#day 4: f. reader x satan

[devildomcuties]

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Day 1: Lucifer - Dumbification

Day 2: Mammon - Thigh Riding

Day 3: Leviathan - Cockwarming

Day 4: Satan - Magic Bondage/Edging

Day 5: Asmo - Fuck Machine

Day 6: Beel - A/B/O Dynamics

Day 7: Belphie - Cockworship

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...  

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”  

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.  

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-” 

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.  

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.  

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.  

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well. 

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick. 

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him. 

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market. 

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.  

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years. 

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.  

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...” 

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”  

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.  

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.  

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret. 

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-” 

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.  

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned. 

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.  

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”  

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow. 

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.  

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.  

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.  

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-” 

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.” 

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.  

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.” 

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.  

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.  

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.  

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.  

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.  

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living. 

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.  

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.  

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.  

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.  

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world? 

No.  

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he? 

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials. 

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said. 

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.  

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.  

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.  

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.  

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.  

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake. 

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?” 

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.  

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.  

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.  

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back. 

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.  

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?  

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.  

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.  

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.  

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.  

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.  

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.  

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.  

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.  

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.  

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”  

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.  

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.  

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.  

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school. 

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.  

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.  

You wished you could live like that. 

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.  

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth. 

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-” 

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?” 

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.  

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.  

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.  

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.  

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud. 

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-” 

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”  

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...” 

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing. 

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.” 

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this. 

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!” 

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!" 

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.  

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!” 

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.  

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.  

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.  

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.  

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again? 

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself. 

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.  

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.” 

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.  

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed... 

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.” 

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights. 

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial. 

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?” 

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.  

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.  

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.” 

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...  

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in. 

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being. 

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to... 

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.  

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.  

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.  

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.  

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount. 

���Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter. 

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?” 

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had. 

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.  

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.  

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh. 

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?” 

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.” 

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.  

“Big plans tonight, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75” 

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.  

You. 

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.  

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years. 

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”  

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.  

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!” 

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.  

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be. 

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.  

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.  

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart. 

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.  

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.  

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.” 

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.  

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it. 

A sob.  

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.  

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob. 

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.  

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick... 

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.” 

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone. 

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob. 

He held the phone to his ear again. 

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.  

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.  

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...  

“R-Raynor... street...”  

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.  

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.  

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you. 

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.  

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.  

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.” 

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible. 

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere. 

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.  

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could. 

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.  

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably. 

Something in him cared.  

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.  

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side. 

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.  

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.  

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you. 

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered. 

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-” 

“Okay...” you sniffled.  

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up. 

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much. 

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night. 

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak... 

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.  

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.  

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all... 

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?” 

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.  

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?” 

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother? 

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you... 

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue. 

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...  

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.  

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.  

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.  

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.  

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...  

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.  

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water. 

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.  

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.  

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed. 

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?” 

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.  

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.  

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”  

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.  

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.” 

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...” 

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...  

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.  

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here. 

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?  

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.  

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold. 

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.” 

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.  

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.” 

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes. 

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.  

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.  

“Is she...?” 

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”  

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.  

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.” 

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now. 

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.” 

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.  

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.  

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?  

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.  

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.  

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.  

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”  

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.  

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”  

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought. 

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles. 

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you. 

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.  

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.  

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.  

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window. 

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.  

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.  

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.  

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.  

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.  

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.  

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.  

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...  

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call. 

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.  

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.  

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.  

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.  

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.  

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.  

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself... 

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock. 

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could. 

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.  

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.  

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.  

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”  

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.  

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.  

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer... 

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.  

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.  

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.  

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin. 

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently. 

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes. 

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.  

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.  

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.  

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.  

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken. 

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up. 

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically. 

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.  

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?  

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.  

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.  

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.  

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.” 

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in. 

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too? 

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.  

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

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[ghulehunknown]

Hey everyone! I’m Elizabeth (:

My blog is strictly 18+! I write adult themes and I will always tag my posts accordingly. Sometimes it’s just fluff.

Requests are open! - fanfics, drabbles, headcanons, etc. I love hearing from you! Just a few things to note:

Typically I write Papa x Reader (either GN or F reader), but I am open to changing it up

I’ll write any of the Papas or Ghouls/Ghoulettes, but am most comfortable w/ Terzo x Reader or Copia x Reader

Topics I will NOT write include the following, but are not limited to: incest, beastiality, underage, non-con - I will update this list if I need to

DM me anytime! If I’m taking a while to respond or post, please be patient as I’m probably thinking of the best way to write the request.

I reserve the right to deny any request but please do not take it personally. Certain topics I may not write if I can’t find the inspiration or I’m uncomfortable, but generally I’m open to just about anything.

Enjoy!

🔞 The following list contains NSFW content. Minors DNI 🔞

Wintertime Smut Collection

XXXmas At The Ministry, a collaboration with @copias-sewer-rat, @molly-ghuleh, and @bupia

Naughty Presents (Primo) by @copias-sewer-rat

Ungrumpify Your Papa (Secondo) by @molly-ghuleh

Mistletoe’d (Terzo) by @ghulehunknown

Treasure Hunt (Copia) by @bupia

Papa Holiday Headcanons

Papa Valentine’s Day Headcanons

Vacation Full Length Smut and “The Note” (a continuation of Mistletoe’d) - coming soon!

“A Holiday Tail”

“A Rainy Winter”

Kinktober 2023

Day 1 - masturbation • Day 2 - Terzomega • Day 3 - blowjob • Day 4 - cunnilingus, fingering, worship • Day 5 - miniskirt rough sex, dom • Day 6 - soft dom, sweet sex • Day 7 - teacher/student, inexperience, praise • Day 8 - rimming • Day 9 - public sex, exhibitionism • Day 10 - spanking, fishnets • Day 11 - group sex • Day 12 - sub Copia, degradation • Day 13 - kissing HCs • Day 14 - period sex HCs • Day 15 - lovemaking HCs • Halloween - Vamperzo, period sex

Kinktober 2024

Day 1 - Mirror Sex

Papa Emeritus IV

“Do You Deserve It?” • “You Earned It” • Random Drabble • “Creature Comforts” • Undressing Copia Drabble • Mirror Sex

Cardinal Copia

“Cardi Confessions”

Terzo

“I Wanna Be Yours” (Terzomega) • “Preparation is Key” • “Papa’s Worship” • “Movie ’n Chill” • “Let’s Have a Satanic Orgy” • “La Notte del Vampiro” • “La Lezione di Lucifero” • “And He Sees Nothing Wrong With That” • “Mistletoe’d” • “One Missed Text”

Secondo

“Papa’s Punishment”

Primo

“Teach Me Tonight”

Papa Headcanons

Kissing/Cuddling • Period Sex/Comforting • Romantic Sex/Lovemaking • Sick Days • Mary Goore NSFW • Positions • Going Down (F Receiving) • Jealousy • Thanksgiving • Showering Together • Holidays • Valentine’s Day • Proposals • Waking Up Together • Aftercare

Ghouls

“A Holiday Tail” (Mountain) • “A Rainy Winter” (Rain)

Papa of Choice

“Caught by Papa” • “Tangled Sheets”

Gender Neutral

“I Wanna Be Yours” (Terzomega) • “Tangled Sheets” • “Papa’s Punishment” • Random Copia Drabble • “A Rainy Winter” • “Creature Comforts” • Undressing Copia Drabble

F!Reader

“Caught by Papa” • “Preparation is Key” • “Papa’s Worship” • “Do You Deserve It?” • “You Earned It” • “Teach Me Tonight” • “Movie ’n Chill” • “Let’s Have a Satanic Orgy” • “Cardi Confessions” • “La Notte del Vampiro” * “La Lezione di Lucifero” • “And He Sees Nothing Wrong With That” • “Mistletoe’d” • “A Holiday Tail” (Mountain x AFAB) • “One Missed Text” • Mirror Sex

[molly-ghuleh]

Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 6

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: Even though you have finally begun to translate Elizabeth's diary, you still need context. A visit from the archivist answers some questions but raises even more.

Word count: 4.6k

A/N: Helloooooo! Thank you all again for your extraordinary patience in the long wait for this chapter. It isn't the most eventful (nor am I the proudest of it) but things are definitely happening, and I think you all will enjoy where it's going!

P.s., the identity of the archivist was inspired by the lovely @writingjourney <3

Warnings: Nihil being a bad dad (again), descriptions of anxiety/panic, descriptions of afab people being seen as objects

AO3 / Chapter 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Secondo thinks that abdicating the position of Papa might be the best thing to ever happen to him. 

That’s not to say he disliked being Papa. Quite the opposite, really—holding the scepter, wearing the crown, and hearing the title were all a generous ego boost. But the aspect he loved the most was that he could promote the tenets of the Lord Below how he wanted, how he felt was most effective. He was the mouthpiece of Satan, the proprietor of His word and the bridge between his unholy flock and the fires of Hell. 

But that’s about it. He loved the glory, sure. He did not like the man that the Ministry molded him into. Once he stepped down, it was hard to look himself in the eye without cringing. He was supposed to hold the power for Satan, not the Clergy, and certainly not for Sister Imperator. 

