the conference room- the case was an emergency one, which meant the full briefing would be done on the jet, but they couldn’t help overhear the conversation you were having with your father.

“Ti voglio bene, papa.” You wrapped him in a hug.

He returned it, holding you tight. “Ti voglio bene, mio passerotta.”

You had to pry yourself out of your father’s arms to get him to let go. With a kiss on the forehead and a reminder not to drink his expensive wine, he sent you on your way home and went into his office to pack up his briefcase.

“Rossi has a daughter?” Emily smiled a bit and looked around at Morgan, Reid, JJ, and Garcia in confusion. “Did any of you know?”

“I had no idea,” JJ said as she and the rest of the team watched you leave.

“What’s everyone looking at?” Hotch said from behind them as he exited his office. They all startled at their boss’s sudden appearance.

“Rossi’s daughter that none of us knew existed,” Garcia admitted, still surprised.

“Oh yes, that’s (Y/N),” Hotch said. “She’s been studying abroad but decided to spend this summer with Dave instead of her mother.”

“Which wife?” Morgan joked.

“Actually, her mother is a close friend from college.” Rossi said. Once again, the team jumped in surprise. “We both wanted a kid, but she didn’t want to deal with too many lawyers and I didn’t want to deal with someone not understanding that I have an inflexible job. It worked out for both of us. Now if we’re done talking about my personal life, I think we have a murderer to catch.”

Rossi and Hotch walked out of the bullpen, leaving the team to stand around awkwardly for just a moment before remembering they had a flight to catch.

---

The case was fast and successful, but after being awake for nearly 24 hours straight most of the team was asleep- all except for Reid and Prentiss who were playing chess in the most quiet corner of the jet.

“How’d you know she was his daughter?” Reid asked as he moved his queen.

“It was a pretty easy inference,” said Emily as she calculated her next move, carefully watching how Reid had strategically placed his knights. She captured one. “She called him papa. I figured she had to be his daughter.”

“What does it mean?” Reid moved a bishop forward.

“What does what mean?” Emily moved one of her pieces without thinking.

Reid captured a pawn in her confusion. “He called her mio passerotta. You smiled when he said her nickname. What does it mean?”

Emily’s mouth twitched slightly up at one corner and moved a rook before leaning back in her seat. “My sparrow,” she said, a melancholy tone to her voice. “Mio passerotta means ‘my sparrow.’”

Reid looked down, a small smile gracing his face before going back to the board and putting Emily’s king in check with a move his mentor had used against him many years before.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #david rossi #rossi x daughter!reader #rossi x child!reader #david rossi x daughter!reader #david rossi x child!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x platonic!reader #criminal minds x teen!reader #criminal minds x daughter!reader #criminal minds x child!reader

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imninahchan · 4 months

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Nina, você pode fazer um hc do Mingyu do Seventeen sendo o namoradinho que te ajuda nos exercícios da academia e fica nervosinho quando vê outros homens olhando pra você fazendo um exercício que envolve agachamento

eu tentei mas não consigo não imaginar o MINGYU como o rodrigo goes, literalmente a mesma energia de service top bobinho;

é muito paciente pra te ensinar a mexer nos equipamentos, fazendo demonstração e tudo. Fica ali do seu lado, dando apoio moral uau look at herrr, te enchendo de parabéns quando faz tudo direitinho;

vira a personalidade dele ser seu personal trainer, dando dicas de alimentação, de tipo de tecido pras roupas, do que levar na bolsa, te coloca por dentro do esquema da academia, de quem frequenta;

vai tirar fotinhas contigo na frente do espelho no final do dia, mostrando os músculos e vai postar uma legenda tipo que orgulho da minha princesa tá ficando grandona grande amor;

sente o sangue fervendo nas veias quando nota os olhares dos caras pra ti em certos exercícios. Vai se posicionar na sua frente, como se te tampasse da atenção indesejada. Se algum filho da mãe ainda for mais abusado, não evita se aproximar do puto pra soltar um fica na tua cara que eu não quero problema, mas também não vou negar se tu me arrumar um.

#imninahchan #headcanon #seventeen headcanons #seventeen mingyu #mingyu headcanons #mingyu #headcannon

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fantaquedesenha · 4 months

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"Look kid, everyone wants to believe they're chosen, but if we all waited around for a profecy to make us special we'd die waiting. That's why you need to choose yourself!"

Esta, na verdade, é uma fanart antiga, de um dos muitos dias em que eu perdi o timing certo pra postar ou só achei que não era bom o suficiente. Mas estou tentando me dar mais chances agora. Eu escolhi acreditar e ser mais gentil comigo mesma esse ano💜

(só o que eu fiz hoje foi consertar um brilho da porta e assinar kkkkk)

Feliz aniversário de 4 anos de estréia A Casa da Coruja🥳🦉🐍🏳️‍🌈

This is actually an old fanart, from one of those days I lost the timing to post it or just thought it wasn't good enough.

But I'm trying to give myself more chances now. I chose to believe and be more kind to myself this year💜

(All I did today was fix the glimmer on the door and put my signature haha)

So happy 4th debut anniversary The Owl House 🥳🦉🐍🏳️‍🌈

#digital art #ilustração #digital illustration #artoftheday #ilustraçaodigital #fanart #lgbt fiction #brart #brartist #the owl house #luz noceda #luz noceda toh #toh #toh fanart #dana terrace

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canalmasculino · 2 years

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O Look Certo: Com Uma Combinação de Cores Interessante

Tão importante quanto observar novas combinações de roupas que possam nos inspirar no dia a dia é entender a montagem de algumas paletas de cores que podem ser utilizadas em nosso repertório. O look acima apresenta uma escolha de matizes bem interessante, não se trata de nada absurdo, mas também não é o arroz-com-feijão que vemos o tempo todo nas fotos das redes sociais. Por que funciona? A…

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#Bomber Jacket #Calças #Casual #Chinos #Combinações #Cores #Esportivo #Jaquetas #Look Certo #Moda Masculina #Pólos #Tênis

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sara-saragej · 8 months

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Quando la casa dei nonni si chiude 💔...

“Uno dei momenti più tristi della nostra vita é quando la porta della casa dei nonni si chiude per sempre. Una volta chiusa quella porta non ci saranno più i pomeriggi felici con zii, cugini, nipoti, genitori fratelli e sorelle. Ve lo ricordate?

Non era necessario andare al ristorante la domenica. Si andava a casa dei nonni. A Natale la nonna bucava l’ozono con le sue fritture mentre il nonno si dedicava all’arrosto facendo puntualmente bruciare la canna fumaria. La tavola era lunghissima e veniva apparecchiata nella stanza più grande. Adesso la casa è chiusa ed è rimasta soltanto la polvere. Un cartello vendesi. Nessuno la vuole quella casa.

È vecchia. Va ristrutturata. Costa troppo. Cazzo ne sapete di quanto vale la casa dei nonni. La casa dei nonni non ha un valore. E così passano gli anni. Non ci sono più regali da scartare. Frittate da mangiare. Verdure da pulire. Quando la casa dei nonni si chiude ci ritroviamo adulti senza capire quando abbiamo smesso di essere bambini. Certo per i nonni saremo sempre piccoli e indifesi. Sempre. I nonni avevano sempre il caffè pronto. La pasta. Il vino. Le caramelle..

Poi finisce tutto. Non ci sono più le canzoni. Non si fa più la pasta fatta in casa..... Siete andati via troppo presto porca miseria. Io volevo fare la salsa ancora una volta. Il mirto. Le chiacchiere. E il liquore all’alloro. Io volevo ancora accatastare la legna con te nonno, anzi grazie per avermelo insegnato. E grazie per gli insegnamenti sulla vita. E sulla campagna. E sul giardinaggio. Ora quando passo guardo quella casa e mi viene sempre l’abitudine di parcheggiare. E di buttare giù il campanello. E di sentire la nonna gridare che porco giuda non sono modi quelli.

Scusa nonna. Non suonerò più il campanello. Al massimo quando mi capiterà di pensarvi di nuovo, come ora, canterò una canzone. Quella preferita dal nonno. Un amore così grande.

- Antonio Cotardo

When the grandparents 'house closes💔

“One of the saddest moments in our lives is when the door to our grandparents' house closes forever. Once that door closes there will be no more happy afternoons with uncles, cousins, nephews, parents, brothers and sisters. Do you remember it? There was no need to go to a restaurant on Sunday. We went to the grandparents' house. At Christmas, the grandmother pierced the ozone layer with her fried food while the grandfather dedicated himself to the roast by punctually burning the flue. The table was very long and was set in the largest room. Now the house is closed and only the dust is left. A for sale sign. Nobody wants that house. Is old. It needs to be refurbished. Costs too much. Fuck do you know what the grandparents' house is worth. Grandparents' house has no value. And so the years go by. There are no more presents to unwrap.

Omelettes to eat. Vegetables to clean. When the grandparents' house closes, we find ourselves adults without understanding when we stopped being children. Of course, for our grandparents we will always be small and helpless. Always. Grandparents always had coffee ready. The pasta. The wine. The candies.. Then it's all over. There are no more songs. Homemade pasta is no longer made..... You left too soon damn it. I wanted to make the sauce one more time. The myrtle. The chatter. And the laurel liqueur. I still wanted to stack wood with you grandpa, actually thanks for teaching me. And thanks for the teachings about life. And about the countryside. And about gardening. Now when I pass I look at that house and I always get used to parking. And to knock down the bell. And to hear the grandmother shouting that pig Judas are not those ways. Sorry grandma. I won't ring the bell again. At the latest when I think of you again, like now, I'll sing a song. Grandpa's favorite. Such a big love.

