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her-satanic-wiles · 9 days

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Guess Who?

Papa Emeriti I, II, III & Cardinal Copia x Plus Size!Reader

Game night takes a turn when you end up blindfolded and tied on the table, at the mercy of all of your beloved Papas. The name of the game: figure out who’s touching you. You win: you cum. They win: they use your body however they see fit.

For @da-rulah, because I sent her a scenario that hurt her wittle feewings, and so now I’m facing the consequences of my actions. I hope you enjoy, Bee. ✌🏻😘

Masterlist

Words: 9.2k.

Reading Time: 37 min.

Warnings: aftercare, alluded/implied sex work, anal play, biting, bondage (using a rope), breath play, breeding, bukkake, choking, cream pie, cum eating, cunnilingus, degradation, fellatio, fingering, finger sucking, free use, gang bang, groping, MMFMM, objectification, plus size!reader, PIV sex, praise, premature ejaculation, pussy slapping, rope play, rough sex, running a train, sensory depravation (blindfold), skull fucking, spit-roasting, squirting, tag teaming, talking about you as if you weren’t there, tickle kink (if you squint), unprotected sex, (wrap it before you tap it folks), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex,

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @xshadyladyx @x1nd1g0x @likeloversentwined @high-above-the-city @copiaspet622 @sister-of-sin-claudia @foxybouquet @inkstainedrat @ad-astra-per-aspera1976 @ravensbars @ultrahalloweengirl @susulbr @frog-scream @ghulehunknown @namelessghoulindisguise @onlyhereforghost @mercbeans

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Game night was usually a night reserved for only the brothers Emeritus, who usually enjoyed card games with only the three players. Every week without fail, the three men would gather in the wine cellar of the Ministry and play cutthroat games of Uno while drinking bottles of the Ministry’s finest by candlelight. It wasn’t often they’d invite a fourth in, rarely finding a person close enough to all three of them that they’d be able to relax and have fun with. But it wasn’t unheard of. Which is why the decision was unanimous when your name was thrown into the middle.

You were the favourite of all the Papas and the whole Ministry knew it. You were their closest friend and companion, the one who had the most in common with them and compassion for them. The one who made them feel the best both in and out of the bedroom. Yes, okay, the relationship you had with them all was… unique. It wasn’t often in any part of the world that brothers would share a woman and be happy doing so. But if it worked for all of you, you’d hardly say no. There was something so deliciously degrading about being passed around the Ministry’s highest ranking men like a commodity to be shared - as though you were nothing more than an object. It was so delicious because it wasn’t true. Of all the people you’d been with during your time at the Ministry, no one had treated you more kindly, more respectfully, and prioritised your pleasure quite like the Emeritus brothers. And so, almost every evening, you’d find yourself ‘rented’ for the night, and would end up tangled in the sheets with one of the Papas. And every time you needed to perform a ritual, it was always to one of them you’d call.

They’d tried getting you in on game night a few times before, but it just so happened that you were usually busy and had made plans before they’d been able to ask. How popular could one person be?

It turned out you didn’t have so many friends that they all kept you busy, rather you had one friend who took up most of your time away from the three Papas: Cardinal Copia. The Cardinal had inadvertently kept you all to himself mostly because you were his closest friend. Copia was the kind of man to put all his effort into one relationship rather than several, which meant you were the only one of his friends he wanted to spend time with. As that was the case, he had taken up so much of your free time, he made it impossible for the Papas to pin you down and drag you to game night. So, they dragged the bumbling Cardinal to game night, too.

The five of you were hunched round an aged table, the thing losing its integrity from the little upkeep that was done to it over the years. The layers of stain and paint gave it a more plastic feel, and one of the legs was propped up with the King James’ Bible, the book itself dirty from years of shoes resting on it. Clockwise, Primo headed the table, followed by Copia, You, Terzo and ending with Secondo. You only had two cards left, and felt smug at that. The closest person to you was Secondo, who had 3 cards. Everyone else was five cards or, in Copia’s case, much more. The typical banter and shit-talk ensued, you teasing Terzo about how you were going to win, Primo constantly pulling the cheapest moves like adding +2 cards or reversing so that Copia would have to draw more or wouldn’t get to play. Copia promising violent vengeance every time Primo screwed him over, which would earn titters of amusement from Secondo and Terzo.

Finally, Terzo had played his card allowing you to drop your penultimate one on top of his, your red 4 landing on his blue 4, with a cheery “Uno!” falling from your lips, despite Primo and Copia’s conversation that was murmuring in the background.

Secondo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Cardinale!” He called, breaking up the conversation. “It is your turn.”

“___ hasn’t had her turn yet.” Copia protested.

“She just did.”

Primo smirked, a devilish smile on his lips. “Our dear ___ didn’t claim ‘Uno!’. You have to take five cards.”

“I did!” You exclaimed, offended at Papa Primo’s accusations. You told him as such.

“I didn’t hear you.” Copia claimed.

“To be fair, Cardinale, you were talking.” Secondo insisted, fighting your corner.

Terzo sighed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “There is nothing for it, amore.” He exclaimed. “Two insist you did not say it, two insist you did. Therefore, you must be punished some way, no? Either, take five cards like my fratello told you to do, or…”

“…Or?” You asked impatiently, bracing yourself for Terzo’s ultimatum. You knew it would be a suggestive offer, but you didn’t know exactly what he’d choose.

“Or, you take off that pretty little habit of yours and play the rest of the game in your underwear.”

Secondo jumped in. “___, you don’t have to do either.”

Primo, who secretly hoped you’d choose Terzo’s second option, also chimed in. “Well, you do have to take five cards if you don’t get naked for us.”

“Papa?” Copia asked, eyebrows raised. He clearly wasn’t expecting Primo to go along with it.

“What? You cannot expect an old man to be completely adverse to a beautiful woman stripping herself bare for my enjoyment - provided she consents, of course.”

Terzo, “If anyone objects, speak now or forever hold thy peace.”

Everyone immediately shot subtle glances at Copia, expecting the only man in the room who you’d not fucked yet to object. But, with blushing cheeks, he sat back and much to everyone’s surprise, remained quiet.

You slammed your card on the table and stood from your seat, hands immediately flying to and removing your veil. “This is bullshit.” You said, undoing the buttons at the front of your habit before pulling the whole thing over your head. You were met with sounds of appreciation, whistles, hoots and hollers - most of which came from Terzo who was more than happy to watch you reveal your gorgeous, plump body in order to win the game. You sat back down, breasts and stomach jiggling with the force, thighs splaying out against the chair as you sat. You watched as Secondo was mesmerised by your curves. He said nothing, wanting to keep things with you as respectful as possible, but he loved your body: loved watching it bounce each time he fucked into you, loved laving and sucking on your nipples, biting them just to earn that sound from your throat. It didn’t matter that he was a middle aged man with the total ability to control himself, when it came to you, he was a constant horny mess.

The game continued, Copia had his turn, Primo, Secondo, Terzo, then back to you. Finally, and with much grumbling from the rest of them, you played the final card and won the match. “And I did it all whilst naked.” You bragged. “This is why you never invite me to this nights - you know I’ll kick your ass.”

“We don’t always play Uno, you know.” Primo stated, resting his elbows on the table.

“Doesn’t matter, any game you throw my way I’ll win.” You responded petulantly.

“Oh you think?” Terzo asked, eyebrows raising.

“I know.”

“Prove it.” Secondo sounded from the other side of the table.

“Name the game, Papa.”

“What did you have in mind, fratello?” Questioned Terzo again.

Secondo sat back, his body language oozing confidence with a menacing glint in his eyes. “A game even our friend over there can play if he’s willing.” He gestured to Copia, who swallowed nervously. “We got some rope down here, some cloth. We strip you naked, blindfold you, and touch you however we want. You have to guess who it is. You guess correctly, we make you cum then move to the back of the line. Guess incorrectly, and we get to do what we want to you. You have to guess the majority correctly in order to win, if you don’t, well, we’ll decide what happens to you. Think you could win then?”

“Easy.” You challenged.

“Oh, you think so?”

You stood up. “Copia, you in?”

“I- I…” He stammered, torn between wanting to play but not wanting to ruin your friendship.

“Whatever you choose, I’m happy.”

“I… I’ll play.”

Primo patted him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

“Well then,” you reached round your back and unhooked your bra, throwing the fabric to the stone cold floor and feeling your nipples harden at both your arousal and the change in temperature, “let’s play.” Your panties were the next to go, followed by your shoes and socks, leaving you stood on the wine cellar’s floor naked as the day you were born. With each move you made, your body jiggled slightly, earning more groans of appreciation from the men who remained. Terzo even coming up behind you and pressing himself against you, hands roaming all over your body and grabbing handfuls of you where he could.

“Can’t wait for you to guess incorrectly so I can fuck you dumb, tesoro.” He whispered into your ear before biting it.

“Leave you with blue balls.” You teased.

“We’ll see.” He stepped away from you and gave your ass a slap, watching it wobble with the force. He bit his bottom lip and moaned like he’d just eaten something delicious. “We will see.”

Secondo had gone and returned from getting the rope and cloth he saw, and began to bind you up in it, using the rope to tie your hands behind your back. “Your safe word is ‘bottle’, amore.” He told you placing a chaste but gentle kiss on your shoulder blade. “Does this feel okay?” He asked pulling on the rope.

“It feels fine, Papa.” You replied, feeling heat gather in your core and your breath already labouring.

“You ready for the blindfold?”

“Yes.”

And with that, your vision was blinded, your sense of sight plunged into darkness as Secondo tied the cloth gently behind your head, checking to make sure you were comfortable, before guiding you into position. You were lay against the small table, your head barely supported, with most of it hanging over the edge. You were lay on your back with your legs spread, your hands taking the weight of your back as it arched over the top of them. Your breasts had, for lack of a better term, pancaked as gravity was inistent on pulling them down. But even though Terxo made fun of that term, he loved the way you looked on your back for him. Your cunt was entirely on display with just how wide your spread legs had opened your labia, your wetness already visible to the men who stared at your body hungrily, like animals about to feed for the first time in weeks.

You felt Secondo kiss your thigh once before disappearing to join his brothers. Then, you heard all four of the men, in unison, say, “Carta, forbice, sasso!” Followed by skin slapping on skin.

Those fucking idiots were playing rock, paper, scissors to see who was going to go first. You heard a few grumbles, but couldn’t make out who made what noise.

You heard footsteps.

The sound of a glove sliding against skin. Twice.

Those gloves falling to the floor.

