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mulloey · 2 months ago

Text

high on it

stoners!bffs!nomin x innocentish!fem!reader

words: 3.7k

warnings: heavy dubcon, very much bordering on noncon, forced intoxication, drug use (weed), manipulative nomin, mean doms nomin, they’re very condescending, infantilising language, they are not good people. reader does end up enjoying it but absolutely cannot consent in this state. this is dark content by design. i’m not your babysitter and i’m not responsible for your triggers nor for what content grown adults consume. hate is deleted and blocked. also: unprotected sex, mentioned double penetration, sir kink, pet names, praise and degradation etc.

—

“One more.”

The blunt presses against your lips, demanding access again. You shake your head weakly; pathetically. “J-Jeno,” you hiccup. “Enough, please.”

He doesn’t respond, as you knew he wouldn’t; just grips your jaw between long fingers and pries your lips apart with force. “Open.”

“Come on, pretty.” Jaemin’s voice is softer, a gentle presence behind you. His words are whispered, lips grazing playfully along the back of your neck and trailing across your skin like he’s trying to get a taste of you. “You said you wanted to feel good, didn’t you?”

You did. You do. You do want to feel good, of course you do—the problem is that you don’t feel good. Not at all.

You feel…terrible, really. Too much. Sick. Dizzy. Dazed. Your limbs are weak and fuzzy and your head is like a deadweight on your neck, too heavy to hold up on your own. It all feels wrong.

They don’t care, though; they like it, in fact. That much is plain.

They like it because it gave them a reason to pull you down into Jaemin’s lap, cooing over how weak you are, how precious and perfect you look with your eyes wide and your body limp and helpless.

And when you start to squirm again as Jeno swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, it gives Jaemin a reason to tighten his grip on you until it’s almost painful; to snake his arms around your waist and let his hands wander closer and closer to where they’ve been dying to go all night. All night, every night, for longer than they’d ever care to tell you.

The movements are slow now; careful, like you’re a tiny animal he’s trying not to spook. It’s overly cautious, he knows that—he could do pretty much anything right now and you’d do nothing but take it—but he’s always had a weakness for you. A good thing, perhaps; a softness to temper Jeno’s harder side. A balance to keep them both in check when it comes to you. Strictness without abject cruelty and kindness without undue leniency.

Like this though, his softness is purely out of kindness. Being fairly fucked up already you hardly seem to notice his hands on you; don’t feel or understand the heaviness or the possessiveness behind his touch enough to form your own opinion on whether you actually want it or not. And if you do—well, you’re tripping. Who’s to say what’s real and what isn’t. All they’re doing, as far you’ll be concerned tomorrow, is taking care of you like they always do.

“Open your mouth,” Jeno says again. His posture has tightened now, body tense. Restraint weakening. “Don’t be a brat.”

The whine you let out is guttural; you hate when Jeno calls you that word, when he scolds and chides you like a little kid. It always makes you feel so small, so embarrassed and ashamed.

And it’s even worse at times like this; when it seems to do something else, too. Something that can’t be soothed no matter how much you squirm on Jaemin’s lap, seeking a relief that doesn’t come to a discomfort you can’t place.

Hjs hold on you tightens again, and his grip feels a little more protective now. It probably is, actually; he more than anyone is familiar with Jeno’s quick temper and heavy hand and he doesn’t want to see you on the receiving end of it tonight. You’re too tiny and precious and pliant in his lap to allow that. “Ay, Jeno, she’s not a brat,” he tuts. “Don’t be so hard on her. She’s just a little dazed, aren’t you baby? Natural for a first timer.”

You nod your agreement, bobbing your head back and forth; you don’t realise you haven’t actually stopped nodding until Jeno grabs your head firmly and holds you steady in his hands. He looks…enthralled. “Fuck, you’re out of it aren’t you?” He says. His tone has softened just enough to satisfy the other man. “Little baby. Can’t handle anything. Do you even know what I’m saying right now?”

You pause for a moment, mulling it over then nod again, just once this time. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Jen, I feel weird.”

“Oh I know,” he croons. “Why don’t you have another, baby, you’ll feel better.”

Another? Feel better? You doubt that, somehow. Before you can think to reply, though, the blunt is pushing at your lips again, even firmer now. Still you try to resist it, stubborn to the end; there’s a noise of frustration, then Jaemin pinches your nose just enough to restrict your breathing until your mouth finally opens of its own accord, desperate for air and the blunt finally slips inside.

“Good girl.”

After a few more seconds, a few deep breaths guided by Jaemin’s quiet, murmured praise, it’s over; Jaemin takes his hand off your nose as the blunt is pulled away, and you can finally breathe again, unimpeded by smoke or substance. He pats your back soothingly, rubbing small patterns while you cough and splutter in his lap. “Poor darling,” he mutters. The excitement in his voice is unmistakable.

It doesn’t take long—a few minutes, maybe—for it to finally take hold. On a beginner like you the effects are delightfully obvious; eyes drooping further, body relaxing and sinking deeper into Jaemin’s hold and you stop squirming too; any ability or will to resist still lingering in your little body now finally flushed out. Now there’s nothing left but them. Their voices, their touch; their whims.

You’re not certain how you feel right now—distant, maybe? Detached—not relaxed, but not scared either. Just…

Soft lips press against your crown, breathing you in. The thoughts fade out as quickly as they came. “Poor girl,” Jaemin mumbles. “Can’t even think straight. You really are easy for it, huh?”

“How do you feel?” Jeno asks. “Can you talk?”

It takes you a moment to respond and even then your words are slow; slurred. “Yeah, I— yeah.”

“I think she’s done, Jen,” Jaemin says; he nibbles at the top of your ear, dragging his tongue down to your neck and nipping at the soft skin. “She’s shaking.”

“Shaking?” Jeno echoes, raising an eyebrow. His gaze flickers down to your hands, gripping Jaemin’s forearm and, yes, shivering just as he said. “Oh princess,” Jeno smiles. “You’re gone.”

Jaemin laughs from behind you, deep and familiar; he grabs your waist to turn you on his lap and adjust your position so you’re perched sideways, allowing him to grab your chin and turn your head to face him. His fingers dig into the skin of your waist, possessive and painful but the only thing you’re even faintly conscious of is the way he’s looking at you.

Completely and utterly crazed.

“Look at you,” he coos. “All drugged up. That feel good, honey?”

You blink, dumbfounded—you don’t even know what you want to say, let alone how you’d go about saying it. Your head is a mess, thoughts blurred and hazy and falling into each other and their voices and hands feel strange and foreign; touches distant on your skin and permeating beneath it at the same time. You’ve never felt anything like this. You didn’t know this was a feeling you could feel, so faintly and powerfully at the same time.

“Oh dear,” Jeno smiles. “Silly girl forgot her words already.” He grabs your face and pulls you forward so your forehead is pressed up against his; inescapable. “Say ‘yes sir, it feels good.’ Can you do that?”

You nod, swallowing dryly. “Yes sir.” Your gaze is locked on Jeno even as you’re speaking to Jaemin, as though your words will fail you the moment you look away, and your eyes are glazed over and empty and dumb. “It feels…feels good.”

“Oh, good girl,” Jaemin says. He pats your butt fondly, squeezing the flesh just firmly enough to make your breath hitch. “Answering me so politely. Such good manners. Doing so well, isn’t she Jen?”

Jeno grunts, fingers combing through your hair. “She is,” he says. “Should be rewarded.”

“What are you thinking?”

He’s silent for a moment; his eyes graze over your body and linger on your chest; on the flushed skin that rises and falls with each slow, laboured breath.

Then they go lower—to your little legs perched on Jaemin’s lap; clenched together like you’re desperate to keep them shut—like you’re trying to keep a secret from him. He doesn’t like that. He wants to know—to see, to touch—everything.

His hands come to rest on your knees and your eyes widen a little at the contact but you say nothing; just stare down at him with parted lips and pliant limbs as he slowly spreads your legs.

He almost wishes it was summer, so you’d be wearing those slutty pink pyjamas that you like to pretend cover your ass properly—but this blue silk number is sweet enough for him too. They’ll have it off of you soon, anyway.

“Jen,” you mumble; faintly aware, apparently. “What are you—”

“Shh,” he soothes. “Be a good girl, stay still now.”

His hand trails upwards towards your core; your breath stutters and you’re squirming a little, whining softly but he just ignores you. His hand stops just short of your pussy, squeezing and pinching at your thigh while Jaemin’s hand trails downward again; he fingers at the hem of your pyjama pants, trailing across the skin of your tummy hidden just beneath them. “So soft,” he murmurs. “So good. You like it when we touch you, honey?”

Maybe if you were sober you’d try and deny it, but in this state you—and they—know you can’t. Because their touch feels good; feels warm and comfortable and familiar even though you’ve never quite experienced it in this way.

You’ve cuddled them before, of course; you’re a touchy person, so are they and you’ve spent many a night curled up in their arms while they run large, soft palms up and down your back. The feeling of Jaemin’s fingers on your neck isn’t new, either; when you’re particularly stressed or irritable he likes to push them into your skin, rubbing at the tender flesh and fingering at your pressure points until you calm down. Even your ass is no stranger to it; Jeno in particular always seems to find his way towards it, from soft squeezes while you snuggle against his chest to accidental brushes as he walks by to a painful swat when he thinks you’re misbehaving. He says it’s not serious, that if he really wanted to punish you he’d be turning you over his knee and spanking you properly, but it hurts all the same.

And if you were a little less dumb maybe you’d see the way his eyes flash when you cry out at the pain—or the way his palm twitches at his side, desperate for more.

He’s not stupid, though—he knows you spook easily, knows you’re closed off and hesitant and he has enough composure not to break and scare you off and ruin everything they have planned for you.

Everything he does, with you in particular, is measured; planned out to the letter. He knows when to push you and when to stop.

He doesn’t stop now. He lets his hand brush across your clothed pussy, light enough that he could claim it’s accidental and he hears you gasp softly; feels your body tense at the sensation. “What, baby?”

“Jen,” you mumble. “I—”

“Hm?” He raises an eyebrow, trying to appear firm but he can’t stop the smile pulling at his lips; this is exactly how he’s always wanted you. How he knew he could get you—tiny and pliant and desperate no matter how much you try to hide it. “I’m trying to give you your reward, remember? Don’t you want it?”

“No I do, I just—”

“Jeno is trying to do something nice for you.” Jaemin’s voice is crooning, one hand gripping your jaw to force you to look into his soft but stern eyes as he speaks. “Are you being ungrateful?”

You shake your head, tears brimming again; you’re not ungrateful, of course you’re not ungrateful—you’re just high and confused and you don’t understand what they’re doing or what they’re planning or why you so desperately want more of it. They must see you starting to break; must know your composure is weaker than normal in this state because they soften quickly, stroking your flushed skin as Jeno slides your pyjama bottoms down your legs.

The chill hits you at once, cold but not quite biting but Jeno’s hands are warm as they rub up and down your thighs with feather-light touches. His pupils are a little dilated, lips parted slightly and he looks…you don’t know. You don’t know if you need to know. If you need to know anything now.

“Pretty panties, baby,” Jaemin says. He sneaks his hand around your waist to press against the thin material, right on your clit and you squeak in surprise. He raises an eyebrow, all innocence. “What’s wrong, pet? Am I hurting you?”

“No,” you say quickly. “No, it— I like it.”

He hums. “Want more?”

Yes.

“Let’s lie her down,” Jeno says. He doesn’t wait for either of your agreements before lifting you off the other’s lap and setting you down on your back, splayed across the soft couch. So far beneath them and so out of it, the sight of them standing above you, looking down with intense, predatory eyes, is as intimidating as it is thrilling.

Jeno is the first to move; he straddles you without word or fuss, cupping your head in his hands and pressing his bulge against your clothed pussy. The sensation makes you squirm, even more intense than the feeling of Jaemin’s finger earlier and the sight makes him laugh quietly. “Desperate,” he scoffs, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is rough and messy but there’s a tenderness behind it that could only come from them; could only come from your two best friends who have always done everything for you. They’ve never denied you anything—even things you didn’t even know you wanted.

Already you scarcely remember how scared and unsure you were earlier, how wrong it all felt. How could you remember, when the feeling of him on top of you, hands and lips trailing across every inch of your skin with fervent desperation, feels so right?

And more than that—he feels big too.

You’ve never been a particularly sexual person; you’ve only ever had sex with boyfriends, and even then, it was much more for them than for you. You assumed you were just asexual or something; that sex just wasn’t something you’d ever enjoy or crave and it’s a fact you’ve made peace with over time.

But now. Here. With them. You can’t think of a time you’ve ever wanted something more.

Your body is responding of its own accord; your hips lift up to press harder against Jeno’s bulge and your hands reach pathetically for him, wrapping around his waist with an iron grip. He grunts, a satisfied sound and tilts your chin upwards with a long finger. “You want me?” He breathes. “Say it.”

You just moan, already too overwhelmed to talk but the feeling of a hand in your hair, yanking your head back painfully, sobers you slightly. Jaemin’s eyes are stern, staring down at you from above. “Jeno asked you a question,” he says. “What do we do when someone asks us a question?”

You swallow, flushing slightly; this isn’t the first time you’ve been chided for this. “We answer,” you whisper. Just as they taught you.

“Good,” he says. “Answer him, then. Nothing happens until you do.”

You nod, mumbling your apology and he releases his grip; you turn back to Jeno and force the words out from your tight, scratchy throat. “I want you,” you say. “Please, Jen.”

“Good girl,” he smiles. “There’s those manners. Jaemin, why don’t you get behind her? We’ll wanna keep her still if she starts squirming.”

“I’m sure she knows better than that,” Jaemin says, the warning obvious in his tone, “but good idea. Greedy little sluts need a firm hand sometimes, don’t they? Especially stupid, drugged up little sluts.”

You’ve never heard him speak like this; even Jeno raises an eyebrow, taken aback. Jaemin fixes him with a look in return that almost seems challenging. “What, Jen?” He smiles. “Think I can’t be tough like you? I know exactly what she needs.”

“I’m not complaining. Let’s get her settled now.”

You let them sit you up—though you’re unsure how much resistance you could put up even if you didn’t want this now—and Jaemin’s body is a warm presence behind you as you sink back into it. “Hey, pretty baby,” he mumbles, lips pressed against your crown with returning softness. “Be good for us, yeah? We’ll look after you.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Nana, please.”

“Nuh uh,” he tuts. “Tonight you’re gonna call us sir, okay bunny? Can you do that?”

“Yes sir.” The word feels natural on your tongue now and the pleased noise he makes is a reward in itself.

“Good girl,” he says. “Fuck, so good. How long’s it been since you got your little pussy filled?”

Your heart could jump out of your chest now; entire body buzzing and blurred. Your breath stutters. “A while, sir.”

Jeno grunts. His voice is hoarse, breaking under the weight of you—of his need for you. “Bet you’re tight, huh?” He rasps. “Better be.”

“Take her panties off,” Jaemin says, all authority. His thumbs trace small circles on your hips, soothing and electrifying all at once. “Sweetheart,” he mumbles. “D’you want us both in your pussy, or d’you want me in your ass?”

You blink. “My ass?”

“Whay, you never done that before?” Jeno asks. You shake your head and he laughs. “Cute. We’ll have to try it. You’d take it, right? Like our good girl?”

“Of course she will,” Jaemin answers for you. “We’ll both have her pussy for now, though. She’ll need her asshole trained if she’s never done it before. Wouldn’t wanna hurt her, would we? Not our little girl.”

“Course not,” Jeno smiles. “We’ll stretch her out some other time, then. I’m not feeling that patient today.”

You feel Jaemin’s smile against the skin of your neck as it stretches into a grin. “You think I am?”

He doesn't reply; just yanks your panties down your legs, dangling the soaking material dangling from one of his fingers like a trophy. “There,” he hums. His gaze turns back to you. “Gonna be good?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good,” he purrs. “Keep those legs spread for me. You’re gonna make us proud now.”

“Close your eyes,” Jaemin whispers. “Jeno’s a bit big, don’t look, hm? He’ll be inside before you know it. Breathe with me, baby.”

The feeling of Jeno’s cock prodding against your entrance makes you jolt, gasping slightly but Jaemin’s grip is as firm as it is comforting. He keeps talking, soft words you barely understand as the other pushes in and fuck, Jaemin didn’t lie—Jeno is huge. Stretching you so far it feels more like splitting. You’re whimpering, faintly aware of the tears welling in your eyes and you’d be a little worried that he’s actually hurting you were it not for numbing, dizzying pleasure pulsating through you as he finally starts to move. Everything feels good, feels present, feels alive and feels right. Even the pain of the stretch fades so quickly that you can’t help but feel like you were made for this; for him. For them.

“Fuck, good girl,” Jeno groans. He’s obviously just as affected, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying to get ahold of himself. “Jesus Christ. How are you not a fucking virgin? I feel like I’m—fuck, like I’m breaking her, Nana.”

“You’re not,” Jaemin says. He presses a kiss to your cheek, listening to your soft, sharp gasps as his friend fucks into you harder. “Look at her squirming like she’s trying to take you deeper. She fucking loves this shit. Don’t you, baby?”

By now Jeno’s fucking you so hard you can barely think, let alone answer; the noise you make is somewhere between a moan and a sob and he laughs, mocking, and slaps your cheek. “Don’t go dumb yet,” he says. “Need you to feel every fucking inch of me. Need you to know exactly who’s fucking you. Tell me, baby, tell me who’s breaking you like this.”