- Antonio Cotardo

Dolce ☕ Pomeriggio🌹

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rosewaterandivy · 6 months

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Epilogue | for once in my life

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

W.C: 5.7k

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, yearning, Tuscan summers, a flashback or two, a wedding, and my usual filth™️

A/N: Thanks for bearing with me while I worked on an ending for our two beloved idiots. 🥺 Truthfully, part of me put off writing the epilogue simply because I didn’t want to let Trouble and Steve go— they’re so near and dear to me! But, all good things must come to an end and I hope I’ve given them a fitting one. Thank you all for reading along and sharing your joy with me, it’s been incredible to experience! 💜💜💜

Series masterlist | Series Playlist | trouble will find me (for Trouble, most ardently) | rebel without a clue (for Steve, with love)

The distance was difficult, only mitigated by the positively unreal Tuscan summer. Though the university was in Bologna in the Emilia-Romagna region, since your classes centered on Dante, you along with a few other students, called Florence your home away from home for the summer.

The sun shone bright and hot against the ancient stones of Palazzo Medici Riccardi, and felt good against your back as you lazed in the garden and courtyard on a rare day off from combing through medieval texts in jam-packed libraries and dust motes floating through the air.

Crossing the bustling street you popped into your local gelateria only to be greeted with an exuberant, “Bella!” from Alessandro behind the counter. “Finally you grace us with your presence,” He teases, already scooping out a serving of arancia rossa sorbetto for you into a cup.

“Grazie,” You say with a smile, taking the sorbetto from his outstretched hand. “Had a slow start to the morning is all, Sandro.”

“Certo, I know how it is,” He says with a knowing wink.

To be fair, the slow start to the day was warranted, given the stress-induced dream you had last night. There you were, minding your own business, thinking about Steve and the voice note he’d left you earlier, and the next thing you know, your brain decided a trip down memory lane was warranted.

“But what do I do about the dress?” Your voice is choked, tongue stumbling over the words.

It hangs in your closet, mocking you. A pink dust bag with an elegant calligraphy card that lists your former wedding date and ex-fiancé’s last name. Robin’s fingers graze the zipper on the garment bag, fingers slowly settling along the pull.

“You could try it on?”

She says it as if she wishes she didn’t have to, as if the next time you would put on the wedding dress would be for the alteration appointment which you had already canceled, along with everything else.

Truthfully, the day you found the dress wasn’t at all what you expected it to be. Sure, you’d looked around online and at a few boutiques with Nancy, Robin, your mother, and would-be mother-in-law. Nothing struck your fancy though, each dress you slipped on had something wrong with it— too tight, too loose, too many embellishments, not enough embellishments, too heavy...

It was Steve who suggested the boutique, actually. One of his mother’s friends had a daughter who’d gotten her dress from a place in Indianapolis and said the service and selection were both top-notch. So you went and made a day trip out of it; Eddie and Steve would drop you and the girls off at the boutique and hang out in the city for the day.

Though, they really did try to weasel their way in to the appointment.

“The fact that you won’t let us join you is misandry.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. “No, it isn’t, Eds!”

“Okay,” he relents, turning around to face you in the backseat, “Maybe not misandry, but definitely discriminatory. Dudes just wanna have fun!”

Steve laughs, pulling up in front of the boutique, waves to your mother who’s waiting on the sidewalk. “Y’never know,” he teases, “Could need a second opinion in there. Especially once they open the champagne.”

Eddie squawks at that, “You get to try on dresses and drink booze? I’m offended I’ve been left out here.”

Robin opens the backdoor with a roll of her eyes, “No boys allowed, dingus.”

You follow suit, giving Steve a small smile, “Thanks for driving us.”

His gaze softens, eyes meeting yours, “Happy to help. Now, go find a stunner in there for us, will ya?”

With a shake of your head, you bring yourself back to the moment. Sitting on the floor of your former home, moving boxes and tape littering the floor ready for you to pack up the pieces of your life. You look to Robin again, she’s unzipped the garment bag entirely revealing the bodice and skirt of the gown.

She watches you thoughtfully, “I mean, just to see if you still like it? That way we’ll know if we need to pack it or sell it.”

Sighing, you wipe your damp palms against your thighs and stand up. “Yeah,” you breathe, “Okay.”

Between the two of you, you managed to wrestle into the dress. Robin securing the delicate straps as you adjust the cups and situate yourself. The door creaks open to reveal Nancy, her eyes bright with interest.

Robin gives up with her attempts to fix the zipper and numerous buttons on the back, steps aside for Nancy to intervene.

“You’re gorgeous, babe,” Robin says, voice soft. “It looks amazing on you! Same as the day we found it.”

“It’s one hell of a dress.” Nancy agrees, the zipper pull sliding home. “No one would say no to you in that.”

Your laugh comes out as a choked thing, wet and raspy. You wipe your eyes in an effort to prevent any tears from falling. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He didn’t even have to see the dress to know that he no longer wanted you.

“Thanks, guys.”

Feeling brave enough to look at the mirror, you pause in perusal. And sure enough, it’s a stunner. Delicate lace embellished the corseted bodice, waist nipped just enough to amplify the bust. The skirt flowed down in layers of silk and tulle, the lace accenting the frothy peaks and valleys of it.

Turning, you noticed the low-dip of the back, highlighted by the beginnings of the train. It was a gown meant for a cathedral wedding, a long aisle as you walked toward the altar. A beautiful wedding dress for a wedding that no longer was.

It was getting difficult to justify keeping it.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, bursting into the room slack-jawed, “Your tits look great!”

Robin smacks him, “No boys allowed, dingus!”

“Yeah, Eddie, don’t you know what a closed door means?”

He grins, “I think we know by now that, no, I clearly do not.”

Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, you turn to Nancy eyes wide. “Nance, the door–”

She shuts it quickly, keeping a hand on the knob. Robin and Eddie stop their bickering long enough to share a meaningful glance. You fist the full of the skirt in both hands and motion for Robin’s help in getting the dress off.

“Uh.” Steve says, voice muffled through the closed door, “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing!” You’re quick to respond, trying and failing to keep the panic from your voice, “Just packing up some stuff.”

“Riiiight.” He drawls, “Then do I hear Eddie in there talking about tits?”

“Hey man,” Eddie says in his own defense. “I just wandered in here, I know nothing.”

“And why is the door locked?”

Nance’s eyes go to the doorknob as it jiggles in her hand. “We’re trying to figure out what to do with the dress,” she says in a breathless rush.

If looks could kill, Nancy would have dropped to the floor. You narrow your eyes at her and turn with a huff.

“What dress— t-the wedding dress?”

“Yes, Steve.” Robin sighs. “That’s the one.”

The doorknob swivels again, “C’mon, just open the door guys. Eddie’s seen it and I am officially the only one who hasn’t.”

“No!” You shout.

Everyone stops to look at you, eyes wide.

“I mean,” you sputter indignantly, stepping out of the dress and throwing on your overly large t-shirt. “S’not a big deal, I’ll probably sell it, anyway.”

Robin and Eddie maneuver it back into the garment bag with a zip just as Nancy steps away from the door, gaze soft taking in your drawn face.

Steve stumbles in soon after to find you, pants-less, the hem on your shirt grazing your bare thighs, furiously taping boxes closed and scribbling in sharpie.

“Nothing to see here!” You say, stumbling into your bike shorts, tugging them back up. “No siree, nothing at all.”

His chest falls slightly, looking from you to the pink garment bag and back again. Robin catches the minute change in his expression before he’s picking up a box and carrying it out into the hall, not a word to be said about the dress.

And all that runs through your mind is a frantic buzz of ‘It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress.’ Never mind that you were no longer a bride and Steve was never your intended groom. Any rational know-how kicked from your thoughts in an echo of your hammering heart.

Why your exhausted brain conjured up that particular episode, you had no idea. The instance was promptly forgotten, the dress stored at your parent’s place, and Steve never brought it up again.

Thank God for that.

Maybe it was because of Nancy and Jonathan’s looming nuptials. He’d popped the question not long after Nance moved in, and it had been full-steam ahead since March. The ceremony was to happen at the end of summer, just as your intensive was wrapping up.

She’d nearly had a coronary when you’d expressed your doubts about being able to attend.

“I’m not getting married without you Trouble, so sweet-talk those profs into letting you sit your exams early and get the fuck back home.” She sighs down the line, “There’s only so much of moping Steve we can take— Eddie is about ready to strangle him.”

You huff a laugh, “Yeah, I’m surprised he’s held out this long.”

“Yeah, she agrees dryly, "We all know you two'll take any excuse to get Steve in a headlock.”

“I don’t need an excuse,” You scoff. “That punk needs to be put in his place.”

You’d taken up Nance on her no-nonsense advice and your professors had graciously allowed you to submit your final papers early in order to make the wedding. Unfortunately, you’d miss out on a few of the celebrations like the bridal shower, bachelorette party, and rehearsal dinner— your flight would be landing just as the festivities began— but, Nancy and Jonathan had agreed to help you surprise the gang.