Just about the only thing he has to thank that woman for is the time he’s gotten back after “stepping down.”

Secondo has always been interested in the archives, ever since he was a boy. He would sneak around the Abbey in Rome into places he shouldn’t have been and see things he probably shouldn’t have seen, and keep everything he saw to himself. Having the knowledge of secrets he wasn’t supposed to know made him feel important, like he held some power over the Clergy if he decided to open his mouth. 

So when he'd stumbled upon a dim room towards the back of the library at the tender age of eight, he thought he’d found the Library of Alexandria. Wall-to-wall shelves of thick leather bound books, stacks of tightly-rolled parchment and linens depicting unholy scenes. An old wooden table holding a desk lamp and a magnifying glass. A single lone lamp that, when he’d pulled the chain to illuminate it, had emanated a click so loud that he thought he’d be caught for sure. 

He’d been so disappointed when he realized he couldn’t understand any of the books or scrolls or linens. They were all written in a language unfamiliar, which he knows now to be Latin. But at eight years old, his primary focus was to learn the unholy scripture, to serve Satan in his duties as an altar boy, and to make his father proud. 

That last point��� he never did accomplish. 

But he did eventually learn Latin, so that he could read what was in that dim room. He’d learned to shimmy the lock open (the Roman Abbey is ancient, it wasn’t a difficult task) and sneak in, absorbing as much information as he could. 

Secondo learned about rituals that haven’t been done in centuries. He read prayers and psalms that had been forgotten with time. He found drawings of long lost artifacts and relics shrouded in mystery. Each new bit of knowledge gave him that rush of adrenaline that could only come from forbidden things. 

When he was old enough, he was allowed into the archive room. Of course, no one had known he’d already spent countless hours there. His father wanted him to know his family history if he were to take up the helm of Papa one day. You need to know what is in your blood, his father had said. Just as Primo does, and just as Terzo will. 

Secondo had wanted to ask, what about Copia? But he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want his archive privileges revoked as soon as he’d gotten them. 

The first thing he’d done was find his family tree. Who came before him? Who was Papa before his father, and before his father’s father? How far back did the Emeritus bloodline really go?

It was in the family tome that he first discovered the words Primus Motor. Up until a specific time, every Emeritus heir had been conceived by a woman with the title Prime Mover. Then the women proceeding them had lost that title, with seemingly no pomp or circumstance. Nearly a thousand years ago, the title had been dropped and forgotten. The final Prime Mover, it seems, had been a woman named Elizabeth. 

When her diary had been found in some random basement room of the Abbey, Secondo immediately requested to be the archivist in charge. She was his ancestor, and the last Prime Mover on record. Her diary must have an explanation, or some insight as to what exactly a Prime Mover is. There were Prime Mover rituals outlined in those books he’d found as a boy, sure. But none ever explained what the significance was beyond “the chosen maternal body.” It all sounded rather dehumanizing.

But Sister Imperator had told him to keep that fact a secret. She’d brought in a translator to decipher the diary without telling her the whole story. So, he wasn’t terribly surprised to learn that you’d requested to speak to him, or that when he finds you in the restricted room, you look like a deer caught in headlights.

“Papa,” you say, standing to greet him formally. You bow your head out of respect and give him your name. “I can be out of your way, if you need—” 

Secondo simply puts a hand up to stop you. “No, sorella. I am here to speak to you about the diary, as you requested.” 

Your eyes go so wide that he almost laughs. “Wh-what?” You swallow. “Forgive me, Papa, I didn’t know that you are the archivist who evaluated Elizabeth’s diary…” 

“Is that going to be a problem?” Secondo asks. 

“No! No,” you scramble, shaking your head slightly to align your own thoughts. His intense gaze pins you to the spot, and not in a good way. Not a bad way, either, but… not in the way Copia’s gaze does. 

Determined not to make a fool of yourself, you steel your nerves. “It’s not a problem, Papa. I apologize. I have only… the highest member of the Clergy I have ever met until I arrived here was Bishop Beaumont. I still find myself a bit overwhelmed, sometimes.” 

The corners of Secondo’s painted lips tick up at your admission, but he makes no mention of it. “No matter. What is it you wished to discuss?” 

You sit and turn your notebook around so Secondo can read the translation of the first line. Today I was chosen to be Papa’s Prime Mover. 

“I was wondering,” you begin, “if you might be able to tell me what a Prime Mover is.” 

After reading the translated line, Secondo leans back. “I do not know much,” he answers gruffly. “But I do know that it was an esteemed position. Something to do with continuing the bloodline. However the title of Prime Mover is no longer used.” 

“How come?” You ask. 

“I do not know.” 

You hum and look down at Elizabeth’s diary, like it might speak the answer to you itself. Something to do with continuing the bloodline? “Sister Imperator told me that you estimated this diary to be about five hundred years old,” you say. “Is there a reason you chose that number?”

At Secondo’s silence, you meet his eyes again to find that his brows are furrowed and his jaw is set. His lips form a tight line, deepening the clefts beside his mouth. “I only ask because it may help with context,” you offer, defending your question. Your chest flutters with nerves again. You hope you haven’t somehow angered him… he’s quite intimidating. 

Secondo’s mind turns. Sister Imperator hadn’t told you that he was the archivist, and she’d told you a different number than the one he’d estimated. She asked him to keep Elizabeth’s status as the last Prime Mover a secret. It seems odd, like she knows something that she wants neither you nor Secondo to. He finds himself annoyed that Sister wants to keep something shrouded in such unnecessary mystery. 

“Sister Imperator has given you the wrong number,” he says after a moment of tense silence. “I believe it is nearly a thousand years old.” 

“A thousand?” You gape. For a volume that’s a millennium old, it’s in remarkably good shape. You’d thought the same when you believed it was just five hundred years old. 

Secondo nods. Whatever reasons that Sister Imperator has for wanting to keep the diary a secret, he doesn’t know. But if he can do anything to learn about his family and its history, or if he can spite Sister… he’ll take that chance. “Elizabeth is the last Prime Mover on record. I do not know why the title was dropped, and I do not know why it is supposed to be such a secret.” 

Oh. Yes, you understand. Papa must have his reasons for disliking Sister, and you have your own. If you can contravene her in this small way, a secret kept between an archivist and a translator, you will. You’re slightly ashamed that the thought makes you a little giddy, but not ashamed enough to not do it. 

“So,” you guess, “you’re hoping that this diary answers that?” 

“Correct,” Papa nods again, and stands. “I ask that you keep me informed, sorella.” 

“Of course, Papa,” you say with a polite smile. 

He leaves the restricted room and you’re left alone with Elizabeth again. Only this time, there is a new clarity between you and your subject. Your gaze drops down to the pages of jumbled letters, wondering. 

Papa Secondo had said that the position of Prime Mover was esteemed. If it had been, why was it dissolved? Perhaps it wasn’t dissolved at all, and it was only forgotten? And… the position is related to the Papal bloodline, so surely these Prime Movers would have been the mothers, right? 

The answers lie in front of you, waiting to be translated. Elizabeth herself beckons you with her slanted script, saying, read me. Hear what I have to say. 

And how you want to focus. How you want to spend the next weeks painstakingly deciphering letter by letter, word by word until you find these answers which will sate your curiosity. But, damn it to Hell, all you want to do is find Copia and tell him what you’ve found out. You want to tell him that you’re still here, that Sister Imperator had agreed to let you stay after your dramatic, last-minute discovery. You want to ask him all sorts of questions about what he might know of Prime Movers or his ancestors. You want to watch the excitement bloom in his eyes as it always does when you speak about the diary. 

You have your reservations, though. Going to Copia on anything other than Ministry business feels like you’re overstepping your position. Who are you to assume that you’re important enough to him to just pop in? 