Then you felt it. A thumb running up and down your slit, gathering your wetness before finally rubbing over your clit - tight, little circles designed to drive you mad. Your hips bucked at the touch, a gasp escaping your lips at the surprise touch. His four fingers rested on your mound as an anchor, allowing more precise movements, and for him to put more pressure on your clit. You struggled against the rope, your hands moving out of habit wanting to reach your nipples, to pinch and pull at the buds like you usually did when someone played with your bundle of nerves. But the rope bit at your skin, burning slightly as you fought against it and making you scream out in frustration. “Fuck!” You breathed, body writhing beneath the calloused thumb. You wanted to try an work out who was doing it to you so you could win the game, but your mind went blank the second his thumb touched you.

The teasing was very much a Terzo trait, but the use of his thumb wasn’t. Terzo usually teased using his mouth or his cock. He didn’t have the drive to use one of his hands. Secondo used his hands a lot, loved to plunge them deep inside you and finger you open for him, having you screaming and begging for him to touch your clit. Which is how you knew this wasn’t Secondo. It couldn’t be Primo - he didn’t have the heart to tease. He’d always give you what you asked for in a heartbeat. Which meant it must have either been Terzo or Copia. As you’d never had sex with Copia, you couldn’t be sure what his methods were - and this touch did feel foreign. “Is it… is it Copia?”

You heard laughter from the other side of the room, followed by a “Dammit!” from Copia. “It’s me.” Copia pulled up one of the chairs and situated himself between your legs, getting himself ready for the task of making you cum. You felt his hot breath against your centre, erratic little puffs that hit your wet skin as he breathed through his nervousness. He took his time with you, almost as if he was psyching himself up. Copia had fucked before, and he was good at it. But he’d never fucked you. You could imagine that he was nervous because he wanted you to think he was good. And, if you had use of your hands, you’d tangle them in his brown hair and stroke his head gently, reassuringly. But instead, all you had were your little grunts of desperation to softly urge him on.

His moustache was the next thing you felt, tickling against your folds as his mouth made contact with you. The course hairs ran against your sensitivity as his tongue darted out to lap up the juices that were spilling from you. You could feel your hole clenching around nothing, screaming for something to fill it while Copia toyed with your clit, but he made no move to fill you, instead putting more pressure on you with his tongue as he continued to move up and down your slit, until finally he made permanent contact with your clit.

He tightened his tongue to make the tip more pointed to get a precise lick to your clit, swirling around it with his muscle and causing you to cry out in response, fighting against your restraints. His hot breath kept coming out from his nose, heightening your senses and making you hyper aware of just how much of a mess you were as tit hit the wetness seeping from you and making you feel cold. Your nipples were so hard and needing someone to play with them while Copia continued to drink you down like he was dehydrated.

He alternated between using his tongue only and pressing filthy kisses to your folds, practically making out with your cunt to get you off quicker. You could hear the sound of his lips smacking against your body, in between the broad strokes of his tongue he was providing for you. Tiny grunts would escape his lips as he ate you alive, treating you like the most delicious meal he’d ever eaten. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you held down as much as he could so he could devour you easily. You could feel your high coming faster than you’d anticipated, or even wanted, but he was working you towards that end so fucking well, you were losing your breath and your mind.

“Copia, fuck!” You screeched, breathlessly. Your nails were scratching against the wood of the table, feeling the gross stickiness from the drinks’ condensation underneath your body, but feeling more filthy and used than disgusted. Your brain reminded you that you weren’t alone, that there were three other men watching this go on with just as much pleasure as you. You wondered if they were touching themselves. If they were watching you writhe with pleasure and stroking their cocks at the sight.

Copia’s lips wrapped entirely around your clit, moustache now soaked from your cunt, and he sucked. Hard. That tongue he used so precisely before was now slapping against your clit again, this time much faster than before. Because of this, the surprise change in pace and pressure, your orgasm hit you so violently, every single one of your nerve endings exploded beneath his touch, and set off a chain reaction around the rest of your body. Your muscles tensed, your breath was snatched from your lungs, your eyes (beneath the blindfold) closed even tighter, and your mouth had hung open in a perfect ‘o’, allowing a strangled moan to leave from your tightened throat that had closed in the strain of your orgasm. All the while, Copia refused to let up, keeping the pressure going even when you were trying to kick him away. He didn’t stop until he was sure your orgasm had subsided. He pressed one final kiss to your clit before he stood up and walked away, leaving you alone and spent on the table, recovering from one of the best orgasms of your life.

“Did that feel good, tesoro?” You head Terzo ask from the other side of the room. No one had approached you yet, meaning you couldn’t gauge whether Terzo was next or not.

Your brain was still scrambled, and you were barely able to manage a “uh-huh,” to respond to him, which earned a chuckle from all four of the men in the corner.

When the laughter died down, you heard more footsteps approaching you, stopping this time at the right side of you. You felt the silk of a robe glide over your bear skin, but as all of the Papa’s robes were made from the same material, you could only rule out Copia at that point.

You jumped in surprise at the feeling of four fingers immediately touching your stomach, rubbing two large, soft circles into the skin just to tease you. Those four fingers broke off as his hands went in two separate directions. The first moved upwards, running up over the mound of your breast, stopping to play with your right nipple - pinching and pulling at the bud just as you liked, and had needed for the past however long they’d been playing with you. The second hand moved downwards, mimicking the actions of the first by pinching and pulling, except this time it was on your clit. He wasn’t as rough with your clit as he was your nipple, given that your were still probably sensitive from your orgasm, but the torture was too fun even if you were suffering a little.

Those fingers that were playing with your cunt slipped inside your hole, immediately curving upwards and hitting that sweet spot that had you singing so beautifully for them. You only had the opportunity to cry out once before you felt the hand on your breast reach up to your neck, and squeeze the sides gently. His fingers were rough, working to hit your g-spot over and over again and make you squirm at his touch, and you felt your body shake with the force of it. The way he was using his hands against you, plus the roughness of them and the pit stop at your breasts made you confident enough to make your second guess.

“S-Secondo?”

Your stomach and heart sank when you heard dark laughter coming from the guys in the corner of the room. Secondo’s gruff voice sounded from far away, loudly speaking over the sound of your wetness squelching as the fingers inside you kept up their pace. “Wrong, amore.” He said, all too happily for you to be comfortable.

You smelled wine and sandalwood when the man leaned down so his mouth was level with your ear. “You’re mine now, tesoro.” Terzo claimed, his voice dark and heavily accented. His words were stretched telling you he was smiling as he spoke, unable to form them correctly. He revelled in the deception, removing his hands from your body and bringing his fingers up to your lips. “Open up for me.” He commanded, and once you obeyed, he put his middle and ring fingers covered in your cunt juices into your mouth. “Clean yourself up. Suck on them like you do my cock.”

You took those fingers into your mouth beautifully, putting on a show for him in hopes that he’d go easy on your body when he took what he wanted from you. A gutteral groan sounded from his mouth as he watched your lips stretch around his thick fingers, tongue grazing along the underside as you cleaned yourself from his digits. You bobbed your head fluidly, like you usually did when you took him in your throat, moaning around him and rubbing your thighs together. He always liked to know he had an affect on you - maybe appeasing his ego would help you out.

He removed his hand from your mouth and you heard him walk to your feet. His hands pried themselves in between your thighs to show your cunt to him like a piece of meat being inspected by a customer. You waited with baited breath as he decided what to do with you, no doubt in your mind that he was staring at your wetness with that glint in his eyes: the one that shows his excitement but could be mistaken for sadism if you didn’t know him. Or maybe they were the same thing. You felt his fingertips trace up and down the inside of your left thigh, before that hand disappeared. With the other on your right ankle keeping your legs spread and the other one missing, you could feel anticipation pool in your stomach.

SLAP.

His hand had come down hard on your cunt, fingers colliding brutally with your sensitive clit and stinging at the connection. You screamed out, body jerking with the attempt to slither away and close your thighs, but Terzo had already got himself between your legs, and there was nothing you could do but take it.

SLAP.

“Terzo!” You screamed, feeling your sensitivity dial up several notches with the second slap.

“Do you need to use your safe word, tesoro?” He asked.

“No.”

“Brava.”

SLAP.

“Want you nice and red for me when I fuck you dumb, tesoro. I told you that earlier.” This time, he rubbed his thick fingers over your clit, soothing the wound he was inflicting. “You’re already dripping enough. I could just slide in now, couldn’t I?”

“Yes, Papa!”

You felt his arms wrap around your thick thighs and pull you towards the edge of the table. The rustle of his fabrics reached your ears telling you he was getting his cock out ready for you. Then you felt it: his heavy girth rubbing up and down your folds in typical Terzo fashion, the head rubbing against your cunt, encased comfortably by your lips. Every now and again, the tip would catch against your opening, and you held you breath for the push in that wouldn’t come until you least expected it. But when he did finally push inside you, your mouth fell open at the stretch. You were so sad you couldn’t watch his face, the look of it as he bottomed out on you always had you tightening around him. You were desperate to see his face crumpled up, showing you he loved being inside you.

“So fucking tight, tesoro.” He commented as soon as he was fully inside. You felt the crown nestle against your cervix, teasing you, reminding you that he was about to ruin you in all the best ways. He left you waiting for his true torture to begin, as you vaguely remembered that the only one who’d be cumming now was him.

He pulled out so his tip was almost entirely out of you, and then slammed back into you. The room echoed with the sound of the table scraping across the floor with the force of it. That sound, combined with your screams and whines, created the perfect symphony to Terzo’s onslaught.

Terzo always knew how to play you like a fiddle, pushing all of your buttons to have you walking beside the Gods. Today was no exception. Your legs had been extended to rest on his chest and over his shoulder, his arms wrapped around your thick thighs for leverage as he thrust all the way into you.

Terzo fucked you like he paid for you, his cock pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt as quickly as he could move, taking only his pleasure from your body. You were lucky with all of your lovers, they were all giving and had just as much fun making you cum as they had doing the same for themselves. But sometimes, when you’d behaved in such a way to earn a punishment, you’d see all three of them be incredibly selfish and just take. Letting them use you like that, given the stark juxtaposition of their regular behaviour, always had you dripping for them, enjoying being nothing more than a living toy - a warm hole to sink into.

You clenched around Terzo’s cock as he fucked you - used you - for his own enjoyment. And, over the sounds you and your body were making, you heard Terzo’s rough voice. “Come here!” He said to someone else in the room. You heard footsteps that stopped beside Terzo. “Wrap your hand around her throat.”

The person obliged, their footsteps ending up by your head and then dropping their hand to your exposed neck. Terzo already had your body bouncing against him, ricocheting against his thrusts every time. The hand, because of this, had a little trouble grabbing onto your body, but eventually he managed it. His fingers and thumb rested against your esophagus and squeezed inwards, not restricting your airflow completely, but just enough to have you feeling the effects. Your mind had almost entirely melted, thinking of nothing other than Terzo’s cock pounding away inside you, hearing your own desperate whimpers as the hand around your pretty little neck heightened your pleasure and sensitivity.

“Who is it, tesoro?” Terzo asked, breathlessly. “Whose hand is that around your pretty little neck?”