For all Robin, Eddie, and Steve knew there was absolutely, positively no way you could get out of your scheduled final exams. It sucked, as Robin rightfully pointed out, that you’d have to miss your best friend’s wedding but they all understood.

Steve was more hangdog about it than ever.

“Thanks Sandro,” You call out, plastic spoon in your mouth as you quickly step out the door, leaving a €5 note on the counter before he could stop you with a, “Your money is no good here, bella!”

Your phone buzzes in your bag, ducking under an awning your scramble through your well-worn tote bag to find it, throwing your sunglasses on in the process.

“Hey Fratty light,” You greet with a smile, spooning another cool helping of blood orange flavored ice into your mouth. “Do any good keg stands lately?”

Steve’s laugh nearly eclipses the warmth of the sun on your skin, a surge of heat building low in your stomach.

“At least I didn’t fall off the keg.”

“That was one time!” You scoff, jogging across the street before an aggressive Vespa can mow you down. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you give the driver the ombrello gesture and shout, “Vaffanculo!”

He chuckles at your outburst, “Tell ‘em babe!”

“I’ll have you know, I stuck that landing Harrington and, it was quite the crowd-pleaser if I recall.”

“Sure Trouble,” You can nearly hear the eye roll at your expense, “It was the landing and not the fact that you were wearing those panties.”

The fact that he remembered the pair in question has you reeling, you nearly run into a fellow pedestrian in your dazed state.

“Anyway,” You say, cleaning your throat. “What’s on the sad boy agenda for today? Getting into divorced dad rock, any Matchbox-20 or Creed in your future?”

“God, you’re awful, and no, thanks very much.”

You hear a door slam and a car engine turn over. Someone muttering about Steve’s ‘utter lack of taste’ in music— Eddie, without a doubt.

He sighs down the line, pulling on your heartstrings because you miss them all so damn much, but Steve most of all.

“Just helping with some wedding stuff.” His voice is softer, sadder knowing you won’t be there to celebrate with them. “Boring shit, you know.”

You hum in agreement, “Well I’ll let you get to it. Don’t let Eddie flirt with too many bridesmaids!”

“You got it, chief,” Steve says, “Take care of yourself babe.”

“You too, big boy.” A huff of laughter at hearing his scoff, “Byyyeeee.”

And maybe it happens like Nance said it would, things just fall into place when they’re meant to.

After a flight from hell— a toddler would not, for love or money, stop kicking the back of your seat on the evening flight from Milan to Berlin, and you were stuck in the backmost row from Berlin to Indianapolis on the red-eye. It was a miracle you rolled up to your parents' house in one piece. You’d arrive at the venue to get ready with the rest of the bridal party where you’d hopefully be able to keep Robin sworn to secrecy.

You weren’t above putting her into a headlock, if it came down to it.

Dress, shoes, and make-up bag hastily thrown in your mom’s car, you drove to the venue just outside of Hawkins. A lovely little outdoor property owned by a local family, groves of trees and the finest collection of wildflowers you’d ever seen— fitting for Nancy and Jonathan.

You arrive in a slightly mussed frenzy, arms weighed down with your bridesmaid dress and a weekend bag that did fuck-all to protect you from the sudden onslaught of summer rain. Cursing the permeability of Indiana summers, you walk swiftly toward the bridal cottage.

The squelch of your shoes and drops of rain accompany you across the tiled path. Breathe. A steady inhale pulls the comforting scent of petrichor to your lungs, tucked safely behind the cage of your ribs. A shift in the light, a cloud makes way for the sun to shine once more; you scramble for the club masters perched on your head, impossibly tangled (of course) in a damp nest of hair.

Pried free, you rest the glasses against your nose bridge and stroll to the door. Before you can wrestle a hand free to knock, the door swings open to reveal a tipsy Vickie and bemused Nancy. A smirk settles on your lips as the two shuffle you into the cottage, tutting at the state of your hair and general tardiness.

“It is a wedding y’know,” Vickie teases grabbing the canvas bag from you. “Could make an effort to be on time.” She drops a wink your way before absconding toward the vanity table to deliver your belongings elsewhere.

Nancy huffs and rolls her eyes, taking the dresses from your arm. “Ignore her,” she soothes, “Seems the title of temporary co-M.O.H. has gone straight to her head.” She shoves a flute of champagne into your empty hand and leads you inside. “But you’re here, so the title can rightfully fall to you.”

“And how is the blushing bride?” You smile, taking in her cool, calm demeanor.

She’s notoriously hard to ruffle, so you’re not surprised to find Nancy the same as ever, albeit a tad buzzed from the champagne.

“Fuck a duck!” Robin shouts, colliding with part of the doorway as she takes the corner to quickly in her haste to get to you, having heard your voice from down the hall. She trips falling into you in a quasi-hug that’s mostly all elbows jabbed into your ribs.

“Walk with dignity, you overgrown toddler,” You laugh sipping some champagne, wrapping your arm around her in a proper hug. She buries her face into your neck with a smile. “And before you even ask, no you cannot, under any circumstance, tell your emotional support Steve about this.”

You feel her frown before she pulls back from you, “I can keep a secret y’know.”

“I don’t doubt it Bucks, just wanna surprise him is all.”

“He has no idea? Oh shit, this is gonna be good.” She says with a cackle before trotting off to help Vickie with her dress.

“Alright Wheels,” You announce polishing off your flute of champagne, “Let me at it, where’s the hairspray?”

After furious coating of L’Oreal’s finest to her hair after you’d secured a few flowers in place, you cough in a haze of hairspray and sagely advise, “That’s good for three slow dances, two fast ones, and one Lambada…” You warn, capping the canister to set it aside. “But if you wanna mosh, I’d suggest another coat.”

Nancy laughs at the suggestion, “I think we’re good.” She checks your handiwork in the mirror with a smile, “Can I ask you something Trouble?”

“Shoot.”

She turns to face you and lowers her voice to a whisper while the other bridesmaids are busy with false eyelashes and zipping up dresses. “Have you given any thought to what I said back in May?”

Ah, that conversation. The one where she (lovingly) warned you off of Steve if you weren’t certain about your feelings for him. Your big, overwhelming feelings. As if you could forget them, even thousands of miles away.

“You know,” You begin, voice pitched to meet hers, “I had a bit of time to think over the summer, no distractions, just me and the Tuscan sun.”

She stands to slip into her dress and you follow to assist— it’s a beautiful number, all minimal sleek lines and fitted to her like a glove. Nancy is gorgeous, but Nancy on her wedding day is otherworldly. She dutifully turns for you to button up the back and arrange the train for photos.

“And?”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, hers curious but not prying, yours wide, reeling from it all— the pro/con lists, numerous conversations with your mom, Eddie, and Nance, the letters, emails, voice notes, calls and texts from Steve. Somehow, some way they all amounted to this:

“You remember my twenty-first birthday?”

“How could I forget,” She chuckles knowingly, “Spin the bottle, right?”

A nod, you busy yourself smoothing out the few lines in the silhouette of the dress. “And a bit of liquid courage.”

There is no good reason why the eight of you should be doing this. Back at the loft after a night of carousing and bar-hopping, imbibed enough complimentary birthday drinks that spin the bottle seemed like a good idea. Even if the bottle in question is some ridiculously expensive high-roller shit swiped from Mr. Harrington’s study.

You’re warm, leaning on Eddie’s shoulder and whispering in his ear— goading him about kissing someone. Steve hopes it’s not you.

The glass mouth of the bottle spins to a stop in front of Jonathan who groans loudly before clambering over the whoops and hollers.

“Lay it on ‘im Munson!”

You tip backwards and shriek in glee when their lips touch. Eddie returns to your side with a roll of his eyes, pokes your knee with his finger. “Pucker up, buttercup. You’re next.”

Argyle cracks his knuckles, taps his chin thoughtfully, “Alright chica.” He says, “Hope you get Nance or Vic. Make it nice and steamy up in here.”

Steve hopes it’s him and not Nancy, selfishly. The rest of them be damned, if the bottle lands on him he’s going to frog-leap over Eddie, shove him to the side and kiss you good. If it lands on anyone else, he may get arrested for murder tonight.

There’s really no excuse for it— the longing. Best friends since childhood who drifted apart because, as always, he was a dumbass. Kissed you all of one time after the Homecoming dance freshman year and that was barely a peck.

The bottle lands on Vickie.

Slightly tipsy and putting on a show, you bite your bottom lip and lean in, slanting your mouth over hers with a soft sigh. The sound sinks into Steve’s gut and he groans in agony— jealous you’d rather kiss his ex or the redhead rather than him. Nevermind that the bottle was nowhere near landing on him.

“Keep it PG, ladies!” Robin calls, “This is taking way too long!”

“Bucks, shut up. I’m trying to take a video.” Nancy slaps the phone from Eddie’s hand.

Having had enough of it all, Steve stands. “Not that this isn’t how I want to spend my night…” he mumbles, hands patting his thighs. “But I’m peacing out.”

You look up, distracted, and bottom lip a little wet from Vickie, eyes hazy from the long night of celebrating, and quirk your head. “You leavin’, Stevie? Wan’ me to walk you?”

“What— like he’s gonna get lost from here to his room?”

