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angel-kyo · 5 months

Text

Pay it no mind

Part IX

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. Mentions of smoking (not reader, though) and lung cancer.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII

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You heard steps behind you.

“Is it any good?” Suguru sat down next to you, eyeing the manga you were reading.

You lifted your head and looked at the training fields in front of you. “Ikeda recommended it to me. I just started it, so I don’t know yet.”

Suguru noticed your tone was a bit flat and taking into account that he had just passed by a fuming Satoru, he assumed his classmates were not in great spirits that day.

“Did something happen to Satoru? He was…” Geto's voice trailed off.

“Being childish,” you cut him, your eyes returning to the book in your hands.

You had been trying to improve your attack speed and close combat technique, and Satoru was naturally good at both, so you had made plans to spar with him. But when he showed up at your room, you were on a call with Haruki, who just wanted check if you were free that weekend.

As soon as Gojo realized who was on the other end of the line, he started speaking way louder than usual and chasing you around your room. “[name], let’s go now”, “Are you done yet?”, "Stop ignoring me."

You swore it was a two-minute call, and he was being impatient for no reason, but you finally had enough when Satoru grabbed your phone and told Ikeda “Sorry, they are busy now,” and hung up.

“Satoru!” You almost ripped your phone out of his hand. “What...Why did you do that?” You watched him in disbelief. Of course, you knew he liked pestering you and everyone, but you could not believe he had done something so rude.

He shrugged. “We have things to do; he can’t keep you on the phone all day.” His expression showed no remorse. “Oh, now you are texting him.” He turned around and sat on your bed.

You were pressing the buttons of your phone as quickly as you could, not really wanting to imagine what Haruki could have thought of someone hanging up on him that way.

You sighed. “I’m apologizing on your behalf and telling him not to mind my extremely rude friend.”

“Emphasis on ‘friend’,” Gojo mumbled, but his tone had been too harsh not to hear.

You sent your apology to Haruki and looked at Satoru. “What did you say?”

The boy blinked and shook his head. “Nothing, just that I’m your best friend unless that’s his place now.”

“So you’re trying to say you’re jealous?” The thought was almost amusing, and you had not meant to sound accusing, but the question seemed to bother him, and a frown was clearly visible on Satoru's face now.

“Why should I be?” He sounded offended just at the thought of envying anything on your friend.

“Right,” you replied dryly. You knew he did not like him much, but why were you two getting so worked up over this?

You thought it was better to drop the subject as you picked up the bag where you had put the cursed tool you wanted to try and the manga Haruki had lent you. “Just forget it... Let’s go.”

You looked at him when he did not move. Gojo had rarely looked so serious as he did now, sitting still on your bed, looking at nowhere in particular.

“You are just wasting your time with him.” He did not sound angry anymore but as someone stating an undeniable fact.

It made you frown. You esteemed your new friend, and Satoru knew that. Why would he say something he knew would upset you?

“You don’t get to decide who I hang out with, or who is a waste of my time or not.”

You had always spoken your mind to Gojo. You thought that may be the reason why you had become friends in the first place. However, you did notice the bitter ring of your words just now.

“I know.” Satoru got up and walked past you in direction to the door, without sparing you another glace. “Have your boyfriend train you then,” was all he said as he left.

You stayed there for a minute, bag clutched to your side, before deciding to head to the training fields alone.

Suguru did not say anything once you had finished telling him what had happened. He had taken out a cigarette at some point and seemed thoughtful, watching it burn between his fingers. When you did not say anything else, he looked into your eyes and smiled softly.

“He really is childish.”

“Right? Sometimes I really can’t stand him. He is so immature.” You sighed.

And oblivious; you both are, Suguru thought.

He had some suspicions but supposed you would not be in the mood to hear them.

“People with strong emotions are hard to understand sometimes. Being on the receiving end of their wrath or their love can be equally risky.” Geto’s voice was soft. “Still… You know he cares about you, right? I’m sure he did not mean any harm.”

At least not to you.

You pondered his words. Love? Yes, you loved Satoru, he was your friend. It was reasonable to think he loved you too.

“I know,” you replied almost in a whisper.

Suguru smiled and puffed some smoke. “Cheer up, okay? I’ll spar with you.”

You smiled. “Stop smoking so much first. You’ll get lung cancer or something.”

He chuckled, standing up in front of you and offering you a hand “I know I will die someday, but I assure you, [name], that will not be the reason.”

You took his hand.

***

Shoko flinched when she heard a loud thump from the corner of the room. She sighed after realizing it was just Gojo kicking the vending machine.

“Don’t take it out on the sodas,” she told him and went back to her phone.

Another thud and a clank announced whatever drink he had tried to get out had been unstuck.

Gojo sat down across from her, but she did not look at him, already suspecting he was not in a good mood.

Shoko had noticed that you and Gojo had not been talking much in the last couple of days. You still sat next to each other in class in the mornings, but she had definitely seen Gojo stealing glances at you and averting his gaze each time you looked back. Besides, you had asked Suguru to spar with you that afternoon instead of asking Satoru.

He took a sip of his drink and let out a loud sigh that Ieiri continued to ignore.

“What are you doing?” Gojo asked.

“If you are bored enough to ask me that, maybe you should have gone with them.”

“I think you were not paying attention, but I wasn’t invited."

She let out a soft laugh. "That has never stopped you from going anywhere."

"I doubt [name] wants to train with me anyway.”

Shoko finally looked at him. She recalled a conversation you and her had had not long ago. You had asked her what she wanted to do in the future, to which she had said she would be a doctor.

“That means I’ll get to call you Doctor Shoko” You grinned.

“That if I figure out a way to do it quick.” She smirked. “What about you?”

Your gaze drifted to Gojo and Geto bantering near to where you were sitting.

“I’ll join the podium with those two.”

Shoko knew you wanted to be faster, stronger, better. You were intent on improving. She could not see you turning down a chance to try out your growing strength.

“I don’t think they would turn down the opportunity to punch you,” was what she finally said to Gojo.

He huffed. “Yeah, they may be up for that.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “Are you fighting?”

Satoru ripped the tab off the can he was holding. “I don’t know…. Maybe.”

So you were. Had it been something he had done?

“I just think that waiter guy is a waste of their time.” Satoru sounded deflated.

Ieiri looked at him. “Don’t tell [name] that.”

“Already did.”

Oh.

“They must not have liked to hear that.” Ieiri looked at him blankly.

“You bet,” Gojo agreed with a resigned look on his face. “But isn’t it true, though?” He looked back at Ieiri. “He is a non-sorcerer. Keeping him around in any way is foolish. Even if they dated him, it’s not like they are going to marry the guy.”

“You don’t know that. It’s true he belongs to the normal world, but...”

“But what?” Gojo did not believe there was any argument in that guy’s favor.

“What if [name] wanted to be part of that world?” Shoko shrugged.

They want to be a sorcerer now, but people can change, and this life is tough in the field. It isn’t uncommon for sorcerers to end up running away.

It had been just a stray thought, but when directing her eyes back to Gojo, Ieiri realized the impact of her words. The wheels were turning in Satoru’s head.

She tried to take it back before he snapped. “I am not saying that’s what they want, it’s just…”

“No, they wouldn’t…” Gojo shook his head lightly.

Was that it? That you now enjoyed your bits of normality with Ikeda more than your actual life?

If you wanted a normal life as any other person living in the bliss of ignorance when it came to curses, Satoru was not sure he could follow you there. There were high expectations hanging over his head, his clan and the world were counting on him to become a sorcerer, and a strong one at that. What would he do if you ever wanted to leave this world? Would you also leave him?

***

“Are you fighting?” Shoko asked you from across the table.

She had sat at the cafeteria to wait for you, but Gojo had made an appearance and struck up conversation with her; however, he had practically run away when you showed up.

Were you fighting? Honestly, you were not sure. He had walked you home last weekend, and despite the awkwardness that had surrounded you both following your one-sided talk about Ikeda, he had not seemed angry. There had not been any spoken disagreement nor an argument per se, but he had been avoiding you like the plague since then.

“I don't know... Maybe,” you finally admitted.

The way you were gazing at the path Satoru had traced when fleeing the cafeteria let Shoko know that you wanted to go after him, so she gave you the same piece of advice her younger self had once given to Gojo. “If you don't know, go ask.”

You smiled at her and marched after Satoru.

***

“You look beaten up.”

Suguru had decided to let you take a short break from training and you were lying down to catch your breath.

“Turns out Geto is good at close combat too.”

No, good no; he excels at it.

Satoru crouched down next to you, and you were too tired to move, so you did not.

“Yeah, he is,” Gojo agreed. “Hey, can we talk?”

“I’m busy,” you replied.

Satoru looked at Suguru, who was some feet away lively conversing with Shoko and gave you a half smile that said ‘Really? I think you can take a few minutes off.’

You sat up with a sigh but did not look at him. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Are you still mad at me?”

You shrugged. “Are you?”

He shook his head. No, he was not. He had been mad at Ikeda for taking so much of your time, stirring his best friend away from him, and then he had been mad at himself for acting the way he had, but he was not mad at you, he could never be mad at you.

“I’m still gonna be friends with him.” Your tone was rather lower, and your expression was puzzled. Satoru thought he knew why, and he wanted to hold your hand, but he did not.

Instead, he smiled softly and said “As long as you are still friends with me.”

He knew you probably felt torn between him and Haruki. As much as Satoru wanted to keep you for himself, he had decided he would accept whatever you gave him if it meant he had a piece of you to hold on to.

You pushed him, and he fell sitting down. “Don't be ridiculous. You are my best friend.” Satoru was glad to see you smile at him again.

As you told him about whatever was rounding your mind while a gentle breeze removed some loose hair strands off your face, Satoru thought you were prettier than ever.

“I think they made up.” Suguru half-whispered to Shoko. “They really can’t live without each other.”

Ieiri thought of the stormy look on Gojo’s face earlier. That made her think he actually cared about you, maybe more that he let out, and taking in the way you were looking at him, maybe you cared about him just as much.

She smirked. “They look…”

“In love?” Geto offered watching Gojo gently remove a leaf that had gotten stuck in your hair.

Shoko believed you had feelings for some other non-sorcerer boy, and you had always referred to your friendship with Gojo as something platonic on both sides, but the scene in front of her, would make anyone doubt that.

She let out a laugh as response.

Maybe I was wrong.

She would remember this moment years later when watching Satoru not-so-unintentionally scare off anyone who would dare approach you with romantic intentions.

And if Suguru had stayed with them, he would have had a good laugh hearing her say ‘Geto, you were damn right.’

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Note: Please don't take it the wrong way, but I'm thinking of mischief for next part.

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part X

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas

#gojo satoru #jjk drabbles #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #gojo fanfic #jjk fanfic #gojo fluff

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sopiao · 9 months

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HAI!! I LUV ALL OF UR WORK THEY GOT ME GIGGLIN AND SHIT 🤭🤭

can i request a young teen reader (like 15-16) being watched over and taken care of by their body guards, the 141. like. they’re sick and is part of a dangerous chain, they get hired to take care of you and just overall body guard you???

pls ignore this if this is too much or if you don’t feel like it! be safe!

EHYDHEHSHEHS TY TY TY!!!

this idea is actually so cute. i struggled trying to think for this 🤐

Tossing and turning in your hospital bed, you already read every book that was gifted to you and brought from your home. Already watched every show on the TV. Already made like a couple hundred paper cranes out of boredom. Hell, you’ve been here so long the flowers you got, when you were first admitted, has already wilted and died due to lack of sunlight. That’s how you felt

A soft knock on the door made you sit up immediately. You saw your doctor, your mom, and four strange men. Your mom never explained what she did, expect that you could never get involved in it, and never know what she did. All you knew is that it was dangerous, but she made lots of money from it so she could give you a comfortable life.

As always, she gave you a short and subtle explanation, as always. She introduced the men, but you took little to no interest in this. All you know was that you weren’t safe in a public hospital and had to stay somewhere more private and secluded.

Something like “Mommy got caught up with some people and you need to take a trip” You hated every time she baby explained something to you. You aren’t 5.

—

The car ride there was quite, Ghost having to hold his arm up the entire ride to keep your IV running. You already knew that you’d never be alone from that point on, always being monitored and with someone.

“We already prepared a room for you” Price explained, only earning a hum from you as a response. They didn’t find your silence and lack in response or communication rude or ignorant, just understood that some people like to talk and some don’t. Your room was right in the middle of the hallway, in between everyone else’s, assuming it was for your safety in case anyone found you.

Price let you open the door to see your reaction. The room was.. cozy. In a way. You can tell they tried. There were soft white fairy lights across the lining of the ceiling. It was a quilted comforter with many different patterns. Books laid out in the bed side table for you, ones you never read before. Soft rugs, and a huge and a plushy bean bag.

But what caught your attention the most was the overwhelming amount of stuffed animals that littered the bed. You wanted to laugh but only let out a little chuckle, the only other sound from you the entire time you were with them, aside from the occasional hum response.

They all watched cautiously as you slowly entered the room, looking around and inspecting each little trinket of the room they added, Ghost having to follow behind to keep your IV bag dripping.

“Is it okay for you?” Soap is the first to speak up, all watching how you just sit at the foot of the bed and just look around, noticing something new each second. Wow, they even got you the white princess canopy you wanted when you were like five. Even the skele-animals plushie you wanted six years ago. Most likely your mom told them about this. A for effort.

“Yeah, its… good” You softly nod, Soap and Gaz smile to each other.

“Told ya” you heard subtly from Gaz who stuck his tongue out at Ghost who just rolls his eyes and turn away, who starts to attach your IV bag to the metal pole. They’re hesitant to leave you by yourself, but you insist that you’ll just take a nap for a little bit.

—

A couple hours later, lunch, Price reminds Ghost to go in and ask you what you’d like for lunch. They can eat whenever they want, their more concerned for you. When he hears silence after knocking four separate times, not wanting to intrude on you. He just assumes that you’re still sleeping.

His heart drops to his stomach once he sees the bed empty, and you’re IV pole gone. He rushes into the house’s living room, alerting his teammates. First they do a scan of the house, maybe you wanted to use the bathroom, or check out the other rooms. When the rooms are empty they start to check out the outside, spreading out.

Price finds you in the backyard. Sighing as he relaxes and un-tense his body, slowly making his way towards you. You’re crouched in the ground, back facing him, with your IV pole standing beside you. His shadow looms over you, signaling you that there’s someone behind you, though you don’t say or do anything, just continuing watching the ants climb in and out of the small ant hill.

His shadow looks over you, signaling you that there’s someone behind you, but it doesn’t alarm you. You just continue staring how the ants follow in one singular line.

“Gave us a scare there, kid” Price grunts as he crouches down next to you, wondering what’s so interesting about them, earning the usual hum in response, the only time you’ve acknowledged his presence.

“What’re ya’ lookin’ at?” Price turns to look at you, hugging your knees and chin resting atop of them. He watches you use a twig to push a stray ant back in line.

“Y’know if you wanna go out, you should come and tell us, bring us along” He says in a tone that tries to convince you that they wanna spend time, but is really so you won’t be alone.

“Mhm”

—

Day 2. And you’re still stuck in this hospital gown. You try to look through the dresser and drawers for any clothes, or at least fresh underwear, or clean socks. But when you find the wooden drawers empty you escort yourself and the metal pole, you’re growing used to, to the living room where they’re all playing card games.

They don’t notice your presence yet, focusing on whether the other has the card they need or not. So, you just stand and stare at them, for a good 4 minutes until Gaz catches you in the corner of his eye. Jumping and dropping all his cards face up on the table.

They all laugh then turn once they realize that Gaz is staring at the hallway. Soap clears his throat and asks what you need while Price puts out his cigar to keep you from inhaling the fumes.

“I need clothes” Is all you said. The same expression plastered on their faces, just remembering that they forgot something.

“That’s what it was” Soap mutters.

“Told you we were missing something, idiot” Ghost scolds him, seems like a usual occurrence.

They end up having to drive to the nearest Goodwill to buy you some clothes. They knew that if your mother found out she’d be displeased, but you insisted that it’s where you wanted. You couldn’t leave and go around public in your hospital gown since it’ll raise suspicion.

Which caused you to have to borrow some of their clothes for the time being. Had to borrow Gaz’s pants since he’s the shortest from all of them, thought by only an inch, it was the closest size to you. It draped over you and covered your shoes. Soap offered his shirt which reached your thighs. Had a tear in the bottom.

Ghost decided to stay and stick with you while you picked up clothes, watching intently in what you picked out and what you looked at, holding up your IV, but not too high to make it that noticeable. Noting what you took interest in, processing your style.

“Didn’t know these still existed” Price came up to the two of you with Soap behind him, holding up a cassette player in his hand. Soap had an old digital camera, looking through the photos.

“You should get it, Cap’” Soap suggests, getting bored with the camera. You’re still looking through clothes, but still listening to them talk.

“What the hell would I even do with this?” He chuckles, inspecting the inside and each button to see if it’s functional— and not laced with crack.

“Mm-mm Just to have it?” Soap shrugs, taking the clothes out from your arm to hold for you, and to look at.

“That’s stupid”.

“They have cassettes at the front” You speak up, making them all look at you, since you never speak unless absolutely needed. They’re happy that you’re slowly getting comfortable to speak but don’t want to say anything to jinx it. Price just makes his way towards the front to look for them, you can tell by the little rushed way he walks that he’s enjoying himself.

You find a Dio shirt in the racks, their band dates and locations on the back, like something you’d by from a concert.

“Do people still listen to them?” Ghost whispers, mostly to himself, you can tell his interested. Never would’ve thought that he’d be into that band. You add it into your stash, laying it on your arm. When you get back to the house you end up giving it to him since ‘It doesn’t fit. Too big’ by what you said.