The tears are falling freely now, sticking to your flushed cheeks, the pleasure and pain and the feeling of their attention and control almost too much to take. Not to mention the foul, filthy words coming from their mouths like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They’ve never spoken to you like this before; never even hinted at a proclivity for that sort of thing. They like to tease, sure, but this isn’t teasing; it’s degrading, objectifying, and the way Jeno thrusts into you with every word makes you somehow feel like this is how they wanted to treat you all along.

And what’s worse, what’s even more humiliating, is how electrifyingly right it feels to be treated like this. How it lights you up; like this isn’t just how they wanted to treat you but how they were meant to; how you always needed and wanted and craved to be handled.

You’re sobbing their names, over and over like a prayer and you don’t know if you could stop even if you wanted to. Nor do you know exactly what it is you want; what you want beyond them, them, them.

“Jeno.” It feels like every time you speak your voice is smaller and weaker and more strangled.

“That’s it,” he grins. “Yeah. I’m doing this to you. We are.”

The next thrust is the deepest yet; he holds it there for a moment, dick pressing against your cervix, relishing in the way your cries get louder and more desperate. “God,” he moans. “Perfect. Perfect pussy. Shit, Jaem.”

Jaemin’s grip from behind you has tightened immeasurably, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. The feeling of his bulge pressing against your lower back tells you he’s going to be just as difficult to take as Jeno; you let your head fall back to rest on Jaemin’s shoulder, eyes closed and he wraps his hand around your neck, warm and firm.

“There we go,” he coos. His grip tightens, just heavy enough to notice; it feels steady and comforting and warning all in one. His voice drops. “Now. Are you ready for both of us?”

—

#nct smut #nct dream smut #jaemin smut #jeno smut #na jaemin smut #lee jeno smut #mulloey writes #dark content

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c1araj3on · 2 months ago

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six of crows headcanons

wylan knits for jesper <3

-> also tries to make kaz wear them...he pretends not to but secretly wears them in his room and thinks they're amazing

jesper makes cute lil stories (cute lil storie -> guns + gambling + mass destruction) and reads them to wylan as bedtime stories

inej is the 'mom' of the friend group, also the only one who has semi-control over kaz, which is why she was nominated to the position

kaz pokes his friends with his cane when annoyed

nina is a flirt, and happily throws overstimulating compliments and pickup lines to everyone 25/8

matthias is the only one who has a sense of order compared to the other crows which are just bundles of chaos, and helps inej try to keep them all in line (it never works...)

big family dinners of chaos where food fights usually occur and the loser cleans it all up

even though they all end up cleaning because inej and matthias force them to

nina and matthias bake together !!! waffles, obviously. they are in charge of desserts for the other four crows

inej and kaz are not 'dating' per se, but def closer than 'friends'

their relationship is the definition of consent and communication

#six of crows #headcanon #books #inej ghafa #crooked kingdom #kaz brekker #wylan x jesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #nina zenik #matthias helvar #nina x matthias

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kabr0ztrousers · 3 months ago

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2 male tigers and f!reader bisexual threesom. Anytime if you want. I can wait.

Kabr0z Writes episode 112: Unicorn

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

And the AO3 here!

CWs: Oral sex; anal sex; vaginal sex; lots of sex; spined penises; enthusiastic consent

A/N: I'd like to extend a huge thank you to all the people who have sent in requests over the last few days, your support means so much to me.

That said, this series still has over 7 months left in it! So if you have an idea, or would like to see something revisited or expanded upon, send a request!

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Their names were Jack and Tom. Big, chubby, if you didn't know better you could believe they were brothers. They'd be your entertainment for the evening. You met on the internet, a pair of bi tigers looking for a third. Was it unicorn hunting if the unicorn is the nominally straight one? You didn't know. All you were sure of was the younger of these two was ten years older than you, and called the other one daddy.

You weren't strictly allowed more than one guest at a time in student digs, but in late April when most of the student body's either gone home for Easter or practically living in the library, sneaking them in was easy. They were more than happy to slip in once you'd made sure the coast was clear, and now the three of you sat in your room. You looked from one of the big felines to the other. Orange fur, striped with black, fading to white bellies.

Their hands were already all over you, pulling you out of your blouse, stripping off your bra, groping your tits as fanged mouths nibbled the soft skin of your neck. A large hand slid down your waistband, a pawpad rubbing at you over your underwear as you groped at its owners bulge, holding his husband to your neck.

All at once, they lifted you, sitting you on your desk. Jack, the younger of the two, knelt in front of you, holding your knickers to one side as his head was under your skirt, rough tongue lapping at your cunt. Tom was stood over him, kneading your tits as his face was still pressed into your neck, leaving you a necklace of hickies as you moaned with delight. Both of the men were giving you all their attention, not passing up the novelty of having a first-year student to play with.

You pulled your legs up, perching your heels on the desk, opening yourself for Jack to get a better angle at you. His tongue rasped at you, the texture of it making you squirm as it passed over the outside of your cunt. Every so often you'd feel your lips parting for him, letting him run that rough tongue right up the centre of you, rubbing over the hole all the way up you your clit. You could feel yourself clenching for him, your cunt already twitching and leaking, begging to be filled.

You didn't have to wait long. Jack unbuttoned his partner's pants, pulling the thick, forty-year-old cock free before giving it a quick tug and pushing it up into you. You gasped at the size of it, and at the barbs that spread and pricked your insides. He held you to him as he took a large step backwards to sit on the bed, placing you on top of him. Jack didn't waste time either, stepping up behind you to place his own tapered, feline cock at your asshole.

You ground your hips into Tom, purring as you worked his cock inside you, rubbing it against your most sensitive places, hungry for the prickling scratching inside you as you came to a shuddering orgasm. You felt a familiar pawpad on your ass, holding your cheeks open as Jack rubbed a generous helping of lube onto your winking asshole.

He eased himself in gently. Your orgasmic moaning only intensifying as he pushed and pulled his way into your virgin asshole.

The two cocks rubbed against one another inside you, both working with each other to get you off. You could feel them filling you as you groaned and cried, their hands stroking your skin as your hips worked overtime. You didn't want it to stop, pushing yourself harder, grinding faster and deeper. Your hands squeezed your tits as Tom pinched your nipples, Jack's fingertips rubbing quick circles around your throbbing clit.

You screamed. Your hips stopped as your legs shook. All you could do was sit there and twitch, propped upright by the cocks in both of your holes

Your cunt clenched against Tom. Maybe a little too much. You felt him tense up under you as his cock began to twitch and throb. Thick spurts of cum flowed into you as he held you down onto him. Two last quick thrusts into your ass and Jack joined in, filling you up from the other side.

You sat there with the two men, enjoying their warmth as their cocks gradually softened inside you.

Cuddle piles are great

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Bit of a shorter, less narrative heavy episode tonight!

Once again, I remind you that requests are open! If you have an idea, drop me an ask to add it to the list, it'll most likely get made!

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hquinzel · 1 month ago

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Great!

*Throws @stargazertheofficial at you*

Just charge her dad for the therapy or whatever it's called. She needs it.

Alrighty yknow normally I don't just take nominations, its kind of important for clients to consent of their own will

Hi there sweetie I'm Harley nice to meet you

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dazaih · 2 months ago

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wingman - luke skywalker x reader

you can find previous chapters here

chapter eleven -> the invitation

your university roommate han solo finds a rival (and love interest) in student council president leia skywalker, but both of them are too stubborn to admit that they have feelings for each other. luckily, you and her twin brother, luke, devise a plan to get the two of them to spend more time together. challenges arise, however, when you start to develop a crush on him.

chapter warnings: luke is drunk, weed, discussions of consent

a/n: sorry this took so long i’ve been finishing finals and i’m also in the process of moving!

You were stunned into silence. Han immediately dropped Luke’s keys, having been caught even more off guard than you had. When he bent over to pick the keys up, his cigarettes tumbled out of his breast pocket and onto the floor. He looked torn between whether or not he should pick them up, his eyes wide.

“Han?” Leia exclaimed, standing from her seat. She was in her pajamas, her wet hair braided down her shoulder.

“Um,” Han said, gracelessly gathering his cigarettes as Anakin Skywalker stared daggers into him from across the room, “Right. I’m not breaking and entering.”

That was probably the worst thing he could’ve said. You sighed, and Luke rolled his eyes, pushing past Han as he stumbled inside. Padme stood immediately and pulled him into a hug, Luke squirming a little in her surprisingly strong grip. Anakin stood too, but his skeptical gaze lingered on Han as he pulled his son into a sideways hug.

“What’re you guys doing here?” Luke asked, hiccuping a little.

“We wanted to come congratulate you on your nomination,” she explained, gesturing towards the counter, “Ben made you a cake.”

Luke’s eyes lit up immediately, and he pulled away from his parents to make his way to the counter. He clumsily grabbed a cake slicer from a kitchen drawer and cut into the treat, taking a rather sizable slice and plopping it onto a plate. He moved impressively quickly for someone as drunk as he was, and he was shoving a fork full of cake into his mouth in no time. He sighed happily, meeting your gaze as he did so, and had the audacity to wink at you. You tried not to react, given the presence of his parents, and you wanted to scold him.

“That man is a fucking wizard in the kitchen,” Luke announced, his mouth full of food, “And I haven’t won the award. It’s just a nomination.”

“You’re going to win,” Anakin said then, finally taking his eyes off of your roommate. Han visibly relaxed.

“Don’t say that,” Luke replied, frowning, “I might not. There’s a guy from the East Coast who has crazy stats right now. Even if we beat them in nationals, he’s gonna give me trouble.”

“That’s why we’re celebrating now,” Padme explained softly, “Even if you don’t win, we’re still proud of you. Being nominated is a huge deal, sweetie.”

“But then everyone’s gonna be disappointed if I lose,” he mumbled, taking another bite of his cake.

“Why are you here?” Leia asked, suddenly toe to toe with Han, “You smell horrible, by the way. Like cigarettes.”

“So I’ve been told,” he grumbled, not about to test Anakin’s patience when it came to being hateful to the man’s daughter.

“I was kidnapped,” Luke explained, and Anakin’s eyes immediately fell on your roommate again. You could’ve sworn Han was starting to break a sweat.

“That’s such a horrible description of what happened,” Han griped, closing his eyes for a moment to regain his composure.

“Biggs told us that Luke was reaching the point where you’d normally intervene and drag him home,” you told Leia, trying to diffuse the tension in the room, “So Han dragged him home.”

“And it was completely unnecessary,” Luke added, chewing his cake and nodding in agreement with himself, “I was gonna leave anyway.”

“Sure you were, kid. Three different people were hangin’ off of you when I reached you, and a fourth was pouring gin into your mouth,” Han managed to say, having calmed down a little as the focus shifted to Luke’s inebriation.

“Must’ve been getting pretty wild for Biggs to intervene,” Leia mused, and you thought you saw the semblance of a smile tugging at her lips as she stared at Han.

“I didn’t even wanna be there,” Luke huffed, grabbing a gallon of milk from the fridge and a glass, “So I would’ve left at some point.”

“Yeah? After how many more drinks?” Han snorted, his usual personality seeping through as he rolled his eyes, so caught up in defending himself that he seemed to be forgetting that the Skywalker parents were in the room, “I already told you that Her Royal Highness would beat my ass if I let your shit-brained friends drag you to that Marie girl’s house, and you don’t ever stand up for yourself.”

“How would you know?” Luke asked, suddenly grinning, “Unless Leia told you. Because you’re hanging out! And you’re in love!”

“What?” Anakin snapped, glaring at your roommate again.

Han nearly fell to his knees, his mouth hanging wide open as his face turned beet red. He floundered for a moment, but could find nothing at all to say, so he just stood, dumbfounded.

“You are fucked up,” Leia sighed, though she was blushing a little, “Thanks for bringing him home.”

“No problem,” you replied, reaching for Han’s hand as you moved to lead him out the door, “Well, we don’t wanna intrude, so we’ll be leaving now. Nice meeting you both in person.”

“What?” Luke pouted, looking at you with sad blue eyes that he was certainly exaggerating in an effort to get what he wanted, “But you just got here. Stay for a little while. We can order food, and I’ll pay as a thanks for getting me home safe and sound, okay?”

“Yeah,” Anakin agreed, voice low as he continued assessing Han, “You should stay. We’ll pay.”

Your mission to get Han out of there had failed, and you had to admit that you were also a little unsure of how to interact with celebrities who also happened to be the parents of the man you were falling in love with. And said man was known to deliberately try to embarrass you by flirting with you in public. And he was drunker than you’d ever seen him. And Han was being absolutely useless in helping you make this less of an awkward situation.

“We really don’t wanna be in the way. You guys came all the way out here to spend time with your kids,” you tried again, but you knew you’d been defeated when Padme spoke.

“Nonsense,” she said sweetly, waving her hand dismissively, “We’d love to treat you to dinner. Especially after all you kids have been through this semester.”

Han’s face paled.

“They know about that?” he whispered to you, and you nodded.

“I told you. FaceTime.”

“Fuck.”

“Isn’t that good news, Leia?” Luke teased, leaning over the counter to taunt his sister. Clearly agitated, she walked around the island, angrily filled his glass with water, put the milk back in the fridge, and grabbed his wrist.

“Luke’s going to take a shower,” she said calmly to all of you, “And he’s going to drink this water. And he’s going to sober up. And he’s going to calm the fuck down and stop being a pain in the ass to everyone here.”

With that, she dragged him down the hallway. He just smiled as she did so and went willingly, giving you a flirtatious wave as he left. You could hear them bicker between themselves in the hallway as she shoved clean clothes in his hands and pushed him into the bathroom.

“Is he usually like this?” Padme asked, sounding concerned but looking thoroughly entertained.

“No,” you answered shyly, “A ton of people were buying him drinks. He’s normally not this far gone.”

“I was worried,” she admitted, relaxing a little, “I just wanted to make sure you guys weren’t regularly having to take care of him.”

“We don’t,” you replied, nervous under her gaze despite how kind she was being.

“Seems like Leia does,” Anakin mused, looking down the hallway as his daughter returned.

“You’ve spoiled him,” she said, pointing at you. Your eyes widened.

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” she teased, pouring you a glass of water, “He thinks he can get away with being annoying when you’re here because you’ll stick up for him. Like you did the other day on the couch.”

“I only said something then because Han was being annoying,” you protested, hands on your hips.

“Shut up,” Han hissed, his face still red. Padme smiled at the interaction, but Anakin’s face was impossible to read. Han was definitely sweating.

His situation didn’t improve when Leia stood in front of him again, pushing a glass of water into his hand. He stared down at her like she was from another world, his eyes wide and posture uncharacteristically tense.

“You alright?” you heard her ask him quietly. His expression softened a little, but he still remained tightly wound.

“Wasn’t expecting your celebrity parents to be here. That’s all,” he mumbled. She touched his arm lightly, likely meant to be reassuring, but you saw him blush a little.

“Don’t worry about that,” she whispered, “You don’t care what anyone else thinks anyway, right? This isn’t any different. They’re just regular people.”

“It’s not the celebrity part,” he murmured, looking away from her, “It’s that they’re your parents.”

Her eyes widened a little and her cheeks reddened.

“Well, that’s stupid,” she said quietly, staring at her feet.

How much longer would they keep up with this until they finally started dating?

Padme called your name then, and beckoned you over. She asked you a few questions about your wrist, how you were doing, and some other general small talk.

“Is she seeing him?” Anakin asked you suddenly, still watching Han like a hawk.

“Um, not yet, but they definitely like each other. He’s my roommate,” you explained, not knowing what else to say other than the truth.

“Oh,” Anakin said, “He’s the one who was in the hospital, right?”

“That’s him,” you murmured.

“Is his ear pierced?”

“Ani,” Padme interjected, placing a hand on his knee, “Don’t interrogate his poor roommate. He brought Luke home. And Leia can hold her own. See? She seems to be the one calling the shots.”

You turned to see Han still tense as Leia casually touched his arm, his wide eyes darting to yours with a look of desperation. He avoided Anakin’s stare quite deliberately, which made the older man chuckle.

“Good,” Anakin said, somewhat satisfied by Han’s anxieties, “And who’s Marie? Is that Luke’s girlfriend?”

“Ani,” Padme chided again, “I’m sorry. He’s a little protective of the kids. Marie’s the cheerleader, honey. We’ve seen her before at his games.”

You didn’t remember that Marie was a cheerleader, but you supposed that made sense. Padme knowing who she was did sting a little though.

“I don’t know who that is,” Anakin scoffed, and you felt kind of vindicated by that, “But she better not be anything like his other girlfriends.”

You wanted to ask what he meant by that, your curiosity reaching its limits, but Luke stepped back into the room before you could. His hair was damp and he wore long pajama pants, fuzzy blue socks on his feet.

“Do you feel any better?” Padme asked, motioning for him to come over while Han and Leia talked.

“I feel clean,” he replied happily, “But I still couldn’t drive a car.”

“We weren’t gonna make you drive anywhere,” you told him, and he smiled widely at your presence.

“I was worried you guys would sneak out while I was showering,” he confessed, cheeks rosy from his alcohol consumption.

“Leia has Han trapped,” you explained, pointing to the couple standing next to the island, “And your parents were asking me about him.”

“Not your parents,” Padme chimed in, rolling her eyes, “Your father.”

“Am I crazy to ask if the guy with cigarettes pouring out of his pockets has a good head on his shoulders?” he argued, slightly exasperated.

“What? I love Han,” Luke said defensively, smiling, “He’s so cool. And he doesn’t care what other people think of him. I wish I could be more like that.”

The admission made your heart clench, and you wanted to pull him into a hug and tell him that he didn’t need to change.

“Not in an asshole way,” you added nervously, “He means well. He’s just a little unconventional.”

Anakin’s eyebrow was raised, but he said nothing else about Han.

