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i-fondued · 1 year

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Ghost | Sinners in Secret - Chapter 11.5

Chapter Eleven and a half - The Dance Incident (the missing smut)

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader/Sister of Sin x Papa “Terzo” Emeritus III

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Plot, smut, etc. See AO3 for full list of tags!

A/N: THIS IS LITERALLY JUST THE MISSING SMUT I DIDN’T GET A CHANCE TO PUT AT THE END OF THE LAST CHAPTER. ONCE I POST CHAPTER 12 I’LL BE ADDING THIS TO THE END OF CHAPTER 11 WHERE ITS SUPPOSED TO BE AHAHA ENJOY~!

Chapter One - HERE

Chapter Two - HERE

Chapter Three - HERE

Chapter Four - HERE

Chapter Five - HERE

Chapter Six - HERE

Chapter Seven - HERE

Chapter Eight - HERE

Chapter Nine - HERE

Chapter Ten - HERE

Chapter Eleven - HERE

AO3 Link - HERE

“Come, Sorella. Show your Papas how good you can be, eh?”

Terzo’s question hung in the heady air like a command, my brain zeroing in on the words and his tone. I was still drunk, wobbling slightly on my feet as their hands wandered against my over sensitive skin. I gasped in short breaths, eyes barely open as I soaked in the feeling of their fingertips ghosting against me, goosebumps breaking out as I shivered against Terzo behind me.

“Eyes on me, Sorella.” Copia's voice was more like a growl as his hand caught my jaw. My eyes opened and locked on his mismatched ones, his brow arched as a thrill ran down my spine. “Good girl.”

“Hm…eri semplicemente bellissima stasera, amore…” Terzo grumbled into my skin, tongue lapping where my pulse pounded in my throat. “The dress was perfetta, no?”

“Si, Papa.” Copia chuckled, taking my hand and tugging me against him. I shivered at the feeling of his leather tailcoat against my skin, cold despite the heat rolling off of Copia himself. “You however have been very naughty tonight, Papa.”

“Me?” Terzo whined behind me, stepping towards us before Copia held up a hand.

“Si, you. We have the council meeting in the morning and you spent the time drinking wine and teasing Sorella here instead of working on the cardinales…” Copia said, voice hard as he gave Terzo my favorite brat tamer expression. A thrill ran up my spine as Copia tugged me against him firmly. “Go sit by the fire, hm?”

“Ma perché?” Terzo wined, pouting as he started to walk over to the chair. “Non so perché devo sempre essere escluso dal divertimento…” I don’t know why I always have to sit out all the fun.

Quicker than I thought he could move, Copia’s hand snagged Terzo by his throat. He tugged him close, eyes narrowed and lips almost brushed against his. I squirmed as I watched them, Terzo panting as Copia manhandled him. The Cardinal’s hand left my jaw to cup Terzo’s cock through his skin tight trousers, the shorter man hissed a breath between his clenched teeth.

“Continua a comportarti male e non ti permetterò di liberarti finché la riunione del consiglio non sarà conclusa e saremo tutti uniti.” Keep misbehaving and I won't let you go free until the board meeting is over and we are all united . He hissed, Terzo moaned quietly, nodding slightly as he rocked slowly into Copia’s hand. “Sarai un bravo ragazzo, siediti e guardami mentre prendo la sorella finché non implorerà il rilascio, capito? Starai seduto lì finché non dirò che puoi muoverti, sì?” You will be a good boy, sit and watch me take Sister till she is begging for release, understand? You will sit there till I say you can move, yes?

Terzo and I both let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the same time, our eyes meeting when our cheeks flushed. Terzo nodded at Copia, mumbling Si, and obediently did as he was told. His back was ramrod straight as he sat practically on the edge of the wingback armchair, turning it from the fire to face the bed. Satisfied with Terzo, Copia turned his attention back to me. His face was smug but his eyes were soft.

“Sorella…” Copia purred, fingers reaching out to caress my cheek. I arched into his touch. “So quickly you have forgotten what I taught you in la Biblioteca…”

“I’m sorry, Cardinal.” I whispered as his other hand gripped my hip possessively.

“Oh, Stellina. You may think you are now but you have not yet begged for forgiveness, no?” He chuckled as he pulled me to the bed. A cold shiver ran down my spine at his words, goosebumps breaking out over my skin.

He turned me in his arms, back against his front as he pushed on my shoulder till I was bent over the bed. I panted as he ran his fingers down my spine till he came to my ass, his hand sliding to grip my hip as he ground his cock against me. He teased his fingers against my quivering thighs, grunting as I rolled my hips back against him. I gasped when his bare hand cracked against my ass, jumping slightly at the impact.

“You will keep count, Sorella. I think twelve will serve for your penance, six for each cheek.” Copia mumbled, leaning over my prone form to speak into my ear. His tongue darted out to flick at my earlobe, I whimpered and squirmed under him. Another spank and I hissed a breath out from behind my teeth, bottom lip caught in between them. “Use your words, Dolcezza…”

“Y-Yes Sir.” I stuttered as he kicked my feet apart gently. I turned my head to look back at Copia and his hand shot out to my hair, tugging and turning me to look right at Terzo.

“Keep your eyes on Papa, Sorella. Questa è la sua punizione.” Copia’s voice was silky and thick with desire, I squirmed and did as I was told, locking eyes with Terzo.

“Yes Sir.”

“Good girl.” There was a thick pause in the air before another crack ran out, Copia soothing the redness as I shook slightly.

“O-one.” I whimpered, arching into his soothing caress. BeforeI could get used to the touch another blow landed. I jumped, hissing out a breath. “Two.”

Crack! “Three.”

Crack! “Four.”

Crack! “F-five!”

Crack! “S-six.” I gasped, tears stinging in the corner of my eyes. Copia’s hand soothed my stinging skin, his whole body pressed against me as he leaned over to press a soft kiss at the point where my neck and shoulder met.

“Halfway done, sei una ragazza così buona e coraggiosa.” Copia’s voice was thick as he purred in my ear, his hand on my lower back rubbing soothing small circles as he spoke to me while giving me a small breather. “Look at your Papa, look at the effect you have on him, Dolcezza. No other has done this before you and no other ever will. You are our gift, amore. Wrapped up and sent by Lucifer himself.”

Terzo was heaving breaths in his chair, lust and wine causing his mismatched eyes to be blown as he watched us. He squirmed as Copia and I looked at him, cheeks red as he panted. I could see how tight his trousers were from here, my mouth salivating at the idea of his cock in my mouth. Terzo had taken the time to undo his clerical collar and unbutton the first few buttons on his tail coat. He looked wild, white iris seemingly glowing from the other side of the room as I shuddered at the expression on his face.

Copia took a moment to roll his hips against my redded ass cheeks, I hissed as the sting while he groaned in my ear. I felt the feeling of his leather coat against my bare skin and I arched back against him. I was desperate for the feeling of his skin on mine, to be able to feel the heat of our bodies while he fucked me. I tried to turn slightly under him but he put his full weight into the hand on the small of my back, pinning me to the bed as I whined.

“Do not make me add marks, Sorella…” the warning was in his tone and I couldn’t help but squeeze my thighs together for some friction. “We begin again.”

Another crack of his hand on my skin and I cried out, wringing the comforter in my fists as I gasped. “Seven.”

Crack. “E-eight.”

Crack. “Nine.”

The tears of frustration and humiliation were flowing now, my eyes still locked on Terzo. His face softened and I could see him hesitate as he fought his instinct to get out of his seat.

“C-Cardinale…” He groaned, eyes looked back and forth between Copia and I. “Go easy on Tesoro…”

“Easy? Would you like to take her place, Papa?” Copia’s voice was somewhere between sweet and dangerous and I moaned as he brushed my throbbing skin. “Ti prenderei volentieri sulle mie ginocchia se lo desideri…” I would gladly take you over my knee if you wished.

Terzo moaned, rolling his hips where he sat against nothing. I swallowed thickly as I watched him, cunt clenching at the thought of him losing control.

“Three more, Stellina. You have been such a good girl for Cardinale.” Copia purred into my ear as he pressed on my shoulder blade, pinning my writhing form to the bed. He spanked my ass in three quick but powerful strikes. I jumped each time, rolling my hips back against him as I struggled to call out the counts.

“Ten.”

“Eleven.”

“T-Twelve!” I hissed, the blow particularly hard.

I felt Copia’s hands massage my burning flesh and I curled into his gentle hands as he mumbled sweet words in my ear. I felt boneless as he soothed me, sitting next to me on the bed and helping me to straddle his lap.

“You have earned a reward for your behavior, Sorella.” He murmured into my skin as he pressed soft open mouth kisses into my skin. His hands gripped my hips roughly as he ground me down against his hard on, a moan slipping past my lips. “Help me out of these clothes, si?”

“Yes, Cardinal.” I mumbled as my eyes flickered to Terzo. He was still ramrod straight as he watched us.

I took my time, partly because my hands were a little shaky and I was still a little tipsy, fingers slowly unbuttoning the buttons on Copia’s vest. He rocked against my naked core, rubbing his cock in his sinfully tight trousers against me. I whimpered as he rested his forehead against my shoulder briefly, hands gripping my hips as we ground against each other.

“Mi fai impazzire, Topolino.” He groaned before biting me harshly on the shoulder. I gasped, hands pausing in their task to slip into his hair and dig my fingernails into his scalp. “Voglio contrassegnarti come mia.”

“Cardinal…” I whined, arching myself against him. “Please.”

His coat just barely hung on his shoulders, vest and undershirt unbuttoned. I could feel his bare skin against my own. My nipples pressed against his wiry patch of chest hair that trailed down his belly and disappeared under his trousers. I locked eyes with him, his green eye almost completely black, pupils blown wide in lust. I couldn’t help myself as I looked at him, looking like he was going to lose control any moment and take me furiously on the floor.

I surged forward, cupping his cheeks, and crashed our lips together. Instantly his hand was in my hair, tugging slightly on my mess bun while growling into my mouth. My lips parted and his tongue was instantly in my waiting mouth and his tounge coaxed my own to suck it into his own mouth. I groaned and rolled my hips against him, seeking out any relief I could find for the burning fire behind my belly button.

He pulled away and I whimpered as he started to trail kisses down from my neck, across my chest, and he moved to flip us. I rolled with him, opening my legs so he could settle between them. He paused and looked up to Terzo with a wicked glean in his eyes.

“Papa. You may kneel on the floor,” Copia pointed to the side of the bed near my head. “Do not touch Sorella, se vieni prima di lei, dormirai per terra come un cane cattivo, vero?”

“Si, Cardinale.” Terzo gasped, scrambling from the chair and kneeling next to us. He was paralleled with my head, his heated eyes locked with mine.

“Keep you eyes on Papa, Sorella.” Copia purred, hand cupping my jaw as he kissed my neck before slowly trailing his tongue down between my breasts. My chest was heaving, eyes glassy as I looked at Terzo.

He was just as affected as me, his breaths sharp as he watched Copia’s tongue dart out to tease my nipple as he passed and settled between my legs. I felt him spread my legs and I squirmed as he pressed a soft kiss against my inner thigh. My hands flew to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as my back arched as I felt his breath against my cunt.

“Cardinal.” I moaned, taking in the flush of Terzo’s cheeks as he watched us. “Please…”

“Hm…pazienza sorella.” He murmured as he slowly teased my soaked wet slit with his fingers, I gasped as my fingers tightened in his hair.

Copia chuckled as he teasingly ran his fingers up and down, dipping slightly into my clenching entrance before gently brushing against my clit. I panted as he gently teased me, the heat in my belly twisting and curling at his featherlight touches. I could see Terzo fisting the comforter, fighting the urge to touch me. Suddenly Copia’s fingers slipped inside me as he tongue flicked at my clit and my hips jumped off the bed. I gasped, fingers tugging in his hair as he began to devour me.

His fingers thrusting lazily as he matched his tongue movements, I writhed beneath him. Copia’s hands gripped my thighs as he pinned me in place and kept my thighs open for him. My heel was pressed into his side as I ground my hips against his face, his nose brushing against my clit as I cried out, throwing my head back and arching my back. I could feel Copia smirk between my thighs as I felt myself getting closer and closer to shattering apart for him, suddenly his movements slowed down and I whined.

Copia kept teasing me, getting me close and quivering under his ministrations and then backing off when I was about to climax. I was shaking like a leaf, tears building in the corners of my eyes.

“P-please, Cardinal.” I begged, my eyes drifting to look at Copia. His eyes locked with mine between my legs and I couldn’t help as my core clenched his thrusting fingers tightly. I moaned and tugged at his hair.

“Please what, Amore?” He purred in between my legs, I gasped as he let his tongue tease where his fingers thrusted in and out of me before he sucked on my aching clip.

“Please let me come.” I mumbled, cheeks flushed as I tried to hold his intense gaze.

“Mi dispiace, amore. I cannot hear you.” Copia teased, sitting up and pulling away from me.

I let out a desperate sob, my core throbbing at the loss of his touch. That was until I watched him slip his trousers down his thighs, cock hard and dripping precum. My mouth went dry as he tossed his trousers behind him to the floor before taking off his tailcoat, vest and undershirt. All of it joined his trousers on the floor as he slid back up my body, pressing himself against me. I gasped as his left hand slipped up my thigh, gripping me tightly as he pressed the head of his cock against my cunt.

His right hand came up to tangle his fingers with mine, holding his weight up and pinning my arm down. He pushed forward, sliding deep inside me as he hooked one of my legs around his waist. I groaned, arching my back and rolling my head to the side as he nipped with his teeth at my pulse point.

“Sei così delizioso, Stellina.” He murmured into my skin as he rocked in and out of me. I felt like I was on fire, panting as he fucked me slowly. “Adoro i suoni che fai.”

“P-please Copia.” I whined, eyes locking on Terzo’s blazing eyes. He looked like a panther stalking his prey, I shuddered and he gave me a predatory smile. “ Please don’t tease me anymore.”

“Not quite yet, Sorella. I do not think Papa has learned his lesson.” He hissed as he began to snap his hips against mine, hitting the delicious spot deep inside me that made my toes curl. I gasped his name and he chuckled darkly as he curled around me, crushing me as he fucked me. “Say my name, bambina.”

“Copia.” I murmured as he nuzzled into my neck, his tongue teasing the sensitive spot behind my ear.

“No…my true name, amore.” He purred into my ear. “I want to hear you scream my name when you come for me, si?”

“Francesco.” I whimpered, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as I felt my orgasm building. I writhed beneath him as his hand slipped from my hips between our bodies as he caressed my clit. My whole body felt wound too tight, legs jerking slightly as he plucked at the strings of my orgasm. “ Please… ”

“Mm, again Amore.” He hissed in my ear, punctuating his thrusts with his fingers on my clit.

“Fran-Francesco.” I stuttered as his hips faltered and he bit down on my neck, I cried out and my nails scratched down his back. Tears welled in my eyes as I begged him. “P-please I-I can’t-!”

“Now, Sorella.” He hissed before sucking on my neck, digging his teeth in as I felt him slam into me.

I felt my orgasm rip its way up my spine. My back arched off the bed as Copia’s arms wrapped around me tightly, crushing me against him as I moaned loudly. Another few hard thrusts and Copia’s cock twitched as he spent himself inside me, rocking against as he growled in my ear. I panted as I came down from my high, a small grin on my face as I tangled my fingers in Copia’s hair and held him close.

“…such a good girl, Stellina…” He mumbled, pressing gentle kisses to my bare chest where he had left love bites. “My beautiful girl…”

“Copia…” I sighed, brushing the sweat soaked hair from his forehead as he smirked at me.

“I think we forgot about someone, Amore.” Copia chuckled, gesturing with his head to Terzo.

I blushed, caught up in my moment with Copia that I’d forgotten about Terzo. He was squirming on his knees, which I was sure would be aching by now. His cheeks were flushed, eyes blown with lust, and he was panting while looking between Copia and I.

“You have earned a reward, Papa.” Copia purred, sitting up and leaning over me to brush Terzo’s messy hair back from his forehead. Copia looked over his shoulder back at me with a wicked grin. “As long as Sorella is up for one more round?”

I blushed and smiled at the two men, sitting up slightly and reaching out to Terzo with an outstretched hand.

“I think I’ve got one more in me…”

#Ghost #the band ghost #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo x reader #copia x terzo #copia x reader x terzo #copia x reader #my writing #Sinners in Secret Chapters

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windviator · 3 years

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Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it. I'll disband their whole regiment if that's what it takes to make you happy.

#peter capaldi #cardinal richelieu #capaldieu #king louis xiii #the musketeers #just watched this #episode 1 complete #head empty no thoughts only cardinal #i quite adore the interactions between richelieu and louis #the way his lips quirks so very slightly before he turns to face Louis is delightful #Louis is giving off vibes of both a petulant child and a kicked puppy #also the costume designs are amazing #what’s with all the pretty hats #putting the cardinal in leather is almost sinful #plot-wise it’s relatively straightforward #all the plot threads seem to be laid out nicely in the first episode #pcap edits #gif edits

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gasolineghuleh · 3 years

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Drip

Happiest of days of birth to @meliorangie who I’m blessed to share the month of May with!!

This story is copia/papa/reader, no interaction between Copia and Papa, for those who don’t like that.

After distracting the two leaders of the church at Midnight Mass you’re granted access to a secret room in the Chapel and shown just how hot the fires of perdition can be.

cw: choking, gagging, forcefulness, wax play and pain. NSFW below.

The candles flicker at the front of the Chapel hall as Papa Emeritus the Third stands at his pulpit, his arms spread wide and his eyes closed as he leads the congregation. The other Siblings have their heads bowed in silent prayer and you know that you should too, but your eyes are pulled elsewhere as your mind strays back to that interaction you had with the two men no more than an hour ago. The Cardinal catches your eye from his place beside and slightly behind Papa and he brings a finger to his lips, bowing his own head after a quick wink in your direction. You flush brightly and take his cue, trying to close your eyes and pray with your Siblings.

It isn’t too long before the prayer breaks and you’re able to look up again, feeling your heart squeeze when you watch the two leaders of your church work in tandem to get the thurible swinging, alight with heady incense. Safe in the second row behind his brothers, you manage to catch the Third’s eye and lick your lower lip, pulling it into your mouth as your hand inches up the hem of your habit. Luckily enough, you’re alone in your pew— no one else wants to chance being spotted dozing off by the Papa’s, or getting coughed on by the Papa Nihil. Your Siblings keep a dutiful space between themselves and the former leaders of the church out of reverence.

Because of that, you’re safe enough that you’re able to taunt and tease the two men without much risk of being noticed. You take advantage of that, crossing one leg over the other and toying with the neckline of your habit, already plunging dangerously low— enough to reveal that you’ve decided to forgo your bra today and have little to no material underneath. It doesn’t take too long for the Cardinal to notice at least, his face turning red enough to match his cassock. As the two men swing the thurible together you can see Copia speaking out of the side of his mouth towards Papa, whose eyes move to you nonchalantly.

Papa’s lips warble as he tries not to laugh to himself, hiding a smile behind the long arm of his robe as he brings his arms up, holding the incense lighter aloft. Copia’s eyes are darting between his leader and your legs, widening when he sees that the smooth skin of your thighs is becoming increasingly more visible as you pull up on the hemline of your habit. Again you lick your lower lip, tugging at it with your upper teeth and peeking your tongue out between your lips when his face darkens. It’s a dangerous game that you’re playing, but it’s one that you don’t want to stop any time soon.

“Nema. Now, children, let us remember who has led us here and for what purpose, mm? Perhaps we are meant to be great today. Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps next week. But we are meant to be great, each of us. Si?” Papa’s eye flashes as he challenges the congregation, face breaking into a smile when they echo back at him. “Go forth, prosper. Make love and break boundaries.”

You stay seated in your pew as the other Siblings mutter amongst themselves, standing and making their way out of the Chapel slowly. The other Papas wave at you distractedly as they pass, and more than one of your Sisters asks why you’re staying seated. You manage to brush them off with a simple “I just have some questions”, which they seem to accept easily enough— no one likes to stay at Midnight Mass longer than they need to. Finally the room is empty and the Chapel door swings shut behind you with a loud sound.

“Sister. You have remained.” Papa Emeritus the Third levels you with a look that does nothing to ease the hot coil of tension in your gut. Cardinal Copia comes forward, placing his hand gently on Papa’s shoulder as he does so, leaning in to speak to him.

“Perhaps she has some questions about the topic of your sermon. I know I certainly wouldn’t mind some clarification. After all, a flock needs guidance, do they not?” Copia’s words melt over you like warmed honey and you stand slowly, moving carefully towards the pair as you watch them.

“The Cardinal is right, Papa. I was wondering about the fires of damnation. How hot they could be. What it would feel like on my skin.” Your hand moves once more to the neckline of your habit as you pull it down slowly, revealing your skin beneath. “What would it feel like to have the flames licking and kissing my body, like you talked about?”

“I’m sure we could show you. Couldn’t we, Cardinale?” Papa reaches forward gently, cupping your chin in his hand as he tilts your face to look fully at him. “We have ways of showing you a wickedly sinful good time. Introduce some flames of our own.”

“Would you like that, Sister?” Copia moves to stand behind you slowly, almost predatory. You feel him press himself against your back as his hand travels down your spine to cup your ass. Held by both men, you take a steadying breath as your eyes start slide shut of their own accord. “Would you like one Hell of a good time with the two of us? We saw you eyeing us during the sermon. The fires can be pleasurable if one knows how to control them.”

As soon as you nod they act, Papa pulling you forward into his arms to press against his chest as Copia’s hands find your zipper quickly. Papa’s lips find yours with ease and you can’t help the satiated sigh that spills forth when you feel his tongue dart against your lower lip. You feel your dress being tugged down and away as it falls to the floor, and your head dress quickly follows. Copia’s hands are gentle but insistent as he slides them down your legs, taking care of your stockings and shoes as Papa focuses his attention on you.