The hand loosened enough to allow you to concentrate fully, but still rested on you to remind you of its presence. You had no idea. Not a single thought floated in your head. “Nuh!” You grunted with a particularly rough thrust. You had to guess someone. “P-Primo?”

You heard laughter, then Terzo’s voice cut through your brain. He made the sound of a buzzer, the kind of noise you hear when you get a question wrong. “Fuck her throat, Copia.”

“Fuck!” You exclaimed in irritation, kicking your feet against Terzo’s shoulder, gently.

More laughter sounded.

“Is that okay, ___?” Copia asked.

“Of course.” You replied. He obviously wanted verbal consent, so you gave him just that, hearing him walk towards the crown of your head and adjust himself so his cock was completely free. You were maneuvered so that your head hung off the edge of the table, allowing a completely flat throat, and letting the Cardinal slide into your open mouth easily.

He hissed at the feeling of your tight, wet throat engulfing him with no trouble, thanks to the position you’d been put in. Copia tried to be kind to you, thrusting softly down your throat, and pulling out often to give you some breathing time. But you began to notice that the longer he spent inside you, the more he forgot his manners, and would spend more time fucking you between the breaths he gave you. This would make you clench tighter around Terzo’s cock, in part because your body was reacting to the loss of oxygen, but mostly because the feeling of being so thoroughly used had your mind swimming. Your body loved being degraded - reduced to nothing more than a set of holes to be used at any given time. Besides, you felt like Satanic Tinkerbell - you thrived under as much attention as you could possibly get, and felt like you’d die without it.

“Cazzo!” You heard Terzo grunt. His movements grew more and more erratic the closer he got to cumming. “Look at her throat.”

“Don’t.” Copia hissed again. “If I look, I’ll cum.”

“I can see the outline of his cock down your throat, tesoro. Every time he fucks inside you, I see it.”

You whined around Copia’s cock which spurred him to thrust forward a little more violently than he meant to. He wrapped his hand back around your throat and squeezed, crying out at how much tighter you got. “Oh merda! Oh cazzo!” Copia screeched. And, with no warning and just a strangled grunt, you felt Copia thrust into you one final time before he emptied himself into your throat, hands still wrapped around your throat, but with no pressure to them. He poured so much of himself into you, his body overreacting to his first time inside you. You heard Copia’s disappointed sigh as pulled out leaving you to swallow his load with a slight ache in your throat. You felt a string of your saliva spill onto your cheek, only to get the cloth covering your eyes damp where it settled and got soaked up. pulled out of you, “Wanted to last longer.” Copia commented.

“She tends to have that effect on people.” You heard Primo say. You remembered the first time Primo fucked you, too, and how he also didn’t last as long as he wanted… in fact, it was the same for all of them. You couldn’t help the sense of pride that washed over you reminiscing over that fact. “You gotta build up stamina to enjoy her completely.”

You tightened. Out of all of them, Primo was the kindest towards you - so to hear him talk about you as if you weren’t human did something to you that you should feel ashamed about. But instead it only made you wetter.

“Merda!” Terzo groaned. “Gonna fucking cum into this slutty cunt. You want that, tesoro?”

“I want it!” You begged, breathlessly.

“How much?”

“I w-want you to fill me up so-oh bad, Papa! Fuck. Want y-you to fill me up and…” You cut yourself off, remembering that there were others present.

Terzo spanked your thigh and dropped his voice down to a quiet, husky plea. “Fucking say it. I dare you. Finish that fucking sentence.”

“Want y-you to fill me up and fuck a baby into me. Show everyone who I belong to.”

“You fucking whore!” Terzo exclaimed appreciatively. “Sathanas!” And that was all the warning you got before Terzo also emptied himself into you, cock twitching in over sensitivity as rope after rope shot into your cunt, his fingers digging into your plump calves as he tried to keep himself grounded. His knees were buckling at the force, and you felt his whole body tremble as it fought to keep him upright.

When his orgasm subsided, Terzo pulled out of you, a grunt coupling his unceremonious actions. He gently returned your legs to the table, trying to make sure that you were safe and comfortable again, before fiddling with his clothes. You assumed he’d turned to walk away, which is when you heard Secondo’s voice.

“Nuh-uh!” He scolded, clicking his fingers. You’d seen him scold Terzo before, there was no doubt in your mind that the click was followed by Secondo pointing to the problem. “Clean up your mess before someone else gets in there.”

You imagined Terzo rolling his eyes like a petulant teenager. He pulled up a chair, sat on it, and buried his face in your folds without warning. His tongue delved as deep as it would go, licking his own cum out from your cunt. Where his tongue wouldn’t reach, his fingers did, and every drop of himself was gulped down with attitude. He didn’t care a button for your pleasure this time, purely being down there just to clean you out to be used again. When he had finished, he patted your thigh twice and left you waiting and wanting for the next person.

“Wait,” you said quickly hearing all movement in the room stop, “if I keep my hands to myself, can you untie me? It’s starting to hurt.” The rope was burning against your skin now to the point where you could hardly stand it anymore. And, given that both of your arms were tied behind your back and you were laying on them, your arms felt dead and your back had begun to ache.

“Of course.” Terzo replied without thinking. He turned on his heels and rushed back to the table, his hands on your shoulders. “Sit up for me, tesoro.” He ordered, his voice much more kindly than it had been before. He helped you to sit upright. “That’s it - brava ragazza.” You felt his deft hands working at the rope Secondo had tied, making short work of it given that it was tied well. Once your wrists were free and the rope had been discarded, you felt Terzo’s gentle touch on your wrists, no doubt a little red from the irritation. “Ah, my poor amore.” He pressed his lips to them. “Battle scars, no?”

“So dramatic.” Secondo muttered from the other side of the room.

“I have some hand cream,” Primo said walking towards you, “it’ll be good enough until you get to one of our rooms and can be taken care of properly.”

“Thank you, Papa.” You replied, a soft smile on your face.

You felt Primo and Terzo rub the hand cream into your wrists, their fingers working to moisturise the skin and help repair it as quickly as possible. Primo always kept stuff like this in his pockets - hard boiled sweets included. He was such a grandpa sometimes it made you laugh. Prepared for an apocalypse - you’d tell him that every time he pulled something out of his bag or pocket that would help.

Once they’d finished, Terzo pressed a kiss to your hand and walked away, while Primo rested his hand on the side of your neck, his thumb caressing your cheek as he pulled you in for a sweet kiss, the kind of kiss that had you sighing and leaning into his touch. “You’re doing so good for us, fiorellina.” He praised. “Just a little longer.”

Primo left you alone and everyone watched as you lay back down for them, body splaying out against the wood. Your hands went to the edges of the table, clutching on to try and stop you from grasping onto the next man who took his place between your legs.

Terzo’s voice sounded from across the room. “You have to get this next one correct, tesoro. Or we win.”

“I will. Of course I will, are we kidding?” You responded, determination in your voice.

The room was silent while the next man moved towards you - his footsteps slow and deliberate. His warm breath fanned out over your body, before finally you felt his tongue lave over your body: it ran all over your stomach, your thighs, back up to your breasts where he licked and sucked on your nipple. You moaned at the sensation, your hips bucking upwards as his mouth brought you so much pleasure. You had to resist the urge to clutch onto his head as you usually did whenever someone ran their tongue over your nipples. But that was when you felt it: a second tongue mimicking the patterns on your nipple and replicating it on your clit, pulling another moan from your mouth.

It was obvious that this was Secondo and Primo - although Copia had two chances, you doubt he’d have a third - or even that Terzo would come back for seconds.

“Secondo and P-Primo.” You said quickly.

“Well of course,” Terzo said, matter-of-factly, “but who’s doing what, tesoro?”

You thought you could get away with it, that they’d give you a break and let you have the win - but evidently not. “S-Secondo is - fuck -” you pushed your hips into the man’s mouth who was licking your cunt fervently. “Su-ucking on my clit.” It had to be, this was his style. He wasn’t usually gentle with your body, not when he’d been deprived for as long as he had been.

“And you think Primo is on your breasts?”

“Y-yes.”

“Take off the blindfold.”

You quickly lifted it off your eyes and immediately flinched at the candlelight, despite it being low. You’d been in complete darkness the whole time, it was hardly surprising that you were struggling to see. Your eyes were blurred, and they took a while to completely adjust, but when they did, a wave of relief washed over you. You were right. Your hands immediately flew to Primo and Secondo’s heads, putting pressure on Secondo’s because he was where you needed him the most, but everyone knew that Primo’s ministrations and work on your nipples would have you tipping over the edge in no time.

Primo lifted his mouth off your nipple and attached it to your lips, fingers tweaking the opposite bud in lieu of his tongue. This kiss was just as tender as his first one, filled with such passion you felt yourself grinding on Secondo’s tongue much faster in pure desperation.

“You are doing so well, fiorellina.” Primo echoed his words from earlier, voice low, those words clearly meant for your benefit and your benefit only. “You please us so well. Take everything we give like a good girl.”

“Papa!”

“Do you feel good?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Is my brother doing a good job?”

“Yes!”

“Tell him, fiorellina. Ask him to make you cum.”

“Please!” You begged, your mind so far gone you could hardly stand it anymore. For the first time since you looked down at him, you were able to drink in the sight of the man between your thighs, roughly sucking on your clit and pistoning his fingers in and out of you now like a man on a mission. You could only see the top of his head, given the rest of it was hidden by your cunt. You could only just see the bridge of his nose above your mound, his hands wrapped around your bruised, jiggling thighs, and him looking up at you through his lashes, a scowl on his brow with his determination to tip you over the edge. There was almost a predatory look in his eyes as he sucked you into his mouth, and it made your cunt clench tightly around his fingers.

“Oh fuck, Papa!”You called out to him, your stomach flipping at the sight of him. “Your t-tongue feels so… good. I’m so fucking close. P-please make me cum, Papa-ah! Wanna cum. Wanna cum so-oh I can… I can feel your c-cock deep inside me. Fuck! Just like that. Don’t stop. Please don’t fucking st-op. Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Secondo had pushed his face further into you, his tongue roving deliciously over your clit every time he sucked on it harshly.

“Cumming!” You announced via scream, your back arching off the table and mouth hanging open in pleasure. Your voice stopped, cut like someone had just turned the sound off but continued to play the video. Your second orgasm was violent, and wet. So very wet. Your vision was the first to go, dark patches swimming over your sight and eyes glazing over and rolling back as drool poured from your open mouth. Your hands cramped where they were clutching onto the table, your desperation forcing them there right as your orgasm hit lest you draw blood from your Papas. Secondo growled into your cunt as you released your cum onto him and the table below, the sound of your squirt hitting the floor as it poured from your body, combined with Secondo sucking it down greedily had your toes curling and your orgasm continuing. It felt like it went on forever, sending electric pulses all over your body until you couldn’t stand it and damn near passed out. All the while, you had Primo in your ear whispering to you; reminding you to breathe, telling you it was okay. You barely registered the fact that his hand was resting on top of yours, fingers bent to completely cover you.