“I’m sure he’s a nice boy,” Padme told Anakin, giving you a reassuring smile, “And what about you, Luke?”

“I’m nice too,” he answered, nodding.

You giggled, hiding your smile behind your hand. Anakin rolled his eyes.

“No, honey. I’m asking if you’re seeing anyone right now.”

“Oh!” he replied, eyes darting between you and his mother, “Um. Sort of?”

“Yes,” you heard Leia yell from the kitchen, “Your turn in the hot seat, Luke.”

“Is it the cheerleader?” she asked, eyes lighting up in excitement.

“Who?”

Luke not immediately knowing who she was talking about made you feel relieved.

“Marie,” she said, “Han mentioned that you were invited to Marie’s house. Is she your girlfriend?”

“No,” Luke answered quickly, brows furrowed in bewilderment, “Absolutely not. My friends want me to date her, but I’m not going to. Ever.”

“Is she that bad?” Anakin snorted, failing to hide his amusement.

“Yes,” Leia said, walking towards the living room to join you all, Han reluctantly in tow.

“She’s a nice girl,” Luke sighed, looking conflicted, “But she’s persistent.”

“She’s obsessive,” Leia corrected, hands on her hips, “Dad, she’s one of those people.”

“I see,” Anakin replied, “Tell her to fuck off then, Luke.”

“Anakin,” Padme groaned, “Don’t be rude in front of their guests.”

“What do you mean by those people?” Luke asked, narrowing his eyes at his sister.

“People take advantage of your kindness, Luke. Dad and I talk about it all the time. You should be mean. Like me.”

Han snorted and Anakin regarded him with something other than contempt for once. You tried not to laugh.

“You’re not mean, Leia,” Luke argued, “You just don’t take shit from anyone. You’re like Han.”

“No, Han’s mean,” she said dismissively.

“Hey.”

“I’m just saying,” she replied, slapping Han on the shoulder in a way that was probably supposed to be light, but he hissed in pain anyway.

“Leia, be nice to him,” Padme chided.

“You don’t have to be nice to him, Leia,” Anakin deadpanned

“Okay!” Luke interrupted, “Can we order food or not?”

Anakin and Leia relented and finally the conversation shifted to what you all would get to eat. With the Skywalkers all arguing over their dinner options, Han had begun hiding behind you again, trying to keep himself out of Anakin’s line of sight. You had never seen him act so skittish before.

Luke convinced everyone to order Chinese food, and Han volunteered to pick it up, far too eager to flee from the house and catch his breath away from the Skywalkers for a bit. You offered to go with him (which Luke protested) in order to give the family some time to themselves. The two of you practically sprinted out the door, not fully relaxing until you had taken the elevator and fled the lobby. Finally, when your shoes hit the sidewalk, you felt like you could breathe again.

He pulled out a cigarette in record time, lighting it quickly as he began walking into the city.

“This is a fucking nightmare,” he huffed, the cigarette hanging from his lips serving to muffle his voice a little, “I can barely handle two Skywalkers. I can’t do four.”

“Padme is nice,” you replied, shrugging.

“No, she’s got Luke’s shit-eating grin. Seems nice at first but she’s up to something. That whole family is nuts.”

Neither of you bothered to acknowledge what had really rattled you about seeing them all together: that they were a complete, functional, and happy family. Han never mentioned his parents, but you knew that he’d moved out before he even turned 18 and had turned to transporting drugs as a result of having no support from his relatives. Your own parents were pretty disinterested in your life, and hearing that Luke’s parents, who were incredibly busy and working all over the country, had made time to congratulate him for a nomination made your heart ache. You were happy for him, but you just weren’t familiar with the kind of dynamics that were at play in their apartment right now.

You and Han didn’t have to say any of this out loud, because both of you already knew. He passed his cigarette to you and, uncharacteristically, you took a drag. Meeting the Skywalkers was a special occasion, you supposed.

“They cuss in front of their parents,” he said as you neared your destination, “And I think the dad is gonna kill me.”

“They seem to have a pretty relaxed relationship with them, yes,” you agreed, giggling quietly, “I think he’s just under the impression that you’re trying to seduce his daughter.”

“Why does everyone keep sayin’ that?” he groaned, pushing the door to the restaurant open and holding it for you, “It’s the other way around, actually.”

“She’s trying to seduce you?” you asked, surprised by his willingness to talk about his situation with Leia. Perhaps it was a combination of the stress and whiskey, but he seemed a little more open to discussing it at the moment.

“Yeah, I dunno,” he mumbled, sounding a bit distant, “I mean, I can’t tell. She acts like she might be interested every now and then, but she still argues with me all the time, and I’m pretty sure she’s got a thing with that guitarist.”

“Luke thinks she likes you,” you said suddenly, not wanting him to feel insecure and talk himself out of his progressing relationship, “I think so too.”

“Luke thinks that?” he asked, eyes wide. You couldn’t immediately respond, as you were giving the cashier your order number. You stood next to the counter as you waited for them to finish preparing your food.

“Han,” you sighed, crossing your arms, “The night we watched The Shining. Luke pulled me outside to tell me that he thinks Leia likes you.”

Han blinked, and you momentarily wondered if he hadn’t heard you.

“Don’t fuck with me,” he finally said, looking a little uneasy.

“I wouldn’t lie about that.”

He sighed, shifting uncomfortably as he looked at his feet.

“If that’s true,” he began quietly, “Then she’ll get over it. I’m not exactly her type, y’know. She just wants to rebel against the social pressures of being a young woman in a powerful family. That’s all it is.”

“I told you to stop making assumptions about how she feels. It’s not fair to either of you.”

“What about you and Luke, then?”

“That’s different.”

“How? ‘Cause only one of them left our house covered in hickeys, and it wasn’t Leia.”

You couldn’t tell him about your plot to get the two of them together now, especially without consulting Luke first, so you had no choice but to bite your tongue.

They finally called your order, and you and Han split the bags as you walked back out towards their apartment again.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, staring at you as you pursed your lips together to stop yourself from lashing out at him, “Get your shit together before worrying about mine, alright kid?”

His words were harsh but his tone was soft, and taking his stunt with Lando earlier into account, you knew that he just wanted you to be happy. You sighed, and you sulked a little until you got back to their apartment. Even when you opened the door, you and Han probably seemed a little out of it, both of you emotionally exhausted by the night’s activities.

Luke appeared at the door as soon as you opened it, taking the bag from your hand and urging you to sit down while he fixed you a plate. You were in no position to argue, your stomach growling.

You had never been to a family dinner before. When you and Han took your seats at the dining room table, you were reminded of this fact.

You were surprised by how smoothly things were going as they did their best to include you in all of their conversations.

“So,” Anakin began, staring at you and Han, “You guys just met this semester, right?”

“Um, yeah,” you replied awkwardly, looking to Han for help, “Han and Leia got assigned to work on a project together, and we all kind of got along pretty well, so. Yeah.”

“They bought us pizza,” Luke added, smiling, “They have a third roommate, too. He’s really nice. You guys would like him a lot.”

“He’ll have to join us next time,” Padme said offhandedly, smiling.

Next time. What was next time? Why would there be a next time? Because they approved of Han and Leia’s blossoming relationship, and assumed that you’d be around by extension? Because they thought you were all just platonic friends?

“Well, I don’t think they were planning on hanging around, or else I would’ve made them drag him along.“

“Speaking of next time,” Padme continued, as if she had read your mind, “The semester is picking up, and Luke’s soccer season will be coming to an end soon. We wanted to do something special to celebrate.”

“We don’t need to,” Luke protested weakly, blushing. He was adorable.

“Of course we do,” Anakin scoffed, adding, “We’re already planning to go to the beach when Leia finishes her term as president, but that’s not until next semester.”

“Finishing a term isn’t an accomplishment,” Leia said, joining in on trying to remain humble.

“It’s what you’ve accomplished in that term that’s impressive,” Padme said, reaching forward and smoothing down some of the flyaways framing Leia’s face, “But anyway, we were wanting to stay with some family friends at our vacation home for your winter break. Ani will be taking a break from his press, and elections will have already taken place, so it seems like a pretty good time to go.”

“That sounds nice,” you replied politely, nodding as she spoke.

“Do you wanna come?” Luke asked in between bites.

You nearly choked, and Han actually did. Swallowing, you collected yourself.

“We talked about it while you guys were gone,” Leia said quietly, not meeting your eyes, “We’ve never invited anyone from school before. So.”

“We wouldn’t want to intrude—“

“You wouldn’t be!” Luke exclaimed, smiling brightly and still more than a little tipsy, “I mean, there’s no pressure. Sorry. I just really want you to come.”

You face flushed, and Han gave you a smug look.

“Han is invited too, of course,” Anakin added, eyeing your roommate. Han’s face immediately fell.

“And your other roommate,” Padme said sweetly.

“Yes! Bring Chewie,” Luke cheered.

“Like he said, there’s no pressure. But we’d really love to have you,” Leia said, smiling at you but avoiding Han’s gaze entirely.

“You can send us the dates and we’ll double check our schedules. We can check with Chewie too,” you decided to say, kicking Han’s foot under the table when he remained silent.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he agreed awkwardly, “We’ll check. Thanks for the invite.”

You relaxed a little when he managed to have decent manners, happy that, for now, Anakin wouldn’t jump across the table and murder him where he sat.

“Of course,” Padme smiled, “We were super excited when the kids suggested it. Like Leia said, they’ve never asked to invite any of their friends before. We’d love to have you.”

“You could meet Ben,” Luke added, smiling widely at you, “And Ahsoka. Dad, do you think Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru would—“

“Luke,” Leia cut him off, eyes wide.

“What? I bet the Organas are invited. Why is this different?”

A combative edge had reached his voice, and the atmosphere suddenly felt uncomfortably tense.

“We can talk about it later, sweetie,” Padme said, giving him a sympathetic smile. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“I’m sure we will,” he replied, tone dripping in sarcasm.

“Luke,” Anakin said lowly, fixing him with a harsh glare, “Don’t have an attitude with your mother.”

You would be more offended on Luke’s behalf if it weren’t for the way that Anakin placed his hand on his wife’s knee under the table, giving her a small, reassuring smile. It was sweet.

“Sorry,” Luke murmured, and you watched his demeanor shift completely. You tried to catch his eye throughout the remainder of dinner as everyone else resumed talking as normal, but he kept his stare fixed on his plate. He pushed a few grains of rice around solemnly, and you frowned.

“Hey,” you said, nudging his foot under the table with yours. He looked up finally, his eyes sad.

“Hi,” he replied anyway, trying to offer you a smile.

“Is it time for dessert yet?” you asked, pretending to be more excited than you were. His eyes immediately lit up.

“Yes,” he said, his voice already a little lighter than before, “You have to try this cake. Ben’s an excellent baker.”

He stood then and gestured for you to follow him to the counter. You obeyed, though you felt a little awkward to suddenly rise from the table, but no one seemed to mind all that much. He lifted the Tupperware lid and presented you with a cake that was clearly homemade, but still pristine in its appearance. He grabbed two small plates from the cabinet then, and cut you a slice. You slowly cut into it with your fork and took a small bite, only for your eyes to widen at the delightful flavor flooding your senses. The cake practically melted on your tongue, and you immediately went back in for a second bite.

“Do you like it?” he asked hopefully.

“This is divine,” you said seriously, taking another bite, “You’ll have to tell this Ben guy that he’s unnaturally good at this. Holy shit.”

That was apparently the correct response, because Luke was practically beaming at you now. Padme made eye contact with you from across the kitchen, offering you a grateful smile. You blushed and avoided her gaze.

“You have good taste,” Luke said, staring at you with something akin to fondness, “Do you wanna stay the night?”

The abruptness of his offer caught you off guard, and you blinked at him for a second before managing to respond.

“Luke, you drank a lot tonight,” you told him softly, “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.”

“You’re sweet,” he replied, smiling at you and making you blush, “But I wasn’t trying to get in your pants. I’m just saying that it’s late, and I’ve missed you, and I’d really love to spend more time with you tonight. I’ll even sleep on the couch—“

“I’m not making you do that,” you protested, “I’m not sure if we’ll spend the night, but we can at least stay for a while after your parents leave.”

He beamed at you again. After you tried to cheer him up a little more, he seemed to be in better spirits, and he carried the cake over to the table to share with everyone else. You all continued to talk amongst yourselves for a while longer, with Anakin occasionally trying to assess Han’s character and Padme hiding her smile behind her hand.

Overall, dinner was pleasant. You still felt awkward, sitting at a table with the boy you were infatuated with and his two celebrity parents, but they really did seem to be nice people. Finally, at about one in the morning, Padme announced that they should be heading out. To your surprise, she stood to hug you.

“It’s been so great meeting you in person,” she said, her embrace much tighter than you had anticipated. Anakin looked on fondly.

“Likewise,” you replied, “Thank you guys for dinner.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” she assured you, and, to your further bewilderment, pulled Han into a hug.

Luke didn’t bother to stop himself from laughing at the other man, and even you had to admit that it was an amusing scene. Han awkwardly returned her embrace, patting her on the back uncomfortably. Anakin looked on with that same scrutinizing gaze, trying to gauge how Han would react. To his credit, your roommate was respectful enough to at least pretend to appreciate the gesture.

The two of you stood to the side as the Skywalkers doted on their children for a moment, Padme pressing kisses to both of their heads and Anakin affectionately messing up their hair.

“We love you,” Padme told them, “And we’ll be coming back in for your big game, Luke.”

“Keep a low profile,” he sighed, suddenly looking very tired, “The last time you guys came, I had to watch my classmates try to flirt with my dad. That’s not something anyone wants to see.”

“That’s not my fault,” Anakin argued, his tone sounding so similar to his son’s that you nearly laughed, “You should just play so well that they have no reason to pay attention to me.”

Luke scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t say that, Ani,” Padme scolded lightheartedly, “You might stress him out. We love you no matter how well you play, honey.”

“I always play well,” Luke huffed, crossing his arms.

Leia and Anakin looked at each other, and their faces made you think that they were about to bring up a situation that proved the contrary. Luke caught on to that too, and he was then inspired to usher his parents towards the door. Anakin laughed at his efforts.

“I won’t embarrass you in front of your friends,” he promised, grinning as he put on his coat.

“I will,” Leia teased, raising an eyebrow at her brother before turning to you, “Luke used to buy his uniform in the smallest size possible so he could show off, and this one time, during a game in his senior year of high school—“

“Mom,” Luke pleaded, cutting her off, “She only gets like this when he’s around. Separate them and save my reputation, please.”

Padme giggled and opened the door, gently pushing her husband outside and taking his arm.

“Behave,” Anakin said as he waved them goodbye, smiling as his wife leaned into his side a little.

“And get some sleep!” she added, “We love you.”

Despite their previous banter, the twins told their parents that they loved them too, and with that, the door closed.

Han visibly relaxed, letting out a loud sigh of relief as he slumped against the wall. Luke giggled at this, and Han noticed, eyes narrowing at the younger man.

“What?” he snapped, crossing his arms.

“Nothing. Just didn’t expect you to be so intimidated by him,” he quipped, grinning.

“Funny. And I didn’t expect you to be a mama’s boy, but here we are.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” he countered.

Han just scoffed, apparently not in the mood to actually challenge Luke on this, and just pulled a cigarette from his pocket, shrugging his jacket back on.

“Well, thanks for feedin’ us. We’ll get out of your hair now,” he said, ready to bolt out the door. You were ready to follow him—that is, until a still tipsy Luke fixed you with a stare so pitiful that you felt overwhelmed with guilt.

“You said you’d stay,” he all but pouted, looking at you with sad eyes.

You crumbled immediately, walking towards him and leaving Han standing in the doorway.

“Are you serious? All he has to do is bat his eyelashes at you and you’ll bend to his every whim?” he exclaimed, looking betrayed.

“That’s an overly dramatic reaction,” Leia snorted, arms crossed as she leaned against the kitchen counter, “We can split a joint if you stay. Maybe Luke will fall asleep long enough to let you all escape.”

Han contemplated this idea before begrudgingly shedding his jacket once more, stuffing his cigarette back in his pocket as he did so.

“Tryin’ to bribe me, sweetheart?”

She rolled her eyes and walked into the living room, Han trailing behind her as she headed towards the balcony. Surprisingly, Luke—and, by extension, you—followed them out. Han quirked an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve never seen you smoke,” he said, and it almost sounded like a challenge. Leia already looked unimpressed, lighting the joint and taking the first hit.

“Because I get drug tested for soccer,” he replied, looking annoyed that Han had forgotten this information.

Leia passed the joint to Han, the man looking at Luke with an expression that was somewhere between smug and mocking.

“College sports take themselves too seriously. Nobody actually cares what the athletes do in their free time. They only care if you win.”

Luke stared for a moment, seemingly conflicted. He appeared to know that Han was baiting him, but at the same time, he wasn’t immune to it. Wordlessly, almost scowling, Luke snatched the joint out of Han’s hand, his expression defiant and his brow set in determination. Luke and Han were shaping up to be quite the pair. Han was a bad influence, and Luke was spiteful. You’d have to be careful about leaving the two of them alone for too long.

“I hope you’re ready to deal with the consequences of what you just did,” Leia mumbled, rolling her eyes when Luke took a hit of the joint.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Han asked, arms crossed. He made no effort to conceal his smirk at Luke’s subsequent coughing.

“Luke smokes once or twice a year. And he’s already drunk. He’ll probably fall asleep before we’re finished and you’ll have to carry him back inside.”

“I won’t fall asleep!” Luke protested through his coughing. His lungs were healthy, unlike Han’s, and he struggled to inhale the smoke. You shouldn’t have found it endearing, but you did.