“Is this what you wanted? The whole time you were sitting there and watching us talk?” Papa whispers against your lips. His hand tilts you back as his eyes make contact with yours. They’re smoldering with an intensity and heat that takes you by surprise, almost. How long has it been since someone approached him?

“Yes. I want to know how it can feel. The burning.” Your own voice feels faint in the rush of blood in your ears, the sound muffled except for your own heartbeat. As soon as his hands had touched you the roaring of your lust had soared, blacking out everything except the call in your blood to fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Oh, we’ll show you,” Copia says from behind you. His hands cup your ass reverently for a moment before he moves, making his way back towards the pulpit. When neither you nor Papa move to follow him, he clears his throat loudly.

“Right— eh, this way, sorella.” Papa takes your hand in his again when he snaps back to himself and guides you gently, following the Cardinal to the back of the Chapel. A small door swings open at his touch, revealing a small utilitarian bedroom behind it. The bed is large enough for two to fit on it, but not comfortably. Against one wall of the room is a large stack of black and red candles, a large lighter sitting beside them.

“So then the flames will-”

“Be emulated by the candle wax, si.” Papa winks at you once more as he draws you deeper into the room, the Cardinal shutting the door behind the three of you. He moves quickly, lighting several candles to illuminate the room as Papa pulls you to the bed. When you lay down he breathes in deeply, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he snaps through the leather gloves.

“Yes, Papa,” Copia gripes with a mumble as he moves forward to take Papa’s robes off. He’s nude underneath save for a pair of silk briefs, already stretched taut across the growing swell of his cock. Once the robes are down Papa moves forward, gesturing for you to have a seat on the edge of the bed. He pulls out a length of silk and runs it between his fingers. Behind him, Copia has begun the arduous process of unbuttoning the length of his cassock.

“You will be bound, sorella. This is acceptable?” You nod your agreement and hold your hands out, together at the wrist, allowing him to tie them together neatly. “It just keeps you from moving away the wax.” Papa leans down and presses his lips to yours again, maneuvering you across the bed until you’re laying down comfortably, horizontally across the mattress. Your panties are tugged down your thighs quickly but not roughly, and discarded in a corner of the room.

“Papa, you could at least get the girl a pillow,” Copia grumbles. He grabs one of the pillows from the head of the bed and puts it under your head gently, cupping your face for a moment before he disappears once more. Papa just makes a dismissive sound above you, already straddling your waist. As he sits on top of you, his hips rolling just gently, he makes a show of pulling his gloves off slowly and discarding them.

“You want to see what this would feel like, hm? You want to know what it will feel like when you are situated at the hand of our Lord, receiving his flames?” Papa snaps and reaches out to the side with a grasping motion, which Copia rewards with a lit black candle. You watch the flame dance on the wick of the candle as your breathing speeds up, twisting your hips slightly underneath Papa’s strong thighs.

“Stay still, mm?” Copia says, moving to the other side of the bed and standing above your head. He has a lit red candle in his hands and you can see now that he’s also stripped down to his briefs. The swell of his cock is visible straining against the cotton material, and a small patch of wetness rests over the head of his cock. “Let Papa and I take care of you.”

“Will it hurt?” you ask, your eyes wide as they flick between the Cardinal’s candle and Papa’s. The flames dance and flicker against the wick from some invisible breeze, flickering further from a delayed huff of laughter from the Cardinal.

“No, no, bella. It will feel like a kiss of love from Sathanas. Let us show you.” You nod once more and Papa takes a moment to situate himself better on your thighs, pinning them together and down with his own. You can feel the press of his hard cock across your pelvis and his strong legs pin you in place with ease. Already his hips are rolling slightly in his arousal, his eyes darkened and heady with lust.

Above you, Copia takes your bound wrists in one large hand and moves your arms until they’re above your head and situated between his own legs. He winks down at you and brings his candle out over your chest. Papa tips his candle just slightly and a small bead of the heated wax slides over it in slow-motion before falling and hitting the soft skin just below your breast. At the same time, Copia’s free hand moves to cup your other breast, flicking your nipple in the exact instant that the wax connects with your skin.

The heat hits you first and your jaw drops open in surprise at the mix between pleasure and pain. It feels just like someone reached out and pinched you lightly, and then recedes to a throb of pleasure in your core as the wax cools on your skin. A zing of lust and arousal spikes in your core, clenching your cunt in the sudden need to be filled. You move your eyes from Papa’s hand to the Cardinal’s, watching as he repeats the same motion and tips his candle over you. The wax falls free and lands on your collarbone, a larger amount this time and you gasp, your hips kicking involuntarily.

“It feels good, si?” Papa purrs above you. His free hand courses along his own chest until he reaches his nipple. He pinches himself and gives a whorish moan, rolling his hips across yours and allowing his cock to drag along your pelvis. He’s still wearing the briefs, but the outline of his cock is so well defined it feels as though he has nothing on at all.

“It does… I want more, Papa,” you say, rocking your hips as much as you can against his. He seems preoccupied with himself, however, twisting his own nipple until his head falls back in a slack-jawed moan. As you and the Cardinal watch Papa brings his candle upward and tilts it, allowing some of the wax to fall on his porcelain skin as well, a drop or two of it splashing down onto your pelvis.

“You want more?” he says, his eyes still closed. His free hand moves from his nipple to his mouth as he sucks his index finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and tipping the candle over you. The wax drips onto your body in a pattern driven by his flicking wrist and you can’t help the moans and sighs that drop from your lips. Copia drops some of his own wax over you before extinguishing it, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.

“Papa, I can’t wait any more,” he says, keeping his eyes on his superior for permission. Papa waves a hand towards him, his eyes locked firmly on yours as he trails his spit slicked finger down his own chest again. There’s rustling behind you from Copia’s direction, but your eyes are fixed firmly on Papa’s hand. He leans quickly to the side and places his own candle on a nearby table, his hand still following the trail of hair from his navel to the waist band of his briefs.

“You feel the fire, sorella? Burning in your skin? Kissing you open for us?” It’s all you can do to nod as you watch him, slowly pulling his cock from his briefs. His cock finally springs free, harder than you thought was possible and rising from a well groomed patch of pubic hair. Above you, Copia’s hands scrabble at the edge of the mattress until they find your hair. “You are open for us? Open for your leaders?”

“Yes, Papa,” you manage to whisper before Copia’s hands tug your head over the edge of the bed. His cock is already waiting for you and you waste no time in opening your mouth for him, groaning as the tip of his cock passes your lips with ease. Papa groans at the sight and he begins to readjust himself over top of you, parting your legs and pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the wax dappled skin of your breast.

“She feels so good, Papa,” Copia huffs, rocking forward on his toes as he struggles not to choke you in his haste. Papa just grunts in the affirmative, finally sliding his cock against your slick folds.

“Fuck,” he slurs out, clearly finished with the waiting and foreplay. He pulls back just enough to line himself up with your entrance and slides into you with one thrust, his hands fisting the blankets beside you. Papa groans in a shuddering breath before pulling back and begin to fuck you in earnest, the bed creaking loudly through his exertions.

Copia takes his cue from Papa and grips the side of your face, finally allowing himself to rock into you harder. You swallow around his cock as your eyes water, moaning as his length bumps into the back of your throat. It’s a concentrated effort to open yourself enough to allow him to slip past but you manage it, blinking back the tears that roll down your cheeks towards your hair line.

Your hands curl and pull against the restraints as your fingers spasm in pleasure, Papa’s cock hitting places inside of you that haven’t been touched in ages now. You hear him huff out a breath of laughter as he watches your struggles, leaning farther over your and driving his cock into you with forceful thrusts. He bottoms out inside of you with each movement, every thrust jolting you on the bed and forcing you to take Copia’s cock deeper and faster.

“Can you feel it, Sister? The fire inside of you?” Papa growls, leaning down and taking your nipple into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth as his other hand fists the bed sheet tightly. All you can do is moan in the affirmative around the Cardinal’s cock, but it seems to be enough for Papa— he groans and jolts you forward savagely, sitting up and gripping your hips tightly enough to leave fingernail shaped indents that you’re certain will bruise.

“Papa… Fill her, Papa,” Copia says under his breath as he rocks up onto his toes, his fist in your hair tightening enough to cause pin pricks of pain on your scalp. The pain is enough to send you careening over the apex of your orgasm, moaning loudly around his length as your pussy grips Papa’s cock tightly, your body shaking with the climax.

“Good girl, Sister, eh?” Papa is out of breath, pressing you hard into the bed as he speeds his own movements, clearly chasing his own high. It doesn’t take long for him to find it, groaning deep in his chest as he slams himself home inside of you and stills. You can feel his cock pulsing inside of you through the oversensitivity of your own body and you huff your discomfort, whining when he pulls free of you.

Copia follows not long after, pulling himself out of your mouth and gripping his cock tightly in his fist. You’re able to watch as he strokes his length quickly, finally cumming and shooting hot ropes across your body, intermingling with the wax that’s already cooled and dried on your skin. It lands across your breasts to your navel, striping down your body with each huffed moan of the Cardinal.

“Fuck,” you hiss, twisting under Papa’s strong legs and pulling at your restraints. Copia has the wherewithal to step back enough to free your arms, tugging at the end of the strand of silk to free your hands from the bindings. Instantly you bring your hands down to your chest, rubbing at your wrist before swiping a finger through the mess on your stomach and bringing it to your mouth.

“Sister, if you do that again I may need to keep you here for the evening,” Copia warns with a tinge of laughter in his voice. You look up at him with a smile, laughing as well before Papa cuts you off.

“Nonsense. She comes back to the Papal corridor to stay the evening with us. Many other candles there, and perhaps some other things that she may wish to try. Do you want to truly meet the fires?” Papa leans over you and grips your chin, bringing your eyes forcefully to his. “Do you think that you can handle more?”

“I can try.” Your breath is coming quickly, chest heaving with every labored inhale. His eyes are burning with something that you can’t quite place, bordering on dangerous.

“That’s all I can ask.” Papa lets go of you quickly and moves off of you, standing and pulling his robe back on as he does so. He produces a small key from his pocket and lays it on the nightstand with a pointed clink. “Tomorrow night. Eight. Do not be late, Sister.” You sit up on the bed and watch as he leaves the room quickly, seemingly unfazed.

“I suppose we’ll be seeing more of one another?” Copia says as he moves forward, gathering his own clothes and pulling them back on. He leaves his cassock unbuttoned as he hands you your own clothing from the floor. “Don’t worry about him, he gets sullen after he cums.”

“And you would know?” you ask, laughing. You thank him for your clothes and pull them on as he continues to talk.

“Oh, yes. Papa is serious when it comes to the sins of the flesh and showing people how things can feel. Especially when you intertwine it with the implication of perdition. He’s more serious about Hell than he likes people to think.” Copia pauses for a moment, thinking as he buttons himself.

“Yes?” you prompt, standing and sliding your shoes back on.

“Are you afraid of knives?”

#lorraine writes #fics #ghost #the band ghost #ghost bc #papa emeritus iii #terzo #papa iii #cardinal copia #copia #papa emeritus iv #popia #commission #ns/fw #wax play

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mxvladdy · 4 years

Text

True Form- Mammon

The boys are cute in their devil forms I’ll give them that. But I want something more monstrous lol. Here are some headcannons of mine of what the boyos look like outside of their glamours.

I’m not doing the gang in any particular order, all will be accounted for in due time. Just my favorites come first :p

No, I regret nothing and yes I would still 10000% smooch the monster.

Next up: Asmodeus

Mammon

- Interestingly enough, his human glamour shows none of the wounds he bears from the celestial war. But his true form? It is a testament to his strength and a stark reminder that he is the second strongest of the cardinal sins.

- Mammon takes the shape of a great winged beast. The original number of his wings have been lost to time but old records speak of ever shifting numbers. Should he lose one two would grow in it’s place type deal. All that remains of their splendor are three mismatched ones on his back. Since they are not even he is incapable of flying, but he can still glide for quite some distance and with tremendous speed.

- He resembles a mixture of a crow and Strix. He has four large taloned feet that can carve through rock and slice though even demon flesh with ease. His multitude of eyes are bright and simply mesmerizing. Like the twinkling of stars in the night sky. His eyes are the only physical trait left of him from his time as an angel.

- Old scars pepper his hide under his oily sheen feathers. When he shifts they flash the briefest hints of silver and faded pink. But, the most noticeable wound on him is his beak. The upper mandible is broken, the front half blasted away leaving behind a jagged mess of bone. The magic used against him makes it impossible for him to regrow it. He remembers clearly the blow that marred him. It is one of his recurring nightmares.

- He keeps a den, hidden from the other brothers deep in the Devildom forests where he hoards all his most precious items from over the millennia. Whenever things get too much at home he will come here to lay amongst his treasures and reminisce of simpler times.

Mini fic

Mammon could feel the need brewing deep within him. The gnawing emptiness slowly eroding at his psyche till it was all-encompassing. His brothers possessions calling to him like a sirens song day in and day out. Goldie simply wasn’t going to be enough this time. He needed his cave, his little sanctuary, carved out in secret so many years ago.

He sighs lovingly. Just imagining the feel of currencies from empires long since fallen and priceless treasures offered to him in sacrifice under his talons feet was euphoric. His second skin ripples under his glamour in anticipation. Humming under his breath, Mammon takes the steps to the main door two at a time. In his excitement, he almost collides with the latest item of his attention.

“Oi!” He barks, skidding to a halt in front of you. He makes a grab for your shoulders stopping you before you toppled down the flight of stairs. He can’t help the smile forming on his lips to match yours. His human looks up from the files overflowing in their arms. The emptiness inside rattles its cage. Add them to the horde. His molars crack under the strain of his clenched jaw.

“Oh! Sorry, Mammon! It’s kinda hard to see around all this.” You smile sheepishly, scooting off to the side for him to pass. “Are you well?” You notice his stiff posture, hands clenching, and unclenching over your school uniform. He hadn’t let you go yet.

Unsurprising really, he was one of the clingier brothers. Not that you minded. It was nice sometimes to feel so wanted. Though it was different this time. You could feel the ebb and flow of his magic rippling in the close space. Usually, he had the best control suppressing it in your company. It would have been terrifying if it had been another one of the brothers. Last time one of them ‘lost their cool’ had ended badly for you. “Mammon?”

“What?” He twitches, head jerking to an odd angle. His eyes turn sharp as he looks at you appraisingly. Hungrily. “Oh right, sorry.” The demon releases you. “I’m fine, just need to stretch my legs is all.” He pushes past, for once trying not to give into temptation.

“Can I join? I need a break from all this paperwork. I know I said I’d help Lucifer, but damn.” You laugh placing the stack down on an end table. He chokes on the idea. Yesss~ his inner beast coos in delight. You were making this too easy. He could keep you all to himself, tucked away where no one else could have you. Lucifer would never know.

“I-I don’t want the company.” He grits out, rolling his shoulders in agitation. At himself or you, only the devil would know. “Ain’t a place for little humans.” His response is short and sharp. He could feel his talons growing under his nail beds. Mammon hisses in irritation, he didn’t want to scare you away. Not after everything else you’ve been through.

“Oh…” It hurts him to hear you so dejected like this. Perhaps- you had handled a lot so far. One more thing won’t kill you.

“Look-promise not to tell and you can join.” Mammon turns scratching at his neck. "I don't need my brothers knowing where I go. Our little secret?"

“Our little secret.” You take his hand with a coy grin.

It wasn’t a long walk. It was pleasant your warm hand wrapped in his. The connection quelled some of the avarice brewing inside. He approaches the edge of the cliff with satisfaction. The precipice looks down into the wilds of the Devildom. It was a beautiful sight really. The heavy gloam of eternal twilight cast a purple haze over the treetops. In the distance, the downtown district twinkle. Mammon exhales happily into the breeze. The wind was picking up. Good.

Mammon turns to you taking in your apprehension. You lean over the side, looking down into the abyss. "This isn't much of a walk." You chuckle nervously eyeing the deadly drop. A strong gush upsets your balance. Squeaking, you grip onto his sleeve. Your little human nails dig into the leather of his jacket. Cute.

"Not done yet." He sheds his glasses and coat folding them neatly by the ledge. "It ain't much farther, but it is a ride." He could shred the pants and shirt. Luci owed him a new wardrobe as is. Stretching his arms over his head he grunts. His remaining wings practically vibrate in anticipation. "Promise not to scream?"

"Scream?" Your question is lost in the ruffle of feathers and creak of bone. You gasp back away from the massive beast in front of you. Mammon stood beside you, his body almost blending in with the darkness around you. Dozens of eyes blink owlishly at you, they glimmer like diamonds. They are bright and breathtaking, the depth in them almost sucking you in. He clicks the remnants of his razor-sharp beak expectantly. "Mammon?" You approach, palms outstretched.

He cocks his head to almost disappearing into the night as he closes all his eyes at your touch. He adjusts himself as you pet down his large head. Overly carful of where your hand was to make sure you are not in danger of cutting yourself with his damaged beak. "How many more layers to you brothers are there?" He laughs in relief, cawing loudly as you bury your hands in his feathers. "Ok. So what's the plan?"

Mammon crouches low bumping his shoulder to you. You take the hint and clamber onto his broad back. Shifting awkwardly he squawks as you pull some feathers. “Sorry! Sorry!” He turns and pecks at your hand gently. Pulling at your sleeves, he makes sure you have a good grip at the base of his neck. Feeling you settle he leaps.

Bounding for the ledge, his strong wings flex and catch the wind. He glides on the gust with practiced ease. Years of plummeting and failure made this success all the sweeter with you there as he carries them higher. He could feel your laughter through his body. Your shouts of elation get swallowed by the howling around them. Oh, how he revels in it. He wants more of this.

The flight was quick. Before long he descends, unfurling his legs as he lands. Long talons cut into stone as he grasps the side of the cliff. Effortlessly he slinks up the side. The hard coils of muscle on his back and legs bunch and pull under you body. The sinuous roll of it causes you to grip him tighter lest you fall off. He purrs at the feel of you clinging to him. Perhaps he should keep you here, all to himself. Mammon reaches his destination and allows you to slide off of him to look about.

The mouth of the cave was cast in heavy shadows from surrounding trees. The moon covered by clouds flashing briefs glimpses of deeper in. You follow as the Great Mammon lumbers past you to delve deeper. Jogging after him, you place a hand on his flank trusting him to guild you. What did he have here? This looks nothing like a place Mammon would go to. He chirps and caws trying to talk though it was impossible to understand as he lead you down deeper. His tail swooshing excitedly behind him. It was sweet, his palpable joy rubbing off on you.

As you reach the inner depth of the cave you left go of him to shield your eyes. The sudden light accosting you. The inner cave was huge, eternal sconces lighting as he entered to reflect off of a dazzling array of items. Mammon crows smugly leaving you to gape at the entrance.

The demon crawls into a nest made of gold and bolts of expensive fabrics. Yawning widely, he wiggles himself deeper into the coins. Large crystalline eyes drooping pleasantly at the warmth of his cave. While he dozes you walk around the large treasure trove. You run your hands over no doubt priceless jewels and sets of armor. Clothes and jewelry litter the floor as maps and pieces of art cover most of the walls and ceiling. Their golden frames glowing from the light of the sconces making the space glow richly. He even had some tomes stacked neatly in the corner, each cover embossed with gold and silver. You pick one up intrigued by the design of the cover.

"You sure you were a dragon in a former life? " You ask flipping though a few pages before putting it back. Mammon snorts rolling his eyes. You grin eyeing his bed of treasures. "Can I join you?" It looked rather comfy and he obviously wasn't going to be moving anytime soon. Knowing Mammon there was no way you could leave this place without his help. So might as well get comfortable.

Mammon is silent for a moment before clicking his beak, wings opening to invite you in. You scramble up close grabbing a few stray pillows as you go. Making a mini nest of your own beside him you tuck yourself in.

If a bird could smile he would be beaming at the feel of your body resting against his feathered side. Draping a wing over you he settles in for a nap.

Yes, you would be the perfect final piece to his collection.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me mammon #monster fic #im not apologizing #obey me fandom #mini fic

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hippohead · 3 years

Text

Cardinal Sins

Pairing: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Rating: Mature Words: 3533 Summary: Kurt Hummel, the seven deadly sins, rules, and breaking them.

Read on AO3

Envy. a feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else’s possessions, qualities, or luck.

Blaine can’t stand the feeling that keeps settling in his stomach, refusing to be ignored. And the feeling is an attachment, and he’s still sifting through it, figuring it out, but it’s there nonetheless.

And he knows it’s all useless, anyway. They work for the same company. That would make it messy and complicated and – well, against the rules. Interpersonal relationships in the office have to remain professional, above board, respectable. It was written out and emphasized in the staff booklet that Gloria had given him during his orientation. And he had willingly signed it.

But then he had met Kurt.

Kurt. Kurt, who always smiles at him from his desk whenever Blaine passes it. Kurt, who saw him eating alone in the break room during his first week and took the time to see how he was settling in. Kurt, who always wears clothes in a way that makes it so Blaine can’t figure out if he wants to marvel at them or tear them off. Just – Kurt.

It’s not quite taking over his life yet – the attachment. It is always there; in his chest and the casual conversations they have that feel so easy and could be so much more if only one of them would take a step. And so: there is a distance in his crush.

Until there isn’t.

Maybe Blaine should have anticipated this. It’s Halloween, after all. And even though it’s a staff party, of course Kurt went all out. He lets his eyes fall onto his frame, again, and looks him up and down, again. He’s dressed as a vampire but it’s Kurt, so it’s not just a cheap cape and some plastic teeth. It’s leather boots that go up to his knee and lace up at the front. It’s a cape that is heavy and sweeping and looks handmade, red and gold detailing on the collar. And the fangs – they're veneers, so realistic and taunting and honestly? Blaine would gladly let him bite-

And that is why the distance is falling away. Because up until this point, Kurt has been nothing more than his hot and kind coworker that he pines after but cannot date, cannot have. Now, very explicitly, it has become almost unbearable how much Kurt is someone Blaine wants, feels desperate about. Like something inside of him is being hollowed out and replaced with a pinprick and narrow need for him; like he’ll forget how to breathe if Kurt doesn’t put his hands on him.