Secondo stood from his place between your thighs and moved to your head to kiss you, letting one of your hands wrap around his neck and pull him closer to you as his mouth engulfed yours. Your other hand, which was still trapped beneath Primo’s, pulled out from its position and also pulled him toward you, breaking your kiss with Secondo so you could kiss Primo just as passionately. You felt Secondo’s fingers traverse the length of your body, before dipping back into your hole. “Mmmf!”You protested, muffled by Primo’s lips. You broke the kiss to look at Secondo. “Please not your hands!”

Secondo smirked. “You want my cock, hm?”

“Yes! Fuck. Please.”

“On your stomach then, amore.”

You climbed off the table before bending over it, letting your body squish against the wood so tantalisingly, you heard appreciative groans coming from everyone in the room. Secondo came back to his original position, and fumbled around with his robes before he positioned his cock at your entrance. You could feel the weight of it against you as he ran it through your folds, gathering your slick to lube himself up. The head of his girth rubbed against your sensitive clit, still twitching from the orgasm he gave you. Each rub caused you to whimper from the sensation, mouth hanging open and brow furrowing in pleasure.

When Secondo finally sank in, the stretch was divine. Secondo was so, incredibly thick and long, he reached depths that you had never felt before. Despite already being fucked once, your cunt was still forced open as though this was the first cock you’d taken in a long, long time. Your hands clutched onto the table again, grasping the edges tightly to ground yourself as you cried out, his own hiss of pleasure echoing in your ears as he, too, felt the effects of your extraordinarily tight pussy. He gave you time to adjust to him and his size once he’d buried himself all the way to the hilt, hands on your ass cheeks, gripping tight enough for the fat to squeeze between his fingers. A string of expletives in Italian fell from his lips, punctuated by a bite to your right hip. He thrust inside tentatively at first, hitting your cervix so deliciously, your eyes rolled back into your head and a delirious smile played on your lips. Secondo kept rocking into you, hitting that spot over and over again, gradually picking up the pace until he was fucking into you at a rough pace - the perfect pace.

Primo stood in front of you, watching your face as you took Secondo’s cock. Your hands unclasped from the table and moved to Primo’s clothed cock, standing to attention underneath his robes, and began to fumble with the fabric to free him. You wanted his cock in your mouth, just as much as you needed Secondo’s. You gave Primo’s cock two strokes at first, staving off the arousal just enough to get him into your mouth without him blowing too soon. Primo was always a delight to give head to - he was always so gentle, so appreciative, hands in your hair and sweet touches, never taking too much unless you were offering it and giving you kind praise as you worked hard to get him to cum.

Your first lick ran from base to tip, causing his toes to curl in his shoes at the pressure. But once you were at his head, you swirled your tongue around it, taking the whole tip in your mouth and sucking like you would taking cake mix off the spoon. You hollowed your cheeks to make a better suction for his head, and relished in the feeling of his hands in your hair, grunts of desperation slipping from his lips. You moved your hands to his hips and silently pulled them forward, sucking more of him into your mouth until that tip was right at the back of your throat, dipping down into your throat. All the while, you looked up at him through your lashes, big, doe eyes maintaining eye contact with him while your lips sinfully stretched around his cock.

“Oh my,” Primo commented, chest heaving from his lack of breath, “look at that. You look so pretty like this, fiorellina.”

He began to gently fuck your throat, pulling out completely to give you the opportunity to breathe, and bending down to kiss you ever now and then, before eventually feeding his cock back into your mouth, and repeating the process all over again.

In the meantime, behind you, Secondo was fixated on the way your cunt swallowed him whole, greedily pulling him back in and clenching down on his shaft as Primo sent those praises to you, and they shot straight down to your hole. You could hear Secondo’s own grunts and groans as he felt this, and just how feral he was becoming the longer he was inside of you. You were feeling so good, you were creaming on his cock, and Secondo couldn’t take his eyes off the juice that had gathered at the base, pulling and snapping with each time he pulled out then slammed back in.

He pushed his hand underneath your body and began to play with your clit again, stealing a moan from your mouth, muffled by Primo’s cock that was buried all the way to the hilt down your throat again. Secondo chuckled at your response, “You like that, amore?” He asked, his tone delightfully condescending, filled with a false sympathy that had goosebumps forming on your skin. “You like taking two cocks at the same time, hm? Like being used by four men in one day?”

“You should have seen the way her eyes lit up just now, fratellino.” Primo said, stroking your hair.

“Her cunt is clenching - I know how much she likes being a whore for us. Listen to her.” True enough, underneath your muffled whines and moans, everyone could hear the sound of Secondo fucking into you, how your wetness splashed around him and made it so, embarrassingly clear just how much you loved this. Secondo laughed again. “Look over at Terzo and the Cardinal, amore.”

You did as Secondo asked, pulling Primo out of your mouth to look at them over your shoulder. Terzo was, as expected, brazen with his thoughts, his cock completely out of his trousers again and his fist wrapped around it, darkened eyes trained on your body as you bounced off Secondo’s cock, and swallowed Primo’s with enthusiasm. Copia, on the other hand, clearly just as affected as Terzo, was still dressed from his earlier encounter with your mouth, but his hand rubbing over his cassock as discreetly as he could manage. You tightened again momentarily, relishing in the fact that you had four men rock hard and desperate to bury themselves in all of your holes.

“You should have seen the Cardinal earlier, tesoro.” Terzo teased. “How eager he was to fuck your throat.”

“Fuck.” You muttered, eyes watching your friend rut into his own hand. at the sight of you getting fucked relentlessly. There was something so incredible about being the centre of everyone’s attention, and the object of all their desires. How a man who you’d never even seen in a sexual light before, and you were sure hadn’t thought of you in one, was now trying to cum for a second time at the thought of you. “M-my hands are - fuck! Papa! - My hands a-are free.” You hinted, before taking Primo back into your mouth and curling your hands into loose fists, creating two new holes for Terzo and Copia to use at their pleasure. Of course, they leaped forward, and before you knew it both of their cocks had been spat on, then slid into your fists, and began fucking your hands as they would your cunt.

You were stuffed full, almost every hole imaginable filled with the cocks of the highest members of the clergy, at the mercy of the Emeritus brothers as they had their wicked ways with you. The rigorous snaps of Secondo’s hips had you bouncing along the table, meaning Primo could stand still and you’d take his cock completely hands free, with Secondo doing all the work.

From your peripherals, you watched as Copia used your hand, his own resting on the table as though he were too shy to touch you, despite wrapping his digits around your throat and making your airways tighter for him to fuck as he pleased. Terzo, however, a man used to being deep inside you and taking his pleasure from your body, had leaned over and landed a few, stinging slaps to your ass, watching as it jiggled with both the force of his hits and the backshots Secondo was giving you. That same hand he put in his mouth - his pinkie to be precise - salivated all over it, and then began to rub it over the rim of your ass, making you jump in surprise. And then, when you’d relaxed to his touch, he inserted the tip into your twitching hole, only down to the mid knuckle, but that combined with Secondo still playing with your clit had you tipping over into your third orgasm, body tensing and cunt fluttering around his cock.

Primo had pulled out, allowing you to breathe through it, crouching down and wrapping his own hand around his cock, stroking himself furiously. “That’s it, fiorellina. Cum for us. You’re doing so well for us. Such a good girl. Ah! Sathanas! I’m close.”

When you came back to your senses, you fixated your eyes on Primo’s desperately moving hand, willing it back into your mouth, but Primo wasn’t having it.

His voice dropped to a whisper so only you could hear him. “Can I cum, fiorellina?”

Unable to speak through your exhaustion, you nodded.

“Close your eyes for me.” He ordered.

You did as you were told, and mere seconds later you heard Primo groan and then his cum landing on your flushed cheek, nose, and upper lip.

“Oh, fuck! Look at her now!” You heard Terzo say, in awe of your fucked out state, covered in cum. “Shit, me too!” He pulled out from your fist and stood where Primo once was, stroking himself until completion over your face, groaning as the first rope of cum shot out and landed on your forehead. It dripped down onto your cheek, joining the first load of cum, along with hitting your nose.

It didn’t take much longer for Secondo’s orgasm to hit him, his thrusts becoming sloppy and fast until he buried himself as deep as he could inside you, falling onto your plush body as rope after rope spilled in your tight, wet heat. His hands were gripping onto your flesh so hard, you were sure he was going to leave bruises, bruises you were excited to see for days after so you could remember what happened on your first game night with the boys.

Copia was the last one to cum, his own stamina keeping him going just as was promised by Primo earlier. But even still, a few more thrusts and he was done, his own cum joining Primo and Terzo’s on your face but this time it hit your mouth and chin, dripping onto the floor when the load was too big to stick to your skin.

You all sat there for a moment, catching your breaths from the intensity of the evening. Primo, as predicted, was exhausted and making a joke about how his old body couldn’t keep up to everyone. Terzo had picked up that same cloth that was on your eyes earlier and used it to wipe the copious amounts of cum that had painted your face; the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was a look of disgust on his face as he finished cleaning you up as much as he could. “You did so well for us, tesoro.” He said, his voice low and warm. “I would kiss you but…”

You laughed, “I understand.”

“Grazie.”

“I still won, though.” You announced, smugly. You yelped when you felt Secondo spank your ass.

“Alright then, champion.” He said. “Let’s get you properly cleaned up.”

Secondo helped you get your habit back on once he had pulled out of you, and let you lean on him as you walked. Your legs were like jelly from both the position you were in and from the three orgasms the men had put you through. You bade each of them a good night before Secondo pulled you to his room, running you a bath upon arrival. As the water filled the tub, he stripped you naked again and had you sit on the edge, a damp, soapy cloth in his hands using it to properly wash your face, and clean you of any cum Terzo hadn’t managed to get. “You let us be too rough for you, amore.” He gently scolded you, watching as your face reddened beneath the warm water.

“It’s nothing I don’t enjoy, Papa.” You retorted, equally as soft. “I’d use my safeword if I didn’t. You know it makes me feel good when you use me. I feel better the more animalistic you get.”

“I don’t think we talked about the reason why before.”

“It’s the fact that you want me so much, you revert back to primal instincts and take me fiercely. Like you’re staking your claim.” Your thighs squirmed at the thought.

“You didn’t get enough just now, amore?” Secondo asked, clocking your body’s response. He knelt down and spread your legs, watching your labia part and wetness seep out again. He frowned. “Your poor pussy took such a beating - she’s so red.”

“She can take more, Papa.”

He looked up at you darkly. “You want your Papa to fuck you again? Fill you up with another load of cum, hm? You’re that desperate for cock you want your Papa to fill you again even though you’ve just taken four?”