“I’ll leave you out here if you do,” Han said hatefully, blowing smoke in the younger man’s face. Luke scrunched up his nose and scowled.

The four of you talked amongst yourselves for about twenty minutes before you noticed Luke falling silent, depending a little too heavily on the balcony railing to keep him upright. His lengthy day seemed to finally be catching up with him.

“Hey,” you got his attention, placing an arm on his shoulder to stabilize him a little, “Do you wanna go to bed?”

“I can stay awake,” he insisted, but his droopy eyelids and slumped shoulders indicated the opposite.

“You’ve had a long day. You should get some rest,” you assured him softly, rubbing his back. He melted into your touch.

“He’s trying to stay awake so he can spend time with you,” Leia teased, earning a snort from Han.

The idea that he was fighting sleep for the purpose of seeing you was endearing, sure, but you didn’t think there was any truth to it. You chuckled quietly to yourself, turning to face Luke as if to say, “Isn’t that ridiculous?” but you wee surprised to find him looking down, his blush visible to you even in the dim lighting on the balcony.

“Leia,” he practically pouted, brows knitted together.

“Don’t give me that. Serves you right for that shit you pulled in front of mom and dad earlier.”

She was likely referring to the comment he made about her being in love with Han.

“I was kidding. And I was drunk,” he murmured, a weak attempt to defend himself.

“Daddy dearest didn’t seem to think you were kidding,” Han huffed, staring out at the cityscape as he exhaled smoke.

“Well, it wasn’t personal. He was just on edge because Leia doesn’t talk to many men—“

“Luke,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him.

“What?” he replied, genuinely confused by her scowl. You giggled, and Luke leaned into your touch a bit more.

“Figured it was probably because I spilled cigarettes all over your floor within the first five seconds of meeting him,” Han grunted. He seemed a little uncomfortable with the implication that he and Leia were dating, but instead of addressing it, he simply redirected the conversation.

“Well, that probably didn’t help,” Luke agreed sleepily, nodding in earnest. Throughout the entire interaction, he had somehow managed to sneak his way into your arms, and you may as well have been holding him at this point. Your heart melted at how hard he was trying to stay awake.

“You should go to sleep, Luke,” you told him seriously, brushing his bangs from his forehead in a move that only served to make him close his eyes once more.

“Wanna see you,” he argued weakly, leaning into your touch, “Never get to see you. I can sleep later.”

You couldn’t take much more of this.

“I can stay the night,” you offered, relenting easily.

“What the fuck?” Han squawked, throwing his hands up, “I know it’s common sense at this point, but I can’t get over how you immediately agree to do whatever he wants. You need to get a backbone, sweetheart.”

Luke opened his eyes a little, blinking as he tried to feign alertness.

“You really don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said, voice small as he blushed a little, “I don’t wanna force you to—“

“No,” you cut him off, caressing his cheek as you looked over his shoulder to glare at your roommate, “Han’s just being a dick. Don’t worry.”

“We told Chewie and Lando we’d smoke with them later,” he reminded you.

“You told them you’d smoke with them later. And it’s been hours since then.”

“Yeah, well, a pretty face isn’t gonna make me change my plans,” he snapped, passing the joint to Leia before pointedly walking inside to presumably call Chewie.

Luke watched him go through tired eyes, still blushing.

“I don’t wanna be a problem,” he told you, sounding a little sad.

“You’re never a problem. I wanna spend time with you, too,” you confessed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, “And Han’s just trying to make a point.”

“What’s his point, then?” Leia asked, brow raised as she took another drag.

You hesitated for a second, but with both twins staring at you curiously, you knew you wouldn’t be able to refrain from answering.

“That I’m more whipped for Luke than he is for you,” you muttered, avoiding their eyes. She snorted, but you knew she was likely blushing. Luke only giggled, the least embarrassed out of any of you.

“Aw,” he cooed, reminding you that he was high, “I’m definitely way more whipped for you, though. And Leia—“

“You’re pushing it tonight, Luke,” she warned, pointing at him with the joint in her fingers, “Take another hit of this so you’ll shut the fuck up.”

“Okay,” he agreed happily, leaning out of your grip a little to grab it before turning to you, adding, “Do you want any? Hey, you can take a hit first and then blow it into my mouth, and—“

Leia made a gagging sound behind you, and you quickly covered his mouth with your hand. You felt him smile against it.

“I already told you,” you reminded him gently, trying to ignore your own embarrassment, “We aren’t doing anything like that tonight. You’ve been drinking.”

“What? I thought you just meant fucking,” he replied, sounding genuinely surprised, “And I haven’t had anything to drink in hours. I’m sober.”

“You’ve been smoking now. You’re crossed.”

“It’s just kissing. We made out earlier—“

“Alright, I’m going inside,” Leia said. He ignored her.

“If you don’t want to do anything, that’s perfectly fine, but if it’s just because I’m inebriated—“

“It’s just because you’re inebriated,” you told him, kissing his forehead again. He looked appalled.

“But you walked me home. I crashed your plans tonight. The least I can do is—“

“Absolutely not. It’s not transactional. Ever.”

He stared at you for a second, blinking at you as you absentmindedly played with his hair. Finally, he gave you a soft smile, and he looked at you like you’d just hung the stars in the sky.

“Okay,” he agreed, surprising you by pulling you into a hug, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to imply that you saw it that way. I just didn’t want you to be disappointed if we didn’t do anything tonight—“

“I’m not disappointed. I’m just glad I get to see you. Let’s go to bed,” you told him, petting his hair as he hugged you. He pulled away then, smiling tiredly at you, and nodded.

“Wait. I need to clean my room first. It won’t take long,” he decided, and then he quickly ran back into the apartment. You chuckled quietly to yourself as you watched him go.

You followed, only to see Leia sitting on a bar stool and Han leaning against the counter, the two of them looking at you with an air of smugness.

“What’d Chewie say?” you asked, trying to shake their stares.

“That they started smokin’ as soon as we left. Never expected us to come back, apparently,” he grumbled, his cheeks a little pink as he recounted the conversation.

Leia hid a smile behind her hand before turning to you.

“Thanks for being decent,” she said seriously, piquing Han’s interest.

“This one? Decent?” he scoffed, planting a large hand on your head before messing up your hair. You slapped him away.

“Yes. More decent than you.”

“Can’t believe you agreed to stay the night,” he huffed, likely only pretending to be disappointed.

“You’re free to leave.”

“And leave you alone with him?” he asked, as if he really was your mother. You had to stifle a giggle.

“Yes. I’m grown, Han. And it’s Luke. And Leia is here.”

“What if you need me?” he challenged.

Han was protective, sure, but he definitely trusted Luke, at least to some extent.

“Again, I’m grown.”

Luke came trodding out of his room, looking a little disheveled.

“Leia, can you come look at it? I can’t tell if it’s clean enough,” he pleaded. He was definitely high, you realized.

“I don’t think anyone cares if your room is messy—“ she tried, but his wide eyes made her simply sigh in defeat as she walked down the hallway, “I’ll be back.”

With both twins gone, Han placed his hands on your shoulders and pulled you to the side. He looked stressed.

“What?” you asked, his demeanor making you nervous.

“We are not going on a fucking Skywalker family vacation,” he said seriously, gripping your shoulders tightly.

“It’ll probably be free.”

“We’re not going,” he repeated.

“Isn’t it kinda crazy that they want us to go though? And they’ve apparently never invited anyone from school before.”

“It’s because that kid is smitten with you,” he grunted, like it was inconvenient.

“Or it’s because Leia—“

“Don’t,” he snapped, pointing a finger in your face, “Don’t go around spewing bullshit like that. Luke’s already said enough tonight. Now her ex-military celebrity dad wants to kill me. Do you know how stressful this is for me?”

“It’s stressful for me too.”

“No,” he insisted, “They liked you. You’re a saint against the backdrop of whatever shitty partners he’s had before. I’m the guy who walked in reeking of pot and Marlboro Reds.”

“I thought you switched over to Golds?”

“I switched back,” he mumbled, and then shook his head, “That doesn’t matter—“

“I thought you were switching to Golds and only smoking three days a week.”

“Quit. You’re trying to change the subject.”

“You’ll need to stop smoking if we go on vacation with the Skywalkers—“

“We’re not doing that,” he hissed, scowling at you when he saw that you were grinning.

“Not doing what?”

You turned to see Luke standing in the kitchen again, head cocked at you as Leia approached behind him.

“Nothing. Han’s just being a dick,” you explained, smacking his finger away from your face. He glared at you.

“Han just doesn’t understand how this turned into a conversation about his smoking habits,” he sneered, folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh,” Luke hummed, seeming to think this over for a moment before replying, “Yeah, that’s pretty bad for you. Especially as much as you do it—“

“What the fuck?” he sighed. In a move that surprised you, Leia walked right up to him and slapped his shoulder. She was doing that a lot more recently.

“Come on. We can finish this joint,” she offered. He looked at her with something akin to fondness in his eyes, but he recovered quickly and plastered another frown on his face.

“Fine,” he murmured, and with that he and Leia walked back into the balcony, leaving you and Luke alone in the kitchen.

“Wanna sleep?” he asked, trying to keep his eyes open as he stared at you in his pajamas, “You can wear some of my clothes to bed, if you want. And I’ll stay in my side of the bed. It’s pretty big, so we don’t have to touch each other at all.”

You giggled, happy that he’d honored your request to stay friendly tonight. And you’d gladly wear his clothes to bed. You nodded, smiling at him as he led you into his room. He threw a shirt and a pair of pajama pants at you, and then covered his eyes with his hands. You giggled, changing quickly.

You briefly reflected on when you’d worn Leia’s pajamas the last time you were here. She’d given you an oversized, matching silk set before you had even realized that you’d needed something to sleep in. And she’d set the spare bedroom up for you.

Despite what Han said, she was a really nice girl. If they ever got over themselves, she’d be really good for him.

“Can I open my eyes now?”

You’d been so lost in thought that you had neglected to tell Luke that you were dressed. Again, you realized that he had apparently taken you very seriously when you said nothing sexual could happen between the two of you, his palms pressed probably a bit too harshly over his eyes. Cute.

“Yes,” you replied, trying not to laugh. When he removed his hands, he blinked for a moment, eyes readjusting as he stared at you in his clothes.

“You should wear my clothes more often,” he said seriously, eyes sparkling as he looked you over. You laughed and shook your head, crawling under the covers. His bedside lamp remained on, and he got into bed after you.

You took this time to take in his bedroom. It was larger than yours, but wasn’t as excessive as you’d expected. You were perhaps most surprised by the enormous shelf pressed against his wall, lined with books and knickknacks. His desk matched, a large, open textbook and several sheets of graph paper sitting on top of it. Next to them was one of those tiny Zen gardens that your high school guidance counselor used to have in her office. You smiled. It was so him.

He had a small stand in the corner that appeared to house his awards, though the bookshelf was still the most outstanding and put-together piece in the entire room. You made note of that, your eyes lingering on his array of model spaceships and Legos. A tall plant sat near the window, and a few smaller succulents were occupying random spaces in the rest of the room.

If you had to guess who this room belonged to, your money would go on a librarian or an incredibly introverted student—not one of the best collegiate athletes in the country.

“Stop judging my room,” he said, nudging you in the side.

“I’m not judging it,” you replied, smiling softly at him, “Just admiring.”

“Admiring,” he repeated, eyebrow raised.

“It’s cute!” you promised, and a faint blush decorated his cheeks.

“Whatever,” he grumbled sheepishly, eyes trailing over your frame before sighing and rolling over on his side, “You really do look good in my clothes.”

It was your turn to blush.

“Thanks for letting me borrow them,” you replied, unsure of how else to respond.

“Keep them,” he mumbled, voice muffled by his pillow, “I might lend you some more tomorrow.”

You laughed, mostly out of surprise, and relaxed further into the covers.

“Goodnight, Luke. Wake me up if you need me, okay?” you said softly, the mention of the inevitable nightmares to come left unspoken.

You knew he understood your meaning when a few seconds of silence followed.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Nothing else needed to be said. You hoped he knew how much you meant it—how much you longed to be there for him when he was forced out of slumber by whatever memories of his past were haunting him. You’d cradle him through as many nightmares as he wanted you to.

As his breathing began to slow and he surrendered to sleep, your mind wandered to Han. He had a point: if Luke, within reason, asked for something, you would ultimately oblige.

You weren’t sure what that could mean, but you hoped it was mutual.

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lyculuscaelus · 8 months ago

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The Odyssey, book 5, line 151–155:

τὸν δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀκτῆς εὗρε καθήμενον: οὐδέ ποτ᾽(1) ὄσσε δακρυόφιν τέρσοντο, κατείβετο δὲ γλυκὺς αἰὼν νόστον ὀδυρομένῳ, ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι ἥνδανε νύμφη.(2) ἀλλ᾽ ἦ τοι νύκτας μὲν ἰαύεσκεν καὶ ἀνάγκῃ(3) ἐν σπέσσι γλαφυροῖσι παρ᾽ οὐκ ἐθέλων ἐθελούσῃ:(4) She (Calypso) found him (Odysseus) sitting on the shore—never once were his eyes Dry of tears, while his sweet life was passing away Lamenting his homecoming, for the nymph no longer pleased him. But indeed in the nights he slept, by force, In her hollow caves, unwilling beside the willing (nymph).

(1) οὐδὲ ποτέ: this is a good phrase to invoke pathos, as we see οὐδέ, “never”, being put alongside ποτέ, “once, at any time”, showing the picture of Odysseus crying on Ogygia since day one, never once free from sorrow. Notice, too, how this phrase comes first and foremost, presenting itself as a lead-up to the entire sentence, overshadowing this part with a sense of melancholy.

(2) ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι ἥνδανε νύμφη: I’ve been seeing a lot of interpretations based on this one single sentence, “…since she no longer pleased him”—but you know what? Just a reminder that in Ancient Greek, the word ἥνδανε (it’s 1st person singular indicative form being ἁνδάνω), with the meaning “pleased, delight”, is mostly used in the context of “being pleased with ransoms/words/food and drink…”, which is anything that promises material gains:

(e.g. “ἀλλʼ οὐκ Ἀτρεΐδῃ Ἀγαμέμνονι ἥνδανε θυμῷ”, Iliad. 1.24: but it (Achaeans’ assent to Chryses’s speech that promised ransoms) did not please the heart of Agamemnon son of Atreus; “…ἐμῷ δ᾽ οὐχ ἥνδανε θυμῷ”, Odyssey. 10.373: but it (Circe’s urging of Odysseus to eat the food) did not please my heart; “…μάλιστα δὲ Πηνελοπείῃ / ἥνδανε μύθοισι…”, Odyssey, 16.397–398: but he (Amphinomus) pleased Penelope the most with his words; etc.)

Which means, in this case, the pleasure Calypso could’ve brought Odysseus was only material: food and drink to keep him from starving, shelter to keep him from dying… and nothing more.

(3) ἀνάγκῃ: the dative singular of the word ἀνάγκη means “force, constraint, necessity” and sometimes even more, “torture; anguish, pain” (the latter is more seen in tragic plays), but here I believe the former meaning alone is more than enough to demonstrate the lack of consent in Odysseus when he slept beside Calypso.

(4) παρ’ οὐκ ἐθέλων ἐθελούσῃ: I love this line so much—the way Homer uses the participle of the verb ἐθέλω “to be willing” twice, each in different gender—the masculine nominative one for Odysseus being οὐκ έθέλων “ not willing”, the feminine dative one for the nymph being ἐθελούσῃ “too willing”, and putting them together to fit both the meter and the theme? This is literally perfect.

#tagamemnon #the odyssey #greek mythology #odysseus #homer’s odyssey #ancient greek #my translation #calypso #homeric epics #lyculī sermōnēs #EDIT: that is Chryses’s speech and seems like I typed Calchas subconsciously? It’s been fixed now

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mjmr493 · 8 months ago

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I am beyond excited to learn more about Sebastian Grimm in book 2 of the Wildersongs trilogy. But here is a incomplete list of what we DO know about him:

He hates lying to his mom <3

His hair lost its pigment after overusing his magic while casting for the first time

People think he overly scrutinizes spells, but he’s really memorizing them to account for his reading disorder

He planned to take over his mom’s flower trade before discovering he was a caster

His ears turn red when he’s embarrassed

Grimm understood there was a serious issue of Leo’s consent while under the curse (avoided commands, never took Leo’s affection as truth)

He acts similar to his mentor, Phade, who nominated him to the Fount when he was 11

He gets motion sick, poor guy

Phade is the only instructor in the Fount that’ll allow Grimm and Leo to work together

He’s trying to join the Coterie and get a seat in the Citadel so he can change the system from within (we love a man who can organize for systemic change)

People from his village, Dwull, have ostracized him since he was a kid. They blame him for losing control of the rain spell and the subsequent flooding (that distance from others has followed him to the Fount)

He seems only mildly affronted that Leo's Grandmagic threw him out a window in second tier

That man has so much restraint and I just need to know what he’s holding back. Biting his tongue to keep from saying what? Holding himself in check so much that his body trembles from effort. What was he going to do?!

We need his POV in the next book!! Grimm may have be outwardly put together, but Ik inside must be raging.