Steve is going to get arrested tonight for murdering Eddie. Tries to keep his cool, regardless.

“S’okay birthday girl, I’ll be fine. You have fun.”

You hop up anyway, a bit blundering in your step, and grab his hand to yank him forward. “C’mon… I gotcha.” Fortified with liquor, you tug him along, turning a corner and chattering about how as much as you appreciate that expensive whiskey, you’d rather have a beer. There’s nothing better than some pretzels, beer, and a movie.

“Oh, uh, s-sorry.” Your hand loosens before you pull it away, self-consciously.

“For what?”

“I know we haven’t been, like, close for a while now. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Oh. The realization dawns on him now, like a crash of lightning— you think he’s guarded… but he’s only been reserved for your sake.

He calls your name, followed by a murmured, “C’mere for a second.”

You lean against his bedroom door, dazed but curious. Steve steps forward until you’re nearly chest to chest, back against the wood. Your mouth opens with a nearly inaudible gasp, but he can see your pulse kick up in your throat. “Yeah?”

"You remember our first kiss?" He waits for you to nod before continuing. "I think I owe you a do-over."

Confusion flits across your face, a solitary brow quirked up in interest. "You wanna mulligan my first kiss, like... seven years after the fact?"

He ducks his chin in embarrassment, skin flushing with heat. "Yeah, I mean, if you're open to it?" He scratches the back of his neck and mumbles, "I just think you deserve better."

You bite your lip in thought, and Steve wants nothing more than to shrivel up and die— but then, you nod, and before he can think better of it, he takes his chance.

Purposefully, Steve tilts your face up fingers, trailing along your chin and jaw, thumbing the full of your bottom lip. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, all whooshes and erratic beats, almost enough to drown out the words that fall from his lips.

And then, the perfect genius that is Steve Harrington leans down to close the distance between you. Satisfied that your face is tilted just so, his hand sweeps back your hair to cradle your head as his lips descend to yours.

He kisses you like he’s got all the time in world— like it isn’t past three in the morning and you’re about a minute from slipping under. He kisses lazy, slow, and sublime. Presses you closer to him, an arm winding around your waist to pull you from the wall. More, kissing—tongues and lips and teeth— more of that touch you’ve only dreamed about and you want to kick yourself for missing it, for even daring to fantasize when the real thing is so much more.

Your palms are on his chest, pawing at him for leverage, struggling to refrain from bucking your hips up into him like you so desperately want to do. Steve pulls back with a contented sigh, and you’re surprised there isn’t a string of saliva strung between the pair of your for all the swapping spit that just occurred. There’s nothing but you and him. His gaze, so tentative and sweet, meets yours briefly as he stands back hands shoved quickly into his pockets.

“I meant something like that.”

Your mouth tugs at a corner, as if you could laugh or cry. Or smile.

Steve lets out a breathy chuckle, brandishes a small, hopeful smile, and runs a hand through his hair.

You nod. And it’s enough.

“I–I think I’ve known for a while.” You admit sheepishly, looking for any last-minute adjustments that need to be made before the precessional. One hand grasping her train, you follow Nancy toward the door. Taking a shaky breath in, you say, "Guess some part of me has been in love with him since I fell off the fence and into his backyard that first summer."

She stops short and turns back to you elated because she knows the story all too well. Steve doesn't get drunk enough to talk about it often–- the man has a wooden leg, hand to god. But once in a blue moon, it'll happen: how the new neighbor's daughter nearly busted her ass sneaking back home way after her curfew, too buzzed on shitty wine coolers and reeking of weed to realize that she'd fallen on the wrong side of the fence.

Hastily, Robin thrusts a bouquet of flowers into Nancy’s hand. Just before the band starts up, Nancy gives your hand a squeeze and advises, “Sometimes what’s meant for you comes back, Trouble. Don’t let it slip by, okay?”

Steve is just looking to survive the day, he’ll be grateful to get through, honestly.

He was beyond bummed you couldn’t be there for Nance’s wedding and that he’d be sitting with her cousin instead— she’d talked his ear off during the rehearsal dinner last night about her current rewatch of Sex and The City. He’d never been so relieved to be pulled into bridal party duties by Eddie than he was that night.

And, to top it off, you weren’t answering your phone. Logically, he knew you’d be in exams for most of the day but you normally sent him a text or voice note once you woke up or before you made it to class for the day.

He’s pathetic. Eddie forced him to leave his phone in the groom’s suite and now he feels phantom vibrations from something that isn’t even in his pocket. Heaving a sigh, he lines up ready to escort Vickie and mentally preparing himself for a detailed recounting of the havoc that Samantha’s absence has caused the SATC franchise from the Wheeler cousin.

“You know,” A lazy, familiar voice drawls to his right, “If I was a riptide, I wouldn’t take you out.” An arm loops through his, comfortable and intimate.

But no— it couldn’t possibly be…

“Hey, Harrington.” You say, quietly, knocking your hips to his, casually holding a bouquet in your hand, all easy smiles and warm touches. When Steve finally does turn, he blinks a few times to confirm that you're not some hallucination.

Because you’re here, impossibly, you’re home, and everything is finally right in the world.

You reach over to straighten his tie, the alexandrite ring gleaming on your right hand and catching the light.

“How did you—” He stammers, bereft of language.

But then there’s that smirk he adores. “Some of us are stealthy, y’know. Like a ninja.”

“Oh, fuck me right in the mouth.” He laughs loud and bright, a few people turn back in their chairs to look.

You sputter briefly as the precessional begins, hand lighting on his arm with a gentle squeeze. “Uh, that can certainly be arranged, Harrington.”

In that moment he knew, with a certain sense of finality, that he had no choice but to love you; all his love and, if he’s being honest, fear, reflected there in your eyes.

The ceremony is beautiful, of course, and the reception is now in full swing. The new Mr. and Mrs. Byers shared an adorable first dance to “At Last” by Ella Fitzgerald, which nearly had you tearing up before Steve twirled you out onto the dancefloor.

“Hey, good lookin’,” He says with a smile so sweet, it almost makes you weak in the knees.

It’s a slow song, something to get the couples up and out of their seats. Over his shoulder you spy Robin and Vickie making goony eyes at eachother while Eddie and Argyle stumble around both trying to lead the other— idiots.

“Hi, Steve.” You reply, eyes making their way back to him. “Y’know, they say you should never trust a man who can dance.”

“And why’s that, honey?”

You shrug, “Dunno. Apparently they’re all heartbreakers or something.”

Steve, thanks to his mother’s needling and his father’s need to keep up appearances, could dance. He’d escorted many a debutante, including yourself, during Cotillion. You can still hear Savannah’s nasally “Did you know that five out of six debs marry their escorts?”

But, then again, she was also drinking from the fun flask at the ripe age of sixteen. So, do with that what you will.

He spins you easily, like it’s nothing, and before you know it you’re back in his arms. His brow is furrowed in thought, but what he could possibly be thinking you hadn’t a clue. So you continue to follow his lead across the dance floor and silently thank Mrs. Harrington for forcing you and Steve into those dance classes way back when, even if he stepped on your toes and you retaliated with an accidental elbow to his ribs— knock-kneed teens the pair of you.

So much has changed since then.

The music pauses, as someone announces that the bride will toss the bouquet. You go to find the bar, but Steve promises he’ll come back with a drink for you instead and then Eddie is hustling you toward the crowd of “single ladies.”

“Eds, no.” You attempt to swat him away, but he’s having none of it.

“Far as I know, you and Harrington are fuck buddies. No declarations,” His eyes fall to your left hand, “No ring. Beyoncé would insist, sugar.”

You’ve always had a sixth sense about things. When you were younger, your family and friends often thought it was an ability— but in truth, it’s just a mixture of careful perception, logical thinking, and educated guessing.

But not even your sixth sense could explain how you’d ended up catching the bouquet. Especially with a vodka and tonic in one hand and standing at the rear of the gaggle of gals gathered for the event. Didn’t even want to take part, far more interested in finding the coat check room and seeing how long it would take Steve to blow his load once you finally got your mouth on him.

So it’s a surprise, either luck or Nance’s killer aim, when her bouquet lands in your hand, the ribbon wrapped stems falling neatly into your palm just as you turn to shout something at Eddie behind you. Catching Steve’s knowing smirk and hearing Eddie’s piercing wolf-whistle, you give him an exaggerated wink before tossing back your drink.

It’s not long after that, a few more spins around the dance floor, some cake, and more liquor, tasteful toasts from you and Argyle, fond farewells to the newlyweds and bags thrown into cars for a quick getaway, that Steve tosses you— bouquet in hand, over his shoulder and dips out of there. Ignoring Eddie’s teasing of Irish exits and Irish twins, he sets you on your feet again to lean you against the car and kisses you positively stupid.

But it’s not a surprise when Steve finally asks you the question he’s been dying to for nearly the entire summer on the drive home, Nancy’s bouquet resting against the dash as you toe off your heels.

“Hey mind-reader, how long did it take?”

“Hmm?” Pleasantly sleepy from jet lag, your mind struggles to spark a fuse of comprehension. Steve raises a solitary brow in interest.

"Whaddya mean?" You mumble out between stifled yawns.

His hand rests on your leg while he drives, big and warm, his fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress. Steve, bless him, won't press you on it, but he also wouldn't have asked something so casually for no reason. He's crafty like a fox when he wants to be.