“Please, Papa.” You whispered, feeling your nipples harden with arousal.

He licked a stripe up your cunt, from your hole to your clit and had you jumping. “In the tub then, puttana. Let me claim you properly.”

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thesapphictimelady · 3 months

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Ad Astra Per Aspera Chapter 3

Word count: 1.8 K

TW: Domestic abuse and verbal abuse

A/N: This chapter is a bit heavier than the previous two and we hear a little more about Cassiopeia’s previous relationship. If you or someone you love is affected by domestic violence, know that you are not alone and there are resources out there for you. As always, comments are appreciated! If you want me to continue this series, please let me know! Happy reading!

“Melissa what is happening?” Barbara asked quietly, “The poor girl looks awful.”

“I told ya Barb, she went home sick yesterday.”

“Melissa Schemmenti, I know there’s something more going on. Now tell me, how can I help Cassiopeia?”

Melissa sighed and set the apple back on Barb’s desk, “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“I can’t tell you because I don’t know very much and what I do know, I don’t think she wants me to tell you. She only told me because…”

“Because?”

“I’m sorry, Barb, I really can’t tell you. It’s up to her. I won’t talk without her permission.”

“Tell me this then,” Barb said, setting down the fan she had gotten from Ava’s office, “Is she safe?”

“Safe? ‘Course she’s safe!”

Barb pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

“Ms. Schemmenti,” Ava’s voice boomed over the intercom, “Please report to my office”

“What could she possibly want?” Melissa grumbled.

“Go, I’ll take this to Cassiopeia.”

When Barbara entered the classroom, Cassie was curled up on a beanbag chair in the back of the classroom. The older teacher plugged in the fan and then dragged a chair over to where Cassie was sitting. She gently brushed a strand of hair off the young girls forehead.

“How are you feeling, Cassiopeia?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Howard, really I am. I just didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Honey, that shouldn’t make you dizzy like this.”

“I didn’t sleep very well…and I had a bit too much to drink? Ms Schemmenti came over last night and gave me some aspirin but I’m just…”

“Melissa was at your house last night? That can’t be right because she was with Gerald and I until 10,”

“She came around 2 this morning.”

Barbara was quiet for a few minutes as she thought about this information. Melissa had seemed quieter than normal and visibly recoiled at the mention of Joe.

“Is there something going on between the two of you?” Barb asked slowly.

“No! No, Mrs. Howard, I just met her yesterday!”

“You talkin about me?” Melissa asked, tossing Cassie another bottle of gatorade.

“What did Ava need?” Barb said, quickly changing the subject.

Melissa rolled her eyes, “Wanted to see if I had any guys who can install a hot tub in one of the supply closets. How ya feelin kid?”

“I really am fine, you two don’t have to fuss over me,” Cassiopeia said, taking a sip of gatorade, “I feel much better now.”

The older teachers exchanged a meaningful look.

“Alright,” Barbara said, “Well I will see you two at lunch. Cassiopeia, please rest. Can’t have you passing out during whatever…delightful activity Janine has planned for us.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Howard,” Cassie said, smiling softly.

“Of course,” Barbara said, closing the classroom door behind her.

“We got like 20 minutes,” Melissa said, “why don’t you take a nap?”

“I really am fine, Ms. Schemmenti,” Cassiopeia insisted, “I don’t need to take a nap. I’ll do some more grading or I can do some of your prep if you want?”

“You can do some grading but you stay right there.”

The redhead grabbed a stack of papers, a red pen, and Cassie’s phone and brought them over to the beanbag. As she was handing everything over, the name Jenny flashed across the screen and Melissa froze.

“Kid,” she said slowly, “Is everything okay?”

“What do you mean? Of course it is,” Cassie took everything out of Melissa’s hand and her face paled slightly after seeing her screen but she quickly pasted a smile onto her face, “Let’s get to work! We only have 20 minutes!”

Cassiopeia waited until Melissa was sitting at her desk and working on her own grading before she checked her phone.

Jenny:

“I miss you”

“Look, I’m really sorry.”

“Cass please can we talk.”

“Stop punishing me for something I didn’t do!”

Cassiopeia bit her lip, tears starting to fill her eyes.

Cassiopeia:

“I told you I’m done. Stop texting me!”

Jenny:

“Baby please, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again!”

Cassie sniffled and glanced towards the desk. Melissa was still hunched over the papers, her glasses perched on her nose. She took a deep breath and blocked Jenny. Picking up her pen, she got back to work grading her math tests. A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Unknown number:

“I can’t believe you blocked me.”

“You bitch.”

“You’re nothing without me.”

“No one could ever love you.”

“You’re nothing.”

Cassie let out a shaky breath and put her head between her knees as the room began to spin.

“New kid?” Melissa said, sounding alarmed, “Cassiopeia, what’s going on?” the redhead was at her side in no time, “Hon, can I touch you?”

Cassie nodded and Melissa put an arm around her, rubbing her back gently, “Just breathe. You’re okay. Breathe. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Cassie took the water that the older woman was pushing into her hand and held it against her forehead. She coughed a couple times, trying to catch her breath and Melissa continued to rub her back and whisper in her ear.

“I-I’m okay now, Ms. Schemmenti,” she said shakily.

“Are ya sure hon? You’re shakin like a leaf.”

“I’m okay. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Ya don’t need to apologize. But…Cassie, I think you need to talk about this.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the fact that Melissa was now using her name instead of ‘new kid’ registered. Cassie bit her lip and shook her head.

“I can’t talk about it, Ms. Schemmenti,”

The redhead pursed her lips, “I know you don’t know me all that well but whatever is going on, you need someone to help you,”

“I don’t need help. Where’s my phone?”

Melissa grabbed her phone from where it had slid under the beanbag and handed it to Cassie, “If you ever need to talk…”

“Thank you, Ms. Schemmenti, but I’m fine. I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

Once Cassie was in the bathroom, she pulled her phone out of her pocket to see almost a dozen missed calls from Jenny along with nearly twice as many texts.

Unknown number:

“You’re pathetic, Cassiopeia”

“You’re crazy.”

“You don’t know what you’ve done”

“You’ve wasted the last two years of my life”

“I never put my hands on you”

“And everyone here knows I did nothing wrong.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself for the lies you’ve told.”

“After everything I’ve done for you?”

“You’re too sensitive”

Cassiopeia’s eyes filled with tears again, blurring her vision as she braced herself against the sink, trying hard to take deep breaths. Her phone buzzed again and her stomach dropped but she looked down at the screen. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw the name on the screen.

Ms. Schemmenti:

“Hey, just checkin in on you. You okay?”

Cassiopeia:

“I’m on my way back to the classroom.”

She quickly splashed some water on her face and tucked her phone into her pocket before unlocking the bathroom door and heading back to the classroom.

“I-I think…that maybe I do want to talk about it” she said to Melissa.

Melissa looked up from her desk and gestured for her to close the door.

“What’s goin on? Barb is worried, I’m worried, please tell me.”

“Mrs. Howard is worried? What did you tell her?”

“Nothin kid. But she’s smart and she knows something’s up.”

Cassie fidgeted in the chair next to Melissa’s desk, “Remember yesterday when I…I told you guys that my ex wasn’t a good person?”

Melissa nodded, putting her glasses on top of her head and leaning forward to listen.

“I-I think you know what I meant by that. But she’s…well she started texting me again.”

Cassie unlocked her phone and slid it across the desk. The redhead pulled her glasses down again as she began to read the messages. Her eyebrows furrowed as she read and there was barely contained anger growing in her eyes.

“Cassiopeia, ya know none of this is true, right?”

“I-well…”

Melissa set a hand over Cassie’s, “Hon, this isn’t true. Okay? Have you told anyone else?”

Cassie shook her head, “No, all my friends were hers first and my family adores her. She’s right, none of them would believe me.”

“Can I get Barb? I won’t if you don’t want me to but…listen, I was married to someone who was…similar to Jenny. He…towards the end of our marriage, I had to spend some time with Barb and she helped me to unlearn some of the things he would say to me.”

Cassie bit her lip and nodded, “If you think having her here will help me, she can come in.”

Melissa picked up her phone and tapped out a quick message. Moments later, Barbara entered the room and enveloped Cassie in a hug.

“I promise, Melissa didn’t tell me anything,” she said, “I just recognized some of the signs. And I’m here for you for whatever you need.”

Cassie nodded into Barb’s shoulder and hugged her tightly, breathing in her perfume. When she finally let go, Melissa slid the phone to Barb. As she read through the messages, her face fell, a deep sadness filling her face.

“Oh, sweetheart, none of this is true, you do know that right?”

“You can show her,” Melissa whispered, gesturing towards Cassie’s sweater.

Cassie slowly shrugged off her sweater, revealing the yellowing bruises on her wrists and Barbara gasped, her eyes filling with tears. Gently, she reached out and grabbed the young woman’s hands.

“Did she do this to you?”

Cassie nodded, tears beginning to fall. Barbara looked over at Melissa, who nodded, anger starting to slip through her calm exterior.

“Cassiopeia, have you told anyone?”

Melissa cut in before Cassie could respond, “She can’t. She doesn’t think anyone would believe her.”

“We believe you, sweetheart. We believe you. You aren’t alone. We’re here for you.”

Cassie let out a sob and Barbara gathered her into a hug, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Melissa picked up Cassie’s phone, quickly writing down the number Jenny had been using and tucking it into her pocket for later. Then she produced a box of tissues from a desk drawer and passed it to Barb.

“Barb’s right, ya aren’t alone kid. And we’ll do whatever you need us to.”

Cassiopeia sniffled and nodded, blowing her nose.

“Attention teachers,” Ava’s voice boomed, “Please report to the gym for lunch and…Janine do we HAVE to do this ‘team building’?”

“Yes, Ava,” Janine said, her voice quieter than Ava’s, but still loud enough for everyone to hear, “It’s important. Now read the teams,”

“Fine!” Ava cleared her throat, “The first two teams for team building are Melissa, Barbara, and Princess Leia…”

“Cassiopeia,” Janine corrected, “It’s literally right in front of you.”

“Whatever Janine, it’s Melissa, Barbara, and Peia. Team two is Jacob, Gregory, and Mr. Morton. We’ll see you in the gym.”

The intercom clicked off and Melissa sighed, “Guess we gotta head to the gym now. You gonna be okay for this? I can take ya home.”

“No, I’ll be fine. Let’s just go.”

#abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfiction

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rontra · 5 months

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sic itur ad astra, pages 140-144

to stay on the path, knowing where it leads.

i've been looking forward to this specific sequence for a while... overall this update was very concerned with where kirsten is at right now, so it was fun to poke into her goofy mind<3

anyway this is my AU comic where saria stomps on the brakes right when kirsten gets the keys in the ignition and now no one is happy. you can read the whole thing here ✨

#adastra #arknights #kirsten wright #saria #tumblr long post trimming save me... save me tumblr long post trimming

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blue--ingenue · 10 months

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"Evasive Maneuvers" - Part 5

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Summary: You've been in love with Sebastian since the moment you knocked him on his arse on your first day. Entering your sixth year, you finally begin working up the courage to confess your feelings when he suddenly becomes the best Beater Hogwarts has seen in decades - and subsequently becomes the school's most eligible bachelor.

Author's Notes: i apologize for the long wait, but this is also the longest chapter yet, so i hope that makes up for it :) oh, boy. seb is Messy and smitten and definitely isn't picking up on Ominis' sarcasm. this fic would be so much shorter if our boy knew how to talk about his feelings, but fortunately unfortunatly this is not the case, so here we are. anyway, eat up, and let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment Sebastian had become distant. One day he was walking her to her dormitory after dinner, like he always insisted upon doing, and the next morning he was avoiding her like the plague. His absence was so complete that she couldn’t even approach him to ask what was bothering him. He would slip through the door the second each of their shared classes was over and she’d be lucky just to catch a glimpse of him in the halls, if at all. After three days of frustratingly trying to track him down, she resorted to sending him an owl. She felt absolutely ridiculous as she scrawled a hasty ‘Meet me in the Undercroft after dinner. I need to know that you aren’t truly avoiding me.’

They had been practically inseparable for the past few years, and now here she was, sending him post as though they didn’t live beneath the same roof. She held her quill just above the scrap of parchment before adding ‘Please.’ There. He’d never denied her anything before, but she wasn’t about to take her chances. Not when she missed him so. The subtle begging tone in her message was the last weapon she had left in her arsenal. After impatiently blowing on the drying ink, she folded the note and held it out for Astra to clutch. As her owl flew off with the desperate message she silently hoped today would be the last day she endured his absence.

Wind snapped the tails of Sebastian’s robe as he pushed his broom to fly faster. He’d pushed his goggles to the top of his head to keep his curls from blocking his vision, which meant that every gust of air sent his eyes watering over and over again. He didn’t care. The sting was a welcome sensation that kept him grounded as torrents of confounding emotions roiled through his mind. Ever since his earth-shattering revelation in Potions, Sebastian had steered clear of her. He was hanging onto a ledge, torn between telling her and swallowing down his affections lest she see him as nothing more than a friend. He could feel the gravity of the former option dragging at his resolve, but the fear of rejection was a far more vicious motivator to keep hanging on.

He curled his fist tighter around his bat, leather gloves creaking under the strain. This was the last bit of practice he’d get before the anticipated Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match this afternoon and he didn’t intend to squander it. The two bludgers he’d charmed to fly about and aim at him were circling just beneath. He pulled his arm in and back, preparing to deflect as the wind whistled and parted around the first bludger shooting toward him. He waited until it was just barely within arms’ reach - and felt a satisfying crack as his bat made contact. He had half a mind to fling every bludger right into Weasley’s stupid charming face. He knew he harbored feelings for his Gryffindor. Nobody looks at mere friends the way he had gazed at her in Potions. He would know.

And the way she had frantically ripped his cloak from his body? He knew she had only done it to spare the rest of him from getting burned, but that didn’t stop Sebastian’s jealous mind from twisting the image into an entirely different possibility. Every night since The Incident his dreams had been plagued by thoughts of her ripping into the rest of Weasley’s clothes. Not in the Potions classroom, but somewhere far more intimate. Flashes of him kissing her senseless, of her gasping Weasley’s name, taunted nearly every waking moment. It was torture of the highest degree. Between the terror of losing her, the fledgling hope of letting himself love her, and every anguishing emotion in-between, Sebastian was an utter wreck.

It was like someone had struck him senseless and set him in the center of the Forbidden Forest telling him to find his way out without a wand. And so rather than choose a direction, he chose to stay right where he was. Avoiding the problem also, unfortunately, meant avoiding her. The logical, and by far the most terrifying, course of action would be to just tell her. Maybe she could let him down easy, and after a few weeks of awkwardness things could go back to the way they were before he - what? Before he bared his heart to her? Confessed that he’s loved her the entire time but he was too much of a bloody coward to say anything? No chance. Sebastian Sallow was known for many things, but not one of them was taking the easiest way out. He pulled off his goggles and ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Despite the ache in both arms he felt more than prepared for the afternoon. He shifted his weight forward, angling the broom into an easy descent and hovering an inch above the ground.

“Sallow!” a voice called to him from the entrance to the pitch. Imelda was waving him over, broom in hand and fully dressed in her captain’s uniform. Behind her the rest of the team were filing onto the pitch, setting their brooms down and stretching in the grass. He willed his broom forward and closed the distance between them in a single fluid motion.

“I admire your dedication, but you should’ve been saving your strength for the match,” she chided him. He pulled his quidditch gloves from his hands as he dismounted and the broom fell the last few inches onto the grass with a soft thump.

“I was just about to head in for breakfast,” he explains. She cocks a brow at him, which is typically the sign that he’s missing something crucial.

“Sallow, it’s just past lunch. The match starts in less than an hour.”

What? That couldn’t be right. He thrust his hand into his pocket to check his watch and - Shit. He’d left it in the changing rooms. Imelda rolled her eyes without malice and pulled out two paper-wrapped packages. The smell of roast beef had him accepting both packages without thinking.

“Lucky for you, someone was keeping tabs on whether you’d eaten or not,” she scoffs as he unwraps the sandwich.

“Thanks, Imelda,” he says, truly meaning it, as he takes a greedy bite out of the roast beef sandwich. It’s his favorite, with a generous slather of mustard holding the thick-cut beef between slices of tomato, lettuce, and still-warm bread.

He scarfs down the first bite, intending to ask how she knew what his go-to meal was when she says, “I’m merely the messenger. She’s been looking for you all day. And with how tense things seem between the two of you, I figure you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

He freezes mid-chew and gulps the rest of the mouthful down. His stomach turns as his hunger dissipates and guilt settles in its place. Imelda clocks his change in demeanor and holds up a hand, silencing him before he can speak.

“Whatever the two of you have going on, it has to wait until after the match. I can’t afford to have you distracted today. Can I count on you?”

He pushes an affirmative around the lump forming in his throat and she relaxes, satisfied with his answer. As her form retreats toward the changing tents he rewraps the sandwich and carefully unwraps the second package. A vanilla scone sits nestled in the wax paper. The icing and butter slathered across the top have barely melted, which meant she must’ve waited until the house elves apparated a fresh batch just to grab him one. He shuts his eyes and groans.

“I’m such an ass,” he tells the heavens.

“Indeed. Though I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to reach that conclusion,” a posh voice admonishes from behind him. He turns to face Ominis, the scone still clutched in his hand. The familiar red light pulses from the tip of his wand and he frowns.

“I’m guessing from the scent of vanilla that Imelda has passed on our mutual friend’s peace offering. Though from what I’ve heard, she isn’t the one who should be extending an olive branch,” he continues.

“I swear I meant to talk to her this morning. I just lost track of time,” he explains. Ominis sighs, a recurring sound that’s beginning to grate on Sebastian’s nerves despite the fact that he deserves every one of them. Ominis is her second-favorite Slytherin (after Sebastian, of course), and he finds it odd that they didn’t arrive at the stadium together.

“Hold on, she is coming today, isn’t she?” he asks. Surely his recent antics weren’t enough to drive her away from the match? Ominis cocks a brow before confirming.

“She is. She told me that ‘nothing could keep her from cheering on her favorite beater’. Apparently she’s been making her own jersey to wear to the match with his last name on the back and everything.”

His whole body tenses and suddenly he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. Someone has lit a match in his chest, and every heartbeat spreads the thick, choking envy through every inch of him until it’s all he can think about. So he hadn’t imagined their affections yesterday. The gratification of being right is immolated by the raw jealousy drowning him breath by breath. He hears a high, incredulous laugh leave his lips and a hollow ringing in his head. Of course she would be cheering for Weasley. He could see her right now, clear as day, scrawling his name across a crimson jersey before pulling it on and skipping to the pitch. She wanted to cheer for Weasley? Fine. Victory would feel all the sweeter when Slytherin beat Gryffindor into the ground today.

He clenches his fists and balls up the untouched scone with the rest of the wax paper. “Whatever. I don’t know what she sees in that arrogant sod,” he spits.

“Me neither,” Ominis sighs. Sebastian allows himself to relish the miniscule victory. At least one person was on his side today.

Imelda had the team warm up by taking a few laps about the pitch for the next half hour. They were now huddled in the locker tent with Imelda standing before a blackboard laden with the maneuvers that were already drilled into their muscle memory. Although the flap was closed for privacy, the buzz of incoming students adding to an already-packed crowd told him they’d have quite the audience. Sebastian rolled his shoulders back and ran a hand through his hair. Good. He thrived under an audience. Imelda finished explaining a last offensive tactic to the other Chasers before turning to address the whole team.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how important this match is. Not only for our House, but for yourselves as well. If you want to represent Slytherin at the inter-school Championships, you need to play flawlessly. Not that I expect any less on any given day, of course,” she declared. Various noises of assent filled the room. She held every gaze with undivided attention. Although he and Imelda frequently bickered, he greatly admired her ability to galvanize a crowd. Seemingly satisfied with their response, she tightened her gloves and walked to grab her broom from where it was propped against a bench.

“Good. Now let’s get out there and show those amateurs how a real team wins a quidditch match.”

A round of cheers filled the tent as the rest of the players grabbed their brooms and made final adjustments to their uniforms and gear. Sebastian heard a deafening roar before Everett Clopton’s amplified voice announced the members of the Gryffindor team. Upon hearing Weasley’s name he adjusted the strap on his left glove, deciding then and there to channel every bit of his anger and frustration into playing the best game of his life. Beside him the other Slytherin Beater, Amelia Nichols, nudged his arm.

“Rough night, Sallow?” she asked. The scowl that seemed permanently seared onto his face at any mention of Weasley must have tipped her off.

“Just more than ready to blow off a bit of steam,” he grumbled. She snorted and went back to adjusting her gloves. “You and me both.”

The team lined up in their usual pre-flight formation, awaiting Everett’s announcement. He mounted his broom next to Amelia and gripped the handle, hovering a few inches above the ground. He heard Clopton announce Imelda as the Slytherin captain, and they pushed off. As soon as the tent flaps dropped back into place behind them, he couldn’t help the grin that took over his face. The crowd was huge. It looked like the entire school had turned up for the match. Sebastian let the adrenaline sing through his blood as they made their lap around the stadium. Students cheered as they flew past and he let the wind whip his curls into a frenzy. Sebastian hadn’t had the chance to fly before coming to Hogwarts. Though his parents owned a few brooms, he was too young to ride when they were still alive. And buying a broom had been out of the question when he and Anne moved into Solomon’s humble one-room cottage.