#someone sedate me #these idiots are capitalizing my time and attention #Leo is physically incapable of leaving Grimm alone so I'm sure we'll learn so much more ab him #What does Phade know that makes them so confident in Leo and Grimm's compatibility??#Grimm is an undercover softie #playing with woodland creatures gave him away #sebastian grimm #leovander loveage #sorcery and small magics #maiga doocy #Wildersongs trilogy #sorcery and small magics spoilers

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biancasaidstfu · 4 months ago

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I definitely think she agreed to let him post or else she wouldn't have reposted to her 6mil+ followers on her day. They have some kind of arrangement. She'll also share his show when it's close to being released later this year. He's done with his play this week so he will be back in her space, and I agree with you and the other anons, it's expected at this point that's their play book/agreement. It happened with SAG and other past events. They also know what is said about them because they see the tags and he refuses to remove them, only recently he blocked a troll account on IG. I don't think he shares everything about her without her consent, she has to consent especially if it's going to affect her publicity with the GA not the minority noise making fandom.

Now B, I know you're taking responsibility for your initial reaction but hear me out. Your initial reaction is valid. This isn't a shipping thing, it's the principle behind his actions. Even if she agreed to let him share, he could have waited, shared his own shit before her nomination not while she's celebrating. It still would have gotten traction because he knows people are watching him and waiting to see what her "rumored bf" shares but at least it wouldn't be lumped in to her nomination. So as much as you pull back from your 1st comment, fellow Sagittarius here saying the annoyance with the lack of principles of how he did it, you being upset about that is still valid even if they have an agreement or not. He's not as innocent as his fan girls make him seem to be.

I definitely agree. It’s definitely an agreement type of thing but I do wish it had been presented differently because it immediately made it about him good or bad. Just annoying but oh well 🤷🏻‍♀️ not much to be done about it now.

Thank you anon and fellow Sag ❤️ you hit the nail on the head and you get me 😭

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youraverageaemondsimp · 1 year ago

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Secrets behind the curtain. // Actor!Aemond Targaryen x Manager!Reader || MODERN AU

Summary: Aemond takes out his frustration of losing an award on you.

WARNINGS: mdni, dubious consent, p in v sex, unprotected sex, tiddy sucking, degradation, dacryphilia, car (it's a limousine) sex, slightly dark!aemond, riding, messy sex, power imbalance, rigged award show, + not proofread, please lemme know if I missed any.

WC: 1.7K

A/N: I cooked this while trynna complete my other wips like bro 😭 adhd be like 😋 also this isn't dark enough to be tagged under mae:dark!content but it does contain dubious consent (reader is implied to find the situation inappropriate to fuck) so yeah, a heads up // divider creds: @cafekitsune

“And the best actor award goes to…” The host trails off, leaving room for suspense and Aemond leans back relaxed on his chair, knowing that he would be winning.

“Jason Lannister!”

As the host announces the name, your blood runs cold, you notice Aemond twitch slightly in his seat, he shoots you a glare and you look down at your feet.

Aemond watches in anger as Jason goes up the stage and collects the award, “That asshole isn't even that good at acting.” He scoffs and you swallow, “Aemond, the cameras.” you whisper and he rolls his eyes, putting on a fake expression of a smile, as though he's happy that Jason won, but you know the truth.

After this award, a small break was given to artists to freshen up, redo their makeup, or relieve themselves, but for Aemond that wasn't the case, “We're leaving.” He tells you and you look at him in shock, “But- the award show hasn't ended yet? If we live now, the press might notice and create articles on how you left right after you lost.” You reason, trying to catch up to Aemond as he was making his way through the alleyway, reaching his limousine which was parked behind the building, he checked the area for any press before he turned to face you.

“And whose fault was that? You brought me here, saying that I would win, look what happened now.” He grabs you by your cheeks roughly and you swallow thickly, “You were supposed to win! The judges evaluated that your performance was better but the Lannisters might've played foul.” You tried to reason but he scoffs, making his way over to the limousine and getting in.

“Where the fuck is the driver?” He asks you, when he sees you getting inside along with him, and you shrug, “He probably went to take a break– but Aemond please, your image will be ruined if you leave now.” You beg, yet he remains quiet and sits down, you shut the door behind you and sit down as well, awkward silence filling up the air.

There was no convincing Aemond once he made up his mind, so you dialled the drivers number but he didn't pick up, and you took this as a sign to persuade Aemond one last time, as if he'll suddenly change his mind even though he refused multiple times.

“Aemond, the press will write about how you were upset that you didn't win and left right after, besides that isn't the only award you are nominated for, you are also nominated for best character in the series, which will take place after this break.” You tell him calmly and he scoffs, “Yeah, just so i can lose that award too right?” He glares at you, and you shut up.

You sigh to yourself, knowing that you'd have to be the one dealing with damage control, Otto and Alicent would not be pleased, considering how Aemond had already once gotten into a controversy for taunting his nephews at an award show, questioning their birth indirectly.

You are about to dial the driver's number once again before your phone is yanked off from your grip, your hand is then grabbed and you stumble forward into Aemond arms.

He wastes no time in unbuttoning your shirt revealing your bra, he untucks your shirt and pulls it off you, throwing it on the ground and then begins mouthing at your breast, and kissing on your neck.

“Aemond— we can't right now—” You try to protest but he interrupts you, “Shut the fuck up.” He grits his teeth and you immediately obey.

He pushes you down onto the seat and pulls your pants off, leaving you in nothing but your underwear and feeling vulnerable.

You open your mouth to protest again but he slams his lips against you, leaving you unable to speak. The kiss is aggressive, hungry and anger filled, he bites your lip enough to make it painful but not to draw blood, and you whine into the kiss. His hands roam up your body and he finds your breasts, squeezing them tightly and mostly aggressively.

He pulls away and begins to undo his own pants, unbuckling belt and pulling his pants and boxers down, revealing his hard and leaking cock, he unbuttons his shirt slightly, feeling hot.

Your panties are pulled off in an instant and thrown to where the rest of your clothes are, same with your bra, you grip the edge of slim seats to not fall off when he grabs your legs and spreads them wide, before leaning forward and causing your knees to push up against your chest.

He spits on your cunt, his hands now holding the underside of your knees, he lets one of them in order to line his cock up against your entrance before going back to the underside of your knees again.

You gasp when his cock stretches your walls, throwing your head back in pleasure, Aemond doesn't waste any moment and begins to ram harshly into your cunt and you bite your lip to prevent noises from coming out.

“Fucking slut, look at how wet you've become.” He says harshly, his hips thrusting in and out at a fast pace, he grabs your arms and pins them upwards, “'Foul play' you say? It doesn't matter how much money they've spent, you should've spent more.” He grits his teeth, still remembering your words from earlier. “B-but that wouldn't be fair–” You are cut off with a light slap to your cheek, before he grips it tightly, “Fair? Who cares about fairness? Look what happened now.” He spits in your mouth.

You swallow, knowing you have no choice, a small smirk forms on his lips at what you've done, likely satisfied with your behaviour.

But soon he remembers that this situation didn't occur because he simply wanted to fuck his favourite woman like all the other times, no, he was mad at you.

“You're so fucking useless, do you know that?” He asks and you sniff, staying silent.

“Useless whore, you couldn't even make me win the award, the only thing you're good for is being a cocksleeve and a cunt to dump my cum into.” He degrades you and you can feel the tears begin to form in your eyes at his words.

Yet he finds joy in those tears.

“You're crying now? Imagine how I felt when I lost the award huh? How embarrassing was it for me? Especially to that fucking Jason Lannister.” His thrusts become even more brutal.

Your body jolts up and down the seat at the impact, but you still remain silent, the only noises that leave your mouth being whines and moans.

“You're fired.”

Your eyes shoot wide open at those words and you begin to shake, “No- no, please!” You beg and he chuckles, “Desperate to keep this job that much huh? Why? Is it because of my cock?” He asks and you shake your head no, “Please–” You beg and he seems to be in thought.

He suddenly pulls you up, changing positions.

He is now sitting straight with you straddling him, your arms gripping his shoulders for balance.

“Do you really want to keep this job?” He asks and you nod eagerly, “Well, you know what to do.” He says and you nod.

You raise your hips slightly before going down again, you set a decent pace and begin riding him, you bounce up and down on his cock, gripping his shoulders tight, whilst he grips your hips.

“You're so fucking pretty like this.” He mutters, pressing kisses on your breasts before pulling your nipple into his mouth, your pace falters slightly, yet his mouth remains on your breast, suckling on the nipple, twirling his tongue around the bud, and groaning in pleasure.

He leaves your breast with a wet pop before giving the other one the same attention, “I love these tits so much, I can only imagine how delicious it would be if they swell up with milk.” He sighs, rubbing his face in between them and placing a kiss on your sternum.

You begin picking up the pace again, slightly leaning forward which makes the tip of his cock hit the sweet spot, making you let out a moan, you feel his grip tighten on your hips, and soon starts to thrust upwards, matching your pace.

“Fuck Aem– I'm so close.” You close your eyes, “I know baby, me too.” He kisses your neck, and due to the repeated hits at your sweet spot, you finish with a loud moan and immediately fall limp at the impact, your breathing uneven as you rest your cheek on his shoulder.

He thrusts a few more times before he comes too with a grunt, painting your walls white with his seed. You both stay like that for a moment until you break the silence with a question, “Are you actually gonna fire me?” You question and he chuckles, “And miss out having the best fucking company ready 24/7 for me? No. I'm no such fool.” He answers.

Suddenly your phone begins to ring, you get off him and pick the call up and Aemond watches you to do so.

You gasp when the other person reveals the news to you, and you turn to look at Aemond, who looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, and you end the conversation with the other person, cutting the call.

“The award show is cancelled, apparently the Lannisters have been exposed for the foul play they had done.” you tell him, and his face immediately becomes bright with a smile on his face, and soon it is replaced with a smirk as he watches you put your clothes on.

“You better prepare yourself for a round two at my house.” He tells you and quickly pulls his pants up, before you can say anything, the door opens

“Sorry madam, I wasn't able to pick up the call, my phone died when I tried to.” The driver apologises and gets into the vehicle, seating himself on the driver's seat and quickly starts the limousine, and you sit down next to Aemond, who rests his hand on your thigh, causing goosebumps to rise as you oddly anticipate what's about to come.

The ride home felt like an eternity.

— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond x reader smut #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #hotd smut #hotd x reader smut #hotd x reader #x reader #reader insert #tw: dubcon #aemond targaryen

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jgroffdaily · 18 days ago

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Things we learned during the Just in Time promotional press tour, including Tony Awards campaigning (February to June 2025):

Jonathan will start converting his dad's horse farm to an artist's retreat this year (Table Manners podcast)

He sang at Bee Shaffer's wedding (Anna Wintour's daughter). Anna asked the Vogue staff to find a new photo for an article after seeing his performance in Just in Time, and she then sent Jonathan an email praising him. Anna also came to see him in Deathtrap in London, (Table Manners and 'The Run-Through with Vogue' podcast)

He was going to be receiving a meal delivery service (Daily Dose) from February until the Tony Awards as he had no time to go out for meals, and would then try to cook for himself. "Once I get my days free I'm going to, like, cook. Make eggs?" (Table Manners podcast, Vogue podcast, others).

He has five guests at every show who are invited back to his dressing room, and the cast are invited to join (Erika Henningsen in Broadway Direct interview).

He thinks he may have a leather fetish. "I like the smell of it, feel of it..." (Jimmy Fallon show, Vogue podcast)

His leather chaps for the Beyonce concert in May were purchased from Go at The Leather Man in Christopher Street, West Village "who got me baby's first chaps... I'm the baby and those are my first chaps." (Jimmy Fallon)

The promotional push for four months with only one day off (spent responding to texts for 10 hours) was physical and relentless: "I'm killing myself... I am killing myself... now it's the big publicity push to June 8th. I don't have time to have a normal life right now." The most time he is off stage during the 2 hour and 30 minute show is 45 seconds. (Vogue podcast)

He is planning an event with Lea Michele in fall/winter 2026 to mark their 20 years of friendship. He wouldn't give any more details, but says he has been "speaking to people" to make it happen (Happy Sad Confused podcast, Evan Ross Katz Instagram story)

Previous lovers have asked to spit on him, and he has consented (Andy Cohen Sirius XM)

He is working with a physical therapist to ensure he is fit for each show, and does a 30 minute dance warm-up before each show taught to him by choreographer Shannon Lewis (Unknown, various)

He no longer stage doors because he did it a few times at Merrily We Roll Along, got RSV, and other members of the cast got sick. He meets guests after each show for about an hour, and would feel guilty if he didn't get to meet and speak with every person at the stage door (Andy Cohen Sirius XM interview)

When Jonathan mentioned playing the drums in the Seth Rudetsky Frozen group interview in 2020, he was preparing for 'Just in Time', which wouldn't go ahead until five years later (unknown)

His top five songs on Spotify last year were by Beyonce, followed by Bobby Darin (unknown, a few places)

He goes on stage with sugar free black cherry Halls in his mouth and calls them 'lozengers'. Started doing this in 'Little Shop of Horrors'. (Kelly Clarkson Show)

Mentions "and I fell down a YouTube K-Hole [ketamine]. Rabbit hole? K-Hole?". Also says the Tony nomination for Just in Time was more personal due to his long-term investment in the project. (Evan Ross Katz interview)

Jonathan was irrationally defensive about criticism of his piano playing while he was learning (NPR Wild Card)

Jonathan lost his early religious faith while 'spelunking' (NPR Wild Card)

He served oatmeal to other guests on the silent retreat in Massachusetts (taken a few weeks after Merrily ended), and he has also been on silent retreats in Lava Hot Springs and outside Quebec (Stephen Colbert, Andrew Chappelle Tactful Pettiness podcast - see that podcast from late 2024 for more interesting stories - previously written up on Tumblr)

Five favourite movie musicals are Cabaret, All That Jazz, Grease, Sound of Music and Mary Poppins (Happy, Sad, Confused podcast)

He went to Australia to see the Beyond The Sea musical with David Campbell, and later flew to Malibu, with his then boyfriend (Corey Baker) to meet with Dodd Darin (Various)

He bought leather shorts in Berlin and wanted his fight scene in the Matrix to be over so he could go out to clubs (Vogue, USA Today)

He started therapy two years ago (Stages podcast)

Asked what his parents would assume he was arrested for - sodomy (Stages podcast)

He no longer makes any birthday wishes because he is content with what he has (USA Today)

He still says singing does not come naturally to him and he still needs a lot of practice and a way in to emotionally connect with a song before he can sing it. (Backstage Babble podcast)

Says he never felt ownership of the King in Hamilton because he was a replacement. (Backstage Babble)

Felt like he was inside a painting in Spring Awakening. (Backstage Babble)

Says Merrily was a six month negotiation about dates. Couldn’t commit on their timeline because of ‘other stuff that was happening’ but fought hard and was ‘begging them’ to keep the offer and make it work. “It was a fascinating process” (the negotiations). (Backstage Babble)

Daniel Radcliffe had come to see Hamilton and they had met briefly. Jonathan also knew Daniel’s parents through Susan Blackwell. Was so excited to meet him and was ‘crying’ making videos for him and thought/knew they would have a connection. (Backstage Babble)

Merrily trio never broke character but ‘there was always seven things going on our minds’ and a twinkle in their eye because they were so closely connected to each other and such connectivity on stage. (Backstage Babble)

Auditions for ‘Hair’ in Central Park were held the day after the Spring Awakening sleepover on his parents’ farm (Playbill)

Asked about what a chapter about this part of his life would be called in his biography, his answer was “I put my dancing shoes on". (Stages podcast)

His guests at the Tony Awards were his parents, brother, sister in law and two nieces. His nieces sat with him at different points in the ceremony (Vogue podcast)

An ex-boyfriend at ‘Just in Time’ made him feel self-conscious (Josh Horowitz at the Tony Awards)

He is happy to keep mentioning Gavin Creel in interviews to keep his memory alive (NPR Wild Card)

He says is a bad multi-tasker and would struggle to work if he had kids (Andy Cohen)

Amy Sedaris is his neighbour and they trade gifts and messages (Andy Cohen)

Three favourite musicals are A Chorus Line, Cabaret and The Sound of Music (Playbill)

#jonathan groff #press tour #just in time #comments #interviews #podcast #daniel radcliffe #merrily we roll along #lindsay mendez #spring awakening #lea michele #gavin creel

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mistmessenger · 2 months ago

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A tempestuous meeting | Frater Imperator x female!reader one shot

As Copia’s long-time, albeit now distant friend, the ministry tour team nominated you to reason with him about his recent behaviour. You couldn’t have imagined how his intervention was going to play out…

Pairing: Frater Imperator x female reader

18+ MDNI

Content warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!, smut, dubious consent, dubcon, mention of previous friends-with-benefits situation, angst, very insecure crashing out Frater, manipulation and intimidation, angry/mean Frater, shoe riding, dom/sub dynamic, brat taming i guess, degradation, slapping, rough blowjobs/throatfucking, breathplay, humiliation, hint of dacryphilia, ripping clothes, fingerfucking, spitting, mention of intoxication, pain, overstimulation, brief dry humping, name calling, rough sex, mention of ddlg relations, slight breeding kink, love rockets shot right in between your thighs, mention of voyeurism, no aftercare he’s being a BASTARD!, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

and obligatory ghost fanfic doing paperwork in the ministry.

AO3 Link

Notes: All of the warnings sorry. By far the horniest thing I've ever written, I fear I need my access to notes app and ms word revoked.

Sorry I'm ovulating and need this goofy little guy to fuck me nasty on every surface of that office

A tempestuous meeting

Standing in the chaos of Copia’s temporary office, on the other side of his desk, you felt a million miles away from him.

It pained you to see your longtime friend struggle, but he was hindering the work of the entire tour team. After months of Copia making things difficult, the team held a group meeting without him, and nominated you to try and speak some sense into him.

Initially, it felt like something you would be capable of. You’d been friends since his early Cardinal days. Surely he would listen to you.

But as he hushed you again, as he had done so many times now in your short conversation that you had lost count, pretending to type something on his computer, you were beginning to lose patience.