—

Gaz couldn’t sleep at all, it was way too hot. He walked out of his room, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. He entered the kitchen to grab a glass of water but almost screams when he sees you by the counter, sitting on the edge with a sandwich in your hand.

“If you were hungry you should’ve woken one of us up” He sighed, hand on his chest to calm himself down, worried when he saw the knife next to you covered in nutella.

“No. Too much work. Didn’t wanna bother” You shook your head, already half way through your sandwich. He chuckled, looking through the fridge for the water pitcher.

“What did ya’ make?” Gaz asked, leaning against the counter next to you, taking a long gulp from his glass.

“Nutella and Cheerio’s” You take another big bite from your sandwich. He cringes at how sweet it must be but laughs at how often he’s tried it late at night too.

You two sit together in silence, occasional crunch from you eating your sandwich and a watery sip from Gaz. After you finish he asks if your full, shaking your head he offers to make you something. Looking up at him then nodding while muttering a thanks.

He makes you go sit in the living room and watch TV while he prepares something. There wasn’t much in the house but he made do with what he had in the house. After an episode and a half of The Amazing World of Gumball he came to the couch with two BLT sandwiches and two cans of soda.

“Didn’t even know we had bacon” You mutter to yourself as Gaz already starts eating, a muffled response you couldn’t really make out. You both just sit in silence once again, less awkward and more comfortable this time, as you both ate the food he prepped.

It was nice. Just eating sandwiches while watching cartoons at 2:14 in the morning.

—

You felt weak today, more than usual. Deciding to take a quick 20 minute nap, you wake up to loud talking, occasionally arguing accompanied by laughing, which made you a little irritated but you felt more energized.

Taking your IV pole with you, at this point you considered it a friend that followed you, you make your way to the living room, they’re all circled around the coffee table, either on the couch or on the floor.

You take a minute to watch before speaking up. Making them all jump when they notice your presence.

“What’re you doing?” You take a couple steps forward to look over their shoulders and see a Monopoly board and Monopoly money spread across the table.

“Wanna play?” Soap cocks his head to the side, scooting over to make room for you.

“I’ll watch” You take the empty spot next to him as they begin playing, less profanity and vulgar language this time, but still the same energy. Slowly you started to grow used to them. Laughed at how Gaz made Ghost pay up every time he hit his property, how Soap would take at least a minute to calculate his money for a deal, how Soap always got the short end of the straw, how they’d always fuck him over.

After a round they played again, but this time you were the banker. Handing out loans and taxes while you sipped on your juice box.

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theemporium · 10 months

Note

steve noticing a new shirt or a new song youve become obsessed with. asking you about it and just smiling as you explain (the band, writer, movie,show whatever.) R"what..?" S"Nothing-" R"Youre making that face-" "well if you must know, ive got the cutest most precious woman as my girlfriend." or something like that-

this was so cute!!! thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

Steve knew you had been waiting for the book to come out.

The second you found the date, you had marked it in your shared calendar and drawn a bunch of doodles around the announcement that it was very hard to miss.

He knew you were excited, he knew how long you had been waiting for it. Steve took the extra initiative to make sure it was the perfect day. He had worked out with your coworkers so you had the day off on your rota, made sure the pantry was stocked with your favourite snacks and left a few cans of your favourite drinks in the fridge (along with a bottle of wine).

He drove out early to the next town over so he could pick up the book the second the store opened, drove back before you woke up and left a note and a kiss on your forehead before he headed out for the day to work a shift at Family Video.

By the time he came home in the late afternoon, you had finished the book and you were buzzing off the walls. Steve didn’t think he had seen a sight so fucking adorable. It made up for the constant teasing he received from Robin all day about the way he was head over heels for you.

You lifted your head up off the couch where you were laying, a grin spreading across your face when he walked through the door. “You’re home.”

“Someone’s happy to see me,” Steve teased as he made his way over, leaning over the back of the couch to press a long, greeting kiss against your lips. “How was your day, honey?”

“Perfect ‘cause of a certain someone,” you said with a teasing tone, though your smile became more sincere as you dragged him into another kiss. “Thank you, for everything.”

“It’s what my girl deserves,” Steve stated simply before smiling. “Let me go change and then we can order some food and you can tell me all about your book.”

And that’s exactly what you did.

After changing into some sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, Steve ordered from your favourite takeaway place before he settled on the couch across from you. He was leaning against one arm, you were at the other and your legs were intertwined in the middle with a blanket over you both.

You are animated and enthusiastic as you spoke, your hands moving wildly as you gave him a run down of the previous books (as if he had forgotten from your previous rants) before launching into everything you had read that day.

He hadn’t meant to zone out, and he didn’t really. He was listening, he would be damned if he didn’t listen to every word that came out of that pretty mouth of yours, but he couldn’t help but let a giddy smile take over his face as he watched you ramble on passionately.

You seemed to pick up on his expression as you were mid-way through a plot twist, the words falling short from your lips as you flushed at his expression.

“What?”

Steve blinked, his brows furrowed slightly. “What’s what?”

“You’re…smiling all weird,” you said, almost laughing as you spoke.

“It’s nothing,” Steve said with a shrug. “You’re just…so cute when you talk about your books.”

You could feel your cheeks heating at his words. “I’m sorry, I’m probably talking so much—”

“Hey, no,” Steve said with a shake of his head. “I love when you share this with me. It’s like being a part of it, without actually having to read the books.”

You snorted lightly. “You really don’t mind?”

“Listening to my pretty girlfriend talk all day? Of course not,” Steve scoffed like the concept was absurd. “Like I said before, it’s cute.”

Your smile was almost as giddy as his.

“Plus, those lil’ sex scenes give me good inspiration—”

“Steve!”

“Kidding, honey!” There was a pause. “Okay, I’m only slightly kidding, but there’s some real good tips in those books.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot

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star-writes-sometimes · 11 months

Text

bullying and cuddles

word count: 2.3k

cw: fem reader, reader implied to have anxiety cause im projecting, swearing, bullying (affectionate), fluff, idiots in love, probably ooc tangerine but whatever

a/n: i needed domestic fluff, is this similar to other stuff ive written? yes but i dont care i love domestic fluff. i geniuenly was debating posting this because i kinda hate it but yknow c'est la vie

---—---

you emerged from the safe house bathroom after brushing your teeth in an old tshirt and pyjama shorts. both of the boys bedroom doors were closed and you could hear the thomas the tank engine theme song coming from lemon’s room.

the door of your room was open and your suitcase was on the ground, clothes messily thrown all over the place. you had been here for about four days now so you were settled in as much as you could be in a new environment.

you and the twins were staking out a place and it was long and tedious, by this point you were thoroughly bored and ready for this to end so you could go back home. you couldn’t stand another night in the cold unfamiliar bed.

so, instead you knocked on tangerine’s door.

“come in.”

you opened the door and walked in, quickly shutting it behind you and leaning against it, facing tangerine. he was sat up in his bed reading a book. he was wearing a plain tshirt and pyjama pants. he looked comfy, more relaxed than he usually was. the quilt was folded neatly at the end of his bed and his suitcase on the floor was immaculately organised, a stark contrast to how your room looked.

“hi,” he said smiling at you.

“hi,” you returned the smile.

“cute pyjamas.”

you were wearing a faded marvin the martian tshirt and pyjama shorts covered in little oranges, “they’re oranges.”

“you sure you didn’t wear them just for me, love?” he smiled wider at you, cocking his head to the side slightly, “cause you look adorable.”

“why would i wear them for you, you’re my third favourite person in this house,” you scoffed.

“are you putting yourself above me?”

“i know my worth,” you squinted at the book he had in his hands, “whatcha reading?”

“uhh,” he glanced down at the page he was on, “the hunger games.”

“really?”

“why are you surprised?”

“i don’t know,” you laughed slightly, “i can only image you reading old or pretentious books.”

“are you calling me pretentious?”

you snapped your fingers in realisation, “tolstoy, you seem like the tolstoy type have you read anna karenina?”

“well, yes i have but i don’t just read old books.”

“so, hunger games.”

“yeah, it’s good criticism on violence in capitalistic societies.”

“i don’t think professional assassins should have a say on violence in capitalistic societies.”

he rolled his eyes, “then i enjoy the commentary on consumerism.”

you glanced at the gold jewellery on the bedside table, “i don’t think you can have a say on that either.”

he followed you eye line, “oh fuck off.”

you laughed, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” you shifted around slightly in your spot against the door.

“did you come in here for a reason or just to take the piss out of me?”

you thought back to your lifeless room, “i was bored and i couldn’t annoy lemon.”

“why not, you’d probably enjoy his company more than mine,” his eyes drifted back down to his book.

“he’s watching thomas and there’s only so much of that i can take.”

he nodded, “understandable.”

there was a pause and you fidgeted with your hands nervously. you didn’t notice tangerine staring at you intently, contemplating what he should do.

“come sit with me,” he gestured to the empty spot next to him.

“are you sure?” you hesitated, bringing up your hand to chew on your nails.

“‘course love.”

you slowly moved over and sat on the bed next to him, keeping distance between you both on the queen sized bed.

it was silent again and you pulled your knees up against your chest, resting your chin on your knee.

“what part are you up to?” you asked.

“the interviews with caesar.” he turned his head and focused on you, noting your position and the gap you put between the both of you, “have you read it before?”

“back when i was a teenager but not since then.” you avoided his eyes, feeling anxious about the sharp eye contact, “have you read it before?”

“yeah, i’ve read it a few times.”

you just hummed in response. despite the nervous thoughts running through your head it felt better being in here with tangerine than being alone in your room. it was better having anxiety over being alone with the guy you were crushing on than the emptiness you would have felt by yourself in your room.

“come here love.” he said softly.

“what?” your eyes snapped up to him.

“sit next to me properly.”

you moved slightly closer, still leaving space between you both.

tangerine rolled his eyes and put his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, “i’m not gonna fucking bite ya love, you can sit next to me.”

you scrunched your nose up at him, “i just didn’t want to get cooties.”

“you think i have cooties?”

“yup you have phytophthora gummosis.”

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

you laughed and leant into him more, “it's a disease that affects citrus trees.”

he tried not to smile, “how long have you been waiting to make that joke.”

“a few weeks,” you smiled brightly, “i did research on citrus trees.”

“just so you could take the piss out of me?”

“i had to, you look cute when you’re all annoyed and scrunch your eyebrows up.” you reached up and run over one of his eyebrows with your thumb.

“don’t call me cute.”

“why not? you are.”

“i’m meant to be intimidating.”

“how could anyone be scared of you? you’re reading the hunger games.”

“very funny, i can be scary and enjoy the hunger games.”

“are you team peeta or gale?”

“definitely peeta, he was smart and a romantic,” tangerine said, like he had thought about it a lot before.

“oh so you’re a romantic that adds to your scariness.”

“you’re bullying me, you’re a bully,” he pinched your side, enjoying the way you squirmed into him.

you yawned and put your head on his shoulder. he repositioned his arm that was around your shoulder and started stroking your hair.

“are you tired darling?”

you blinked sluggishly, “yeah… i should probably go-”

you started to get up but was stopped and cut off by tangerine.

“no, stay,” he held onto you, “you just relax.”

you bite your lip anxiously but try to relax into him again. you stared at the book in his hand, studying the mockingjay symbol on the cover.

“what’s on your mind pet?”

you felt your neck heat up at the unfamiliar nickname, “uh can you maybe read to me?”

“you want me to read to you?”

you nodded.

“you sure you’ll be able to understand with the accent?”

“you’re british not an alien, i can understand you fine.”

“okay.” he pulled you close, you settled with your head on his chest and his arm comfortably around you. he smiled down at you, silently grateful that you couldn’t see the way he was looking at you, “you ready?”

“yeah,”

“okay darling,” he took his focus off you and onto the book, “i’m still in a daze for the first part of peeta’s interview. he has the audience from the get-go, though; i can hear them laughing, shouting out. he plays up the baker’s son thing, comparing tributes to the bread from their districts.”

“what would your strategy be in the interviews?” you asked.

“i’m not sure.”

“i don’t think you could pull off the charming thing.”

“wow, thanks love your doing wonders for my self esteem,” he replied sarcastically.

you smiled, “no that’s not what i meant, you’re plenty charming, i just think you’d be better as one of those career tributes everyone is scared of.”

“i thought you said i wasn’t scary?”

“shhh that was minutes ago you should’ve forgotten about that by now, just keep reading.”

“right sorry,” he laughed slightly, “then he has a funny anecdote about the perils of the capital showers. ‘tell me, do i still smell like roses?’ he asks caesar, and then there's a whole run where they take turns sniffing each other that brings down the house.”

“maybe you would be charming, you always smell really nice.”

“thank you, darling,” he kissed your forehead and pulled you impossibly closer, “you smell nice too.”

you smiled and adjusted your position so you could hold onto his shirt.

“i’m coming back into focus when caesar asks him if he has a girlfriend back home.” he continued, “peeta hesitates, then gives him an unconvincing shake of his head. ‘handsome lad like you. there must be some special girl. come on what’s her name?’ says caesar. peeta sighs. ‘well there is this one girl. i’ve had a crush on her ever since i can remember. but i’m pretty sure she didn’t know i was alive before the reaping.’”

tangerine glanced down at you half surprised and half disappointed you didn’t interrupt again. he liked listening to you talk.

your breathing had evened and your eyes had closed. you’d fallen asleep against him. he bookmarked the book and placed it on his side table. he carefully reached down, grabbed the quilt and pulled it over the both of you.

“goodnight, love.” he kissed your cheek gently.

—

lemon woke up the next morning and stumbled into the kitchen, prepared to see tangerine already up and cooking breakfast for the three of you. he was shocked to find the kitchen empty, no trace of you or tangerine.

he looked over at both your bedroom doors and saw yours open and empty. weird. you were usually the last awake, having to be woken up by one of the twins.

lemon walked over to tangerine’s door and opened it, “hey bruv have you seen-” he cut himself off looking down at the scene in front of him.

you were asleep in tangerine’s arms and he was holding you close. he was awake and staring down at you, playing with your hair and gently tracing your features as you slept.

lemon snickered, “whats going on here, then?”

“shut the fuck up,” tangerine immediately fired back but lemon knew it was less harsh than it usually was. despite all the teasing tangerine knew he’d get, he was happy.

“this is cute, it really is.” lemon quipped, “but i have no clue how to make breakfast so please get up soon.”

“i’m not interrupting her sleep just cause your fucking incompetent.”

“fine, just don’t blame me if i burn this place down trying to make toast,” lemon started to leave.

“stop, just wait ten minutes then i’ll make you some fucking food.”

“thanks bruv, really appreciate it.”

“whatever.”

lemon left and tangerine was alone with you again.

tangerine moved your hair away from your face, “sweetheart?” he kissed your forehead, “if you don’t wake up soon the smoke alarm will probably wake you.”

you stretched slightly and snuggled into tangerine more, “this is nicer than the way lemon wakes me up.”

“if we don’t get up soon lemon is gonna try to cook,” he held your face and kissed you cheek gently.

“we can’t have that he’ll probably poison us all,” you sat up and rubbed your eyes, “why is your bed comfier than mine?”

“because i actually make mine?” he got up and stared down at you still wrapped in the blanket.

“ha ha,” you laughed dryly and fell back into the bed.

you closed your eyes again and settled back into the bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin. it really was a comfortable bed.

your peaceful rest was interrupted by getting lifted into the air.

your eyes flew open as tangerine picked you up, carrying you into the kitchen. you wrapped your arms around his neck and held on tightly.

"what the fuck are you doing, you fucking numpty!?"

"you looked peaceful i didn't want to have to wake you again."

"well it didn't fucking work you twat."

"sorry, love," he set you down on the kitchen bench and kissed you cheek, "but you look cute when your annoyed."

you felt your face heat slightly and turned your face away from him.

"stop flirting and make me breakfast." lemon interrupted.

"you could say please, you wanker," tangerine snapped at him.

"please, make us breakfast, please, mr. fruit?" you said giving your best puppy dog eyes.

"for you, not for him, darling."

you smiled, "thank you, tan."

“you’re a twat,” lemon added.

tangerine flipped lemon off and started making pancakes. you jumped off the kitchen bench and moved over to the kettle, checking it was full before boiling it.

“lemon, do you want a cuppa?”

“yeah,” lemon mumbled, distracted by his comic.

tangerine whacked lemon up the side of his head.

“yes please, sweetheart," lemon corrected himself.

“thanks lem,” you laughed slightly at the sibling abuse.

the kettle flicked off and you finished making the three cups of tea and handed one to lemon who smiled in thanks. you walked over to tangerine and placed one on the counter in front of him.

tangerine grabbed your waist and pulled you in for a kiss on the cheek, “thank you pet.”

you pulled away from him and started drinking your own cup, watching tangerine as he cooked and plated the golden pancakes.

“so did you two fuck last night?” lemon abruptly asked.

you choked on your tea and tangerines head snapped up to glare at him.

“no we slept together,” tangerine slowly replied.

lemon snorts, “i thought that was the same thing.”

“no you bellend we actually just slept, we were tired,” tangerine snapped.

you gulped down the rest of your tea and quickly placed your mug in the sink, “i’m gonna go shower boys, please save me some pancakes.” you smiled at the both and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

once you were gone lemon spoke up again, “you gonna tell her you love her yet?"

“shut up,” tangerine hissed, glancing at the shut bathroom door.

“she likes you too you know.”

tangerine didn’t respond for a few seconds, “really?”

“you’re in love with each other you both just fucking stupid.”

and for once tangerine didn’t feel the need to throw an insult back, he just reveled at the thought that you could like him too.

#tangerine #bullet train #tangerine x reader #bullet train 2022 #bullet train x reader #tangerine x you

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levi501ackerman · 26 days

Text

Silly | Hange x Reader Fluff

masterlist

I have this in my head but I'm too lazy to write so bullet points it is

You didn't know anyone in Levi squad most of them came from the southern cadet corp. You are from the north. They all knew each other and to them you were the new one.