Whipping through the air hundreds of feet above the ground made him feel invincible. In control. He felt far away from any problems that sank their claws into him the second his feet touched the ground. The raw power and adrenaline from exerting control over something so dangerous was addictive. He knew he looked damn good while doing it, and it certainly helped to have an audience, especially one as large as this.

“And bringing up the defense are Beaters Amelia Nichols and Sebastian Sallow!” Everett boomed. At that Sebastian blew an exaggerated kiss toward the Slytherin stands. Imelda turned just enough to roll her eyes at him from the front of their formation before stopping in the center of the pitch. The team drifted down as one toward Madam Kogawa and the case he knew held the bludgers and snitch. The quaffle was already in her hand, and as soon as all players were within earshot she began repeating her usual pre-game reminders. But Sebastian wasn’t listening. His eyes were scanning the section of the Gryffindor stands she always sat in. She’d chosen it during his first practice. As soon as Imelda had released them he’d flown up to meet her. She wanted to make sure he could always look to the same spot, something about making it easy for him to find her so that he could focus more on the game. But as his eyes settled on her spot he saw that it had been taken up by a few Gryffindors whose names he hadn’t bothered to learn.

The sting of disappointment flared into white-hot fury as his gaze landed on Weasley. He looked like he’d slept like a baby the night before. He was laughing at something one of the other Chasers had said, laughing without a care in the world. Prat, he thought. He decided then and there to aim every bludger at Weasley’s stupid grinning face. His stomach lurched as he remembered Ominis’ words. ‘Making her own jersey…with his last name on it.’

Of course. She must’ve chosen a new spot, one where her precious Garreth could spot her. He’d probably go wild the second he saw his name written across her. Sebastian didn’t realize he’d been pinning Weasley with a death glare until Amelia prodded him with her bat.

“You alright?” as asked. He nodded tersely and gripped his bat until his knuckles cracked.

Two could play at this game. A shrill whistle pierced the crowd’s roar and he shot into the air.

By the last quarter of the game both teams remained locked in a deadly tie. They’d been neck and neck at 120 points for the last half hour, and if the Gryffindor Keeper didn’t slip up at some point, their only hope of victory lay with Will catching the snitch. Sebastian cruised alongside Imelda and another Chaser, shielding them for any bludgers that may try to knock them off their warpath to the Gryffindor goalposts. He hears the telltale whistle and raises his arm instinctively, smacking the bludger away from his teammates. It hurtles back toward the Gryffindor Beater who’d sent it their way. His eyes narrowed. Weasley.

The menace had the audacity to shrug his shoulders. “No harm no foul, Sallow!” he called as he zipped away.

Sebastian gritted his teeth and scanned the skies for the second bludger. As soon as it was once again struck their way he pulled his arm back, waited until it was a hair’s breadth from striking him, and smacked it toward the Gryffindor goalpost. The opposing Keeper ducked out of the way and the bludger struck the post, where his head had been a mere moment ago. That moment was all Imelda needed to toss the quaffle through the center hoop. It flew through and the resultant ding told him they were now ahead by ten points. If they could maintain their lead for the next five minutes, victory was theirs.

Once Imelda and the two Chasers flying behind her were clear of the goal posts he gripped his broom handle and pulled up, flying well above the other players to scope out where he was needed. His eye caught on Henry, a fifth-year Chaser, who was doing his damndest to avoid being beheaded by one of the bludgers. Amos, the second Gryffindor Beater, seemed to be targeting the boy despite the fact that the quaffle was on the other side of the pitch. Sebastian shifted all his weight forward and dove for Henry, bat gripped firmly in hand. As he descended he looked to see if Weasley was complicit in the unnecessary attack, but the ginger was across the pitch defending his teammates. He flicked his gaze back to Henry and time seemed to slow. From this angle he’d have no time to duck and the damn ball would hit him square in the chest. Sebastian didn’t have to do the math to know that he wouldn’t walk away without a few broken ribs, at the very least. Without thinking, he threw himself in front of his teammate and prepared to swing. He never got the chance to strike.

The air was punched violently from his lungs as the bludger hit him square in the diaphragm. In the second after impact he felt like retching as his vision whited out. He couldn’t breathe. Dully, he felt himself slam back into Henry, who gave way easily as he was knocked clean off his broom. He heard the crowd gasp as the Chaser plummeted toward the ground in freefall. Forcing air into his lungs he pushed himself forward until he was shooting downward at a near vertical angle. Mere meters before Henry hit the ground Sebastian caught him with two arms around his midsection and pulled out of the dive. He landed roughly in the grass with Henry safe in his arms, and froze on the pitch, dazed. Between the pulsating pain and his spotty vision he barely noticed the game had ended until Madam Blainey was pulling his teammate from his arms. She hastily thrust a vial of wiggenweld into his arms before attending to the unconscious Chaser. He uncorked the potion and downed it, nearly vomiting at the fresh waves of pain paralyzing him with each swallow.

His teammates landed behind him and he registered shouts as his hearing came back in full force. Above the roar of the crowd Imelda was thumping him on the back.

“You’re a bloody madman, Sallow!” she crowed. Around him the rest of the team were congratulating him for his heroics. Although the pain was ebbing, he still felt a bit dazed from the adrenaline rush.

Amelia ran up to Sebastian, pulling him into a hug and shouting, “We won!” He returned the hug gingerly, and erupted into a coughing fit when she squeezed him fiercely. At his gasps she pulled away, apologizing profusely.

“I’m so sorry! I nearly forgot with all the excitement! Are you alright? Do you want me to fetch another wiggenweld?” She sounded genuinely panicked enough that Sebastian grasped her gently by the shoulders. He shook his head as his coughs subsided, trying to reassure her that he was on the mend.

“I’ll be alright. Honest,” he managed between gasps. She shook her head and pushed back his sweat-slicked hair. The warmth of the gesture was not lost on him, and he froze, watching her face shift from worried to…fond? And was she blushing before? Maybe he was just imagining things, shock and all. He realized his arms were still on her shoulders as she stepped closer to him, nearly flush with his chest. He gulped.

“That rescue was incredible. Incredible, and stupid, and brave. Are you sure you’re not a Gryffindor?” she asked, smiling coyly up at him. For the first time Sebastian realized he towered over her by at least a head. She was so close he could smell her perfume, floral and heady, with a hint of vanilla. He parted his lips to answer, but fell short as he caught sight of Weasley. He was scanning the crowd of students that had stormed the field as soon as Clopton announced Slytherin’s victory. He was searching for something, or rather, someone. His Gryffindor. The one who irrevocably held his heart and was currently wearing his name across her body. The prat didn’t even have the decency to look disappointed at his own team’s loss. Something wicked licked up his spine. He let his gaze drift back down to Amelia, who was gazing at his lips with hungry eyes.

He felt himself crossing an invisible threshold into somewhere wicked and vengeful. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, the action hollow as some part of him registered that the color was all wrong.

“Fancy a victory kiss?” he asked, his voice low and rasping. Her lips curled into a hungry smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

At that he threaded a hand through her hair, shut his eyes despite the voice screaming wrong wrong wrong in his head, and kissed her. Deeply. He could hear the rest of the team egging them on as the celebration raged around him, but he didn’t care. For the first time in days the jealousy burning in his chest felt stamped out. He pulled away, gasping, and Amelia giggled. Her pupils were blown wide as she swayed and caught her balance by gripping at his uniform. He was just registering the dumbstruck grin on his face when Amelia’s gaze focussed on something behind him and she giggled again.

“Whoops,” she whispered, releasing the front of his robe. He felt someone’s gaze on his back and his spine prickled as he spun around.

She was standing a few feet away. His Gryffindor. She was frozen in shock for a moment, just a moment, before her face twisted into a mix of hurt and disbelief that tore his heart in two. She was clad in green, and he had just enough time to notice the green and silver adorning her cheeks before a tear trailed down and smudged the paint. Her name had barely left his lips before she turned and ran. His stomach dropped and the pain of being hit by the bludger paled in comparison to the guilt currently eating him alive. He caught a single glimpse of her back before she was swallowed by the crowd. On her back, in hastily sewn-on letters, was his last name.

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#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x y/n #sebastian sallow #angst #fluff #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley x y/n

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lunarw0rks · 11 months

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Old Bones | Chapter Four

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): strong language, PTSD themes, casualties of war, hostage situations, blood, gun violence, mentions of abuse, death, nightmares, mentions of scars/medical gore

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: thx for all the support so far!

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Ad Astra

Simon might’ve been handling the situation well, but you, on the other hand, have been nauseous all morning. The sight of his reddened wounds, paired with the squelch of the blood that coated you, all replayed in a loop.

He comes back during sunrise, clothes covered in patches of dirt and scrapes from the previous night. Limping to the shower to wash off, he still looks at you like an alien from another planet, yet he’s the one disposing of a body before breakfast.

You look up from the paper plate below you—some stale muffin and a coffee you snagged from the lobby. He’s wearing fresh clothes again, probably on his last pair of those, and he’s changed the dressings himself, thank God.

“Where’d you take him?” Rather than eating it, you’re smushing crumbs of the stiff baked good in between your fingertips.

“Nowhere important. We’re leaving today.” As if he’s going to tell you that. He zips up his duffel, not before stuffing in the bourbon first, naturally.

You’ve packed up next, casing the room one more time to ensure you got everything. Once you’ve reached the kitchenette, you spot your ring, still laying where you’d thrown it the previous night. You scoop it up, rinsing off the crimson caked in the crevices. The thought of slipping it on again comes as quickly as it leaves—immediately.

The diamond is placed atop the tip you left for the maid. Hopefully, they’ll appreciate it, or pawn it, either way, it’s a piece of mind. Taking that ring off was one step closer to healing, but now being on the path for vengeance has manhandled you two steps back.

The town is several miles behind you now, and it’s back to silence. Not a peep from the radio, nor his mouth. Just the sound of the idled engine when he stops, the repetition of the blinker, and his sighs of discomfort when traffic becomes heavy. It’s half-tempting to reach into the glove box and start reading the owner’s manual, or start solving calculus problems to pass the time. At least when there was a body in the back, your mind was too packed to allow boredom.

“You seem to be healing well, at least.” You have to say something, or you’ll jump out of the moving vehicle yourself.

“I’ll be fine,” he sighs again, only looking briefly at you as you’ve stopped in the next lineup, with his blinker puttering again. “You did fine.” His voice carries the usual dryness, like his vocal cords alone fought on the battlefield.

The compliment is delivered with passivity, to say the least, but coming from him it’s better than being ignored.

“Yeah, well, I was scared shitless,” a compromising chuckle nearly comes, but the memories of kneeling in the gravel push it away. “I’ve never done anything like that before...”