“Pap- um. Frater. I can’t pretend to understand how difficult this transition is for you. Especially given…”

You pause, unsure if mentioning his mother’s passing is a wise idea as he glanced up at you with a petulant sneer.

“…given the circumstances. But, we all still have jobs to do. And with the tour preparations said jobs are stressful enough without you…”

You trailed off again, suddenly feeling like this was all a terrible idea, like your siblings had set you up for failure. On the one hand, Copia looked a shell of a man, lost without both his mother and the comfort of his role as a performer. On the other, there was something in his eyes, a rage barely suppressed. You knew he was struggling, heard his curses and the slam of his keyboard when you would pass his office.

Instead of the usual sympathy his outbursts would ignite in you, right now, looking into his eyes as he stood from the couch, you felt nervous.

Deep down he was irate, holding it together by a few frayed threads that were on the cusp of snapping, and your intervention seemed to be shearing right through them.

“Go on sorella. Commit to it. Without me doing what?” He grumbled, rifling through a box of papers. You knew him well enough to know he wasn’t looking for anything in particular, rather making himself look busy.

“Making our jobs harder than it needs to be…” you whispered, holding your breath, almost flinching as you waited for his response.

He stopped, gaze returning to you. It was nothing like you were used to, his eyes cold and uninviting as he raised his brow.

“Am I?”

“A little…” you try to sound less harsh, cringing at the fact you even had to try and reason with him like this, he was a grown man for gods sake. “The pyro team needs those documents signed so the funds can be transferred and they kind of needed them… like yesterday.”

“Oh… Oh dear. I’m delaying a few fireworks for my brother?” His hand reached for his pen, clicking it incessantly, his aggravation seeming to grow by the second. “It just won’t do, will it?”

This is a disaster.

Biting your lip, you sighed. It was difficult for you to air your frustrations to the man that was supposed to be in charge.

“Frater, I gave you those to sign off on over a week ago, I’ve reminded you-“

“You have reminded me no less than five times.” He snapped, rolling his eyes at you, turning his attention back to the screen.

Seven, actually.

“Sorella, you’ve never minced your words with me before. Why so cagey? Hm?”

Because you’re different now.

You keep your lips pressed in a hard line, unable to say the words to him, not sure if they would send him into a rage or reduce him to tears.

“It’s been a long morning.” You shrugged.

“You’re all tense.”

You’re one to talk.

“Biting your tongue. You think I don’t see your eyes? That I can’t tell there’s some little sly remark rattling around that brain of yours?”

Frowning, you shook your head.

“Frater, look-“

“Ah. Ah ah ah.” He closes the distance between you, and you instinctively take a step back, something difficult to do in the mess of his temporary office without tripping on something.

“I know. They- all of you decided I need a little intervention. And they sent you. And as if you weren’t stressed enough with the tour, now you have to worry about how to tiptoe around me-“

A few steps away from you, you watched as his tone became mocking, his brows furrowed. This behaviour was so unlike him, so different to how he had ever spoken to you before. Pursing your lips, it was hard to stifle your sigh as he seemed intent on pressing your buttons.

“I’m not tiptoeing around anything I-“

“No? That’s why you look like you want to run out the door right now? Why you hardly speak two words to me, unless you’re trying to placate me in order to get me to sign whatever shit you need in the moment?”

“That’s not fair-“

“Not fair.” He scoffed, crossing his arms. He pouted for a moment, before waving you away.

“I will sign your damn forms, come by later, they’re buried in between documents.”

Great, now I’ve done it.

You sighed, calming yourself, trying to reason that he was only being like this because it was you. If any of the others had came to him, he wouldn’t be confident enough to be so rude to their face.

“Frater, they’re right there.” You point to the corner of the desk, untouched from the exact spot you had left them last week.

“I’ll sign them later, I’m busy.”

Lord below give me strength.

You didn’t think your frown lasted long enough for him to notice, but clearly he sensed your irritation.

He flung his pen onto the desk, clenching and unclenching his fists, before running a hand through his hair.

“You… You lot think you have it so difficult, because I will not bend and do whatever this new fucker wants right away.”

“Copia, we all want the same thing, we want the project to succeed.” You tried a final time to reach him, but you knew once he started ranting there was little anyone could do to stop him.

“The same thing? It was succeeding - with me. I do not recall wanting to put up with self-interested little rats interrupting me every hour of the day to come in here and squeak ‘Frater, things must be hard for you but you need to sign this form.’”

As he put on a pitched voice, imitating you, the last of your patience drained.

“You know what? Fuck you. You expect the rest of us to coddle you like your mother did. It’s been over a year Copia, I’m sorry but whether you like it or not things have to keep moving, we don’t have a choice! You acting like a fucking brat isn’t helping anyone.”

Your eyes widened, your heart racing.

Why the fuck did I go and say all that?

“I’m sorry. Frater- I. I’m so sorry.” You could hardly bring yourself to look him in the eye, seeing how dejected your outburst would have made him. Your mind raced, you would have to stand down from your post. Hell, you might even flee the ministry at this point. Why would he tolerate your being here after saying something like that?

As you stepped back once more, ready to go clear you desk and leave a note for the rest of your team to say you were jumping before you got pushed, you frowned, perplexed.

He was… smiling?

The room felt cold.

“Maybe I deserved that.” he spoke softly, letting out a breathy laugh as he shook his head.

You knew that he didn’t believe that, and he certainly didn’t appreciate how you said it.

“I’ll go Papa, I’m sorry.”

“Who?”

“I- Fuck. Frater.”

“It’s been over a year sorella, and still you struggle to address me properly. We have to keep moving, do we not?”

Pointedly he took another step towards you. As you went from shuffling backwards to taking bigger steps, your heel caught on the upturned corner of the rug, sending you back against a stack of boxes.

He laughed, and suddenly the pressure in the room seemed to disperse. He sounded like himself for the first time in a long, long time. Like the Cardinal you used to whisper jokes to during library duties, who could only stifle his chuckles for so long before getting you both in trouble with the ghouls. Like the man he was long before his job as Papa, and now Frater, had taken its toll on him.

You let out a breathy laugh in turn, so caught up in the heat of the moment you weren’t sure what to say.

He stalked past you as you half sat half lay on a throne of haphazardly stacked boxes. You weren’t surprised he didn’t offer you a hand to get up, not after what you’d said. But still he snickered, letting slip that soft little heh sound you used to love hearing. As you stood, your head snapped at the sound of the lock clicking.

“Frater?”

He stood with his forehead pressed against the door, letting out a sigh.

“Let us talk, sorella, hm? All this tension, it is no good. I cannot have you exploding like that on the wrong person, hm?”

He turned to stare you down, his expression almost blank, so hard to read.

The wrong person? As if the boss of the whole ministry isn’t the wrong person…

“Frater, I really am sorry, it was uncalled for. I understand I’ll need to step dow-.”

“Shh.” Stepping past you again he leaned against his makeshift desk, waving you over. “Come. Have a seat.”

You cautiously stepped across to the couch, raising a brow. There was hardly a free inch to spare that wasn’t taken up by files and boxes.

You had to practically hover on the edge of the cushion to avoid sliding onto the floor, made even more awkward with how close he was, towering over you.

“Now, sorella. We’ve been friends for a long time. I would hate for work to change that.”

“I know, I’ll stand down, whatever I need to do-“

“Whatever you need to do to make it up to me? Hm? Well perhaps you could stop interrupting me. That would be a start.” His voice was gentle but the message was loud and clear.

You nodded.

“I was being unfair, I suppose. I know how rigid you can be when it comes to deadlines. How you get yourself… worked up.”

That’s an understatement.

Hell, how many times had he talked you out of your panics over the years? Of course he had to know what his behaviour was doing to you.

“These changes around here have been hard for me, but I can see how it is hard on you too. How much pressure you’ve been putting yourself under lately. You’ve been, eh… overdoing it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed - you come into the office, do the work, back to bed. No time for you. It is no wonder you have all this venom ready to spit at me.”

You frown. Sure, he was right - you were blinkered by your work with the tour, but you’d convinced yourself it was only temporary. The tour would begin and you would get a break. What surprised you was that he had even noticed.

Since the release of Impera the two of you had become distant. Initially you put it down to you both being so busy with your respective roles. And Copia enjoying the limelight that came with being Papa, the feeling that everyone wanted a piece of him.

His speech felt manipulative - pointing out how you were working too hard, neglecting to admit a part of the reason you had to work harder was due to his petulance and lack of cooperation. Neglecting to mention his own tantrums and outbursts.

“I worry that you might have one of these little outbursts toward someone… less tolerant than me. Less, eh… forgiving…”

“I-“

“I asked you to stop interrupting me, sorella.” It felt like more of a warning this time, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

“I think it’s more than apparent that you need a… will we say, outlet, of sorts?”

He sat on the desk, resting his feet each side of you on the couch. Before you might have bantered with him, asking him who raised him to put his feet on the furniture. These days, it didn’t feel like the joke would land the way it used to.

The flimsy desk unsurprisingly creaked under the weight of a fully l grown man. You were already surprised it could hold the weight of his ancient computer monitor.

That seems like a terrible idea-

“Stop it.” He sneered, nudging your knee with his foot. You could see it in his eyes, he was getting agitated again. Or rather, he hadn’t stopped feeling agitated, that brief moment of shared laughter was just that. A fleeting moment.

“Wha- What, Frater?” Your eyes gravitated towards his hands, clasping and unclasping at the edge of the desk.

“Thinking. You squint every time a little remark goes through your head. Do you think I do not know you? That I don’t see these things? Spit it out, whichever comment it is you’re itching to make.”

What happened to “don’t interrupt”?

“I just don’t think it’s wise for you to be sitting on the desk like that Frater, it’s not exactly stable.”

Bit like you, actually.

You were jolted from the thought by his foot pressing down on your thigh again. You pouted, hoping his shoes were at least clean.

It wasn’t the first time you’d found yourself between his legs, but this was different. This wasn’t fun. It felt like being scolded as a child.

“Bah. Whatever.” He scoffed, that childish manner of his poking through the cracks again, “As I was saying. You need an outlet, yes?”

“I’ll bear that in mind, Frater.” You agree, holding your tongue just to placate him, as you found yourself doing so often these days.

“You’re my friend sorella, I want to help you.” He leaned forward, the pressure on your thigh growing uncomfortable.

“You have enough on your plate-“

“Interrupt me one more time sorella, I swear-“ he cut himself off, seeing how your eyes widened. His expression seemed to light up, gleeful at seeing you almost cowering from him. You wondered just how your friend had changed so much.

His voice was hushed.

“Now, you will be good, yes?”

He moved his foot, and you winced as the pressure was finally taken off your thigh, only for a moment. Your precarious position at the edge of the couch allowed him space to press the point of his leather shoe between your legs. You startled, scowling at the sudden sensation, combined with the patronising, demanding tone he spoke in. You had no way to move, his other leg caging you in.

It was never like this with him. The occasional inebriated quick fuck in one of your rooms. No dynamic, just two people getting the release they needed from each other and going back about their lives after.

As a million thoughts raced through your head, he pressed harder, causing you to gasp, a little reminder that you still hadn’t answered him.

“Copia- Frater. I’m not doing this. Not here.”

“I know you. Well enough to know how much you leave unsaid. To know how much you need.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about, cut it out!” You squirmed, trying to ignore the sensations as he tilted his foot, as if to torture you. He rolled his eyes again, taking no notice as you grabbed at his leg, attempting to push him away.

“Oh please. I’ve always left you, ah, unsatisfied, no?”

“No?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Language, sorella.” He murmured, a smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth as you tried in vain to shrink yourself against the boxes on the couch to get away.

You shook your head, a whimper escaping your throat as he refused to ease up, watching you as if you were some sort of experiment, examining how each movement caused you to squirm.

“It was always me seeking you out, sorella. In spite of my offering. You were kind enough to indulge me, but would never seek me out to satiate your needs… I could tell you always walked away wanting more… something… different.”

You couldn’t speak to deny him, too overwhelmed at the feeling growing in your core as his foot pressed the seam of your trousers against you in just the right way, combined with how confused you were at how things had disintegrated to this. And frankly, he was right in a way, as much as you wanted to claim otherwise.

“Did you think me incapable? Awkward, bumbling old Cardi, couldn’t possibly know how to put you in your place… No use for anything other than a pity fuck-“

“Quit feeling fucking sorry for yourself!” You snapped, not feeling so remorseful this time as he put more pressure on you, seemingly

having figured out just the right spot to get you worked up. You resorted to hitting at his leg now, feeling humiliated.

Who the fuck does he think he is? I’m trying to do my job here.

“Aha.” He scoffed, taking no notice of your hits, “there you go again, doesn’t it feel better to let those emotions out?”

“Enough, Frater!” You attempted to sound stern, but with how flustered you felt, each movement of his leg disarming you, it came out as a pathetic plea.

Attempting to swing your leg over his foot to get away - the one that wasn’t occupied toying with your cunt - you slipped from your seat, landing to sit on the ground with an unceremonious thud.

With a deadpan expression, Copia wasted no time in pressing his foot against your throat, pressing your head back against the couch. You were sure the pattern of his soles would leave a mark on your skin.

“Now who is being a fucking brat, hm?”

You loathed to admit this was doing something to you. After all his childish behaviour you didn’t owe him this - he owed you, and the rest of your team numerous apologies.

You glared up at him, your breath faltering slightly as he put pressure on your windpipe.

“Fuck you. You’ve always been so fucking spoilt. Too blind to see how good you have it.” You rasped, unable to hold back your frustrations. You hated this. Hated the way you thought about someone you’d held dear for so long, hated the venom coming out of your mouth, but it was truth, to you.

You hated that he felt good about any of this arguing.

You coughed as he took his foot from your neck, standing above you with that smug smile on his face.

It caught you off guard when you felt the sting of leather against your cheek, the slap ringing in your ear.

You looked at him aghast, unable to determine if you felt that way because he hit you, or because it ignited something in you.

“What happened to you being forgiving?” You snarled, rubbing at your face.

He spoke softly again, as if you were having a friendly chat, “Forgiveness comes after contrition, sorella.”

“I’m not playing this stupid game. We have work to do.”

“You leave when I dismiss you.”

Fuck.

It took you a second to shake off the thrill the tone of his voice stoked at within you, shaking your head as you tried to stand.

“I know you sorella, I see what you want. What you’d been seeking out elsewhere.” His voice was gravelly as he kept you pushed down.

“We can… help each other out, hm? Like friends should…”

His gloved hand grasped at your hair, earning a protest from you, quickly muffled as he pulled you face first between his legs. The zip of his trousers only served to irritate the reddened skin on your cheek more. But you were easily distracted by what lay beneath. He was hard.

He really was enjoying this.

Swatting at his legs again you found yourself dumbfounded when he finally pushed you away with a snarl.

“Are you going to fight me every step of the way, sorella? When I do all this for you, hm? Go on. Show your Frater how sorry you are.” He mocked, gesturing at the bulge in his pants, and you scoffed. Before you could tell him he was being insane he slapped you again, the other side of your face this time.

He grinned as you let out a whimper, your eyes stinging with tears from the impact.

Warring with your mixed emotions, you unenthusiastically undid his fly, followed by his buttons. You trained your eyes on the floor, feeling humiliated.

Of course he wasn’t wearing underwear, you had to hold back a scoff as he shoved your hand aside to free his cock, evidently impatient with your reluctance.

You’d never taken time to look too closely at it. But now, even trying to avert your eyes, you could tell it looked throbbing, imposing and angry.

Much like him. Probably just as bitter.

Sensing something unsaid, he smacked you again.

“Focus, sorella.”

Pulling you forward by your hair again, he pressed his length against your face, hand tightening in an unspoken demand.

Placing your hands on his thighs in an attempt to steady yourself, you relented, squeezing your eyes shut as you offered your lips to him.

He buried himself within your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. Quickly you had to adjust your breathing to compensate.

With a glance up at him, your eyes widened. You could see it in his eyes again, looking at you the way he used to, his expression soft. But it hardly lasted a split second before he pulled your hair, prompting you to start moving.

You tried to maintain some form of pacing as you sucked him, made difficult with his relentless thrusts ensuring you took every inch of him. You choked while he fucked your throat selfishly, his movements not giving you opportunity to work him with your tongue as you would with any other partner. Your vision blurred, feeling tears track down your cheeks.

“You think I don’t know what you need?" He grunted, burying himself to the hilt and holding you in place.

You tried to ignore the want burning within you as you felt his cock twitching at the back of your throat.

Wincing, you tapped at his legs as it became harder to breathe, a pleading sob escaping you.

"Hmph." He muttered, pulling your head back again. You spluttered, gasping for air for the few seconds respite he allowed you before pulling you back. He slowed this time, staring down at you, biting on his lip. You were conflicted - torn between making a show of it, showing him what you could really do, or protesting against his treatment of you.

He cursed at you as you slowly swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock, causing his whole body to twitch. Feeling spite building within you again, you repeated the motion a few more times, causing him to hiss at the overstimulation.

“Sorella, you little-“ he grunted, shoving himself down your throat again, pinching your nose.

You felt your blood run cold, terrified as you tried to fight for breath.

“Look at me.”

You complied, your eyes quickly meeting his as you grew dizzy, your head pounding. He stared you down coolly as he let go of your nose. He wasted no time in fucking your throat again, ignoring your chokes and gags, not giving you any opportunity to recover.

“Always knew your mouth was good for more than pestering me about damned papers."

Your stomach flipped as you gagged once again, terrified you were going to throw up, your throat and jaw beginning to ache.