Read the rest on AO3

#klaine fanfiction #klaine #kurt x blaine #i wrote this!#coworkers!klaine #office!klaine #lovers to real lovers #i don't know how to explain what this is #but anyway here we are #i have to be up for work in 3 hours and i have made some bad life choices #but this just needed to get out of my brain #enjoy?

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beetlebitchywitch · 4 years

Text

Gio (Mafia Beetlejuice AU) x F!Reader: A Work of Art

I know I said tomorrow, but I got impatient

Warning: Semi-public sex

A gentle, steady drizzle dampened the streets of London as you strolled lazily, your mood somehow lifted by a day so many others would see as dreary. The clouds blanketed the entire city in gray dullness, yet walking hand in hand with Gio, you felt as if you were strolling through a meadow on a sunny Summer day. Truth be told, you were skeptical when Gio had asked you to accompany him on his business trip, suspecting you’d spend boring days locked away in a hotel room while he handled more important things- yet here you were, exploring the rain-slicked streets of Covent Garden hand-in-hand with Gio, who couldn’t stop glancing over at you with gentle smiles.

“Gio?” you piped up, sliding closer to him as you traveled down the busy street. “You haven’t had so much as one phone call since we arrived here. When will you be dealing with the “business” part of this business trip?” At that, he chuckled softly, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the back of your hand as he pulled you out into the crosswalk.

“My apologies for bringing you here under false pretenses, piccola, but I did not want the others to simmer in their jealousy while we were gone,” he admitted with a sly grin. At your look of confusion, he continued, pulling you off to the side of the sidewalk so you were out of the way of any passersby. “There is no ‘business trip’. I simply wanted to treat you to a vacation overseas, and I knew you’d never let me if you knew that was my only purpose. Forgive me, my dear, for deceiving you.”

Of course, of course there was no business trip. Thinking it over, you remembered that he didn’t even have associates in London! You were about ready to chew him out for taking you on a vacation you didn’t need, but...he looked so sincere, and his touch was so gentle, both hands clutching one of yours tenderly, as if he was cradling something precious. You sighed, failing to fight back a smile. You knew from experience that Gio often showed his love by showering you in gifts, from expensive clothing to vintage bottles of wine, anything to put a smile on your face. This trip was no different, and you didn’t want to put him out by rejecting what clearly was an act of love on his part, so you reluctantly gave in and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, giving him a thankful smile. Grinning proudly, Gio lifted your hand to his lips and laid a kiss on your knuckles, pulling you close with a fond twinkle in his eye.

“You are a wonder to me, bambina,” he said with hushed awe, losing sight of the throngs of people around you in favor of getting lost in the sight of you, droplets of rainwater clinging to your eyelashes so perfectly that he wished he had his easel, because it would be a cardinal sin not to paint such a beautiful creature. You blushed under the weight of his gaze, choosing to pull him back into the crowd going about their daily travels rather than let him simply gaze longingly for the rest of the afternoon. He took the lead, taking you down side street after side street with a clear destination in mind, which he’d refused to tell you when you’d left the hotel that morning. Likely another one of his extravagant surprises, you suspected, but there was simply no stopping him once he’d set his mind to something. So, you let him lead you, taking in the scenery as you did so. Finally, you came to a stop in front of a small storefront. Coco de Mer...Coco de Mer…

“Oh no, oh no,” you immediately began to object, trying and failing to pull your hand out of his. “Gio, I can’t let you do this, this is one of the most high end-”

“Hush now. You don’t let me do anything, ragazza sciocca,” he interrupted with a chuckle, pulling you close despite your trepidations. “Besides, this is as much a gift for myself as it is for you. Come now.” He ushered you inside despite your quiet protests, which quickly died at the sight of the store’s interior. You were surrounded by some of the most luxurious lingerie you’d ever seen, delicate lace and glistening satin and all sorts of expensive material coming together in gorgeous configurations that had you practically stunned. Towards the back of the store was a display of crystal sex toys that had you blushing, much to Gio’s delight. A saleswoman quickly descended on the two of you, a cheerful smile plastered on her face.

“Welcome to Coco de Mer, Mr. Shoggoth,” she greeted warmly, extending her hand for Gio to shake. He did so, nodding politely before gesturing to you.

“My wife would like to try a few things on,” he said, sending you a wink when you turned bright red at him calling you his wife. “Perhaps you could be of some assistance?”

“Of course, of course, right this way! If you see anything you like, please don’t hesitate to tell me,” she said, guiding you further into the store with a smile that refused to falter. Looking around, you noticed several of the employees looked rather nervous, their eyes widening as they scanned Gio. Perhaps he had more of a reputation here than you realized. Still, you shook it off and followed the saleswoman, for once letting go of your inhibitions and picking out whatever you saw that you liked. Trying on several pieces wouldn’t hurt, as you could always pick the one you liked best to purchase and leave the rest behind, so by the time you reached the dressing room, the saleswoman’s arms were overflowing with scraps of lace, leather, and latex, and Gio was wearing a proud smile.

“Well done, piccola,” he crooned, petting a hand littered with rings through your hair. You nuzzled into the touch, pressing a sweet kiss to his wrist while the saleswoman wrestled to get a dressing room door unlocked. Once it was open, you gave him a knowing grin and strode inside, taking your items from the saleswoman and giving Gio a pensive look before sighing and beckoning him to join you. He paused for a moment, glancing back and forth between you and the saleswoman before smiling knowingly and moving past her, shutting the door behind him and cutting the two of you off from the public eye.

“Do you think they’ll mind?” you asked.

“Not at all, if they know what’s good for them,” he said with a shrug before seating himself on the small bench in the corner of the room. “Now, I want to see what you look like in that lovely lace ensemble. Do try it on for me, bambi.”

Now that you were here, his smoldering eyes meeting yours in the mirror, your cheeks stained a dark pink. He crossed his arms with an expectant grin, quirking one eyebrow in a way that undoubtedly said “Well? I’m waiting,”, so with slightly trembling hands, you disrobed, trying to ignore the way Gio’s eyes dragged languidly over every inch of skin you revealed to him. Once your clothes were discarded, you took the first set in hand, a lacy maroon number, and slipped into it. The lace cupped your breasts perfectly, and the panties cut just right across the curve of your ass. You twisted and turned in the mirror, examining it from all angles before turning towards Gio, whose eyes were trained solely on your breasts. Gaining a bit of confidence, you smirked, placing one hand on your cocked hip.

“You like it?” you asked. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, his pupils humorously dilated.

“You are a masterpiece, mio dolce,” he sighed. He stood, offering you his hand, and you took it, letting him twirl you as he got a good look at you from all angles. “Truly a work of art. I have half a mind to display you in one of my museums.”

You shoved his shoulder playfully, though the thought sent heat pooling in your belly. That, however, was a thought for another time. Before you could reach for another set, Gio was already ahead of you, handing you the black lace bodysuit that he seemed to have his eye on as you traversed the store.

“Try this one on for me, mia cara,” he said with a wink. “I have a feeling you’ll like it.”

And true to his word, the minute it touched your skin, you were in love. The lace was unlike anything you’d felt before, the softness of it slipping luxuriously over your skin as you stepped into it. Just from pulling it up your body, you could tell that it was strong too, unlikely to tear from any rough handling. Sliding the straps on your shoulders, you were surprised to find that it didn’t dig into your skin too uncomfortably. In fact, the piece seemed to fit you as if it were made for you, hugging every curve like a second skin. When you met Gio’s gaze through the mirror, he was nothing short of intoxicated, his eyes never settling on one part of you for too long, choosing instead to roam over your body like he was a king sitting down to a feast. You bit your lip shyly when his eyes met yours again, leaning back in his seat to cross his arms across his chest almost nonchalantly.

“How do I look?” you asked softly, tugging nervously at the edge of the lace where it cut across your hips. Gio didn’t even seem to acknowledge that you’d spoken.

“Bend over.”

“...Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Oh yes, you’d heard him. Those words were an undeniable command, so soft yet carrying so much weight, that without a second thought, you bent over, exposing what Gio had been after all along. You gasped at the foreign feeling, your eyes widening with the realization- the bodysuit was crotchless. Your pussy was exposed to his gaze as you braced your arms up against the wall, trying not to watch him through the mirror as he leaned forward, his eyes locked on your core and how wet you’d become from his gaze alone.

“My, my...such a naughty girl,” he cooed softly. He reached out, dragging the tip of one finger to gather the wetness between your lips, and you gasped, looking around nervously as if the entire store full of employees could see you through the locked door. “Have I excited you, piccola?” And yes, you could tell by the tone of his voice that this was his plan all along, not to mention the wicked smirk he was sporting that you finally got the courage to view through the mirror. You shuddered as he let his wet fingertip travel to your clit, rubbing little circles and grinning wickedly at the way your thighs began to tremble. You pressed your lips together, struggling not to make a sound. “Oh, am I making this difficult for you? Make sure not to squeak, topolina.”

Ignoring his command, you growled softly at his teasing tone, despite the way your hips involuntarily bucked back into his touch. You held in your pleasured noises as much as you could after that, even with your legs trembling uncontrollably as Gio played with you, watching you intently for any sign that you’d blow your cover. Though he’d love nothing more than to play with your clit until your knees gave out, he had other plans in mind. Reaching into his coat, he met your gaze in the mirror as he pulled out a crystal dildo, sparkling in the overhead lights of the dressing room. You gasped at the sight of it, sending a glare through the mirror that got him chuckling.

“Relax, bambi, I’m more than willing to purchase it once we’re through. Now, be a good girl for me, or I’ll make you leave the store in only this.” He snapped the elastic edge of the lace against your skin and you gasped, nodding fervently as you braced yourself more firmly against the wall. Though you knew it was an empty threat, the thought excited you more than you were willing to admit. Seemingly satisfied, Gio brought the dildo to your entrance, circling it to gather some of your slick of the tip before slowly sliding it inside, watching your body for every twitch, tremble, and shake. Only once he had it fully inside you did he smile, running his other hand soothingly across your back and down across your ass.

“Such an obedient girl,” he crooned, beginning to press the dildo in and out of you. “Just imagine what the others will think of you in this. I suspect Escarabajo will have you in the garden before we can even unpack our bags. Would you like that, bambina? Would you like for us all to tear this scrap of lace to shreds and ruin you?”

Despite the hushedness of his voice, it felt like every word was filling you up and swallowing you whole. You could picture it, the look on Bajo’s face when he saw you parading around in such a skimpy bodysuit, and the thought of being spread out among the roses in only this sent a shiver down your spine, not to mention the delicious way the dildo dragged inside of you. Seeing the effect his words had on you, Gio chuckled darkly, driving the dildo into you faster and harder just to watch you tremble.

“Perhaps Scarabee will get the first taste instead, hmm? Or would you prefer Ciarog suspending you from the ceiling with his ropes?” he mused. He reached around with one hand to play with your clit as he fucked you with the dildo, growling playfully as you couldn’t help but let loose a tiny whimper at the thought of them all having a go at you. “Yes, that’s it, piccolina, just let go for me. Mm, my sweet girl, my good girl, are you going to cum for me?”

“Y-yes, yes Gio, please,” you whispered, biting down on your knuckle just to keep your noises at bay. You didn’t think it could, but somehow the toy fucked you harder, driving into your G spot just right while Gio ground perfect circles into your clit, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“Perfetto, la mia ragazza perfetta, oh my darling, cum for me!”

It was his impassioned cry that finally drove you to madness, your pussy clenching rhythmically around the toy as you came, biting down painfully onto your hand to maintain your silence as the pleasure wracked your body. He fucked you through it all, watching you so intently as if to paint a picture in his mind to always remember. You struggled not to let your knees buckle as you came down, but Gio quickly pulled you up onto his lap, cradling you close and hushing your barely-there whimpers.

“There we are now, my dear, it’s alright,” he cooed, pressing little kisses to your tear-stained cheeks. Your trembling slowly abated under his loving watch, and when you’d finally seemed to have come back to yourself, he smiled at you, leaning in for a slow, sweet kiss. “You did beautifully, bambi. Get dressed, and we’ll go pay.”

“But...I only tried two things on!”

“Nonsense, I’m buying them all for you,” he said flippantly, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe off the toy. “Each one will be as perfect as the last, don’t you worry. Now, clothes on, before I change my mind.” And with a wink, he was gone, likely off to facilitate your large purchase. With a fond sigh, you moved to change into the rest of your clothes. If this was just the way that Gio decided to show his love, well then...you certainly wouldn’t complain.

(Tagging everyone again! @go-commander-kim @justsassysworld @gegehaddock @vicunaburger @realmonsterboyhours @young-erstill @humanransome-note)

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice fanfic #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice x reader #gio #the conglomerate #beetlejuice smut #nsft #beetlejuice nsft

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the-lady-writes-what · 3 years

Text

Your Flustered Date

Day Three of Three! Happy Valentines Day!

I’m stepping out of my box for this one because I know a couple of my followers like him and have asked if I would ever write for Denki Kaminari. This is a little present from me to you for showing your support as my blog begins to grow and new ideas take root. It feels really wild that we have almost a full year since the pandemic started. I started writing MHA smut out of boredom because of COVID and the people that have started following have been nothing but kind, sweet, and supportive. Thank you so much from the bottom of this little gremlin’s heart ❤️

Denki Kaminari (20′s) x Fem!Reader

Content: teasing, oral (giving), blowjob, fem dom, consensual bondage, cowgirl, collar, scratching, praise kink

(I do not write minor characters. Any character who isn’t canonically an adult in the original source material is aged up. I do not write smut featuring minors.)

Denki appeared red-faced and panting when he clambered into the restaurant. He found you sitting at the table, already eating. He rushed over and practically groveled at your feet.

“Ah-ha-ha, I’m so sorry, babe! There was a bank robbery and I was the closest pro-hero in the area, and I am so sorry!” Denki even went so far as to bow so low to press his forehead to the floor.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. You could feel the stares of the other patrons looking in your direction.

“Denki, please get up, you’re causing a scene,” you said.

Denki got off the floor immediately. He sat across from you and ordered some simple food and added another glass of wine to the bill. Your pro-hero boyfriend spent the rest of the evening begging for forgiveness. Your only response was: “I’m sure you’ll make it up to me later at home.”

It was Valentine’s Day after all. Being late to a Valentine’s Day dinner was a cardinal sin, even if your boyfriend was out there saving the world. The toe of your shoe grazed up his leg as you watched him eat. Denki froze on the spot while you dragged your foot up and down his leg. You should’ve known better not to do that in public. Not when it easily turned Denki’s face into a tomato. Nevertheless, you smirked into your wine glass.

“Is everything alright over here?” Asked the waiter.

“Y-Yes! Everything’s good!” Denki said excitedly. A little too enthusiastic, but you hoped that the waiter didn’t notice.

You already finished by the time Denki reached half-way through his meal. You pulled your foot away so he could eat in peace. You held off on the wine. You wanted to have a clear head for tonight. Eventually, dinner had to come to an end and your little heart fluttered like a hummingbird in your chest at the thought of what you had planned for Denki. He paid for the meal like a true gentleman and lead you by the hand to the car.

You sat in the passenger seat, turned slightly toward Denki who drove. You reached across the gear shift, splayed your fingers across his thighs, and leaned a little more forward. Denki shifted in his seat but didn’t object. Soon, your hands were messing with the button of his pants.

“Woah, hey, babe! What are you doing?” Denki raised his voice in the small car.

“Just shut up and enjoy. Don’t forget how to drive,” you said.

You revealed his cock and wrapped your lips around him. You bobbed your head up and down his length. The flaccidness before changed quickly by the warmth of your mouth and the skill of your tongue teasing the blunt head reaching into your throat. The car swerved to the left before Denki corrected himself. From this angle, you couldn’t see what his face looked like, but you were sure that he was giving his fellow drivers a curious sight. Denki kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on top of your head, coaxing you to move faster.

You moaned with Denki’s cock stuffed in your mouth. What you couldn’t fit inside, you hand pumped him.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me come before we reach the house,” said Denki.

That’s the idea.

You sucked harder and faster than before, really working Denki into a frenzy. You felt his body tense up. His movement were restricted due to the seatbelt and not wanting to crash the car. But...you could tell how bad he wanted to buck his hips into your face as you dragged your tongue all over him.

Denki had driven the car about three-quarters of the way home when he started panting. You choked yourself on his dick, giving Denki long, sultry sucks. In a fit, Denki pushed your head down to his crotch. Hot cum gushed down your throat. Denki’s whole body was shaking with effort not to veer the car into a ditch. You managed to swallow almost all of it and wiped the rest off with a few tissues. After causing all that trouble, you fixed Denki’s clothes to make the rest of the ride home comfortable and less awkward.

Once you made it to the bedroom, you threw Denki onto the bed and fiercely made out with him. You tugged at his clothes in the same way he did with you. You pulled Denki’s hands towards the bed frame. You ripped open the bedside table drawer and picked out a pair of steel handcuffs. Kissing Denki again on the mouth, you clasped both wrists of his with cuffs, letting the chain wind behind a frame.

“How’s it feel, babe? To be all tied up? Do you want more?” You asked.

“God yes,” Denki sighed.

“Yes what?”

“God yes, mistress,” said Denki.

“Good boy.”

You reached into the drawer again and found a black leather collar. You snapped it around Denki’s neck, giving it gentle tug.

“What’s our safe word, love boy?”

“Dynamite,” Denki answered.

You straddled his stomach and ran your hands up his body from neck to his belly button. Your nails scratched his soft skin, littered with sensitive battle scars. You nuzzled his neck, breathing in his scent. Contrary to popular belief, Denki didn’t smell like he bathed in Axe body spray, though he did smell like cologne and little bit of sweat. You felt his cock slowly rise to your call and press against your lower back.

“Please,” Denki whined.

You ran your nails along his sides. You ground yourself on his cock without inserting it. You kept it up until you saw goosebumps etching into Denki’s skin. He squirmed and writhed beneath you, his toned stomach moving underneath your clit. You felt your cunt grow wet with anticipation. But you weren’t quite done yet.

“Did you enjoy getting that blowjob in the car, lover boy?” You smirked.

“Y-Yes, mistress.”

“You’ve got a lot of stamina if you’re ready to go again.” You reached behind you and started stroking Denki’s cock.

He bucked his hips as best he could. You thumbed the tip of him.

“Thank you, mistress,” said Denki.

“Do you want to be inside me?”

“Yes, please!” He begged.

“You know what you gotta say,” you said.

“Please, mistress, put my cock inside you beautiful cunny.”

“Good boy.”

You pushed off your knees and climbed down. The blunt head of his cock slowly entered you. You impaled yourself on Denki’s cock until he was fully seated inside your warmth.

“Tell me how it feels,” you ordered.

“It feels so good, ma’am.”

“I’m going to make you feel even better,” you cooed and pulled on the leather collar.

Skin slapped against skin as your wet, warm walls slid on Denki’s cock. His knuckles turned white as bones holding the bed frame. He gasped for air as you pulled on the collar ensnared around his neck, not enough to hurt him but just enough to make him pant like a dog in heat. A lusty haze glazed over his golden eyes. Denki watched you bounce on his cock, watched his pre-cum leak of your sweet cunt. He watched your thighs jiggle as you impaled yourself on him over and over.

“You’re s-so beautiful,” Denki moaned.

You road him faster while he sang your praises.

“Come inside me, oh god, come inside me right now!” You moaned as you tilted your head back and let your hair fan around your shoulders in a wild dance of strands.

Denki’s face scrunched up; you thought it made him look cute. His head fell back onto the pillows. He rocked up into you. You squeezed around his cock until he could not longer take anymore. It took no more goading for Denki cum inside of you and let it spill out. You followed shortly behind. In your spasms, your nails clawed his chest, leaving red trails over his lean form. When you finally came down from your high, you pulled yourself completely off of him. You freed Denki’s wrists.

“You were so good for me, Denki. So good.” You kissed him on the cheek.

You showered and put fresh blankets on the bed together. Once snuggled against him in bed, you nuzzled into his chest. Denki wrapped one arm around your waist with the other carefully played with the ends of your hair.

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ask-the-clergy-bc · 4 years

Note

The Papa's and Copia's (or the Ghouls, whichever you'd prefer to go with) s/o takes them home to introduce them to their family. How does it go?

No matter who you pick, you are in for a fun night! XD

Papas/Copia meeting S/O’s family at dinner!!

Papa Nihil: Him coming to your family’s home? No, beloved. Your family is coming to visit HIM! Nihil is normally very accommodating, but he wants this visit to be comfortable on HIS terms! He IS Grand Papa after all, and low key wants to show off his position to your family. Granted, Nihil will be as warm and welcoming as he can be... but he still wants to be shown respect. He pretends he doesn’t notice you shaking your head behind him as he explains the history and grandiosity of your “humble” clergy home. Also one of the times he splurges to have an almost feast like spread for dinner. Nothing is too good for you, his S/O, and your family. I hope your family likes giant tables next to paintings of Lucifer and demons! The Emeritus never spare any expense, after all! Despite probably being intimated to an extent, your family has a good time. Nihil is always an EXCELLENT host and leaves everyone wanting for nothing. Very eager to have them back for another meal!

Papa I: This is one of the few times you get to see Papa dress up semi-formally in NOT Clergy attire. He so badly wishes he could just keep on his chausible and mitre in order to help welcome your family to your shared traditions of Lucifer... but his burberry scarf, leather loafers, and dress pants are more than enough. He wants you and your family to have a pleasant evening of introductions. Papa already knows his full regalia can be VERY intimidating, and not everyone can just be thrown into his beliefs and sermons... at least not yet. You’re almost CONVINCED it’s going to be very awkward on your family’s part- expecting them to think Papa is scary or far too old. But Papa is his normal charming, polite, and helpful self. He brings a good bottle of wine or drink, makes great conversation on virtually EVERY subject, and even helps clean up after dinner. your family ADORES him!

