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agent-cupcake · 3 years ago

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Pairs Royal - Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x Reader x Claude von Riegan

Giveaway Request for @ladynonon

This is very late and I’m sorry for that, I hope you enjoy it regardless. I wasn’t given direction so my concept changed dramatically throughout the process of writing this, but I’m pretty pleased with this result! Hopefully it lives up to the hype.

Warnings: Explicit smut, bad BDSM etiquette (slight dubcon), impact play, subspace/disassociation

Word Count: 17.3k

It started playfully, almost like a joke. You told Claude that there was no way he could beat you at games anymore, that you’d become a master of the cards in the time since the war. And he, in typical Claude fashion, called your bluff. For old time’s sake, he said. That was why you showed up to the commons room after everyone had gone to bed with a deck of cards, a playing board, and a bottle of wine. And Claude, not one to be outdone, brought a jug of ale, cups lifted from the monastery kitchen, and King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

That was the part you couldn’t make sense of, the dynamic you’d spent the last half hour puzzling over. Almyra wasn’t an enemy of Fódlan, and Claude was far from an enemy of Dimitri’s, but they weren’t friends. They were incompatible. Claude’s quirky, analytical nature and Dimitri’s solemn, often obdurate earnestness didn’t mix. Both of them had changed, the goddess knew how much you had changed, but it seemed too unlikely for their base nature to suddenly harmonize. Yet here they were, sitting across the table and drinking and playing cards like the best of friends. Claude was telling an amusing story about getting locked out of the gates while wearing plainclothes and having to bribe his way inside the palace just to get to his own bed, but you were only half listening, your stomach twisting with this tangled sensation of anxiety and guilt—a feeling that had been growing, festering even, since Dimitri joined you all at Garreg Mach to celebrate Claude’s return to Fódlan as king and ambassador of Almyra. You knew the feeling was irrational. You were close with both men, but not close enough to feel like you’d been unfaithful to either. Friends. You were just friends. It was good that they were friends too, wasn’t it? As far as country relations, it was the best case scenario. The people loved Dimitri, they would follow his example. Besides, it was nice to see Dimitri again after Byleth called you to Garreg Mach to help arrange the embassy trip, the two of you hadn’t spent nearly any time together since he arrived.

So why did this feel like a setup?

“Is something the matter? I’m not used to you being so quiet.” Dimitri said, drawing you from your contemplation. He met your eyes with a slight tinge of worry you knew well, the little pinching type that drew a line between his eyebrows and twisted the corner of his mouth. Only then did you realize that Claude had ended his story and it was your turn to play, drawing the attention of both men.

“Sorry,” you said. You’d already kicked off your shoes, now you curled your legs beneath you to feign comfort, playing a card in a purposefully casual way. “I was just thinking, I didn’t know the two of you were friends.”

“Ah, well, I figured it's in everybody’s best diplomatic interest if I learn to play nice with Dimitri,” Claude responded, utterly serious. “It’s been tough, but I’ve managed.”

“Yes. Once you realize that you can only take about half of what Claude says seriously, he’s not so bad himself,” Dimitri said, giving the other man a sideways look. “Besides, we have much more in common than I might have thought.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Art,” Claude said just a little too quickly, speaking before Dimitri could. If it weren’t for how readily he answered, he would have sounded believable. Or maybe it was that big smile that gave it away, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “We have a similar eye for beauty.”

“Right,” Dimitri agreed awkwardly.

“You bonded over art,” you confirmed, letting your incredulity bleed through your tone rather than calling them out directly. “I spent a year trying to get you to understand the beauty of having a royal gallery without any success and yet when I leave for a few months you gain an affinity for it? I’m a little offended.”

“I had no need of beautiful things when you were near,” Dimitri said. “In any case, Claude offered an... interesting perspective.”

That made Claude grin as he took a sip of wine, lounging comfortably in his chair as he studied you. “You don’t look particularly convinced.”

You shrugged, playing a ten. It seemed like a strange thing to lie about. Maybe it was something embarrassing? Claude had his fair share of secrets, you knew that. It made sense that there might be things he would share with Dimitri but not you. He seemed like he wanted you to ask though. So you didn’t.

“What, you’re not going to call my bluff?” Claude asked. “Now I know something’s wrong. It’s downright eerie to see you so reserved. Are you tired?”

“Are you calling me nosy?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I’d say you have an… inquiring mind.”

“First of all, I don’t appreciate your tone,” you said, forcing yourself to shrug off your paranoia and nerves, to convince yourself that this was normal. “Second of all, it’s not my business.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you,” Claude said, finishing with a third ten and moving his peg up the board.

“Bait doesn’t work when it’s obvious,” you told him lightly. “Maybe you’re the one who’s tired, you’re not usually so artless.”

“Artless?” Claude repeated, his face scrunching up with the word. “I’m never artless.”

“Perhaps you meant to say tactless?” Dimitri asked, contemplating which card to put down. A waste of effort, Claude would probably find a way to make points off of it anyway.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Claude said, pairing Dimitri’s eight. “If anything, I’m presumptuous. But, mmm, does it count if I’m always right about the things I presume?”

“That just makes you smug,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I prefer self satisfied.”

“What about pedantic?” you countered.

“That’s not entirely inaccurate. But why argue over semantics?” Claude asked. You rolled your eyes again, this time with extra emphasis to ensure that he saw. It made Claude smile, but he didn’t comment as the three of you counted your hands and moved your pegs up the board. Claude still had a lead.

“What about you, Dimitri?” you asked as you surveyed your next hand, very much meaning to win this game. “Are you tired at all? You’ve been so busy, I’ve hardly seen you.”

“I’m fine. Truthfully, I’ve been looking forward to this.” Dimitri paused, frowning as he quickly corrected himself, “I’ve been looking forward to spending time with you, I mean. Although it hasn’t been long, I found myself feeling quite anxious to see you again.”

His admission sent a stroke of heat into your stomach, a sensation distinct from the sweet burn of the wine. Then you glanced at Claude, meeting his piercing eyes, and that sweet warmth was replaced by a hot rush of shame. He knew… something, you could tell that much. But you had no idea was what he was thinking, or how he perceived this situation or your relationship. “I missed you too,” you said, your voice just a shade too weak to be entirely convincing.

“I missed you too, Dimitri,” Claude said, sickeningly sweet with his feigned sincerity. “It didn’t feel quite right being here at the monastery without your scowl hanging around in the background.”

“That’s right, you haven’t been here since we were students,” Dimitri said, sidestepping the slight. Absentmindedly, he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his forearms. His skin was pale even in the warm yellow of the lamplight, the white starkly contrasted to his dark shirt. You couldn’t help but let your eyes linger, tracing over the nearly imperceptible lines of scar tissue. Somehow, he looked strong even in stillness, tendons pulling taut and veins popping subtly. Your eyes followed as he picked up his mug of ale, his other hand laying flat on top of his cards. Despite the scars and callouses, Dimitri didn’t have the hands of a warrior, the fingers were too long, too slender. “I’m sure it was jarring for you to see what the monastery has become.”

“Not so much,” Claude said, but you were only slightly listening. “There are some new faces, that’s for sure, but Garreg Mach doesn’t change. It’s almost eerie. Do you remember all the time we spent in here?”

It took you a beat to realize he was talking to you, another to understand he’d asked a question, and then another to register exactly what he had asked and the suggestive tone with which he’d asked it. You blinked, flustered by being caught distracted and staring.

“What?” you asked, feigning complete innocence.

“I mean, we must have spent hours together,” he mused. Even though it wasn’t like that, Claude certainly seemed to be implying that it was. But feeling guilty about it was ridiculous because no matter how pretty his hands were, you and Dimitri weren’t like that either.

“Were the two of you close friends?” Dimitri asked before you had to think of something to say, his voice graciously light and curious.

“I guess,” you said quickly, trying to sidestep your embarrassment. “It was a long time ago though.”

“Yeah, I’d probably block it out too,” Claude said. “Nobody wants to remember losing over and over again.” He leaned towards Dimitri, conspiratorially lowering his voice and speaking behind the cover of his wine glass. “You know, I don’t think she ever won a single game.”

Just like that, the anxiety you felt was extinguished, replaced easily with annoyance. “Just like how you lost the war and ran away?” you asked casually. And maybe that was a little audacious, but that was how you were with Claude. Because, despite the fact that he was royalty and could have you executed on the spot for speaking like that, you were friends. More importantly, it was easier to be cheeky than it was to be embarrassed.

Claude whistled, his eyebrows going up in surprise, but you could see the smile in his eyes. Somehow, no matter how hard you tried to dig up some comment that would get under his skin, it never worked. It never had worked. But you supposed he appreciated the effort because he always seemed to like it when you got sassy. “There you are. Going for the throat as usual,” he said. He sighed theatrically. “You were so cute and sweet back in the day. I can only guess what might have happened to twist such an innocent girl into a cruel woman.”

“I am very cute and sweet,” you said primly, set at ease by his reaction. “You’re the one who started it. And anyway, you were probably cheating. What was it they called you during the war? Tabletop Demon? Watch your cards carefully, Dimitri.”

“He hardly needs to cheat to beat me,” Dimitri said, looking at the board with a frown.

“For the record,” Claude said, “that’s a terrible name. I don’t know where it started, but I never liked it.”

“Right, right,” you agreed with a thick air of irony, nodding. “King of Unification is much better.”

“Not much worse than Savior King,” Claude said.

Dimitri winced. “You’ve heard that, have you?”

“Well, word spreads,” Claude said. “Seriously, why didn’t they just go ahead and call you Saint Dimitri?”

“It’s called humility,” you said loftily. “You should try it sometime.”

“I have. I found it didn’t quite suit me.”

You rolled your eyes and the three of you counted your hands. Claude was still winning by a hair. Dimitri was lagging halfway across the board. He wasn’t even necessarily bad at the game, but it was a game of luck rather than skill, and Dimitri had awful luck. It was almost a talent, really. If there were kings or low numbered cards to be had, they would be in his hand. Although he didn’t seem to care, shrugging it off with his usual good nature, a part of you felt bad that he wasn’t doing better on a rare night that he decided to play.

Claude collected the cards and began to shuffle them, parting the deck and effortlessly thumbing the corners so they cascaded in random order, bending them the opposite way in a bridge. You didn’t think you’d ever noticed anyone else shuffling cards, but there was an easy dexterity to his movements, a graceful care to the way he handled them.

“You know,” he said, pulling your attention from his hands to his shadowed eyes. Their green was obscured by his thick, dark eyelashes, but the heat of his gaze was not. “I was absolutely shocked to come back and learn that you’re not married, but I understand it now. I bet you can’t find someone to put up with that attitude of yours. Have you ever tried being nicer to men? I think they might like you more.”

That, for just a second, threw you off. Maybe it was a natural conclusion to your back and forth sniping, but the topic of your marital status seemed distinctly dangerous. You weren’t married. None of you were. But you were alone and it was late.

“I’m perfectly nice. To people who deserve it,” you said, gladly sticking to your pretentious tone and hiding your expression behind your cards. “Besides, you’re one to talk. I’m far too busy and don’t have any fancy title to provide heirs for. You’re a king with no bride. That’s suspicious.”

“In all fairness to Claude, I’m not married either,” Dimitri said, throwing a card into the crib.

“That’s not surprising,” Claude said, grinning. “I’ve heard the stories, you know. Luckily, it’s looking like King Dimitri is slightly more smooth than his princely self.”

“There are quite a few stories about you too, Claude,” Dimitri responded, unaffected by the teasing. That surprised you somewhat, or maybe you were just impressed by how easily Dimitri rolled with Claude’s ribbing. “Of course, I’d hardly pay heed to unverifiable tales.”

“I don’t know,” you added, starting the round with a four. “Any man who has a reputation approaching Sylvain’s must have something suspicious going on. Smoke and fire and all that.”

“I’m afraid that’s all baseless rumor,” Claude said dramatically. “I’m a true romantic, you know? Stars, wine, poetry, a bit of blood and bruising—that sort of thing.”

Your stomach tensed up, something warm and thick settling there for reasons you didn’t really care to analyze, only that you didn’t feel the horror and disgust he definitely deserved. “Blood and bruising?” you repeated.

Claude smiled. “If that’s where the night takes me and my special lady.”

Oh, you did not like that. You could handle false charm. You could even handle authentic charm if you were of a mind to. But Claude had something else. He had piercing green eyes and messy hair and a grin bordering on innuendo and knowledge of too many things he shouldn’t and you had no idea how to interpret it. “Is that an Almyran thing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow to deflect from whatever awful feeling his smile stirred in you. It made you mess up, playing a five where you should have played your six and ending the round quickly as they stacked pairs.

“Nah, it’s genetic. My mom still proudly tells the story of how she broke my dad’s nose while—” Claude stopped, clearing his throat. “Well, you get it. You understand, right Dimitri? With that beastly strength you’ve got, I’m sure-”

Dimitri loudly cleared his throat, cutting Claude off. “I think that’s enough.” He looked at you. “You count first?”

“Oh, yeah.” You couldn’t meet Dimitri’s eye, you could barely bear looking at him at all. You didn’t want to think of Dimitri’s strength right now, you very badly did not want to think of how easily he could leverage said strength against somebody, and you definitely didn’t want to let Claude rile you just because he was in a mood of mischief. “Thanks to Claude’s terrible deal,” you said, forcing your voice to come out steady. “I’ve just got a pair.”

“I have twelve points,” Dimitri said. “Although I suppose it doesn’t matter at this point.”

“Due to my masterful deal, I have twenty points,” Claude said brashly. “Plus... eight in the crib. Wow, I almost feel bad.”

“Tabletop Demon,” you said under your breath, accepting the cards as they were pushed over.

“Name calling is the last resort of the loser,” Claude told you.

“You can take comfort in knowing you’ll win against me, at least,” Dimitri told you. “I promise to refrain from calling you names.” He sounded earnest, but you knew that smile. It was very slight, just a little curl at the corner of his lip. He was definitely teasing. This was normal. Casual. You needed to get your mind out of whatever dark pit it had fallen into.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” you said wryly, shuffling the deck.

“I’m sure there are at least a few names you could think to call her,” Claude said, undoing the first few buttons on his shirt. The action was so casual. Those dexterous fingers thumbed the buttons from the holes beneath his collar and revealed the smooth lines of his neck and collarbones. When he rolled his shoulders and the white fabric parted further, you got to see the dent between his pecs and the slightest brush of dark hair that dusted his chest. “I know you’re the picture of honor and chivalry, but it almost doesn’t feel right to play a game like this without some trash talk.”

You realized a moment too late that you’d frozen mid-action, your index finger resting on the card to brush it forward. Although Claude had been speaking to Dimitri, he was smiling at you like he knew. He knew, he did. He had to. No man looked like that and didn’t know exactly how it affected people. He was playing dirty.

“It’s kind of warm in here, don’t you think?” he asked casually, stretching his arms which really only made it worse. You glanced quickly at Dimitri, feeling a senseless wave of guilt, but he didn’t seem even slightly concerned.

“I could open the window,” you said, trying to sound easygoing, averting your eyes by focusing on dealing.

“No, no,” Claude said. “I’d hate for you to get cold.”

“Some people might accuse you of trying to use your body as a distraction to win,” you said, picking up your hand and staring hard at your cards. Normally you’d have an easy time mentally counting points but right then the numbers meant nothing to you. You weren’t even sure which ones you threw into your crib, not really.

“If you think it’s an effective strategy,” Claude said, tossing his crib card towards you, “you might want to consider stripping right about now.”

That took a moment to register. “Excuse me?” you demanded, your voice just a bit too high because even though it was a joke, and even though you knew it was a joke, he still said it.

“Unless you have a fantastic hand… No, not even then. You won’t get to count it,” Claude said, looking at his cards. “And, who knows, you could make an honest man out of one of us in the process.”

“An honest man,” you repeated, dumbfounded at his utter audacity because he thought now of all times was an appropriate time to play this sort of game.

“I’m just assuming that’s what you want. What any loyal subject would want for a king of her country, really.” Claude leaned back with this elbow on the seatback, his chin raised ever so slightly and eyes burning into you. “It’s okay to admit it, we’re all friends here.”

“Admit what?” you asked, too embarrassed to inject your voice with the right amount of disgusted indignance his comment deserved. Your stomach was rioting, hot with wine and the sticky warm weight of his words.

“Claude,” Dimitri finally chastised him, but he was grinning too. He threw down a card, effectively starting the round.

“Right, sorry,” Claude said, making an easy fifteen off of the jack. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

You muttered something that might have been clever under your breath as you played a card. Claude definitely knew what you felt, or had some ideas or theories about it that you couldn’t even begin to discern from his erratic comments. At the very least he knew enough to realize he could taunt you like this. Not that Claude was ever really cruel, at least not in this embarrassing way. Then again, Dimitri didn’t seem particularly bothered. He seemed different, almost, like he was in on this. So where did that leave you?

“Are you okay?” Dimitri asked you. He didn’t sound concerned like he did before. He didn’t look concerned, either. The interest with which he took in your flushing cheeks, pursed lips, and averted eyes was too keen to be driven by worry.

“She’ll be fine. It’s that noble blood,” Claude said, “terribly weak to teasing, that stuff is.”

“You’re both nobles too,” you muttered, pressing the back of your hand to your cheek in the hopes it would help them cool.

“Ah, ah,” Claude said, his cards swaying as he gestured with them. “Dimitri is royalty and I’m, well-”

“Also royalty,” Dimitri said.

Claude shrugged. “I dabble.”

Dimitri snorted in a distinctly unkingly manner into his drink. The round went quickly after that. You were barely paying attention. By the time Claude counted out his sixteen-point hand and won the game, you were frowning, your arms crossed, the teasing and uncertainty having left you with a distinctly standoffish attitude towards the whole thing. Well, more standoffish.

“What you are is terrible,” you said, lifting your chin in a show of confidence. “And a cheater.”

“A cheater?” Claude asked, caught between amusement and surprise at the accusation.

“Yes,” you affirmed with a solid nod of your head. “The people of Almyra are proud warriors and yet here you are, resorting to sneaky tactics to win. And against a woman, no less! Imagine the shame you’d bring to them.”

Claude wasn’t at all ruffled by your attempt at a taunt. In fact, it only made him smile. “To be clear, I have nothing but respect for women. If I were using some not-so-ethical tactics—which I’m not—your gender wouldn’t matter. In fact, I find it insulting to womankind that you would even imply such a thing.”

“You were teasing me so I would be distracted,” you said.

“No, I was teasing you because it’s fun,” he said bluntly. “You make it so easy.”

“Dimitri,” you said with a huff, turning to him. “Tell him to stop bullying me.”

“I wouldn’t want to involve myself,” Dimitri said.

“Traitor! Isn’t the heart of chivalry the defense of the weak and innocent?”

“I’m not so sure that applies in this instance,” Dimitri said, his eye flicking between you and Claude.

Claude grinned. “Exactly! If anyone is the victim here, it’s me.” He put a hand to his chest which, possibly intentionally, drew your attention to the wealth of exposed tanned skin. “The name calling especially cut surprisingly deep.”

“Good! You’re both awful, terrible, bad men who cheat at card games and make fun of defenseless girls for sport. Completely unforgivable, no wonder neither of you has married,” you ranted in a dramatic, overacted torrent of words. “Women know rotten men when they see them.”

“I lost too,” Dimitri noted.

“Unimportant,” you said dismissively, not thinking about whether or not this was going too far and continuing on your rampage of feigned indignance and outrage. “You’re complicit, which makes you just as bad. I haven’t done anything at all to deserve such cruelty.”

“Is that a fact?” Dimitri asked doubtfully. But the corner of his mouth curled in amusement. At least it was only slight, Claude was doing nothing to hide his entertained grin.

“Do you think it’s not?”

“I’m just saying,” Dimitri said diplomatically, “that you had to have known what would happen. Verbally sparring with Claude is a bad idea.”

Claude laughed. “See? Even King Oblivious gets it.”

“I take it I’m King Oblivious?” Dimitri asked dryly.

“It’s a virtue,” Claude said, waving it off. “I’d love to be as adorably clueless as you.”

“You’re going to scold me for my behavior when he says things like that?” you demanded, gesturing towards Claude.

“I’m not scolding you,” Dimitri said. “I’m merely suggesting that if you truly didn’t like this, you have an odd way of showing it. If anything, Claude’s holding back.”

“His Majesty makes an excellent point,” Claude interjected. “That impudent tongue of yours could get you in trouble if you’re not careful. I like to think of myself as an easygoing guy, but-” He shrugged one shoulder. “Who knows?”

You rolled your eyes. “What are you going to do, wait for Dimitri to bail you out?”

“That’s cute. You’re awfully bold for someone at such a huge disadvantage,” Claude said in the same playful voice, watching you with the same even gaze. “I mean, two to one... Those are bad odds. And everyone else is in bed too, nobody would come to help you.” He took a drink of wine, studying the glass with casual indifference. “But I’m sure you’ve already thought ahead and come up with all sorts of means of escape, right? You know, just in case you talked yourself into a corner.”

Whatever retort you’d been queuing up withered away on your tongue. Your stomach dropped to some void beyond your body, giving way to a free fall as you met his eyes and waited for some retraction or qualifier. But there was none, just those words and your personal spiral of complete and utter bafflement as you tried to sort out what he meant.

“He’s joking,” Dimitri finally said, breaking the tense silence.

“No, I’m teasing,” Claude corrected him.

Two to one. Those were terrible, awful, horrible odds. But you weren’t scared, not even slightly. Was he doing that on purpose? He had to be. But why? “You’re a demon,” you muttered, looking down try and hide the fact that you were blushing hot enough to feel it on the tips of your ears.

“What was that?” Claude asked.

You looked up with a smile, the cheekiest one you could muster. “What was what?”

“Is that your game now?” Claude asked, raising an eyebrow. Your smile didn’t falter.

“I’d hate to offend His Majesty with my impudence.”

“I can’t help but feel that this isn’t particularly productive,” Dimitri said.

“It’s his fault,” you said, your smile dropping a shade or two as you turned to Dimitri, your voice taking on the very slight edge of a whine. “I just wanted to play a game.”

“Is that all?” Claude asked. “We did have something very important to talk to you about tonight, but if you would rather just play-” He shrugged. “Loser deals, Dimitri.”

You blinked at him, unable to tell if he meant it or if it was bait. “Wait, really?” you asked after a second, looking between the two. Dimitri shot a sidelong look at Claude, confirming your question, but he didn’t say anything as he collected and began to shuffle the cards. “You can’t just… Come on,” you said, leaning forward. Claude smiled. You huffed, turning to the blond. “Dimitri?”

“Ah, well-”

“I know it’s your nature, Dimitri,” Claude said, cutting him off, “but it’s actually counterproductive to spoil a brat. They won’t learn anything that way.”