As he pulled you in once more, spilling himself in the back of your throat, you were surprised he hadn’t busted your lip with how forceful he had been.

He pulled you away harshly, letting free his grasp on your hair causing you to slump back against the couch, crying and spluttering.

He had you terrified a few times, convinced he would not let you up for air, that he would let you black out.

He wouldn’t have… would he?

You didn’t know anymore, and it was enough to make you sob harder.

His shoulders shuddered as he steadied his breath, pupils blown as he stared down at you, at the streaks of ruined makeup running down your cheeks, the spit and cum stringing from your chin.

“Oh doll… you look perfect.” He crooned, gripping your chin. You let out something between a choke and a sob as he forced you to look up at him.

“Isn’t this so much better than fighting, hm?”

You screwed up your nose in disagreement, feeling the heat in your face radiating down your neck with every humiliating jab he levied at you.

"Now..." he murmured, fixing his trousers as he knelt on the floor before you. He grasped at your waistband, and suddenly you felt the urge to resist growing within you again. Before he could pull at your trousers, you kicked and squirmed against him.

"No. Enough!" You snarled, voice hoarse as you rolled onto your hands and knees, making a shaky attempt to crawl away.

He growled, grasping you by your shoes to pull you back into place. In the scuffle, he managed to yank your shoes off, ignoring your attempts to shove him away as he harshly tugged again at your trousers.

What a shit day to wear the ones with an elasticated waist.

It was too late for any modesty, and yet you still squirmed and kicked at him. It was no use, of course, but a sick part of you didn’t want to lie down and make this easy for him. After all, hadn’t he been making work so difficult for you lately with his petulance?

Practically growling, he lunged at you, painfully pinning you down with one hand on your shoulder, your face shoved in the carpet as he made quick work of discarding your trousers.

It shouldn’t feel so thrilling, your cunt shouldn’t be throbbing so much in response to this bizarre behaviour.

You heard him suck in a breath between his teeth, examining your underwear - plain black, a little lace round the edges, nothing to write home about. Your face burned again as he tugged at them, and you reached behind your back to try and stop him.

He squeezed your shoulder harder.

That’ll bruise.

For a split second you felt relief as his other hand moved away from your underwear, and you managed to glance back.

Of course he wasn’t giving up. You held your breath as you watched him reach for something, rifling through the disorganised mess on his desk.

You heard his soft “aha” when he found what he was looking for, the ornate letter opener glinting in the light.

“No don’t you da-“

Too late, with two harsh rips, he pulled the dull blade through the fabric. He stared you down clinically, shoving the ruined panties in his pocket.

He leaned back to examine you, now fully exposed from the waist down, save for your socks.

“Good… it is nice to have options, is it not?” he mused, using his knee to spread your legs apart, shuffling between them, “next time you interrupt me… what shall it be, eh? My cock or your panties?”

You bit your tongue, pressing your face into the carpet again only to hide how the blood rushed to your cheeks, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

He leaned over you, breath hot on your neck.

“And do not think I did not notice how wet they are.”

You thrashed again, as he easily pulled you over to lie on your back, one hand splayed across your chest to keep you pinned in place. Gritting your teeth you tried to squeeze your thighs together. It was short lived before he adjusted his position, his breaths deep as he clawed your legs apart, kneeling on your thighs to keep you spread.

You couldn’t ignore the chill that raced down your spine watching him bring his hand to his mouth, teeth clamping down on the leather to pull off his glove, tossing it aside. Deep down you were terrified, but something kept you rooted to the carpet, holding your breath as you watched him.

He’s beautiful.

Meeting your wide eyes, he laughed again.

“This isn’t funny, Copia.”

He rolled his eyes, spitting between your legs causing you to twitch. You let out a conflicted groan - disgust and arousal warring within you.

“No? You’ve been proving me right every step of the way. Letting me show you your place.”

He rubbed at you, coating his fingers in his spit and your slick.

You whined as he pushed three fingers in with only a little resistance. No working your way up to it today, it seemed.

“Oh…” you gasped as he curled his fingers, moving his thumb to circle your clit. He hadn’t even started and it all felt too much for you, too intense.

But he froze. You hadn’t noticed yourself squeezing your eyes closed, but upon opening them, he was smirking at the confusion in your furrowed brows.

“Take what you need, doll. Lord knows everyone else has.” His tone was stern, challenging, but your heart ached at his words. Deep down you could sense the hurt within him, and for a second you wanted to forget this whole sordid scene and comfort your friend.

Until the hand across your chest moved, as if he could tell what you were thinking. Snaking his hand under your shirt, he shoved your bra up, pinching your nipple hard between his finger and thumb.

“Do you need me to tell you again?”

He didn’t. The pain of his grip as he switched between heavily groping at each of your breasts caused you to buck your hips, begrudgingly grinding against his hand.

It wasn’t long before you lost yourself, staring at the ceiling as your hips moved rhythmically against his hand. He was almost statuesque, callous as his gaze bore down on you. You would have hardly thought he had any interest in what you were doing if it weren’t for how the rise and fall of his chest seemed to pick up speed, his breaths coming quick and shallow.

“I’d have never pictured this years ago…” he mulled, savouring your moans as he suddenly switched from pulling at your breasts to lightly circling each nipple.

“Oh. Oh fuck.” You cried out, attempting to tune out his taunts and the squelch of your wet cunt against his fingers as you chased deliverance from the burning pressure growing in your core. With one hand you gripped the plush carpet, trying to find purchase to aid your movements, with the other you covered your face, unwilling to let him see you fall apart like this.

“…That you’d be so needy.”

“I don’t need you.” You snarled, chiding yourself for letting him get a reaction from you.

“Hah,” he jeered, flicking his thumb over your clit, forcing a sob from you, as if you needed to be reminded of what you were doing, “don’t need me, no? Fucking yourself stupid on my hand, get up and walk away if you don’t need me.”

You whined, fighting back the urge to curse at him. It was a lose-lose situation. He grew irritated if you spoke back, or irritated when you ignored his ridicule. Either way you were getting him worked up again.

You reverted to trying to ignore him. If he was so insistent that he would provide you with an outlet, you were going to take advantage of the offer.

“As I thought. Always so proud sorella, who could think someone so orderly was just begging to be ruined?”

“Shit-“

You spasmed, clenching around his fingers, squeezing your eyes shut as you came. You let out a few cracked sobs, your throat still aching.

It had hit you quicker than you’d expected, begrudgingly admitting to yourself that his taunts had something to do with it.

The bliss of your orgasm was short lived, quashed by the shame and embarrassment that washed over you as you caught your breath, staring at the ceiling.

As a sense of clarity, and horror, crept into your mind, Copia tutted. He flexed his fingers, causing you to jump.

“No, no no no…” you whispered, lazily shaking your head. It was too much, too soon, too sensitive.

“I decide when you are done. Understand?”

“No, I- ah-” You gasped as he languidly pumped his fingers inside you, not prepared to let you come to your senses and call this off just yet. He pulled his hand out from under your shirt, reaching up to press his thumb across your lips, hushing your cries as he leaned over you.

Your thighs felt numb under his weight, shaking with every flick of his thumb over your swollen clit.

“Are you still sorry? For how you dared to speak to your dear Frater?” He murmured, rocking his fingers back and forward within you, ignoring your gasps.

“Mmhm.” You nodded, eyes watering as your core burned again, insufferably, this time.

“Good… good….” he whispered, pressing the palm of his hand over your lips, “then you will give me another.”

There was no question, only a demand as he slipped a fourth finger within you, stretching you to your limit almost painfully. You groaned as he pumped against the wet heat of your cunt, his eyes alight as you both felt another trickle of wetness gush from you.

“That’s it, sorella.” he cooed, ignoring the strangled noises that died in your covered mouth.

It wasn’t long before he had found just the right movements to get your back arching from the carpet, your hands grasping at his arms to no avail, body jerking in response to each swipe of his thumb over your clit.

Your vision became dark, spotted from squeezing your eyes shut so hard, as if not seeing his actions would save you from the aching tightness in your gut.

Your entire body seemed to tense again as he dragged you over the edge, all but kicking and screaming. Your muted whines only served to paint that smug grin back on his face.

He waited until your orgasm had passed, until your pussy stopped pulsing around his fingers before he withdrew.

You were exhausted, your eyes fluttering shut. You didn’t resist him as he uncovered your mouth, his gloved hand giving way to the one coated with your slick, fingers prodding at your lips in a silent demand. You let your lips part, idly licking and sucking each digit, your face burning red as you tasted your own release on them.

“Look at me.” Copia growled, snapping you away from your trance. Your eyes lazily moved to meet his as you licked the last trace of yourself from his hand.

He leaned back, lips parted as he studied you, his breathing still shallow, his paints smudged from biting his lip.

You felt too exposed, could feel yourself wanting to sink into the ground to escape his cold stare.

Shifting onto your elbows you tried to think of any feeble reason to excuse yourself.

“No you don’t.” he snarled, quickly slipping his jacket from his shoulders, throwing it onto the couch. You caught the sheen of sweat on his forehead glint in the light as he frowned.

He gripped your shoulders, pushing you back down, leaning across you, his lips ghosting over your neck.

“You got two, it is only fair that I get another, no?” He whispered, grinding himself against you. He was rock hard again.

You bit your lip. You had always thought him a one and done kind of guy. But then again, this whole encounter was showing just how much you had underestimated him throughout the years.

You let out a surprised squeak as he kissed you. This was familiar territory, just as needy as your previous intoxicated encounters with him.

You let yourself get carried away in the most tender moment you’d had since walking into his office earlier, your arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to rut against you.

It was over the second he sensed you growing complacent, pulling your arms away and pinning them to the floor. After breaking the kiss you caught him staring at your parted lips.

You were sure he was going to kiss you again, closing your eyes and bracing yourself, gasping as the rough fabric of his jeans dragged a moan from your throat.

He spat, your eyes snapping open at the sound, choking as it hit your already raw throat.

“Bastard!” you spluttered, rage and humiliation flooding your chest as he snickered, his hands moving back to his trousers, freeing himself again.

“You didn’t like it? No?” He jeered, a low moan rumbling in his throat as he rubbed his cock against your wet folds.

“But yet you keep swallowing everything I give you… Needy little puttana…”

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes rolled back at his words, biting your lip as he pushed into you, taking his time to savour the feeling as he sheathed himself within you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d fucked each other, evidently something he was pondering too in that moment as his hands grasped at your waist.

“Just as inviting as I remember, sorella…”

He waited, but you didn’t return the compliment - his ego didn’t need it, as much as he had been feeling sorry for himself these days.

Grunting, he gripped your thighs, pushing your knees towards your chest, seemingly giving up on trying to provoke you with words. Finally, he began to move, his pace not gentle like it had once been. The room filled with the noise of his hips slapping against the back of your thighs, and your mewling as he plunged himself deep, over and over into your sensitive cunt.

“Who is doing this for you nowadays?” He grunted, almost conversationally, the question barely discernible over your whimpering.

“No-one…”

“Really?” While he kept his expression schooled, you could tell by the way his thrusting faltered that the answer surprised him. He tutted, cooing sarcastically.

“You poor deprived thing you… who was the last?”

You frowned at his condescension, your throat scratching as you answered, “There was that bishop for a while…”

“Oh yes. It’s been that long, hm?”

You nodded as he thrust into you harder at the mention of him, his grip on the backs of your thighs making you wince.

“What was it he called you again? ‘Daddy’s cumslut?’” He scoffed, spitting at you again. Your confusion and embarrassment served to distract you from the disgust you should have felt from his spit landing against your cheek.

“How do you know-”

“-I heard the pair of you, in one of the supply closets. The party after the Impera livestream.” He grunted, his greying hair falling over his eyes as voice dropped to a low snarl that sent a shiver straight to your core, “You don’t know how often that memory kept me going… those long nights on the tour bus.”

He chuckled, biting on his lip as he felt your walls tighten around his cock at the idea.

“Is that what you need, hm? A daddy?” He mocked, slowing his pace as if to torment you.

“No. Oh fuck.”

“What do you need then?”

You knew what he wanted you to say, and knew you were avoiding giving the satisfaction of saying it aloud. Shaking his head, he stilled, the tip of his cock just at your entrance. As you squirmed, moaning at the loss of him, he pushed down on your thighs, keeping you pinned and deprived.

“Frater… please…”

That did the trick, a smug smile growing on his lips as he thrust into you fully. You covered your mouth, gasping and moaning as his hips snapped with a new found sense of urgency, each movement leaving you trembling.

“Did you let him fill you up? Like a good little slut, hm?”

You weren’t going to dignify him with a response, changing your mind when he leaned over, raising his hand to you.

Flinching, you cried out. “No!”

The slap didn’t land, instead he gripped your face, fingers digging into your cheek.

“Oh, really?” He scoffed. If you didn’t know him so well you might have missed the hesitation barely masked in his tone - deep down he was unsure he wanted to know the answer. Copia had always been insistent that the two of you careful when you had hooked up before. It only served to make you feel just that little bit more wrong about how he was fucking you now, the idea of stopping to find a condom hadn’t even been a consideration in the heat of the moment.

“No…” you trailed off, glancing away as he looked at you quizzically, his harsh pumping slowing again, as if to demand an explanation.

“He just..” you groaned in embarrassment, tilting your head back to avoid Copia’s eyes “he always finished in my mouth…”

You whimpered, feeling how that made his cock twitch deep within you as he hissed.

“Puttana.”

Your face burned red.

“Fuck off. Oh-“ you groaned as he rutted into you harder, his eyes snapping away from yours to watch your pussy engulfing his cock with each snap of his hips, seemingly mesmerised.

He murmured, his low tone becoming harder to maintain as his voice cracked.

“What a waste. If… fuck, sorella…” you could hear him hold back small whimpers as he began to lose his restraint, the sounds barely noticeable as you threw your head back, muffling your cries with each stroke of his cock against your walls.

“If I’d known… back then… I’d have filled this pretty pussy every time…”

“Copia…” you growled, attempting to protest the idea, but your voice lacked conviction, betraying the fact you were desperate now to feel him flood you.

The sweat beading on his forehead had trickled slightly, smudging the paint around his eyes. His pounding was becoming more erratic, cursing as your cunt pulsed around his cock, his breath hitching in his throat.

“My sorella… my pain in the ass… my little fucking brat.” he muttered venomously between thrusts, driving himself deep within you once more as he stilled.

Your hands clutched at the carpet as his cock twitched, coating your walls with his spend.

You stared up at him, bewildered. Your chest ached, watching as he panted for air, his eyes squeezed shut, his hair now in disarray.

With a deep sigh, he opened his eyes, not to meet your gaze but to watch as his cum lazily seeped from your cunt as he pulled out.

As he looked you in the eyes, you found yourself desperate for him to speak, in spite of how you’d wanted him to be quiet for most of this ordeal. You’d never admit it to him now, but you wanted praise, wanted to be told how well you did.

“See, sorella? How well I know you? Know what you need?”

He smirked. He knew what you wanted, and the bastard was not about to give it to you.

As he righted his clothes, you just about managed to shuffle away from him to grab your discarded trousers and shoes, quickly redressing yourself before slumping back to the floor, shattered. You held your tongue remembering why exactly you now had no option but to go commando, fearful that telling him he owed you new underwear might set him off again.

You stared blankly, trying to process it all, and waiting expectantly, hoping that he would change his mind and comfort you as you felt yourself crashing back to reality.

He kneeled, reaching towards the desk to grab the forms that had served as the catalyst for all of this from the corner of his desk, before sitting beside you on the floor, letting out an exhausted groan. You just about forced yourself to look at up him, face burning red.

With a smirk he scrawled his signature at the tabs you had neatly dotted across the document.

“Here you go.” He spoke surprisingly brightly, given the way your meeting panned out, tossing the papers onto your heaving chest.

“…Thank you, Frater.”

“Of course.” He stood, sliding on his jacket and grabbing his car keys from the desk. “Now, be a doll and swing by Mrs Psaltarian’s office, tell her I’ll be out of office for the evening. I trust I will see you tomorrow to further pester me with this administrative bullshit, yes?”

“Yeah…” you whispered, sounding unsure of yourself. A part of you still contemplated resigning.

Those thoughts were cut short when you found the tip of his shoe pressing against your windpipe again, his brow raised expectantly.

“Yes, Frater.”

He grinned. It troubled you to realise this was the calmest you had seen him in months.

“Okie dokie! Be good, sorella.”

You nodded shakily as he stepped over you, his smirk still unsettling you. He was up to something, but so exhausted, and so perplexed at what had just transpired you couldn’t begin to theorise on what it was.

You just about had time to clean yourself up before returning to your duties. Mrs Psaltarian was seemingly oblivious to your rattled state, too busy fussing about her precious Cardi.

Back in your office, ignoring the questioning eyes of other siblings wondering how your talk went, you leaned against the scanner, legs still trembling as you sent the forms to your computer, mind a million miles away. Or rather, your mind still down the hall, abandoned on the floor of his office.

You had attached them to the email for the pyro team, opening the attachment to run your eye over it one last time.

That pompous little fucker.

Each page signed with “Papa Emeritus IV” served to stoke at your irritation. No wonder he had been grinning. He was mocking you.

Barely holding back a growl you sighed, printing a fresh copy of the forms, resigned to trying to persuade him to sign it with his proper title tomorrow.

You would wear that nice purple v-neck blouse he always used to compliment. Maybe that would do the trick.