You take a breath and let yourself really think about it. If you’re taking the question seriously, which you damn well should, he deserves an explanation. Hesitantly, you remind Steve of the near fiasco with the wedding dress back at your old place. He nods at your rambling, how guilty and scared you felt at shutting him out.

“So, yeah, between the moving-in playlist and me being bat-shit terrified of you seeing me in a wedding dress,” You summarize, fingers finding their way to his once more. The warm glow of the streetlights cast shafts of light through the windows. “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a window, Steve Harrington," You conclude with a smirk.

His eyes widen in realization, “Oh, so that’s what you were apologizing for before left for Joshua Tree.” An annoyed sigh before a sharp inhale takes its place. “You’re so stupid.”

Back at the loft, fumbling hands in elevators lips spit slick and ruddied, Steve bats away your grabby hands with an exasperated huff as they light upon his chest. Nearly dropping his keys when they find a better way to occupy themselves.

Once inside, he presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collarbones and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs, kicking the door close, and instinctively pulling everything off.

He peels his shirt off and throws it onto the floor while you shimmy out of your dress. His mouth hasn’t left yours for anything other than to breathe.

His hands stop at the curve of your hips. The room is spinning— the entire world moving too fast in a feverish haze. Years of close-quartered friendship and the first intimate touches in months have jumped right into the deep end. You don’t even know when the two of you made way back into his room, but the door clicks shut with a kick from his foot.

“Hey, mind-reader, I got two questions for you,” Steve calls teasingly. “First, how big did you think I was, y'know before? When you accused me of, how did you put it... harboring a fugitive?”

Your brain briefly short-circuits at that, mildly embarrassed. He laughs at your slow, owlish blinks while you formulate a response other than, "Well, I, uh..."

"Okay, okay," He drops a kiss to your brow, soothing your worries away, “Second…”

You gulp. Your legs feel like jelly— all the smart words in the entire world wiped completely from existence. The pause he takes is punishingly long and the grin he gives you nearly makes you faint.

His pants are shucked somewhere near the bedroom door. One of your hands goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

"S'been a while, do you think you can take it?”

“Oh,” A smirk quirks your lips, hand scrabbling for purchase on his tanned skin, “I think you know I can.”

Later, after frenzied forays in tangled sheets and revelling in the afterglow, you place your hand over his chest, selfishly counting his heartbeats.

You breathe, soft and sweet, “Steve,” the sound of your voice a warm balm in the inky dark. “Steve,” You say again and kiss his neck, turning toward you on the rumpled bed he kisses you, as if he could ever get enough.

“I love you.”

He pulls back, just enough so that you wrap your leg around his hips, sheet slipping off as his fingers trail up your thigh. Grazing the tip of his nose ever so lightly against your temple, you feel the rumble of laughter through his chest as it heaves against yours.

Rolls you onto your back, legs falling open to cradle his hips while he holds himself above you, hair falling into his face, “Took you long enough,” he grins, kissing you again. Your cheeks, your jaw, your chin. “I love you too, honey.”

His love is heavy and you delight in the gravity of it as he slips his way back inside, your hands pulling him closer than anyone can ever or will ever get again. It feels fated— the way your body moves and his responds in kind.

Steve only keens your name in reply.

Spun clear out of your body in the haze, pure joy erupts from your mouth, hands scrambling for him, so woozy and giddy you can’t help it.

So this is love, after all.

Finis.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fan fiction #stranger things fan fiction #modern!steve #teacher!steve #the kids aren't alright - rosewateverandivy #Spotify

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portaltothevoid · 5 months

Text

you’re losing me part x — ex!terzo x reader

ao3 link | warnings: angst, tears, mentions of bruises, emotional whiplash, self-translated italian, comfort?, fluff??, my beta reader almost shed actual tears reading this

word count: 7.4k

taglist: @beelzebzb @bitchywitchygardener @calitmediondell @copias-juicebox @copiasprincipessa @da-rulah @deetz-ghuleh @fishwithtitz @ghostfangirlsweden @ivycasket @justa19 @ladyrevealedofcloak @lurancyvenom @sodoswitchimage @water-ghoulette @zombiesnips-blog

a/n: divider by @gothdaddyissues! opted to switch the banner for a mood board this time around… i’m proud of this chapter and how it turned out, so hope you all enjoy the pain and suffering that is this story!

The Satanic Church's current mouthpiece hissed as the fresh ice pack made contact with the bridge of his nose. The coldness, which stung at first, soon became a relief, soothing his red hot bruises. No amount of skull paint could hide the apparent damage that served as a constant reminder of his most recent failure (as if he needed one). “Will that glamor also hide the pain?” Terzo groaned as he sunk back into his arm chair.

A light laugh came from the adjacent kitchen. “No, Papa, I’m afraid it won’t,” said the nurse grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle at the island counter. “Dare I ask what happened? Did someone’s significant other not understand what ‘tending to the flock’ can mean?”

He flipped off the nurse with his free hand. “Fuck off and, no. I just finally got what I deserved.”

The grinding of herbs stopped. “Don’t tell me it was–”

“Sì. She did this to me.”

“How?!”

“Questo non è importante,” he grumbled with a cavalier wave. “It seems I can’t keep my comments to myself. Maybe she is right about me not being able to keep promises…”

“What do you mean?” she asked, resuming her work.

“I tell her I want to– I’m going to change, but then I can never stop myself from saying shit that I know will piss her off.”

A tea kettle started to whistle. The nurse quickly took it off the stove, then poured the near boiling water into a mug. The clinking sound from her stirring filled the vacuum of silence. “The only way to stop yourself from that is to figure out why you keep twisting the knife,” she mused. “What’s the context of what you said?”

He let out a long breath. “I might have, eh… compared myself to her current lover…”

“So it’s jealousy. You’re hurting and so you want her to hurt too.”

“Gelosia… pfft,” he scoffed. “Certo (of course).”

Another silence settled over the room as the nurse finished up with the tincture she was making. After she poured the ground up herbs into a vial of oil and gave it a shake, she turned her attention back to the steeping tea. When the teabag was discarded, she made her way over to Terzo. “Here, you need to drink this. All of it,” she stressed. He grimaced at her, taking it from her hand, sipping it.

“Ugh, cos’è questa merda (what is this shit)?!”

“That shit is to help with the swelling and to make sure this tincture will work in Mexico,” she said as she sat on the couch adjacent to him. “Which you need to take right away in the morning, a few hours before the show, and then right before you go on stage. It’s the only way it’s going to work, because… Papa, with all due respect, you look rough.”

“I don’t want to keep hurting her. I don’t want her to hurt…” he added softly, his voice distant, as he kept cringing with every sip of the tea.

“So let her go.” He froze as he blinked at her, his expression blank. “Admit you don’t have control over the situation anymore, admit the part you’ve played in the situation, and let her go.”

“Let her go?” he repeated.

“Yes. Give her space. She needs it. You need it. If it’s meant to be, she’ll come back around, or you’ll eventually move on.”

He shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes slightly. “No. There’s no moving on from what we had.” He took another sip of the tea, his frown deepened dramatically.

“Well, tell me this, then. Do you want to change for the better for her or for yourself?”

“For her,” he replied almost instantly.

The nurse nodded slowly. “And let’s say she stays with the Cardinal. What good is that going to do you?” His brows furrowed as he pondered her question. “I can tell you now, it’s only gonna backfire on you in the end if that’s your reasoning. You have to want to do it for yourself, because you want to be a better person, period.”

He downed the last of the tea, slamming the cup down like he’d won a chugging contest. “Ugh. I say all of this, but I don’t think I could change if I even wanted to,” he laughed dryly. “I’m too bitter and too spiteful now.”

“Well, with that attitude, no, you certainly won’t change at all. Papa, it’s as easy as knowing you’re about to talk shit, and you choose to keep your mouth shut. I’ve known you long enough that you’re well aware of the times you’re straight up being an asshole.”

“For the love of Lucifer, can someone be gentle with me tonight?” he groaned rhetorically.

The nurse laughed. “You know that’s not my style. Sugarcoating anything just isn’t in my nature.”

“Definitely isn’t in your tea, either.” He couldn’t help cracking a small smile at that.

“Look, for what it’s worth, I can already see a difference in you tonight.” His only response was an inquisitive raise of his eyebrow. “I’ve been here for almost an hour and not once have you even so much as hit on me or flirted with me. You’ve kept your hands to yourself, haven’t made any innuendos, or even backhandedly ask me to sleep with you again. That alone shows me that one, you know you royally fucked up, two, you really are in love with her, and three, which is the most important, you have changed.”

He let her words sink in for a moment. You were the only thing he could think about. Choosing to ignore the fact it took an almost near death experience at your hands to finally get his priorities straight, he knew his nurse was right. If this was just a small step, it was still a step forward.

But he had to let you go. Even if he felt like he was nothing at all without you, if he truly loved you, he didn’t have a choice. The damage he caused, the trust he destroyed, the hurt he bestowed… all were things he couldn’t take back, things that changed you irrevocably. In this moment, he vowed to himself that he would no longer be the cause of your pain if he could avoid it. With all that being said, the aching from the hole in his chest was finally something he couldn’t ignore. This time, he didn’t want to. He wanted to feel this pain; he wanted to sit there in his hurt.