“A brat?” you repeated, your voice entirely flat. You weren’t sure anyone had called you a brat in your adult life. It was infantilizing. Embarrassing. At the same time, you knew you were all but squirming in your seat, your cheeks hot despite yourself.

“Sure. Don’t worry, it’s cute. As far as gimmicks go, it suits you well.”

Before, you could have shrugged it off. You did because to do otherwise was delusional, right? It was just Claude. Just Dimitri. Just some friends catching up. But when he said things like that, it was kind of impossible to see past the fact that you were all alone with two very attractive, very powerful, and very available men. How many times had you told yourself that it was just you, that the tension you felt was all in your head because you were only friends? Old friends, even. Both men had moved on to bigger and better things and you were nothing. So you treated them like friends, cheeky and confident.

Brat.

Trying to buy yourself time before responding, you finished your second glass of wine while Dimitri began to shuffle the deck. The world spun a little as you carefully set the glass down, the alcohol swirling in your head, tingling and dancing around in your stomach. Then again, maybe that feeling was better attributed to this conversation. It wasn’t even just that Claude was being cryptic and blatantly flirtatious. In isolation, that might have been fine, you might even take it as a joke. What was truly incomprehensible, what really made your head spin, was that Dimitri was playing right along. Sweet, gentle, gentlemanly Dimitri was letting another man call you a brat and teasing you. Licking the lingering drops of wine from your lips, you decided that you weren’t drunk, but you were tipsy enough to make a dumb decision. Tipsy enough that you could blame the consequences of your actions on intoxication because sober you would certainly refuse to play along with this game, or she’d leave in a fit of righteous indignance. If this was what you thought it was, if you were right about the source of tension, then you’d-

Well, you weren’t sure what you’d do. But right then you looked up with the resolve to abandon reason and play along with whatever game this was supposed to be. They wouldn’t hurt you, you didn’t think. You trusted them, you thought.

“I don’t want to play again,” you said, squaring your shoulders against the distinct unease of this entire bizarre situation, trying to act like you had any semblance of control over yourself and didn’t burn with the heat of being called a brat. “I’d rather make a bet,”

“Oh?” Claude asked. “What are we betting on?”

“I bet if we both cut the deck, I get the higher card,” you said. “And then you'll tell me what's going on without any of your...” You waved a hand towards him, trying to think of an appropriate word to describe everything that Claude was. “Nonsense.”

“I was under the impression you enjoyed my ‘nonsense,’” he said.

“What in the world would give you that impression?” you asked, your nose wrinkled.

Dimitri smiled, continuing to painfully bend and shuffle the cards. “I believe it was the withering glare that gave it away.”

“Both of you are up to something,” you said, refusing to let their banter distract from the topic at hand. Maybe you were a bit more tipsy than you thought, but at least it was confidence.

“How very perceptive,” Claude said. “As one would expect from a girl like you.”

“Don’t be cute,” you said. “Just tell me what it is.”

“No, no, I like the sound of this bet,” Claude said. “What do I get if I win?”

“Bragging rights.”

“Tempting, but no deal,” Claude said. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and fingers entangled. “Still, I can’t think of anything I want right now. How about we just say that you’ll owe me.”

“Owe you what?” you asked skeptically, trying very hard not to look at his chest or the way his shirt was falling open just a little more, the shadows playing beneath his collar bones, highlighting the ridges and plains of muscle and warm skin.

“Don’t give me that look,” Claude said. “It’s not like I’m going to ask for something outrageous.” You raised an eyebrow. “But if you’d rather not…”

You frowned. This was stupid. Claude had a clear advantage and you knew full well he was the type to push that as far as he could. The whole bet thing had been a mistake. “I don’t suppose you’ll just tell me?” you asked, looking between them.

“What do you think?” Claude asked. You frowned, internally kicking yourself.

“Fine. As long as it’s nothing bad,” you relented.

“What about Dimitri?” Claude asked.

“With my luck, is there any point in my playing?” Dimitri asked wryly.

“Oh, come on,” Claude said. “Losing is half the fun.” He looked at you, something mischievous and pointed in those green eyes. “She’d know all about that, hm?”

No, you really didn’t know what he was talking about. But you understood the way he said it and it felt filthy. Clearing your throat, you shrugged, forcing yourself to look at Dimitri directly. “If you win, what do you want?” He held your eye for what felt like an eternity. In the dim lighting of the room, pale cornflower blue was reduced to the color of a moonless night sky, the other covered by the emotionless black of his eyepatch. For all of your fidgeting embarrassment and anticipation, you couldn’t look away. The idea that this was all a result of Claude’s Machiavellian mind fell away. Right then, flushing with the heady hot sensation of being something like prey, you felt a little less confident that you truly knew Dimitri. It made your breath catch and your heart speed up, but it didn’t scare you as it should have.

“I’ll leave this game to the two of you,” Dimitri said, finally looking away and setting the shuffled deck face down. You blinked, shaking your head as if the gauze of wine was the reason for your sudden dizziness.

“Ladies first,” Claude told you, gesturing to the cards. You nodded and cut high, not even a quarter of the deck. Claude reached in and took a bulk of the rest.

“A… queen,” you said, proudly displaying your card.

Claude sucked in a breath through his teeth, showing you his king. “So close.”

You frowned, staring hard at the card like you could force it to change. It didn’t. You dropped your cards on top of the deck and leaned back, crossing your arms. “What do I owe you?”

“Oof, someone sounds like a sore loser,” Claude said, feigning a frown. Then he shrugged good-naturedly, putting down his cards in exchange for his glass. “I guess I’d be pretty bitter to know that fate didn’t favor me.”

“Are you really going to gloat?” you asked.

“I hadn’t planned on it, but if you insist.” Claude raised his glass, grinning. “Here’s to my victory.” He took a drink, smacking his lips obnoxiously. “Sweet, as always.”

Dimitri didn’t raise his mug, shaking his head with incredulous amusement before looking at you. “Since I took no part in the bet, I’m not obliged to honor the conditions of victory. If Claude won’t tell you, I will.”

“How uncharacteristically strategic of you, Dimitri,” Claude said.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” you asked, uncertain that he’d make it so easy for you.

“To be clear,” Dimitri said, “I haven’t held my tongue out of malicious intent, but because it’s somewhat of a… delicate matter.” He paused. “May I ask you a question?”

Your eyes flicked over to Claude and back again, confusion making the nerves worse. “If you want.”

“Who would you pick,” Dimitri began, utterly serious, “if you were asked to choose between the two of us?”

Your entire body tensed up, a cold feeling sinking through your limbs as the nerves and doubt finally converged. Heavy guilt and the arresting sensation of being caught seized in your chest, making your muscles go taut with anxiety. “What?” you asked.

“You know both of us quite well,” Dimitri said, watching you without any particular expression. “Did you not ever think that there might be a conflict of interest?”

“Answer however you like,” Claude said. “No hard feelings.”

“Are you telling me that I have to choose between you? Now?”

“No,” Dimitri said, “this is purely hypothetical.”

You swallowed hard. ”I-I… I care about both of you. It’s not like… I mean, I don’t feel…” You shook your head, knowing you were going nowhere with that. “I couldn’t choose, I wouldn’t want to. You’re both my good ff-friends.”

“Friends?” Claude repeated, raising an eyebrow.

You looked desperately between the two of them, really trying to puzzle out what this was supposed to mean. Obviously they had been talking, obviously they had been conspiring together on this. But why? The wine that had emboldened you was making your head spin, making it hard to understand how the conversation had devolved into this and how you were supposed to get out of it.

“If I gave a different impression,” you finally said, “that wasn’t my intention.”

“Ah yes, the old coincidental ‘accidentally seducing two of the most powerful men in the world,’” Claude said. “The worst part is that I almost believe it was an accident. Almost. But you had to have known it wouldn’t end well.”

You opened and closed your mouth once, twice. What could you say? You had known better, or at least known that you were letting things go too far. You knew your behavior had been wrong, you knew that it could have been interpreted differently. “I’m sorry,” you finally said. You looked at Dimitri, your chest tightening a little more. “I am sorry.”

“I confess, I was quite… jealous when I first learned how close you were with Claude,” Dimitri said. “But I realize now that perhaps it was a misunderstanding on all of our parts about what we expected from one another.” He paused, his lips pursing as he considered his next words. “The unfortunate truth is that Claude and I can’t afford any strain on our relationship. It’s a matter of state.”

You swallowed hard but your voice was still small, caught in your throat. “I understand.”

“And so, two solutions presented themselves. Either neither of us pursue you,” Dimitri continued. “Or we both do. Although it’s not ideal, I believe it's a suitable compromise.”

“It was my brilliant idea, by the by,” Claude said. “Living up to my title, I suppose.”

“What do you mean by pursue?” you asked slowly, cautiously, only kind of comprehending that this wasn’t the outright rejection that you thought it would be.

“I think the more apt verb would be take,” Claude said, “but I’m not sure Dimitri’s entirely comfortable with such crass language.” He paused, his head tilting and the little strand of hair in front of his face swaying playfully. “Actually, when you get right down to it, the most appropriate verb would be fuck. But that’s a bit vulgar for my taste.”

“Wait, wait,” you said, hot and flustered all over again as your brain struggled to interpret what, exactly, Claude had just said. He flirted with innuendo sometimes, implied certain things in a way that made you blush, but this was different. Goddess save you. “Sex. With… Both of you.” Saying it out loud felt ridiculous. It sounded ridiculous.

“You yourself said that you’re too busy for any formal relationship,” Dimitri said, so unendingly reasonable. “But I don’t think it’s too presumptuous to say that you desire more.”

“When King Oblivious notices it,” Claude said, “you know it’s bad.”

“Am I wrong?” Dimitri asked, ignoring Claude and holding your gaze despite your skin-crawling need to avert your eyes.

Practically holding your breath, you shook your head. Just a little, just enough that you hoped he’d understand.

“Tell me,” Dimitri demanded, his voice low. You knew this voice, this look, but you’d never suffered it personally. It was the one that kept people in line, that encouraged them to meet the king’s requests regardless of their misgivings. Once or twice, you’d marveled at its efficacy, never sparing a second thought for why he was able to get people to agree to seemingly disadvantageous deals. “Am I wrong?” he asked again.

“No,” you said softly, your voice barely audible.

Dimitri’s expression didn’t change. Uncompromising. Intense. “I can’t hear you.”

You could have choked. Maybe you did, just a little. But, eventually, you found a way to repeat yourself in a slightly louder voice. Dimitri nodded, satisfied, and you finally forced your eyes away, putting your hands against your blazing cheeks. Between the embarrassment and the burn of liquor in your gut, the dizziness had your head in a nearly violent spin.

“Is this,” you began, your eyes fixed resolutely on the low table between you and them, “a prank or something? Or some kind of revenge? If it’s a joke, it’s not at all funny.”

“I never joke about matters of the heart,” Claude said. “Although, in this case, I suppose it has less to do with the heart and more to do with your-”

“Claude,” Dimitri cut in, a frown in his voice.

You peeked up to see Claude correct himself, smiling cheekily. “The importance of friendship,” he said. Dimitri just shook his head. You stared at them nervously, your gaze flicking between the two as you waited for the other shoe to drop, or for something to give. “You still look confused,” Claude said. “That’s fine. While you think this all over, let’s get back to that bet.”

“...what?”

“You owe me,” Claude told you. You continued to stare mutely, baffled beyond articulation as to why he’d bring that back up now. He frowned. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

“That’s not why I’m confused,” you said, your heart beating too fast, too hot. “You can’t just change the subject after saying that we should… I mean, this is…” You gestured towards both of them, shaking your head as an incredulous laugh burst out.

“I’m not changing the subject, I’m saying that if it weren’t for my outstanding problem solving skills, this could have gotten ugly. You owe me—no, you owe both of us an apology. ”

That made your chest clench. Whatever else was going on, you had enough room to feel guilty. “I’m sorry. I never intended to…” you looked from him to Dimitri, trying to convey your apology with your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

In contrast to the unyielding expression he’d worn before, Dimitri weighed your apology with an open look, leaning back. “I accept your apology. I can’t believe you would do something so callous intentionally. And in any case, I have no doubt I’ll see… justice by the time the night is out.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Personally, I don’t think you look very sorry,” Claude said before Dimitri could elaborate, studying you with an unimpressed look. “You could try to shed a tear or something.”

“I am sorry. Truly. But… But it’s not like it was just me,” you told him, frustration biting back the slurry of conflicting emotions you’d been overwhelmed by. “I never would have pushed for more from either of you. The only reason things ended up like they were was because you both-”

“You were leading us on?” Claude asked. He winced dramatically, shaking his head. “That’s worse.”

Your jaw clenched, shoulders high and tense. “I said I was sorry.”

“And I didn’t buy it,” Claude said. “If you’re going to apologize, you shouldn’t be so petulant.”

“And if you’re going to try and seduce someone,” you said, “you shouldn’t be such an ass.”

Claude sighed dramatically, his eyes closing as he shook his head. “I was going to be nice and use my hand, but it seems like someone needs daddy’s belt.”

Although you weren’t aware of making any move, your empty wine glass toppled over as if in response to that statement. It was the only sound in the room for a moment, just the rolling of metal on wood and your frantic heartbeat and silence. The three of you were all alone, maybe the only three people in the world. “What?” you finally asked. “I said I was sorry,” you said, your stomach twisting. Why were you still arguing? Why were you still here? “That’s what you wanted, right?”

“You did,” Claude agreed, “and it was terrible. I won’t accept it until you understand what you’ve done wrong—it’s an essential part of atonement. Plus, I get the feeling you have yet to face any real consequences in your life. It’ll be good for you.”

“It’ll be good for me if you… you…”

“Punish you, yes.”

You swallowed hard, trying to work through this conversation to search for even a scrap of sense. “No. It’ll hurt,” you said, your voice embarrassingly soft. Was that really the only argument you had? Even the promise of pain wasn’t enough to scare you off. And the more you thought about it, the more disastrous the idea of Claude punishing you got twisted up in something warm and thick you dared not call lust. But that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

“That is the general idea, yes.”

“However, if you are truly against it,” Dimitri said. “We can discuss other options.”

Other options, you weren’t even sure what else could be on the level of “daddy’s belt” and you should have been disgusted and terrified and running and screaming. Why weren’t you?

The answer was perfectly obvious, burning hot between your thighs and in your core, spinning your head into a confused daze. You needed to make a choice. Either both or neither. Either accept your punishment now or find out what other options were. And, in a way, this was what you’d already accepted. The reason you stayed earlier, the reason you made a bet, the reason you knew that if you stopped this now you’d always regret it. You took in a deep breath, peeking up from beneath your eyelashes in a way you hoped hid the worst of your burning shame from their prying eyes.

“If it hurts too much,” you said cautiously, “you’ll stop, right?”

“If you ask nicely,” Claude said, wearing an infuriatingly smug smile.

“Claude,” Dimitri told him in warning. But even this was flippant, relaxed.

“Right, sorry,” Claude said. “I can’t help myself, she makes it too easy. Of course I’ll stop if it’s too much.”

At the very least, his attitude knocked some sense of normalcy back into the interaction. You licked your lips, cutting past your embarrassment and arousal and whatever else to pay him back in kind. “After cheating all night,” you said, “the Tabletop Demon resorts to physical abuse to attain victory. And the chivalrous king is letting him. How shameless.”

“It is shameless,” Dimitri said, leaning forward as he looked at you. “I wasn’t entirely certain when Claude told me about your… peculiar reaction to force, but now I see for myself the truth of his words. You ask him to spare you, yet you speak in a way you know will make it worse. That is shameless, is it not?”

“Personally, I think she just can’t help herself,” Claude said.

“You’re one to talk,” you told him. But the quip was weak, you were too busy reeling from this unsettling shift in Dimitri’s attitude.

“You’re right, talk is cheap,” Claude said, reaching down to undo his belt.

“Wait you can’t mean… Here?” you asked, looking towards the unlockable doors with a twinge of dread. “Somebody could just walk in.”

“You’d like that, huh?” Claude asked, “Someone walking in on you getting punished by two of the most powerful men in the world. What a scandal.”

You swallowed hard, your jaw clenching. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not making a joke.” He paused, flashing you a look you recognized as being sympathetic. A reminder that this was mostly performative. Mostly. Right. “Don’t worry, nobody is going to walk in. Dimitri here would never take that sort of risk.” His belt was in the fashion of Fodlan, shiny brown leather with a metal buckle. The leather slid through the loops easily until freed. Claude meant it. He intended to hit you with his belt like a parent would a disobedient child right here in a room where people gathered to play games and enjoy each other’s company, basically right next to the audience chamber where Byleth spent most of their time putting out political fires. “How many, do you think?” Claude asked Dimitri, casually assessing his belt.

“Hold on,” you said. “Why are you asking him?”

Dimitri leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees as he considered that. “You won the bet with a king. They’re generally counted as thirteen, are they not?”

“Wow. I’m... shocked,” Claude said, although he wasn’t putting up an act of surprise to cover the delight in his eyes. “That’s a little sadistic, don’t you think?”

Dimitri hesitated. “I just thought-”

“No, no, that wasn’t a complaint,” Claude told him, waving it off. “The punishment should fit the crime, after all.” He looked at you. “Thirteen it is.”

Your stomach dropped and you swallowed hard. This was a bad, bad idea. You needed to say no. You needed to leave because this was dangerous. Real, genuine danger. Two against one, bad odds. For the goddess’ sake, they were royalty. “That’s too many,” you told him, doing nothing to stand up and leave.

“You think?” Claude asked, his eyebrows raising. “You must have had an awfully soft childhood.”

“I was well behaved,” you said.

“Nah, couldn’t be that,” Claude said. “A well behaved girl definitely wouldn’t end up in this position. I’m starting to wonder if you lost on purpose.”

“And I still think you cheated,” you said without thinking about the words. They weren’t true, nobody thought you believed them, but bravado was far better than becoming a pile of soupy lust and fear. “I bet Dimitri marked the king on purpose, considering the two of you are coconspirator best friends.”

“Fourteen,” Claude said calmly, his chair scraping on the floor as he stood up. “Dimitri, why don’t you move over there and help her stay still. If she moves around too much, she could hurt herself.”

You stiffened, bravado giving away to nerves at the threat. All at once, you felt too hot and too cold. Your hands shook like leaves and you knew your voice was unsteady but you couldn’t help yourself from speaking. “You can’t just add another one, that’s not fair. Besides I’m not even sure that-”

“Fifteen,” Claude said, meeting your eyes steadily as he adjusted the belt in his grip to make a big loop.

Dimitri sat next to you. Not touching, not quite, but you could feel the space between your bodies. It was tense and electric. He was warm, you swore you could feel it.

Oh, goddess. This was real.

“I suggest you hold your tongue,” Dimitri told you. He wore a straight face, but he did nothing to mask the amusement in his voice.

“No, keep going,” Claude said. “I could keep counting all night. Probably from all the cheating I do, huh?”

“Bait doesn’t work when it’s that obvious,” you muttered.

“I disagree,” Claude said. “I find that bait works the best when it’s obvious.”

“It depends on the prey,” Dimitri said. “You could end up scaring them into fleeing. Some measure of care is necessary.”

“She wouldn’t run away,” Claude said, looking at you. “Not after all the effort she put into landing herself such a disadvantageous position.”

“I might,” you threatened, but it was hollow.

“You’d better decide quickly,” Claude told you. “I’m fine to give you whatever time you need, but Dimitri’s known to be an impatient man.”

Dimitri scoffed, but he didn’t push it. The truth was obvious enough. Claude was watching you with bright eyes, his lips wet from being bitten and cheeks bearing the faintest promise of a flush. In contrast, Dimitri seemed downright calm, reclining casually with an arm thrown across the backrest, his head cocked at a slight angle.

You exhaled harshly, nerves brutalizing the inside of your stomach. There was no way you could go through with this, but you knew you didn’t have the willpower to put an end to it. Caught between the two, you found yourself frozen. Most of the time, you were so confident, settled comfortably in the odd niche of your life. Uncertainty and inexperience were debilitating.

“I, uhm… what do I… do?” you asked awkwardly, nervously looking to either man for help. Asking for instruction in such a way was galling. A part of you cowered, terrified that they’d laugh, but neither did. For that, you felt a hot rush of gratitude.

“Take your clothes off and bend over Dimitri’s lap so he can hold you still,” Claude said and, somehow, he sounded gentle. You weren’t sure made that made it better or worse. You cast a nervous glance sideways as he moved the table out of the way to give himself room. What were you doing? Why? Did you really intend to go through with this?

“What if I don’t?” you asked.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be difficult to make you. Is that what you would prefer?” Dimitri asked. He sounded collected enough, but there was a pink tinge high on his cheeks, more obvious because of his fair skin. His pupil was blown out, both by the dim lighting and by what you could only assume was lust. This was obviously having some effect on him, and it was inevitable that his calm would shatter. Knowing that did little for your nerves. His patience wasn’t brittle like a glass cup, but brittle like the ice that crusted over a violent rushing river. He wasn’t the one holding the belt, but you knew the stories. Dimitri was his own form of danger.

And besides, no matter how flustered either became, you were the one on the ropes, the one caught between nerves and arousal and two men who’d made their less than decent intentions well known.

“I’m not going to take my clothes off,” you finally said, not looking at either man. “That’s too embarrassing.”

“I missed the part where that’s my problem,” Claude said. “We could always go for sixteen.”

The threat, which normally would have just urged you to double down, scared you enough to relent. They would, you reasoned, see you naked anyway. Muttering something about tyranny, you shimmied your underwear off under the cover of your dress. Shifting it off of one leg, it fell to your other ankle to lay on top of your shoes. The dress was harder to discard. Not because it was difficult to get out of, but because of the blazing embarrassment of undressing yourself in front of two men.

“Do you need help?” Claude asked sweetly.

You grit your teeth, pulling your dress off and letting it fall to the side. “I’ve got it,” you said aloofly. All you had left was the bodice, and then you’d be bared to their eyes.

“Look at you,” Claude cooed. “Obeying so well. I’m almost impressed.”

The retort was poised on the tip of your tongue before your mind caught up with your mouth and you bit it back, knowing that’s what he wanted. Those pretty eyes sparkled with sharp anticipation, Claude was just waiting for an excuse.

There was probably something wrong with undressing purely out of spite, but it gave you enough confidence to put your shoulders back as you undid the laces and tossed your bodice aside with the rest. It was unavoidable that your nipples would harden in response to the cooler air, but no less embarrassing.

“You have no reason to be shy,” Claude told you. His voice held an air of honesty, losing all of the mocking pretense of before. He admired you with open desire, not cruelty. It made you squirm, your shoulders curling protectively to hide. “I mean it—you’re beautiful.” That made your breath catch. No matter what else was going on, hearing that sort of thing from a man like Claude went straight to your head, almost intoxicating in its potency.

“So are you,” you said, deflecting to hide the way his praise made you blush.