Papa II: A lot more nervous about it than he lets on. He’s not SCARED of your family, per say- but more so what could happen should the evening turn out terribly. He has no idea how your family could act when they find out what he does for a living. Papa knows that he is a cultured gentleman with a silver tongue- he’s confident he can woo your entire family in one night... but what IF something happens? Regardless, Papa dresses very well and makes sure you are looking tip top as well! He wants to make a show that he does have his life together and takes wonderful care of you as his partner. Papa insists on treating your family to a nice meal via one of his favorite fancy restaurants. He does the good conversation, showing off JUST ENOUGH without bragging too much. Making a great impression without being over bearing. But he watches your reactions through the corner of his eye. You know your family better than he does, and he needs to make sure to keep tabs on your body language. If things are going south, he’ll make sure to read your subtle hints in attempts to save the evening.

Papa III: Honestly, he’s a bit worried but at the same time far too terribly confident. Papa has rarely met anyone that he HASN’T won over with his irresistible charm. Papa if way too sure that your family will love and adore him by the time your visit is over! If anything, you might be the one worrying about any and everything. Would Papa be far too personable? Would your family react poorly to his position and lifestyle? You have to practically beg him not to be too over dressed for the occasion. Don’t worry, he puts on something simple and without his paint... for now. He promises you one of these days your family is coming OVER for a trip! But Papa manages to behave himself and, to your relief, win over your family almost immediately. He’s just a good mix of goofy but not too much, engaging, and having the best manners. Papa just can’t WAIT to bring your family around to meet his one day! ... Actually, he takes it back. His family MIGHT embarrass him.

Cardinal Copia: The most nervous out of all of them to meet your family, and this is a man who had to meet AND take over for Grand Papa Nihil! Copia is normally very composed and confident, even with his bouts of social anxiety. He has had to speak to many crowds and win over many siblings of sin and high ministry members alike... but this is a completely different ball game. Copia knows that failing to impress your family could potentially doom your relationship. And seeing as how he even wanted to make this work in the first place, this is a HUGE deal to him. Unbeknownst to you, Copia has spent hours preparing the perfect talking points, looks, act, and even outfit. It’s not until you actually GET him there to meet your family does he finally calm down! You are super relieved when Copia stops being so tense and starts to be his normal (albeit still anxious) self!

#the band ghost #ghost bc #Ghost headcanon #reader insert #papa nihil #papa emeritus i #Papa Emeritus II #papa emeritus iii #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv

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copias-thrall · 4 years

Note

Can we get an NSFW head cannon with the papa’s+cardinal about which love potions they give their fav sister of sin?

Hi, anon! What a saucy ask! Here we go …

*dubcon*

Papa Nihil: [Ed. I’m going to deviate a little here] He once discovered a potion to bring back lost love from a traveling priestess of Hecate. He was dubious at first, but she gave him a vial with just enough for one dose, which he then surreptitiously put in Sister Imperator’s tea. It worked like—well—a charm. By late afternoon, Imperator was in his office, nothing under her habit but racy red lingerie with garters and a riding crop hidden up her sleeve. She’d made him prostrate himself and kiss her patent Mary Janes while asking for forgiveness. She then made him worship her by having him eat her out on his desk with strict orders he was not to touch himself. Once she was satisfied, she had him kneel at her feet in the nude. Then—as she counted out his Hail Satan’s full of ungrace—she whipped his hard cock with her crop as his penance until he begged her for release. She ordered him to get up and stand against the wall, where she gave him a quick and perfunctory hand job, making him lick his spend off her fingers.

That night, Nihil bought every last drop of potion from the priestess. The priestess left on the next full moon with the warning to use the potion only to coax the cold ashes of their love back into an ember—all of which went into one ear and out the other. Papa is not known for self reflection or a willingness to change his behavior, so he simply got used to putting a drop in her cup every morning. They had a swinging good reunion … until he stopped dosing her (surely she must love him again by now!). No longer under the thrall of the potion, she became suspicious, and when she found the vials …. She became spitting mad and flew at Nihil in a righteous rage, nearly slitting his throat with a wicked letter opener.

Three Ghouls had to pull her off him!

In addition to dumping out the contents of the bottles, she made Nihil her slave for the same duration to really hit home what he’d done. (He was smart enough not to tell her that it was actually quite enjoyable for him, especially when the crop made more appearances for correction.) Now, he likes to think they can look back and laugh about it, but everyone else seems to notice her eye twitch when he recounts the “escapade.”

Papa I: He just wants to feel that first blush of ardent, youthful love again. His potion is less about creating false feelings and more about amplifying what’s already there. He invites you to his chambers for a quiet meal, the wine goblets both laced with the draught. After the meal is eaten and the wine is drunk, Papa I leads you to his bedchambers, where he slowly undresses you, reverently. Despite his ostentatious, ceremonial vestments, Papa I isn’t a man obsessed with fine things, so under your habit you’re dressed in simple, cotton undergarments (you tried wearing mesh and lace once, but he only perfunctorily complimented you, then took them off). As he slips off your bra and panties, he makes sure to run a light touch over your nipples and your ass. It makes you shiver, your skin goosepimpling. As he bends to help you out of your panties, he places a chaste kiss on each ankle bone. Then your calves. Then the inside of your knee. Soon he’s kneeling, hands traveling up your haunches, so he can reach first the inside of your thighs before placing a kiss to the lips of your cunt. He’d probably even be happy to eat you out like that, but you pull him up by his vestments—eager to remove them—and the two of you share a deepening kiss before tumbling onto the bed.

He makes love to you slow and close, whispering praises into your skin—and then the feelings hit you like an explosion. He must feel them too, because all of a sudden you’re both gasping and clutching at each other for dear life. You feel such overwhelming love for this man! The sun rises and the moon set with him, and even if you got excommunicated from the Church, it would be ok as long as you had him by your side. Your climax is a soft, quiet thing even as his has him stuttering and moaning out. Soon, he’s covering your face in kisses, and you realize that he’s crying; so you make sure to kiss each and every teardrop away.

The next day you feel like a truck backed over you. Papa I is clearly in no better shape the way he’s curled in on himself next to you. The feeling from the night before seems just within reach—even if trying to capture it again is like trying to hold fistfuls of sand. Papa is shaking, and you realize it’s because he’s crying, so you roll him into you, letting him bury his tears into your shoulder.

Papa II: His chosen love potion isn’t about making you love him at all—it’s about making sure you don’t love anybody else. He’s going back on tour soon, and he can’t stand the idea that you may fall into another’s arms while he’s away. It’s the night before the before, and he has you strung up in cuffs, your toes just about touching the floor. His teasing is making your twist and turn about, but to no avail. A gloved swipes at your nipple.

“And what’s this?” he asks.

“Yours, sir!” you gasp.

“And this?” he asks again as he squeezes your ass.

Again you respond that it’s his. He repeats his question as he teases every inch of your body. He finally gets to your pussy, tracing a leather finger down each lip before plunging in between your folds.

“And who belongs here?” as asks, now close into your ear as he fingers you.

“Only you, sir!” you cry out.

For once you don’t try to get away as he fondles you close to orgasm. Close to orgasm. He removes his fingers from your clit and his body from yours just when you’re close to tipping over. You wine and try to twist toward him, but he’s just out of reach. There’s a crack on your behind, and then he’s asking you to stick out your tongue. He produces the bottle and puts two drops on your tongue before ordering you to swallow.

He leaves you then, only coming back intermittently to bring you close to climaxing, before leaving you again. You cry and beg for him, but he’s not swayed; he’s never swayed. The next time he comes back, it’s with a brother of sin—one you’ve openly expressed thirst for. The guy is pale, the whites of his eyes showing. Papa II pushes him toward you.

“Well, go on, boy. Seduce her.”

He gives one, last, nervous look at Papa, before he’s in your space. His hands hover before finally settling on manipulating your nipples. And it’s all wrong, it’s not him—not Papa. All you can feel is a strong revulsion toward this boy. You try to twist and squirm away from him—the look on his face pure misery—until Papa II calls out Enough. He dismisses the Brother you once found so appealing—who all but hightails it in a cloud of dust—and comes over to pet and coo at you. He praises you and calls you his good girl. He covers your cunt with his hand.

“Now, my pet—whose are you?”

“Yours! Only yours, Sir!”

His finger slips into you, rests there.

“And whose commands do you follow?”

“Yours, sir!”

His finger begins to move, just a little.

“And if I command you to let a Ghoul administer this potion to you every 48hrs? Will you do so without resistance or complaint?”

“YES, SIR.”

His other hand grips you by the jaw and forces you to meet his two-toned gaze.

“Yes. I think you will.”

After that, he brings you to a screaming climax before he lets you down and fucks your pliant body. He’s nothing if not a stickler, so—after some aftercare and nap—he has you sign an amendment to your contract. You could have told him that his measures were unnecessary, but some part of you is thrilled that his affection for you hasn’t waned.

Papa III: He is all about sexual pleasure. Love schmove! Lust is his sin, baby, and he doesn’t need to worry about someone beating their chest and rending their garments because of him. He just wants to make you feel good. He won’t say how he acquired it—and he uses it sparingly enough—but he has a love potion that can connect lovers intimately. He explains that you both have to take it and exchange … fluids … to connect, but when you inquire as to how it works, he just wiggles his fingers and singsongs, Magic. He places several drops on his tongue, and you stick out your tongue, but instead of putting some on your tongue, he draws you into a deep kiss. He practically sucks your tongue into his mouth as his twists and tangles against your soft palate.

When he pulls away, spit strings still connecting the two of you, he says, “What? Did you think I meant other kinds of fluids?”

You slap at him, and he pretends that you’ve wounded him terribly, causing you to giggle. The two of you begin to hastily undress each other, hindered only by both of you pausing to nip and suck at each other’s flesh as it becomes uncovered. Soon enough you’re both naked and tangled in the sheets and each other. Papa III is a generous lover on his worst days, but tonight the two of you are eager to feel each other through this supposed bond, so the foreplay is a little rushed.

Even so, you’re still wet and ready to go when Papa urges you on top of him. You brace your hands on the heated skin of his chest as you sink down on his hard cock. And that’s when you feel it—a sudden spike of pleasure that you’re positive is not your own (being filled by his cock is always nice, but it usually takes a little more stimulation to get you as amped up as you suddenly feel). Your surprised moan is almost drowned out by the guttural one Papa III punches from his gut. You meant to ride the fuck out of him, but the feeling of his pleasure has your back arching and your head lolling sloppily.

Papa is suddenly upright and in your space, sucking at the exposed line of your neck. Your nails dig into his arms as he bounces you on his cock, and you feel the echo of the pained pleasure of it. Papa moans at the echo of your pleasure at his, and it’s not long before the two of you are raw nerves. You thought you’d both be going at it like rabbits, but the pleasure loop is making it hard for either of you to do anything but grind at each other in slow, deliberate circles. You have no idea how you’re barely moving and yet still such a vibrating, live wire.

The echo is getting closer, louder. You don’t think you’re moving at all, but still your arousal ratchets up and fills you from your curling toes to your open, silent mouth. You thought you’d be able to tell the difference between your pleasure and his, but right now you just feel. You’re like a balloon, and your latex is beginning to stretch and strain. Eyes rolling back, all you can feel is the unrelenting pulse of pleasure as Papa pants and mewls into your skin.

The bubble bursting seems inevitable, but it’s still a surprise when you burst, and somehow this is the best and the worst part of the whole experience. It’s almost too much to feel, too much to comprehend, and you seize up as the white-hot, blinding light knocks all sense and thought from you. Someone’s screaming bloody murder—and at some point you realize it’s you—but fuck if you care. Who even knows what sound Papa III is making, but you’re dimly aware of him mouthing at your shoulder.

It’s hard to tell how long the feedback loop goes on for, but when you begin to regain your senses, you realize that you’re on your side and clasped tight into Papa’s chest. And that’s as far as you get before the exhaustion hits you, and it makes sense—you are feeling everything double after all.

Copia: The problem Copia has is that before Ghost, he wasn’t in such high demand. He was by no means celibate, but the sheer volume of offers just weren’t there. At first, he reveled in the attention—rolled around in it, and rubbed it all over himself—but the shine soon wore off when he began to realize some of his lovers only found his position with the clergy attractive. His wake up call was when—in the middle of heated foreplay—one of his conquests accidentally touched his pudge on the way down to his cock, and they recoiled in disgust. After that, Copia couldn’t stop seeing all the little tells when a lover wasn’t really into him.

Obviously, on tour it doesn’t matter—the groupies are only there for the night, and even the hopeful initiates only really require one taking. But back at the Abbey, it’s a different story. Copia is now hyper aware that any Sibling who shows interest could be faking it. Which is why he uses a love potion on you. You, who were all blushes and ducked heads at first, but are now heated glances and lascivious touches. He just needs to be sure, so he finds a love potion meant to amplify feelings.

Now, was that 2 drops or 3 …?

You show up at his quarters for a nightcap. It’s been a busy week, and the two of you have only had the briefest of interactions, so this is a welcome invitation. For some reason the drink goes straight to your head, and soon you’re looking at Copia like he’s a tall glass of water in the middle of the desert. You want him desperately, and you manhandle him into his bedroom. The desire to own him, to show him that he’s yours, overwhelms you. You order him onto the bed as you fish around in your drawer for your cock and a bottle of lube. He complies as you buckle your cock around your hips.

As you climb onto the bed, you press him down into the mattress. With lube-slick fingers you test his hole and prep him appropriately as he moans in pleasure. You drape yourself over his back to hiss into his ear, “You’re mine, Copia,” before you push your cock into him. He lets out a moan of ecstasy even as you push his face down into the pillow. Gripping his hips tight, you make sure your angle hits his sweet spot as you thrust into him. He’s scrabbling at the sheets, but you’re relentless in showing him how much you own his body with your cock. The closer he gets, the more grabby you get. Copia is panting and trembling—you can tell he’s close—so you turn on your vibration.

“You make me so fucking hot,” you growl.

With the help of your hand, he’s soon cumming hard—you following close on his heels. Even after your orgasm, the intense feelings of ownership don’t subside; you’re clutching Copia to you and rubbing your juices all over his skin. “Everyone should smell me on you,” you grumble as you try to meld into his skin while grabbing at his flesh. You end up falling asleep like that.

When you wake up, it’s to profound embarrassment—how could you act that way? Of course you don’t own Copia. Why did you do that? He’s still dead asleep, but when you try to leave the bed, he wakes enough to draw you back to him. Feeling guilty, you try and bring up the night before with him—but he just snuggles you closer and says that he could never be mad at someone whose affection for him was true.

#asks #the papas #cardinal copia #love potion #dubcon

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haddonfieldproject · 4 years

Text

1.1.2 HALLOWEEN NIGHT, SAME TIME

<<PREVIOUS ⏺ <<CONTENTS>>

2️⃣

Haddonfield, Illinois

Chelsea Keane heard a noise downstairs. She was pretty sure it was a door slam, although it was so far away in this big huge house that it was hard to tell. She took one more long pull off of the joint and stubbed out the roach in the ashtray that sat on the little wicker table in front of her. Beside the little ceramic disc decorated in scenes of Tijuana—now covered in soot, and the remains of her joint, sat her purse. It was a bag really, one of those reusable shopping bags from McNary’s Supermarket, covered in floral prints and little orange and yellow suns, birds, and bees, and little green leafy vines that formed letters which read: Earth Day 2014.

Chelsea rummaged in the bag, around tampons and makeup cases, the occasional lipstick, chapstick, selfie-stick, and ladies speedstick and found what she was looking for. A stick of Wrigley’s Gum. She unwrapped the foil, popped the piece in her mouth, balled the wrapper up between her fingers into a nice neat silver ball, and flicked it across the space in front of her where it landed between a hot water heater and the Centra-Vac system.

She returned to her purse, retrieving a small glass cylinder bottle of Dimension, the new perfume by Jennifer Love Hewitt, and bathing herself in the baby powdery aroma, thinking to herself of a Halloween, perhaps almost twenty years previous, when she had sat on this very couch and watched the actress run screaming across a square-shaped television screen while being stalked by a hooded man with a hook for an arm. Chelsea brought a DVD case out of her purse/bag. Ripe Blood. She turned it over and looked at the screenshots on the back…and the rating. Rated R for Graphic Violence.

Haven’t come much far sense my VHS copy of I Know What You Did Last Summer, she thought. Well, at least the picture quality would be better.

Hell..it’d be a lot better.

Ellen had her own theater.

Complete with a fifteen foot by nine foot screen, reclining seats, surround sound, and even a little kitchenette to nuke some popcorn and retrieve a few ice cold pops.

Lifestyles of the rich and famous, she mused.

Well, definitely rich, but only famous if you’re into watching people have sex on camera.

And there were plenty of people who were, and they paid good money for it.

What can you say? Sex sells.

And didn’t Chelsea know it too. Hell, if she hadn’t let Zeke Yates knock her up in the VIP room almost eighteen years ago, she’d probably be doing just as good as Ellen.

Well…probably not.

Chelsea tossed the DVD case back in her purse/bag and stepped toward the door at the far end of the room, careful to stay on the plywood flooring that designated Ellen’s “Smoking Loft” from the rest of the attic.

Ellen had been the smartest girl Chelsea had ever known. Chelsea presumed she would have ended up like her older sister Deborah, who also got her start in life as a dancer at the Rabbit-in-Red, although, perhaps not quite like Deborah. She didn’t see her son turning into a psychopath anytime soon and she didn’t see herself blowing her head off in the forseeable future either. Like her sister Deborah however, who was actually her half-sister, and nearly twenty years older than her, she had commited the Cardinal Sin of the biz.

“Don’t lapse on your birth control,” Deborah had told the young Chelsea and Ellen as they stood behind her on their first day at work, watching her attach fake lashes in the dingy mirror in the back haunts of the Rabbit-in-Red. “Better yet..don’t fuck the customers at all. VIP is for dancing, not fucking.”

She had pointed a picture of her kids, taped to the mirror then. “See those.”

The girls had nodded nervously.

“That’s what I got for fucking a customer.”

Chelsea had made the mistake, which hadn’t been such a big mistake afterall. She of course was quite fond of her son Joshua, but it was safe to say that the nine and a half pound baby had tanked her stripping career and any possibility of moving into the Adult Film Industry. Chelsea had packed on over a hundred pounds during her pregnancy, and post-baby had only been able to shake twenty of it. So she had settled down with Josh’s father, gotten married, enrolled in Illinois Central College, and got her bachelors degree in Communications.

Lou Martini, the owner of Rabbit-in-Red industries had hired her back—as an editor. That, combined with the few bucks her husband Whitey made around town doing the odd handyman job here and there had afforded them a decent life, with a decent house, another child, a beautiful daughter, and an overall pretty damn fine life for herself.

Chelsea stepped out unto the landing and pulled the door shut to the attic behind her and then descended the stairs toward the common room on the third floor. There was a white leather couch and a coffee table. A mini bar sat in the corner of the room with liquor that probably hadn’t been touched in years and a few pieces of modern art on skimpy end tables that probably hadn’t been properly looked at or analyzed in the same amount of time. The room was just for show, just like a giant, lifesize poster on the wall behind a thirty inch flatscreen VIZIO. Ellen in a bikini too small for her surgically enhanced breasts, sprawled on some exotic beach, sand on her knees and elbows.

Ellen was smart.

🎃

“So who is this person?” Penny Cornell asked, popping her bubble gum loudly before she spoke.

Josh looked at her in the soft light of the poolhouse. She was dressed as Velma from Scooby Doo, and he had gone as Fred, only they hadn’t bothered to get wigs or color their hair, so she ended up being a blonde Velma and he ended up being a Fred with black hair, which, in actuality totally ruined the ensemble and had in fact led to many of their peers on the streets that night during their Trick-Or-Treating run to ask, “So..what are you guys again?”

While Josh searched the cabinets in the pool house kitchenette for a proper shot glass for the Captain Morgan he had stowed away, from a mini bar that saw quite a bit more action than the one on the third floor of the main house, Penny circled the Pool Table, the stained glass lamp casting bright and blazing hues on the side of her face as she looked at the pictures on the walls.

Plenty of pictures of a certain blonde woman in lingerie. Some in a bathing suit. Some wearing nothing at all but a properly placed palm frond, or towel, in one, the handlebars of a motorcycle. Many had the blonde woman with various celebrities. Kid Rock, holding her by the waist, holding a cigar and smiling. There was one with Charlie Sheen, another with Myley Cyrus, and an older one, faded a little, starting to yellow, with future President of the United States Donald Trump. Penny’s face as she beheld these pictures was expressionless, her unassuming eyes taking it all in like a pediatrician examining the X-Ray of a kid who just broke his arm in two places.

“She’s known as Misty Dawn.” Josh said, finding a suitable shotglass, this one featuring the skyline of Charlotte, North Carolina. “She works for Rabbit-in-Red Industries. She’s a model.”

“I can see that,” Penny said, popping her gum again. Her eyes didn’t deviate from the pictures.

“She’s been in some movies too.” Josh added, unscrewing the top of the rum, “X-rated movies. Also done some webcam and stuff.”

Penny sighed and leaned against the pool table. “I see.” She said yawning, her pink wad of bubble gum visible in the corner of her mouth. “Porn must pay pretty well to have all this.” She said, waving her hand across the room to indicate that by “this” she meant this particular poolhouse as well as the mansion and the grounds beyond.

Josh poured a shot and held it out to her. “She’s kind of a star.”

Penny grunted and took the shot glass. She downed it, winced, coughed, and held it back to him. “And your mom knows her from work?”

Josh took the glass and poured another shot. “She and my mom grew up together. They were best friends in high school. Her real name is Ellen.”

Josh took the shot. He also winced and coughed.