You met them along with Captain Levi in a hide out cabin.

They were all very nice and welcoming. You remained reserved and barely spoke.

You roomed with Sasha and Mikasa. They're the ones that hear you talk the most. You felt the most comfortable around them and Armin.

You cleaned well and you were helpful with Eren's titan experiments. Captain Levi took a liking to you. He thought you were intelligent, quiet, respectful and didn’t complain.

While doing an experiment you see a woman you've seen many times along with a man talking to Captain Levi. She and the guy lept down the cliff to pull Eren out of his titan form. You saw this as an opportunity.

"Excuse me, Captain, who's that woman you were just talking to?"

"Section Commander Hange Zoe." Levi said.

You look at her pulling out Eren and screaming.

"Will she be around us, a lot?" You asked politely.

"Why?" Levi asked, you blushed then turned away.

"Just curious, thank you, sir." You walked back to your post seeing Hange pulling Eren all the way out.

"L/N," you looked over your shoulder giving your attention to Levi. "The tea you made last night was good. Please make some tonight."

"Thank you, yes sir."

You made the tea and you made sure to do it perfectly knowing your Captain actually likes it.

While at dinner with everyone you ate your soup and you are in your head like you usually are. You thought of story ideas and some books you've read.

Along with the rest of the table, you laughed at a joke Connie told.

You knew Sasha will always take your left overs and so you passed your bowl of soup to her.

"You're the best! I love you!" Sasha exclaimed.

Later Levi squad are in their rooms and Levi and Hange are talking about tomorrow’s schedule. About an hour later Hange decided she should go to her squad’s hide out cabin.

Levi stays seated at the dining table sipping his tea and rereading plans.

As Hange passed the stairs, you muster out a “Hi.” She turns to you on the stairs and smiled.

“Hi there!” Hange said.

“Section Commander Hange Zoe, right? My names Y/N.” You said descending the stairs and extending a handshake.

“Yes Y/N! Ive heard of you, its nice to formally meet you.” Hange shook your hand and noticed how short you are.

You can’t help blush, but you’ve been wanting to talk to her, so you try your best to continue to conversation. “Your glasses are really cute, they suit you.”

“THANK YOU! I’m practically blind without them!” Hange said beaming. You boldly take them off her face and hold out your hand.

“$100 and you get them back,” you said deadpan. Hange bursted laughing and you laugh too, happy she liked your joke. While you both are laughing you offer her glasses back. “Here.”

“Oh I’m grateful you dropped your ransom.” She put them back on her face..

“Yeah I don't need them since I can see better than you.” You shot back. Hange laughed more, her smile bigger, and because of her contagious laugh and energy you join. She pushed your shoulder playfully.

“Who even are you?” Hange rhetorically managed to ask through her red face and teary eyes starting develop. You feel satisfied that she is enjoying conversing with you.

Levi heard all this from the dining room and is in disbelief that you were saying all this considering you rarely joined conversations. It’s late and he's ready to send you back to bed.

“You’re funny, I can see why Levi picked you to be in his squad,” Hange smiled ear to ear.

“She’s more talkative than usual.” Levi said behind Hange and it made Hange jump. “What’s the reason you’re down here?” He asked.

“I’m sorry Captain, I just wanted to get a drink of water then I ran into section commander Hange and wanted to introduce myself.” You said genuinely.

“Get your water and back to bed. We have early hours tomorrow.” Levi remembered that you were respectful and not a trouble maker like Jean and Sasha.

“Yes, sir."

“You keep chatting to Hange, she might piss herself.” He said.

“Piss for me.” You said while looking into her eyes. Hange cackles throwing her head back then puts a hand on your shoulder holding herself up from doubling over. You giggle then gradually laughed harder. To the point where you both are laughing silently.

Levi stood there with his arms crossed watching this play out. He's confused where this witty side came from. He's wondering how your stupid line is causing you both to cry from laughing.

You're pleased that you're making this extremely cute woman laugh at everything you say. Both of your energies are causing you both to find everything funny.

When you both start calming down. Hange glanced at Levi's expressionless face, she couldn't contain her laughter, causing you to giggle a little more.

"Okay, you go back to your cabin" he said with a slight amusement in his tone. He began pushing Hange toward the door. "You, off to bed."

"It was nice to meet you," you said wishing you could talk to Hange more.

"Goodnight Y/N! I'm glad we officially met!" You feel so satisfied with the outcome as you walk to the sink.

You replay the conversation in your head. You grab a glass and start getting water from the faucet. Hange enjoying your company and having her laugh with you makes you elated. You notice your heart beating out of your chest.

You chug the water and and then refill the glass to take upstairs. You spot Levi standing with his arms crossed, as you turned to start heading upstairs.

"You're secretly weird, aren't you?" Levi asked and you didn't know how to answer it. You couldn't tell if he was mad or wanted a certain answer.

"I'm sorry Captain for the late night disturbance, I'm heading to bed." You said strolling pass him.

"What's with the formalities when you just told a commander to piss for you?"

Author's Note: Finals is over I can write more! I just wanted to get this out cuz I had this idea of a reserved reader with a silly side and just wanting to make hange laugh. I've been thristing over hange these past few weeks lol. Anyways hoped you enjoyed. There's not enough Hange x reader out there I'll make more lol <3

I've also thought of a Reader in Wonderland. They fall in and meet Hange as the Mad Hatter, Armin as McTwisp, and I haven't thought more into it except basically she gotta fuck Hange, fuck Levi in order to escape. Idk Im just horny going on 2 weeks of being single and I want Hange's strap.

I also have a vampire AU in mind but its dirty af and smutty? Lmao

masterlist

#attack on titan #captain levi #levi ackerman #levi aot #aot #sasha braus #armin arlert #hange zoe #connie springer #hanji zoë #hange zoë #hanji zoe #hange x reader #handsome #hanji x reader #hange fluff #hanji fluff

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witheringwidgetwrites · 1 year

Note

Benny weir wanting to ask reader out?

Hi hi!! I hope this is OK, I'm a little nervous about it and I ended on a cliffhanger because I wasn't sure which direction I wanted to take it in, I struggle a little bit with more general prompts, but I hope I did Benny justice enough!!!

------------------------

The bell had just rung for the 4th hour class of the day, the halls were quickly clearing out as Ethan emptied his previous class's books into his locker.

"Benny, just go for it." Ethan ducks his head, turning to Benny while he gesture's towards Y/N. He is tired of watching his best friend stare longingly at the back of their head.

"Absolutely not E! Maybe if I had some sort of love potion or maybe something to make them forget it ever happened. Just in case I get rejected," He turned his head back to Ethan, "I need a plan. In all due time buddy."

The bell rung once again before the halls cleared out entirely, a majority of the student body filing into the cafeteria.

Benny and Ethan sat at the lunch table, awaiting the rest of their usual group. "So, what's your plan Benny?"

Benny looked around quickly, a swift bloom of flowers erupting from his hand. He sat them down on the other side of the table, checking again to make sure that no one has seen him. "I will obviously woo them secretly until they fall in love with me, then I'll reveal myself, and they'll have no choice but to be my partner."

Ethan scoffed, and shaking his head he was about to speak up until Y/N sat their tray down across from them, plopping into the seat, Rory following along. Before they could speak, Rory chimed in, "wowza, where did these come from?" grabbing them, and shoving them into his nose.

"Those are for Y/N actually, the little card thing says so, not sure where they came from."

They chuckled, "are you joking?" They picked up the bouquet, checking the tiny card with the inscription of their name. "From secret admirer, ha. This has to be a joke." A soft blush lit up their cheeks as they rolled their eyes, assuming it was some sort of prank.

"I don't think it is," Ethan took a bite of his sloppy lunch potatoes, watching Benny push his around intensely.

"Anyway, did you guys see that new movie that everyone was hyping up?"

The rest of the night was uneventful, until a few days later, when Y/N opened their locked to a stuffed bear. They were used to smaller tiny surprises, but they seemed to really step up within the next few week. The next time it was chocolates, then answers to a math quiz, and then a letter. A long letter. They were eager to share it with their friends, especially Sarah, who might have an idea on who it is.

Y/N waited by their locker for Sarah, who came by a few minutes before the first bell. "Oh my gods, Sarah, read this. I've been getting these presents from a "secret admirer" for a few weeks now, but this is the best one yet."

"I noticed, those flowers you had the other day were gorgeous. I was kinda jealous," she chuckled and started reading, mumbling to herself as she scanned the page. "Wow."

"I can't tell if it's an elaborate prank or not, it's kind of sweet." Y/N shrugged, avoiding Sarah's eyes as she looked up.

"This seems really heartfelt. I bet it's from Benny. 'I want to play Knights Of Ninjitsu IV with you for hours, I want to kick your butt, then let you win.' Who else would write that?"

They chuckled, "god no way it's Benny!"

The bell rung. "Just think about it," Sarah assured as she turned to walk to class. Had these really been from Benny? It would make a little sense, but Benny seemed like he had a type, and that type was not Y/N.

Hours later, they had finally caught Ethan alone. "Is it him, Ethan?" They seemed a little panicked, and he couldn't help but feel bad.

"I can't say who it is. I am forbade." He turned quickly and walked away, almost tumbling over his own footing. The more and more they thought about it, the more sense it made that it would be Benny. But that would be too good to be true.

The small clique had a movie night scheduled for that Sunday evening, and slowly, but surely everyone had arrived. Everyone meaning Ethan, Benny, and Y/N. They had all agreed upon a new movie, normally watching reruns, but tonight's movie seemed a little awkward, Benny had just seen slightly off all night, and for the past few weeks. Ethan ran off to the kitchen, quickly making a few bags of popcorn, the majority of which would be eaten by Benny.

"Oh, I'll go help Ethan!" Benny sprung up, turning on his heel before Y/N grabbed his hand. "I need to ask you something." Benny's breath hitched momentarily, a small blush flooding his face, "of course, what's up?"

"Has it been you?"

#benny weir/reader #benny weir #benny weir x reader #benny mbav #mbav fanfic #mbav #mbav x reader

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copias-sewer-rat · 6 months

Text

IN HIS IMAGE [SECONDO x f!reader] - CHAPTER IV

Secondo's little mischief against you at the library leads to the perfect opportunity to try something new, a brand new window of lustful opportunities opening for both of you.

We are almost there everyone! I hope you enjoy reading this chapter just as much as I have enjoyed writting it. Special thanks to @baelzbu/@bupia for all her support on this adventure and to @yollur for his beautiful Secondo art which immensly fuels my thirst for the Mr. Worldwide impersonator. Tw/tags: smut, +18 warning, established relationship, m/f relationship, teasing, vouyerism, overstimulation, use of cuffs, use of sex toys (dildo, sucker and plunge), dom!reader, sub!Secondo, cum eating, panty sniffing, slapping, edging, orgasm denial. 3.9K words.

Read also on Ao3 | My Masterlist Previous chapter | Next chapter

The excitement you are feeling is too much to hold. Your steps carry you swiftly towards your room, the cogs in your brain turning, already anticipating your plan. You have been thinking about this for a while. The idea of being a dom to Secondo has always been hiding at the back of your mind, always present. Talking to Secondo about it had never led to anything, not that he was against it or that he had declined the proposal, far from it, but there was never a good excuse for you to be dominating with him, never a feasible chance for you to assert some type of power. You knew you needed it, you were not as serious as him, as terrifying as him. Except now you had a clear and honest reason for it to happen: revenge.

Secondo had made a mess of you in the library, for sure he was having the time of his life in your rooms, laughing at your predicament. It had taken a while for you to be able to exit the area, the aftershock and the bliss had made you unable to think straight, far less walk straight. So, you had sat there, collecting and listing all the ideas that you had had over the years about how to make Secondo beg, cry and moan for you. It must be a kink of some sort, you think, but the idea of having Secondo under you, moaning, salivating at the pleasure you are giving him… such a manly man, reduced to a begging orgasmic puddle of bliss and cum and moans and cries and Italian obscenities… It drives you insane. It is not a want, it is a need and oh, by Olde One, you are going to get that man to scream your name in need and pleasure like the little whore you know he can be.

In a few minutes you reach your rooms, stopping in front of the door. You are nervous, you can tell, but you need to look serious for this, angry even. It is time for the show and the curtains are rising.

When you enter, Secondo is completely naked and spread on your bed, peaceful and next to the pillow full of his cum. That almost gets you, but you hold your non-serious reaction and instead offer him a deafening silence.

“Tesoro! I was certain you would be able to come back on your own two feet! Buon lavoro!” The look you give Secondo is one of annoyance, it is crucial for your plan to work. He needs to feel like he has hurt you. You walk slowly, ignoring his comment, barely passing next to him but close enough to notice him raising a brow. Placing the book you had gotten from the library on your nightstand table, you turn away, not looking at him anymore. “Cara?” He asks, a bit hesitant.

You head towards the bathroom, hoping for Secondo to follow you. Turning the faucet on, you start cleaning yourself on the sink, mostly your makeup and the sweat that had accumulated from your spicy public adventure. Suddenly, the sound of bare feet against the bathroom tiles alerts you that Secondo is right behind you, and as you raise your head from the sink, his gigantic figure looms above you with an apologetic look.

“Tesoro, please, talk to me. Are you mad at me?” He asks, his voice sounding a bit dry.

As much as it pains you, you need to hold on a bit longer. He has to feel guilty enough to get him just where you want him. Secondo in the meantime is trying to get you to speak by enveloping your waist with his big arms and torso while nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent. Of course, he knows that if you truly didn’t want him around you would say something.

“Cara, my love, tesoro, empress of my heart… per favore, tell me what bothers you. Was I too rough? Did you not like it?” You exhale, trying to sound exasperated and walk towards the door, standing just outside the bathroom. You wait there, Secondo coming right behind and with that, you turn. He is, as you imagined, leaning towards you, both hands grabbing the exercise bar that stands at the top of the door frame. His beautiful figure is launched forward, glistening with sweat and his cock lazily twitches between his legs.

“Gosh, I love it when you ignore me, you are so fucking hot, but also, you are so mean to me, love… parlare, per favore.” That’s it, you have him just where you wanted him.

Closing the gap between your bodies you reach to kiss him gently, you don’t want him to get too desperate, just unfocused enough to act. Your tongue brushes his painted lips, savouring the greasy taste, asking for permission, which he gives, and you kiss him deeply but slowly. Secondo hums in your mouth, of course, he was desperate for contact, for your kisses.

*click*

Slowly you part from the kiss, and Secondo’s eyes are open, looking up at where his hands are, where his cuffed hand is, tugging at it with a surprised look. Moments before, you had extended your hands, taking advantage of Secondo’s posture to cuff one of them to the exercise bar. Secondo could have known a lot about your whereabouts at the library, but what he couldn’t have guessed is that you had stopped by Terzo’s quarters to ask for a pair of handcuffs. Terzo had hilariously accepted with a: “I don’t really want to know, but make him suffer.”

“What is this, tesoro mio?” Secondo asks, still looking at his now imprisoned hand.

“I told you that I was going to get my revenge, one way or the other…” You peck his lips playfully.

“And this is your idea of revenge? Cuffing me up to the bar?” Secondo scoffs and you laugh as if that was the most hilarious joke you had heard in your life. That makes him stop his mockery completely.

“Caro, you truly don’t know me if you think I would leave it to just that, oh no. I have a whole… session prepared just for you.” You tease, heading towards your wardrobe, looking for something very specific. After a few seconds you see it, the Secondo-shaped dildo and the vibrator that you bought along with it. Slipping the dildo into the silicone toy provides a pop sound that makes Secondo jolt. He is unable to see what you are doing from his angle, you could be sharpening some knives to cut off his dick and he wouldn’t know. But no, your revenge is going to make him beg.

Very slowly you walk towards the bed, your steps deliberately sensual and with a low vow that gives a perfect angle of your ass, you place the dildo on the mattress. Without moving, you glance back to see Secondo swallowing hard, his soft dick twitching slightly, already ready for another round.

“Tesoro, what-?”

“I don’t want you talking” you interrupt “I just want to hear you beg and moan as I take what I need from you, understand?” He nods. “You are going to be taking only what I give you, and I don’t want you to cum, if you do, there will be no prize afterwards, capisce?” Secondo blushes, his naked form heating from the teasing and the threats, and subsequently, his cock starts to get larger and rise from its place on his thigh. “And to ensure you don’t do it… I brought something to help you, aren’t I nice?” You laugh, leaving the keys to the cuffs right beside the book, a reminder of his ‘crime’ against you. Then, you stand up, reaching for the wardrobe once more to get all the tools you need for your punishment. On your way there you take off your shirt, discarding it on the floor, your lacy black bra the only thing between the cold air and your tits and you can feel Secondo’s gaze burns into you as if taking away the items of clothing that linger on your body. You blush slightly, but you do need to keep your composure, you are in charge for once, and you don’t want that role to falter right at the start of it all.

At the wardrobe once again you retrieve two things: a clitoral sucker and a penis plunge. The sucker you leave at the bed, next to the dildo, but the plunge you take with you directly to Secondo. During your whole stroll towards him, he is looking into your eyes, hard and punishing and primal, but there is nothing you can do to avoid how wobbly your legs feel when his darkened orbs burn into your soul. Once there, positioned almost skin to skin, you touch his cheek, his eyes still looking at yours, but he smiles candidly and then it turns into a toothy grin filled with desire. You kiss him, this time passionately, taking the hand on his cheek directly to his half-hard cock. Secondo doesn’t know what you are planning, you have surprised him this time, not that you don’t every single day as he discovers new things to love you for, but this? Oh, he is going to love seeing this side of you. You taking the lead surely wasn’t on his mind but now he cannot think of anything else. Palming his erection makes him hiss, your cold hand on his hot member creating this chill of need that makes Secondo’s blood rush to the place he needs it the most. With a few pumps his tip comes out of hiding accompanied by a soft groan. Secondo tilts his head backwards as you move your hand up and down, trying to get him as hard as possible.