Eventually he pulled his forlorn gaze to meet the nurse’s. He thanked her wordlessly with a sad smile as he leaned forward to give her hand a gentle squeeze. Taking a deep, contemplative breath as he sat back into this chair again, he said regretfully, “It’s not going to matter in the end. I know she will never choose me.”

“You’re what?” you asked incredulously, eyes darting back and forth between the ostensible mother and son.

Copia leaned back against the wall, putting his weight on his hands as he leaned forward slightly. He felt like his legs would give out underneath him at any moment.

Sister Imperator breathed deeply both in preparation to defend herself and in trepidation. “I was a fool in love when I was younger. One of the first times I saw him perform, the way he eyed the girls in the crowd, kissed them…” Her lip curled into a brief snarl at the memory before she continued. “I might as well have meant nothing to him. I saw how he was with his other sons – he wasn’t. I was a fool in thinking I could change him– change Nihil.”

You waited a moment, staring at Copia, waiting for him to say something, say anything, but he just stood there like a deer in headlights. “This isn’t about Nihil’s absentee parenting, it’s about yours! We fucking know what a piece of shit Nihil is– was– ugh! Just because you kept an eye on him all these goddamn years doesn’t mean you didn’t fucking abandon him!” The heat was rising up in your body, your pulse quickened rapidly, as did your breathing. Clenching your fists tight enough to leave little half moon marks in your palm was all you could do to retain any semblance of calm.

“I did what I had to do to protect this Ministry!” she snapped.

“Oh,” you laughed sarcastically as you stood, shaking your head. “Sure, play the messiah card.” Sister Imperator’s eyes shone with a fury of her own. “Do you even know half of what he went through? Of what he goes through here?!”

“There will be a day when you have to make a sacrifice for the greater good of His flock. Mark my words, child,” she seethed as she stood up.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t see how giving up your own child, letting others raise him, while you watch from afar the whole time benefited the flock,” you retorted as you walked right up to her.

“This whole institution would have crumbled under Nihil. If I didn’t do what I did, none of us would be standing where we are today and don’t you dare,” she seethed, leaning forward and pointing her finger at you, “think for a second that I’ve been content with any of this.”

The way her demeanor froze into an ice cold stare made your open mouth clamp shut. You squinted your eyes as your brow creased further in a mixture of shock and anger at a loss for words over this whole revelation. Your heart ached for Copia. You knew how important it is for him to have some alikeness to a familial connection, to feeling like he belonged somewhere, to something. And upon this realization, you could feel yourself twisting the knife in your own heart from what you had just confessed to him, from how deeply you knew you had hurt him; however, the time to dwell on that was nigh.

Even though Copia’s limbic system had been hit with a force akin to something of an eighteen wheeler, he couldn’t help one corner of his mouth from turning upwards just slightly. “They always wondered why I was your favorite, eheh,” he muttered.

Sister Imperator’s eyes went right to him as soon as she heard his voice and immediately, her face softened slightly.

“But why?” you asked breathlessly, almost seeming desperate for an answer.

“Because Nihil was reckless and negligent. If I stayed in the background, I would be able to puppet him and clean up his messes… I could grow and keep whatever semblance of power we gained as an institution. To ensure our success, I made a pact with King Belial – I had to see it through.” Her eyes grew distant for a brief moment, lost in her memories before she pushed them aside. “No one knows the severity of that pact. I’ve never divulged all of the details of it before – to anyone. That was all even before Nihil and I…” she inhaled a ragged breath, “before any ‘feelings’ became involved. I let those feelings come between me and the pact when I became pregnant and Nihil couldn’t turn down any attention given to him. I’d gotten so wrapped up and focused on that, I strayed from the mission I had originally set out on. I ignored King Belial and many of the other Infernals who were reaching out to me. So I had to pay the price. I had to make a choice – motherhood or growing our flock.” Her sigh that followed held the weight of decades of secrecy and regret.

“So I went to the Ministry in Rome, had Copia, left him in the care of the Sisters there, and came back fully prepared to right the wrongs Nihil made while I was absent. Had we gone public, had everyone known that Copia was my son with the influence I had even then, it would have changed the course of everything.” She pursed her lips as she took a moment to ponder her next words.

“Our Papa has always descended from the papa before him. Sometimes the mother was his Prime Mover, sometimes it was just a girl who got lucky…” She shrugged with a slight roll of her eyes to stress that luck was subjective. “Never before, that we are aware of, has a Papa had a child with the Imperator. This is the start of a new bloodline, possibly one even stronger than before. It would have made Copia the next in line to be Papa before even Primo and that alone… The upheaval that would have caused between all the Emerituses. I just– I couldn’t do that to him.” She shook her head like she was trying to wipe these thoughts from her mind. “Not to mention how the controversy from that could have caused so many delays with our advancement. There was still so much that needed to be done within our Church itself before revealing his true lineage could even happen. Many times I went into ceremony, evoking whomever I could to get advice or answers and every single time I was told to wait. My sacrifice of motherhood was for a reason and not just a consequence; it was for the future generations to come. And I never understood exactly what they meant, until now. Until you showed your mark of Lilith, proving that the Prophecy of the Trilogy will come to pass.”

Your mind was flooded with the memory of your first vision at the start of all of this. While you were still incredibly angry for the abandonment Copia had to endure, your face softened as your features fell to display the shock from your realization: you had spoken with King Belial himself. Now it made sense as to why Lucifer sent Belial in his place. This truly was your destiny.

The weight of your impending decision slammed against your chest causing you to intake a silent gasp. Words rang through your mind from that first vision: “The Emeritus clan is trying to take matters into their own hands… Each side is trying to control fate… Sole survivor… The pure Emeritus line must be–” No. This was too much. To have everything come crashing down on you like this, all at once, was suffocating.

And yet, you started to see the choice that Sister Imperator had spoken of having to make, choosing between two things she loved dearly. Unlike her, you had free will, yes, but the path that should be taken was becoming more and more obvious. You didn’t want to think of this right now. You couldn’t. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of these thoughts that had overwhelmed you and tried to remember why you were angry in the first place.

Just one look at Copia righted the course of low simmering rage inside of you. “Aren’t you even the slightest bit pissed off?” you asked him. He blinked at you a couple of times before a scowl pulled at his features.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is my reaction not to your liking? Not all of us go, pew pew pew,” he made finger guns, moving his hands like they were firing off, “guns blazing and shit right away.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is I know you well enough that usually you make some kind of comment or at least those noises you make when you’re caught off guard or– or something!”

“Usually, but this isn’t a usual circumstance, now is it?” You opened your mouth to try and say something, but nothing came out. “Seems like we both don’t know each other as well as we thought we did, eh?”

“The woman who’s like the Wizard of Oz of the whole Satanic Church, granted with actual influence, has lied to you your whole life and kept this giant secret from you. She watched you grow up motherless, struggling, and did nothing. Don’t you think that’s a bit fucked up, no matter whatever reasoning she uses to justify it?”

“Ah, and you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, amore?” The term of endearment he used was anything but endearing as the word left his lips as fast as if it were spoiled milk.

“Excuse me?” you retorted in offense.

“You know all about keeping a giant secret and justifying it however you can to ease your own guilt. You didn’t tell me you fucked your ex. Was it really because you were afraid to hurt me or was it the fact you enjoyed it?” he spat. All at once, everything was catching up with him. He was angry, upset, hurt, betrayed… and the weight of it all was rushing towards him like stampede. His shock had tried to keep him safe, but his anger was winning, leading the charge. Sister Imperator he could understand, that was an old wound. The one you cut into him was fresh and demanded attention.

Sister Imperator awkwardly shuffled and cleared her throat. “I think it’s best if you two work out… what you can now…” she said with a commanding voice as she made her way to leave, stopping in front of Copia to place her hand on his arm. “If it’s alright with you, I’d love to talk about this with you further. Alone,” she emphasized her last word by glancing at you with squinted eyes. Without hesitation he gave her hand a little pat, nodding in agreement.

Your mouth hung open as you watched Sister Imperator stride to the door. She stopped just as her hand wrapped around the door knob. “The ghoul summoning ritual is happening tomorrow no matter what and can be quite taxing… Do try to get some rest.” she said ominously before she finally left.

“Those two things are not even fucking close to being comparable,” you argued as soon as the door latched shut.

“Maybe they’re not. Maybe because what you did to me was worse,” he stated simply, coldly. You were stunned. Even with how heated this conversation was getting, you were frozen in place. The only thing you could do was watch as he turned to go into the bedroom. Tears began to well up in your eyes again out of frustration, anger at yourself, how he so simply admitted how hurt he was, but mostly, because you didn’t realize until now how close you actually were to losing him.

“Tell me what you’re feeling. Please. Please don’t shut me out. Please, just talk to me,” you begged as you trotted behind him. Your voice shook from holding back the floodgates.

He stood still in the doorway, his back was to you, and you were just a couple paces behind him. “If you need to talk, I’m sure there is someone you can find who is more than willing.” Again, you stayed in place, unable to move. You didn’t have time to register the look on his face as he quickly turned and slammed the door in your face.

You couldn’t hear anything except the pounding in your chest. You had to get out of there. On autopilot, your quivering limbs carried you out, still having enough awareness to slam the door to announce your exit. Briskly, you walked. Your goal was to put as much distance between you and those tight living quarters as you could. Where you were going, there was no real destination in mind, but you’d figure it out once you got there.