In those moments in the gardens, and in the chapel, though… it sure felt like you were. He had looked at you like you were. In the gardens he was Copia, and you find within yourself that you’d rather be sent back to Liège than see Copia as only Papa again. 

~~~ 

It’s been two days since Copia has seen you. Two full days since he’d watched you half-waddle down the Sibling corridor, soaking wet and shivering and covered in mud from the knees down, and he can’t focus on anything whatsoever. 

There’s some official bulletin or another on his desk, awaiting his signature to distribute it out to the rest of the Ministry, but he can’t bring himself to pick up his pen and sign it. Not for a lack of caring—the bulletin is actually quite important—but because he’s conjured up this beautiful picture of you in his head, and he’s afraid that if he moves he’ll lose it. 

You must be busy. You’d told him you had an idea about the cipher on your way up the hill out of the gardens, and if he hasn’t so much as gotten a glimpse of you around the Abbey, it must have been a breakthrough. He knows how frustrated you’d been, how determined you were to figure it out, as you’d said. I want to stay and figure it out. 

Another part of Copia’s mind, the part he doesn’t want to listen to but that is so very loud, tells him that perhaps your idea had been wrong, and Sister Imperator had sent you home. Maybe the reason he hasn’t seen you is because you’re not even here anymore. 

So, he keeps still, his eyes unseeing as he stares into nothing but his own mental image of you. If you’re really gone, at least he has this. You might not be gone, but he’s almost scared to go looking for you because he might find that you are. As it stands, you are Schrödinger's Sister of Sin. Here, and not. 

His, and not. 

“Al diavolo questo,” Copia grumbles to himself, pushing himself up from his chair. He rounds his desk, sending a few loose papers (including the bulletin he’s supposed to sign by the end of the day) to the floor, and swings open the door to his office. He turns left, towards the library. If there’s a chance he can see you, rather than his limited mental image of you, he’d be foolish not to take it. 

His footsteps are determined, bringing him quickly down the stairs to the main artery of the Abbey, and across the wide hall towards the entrance to the library. His breath picks up and his heart pounds in his ears like he’s sprinting. By the end of this agonizing trek to the restricted room, he just might be. 

He takes the stairs to the right of the library entrance two at a time. Usually he would smile and wave to whichever Sibling is working the front desk, but not today. The guilt he feels is quickly squashed by the pressing need to either see you or not see you. It feels like it’s eating him up, not knowing. 

Copia has tried to be patient and give you time, if you are still here. He knows that what happened between the two of you in the chapel was a lot, all at once, and even if nothing had been said explicitly, you must know. You must. 

For a moment, when he reaches the top of the stairs, he wonders why it is that he feels so strongly for you, so quickly. It’s as if Satan himself deposited you on his doorstep, just for him. As if Satan had kept him from sleeping that night, so that you could run right into him outside the restricted room door. 

He rounds the corner to walk further into the library, into the shelves of romance books (which, he admits, is rather serendipitous placement). His heart thuds against his sternum when he sees the little square window in the door illuminated. Who else would be in that room with the door closed but you? Who else would have any reason to spend more than five minutes in there, aside from you, or Secondo?

Copia loves his brother. He really does. But he hopes to Lucifer that it isn’t Secondo behind that door, or he might punch him simply for the fact that he’s not you. 

He reaches the door, and pauses. His hand rests on the brass doorknob, but doesn’t turn, because what if you are gone? 

No, no. You aren’t gone. You can’t be gone. 

He turns the handle and pushes the door open on squeaky hinges. There you are, sitting at the desk you always do, head tilted up to see who is at the door. Your brows are slightly raised, your shoulders are hunched—you must be tense from sitting over your work all day—and your finger is placed against that grid of letters as if you had been in the middle of decoding a word when he walked in. The light of the desk lamp attached to your station casts your skin in a warm glow. 

If he thought his heart would calm when he saw that you’re still at the Abbey, he was mistaken. Just the sight of you here, that slight hint of heat in your face illuminated so plainly by the desk lamp has his chest vibrating with relief. At least his mind quiets, the tempest of thoughts and questions finally calming after a long, sleepless two days. 

“Papa?” You ask, after a long moment. You sit up a bit straighter and tilt your head. The slight crease between your brows returns, and Copia wishes he could kiss it smooth again. “Are you alright?”

Your voice seems to break Copia out of whatever reverie he’s stuck in, because he finally blinks and his jaw closes. “I— eh, yes, I’m alright.” 

You slowly stand from your desk and round it, but keep a respectable distance between you and Copia. “You don’t seem alright,” you say. “Copia… what’s wrong?” 

It feels like a weight off his shoulders to hear you call him by his name. With you, he’s not Papa. He doesn’t want to be Papa, not to you, not when you’re looking at him like that. “I thought you might have been gone,” Copia breathes, his voice just above a whisper. “I thought she might have sent you back.” 

“She didn’t.” 

“Good, that’s… good.”

You and Copia stare at one another for another moment. The air is thick with something unspoken. 

“I figured it out,” you say. Then you add, “the diary,” because you both know that there are two things you had to figure out. The diary, and… this. 

You’re still working on whatever this is, and Copia is still staring at you. 

“Copia,” you say with an awkward little smile, “why are you staring at me?” 

His own lips curve into a smile. “Sorry, cara mia. I’m just happy you’re not gone.” 

“Me, too.” 

“So, eh… what is it that you figured out?” Copia asks, blinking a few times in rapid succession. His heart still hammers in his ears. 

You round your desk again to turn your notebook over and show him. “She’s clever. Every word requires a new key, which is why we could only decipher one word using her name,” you explain. “Every decoded word is the key to the next one.”

Copia leans over to read the notebook. You have it flipped open to the complete translation of the first line, and his eyes scan the sentence a few times. “Prime Mover?” he asks, looking back up at you. 

“I don’t know, either,” you tell him. 

He hums in response, his gaze falling back towards the diary and your notebook. 

“When were you going to tell me that your brother is the archivist, you ass?” 

Copia’s head whips back up, afraid that you’d be actually angry at him. His mouth opens, prepared to defend himself because how would he know that you were planning on speaking to his brother? But he sees your wry grin, and the protest dies on his lips. Instead, he releases an airy laugh and his shoulders drop. “Ah, yes… I suppose I should have mentioned that.”

“Sweet Satan, I made myself look like a fool,” you laugh. “I’m not used to Papas and Cardinals walking around yet. Every time I see one I nearly fall over.” 

“You don’t seem so intimidated by me,” Copia says, half relieved and half worried. “What, am I not as scary as Secondo?” 

“Not nearly as scary, no! He could stare someone to death,” you say through a chuckle. “That, and when you and I first met, you were wearing sweatpants and rat slippers.” 

Copia smiles fondly, though you don’t catch it. “So you’re not starstruck by me, tesoro? I’m hurt.” 

“At first I was!” you defend yourself. “But somewhere after that I guess I just… forgot.” 

“Forgot to be starstruck?” 

“Forgot that you are Papa.” 

Oh. Oh, Copia could kiss you, you sweet thing. He doesn’t ever want to go this long without seeing you again. It’s all he can do to stop himself from walking over to you and sweeping you up in his arms and kissing you silly. His hands itch to hold you but you aren’t ready for that yet. So he says instead, “I don’t want to be Papa with you.”

Your heart rises to your throat. “You don’t?” 

“No,” Copia says softly. “I don’t.” 

You have to fight off the smile threatening to stretch your lips. You don’t want him to be Papa with you either, but you don’t know what you do want him to be to you. 

You do know that you want him to kiss you. You do know that the thought of leaving the Abbey without resolving whatever this is made your heart ache, but that talking about whatever this is would make it real and that terrifies you. You do know that falling in love with him means you have something to lose. It’s not quite that, not yet, but… it could be. 

Copia can see your mind working itself in circles. He knows that you’ll talk yourself out of it—whatever it is—if he doesn’t intervene. “Tesoro,” he calls to you, pulling your focus back out from inside your head. When he’s certain you can see him and not just through him, he takes a slow step forward and gently reaches for your hand. The white linen of your gloves, worn while you handle the diary, is a stark contrast to the black leather of his. It slips against his glove and settles into his palm like your hands were crafted for him to hold. Sathanas, your hands are perfect. You are perfect. “Please… tell me you know. Tell me you feel it.” 

Your eyes are wide when they meet his own. “I know,” you whisper. Your voice is shaky with the weight of speaking your feelings, making them real. “And I don’t.” 

His thumb rubs circles on your knuckles. “Cara… you know. You must.” 

“I…” you swallow dryly. “I do, but it’s… it’s scary, Copia. It’s happening and I have no control over it and…” 

“And?” Copia whispers. He takes your other hand, stepping just close enough that you can feel his breath ghost across your cheeks. 

“And I will have to leave,” you respond. Your eyes burn with unshed tears that you desperately try to blink away. “As soon as the diary is done, I will have to go back.” 

Copia looks at you for a silent moment. His eyes search your face, noticing all the details he hadn’t noticed before. This is the closest he’s ever been to you. A tear rolls down your cheek and he reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, but doesn’t return his hand to his side. It cradles your face like you’re something precious, and to him, you are. 

He gently tugs you closer and wraps his arms around you, holding you against him. You tuck your head under his chin, savoring the smell of him, the comfort of his embrace and the warmth of his body through his suit. “It will be alright, carissima mia.” 

You shut your eyes and two fat tears escape as you do. Your body shudders with a repressed sob. 

Copia simply holds you closer, fighting back tears of his own. 

He’d nearly forgotten. Of course you would have to leave again, once your project was done. Just because you’re here now, doesn’t mean you will always be here. 

Maybe there are ways to have you stay. Maybe if he asked Sister Imperator, she would find a place for you here, doing translation as your sole duty. But can he keep you away from your home, when it’s so obvious how fond you are of it? How could he ask you to stay, knowing you would miss Marseille the whole time? 

Copia squeezes you tighter. “Will you do something for me?” He asks so, so softly. One of his hands strokes the back of your head, drawing you closer into his embrace. “Come and work in my office with me, yes? Just for a little while. Or a day or two, maybe. I hate that you’re all alone up here.”

“I can do that,” you say, and draw away from him slightly so you can look at him. You’re sure you must look a mess with your eyes puffy and nose running. But standing this close to him, clutching the fabric of his shirt like it grounds you to the world, you can’t bring yourself to care. “But I need permission from Papa or Sister Imperator to remove the diary from this room.”

Copia smiles. “Well, I have good news, then,” he says with a quirk of his brow. “There’s a Papa right here. Perhaps you should ask him?”

“Right, yes, I forgot,” you laugh. “Papa, do I have your permission to take Elizabeth’s diary out of the restricted room?” 

Copia laughs back and his breath is warm on your cheek. “Yes, tesoro, you have my permission. Only if you bring it straight to my office.” 

“Of course, Papa,” you nod, smiling. 

“Bene! Let me help you with your things.” 

Copia steps away and releases you from his grasp to help you gather your materials. For a brief moment you’re disappointed, but your cheeks warm at the thought that maybe he might hold you again in the safety and comfort of his office. Maybe you might gather the courage to allow yourself to feel the feelings you’re desperately trying to suppress, and maybe he might feel them back. 

But, you chuckle at his charming urgency to help you. You work on wrapping Elizabeth’s diary in its linens, and placing it in a wooden box you retrieve from a small shelf in the corner of the room. You still wear your white gloves. 

“Shall we?” Copia gestures to the open door once you’re both done preparing to leave. His eyes shine with mirth and something you might think was affection if you weren’t doubtful to a fault. 

“We shall,” you reply. He lets you slip past him and out the door, then falls into step beside you as you make your way down the curved staircase. 