“Love… without lubricant, this is starting to hurt a bit.” He comments and you chuckle bitterly.

“Who allowed you to speak? I surely did not.” You spat at him, Secondo looking back at you with a dumbfounded stare. Who are you and what have you done with his tesoro? He is not complaining however, this is turning him on so fucking much. “We are going to try this…” You say, showing Secondo the plunger. “If you don’t like it let me know and I will take it out entirely. This is supposed to help you not to cum, but I am sure you can take it, huh?” The explanation seems to have fallen on deaf ears because he looks like he wants to let you do whatever you want to him. “Do you understand?!” You shout, hitting the door frame with your hand, in return getting Secondo out of his trance. He nods fervently, seemingly scared of your sudden anger “Bene.”

With care you grab Secondo’s erection, pumping it again a couple of times and getting the plunge ready to enter his dick. Slowly you tease his tip with the device, situating it on its urethra and with a teasingly slow motion you push the plunge inside. Secondo hisses, his spine arching so you stop until he signals that you can continue, and you do until it is all the way in.

As a reward for his good behaviour, you kiss him fervently. “You did so good my love, I am so proud of you!” You coo, and Secondo smiles, noticing that his cock is twitching slightly, probably stimulated by the plunge. “Unclasp my bra for me, will you?” Secondo obeys, getting his free hand behind you which makes you close the gap between you two, your covered breasts touching his naked chest. Once he manages to unclasp your bra, it falls right to the floor and now your bare breasts are touching his burning surface. They feel so soft against his skin, like the softest pillows he has ever felt. How bad he wishes he could do to them what he did to the cum-filled pillow lying on the bed. No, he thinks, right now he must behave, he has to be a good boy so he can get the reward you have promised. Nonetheless, that doesn’t stop him from being a little teasing brat and raising his hand and trying to touch them. You catch him in the act, slapping his hand downwards. “Ah ah ah!” you shake your head “No touching, not you, not me… just watch and take what I give you, remember?” He nods once again, amazed by how well the dominant role suits you. “I might need to punish you for that…”

You push Secondo aside, entering the bathroom once more and placing yourself looking at his broad, muscled and very seductive back. You prepare yourself as best as you can and without a word you slap Secondo right on his left butt cheek, making him hiss and leaving a reddening mark on the white surface of his very tender ass. “That’s for the scene at the library!” You announce and then go again, this time on his right cheek, making a dry and echo-y noise that reverberates all along the dark bathroom behind you along with another grunt from Secondo. “That’s for fucking a pillow instead of me!” and then you go again, this time slapping his whole ass with one motion. “And that’s for trying to touch my tits when you were not allowed to!” With that Secondo moans sweetly, the pleasure from the pain leaving him breathless and oh, the sight before you is glorious. Secondo’s perfect ass, so perfectly sculptured is red and steamy and full of the marks of your small hand, compared to his that is.

Leaving him alone you return to the bed and just before you do anything else you strip completely before him. Of course, you do it slowly, you tease him. You sit on the bed, looking directly at him. The shoes come first and you take a moment to massage your ankles and your feet, both sore from the pressure you did at the library, which makes you moan, but of course, you exaggerate it and in return you see Secondo pushing his lips together, trying to hold something in. Rising to your feet once more, you grab the waistband of your pants, stretching them slightly and sliding them to your feet. The only item of clothing left on you are your matching black laced panties, like the last bow on a pristine-looking present that you are going to tear apart in a few seconds, but you are going to savour this.

You sit once more on the bed, pushing yourself backwards until you are in the middle of it, the undone sheets around you nestling your body perfectly and the dirty pillow… right next to your head. Laying down there, you open your legs and bend your knees until Secondo has a perfect view of your glistening panties, stained with the previous release. The drama has to continue, this is going to be the best acting anyone has ever seen, so you throw your hands backwards, one of them falling on top of the pillow.

“I just got so frustrated, reaching an orgasm so strong all alone, trying to be quiet, it was so…” you exhale again “…unfair.” With a quick motion you sit on the bed, your boobs bouncing against your chest. “And here you were…” you say, grabbing the pillow “moaning and grunting as you pleased, fucking a pillow instead of my tight cunt that is always needy for your cock?” Two fingers search the inside of the pillow, the cum there is cold but still liquid, you take out some and inspect it, rubbing your fingers together, feeling the sticky texture. “I honestly feel insulted…” and with that you open your mouth and push the two fingers to your tongue, sliding them down and leaving the trace of Secondo’s release glistening there for him to see what he is missing.

On the bathroom door, you observe a very tense Secondo, the shadows of the room hardening his features, his white eye shining against the dark, and right now, he is flexing his free hand, probably trying not to touch himself to the very nice show you are offering.

Discarding the pillow to the floor makes a wet sound, a given with how much Secondo cums inside of you regularly. Nonetheless, it never ceases to amaze you just how much jizz he can produce. Once you let him do so after all of this teasing, you hope for it to be the best release of his life.

There is a small moment of realization on Secondo’s face when you go and reach for the dildo. The vein on his cuffed hand gets more visible, he is grabbing the bar with too much force. ‘But the real spectacle hasn’t even started yet!’ you think, looking at Secondo in the eyes. The air stays still, and no sound in the room can be heard, none at all that is until you turn the vibrator on and Secondo lets out a low-pitched moan, music to your ears.

You turn it off after a couple of seconds. Secondo’s head falls forward, thankful for the moment of calm, but then you turn it again and press it against your clothed entrance. Secondo jumps, his knees go forward and he screams in pleasure.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHH, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckkkkkkkkkk……….”

From your position you see Secondo’s dick vibrating, the entirety of it, the same rhythm as the toy, just as you had suspected.

The tingly feeling feels amazing but you need more contact, so turning off the dildo once again you take off your panties. Secondo huffs, grateful once more. It seems like the mix of the vibrations and the plunge are making him edge over and over again, but he also seems to be enjoying the punishment. You make the panties into a tight ball in your fist and throw them towards Secondo who, in the last second, looks forward and grabs them with some difficulty.

“Just a little reward, so you can feel me closer.” You explain, blowing him a kiss.

The feeling of the toy next to your core right now is not that of silicone but of Secondo’s hot and pulsating flesh, the bluish light that surrounds it confirming it.

“Here we go again dear… remember, don’t cum…” and with that the dildo vibrates again. Instantly, Secondo brings your dirty panties to his face, muffling his moans and groans, inhaling your scent. His dick vibrates once more and you can feel it so clearly teasing your wet and dripping entrance. But you need more.

As best as you can, and without stopping the dildo this time, you reach for the sucker, turning it on and pressing it against your clit. The mixture of both the sucking and the vibrations make you lay entirely on your bed, your knees folding, your legs opening, each pushing hard against the bed.

“FUCK, Satan, oh fuck… that’s amazing!” Your hips buckle forward and your eyes shut from the pleasure.

“MMMMMMMM, GHHHHHH!!!” You hear from the bathroom door and your eyes open to look at Secondo, you have never seen him as beautiful as he is right now.

He looks so lost in the agony and the pleasure you are providing. His gigantic form looks weak and needy, his paints are messed and mixed together with patches of grey spreading across his neck and cuffed arm. His knees are trembling, barely holding him in place. His dick is throbbing and vibrating with ecstasy, the plunge almost unable to stop his release. Your panties are in his mouth, muffling his cries. His eyes are filled with tears and his free hand is digging into the flesh of his leg, making it bleed.

His image, so fucking sinful, so fucking perfect. You are sure he is thinking the same about you, how perfect you look with his dick between your legs, how insanely tempting you are lost in your pleasure. You regret not having him close right now because you just want to kiss him, so deeply, so fucking much it is making you dizzy. The sucker takes your clit deliciously, sending shock waves of pure lust through the nerves of your head, your chest and ending on your toes, which twitch and contort with involuntary delight. Your hips launch forward once more, the toy vibrating in your entrance, getting coated with your juices.

“mmmmm! MMMM! HMFFF!” Secondo ‘says’, it was a good idea to give him your panties. You make a mental note about him looking delicious and gagged for future indulgences.

“You are taking it so well, agh, you feel so good, vibrating for m-me, mmmm, teasing my entrance, the place where you belong, between my legs, my dearest sinful serpent…” With a flick of a switch, the vibrations from the dildo go faster and you start to rub it along your folds. “Oh my dear… agh, aaaaaa, so fucking good, so good for me, so so good…” You moan. At this point, you cannot see Secondo, the tightening in your abdomen making you close your eyes in pleasure. However, if you did open your eyes you could have seen Secondo almost falling to the ground in pleasure, both of his hands now grabbing the exercise bar, his knuckles white, his eyes fixated on your form, twisting from the pleasure and he can’t do a fucking thing. It almost makes him feel like a dirty peeping Tom, seeing you so horny, taking all that you need and him wanting to fuck you so badly but just hide in the shadows.

Despite all of that, you don’t need to see him, even if you feel his eyes on you, his sweet noises are enough to fuel your imagination. That added to all the stimuli between your legs sends you over the precipice.

“Secondo, fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming, fuck, fuck, fuck, look at me, agh- SECONDO!” You cry, your release so strong that you even squirt over Secondo’s length.

With that, your saliva-filled panties fall from Secondo’s mouth. “AUGHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHH” You hear his scream and look at him with a worried look. He seems to be fine, he is looking at his enormous erection with pride and he hasn’t come, he has made it through.

With uneven breaths you stand up, get the keys for the cuffs and go to help your love.

“I-I did it…” He breaths, raggedly, he has made a lot of effort but he does look proud so all your worries dissipate.

“You did! I am so proud of you! Did you like it?”

“It was fucking perfect… so hot, fuck, you were so selfish tesoro, fuck me... We have to do this more often…” Secondo says, a truthful smile on his lips. Instead of saying anything you grab his neck and peck his lips, something brief and sweet.

“Tesoro, are you going to leave me like this?” He remarks, nodding his head towards his throbbing erection.

Unlocking the cuffs you offer him a devilish grin “What do you mean? I am not finished with you... because your wish is my command."

----

Italian translations:

Buon lavoro: good job

Cara/o: dear

Tesoro (mio): my teasure

Bene: good

parlare: speak

per favore: please

capisce?: understood?

----

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#gonst #the band ghost #ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #papa secondo #papa emeritus II #papa secondo x f!reader #papa secondo x reader #the band ghost fanfics #papa secondo smut

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frizzle-mcshizzle · 1 month

Note

what's something about kotlc that the book/readers gloss over?

what's something that should have happened in the books that didn't?

if you could bring back a character BUT you had to kill another character to replace the one you saved, which ones would you choose? (geez hope that one makes sense)

if you could make one of the main cast go evil, which one would it be?

which backround character would be most likely to be the main character of a tragedy?

yay more questions!!

what’s something about Kotlc that the books/readers gloss over?

(oh this is gonna be long) to preface, i understand why most people gloss over this, and the only reason i notice is because of the adoption in my family, but its just something in kotlc thats so deeply important to me, and its the reason i love the series as much as i do.

kotlc is the only series ive ever read that has realistic, non stereotypical, adoption, where the main focus isn’t on adoption. most stories with a premise that focuses on something other than adoption, would pretend like the main characters biological parents/who raised them, where non existent after the first book. the main character would call their new parents mom and dad quickly and there would be no issues. because obviously adoption is all sunshine and rainbows.

in keeper it takes time for Sophie to even feel comfortable calling Havenfeild home, Eda and Grady struggle with adopting a new child who looks so much like their dead daughter. Sophie struggles with missing her family and feeling like she’s replacing them. it takes multiple books for Sophie to call them mom and dad consistently and for them to properly act like a family. thats how i should be, it takes time to feel like someone is a part of your family

adopting someone into your family is like falling in love, it happens slowly, then all at once, before they become apart of your heart for the rest of your life.

and thats what keeper did, she captured the feeling of adoption perfectly, without making it the main plot, it just happens in the background and i will forever love that

what's something that should have happened in the books that didn't?

few things actually

Tam being the one to release Gislea

Teirgan officially adopting the twins

Kesler actually having a more negative reaction to the Squall reveal

it doesn’t focus on Talantless and badmatches enough and i wish that was touched on more

Kesler and Grady being best friends

Dex’s parents being a bit more relevant (totally not baias

if you could bring back a character BUT you had to kill another character to replace the one you saved, which ones would you choose? (geez hope that one makes sense)

it did make sense, but honestly i think more characters should die and every character that has died heavily impacted the plot, and undoing their death would change a lot about the story but i will give a list of characters that i think should/will die

Forkle

Oralie

Prentice

Jensi

if you could make one of the main cast go evil, which one would it be?

people have said Dex in the past because of the neglect from the team and his mom being in the black swan without telling him. but because of his kidnapping i don’t think he would

but…Tam, not even go evil, but what if he had been so badly manipulated by the neverseen that he switched sides, what if he actually was a traitor, how would Linh feel, how would Teirgan feel, just imagine the effects that would have on everyone. how hard it would be to fight their friend, their brother in battle.

which backround character would be most likely to be the main character of a tragedy?

i mean we already have, Oralie, the Twins, Wylie, the Ruewens,

and Brant and Jolie’s story is literally a tragedy (@crymeariveronceagain i am right about that right?)

Kotlc is a series sprinkled with tragedies throughout you just have to look, they’re there, most of them are just hidden in the background.

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #thanks for the ask!#juline dizznee #sophie foster #tam song #kotlc tam #kotlc linh

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gettinshiggywithit · 1 year

Text

!Chuuya with an s/o who loves books!

Scenario:-chuuya with an s/o who loves books and reading

Pairing:-chuuya nakahara x gn!reader

Genre:- fluff/comfort

Type:-oneshot/headcanons

A/N:- heyy yall happy bsd Wednesday!!!!

Okay so ive noticed that in a lot of chuuya fics hes buyin em expensive clothes and jewelry and stuff right?

But what if his s/o wasnt into those stuff but would still agree to it if it was books?

I feel like he’d definitely understand

Because even he knows how to appreciate the little things.

And he knows u well enough to know what u like and dont

Imagine him with an s/o who still shops at their regular stores and still wears their regular clothes and stuff and is also mindful of how they spend(out of habit)

But the moment you enter a bookshop????

SHIT GETS REALLLL

Books are the only thing you dont mind splurging on and you’d best believe thats where all your saved money goes

He really doesnt mind it tho

He’s managed to pick up quite a lot of interesting and useful books on your visits to the store

And the absolutely thrilled and completely happy smile on your face when you discover a new book,find one youve been looking for or just BUY A BOOK isnt too bad either

You introduce him to a lot of your favorites too and based on his responses are able to give him book recs he (actually) ends up liking

You two have a smol personal library filled with both yours and his collection

And the entire process of bonding over books and storylines and characters and EVERYTHING just makes you closer than ever before

You each learn things about eachother and its an incredibly adorable experience/sight

Also,returning to the expensive clothes thing

I think he’d at least want you to have a few proper event outfits,which you finally agree to.

Basically,he wants you to be well off but also happy with what you have

OH ALSO

imagine goin to book launches with him????

Like yess slayy

He’d be able to EASILY get yall invites and if its a book from a series or author u both like,hed agree to wear outfits that fit the vibe of the book or just ur fave characters.

And he’d lowkey be excited to meet the authors with you

Dammit he’s turning into you😭(slay😌)

And like imagine readathons with him??? Hed be just as,if not more,invested in it as you!

I just think itd be cute mann

AND IMAGINE HE PAIRS UP BOOKS WITH WINES THAT REMIND HIM OF THEM???????

Ahh perfecttt

He loves wine,and you love books,they may be kinda different interests but just like you,they go together splendidly~

@chuuyahoo said that chuuya would look amazing in glasses,

Sooo

Imagine you just get him fake reading glasses and he jokingly wears it at first but then he gradually actually starts wearing it when he reads(even tho they do literally NOTHING) and you never say anything because ita adorable😭

Also she pointed out that dazai might try to slip in a copy of “the complete guy to sucide”into chuuyas book pile and when he gets to it and sees it l,chuuya rolls it up and fkin WACKS THE LIVIN SHIT OUTTA HIMMM

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first-edition · 28 days

Text

Fox and the Hound

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more.

Cw for chapter- pregnancy, 18+ words and themes overall. Slight angst, death of family member, THE PLAUGE, Smut, masterbation fem!, fingering. Let me know if i missed any.

// A/N: just wanted to apologize for the broken links at the beginning of the book since i changed my username they haven’t been working but i assure you I’ll get to fixing them. I will also end up making a goggle docs with the entire book for downloading when this series ends//

Read previous chapter here.

Youve taken the liberty into avoiding your mother and the new prince shes so kindly “gifted” you with. Youve gone out of your way to eat at different times, pass the halls at different times and even attend family duties separately. The month slowly passes as you count down the days sandor to arrive and sweep you away from this place or better yet put the new prince in his place.

Your hope for him reaching you sooner rather than later rises at you notice your belly growing as your previous dress begin to tighter around your middle leaving you to advance to different dresses or removing the corsets that comes with it. Most nights your spend standing infront of the mirror viewing your body from the side.

Despite the thought of supplying yourself for your babe you thought of nothing else but sandor. Where he could be, how far he could be, if hes safe. But there were also other thoughts, thoughts that embarrassed you but burned your cheeks as you though about them every waking moment. You replayed your shared nights in your mind and imagined what he'd do to you when you reunited. Those thought drove you into ecstasy at night.