The sound of heavy metal filled the room.

It was Josh’s ringtone for his cellphone. He pulled it from his pocket, looked at it, and then looked at Penny frowning. “It’s my mom.” He said and hit the green button on the screen.

“Yeah?”

Penny pulled her own phone out to look at it. Josh replaced the cap on the Captain Morgan and went about replacing the bottle into the minibar and the shotglass into the cabinet from whence it came.

“We are back mom,” Josh was saying, “Penny and I are outside. You probably heard Maddie, Dylan, and Cammie come in.”

Josh rounded the bar and took his girlfriend’s hand, pulling her toward the sliding glass door that led to the pool deck.

“Yeah mom, we’re coming right now.”

He hung up the phone and slid the door shut behind them. Penny was looking at the pool and the adjacent spa.

“I wanna get in that hot tub.”

Josh put a hand on her butt. “I wanna get in there with you.” He smiled wryly.

“Shoot, it’s hot enough to get in the regular pool.” She said as they started toward the main house.

“You’re telling the truth.” Josh replied.

🔪

“You’re gonna fall and bust your head if you don’t stop running around with that sword!” Cammie Cornell, age eight, dressed like a bumble-bee, complete with clip on wings, said, standing cross armed on the hearth.

Dylan Rawls, age thirteen and dressed like a ninja, was chasing little Maddie Keane, age five, dressed as Princess Elsa from the animated Disney film Frozen. Dylan had a plastic sword and was waving it at Maddie as she ran away from him in a circle, laughing and screaming and all the while making motions with her hands in an effort to use her “powers” to freeze Dylan in ice like her character would have been able to do in the movies.

Dylan, despite having already started puberty, was not a very mature boy. This could have been due to a lack of attention given to him by his mother, or as some psuedo-scientists would have suggested, it could have been due to a diet high in processed foods and high fructose corn syrup. His mother had never had him tested for mental defficiencies, mostly due to a nagging worry that he would fail the thing. Dylan wasn’t mentally challenged, that wasn’t quite right. He had been tested for and diagnosed as ADHD by the time he was seven, but then again so many kids were and his mother hadn’t really believed in it or the medication that was supposed to, and probably would have, helped her son. Dylan was in ways a very bright child, better at all the household electronic devices than his own mother, but in other was he was just plain immature. Chasing around a five year old in a living room with a plastic sword dressed as a Ninja after acne was beginning to pop out on his face and sprouts of hair was beginning to pop out on his balls was just case in point.

Dylan stopped and glared at Cammie, about to display another example of his immaturity.

“Don’t tell me what to do, this is my house.” He said between panting breaths.

Maddie stopped and collapsed into the brown leather sofa that faced the fireplace. Her face was red and her breath was heavy, but the smile didn’t leave her little face, nor the brightness in her little brown eyes.

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing like that?” Cammie shot back.

Dylan was about to reply when they all heard a voice from behind them.

“Cammie! Get down from there.”

It was Chelsea, she was descending the stairs holding her cellphone in her hand.

“Maddie, off the furniture please.” She said.

“Yeah Cammie, get down!” Dylan added.

Cammie jumped down from the hearth and stuck her tongue out at Dylan. He returned the gesture.

“Where is all your candy?” Chelsea asked.

“We put it on the stove.” Dylan said, pointing toward the open kitchen with his sword.

“I see.” Chelsea said, her eyes beholding the three large hulking pillowcases.

“They got quite the big haul didn’t they.”

It was the voice of Josh. He and Penny entered the room from the opposite side.

“They certainly look like they made out.” Chelsea said, placing her cellphone in her pocket. She reached into her purse/bag and took out the DVD case and held it out for her son.

Josh snatched it up. “No way! Ripe Blood!? It hasn’t even stopped running in the theaters yet.”

Chelsea smiled, “The Rabbit uses the same packaging and distribution company as the company who made the film..Danger—something or other..”

“Dangertainment.” Josh corrected and passed the case to Penny who looked interested.

“Right,” Chelsea said, putting her purse/bag on the stove next to the three pillowcases full of candy. “Well they give all their clients some freebees as promotional items. That arrived this morning.”

“Are we gonna watch it?” Josh asked, eyes wide and bright.

“You better your ass we are,” Chelsea answered.

“In the theater upstairs?” Josh asked.

“Um…yeah.” answered Chelsea.

“I’m scared.” Penny frowned.

“You can’t be afraid of scary movies if you’re gonna date my son,” Chelsea said, “Joshua loves a good horror flick. He gets it from his mom.”

Josh hugged his mother. The sentiment surprised her, but she appreciated it.

“Can I watch it?” Dylan asked.

Chelsea shook her head. “It’s too scary for the younger kids Dylan. Why don’t you go upstairs and play with Maddie and Penny’s sister…” she looked to Penny, mind scrambling to remember the girl in the bee costume’s name.

“Cammie,” Penny corrected.

“That’s right, Cammie,” Chelsea continued, “until it’s time to go to bed.”

“You guys wanna see my playroom?” Dylan asked. “I have an Nintendo WiiU, a ballpit, a bouncy house, even some laser tag!”

“Yeah!” Maddie and Cammie replied in unison. The kids began to ascend the stairs.

Penny and Josh read the back of the DVD case together while Chelsea opened the fridge, looking over their snack options in regard to their theatre experience.

As Dylan, Maddie, and Cammie reached the top of the stairs, Maddie asked him.

“Can I take a turn at your Wii Dylan?”

Dylan looked back and smiled. “You can, but Cammie can’t!”

“Why not?” Cammie whined.

“I don’t let fat girls play!” Dylan replied, in another epic display of immaturity.

With their eyes on the DVD case, and her head in the fridge, Penny, Chelsea, and Josh didn’t notice or hear Cammie descend the stairs fighting back her tears and exit the front door of the home

NEXT>>

#halloween #halloween franchise #michael myers #horror #horror writing #haddonfield #horror film #fan fiction #fan writing #spooky

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brightingales · 5 years

Text

Pinene/ 1.4K/ Rated T

For @happyjarryholidays Day 1: Outside – “(Walking in a) Winter Wonderland”

Pinene (noun) one of the chemicals in pine trees that makes them smell so good. James takes Harry to buy his first ever real Christmas tree.

“I’m afraid our relationship is going to have to end,” James says as he stumbles bleary-eyed into the kitchen. “We’re just two different people.”

“Ah, right. And how did you figure that one out?” Harry replies, knowing instinctively that James is only joking.

“You have committed the cardinal sin of being a morning person.”

Harry just rolls his eyes and hands a mug of freshly brewed coffee to James.

“You never make a fuss when you have to get up early for a case,” Harry points out.

James rolls his eyes dramatically, “that is because I have to. It’s Sunday Harry.”

He puts his mug down and sidles up close to Harry, pulling him into an embrace. “Sundays are for lounging about in bed.” James slides his hands down Harry’s back before sneaking one into the back of Harry’s jogging bottoms, giving his bare arse a friendly squeeze. “And for doing other things…” He continues with a flirty smirk.

Harry can’t help but reach up and kiss him. James takes it as encouragement and sets about taking Harry apart with his hands – one sensual stroke after another.

“Come back to bed,” James whispers against his lips.

Harry considers it. But he started the day with a mission, and he’ll be dammed if he let James distract him from it.

“Don’t you want to know why I got up so early?” Harry asks when they break for air.

“Not particularly,” comes James’s sarcastic tone. “I’d much rather just get you back into bed. Why don’t you tell me what you were up to when we’re in the bedroom?”

James wraps his hand around Harry’s wrist, but he slips out of his grasp, heading over to the living room before James can pull him in for another brain-meltingly hot kiss.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Harry begins to explain, gesturing to the boxes now sitting on the sofa. “I got all the Christmas decorations out of storage and I was going to make a head-start on decorating so that the place would be all festive by the time you woke up. But I couldn’t find your Christmas tree.”

“Oh,” James says. He’s still a little woozy from sleep and from all that kissing. “That’s easily explained; I don’t have one.”

Harry tries to choke down his disappointment, “you don’t have a tree?”

“No. I never really bother – I don’t usually have much to celebrate.”

James goes to where Harry is sifting through the decorations that James does have, stands behind him, and wraps his arms around him, leaning all the way down so he can rest his chin on Harry’s shoulder. It must be terribly uncomfortable for him, but Harry loves when James does this, and so he relaxes into his embrace.

And when James says, “I guess this year is different; I have lots to celebrate,” Harry melts all over again.

“If I promise we can go and get a tree will you come back to bed with me?” James continues, taking advantage of his position to gently nibble on Harry’s ear in a way that makes him shiver all over.

“I do so love getting exactly what I want,” Harry replies, finally giving in to James’s seduction and letting him lead him back to their room.

…

James tells him to wrap up warm, which Harry thinks is odd given that they’re only going to the shop for a tree. Still, he decides not to question it when James emerges from the closet wrapped up in a gorgeous coat and the softest looking scarf Harry has ever seen. He briefly wonders if he can persuade James back into bed yet again.

But now that James has committed to the idea of going out for a tree there will be no persuading him to change his course of action.

Harry is a bit confused when James pulls open the car door and gestures for Harry to get in.

“Can’t we just walk?” Harry asks.

“There’s no chance you and I can walk back with a tree between us Harry. I know you work out a lot, but it will still be too heavy for us to carry. Besides, I know a great little place further out of town that does everything we need, and an excellent hot chocolate as well.”

James isn’t making a lot of sense, but he has that wonderful glint in his eye that always shines when he is excited about a plan coming together. So, Harry slides into the passenger side, content to let James take the lead even if putting up a tree was all Harry’s idea.

The drive is unexpectedly nice. The walls of the village give way to gently rolling hills and quiet country lanes. There is even a little frost glistening on some of the shaded parts of the fields that pass by the car windows. James is an attentive driver, but every now and again his hand strays from the gear stick and find its way onto Harry’s thigh. There’s nothing flirtatious in the touch – not really. It’s just a sort of ‘hello’. A gesture that says, ‘I’m glad you’re here’.

Harry places his own hand over James’s. ‘I’m glad you’re here too,’ say his fingers.

…

James pulls the car into a strange sort of place. It looks like whoever built it couldn’t decide between a greenhouse and a garden shed and so settled on a hodgepodge of both. There is more garden furniture than Harry has ever seen in his life outside the unusual structure, and everything smells vaguely of damp earth.

“Where are we?” he asks.

“A garden centre of course!”

“Right. What are we doing here?”

“Excellent hot chocolate, remember?” James strides over and links his arm through Harry’s, “and where else are we going to get a tree from?”

Harry lets James lead him. The garden centre is a weird, Christmas themed, collection of things. There’s a sign pointing to ‘winter wonderland’ packed full of decorations and lights, shelves full of garden sheers and implements that Harry doesn’t even come close to recognizing, and one inexplicably kitsch section of homeware and gifts.

The café is at the back of a conservatory type area. James orders drinks for them both – Christmas themed peppermint hot chocolates served with a miniature candy cane. James takes the one out of his drink, licks the squirty cream off it, and places it in Harry’s cup so that he can have both of the sugary treats.

They take their drinks outside, one hand wrapped around their cups, the other linking fingers with each other. Harry’s bare skin against the leather of James’s gloves feels so utterly wonderful he almost entirely forgets why they are there.

It becomes apparent as soon as they turn the corner. Before him, there is row upon row of Christmas trees stretching all the way to the back of the garden centre. Harry’s never seen anything like it.

“A real tree?” he gasps.

“Yes, of course. What else would we have?”

“But…” Harry has to stop himself as he hears his voice become thick with emotion “… I’ve never had a real tree before. I always wanted one, but Mum’s allergic, Dad said they’re pointless, and Ste said they’re too expensive.” Harry suddenly feels like a child again, “I always wondered what it would be like, to have a proper one, just for one Christmas.”

“You only deserve the best,” James answers sincerely, dropping a light kiss to Harry’s head. “Besides, I hate the plastic trees; they’re tacky and they smell funny.”

Now that Harry’s has taken in the sight of the trees, he can finally pay attention to the smell. The outside earthy scent still lingers but now it is mixed with pine and lemon. It’s a wonderful scent and Harry takes in great big lung-fulls of it as he and James move through the rows of trees. The smell of pine, peppermint, and James’s expensive cologne mix and mingle so beautifully that Harry wishes he could bottle the scent up and keep it forever.

He turns to look at James, who has already started to appraise the different trees, giving Harry a running commentary about each tree’s colour, height, and the fullness of its branches. Harry never thought it would be possible but somehow, in this very moment, he falls even more in love with James.

When he reaches out and pulls James in for a kiss, his lips taste like peppermint.

#jarry #happyjarryholidays #jarryfic #jarry week

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kinglykook · 6 years

Text

Unburden Me (01)

/ 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 /

Pairing ⇥ Min Yoongi x Reader ft. Demon!Yoongi, Demon!Jimin

Description ⇥ After a night teeming with alcohol and cardinal sins, you find yourself waking in a hospital the next day. Only, you aren’t really awake. In fact, you aren’t even alive, and you’re no longer alone. A demon named Min Yoongi offers you the choice to return to fix what you left behind and ascend to a higher place - for a price, and he will come to collect.

Warnings ⇥ Mentions of death/hospitals, smut, language, religious themes

Genre ⇥ Smut, angst & fluff

Length ⇥ 12.5k

__________

Your legs felt wobbly with every step as you stumbled through the streets, clutching your bag in one hand, and your phone in the other. The hem of your dress tangled around your ankles with your uneven pace, your heels offering you no reprieve in your unstable state. Mascara stained your cheeks, and your hair, previously done up in a curly updo, now fell free, falling to your shoulders in disarray. You could still feel the alcohol coursing through your veins, clouding your thoughts and making your movements hazy as you tried to focus enough to hail a cab. Your bra and panties were stuffed haphazardly in your purse, which you clutched to close to your chest in the same fashion that guilt was clutching your heart.

You’d made a huge mistake.

The combination of shock, fear, guilt, and alcohol did nothing to help you make sense of your surroundings. The city was bright and bustling around you, with people skirting by your hunched form without so much as a second glance. That was fine. You didn’t deserve any help anyway, not after what you’d done. With tears in your eyes, you looked back up at the building from which you’d just exited. The light was still on, illuminating the window, and you could see faint shadows of the figures inside. You could only imagine what they were saying about you now. What they’d tell everybody. The thought overwhelmed your mind with a new wave of raw emotion, drowning any common sense you’d had left, and leading you to step off the curb without a second glance.

__________

The gentle drones of the hospital machines woke you slowly. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, you opened your eyes to find yourself surrounded by the sterile, starch white environment of a hospital. Your eyes closed again, but you pried them away as you tried to make sense of reality. The room was empty, but where was- oh. You remembered now. Last night. That was why. You hadn’t even realized you’d drank enough to warrant a hospital visit, but you were glad all the same to wake up in one piece. Raising your hands gingerly because of the IVs, you ran your fingers through your hair and rubbed away the remnants of your makeup. You felt sore all over, and more than gritty - that was no surprise. Your hand reached for the button on the bed to call the nurse, when a soft voice rang out in the room.

“There’s no need for that.”

You jumped at the sound, eyes turning to see a man standing at the foot of your bed. You didn’t immediately recognize him, which made you irrationally worry for a split second that you had amnesia. He wore black jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black jacket on top. One lone glittering earring hung from his ear, and a thin silver chain encircled his throat. His hair was bleach blonde, but it looked soft as he regarded you, small strands falling into his feline eyes. He was beautiful, to put it plainly. His pink petal mouth parted in a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes, the irises of which looked black as night. He stood casually, as though this were just a visit, and though his frame was small, his presence seemed to swallow the room whole. You’d remember a man like this.

“Why?” You asked, eyes narrowing and suspicion lacing your voice. You reached for the button anyway, but stalled in pressing it. “I don’t know you.”

“You don’t, it’s true. But you will. Stand up.” His voice was quiet, but not soft. It was a direct order. You blinked at him owlishly, and he flicked his fingers at you, gesturing for you to stand. Unbeknownst to yourself, you found yourself standing, all too easily at that. The IVs fell away and when you looked down at yourself, you were shocked to find yourself no longer in a hospital gown. You had the same glittering black and gold dress on that you wore last night.

“What- what is this?”

The man reached for you and tugged you back towards the wall, then nodded towards the door. Seconds later, a team of nurses and doctors burst in, a defibralltor machine in hand. You looked at the heart monitor - it droned with one steady beep. But there you were, laying in the hospital bed, still clad in the hospital gown. And yet... You looked at the man next to you, suddenly afraid.

“That’s why there was no need. They were coming anyway. Shall we walk?” He left without much ceremony after that, walking straight out the door. “W-what- hey!” You sped after him, barely able to keep on his heels as you crossed the threshold of the hospital room, and found yourself... not in the hospital.

The room was like a baroque fantasy. Each piece of furniture was sumptuous, from the plush leather chairs to the velvet ottomans to the Renaissance paintings hanging from the walls. Low rafters hung darkly from the ceiling, carved from a rich, almost red-stained wood. Stained glass lamps stood on every end table, offering what little light the lack of windows couldn’t. There was a huge wooden desk in front of you covered in parchment, papers and notebooks. There was a plush red and gold carpet underneath your feet, but you saw bits of hardwood peeking from underneath. This must’ve been the sitting room; if you looked past the open doorway across the room, you could spot the enormous bed. Whoever he was, he lived well.

It was clearly not a hospital, so what were you doing here?

“Sit.”

The man quickly did the same, sitting at the table and picking up a pen previously discarded. It seemed as though he had been working on something, as he noted something in a delicate scrawl.

You sat, but you weren’t happy about it. “I’m dead?” You couldn’t even keep your voice from breaking as you said it.

The man glanced down at his watch and nodded. “Yep. As of about four minutes ago.” He continued to write, and anger flared up inside of you. You stepped forward, slamming his hands on the table, causing his hand to jerk and the pen to skitter across the page. “Will you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Sit.” He repeated, and this time, his voice rattled your soul. You found yourself sitting without any recognition as to whether there was even a chair beneath you, but the backs of your thighs hit wood as you sat. He looked up at you with annoyance, his delicate eyes flickering. Now that you were sitting so close, you saw that his eyes weren’t actually black; you saw specks of brown dotting the irises in the light, but that was no comfort. His features were beautiful, his skin glowing as if inhuman, and you couldn’t miss the deep timbre of his authoritative voice, no matter how quietly he spoke.

“My name is Min Yoongi.” You couldn’t miss the small smile on his lips as he said his name, but if you were supposed to recognize, you didn’t. “You’re Y/N. Time of death, 4:04 am. Cause? Car accident. You’re quite the troublemaker, aren’t you.”

“Okay Min Yoongi, if I’m dead, then what is all of this?” You gestured wildly at the room around you then paused. You had no bra or underwear on. You’d shoved it all into your purse after you’d left the apartment in a hurry, which means you certainly didn’t have it on now.. and this dress left little to the imagination through its sequins. You looked up at Yoongi again, sporting a dark smile as though he knew exactly what you were thinking about. “I’m not complaining.” You thought you heard him murmur, but you were entirely too overcome to care.

“Y/N, you’re dealing with the dark arts now.” He warned. “As a demon, I’m here to offer you a return.” A return? To life? Well.. You paused at that. Of course, you hadn’t wanted to die, but knowing what sorts of things waited for you back in reality... It wasn’t immediately tempting. “You can return to life, and fix what mistakes you left behind as an attempt to clear your soul and ascend to a higher place.”

It was almost as though you could still feel the alcohol in your system, that was how slow your mind seemed to be working. None of this made sense, none of it, and yet there you sat, perfectly still. You’d barely accepted the fact that you were dead, and now you were given an opportunity to return, and what was all this talk of Heaven?

“Well-”

“You’re not interested? In that case, I have a much more... fun proposition for you.” By the look in his eyes and the smarmy look on his face, you guessed you weren’t interested. Narrowing your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest in an attempt to look intimidating. In front of Yoongi, it did not work.

“Save it, demon boy. What’s the catch for a return?”

Yoongi placed his pen down and regarded you with a degree of fascination. You weren’t sure you liked it, but it made you squirm in your seat anyway under his heady gaze. “Three conditions.”

“How poetic.” You scoffed.

“You know, for someone who just died, you have quite the mouth on you. You want to piss off a demon, pet?”

“If it means you won’t call me ‘pet’, then yes. Just, fine, go on.” You sighed. Surely he could understand why you were pissy. The plan had been to sleep away your hangover and all memories of the night before, for days, weeks, months, whatever it took. Instead you were here, talking with an impatient demon. Sure, this was much better.

“Three conditions. One, you can’t tell anybody about me or the deal, otherwise it will be rescinded.” You almost wanted to ask how he would know, but kept your mouth shut. He smiled then, simmering with taunting. “Yes, I will know. Two, though I’m returning your life to you, it remains at my control. I can take it just as easily as I return it. Three, if you fail to amend your sins, you return to me. Finally, the price.”

“Wait, you mean the other three aren’t a price?”

“No, they are simply rules. The price is that you come when called, whenever you are called, for any reason.”

“What?” You balked. “Come when called? When? Why?”

“Whenever. I may need assistance with something, I may need to speak to you, whatever. Don’t forget, your life is mine once I return it to you from my hands. Do you agree?”

“And if I refuse?” You asked, lifting a brow. “You already own my life, and I’d be at your beck and call anyway. What more do I have to lose?”

You heard a soft sound, then realized Yoongi was chuckling quietly. “If you refuse, you go to purgatory, for an undecided amount of time. It’s no fun. Take my word for it, a thousand years in purgatory is a start, and it’s long time.”

“Can I think about it?”

“No, this isn’t a used car dealership. It should be a very instinctive decision for most people, Y/N.” Yoongi replied in a snarky tone. You didn’t know someone so pretty could be so mean.

“Alright, alright. If I amend my sins or whatever, I can go to Heaven?” You asked, and he nodded. “If I fail... I’m yours.”