~~~

March 27

Today I was chosen to be Papa’s Prime Mover. 

Mother said it is a gift from Satan to be chosen. I am to conceive the next Papa, and continue the bloodline with the blessing of the Olde One. 

Truthfully, I am frightened. Mother said that it is now my only duty. She said it is an extreme privilege to be a Prime Mover and to carry the blood of Emeritus inside me. But I did not get a say. I was chosen, and that was the end. Papa did not even tell me himself, it was Mother. She said it is better to hear the good news from the mouth of the fairer sex, from the woman who did her duty as I must. 

Fairer sex. I must laugh at that. Fairer sex, and yet I must be a vessel for Emeritus blood at the whim of Satan. Fairer sex because I am beautiful but better to be seen and not heard. And yet I am expected to carry and birth the most powerful man in the Ministry, a power that no one else has. To ‘fairer sex’ I bite my thumb. 

There is to be a ritual tomorrow night, to solidify my role as Papa’s Prime Mover. I am horrified. Mother said that a woman can only hope to be so lucky as to be Prime Mover. Must I pray to be a bred heifer? What of me? What of my own wishes? 

I believed the Dark Lord to be wiser than this. I believed he would not ordain any sex to be lesser than the other. I believed in his doctrine of free choice, of fairness and civility, after having been cast down for disobeying. My faith wavers.

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

Tag list: @bonelessghoul @gbatesx @the-did-i-ask @leah-halliwell92 @archive-obsess @rosacrose @nikkyatyourservice @sodoswitchimage @portaltothevoid @lightbluuestars @thesoundresoundsecho @stephnthangss @enchantedbunny @jackson5611-blog @copiasprincipessa @kadedoesthings @justheretoreadleavemealone @tiedyedghoulette @da-rulah

[cupfullofpapas]

(Yes I'm reusing this image too busy to doodle a new one :''( life has been super crazy as of late ) Second Vol in The Assistant series: In the arms of a Devil Rated: E F/M Cardinal Copia x F!Reader Papa Emeritus IV x F!Reader

Also read it on my Ao3 here Previous Vol. : The Assistant Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Part 6: Scent Your patience was nearing its end as you stood by the window looking over the ministries garden watching your fellow siblings of sin some tending to the gardens, some sitting below the few trees that offered an abundance of shade, the weather had decided to act right for once and allowed everyone a day outside, you however, decided to stay indoors. 

As much as you tried to convince yourself that things were okie dokie they weren't, you missed Copia like hell and your chest ached from it, well it was either that or allergies or perhaps both. You've considered talking to Gemma,  the only Prime mover you knew of who had been with her Papa during his touring era.

Each time you went to talk to her you gave yourself excuses not to bother her those excuses now becoming ridiculous. 

With everyone outside enjoying the sunny day the Abbey was quiet so you chose to sit in the cafeteria once the walls of your dorm room started to get to you feeling as if they were closing in. Sitting down at one of the many tables with a muffin you had gotten from the kitchen, picking little pieces off of it like an overgrown crab. 

Sweet Satan, you felt weird, you never thought you could miss someone this much you didn't even miss Secondo this much when he was out of the office for a long period of time... pausing you frowned, with all that had happened that sounded pretty harsh, being lost in thought you plucked another piece of the muffin popping it into your mouth followed by another.

"Child what's got you down in the dumps?."

The sudden voice made you jump looking up to see Sister Twist looking down at you her hands on her hips concern written all over her face. "Satanas, Twist don't spook me like that."  The redhead only shrugged before sitting in the chair across from you the thing giving a slight whine. 

"I forgot how cheesy these things were, you'd think with how much Imperator bitches about the budget and cash there would be a stockpile for new cafeteria chairs at least, things look like they're from the fuckin sixties" Twist snickered however when she didn't hear you join in either laughing or ragging on Imperator she knew something was on your mind. 

"Hey."  Twist snapped her fingers a few times getting your attention.  "Talk to me, what's eating at you, and don't say nothing 'cause momma Twist knows."   You rolled your eyes before answering.  "Just with the tour and all and.."  You trailed off looking for the right words. "You miss your man". Your cheeks turned a light shade of red nodding adverting your eyes from the older sister of sin.

"You miss Copia and you feel weird for missing him so much because you've never missed or depended on someone else who wasn't blood-related that and you feel like your heart is being ripped out through your rib cage."  You opened your mouth to speak however Twist held up her hand silencing you. 

"And even though you still talk to him on the phone or text it feels like it's not enough and yadda yadda."  You stayed silent staring at her before uttering a little 'fuck you' which made the older sibling laugh.   "There's nothing wrong with feeling this way, it's natural to feel this way when you miss someone you love."  

Love, you did love him right?, you remembered the day you told Secondo that you loved him back when he declared his love for you the thought put an uneasy pit in your stomach which caused you to push the muffin aside, why were you even asking yourself this?, you just had teenage phone sex last night with the man. You felt a hand rest on your shoulder Twist wore a kind smile.  "You'll know the answer when he comes back, sweetie."  You smiled and rested your hand above hers the moment was short-lived as Lenti came running into the cafeteria. 

"Twist! Omega, Divine, Alpha, and Terzo are fucking in the music room again!."   "Oh for the love of sweet Satan, those fuckers are gonna get a boot up their ass."   "Careful they might like that." You chimed in as Twist pushed the chair in heading to the music room complaining the entire way, the last time those four got into it in the music room Pebble's drumset was a casualty and Sister Imperator was furious about having to buy a whole new set for the ghoul. The sound of something hitting the floor and the yelling of Imperator's voice pulled you from your thoughts. "You daft idiots!, Be careful with this equipment it's very important and very expensive!."  Getting up from your seat you wandered over to the door seeing that the ghouls were moving a bunch of medical equipment, was someone sick?

"Sister?." you asked stepping from the cafeteria, Imperator turned quickly to face you a smile coming to her face her demeanor changing quickly.  "Hello dear." "What's all this?." "It is for Papa Nihil when he gets back from tour with Cardi, don't you worry about it I have everything under control" She offered the fakest of smiles before following the ghouls walking away her red heels clicking and clacking on the floor. 

The 'short time apart' felt more like years apart the only good thing that happened in your opinion was that Sister Imperator had given you the option of going back to your old dorm room or staying in the current one alongside Copia given the fact that you two were an item, you of course chose to stay in the shared room one because you did not feel like packing everything up and two once Copia got back you were going to stick to him like glue. 

Your day off finally came, the day when you could just lay around your dorm room and not have to worry about anything other than flopping your face into Copia's pillow and breathing in the fleeting scent you hadn't even bothered to change out of your pajamas.

 Rolling over in bed you went face-first into the soft depths of your Cardinal's pillow breathing in-- it was then that you realized that his scent was gone from the fabric, you started to think, what could you do? you needed his scent you needed to feel as if he was there, the worry was starting to set in, and then it hit you.. but were you that desperate?

.....Yes, yes you were...

 Scooting closer to the edge of his side of the bed you opened the nightstand digging around in the drawer. Sometimes the lack of organization of his personal items got to you and made you want to shake him but on the other hand, it also gave you things to do. While you were on your search you looked at some of the things he had tucked away in there. 

A list of numbers, a few unopened juice boxes, several pens, pictures, loose change, and receipts however it wasn't just any receipts they were from the couple nights you and him half-assedly eloped there was even one from the gas station. A smile had worked its way to your face as you looked over each one recounting each item there was also a list there in his scratchy handwriting of things you liked and didn't like, your smile only grew wider as your fingers slid over the indented paper following the pen marks the Chinese menu you both had ordered from. 

You remembered when you accidentally launched a shrimp at the television screen that night, the memory earned a quiet laugh, putting the items back you were on the move again until your searching fingers finally found what you were looking for.

Closing the nightstand's drawer you sat up holding a bottle, it was Copia's cologne your thumb ran over the elegant lettering feeling the different textures on the label, after mentally telling yourself how crazy and weird you were several small sprays were sprayed onto his pillow and one on yourself.

The bottle was placed back inside the nightstand drawer, and the pillow now damp with the scent was turned over the damp side against the bed sheet once again you flopped face-first into it this time being hit with the strong scent of your man. You felt your whole body tingle and warm up as soon as you breathed in his scent your skin prickling with goosebumps, it made you giddy picturing Copia there with you tangled up in the blankets enjoying your time together. 