You starred up at the over post of your bed as your mid ran with images and feeling of sandor against and in you. You hand ran down the front of your body and to the hem of your nightdress before you pulled it up just enough for your fingers to reach your core. You moved your fingers in circles as you mimicked, how he touches you. Your other hand would grip your breast and massage it as you touched your self. You pushed one finger into your wanting cunt before adding a second then a third but nothing not even your own self pleasure could fully satisfy nor fill you the way your husband did. The way he kissed your sweet spots and discovered any and all part of yourself. Most of your nights would be a pillow between your cunt or or your fingers as you rode yourself into climax whispering out his name in wanting for him and only him.

You'd always dream of you both whether it was risky or not you'd wake up crying once you revealed to yourself it was nothing but just that, a dream and he wasn't near you. Later those feverous nights turned to nightmares leaving you to wake screaming in fear that he was killed and never find his way back to you. Your guards posted outside your doors would run into your chambers in search of any danger but would only find you alone and sobbing, sending in your ladies to comfort you.

The only thing that brought you and family back together again from the long silence you exposed was your father and half your city becoming sick. It had come on so suddenly the most modern of medicines were applied to him but nothing seemd to heal him.

You sat by his side as you cross stitched and slept in his bed.

“Wh-what are you m-making my dear?’ he asked weakly. You turn the draft twords him showing him an intricate flower.

“Delightful.” he says you smile at him. You mother walks into the room holding another blanket and tea to hope for something to enter your fathers system. She places the blanket over your father before sitting next to him and helping him drink the tea.

“Y/n..” you mother says looking up to you. You look back to her.

“Ive arranged for Marco and your ladies to go north.” She says.

“What.?” You ask. Putting your work down.

“The meisters say the sickness does not touch the cold. So if you are there then yo are safe from its grasp. With the babe inside of you I cannot risk your demise.” She says taking your hand in hers.

“Are you to join?” You ask her. She glances down at you hands before back up to you and shakes her head no.

“But mother-“ you begin.

“No buts. Do you understand.. i need to be here to take care of the city to take care of your father on his last days and i need you to be safe.” She says as tears well up in your eyes.

“I will not go.” You say.

”oh..y/n” your mother scoffs looking down glancing at your father but then double takes.

“Harnoldâ€¦” you mother speaks to him. You frown looking at your father in the bed.

“Harnold?!” She exclaims she stand the teacup that was sitting on her lap falls shattering to the floor as she takes your fathers face in hand and begins to sob.

“Get the meister.” You say standing telling joss. He runs out quickly.

“Father!?” You call for him taking his hand the warmth slowly leaving it as both you and your mother cry.

————

“Fucking whore.” Sandor barks out as he tries and fails to sew up the large bite mark the bounty hunter took to him.

“You’re doing it wrong” Arya says as she cleans her sword.

“Fuck off.” He huffs.

“You need to burn away that bit there if you dont it will fester and youll die.” She says. sandor huffs and tries again but not being able to reach it.

“I- i know you dont like fire but if i could just help you-“ Arya begins as she puts the mini sword down and gets up.

“No fire.” Sandor huffs and tries once again now more irritated. Arya sighs and walks to the campfire she set up previously.

“It’ll only take a second, and it wont hurt that mu-“ she pick. Up a small branch with fire on the end of it and being it to sandor. Seeing the flame in hand he stand quickly and back off yelling at her.

“NO FIRE!” He frantically back off almost tripping over the rock he was just sitting on. Arya freezes before dropping the burning twig and kicking dirt over it putting it out.

“Shut up about it! About everything. Im as stupid as that hog you fucking skewered back in that little village I should have never taken you with me. For what a little bag of silver. Fuck..i would be in volantis by now but instead im on bounty for the fucking Lannister’s.” Hound barks at her before taking back his seat.

“You keep mentioning volantis, that where y/n is? Back home?” She ask sandor sighs and nods.

”why?” She asks. He looks twords her as another sigh leaves his chest.

“She’s pregnant. Mine. We married” he says. Arya glances back at her sword before looking back to sandor.

“Do you love her?” She asks.

“What? Why does everyone keep asking me that.” He huffs. Arya chuckles.

“Your fighting so hard to get back to her. The only type of man to do as much as you, with child or not, is one that loves his wife dearly. My mother told me that.” She says.

”mm” sandor grumbles.

“So, do you?” She asks. Its quiet for a few patronizing seconds for sandor before he answers Turing his face away.

“Yes.” He speaks a sneaky smile forms on aryas face before she begins the playful taunting.

“She’s a princess you know, you married a princess, which would in turn make you a prince. Lannister bounty or not you are now of royal blood, your highne-“

“Oh shut the fuck up will you!” He exclaims making her giggle. The laughter dies out leaving her to speak once more.

“Let me wash it out then. And sew it up for you at the least. No fire just water, needle and thread.” She clarifies. Sandor nods. Spray gets up and grabs the canteen of fresh water collected and makes her way to Sandor clearing away the blood with the water before getting to sewing up the deepest parts of the bite.

“Let me know if im hurting you…your highness.” She snorts.

“I will throw you off this cliff side girl mark my fucking words.” He holts to her. She shuts up and continues.

————

With the plague spreading faster to imangine you joss, prince marco and several of your ladies make way twords the north. Your mother has arranged passage for you to stay near within the walls of castle black. You’re not used to cold and being 4 months pregnant may not be the safest but it is safer than succumbing to plague and dying a slow death.

You sit across from Lucy and joss in the carriage.

“We should make it within the month once we get to the port my lady.” Joss says. You rest your hand on your stomach. You nod to him.

“How many day on sea?” You ask.

27 my lady we will be docking at stonedance, Gulltown, and widows watch for short resupply and a careening.” He says. You nod as you look out the window.

“I don’t want to leave what if he arrives.” You pester Lucy.

“Than he shall meet us in the north once directed.” She replies. You chew on your lower lip as you watch the Mountain sides pass by

———

NEXT CHAPTER HERE

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dailycass-cain · 2 months

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Birds of Prey #7-8 is a neat little two-issue arc that had a lot of cute Cass stuff sprinkled throughout. So here are my thoughts (at last for #7) on the two issues.

I gotta say one surprising improvement is well, everyone gets more moments sprinkled throughout the two issues.

Then say one per issue. That and we get the members who came back with this issue bonding/training Sin/Megaera. That's where Cass comes in...

I love that the introduction for Cass is side by side with Barda (since their growing bond has been a major fun selling point of the series).

This is the (outside of Batman: Wayne Family Adventures and Batgirls) that Cass does normal things like going laser questing.

It's obvious everyone is having fun here, but also trying to gauge Sin's skills both as a combatant and in her new powerset.

I do like that writer Kelly Thompson brings back Cass being a fighting teacher.

It's something Batgirls gave us (though not the first with Cass teaching Steph), but then the little Nightwing backup again gave us it with Cass training with Dick.

I always love this aspect of Cass helping her comrades get better and her being a teacher. Just makes that moment in Scott Snyder/James Tynion IV JL run all the sweeter. That folks SHOULD come to Cass for help in their fighting prowess.

If there's any nitpick, I kind of want for Thompson to bring up Sin being raised to be the next Shiva. Like, technically it's an aspect somewhat overlooked in the run so far surprisingly (save in Cass joining the cause).

But I get "the why" Thompson hasn't dug into it yet. This is a two-issue arc, and it's gotta introduce our newest members, Vixen and Babs. And it's just that a "nit-pick".

I just hope Thompson is given the chance to eventually dig into that aspect.

Though in a way, she already is as all three ladies were born to be weapons but chose a different path. The fact they're just having fun but also being mentors to Sin is neat.

But yeah the other section for Cass this issue leads us to the moment me and others have been using and gushing over the last month. Mari gives Cass choices on wearing lingerie (if you're very very quiet you can hear Stephanie Brown still crying not appearing here and instead in another book.).

This moment really feels like Thompson course-correcting an aged badly moment from Batgirl Vol. 1 #39 with Babs accidentally making Cass wear a one-piece and she feels bad.

I think the fault isn't on Horrocks more per se the "product of the time" and WHO was slowly coming into power at DC around then.

Plus the actual end message in Batgirl #41 works quite well. With Cass figuring things out thanks to Kon (and aliens).

The moment over in BoP is just a page but artist Javier Pina captures SOOO much in the exchanges between Mari and Cass.

Just between the glances, you can tell Mari fully understands more and is more open to figuring out the common ground link that'll work for Cass.

I mean just look at these reactions. They say so many things and are just perfect moments for Cass (which is why I will be using these like crazy).

And of course, the piece Mari picks for Cass is just absolutely stunning and yeah perfectly works for the character.

I would love a creator's commentary on this how they chose each look for each Bird.

So yeah #7 was a great continuation of the plot with #8 wrapping the arc up, but setting it up for the next big thing for our Birds.

#8 began with bringing back someone I thought we'd never see with Batgirls ending last June, Detective Brooks.

I mean he isn't fully name-dropped but those who read Batgirls are in "the know" and it's nice continuity by Thompson in Brooks continuing his partnership with Oracle.

Even though I didn't notice him really doing much after the intro.

So let's get to the crux of this issue with it pertains to Cass.

Cass somehow flying around throwing batarangs (I'm not even gonna wanna answer where she was storing those) and fighting in high heels (just again doing a better job of it than in Batgirl #45).

I know everyone's eyes were on Barda in the fight, but you know where mine were. So yeah it was an interesting detail of Cass doing that, along with being the only Bird keeping her mask on.

Again this is a nice little touch because it shows Cass maturing and actually keeping a dual identity. Something that was quite a problem for her in Batgirl Vol. 1 at times (and some can say Tynion's Tec Knights run too).

If there's any negative (but I digress again minor nitpick) is how quickly Babs is ensnared by the mysterious force trying to end her (but #7 did showcase how easily Mari was swayed).

Anyhoot this was a fun little two-part arc and I'm really curious where the comic goes from here. Each Bird got a good moment and really the only downside was my minor nitpicks.

Birds of Prey continues to be a REAL fun series and I really do enjoy Thompson's Cass. I'm really curious given what we'll get with the character in the upcoming issues given the premise seems to be in the mind of each Bird.

#cassandra cain #dc comics #my thoughts

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copiass · 1 year

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What's In A Name?

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,218

Warnings: nsfw, light dom/sub, oral sex, glove kink, dirty talk, office sex

"It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip-up that had sparked something sick and wicked right in the pit of your stomach."

AKA: Whilst harbouring a secret crush you use your boss’ last name without him knowing. (I know nothing about tax returns or identity fraud, deal with it.)

Can also be read on ao3

Other fics here

It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip up that had sparked something sick and wicked in the pit of your stomach. An urge to fulfil some long-dormant, base need that had somehow started to form in the deepest part of your gut. An urge that had, admittedly, spiralled out of control weeks ago. An urge that currently had you pacing towards Copia’s office, pretty sure you were about to get fired.

You’d been Papa’s Personal Assistant for about six months, and up to now it had been going just swimmingly. The promotion had been a surprise, the latest Sister handing in her notice red-faced and vexed after being summoned to Copia’s office for yet another lecture. She had managed to last 2 months, admittedly his longest up to that point. But his PA’s always ended up the same, pacing and ranting endlessly in Imperators' office, notice in hand, begging to be moved elsewhere to spare his ‘incessant micromanaging’. You had been fairly new to the clergy, eager to make a good impression with a secret soft-spot for the newest Papa. With, unsurprisingly, few takers for the role all it had taken was a short interview with some of the higher members of the clergy and you were in, your own desk, a stripe of Papa’s blue added to your uniform and even an extra half-day off in the week (though, admittedly, you rarely saw it).

It hadn’t taken you long to realise that Copia was not, in-fact, an insufferable asshole, a particularly cruel employer, or a dictatorial micro-manager. He just appreciated when things were done a certain way. And - oh - you’d made the effort to learn, how he liked his papers filed and tabs colour-coded, how he preferred his stationary ordered at his desk, the exact temperature he liked his afternoon tea. It became easy, placing things on his desk before even he realised he needed them, slipping his old books back to the library without him asking, making sure his reading glasses were sat right where he would reach for them while he absent-mindedly flicked through paperwork. It just worked. The more time you spent with him the more you understood what he wanted, what he needed, just intuitively. Yes, Copia ran a tight ship, with little to no room for slip ups, but you soon realised it’s because it had to be that way. His keen attention to detail sometimes seeming like the only thing keeping the whole ship afloat and fully functional.

Not that he had made it easy for you. It was like he had already resigned you to failure that first morning you showed up in his office, eyes flicking over you briefly before he looked back down his nose through his glasses, examining spreadsheets with a displeased hum. It had only pushed you, the more unmoved he appeared at your presence the harder you worked to get it right. The more paperwork he pushed through your desk without comment, the quicker you filed it. The more he complained about his tea not being right the longer you kept it brewing. The louder he scoffed under his breath at his ink running dry, the sooner you were there to refill his pen. Not with Ministry issued ink, no, but Copia’s favourite ink. The one imported from Italy in a gilded case, kept in the top right-hand drawer, behind his ‘secret’ chocolate stash. And it was worth it - so - worth it when he would give you that look. Like you had pleased him, that he understood what you had done, that he appreciated it, deeply.

And it felt perversely intimate. Knowing someone so well when you barely knew them at all. You quickly learned Copia was not a morning person and did not like to chit-chat before at least 9.30am. His favourite lunch was on Fridays when the kitchens brought up a small charcuterie board paired with an expensive red to finish off the work week. He preferred the black olives to the green ones, even though you insisted they were the same just to wind him up and watch the smirk pull at his painted lips. You learned how he bit away at those same lips when he was expecting a phone call from Saltarian, and how he rubbed at his temples when he had been working too long, the both of you sprawled across the desks working into the early hours of the morning.

Copia learned too. He learned that when you were stressed you’d chew on the end of his, frustratingly, expensive pens as you worked, brow furrowed as you read over his work. He learned that if he voiced his distaste for green olives for long enough you would eventually slink over to the other side of his desk and steal them off of his plate, neglecting to use cutlery, giving him the chance to watch your oil slicked fingers slip them gently into your mouth. He learned that you were eager, so eager, for every challenge he presented to you. Eager to prove him wrong, eager to impress him. He also learned that you liked to poke at him, test the waters, push his buttons just to tease.

“Ai! This stress will be giving me even more greys, Sister.” He’d complain, whining and smoothing at the silver hair at his temples, checking his reflection in the gilded mirror in his office.

“Oh, I do hope so, Papa.” You’d sigh back with a wink, savouring the way he would look over to you, eyes burning in the candlelight of his office, eyebrows raised in a mock warning.

And there it was. The fine line that you both danced around in the confines of his office. You initially made a point of not seeing him outside of work, intentionally ignoring the pointed silence that had started to emerge everytime Copia announced he was retiring to his rooms for the evening, avoiding his offices on your days off, only seeing him at Masses with the rest of the clergy. But soon enough it just became easier to spend your lunch breaks together, whispering clergy gossip over a now shared pot of tea. And then it was just easier to eat dinner together over paperwork, the kitchens bringing two dishes instead of the one. And then it was just easier to have a quick shared nap on the couch in his office when trying to meet a particularly challenging deadline, the weight of your head pressed nicely into the warm meat of his thighs as his gloved hand rubbed at your temple lightly.

It was inevitable really. To be so close to a Papa, to be so close to him and have him seep into every crack, every crevice of your subconscious. It was funny, to see behind the facade, to witness him as just a man at his desk every day, swearing under his breath at his “horseshit” brothers who couldn’t balance out a spreadsheet to save their lives, and yet also see that he was objectively not just a man. The confidence with which he carried himself, the way he unashamedly let his gaze linger, his reluctance to ever speak indirectly or without purpose. And if you had to finish off most evenings alone with your fingers between your thighs and his name falling from between your lips, that was your prerogative. Copia didn’t have to know. You were driven, determined even, to not let it distract you. To prove to him you could work well, help him achieve his vision without getting preoccupied with something else.

So, naturally, when the postman responsible for delivering your mail made a mistake, just a tiny, minor mistake, it should have been an easy fix, a laughable offence. When the postman dropped off the usual letters and packages with a warm smile, and a casual ‘Mrs Emeritus, I take it?’ you should have laughed politely and corrected him as you took the mail. You should have clarified your position, maybe even offered up your own name instead. You should have taken the mail to Copia and offhandedly mentioned the exchange so you could both laugh at just how ridiculous that concept was.

Yet, before you could even think, before logic even had the chance to enter the equation you found yourself nodding, smiling as you took the mail with a surprisingly confident;

‘Yeah - that’s me.’

Any sense of professionalism, common sense or even decency were outweighed by the sudden, sick satisfaction at the implication not just of being his assistant, but his wife. Copia fucked around, you knew that, gathered as much from the gossip around the ministry. Not that you’d dared to ever ask him personally, though due to embarrassment or jealousy you weren’t really sure. You knew he had a reputation, that was just part of being Papa, it came with the job. When the urge took him he had any number of Siblings to choose from to satisfy him for the night. But being his wife. That was different.

You’d shut the door, letting your back hit the dark wood as you grinned to yourself, cheeks still flushing at an implication you’d never considered before. You let the fantasy wash over you, picturing what it could be like, how he would hold you, how he would adore you, how he would fuck you. For a moment you weren’t just his assistant, who tidied his desk and sorted his mail and served his tea, but his partner. His equal. Your head had felt dizzy with it, the words of the delivery man still buzzing in your ears, pulse racing, cheeks flushed. You’d thrown the letters down on Copia’s desk a little more hurriedly than usual, rushing back to your own desk pointedly avoiding his gaze. If he noticed anything he did not comment, choosing instead to sort through the post with just a soft glance your way.