He smiled. “I know.”

Trying to avoid Claude’s eyes, you turned towards Dimitri. Then you realized that you would have been better off suffering Claude’s smug grin. Out of anything that had been said or done that night, it didn’t compare to the true and raw intent that shone in Dimitri’s half-lidded eye as he appraised your body. You had fancied catching his eye occasionally, only admitting it to yourself in the deepest depths of your mind, but never had you imagined this. Nostrils flaring, knuckles white around the curled armrest, body unbearably tense, he looked at you with animalistic focus. Hunger, not arousal. Getting closer to him, letting him touch you, would be akin to sticking your head in the mouth of a beast. When Dimitri’s eye finally rose—sliding over every goosebump-covered curve and plain of your bare body—to meet yours, a muscle ticked in his jaw. He blinked away the intensity and forcefully averted his gaze, cheeks pink.

“You are beautiful,” he agreed, his voice gruff.

“You’re okay to hold her?” Claude asked. You wondered how much of that exchange he had noticed, or if you had misinterpreted that look.

Dimitri cleared his throat. “Of course. Come here,” he urged you, his arm raising to invite you closer. You hesitated, making him frown. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Nah, that’s why I’m here,” Claude said, his tone light.

“And here I thought you were here just to be a bully,” you muttered under your breath, but all of the rebellion you wanted to project was eaten away by your unsteady breathing and anxiety.

“Sorry, what was that?” Claude asked.

“She was saying how grateful she is that you’re here,” Dimitri said, clearly trying to dispel your anxiety with the teasing lie.

“Really?” Claude asked, feigning happiness. “I knew she’d come around.”

The theatrics made you smile, just a little. This was fine, it was just Claude and Dimitri. You knew them. You trusted them. Whatever else it was… well, it was just sex. Some pain, but you were coming around to the idea that you maybe-sorta-kinda liked that. It was fine. Awkwardly, you shuffled closer to Dimitri, peering sideways at the belt in Claude’s hand. It looked a lot meaner from this angle. It was getting increasingly hard to catch your breath.

“Calm yourself,” Dimitri told you, obviously trying to be soothing. “At this rate, you’ll hyperventilate.” You jumped in surprise when he touched your bare skin, wrapping an arm around your middle to pull you closer. His black shirt was soft, but still rough against your naked flesh. While you were still reeling at the feeling of Dimitri touching you, he pushed you down over his lap. The position was uncomfortably provocative, your knees keeping your ass up while Dimitri kept your torso low across his thighs. It was somewhat awkward, but he didn’t seem to mind. You cried out in protest, thrashed in an instinctual need to escape the announced manhandling, but you might as well have been fighting iron bars.

“You could have warned me,” you said in a voice an octave too shrill, stilling as you realized how useless it was to fight. At least your chest was covered, even if your backside was on full display.

“Perhaps,” Dimitri allowed, letting you up so you could look sideways at his unrepentant face. From below, he truly was all angles. Jaw, nose, brow, even the softer expression he wore couldn’t mask the sharp regality of his features. The solid black eyepatch didn’t help, only making it more difficult to guess his thoughts. His body was exactly as warm as you’d thought, bleeding past his coarse clothes.

“His Majesty makes for a decent whipping bench,” Claude said. “Who would have thought you had so many talents, Dimitri?” When you turned your head towards his voice, you could see Claude’s legs approach. Dimitri pushed you down a little lower when you tried to twist around to watch as Claude came to a stop behind you. As if shy, you felt your pussy tighten, your thighs crushed together in a vain attempt to hide yourself.

“Wai-wait a second,” you said, squirming, your voice strained and breathless. “This is-”

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out already,” Claude said, cutting you off. Something about his tone made your rejection catch and jumble in your mouth, paralyzed with indecision as his fingers played across the base of your spine, his warm palm flattening over your ass, rubbing down the back of your thighs. Feeling his fingers in such close proximity to your pussy made it ache, aware of how empty and touch starved you felt even as the nervous fear licked fire through your veins. “Such soft skin.” He sighed heavily, dramatically. “It’s a shame to have to mark it up so soon.”

“There’s no need to taunt her,” Dimitri said, his voice rumbling against your body. “She’s frightened enough.”

“Does this look like fear to you?” Claude asked. His fingers dug into the seam between your thighs, pulling at the flesh to try and get a better look at your bare pussy.

“Hey—hey! Don’t!” you said, panicked and fighting Dimitri’s grip in earnest to evade Claude’s piercing eyes. The muscles of your thighs trembled with how hard you were keeping them pressed together to hide. All you got for your struggling was the harsh rub of the couch’s upholstery on your cheek when Dimitri pushed you down and his long fingers wrapped painfully tight around your wrist to keep the hand pinned. The position forced your back to arch, exposing you more. You whimpered in protest, stiff and breathing fast and skin crawling with the heat of embarrassment.

“She doesn’t look scared to me. In fact…” Claude said, thankfully releasing you and stepping away. He leaned down, allowing you a brief glance of those messy brown curls before he stood up with your underwear in hand. “As I thought. Look how wet these are. Sheesh, just from a little bit of teasing.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “How does the line go? The lady doth protest too much. Who’d have thought it would be so true?”

“Claude, stop,” you complained, your voice tight. When you tried to wriggle out of Dimitri’s iron grip, his only reaction was an almost pained grunt, the hand around your wrist tightening enough to make you whimper before he forcibly relaxed it.

“Sorry,” Dimitri muttered, his voice low and thick. He had to clear his throat, adjusting his position beneath you. “Let’s get this over with quickly.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Claude said, dropping your underwear back onto the floor. All you could see of him were his brown trousers and hands, the belt casually dangling at his side. “Here’s how we’re going to do this—hey, are you listening?”

It took a moment to respond, you had to swallow back a mouthful of thick saliva because the reality of this, which had been wavering, was finally really solidifying. “Yes,” you said, your voice muffled by the way your face was squished against the sofa’s cushion. As if reminded of the forceful way he was keeping you down, Dimitri let you up a bit. You could have looked up, maybe even met Claude’s eye if you strained, but you didn’t dare.

“First of all, you’re going to have to spread your legs a bit more,” Claude said.

You drew in as deep of a breath as you could manage. Although the notion of refusal seemed somewhat alluring, you obliged, your eyes squeezed shut to distance yourself from the humiliation of the position. A claustrophobic sensation of hyper-reality was closing in around you. Air, air that was at once too hot and too cold, crawled across your bare skin, brushing uncomfortably over the heat of your cunt. Goosebumps covered every inch of skin, tugging a hard shudder down your spine. Claude was right, you were wet. Just from talking, just from a little bit of manhandling. Heat burned beneath your cheeks and neck, at your ears.

“Good girl,” Claude praised you, his voice dripping with mocking humor. “Now, we settled on, what, fifteen? Right. Thirteen plus two for poor behavior. You’re going to count them.”

“What?” you asked, your stomach tensing. It took an effort to not shut your legs again, a desperate bid for protection and modesty.

“Count them,” Claude repeated. “I’d hate to be accused of cheating again.” He was smiling, you could hear it. Even so, you chanced a glance upward to see the sparkling white against his perfect tan, shadowed green eyes watching you with gleeful excitement.

“Okay,” you agreed softly, telling yourself that it was fine, that you could do this. You obviously wanted it despite the apprehension that lapped at your conviction. Part of the jittery nerves you felt was anticipation, even excitement. But the reality of it was heavy, the unmarked skin of your ass was already tingling, your stomach muscles beginning to ache from how tense they’d been. You tried to adjust your position only to have Dimitri tighten his grip, the slightest rumble of a grunt reminding you of his tenuous control.

“Dimitri, are you okay?” Claude asked. “You look a little-”

“I’m fine.” Dimitri’s voice was curt. A part of you wanted to look up and see his expression, but you were also glad that you couldn’t.

“Right,” Claude said. “Take a deep breath.”

That came off as mocking considering how impossible it felt to get in a breath at all, let alone a deep one. But you tried anyway, taking in some air with the vague notion to protest a final time because you weren’t sure you could actually handle this. It had been fun and sexy in theory but now that it was really, truly going to happen you just weren’t sure and-

Smack.

It didn’t hurt, not at first. The noise startled you, the sharp sound of the belt cutting through the air and the angry way the leather landed on your skin making you yelp. Then you could feel it, a thuddy stingy pain that made you fight against Dimitri despite yourself, tears burning at your eyes. There was nowhere to go, no way to escape. And it hurt. It burned.

“Shit, Claude!” you exclaimed, your voice muffled from once again having your face forced down to keep you in place.

“Ah, ah,” he chastised. “What do we say?”

“That hurt!” you said, your mind aflame with panic, with indignance.

“That’s not it,” Claude said. “Did you forget already? I asked you to count.”

“Remaining focused on something else will help,” Dimitri said, his voice low, only meant for you. “Besides, I do not doubt that you’re as anxious to get this over with as I am. For the sake of us both, behave.”

You drew in an unsteady inhale, then an exhale. He was probably right. “One,” you said.

“There you go,” Claude cooed.

The next one wasn’t as surprising. You were expecting it. Dimitri tensed up right before the belt hit your ass, licking a wide stripe of heat across the sensitive skin slightly below where it had been aimed the first time. Claude definitely hit harder with the second. The pain made your toes curl and a sharp cry leave your mouth, tears soaking into the sofa.

“Not,” you forced out, your ears ringing with the sound of the belt cutting air, “not so hard. Please.”

“If you don’t count, I’ll start over,” Claude told you pitilessly.

“Dimitri,” you whined, squirming against his hold. “Please, tell him.”

“Do as I said” Dimitri responded, his voice gruff.

You went still, the sensitive skin of your ass stinging, pulsing with the flow of blood. It felt like it was bleeding, but you knew it wasn’t. It would bruise though. And even if you fought, Dimitri would just force you down harder. Even if you argued, Claude would just talk you in circles. All you could do was endure it. Thirteen more.

“Two,” you said.

As soon as you spoke, Claude brought the belt back down. The wisdom of the position was that he had enough space to control the belt and aim each strike. He could ensure that no one spot was targeted too much. Not that you had any appreciation for wisdom at that moment. You rapidly counted three, four, five, six, but he spared you before seven, leaving you panting and crying and reeling. Realistically, you knew that Claude hadn’t been hitting you that hard. It could have been worse. But the pain was fresh and hot and intense. Breathing fast and lying facedown in a puddle of your own tears, you anxiously waited for another. The only thing you could think was that there would be seven, then eight, then nine, then-

“Look at you, doing so well,” Claude told you, his voice warm and genuinely sweet. Your mind had been so singularly focused on the rhythm, pain, and counting that the praise took a moment to drift into your mind. But it registered with a tingling sense of warmth. For both the break and the words, you felt a rush of gratitude. “Dimitri, you should check to see how afraid she is.”

Dimitri’s body jolted against yours, like the request surprised him. You’d definitely have finger shaped bruises around your wrist, assuming he was able to keep from breaking the bones. “You don’t mean-”

“I assume you’re curious too.” Claude paused. “I can, if you’d rather.”

“No.” Dimitri’s rejection was loud and abrupt. “I will.” You only realized what Claude meant when you felt Dimitri’s hand snake up the inside of your thigh. His long, pretty fingers trailed upward, the destination obvious.

“No, don’t,” you gasped, trying to squirm away from the touch.

He stiffened. “Don’t move.” Dimitri’s voice came out low and husky. You recognized, even with your brain on fire, that to be the sort of demand a person didn’t argue against.

When his fingers reached the apex of your thighs, you whimpered. He swore, the sound particularly vulgar coming from his mouth.

“That bad, huh?” Claude asked.

As an answer, Dimitri’s fingers pushed between the seam of your outer lips, his way eased by how wet you were. It was nothing for him to find your entrance, dripping and hot and painfully empty. Every slight movement of his fingers was audible, filling the silent room with a filthy wet squish. His fingers weren’t like yours, softened from the relatively easy life you enjoyed. They were rough with callouses, larger than your own. He dragged the wet arousal from your cunt over the tender flesh, pulling a sharp moan from your mouth when he circled your clit before returning to your entrance, teasingly dipping his fingers a little deeper.

“Don’t,” you said in a tight voice, although you doubted anybody would believe that you meant it. Everything within you willed him to push in, to give you some slight satisfaction. It would wipe away the pain.

“I never get tired of being right,” Claude said, crouching down to look you in the eye, his head tilting to match your sideways view. “If this was what you really wanted, you should have asked. We wasted so much time playing games. You could have finally won something of value.”

Your eyebrows knit together, embarrassment and displeasure and the familiar need to shut down his smug demeanor overcoming your disoriented mental state. “You’re a de-” Dimitri pushed two fingers into your pussy before you could finish the insult, the surprise of it making your eyes widen and mouth fall slack, whatever biting comment you intended wiped from your mind. Dimitri’s fingers, so seemingly slender before, were thick enough to cause your inner walls to stretch around them. The slight pinching ache was nothing, you were wet enough to take it. And all you could focus on was the delicious fullness, your desperation for more, the burning of your skin, and the tantalizing promise of pleasure.

Claude frowned, looking up at the man above you. “It’s not exactly punishment if you give her what she wants.”

“You’re the one wasting time,” Dimitri countered. You couldn’t help from letting out an embarrassingly loud moan when he shallowly pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy. It was scattered madness, you didn’t think you’d ever been so sensitive to pleasure, so desperately wet and aching for someone’s touch.

But then he pulled his fingers out, uncaring of the way your inner walls tried to suck deeper or how your body seesawed back to try and chase his hand. A pathetic whimper left your mouth, cutting off into a pained squeak when he trailed his short, blunt nails—wet with your arousal—over the inflamed flesh of your ass.

“Fine,” Claude said, standing up. “What were we at?”

“Please, no more,” you begged, panic returning as Dimitri resumed his earlier hold. “Please, I’m sorry. I can’t… I need-”

“Endure it,” Dimitri told you lowly.

“I can’t,” you whined.

“If you do, we’ll take care of you,” Claude promised. “You won’t even remember the pain.”

You sniffed pathetically, torn between your fear and your desperate need. There was no way out, no way around this. Maybe if you could think, if you could even begin to coherently reason. But you couldn’t. You just had to endure it. Behave. “Six,” you muttered wetly, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Good girl.”

Smack.

“Se-e-ven!”

Smack.

“Eh-eight!”

Dimitri had been right in saying it was easier if you focused on something other than the pain. So you focused on the counting. Everything else fell away until there was nothing but counting to the golden number of fifteen and the sound of the belt cutting air and striking hard across your abused skin and Claude’s occasional praise and the heat of the body beneath you. Ten landed poorly, the side of the belt cutting like a knife right in the center of your ass. As if to apologize, eleven and twelve weren’t so hard. And Claude kept praising you, Dimitri touching you with those lovely long hands of his, soothing the fresh welts when Claude paused.

And the thudding heat and pressure and the pain, it built into something. Galvanized fire, energy. It felt good. Electricity zipped through your body, vibrating in your bones all the way to the base of your skull, clouding your brain and dripping down your thighs.

Thirteen. Fourteen.

Smack.

“Fifteen!” you practically shouted the number. Your voice was thick and hoarse, although you weren’t sure if it was because of the crying or overuse. The sound of the final strike and the number laid heavy in the air for a long moment, buzzing in your ears.

“And that’s it,” Claude said, breaking the tension. You peeked your eyes open to see him drop the belt, your vision veiled with tears. You were crying and sniffing and a quivering mess but you had endured it. Throughout the punishment, you’d been so single-mindedly focused, but now you were aware. Aware of how your insides bubbled and blazed, aware of how much it had hurt and left you more desperately turned on than you’d ever been in your entire life. The pain felt good. Relief felt good.

Dimitri helped you sit back on your knees, supporting most of your weight as you swayed. The sofa was wet with tears and drool. Dimitri wiped your face with his sleeve, uncaring about the damp spot it left.

There was something kind of dizzy and vague about the world around you, like it only existed to a certain extent, like it was all hollow and far away and meaningless. There was only you, Claude, and Dimitri. There was only the pain and the arousal and the sweaty, teary, needy mindlessness of your unfocused mind.

“Are you okay?” Dimitri asked. You blinked fast. The colors and lights blurred. Your heart raced like a hummingbird’s wings.

“Um…”

“Let me see,” Claude said, crouching down in front of you. He touched your cheek gently, sweeter than you’d think. “You were so good for us, you know that? I think I can find it within my heart to forgive you.”

Your breath caught, fresh tears pricking at your eyes at the heavy wave of gratitude that crashed over your head. You didn’t even think before throwing your arms around his shoulders, pressing yourself against him desperately.

“Woah, careful!” Claude exclaimed, rocking back before steadying himself. “Almost knocked me over.” You weren’t really listening, burying your face against his neck. He turned you around when he collapsed onto the sofa, and you let yourself be manipulated. Claude smelled nice, a scent you’d only ever gotten small whiffs of. And he was so warm, you nuzzled your wet cheek against his skin and could have sworn the tears sizzled. So solid, so real. His hands settled around your back and you shuddered. “Someone’s impatient,” he said teasingly. You pulled away, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry, I feel…” Lighter than air. Dizzy. Hot. Turned on. Desperate. Weak. Confused. Grateful. Affectionate. Needy.

“What’s wrong with her?” Dimitri asked.

“She’s fine,” Claude said. “I didn’t expect it, but-” He shrugged. “It happens. She’s fine. Right?” His thumb ran across your bottom lip, a slight smile curling his own.

Were you fine? The dizzy lack of focus wasn’t quite like being drunk, it was just this radiating feeling of sensation and separation. Warmth. Need. Pleasure. “Please,” you asked, your hand dropping to his very unfortunately clothed thigh.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Claude asked, looking at the man behind you.

You let go of Claude and turned to look at Dimitri. He still looked somewhat doubtful. Beautiful. Watching you with a dark, half-lidded eye and obviously fighting to restrain himself. Sometimes you marveled at how any woman could resist throwing themselves at his feet. “Please, Dimitri?” you begged, tugging at the fabric of his shirt. Dimitri stiffened, his eye widening. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, most of the action lost beneath the high neck of his shirt.

“I trust you have a plan in mind, Claude,” Dimitri said, his eye not leaving you.

“Of course,” Claude said casually. Curious, you turned to watch him unbutton his shirt all the way. A part of you was very aware of how scandalous this situation was, especially given the location, but it was beyond your capacity to care. Claude was indecently attractive, exactly as muscular and beautiful as you’d have guessed. The sight of his bare arms alone would have been enough to drive someone wild, but the lines of muscle gracefully carved up his biceps and drawing the eye to his chest were truly maddening. “I’ve been thinking all night about a better use for that clever mouth of hers,” Claude said. “Plus, I figured you would prefer to approach sex in a more traditional way.”

“I don’t think there’s anything traditional about this,” Dimitri said.

“You’re right,” Claude agreed. “It’s far more ceremonial. But just think, this could become a tradition. Leaders of state sharing a beautiful woman as a show of their strong friendship—that’s some powerful stuff.”

“Do you think about what you’re saying before you speak, or does it just come out?” Dimitri asked.

“Oh no, I’m very thoughtful about what I say.”

“Please,” you said, your heart picking up all over again, your pussy aching painfully with how badly you wanted satisfaction. You looked behind yourself, meeting Claude’s eyes. “Please?”

“Do you want to get her ready, Dimitri? I wouldn’t mind a bit of a show,” Claude said. “Assuming you know what to do.” He paused, amused. “If you need some help, I could talk you through it.”

“I can manage,” Dimitri said, wincing at the suggestion.

For a moment, your attention was drawn to Claude pushing his pants down, your heart picking up its frenzied tempo at the leading trail of dark hair revealed, but then Dimitri grabbed your face, turning it towards his. You wrapped a hand around his wrist, meeting his eye despite the discomfort of his intensity. Dimitri’s tongue swiped his bottom lip as he considered you, his stiff control lapsing little by little. You felt your pussy tighten, remembering the sensation of his fingers.

“Dimitri…” you said, your voice breathless. The knowledge that you should have had more to say lingered at the edges of your thoughts, but so much of your mind was lost in the lustful daze. All you could think was that you wanted more. You wanted him. “Please.”

Dimitri released your face and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling it off in one swift movement. You weren’t given any time to admire the pale, muscular expanse of his torso before he pulled you up onto your knees so your chest was directly in his face. The sensation of his tongue circling your nipple made you gasp—the sensation of him pulling it into his mouth made you cry out, back arching. Dimitri had to steady you with an arm around your waist, his other hand dropping between your legs to touch you where you most wanted. Your own hand fell, intending to rub your clit or guide him or something, but Dimitri grabbed both your wrists, pressing them hard against his shoulders. His teeth closed around your nipple, grazing it. A threat.

A soft whimper left your mouth but your fingers curled, gripping his shoulders tightly. In a way, it was for the best because the first touch against your overly sensitive clit nearly made you collapse. Pulling off with a slick pop, his mouth switched to the other nipple, his fingers gliding downwards to press against your entrance at the same moment. Distantly, you were aware that you were panting hard enough to worry about passing out. You didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Dimitri released your nipple, teeth dragging across the sensitive skin so as to leave it as red and swollen as the other. The sharp pain danced down your abdomen, sparking between your legs.

“Say it again,” he demanded.

You couldn’t think. The words connected somewhere in your mind but all you wanted was for him to fuck you, your hips trying to grind down onto his fingers without success. The hand that had been around your waist gripped your face again, pulling you down to face level and squishing your cheeks slightly too hard.

“My name,” he told you. “Say it.”

“Dimitri,” you said breathily. He finally sunk his fingers into you, stopping halfway.

He spoke over your whine of disappointment. “Again. Louder.”

Behind your back, you were vaguely aware of Claude saying something about Dimitri being too selfish. Your mouth was dry, sweat slicking your skin and making you shudder.

“Dimitri, please-”

Your hips jolted forward when he pushed all the way in, your body collapsing forward and your head entirely empty of any coherent thought other than the chase of more. Dimitri wasn’t trying to tease, not anymore. In any other circumstances, he might have been being slightly too rough, fingerfucking you at a relentless pace, his hand clapping against your flesh, the room filled with the filthy wet sounds of it. You felt another hand on your leg, pushing your thighs wider apart.

“C’mon, I want to see,” Claude said. Then, a moment later, “I knew you’d get carried away.”

Dimitri groaned, although it sounded more like a growl, rumbling in his chest. He pulled his fingers out of your aching pussy, eliciting a pathetic sound of mourning. Then you were flipped around, pulled into Dimitri’s lap with his spread thighs mostly sparing your abused skin. His clothed erection seared into your lower back. Claude was shamelessly touching himself, pushing your legs further apart so he had a better view.

“Gods, I can barely see her irises,” he said, his own eyes bright with lust. “You’d think we drugged her.”