“So we’re betting. This is a bet on my eternal soul, and you’re just a glorified bookie.” You found yourself saying, despite his earlier warning of not pissing him off. You found you couldn’t help yourself - but it was exactly what you deserved. Punishment for your sin.

“If you like. Now, if you agree, sign this.” Yoongi handed you a heavy calligraphy pen dripping with ink, and slid forward a sheet of paper and you couldn’t help but smirk at the dramatics of it. You weighed it in your hand for a moment, pausing before signing. Could you do it, fix your mistakes and manage to ascend? And if you didn’t? You glanced at Yoongi. An eternity tied to a demon. A beautiful demon, but a demon nonetheless.

Before you quite knew what you were doing, your hand reached forward and scrawled your signature. It looked messy compared to Yoongi’s elegant handwriting, but you had bigger things to worry about than your penmanship. You should’ve felt good about your choice, but something about the way Yoongi smiled at you once you’d finished made your heart flutter.

Like he’d already won.

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julesthequirky · 6 years

Text

Lead Me Into Temptation Chapter Four

Summary: Your crush on your next door neighbour is already long established. The signs are slight, but you can’t fully tell if he likes you or not. The problem is: he’s much older.

The purr of the car was too distinctive. It was your baby and you rushed out to see Misha cut the engine and step out. His face lit up in a huge grin.

“I’m starting to think you only come to see my cars and not little old me.”

“Come off it, Collins. Besides you’re not that old.” You said, your hand delicately tracing the edge of the Dodge Charger.

“You sure about that?”

You looked back to Misha and pulled your hand back to your side. His smile was teasing and knowing. You couldn’t help it, whenever he brought this car around you were drawn. A moth to a flame. Her cardinal chrome work made your mouth water and you wanted to get under her hood to see what made her really run.

You could hear your mother’s words inside your head. Red represented the devil, the original tempter, bringer of sin. Red was associated with whores and sluts, the red light district. It was also the colour of desire. Red was passionate and heady. It was lust and sex. To you, red had always been an incredibly good FUCK. It was sexy. It was dirty and naughty and raunchy.

And she was. A temptuous beast that made you ache to get behind her wheel, to smell the leather and feel her vibrations go through your body as she started up. You loved every inch of her. From the top, down to her authentic muscle tyres. You kinda reminded yourself of Arnie in Christine.

A ‘FOR SALE’ sign obstructed your view and your heart plummeted.

“You’re selling her?!” You didn’t mean to sound panicked, but you couldn’t help it. A classic like this would be snapped up in an instant.

He nodded.

“I want someone to love her as much as I did.”

You looked at him.

You wanted this car. There was no doubt about that. And you’d do ANYTHING . You’d sell your soul if you could. That was just how much you loved this car. But you could never afford a beauty like this. And your mother would never allow it.

Misha leant on one side, his fingers splaying on his hip, fingers on his chin and you watched as they tapped his plump bottom lip. He had that look about him. Something was going on in his mind.

“Isn’t it your birthday today?”

You nodded.

“Twenty five. I remember when I was that age. That was a while ago…”

Misha opened the drivers side door and gestured for you to get in. Was he serious? Your legs wobbled a little as your foot stepped into the interior of your dream car.

Inside, it was just as beautiful as the body. You didn’t know where to put your hands. The leather was warm and slightly worn. He had kept in damn good condition. You wrapped your hands around the wheel and you felt it.

This was your car.

It had to be.

Misha closed your door snapping you out of your daydream. He got in the passenger side and you heard the close of his door. Suddenly you were aware it was just the two of you alone.

“Why don’t you take her for a spin?”

Jesus fucking Christ. This was turning into one hell of a birthday.

Your hands touched when he handed you the keys. You felt a spark and a flutter in your abdomen. His hand was warm and calloused and also larger than yours. He fitted yours perfectly. You swore his hand lingered just a second longer. You longed for his hands to touch you all over. Flashes of images assaulted you. You had to hold your breath and willed them to stop. Now was not the right time to dwell on those thoughts.

You put the key into the ignition and turned it.

She rumbled and roared to life. Her hum reverberated through you and you knew at that moment what Eve must have felt when she took the first bite of that apple. Adrenaline coursed through your body and you felt all sorts of delicious things. At that moment you knew what it was to be bad.

Energy buzzed your blood and you felt charged. A little smile turned curved your lips. The Dodge Charger purred. You set the car in reverse and eased your foot on the gas.

You groaned internally. She rolled out of Misha’s garage and onto the driveway. Changing gears was a breeze and you were on the black top cruising with nowhere to go.

“Where to?” you asked.

“Where ever you want. It’s your birthday.” He smiled.

Misha’s cologne permeated the small area of the car. You breathed him in doing your best to concentrate on the road. Being beside Misha in such proximity had you on edge.

The car was a dream to drive. It was torture knowing you had had all but a taste and it would all be taken from you a little too soon.

You had the perfect idea of where to go. You turned the car around and headed to the ranch. Misha rolled open the window and put on his sunglasses. His hair ruffled in the wind. He turned on the radio and Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama perforated the silence. You sung along to the familiar lyrics. From the corner of your eye you saw Misha’s lips curve into a smile.

“C’mon Mish’.”

Your fingers tapped on the wheel in time to the music. And then you heard it. Misha’s voice as rich and luxurious. You had to bite your lip.

You looked at him.

“You dog!”

He laughed.

“You can talk, missy. You can sing too! I heard you the other week. With that kid, Miles.”

“Mike.” You corrected.

“Rock suits you.” he complimented.

You smiled. You loved rock. Classics always won out over anything else.

Seeing your face, Misha knew he couldn’t sell the car.

He was a grown ass man, and you were almost twenty years younger, but he couldn’t explain the emotions you stirred up under his skin. He didn’t know what it was about you, but he couldn’t get you out of his head.

Maybe it was because you dressed in floral summer dresses, looking so country chic and innocent. Too pure to be running through his mind.

Or maybe it was the way you ever so subtly flirted with him. A flip of the hair, a bite of your lower lip. The way your body turned toward him, throwing feisty lines at him. He loved it when your cheeks tinged pink.

Maybe it was because you were dying to break free from your parents. Break away from the church.

He didn’t know what came over him. Maybe it was because you looked like you had been slapped when you saw the ‘FOR SALE’ sign. When you sat inside he knew he couldn’t sell it. Not when you looked like you had found the naughtiest secret on earth. You were positively seductive sitting at the wheel of his car.

Handing the keys over, he knew you fitted this car. You and this car produced thought provoking images, usually together. With him involved.

He tried not to watch you drive. Tried and failed. Every time your hand went to the gear stick his mouth went dry and when your thumb stroked over the round head he had to force himself to think of other things. More innocent things.

He wondered how much longer this dance would last. You both skirted around each other, and if his inkling was right, you liked him too. It was difficult and complicated. You were twenty five. As of today. Your parents were devout Christians and so were you according to them.

He knew, could feel your struggle when it came to your faith, or lack of. You wanted to be free. He wished he could help, but he knew he couldn’t get involved, it wasn’t his business.

But he could tempt you . Tease you. Torture you in a way that would lead you to the right decision.

Giving you this car would be a step in the right direction.

You pulled up to the ranch and waved as you saw Kelly, one of the ranch hands. She waved you through and you parked.

This place was beautiful. It was the best working ranch in Colorado. Set out in rural country, you could lose yourself for days here and you did. Being an ex ranch hand you knew the place like the back of your hand.

“A ranch. Didn’t you used to work here?” Misha asked.

You nodded.

“Yeah. But my Ma wanted me to get work closer to home. I didn’t mind it here. I loved it and I didn’t mind the drive.”

You stepped out the car and breathed in the fresh country air. You locked up once Misha had got out. He went round to the trunk of the car and opened it. You watched somewhat puzzled. He pushed the trunk down and you saw a picnic blanket. He smiled and walked the short distance to you. You gave him the keys to the car and together you walked towards the retreat entrance.

You were greeted and welcomed warmly by the manager, Zeke. He hugged you like an old friend.

“Be still my beating heart. Is Miss Y/L/N asking for her old job back?”

You shook your head and his expression saddened a little.

“Well if you ever want it back, you know where I am. Anyway what can I do for you today?”

“I wanted to see the ranch, with my friend if that’s okay with you, Zeke?”

Zeke smiled and nodded then looked to Misha shook his hand.

“You’re in the best possible hands here, better than mine. She knows the land back to front, best, top ranch hand, had a way with animals and people. Everyone loved her.”

Misha smiled and thanked Zeke. Zeke grabbed a ranch hand and whispered something in their ear.

Some minutes later the same ranch hand came back holding a picnic basket.

“Just a little something from me and the rest of us.”

You took the basket and could barely hold it, Misha took it from you and you tried not to look his muscles bunching.

“You didn’t have to do that, Zeke.”

“I know, but you’re a joy to have around.”

You felt heat creep into your cheeks and you smiled, looking down. You felt Misha’s had touch yours, bringing you to look up as you felt your heart beat flurry in your chest. He smiled at you. You thanked Zeke and together you walked out onto the ranch grounds.

You walked with Misha for a little while until you found your favourite spot.

You stopped and Misha unfolded the blanket, laying it out on the ground. He set the basket down and you sat down.

You admired the scenic, peaceful country view. Zeke had given you a plentiful spread.

“They love you here. Its like being with someone who’s famous.”

You laughed.

“Not quite.” You ate from the basket. “I enjoyed my job. I enjoyed working with the animals. I enjoyed serving the customers. But sometimes good things have to come to an end.”

Misha was quiet for a moment.

“Do you enjoy your job now?”

You looked down.

“Not really. I mean there’s lots of enjoyable aspects.”

“Like?”

“Helping customers. Aiming for perfection.”

“But its not the same is it.”

“There’s no animals. No land, the freedom to roam and it’s not exactly scenic.”

“I’ve walked in and seen you working. You don’t look like you enjoy it. And clearly your old manager adores you.”

You blushed.

“He’s the best.”

“So… what’s stopping you from getting your old job back?”

You sighed. To be honest you didn’t know. You didn’t want to upset your parents.

“I love my parents, but I think I don’t want to step on their toes, plus I still live with them I have to do what they say. And I am totally scared of disobeying them.”

Misha nodded and looked ahead.

“If they love you,

They won’t change you.

If they love you,

They won’t break your wings.

They won’t cage you,

Or stop you from flying.

If they love you, they will actually

Love

You.”

You looked at him and he smiled. You understood what he was saying. You shouldn’t be afraid to be yourself. You smiled at him.

“Not just made of jokes, I have a sensitive side too.”

“Something you wrote?”

“No. Credit has to go to Najwa Zebian. I like her poetry. I like other poets too, but that one called out to me.”

You liked Misha’s sensitive side. It warmed your heart and filled you up.

“I know it may be daunting and scary, and overthinking can make it feel and look so much worse, but you should never be afraid to be who you are. Once you take that leap, you’ll feel so much better. You’ll feel free. You’ll be able to accomplish anything you want. I have absolute faith in you.”

“Does that include breaking my parents hearts?” You looked at him.

“Your parents should love you unconditionally.”

It was the truth, you didn’t know if your mother would forgive you.

“In hopes of you becoming the person you want to be. I think it will bring you out of your shell, and because it’s your birthday,” He leaned to one side and dug in his back pocket bringing out the Dodge’s keys. He held them out to you. “It’s all yours.”

You stared at the keys like they were made from gold. The tips of his fingers closed your mouth and you looked at him.

He closed your hand around the car keys.

“You can breathe now.”

You realised you hadn’t and snapped out of it. You looked down and opened your hand. They were there. Real. In your palm. Yours.

“Thank you.” You were breathless from shock.

Reality hit you fast. There was no way your mother would allow such a gift. And you had no idea how much her upkeep was.

Misha saw your face drop a little. He acted without thinking. He grabbed your hands and you looked up.

“I’ll let you store the car at mine until you feel ready. And we can work this out.”

He ignored the heavy thudding of his heart. Ignored the lust growing in his gut and loins. Ignored the how hot his skin began to get as his thumbs stroked the back of your hands.

His heart skipped when he saw a slip of a smile.

“Thanks Mish’”

It wasn’t right. His stomach ached knowing he could never be with you. He could picture your mothers reaction and it kicked him in the gut how real it felt. Her little girl with a man old enough to be her father. He felt sick. He wanted anything to not feel what he was feeling. But at the same time he could see you smirking, giving your mother what for.

You watched as the sun began to set. You rested your head against him as you both watched in silence.

He folded the blanket up and you walked back to reception. You put the basket on the front desk and thanked them. Together you walked to the car. You unlocked her and sat in the drivers seat as Misha sat beside you in passenger.

You drove home ready to begin the steps of becoming you.

You parked your baby on Misha’s driveway. As you stepped out, your porch light came on and Ma stepped out on the porch.

“Miss Y/N Y/L/N, what time do you call this?? you get inside, right this minute!” She stepped back inside with a slam of the porch door.

You closed your eyes and felt the fight drain.

“Don’t lose faith.”

You looked at Misha. At least he believed in you, even when you didn’t.

You flung your arms around him. You felt his arms go around you. You breathed Misha in. Oh Lord he was gonna make you dizzy.

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Honey Bee.”

You parted and you turned to look at your car once before you made your way inside.

He waved you goodbye and you smiled feeling the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach. You passed it off as you were giddy from being given a car.

You walked in and saw your parents standing there.

“Hey, Ma, Daddy. Have a good day? I know I did. I’m sure as heck beat though. I’ll see you in the morning.” You said with a smile plastered on your face and made your way upstairs leaving your Ma flabbergasted.

“Looks like a girl in love, if I ever saw one.” Your father said.

“Mike?”

“Could be.”

Your father said and pecked his wife on the forehead.

Lead Me Into Temptation Tags:

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#Lead Me Into Temptation #misha collins #misha #misha smut #misha fanfiction #misha x reader #spn fanfic #spn #supernatural x reader #spn au #rpf spn

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freyalor · 7 years

Note

Do you take nsfw prompts? Can you make a nsfw fic where Richelieu has to spend one night with some foreign ambassador for political reasons? w/o Treville knowing. Thanks!

Congratulations, anon ! You made me produce a textbook example of “ficlet gone mad”, meant to be a 800 words thing, ending up at 3am with 4500 words and the salty feeling of lost control.There you go then, a fat slice of porn with plot.Because yes, I take the porn prompts.

This Man is an Island.

(Also on AO3)Because the 17th century is also the last days of piracy, and I always wanted Armand to meet a fierce, savage pirate once.

Enjoy.

-« You’renot the only ship-owner of France, Basseterre.” The King spits.

-“Certainlynot” Basseterre laughs, “but I am the best.”

Louis letsout an exasperated huff, shifts on his seat, and just like every time, just asalways, he turns to his First Minister for support. Richelieu subtly bows hishead, more to ease the King’s frustration than to show obedience, and clearshis throat as he stands up to pace around Basseterre.

The meetingis starting on its third hour, and it has turned from an amiable talk to ahissing war of pride and defiance. Louis has lost any sense of patience onehour ago, and the battle is mostly raging between the Cardinal’s quiet wits andBasseterre’s smug impudence.

The stakesare high and they both know it. Countless plantations of tobacco and cottonhave developed in the new colonies of Guadeloupe, and France needs gold. Richelieuhas worked himself to exhaustion to make sure the main trading posts of Franceare secure, and it included strangling La Rochelle to death. A fortune nowawaits in the Antilles, and all France needs are safe, sturdy ships to bring ithome. Right on the other side of the Channel, England is making dreadfulprogress in those matters, and the Cardinal cannot stand to fall behind. It ismaking him literally, physically sick.

JeanLaurent de Basseterre is nothing more than a pirate with a good name.

JeanLaurent de Basseterre is even likely not to be his real name.

But, by theDevil’s work and a thousand slit throats, he owns one galleon, three frigatesand five clippers.

Enough toguarantee France a glorious income, and prestige upon the seas.

Richelieuwants those ships and Basseterre knows it. The privateer has been playing thenegotiations like a game, dismissing gold, titles and land with a shrug,refusing any offer the King had prepared for him, but never leaving the tablenonetheless.

And nowthat the King has run out of bargains, sitting cross-armed in his high seat, anoutraged pout on his soft features, Bassterre slumps back in his own chair, oneankle resting on his knee, his blunt fingers tapping a joyful tune upon thearmrests, watching the Cardinal keeping up the fight with absolute delight.

Theship-owner is a tall, bulky man, his hair too long and his beard too short forParis’ standards, an untamed look stuck to every inch of his skin. He came inwithout weapons as required, but his sturdy boots left dirt and mud everywherein the corridors from the main gates to the reception rooms. His thick leatherdoublet and dirty ruffled shirt are nothing more, no doubt, than what he’s beenwearing all week.

TheCardinal’s heavy robes slide around Bassterre’s seat, storms brewing in thesoft waves of silk. Richelieu shuffles idly through a few papers, his cleverstare filled with disdain, and the ship-owner looks halfway between curious andincredibly pleased.

-“Bereasonable, Basseterre” The Cardinal states; “surely you can understand thisdeal we propose is both profitable and salutary for you.”

The brownman laughs, a clear, challenging sound that must have earned him a few gloriesin the taverns of Saint-François.

-“Salutary,really?” He sneers. “What kind of threat could France protect me from?”

-“Yourself.”Richelieu whispers, and starts reading a paper he just unrolled. “Theft andinsulting behavior, embezzlement of State propriety, destruction of Nationalestate building, treason, trading of stolen goods, and no less than thirteenaccusations of murder.”

He lets thesheet roll back around itself with a soft clapping sound. Basseterre pales.

-“Andthat’s only for the Governor of Antilles.” The Cardinal adds distractedly. “Ihave a few other, rather impressive lists from Le Havre and Bordeaux, do youwant me to go through them also?”

Theprivateer narrows his dark eyes, biting his lips. On the higher seat facing himat the table, the King almost claps his hands in triumph, but the sailordoesn’t even spare a glance for him. He only stares at Richelieu in anger andmild fear.

-“Youhaven’t got enough evidence.” He dares, pointing at the sheet. -“I have hanged better men than you with half as much.” The Cardinal smilesback, like honey poured upon a razorblade.

Basseterrefrowns. He puts both feet on the floor with a loud thud, his whole facehardened, almost showing teeth like a dog. He did expect a few tricks from thefamous Cardinal, but he certainly didn’t picture him going straight frombargaining with title and lands to cold, ruthless hanging threat.

His jawtwitches. There’s sweat on his forehead, and by that furtive look he has forthe window, he may be considering jumping from it.

-“No prison can hold me for too long. “He claims, but in his voice, half of theconfidence has crumbled. “I’ll leave France and never come back.”

-“I’d like to see you try.” Richelieu hisses. “And even if you do succeed, Francehas allies, Basseterre, and those I don’t have, I can pay for. I could makesure there isn’t an acre of land you could safely make a stopover on.”.

With afurious flinch, the privateer bangs his fist on the table, making Louis jump inshock, and growls at the Cardinal with the smile of a famished wolf:

-“Clever beast you are.”

Richelieufrowns, waiting for the man to get up and hit something, but Basseterre only eyeshim up and down without a word, his smile too heavy to be safe. The Cardinal,somewhat confused, retreats a few steps away from that hungry stare.

After along, bitter silence around the table, the ship-owner barks one more vibrant laughter,and raises his hands in surrender.

-“Alright,you poisonous snake, bring me that contract.”

Richelieu’sjaws clench in anger, but he lets the insult pass without retort. The deaththreat was, after all, his last trump card, and it would be wiser not to ruinit all with the sin of pride. He gently opens a thick folder instead and pullsout a large sheet filled with thick handwriting to lay it down in front ofBasseterre.

As theCardinal leans to offer a quill, the privateer looks up at him once more, hiswild, fierce eyes burning a lazy path up and down the red robes, and hesuddenly grabs Richelieu’s sleeve with dreadful force.

Pulling him a few inches closer, he whispersin his ear, barely above a sigh:

-“I’ll signon one last condition.”

The Red Manwinces, struggling to recoil from the unwanted contact, and shoots a glancetowards the King. As Louis, looking a bit lost, doesn’t seem to demand anexplanation, Richelieu mouths something like “Yes?”, and Basseterre grins likea devil.

He liftshis chin up, high enough for his lips to graze Richelieu’s ear, and breathes:

-“I want you. In my bed. Tonight.”

TheCardinal gasps, shrugging himself off Basseterre’s grip, stands up and staresat him in shock and disbelief. He instinctively joins his hands on his chest insheer anguish, the whirlwind in his eyes as only cue of the panickedcalculations of his mind.

-“What’sgoing on?” the King asks, impatient.

The Cardinalturns to Louis with a start and gently bows with a dismissive wave of his hand.

-“Nothingof importance, Your Majesty” he claims with an amazingly steady voice. “Our newshipping agent is merely jesting.”

Though whenhe turns back to Basseterre, the rugged man’s focused eyes assure him that heisn’t.Richelieu weights his options for a few more seconds, holding the sailor’s starewith a blank face.

Basseterreis a pirate. A wealthy one, but a pirate nonetheless. He indeed has anincredible record of escaping all sorts of prisons, and even if he ends uphanged high on Place de Grève, Richelieu still needs to find his ships in thecreeks of Guadeloupe and claim them as State Propriety. They’re not likely tobe tied up in a row in an open space, waiting to be commandeered.

TheAntilles are still far from Richelieu’s grasp. He hasn’t settled trusted men onthose new islands yet.

He may killBasseterre, but that wouldn’t guarantee him those ships, and the able men tosail them. The best option remains to obtain Basseterre’s complete allegiance.

Anyalternative would mean France lowering its sights concerning colonial trade.France falling behind England in both fortune and prestige.

Thatthought is unbearable.

The idea ofspending one night, one hour with this man feels too wrong for words, but truthbe told, claiming anything about the Church, his title, his rank, or the simplefact that they are both men would be nothing short of deceit.