That’s when it started. This problem. This perverse little game you’d been playing only with yourself. You’d tried to forget it, laugh it off as a joke and nothing more, just a mistake that caught you off guard. But that seed had burrowed down, deep into your gut where even you couldn’t remove it. Then it spread, reaching even into your dreams, filling them with images of dishevelled greying hair and slick leather gloves. It had appealed to some base nature deep within you, eager and possessive. Yes, the first time had been a mistake - but offhandedly signing a receipt with that same name certainly had not been. Neither had the second receipt. Nor had the third. Or that new email signature to an outside agency. Or the rooms booked under your name on the last tour.

Who would know? You’d reasoned to yourself, knowing that the only person checking the paperwork was, by default, you. Copia was none the wiser, more important things to think about than receipts for minor purchases or email signatures. You’d never use that name inside the ministry, it was a dangerous game after all - playing with the Emeritus name. You’d seen what had happened to those who played games the Ministry didn’t approve of and you did not intend to join that list. It wasn’t even about the name, not really - just him. The fantasy that you were someone that was important to him, someone he was attracted to. Theoretically, it was foolproof. It was harmless, no one would ever find out anyway. It just gave you a thrill - the risk of being caught weighed up against the kick of using his name.

Theoretically.

It wasn’t until Copia pulled you aside one evening as you were aimlessly fiddling with his diary for the next day that your heart dropped into what felt like your ass.

“We may need to be breaking into Terzo’s coffee supply the next few days, eh Sister? Hehe.” He’d chuckled to himself, leaning back in his chair.

You flicked your eyes over to him, taking in the way the leather waistcoat lifted as he stretched, pulling up his black undershirt with it, revealing the dark, greying hairs on his lower stomach. Satanas - you’re sure he did it intentionally half the time, just enjoying making you look. Realising you had absolutely no idea what he just said you shook your head.

“What?”

He smiled at that, flicking his eyes away as he tried to repress it .

“Tax Returns, Sister. We have a lot of paperwork to get through together.”

“I thought we got … someone else to do that?”

You blanched, your stomach flipping as you thought about the stack of paperwork in your locked top draw, signed with a name that is most definitely not your government name.

“Ai - I am not paying someone to do what we are perfectly capable of doing ourselves.”

Papa moved to stand behind you, hands coming down to squeeze at your shoulders reassuringly. You absolutely do not think of the size, or weight, of them as they cover most of your frame.

“And we will do an excellent job as always, Sorella. Nighty night!”

“Goodnight, Papa.”

You had sighed in reply, your eyes following him as he moved down the hallway to his private quarters, knowing he’d used your favourite nickname to try and soothe you.

Shit.

That is how you’ve found yourself pacing to your shared office, praying to any deity that will hear you that Copia does not, for probably the first time in his life, need to see every single detail and scrap of paper that has ever passed through the Ministry. After spending the night tossing and turning and triple checking the receipts just to make sure they definitely didn’t look like he had signed them, you had formulated a game plan. Realistically a few minor receipts would be fine going under the radar. You had made sure to never sign for something important, something there would need to be a paper trail for. You also knew that Papa, being the way that he is, had kept all of his most important paperwork with him, collated in colour coded folders next to his desk, obviously. There is no reason that he would suspect something is amiss, there is no reason for him to suspect you have a hidden stash of, probably illegal, receipts and invoices currently stashed in your bag ready to burn. And there is absolutely no reason for Copia to already be in his office before you get there.

It seems that no deities have decided to take pity on you.

You know he’s in a shit mood the second you open the door to the office. The first indicator is that he’s already drinking coffee - which he hates doing. The second is that he’s got an already well-used ashtray on his desk and a cigarette in his mouth, meaning he’s cracked open his also ‘secret’ emergency ‘stress-relief’ smokes. Those usually only make an appearance when he’s got those big annual budget meetings with the upper clergy. Shit.

Doing your best to look objectively not guilty you sweep over to your desk, flipping your laptop open to check your emails. He’s on the phone, you notice, that stupid ancient phone holder balancing between his shoulder and his ear, cigarette balanced between his full lips. Whoever’s talking is clearly pissing him off, his brow is furrowed and he’s tapping his fingers against the desk. He also hasn’t acknowledged your presence yet which is unlike him, unnervingly unlike him. Unsure of what to do or say you just continue mindlessly tapping keys and clicking on already opened emails, doing anything to look busy and avoid drawing too much attention to yourself.

“Pah!-”

Copia spits out, slamming the phone down on the holder in response to whoever was on the other end of the line. You startle and look over to him as he finishes his cigarette with a deep drag. Now that you’re looking at him you can see the extent of his stress. Even under the paint you can see the heaviness under his eyes, the way the waxy pigment has started to crease with the tension in his brow, the way it’s started to rub away a little where he must have been rubbing at his jaw. His hair is just the right side of dishevelled where he’s been running his hands through it, the greys threatening to fall into his face as he talks. His scarf has been pulled loose, hanging somewhere near his chest rather than up near his ruffled collar. His desk is a wreck, different piles of papers stacked and stapled, different mugs strewn in between, an unlidded highlighter cast aside near the phone. He’s been at this all morning. He takes a breath, emptying his lungs of smoke and rolling his neck.

“Sit.”

You startle, jumping in your seat. He is not asking.

“Regretting not getting someone else to do it yet?”

You joke, trying to save it, though your delivery and flat half chuckle don’t quite manage to sell it. Copia doesn’t bite.

“That was my brother on the phone.”

Papa starts, you try not to think about how rough his voice is after taking a drag, much deeper than it usually is. You don’t have to guess which brother, that would explain his sour mood.

“You see, Sister, I am missing paperwork. Some receipts, some invoices - you know-” He motions with his hand as he talks, eyes scanning the papers at his desk, not looking at you just yet.

“So, I call my idiota brother, these things are usually his fault, si?”

And shit, he’s definitely stalling, he’s getting at something here and you’re hoping, praying it isn’t what you think it is. You force your bouncing knee to still itself, willing your face to be straight and empty of anything that he can pick up on.

“And yet he says, it is not him. So I do the checking, and he is right-” He scoffs, “for once.”

You nod, patiently, obediently. Waiting for him to make his point. He turns to look at you, really look at you, the white of his eye somehow more intense than it usually is, stark against the deep paint on his eyes.

“I do not miss paperwork. Sister.”

And there it is. He’s giving you an out. Copia doesn’t give second chances, and this is going to be his only offer at a first. You don’t speak, a million excuses coming to mind at once, each one as equally pathetic as the last. You know how you must look sitting there in front of him. Lying was never one of your strong suits, especially under pressure, especially when it’s to him. Yet it’s like you can’t speak, can’t even begin to think of how to get your mouth to move and formulate words.

“Do understand, Sister, that we do not take this sort of thing lightly. If you were hoping to be fiddling or moving extra money in some way-”

“Woahwoah-”

You interject without thinking, room spinning a little as your brain catches up to what he’s actually accusing you of.

“Of course, I would have hoped that you would have told me if-”

“It’s not that!”

You hiss at him, suddenly a little offended that he thinks so lowly of you and your intentions. The room is still tilting as you try to save yourself from whatever the fuck is happening. You suddenly realise you’ve just handed yourself a shovel and started digging, Copia’s eyes narrow suspiciously, and fucking hell why does he look so good when he’s mad.

“Then what is it.” He asks, patience clearly wearing thin, the coffee and nicotine only working to rile him up more.

You decide if any deities are still listening they should most certainly just open the ground, swallow you whole and just have done already. At this point you honestly don’t know if it would be less embarrassing to just admit to some sort of fraud and risk being excommunicated permanently on grounds of financial criminality. Lucifer - your habit has started sticking to you and your throat feels like it’s closing up, panic setting in. You’re just about to throw the towel in, admit to being some sort of crook when you decide to look at Copia again.

And it’s devastating. Under the paint, under the mask, under the guise of cold professionalism is worry. Genuine unease sitting in the all too familiar lines of his face. Your chest pulls as you look at him, his eyes threatening to become wet and glassy. You realise that he’s not pissed, but hurt at the idea of you admitting to this, at the notion that his assistant has been dishonest with him. It’s right about then you decide then you would rather suffer any amount of personal embarrassment over hurting him. Without speaking you reach into your bag and pull out the stack of papers you’d been hoping to get rid of. He looks away, immediately wounded at the implication.

“Just read them.” You breathe out as you throw them onto the desk, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Sister, You cannot expect me to believe-”

Copia starts, then pauses once his eyes have scanned over the first few scraps of paper. He stops. He looks up at you. His eyes flick down again, then over the next piece of paper, and then the next. For the first time in six months you think you may have just rendered him speechless. You swear he must be able to hear your heart beating in your chest as you wait for his reply, only just realising that you’ve handed him a metaphorical loaded gun. Satanas, you really must have been stupid, handing over signed proof of your … feelings for him. Copia still hasn’t reacted, not really, choosing to sit further back in the chair and flick through the papers like some sort of sick flipbook.

“Ah.”

He finally sighs out, dropping them onto the desk, one hand coming to comb through his hair.

Unable to move your mouth you stay silent, waiting for him to continue. Papa doesn’t speak either, reaching for his pack of smokes before lighting one and taking a long, drawn out drag. If you’re being honest his reaction to your confession isn’t exactly inspiring. You hurt a little at that, realising perhaps you had misread the ease between the two of you. Realising that there might have been a reason he’d never propositioned you on those long, late nights alone.

“Which one is it?”

He finally asks, his voice again deepened by the smoke, his tone one you can’t quite place, sitting somewhere between annoyance and disappointment.

“What?”

Granted it comes out a little ruder than you were aiming for, but you’ve been thrown so many curveballs in the last five minutes you’re honestly just grateful to still be sitting upright on the chair.

“Do not test my patience, Sister. You do not have to hide it now. So - which one is it?”

Fucking hell Papa could be petulant when he tried. He takes another drag, moving his eyes away from you again, like he can’t bear to look at you. You immediately decide you hate that more than anything else.

“Copia, I can assure you, I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.”

You’re not sure if it’s because you used his name or the language, or his clear lack of sleep, but either way he bristles at that, eyes fiery turning to look right into yours. Shit, he really is something to look at when he is like this, the logical part of his brain lagging behind his emotion for once. He’s surprisingly menacing, the pupil in his white eye unable to dilate with the other, unbalancing his features. This is the Copia that secured his own place in the lineage.

“Do not play stupid with me Sister, I will not tolerate it - not from you. This is the Emeritus name, is it not, Sister?”

“It is, Papa.”

“And here it sits with your own name, does it not, Sister?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Then, I can only be assuming, Sister, that you have found yourself a considerably comfortable spot in one of my brothers’ harems.”

Your brain completely taps out. You go to open your mouth, in an attempt to say anything.

“Ah-ah!”

Copia stops you, taking a moment to calm himself, finishing the cigarette and shoving it into the ashtray. You’ve not seen him like this before, so unpredictable, so wiry. You’d almost have considered it exciting had he not just accused you of fucking one of his brothers.

“That is … fine, Sister. I just feel I would like to know which brother that is all? It is selfish I know, I just … need to know.”

Taking a second to process what he just said you lean back in your chair, counting on the ornate backing to catch your fall. You close your mouth, noting you don’t actually know how long it’s been open. It baffles you, faced with the realisation that the man that you have seen write speeches; balance spreadsheets, translate texts, compose music, and recite spells and incantations with ease, is a fucking idiot. Copia notices your lack of a response and shakes his head.

“Ai - forgive an old man, Sorella. I pry too deeply. I just did not expect that you had-”

“There is no one else.” You interrupt quietly, for his sake. “Just you.”

It’s like you can see his brain working, cogs turning behind his eyes as it’s his turn to play catch up. He looks down to examine the papers again, jaw working in that way it always does when he’s thinking. He’s rubbing his fingers together, the room so quiet now you can hear the leather working against itself. Suddenly, you feel even further out of your depth, gooseflesh rising as he finally brings his gaze back up to you. It’s been a long six months, you’d dealt with worried Copia, pissed Copia, unbearably, sickeningly sweet Copia - but never this Copia. The one that’s looking at you like you’re a rabbit in his headlights. Like he can smell you already.

“Up. Come. Now”

He snaps his fingers suddenly moving his chair back a little as he taps the top of his desk. Copia does not ask twice. Surprised that your legs are even able to move, you stand slowly, hoping you’ll make it to the desk without embarrassing yourself even further. His eyes don’t leave you as you walk around to his side of the desk,so close you can practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. He opens his legs for you to stand between them, making a point of shifting his hips up as he does so. It’s at that minute you decide you absolutely cannot look at anything else but the knot in his loose tie, for the sake of your own self-preservation.

“Do you know how we got this name, Sorella?”

Hells his voice is so deep now you’re close it’s almost like a purr, the thrill of it settling right between your thighs. There’s a softness to it but it’s far from kind, far from being anything but mocking. He starts to adjust the sleeves to his black poet shirt and you mentally curse him, it’s like he knows down to the minute how many sleepless nights you’ve spent thinking about those godforsaken sleeves.

“Now, now Sister. You are usually so talkative, no?” He teases, though again it’s not entirely kind.

“It was a gift, Papa. From Him” and fuck it’s embarrassing how breathless you are already, thighs clenching just at being this near to him like this.

He moves quicker than you can react. Before you can process it, he kicks one of your legs from under you, knocking it so you stand wider, legs open in between his own.

“Errato.”

And just like that he’s standing in front of you, much taller than you remembered, much broader than he seems from where you sit at your desk across the room. You can’t help but shrink back, lean further back into the wood only to be devastated when he follows there too, eyes examining your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. He breathes you in and you can’t help but follow, eyes closing as you take in the smell of him, all incense and smoke and something that must just be him.

And oh, perhaps those deities had been listening after all. His hands come to cradle your head, holding it as he fiddles with something at the back of neck. With a gentle pull your veil falls away somewhere onto the cluttered desk, exposing you to him. Papa’s eyes flick up to examine you fully now you’re without your veil, like he’s got to squeeze one more look at you in before he’s moving again. His hands wander to find your own, pinning them down the desk under his as he carries on his, frankly lewd, inspection of you. You can’t help but gasp out, surprised that the gloves are warm, and that he’s strong, and that he’s actually touching you. He lowers himself until his face is right next to yours and you can’t bear to look, it's too much, being this close to him. He doesn’t seem to mind, taking the chance to breathe you in again, nuzzling as close to your neck as he can get without actually touching you.

“Gifts are given freely, Sorella. Without reason, without obligation.”

He lets his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

“Try again. How did we get this name?”

Fuck, it was one thing hearing whispers in the hallways about his talent, all hushed giggles and filthy conspiracy. It’s an entirely different thing to see it in practice, to be the object of his attention when it’s so all-consuming. Your thighs are already wet, you can feel it as they rub against each other. You can feel where the front of his waistcoat is pressed up against your chest as he crowds you into the desk, sure now that he can feel where your nipples are hard against him. His hands snake their way up your arms, before one comes to settle in the back of your hair. Your eyes open as he pulls on it, seeming to relish in the gasp you let out.

“Say it.”

He speaks again, nodding mockingly, eyes flicking over your face lingering on your lips as you part them to speak.

“You earned it, Papa.”

“Brava Ragazza, Sister. Well done.”

And Oh - he’s giving you that look, the one that got you into this fucking mess in the first place. Like he’s proud of you, like he sees you. He disappears from view as his lips press against your hairline.

“You’re always so smart, hm?”

And you really can’t tell if he’s being genuine or mocking you but you couldn’t care less as his warm, wet lips traced across your forehead, the fingers of his other hand coming to cup your chin and keep you still. It’s barely a kiss, just the press of his lips against your skin but it is singularly the least chaste thing you have ever experienced.

“It is a Sacred name, Sister.” His lips are trailing down the sides of your face as he speaks, lips catching against your skin as he talks.

“Given to my bloodline by Satan himself.”

Copia finds that spot that sits just behind your ear and chuckles as you shudder against him. You’d put good money on the probability of him mentally logging that away for later.

“I have worked for this name, I have bled for this name-”

He pulls away and you’re almost embarrassed that you whine and try to follow, so caught up in the heady way he’s been touching you, you think it might actually kill you if he stops.

Cruelly, he pulls away completely then, leaving you giddy and off-balance as you look up at him helplessly.

“I would kill for this name.”

Papa finishes, his gloved thumb coming to pull at the full flesh of your bottom lip. His face hardens and you understand that he isn’t lying. It’s not a warning, not really, more a confession. Not that you would have ever doubted it anyway. Abruptly, he chooses to sit down again, legs spread open on the seat as he lays his arms down on the rests. You fight back a mewl at the loss of him, thighs twisted together to try and keep some semblance of self-control. His hands come together under his nose as he thinks, calculating his next move, thoughtfully, carefully.

“This - is where you have overstepped, Sister. You are using a name you have not earned. We must all earn our place, earn our name, dolce.”

Ah. It all clicks into place then. Here he is again, giving you another out. Giving you a chance. Here it was, that instant knowing, what was wanted, what was needed - just intuitively. You started to lower yourself down, neatly folding up the habit at your thighs as you did, knowing Copia was nothing if not a sucker for reverence. The greying hair at his temples fell forward a little as he bent his head, gaze following you down to his floor. You made sure to grab at his thighs for leverage as you did so, half for your own satisfaction and half acting on intuition. It paid off you realised, as he chokes out a moan and pushes his hips upwards. You log that away for later.

“Let me earn it, Papa.”

It’s merely a whisper, bowing your head as you speak, another show of reverence for him. You let your head rest in his lap, cheek pressed against his thigh, a sick imitation of the last time your head was resting there. His hands come to stroke at your hair, just as he had done before, and you take the chance to capture his hands in your own. Eager to please him, to elucidate. You start to kiss his palms, mouthing along his fingers with delicate presses of your lips, the action itself chaste and devout.