“Look at me,” Dimitri said. Another demand. You did so without thought. Not wearing his shirt, you could smell his skin. Warmth. Smoke and musk, overwhelmingly masculine. So hot, burning you. He gazed down with a shadowed eye, a wild intensity in his expression. The way he looked at you, for a second, was enough to make you hesitate, lust falling away with a sharp stab of discomfort.

But then he pushed his fingers, three of them, into your pussy and there wasn’t any space for discomfort. You jolted, tried to squirm away from the discomfort, but he kept you in place. The pain of having your inner walls stretched out so mercilessly didn’t last long. It was so good it bordered on too much, making your eyes roll back and a sound that went beyond lewd leaving your mouth. Each thrust and curl of his fingers was an excess of stimulation, an assault of sensation so intense you could barely handle it. There was nothing to hold onto, your trembling hands unable to find purchase on anything.

“It occurs to me that if a little bit of discipline was all it took to make her more agreeable,” Claude said, far too composed considering the situation, “we both might have had an easier time without the pleasantries.”

Dimitri just grunted. You had no response. His words were borderline nonsensical because you could feel the hot coil of release tightening within you. When the rough callouses of Dimitri’s fingers grazed your g-spot, you wailed, hands covering your hot cheeks. You were either going to come or pass out, panting as hard as you were.

“Too much,” you said, your words thick and heavy with your unsteady breathing. Dimitri’s palm ground against your clit, his fingers curling again to target your g-spot. You couldn’t close your legs, Claude just pushed against your thigh when you tried. He was going to watch you come on Dimitri’s hand. That shouldn’t have been sexy but it was too depraved to be anything else.

Tightening and winding and building, the relentless onslaught made you sob, terrified of more. Terrified that he’d stop. You had no control, you didn’t have enough of your mind to take control. All you had was what he was giving you. Pleasure. Pain. More. Too much.

“She’s close, isn’t she,” Claude said.

“She is,” Dimitri agreed lowly, like he knew absolutely, like he was telling you.

Your head was shaking, further mussing your sweaty, tangled hair. “I…. I ca—n’t, I can’t, pl-”

“I don’t recall giving you a choice,” Dimitri told you, his hand unrelenting between your legs, fingers curling against your g-spot, palm grinding against your clit. There was nothing artful about his movements, he was brute forcing pleasure into you. And it worked. You had no choice. You let out a strangled noise as you came, body shivering violently, muscles jerking as the tightly wound pleasure that had been building in your core came apart. White hot, there was nothing else in the entire world save for the senseless bliss. It wasn’t picturesque, it was feral. Base. The wild satisfaction of a mindless creature. You rode it out with a silent scream, feeling yourself shudder apart.

Dimitri didn’t stop. Jerking and sweaty and dazed and whimpering at the overstimulation, you tried to escape his hand, but he just doubled down.

“Dimitri, I think she’s had enough of that,” Claude said, finally getting Dimitri to stop, to let you properly come down from that high. “I, for one, have waited long enough.”

Dimitri wiped his hand off on your inner thigh, leaving a wet trail across the sensitive skin. You wondered if he would have kept going had Claude not stopped him, kept torturing you until you were reduced to nothing. The thought didn’t sound that bad. Annihilation by his hand. Destruction between them.

“Is this tall enough?” Dimitri asked. He tapped the back of the sofa.

“It’ll work,” Claude said, standing up. “She can stay just like that. Good thing too, she doesn’t really seem up for anything complicated.”

Dimitri grunted in assent, pushing you off of his lap. The sting of hitting the cushions directly on your sore ass made you wince, as did the sting of what felt like sudden rejection. But you realized that it was only so he could undo his belt. Finally.

Finally.

“Ready?” Claude asked from above you, although you hadn’t been entirely aware of him coming around the sofa. Your head tilted over the curled armrest to look at him. There wasn’t even the slightest bit of shame in the way he stroked his cock, which was directly at face level. It took a few seconds for you to figure out what he wanted.

Putting your mouth to better use.

Excitement made your pussy tighten, desire stoked. Need pulsed through you all over again, your mouth watering in anticipation. Claude didn’t have to ask you to open your mouth, and you weren’t even sure if it was a conscious decision when you did. You thought, vaguely, that you’d be embarrassed about how readily obedient you were. But that would be later, when your mind functioned again. Right then, you were only excited. The hazy distance between you and reason was clouded with arousal. You wanted him to feel good too.

“Someone’s eager,” Claude said. He sounded like he was trying to tease you, but that was lost in the obvious lust in his voice. The flushed head of his cock pushed between your lips, filling your mouth with the salty bitter taste of the precum that had beaded on the tip. You were far gone, but not far enough to not realize the humiliation of this position. If he pushed all the way into your throat, his balls would hit your face, the angle leaving you without any control. Besides, it was harder like this. You’d get dizzy from being upside down. He was just using your mouth, you couldn’t do anything about it. That realization worked through you like smoke, making your pussy clamp down hard around nothing. You suctioned your lips, sucking as he shallowly tested the position. Claude swore, grabbing the back of the sofa, his other tangled in your hair.

The furniture groaned when Dimitri rejoined you, reminding you of the proposed arrangement. Both of them at the same time. Claude’s hand in your hair kept you from trying to look as Dimitri easily pulled your hips up. He arranged your legs so he could slick the head of his cock through your arousal, bumping against your clit in a way that made you shudder before he positioned it at your entrance. He didn’t say anything, but you could feel the intensity of his movements. They were all jerky and exact. Distantly, you worried that he would hurt you with his strength while lost in pleasure.

Then you realized you didn’t care if he did.

“Hey, don’t get distracted,” Claude said, tapping your cheek. You groaned in distress, your attention caught on the feeling of Dimitri finally entering you. How were you supposed to focus like this? Dimitri’s cock was nothing like his fingers, blunt and smooth and thick. Claude pushed himself deeper, his hips snapping forward hard enough to make you gag, choke around his length. “You can do better than that, right?” he asked, pulling back. That was cruel, but it wasn’t like you could argue.

You just had to be good. Behave. Focus on controlling your breathing where you could. Focus on relaxing your throat for him. Focus on Claude. Suctioning your cheeks, sucking with each thrust, trying to not be distracted by the inexorable stretch of Dimitri slowly pushing into you.

The way Dimitri was rolling his hips, filling you little by little, felt like a reward for your efforts, making you more enthusiastic. When you flicked your tongue against him, Claude moaned. A real one, soft and breathy. You moaned in turn, and you could feel yourself tighten around Dimitri. He made a strangled sound of surprise, his hips jumping forward and slapping against your abused skin, his cock slamming against your cervix. You realized that there had been a very good reason he’d worked to prepare you beforehand. Your mouth fell slack, your strangled yelp muffled around Claude’s cock, drool dripping down your face. Dimitri caught your wrist when you tried to push against his abdomen, fingers too tight against the bruises he’d already left.

“Just relax,” Claude told you, pulling back to let you breathe. Tears pricked in your eyes. Even if it felt good, it hurt, your walls stretching and fluttering around Dimitri’s dick and the almost-forgotten pain marking your backside brought back to the forefront of your mind. It hurt. At the same time, the pain was so entangled with everything else. Electric, fire. Heat. Need. The emptiness of your lust addled brain because you were so full of both men that there was no room for you. You breathed out, making yourself relax as much as you could. “There you go,” Claude said soothingly, the reassurance making your stomach flip.

Dimitri pulled out. He was big enough to make you feel everything, his cock grinding against your sensitive inner walls. Too much to the point of splitting indulgence. He groaned when he surged forward again, a growl-like sound that made you moan around Claude.

Unable to handle the intensity of that pleasure-pain, you enthusiastically sucked Claude’s cock as he languidly thrust in and out of your mouth. The position allowed him to fuck your throat, but he seemed to enjoy taking his time, filling the room with the slick slurping noises as he used your mouth. Maybe it was kindness, allowing you to get used to taking him deeper with every thrust. Or maybe he just liked having you desperately slurp around him, all of your moans and whimpers eaten away by his chase of pleasure.

Dimitri didn’t have the same level of patience. You’d have bruises on your hips and thighs for sure. His restraint was halting, it only seemed to occur to him sometimes that he might have been being too rough, thrusting into you with an animalistic abandon. He filled you so deep, forcing you to take him with a brutality you’d never associated with the man, only heard about in second hand accounts. Despite the artlessness of most of his movements, the ridge of his cock ground against your g-spot, another vulgar display of force that had you quaking, clawing at the sofa or trying to grip his wrists or anything for stability. Dimitri’s brutality worked out for Claude. Whenever Dimitri violently thrust you upward, you took Claude a little deeper in your throat. All you could do was hold on. Let yourself be used.

Claude leaned forward, finally pushing his cock all the way into your throat. You choked, but didn’t gag, forcing yourself to relax, to just let it happen. Even if it bruised, it was just one more pain he’d inflicted that you took pleasure in. It wasn’t as humiliating as you might have thought to feel his balls hit your face. Or maybe it was just that the degradation appealed to you enough to make it pleasurable. His warm, dexterous hands palmed your breasts, tweaking your abused nipples to make you tighten around Dimitri, whining helplessly around his cock. But he wasn’t moving, remaining lodged in your throat.

“Can you be good for me and swallow?” Claude asked softly, his voice candy sweet. Your hips jerked helplessly, Dimitri meeting yours with a particularly hard thrust that only pushed Claude a little harder against the sore walls of your throat. The lack of oxygen was really getting to you, the need to breathe making your body panic. Claude rolled your nipples again, pinching them between his fingertips. You pulled at his wrists, but your shaking arms were all but useless. “Hm?”

You whined, twitching as Dimitri contradicted Claude’s sweetness with another sharp, hard thrust. So deep, you felt as if you could feel him all the way in your sore throat. Like they were both choking you. Fighting your body, your panic, you swallowed, the muscles in your throat laboriously contracting around Claude’s cock. He groaned, his hips finally rolling back. Drool slipped out the seam of your mouth, only to be squished back in when he pushed forward, continuing to torture your nipples.

The sudden, limited amount of oxygen hit your system hard, amplifying everything you felt. The buildup of pleasure in your core was hot like a brand, your cunt working around Dimitri’s cock with every thrust, desperate for more even as he set a brutalizing pace. When his hand left your hip to graze along your swollen clit, your body twitched as if shot through with lightning, your moan not even stifled by the way Claude continued to fuck your mouth. This time, he didn’t need to tell you to swallow when he buried himself in your throat. He groaned loudly as a reward, his hands drawling up to pet your neck. You wondered if he could feel his own dick with how deep he was.

“All those times I told you to swallow your words,” Claude said, breathless and clearly satisfied with himself. “What I really should have been telling you was to swallow my cock.”

It was a terrible, vulgar thing to say and it settled deep in your gut, your dizzy head. He fucked your helpless whimpers out of your mouth, but you wondered if he could feel them for the way he moaned. You jerked, your hips desperately trying to roll against Dimitri’s as he continued to rub your clit. There wasn’t enough air and you were shaking hard enough you felt ready to break, your body jolting back and forth between the two like a rag doll. The blood rushing to your head was getting to you, or the lack of oxygen, or the fact that you were thrumming with lust and adrenaline and a million other things you were too far gone to comprehend. Claude gave up on teasing and pinched your nipples, the pain spiking your system. The sharpness of it made you tighten around Dimitri, your pussy clamping down around his cock hard enough for him to let out a harsh moan, his hand digging bruises into the skin of your thigh. Dimitri’s hips faltered, wood creaking dangerously as he balanced an arm against the back of the sofa to steady himself.

“I want… to feel you…” Dimitri’s words broke off, stuttered and breathless and low, half growl. He didn’t let up on your clit and the way he was hitting your g-spot was making your legs jerk, your hands desperately tightening around Claude’s wrists as he continued to palm your tits. “Come for me,” he said, his voice an order. “Now.”

You weren’t sure if you’d already been there and had just been waiting for the final push, or if you were in a pliant enough state to obey an order regardless, but you did as he told you, your body responding before your brain could catch up, drawing taut and arching, legs opening to take him deeper, your mouth going slack even as Claude continued to fuck your throat. Everything tingled, sparking and sparkling, zipping through your body and zinging through the foggy mess of your brain in a single strong impression of overwhelming pleasure. And they didn’t stop. You felt at least partially certain that you blacked out for a second or two, or at least became so overloaded with stimulation that your brain stopped trying to make sense of it all, but they didn’t stop.

Awareness came with a fresh barrage of pleasure, a shuddering sense of discomfort wracking through your body before it was discarded in confusion. Claude was being far more rough than before, fucking your mouth and throat without mercy. You prepared yourself for when he came, knowing you’d have to swallow or choke, but he pulled out at the last moment, fisting his cock until you felt hot strands of cum on your neck, your chest. When his hand stilled, he pulled back, breathing heavily. The cum ran with your sweat, sliding into the crevices of your collar bones and between tendons.

Not giving you time to adjust, Dimitri tugged you down so you weren’t hanging over the edge of the sofa, fucking you with a violent desperation you wouldn’t have thought someone capable of. With your mouth free, all of the moans that you’d been choking on came tumbling out, hoarse and broken and stuttered with the harsh pace Dimitri had set. There was pleasure but it was too much at once, especially with the way your head was spinning, your body jolting with each thrust and the sofa groaning like it was about to break. Or maybe that was your body, ready to break. You clawed at Dimitri’s chest, blinking at the light as it swelled and blurred your vision.

You were still caught in that daze when Dimitri pulled out, finishing on your stomach rather than inside like you almost expected considering his feral intensity. Squinting, you got a glimpse of him unguarded—blond hair stuck to his forehead, head thrown back and red lips parted, the tendons of his throat flexing and his pale skin shining with sweat, a pink tinge on his cheeks. Just as quickly, it was over and he sat back, breathing hard.

There was an odd second where you were overcome with the odd sensation of over exposure, like a raw nerve. And nothing, everything. Everything that had just transpired seemed to snap against your mind all at once like a bow string, devoid of any other meaning than confusion and disbelief.

“Can you sit up?” Claude asked. His voice broke through the ringing in your ears, something familiar to cling to. You opened your eyes, unsure of when you’d closed them, to meet his familiar gaze. “You oughta drink some water,” he said, holding up a cup. He’d put his pants back on, but not his shirt or belt. The belt sat abandoned on the rug, drawing your attention as Claude helped you sit up and you were reminded of the terrible pain on your backside and, consequently, your own nudity.

“I need to-”

“Careful,” Claude admonished, keeping you from standing up with an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into leaning against him. “Dimitri, will you—oh, thanks.” You turned your head to look, but Claude brought your attention back to him by poising the cup in front of your mouth. You drank gratefully, realizing how dry your mouth had become and too dizzy to become overly concerned with the humiliation of being taken care of in such a way.

“I failed to appreciate exactly how… messy this might be,” Dimitri said, sitting on your other side with a towel to scoop up the cum that had slid down your torso with the sweat. Odd, you’d normally be very aware of something as filthy as that. Now you just felt foggy. Tired. You didn’t mind letting Dimitri clean you up any more than you did Claude giving you water.

“You’re the one who said you thought it should happen in a neutral location,” Claude pointed out.

“You agreed,” Dimitri said.

“And I still do. All things considered, I think this went well.” He looked at you. “What do you think?”

You blinked. “I think…” you looked back to Dimitri, your shoulders curling in discomfort. Everything was sore or painful. A hard shiver slid over your spine, the memory of pleasure just as strong. “I don’t want to play games against you anymore.”

#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe dimitri #claude von riegan #fe claude #fe dimitri x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #fe claude x reader #claude von riegan x reader #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #not sfw #my writing #tw.dubcon

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originalgenshinscenarios · 2 years ago

Note

Hit me with a match up

I’m a lesbian that goes from hyperactive and spontaneous to extremely serious and analytical.

Im a leo that fits under both ESTP and ENTP if that matters.

I like annoying people (lovingly). I like exploring in places that I’m probably not supposed to be. I will spend a lot of time talking to friends, playing videogames, watching Tv, writing storys or listening to music. I listen to a lot of Grandson, Halsey, Jutes, and Nico Collins. My favorite band is Skillet. I like debating about bigger and heavier topics.

My love language is physical touch and quality time. I have a lot of dog like qualities with always wanting attention/affection I’m very loyal and I’m die hard for those I’m close to.

I have a very out of pocket and dark sense of humor and I go to far with my jokes sometimes without knowing. I hyper analyze people and am very good at reading them usually being able to tell exactly what kind of person someone is after 5-10 minutes of interaction. I have very morbid thoughts that would and do scare most people. I laugh inappropriately and when upset I will laugh while crying, I use humor and feigning happiness as a coping mechanism also to cover up emotions. I’m a big hype man and I’m a hugger, I’m good at making people feel loved and accepted. I’m capable of flipping certain emotions on or off or just all of them off to get through a day. I loose everything and forget everything. (I’m getting tested for ADHD) and I’m a flirt.

Essentially 2D me is a goofball airhead crack head. 3D me is very inteligente and hyper analyzes people and craves intelligent conversation.

You didn't say what age group would be appropriate to match you with so if what I give you is inappropriate, let me know so I can fix it.

This is a part of 3x Valentines event

I match you with...

Yelan

Annoying her might not be the easiest, but she sure acts annoyed whenever you discard your well being for the sake of people you're close to. Loyalty is great, but not to the point where you have to sacrifice something.

That and when she sees you somewhere you shouldn't be at in the first place... Sometimes she really thinks it's a talent on how you can end up in such places by accident.

She definitely enjoys having little harmless debates with you. Exploring each other's views and whatnot. It's definitely interesting.

Just like you she's amazing at reading people, but you tend to surprise her quite often. Perhaps the chaos is what drives her towards you? Who knows!

Still, even if you do a lot of masking of emotions she knows when to subtly comfort you.

Whenever she's out for work reasons she makes sure you'd be occupied with something else and when she's back she'd take you on a date.

So she gives you just enough time to miss her without you being lonely.

She often makes sure to remind you of everything important, not only that she somehow always manages to find your lost items. She doesn't track them down or anything, she just makes a guess and luck is on her side as she finds it.

Your inappropriate and dark jokes don't usually move her much. Even if it's highly disturbing. She just wonders how is it that you have such humor.

~Mod Lisa

#yelan gi #yelan genshin impact #yelan x reader #gi yelan #yelan #3x valentines #Matches #Matchup #Matchups

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katsuflossy · 4 years ago

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BeatBox/Junebugg Challenge

Pairings: Shouto Todoroki x reader, Kastuki Bakugou x reader, Izuku Midoriya x reader, Eijirou Kirishima x reader, Hanta Sero x reader, Denki Kaminari x reader, Hitoshi Shinsou x reader, Tenya Iida x reader.

TW: just the regular obscenities

A/n: IK y’all may not know this trend but it’s funny af so this is the beatbox/junebugg challenge (sound by SpotemGottem) and yeah I hope y’all like my lil hc of the s/o doing it with the boys 💖💖

Taglist: @eharmonythotbot @lilsparkyswife @teddybearrx @angiebug101 @sesshomaruwaifu @blackweebtrash @minajkatsuki @cyans-bliss @myhoodacademia @mypimpademia @melanimed @peach-child @zombie-kun @xx-opaqued-xx @sunshineszn @prettybitch-ki @tsukkisukkii

🧊 He has the most aesthetically pleasing tiktok

🧊 There’s slime videos, drawing videos with lofi music in the back, your basic encouraging quotes

🧊 Who needs therapy when you got Shouto’s fyp? /j

🧊 He may be a lil...offbeat in your dance videos but he still tries. Thankfully this was an easy one to learn.

🧊 He out here thinking he got it until you buck at him.

🧊 You think he finna take that shit? He’s gonna buck TF back, on reflex, and scare the fuck out of you.

🧊 Immediately goes into protective boyfriend mode after seeing you flinch hard. You should expect a tight hug; he’s rubbing your back while the whole clip rolling.

🧊 “Love, I’m sorry but why did you move to hit me? I didn’t mean to scare you I’m sorry.”

🧊 “Baby, It’s okay that was the challenge.”

🧊 “Yes, but you looked so scared and it was my fault,” he wraps his arms tighter around you so you’re snuggled safely into his chest.

🧊 Post it with captions of what he said during the video and see all the comments talm bout “⚠️‼️WARNING‼️HAPPY COUPLE⚠️”

💥 It’s known Bakugou knows no fucking challenge on that app.

💥 Except for that buss it challenge. He’s keeping tabs on yo ass.

💥 His fyp is comprised of prisontok (thank mtha for this), mortalkombat edits, and recommendations for shoujo mangas DC comics.

💥 He already knows the drill, you teach him the dance, he does it with no care, you post it.

💥 This one is fairly easy… until you attempt to press him

💥 He runs up on you, chest puffed up, arms tense and hanging straight. That intimidation stance.

💥 “What you tryna do? We can tussle right now wassup.” Now you gotta deal with him pressing you as you finish the dance.

💥 When he realizes you’re laughing, he just sucks his teeth before lightly pushing you.

💥 “Why am I even dating you?”

💥 The biggest tsundere simp on the earth.

💥 He loves you so much but you always test him.

🥦 Umm All Might edits runs his fyp.

🥦 The occasional analytic reports on recent and past villain attacks are there too.

🥦 Only gets a smidge of alt tiktok so it ain’t that boring.

🥦 Doesn’t know the dance either but he’ll do it just for you <3

🥦 Never expects you to fucking buck at him tho.

🥦 Mans flinch mad hard omg.

🥦 He removes his hands from his face when he hears you laugh and continue the dance.

🥦 Now he stopped, looking at you with the saddest puppy eyes.

🥦 “Why did you flinch at me baby?” He’s just standing in the frame all pouty and shit.

🥦 “Prince(ss), please don’t do that again. You honestly scared me.” He walks off in the middle of the video, his fluffy duck house slippers squeaking with every step.

🥦 Go say you’re sorry right now 🧍🏽‍♀️

⛑ Crimson Riot edits duhh

⛑ But it’s a mixture of Bakugou’s and Todoroki’s with a sprinkle of popular dances down his stream.

⛑ Has Ski Mask edits as well

⛑ Still, he doesn’t know the dance at all

⛑ Baby boy is so sweet cause the second you buck at him...he just plants one straight on your lips thinking you went in for a kiss.

⛑ Shocked, bamboozled, frozen, he really kissed you as you tried to buck him?

⛑ Mans continued the dance like you’re not wide-mouthed behind him.

⛑ “Bro, I know you did not just kiss me when I tried to buck you.” The whole badman vibes just dissipate from the air, he smiling at you like it was cool.

⛑ “Babe,” he whined. “I thought you just wanted a smooch.”

⛑ Seeing you mad, he just grabs you up and launches more kisses on your face.

⛑ You tried to look hard for the video only for him to soften you up quickly.

⛑ At least you got cuddles after.

🩹 His tiktok is filled with funny ass videos

🩹 They always come up on his fyp before going famous. Hence why his comments be having 30k likes (they funny as well)

🩹 Has the best cooking tutorials in his favorites that he makes to impress you.