None ofthis stopped him from taking Captain Treville as a lover.

Treville.Richelieu hides a flinch of agony with a sharp bite of his thumb. Jean. Hisdearest, beloved Jean.

The reasonit all feels wrong, the reason Richelieu is one inch away from sending thispirate to the gallows and cut France’s ambitions in half, truly, is hisCaptain.

Trevilleknows, of course, the rules of Armand’s world. Treville knows the deceit andthe lies, the plot and the schemes, the murders and the debauchery. He knows,dear Jean, the filthy things Armand must do, the mud he can crawl into, as longas France has something to earn from it.

They fightabout it almost every week.

But this.

Treville isnot going to take it lightly. Armand can already hear his growls of fury, thesound of his boots clanging on the floor. He’ll shout, surely. Maybe he’llbreak something, and leave for a while, banging the door upon a string ofinsults.

Buteventually he’ll understand.

Franceneeds those ships.

France needs. All is said.

Richelieu letsout a shaky sigh, looks at the privateer in the eyes and nods softly.

Basseterregrunts in satisfaction, snatching the quill out of the Cardinal’s hands, andsigns his pledge to France in four curves of writing.

-“You are aman of you word. I know that.” The privateer declares loudly.

-“Of courseI am! I am the King of France.” Louis spits in outrage, thinking it was meantfor him.

ButRichelieu’s resigned sigh leaves no doubt about which promise the dark man wasthinking about.

***

The Kinggave Basseterre one of the best guestrooms in the East wing. Nobody even raisesan eyebrow at the sight of the Cardinal knocking on the privateer’s door aftervespers, because the East wing is constantly swarming with diplomatic guests,and the shadow of the Red Man is a recurring ghost in those corridors.

Basseterreopens the door and his tanned face splits into a delighted grin. He letsRichelieu in and locks the door behind him.

-“You are a man of your word.” He joyfullystates once they’re both standing in the wide, sumptuous bedroom.

-“WheneverI can be.” The Cardinal lets out half-heartedly.

The sailorgoes for a thin, long table near the high windows and chooses a bottle of oldBordeaux among the dozen he has obviously requested to be brought there. Twoempty bottles are already abandoned on the floor, with Basseterre’s boots andguns.

Hegenerously fills a glass and hands it over to the Cardinal, who refuses with asharp shake of his head. Richelieu keeps his reluctant stare on the hearth,where a dim fire is breathing, almost useless in this warm summer evening.Basseterre has opened all the windows wide, and the air is heavy with the scentof the gardens outside. Inside, the smell of old oak and tonight’s dinner stilllinger around the tapestries. No voice, no footstep can be heard, the Louvresslowly falling asleep at this time of the night.

Theprivateer sighs, his arm still stretched out towards the Red Man, holding theglass of wine:

-“Come on, Cardinal. Drink with me. Let it be good for both of us, right?”

Richelieulifts his chin up, beaming defiance, but the contract is signed, and thisnight’s fate is sealed. He takes the glass in his gloved hand. Basseterresmiles like a wolf again, making a slow circle around him, not bothering tohide is admiration for one second.

-“You rathercaught me back there, this afternoon, you know.” He gently muses, his eyesdevouring the red silk. “They told me you were a sly one. But gatheringevidence to hang me, really! That’sjust vicious.”

-“Yourefused every other proposition.” Richelieu objects, waving his glass in slowcircles to show this savage man how good wine is consumed. “Why did you dothat?”

The piratelaughs that open sound again, and gulps down the most precious Bordeaux of theCourt as if it was a mere tavern plonk. The Cardinal winces in disgust.

-“Becausenone of this has any value to me, Your Eminence.” Basseterre lets out with ashrug. “Do you know what it is to be the richest man in Guadeloupe? Do you haveany idea what Guadeloupe is? The beaches of golden sand, the waters ofsapphire, the lands so fertile you just have to drop the seeds and pick up thefruits. Have you seen the lanterns of the brothels of Saint-François, wheregoddesses of love and poison arrows can be bought for two sous? Have you seenthe green bays of unmarred land, have you felt the burn of ancient rum into yourguts?”

Richelieufrowns, stunned by the fierce, passionate speech. He has a dazed look for thegardens of the Louvres. No, he hasn’t seen Guadeloupe, and certainly neverwill. He has barely ever left France.

He hasnever seen a reason to leave this kingdom, far too busy building it.

The islandshave only one meaning for him: about forty thousand livres per year for thetreasury.

Enough foran army. Enough for a few abbeys and academies. Enough for art, enough forpeace.

Isn’t thatworth a sea of sapphire?

-“If theKing of France had nothing of interest to you” The Red Man whispers, drinkingslowly, his eyes still distant, “why bother coming to the Louvres at all?”

Basseterredoesn’t laugh. He pours himself another glass, not the first and not the last,and empties it in one gulp.

-“Because Ialways meant to sign that contract.” He mutters.

Richelieualmost gasps, the red robes hissing a long complaint as he turns around to facethe tanned man, staring at him with furious, wide eyes. Basseterre holds onwith an open, honest face and speaks, spreading his arms a bit :

-“You knowwhat I am, Cardinal. You know how I won those ships.”

-“Piracy.”Richelieu spits.

-“Yes. Trustme on this, rich pirates don’t live long. And I’m the richest of them all.Every day, every hour I live and breathe in Guadeloupe, I have to watch mysteps, sleep with one eye open, have someone else taste my food. I am tired ofthis. As an official shipping agent of France, with France’s colors on mysails, I might actually have a chance to grow old someday. That’s the trap ofloving the pleasure of life, you see, Eminence? At some point you want them tolast.”

-“Then whyon Earth did it take three hours tohave you sign that paper?” Richelieu growls, banging his empty glass on a lowbuffet next to him.

With that,Basseterre smiles again, that hungry, playful smile of pirates.

-“Because”,he whispers sweetly; “for the sails of all my beloved ships, I wanted France togive me nothing less than what the Goddesses of Guadeloupe give me for a pairof coins. I wanted France in my bed.”

TheCardinal stares at him like at a raging madman, but doesn’t utter a sound, hisback stiff, his hands shaking. The pirate carelessly points towards a hugeportrait of Louis above the mantelpiece behind them and goes on, shrugging somemore:

-“Frankly,I thought about the King first. He’s a handsome boy, and I heard he doesn’tmind men at all.”

Richelieu’sfirst instinct is to defend the King’s reputation, and have this man jailed andgagged forevermore, but truth be told, there is little he can do against whatis much more than a rumor.

He doesn’tthink about it for long anyways, because the dark man’s fingers come and grazehis cheek, and he has to nail himself to the floor or might just run.

-“Butduring our small discussion back there, it’s been quite obvious to me who thetrue ruler of this country is. Who’s pulling the strings in this palace ofpuppets.”

Theprivateer softly grabs Richelieu’s face then, and pulls him inches from hisown, breathing through famished lips:

-“If I wantFrance, well, it’s you I must take.”

TheCardinal closes his eyes, inhaling sharply, desperately trying to push away thethought of Treville. But who else touches him this way, who else could stroke theRed Man’s neck and live to tell the tale.

Trevillewill growl, Treville will shout, and Basseterre will better be far away bythen.

Trevillewill be furious, because though there had been a few women Richelieu had toseduce for information or influence, there had never been another man.

Trevillewill be mad, and maybe he’ll break something, but eventually he’ll understand.

Fortythousand livres a year.

Enough forpeace.

Enough for peace.

Basseterrefrowns at the heavy, intricate red robes, and fumbles with the fabric for awhile before he starts unbuttoning them with careless haste. Treville wouldn’thave. Treville loves those robes, always taking his time, peeling them awaywith silent reverence.

Trevillewill be furious.Treville will be heartbroken.

The sailor feelsRichelieu wince and tense, and freezes in his moves, looking up with impatiencein his brown eyes.

-“You’regoing to be hard work, aren’t you?” He mutters. “Of course, you are.”

The piratesighs, rolls his eyes, and goes to the buffet to pour the Cardinal anotherglass. He hands it over, and doesn’t speak until there’s nothing left of it.Then, he takes it out of Richelieu’s hands, puts it back on the furniture, andsteps close enough for their chests to touch. He cups the thin face firmly andtilts his head to the side, inspecting the soft pale lips of the Red Man as he gentlyasks:

-“Do youhave a shorter name, Your Eminence? I’ve read it somewhere but I can’tremember. Was it Arnaud, Adrien…?”

-“Armand.”Richelieu lets out between clenched teeth.

-“Armand!Lovely. Can I call you Armand? “

-“No.

Basseterrelaughs, delighted.

-“Alright,Armand it will be.”

TheCardinal’s pale eyes narrow, but the contract is signed, and the night’s fateis sealed.

The sailorresumes his unbuttoning with slower moves; his lips kissing the frail skin ofRichelieu’s neck with a bit more care.

-“How doesa man such as you like to be touched, Armand?” He prompts as he presses himselfagainst the thinner man. “How is it with your mistresses, I heard you keptquite a few.”

Basseterre’shands find the silver hair and loose themselves into it, stroking, gripping,pulling back a little to expose the pale throat and devour it like the famishedwolf he is. Richelieu chokes a soft moan, self-loathing painfully visible onhis tired face.

-“Do youremain a man of power, even in bed?” He goes on, his breath a bit short as thered robes fall on a hissing heap on the floor, revealing the tender skin below.“Do you take control?”

His tanned hands rush to stroke and explore the narrow waist, the lean, yetresolved muscles around, his brown, rugged skin making an unholy contrast withthe white velvet taut around the solid bones. The sailor’s thick fingers find asoft spot somewhere around Armand’s lower back and the Red Man’s breath hitches,his eyes faltering.

A wickedglint crawls into Basseterre’s eyes, and he pulls at the silver hair again,using his other hand on Armand’s lower back to press them together until thereis no more doubt about both their hardness. Richelieu whimpers. The piratesneers.

-“Oh. So you don’t.” He breathes, triumphant.“You like to submit, you clever creature. Good.”

Basseterrelets his hand wander down Armand’s buttocks, gripping them viciously once ortwice with an appreciative hum. He gives them a brutal slap, making Richelieu cryout, and the sound of it makes the dark eyes a bit less focused. He does itagain, then. Two, three, four more times, until the cries turn into yelps, adark shade of pink spreading fast on the soft rounded bottom. He kisses the thinnerman’s parted lips with a commanding need, stroking the heated skin he justslapped with delirious bliss. Richelieu’s hands, though he made constantefforts to keep them in tight fists at his own sides, dart up to grab thesailor’s sturdy shoulders.

-“Verygood.” Basseterre pants against Armand’s mouth.

And hequickly searches the insides of his shirt, to retrieve a small stoneware vial.He pulls the cork off with his teeth and spits it on the floor over hisshoulder, and seems to hesitate for a moment, gauging Armand’s face.

After awhile, he pours the contents of the vial on his own hand, shooting Richelieu aquick smile of apology.

-“I’ll dothe work myself, pet, if you don’t mind. I don’t suppose you have any idea whatto do with a man’s cock.”

TheCardinal keeps a blank face, averting his eyes, far too relieved to be allowedto keep his hands where they are.

Basseterre wastes no time. He roughly grabsArmand’s thighs with both hands, and lifts him up on the buffet like a ragdoll, laughing at Richelieu’s sharp cry of surprise and distress.

-“God, youweigh nothing” he huffs, burying his face into the Cardinal’s neck. “Do theyeven feed you in this old house?”

He doesn’texpect any answer. He shoves a thin white leg over his shoulder and pushes twofingers in, feeding on Armand’s scream of pain. He hungrily licks the tremblingskin of Richelieu’s thigh for a while, growling like an animal. Then, he startsworking him open, mercilessly, pulling his own pants down with his other hand,and rubbing himself against Richelieu’s inner thigh with the motion. He’shorribly big, rock-hard and leaking. Armand squeezes his eyes shut, wishing hecould just count backwards in his head and forget about it, but Basseterre hassailed through the world, and knows quite a lot.

After a fewthrusts, he counting has to stop, because Richelieu’s crying out in rawpleasure, mortified and helpless.

Trevillewill be mad.

Trevillewill be hurt.

Is it wortha sea of sapphire?

-“Look atyou” The pirate exhales in the curve of his shoulder as he adds a third fingerwith ease, his brutal thrusts making the old buffet creak with each move. “Lookat you, the Mastermind of France, The King’s own King, look at you meowing likea whore, melting around my fingers.”

Armand’shands blindly cup the man’s face, one of them laid upon his mouth, trying tosilence him, but Basseterre kisses and licks the sensitive palm far too well, abit too much like Treville does, and the hand flies away into the pirate’shair.

The privateerlooks up to bathe in the sight of Richelieu’s blurred eyes, his heavy eyelids,his swollen lips, and what could be a tear or two rolling down the hollowcheeks. He kisses the salty water away, wherever it came from, and whisperssome more, his voice ecstatic and blissful:

-“I firstthought you were not my type, you know? Too thin, too pale, too bloodydelicate, and I hate men of the Church almost as much as they hate me.”

Basseterrepulls out his fingers abruptly, choking Armand’s begging whimper with his eagermouth.

He grabsRichelieu by his buttocks and lifts him up again, sliding him to the side untilhis back hits the wall next to the buffet, sending a few plates and glassesshattering on the floor around their feet.

-“But rightnow, Armand, I swear you are the most beautiful price France could pay for myships.”

And withthat, he thrusts himself in one firm move, pressing Armand against the wallwith voracious force, holding him with his thick, tanned arms.

Richelieu shouts.

Basseterrelaughs and keeps on moving, his hips making calculated waves, reducing Armandto a shuddering mess. The privateer takes his time, carrying the thinner manwith nonchalance, but as Richelieu’s hands grip his hair a bit tighter, hefinds it harder to concentrate. The sounds Armand makes, as muffled as they maybe in his shoulder, drive him mad. He lets out sharp groans too, between crudepraises and gentle curses.

Basseterrehas sailed a thousand seas, and he sure claims he has seen everything, butroughly taking against a wall the man who could hang him with one line in hiswriting, hearing his desperate cries spiraling up in his ear as his back hitsthe rich tapestry with every thrust, all of this is blowing his mind. ‘This manis an Island’, he briefly thinks, but he has no breath top speak it.

Caught likea deer against a hard wall and a dark man, Richelieu’s pliant and supple framestill finds a way to move in sync, making the thrusts deeper, the angledeadlier. Basseterre almost falters, but is kept moving by a superior force. Atsome point, as his thrust become chaos and rage, as his mind is blanked bylightning, he hears Armand’s voice call “Jean” once or twice.

And becausehe thinks that is his name, he comesfirst, hard, crying out against the wall.

Richelieufollows, painfully, impaling himself on Basseterre a few more times and lettingout a long, soft whimper.

Only then,the sailor crumbles down on the floor, dragging Armand with him in a mess oftangled limbs. Both lay down there, stunned and panting, until Basseterrerealizes he is bleeding in three places, because he fell on the broken glassesof the buffet. He laughs, then, his voice broken, and Richelieu, in spite of itall, may have smiled back a little.

***

As Armand,fully dressed and dignified enough, was closing the discrete bandages onBasseterre’s legs a few moments later, kneeling next to the bed where thepirate was lying, he started listing the duties of the new shipping agent ofFrance as mentioned in the contract. Basseterre listened, his smugness somewhattamed down to quiet respect, barely risking a few taunts from time to time:

-“I havesigned the paper, but you haven’t been in my bed yet.” He tried once, his handtapping the cover invitingly.

-“I wouldhave been, if you hadn’t been a bear more than a gentleman. You had yourchance.”

Theprivateer laughed some more.

Richelieudidn’t smile, but his face wasn’t entirely hostile as he wiped the lastremnants of blood off the dark man’s thighs and moved to stand up. Before hedid, Basseterre grabbed his wrist and whispered, his eyes narrow:

-“Are wefriends, Cardinal?”

The Red Mansilently pondered for a while, then spoke in a stern, through gentle voice:

-“Do yourduty, and we’ll be more than that. We’ll both serve France, and by that, we’llshare the highest of purposes. Bring your ships to my shores every month ofevery year, Captain Basseterre, andgrow old peacefully among your unmarred lands.”

With that,he left, and a few moments later, Basseterre noticed the red silk gloves,forgotten next to the bandages on his bed.

He went andsailed for thirty years, making France richer by every spring that passed.

But none ofhis four crews, and none of his five wives could ever make him tell them why healways kept those tattered bits of red fabric, tightly knotted around his belt.

#cardinal richelieu #team trevilieu #trevilieu #fic prompt

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

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Manwhore chapter 29

We grab drinks and then sit down on one of the couches looking directly out the huge window. We’re immediately loving the game.

“Damn right, run, Rizzo!!” Justin’s voice sounds deep as he bellows and shouts. “Fuuuck.” He throws his head back and groans, then returns his gaze to the field. He takes a swig of pinot noir.

I try to suppress a giggle with a sip of my little cocktail. It’s a tight game and we’re all going crazy wanting to secure the win. I should’ve been paying more attention but I do love the sportgasms Sin gets when he’s watching games. I love how serene he sits, calm and controlled, then yells from deep in his belly and pumps his fist when things go his way. And I love how he makes a piece of my brain take a walk when he puts his arm around me, and rubs his hand slowly down my arm.

He looks perfectly content now, sipping his wine, his arm around me, sitting in his majestic glass box overlooking the stadium. Might as well be his stadium, the way he sits here, as if he owns the place. Meanwhile, I’m sucking in the experience of a live game, which I’ve never, ever been to before. Gina says it’s because there were no men in my life—no father, brothers, boyfriends. Maybe she’s right. I love how the air crackles in the stadium, and how it crackles where Justin is right now.

“It’s in the bag, I can fucking feel it,” I hear Justin mumble next to me. He has a look of concentration on his face.

I’m terribly amused. “If you say so.”

He stares at me for a moment before tightening his jaw and closing his eyes for a split second. If I hadn’t been looking at him, I would’ve missed it. He leans over. “I do say so. We’re going to run them into the ground.”

At one point some friends below the box start yelling his name, and we head outside to the line of seats adjoining the box. “Justin! You fucking all-star!” one of the guys shouts, then asks if his crew can come up, eyeing me rakishly.

Justin simply says, “No,” and flips them the finger. He takes my arm and leads me to an outside seat, then sits beside me and leans forward as we continue to watch the game.

Between those gaps in the plays, we watch the Jumbotron. I’m laughing, watching the couples smack kisses on each other as soon as they appear on-screen. A young dark-haired man flashes on the screen. My body jolts with pure feminine awareness. He’s alone on-screen as I—and the rest of the spectators—register who he is, and then the camera shifts a little to include . . . me . . . just as I feel fingers sliding underneath my hair, tugging me around, and his lips take mine.

I hear the cheers and, stunned, I can’t look back at the screen. Only at Sin’s yummy mouth, which I just felt kiss me.

His eyes twinkle as he draws me closer for another kiss, this one just for him, for his eyes only. His very hot male eyes.

He seems very calm and at peace with himself once the Jumbotron moves on to its next victims.

Three innings later, I’m still feeling shy and girly. But Sin’s recovered and is fully in the game. It’s the bottom of the ninth and the game is almost over. One strike and the Cubs lose against the Cardinals. Our Cubbies. Up to bat is Sweeney, who’s had a few home runs this year. We still have a shot and our guys could win.

“Now we’re talking. Bases loaded,” he says, clapping, then lifting his brows at me as he gestures toward the three bases forming a perfect arrow in front of us.

My lips ripple as I try to tame a smile. I’d forgotten how he loves anything competitive. It gives me a secret little tingle when I see his passion right out there, flashing in his eyes.

I suddenly ache to play with him. “I bet you were an expert at the bases, juvenile as that sounds.” I raise an eyebrow. I wonder when it all began, and I’m fishing for it. That little sliver of knowledge of how he became the most wanted man in Chicago. I wouldn’t be surprised if it started during elementary school. He did get a headline when he was born—and the headlines have never stopped following him.

“Were?” he jokes. “Am.” He lowers his head to mine and runs the tip of his nose against my temple. “I still got game.” He places a small kiss where his nose used to be.

“I would know. You’re such a big-time player, the umpire should be up here calling the plays.”

He doesn’t laugh like I thought he would. His eyes look darker, as if he doesn’t like me calling him a player, and I can tell his energy changed just now.

I peer at him, and he’s studying my hand as he draws his thumb up from the base to my fingertips. Tingles race through my skin, bubbles through my veins. He has a look of concentration, like he’s just discovered something he’s never seen before. Like he’s definitely playing with a toy he never expected to play with. He lifts his lashes to look at me. The momentary glimpse of the fiery heat in his gaze makes me drop my eyes back down to stare at our hands, my stomach gripping nervously.

He lifts our hands and slowly kisses my knuckles. When he lowers them, I’m panting little breaths. He smiles at me and I smile at him as he lets go, his touch lingering on my skin.

“You turn me on like nothing else,” he whispers.

He kisses me softly but briefly. Then he snaps out of it and turns back to watch the player on home base. The ball is hurtling through the air, and with a smack, I realize the batter made contact and the ball is heading somewhere out in midfield.

Justin is ecstatic. The whole stadium is screaming. If the Cubs get two men in, they’ll win the game . . .

One hit.

The crowds stand.

Justin stands.

I stand.

A roar outside, and suddenly I’m crushed in his arms and flung in the air so hard my breath leaves me.

“Justin!” I cry. He catches me, kisses me, squeezes me and twirls me around, grinning down at me. And when he sets me down, his eyes go from fiery celebration to something stormy and uncontrollable.

He slides his arms around me and pulls me into his chest, and this hug is different. “I just want to make you smile,” he says, gazing back at me and I guess I’m still smiling.

“I like your smile too,” I admit.

We hug again, and stay there, watching the stadium. We’re starting to feel like a couple, like Wynn and her boyfriend are, like Justin was made to hold me just like this. His huge hands just cradle me to him as the stadium empties and we wait to leave.