The hour was late, leaving the halls of the Ministry devoid of the living. As you walked down the main hall, your gait slowed. The frenzied pace at which you started with had eased up considerably. Your guilt and shock trailed behind you like a ball and chain, weighing you down. Nonetheless, you trudged forward, still mulling over your choices of where you would end up.

During your previous relationship, you tried as hard as you could to hold onto the few meaningful friendships you had made. You hadn’t even been here a full year yet before the Satanic Pope became smitten with you. Your friends didn’t really know how to handle your rise in status even with it being as unofficial as it was. Of course, there were still a few who stood by your side, but then as your relationship declined, you grew more and more distant. If you showed up at their door would they even let you in? Especially now after who knows what they heard about you? The risk of rejection wasn’t one you were willing to gamble with. Not now. Not after everything that’s happened. How could they even begin to understand any of this? You couldn’t put them in that uncomfortable position.

And so your feet carried you forward, acting on muscle memory, until you stopped in front of the ornate mahogany door with the ouroboros knocker. Standing in front of it now, it felt vaguely reminiscent of home, even with having to knock. Once you did, you could hear a groan and “Per amore di tutte le cosa empie, làsseme pèrde (for the love of all things unholy, leave me alone)!” on the other side of the door. Again, you moved the ouroboros three times against the door. “Vattene (go away)!” One more time, knock, knock, knock.

The padding of irritated footsteps towards the door left you no time to second guess yourself enough to turn away before the door swung open. “I said go–” You just stood there in your disheveled state, looking up at him and biting your lip to keep the remorse at bay that was threatening to spill from your eyes. The words died in his throat when he saw it was you in front of him.

His hand gripped the door tightly. You could see his shoulders visibly tense. You could see the flash of fear in his eyes, before they became distant, avoidant. You could see how he tilted his head down, so his hair fell over his eyes in an attempt to shield them from you. It was the first time you were able to observe his appearance after what happened, after what you had done to him. Despite the dim light, you could see the swelling, the bruising. Again, muscle memory kicked in when you automatically reached your hand out to brush the hair away from his face. Your lip quivered. He stepped back the instant he noticed your hand move, his knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip on the door.

“I– I just wanted…” you started to speak, but you could feel every two ton brick that had been piled on your shoulders from the day crushing you. Tears slowly trickled down your cheeks as he continued to avoid looking at you. “I don’t know why I even came here,” you said, your voice as shaky as your body felt. Noticing the state of your voice and the trembling hands at your sides, he let his eyes fall upon you. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. I– I’ll g-go.”

He noticed how you bit your lip even harder in an attempt to stop the pent up tears from raining down your face. Just as you were about to turn to leave, you saw him step back, opening the door wider, and holding his hand out, inviting you inside.

“N-no. I should– I shouldn’t be–” you spluttered, stopping only when he held his hand up.

“Come in, cara.” The sadness and regret was radiating off you. Not only could he see it, he could feel it. You wouldn’t have just shown up here, like this, without a reason. The least he could do was humor you and hear your apology (at least he assumed that was the reason why you were standing in front of him now). And at this point, he’d take any time spent with you that he could get no matter the circumstance.

The two of you avoided each other’s eyes as you passed through the threshold. You couldn’t help wringing your hands as you awkwardly shuffled into the quarters you used to call home.

Behind you, you felt the ghost of a touch on the small of your back as if he decided at the last second he shouldn’t have touched you, but it was a millisecond too late. He cleared his throat, “Do… you, uh, want something to drink?”

“Okay,” you answered meekly as he made his way over to the kitchen, grabbing a wine glass for you to join his empty one already set on the island, which you currently stood at, staring down at your hands. It seems you had interrupted him pouring himself a fresh glass of wine. You watched as he inspected the unopened bottle he had left on the counter. He pursed his lips. His dual-toned eyes quickly glancing at you then back at the wine in his hand, debating something for a brief moment, before he ultimately put it back in the wine fridge, taking out a different bottle. Your observation skills were lacking at the moment, frayed from lingering unrest.

When he slid your glass over to you, after aerating it, you hastily brought it to your lips, doing your best not to just down the whole thing right then and there. Was drinking with Terzo right now the wisest choice? Probably not. You knew that. But one, maybe two, couldn’t do much more damage than what had already been done. Besides you were desperate for something, anything to take the edge off.

Truthfully, you didn’t expect to taste it once it hit your lips, but this was a taste you’d recognize anywhere. A few years ago, you weren’t really a wine drinker at all, but being with an Italian, you had ended up finding a favorite. This was a tart and fruity yet warm flavor you were quite familiar with. Your eyes widened as you realized he had switched whatever he originally planned on drinking for your favorite bottle of Amarone that he still had in the wine fridge – something that Copia’s apartment had lacked so you opted to forgo grabbing a bottle (or several) when you moved out. Was this his way of extending an olive branch? Or a sort of bribe to keep you at bay out of a newfound fear of you?

As the two of you set your glasses down, the veil of the awkward silence that surrounded you thickened. Not being able to take it anymore, you blurted out “I’m sorry,” while he said “Mi dispiace,” at the same exact time.

With a shy exchange of fleeting almost smiles, you spoke up before he had a chance. “I’m sorry. I–I can’t– I lose control when the other part of me… takes over.”

He shook his head, his bangs swaying from side to side slightly. “No. You have nothing to be sorry about. Not when you did that– you became that, because of me. If any of us should be sorry, it’s me.”

“No. No, this part of me… I was destined to become whatever it is that I am. That’s no excuse for–” You sighed and scrunched your eyes shut for a moment as you tried to formulate coherent sentences. “Ter, I tried to kill you. It doesn’t matter what triggered that. I…” your magnified shame shrunk your voice. “I almost killed you…” All your pain, your remorse, your guilt was pouring down your face when you forced yourself to look him in the eyes. There was no stopping it now. It was all you could do, even though you hated that you were the one standing there crying. Sucking in a staccatoed breath, you reached for the wine like a lifeline, hoping as you finished it off, it would be the life preserver to save you from drowning.

Terzo said nothing, but you could feel his gaze enveloping you like a fog. You were too lost in your own turmoil to notice how his mouth went slack, hanging open ever so slightly when you used what had become a now retired nickname for him that only you used; he couldn’t remember the last time you had called him ‘Ter.’ Only now, because of the pang in his chest, did he realize how much he did… how much he will miss it.

You, however, took his silence as fear, as proof everything you once had, once shared with him, was gone. Placing your glass down with a quavering hand, you could see the emotional pain he regarded you with. Using the back of your hand, you harshly wiped your tears away. “This was— Thanks for the wine. I— I’m just g-gonna go…” you sniffled as you turned towards the door.

Before you cleared the island, he grabbed your right arm. His grip was just firm enough to stop your momentum, but loose enough that you could leave his hand suspended in the air if exiting was what you truly wanted. “No, amore. I-it’s not your fault,” he uttered in a hushed tone around the lump in his throat.

“But—“ you started to speak, your words asphyxiated by the modest tightening of his fingers around your arm.

He shook his head, his glassy, tear laden eyes begging, screaming for you to stay. “It’s not your fault,” he repeated with more conviction. “It’s mine. Please, I just– I need you to know– Il mio cuore batte solo per te, amata mia. Ti prego, perdonami. Ti sto implorando, perdonami (My heart beats only for you, my beloved. Please, forgive me. I’m begging you, forgive me).”

Tears fell from your eyes like passengers jumping off a sinking ship. They blurred your vision as you finally were able to survey the damage you caused up close. You had heard the words Terzo just said to you. You knew the weight they carried, but looking closely at the marks left on him from your unadulterated rage overrode all of your other thoughts.

You took one step closer as you turned to stand in front of him. Raising your still slightly trembling hand to his face, your fingertips moved the hair away from his eyes so gingerly you barely felt it. His eyes closed as your hand trailed down, millimeters away from his face, not daring to make full contact with his skin.

The skull paint he wore daily was long gone, allowing you to see just how his face had swelled, the splattering of reds, purples, and blues that made up the bruises, and the way his lip had clotted where it had split. Floating its way down, your hand hesitantly landed on his collar bone. At first, you removed it, but when he remained still, you set your hand down again, your thumb scarcely caressing the contusions in the shapes of your fingers on his neck.

When he opened his eyes and his stare pierced yours, you let your sobs ripple through you. “I’m sorry. I’m s-so sorry,” you blubbered.

HIs hands found yours and held onto them assuredly. “Hey, hey, look at me… this is the least I deserve after what I’ve put you through, okay? This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.”

You shook your head. “No. It never had– It never should have gotten this far,” you disagreed. “I could have stopped you. You’re not a monster. I know you aren’t. If I kept fighting, this wouldn’t–”

“The past is over, amore. We can’t–” he inhaled an unsteady breath. “We can’t go back. We can’t turn–”

“Please don’t start singing Cher,” you interrupted, your shoulders rising and falling as you laughed amidst the sadness.

Terzo gasped in mock offense, bringing your joined hands to his chest. “And all this time I thought you loved my sudden musical numbers.”