🩹 Already knows the dance so you don’t need to teach him.

🩹 Y’all both tried to press each other with giant smiles on your faces before starting a round of play fighting.

🩹 “Can’t fuck with you no mo.” He turns to you before continuing the dance.

🩹 Alternating lyrics and shii...being the baddest couple to step in the game.

🩹 He wraps his arms around you before throwing peace signs to the camera at the end.

🩹 The coolest boyfriend award goes to this king.

⚡️ How...how is he in every part of tiktok

⚡️ Straightok, alt tiktok, beantok, frogtok. You describe to him the video and he either knows it or he can find it in seconds.

⚡️ If Pandora’s Box opened and escaped into somebody’s account, it would most likely be Denki’s.

⚡️ He did the challenge with Bakugou before but it ended in flames...but he won’t decline to do it wit you

⚡️ Why y’all buck each other and ended up hitting your foreheads?

⚡️ Spent the rest of the video rubbing your forehead while Denki laughing.

⚡️ “Why tf your shit so hard? Built like damn cement” you glared at him as he laughed even harder.

⚡️ “I shock my own brain everyday. I think my skull hardened as a result”

⚡️ The next day, you’re seen walking around with your forehead on swole.

⚡️ On the bright side, you get forehead kisses every 5 minutes.

🔮 There ain’t no Eraserhead edits so he makes them himself.

🔮 All his fyp got some led light show going on. Every. Fucking. Video.

🔮 But they’re all good vibes, great music, and nice ass comment section

🔮 Occasional gaming videos come up because he follows some twitch streamers on there

🔮 Doesn’t know the beatbox/junebugg challenge. You woke him out of bed to do it.

🔮 You’re vibing in the video before you buck at him.

🔮 He didn’t budge. He stopped doing the dance altogether to stand up and just glare you down.

🔮 He out here in his cow print moo moo pants and you do this shit to him?

🔮 Now you’re nervous, flickering your eyes to him as you continued the video dancing.

🔮 The minute the sound ends he stalks off back to bed. Using all the sheets to cover him.

🔮 Have fun sleeping in the cold. Just kidding, he can’t sleep without cuddling you but just remember he is mad.

👓 ...you think he knows tiktok?

👓 Thought it was slang for the actual clock app.

👓 Got it to see what the hype was about but doesn’t even bother to make an actual account.

👓 It’s really just the generic shit on there.

👓 So he’s excited to do a dance with you even though he only knows the tinman.

👓 Umm...failed to do the actual dance. It gives 60-year-old white man on a tropical cruise.

👓 And then you buck at him.

👓 All movements stop. He justs staring at you, his glasses hiding his actual eyes.

👓 The air around you feels real cold. Your premonition telling you to electric slide out of the room but nah, you continue to dance. The man, who tried to commit murder at the age of 16, just staring at you stoned face.

👓 The second he opened his mouth, you DIPPED out of the room, leaving your phone running and Iida just standing confused.

👓 Turns out, he wasn’t trying to end your bloodline, he was just confused if that was a dance step he missed.

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altruisticenigma · 3 years ago

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K so here’s the thing-

I… kinda like to read. And I’m getting back into it because I am preferring it over rotting my brain staring at a screen for ungodly amount of hours (I have a lot of down time between work and home).

But the problem is… I don’t know what I like to read.

I had been an avid reader when I was in grade school but now I’m 25. I noticed that once I find something I’m into I’ll blitz through a book no problem, but I have to find something that clicks. It is so frustrating figuring out what my tastes are now that I’m older. When I was younger I adored high fantasy- The Dragon Rider stands out as my favorite book. Now that I’m older I’m blindly wandering in the dark.

The most recent book I read through was The Secret History by Donna Tartt. Got me immediately hooked and finished it in a week or so. What I liked the most about it was how the author was very intricate and flowery with the setting. The writing was lavish in detail.

Books I’ve liked in recent past are The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison and Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. But these were required readings for classes. However the analytical part of my brain really loved them and they stood out to me. I’ll still think about these books to this day.

My TBR currently consists of:

The Umbrella Academy Series: Hotel Oblivion (next, and probably will be done in a day).

The Body Keeps the Score

A Handmaid’s Tale

Redwall (I’ve already read this once, I just want to reread it).

Other contenders who haven’t been bought but will be soon, that I’ve seen floating around, are:

It Ends with Us (Overhyped? Correct amount of hype? Idk)

Song of Achilles

Circe (either or for the latter of the two; as a devotee to Hekate I felt it interesting to read a book on Circe lol).

Thoughts y’all? Recommendations based on what I’m saying? 🥴😭

#bookblr #books #book reccs #book recs pls #anyway here’s wonderwall #anyway here’s a text post

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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years ago

Text

Title: The Confession {8}

Chris Evans x Best Friend Reader

Warning: Cursing, Angst, Plot, PLENTY WORDS

Words: 9.6k

Summary: Not this time.

Note: Thank you for reading lovelies! 😘😘

Thank you guys so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Mildly Interactive***

***Picture Heavy***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

At four in the morning, you found yourself wide awake sitting in front of your vanity, staring at yourself, not moving a muscle.

At five in the morning, you hadn’t budged, and honestly, you didn’t know if it was a good idea to go anywhere.

You heard your phone notifications firing off every ten or so minutes. Each and every one of them, you ignored. Ten hours ago, you’d had a plan. That plan consisted of you waking up at four to get yourself together to ensure you left the latest five o’clock to make it to the camping trail parking lot. You’d planned everything so well that you’d done the majority of everything that would take forever the night before.

After ending your conversations with Chris and Jaxon, you made yourself some dinner, drank a bottle of wine as you did some work that you’d planned for the weekend that you wouldn’t get to. Then you moved on to pacing your closet while second-guessing your decisions for the weekend’s plans. That second-guessing led you to your second bottle of wine, which you drank rather quickly. By the time you reached the bottom, you were back on the train of it being acceptable and not a big deal to go. So you packed your bags with everything you’d need.

You knew Chris would take care of all the logistic items such as the tent, firewood, ponchos, security needs, safety needs, and so forth. The man’s brain worked so analytically it was a wonder he’d become a real boy at some point in his life to make human relationships work. It was that way throughout your childhood. He would have the analytical part covered, and you’d pick up the slack with intuitive thinking. He’d always tease you about it by saying you’d never survive an apocalypse cause you’d feel and use your heart way too much. Ironic, you thought.

“I just need to be more analytical. That’s all,” you professed out of nowhere as you stood.

“Think with your head, not with your heart. I can do that. If he can do it, I can too.”

Though you were trying to hype yourself up, it was barely working. Still, you pushed yourself to believe you could do this. So what if you hadn’t accomplished being analytical in all your years of living. You’d never mastered it as he had. This weekend you’d be the pro.

Seeing that it was near half-past five, you quickly changed and did a once over of your home to ensure you had everything you’d need, then hauled your bags to the trunk of your car to begin the twenty-minute drive to the outskirts of town. The whole drive there, you played music that wouldn’t allow you to contemplate things any further. You didn’t need time to think any more. You knew if you had the twenty-minute drive to contemplate your options more, you’d turn around and chicken out.

Your phone rang and loudly announced the caller on the speakers in the car.

“Risa, the sun hasn’t even come up yet.

“I made an effort to be awake to give you a call to check on you. I’m sure you’ve talked yourself up and down the ledge. Where are you?”

“On my way.”

“Oh, so you’re still going. Wow. Impressive,” Irisa bellowed.

“Impressive? Didn’t you say it was a good idea?”

“It is, but you always end up doing what you want to do. I just didn’t fully believe you’d go through with it.”

Your mouth hung open. That said, a lot.

“How are you doing?”

Debating in your head, if you should play the nonchalant card or the brutal honesty card, you tapped onto the steering wheel as you came upon the exit to the grounds.

“Uh----well, you know. cool.”

It was a half-lie, but you fully turned onto the exit. There were no more outs unless you pulled a whole U and illegally reentered the highway while possibly causing an accident. It sounded terrible, but you wouldn’t rule it out.

“You, my friend, are the opposite of cool. My god,” Irisa said, laughing at you.

“I just don’t want things to get—worse. Ya know?”

“I get it. you want things to stay the same.”

“No. That’s not what I mean,” you began.

“So, you want them to change.”

“No. Jesus, I don’t know,” you grunted out.

“Maybe use the weekend to figure it out and come to a decision that best suits you and no one else. Figure out what you can’t live without, not what you can live with,” Irisa counseled.

You could see the entrance to the trail steadily approaching. It was relatively empty except for maybe a handful of cars. You weren’t worried. The destination you and Chris had in mind was off the beaten path, a piece of heaven carved out just for the two of you.

“Thanks, Risa. I guess I’ll talk to you Monday. Once we head out, you know cell reception is nonexistent.”

“I know the drill. Have fun. I know how you love camping out there. This might be one of if nor the last time you can.”

She was right. Jaxon didn’t like camping, and you doubted you’d ever feel right bringing him to that spot. This was yet another thing you and Jaxon didn’t have in common. You enjoyed nature and relished any chance to be in it, but Jaxon preferred pampering. You thought it came from your opposite upbringings, him the only child of a career political force. He’d always had the proverbial golden spoon in his mouth. Maybe you could live without camping trips like this, you thought, as you rolled past an unexpected blast from the past.

Slamming onto your breaks, you looked back in the rearview mirror to see Chris leaning against the monstrosity from your teenage years. You loudly snorted as the laughter bubbled up within you only to fill the car. He didn’t, you thought as you rolled into the nearest parking spot on the other side. When you got out and walked around to the back to get a better look, you let out a howl of laughter again.

“Aaah, oh my god! I am not going anywhere in that hideous thing.”

Chris’s jaw dropped. “What!?”

“You heard me. Which nineteen seventies hell did you crawl into to drag that thing out of?”

“Shut up. You love it. Don’t listen to her girl; you’re gorgeous,” Chris said as he soothed the car by rubbing gentle strokes along its hood.

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous. I have not seen this thing in ten years.”

“That’s an exaggeration, six the most.”

“I thought this was gone.”

“Never, I’m hanging on to this baby for the rest of my life. I couldn’t part with her—too many memories,” Chris said.

The two of you stood in silence for a few moments. You ran through all the memories of this decades-old wagon and all the things it had seen, the adventures you’d been on. It still looked in mint condition, which was another nod to Chris’s mind. He always did take care of the things he valued.

“Wow. So many memories,” you said, lost in your thoughts.

“So many.”

Your eyes met and rested for several long moments before you cleared your throat loudly, beginning to walk back to your car.

“How many bags you got for me this time?”

“Shut up. If it’s such a hassle, I can carry my own bags. This princess doesn’t need a prince charming.”

As the trunk opened to reveal your four black and white matching camp duffle bags and one black weekender bag, you attempted to grab them, but Chris beat you to it, effortlessly grabbing the five bags in total.

“That’s the beauty of the princess and her prince charming. He knew she was more than capable of saving herself, and he loved that about her, but he was so deeply in love that he vowed never to let it come to that—princess,” he said, ending on a whisper at your ear before walking away.

A shiver ran through you, and just like that, the nerves that had faded when you pulled up returned tenfold. After straightening your back, you closed the trunk and went to the backseat to get the remaining three bags that you’d packed. Again as you moved to grab them, Chris opened the other side and took them before your hand ever touched them.

“Is this it, or are you setting a record with nine bags?”

“Christopher!”

He walked again, laughing to himself. He thought he was so damn funny. You gathered your things from the front seat, excluding your phone, then locked up your vehicle. Before you crossed the parking lot, you took several breaths.

“Conceal, don’t feel,” you whispered to yourself.

Though Elsa was horrible and annoying, that was some excellent advice. You hoped it would work out better for you than it had for her with it. When you got to Chris’s wagon, you slide your fingertips along the smooth paint and smiled as you walked to the passenger side. When you climbed in, Chris looked at you.

“Ready?”

It was a straightforward question, but it was asking so much. Were you ready for this weekend? Were you ready to do this? Were you ready to figure your shit out once and for all? Were you ready to possibly walk into the unknown leaving everything you’d ever known for sure behind? Were you ready to be unapologetically happy no matter where it took you? Were you ready to let go? All good questions. Were you ready? Who the hell knew, but it was too late to turn back now.

You slide your sunglasses in place though the sun had barely begun to rise. “Hit it.”

Without asking again, Chris did as he was told. Within minutes you’d exited the parking lot and were on the driving path that would lead you deeper and deeper into the Massachusetts wilderness. Well, the wilderness that had been carved out for humans who wanted to be close to nature without the threat of being eaten by bears. Though Chris was always analytical, he knew how to read a room. Either it was natural or a Hollywood trick that he’d picked up.

For the first thirty minutes, the drive was relatively quiet except for the music that played. He’d had the good sense to allow you complete control over that. You were sure the way you switched songs that your nerves were in the air. Just as one of you was getting into the song, you would change it after a minute. It was one of your nervous ticks, fidgeting. You fiddled with the switch to change songs, you fiddled with your fingers, your bracelets, and even fiddled with your engagement ring.

Though your body was in the car, your head was miles away, everywhere but nowhere all at the same time. You were going over the endless possibilities and probabilities of the weekend. It was a probability that things would get very transparent, and it was a possibility that transparency would blur lines. You didn’t know what gave you more anxiety, the possibility of being laid bare or the possibility of blurry lines. They were both terrifying.

“It’s so loud in here.”

Your head snapped to Chris, who turned to look at you. There was a small smirk on his lips.

“What? The music isn’t even that loud.”

“I didn’t say it was the music that was loud,” Chris countered.

Crinkling your brows and scrunched your face showing your confusion.

“Your thoughts. They’re loud. Stop.”

Kissing your teeth, you exaggeratedly rolled your eyes the way you only did when he really annoyed you, and you had to show him just how much. Chris snorted and laughed loudly, clapping his hand across his chest.

“Whatever, Christopher!”

“You act as if we’ve never gone camping before, like this is the first time we’ve gone anywhere together. Relax.”

“I am relaxed, shut up. I am fine,” you argued.

“Prove it, stop fidgeting.”

Kissing your teeth again, you straightened your back and rested your hands on your thighs as if you were some android awaiting instructions. With your eyes straight ahead, you watched the winding path the car traveled. After ten seconds, you were dying to move. By the time thirty seconds passed, it was such a strong urge. You had to look over to Chris to see if he was watching. Sure enough, his ass was watching you with the look on his face that said he expected you to fail. Asshole, you thought before you rolled your eyes again and began to bounce your legs again.

Like clockwork, Chris laughed again.

“Stop laughing at me,” you whined.

“I’m sorry. Okay.” Chris straightened his face and focused on the road again for a few minutes before he spoke again. “You don’t have to be nervous around me, Y/N. It’s just me—just us.”

You knew he was right, and when you thought about it for longer than a few seconds, you wanted to kick yourself. He was still Chris, you were still you, and at the end of the day, he was still your best friend. All the other stuff didn’t matter.

“Did you bring your humidifier?”

“Of course.”

“Good, don’t want your truck horn sneezing to attract bears,” Chris teased.

Your jaw dropped, which had him laughing again and drastically lowering the tension in the car, and that tension remained lowered for the remainder of the drive.

About an hour after driving, Chris finally pulled up to your piece of the forest, the piece that you’d accidentally found, and was now your go-to spot. While you were busy looking around and stretching your legs, Chris got to work with the bags that were in the trunk. When you went back to help him, he tried to deter you, saying he could handle it. Any protest ended when you added it would go quicker with your help.

Ten minutes found all the bags on the ground where you chose. Twenty minutes from there, Chris had the tent pitted and had moved on to the grounds area, which housed a separate tent that you used to keep the food items secure. While he set up that tent, you began to bring bags into the sleeping tent and arranging them around the tent, leaving the middle open for the blow-up mattress.

When you realized it was the one mattress, you froze sitting on the floor of the tent. You hadn’t thought about it because this is how it usually happened. It was always a queen-sized mattress that you brought. There was never a problem. However, in light of the confession of Chris’s feelings, you felt this might have been too much.

“What’re you doing?”

“Uh—nothing. I was uh—the mattress.”

“Okay, then why are you just sitting here? Forgot how to do it?”

When he stooped down beside you, he saw you ferociously chewing your bottom lip, another nervous tick.

“What’s up, princess?”

A shiver ran down your spine again. Forcing yourself to shake off the unexpected feeling you debated on if you should tell him. as if reading your mind, Chris took a deep breath.

“If you think it’s not a good idea to share the bed, that’s fine. I can take the ground, or I can even take the tent with the food. I don’t mind.”

Your chewing speed picked up, as did the pressure from your teeth.

“Y/N.”

Looking at him, you studied his face and gazed into his eyes, trying to make a decision. It was Chris, you thought to yourself. You’re making it weird. You’re making this worse than it is. Your internal monologue went back and forth before finally going in on you prompting you to relax. After several minutes of your silence, Chris began to stand.

“Okay. I’ll make the decision.”

You shot your hand out to grab his. Chris stopped then sank back down.

“It's fine.”

“Are you sure? I want you to be comfortable. I don’t want this to be a thing in your head that it’s inappropriate or even that I’m going to try something on you. I’m not. I may be an asshole, but I’m never an asshole to you,” Chris explained.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and gave yourself a mental kick. “It’s fine. It’s always been fine. I trust you, Chris. I’m just--.” You waved your hands around, hoping that was enough of an ending for him because you couldn’t find the right words to finish your thought.

“Insane, I know,” Chris finished making you give him the evil eye. His smile was playful, which was the only reason you didn’t hit him. Instead, you pushed him back, forcing him to lose his balance to fall back on his ass.

“Since you love to talk so much, you can blow this up yourself,” you said, standing and walking out of the tent.

“You act like I don’t like working with my hands. I can do this all day!”

You didn’t doubt it. While Chris finished up there, you brought the food bags into the tent and situated them. What was supposed to be a five-minute task turned into almost fifteen minutes of you organizing things according to food category because once again, your anxiety had gotten to you. Halfway through, it was clear to you that both of you had brought more than enough food for two days. After taking some time to get your head right, you returned to the sleeping tent to find Chris arranging the bags around the tent while the blown-up bed remained bare. From the looks of the bags, you knew his analytical brain had gotten the better of him. Your bags were on the right while his were on the left. He’d managed to put them all perfectly spaced from the other, but he left your overnight bag on its own toward the upper side of the bed.

“Perfect spacing,” you teased as you walked to the foot of the bed. “What happened here?”

“I forgot sheets,” Chris admitted.

Snorting, you shook your head. “Of course you did. Such a man,” you joked as you walked to your bags. You looked through each of them, unsure which one you’d packed the sheets into. Once you found them, you turned and held them up.

“Ta-da.”

“Of course, you’d pack a set of sets.”

“Let’s get it straight. I packed two sets of sheets,” you said as you tossed him the pillowcases.

“Shit, I forgot my pillow.”

Chris smirked and walked to the large garbage bag that was on the ground and pulled out a replica of your pillow.

“I already knew you would. It’s like a given with you.”

Smiling, you nodded. “Okay, thank you.”

For the next few minutes, the two of you made lite work of making up the blow-up mattress. Your bodies passed each other working together to make sure it was done correctly. When you were putting on one of the pillowcases on the left side of the bed, you glanced at him. This all felt so domestic, so—natural. Jaxon always hated helping with the sheets because you had a particular way you liked them and that particular way got on his nerves because he could never get it right.

Chris folded down the shimmery cream silk fitted sheet over the lite faux fur blanket that was a complementary hue so that it was neatly resting at the top of the mattress right underneath the pillow. Once he was finished with that, he folded the end, so it created a perfect inward triangle. You continued to watch as he smoothed his palm across it brushing away any creases, then his eyes landed on you. It was perfect.

“What?”

Smiling, you shook your head. “Nothing. You did good,” you answered, placing the pillow down, completing the look. “It’s perfect.”

“I know. You and your OCD ass,” Chris joked before walking out of the tent, leaving you to admire his handiwork and fold your side into the triangle.

When you got outside, Chris was setting up the location for the cooking setup. That was your queue to gather some wood so he would be able to light a fire in a few hours. After letting him know your intention, he warned you to keep close but returned to preparing the area. Before you turned away, you saw him take off his plaid long sleeve shirt to show his tank top underneath. His muscular arms stopped you for a few seconds before you continued with the mission.

As you walked around the perimeter of the camp, you quickly got lost in your surroundings. The trees' beautiful green matched the grass's vibrant green and complimented the wildflowers that littered the ground about you. Bending, you picked up a branch that would do nicely for the pit and picked one of the flowers nearby. Tucking it behind your ear, you carried on with your search for branches.

Ten or so minutes later, you returned with an arm full of branches to find Chris with his tank top off. He was setting up a safety perimeter. From behind, you could see the lite layer of sweat that decorated his body, giving it a look as if he’d been rubbed down with baby oil. The sheen glistened with the light and almost had your jaw-dropping. When did he get all that? Before your thoughts could stray any further, Chris turned.

“There you are. I was going to send out the search party.”

You cleared your throat and approached where Chris has set up the fire pit location and dropped the branches.

“About done here?”

“Uh—after I arrange these, yeah. Why?

“Let’s go for a walk, you know, get the blood pumping in other directions.”

Chris looked at you, quizzically. “Other directions? Like where and from where?”

Avoiding his eyes, you spun around, trying to decide on a direction. “How about that direction?”

Without waiting for him to answer, you walked ahead.

“You wanna give me a little time?”

“Catch up, and put a shirt on. Your pale ass burns easily,” you shouted behind you while continuing your walk.

Using the free minutes of alone time you had left, you tried to screw your head back on right. In all your years of friendship, you’d never looked at him like that. You barely noticed if he had muscles or was skinny and scrawny like he was when he was a teenager. You never saw it.

“What the hell was that, Y/N?”

“What was what?”

Looking beside you, Chris fell into step with you as if your rapid pace was comfortable.

“Nothing. Why didn’t you bring Dodger?”

“Uh—I was tempted. I just thought it was a good idea to leave him.”

“I miss him. Jaxon doesn’t like dogs. He doesn’t like pets actually,” you absentmindedly said without thinking.

“Huh.”

Looking at him, you realized what you’d said. “Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just brought him up.”

“It’s fine,” Chris professed.

“Is it?”

He took a deep breath, shrugged, and looked ahead. “Look, it’s no secret I don’t like the guy.”

“You sure acted like it.”

“What was I supposed to do, Y/N? Tell you I don’t like your boyfriend?”

“Why not. Maybe we could have found a way for you to like him,” you replied.

“I was never going to like him. I will never like him or anyone else you’re with,” Chris said, his tone pointed but also soft.

Studying him, you realized again what you’d said. The two of you walked in silence for a few moments; both lost in your own thoughts.

“This is so crazy,” you huffed out.