His eyes return to the highway ahead of him as he passes the traffic jam, going quiet again. The crop fields have instead turned to muddy grass, with somehow less civilization than before. He digs into the center console and pulls out a stray cigarette, only cracking the driver’s window slightly when he lights up. The chin of his mask is pulled up now, just slightly above his mouth. After his first deep inhale, he holds the cig out to you.

“No thanks.” You reply flatly, only watching as he exhales the smoke through the small crack of the window. His hum of amusement, or more so shock that you rejected it is next. You already have hired guns after you, what’s some lung disease to add to it?

Simon’s eyes make their way to your hands again—where you’d failed to scrub the blood from under your fingernails, a rookie mistake. Then, how you’re still fiddling with the ring finger of your left, despite still not wearing it anymore—that nervous habit he noticed the first time he saw you. The slight indent on your ring finger, where the skin has remembered the wedding band you’d kept on for so long.

The ring in itself is a scar of its own, only it’s an internal one—unlike the several that riddle his own hands. Knives, splinters, discoloration, fingers with the indents of the stitches he’d gotten years ago.

The questions had been eating at you the entire ride since he forced you to reveal his name. “What are we going to do with him?” A man so desperate for carnage, yet he’s sitting there so calmly as if he’s on this road trip for leisure.

“Nothing nice, and nothing you need to know about.”

Somehow, the thought of that isn’t as comforting as you thought. Cal was a hideous memory, but still a memory nonetheless. It’s not Stockholm syndrome or forgiveness for what he’s done, it’s the plausibility of someone you spent years with being snuffed out.

“He’s still my husband, Simon, I think I have a right to know.” You’re speaking in offense, yet the only emotion you feel is conflict.

Simon scoffs as if you’ve just insulted him personally. “Still your husband, huh? Should I turn around right now, and bring you back home, then? Hm?”

“I suppose you’ll go running into his arms, ‘n get scooped off into the sunset, then?” He tosses the cig out the window, and pulls down his mask again, still shaking his head.

You can’t stand it—the way he makes you sound like a delusional schoolgirl. It’s quite clear, you go home, and you’re in the ground somewhere before you can unpack. “I’m not an idiot. Do you think I’m expecting a warm welcome from him?”

“You’re not thinking at all, that’s your problem.” There’s that insufferable prick again, the one hiding beneath the half-assed attempts to act like a human being.

“Who are you to tell me what I’m thinking, you arrogant prick?” You turn to face him, despite being confined by the seat belt. “You have no clue what this is like for me,” you’ve twisted back again, this time facing your torso to the window now. If you look at him any longer, that idea you had about leaping out of the moving truck might come true.

His fury dissolves again, and now his cinnamon irises have flooded with the echoes of his past. He did understand. Simon understood every bit of it—the urge to kick and scream, and most of all the desire to self-protect when faced with disapproval.

You’ve practically ripped a page straight from his book, responding exactly how he would’ve if it was him in the passenger seat feeling provoked—like a wounded animal snarling because it’s been licking its own wounds for too long.

—

You’re nearly face-first into the dashboard when he punches on the brakes, not bothering to brace you, despite you dozing off in the seat next to him. This time, it’s not an apocalyptic town, it’s a bigger city surrounding you—an apartment complex somewhere on the outskirts. Nicer than yours, surely, and with tighter security.

It’s nightfall, meaning you slept through most of the day—also obvious because of the kink in your neck from the awkward scrunch your body was in for several hours.

“We’ll be hidden here.” Simon’s tone is reassuring as you’re peering up at the tall building. The place is decent inside, and more modern than your own.

Yet another place to hide, all while the law could be tailing you here. A body left behind, a duffel of weapons, and an ex-soldier doing mercenary work without authorization; how much worse could this look from the outside?

It seems the further you’re running, the closer Cal is to find you, in spite of how well Simon cleaned up the messes.

—

It’s a repeat of the first night he arrived—unable to sleep, and looking up at the stars. The roof gives a much more pleasing view, much improved compared to the window back home, which was full of chips and caked in dust.

Now, you could see the stars glimmer, how they were covered and uncovered by the passing dark clouds. If the noise from the city were to cease, the sight would be all the more peaceful. There was no interesting conversation down those stairs, where Simon had been glued to his laptop, probably digging up information on Cal—something that still contested your convictions. Up here, the breeze was freeing, and the smell of the rain overshadowed that of the bloodshed.

“Bloody cold out here.” His voice airs, fizzling out into the cloud of noise pollution.

You hadn’t noticed the bite of the wind, despite subconsciously tucking your knees up for warmth. He was only making conversation, probably because you’ve been more of a leech than a partner. Despite your lack of response, he sits beside you on the edge, roping his legs through two gaps in the railing.

The crinkle of a paper draws your attention again, and the next thing you know it’s placed beside you, only he’s keeping his hand down to prevent it from blowing away.

“Nearest whereabouts, vehicle, and associates.” Above it all is his latest photo, smiling like a sleaze behind his executive desk—ripped from some article Simon dug up about his newest promotion.

His last line is delivered with more forethought, a stark contrast from what he said in the car. “Figured you deserved to know.”

“Put it away.” You whisper, sliding the paper back to him. Despite the wear on Cal’s face, that damn smile still remains spine-chilling.

The paper is folded again, and you only meet his eyes when the crinkling stops. You’d rather stare at Simon’s lack of face than look at another photo of him. There’s a stillness again, whilst you’re in the stars again, and he’s still eyeing you.

He’s returned to his feet now, and he’s rubbing his calloused hands together for warmth. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You can’t leave it at this, not after he’s found Cal’s whereabouts. You’re following him with your eyes, until he’s reached the door back to the inside of the complex, and you’re to your feet before you’ve rehearsed the words.

“I am thinking, Simon. That’s my problem.” His fingers stop as they’re about to turn the knob, and he’s now facing you.

“I know.” Aside from his gruffness, he speaks like someone who’s known the insides and outs of you for a century. You’re the closest thing to a picture of himself right now.

His patience is off-beat, and uncanny to him, only because it’s been buried beneath decades of his own pain. He could claw at himself, try to stop himself from giving you comfort all he wanted, but he’s been losing that fight since the supermarket.

You can’t comprehend why, or how, but you’ve embraced him—and he hasn’t resisted yet. His hand finds its way to the back of your head, giving it a tight hold, all while you’re snaking one arm around his uninjured side. You suppose it's been so long since you’ve been gratified, that’s the logical way of it.

The embrace only lingers for a few moments, his hand remands on your shoulder, peering down at your troubled expression. “We’re going to find him, and then you’ll be out of my hair, doing all the thinking you want. Understood?”

—

“7-1. Ghost, how copy?”

“Hostiles are not secured yet, Sir. Moving toward target building.” His boots thundered through the sand below him, coating all of his protective gear. He’s forced to ignore the chaos in the village around him, and only focus on the target. The woman screaming bloody murder, the crying disoriented children, and ensuing explosions in the distance.

Simon bashes the door and it comes to a crash, splinters of wood sent flying. Inside, is the target—one of the high-ranking Al-Qatala lieutenants. Inside the decaying homestead, he’s holding his family hostage, all while Simon and his Task Force are entirely focused on the intel, rather than the pleading faces of horror knelt in the cement—the true reality of war, all in a line, execution-style before him.

He’s posted behind one of the pieces of furniture, battling every urge to unload on the devil. Their pleads have overshadowed every comm, every bullet, every explosion, all in a language he can’t comprehend.

“Do not intervene. Secure the target and only the target. We need him alive.” Finally, he catches a piece of the radio transmission, quite literally ripping his finger from the trigger of his rifle. Simon knows himself; when a negotiation has become too personal, familiar enough that he may disobey direct orders.

He’s the lone soldier in there with the rest of him doing recon on the operation. Every bit of his being is telling him to take the risk, to make up some story of self-defense—but the hostages are too close to the danger zone. He wouldn’t forgive himself if his own stray bullet compromised their lives.

“Give yourself up,” Simon shouts, mounting himself on the cover, yet his finger still remains off the trigger. “Now!” He bellows, wincing as his crosshairs fall on the wailing woman, covered in scrapes and bruises, while her husband, the captor, his knuckles bleed.

The captor goes on a speech, something about how kind the SAS will be to him when he’s in custody—he’ll be sleeping like a king as long as he’s giving them actionable intel.

All whilst his wife and children will be left behind in this war torn country, picking up the wreckage his squad left behind as a morbid parting gift—rubble, remains, chunks of their heirlooms. He was right. So right about that aspect Simon wanted to choke the life out of him, or beat him bloody with his bare hands—give the fucker a taste of his own medicine, only without any teeth left.

The lieutenant raises his gun, and yet Simon is powerless. Unless he fires on a foreign soldier, he can kill any one of his hostages, and be snoozing in that cozy cell by the end of the day.

Another gargle in a language Simon can’t understand, and she’s down. The distraught woman, wife, mother, now nothing more than a martyr of warfare.

Lifeless, more bloody than before, and slumped at her spouse’s feet, all while that morbid grin is still written on his face. All while Simon could do nothing to stop it.

That flashback visits him often, always resulting in hands overtaken by tremors, and wide eyes, as if he was back there again. This time, he’s not in bed, he’s still in front of his laptop at the table, having passed out after hours of research.

Cal’s expression; the deadened eyes, familiar devilish smile, the entirety of it staring back at him, causing him to slam the screen shut. After that dream, the feeling of wrath has returned. Not only for the Al Qatala lieutenant, but Cal as well. Too personal, too painful, and awfully familiar, especially with you here.

He finishes off his glass, letting the bitter burn coat his throat slowly as the tremor subsides. He now knows he’s not there anymore, not in cover behind the furniture watching a hostage situation.

He has to move, or he’ll risk smashing the electronic to pieces. The echoes of that woman’s tear-stained cheeks contrasted with yours in the supermarket, and then flashes of her bloodied corpse distorting into yours, with Cal standing over it.

His silent steps carry him to the living room. He has to check, or he won’t get back to work anytime soon. When he reaches the couch, you’re curled up, slumbering peacefully—a stark difference to what his flashbacks tried to convince him off.

Simon lets out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes briefly as he convinces himself this is the real reality, this is the spot he’s standing in, not that awful place.

He locates the small quilt kept inside the ottoman, gently draping it on your sleeping frame. He studies the scene for a few minutes, eyeing the rise and fall of your chest pushing through the blanket. Once he’s satisfied, and sure with his consciousness, he returns to his spot at the kitchen table.

He’s greeted with the intel on Cal again, flicking his eyes over to your peaceful sleep, and the sight of the devil before him, in comparison to you, is only unearthing that rage he felt in the hostage room. He couldn’t save that woman, but he’ll be damned if he makes that mistake again. No superiors, no comms, no bureaucracy to follow like a sheep again—his own two hands, that’s what he’ll use this time. No mistakes.

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