It was weird sometimes, how a simple scent could make a body heat up, your thighs squeezed together dulling the throb that started as soon as his scent filled your nostrils, your mind thinking about those hands of his and the way they felt when he slid them along your body and gripped your soft flesh the smooth of the leather.   Your hand has started to trace the patterns on your body picturing that they were his fingers, his palms, and you were a willing victim under his expert touches, your Cardinals name was whispered past your lips as your fingertips came to the swell of your pussy lips.

You could picture him there staring down at you, kissing you his fingers teasing you driving you wild, his tongue swirling with yours in the timeless dance of love. You were about to sink your fingers inside of yourself when there was a knock at the door making you halt your actions and look up. Rolling your eyes you stayed quiet maybe if you didn't make a sound whoever it was would just go away thinking that you weren't home, you thought it had worked but there the knocking was again, flopping your pillow over your face you groaned into it before getting up washing your hands and answering the door.  Unlocking the handle and deadbolt you opened the door being face to face with Sister Imperator once again at this point you almost swore this woman was stalking you. 

"Sister?."  You asked doing your best not to sound annoyed. "Evening, I have some-- unfortunate news for you."  -------------------------------------------- TAG LIST: Please message me if you would like to be added to the tag list! @thesoundresoundsecho @xpapaemeritus @copiasprincipessa @siouxbauhaus

[kastlequill]

i/v. unearth without a name: the bear that keeps his own line

pairing: keegan p russ x f!reader word count: 1.3k synopsis: the first time you hallucinate keegan tags: whumptober, psychological warfare, blood and injury, brainwashing, hallucinations, hurt no comfort, established relationship, ghost!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: graphic canon-typical violence, torture, non-consensual drug use ao3: read here next →

I.

You were in Hell.

These last twenty-four hours, you had learned that Hell wasn’t actually a pit of molten sin and wayward souls. It wasn’t even a cacophony of the dead’s deafening lamentations. Rather, Hell had proven dark, solitary, and quiet save for the occasional dripping of rainwater from above.

The one commonality between expectation and reality was the pain. Ceaseless, ruthless, limitless—unimaginable pain.

Taut rope digging into the raw flesh of your wrists, ribs still sore from a series of kicks, chin caked dry with the blood that had spouted when they broke your nose. The whistling of air through collapsed canals, arms twisted behind your back, begging for reprieve. Skin already forgetting the warmth of the sun in this lair of pitch blackness; eyes already becoming sensitive to the occasional wash of dull light at the arrival and departure of your interrogators.

Such tortures certainly met the qualifications to be considered Hell.

Upon further inspection, another constant could be found in the Devil’s existence, the evil of whom surpassed your wildest nightmares. His assigned name mattered not; they all referred to the same monstrosity. Devil, Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub.

Rorke.

Three years ago, the sky had rained fire. Two and a half years ago, you’d wound up joining the cause, fighting the good fight alongside men who eventually evolved from strangers into family. One day ago, the handful of you remaining Ghosts had embarked on a mission to destabilize the Federation once again. Everything had proceeded according to plan.

Until it hadn’t.

They’d been expecting your squad’s arrival, and as the chosen scout of the group, you in your lonesome hadn’t stood a chance. Easy pickings for the seven plus Feds who surrounded you, for the leader who pistol whipped you into unconsciousness.

Now, here you were, trapped in some glorified grave at an unknown distance below the surface. Your captors paid you intermittent, sporadic visits, wanting to deprive you of any routine in this God-forsaken torture chamber. As the day went on, more and more frequently did Rorke take up the role of interrogator, taunting you with knowledge he’d long since lost the right to possess.

He’d come about an hour ago to give you a relatively tame beating, all things considered. The time allocated to recover between rounds of whatever they had planned for you wasn’t nearly long enough. His return came sooner than you’d hoped, though one couldn’t dare hope for much in Hell.

“There’s no use resisting,” Rorke sighed, irritation mounting at your stubborn silence. “You and I, we’ve got all the time in the world. I won’t break you today, I won’t break you tomorrow, but what about in a week? A month? A year?”

Deep down, you knew he was right. You also knew that the others would rather die before they cracked under the pressure of a Ghost-killing traitor like Rorke.

But you hadn’t lived or trained the way they did until recently. It was impossible to fit decades’ worth of conditioning into three short years. Despite your best efforts, should Rorke push you with just the right amount of force on just the right weak spots, the chances of you shattering were not unlikely.

In your peripheral, Rorke brandished a syringe filled with an unknown substance. Uncapping it with his teeth, its needle drew closer until it pressed into your bared vein.

“We’re just gettin’ started.”

The effects of the mystery drug were almost immediate as it began to course through your bloodstream. Less than a minute had gone by before you fell to the ground, your knees buckling. The rhythmic beating of your heart was deafeningly loud, and your vision blurred. Which made it difficult to discern reality from delusion, whether or not your stricken mind had conjured the shadowy figure that materialized beside Rorke.

“What do you see?” A sinister voice trickled into your ear, but you could register none of which it spoke. “Who do you see?”

You saw him. Of course it’d be him.

He who had dug you out from beneath a pile of rubble on that fateful day three years ago. He who had then helped you wash your face of grime, blood, and dirt in the ravine when your hands had trembled too much to do so yourself. He who had taught you how to hunt, how to tie a tourniquet, how to shoot, how to kill, how to live.

He who was currently staring at you with an intense hatred.

“I warned Merrick you’d be dead weight, but he didn’t fuckin’ listen,” hissed the apparition, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “The idiot's always had a soft spot for strays. He went too easy on you, didn’t care that your sorry ass could never do a damn thing right. And now here you are, repaying him by spilling our secrets to the enemy, is that it?”

This was a waking nightmare, a manifestation of your worst fears, of your deepest insecurities. Countless times you’d worried if you were a burden, and countless times he’d assured you otherwise.

Not this time.

The man you had grown to care for as more than just a comrade glowered down at your crumpled form, his eyes slitting in disgust. “You’re the same weak, pathetic rookie we found back in Vegas. A disgrace to the mask.”

He’d never say that.

You fought to preserve your memory of him as the Ghost who so rarely chuckled, but couldn’t hold back a snort when a stray tree branch had smacked you in the jaw. To appreciate how hard he had pushed you because he believed in your potential and wanted you to believe in it, too. To keep alive the moments he’d listened as you confided about your past, never offering pitiful condolences, always sharing the weight you shouldered.

“I won’t—” The sentence died in your throat, gravely and sore with disuse. “I’ll protect you. Us. I promise.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to make promises you can’t keep? You can’t even protect yourself,” Keegan sneered. “There’s no us. Never was.”

This isn’t real.

None of it was, except for Rorke and the pain he inflicted upon you. With your forced awareness came a renewed wave of agony, ruminating over your budding relationship, over the circumstances of your capture, over the fractured future that awaited you here.

“Well, who is it? Merrick? Them Walker boys? Good ol’ Keegan?” When you didn't answer, Rorke pressed on. “It don’t really matter all that much, ‘m just curious. Not as if any of ‘em care about you, anyway. You wouldn’t be here if they did.”

Lies.

They cared. Merrick and his tendency to hover, who’d snuck you the last ration of chocolate after your official recruitment; Hesh, who refused to leave you or anyone else behind and tried to get you to crack a smile on your worser days; Logan’s quiet comfort, providing a steady presence in spite of all that he had suffered prior to your meeting him. And Keegan. . .

Keegan cared the most, in his own subtle ways.

“Those Ghosts sure know how to leave a man behind. Pickin’ and choosin’ who is worth the fuss and who ain’t,” Rorke spat, the words a bitter poison. “Seems they’ve decided you’re a waste of time.”

That’s not true.

But the relentless barrage of cruel sentiments was becoming harder to deflect, your mental shields beginning to splinter and cave inward. Truth or falsehood, fabrication or authentication; you now realized the distinction was of no consequence.

“No one’s coming for you. The sooner you come to terms with that fact, the better. Take my word for it, kid.”

In this forgotten place far underneath the earth’s surface, in this graveyard where you joined miscellaneous fossils and decayed matter, in this prison of fear and regret and suffering—

Nothing hurt more than to admit just how much you believed him.

tbc.

[papasbaseball]

His Office of Propriety (Papa Emeritus IV x Reader)

+18 CONTENT NOT FOR MINORS. MINORS KEEP SCROLLING

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: All the warnings. Dubcon bordering on Noncon, Knives, Blood, Mention of Torture, Violence, Clothes Cutting, Rough Sex, No Aftercare, Office Sex and Boss/Employee dynamic.

Summary: Furious from a meeting where he is cut off financially by the clergy, Papa Emeritus IV takes his frustrations out on his assistant. He doesn’t know yet that his loyal assistant had more reasons to be loyal than just a paycheck. Too bad loyalty does not soothe anger and a wounded ego. She will have to learn from her mistakes the hard way.

Word Count: 3,470

Notes: READ THE WARNINGS. Translations are at the end.

AO3 Link

"Maledetta puttana del cazzo!" The door slams so hard you thought the bricks around it would come crumbling down. His brow hoods his mismatched eyes as Italian venom continues to pour from his lips. Barreling towards you, he looks like a bull that had been speared by a matador, his jacket as red as the fatal cape.