“Did you like all my girlfriends?”

As soon as he asked, you snorted out and laughed. “We shouldn’t talk about this.”

“No, we should. That’s what this weekend is for. Honesty,” Chris finalized.

Glancing at him, you found his eyes already on you. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure as hell not going to hold anything else back.”

Taking a few moments to gather your thoughts, you changed directions getting closer to the river bank.

“I love this spot so much.”

You stood there staring out at the majestic sight before you. The beauty of the green trees and mountains in the distance was breathtaking. Your favorite part was how the backdrop mirrored in the lake, making it seem as if another replica world was right underneath the water's surface. It was easy to feel small here and easy for you to get back to the simplicity of things.

“If by girlfriends you mean the ones that stuck around past five months, then I liked them all except two,” you confessed.

“Which two?”

Smirking, you pinched your lips and looked at him. “The one with the nose, and the one with that hideous back tattoo. What the fuck was that?”

Chris busted out laughing. It was a contagious laugh because you had to join in seconds later. The two of you laughed uncontrollably for a full minute until it slowly died down.

“You know what, I guessed one, but the other—I’m shocked. She was nice.”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking, already tired of the lies. Soon Chris was beside you again.

“She wasn’t nice?”

“She was fake. She wanted two things from you, and she got them.”

“What are those two things?”

“It’s not important,” you countered.

“Of course, it is. I wanna know. what two things?”

Bouncing you with his bulky shoulder, you staggered sideways before you turned to him, stopping for a moment.

“Tell me.”

“Fine. She wanted a good dick down and clout,” you replied, then continued walking.

“Woah, woah, woah. A good dick down? What do you mean? How do you know my dick down is good?”

“Shut up, Chris. You’re the biggest hoe, and you always thought that no one talks when you hoe around. Everyone talks. There have been some stories that I’ve heard that are just—nuts. I’ve heard of twosomes, threesomes, hell foursomes, and even the one time you found yourself at some Hollywood sex orgy party. I had to give Scott a double take from that one. Honestly, how many women have you slept with? Then you turn around and tell me you’ve been in love with me since high school. Come on!”

You’d rambled like a manic, letting your frantic thoughts get the better of you. When you realized he wasn’t walking beside you, that was when you took a breath. Looking back, Chris had stopped and had his head hung as if he’d lost his most prized possession.

“Chris--,” you remorsefully began.

“I know how my actions seem Y/N. I know what the rumors say. I know everyone calls me a whore and thinks that all I care about is ass. I know.” He walked closer, then stopped in front of you. “You’re my best friend; I just wish you didn’t think that about me too.” With that, he walked ahead of you, leaving you standing there.

Sighing, you dropped your head back to roll your eyes. “Great.”

The walk was quiet after that. Chris either kept his head down or eyes straight ahead. He also remained in front of you and didn’t return beside you after that. You knew he was sensitive about the whole whore thing. It wouldn’t have usually been something you would have brought up, but it was on your mind. It had remained on your mind since he confessed his feelings. It was something you couldn’t wrap your head around. If you knew how you felt about someone, you couldn’t just sleep around with others as if you felt nothing, especially when you came home and saw them for holidays and even family functions. It was something you needed answers to, but seeing Chris’s disposition, you decided against it.

By the time the sun was highest in the sky, and you’d made it to the top of a cliff that gave you a bird's eye view of the forest, you’d reached your level of avoidance. You had to know.

“I--,” both of you began at the same time.

You pinched your lips together and waited for him to go just as he did the same.

You spoke again, “I--.” Again Chris began the same time you did.

“You go,” Chris offered.

“Do you know how many women you’d introduced me to?”

He sighed but didn’t do what you expected. Instead, he turned to you and gave you his undivided attention.

“Tell me.”

“Six. Including your latest even though that was over FaceTime. Six women, Chris. Six women during the entirety of when you said you were in love with me. Six women. Six women, you paraded around, fell in love with, had sex with, six.”

“I’ve never been in love with any of them.”

That was when your jaw dropped, and you gaped at him.

“It’s a dick thing to say, especially now, but it’s also the truth. I loved three of them but was never in love with any of them.”

You didn’t need him to tell you that there was a difference between being in love with someone and loving them. You knew there was a difference.

“Jennifer? Danika? Your mom thought you’d marry one of them.”

“I loved things about them. Was I ever in love? No. I tried, I just—couldn’t.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“It’s something to you never being in love with any of your old boyfriends.”

Your head swiveled to him. He didn’t look cocky, though. He just looked sure.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m the only person who knows what I’m talking about when it comes to that, apart from Irisa.”

That cornered feeling you hated was creeping up onto you.

“That also includes this one you’ve convinced yourself you want to spend the rest of your life with.”

“I love Jaxon,” you quickly defended.

“Maybe, and that’s a huge maybe. You’re not in love with him.”

“How the hell do you know that, Chris?”

Chris studied you for several long moments. Every second of silence only made your anxiety rise higher and higher. When you were sure he knew you were about to lose your shit, he spoke.

“I’ve known you since I was a kid. I know everything about you. I know every tick, every sign, signal, nerve ending. The only thing I can’t figure out is why you’d move up a wedding you don’t want to have in the first place. So tell me, Y/N. Why?”

Gulping down the water in the bottle, you focused on the scenery. “And I can’t figure out why you’d break your lifetime of silence this many months after my initial engagement. You’ve done this at the worst possible time, and now you just expect me to what—leave Jaxon and throw all this time and the plans away. What’s to say next year this time you’re not changing your mind?”

“I’ve never not been in love with you, Y/N. Never. I loved you close in high school. I loved you from afar when you went off to college and me LA. I loved you through the good, the easy, the complicated. I’ve been in love with you through it all. I never thought I had a chance so I held my peace until I couldn’t. then---I was afraid not only of the rejection but also the love that I felt.”

Chris quickly looked at you then scoffed. “You don’t get it,” he began. “Have you ever felt something so powerful that it—supersedes anything you’ve ever felt and makes it impossible to feel anything else for anyone else? Nothing I ever felt for anyone came close to what I feel for you. Nothing I thought of anyone was anything like what I thought of you. I compared every woman to you on every single level.”

You took a deep breath, and though you wanted to look away because the intensity of his stare was making your skin tingle and your heart race, you didn’t. You kept your eyes on his.

“I can see the fear in your eyes. I’ve always been able to see it,” Chris began as he slid closer to you, so there were just a few inches between you.

His long spider-like legs were open and bent over yours that were crossed. His hands rested on your thighs, and it was an action he’d done hundreds of times. It shouldn’t have made you look to them or even made your heart flutter, but it did.

“What’re you afraid of?”

Meeting his eyes, you got so nervous that you had no idea what to say.

“I’ve planned my life.”

“So what? Plans are meant to change, be adjusted, reevaluated—upgraded,” Chris said.

“And you’re the upgrade?”

He slowly licked his lips before he bit into his bottom lip. You could feel his fingertips gently sinking into your thighs. It felt surprisingly good.

“I’d be cocky as fuck if I said yes. I’m just going to say when it comes to you—yes. We’re comfortable with each other. We know everything about each other. I know how to handle your neurosis, your OCD, your ticks, and all the nuances that make you who you are. I know what you like. I know what makes you happy and angry. We’re similar where it matters. I’d never change you or expect you to change or try to fit into my life or my world.”

When you looked down, he lifted your chin to face him again. “I’m not trying to shame you or anything, Y/N. You asked.”

“Yeah, I know.”

For a few minutes, the two of you just stared at each other, neither of you speaking or moving. His hands remained on your thigh, and the longer they stayed there, the more used to it you got. The more used to it you became, the more his warmth seeped into your skin and began speaking to you, making you not mind if this one move could be disrespectful. Five minutes turned to ten and ten to fifteen, and that was when you moved to suggest you began making your way back to camp.

As the hours waned, you and Chris enjoyed nature doing the competitive things you’d done since you were kids whenever you came here. Usually, you’d compete for jobs and roles such as cooking and producing the day’s meals or clean up duty this time, Chris decided to switch things up. You had a scavenger hunt for pinecones, which he won. His reward was one IOU. You went down to the lake, skipped stones, an event you always rocked, so you got the IOU. After that, you took turns seeing who could take better nature pictures based on category. Again, you rocked at anything creative, so you took the win though it wasn’t an easy one.

By the time got the fifth activity, making a craft from four things you found in the vicinity, the sun was beginning to make its descent behind the mountains and trees. As you sat on your side of the forest with your back leaned against a tree focusing hard on the twig, flower, and feather dreamcatcher, you found yourself glancing up and around the tree that was supposed to be serving as a wall between you so your creations would be a surprise. He was sitting once again in his tank, brows knitted and head focused down on what he was doing. You could tell his jaw was clenched from the way his mouth was set. Every few seconds, he’d bit onto his bottom lip in a way that piqued more than your attention. When he looked up, you always played it off as if you were looking somewhere else into the distance.

“Five minutes left,” Chris shouted.

“Don’t rush me, Evans.”

“I’m not, Y/L/N, just following the timer.”

“Worry about yourself. You have five minutes left,” you shot back. Chris’s snickering echoed in the forest, making you smile.

You hurried to put the finishing touches on your craft because Chris was a stickler for being on time. It was a pet peeve of his, one you enjoyed messing with on a regular. You were able to squeeze ten minutes extra out of him to his annoyance. When you shouted out that you were ready, you peeped behind the tree to see his smiling face.

“Don’t be shy, princess.”

You walked toward him with your craft hidden behind your back while smiling like a thief. Once you got close enough, you turned around at the same time he did to press your back to his.

“I can’t believe we’re still doing this,” Chris scoffed out.

“I know. It’s great. I love this.”

“That’s because you always get the point. Your crafts are incredible,” Chris whined.

“Aww. Your crafts are great too. I still have everything you've ever made me.”

“Really?” He sounded shocked, and you understood why. None of the things he made you were out in plain sight. You had them tucked away in a decorated box from when you were fifteen. It was embarrassing.

“Yeah. I’ve never thrown anything away. I would never.”

You could see his eyes lingering on yours for a few moments before he looked away. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. Anyway, ready to give me this win?”

“So damn cocky. I don’t wanna hear anything about me.”

Giggling, you shimmied against his back, accentuating the height difference between you.

“Okay, on three.”

As he counted to three, you got more and more excited to reveal your craft. Once you both turned, both of your jaws dropped.

“Oh my god, Chris.”

“Me? Woah, how’d you make that?”

He marveled at the dreamcatcher in your hand while you stood there astonished by the three wooden cravings in his. As Chris reached for yours, you reached for his. He’d somehow managed to hand carve three figures, and he’d managed to put so much detail into them.

“How did you—are there two me?”

“What gave it away?”

You inspected the figurines closer. One looked to have very curly like hair that was done with swirls in the wood. The clothes he’d somehow designed were adorable; it was a crop top of some form and a pair of jeans with hearts on the pockets.

“Oh my god, Chris is this—are these the jeans I always wore in high school? The ones with the hearts?”

He was smiling widely as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh my god, this is amazing, and this one.”

You studied it and took note of the difference between the hair and the clothes. This one looked like your dress from that first Hollywood event he took you to. It was the one that you’d spent nearly a fortune on because you wanted to make sure you didn’t embarrass him. That was the night he assured you that nothing you could ever do would embarrass him, and he didn’t care what the press thought. You remembered then the words he said when you turned the carving to the back to see the same words.

-I love every single thing about you and wouldn’t change one thing. You’re my perfect.-

Slapping your hand across your mouth, you looked at him, completely unsure how you could have forgotten.

“The two most significant times, I’ve fallen in love with you. I told you, I’ve said it tens of times.”

What the hell did you say to that? You wondered how many times he’s plainly said it, but you just never registered it the way he meant it. Was your entire life and friendship a lie?

Thanks to the eight activities, you managed to get three IOUs, but Chris was the one who came away with the overall win with five IOUs. He took pity on you and volunteered to handle dinner, which allowed you to get yourself to the one place you were too excited to get to. When you walked a little further past the lake in the middle of the forest, there was a beautiful pond like enclosure with a picturesque waterfall and cave. If anyone saw you, they might say you looked like an idiot walking through the woods wrapped in a towel wearing your rain boots carrying a bath caddy. No wonder he always made fun of you, you thought, as you laid your towel across a boulder.

The water was just right. Taking your time, you swam around, being careful not to get your hair wet. You knew it was inevitable your hair would get ruined by the end of this weekend, but that didn’t mean you should help it along its way. It was easy to get lost in the sereneness of your surroundings. The only sounds around you were that of birds chirping, the breeze through the trees, and the soft rustling of bushes as harmless animals scampered around. It all sounded like one of the sleep mixes you used when your mind refused to shut down at night.

By the time you actually began soaping your skin, the sun was disappearing, giving the sky the most beautiful glow. It wasn’t a glow that could be wholly appreciated in the city. It was its best here. As you watched the sky change colors from pink and purple to orange and every variation of it until it became near navy. Something about being here made you feel freer, more like yourself, or who you were at your core. For some reason, you always felt like you had to be a neater, more restrained version of yourself in the city. It was exhausting. You never felt that way with Chris, but you didn’t know if that was necessarily a good thing or not.

Something made you look back, and that was where you saw Chris at the bank just staring at you with his mouth wide. Though it was dark, you could perfectly make out his features. The way he looked ar you made your stomach flutter. When your breathing became short and more strained, you noticed your heart's racing and the way it made you slightly dizzy. This was a first. Part of you said you should be appalled or close to it, but it was such a small part it was easy to ignore. Still, you found yourself sinking lower into the water until it reached your shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Chris began as he turned to the side, dipping his head low. “I didn’t mean to—I shouldn’t have—I should have—I didn’t see anything,” He finished.

Not knowing what to say, you kept quiet.

“I came to tell you dinner was ready not—perv out while you’re,” he trailed off.

“You’re only perving it you jerk off while you’re being a creeper.”

“I might tonight,” he said under his breath, but thanks to the way water carried sound, you heard him loud and clear. The thought was the first of its kind ever to have entered your mind. Had he thought about while he jerked off before?

When you didn’t speak for a while, Chris spoke instead. “So uh—see you back at camp.”

With that, he walked off, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

By the time you got back to camp, you saw that Chris had set up a blanket in front of a roaring fire as he waited for you to join him. You quickly dipped into the tent to change into something comfortable. It wasn’t longer than five minutes before you’d reemerged in a pair of grey shorts and a white cropped tank that you covered with an oversized cable knit sweater.

“I’m here. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I know your ritual, shower before eat or else you don’t enjoy your meal,” Chris lectured.

A soft smile spread across your lips. It was comforting having someone who knew you so well. There was safety in regularity.

“This looks great. I didn’t know you brought steak.”

“When don’t I bring meat.”

The two of you giggled because it was true. Chris was a steak and potatoes man through and through. The fuss and muss was not for him, and you loved that. There were nights he’d be completely happy with a burger and fries as opposed to some frilly meal. Another thing he and Jaxon didn’t share, especially looking at Jaxon’s two gourmet restaurants. He loved frill. You didn’t care either way.

“It looks and smells amazing,” you said as you dug into the meal before you. as you chewed the tender steak, the flavorful juices had you moaning. “God, you always knew how to make a steak be the best I ever had.”

“That says a lot especially thinking--,” Chris began before you cut him off.

“—I know.”

That was that. He didn’t push to know more or discuss it any further. You ate for some time in silence. It wasn't because you had nothing to say; you were just once again lost in your thoughts. By the time you’d moved on to the shrimp, you’d found your voice.

“Thank you for the carvings.”

“Thank you for the dream catcher. Maybe it’ll help bring the good ones to life.”

Your eyes lingered for a while before he brought his beer bottle to his mouth. Looking away, you finished yours and reached for your third.

“The liquor store didn’t have your wine,” Chris began.

“I’m not nearly as bougie as you think I am. Beer is perfect.”

Chris snorted and shook his head as he took another swig.

“Says the woman who wore a full face of makeup to a pool party.”

“Look, it was waterproof. I needed it. Why wouldn’t I want to look good in the water?”

He laughed so loudly you knew he’d scared some animals away that were inching toward the glow of the fire.

“Stop laughing at me,” you whined.

“Fine. Sorry.” He tried to stop laughing, but it took a while for his face to go back to straight. The whole time you glared at him unamused. Once he was straight-faced again, he raised his hand before he reached for his third beer.

“Are you wearing makeup now?”

“No,” you replied.

“Guess you don’t need it. You looked plenty good in the water,” he murmured before he brought his beer to his mouth.

Was that an innuendo? Was he flirting? You’d never experienced it before, so you had no idea.

“Was that inappropriate? It probably was. I’m sorry.”

“No—it’s—it’s fine,” you said, utterly unsure if it was or not.

“Is it?”

You stared, silently sizing each other and the moment up. This was completely unchartered territory. Was it inappropriate? Did it bother you?

Slowly, you responded with the first thing that came to your mind. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

Chris stared at you as he rubbed the spout of the bottle against his plump bottom lip, drawing your eyes right to it. He looked as if he were trying to either come up with a game plan on how to move forward or if he was doubling back on an already established plan. He looked like he was just as confused as you. When he looked away and into the fire, you did the same.

“Were you just—did you just flirt with me?”

Chris snorted and shook his head. “See, this game you say I have is nonexistent.”

“So you were?”

When he nodded, your eyes bugged. “Wow. I completely didn’t—I feel like our entire life and friendship has been a lie.”

“I get that,” Chris assured.

“How could I have been so blind? So—I didn’t even think that the things you said, or the way you said them meant anything beyond you being my best friend. I didn’t know how you felt. How do I know that the times we were just laying together on your couch or mine didn’t--,” you trailed off, gulping down the remainder of your beer before reaching for another.

“I’m sorry,” Chris started.

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” It was unfair. You knew it but hearing him saying sorry so much got to you especially thinking that he’d been saying the same thing for years. You just hadn’t been listening.

The silence between you stretched for several minutes, and it gave you time to finish your fourth beer. You sure hoped he’d brought more than this one twelve pack. Once it was finished, you took a deep breath and tried to be an adult and use your words.

“You’ve been saying the same thing for years. You’ve said it so many times, so many ways. I never listened. I never heard you.”

“Y/N, I took the coward’s way. Yeah, I said it, but I knew there was one way to say it that you couldn’t ignore, but I didn’t. I was too afraid to. This is my fault. I don’t want you blaming yourself for this. I was a coward. I deserved for you to live your life and meet other people and all of this pain I’ve been in. I deserve it.”

In seconds you’d moved over to him and grabbed his hands. “Stop it. You didn’t deserve this. God. Sometimes you piss me off so bad.”

Chris snorted and shook his head. “I should have said something sooner.”

“You should have. So much could have been different.”

He angled his head and gave you a look that had you realizing what you’d said. “What could have been different?”

Dropping your head, you toyed with his fingers. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t say something like that unless you know. Tell me.” His fingers laced with yours, and though it wasn’t something new, it felt new.

“I don’t know. I mean—who knows, tons of things could have been different. We don’t know how things would have played out.”

“You think we’d be together now?”

You stared at him and contemplated his question. Was it possible?

“You don’t think we know too much to work?”

“No, I think because we know so much we would work. You’ve seen me at my absolute worst,” Chris mentioned.

It was true, and you thought that was one of the reasons you wouldn’t work. Could you be with him knowing his history? It was more questions to put on top of all the others you already had. You doubted anything would be worked out by the end of the weekend.

Once the two of you’d finished eating, you were on clean up duty while Chris went to get a bath. You spent ten minutes cleaning up and securing the tent with the food before you wandered down to the lake to stare out at the moon. The glint of your engagement ring caught your eye, and it was there your eyes remained. Though you’d brought Jaxon up before, this was the first time you thought about him. Even now, it wasn’t an intimate thought. It was more the concept of him.

You twirled the ring around your finger, something you realized you did quite a lot. You remembered Irisa telling you an old wives tale about if a woman spins her engagement or wedding band, it meant she wanted to get out of the relationship. It was never a thought to you before now. Within the last week, you’d never been more confused in your whole life. One minute your head was in one place, and the next, you were backtracking. Things were so confusing that you saw things differently than you ever had, and that second sight had you questioning your actions that you were so sure about before.

Holding up your hand, the ring on your finger looked as if it was competing with the full moon in the sky. The moon was just barely larger than the diamond you wore. Jaxon’s whole concern was making sure it was big enough. Groaning, you rolled your eyes and dropped your hand, slightly annoyed that your mind kept jumping to anything Jaxon related. One of the points for this weekend was to get away from everything.

Thinking there was no plausible way for you to get through the weekend with a constant reminder of everything you were supposed to be getting away from, you made your decision. Slipping your ring off of your finger, you held it in your free hand beside your outstretched one. You’d taken it off before, of course, but this time was not to shower or anything technically related. This time was different. This time was the first possibility you wouldn’t put it back on. You were afraid of it—terrified.

By the time you returned to camp, you were sure it had to have been an hour later. The only lights on were the twinkle lights Chris had strung around the camp to allow some form of light in the middle of the dark forest. The fire was on its last legs; you knew it would be outed before morning. Reaching the tent, you unzipped the flap to go inside. Once you did, you stopped in your tracks, seeing Chris’s bare ass. He spun around completely as bare as the day he was born, showing you all his glory.

Your jaw dropped, but you didn’t turn. You couldn’t. Your eyes were glued to his groin. Good lord, you thought as your mouth actually watered. You don’t know how long Chris stood there in all his glory, but when he grabbed the discarded towel to hold before his crotch, you finally averted your eyes.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” you rushed out as you turned your back.

“I’m sorry, I should have,” Chris began.

“No, I should have knocked, or made a sound, or wiggled something. Shit, oh god.”

You quickly rushed out of the tent, and paced around the campfire, lost in your thoughts. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Chris naked, but it was the first time you’d seen him naked since you’d gotten out of teenage years. Good lord, had things changed. What the fuck was that? Did your mouth actually water? You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Chris come up behind you until you bumped into him.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s just nudity.”

“Just nudity? Oh my god, I haven’t seen you naked since we were teens, no twenty,” you ranted.

“No big deal.”

“No, Chris, that was a big deal, that--,” you motioned toward his junk.

The amusement on his face was so obvious.

“Don’t make me laugh. This isn’t funny.”

“It is when you think about it. It’s insane we’ve never gone through something like this before,” Chris eluded.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I forgive you. I’ll consider it even seeing I walked in on you earlier. Let’s go to bed. You know the sun rises early out here.”

Groaning, you walked ahead and into the tent with Chris on your heels. Once you’d climbed in, you laid on your side with your back to him and just stared out. No matter how much you tried to think of something else, you couldn’t. All you could see was his dick, his impressively girthy dick. You flipped onto your back and stared up at the night sky, and took a deep breath. You’d forgotten about this view and forgotten how breathtaking it was. The stars in the sky shimmered like tiny specks of silver and white glitter.