“Let me never stop earning it”

Oh, he likes that. The rumble in his chest gives him away, the way his fingers follow your lips revealing him. You run with it, eager as always to impress him. Flicking your eyes up towards him, looking through your lashes you wrap your lips around a single finger, welcoming it along the length of your tongue to rest near the back of your mouth before sucking it gently. It’s odd, the sensation of leather in your mouth, but it’s warm, rough and him, and you can’t help but moan through it. If the stress of tax returns hadn’t already ruined him enough you’re more than making up for it now, his chest is heaving, pulling at the fabric of his waistcoat as his eyes lock onto where your mouth is around him. His hips have pushed out and thighs opened around you, letting you shift closer to him. He nods his head, showing his consent, his approval of your actions.

“Fammi vedere, Sorella.” He nods, voice even deeper than when it was laced with smoke.

Your Italian is patchy at best, Copia likes to remind you of that daily, but you find yourself positively unable to care, the gist of what he’s saying suddenly very clear. You gently place his hands back up onto the rests for him, kissing the knuckles on each hand as you do so. Savouring the feel of him you move your own hands to his thighs again, digging in to feel the strong muscle underneath. So much wasted time spent staring, as he moved around his office gesticulating or bounced his legs around on stage in those obscenely tight trousers.

You carry on massaging him, each time your hands getting closer and closer to the now, completely strained fastenings of his jeans. Completely beyond sense now you move on impulse, muscle memory, letting your legs slip open, pressing yourself against the cold tile floor as your face falls forward to lick at his seam. He’s hard, and hot, and it’s twisted that it’s taken you this long to be in this position. It’s degenerate really, finding some relief working yourself against the cool floor, the heat of him on your tongue. You can see his hands move to grip the arms out of the corner of your eye, a smirk pulling at your lips.

You find the end of the ties with your tongue and manoeuvre it between your teeth, pulling it back as you flick your eyes up to his face again. Copia chuckles at your trick, looking at you like that again as you undo the strings to work him free. You burn with the need to impress him again, and bring your hands to pull him from his jeans. The first thing you notice is that he’s not wearing underwear, the warm pink of his flesh very apparent once you’ve worked the fastening open. The second is that Copia is fucking hung, thick and throbbing in your hand as his cock springs back against the greying hairs on his stomach.

You’re pretty sure your eyes must bug out of your head at the sight of him, mouth watering in anticipation. You’d certainly heard things about Copia and his endowments, but well, Siblings were prone to exaggeration, especially when it came to the Papas. In this case they frankly hadn’t done enough. In the back of your mind you question how he’s still conscious with the lack of blood that now can’t currently be flowing to his head. You laugh lightly in spite of yourself, at your stupid internal monologue, at the situation, giddy with the size and smell of him.

“Mi fai aspettare?” Copia asks, his voice thick and rough as it comes out.

“My deepest apologies, Papa.”

You immediately lick from the base, right above where his balls are still covered, to the tip - uncut and almost purple. His reaction is instant, making a noise like the air has been punched out of him, fingers gripping the arms even tighter. It’s maddening, having him throb beneath your tongue, and you carry on, just single licks against him, marvelling at the size of him as you go. Unable to help yourself, you take the tip of him into your mouth, positioning your head to take him down.

Copia loses what little control he has, snapping his hands away from the rests and bringing them to wind in your hair, directing you down onto his cock. You moan in thanks, grateful for his guidance once again. He’s not being rough, you’re guessing he could do far worse, but he is being thorough, making sure your lips hit the bottom of him before pulling you back up. You find a rhythm in it, following his lead, not having to think about anything but keeping your lips sealed around him and your throat open. There it is again, that balance of what you both wanted, what you both needed, the unspoken instinct you seemed to share.

Your scalp burns with it but it’s just so good, the way he’s started to fuck his hips up to meet you, using your mouth like you’d wanted him to for six fucking months. He manages to slip out a few times in his thoroughness, the wet of him slicking up your face and lips, and you wonder what you must look like. Your eyes are watering, your mouth flushed and wet and open for him, hair still tangled up between his gloved fingers. Not that he’s faring much better, head thrown back as he fucks your mouth, broken Italian and Latin and nonsense spilling from his mouth, undershirt shoved up around his waist, exposing his stomach. Copia notices you looking and his gaze hardens, teeth gritted as you take him particularly roughly.

“Puttana.” He grunts, and you have no problem translating that one.

But there’s no malice in it, no spite, just that tone you recognise from when he’s impressed with you, his own warped reverence in return for yours. It only pushes you further, even more eager to please. As you take him down the next time you stay there, even as his own hand tries to pull you back up. You warm him with your mouth, keeping him as deep as you can while your lips meet the bottom of him and your nose is pressed up against the greying hairs at his base. You feel him push up against you, his legs lifting off the seat, getting as deep as he can while he cradles your head. He keeps you there for as long as you’re able, fucking your throat gently, before bringing you back up with a groan when you start to push at his thighs. He doesn’t let you sink back down, not immediately, just keeps your hair firm in his hand as he holds your head up - so he can look at you. Savour how your mouth is pink and slick and swollen with use.

You whine at him, pathetically, asking him to let you go, mouth still open for him. He guides you down again, only this time he’s shoving his fastenings out of the way, guiding you down to suck at his balls. That rips a noise out of him, loud and unashamed as he presses your face harder into him, grinding against your tongue. You are nothing if not eager to please, laving your tongue over his balls, his thighs, even venturing further down toward his ass. Copia makes a frenzied noise at that, involuntarily lifting up in the seat to grant you better access to him. And it’s obscene, the way he tries to grind against your tongue, fucking himself on your face. He grabs your head again, only this time to stop you.

“N-no-no …non posso. I won’t- I won’t last, Sister.”

He breathes out between gasps, body sagging as he relaxes into the chair. Smirking, you raise an eyebrow, noting that one for later. Copia catches you smiling, managing to look over at just the right time, like he always does. The look in his eyes makes it apparent you’re going to regret that.

“You have earned nothing yet, dolce. Up.”

He’s demanding, shucking down his trousers a little more so he can widen his legs. You stand, hands pulling at your skirts, eager to pull your habit over your head before he stops you.

“If you could keep it on, Sister, the habit, I mean. I- I quite like you in it.”

You must beam at him, you can feel it, the warmth in your face and the swell of your smile, so big it almost hurts your cheeks. It’s the fact it’s your uniform, the uniform that identifies you as his, that special blue stripe singling you out as his own. He’s watched you everyday in this habit, liked you everyday in this habit. Nodding, you start to stand, hiking it up as you go but slow enough to tease. Papa’s eyes flick down to your legs, his normal pupil blown so wide it’s almost black as his licks at his lips, splotches of pink peeking through the paint. He’s fucking his hand as he watches, balls bouncing a little, glove tightening as he nears his tip. You flush as you think about how many times he’s touched you with those gloves, you wonder briefly how often he washes them.

Suddenly, now you’re standing, underwear kicked down and flicked off your ankles, you feel a little shy. It’s odd, considering moments before you’d had his cock in the back of your throat, but somehow sitting into his lap without his request, without his permission would be just the wrong side of intimate. You’ve napped in his lap, just once, but sitting in it, taking him like this almost feels like too much. He notices, like he always does, his eyes and mind too fast for his own good. He softens a little.

“Please, Sorella.”

And it’s deep, and demanding and yet his voice breaks a little along the way, and it’s just too Copia for your own good. Now unable to stop yourself you lurch forward, bracing your legs on either side of his own, relishing in the strong muscle of his thighs underneath you, holding you up. One of his arms comes around the back of your waist, balancing you out as he lines himself up against you. It was intoxicating being so close to him, where he was warm and soft and smelled of smoke and whatever expensive shampoo he used. Your arms find the rest on the chair and the back of his neck, fingers toying with the few strands of hair that curl into his nape. It’s nice being close to him like this, seeing the fine lines in his face, the mix of greens in his eye, the slight shadow on his face where he’s neglected to shave. It’s almost too much, the smell of him, the feel of him, the idea of him and you doing this. It’s then that he breeches you, just the first part of him and your stomach drops at the realisation that everything up to this point had been nothing.

“You think you have earned this yet, Sister?”

Copia is talking, you’re sure of it, somewhere outside of the bubble of just feeling him. Somewhere where he sounds drowned out and far away. Satanas, he won’t stop pushing into you, splitting you like he was made to do it, each ridge and vein dragging you open with a slick sound, the heat oh him almost unbearable.

“Think you can take my cock?”

And fucking hell he’s a talker. As if it couldn’t get any more ruinous he was going to talk you through it as he ravaged what was left of you. All you can do is mewl back, legs open and hips pushed forward to take him.

“Others have tried, Sister.”

He slides home, his hips coming to sit neat against your ass as he bottoms out. If you thought that had been devastating enough, it was nothing compared to the drag of him as he pulled out again, lighting up your insides as he moved, nerve endings singing with it as he warms you up. He lets out his own sigh then, rumbling deep in his chest and oh - you realise you’d spend your life trying to earn him, if it meant hearing him do that everytime you sank down onto his cock. Copia seems to remember himself then, sucking air through his teeth before he starts talking again.

“Yes - they try their best. Wailing with their legs open for me.”

It’s simply deviant how that makes you throb, the image of him fucking some Sibling in his quarters after spending the day cooped up in his office with you. He starts to build a rhythm, balls starting to slap up against you as he fucks up into you, his feet planted on the floor for leverage. You brave a look at him and whine when you see how he looks, his eyes fixed on where he’s fucking you, his mouth hanging open, slack as he watches. His hair is fucked, paint starting to bleed just a little with the exertion of it, sweat threatening to leak through.

“Yes - I fucked them. I made them come-”

It’s like it’s intentional at this point, that he says that as he finds that spot inside you, the one that has your mewl turning into something far more embarrassing, something more guttural, more animalistic in nature. He chuckles, and it’s sinister as he re-adjusts himself to fuck up against that spot again. You suddenly don’t doubt him, or the matter of fact way he says it. You’re fairly confident that you’re not far off already, your cunt clenching around him as he speaks. He comes to grab at your ass, hands squeezing into the meat of it as he bounces you on his cock.

“I send them back with their legs shaking and their holes full, Sister.”

He growls right into your ear, back to his monologue, like it’s a threat, like it’s a promise. You start to clench around him, hips working without even thinking about it, letting his strong hands pull you down onto cock. Half for leverage and half for comfort, your hand at his nape starts to twist into his hair, savouring the feel of it between your fingers.

“And did they presume to have some ownership of me? Did they feel so brazen as to take my name - the name I fucking earned?”

You can barely even think straight with how he’s fucking you. But you realise, somewhere in the haze, that you’d been so caught up in the idea of being his, the daydream of being so owned by him, that you’d neglected to realise your own claim over him. Taking his name, making it and himself your own by definition.

“But you - you have the nerve, to sit every day in my fucking office, to flash me that sweet fucking smile, acting so eager, so useful, so innocent, like you aren’t making a perversion of my own name, hm?”

And he is still hitting that spot, sparks flying to every nerve ending you have every time he hits it, his hips snapping up faster as he riles himself up.

“You see fit to play and tease, like you don’t rush back to your room at night to play with this tight pussy at the idea of me using you like this.”

He knew, of course he knew he always fucking does, two steps ahead of everyone else.

“It is my turn to take now, Sister.”

Before you can help yourself you’re seizing up, muscles locking around him with nowhere to go as you bounce on him, the noise of it becoming downright indecent. The wet suck of you as you take him filling your ears. Copia senses that you’re straining, just missing that extra something you needed to tip over the edge. Your eyes actually start to tear up you’re so desperate to come around his cock, to let him take what he wants. He moves his hand to grab at your face, cheeks pushed together in his firm grip as he looks at you. It’s humiliating, his eyes flicking to your mouth once more as his face twists into a smile that’s almost threatening. He brings his other hand up to his own face, spitting and sucking on his own fingers, moaning at the feeling of it. Fuck his lips looked sinful stretched around his own fingers, swiping at the paint as the coated them.

Papa nods at you, almost mockingly, letting you know he’s going to help you, he’s going to make it all okay. His fingers leave his mouth and he swipes them directly over your swollen clit, making you cry out and work his cock deeper into you.

“And I will take it.”

And his voice is fucked, broken and gravelly like he’d been awake for 3 days straight. You couldn’t have stopped it if you had tried, the way he was fucking you right where you needed it, the rough, wet leather against your clit, the idea of him taking rather than you giving it freely. You shut your eyes as you worked through it, wave after wave as you clench around him, throat raw as you groaned into the hand that was still holding your face. Fuck, you would work to earn it, work for it every day if he could make you come like this. It’s far too slick between you now, the way you’ve leaked onto him, coating the both of you in it. Copia is glowing with satisfaction, lips pulled into a smirk as he just watches.

“Acqua santa, hm?”

He snickers, more to himself than to you. You can’t help but whimper at his pun, grinding down on him as if to coat him further, like it’s a gift for him. He grunts at the feel of it, head thrown back for a second as he revels in the feel of you, the tight, wet grip of you around him. He moves the hand that’s been holding your face to rest at your waist, his other still lazily rubbing at your cunt, helping you ride it out. He brings his now sticky fingers to his mouth, sucking them onto his tongue with a groan. You should be embarrassed, the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s taking you, but it feels right. Like you’re earning something.

Copia is clearly giving you time to rest, reclining back in the seat, letting you balance your hands on his chest as you grind out the last of your orgasm for him. Rest isn’t exactly something you had in your plans for the foreseeable future, content to pay back the favour tenfold. He’s quiet now, a little out of breath with his effort, looking up at you as he savours the way your face looks, flushed and bright. You sit yourself up, ready to start bouncing for him again and he kicks his knees up, ready to angle himself to start fucking you again.

“No no, Papa.”

You smirk, choosing instead to push him further into the chair with your hands, stilling his movements as you start to fuck him. Speaking seems to be beyond him at this point, he just nods as you ride him, letting you fuck him into the seat of his pretentious office chair. You mentally curse yourself for not choosing to go to the gym more often, the burning in your legs threatening to become a problem. Just looking at Copia underneath you immediately throws that idea under the bus, his head thrown back as you work him. His mouth open with broken gasps leaving his lips with each bounce, eyes heavy-lidded now. The chair starts to scrape across the tiles with the force of it, the low squeak mixing with your own moans.

It sends a dangerous thrill through you, knowing this was Papa, head of the fucking Ministry, signature powerhouse on the stage, knowing he could snap his fingers and have done with you whenever he felt like it. This is who they all wanted, the fans, the followers, the clergy, the Siblings. But it’s also Copia, your Copia, your boss who lets you steal his green olives and nice wine, and likes you in your uniform, and your chest just swells. Moving your hands to cover his own you move them to cup your neglected tits as you ride him, guiding him to your covered nipples. The kick his cock gives inside you is some indication that he likes that, though his frequent ‘subtle’ glances when you neglect to wear a bra to work had already proven that theory.

“I mean it, Papa.”

You move your own hands to cup his face, brushing his hair from where it’s falling into your eyes. The capacity to form words is still out of his reach he just watches, eyes flicking between your face, your nipples pinched between his fingers, and where you’re fucking him.

“Let me never stop earning it”

You repeat your promise from before, almost hiccuping at the end of it as you manage to angle his cock at that one spot again, savouring the sticky, slick drag of your skin against his.

“I would spend my life earning it, earning you.”

Copia is objectively a wreck. All he can do is sit and take you on him, tweaking and twisting your nipples, tilting his own hips to make sure you can work his cock how he’s already learned you like. It’s laughably unrealistic really, his good he feels, like something out of one of those shitty vintage VHS pornos Copia keeps in his ‘locked’ drawer. You feel him throb inside you as he lets out a strained groan and you’re convinced that the only thing you’ve ever wanted was to make him feel good, however he would let you. You didn’t know it could be like this, just an endless feedback loop of pleasure, giving and taking and fucking like you can hear what he’s thinking, and he can hear you. Somewhere in the back of your mind you can hear Copia grunting, choking out a mindless, “You’re s’fuckin’ tight, fuck” as he tilts his hips up for you.

Sitting up tp to lean back, you open your legs to him, so he can see where he’s fucking you. You know how it must look, your cunt wet and swollen, taking his cock so deep you’re sure you can feel it in your throat. He grunts in approval, bringing his gloves to smack lightly at your clit as you bounce, biting at his lips when you stutter around him, shocked at the feel of it. Keen to stay even, to impress him with your efficiency, your efficacy, you bring your fingers to your mouth, spitting onto them as you keep your eyes locked on his. Copia knows what you’re going to do before you even move to do it, already whining so loud it’s almost pathetic. You can’t help but smile sweetly as you reach your slicked up fingers behind you, massaging and squeezing his balls as he buries himself into your cunt.

“Sister, I need- Can I-”

You’re almost surprised he has the wherewithal to ask, his thrusts turned shallow and stuttered as he tries to keep himself from filling you too soon. It’s all you can do to gasp out a raspy ‘please’ before he’s grabbing your hips once more. It’s a done deal after that, a few broken, sloppy thrusts into you before he’s spilling himself inside, pulling you down onto him with a string of broken curses, using you to come. You’re not far behind, the throbbing of his cock, the feeling of him filling you up kicking off your own orgasm, softer and sweeter than the first. Copia fucks you through it, his capacity for thoroughness making sure you’ve milked him completely, making sure you’ve used him more than well enough.

It takes you a second to come back to yourself, lost somewhere in that bubble of pleasure and Copia, not knowing where slick, sweat and spend started or began. Bordering on something tantric, something spiritual, you slowly move together as you each catch your breath, his hands coming to soothe at your thighs, strong fingers working the muscles there. It’s quiet, that familiar, comfortable silence you so often shared filling the office. He pulls himself out from you with a wince, tucking himself back into his pants, and lazily tugging the ties shut.