He’s rubbing his hands against my back slowly, moving his head until his lips are rubbing against my neck. It feels amazing. Beautiful. Warm. Soft. And I can feel my breaths coming faster, but a tightness is here. He’s holding me, and just when I think I can’t possibly like it more, he keeps embracing me and doesn’t let go as we finally walk out. He leads me out of the stadium.

It feels cold outside in the parking lot, I can see the trees folding, swaying, bending with the force of the cold Chicago wind. The Windy City—the name came about because of the hot airs some city politicians and braggarts put on in earlier centuries, though many people think it’s because of the wind. And this is exactly why.

As we wait for Claude to bring the car, some people are approaching to greet him. A man with two girls, one on each arm, who smiles and exclaims, “Justin!”

“Hillz,” he says tonelessly, taking my hand before they can reach us and leading me to his car.

“Why don’t you want me to meet them?” I ask once we get in the backseat.

“You’re too good for some of my crowd,” he says in my ear.

My stomach starts churning. God, these butterflies just don’t cease. It’s like someone’s tickling your stomach and you feel like you might burst out giggling at no particular time for no particular reason, except I know I’m about to get kissed to death. The black leather seats feel cool on the bottoms of my legs. The partition is closed between us and Claude, and as the car drives away, Justin takes my face in both of his hands and gives me a light, soft kiss. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Thanks for inviting—” Before I can finish speaking, he starts kissing me. And I let him deepen the kiss.

Instantly it’s like we’re molded into one, our movements are in sync. I can feel his hands on my body but my head is somewhere out in space, dancing next to Jupiter and counting Saturn’s rings. It’s like a high. A hot, burning, needy high. I lose it a little bit and straddle him and run my fingers through his soft hair. His mouth is on my neck, hot and wet, sucking and kissing.

I feel like a teenager, making out with him in the back of his car. I can’t breathe. I just let him do whatever he’s doing because it feels like heaven. His fingers play with the waist of my shorts, tracing circles and gently rubbing my skin. I kiss him again and start to rub against him. He groans and grabs me by the ass, using one hand to grind me closer, harder.

His other hand reaches between my legs and unbuttons my shorts. My heart beats so loud it seems to be the only thing I can hear. I feel him smile against my lips.

“Want me to stop?”

His lips latch on to my skin and his tongue traces slow, lazy circles on my neck.

“Never. Kiss me,” I plead.

He kisses a perfectly delicious path back up to my mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day.” He licks my lips and keeps kissing me, hungrier than before. His hands are dangerously close to touching my panties, but he keeps running circles along my navel, his mouth moving deliciously against mine.

He tears his mouth from mine and drags his lips back down the column of my neck, sucking, nipping, tasting, nibbling.

“God, I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you at your apartment.”

I’m panting crazy hard by now, tearing myself free so I can breathe. I’m at the point where the merest touch in any sensitive part could set me off. I’m glad his phone starts ringing.

“Work?” I ask.

Well, not work, I find out when he hangs up.

“The boys are blowing up my phone. They want to come over, celebrate. T wants to see if your friend Gina wants to come.” He lifts his brows at me, waiting.

I reach down to pat my swollen lips. I swear Justin just helped me invent the female equivalent of blue balls. “He’d better keep his hands off Gina. But I’ll text her.” I pull out my phone and shoot her a message.

Justin is breathing hard too. His hair is rumpled by me. He looks sexxxy with triple Xs.

“You don’t like T and Carmichael?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Your friends hate me too.”

“They don’t. They’ve misjudged you. They never knew what to make of you.”

He thinks about that, then leans back and spreads his arms out as he thinks about it some more. “All right. Let’s talk about how this affects us.”

I blink.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve already talked to my friends, Selena.”

“What do you mean, talked to them?”

“I told the two bozos that I like this girl, I like this girl very much, and I expect them to respect my choices.”

“I didn’t know there was a choice.”

“I chose to get serious with you—and I wanted it to be clear I won’t be taking any shit from them. They fuck with you, they fuck with me.”

This conversation is . . . I cannot. I look at him. “Justin, you’re a player the likes of which this city has never seen.”

“That’s what the world sees. Is that what you see?” He looks at me curiously, starting to frown. “Tahoe threw a thousand and one parties for me. I had fun. That’s what people saw. I got drunk. I was surrounded by girls.”

I’m frowning now too. “Tahoe just cares about getting laid and he thinks that’s all you care about.”

“But it’s not. Is it?” He looks at me intently. “There were a hundred women for the taking, every weekend. I could have. It was all there, no strings and available. I wanted to take them. Over and over.”

I inhale sharply, and suddenly, I want to puke at the thought of his hands on anyone.

“But I kissed one right here,” he touches the corner of my mouth with a pained look, “and I starved even more.”

My throat hurts as if I swallowed arsenic. I have no right to feel this jealous. But the jealousy is here, like a knot of bitters in my gut. “I bet they know all kinds of sexy moves, your groupies.”

His answer is feather soft. “They do.” He strokes his pad across the corner of my lips again, and then leans back in his seat, and looks at me quietly and almost reverently. “But not one of them talks to me the way you do. They want money or fame but not one of them has asked me to save the world. Not one wanted my comfort. They look at me with lust but never like I’m the spot where their sun rises and sets. I see a girl who didn’t know what she was getting into with me. I see a girl I can’t forget. What do you see when you look at me?”

“I see you. I have no words for you.”

“My friends see a guy who got fucked up over a girl.” He leans forward and tips my head back with his knuckles, angling it so his gaze can grab on to mine. “They play when I want to play, but they know me far beyond the shit we do. We’ve known each other since we were ten. They know me . . . like I thought you did.”

His eyes grow shadowed.

“But you didn’t know me at all, Selena. You thought I deserved for you to play me? You saw me like everyone did and all that time I was standing there being real with you.”

I drop my gaze as the regret sits heavily on me again. “I was scared of believing it to be true. If you get tired of me and want something new . . . or a foursome again . . . there will be no power on earth that will be able to draw your eyes back to me.”

He laughs softly. “I don’t want to look away.” His expression mellows as he looks at me between his lashes. “I’m hooked on you,” he says. “My friends know I’m serious.”

“So do mine,” I whisper, then look at him. “Justin, I don’t hate your friends. I like your friends. I just don’t want your friends messing with my friends.”

“If you mean Tahoe and Gina—”

“That’s exactly who I mean,” I say as I start to get off him, waving my hands in the air, but he catches them, locks them by my sides as he pulls me down flush with his lap.

“It doesn’t concern you and me.”

“Tahoe is a player. Jetting across the world with champagne and naked flight attendants. He’s used to getting it all, whenever he wants.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so. He’s used to several women catering to him at once, giving him all kinds of sexy treats like blow jobs together. How can Gina compete?”

“How can she? Against several at once?” He clucks, but he looks amused.

“See. It’s impossible. And she’s . . . a good girl. She doesn’t stand a chance with a guy like him.”

“But it’s guys like us who maybe don’t stand a chance with a smart, good girl who actually wants us for more than a quick . . . fuck . . .” He lifts his brows devilishly.

“You stand every chance. You sweep us off our feet with just one sexy corner kiss.”

He leans in. And grazes his lips across the fringes of mine. Every corner of my body feels this most perfect kiss. Squeezing my eyes shut against the onslaught of emotion, I breathe, “I’ll kick his ass if he hurts Gina.”

When I open my eyes, Justin’s eyes are fixed on me, his voice low with conviction: “I’ll kick his ass for you, Selena.”

CELEBRATING

We’re on Sin’s terrace, celebrating the win, talking, the drinks flowing. Gina and Wynn and I are lounging in the outside sitting area by a pristine blue pool while Justin and his guys stand by the bar, discussing the plays. Soon, Tahoe is bitching about his dumb hedge fund manager, and how they’ve sliced his net worth by over half.

“Seriously,” Gina calls from where we sit, “I invite you to come and work at my posh department store one day, and I’ll be the oil tycooness shopping there for a day, even at half your wealth.” She adds snarkily, “You’re still worthless anyway. You act like you’re still in kindergarten.”

“I’m a Princeton grad,” he counters.

“Then you shouldn’t have trouble finding a good job if your oil wells dry up.”

“Ha. You’ll be a dried-up old lady by the time that happens,” Tahoe assures.

“Seriously, men.” Gina scowls when she turns back to us. “We’re royalty when they want to fuck. Thrilled to have as much sex as their anatomy allows, and then we’re nothing.” She shakes her head. “Women need a reason to have sex, men just need a place.”

“Between your legs,” Wynn mumbles.

I burst out laughing, but Gina keeps scowling, and tells the two of us, “I swear, boobs are probably the only thing a guy like Tahoe can multitask on. Two may be one too many for him.”

“Well, why don’t you find out?” Wynn nudges her cheekily.

I find Justin watching me while his friends keep talking to him, and a fierce ache in my chest starts to grow. Justin is momentum. Movement. He’s a man who’s always moving forward, pushing for more. Where is he taking us? Where does he see us going?

“You fucking sly dog!” Tahoe calls over on their side. “Stop eyeing your juicy little steak over there like you haven’t been slobbering over her all day!”

Justin lifts his glass to me in toast. “To my classy friends.” A curl hikes the corner of his lips while that same smile touches his eyes.

Tahoe shoots me a look that’s like a mix between admiration and annoyance. “I swear you’re like his favorite damn poison, woman.”

“We swear,” Gina points at Wynn, “He’s her favorite crack!”

While our friends laugh, I feel myself go hot, and Justin only looks at me, neither smiling nor laughing, simply those green eyes of his looking straight at me from his chiseled face.

Callan clears his throat when he notices our silent communication. “Well, fuck, Justin, you liking your new leash?”

Tahoe chuckles.

“Shut the fuck up,” Justin growls.

That voice probably sends groups of elite businessmen out of boardrooms having just peed their pants. But having been friends since childhood, Tahoe and Callan just laugh harder.

“What’s so funny?” Gina asks, as if she didn’t hear.

Tahoe wanders over and answers her in his slight Southern accent, his deep voice a lazy drawl that I have to admit is pretty damn sexy. “We’re mourning over having lost our dear brother to the most powerful thing on this earth.”

“What’s that?” Gina counters, sounding curious, leaning over to him flirtatiously.

Tahoe murmurs something in her ear.

I hear a sharp sound of skin hitting skin, which I don’t have to see to know Gina just playfully whacked Tahoe on the arm.

The boys laugh, all except Justin, who’s not laughing but whose perfect lips are forming his perfectly lopsided smirk.

“Sorry, ladies,” Tahoe apologizes. “To be fair, you did ask.”

“Of course we know it’s just about sex, with men,” Gina says. Her trademark realism, what others call sarcasm, is heavy in her words.

“Why do you say that?” Tahoe asks, sounding somewhat serious now.

“Men don’t love like women do. It’s different for them.”

“Well, I object,” Tahoe says. “I love my mother,” he finishes proudly.

Gina chuckles a little. “That’s different. We love our mommas too. In fact, Selena’s momma is anxious to meet Justin.”

Justin looks at me.

Then Callan says something about going on the yacht tomorrow, and Gina and Wynn start debating about bathing suits and weather predictions. Slowly, Justin wades his way through the terrace and drops down beside me. He stretches his arm behind me and looks down at me soberly.

“Your mother wants to meet me?” he asks.

I chew the inside of my cheek. “Everybody wants to meet you,” I hedge. And when he just stares at me, I admit, “She’d love to. She’s been asking.”

“Then I’ll meet her,” he whispers.

“Serious stuff, that,” Tahoe whistles, sitting down nearby. “Just don’t take her to your dad, Justin. Unless you want her to quit you.”

I look at Justin, and he’s as calm as usual, though I’m all tense now at the mention of Noel Justin.

“Why?” Gina asks.

“His dad’s a real piece of work!” Tahoe declares.

“He couldn’t even stand us stopping by the house,” Callan growls angrily.

I smile wanly at Justin and although he returns my smile, he promptly steers Tahoe back to the topic of his portfolio and ends the subject. Easy as that.

“So T,” he begins, and everyone follows his direction into that.

I know Justin’s dad is an ass. He’s called an ass by most everyone who knows him. Blunt, rude, presumptuous. I read it and saw it online, countless times, how he tries to pretend he’s so much bigger and grander than his son. Though Justin seems to reject even the thought of the bastard, he’s made it clear he doesn’t want me within the same zip code as his father. Still, the thought of Noel Justin setting a foot on Edge, a place I have come to love and sacrifice so much for, haunts me a little.

It doesn’t last long.

Five minutes later, Otis comes up to the penthouse. Justin greets him for a minute by the elevator, then comes back to head to the guys. On his way there, he says, “Livingston?”

I perk up from my chat with the girls and turn to see him ball a piece of fabric into his hand.

“Got you something,” he says.

He tosses it into the air, and it lands softly on my lap.

“What is it?” Curious, I spread the cotton fabric open and make out the Cubs T-shirt, size small. Signed by every fucking player who played tonight.

“You didn’t!” I look up at him, balling it up and tossing it back at him as if it burned.

Holy shit!

Holy, holy shit!

He catches the shirt easily, then frowns and looks down at it. “Yeah, I did.” Frowning harder even as his eyes start glimmering with pure amusement, he brings it over and presses it into my hands. “It’s yours,” he chastises me.

When he bends to kiss my cheek, I burst out with glee, “I’ll frame it!”

My friends manhandle my present so much, I hide it in Justin’s closet next to his perfect designer clothes, occupying a hanger of honor right in the middle. When I return to the living room, the girls inform me they’re leaving. Sin’s friends are still going strong and seem cranked up for more, as if it’s not 2 a.m. already.

I waver on what to do.

This staying-over, not-staying-over thing is new territory for me.

For . . . us.

“Justin?” I draw him out of the group for a moment. “I think I should maybe go with Gina,” I tell him.

He glances at the girls for a second, then peers down at me with a little smile. “I think you should stay.”

“I . . .” God, I’m blushing? “I don’t have fresh clothes. And don’t even mention my T-shirt ’cause that’s getting framed.”

“All right. Then Claude or Otis can drive your friends home, and if your roommate will pack some things for you, he’ll bring a bag back.” He waits for a reply, and I can tell by the vibe he’s putting out that he very much wants to be with me tonight.

“It’s okay,” Gina says, shrugging. “I’ll happily be driven home in Justin’s car.” She smirks.

Sin watches me, his green eyes reeling me in, pulling me under. He looks expectant and . . . adorable and . . . irresistible. Ohgod. Is this going too fast for us having just started back up?

No way.

Or . . . yes.

Maybe.

“Selena.” He steps closer, and I can see he understands my hesitation—we’re supposed to be taking it slow—and his voice low as his lips brush my ear. “You don’t want to leave any more than I want you to leave.”

“You’re asking me to sleep over again?” I put an inch between us to search his face. “Your friends are still here—”

“You want my bed more than yours right now, and I want you in there.”

God, I’m in so deep. So very deep I’m almost frightened but he makes me reckless enough to want to go even deeper.

“Okay,” I say, smiling at him a little.

“Okay?” His eyes lighten at that, and he tips my chin up and firmly kisses my mouth.

It’s so warm, so absolutely perfect, his mouth, that I smile against it and tell him, only so he hears, “I’ll be in your bed.”

And him, only to me, lips grazing my earlobe: “You won’t be alone there for long.”

I head to his room, first check on my present, then drop down on the side of the bed that I always end up on, taking a minute to think about today.

When he smiled?

I think the jerk tapped a vein and injected me with pure happiness.

I think of me and him, and sports, and how his passion flared, and how we as people go crazy over the stuff we love.

Which reminds me . . .

I need to start a new article. As I try to stay awake and wait for him, I pull out my cell phone and write down notes and ideas in an email to myself.

I write about the stuff we get crazy over. Obsessed. Like our favorite sports teams. The Cubs can lose a thousand times and we still love them. They can fuck up, and we still believe in them.

I take down a lot of ideas while absently listening to the men laugh in the living room, somehow specially attuned to Justin’s laugh. I like his laugh more than any other. It’s deep and it resonates in his chest, but it’s never too loud or obnoxious. Another obsession.

Smiling while I reread the email with ideas, I send it to myself and text my mom, who usually paints until very late during the weekends.

Are you up? I try.

Just finished cleaning up the studio, she replies. Off to bed! Everything all right??

More than all right. Mom! You’re going to get to meet him!! I don’t need to tell her who “him” is; she knows exactly who’s got her daughter hooked.

Almost instantaneously she writes back, WHEN? Are you bringing him over for dinner?

Don’t worry about that, I can order something for us and bring it over.

My phone rings. I pick up to hear her immediately chiding me. “Selena, absolutely not. You’re not gonna bring anything. It’s gonna be homemade and delicious! He’s your first boyfriend!”

“Well, he’s not . . . kinda, I hope so.” I exhale and shake my head. “Don’t call him my boyfriend yet, I don’t want to jinx it. We’re still working things out. Make your yummy peppermint chocolate pie for me.”

“What does he like? Fancy things?”

I laugh just as the men outside release a round of simultaneous laughter. “No, Mom, he enjoys normal things. He likes . . . me.” And I’m so vanilla to a physical man like Sin. “Don’t worry, whatever you make is fine.”

“When are you coming?”

“You tell us when,” I counter.

“Fine, give me a week or two to prepare.”

“Okay. Love you, Momma.”

“Selena.” She stops me from hanging up. After a deep, excited breath, “I look forward to meeting this man I’ve heard about.”

God, the things my mother must have heard. Probably that he’s a manwhore.

“He’s not a Justin, Momma,” I quietly tell her. “But I like him very much.”

After a couple minutes of hearing the men banter, I start to get sleepy, but the anticipation of knowing Justin is coming to bed soon keeps me from fully relaxing. I study his big bed underneath me. I consider pulling back the comforter and stripping to my undies. Would that be too slutty? Yeah. Yeah it would be.

And maybe he’d like it?

I start to take off my shoes and quietly strip to my bra and panties when I realize the guys are protesting.

“Ah man, we’re having a good time.”

“Fuck, Justin. Seriously?”

Ohmigod, he’s kicking them out.

I’m so excited and suddenly panicked, I’m scrambling to get naked as I hear the guys shuffle out.

I’m standing in the middle of his room wondering if I’m going to be a slut, shouldn’t I go all the way and just get naked? All naked?

I hear silence next and the sound of familiar footsteps make their way to me. Feeling a kick of adrenaline, I yank my bra off over my head and nearly stumble as I pull off my panties and toss them aside and scramble into bed.

I pull the sheets up to my chest when I hear him answer some sort of message, speaking in another language. I comb a hand through my hair then spread it out behind me on the pillow, hearing his voice growl some business instruction.

He seems mad about something.

I try tying the sheet around my body and letting it drop a little so he can get a peek of a shoulder. Then I decide to let him look at both shoulders. Then I lie back and fan out my hair a little again, kind of annoyed at my body for being so . . . well, so ready so soon. But my skin feels the delicious touch of his super-soft high-count sheets, and I can’t suppress the chaos in my body as I wait for him.

I hear silence again. Footsteps. And the door opens. A sliver of light from outside appears and his silhouette at the door. The air starts crackling. I can hear my heart. Thump. Thump. Strong. Resonating though my ears as I look at his shape—his awe-inspiring shape in the door. His hair a little standing up as if he pulled it in frustration, maybe. Our eyes lock. My Justin hormones go crazy.

I sit up and pull the sheets to my chest, pushing my hair out of my face. “Hey,” I say.

He reaches behind him to shut the door. “Fuck me, I like you so much in my bed I need to figure out how to permanently keep you in it.”

“Just put yourself in it. I’ll stay.”

He cracks out a slow smile, looking genuinely pleased as he looks at me. “I’m here.”

Um, yes he is. The energy in the room shifts with him here with all the power he projects, attracting anything weaker than him.

“Like I wouldn’t notice.”

He walks into the room and picks up my panties and bra, and I flush like crazy. “Nice,” he murmurs, his eyes sparking appreciatively. He keeps his eyes on me as he reaches behind him, fists his polo in one hand, and pulls it over his head.

He’s mouthwatering.

So beautiful I can’t wait.

I go up to my knees and knee-walk to the end of the bed, the sheet to my chest with one hand as I reach out and stroke my fingers up his chest. I don’t know how many times it’ll take to see him naked and not feel absolutely buttery, but his every hard plane is perfection and my every soft part tingles. Before I know it I’m setting my lips over one small brown nipple, lightly sucking. God, his taste is addictive.

He fists my hair, pulls me back, and takes my lips, deep and hungry. I’m tingling with happiness as our mouths search, find, and fuse together. I keep trailing my fingers up his chest and when he eases back to look at me, his breathing is ragged, his fist still in my hair.

“Where to even start with you,” he says as if to himself.

He tightens his hold on my hair and pulls me up for another mind-numbing kiss.

“That’s a good start,” I admit into his mouth. “I wanted to stay and thank you properly for my shirt and for today.”

“I wasn’t letting you get away.” His voice is husky and sure. He tugs the sheet down to look at me. My throat closes as he drags a hand over my upper body, to cup the globe of one breast in one strong hand. “That’s not exactly true. You could’ve left,” he tells me, tugging my ear playfully with his free hand, “but I’d have chased you.”

“Maybe I’d have let you catch me.”

He smiles as he gently fondles my breast, as if I’m deluded, thinking I could escape him. Resist him. He knows what he does to me. He found me naked like one of his groupies in his bed. “What do you say we turn a light on in here?”

“Why?” I pant as he eases off me.

He sends me a thousand-volt greedy look. “I want to look at you.”

“But . . . there’s light coming from outside,” I protest.

He walks around. “I want to see you.”

I clutch the sheet back up as he stands to flick on the lamp by the bed.

It bathes him in light as he comes back to me. He grips the sheet in one hand and starts tugging and I feel my resolve melt and melt as his gaze starts sliding down my neck, soft as a caress. I force my fingers to release it.

“Justin . . .” I protest.

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