"Pap-"

"You think you can run your fucking mouth, hm?" Unable to look at him, your pen shakes as you try to go back to underlining an important number—it had to be important, must be important—for his upcoming quarterly meeting with the clergy. He snatches the pen and tosses it across the room. "Run your mouth now. What did you tell Sister Imperator?"

"I didn't-"

"But you did. Do you want to know how I know?"

Your whole body is shaking. Rage tries to escape the heavy paint on his face, reddening a patch of skin on his neck where the paint had rubbed off. His eyes are wild, lit red in the shimmering fire of that jacket. He snatches you by the back of your shirt out of your chair, the stitches on your chiffon blouse ripping barely audible above his ragged breathing. “No, Papa! No!”

“Only you knew! Now I am leashed!” The soft cotton of his glove wraps around your throat and he slams you so fast to the wall that one of his framed accolades falls, glass shattering with a pop. “I trusted you and you violated my trust, dolce.”

The pet name makes you whimper. It’s new and so perfectly wrong with how mad he is. You had fantasized about him calling you all kinds of pet names, but never like this. He would be on the phone, thinking you were too busy logging receipts and making appointments. You would watch his brow knit together as someone told him about plans for the new tour and you'd think of you and him curled up in his bed on a Sunday morning - nowhere to go, nothing to do- just the two of you. You imagined how he’d play with your hair and call you every beautiful diminutive under the sun, kissing and touching and fucking. You'd dream until he hung up the phone.

His lips twitch into a smile that would make Satan himself shiver. “Did you do it to make me mad, dolce?” He drags out the e in a gravelly tone. He slides his hand up to where your jaw meets your neck, pinning you to the wall like one of his accolades.

“P-Please,” you choked under the grip of his glove, “I would never try to make you mad. I'm sorry.” Tears stung your eyes as he pressed harder.

He throws you to the ground, the carpet stinging your palms and knees. Your back arches as you try again to stop thinking about him fucking you, here on all fours, in the middle of his office of propriety. The glass from the frame crunches as he steps around you to search for something in his desk. “Let me tell you about my day, dolce. Maybe it will jog your memory, hm?” You stay silent. “I finished my meeting with Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil at 4 o'clock - you know this, ma certo, you put it in my calendar.” His voice is calmer now, more measured. It's enough to make your bones grow cold. “She called this meeting for a very important reason, dolce. Do you know why?”

You shook your head, not wanting to anger him further with your words. Looking up, you see that he is holding up a pocket knife that he found in the drawer.

He sucked his teeth. “You are a very bad assistant, sending me into traps like this.” He holds the knife up to the sunlight streaming through the windows, watching as the glint glides back and forth. Your stomach churns and your legs beg you to run. Moving only millimeters at a time, you crawl towards the door. “I will tell you,” he says, continuing to search his drawer, knick-knacks knocking about, “Sister says to me ‘Copia, I’m cutting you off.’ This is news, yes? I ask her why. She says, ‘The clergy did not approve your new vestments.’”

Shit. It is starting to come together now. It was a passing conversation you had in the hall with Imperator the day the new vestments came in. You had told her just how regal he looked in them, leaving out how your heart raced when your fingers glided down the silky brocade that felt so good over his solid chest. You had dreamt of him fucking you that night, the fine fabric bunching over the small of your back, him so desperate to finally have his assistant that he couldn't even bother to take the damned thing off. You move more quickly toward the door.

"You see, dolce, that is when I knew. Only you had seen them. Only you had access to my receipts. They were supposed to be a surprise."

The door is within reach when the sole of his boot connects with your back and presses until you crack. Your elbows buckle and the floor comes up to knock the wind from you. He kicks you in the ribs to face up, but it’s the knife that has you scrambling backward, the carpet biting into your rug-burned palms once again. You try to ignore the heat in your core marbling with the fear in your stomach.

“Please, Papa!” “They cut me off. You need to be taught a lesson.”

“No, please Papa. I’m sorry, I’m stupid!" It's coming up and you can't stop it "I kept thinking about how good you looked in them and I was daydreaming.” The tears are pouring down your face. Was he going to cut your tongue out? Was he going to kill you? The room spun and you wanted nothing more than to pass out. Let this nightmare end and go back to the sweet dreams of him and you in that bed on a Sunday morning. “I shouldn’t have opened my mouth,” you sob, “but Sathanas has cursed me to think of you every night and my mind is not sane.”

You see the glint of one of his canines and he laughs.

“The little lamb has developed a crush on her shepherd, has she?” His knee had pushed up your skirt and you realize just how firmly it was pressed against your aching cunt. A nudge is all it takes for you to rock your hips against it like the pathetic infatuated creature you are, cooing in misery. You want to die, but you need him to keep going, and all you can do is whimper.

He presses the blade against your throat. “Use your words, dolce: Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” Sick satisfaction highlights those painted lips. You know the answer, you just can’t say it. The blade presses harder and the pain gushes them forward.

“Yes, Papa! Only you. Every night.” He hums seemingly with pride.

“Good girl. And how do you touch yourself?” The blade prompts you again with a bite.

“Ah! With my hands, Papa. I imagine they’re yours. I think about how good your cock would feel when I fuck myself with my fingers.”

“The assistant dreams of her Papa’s cock, is that right?” His knee grinds into your pussy and you have hope for a brief moment, hope that he wants this too and that he wants to see you writhe in ecstasy. It’s not in his bed, tangled in his arms and the sheets, but he might let you cum if you’re good.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The knife pulls off your throat and you cry as he stands up, your dark desire craving the pressure of his leg. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and points the knife to your cheek. "Beg."

"What?"

"Beg for my cock. Beg for me to use your worthless pussy."

"Papa-" The knife nicks the apple of your cheek and you yelp.

"Do it."

You swallow hard on your tears. The words that he wants to hear are turning your cheeks redder than the blood blooming forth from the knife. "Please let me have your cock, Papa."

“Do you think you deserve it? Do you think you have earned it when you can’t even keep your mouth shut?” He cracks you hard across the face with his palm, the gloves muting the slap.

Turning your head back to look into his eyes breaks you. You can see the faint glimmer of pain for the first time, how you’ve truly hurt and disappointed him behind all that rage. What good were you, the person he was supposed to be able to trust with his secrets, if you told them to anyone? The disappointment chokes your voice. “Please. Let me earn it. Let me earn you.”

He unlaces his pants, never breaking eye contact, and frees himself from their ripped confines. The knife ghosts down your cheek until it tips your chin up to look up at him. Any warmth in those mismatched eyes is now gone, replaced with sadistic want. “Worship me, troia senza valore.”

His cock is already half hard and looks too big to fit in your mouth. You place a hand on his leg to steady yourself, but he quickly swats it off. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“No, P-”

“Suck.” The knife guides you to the thick head, your lips trembling. You can’t help but to open your mouth as the bead of precum touches your lips, eager for the salt of him. His hand is in your hair quicker than you can realize and Copia is guiding you down the length of him. Your jaw aches as it struggles to wrap around his girth. You give up and relax the muscles, letting yourself drool like a mindless animal. He hisses out a stream of Italian you’d never heard before. In your pitiful heart, you hope that he is praising your mouth. You hope that he is telling you how hot and tight it is, how it's the best mouth he's ever had. Daring a glance up, you see that he isn’t even looking at you.

Steadying your hands behind your back, you take the initiative and hollow your cheeks while looking up at him in defiance. He looks down on you, smug as ever.

“Is my office slut finally ready to behave and cooperate? It is clear that I need to retrain you.” He guides your head faster and harder, occasionally touching the back of your throat. “Would you like that?” You don’t dare nod and break his rhythm, only batting your eyes up at him in agreement.

He pushes further and further until you are gagging on him. "Ah ah. Look at me. You will take it all, capisci?"

Digging your nails into your palm, you push yourself onto him again, trying to angle your head so you wouldn't choke again. That's enough. It will be enough. When you go to pull off he holds you head down on him. You choke and sputter, desperate for air as the pressure in your head pushes you closer and closer to passing out.

“That is a good girl. This is a very important lesson, no? Holding your breath, so you don’t spill my secrets again.”

You’re sure you’re on the precipice of unconsciousness when he finally pulls out. The deep gasps send sharp pangs to your lungs. Each breath hurts so bad, but the high they give you, oh the high. Your thighs tremble to hold yourself up. Something in your arms is begging for you to grab on and cling to his legs. Don't. The smack from earlier still stings under your skin. This is his office. His rules. You’re finally able to look up at him through your watery mascara stained eyes.

His thumb comes down to wipe away a mascara tear track. "So pretty. You are the prettiest when you follow my rules. Obedience looks good on you, dolce."

You lean into his sweet hand. The affection, even after choking you with his cock, is enough to make you cry tears of joy.

"Mi dispiace, Papa. Thank you for the lesson."

"I did not say we were finished." His fingers twist your hair, dragging you up to your feet and over to the red velvet divan. As he guides you to lay down on it, the fabric brushes and cradles your skin with the plush luxury. “A lesson must be permanent.” The knife is at the ready again and you can see the edge stained red with your blood.