“Wow.”

“I know. The best thing about nights out here,” Chris countered.

You glanced at him and saw him lying on his back with his arms behind his head. He looked calm and at home, like he wasn’t ashamed in the least. The two of you remained quiet, staring at the sky, soaking it all up.

“Chris,” you began.

“Yeah, princess.”

Biting your bottom lip, you swallowed any angst you had about asking this question.

“Have you thought about me?”

He didn’t speak right away, and you didn’t have the guts to look at him, so you waited for him to speak.

“Do you think I’ve thought about you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it before tonight.”

“And now that you have?”

You turned your head to him just as he turned to look at you. Your eyes lingered before you watched his eyes drop to your mouth. You knew he knew what you were asking.

“Yeah—I’ve thought of you, more times than I’d like to admit,” Chris confessed.

You’d gotten into this mess with his confessions, and there was another one. Your belly fluttered, and your heart raced. Biting your bottom lip, you looked to his and wanted more than anything to know what they felt like. He must have read your mind because that was when he turned to you. After a few seconds, you turned to him the same way and rested your hand on your pillow. Chris moved his hand and engulfed yours, lacing his fingers with yours.

Staring at him, you felt as if this was a do or die moment, and depending on what decision either of you made, your lives would turn. Chris leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

“Good night, princess.”

With that, he laid back down, keeping your hand in his.

Oh fuck, you thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @kikimiyazaki @bellaamor88 @toniilaney @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @ajspencer1892 @ashanti-notthesinger @90sinspiredgirl @titty-teetee @evemej @areubeingserved @theskullgoddess @caramara3 @champagnesugamama @minton131 @pananegra @scoop93535 @try-n-pronounce-it @dumbchick @lo-cheu @behindthesehazeleyes27 @blackmissfrizzle @mery-be @anandalambert @nervousninjatheorist @dangerouslovefanfic @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @thinkxlovexloud @chris-butt @starlite-starbrite @momobaby227@alyxkbrl @angrybirdcr @d1ff3r3nt-b34uty-official @twinx007 @a-dizzle777 @ab-baybay @patzammit @kreolemami @aysha1447@cutewylie @disaster-rose @wondersofdreaming @livinglifeformemyselfandi @magdelen69 @snowpiercer21 @renfrewscorner @thevelvetseries @youurkryptonite @hakunalive4eva

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***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.

#the confession fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #angst fanfic #black fanfiction #slow burn fanfic

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squadrablog · 5 years ago

Note

ok I've joined the Ghiaccio hype train, could I request a Ghiaccio fic with a reader who doesn't like sudden loud noises and will definitely cry if you yell at them? they're really intimidated by Ghiaccio but they're comfortable with the rest of La Squadra, so he's struggling to be a good team member to someone who's always nervous around him. feel free to make it romantic or platonic, your writing is amazing!! 💕💕

Here you are! With the stuff I ended up focusing on I thought that shoehorning a romance in would feel weird, so I focused more on exploring the beginnings of a platonic friendship with him. Lots of awkward Ghiaccio and miscommunication but it all ends up good. :^)

Ghiaccio & Reader (platonic, gender neutral)

Ao3 Mirror Here.

Word Count: 3921

Warnings: Reader has childhood trauma w/ loud noises, not gone into in depth. Assassination job implied but doesn’t happen in text.

Under cut for length!

The last thing you saw yourself doing with your life was becoming an assassin, but here you were. You were a tough kid, scrappy and resourceful when it came down to it, but only because you had to be to get by. You always thought you’d eventually leave that old life behind. The gunshots echoing into the night from rival mafias squaring off to claim the neighborhood you lived in as their territory. The shouts from the man who took you in when you had nowhere else to go, only to berate you when you failed to pick enough pockets to meet his quotas. The way the older and meaner children would torment you, taunt and deride you, whenever you let your vulnerability show.

And you had, more or less, left those parts of it behind at least. When you joined Passione as a last ditch effort to survive you were given a sense of stability that you had never had before, and after initiation when your stand manifested as something powerful and deadly, it didn’t take too long for you to get placed into La Squadra di Esecuzione, Passione’s team of elite assassins.

As a stand user working with other stand users you rarely relied on guns to get your work done. You were no longer struggling to get by, and although your new Capo held his team to high standards he made sure you had ample training and was patient with you while you were still getting your footing. All your teammates were surprisingly supportive; even if they were wary of outsiders, when it came to their own family they looked out for each other.

It was a dangerous life, not without its own anxieties, but it was a much quieter life. It was a life in the shadows, with a roof over your head, with work that allowed you to use stealth and silence. Even if you couldn’t exactly say you were thrilled about being an assassin you were at least surrounded by people who genuinely cared about you now, watched over by a man who never raised his voice at you for things outside your control, and most comforting of all: you never needed to use a gun.

Not all loud noises set you off, just the ones that reminded you of the violent instability of your childhood and the cruelty of your guardian and peers. Your new teammates could get pretty noisy and spirited, but the boisterous and jovial nature of their laughter, even from their more intense teasing, was a comforting change of pace. You didn’t doubt your value or the fact they respected you.

Well, mostly. There was one teammate who was a bit harder for you to let your guard down around.

His name was Ghiaccio, and to say he was loud would be an understatement. When you first met him he had been a bit standoffish, but so were Risotto and Prosciutto. You knew it would take some time for everyone to accept you as a real part of the squad, and you were ready to be patient. But as you quietly observed everyone for those first few weeks, getting a feel for their individual personalities and their dynamics with each other, you found yourself very intimidated by Ghiaccio. He was able to pal around with the rest of them, even if he was gruff as a default, but when something upset him it was like a switch had been flipped.

He was critical of his squadmates’ performance out in the field, and he never hesitated to offer his critiques regardless of how little anyone wanted to hear them. He was critical of the way people talked, constantly nitpicking everyone’s pronunciations and word choice. He was critical of the way that chores around the house got done, judging everyone’s efforts by timeliness and thoroughness.

Everyone was able to brush him off most of the time without problem. When they actually valued what he had to say they never seemed to take the mean way he said it personally. They’d had plenty of time to get used to him and sift through the bullshit. They knew when something actually mattered to him and when something was just him blowing off steam for the sake of it. They knew when it was fair to ask him to shut up and when it was best to let him get it out of his system.

You steeled yourself as best as you could in those first few weeks, just telling yourself you needed some time to understand his quirks like the rest of your squad did, but your opinion changed immediately after your first mission with him.

“Is Prosciutto teaching you anything?” he barked out at you after you two finally managed to take out your hit. You flinched and looked away from his intense gaze. You were a bit anxious about being alone with him for the first time, and you wanted to give him your best effort to impress him, but being on so on edge caused you to make some big mistakes.

“Well?” he demanded when you said nothing. You had assumed it was a rhetorical question.

“Y-yes?” you stuttered out.

“Then you’re the one accountable for fucking up today. What the hell was that?” he asked, his question ending in something similar to a snarl.

Something that was different about working with Ghiaccio as opposed to working with the others was that he argued out loud to no one in particular about random topics that pissed him off. At first you thought he was expecting you to talk to him about how nonsensical some phrase was that Formaggio used before the two of you left, and you listened attentively, but he never gave you any room to respond. Eventually you realized he wasn’t really conversing, just yelling to yell. It was very distracting and it only made you fidget and lose focus.

“I… well…” you choked out. “It’s usually quieter… on my missions, since my stand is- well, since my stand is made for stealth and-”

“Me talking prevented you from doing your job correctly?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. You just shrunk even deeper within yourself. The last thing you wanted to do was insinuate your mistake had been his fault. There was no way that wouldn’t provoke his ire.

“N-no! You didn’t do anything wrong! It was me, I’m really sorry! It won’t happen again!” you squeaked out.

“Better not,” he grumbled sarcastically with a huff before turning to walk down the street towards his car. You followed, keeping a good distance behind him, not looking forward to the ride back to the base.

---

That had been weeks ago. While you had been doing a decent job at tolerating Ghiaccio before that mission, afterwards was a different story. You actively avoided him, checking if he was in rooms before entering, excusing yourself when he came into a room you were already in, shutting yourself in your room upstairs when you heard him start up on a rant somewhere on the main floor.

Eventually it was shamelessly (or perhaps shamefully) obvious to just about everyone.

“Dude, what happened on your mission with them?” Formaggio asked in a hushed tone one time after your footsteps had disappeared up the stairs. “They’re terrified of you.”

“How the fuck should I know? They haven’t said anything to me about it,” Ghiaccio shot back.

“Uh, yeah, duh. That’s what I’m saying. They won’t even sit in the same room as you,” Formaggio muttered.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he said, scrunching up his eyebrows. “But it’s not like they talk much to begin with.”

“Are you kidding?” Illuso interjected, inserting himself into his two teammates’ conversation, much to Ghiaccio’s annoyance. “I can get them to prattle on for hours about themself. They’re a real chatterbox once you get to know them.”

“Illuso, dude, have they told you the story about their mission with Pesci down at the wharf?” Formaggio asked with a big grin.

“Fuck, I almost forgot about that,” Illuso replied with a chuckle. “What about the time where-”

“Hey! Shut up for a second,” Ghiaccio snapped. “We’re all talking about the same person, right?”

Upon being interrupted Illuso narrowed his eyes at Ghiaccio before turning to Formaggio. “It’s obviously because of Ghiaccio’s poorly controlled rage. Have you ever seen the poor thing freeze up over a gunshot before?”

“No, but I can imagine. One time I tried scaring them from behind and it took them ten whole minutes to recover,” Formaggio responded.

“I haven’t done shit to them, what possible reason do they have to be scared of me?” Ghiaccio asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, what happened on that mission?” Formaggio asked again.

“It was pretty standard, I killed the bastard while they assisted. They did fuck up pretty bad, which is typical during training, so I pointed it out for their benefit. Then we left,” Ghiaccio recounted. “Nothing else happened.”

Formaggio raised an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

“I don’t know! I think I asked if Prosciutto was doing his job right since they didn’t seem too confident. I asked if there was anything that might have contributed to their lackluster performance, but after thinking it over they said that it was on them.”

“Sounds pretty level headed and analytical of you,” Illuso said, stroking his chin. “Are you sure that’s how you said it?”

“Probably not in so many words, I was probably more casual about it,” Ghiaccio grumbled. “Why does it matter how I said it? What’s important is what I said.”

“Ghiaccio, your brand of casual is a few decibels above what’s average,” Illuso said.

“Not to mention the casual expletives, or the casual sarcasm,” Formaggio added. “Are you sure you didn’t casually tell them to go fuck themself without realizing it?”

“No! I mean, if I was stern with them it was in the context of training!” Ghiaccio insisted.

“Are we being trained right now? Is that why you’re yelling at us?” Illuso asked with a smirk.

“This is just how I talk!” Ghiaccio said, bringing a hand up to his temple. “Ugh, I don’t fucking know! Maybe I yelled at them? I remember being very straightforward. They seemed kind of on edge, but I just assumed that’s how they always are!” He dropped his hand and turned to look at his two teammates. “Are they really not like that on missions with you?”

“Not anymore,” Illuso said with a shrug. “At first a bit, but they’re pretty reliable now.”

“You’ve got to go slow with them. They’re easily set off, but if they know they can count on you they’re able to push through it,” Formaggio said.

“My stand is invincible and I never even let the guy near them. There’s no one better suited for watching someone’s blind spot than me,” Ghiaccio said with his hand splayed out on his chest.

“I mean, like… emotionally,” Formaggio said, scratching the back of his head. “If I was to put myself in their headspace I’d say they probably think you hate them.”

“I don’t hate them,” Ghiaccio spat loudly.

“Good! Now step two is letting them know that,” Illuso said, clapping a hand on Ghiaccio’s back, causing his glasses to slide down his nose.

Ghiaccio grumbled and pushed his glasses back up. He knew that things were weird between the two of you ever since your mission, but it never even crossed his mind it was because of something he said. Is this what Prosciutto felt like training Pesci? But even Pesci had never been avoidant or scared of Prosciutto for all the tough love that he gave him. Pesci looked up to him like an older brother.

If he was really the only one in all of La Squadra that you were uncomfortable around, then he supposed it was on him now to figure out why.

---

The base was pretty quiet today, with a lot of missions landing on Risotto’s desk this week. While you were quite fond of your new teammates you liked having the common area all to yourself on a quiet evening, especially if you were curled up with a novel. When you first started living at the base it felt like a luxury, but even after you had gotten used to the quiet its novelty hadn’t worn off for you.

The sound of a key jingling at the front door had you peeking over your book. When Ghiaccio appeared framed by the living room entrance you held your breath. Hopefully he’d be going upstairs… no, it looked like he was coming into the common area. That’s okay, you could move, so you started standing up, except… he was looking right at you, heading in your direction.

“Sit down,” he said stiffly, and after a beat he added, “Please?”

“Uhh! Okay!” you said, sitting back down and bringing your book right back up to cover your face.

“Can you also, uh. Please. Put the book down?” Ghiaccio said, his voice strained to maintain a monotone and flatten out any inflection. You did as he asked, although you still couldn’t meet his eyes, and he just stared at you awkwardly.

“Uh-”

“Hello,” he said, and it left his mouth at the exact same time your muttered exclamation had. Another awkward pause.

“Hi?” you said, unsure. This wasn’t what you were expecting from your next conversation with the man, for as long as you had postponed it. You thought he’d be demanding to know why you were ignoring him, or getting on your case about being too sensitive to handle his criticism on your last mission. Maybe that was yet to come?

“You are afraid of me,” Ghiaccio stated flatly. Then perhaps he realized he wanted to ask it as a question. “Yes?”

“Oh, no, I’m…” you muttered.

“Of course you are,” he said quickly, cutting you off before you could mumble out an excuse. You got pretty embarrassed by that, but you swallowed and moved your eyes up to gauge his expression. He didn’t look angry, but he looked hyper focused to the point of distress. His lips were pressed together tightly as if he was trying to hold back from speaking again.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For being scared of me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He was being sarcastic again, wasn’t he?

“No, I… I mean… I’m sorry for,” you started, trying to think of something legitimate to actually be sorry about. “For fucking up on the mission.”

“Did fucking up on the mission really bother you that much?” he said. Not only were you stupid for fucking up the mission, but you were also stupid for letting it bother you for so long! What did he want you to say?

“No, I mean…”

But Ghiaccio cut you off with a long loud exhale. “Look, I’m not great at this kind of thing. I understand that I make you anxious, and I understand that for whatever reason it’s hard for you to talk to me, but I really can’t understand what people say unless they drop all the bullshit.” When you frowned and looked away he tried again. “Not bullshit, fuck, uh. No, not fuck... It’s just that. I need you to say exactly what you mean. I can’t tell what people are thinking unless they make it… easy for me.”

You looked back at him. Whatever he was here to talk about with you, he was trying very hard not to raise his voice. The way he was talking to you was too stilted to be anything but intentional. If he was doing this for your sake, then you would try to meet him halfway. You took a moment to think, to choose what you wanted to say carefully.

“I don’t do well with loud noises. I also… take things very personally. I’ve been worrying that you…” You took another second before committing. “...Hate me.”

He pressed his lips in a thin line again as some noise tried to escape his throat, perhaps an instinctive denial. “What about me makes you think that?”

“Well… you seemed pretty disappointed in me after the mission.”

“I was checking in with you. I wanted to make sure Prosciutto was properly training you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “But… but you sounded really angry and sarcastic.”

Ghiaccio closed his eyes and thought about that for a second. “I probably was angry, but not at you. You just fucked up on something so basic that I had to wonder if Prosciutto was actually teaching you anything useful.”

“That’s… not how you said it though,” you said, feeling defensive. “I… I know I did something dumb… but I’ve never messed up with my stand like that before. It was different on that mission.”

“Me talking to myself?” Ghiaccio asked. He had been fixating over what he said to you at the end of that mission for days now, trying to remember all the details. He recalled how you had started with one explanation, but you quickly retracted it.

“You were… so angry the entire mission,” you complained. “Everyone else is quiet on missions with me because my stand is better suited to it.”

“It wasn’t a stealth mission,” Ghiaccio countered. “We were using your stand for something different. I wasn’t even talking to you.”

“I know!” you groaned. “You weren’t trying to distract me, but when things get too loud I…”

“But you took it back. You said it wasn’t me,” Ghiaccio said, leaning forward. His voice had risen just a little, but when he noticed how you reacted to that he tensed up.

“I took it back because I was afraid of upsetting you!” you said, leaning back into the couch as far as you could. “Because when I brought it up… you were mean about it… so I took it back! I thought you were trying to tell me it was my fault, so I took the blame like I thought you wanted!”

“I was… I was asking for clarification! If I did something that caused you to fuck up then I want to know that I did so we can talk about it!” He was clenching his fists to keep his upward inflections from becoming full-blown yelling.

“None of that came across!” you complained. “Like… maybe you technically said those things, but the way you said made it come across completely different!”

“What about you? Now you’re telling me that you meant something completely different from the things you actually said to me!?”

“I-I… but I was obviously upset! I was obviously just trying to appease you!”

“How was it obvious? I thought you were upset because you fucked up! No one likes fucking up!”

“Yeah, no kidding!” You realized at this point that your own voice was starting to rise, which was making Ghiaccio raise his to match yours, and you took a deep breath before speaking calmly again. “I was upset because I was afraid.”

It was quiet again for a little while until Ghiaccio broke the silence.

“Being mean and angry comes really easy to me,” he said, running his fingers through his curls. “Even when I don’t realize it, I still am. Even if I think I’m being reasonable, people misunderstand. I’ve been so used to the others actually being able to take it that I forgot how bad it was.” He scratched at his head a bit. “I also have a hard time telling how loud I actually am until someone points it out.”

You sat there for a moment, soaking that in, before you gave a small amused huff with a half-smile on your face. “I’m not great with loud noises because of what they mean to me. Gunshots remind me of a time when I wasn’t safe… but I can protect myself now, and I have other people who will protect me too. But yelling reminds me of… how I was never good enough for anyone.” You tapped your fingers on the cover of the book on your lap and shrugged.

“I hear from the others that you’re really skilled and reliable on missions,” Ghiaccio said. “I didn’t see that from you when we worked together, but maybe that’s because I was the one who fucked up.”

“But you didn’t...” you started.

“I fucked up by not meeting you where you were at. You’re new. I don’t know you, I don’t know what you’re like. If we had talked beforehand, if I had worked with you, then you probably wouldn’t have made that mistake. I was taking the lead on that mission, it was my job to train you to use your stand in an unfamiliar circumstance. I use missions to get out all the shit that makes me angry, since I don’t need to stay quiet. You don’t work like that. You had no idea what I was yelling for. I never told you how I do things, I just expected you to brush it off like everyone else does.”

You blinked a few times. You had been pretty quick to blame yourself for your own shortcomings, but hearing him say that really recontextualized that entire mission experience. You might have fucked up, but it was now obvious that he did not hold it against you. “That’s surprisingly self-aware of you.”

He rolled his eyes and set his elbow on the couch’s armrest, plopping his head on his fist. “You don’t know me either. I’m more than a raving heartless bastard. Stuff like this… not understanding why other people think the way they do, or what I’m doing wrong… it really fucks me up. I don’t hate you. You’re a part of my family now and I genuinely want to help you get stronger. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Ghiaccio was nothing like you thought. He was actually really sensitive and introspective. You could tell it was hard for him to confront you like this, almost as hard as it was for you to be confronted. You appreciated that he wanted to put in the effort to have a relationship with you.

“Thank you Ghiaccio. And I’m sorry I avoided you instead of trying to talk about it like this.” You reached over and placed your hand on his shoulder with a gentle smile. He seemed taken aback by the contact, but he relaxed after a moment.

“Are we… good?” he huffed out.

“I think so!”

He let out one long exhale that seemed to go on forever. “Thank fuck,” he muttered, before turning to look at you. “Goddamn it, sorry.”

“It’s not the swearing that bothers me,” you clarified. “It’s the intention behind it. You’re… uh… fucking good, my dude.”

He let out a snort at the awkward way you said that before bringing his hand up to cover his face, looking away in embarrassment.

“Aw, no, that was cute,” you assured him, which only made it worse.

“Well, if we’re done here then I’m heading to bed,” he said, and you glanced at the clock in the living room. It had gotten pretty late. He stood up and started walking towards the stairs.

“We have a mission together again this weekend, right?” you asked, and he looked at you over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said with as much enthusiasm as you could muster. And you meant it. “Goodnight!”

“...Night,” he said, before he disappeared around the corner.

#ghiaccio #ghiaccio x reader #jojo imagines #jjba scenarios #jjba x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #my writing #anon

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keijikunn · 4 years ago

Text

Memories ─ part ii

── A @celestialarchiveshq collab “Connected by fate”

Pairing: Semi Eita x fem!reader Tags: college!au, kinda angst i guess, fluff, SLOW BURN, maybe strangers to lovers!au Summary: On the last day of the year, you dream of your soulmate’s most impactant memory that happened within the year. Each memory will be different each year. Word count: ~5.4k

Author’s note: Second part is up guys! Hope you all enjoy it, and please let me know what you're thinking so far! Reblogs are appreciated <3

WARNINGS: insecurity, mention of injury (it’s a broken arm), self-esteem issues, let me know if I forgot anything

MEMORIES’ MASTERLIST

2005 (age of 11)

The gymnasium was filled with the sound of the sneakers against the hard wooden floor, constant screams of “left!”, “right!”, “block!” and occasional cheerings when someone scored a point. Your soulmate was excited for practice as usual, the love he felt towards volleyball was huge, and the bubbling sensation on his stomach gave away he was excited for something.

“Boys, gather up!” The coach called the team near the benches, everyone sitting on the floor in front of the man. “It’s time to announce which positions you’ll play for the next season, and possibly for the rest of your middle school years.”

A list of names got called, the younger ones assigned to variate between a couple of positions; the older ones were mostly spikers or middle blockers. With naive eyes, being able to score points for the team was euphoric, as if the weight of the world was on their shoulders. Your soulmate waited restlessly, a part of his mind wandering on his arduous training, trying his best to achieve his dream position in the team.

He called his name, eyes quickly to find his coach’s face. “You’ll be the on the start lineup as setter.”

Your soulmate gasped, his lips quickly turning upwards as he smiled in ecstasy. His close friends lightly punched his back and arms, congratulating his hard work. All the boy could think was his father’s words about how your efforts are paid back, just like his guitar classes. He thought about the countless practices he tried his best to improve, asking tips to his coaches and seniors, tossing a ball against his bedroom wall - only to hear Aime complain about it during dinner.

It felt good, amazing even. He understood the concept of working hard perfectly, after experiencing it twice. Something inside him made himself feel unstoppable, as long as he has his determination to do better, he could achieve every and anything he ever dreamed about. Your soulmate had never felt such proudness of himself before, and he had every reason to feel like it.