#the band ghost fanfic #frater imperator x female reader #frater imperator x reader #copia x female reader #copia x reader #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa iv x reader #copia x sister of sin reader #frater is crashing out and being nasty #ive read and enjoyed wayyyy more extreme stuff than this but holy fuck writing this had me mortified #dead dove do not eat #ghost fanfic

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salty-tang · 1 month ago

Text

favours owed (three-shot pt1)

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Congresswoman!Reader

Summary: Congressman Bucky Barnes does not like owing favours, least of all to you.

congressman bucky x congresswoman reader (set just before, and crosses into the beginning of, Thunderbolts*)

Warnings/tags: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, Porn With Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Teasing, Massage, Begging, Cunnilingus, Semi-Public Sex, Political Drama, No established relationship, Enthusiastic Consent, Female Orgasm bucky barnes may not know how to politic but he does know how to eat a lady out, Congressman Bucky Barnes, Congresswoman Reader, mild thunderbolts* (the movie) spoilers

A/N: this is the one that started it all! Pt 1 is mostly fluff, while Pt2 is explicit, please be guided accordingly! Despite this, tags and warnings apply across the board

favours owed masterpost || AO3 || congressman bucky masterpost

“I believe congratulations are in order, Congresswoman, on your re-election,” says newly minted Congressman Bucky Barnes, plucking two champagne flutes from a passing tray and tilting one towards you in offering. You almost jump – you hadn’t heard his approach, but you don’t let that show. Instead, it is with a smile that you take the offered glass by the stem and gently clink it against his.

“And to you, Congressman,” you return smoothly, taking a sip, letting the tart wine fizz across your tongue.

Your former conversation partner takes the cue and politely excuses himself, and you let him go without a second thought. Your attention is now fully on Bucky, who leans against the balustrade with practiced ease, raising his glass to take a sip. You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs with the swallow – an involuntary flicker of interest.

The mezzanine level of the Library of Congress’s Great Hall stretches out all around you. The marble underfoot, polished to a mirror sheen, is lit by golden sconces and towering chandeliers. The rotunda above bears frescoes and flourishes carved to evoke the gravitas of empire. Below, conversations thread like silk through the air as the new class of Representatives mingle with the old guard, moving through the space like dancers in a slow, deliberate waltz – close enough to brush shoulders, never close enough to trust. Every gesture choreographed, every smile part of the performance.

You’ve been circulating the room for the past hour, exchanging pleasantries, returning congratulations, keeping your distance where needed. Tonight is, nominally, a celebration of electoral wins. But you know it’s an early reading of the next session’s power map.

And now, here Bucky is – slipping in just before dinner.

What curious timing.

You wonder what angle he’s playing at. A bit of buttering up before a policy ask, perhaps? You’ve heard whispers about the shaky start he’s had adjusting to Capitol life. If you had to guess – committee placements, town halls, or the Affordable Housing bill. All things that could use a co-sponsor with a bit of reach. He leans casually against the balustrade and tips the glass back, and again your eyes catch the movement, smooth and deliberate.

He cleans up well, you think, as your gaze openly roams – his classic three-piece suit is cut to perfection, the dark fabric hugging his broad frame, coming to a taper at his trim waist, the tie just slightly loosened. Under the glittering light of the chandelier, his arctic blue eyes sparkle with something unreadable – mischief, perhaps. Ambition, more likely.

You are no slouch either, having been poured into a structured black Bottega Veneta gown with a sculptural one-shoulder neckline by your campaign manager cum personal stylist. The contour pipping down the front does most of the heavy lifting to imbue you with curves. An evening clutch, gold jewellery, and a pair of towering heels complete your look. You’re both dressed like the winners you are.

“I’ve heard great things about your campaign,” you say, when he doesn't immediately press the conversation forward. Curious. “The people of New York made a smart choice.”

Though his face does not red, you can tell he is not used to sincere praise by the way he splutters and fishes around for a suitable reply. You catch yourself hiding a faint smile behind the rim of your glass.

You are not praising him lightly.

When James Buchanan Barnes – of ex-Avenger, ex-Winter Soldier fame, a national security nightmare turned hero – announced his run for Congress, the reaction was predictably skeptical. Yours included. You, of all people, understand just how fickle New York voters can be on a good day. How could someone so publicly broken, so historically complicated, win their confidence? How could a man whose past made him part of the problem stand before Congress and claim to fight for the under-served and overlooked?

And yet, his team pulled off a near-miracle, reshaping a war relic into a viable candidate. He traded his tactical gear for tailored suits, and his blasters for policy briefs. Hit the ground running and didn’t stop until he got what he wanted.

Still, the polish never quite stuck. No amount of media training could sand down that roughness completely. He stumbled through press interviews, struggled to stick to talking points, lacked the finesse to spin when it counted (you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little bitter about the double standard – you stammer once on an unplanned street interview and Fox News publicly castrates you. He stutters, and it’s endearing).

But that rawness? That was what made him dangerous. And likable. It’s hard not to root for an Avenger, even a reformed one with ex-Russian ties and a checkered past.

Eventually, as your paths kept crossing on the campaign trail, your scepticism gives way to something like respect. You decided his heart was in the right place; that when it came down to the bones of it, you actually didn't hate him.

(It also didn’t hurt that when asked which member of Congress he was most excited to work with, he’d said your name first)

And it definitely doesn’t hurt that he’s distractingly handsome, with a crooked smile that could destabilize nations.

You watch him now, still sipping his champagne, eyes scanning the mezzanine as if looking for something – or someone. You wonder why he came over at all if his mind is elsewhere. You're seconds from teasing him about who else in the room could possibly be more interesting than you – when he answers that question for you.

His gaze lands squarely on CIA Director Valentina de Fontaine, sweeping into the room flanked by her usual coterie of upper-echelon intelligence officers.

You’re standing so close to him, you feel the shift in his energy. He’s no longer just casually leaning on the balustrade – his posture has gone all stiff and alert. The spluttering shyness of a new Congressman vanishes, replaced by a freezing cold bloodlust that has alarm bells going off in your head. How did you forget that you were just casually trading compliments with one of the most dangerous men in the world?

You drain the rest of your champagne in one swift gulp as you try and plot out how to extract yourself from this situation.

Then, something clicks.

Snippets of gossip – months old whispers, really – about Valentina de Fontaine’s rumoured black-ops program she supposedly has been running under the guise of national security – suddenly align with whispers you’d brushed off at the time, that Bucky Barnes didn’t run for office to legislate, but to infiltrate.

Involuntarily, you suck in a breath at the magnitude of your realization.

Bucky’s head turns sharply at the sound, piercing gaze snapping back to land on you. You resist the urge to flinch (you’ve done nothing wrong). But the look in his eyes tells you your instincts are probably much sharper than you give them credit for.

If your suspicion is correct – and it’s hard to doubt yourself now – it would be the height of stupidity to stand between Bucky Barnes and his target.

Unfortunately, that’s when Valentina herself chooses to glance over, and curiosity flashes across her expression. You can see the wheels turn in her mind.

And just like that, your Irish exit evaporates.

Steeling your resolve, you place your now empty glass on the nearest ledge and gently pry Bucky’s half-finished one from his grip. He turns to look at you, caught off-guard.

Now, the best way out is through.

His confusion deepens when you sidle right up to his side as if this were just another networking chat and say in a mild, almost bored tone, “you’re acquainted with CIA director de Fontaine right? Would you mind introducing me? I’ve been meaning to make her acquaintance.”

He must be showing great personal restraint by not flinging you across the room for the sudden intrusion into his personal space, but there's still a frown on his face when he looks down at you and replies, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” you challenge lightly. “It would be good to say hello, for the future.”

He levels you with a look. “Trust me, you don’t want her in your future.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you say, a little too breezily. “Oh look, here she comes.”

As if summoned, Valentina and her assistant break away from their entourage and head directly towards the two of you. You feel Bucky stiffen by your side, but a wave of calm washes over you. Verbal spars are your territory.

“Representatives,” she greets the both of you with a wide smile that does not reach her eyes as handshakes and hellos are exchanged all around. “Isn’t this cozy? I look forward to seeing more of you both.”

You open your mouth to issue insincere platitudes about maintaining warm and friendly relations, but Bucky is quicker – barely a breath ahead edging forward with quiet finality to plant himself between you and Valentina, blocking her from your view.

A beat of silence.

And then another.

You note the way his metal hand flexes slightly, all restless energy itching to be unleashed.

“I can’t wait,” he deadpans, and you watch with your heart in your throat as the two continue to stare at each other for longer than is reasonably polite.

This confirms it for you.

The standoff continues and you wonder (absurdly, briefly) if Bucky is going to slit Valentina’s throat where she stands, or maybe throw her off the balustrade, consequences be damned.

“Well,” you say when the tension becomes unbearable, “it is very nice meeting you, Director. Unfortunately, dinner’s about to start, and Congressman Barnes was just escorting me to our table. I’ll have my people contact yours – I’d love to speak with you about cybersecurity amendments.”

“Of course,” she says faintly, but she’s still studying you both, searching for whatever it is she’s missing. Mel steps up to hand you a card with her contact details.

Bucky’s still frozen in place, visibly confused by the entire exchange.

“Shall we, Barnes?” you say sweetly, flashing him a tight smile and giving him a look that urges him to play along.

Nothing has ever made less sense to him, but ever the gentleman, he obediently offers up his left arm for you to take. You slide right into the crook of his elbow, and you don’t miss the way Valentina’s eyebrow lifts, ever so slightly.

And then, just like that, you’re gone.

⁕⁕⁕

You lead him down the grand marble staircase toward the floor level, far away from Mel and Valentina. Round tables gleam under golden uplighting, each one meticulously set with crystal glassware and heavy cream linens. The soft murmur of conversation drifts upward from the crowd below, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware and bursts of polite laughter. It’s a room built for history and performance–and you're walking through it with Bucky Barnes on your arm.

For a fleeting moment, the absurdity of it all hits you like a champagne high. Just hours ago, you were prepping talking points and rolling your eyes at fundraising targets. Now you're arm-in-arm with the most dangerous man in the room, playing escort like it's the most natural thing in the world.

But what draws your focus more than the terrible optics of this situation, more than the flash of cameras or the curious eyes tracking your descent, is the feel of him beneath your touch. You are too aware of him – too aware of the way your arm is looped through his.

You’d expected the cybernetic arm to feel alien – hard, cold, unyielding – but through the layers of tailored fabric, it’s warm, solid and heavy in a way that steadies, grounding you with quiet strength.

And Bucky?

Bucky is reeling.

He’d offered his arm without thinking–on instinct, maybe politeness–and then you took it, just as naturally. Now you’re walking beside him like you belong there. Like you’ve done this before.

And it’s killing him.

He doesn’t dare look at you, not directly. Not with the press watching and certainly not with Valentina’s gaze still burning between his shoulder blades. But from the corner of his eye, he watches you steady yourself against him, fingers tightening ever so slightly on his sleeve.

You trust him. Enough to walk beside him like this. Enough to let the world see it.

He tells himself it’s just strategy – optics and misdirection, a necessary performance. Still, deep down, a quiet part of him, the part he thought had long been dead and buried, lingers. It doesn’t speak loudly, but it quietly wonders if maybe, just maybe, this could mean something more.

It wants you to be more.

Your fingers twitch, tempted to press just a little harder. Maybe just to see if the strength you imagine there is real. Maybe to anchor yourself in a night that suddenly feels like it's spinning out of control too far and too fast.

You stop yourself, just barely. Because squeezing Bucky Barnes’ bicep like a nervous debutante at a cotillion would be wildly inappropriate.

So instead, you glance up at him from beneath your lashes, stealing one breathless second to admire the line of his jaw, the tension in his expression, and the sharp clarity in his eyes.

Your fingers twitch again, and for half a heartbeat he thinks you’re about to squeeze his arm.

Shame, he thinks, and almost hates himself for it. He has to force himself to keep his expression neutral. His jaw’s already too tight and his thoughts too loud. You’re close enough that he can smell the warmth of your perfume, catch the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Close enough to kiss.

And what really kills him is that you don’t even know what you’re doing to him.

At the bottom of the stairs, a photographer spots you both. “Representatives! Over here!” He calls out at the two of you.

You jump apart, as if suddenly slapped by the same chapter of media training. The camera clicks rapidly as the photographer bounces around the two of you, eager to capture the moment. You just know that he also managed to snap a picture of the two sharply dressed politicians descending together, side by side, looking uncomfortably like a couple.

Your left eye twitches just a bit. This will turn the Capitol’s gossip wheels for ages.

Bucky winces beside you. He already knows the chewing out he’s going to get from his communications director, but it’s hard to feel particularly regretful, especially not when for the most fleeting of moments, he got to have you on his arm.

Some people would say he’s stupid, and there are many days he’s inclined to agree with that, but he’s never ever been blind.

You’re so breathtakingly attractive (he’s ashamed to admit that he spent the better part of the actively avoiding you – talking to everyone but you – because he has no idea what to say). He can’t stay away; there’s this gravitational pull to you, and he can’t help to want to just spin around in your orbit.

He sees you trying to slink away, walk off into the crowd, but he has other plans. Pretty as you may be, there is something downright confusing about how you’re acting tonight, and he would like to hear explanations, quickly. The open floor is not the right place to have this conversation, and he gently catches your elbow –not hard, not tight, just enough force – and jerks you towards a quiet alcove off by the south corridor.

“Fewer eyes,” Bucky says quietly, tilting his head ever so slightly, and you follow the direction of the movement to see Mel watching the both of you with open curiosity from the balcony you had just vacated.

You hadn’t noticed that she was still standing there before, so focused were you on the moment and Bucky’s presence beside you.

It reminds you of how second nature this constant vigilance must be for Bucky – tracking bodies, cataloguing exits, watching every shadow. It must be exhausting to live like this, you think, as you glance up at him again.

He pulls you behind a large marble bust – some long dead president – and comes to a halt, satisfied that the both of you will not be seen or interrupted.

“Are you going to explain what that was?” he asks, jerking you from your reverie. “One minute you want to be introduced to Valentina, the next we’re running from her.”

“I should be the one asking you that,” you say, aiming for levity. “You two look like jealous exes sizing each other up.”

His stare shuts down your joke immediately. Not the time.

You sigh, arms crossing. “I want no part in your fight with Valentina.”

“How do you –”

You hold up a hand, silencing him. “I can do math, Barnes. And I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one. Congressman Gary’s numbers are better than mine, and he’s been looking at her sideways for months.”

He is blessedly quick on the uptake. Realization blooms swift and fast across his features, but then they narrow into deep suspicion. “I don’t get it,” he says. “You just said you don’t want in on this. but you ask to meet her. You’re telling me things you shouldn’t be saying out loud. Why?”

Your heart drops straight down into your stomach. Bucky can be incredibly intimidating when he turns the full force of his suspicion on you.

“I think it’s reasonable,” you say slowly, “not to want to make an enemy of the CIA. And I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a coward. If she puts a target on me, I won’t walk out of this unscathed. And…” you force yourself to hold his gaze and keep your voice steady, “I like the idea you’ll owe me.”

His lips flatten into a hard line. “I don’t like owing people favours. I can handle this my own way.”

“I’m sure you could,” you shrug. “But now that you know, wouldn’t it be smarter to use that knowledge instead of pretending you don’t have it? Or are you afraid of what I’ll ask you to do in return?”

Something in his jaw ticks, and you see that your comment has hit the mark.

For some absurd reason, it makes you laugh, a bright sound that is also sharp and self-depreciating. “Come on, Barnes. Have you seen yourself? Do you really think that I of all people could make you do something you didn’t want to do?”

“I think you vastly underestimate your persuasive abilities,” he mutters, and something in his gaze finally softens.

You snort. “Call it an occupational slip of the tongue then. The Capitol runs on favours, after all.”

Your words hang between the both of you, cynical and sharp, but not untrue. And you’ve been here long enough to know how to spend yours wisely. He’s still watching you, weighing up your words against some kind of scale. It makes you want to upset the balance entirely.

So you do.

“Let me share with you another a little fun fact. About myself, so don’t give me that look. Melissa Gold – Valentina’s assistant? We went to college together. She was a hell of an activist. Way more principled than me. She cared deeply about immigrant rights, if I remember right…”

He sighs again, scrubbing a hand down his face. The lines on his forehead wrinkle as he shakes his head. “I don’t like this.”

“I surmised.”

“I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

“You don’t have to,” you say gently. “If Valentina is doing what I think she is…this will be for the greater good. And I still believe in that – the greater good. Though,” you pause, “I’d like to think that if I ever get into enough trouble in the future to have to call in favours, you’d be a man of your word and come through for me.”

His eyes narrow again. His gaze is not unkind – just sharp, as if he’s trying to cut through all the layers of what you’ve just said to get to whatever is real beneath them. You meet his gaze, steady as you can muster, even though you are wound tighter than a spring.

You’re not sure when this conversation stopped being political, but you know you’ve crossed a certain point of no return.

“I don’t leave debts unpaid,” Bucky says finally, his voice low and certain.

There’s a weight to the promise that makes your breath catch. The atmosphere between the both of you settles into a kind of uneasy stillness. Not uncomfortable exactly, but suspended – like something’s shifted, just slightly, and neither of you are quite ready to name it.

You nod with a small smile of understanding. “Then let’s just hope I never have to collect.”

That was all you had to say on the matter, and you were going to broker no argument on it.

From somewhere nearby, the live ensemble begins a classical piece you can’t quite place. The music drifts softly through the room, muted but insistent. It softens the edges of the moment and briefly makes everything feel gentler than it is.

Dinner is about to start. You have only minutes before your absence draws attention.

You glance back at him. “We should go.”

He doesn’t move. Not immediately. But then, as you start toward the corridor –

“Thanks,” he says, quiet. Almost like an afterthought.

You don’t look back. “Don’t mention it.”

And you don’t.

Not yet.

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-START-|| AO3 || pt 2 >>

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