The wind is crushed out of you once more in a horrible sob. “Please Papa. I’ve learned my lesson. Please.”

He is quick, slicing through the chiffon and pearl buttons with his knife. It is another cut in the series of slashes he has already made to your ego. You think about how you saved for so long to buy that blouse on your monthly ministry outing and how you’d picked it out just for him. There isn’t even enough time to process the loss before he has cut the straps and the front of your bra open, spilling your breasts out for him. “Ecco. This is much better, no?” You try to cover up, but he nicks a cut into your arm in response. “You will not cover up what is mine. If I wanted you to cover up, I would have told you.”

He slashes through your skirt but leaves your pantyhose untouched. The chill of the office air already has you shivering and your nipples puckering into hardened buds. “This is your new dress code, pet. Since I will be wearing less clothing because of you, so will you. As above, so below.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Why did you do it?”

You hadn’t seen that question coming. Five little words and you can’t look at him. You can feel your slick leaking out to soak the inner thighs of your pantyhose. He tilts your face back to face him with the knife and you can see his cock is leaking precum again. “I did it because I was too busy thinking about wanting to fuck you,” you mumble.

“Maybe I should fuck you with my knife if you want me that bad.” The knife pierces the soft skin of your cheek.

The blood drains from your face and your body screams again to run for the door. If you did that he would shove the blade right through your pantyhose, mangling the soft wet flesh. The thought made your skin crawl and tears burst from your eyes.

“Please, Papa, anything but that. Please don’t hurt me.”

“I must hurt you in some way, pet. It is the only way you’ll learn. Daydreaming has become a bad habit for you.” His face and tone are sympathetic but his words are pure cruelty.

You sob even harder knowing that he can do whatever he wants to you, there is no escaping this room without the consequences.

“You must be a brave pet for your, Papa, d’accordo? I will let you choose where I hurt you if I am satisfied with how you please me.”

You want to please him. If you obey, maybe he will rethink his punishment. “Can I have the knife please?”

You’re so weak he doesn’t think twice. He places the blade in your hand curiously.

“I can be brave.” You slide the knife down the front seam of the hosiery, watching as the threads spring back with eagerness, exposing your soaked panties for him. It is a little more difficult, but you wiggle the blade from hip seam to hip seam across the front of the white soaked cotton. “For you, Papa. I can’t leave now.”

His lips are on yours, as he presses you further into the sofa. It’s real and your heart is beating overtime as he slips his tongue greedily into your mouth. His. His. His. He is claiming you as his. You moan and rock your hips up against him, desperate to feel him take you fully.

He takes his cock and teases it up and down your slit. Once. Twice.

“Papa, please.”

“How long have you wanted this, pet?”

“Since the fir- aah!” He’s sinking so quickly inside you that you can’t help but to clench around him. His eyes burrow into you, speaking to the undeniable fact that you are so thoroughly his and he knows it. He watches you intently, pushing and pushing until he bottoms out.

“Use your words, dolce.” He steadily pulls out again.

“Since the first day, Papa. Since I started working in your office.” He thrusts into you again and you cry in delight as he stretches you fully. It’s better than the daydreams. Little details you hadn’t even thought of like his warm breath against your collarbone, the way the sequins of his jacket lightly scratch their markings into the valley of your breasts, all become the focus of your attention as he fucks you for his pleasure.

“But you never did anything?”

“You’re Papa. I am just a sister of sin.”

“I am Papa.” He wraps his hand around your throat once more. “You are below me and you belong to me.”

The pressure builds in your head again and you drop the knife, the metal clattering on the floor. Your hands break your own rules as they claw at the soft leather of his sleeves. You’re not certain if it’s to pry him off or beg for more. His hips are now snapping into you at such a rapid pace, and occasionally they’ll catch in the right way, bruising your needy clit. The whimpering from you is uncontrollable.

It’s sooner than you want as he spills into you. All it would take is a few more thrusts for you to reach your own high, but he slips out of you and you can feel his unholy seed leaking from the gaping mess that he’s made you. Tears bud in your eyes, but it’s futile to ask.

He picks up the knife from the floor. “You learn quickly and I am satisfied. I will let you choose.”

“I want to make you happy, Papa. I have already upset you.” In truth you wanted it somewhere where it wouldn't hurt so much, like an arm, but you’re aching cunt wanted him to finish what he had started, and that meant making him happy.

His lips quirk up into a smirk. “You want your Papa to choose? Even after all of my punishment?”

You bite your lip, fighting the fear creeping in.

He takes the knife and guides it to the muscle of your thigh, pushing back the ripped edge of your pantyhose. You do your best to fight the pain, but still cry like a wounded animal as it slices through the skin. It’s like a paper cut on steroids, but it is over just as soon as it started. Five lines. The Roman numeral IV.

“You owe me, so now I own you.” He offers no remedy for the bleeding, simply getting up to put his knife away at his desk once more. Cleaning the blade, he collapses it and shuts the wooden drawer. “I expect you to be in the office 30 minutes early every day and you will stay 30 minutes late for the purposes of servicing me.” He tucks himself back into his pants, lacing them up like none of this had ever happened. “Since I now own you, I do not want you touching what is mine. Playing with yourself and fantasizing about me is what got you into this mess. You are only allowed to touch yourself when I tell you to, capisci?”

Your cunt drips at the thought of it belonging to him, contracting around the memory of the stretch of him. “Yes, Papa.”

“I will call for clothes so you can leave the office, but until then, get back to work. I have to make other plans for the tour.” He draws out the chair and is immediately punching buttons on the phone.

You get up in your cut pantyhose and underwear, walking back to your desk, mindful of the broken glass. The cold office air licks against your still hot skin and you almost slip your hands between your legs before you catch yourself. The pout creeps onto your face, but you look over to him, a ghost of how you used to daydream. He did say I would have to stay 30 minutes after. Maybe he’ll let me cum then… if I’m good.

TRANSLATIONS: "Maledetta puttana del cazzo!" - Damn fucking whore! dolce. - Sweet ma certo - But of course troia senza valore - worthless whore capisci? - Do you understand? Mi dispiace - I am sorry Ecco - There. d’accordo - Okay

[riaarivic]

HATE 2: Wanted (M) I MYG x F!Reader

🌙 Pairings YoongixReader

🌙 Genres Mafia!AU, Smut, Angst, Action, Thriller, Enemies to lovers

🌙 Rating 18+ minors DNI

🌙 Summary  You were an INTERPOL Agent assigned to infiltrate the depths of the most powerful Gang in South Korea: The Seven Moons. Your objective: to impersonate the daughter of one of their leaders and destroy the operation from within. That is, if they don't discover you first.

And Traitors won’t have the mercy of a quick death

🌙 Warnings For this chapter: mentions of death and vioence, foul language, mentions of drugs and criminal activities 

🌙 Chapter wordcount 3390 words

🌙 Series Index

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

🌙 HATE 2: Wanted 🌙

“I hope you're ready for it my dear. Don't speak the truth too loudly, might hear” 

2 months before.

INTERPOL base, Lyon, France.

You strolled through the corridors of the Organized and Emerging Crime Division of INTERPOL, hurried and groggy. Morning came later than you'd planned, thanks to the never-ending line at the coffee shop. You'd chose death over the sewer water they call coffe back at the office any day.  Even if it meant losing your head by being late.  Again.

As you walked into the main building, you realized you willl never stop being amazed by it’s imposing structure. Always surrounded by a serene forest, contrasting sharply with the interior's organized chaos. Today the aftermath of a major drug bust had left everyone swamped with paperwork. Paperwork mountain? Check. Sleep-deprived agents? Double check

 Although, there was something unusual to this morning’s fuss. Something caught your attention.

There was a buzzing sensation in the building. 

Like the static right before a lighting stikes. 

"Oh, so it's true," you thought with a sly smile. Rumors hinted at intel about a big shark from Asia. "There's no rest for the wicked." 

You sighed as you turned into your office, colliding with a French wall named Emmet Beauchamp. He was a senior agent and the resident jerk with a badge.  "Good morning, Y/N. It appears you're as punctual as ever. Modern agents seem to lack responsibility, that is why we didn’t have women in the force back in the day" Emmet greeted you with a sarcastic grin, and if he weren't such a misogynistic idiot, you might have liked the guy.

"Good morning, Emmett. Sorry, got held up in bed... I was busy sleeping with your wife," you replied with a wry smile, pushing open the door to your office.

Emmet laughed heartily, seemingly amused by your response. "The boss is looking for you, chérie, and she's not in a sunshine mood. Blood's in the water today."

Blood in the water. 

That phrase sent a shiver down your spine. It meant there was information about a Clan.

There's no way this could be any ordinary day.

And if your boss, the notorious ice queen of the organized crime division was in a bad mood, that information promised to be very, very big.

Your path led you to her office, Ex-Lieutenant Alice Lucas was sitting at her desk, sipping her third cup of coffee. Her designer suits and sleek black hair gave her a commanding presence. But her most striking feature was her deep blue eyes, like a tempestuous sea. 

Looking into them for too long felt like drowning.

"Morning, Boss," you say, but thinking, "Morning, Satan."

"Good morning, Y/N. Please, have a seat," she said in her calm tone, still gazing out the window.