As quickly as the blanket of sadness was lifted, it draped itself over both of you again, this time, weighted. A heavy silence followed, sucking the nostalgic comradery out of the room like a vacuum. You softly disrupted the crushing silence, “I know we can’t go back, but that doesn’t mean I wish we could…”

The sorrow held in your eyes as you looked up at him chipped away at his already shattered heart. He held your hands tighter in his. Admittedly, he did regard himself as a monster, but your confession offered him a sense of solace at the fact that your harbored feelings weren’t hateful enough to regret him even being in your life.

“What caused… w-why did you come here tonight, tesoro?”

“I had to… He figured out I was in your office when… I told them everything. He knows.”

“I’m not… I can’t– Nothing’s gonna–” he shook his head, letting out a dejected sigh.

“I know,” you whispered reassuringly as you adjusted your hands so your fingers were laced in his. Gratitude and apologies shimmered in the depths of his dichromatic eyes. After you ran your thumb over his knuckles a few times, you gently pulled your hands back. “You know, if I had known all it took to get you to smarten up was almost killing you, I woulda tried that ages ago.” You kept a straight face until you made eye contact with him again and you both erupted into another fit of breathy laughter.

He placed his hands on the sides of your head, tilting it down so he could kiss the top of it. You snaked your arms around his waist, pulling him to you. Nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck, you breathed him in. A fear nestled itself in the very back of your mind that was unsure if you would ever be able to have a moment like this again. You could feel his cheek resting atop your head. A faint, content smile pulled at the corners of his lips. Before you could become too comfortable, and Satan forbid start enjoying the moment too much, you pulled away from the embrace.

“I need more wine,” you chuckled.

“Allow me,” he said as he went around to grab the bottle, pouring two more generous helpings. With a tilt of his head towards the couch, you followed him to the living room area, plopping yourself down on the couch, taking your glass of wine. This time, you savored it.

A few moments passed as you sat next to each other, your legs touching. You had spent so many nights like this after long days. Sometimes watching TV, sometimes listening to music. There was a serene comfort in doing something so nostalgic, so familiar. It was almost enough to start to sway your decision. Almost.

As if he could sense your thoughts, he broke the relaxed silence. “He’s the right choice for you, you know.”

“W-what?”

“Copia. He’s… He’s the one that should be by your side if you’re to… lead the flock to new, soaring heights.” Your only response was to furrow your brows, intrigued, timidly cautious of his statement. “Believe me, I still want you to selfishly pick me – I’d do anything for that – but…” the long breath he let out didn’t even come close to easing the pain he felt inside. “I’ve had my time as Papa. I might have gotten us to some new heights, but I fear my time is up. You need someone strong, dedicated and diligent. I just… What I’m trying to say is I understand the choice you have to make. I understand what’s at stake. I’m not going to interfere anymore. This is your life. Your decision. I’ll stand by you, no matter who you choose.”

“How– what– Where is this coming from?” He was not making your decision any easier, despite the logical choice being crystal clear.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Perhaps the lack of oxygen earlier restored some sense in here,” he answered, tapping his temple.

Playfully and lightheartedly, you rolled your eyes. “Too soon, Ter, too soon,” you chuckled. You stalled by finishing your wine, unsure of what to say next.

When you chewed on your lip, Terzo took initiative to change the subject. “Enough of the heavy, depressing shit, hm?” He tried to change the topic of conversation but came up short.

“Sister Imperator is Copia’s real mother,” you blurted out. Terzo almost choked on his wine. “You cannot act like you know. I’ll have to actually kill you for real if you say anything.”

“Now that was too soon,” he jovially winced, before going back to a shocked expression that faded the more he thought about it. “We always suspected as much. He has always been her favorite,” he shrugged.

“That’s the same thing he said!” you laughed until your expression turned sour. “That’s pretty much the only thing he said about it.”

“Ah, did you expect him to have a reaction?”

“Well, wouldn’t you if you found out your mother was right in front of your face your whole life!?” You turned to look at him and the expression on his face made you recoil. “I— Oh shit. I’m sorry I—“

“It’s alright. I know what you meant. Copia has always been… more reserved. He needs time to think about things. Wait, did he find this out after finding out about… us?”

“Um… maybe… and I might have— So, when I told him, um, what happened, I might have said how I… kind of liked it?”

“You did not.” Terzo laughed when he saw your guilty apologetic smile. “No. That’s not funny. It’s not funny.”

“Look, he knew something was up! There was no point in hiding it anymore. But I wasn’t gonna outright say it, I couldn’t. You know how I am. And I’ve been feeling so guilty, because, fine, okay, so what, it was hot! I mean, then I started rambling and said how it all led to the awakening and how I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t. I really didn’t but…” With a humorless laugh you threw your head back on the couch. “This is all so incredibly fucked up.” You paused for just a moment before you went back into your rant. “No, actually, you know what’s really fucked up? How he compared me hiding the fact we slept together to Sister Imperator hiding the fact that she’s his mother and somehow what I did was worse.”

“Ah, and you don’t see how the two compare.”

“No! You know what he went through growing up and she just sat back and watched.”

“But he’s never had a strong maternal figure. He does, however, have you. Sister Imperator has always been… a figure of authority. He loves you. There’s trust built there. He doesn’t care why you kept it a secret, it’s just the fact that you did. And I bet that whatever he said to you that made you want to leave, he regrets.”

You were positively stunned at the sage words from Terzo. It was nights like this when you first started seeing him that made you fall for him. You two would just be lounging, drinking wine, and then all of a sudden he would say something profound that would shift your perspective. As your mind spiraled into the pros and cons of Copia vs Terzo, you set your empty glass down next to the unfinished bottle of wine and grabbed it, taking a large swig from it. “Satanas, now I know why you’d drink so much,” you commented.

Terzo practically leapt forward to take the bottle out of your grasp, setting it back down on the coffee table. “And I think that’s enough of that.”

“You’re no fun,” you pouted.

“Just talk to him. Apologize. He’ll come around.”

“But I don’t want to go back there right now. I want to stay here. With you.” You punctuated your sentence by nestling into his side, throwing your arm around his waist.

He moved his arm to wrap around your shoulders. “You don’t have to. I don’t want you to leave, not yet.” In response, you just held him tighter.

You stayed like that long enough for your breathing to start to slow, almost drifting off into light sleep. “Hey…” he whispered, gently stirring you awake. “Let’s get some sleep, hm?”

You nodded as you got up and followed him to your formerly shared bed. Being wrapped in the violet satin sheets felt like visiting a past life, one that you didn’t realize just how much you had longed to return to. He draped his arm around your waist as you settled into your side of the bed. “Do you have to go to Mexico tomorrow?” you asked, almost shyly.

“You know I do, tersorino.” You could feel the subtle shake of his chest from his light laughter.

“Hmph, fine,” you grumbled. You rolled over so you could bury your face in his chest. If this was your last night of finding comfort in his arms, you were going to make the most of it. Hearing his steady heartbeat under your ear reminded you of the words he said to you earlier. “Ter?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“Hm?” he hummed in response as he dragged his fingertips gently over your forearm.

Shifting somewhat so you could look at him, even in the darkness, you placed your hand on his cheek. “I forgive you.” He took your hand that was on his cheek, removing it from his face. He placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. “I don’t know how I’ll– I can’t stay away from you,” you confessed.

“You’ll learn, amata mia.”

“But–”

“Shhh. I’m right here. Just sleep,” he reassured you as he ran his fingers through your hair. “You need to rest for the ritual tomorrow.” You nodded and snuggled back up to him again. “Ti amerò per sempre anche dopo il mio ultimo respiro (I will love you forever even after my last breath).”

Terzo could feel the adrenaline pumping through his body as he propelled himself forward. The only thing he could do was run. The thundering of hooves haunting him in the shadows. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder to see just how close his assailant was. The shadows concealed the source of the pounding hooves. He could clearly hear them, he knew whatever was chasing him was close and gaining on him fast.

He could see a clearing up ahead. He didn’t know why, but he knew he just had to make it there. Branches and briars from the forest he ran through scraped and clawed his skin, but he had to keep going.

Somehow he made it to almost the middle of what appeared to be a meadow. He suddenly tripped, his hands catching his fall, but he scrambled to return upright, to keep running. Once on his feet again, he turned and looked. Slowly, emerging from the shadows of the forest was an unmistakable, pale, white horse with red glowing eyes. When he made eye contact with the creature, the one he had been desperately trying to escape, everything stilled.

He couldn’t focus on anything but those red eyes.

“You never want me to appear… yet here I am. Here I have always been.” While the horse’s mouth didn’t move, he knew the beast was speaking directly to him. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

He turned to try and start running again, but as he did, he saw the horse now in front of him. It was charging at him, only this time, he could see the rider. The hood flew off the rider’s head to reveal a woman, her dress and cloak billowing behind her as the horse galloped full speed at him. He was frozen. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move.

Finally he recognized who the rider was. He would know her anywhere. Atop the horse was you. Your hand outstretched as you drew nearer… and nearer…

He tried to turn to run, or duck, or any kind of movement in an attempt to save himself, but he stood in place, glued to the ground beneath his feet.

When your outstretched hand clasped around his throat, Terzo jolted awake, gasping for air. He was panting, as if he really had been running, trying to save himself. He reached his arm out, trying to find your sleeping form next to him, seeking your warmth, your comfort. But all he felt beside him was his cold and empty bed.

part ix | part xi

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