Copia pushes your legs open, gently admiring the way he leaks out of you. He takes his hand and moves to swipe at his come as it drips, his eyes filled with something that looks suspiciously like devotion. Licking his lips, he pushes it back into you with his fingers, his pupil dilating as he watches for your reaction, ever the eager learner. You smirk before reaching down to save your underwear. You go to stand, unsure of where this really leaves you, unsure of what to say - of how to say it.

“There was never anything to earn, tesoro.”

Copia speaks before you have the chance to overthink, his clever eyes watching your mind tick over. He is giving you that look again, the one he seemingly saves up just for you.

“Whatever you want - it has been yours for a while.”

It’s simple, it’s direct, it’s all encompassing, it’s Copia. You feel like maybe you should kiss him but flush with the idea of it, cheeks heating up as he watches the thought pass through your mind. He smiles despite himself, averting his eyes for just a second. Although his paint is still mostly intact you’re sure he blushes underneath it, you can tell, intuitively.

Plenty of time for that later, you reason, remembering there was a desk full of receipts to file and sort before Saltarian decides to come chew Copia’s ear off about his tax returns.

“Though Sister-” Papa starts as he neatens himself up, slicking his hair back into place, “maybe, for now, we will hide those, hm?”

He nods towards the stack of crinkled papers. You understand what he’s doing, putting his own ass on the line to cover you. Risking his reputation for complete competence just for you.

“Yes, Papa.” You nod earnestly in thanks, wanting him to understand that you appreciate the gravity of what he’s doing for you.

“And maybe for now, though mine certainly suits you, use your own name, hm? At least let me take you to dinner first.”

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factorialsotherfandoms · 7 months

Text

There's a worker there when Pac wakes up - it's the first worker anyone has seen since returning to the island. They're in Ramon's nook, doing something with his IV and taking notes in a book.

Pac immediately grabs Fit; the man is awake in seconds.

"Pac?" he asks, more awake in moments than Pac could ever be.

Pac puts a finger to his lips, then points at Ramon's nook.

Fit looks over, and Pac sees when he notices; immediately Fit is on his feet, storming over.

"Oi," he calls. "What are you doing with my son?!"

The worker hesitates a moment, finishing what they are doing before grabbing another book, and stepping down. It takes them a moment to write, Fit quivering with tension while Pac's hands wrap themselves in knotts.

The book is passed to Fit, who holds it where Pac can see.

'I am WA008,' it reads. 'I have been transferred from the Federation Infirmary to tend the EGGS.'

"You're a, er, doctor?" Pac asks, squinting at them - they look like every other worker on the island, bar the blue surgical mask they are wearing.

They nod.

"How are they?" Fit's attitude does not quite entirely flip, but he's bitten down the the edge. "When will they wake up?"

Scribbling again, this time for much longer - Pac can see WA008 flip to multiple book pages.

'All six EGGS here are in critical condition. The EGG named Dapper's condition is less serious, so is resting elsewhere. All seven eggs are responding well to treatment. Their injuries are complex, and further complicated by radiation sickness for these six. I do not know how long healing will take. They are not yet stable enough to survive infection, please refrain from breaking past the barriers. They are for the safety of the EGGS. Only myself, WB011 and WB022 are permitted here, and only if clean. They are my assistants and are also caring for the EGGS.'

Pac clings to Fit's arm as he reads, Fit reaching up to squeeze his hand as he frowns at the words.

"They will be okay though, right?" Pac glances around the children. "Richas? Leo? Tallulah?"

WA008 nods.

"What injuries do they have?" Fit's voice remains harsh, but he has clearly backed off even further with the news. "You must have more information."

WA008 pulls out the book they were writing in earlier, quickly adding a line, and then having it over. Fit tucks the other book into his bag before reading it.

Inside are more complete medical records for the eggs; Pac cannot translate all of the medical terminology, but he understands the numbers well enough. Assuming they are accurate, it seems WA008 is speaking true; their conditions are improving, and Dapper's - on the first page, arriving soonest - are better, and their immune systems are in shambles. Fit glances at him; Pac nods, and rests his head on Fit's shoulder.

At the end of the records book is a request to give it back. Pac sees Fit quickly photograph each page before it is returned.

WA008 waits for a moment, before nodding to them both, and letting themself into Chayanne's nook instead.

"They were telling the truth?" Fit quietly whispers.

Pac nods, "my English is not good enough but... The numbers are right."

Fit shudders, then nods. His eyes are closed for a long moment; when he opens them again, he gently removes Pac's hand from his arm.

"Hey Doc!" Fit calls.

WA008 turns to look at him, summoning another book.

"You should probably give Bad a check over. He's not doing too good."

"Maybe all of us need a doctor," Pac adds. "Purgatory was bad."

Unlike every other time, WA008 hesitates. When the book comes this time, their body language reads almost apologetic.

'I do not have time.' this one reads. 'The other medical staff are sick, or working on quarantine wards. I must give my time to the EGGS. If you are still conscious, I do not have time to treat you. Emergencies and EGGS only.'

"Bad is... Kinda an emergency. He's bleeding everywhere and has big head trauma."

WA008 visibly winces, gesturing for the book back. To the end they add, 'I'll ask WB011 to check in when he visits Dapper. It is unlikely we will be able to provide proper treatment at this time, but he can ensure Resident BadBoyHalo is not going to die. Head injuries require more resources to fully treat than we have available.'

"That's kinda shit, then," Fit replies.

WA008 seems visibly distressed, but nods in agreement.

"Three workers for seven critically ill eggs is not enough," Pac quietly tells Fit. "As it is they won't be getting to sleep properly."

Neither of them like that knowledge at all, but it's true.

"And what is it going to cost us?" Fit asks.

'I am not being paid for this. If someone tries to charge you, stab them and I will introduce them to my needles *-*'

"You're sure?" Pac asks. "Medicine costs a lot if you have to buy it..."

':) says it is so you enjoy the island, and all workers serve the island. I want to make people better.'

:) is... Cucurucho. Pac supposes that makes sense; however much he doesn't want Richas in Federation hands, he knows they don't have the expertise to help his son.

Or any of the eggs, for that matter.

"Alright. I'll believe you for now," Fit takes a deep breath, then waves towards the Federation Doctor. "Good luck out there, fellow worker."

WA008 perks up a little, but the wave they give Fit as they hop back into Chayanne's nook is definitely stressed. With a tug, Fit leads Pac back towards the beds where the collection of parents have been staying.

"They're that bad but there isn't a doctor always here?" he frowns.

Pac shrugs, "probably have warp plates and monitors. If Mike had to treat seven people, I'd do it so he could sleep. It's not good but... It's better than a sleep deprived doctor missing things."

"Mike's a doctor?"

"No," Pac shakes his head a bit. "But... We didn't always have access to one, so he learnt."

'Never had access to one' would be more accurate, but Pac doesn't say it. Fit, at least, seems to understand; he just nods.

"Yeah," Fit says. "A lot of guys like that in the wasteland. It's a useful skill if you need to trade something."

Pac isn't sure what to say to that, or to the distant look on Fit's face. So he just hums, and leans against him once again.

Fit's arm comes up, and nervously tucks him closer. Pac snuggles in.

"They'll be okay?" Fit says it like he means it to be a reassurance, but instead it sounds like a question.

"They'll be okay," Pac repeats back, a little more certain.

Together they watch WA008 tend to their children, taking readings and changing dressings and IV bags. Pac doesn't see them do anything wrong, or especially dangerous, and so he allows himself to relax. They seem calm, too, or as calm as they were after the interruption at least. It's unlikely there are new complications then - with radiation and long-open wounds in play, its always possible.

"We should get gifts for them," Pac says. "For when they wake up."

"That'd be nice," Fit's calmer now, too, drifting a bit. "We can get started in the morning."

Pac nods, and slips down to lie on the bed. After a few moments of looking at the pillow, he places his head in Fit's lap instead.

There's a startled noise, and Pac hides his smile.

"Good night, Richas," he calls to his unconscious son, before turning his head and whispering. "Good night, roommate."

Fit puts a hand on his shoulder, body and voice both stuttering a little, "yeah, um, g'night roommate. Sleep well."

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp fit #qsmp pac #qsmp eggs #idk what this is I just had thoughts

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a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire · 5 months

Text

I made a mistake last time, I said that I read chapters 22-30 when I only read 22-29, but now I have read chapter 30 and also chapters 31-34 so lets talk about those

Its so frustrating how Im more than halfway through this 700 page book thats ostensibly supposed to be about Feyre and Rhysand's complicated relationship developing and theres been no development because the things that should make their relationship complicated have just been completely handwaved. Like, if this book HAS to focus so much on Rhys to the detriment of Feyre, and he also just HAS to be morally good, atleast give him some kind of character arc of bettering himself, right now Im basically just looking at this stagnant statue of a guy through someone elses eyes which doesnt make for a rewarding reading experience

Ive also been noticing more and more weird retcons and idk what to call it, justifications for why Rhys is better even when hes doing the same shit as Tamlin I guess? The two big ones being, when Tamlin blew up that room after Feyre told him that he was suffocating her he did it out of anger, and, Feyre is fine with wearing dresses for the night court because she knows she can go back to wearing Illyrian leathers anytime, which is not how it was at the spring court.

First of all, I keep saying this, I am not a Tamlin girlie, I dont like him that much and hes doing a bad job dealing with Feyre, but you dont need to make shit up to make Feyre's choice to leave feel justified. Like, he was not punching the walls in anger, he felt so bad and guilty about hurting Feyre when all he wants is to keep her safe that his magic went haywire over it. And thats bad enough! I mean Feyre, who has a lot of trouble communicating her feelings, finally managed to tell him everything thats wrong and makes her feel bad and makes healing from her trauma difficult, and he reacts by basically having a panic attack which makes his magic react in a dangerous way. Idk about you, but I would not feel comfortable or even safe expressing my feelings to him, even if he didnt react like that out of anger

Like, Feylin could have just not worked out, it couldve just been disfunctional without being portrayed as abuse but it cant be, I guess because it needs to be abuse in order to justify Feyre leaving him. And thats so strange to me because the idea that women need any kind of ("serious") justification for leaving a relationship is completely anti-thetical to the themes of feminism and choice that this book is trying to go for. Like, why cant a woman just break up with a guy because she stopped feeling it, theres no reason not to break up with a guy who makes you feel bad even if hes not being outright abusive. Although, in this particular story there actually is a reason, which is that if Feyre left Tamlin without a "good" justification then Amarantha would win, she would be proven right about the fickle nature of humans and the pointlessness of their un-eternal love from beyond the grave and that would be a bummer because the first book is about how Love Conquers All, as is the case with pretty much all great romances. So Tamlin's unambigiously abusive now so that that beautiful idea of Love Conquering All doesnt end up being dragged through the dirt. ACOMAF essentially posits that the Love that was supposed to Conquer All isn't real because neither Feyre nor Tamlin were willing or able to truly love each other through their trauma, ergo it didnt actually Conquer All. Thats also why Rhysand isnt meaningfully affected by what should be traumatic events; because while Feyre can love someone through her own trauma, she cant seem love someone whos traumatized themself

I feel like the way I phrased that was pretty harsh, but I do think its kinda true, in a way. Idk man, the thing that makes talking about Feyre's new UTM trauma so difficult is that everyone, including the narrative itself, is expecting her to have worked through it within less than half a year when its like, shes immortal and also living in a world with no therapists, she can take a bit longer than that. I mean hell, everyone in the inner circle is like 500 years and all of their major traumata happened when they were very young and most of them have still not learned how to actually cope with them aside from killing/avoiding the people who caused it (atleast from what Ive seen, especially of Cassian), Feyre might honestly be doing better than all of them but she keeps dogging on herself which, remember, her perspective is objectively correct as of this book, so that sucks

Alright, three paragraphs to talk about that first point, lets move on to talking about the dress thing. I have already observed that it seems like Feyre might stop wearing pants entirely at some point despite how much this particular book keeps going on and on about Tamlin forcing her to wear dresses in conjunction with going on about Tamlin forcing her into a subserviant mother-role, implying that dresses are inherently depowering, and well. I hate that for Feyre but I do love being proved right

And like, okay, I think Feyre hating dresses is another ACOMAF retcon, but its a retcon in a weirdly circular way. Let me explain; in ACOTAR I didnt get the impression that she hated dresses, I thought she just preferred pants because its what she was used to and because for a pretty large chunk of the book she was thinking about fleeing or was in situations where she needed to run away from something and pants were just more practical for that. But when she trusted the fae a bit more and a special occasion came up or she wanted to make Tamlin feel flustered (? that one doesnt make that much sense to me tbh), she did ask for dresses to wear and only felt a little embarrassed about it because she didnt usually wear them. I didnt even get the impression that she hated the impractical rich noblewoman dress they put her in when she was sent back to the human world, just that she found it really silly and unfitting for her. And I do think her being willing to wear dresses was supposed to be a signifier of her healing journey and her learning how to be gentle and let herself be loved in that book

Then ACOMAF comes around and she suddenly hates wearing dresses, which also ties into her suddenly becoming some kind of adrenaline junkie when she previously wanted to live a peaceful and comfortable life. Now, granted, the difference is that in ACOTAR she wore dresses that she explicitly asked to wear, whereas in ACOMAF Tamlin just assumes that she will always wear dresses by virtue of her being a woman without asking Feyre about it at any point (I know Ianthe was actually more involved in the dress-stuff, but the narrative is making Tamlin responsible for it so Im just gonna go along with it for simplicity's sake). Thats reasonable enough

But then a little further into ACOMAF we have Rhysand doing the exact same thing, hes assuming that she will wear dresses for the sake of keeping up appearances and helping him with his politics (and also, he's assuming that she will let herself be sexualized via the apple-breast comment in front of Tarquin (and later the CoN-UTM reeanactment scene)) and hes right, because of course he is. But the reason its fine when Rhysand does it, I guess, is because he keeps reassuring her that she has a choice in these matters when she really doesnt. Like, did he pack some illyrian leathers just in case Feyre didnt want to wear the dresses he got her? If he did, theres been no mention of it. Theres also been no mention of him asking her if she preferred to wear pants or a dress for the Summer Court mission, even though it seems to me that harem pants are considered to be unisex in the Night Court while they seem to be considered distinctly masculine in places like the Spring Court

And then we get to the thing about this dress-stuff that makes me call it a 'weirdly circular retcon'; while Nuala is dressing Feyre up for her date with Tarquin, for lack of a better term, she looks at herself in the mirror and thinks about how maybe, after everything shes been through that forced her to become hard, shes starting to heal and can finally let herself be feminine and soft and pretty. If you'll recall from a few paragraphs ago, that already happened to Feyre in ACOTAR except it was more subtle, I dont remember her just straight-up thinking about it like she does in this scene in ACOMAF. So its the same thing, but instead of her wearing dresses that she excplicitly asked to wear, shes wearing dresses that her new bf picked out for her and all but made her wear

And honestly, thats a really good way of summarizing the differences between Feylin and Feysand and the way Feyre gets treated in these book, which is why I wrote so fucking much about this pretty insignificant detail

Surprisingly enough, Im not done with this monster of a post yet, because I have some stuff to say about the Summer Court

The way Cresseida was introduced and treated made me have what Im just gonna call an angry epiphany. Like, before she came along I just thought the feminism of this series was very shallow and very white, but after her introduction I was just angrily thinking to myself "How the FUCK is this series considered feminist in any way?! The three types of women that exist in this story are literally Protagonist's Sisters (characterized as Haughty Bitch and Infantilized Clueless Cinnamon Roll Who Can Do No Wrong respectively), Protagonist's Slaves Servants Who Are Inexplicably Always Darkskinned Women and Promiscuous Bitches"

Varian seemed fine, but I dont like that he seems to have something going on with Amren. I know I said I didnt particularly like her, but I did still kinda latch onto her as my aroace rep so I find that very disappointing. But I guess thats on me for having expectations like that of the most amatonormative book series Ive ever read

So, from observing this part of the fandom prior to reading the books, it seemed that if sjm critical people dont like Feylin, theyll usually like Feyquin as an alternative to the horrible but canon Feysand. Despite that, I didnt have the highest expectations because honestly, it not much harder for a character to be a better love interest than ACOTAR!Tamlin and Rhysand. Like, the thing about Tamlin is that he was a really boring guy but hes a very good love interest, and the thing about Rhysand is that hes also really boring and hes a very bad love interest, so I thought "okay, I know Tarquin is the youngest and he has that whole thing about actively wanting equality for faeries but no one taking him seriously because everyone thinks hes inexperienced, OBVIOUSLY hes more interesting than the guys who can access their power with no issue, and then he'll just be kinda flirty towards Feyre, as SJM MaLeS usually are and that makes him a decent enough potential love interest I guess" and thats all true but idk, actually reading about him made me like him sooooo much. Like, him and Feyre telling each other theyre easy to love? Mwah, gorgeous. I bet Rhys is really glad he has that mating bond because without it his sorry ass would NOT be able to compete with Tarquin

So now my list of m/f Feyre ships goes Feyquin > Feycien > Feylin and Feyre/Azriel are on about the same level to me I think > Feysand (not including feyssian bc I think its a crime to ship cassian with a woman sry)

I specify m/f Feyre ships because if I included all of the Feyre ships, Feyanthe would be at the very top followed by Feyre/Amren. Idk, I know its obscure, but when she was describing how Amren was wearing a crop top she said something like "a sliver of skin was left exposed, as tempting as a calm lake" and I was like oh? 👀 Those guys have potentialllllllll I mean who needs Mates when youre both Made amiright fellas. Also, Feyre/Mor would go above Feysand

Anyway, thats it from me again, I hope you enjoyed this

#anti acotar #anti acomaf #anti sjm #anti rhysand #anti feysand #flames and darkness liveblog

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