2006 (age of 12)

Semi’s relationship with his relatives was good, all his uncles and aunts were nice to him, his older cousins never really bothered him and the younger ones were funny to play tag games. However, the boy wasn’t excused of having a certain degree of dislike towards his same-age cousin Touma. Being born in the same year was great when they were little, playdates worked well and they’d always make each other’s company during boring adults reunion.

Things started to change once they got older and started elementary school. Touma was constantly praised in his school, claimed as the best student in his year, with almost perfect scores and impeccable participation in events. Semi used to be happy for his cousin, but the feeling changed once the other started to brag about himself, belittling Semi’s achievements and efforts.

After that, their relationship was never the same, and both of them knew it. The thing was that their mothers weren’t aware of the sudden change of affection between them, resulting in regular Sunday lunches over their place. It was uncomfortable the silence between them, the pair sitting on opposite ends of the large sofa, doing their best to ignore the other’s presence.

“Aunt!” Touma called Semi’s mother, a too innocent smile on his face. “Did mom tell you that I’m the best student in my school? And the teachers want to subscribe me in a Math competition?”

“That’s great to hear, Touma-kun! You’re really smart!” His mother cheered way too excited, Semi noted, and the boy tried to recall every time he had big news to tell if his mom praised him like she did with his cousin.

“Even the director talked to me about changing a few classes, saying Touma is capable of attending advanced classes.” His aunt gushed with pride. “And he’s even the best player in the soccer team!”

“Wow, Touma, you’re really amazing!” Semi was undeniably jealous at how easily his mother complimented someone who wasn’t her own son. He was furious at her, at Touma, but especially at himself for not doing better to receive the same praises.

“I’m naturally good, aunt! I don’t have to study or practice more to improve.” His cousin stated, sending Semi and side look in a provocative way, like inciting him to fight back. “And what about Eita-kun?”

“Eita always tries his best in volleyball and guitar practices,” his mom started, fidgeting with the cloth she used to dry the washed plates. “He’s a hardworking boy, right, Eita?”

“Yeah…” he muttered in response, feeling his heart drop to his stomach. Did his mother lie to him about working hard on what you love? To earn her compliments he should be a genius, be born good at that thing and that’s that?

The rage inside him was replaced by disappointment, even sadness. His parents lied to him just to make him happy because he was their son, it was their obligation to hype their children even if they weren’t that happy. Semi wondered if his mother would’ve lied to Touma if he was her son - and the answer came quite easily: she wouldn’t, because she had no reason to do so.

At that moment, everything he believed started to fall apart. His concept of being good, of worth of praise and recognition. Years of proudness were thrown away in mere seconds, a mentality Semi built to face every challenge destroyed in the worst way possible: by his own mother.

I bet mom wanted a son like Touma, she’d replace me easily.

I’m not good enough, am I?

The following days after the first rehearsal you had with the band, you and Semi met up more often to talk about your project, what you have so far and what do you wanted from him. Although Semi didn’t spare snarky comments towards you, he was cooperative and even suggested a thing or two.

“So, what’s the lyrics?” Semi asked, both of you were in a small café near the campus. His long and slim fingers tapped the wooden table, while his left - and injured - arm rested near his body.

“Well,” you started, offering a sheepelesly smile. “It’s your story, you should write it.”

“It’s your project, Y/n.” He tried to correct you, closing tightly his jaw in annoyance. Overall it was quite easy to read the singer’s body language, it being more expressive than his words.

“My project is to produce a song - which I’ll do when you come up with the lyrics.” The man didn’t seem to be convinced, but either way let out a long sigh, bothered by the situation. “Whatever you want to tell the world, any suppressed feelings, I’m all ears to your ideas.”

Semi visibly was taken aback at your choice of wording, mouth slightly slacking and his brown pupils quivered as he lowered his gaze to the table. You knew it was rather dangerous to suggest something like that, giving the fact he resisted for a while before agreeing to help you. On the other hand, though, it was your only chance to get what you really wanted: a song filled with the deepest and rawest emotions.

Much like your soulmate, the man in front of you closed himself from the others. The last 10 years, you dreamed about a very hard tempered, isolated and hurt boy and you didn’t truly understand those feelings. Semi, in your judgment (that you acknowledged could be completely wrong), gave off the impression he might understand him. Perhaps through Semi, you would be able to comfort your soulmate, because regardless of his belief or not in being destined together, you needed to do anything to sooth his doubts.

“Semi-san?” A male voice broke the silence you two fell into without noticing, lifting you head, you saw a rather tall guy standing by the side of your table. He sported a sharp and uneven haircut alongside with a tired expression, though his eyes were wide opened in surprise.

“Oh, Shirabu.” Semi breathed out the name, also surprised by the sudden encounter. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah…” the awkwardness between them made you fidget in your seat, averting your eyes from them to look straight into your cup of coffee. “How- how are you doing?”

“Fine, actually- and you? Heard you were accepted in med school,” the singer commented. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, uh- Y/n, this is Shirabu.” Semi introduced you two as you briefly exchanged a polite ‘hello’, a bit awkward by the situation. “We used to play in the same volleyball team during high school.”

“Oh, nice.” You reacted slightly rushed, the tension between the two previous teammates was growing as the seconds passed by. “Was Semi a good teammate? I’m playing support in his band and I can say he’s quite demanding.”

“Yes!” Shirabu exclaimed quickly, his nervousness showing off. “Semi-san was a good teammate and a respectful senpai.”

“Though you respected Wakatoshi the most, right?” Though you presumed Semi said that to joke around his underclassman, at some instance you felt bitterness hidden behind the playful comment. He laughed half-heartedly as Shirabu panicked to give him a proper answer. “I’m joking, relax.”

“I have to go, actually,” the younger man stated, offering the two of you an apologetic smile. “I have another period to attend… Anyways, it was nice to meet you, Semi-san, Y/n-san. Bye!”

“Take care!”

“Bye.”

Semi relaxed his whole body after hearing the front door close, running his right hand through the ash locks of his hair. You observed him shift on the chair, too immersed inside his own thoughts to notice your analytical gaze on him.

“Do you mind me asking why you look so shaken up?” Your voice was soft and lower, as if the choice of volume would prevent Semi from getting angry at you.

“He used to play in the same position as me.” Based on the few knowledge you had about volleyball, you assumed it was possible for two players to share the same role in the team, so you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “We both were setters, he took my place on the start lineup.”

2011 (age of 17)

The third years arrived late at practice and the coach, even though knowing they had extra classes, screamed at them to change quickly. Unphased by the outburst, Ushijima, Tendou, Semi, Reon and Yamagata did as they were told so in order to start the warm ups. Each one of them took their position on the court, ready to practice their main abilities; however, Washijo called out Semi and Shirabu to the sidelines, a serious expression on the older’s face.

“Semi, I’d like you to focus on your serves from now on.”

“What- why, coach?” Semi asked surprised, closing his hand into fists angrily.

“Shirabu will be the main setter of the team.” Washijo stated, and for a moment the world has stopped moving in Semi’s perspective. “You’ll be the pinch server.”

“It’s not fair, coach! I’m-” the words died in the boy’s throat, giving up on arguing with him. Throughout the years he’s been trained by Washijo, Semi knew his decisions were made to improve the team’s strength and chances to win. Nothing would make the coach change his mind. “I understood.”

He bowed to Washijo and Shirabu before turning back to head to the end of the court, getting closer to those who were practicing their serves. Semi took a ball from the cart, smacking it to hit the floor a couple of times before tossing it into the air to serve. On the other side of the net, the ball landed near the fifth position, but the thought of scoring a service ace didn’t soothe the burning rage inside of him.

Once again Semi was told right in front of him that he’s not good enough, he wasn’t needed on the court to articulate all the offensives against the opponent team. Of all people. He was subbed by an underclassmen. Semi Eita, a famous setter during middle school, who was accepted at Shiratorizawa through a sports scholarship.

Angry tears stung his eyes, but he refused to let them slip through his eyelids. No, Semi was too proud to let anyone see how frustrated he was; he wouldn’t give Shirabu the satisfaction to see him break down, even though his junior could not think like that.

Years of hard working, training every single day to improve his tosses, every time he bent his fingers during practices. All for nothing. Semi felt stupid thinking that it would be enough, he should have learned years before with Touma. Efforts don’t take you anywhere if you’re not a genius. He should have known better.

Serve after serve landed perfectly in spots other teams’ defense would break: between the first, sixth and fifth position; so close to the sidelines some players would think it would be out, just to be surprised by the referee pointing the flag to the ground. However, it wasn’t enough, not for Semi. At that moment, no service ace would make up the thrilling sensation of setting the perfect ball that leads the team one point closer to the victory.

It was unfair how he was subbed during his third and last year in that team, after that season he would retire from the club’s activities and solely focus on university entrance exams. Washijo should know how he feels, especially because the coach himself couldn’t play because of his height. So why has he done that?

His gaze unconsciously fell over the main court, where the spikers were practicing with Shirabu. Semi desperately searched for any fault in the setter’s tosses, in his posture and even in his movements around the other players, anything to point out to the coach as an excuse for him to change his mind about the situation. What angered the boy the most was the fact Shirabu had such clean moves and a great analytical vision - he was way more competent that Semi himself in the matter of technique.

What took the biggest toll on him, though, was seeing Ushijima and Reon hitting every toss with such ease and power. Their performance was better than when Semi was the official setter, he couldn’t recall any practice or game both spikers were surpassing their usually good performance. That made everything clear to Semi: he couldn’t bring the best of his teammates as a setter, he wasn’t skilled enough to help his team on every offensive. He had to accept it.

There will always be someone better than me, Semi thought to himself, panting from tiredness. I’ll never be the first option for anything, I should have known that.

You’re pathetic, Semi Eita.

End of October, 2017 (current time, age of 23)

To say you were nervous was a understandment, you’ve never performed in a live house before - and it definitely wasn’t like school presentations, as you tried to convince yourself. The fact that those people in front of the stage weren't there to actually see you helped a bit to calm down your nerves, though not enough to prevent your hands from shaking.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually nervous, Y/n.” Semi teased you, earning a whine from you. The singer was relaxed - it would surprise you if he weren’t - with his arms crossed over his chest, carefully enough to put his right one over the other. He was looking good, you admitted to yourself, with black jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather black jacket. “You’re a music producer, you shouldn’t be afraid of the audience.”

“Firstly, I’m not a music producer,” you started angrily, narrowing your eyes at him. “And secondly, that’s why I chose to learn how to produce songs, because I won’t perform them.”

“You can either focus on a dot ahead of you, ignoring all eyes looking to the stage or,” he stepped closer to you, bending down a little so his mouth reached closer to your ear. “You can just look at me.”

You stepped back in surprise, feeling your cheeks heat with the exaggerated flow of blood through your veins. Semi laughed at your distressed expression, leaving you behind to search for his bandmates in order to prepare themselves to go on stage. You had no idea if the guy teased you on purpose or not, but it was effective: you were no longer anxious to be in front of people, but because you’d be next to Semi for at least 30 minutes.

The moment you dreaded the most arrived sooner than you thought, a staff from the live-house ushered you four to the stage. Akihiko sat behind the set of drums, positioning himself comfortably to start; Takeshi plugged the bass on the amplifier, adjusting the volume as he strummed the cords. Semi stood in the middle of the stage, pulling the microphone stand in front of him up to get it closer to his mouth. Your hands worked quickly on setting up your guitar, earning you enough time to pay attention to the audience’s noise through the closed curtains.

Before you could get lost in your own thoughts, a fixed and intense gaze on you pulled you out from overthinking. Semi’s brown eyes looked straight into yours, and somehow you felt a wave of calmness wash over you, deafening the sparse chattering around you. His lips formed a small smile, and differently from the sarcastic ones he usually offers you to mess around, it was genuine.

“You can do it, relax.” He mouthed, you barely caught the words as the staff crew announced the band and the curtains opened. Returning the smile with a nod, eyes diverting its focus to Akihiko - who beat his drumsticks four times, starting the presentation.

“Thank you so much for coming tonight!” Semi said on the microphone after the last song of the setlist, earning back a wave of screams and claps. “And special thanks to our support Y/n.”

The sudden attention you received startled you, but your response was to simply smile and bow to the public. You weren’t feeling shy at that moment, the adrenaline in your veins even made yourself enjoy the positive response from the public. As Akihiko came towards the stage and thanked everyone, the staff closed the curtains and Takeshi - who was closest to the exit - led the way out.

“You did amazing, Y/n!” Akihiko beamed, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“I was so nervous, though!” You laughed with them at your answer. “But it was a good experience, I enjoyed myself out there.”

“Great, because you’re in the band for a couple more shows.” Semi announced with a smirk, only to that morph into a bigger smile. “I still have a few weeks with the cast and physiotherapy to attend… you better enjoy the spotlight, rockstar.”

All of you burst into laughter, heading to the backstage room you got ready before. The boys encountered their own friends in the process, and while you didn’t know any of them, you decided to organize your own stuff. Soon, your guitar was securely inside its case, a couple of makeup products were stored in the small bag you brought and your cellphone was stuffed in your backpocket.

“Eita-nii!” A new, and loud, voice bursted into the room. The girl - who you presumed was Semi’s sister by the honorific she used - ran towards the singer, wrapping her arms around his body. The man himself reciprocates the gesture, although shyer than her. “You and the boys were great today! Oh- and who is that girl who played support? You’ve never told me it would be a girl! I thought you’d invited Kaito.”

“Hey,” Semi said louder, looking at you. The unsaid invite to come closer made you get up from your seat in the corner and walk towards them. “Aime, this is my friend Y/n. Y/n, this is my annoying younger sister, Aime.”

“Nii-chan!” Aime whined, quickly dismissing her brother as her attention focused solely on you. “You did so good on the stage! Eita has never told me he was friends with anyone new, let out a girl. I thought he was that antisocial that had only Akihiko and Takeshi-kun as friends.”

“I mean,” you giggled at Aime’s rambling, she was the complete opposite from her brother, which was endearing to see. “I didn’t know Semi considered me as his friends, once he thought I was hooking up with Akihiko.”

“What the hell, Semi?” The drummer jumped in the conversation, a grimace on his face. “I’d never do anything with Y/n- gosh I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Should I say you’re the stalker who would leave me alone if I sang for your project, then? I can still change the status.” Semi teased you, in response, you lightly punched his left arm. “By the way, what are you doing here Aime? Don’t you have a curfew to follow? Does mom and dad know your whereabouts?”

“I’m not ten anymore, Eita!” She let out a huff in annoyance. “I’m twenty, remember that? A college student that has every right to enjoy herself on a Friday night after a tiring week.”

You let the two siblings bicker between them, taking in that new side of the singer you’ve never imagined he’d have. The usually cold, snarky boy also had a soft spot for his sister was also the common overprotective, caring older brother. You had to admit the duality in Semi’s personas suited him, and you felt like another side of his mysteries was presented to you.

“Well, I have to get going…” you announced gathering your things up, hearing Takeshi and Akihiko’s protests. “I booked a studio early in the morning, I want to be productive, not a literal zombie going over a few samples. Not to mention the last bus will stop by soon. Thank you so much for your hard work, guys! And also, it was a pleasure to meet the better Semi, Aime.”

“I barely know you but I’m sure I’ll like you!” Aime hugged you, while Semi scoffed ironically. “Hope we meet again soon, Y/n!”

“Wait, let me grab my coat.” Semi stopped you from leaving the room after saying goodbye to both Takeshi and Akihiko. “I’ll take you to the bus stop. Who knows what could happen in the middle of the night?”

“And what will you do? Hit them with your cast?” You sassed, the man rolled his eyes, taking the small bag from your hands.

The two of you left the live-house in silence, enjoying how the loudness gradually decreased and the city noises overtook your senses. You started to feel tired from the show just now, your eyelids were heavier than usual and your shoulder muscles ache due to the tension and nervousness you were feeling. Either way, you felt good, performing was nice - though if you had to choose, being inside a studio felt much more comfortable.

“You did well today.” Semi spoke out of blue, with your peripheral vision you analysed him. His head was upwards looking to the sky, the corner of his mouth was tugged in a small smile and his posture gave off the feeling he was feeling satisfied. “You were so nervous before going on stage, but when we started, you looked like you’ve performed before. You have a talent.”

“It was the adrenaline.” Both of you laughed at your comment, silencing yourselves as you arrived at the bus stop. It was empty, which was expected given the fact it was almost one in the morning, so you took a seat next to each other. “I never imagined you were the protective older brother…”

“Trust me, you’re not the first one to tell me this,” he scoffed jokingly, a much softer expression adorned his face at the topic of his sister. “Aime is just… something else, you know? As her older brother, I think I have to shield her from being hurt - even if it means I get hurt”

“What, have you punched someone in the face because of her?” You joked, only to the laughter die on your throat at his positive response with a nod. “You’re kidding me, Semi!”

“I’m telling the truth!” He protested, a frown appearing on his face. “Some boy thought he could call my sister a bitch and leave unpunished. It was my very first fight, but as Aime’s brother, it was my job to teach that little shit a lesson.”

“Bet he punched you in the face, as well.”

“Yeah, but,” Semi stopped talking, inhaling deeply before turning to you. “You saw how she is, I- I can’t never let someone take it away from her. Nobody is allowed to hurt her like…”

“Like…” you tried to encourage him to speak after a few seconds, only for him to sigh tiredly and give you a meek smile.

“Nothing… guess it’s just the cliché older brother talk,” the way he avoided finishing his original train of thought didn’t go unnoticed by you, but you let it go to not cause further embarrassment. As the two of you entered in a comfortable silence, you saw the bus turning into the main avenue. “The princess’ carriage has arrived, my lady.”

“Thank you very much for protecting me, my knight in shining… arm cast.” You giggled at your lame joke, taking the bag from his hands. “I’ll talk to you soon… regarding the project and stuff.”

“And don’t forget we have rehearsals.” Semi reminded you, getting up from his seat. The bus stopped in front of you, the two of you stared at each other not knowing what to do. Before you could turn and hop on the vehicle, the man ruffled your hair with a mischievous smile. “Good night.”

“Good night, Semi.”

1997 (age of 3)

The white corridors seemed to be longer in Semi’s perspective, his young perception didn’t allow him to estimate how long he'd been walking with his grandparents on that floor. What buzzed in his mind was the new piece of information grandma told him before leaving the house.

“Let’s visit mommy and Aime-chan, Eita-kun.”

The boy was still confused why his mother had to go to a hospital to meet his younger sister - even though his parents had innumerous talks about this special day. Nevertheless, Semi was excited to see mom and dad after a whole day without them - and to finally see Aime.

Grandad knocked on the door, gently pushing it open so Semi could walk in. The sight of strange wires and tubes on his mother’s skin scared him, bumping into the older’s legs. Sensing his distressed expression, his father came closer to him, scooping the little kid in his arms. Semi hid his face on the crook of his dad’s neck, avoiding eye contact with the starling objects near his beloved mom.

“Eita,” her smooth voice called him, he lifted slightly his head to meet her eyes, only to hide again. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Mommy is hurt…” he whispered, pointing to all the equipment near the bed.

“No, buddy, mom is not hurt,” his dad denied, tapping lightly his back as an invitation for him to look around. “These things are making sure mommy is doing fine, she’s been pretty tired, remember we talked about it? How would Mommy feel tired after Aime left her tummy?”

An unknown whine filled the room, making Semi lift his head to search for the source of said sound. His eyes eventually fell on the tiny baby on his mother’s arms, opening and closing her mouth as little noises escaped through her thin lips.

“Aime?” Semi pointed out, suddenly feeling curious. His father sat him down next to his mother, letting him have a better view of the baby. “Aime is small!”

“Yes, she is, sweetheart.” His mother agreed softly, pulling the blanket slightly downwards so her son could see Aime’s face. “But soon she’ll grow bigger, and you two can play together. Will you share your toys with her?”

“Only if she doesn’t drool on them!” His statement made everyone laugh, but Semi couldn’t care less, too entertained with his sister. “I love Aime.”

“You have to protect her as the older brother, Eita.” His father told him, coming closer to them. Semi nodded excitedly, lowering his head to leave a kiss on Aime’s forehead.

2012 (age of 18)

All Semi could see was red as he approached Aime in front of a café. She was accompanied by her friends and some stranger boy, who was awfully close to his baby sister. The words a fellow classmate told him before they left the dorms for winter break rang through his head.

“Hey, Semi, I heard a guy from another school has been hitting on your sister for a while. My friend told me she’s pretty bothered by him.”

“Aime!” He screamed, heavy footsteps marking his way over the thin layer of snow. The said girl turned around, a mixed expression between relief and fear on her face. Stopping in front of the boy, Semi opened a bit more his chest in order to look more intimidating. “What the fuck do you want with her?”

“None of your business, dude.” His voice was coated with anger, the short phrase said between gritted teeth. “I saw this beauty first, back off.”

“And I said I’m not interested!” Aime piped in with a squeak.

“You heard her.” Semi stepped closer to him, locking eyes with the stranger. “Get lost.”

“This little slut is playing hard to get.” The world seemed to stop spinning, Semi took a second to process what that guy had the audacity to call his little sister. “I dare you to say this after I-”

He couldn’t finish his words as Semi threw the first punch right into his left cheek, knocking him to the floor. Kneeling next to him, the pinch server proceeded to get a firm grasp on the collar of his coat with the left hand, while his right one collided with the boy’s face repeatedly. Semi could hear at the back of his head people screaming at him, Aime calling out his name, but nothing would make him stop until that brat learned his lesson.

The other boy managed to get a hold of himself, punching Semi on his sides - who lost his breath and received another hit on the face. On his tongue, he felt the taste of his own blood - and he wasn’t able to distinguish where it could be from: either from his lips or the inside of his cheeks. With his knee, Semi returned the blows on his ribs, quick to sit himself on the boy’s stomach.

Every punch he gave seemed to increase its power, shifting between his nose, cheeks and mouth. Semi has never felt so enraged before, just remembering what he had called Aime made his body warm with adrenaline and wrath.

“I dare you to call my sister,” Semi muttered between huffs of air, feeling difficulty to breathe in and out due to the intense body movement and the pain on his sides. “A slut again. I fucking dare you!”

Before he could do anything else, two men held him back, making sure to wrap their hands on his arms, and lifted him up. Semi, in his last act of anger, kicked the boy laying on the floor aimlessly. The other boy was aided by another man, refusing his care to get up and look straight into Semi’s eyes.

“Watch out, asshole, I’m getting back to you.”

“Be ready to have a fucking broken nose.” Semi mocked him, and before he could continue his threats, Aime appeared in front of him with tears stained over his cheeks. “I was the one who got punched and you’re crying.”

“Are you insane!?” She asked distressingly, knocking on his chest - which made him lose his breath. “Why would you do that?”

“Isn't it obvious?” He asked, gently freeing himself from the men’s grasp. “I’m your older brother.”

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