She didn’t have to tell you, you knew you’d be the one she'd send to Asia. 

You were an undercover agent, yes.

That and your father was korean

Was as in, both of your parents died when you were still a child from an armed robbery by members of a gang in Seoul. 

So, you’ll denfinitely could blend in whatever persona your boss was about to create for you. 

You’d look the part.

Director Lucas had known you since your days as a naïve Marine recruit. She'd practically raised you in the army. There was nothing maternal or forgiving about her, but you owed her your life.

She had also convinced you to move to France and join the Organized Crime Division. She'd been there for you, in her own chilling way, when you needed her the most.

"Director Lucas," you responded, maintaining your composure and pretending you weren't internally begging her not to send you on that mission. You play it cool, joking, "So, what is it? Tokyo? Beijing?" secretly praying it's not Seoul. 

Was the death of your parents where all your hate for crimminals started? Kind of, Yeah.

Was that the reason you joined the army when you turned 18? No.

You joined the special forces is because you were raised by your grandma in a town in the middle freezing Wyoming, where everyone knew everyone and no one looked like you. With almost no connection to the outside world.

And places like that are not very welcoming for a 6 year old orphan girl who could only speak korean. On your first day of school, You stood out like a cow wearing rollerblades on a ballet class. That’s why you had to learn self-defense from a very young age. 

The first chance you had to run from that place, you took it it and never looked back.

Despite everything, you had managed to become one of the best agents in your division. You could speak several languages, were a specialist in surveillance, counterintelligence and hand-to-hand combat. You had under your belt a dozen perfectly accomplished missions despite being so young.

You were a soldier, a true warrior...

And It had not been three days since you had returned from your last mission.

About time the director gave you a fucking raise.

Lucas cuts to the chase. "Seven Moons. We've got a lead. It's big. and I want you on that mission," the director finally looked at you.

Your heart skips a beat.

The mention of the Seven Moons meant confronting the city where your parents were killed by gang members. 

You never wanted to go back to Seoul, and now you had to.

Well, fuck your luck.

She didn’t wait for your reaction “You know perfectly well the importance of finally bringing this Clan to justice, they have gone too many years controlling the gun trade and drug trafficking of Korea” There was a small pause like she didn’t want to say the next thing “ We have spent too many years of collecting information only for our informants to end up up dead on a street in Seoul. But this time, we have an opening”

Shit.

“Y/N we have a whistleblower from the inside of the organization. Right next to the head. One of the leaders Actually, Lee Kikyung”

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

This wasn't just blood in the water,

This was freaking Carrie amounts of blood, but with drug lords instead of possesed teenagers with superpowers.

“We are aware that you have just returned from your last mission and that you didn’t have much time to rest. But you're the best agent for this case and if I had any other option, I wouldn't ask you”  she paused to look at her “But I'm not asking you either, this is an order.” The director put her cup on the desk and since you didn't make a gesture in answering her she continued.

“Lee gave us information on Kim DoHan, the current head of the Seven Moons that he is planning to leave the position to one of his sons in two months” You tried not to let the surprise show on your face, a crime lord did not retire from his position to play golf with his other crime lord friends.

The only way out of an organization like The Seven Moons was cold, gray and very much dead.

Something was odd with this case.

The older woman's expression softened “This is where you come in; we need you to infiltrate their lines, posing as the daughter of Lee Kikyung, our man”

You wonder what the director offered this old shark to deliver to his master on a silver platter. 

Wait a fucking second...

The thought send shivers down your spine. 

You straightened your posture and smiled at your mentor “Did you just tell me that I have two months to complete the mission?” You really didn't want to hear the answer

Your boss cleared her throat and for the first time that morning  she looked concerned “Yes. You'll be in Seoul in fifteen days”

“Fifteen days? Oh, just Kill me now” You said before you could stop yourself.

“Emmet will give you all the information on the case, your new identity and documents. I suppose that your Korean isn't rusty?” You knew that was the director’s best attempt at being friendly.

She was trying to sound less: You’re about to die

You stood up from your seat “It is not. And if that’s all. I guess I’ll start preparing myself” The director nodded her head to let you know it was all.

“You should call your grandmother, before you leave” You heard the director say.

Did she think you were going to die on this mission?

“And one more thing Y/N?” you paused on your tacks to look at her “Good luck”

Oh, she deffinitely tought you were going to die on this mission.

You were going to need more that good luck to fuck with the Seven Moons and not end up with a bullet in the head.

Or worse...

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Shipping Port, Incheon Bay, South Korea.

When Jackson Wang opened the heavy container doors he knew his life was over.



"This is it," he muttered to himself, "He’s going to kill me."

How do you tell your bosses you've been played for dirt? Literally

The expected cargo of new weaponry was nothing but an ocean of dirt. This wasn't just a mishap; it was a death sentence, crafted with meticulous contempt.

He shivered at the thought of The Clan Head's reaction. "This is the kind of dirt he'd happily bury me in," he murmured, a dark humor in his tone.

That, if he was lucky. 

But Jackson's fears ran deeper than his own inminent demise. Someone had the audacity to challenge the Seven Moons, a thought that seemed almost ludicrous. "No one's crazy enough to cross us. Right?" he questioned the silence.

Amidst the mundane dirt, one of his clan member found an object that chilled Jackson to his core. There, cunningly concealed like an patient predator, layed a sculpture of a dragon's head, impeccably crafted from solid gold, cradling a jade sphere in its jaws. The dragon's eyes bore into him, silently conveying a sinister warning.

Jackson's heart sank. "That's a Triad symbol. They're sending a message."

The dragon head is an emblem of unspoken power that represents the Chinese Triad’s leader and only he can send it as a message. 

That's why Jackson didn't need much explaining, he knew what it meant. 

Memories surged back, painting a vivid picture of a violent past. Two decades ago when he was still a child, a brutal war had erupted between the Korean gangs and the Chinese Triads. The Jade Dragon clan, in their attempt to take over Asia's criminal underbelly. 

They failed.

Kim DoHan and his men whipped the Jade Dragon clean, assasinating whole families and leaving hundreds of orphan children. 

Jackson was one of them.

He realized the gravity of the situation. "They're back," he whispered.

And the streets of seoul were going to turn bloody red once again.

Shit.

How the young gangster would have liked that this was just some stupid petty criminal thinking he could play with the Devil. Perhaps if by some miracle he survived today, it would only be the precursor to a far greater storm. This wasn't just a heist gone wrong; it was a declaration of war.

Jackson cursed his luck for having to be the one to break the news to him.

With shaking hands, he reached for his cell phone and dialed the number of his direct leader, the head of her clan's trafficking operations. Known as The Shadow or just simply as...

Suga. 

“Boss, it's Jackson. The shipment arrived but we have a problem, I think you have to see this in person. They sent uh... They sent something” he spoke so fast that his words were barely understood.

“Wang, Wang, Wang. My man, take a breath and start again” Jackson heard his boss's chuckle on the other side of the line and his blood ran cold “explain yourself, did the shipment arrive or not?”

“The weapons are not here. The container arrived empty... well, not empty, full of dirt” he took a breath and closed his eyes. These were the moments when he regretted not auditioning to be an idol, because none of this shit would be happening to him if he was a rapper “But one of the boys found a buried golden dragon head. It’s made of gold and boss... 

it has a jade in it’s mouth”

He could hear the young leader's breathing stop for a second, to continue in a more serious tone, Suga was no longer laughing “Are you fucking sure of what you're saying?”

Jackson's voice was tense. "Yes, boss. I'm sure. They are back."

“We'll be there in a few minutes. Try not to die before we arrive, Wang. Make sure of that” then the line went dead.

We will be there.

We will be...

Oh shit, it meant his boss wasn't coming alone.

There was a small whisper between the Clan’s men that Kim DoHan, the Devil himself was ready to step down of his possition as the Head. 

And that made no sense to Jackson.

A crime lord did not retire from his position to play golf with his other crime lord friends.

The only way you could leave the clan was Dead.

Maybe this was the perfect time for a certain foreign dragon to send them a silent greeting.

And boy, had he done it in a colossal way, infiltrating their biggest load of weapons they had in a while. It would take the Clan at least three weeks to smuggle a shipment that size again, not counting the money they'd just lost.

Someone is going to die today because of this. Jackson thought.

The minutes dragged on like a never-ending nightmare, and cold sweat trickled down Jackson's forehead despite the autumn chill.

The sound of approaching vehicles grew louder, and as he looked up, a black G-Wagon truck pulled up right at the shed's entrance.

A mysterious figure emerged from the black vehicle, all dressed in shades that matched his car. Known as the Clan's Shadow, he possessed an intimidating presence with long, dark hair, even darker eyes, and a scar etching its way from his eyebrow down his left cheek. A single glance at him was enough to send shivers down anyone's spine, for crossing his path meant trouble, and more often than not it meant that you were going to die.

"Oh, damn, Suga looks pissed," Jackson muttered to himself as he caught sight of the imposing figure.

Following closely behind, J-Hope stepped out of the car, Suga's trusted right-hand man and the one responsible for clearing the Clan's messes. Dressed in a high-end style, he sported Gucci glasses and dark, sleek hair. 

Whenever you needed anything from drugs and guns to making someone disappear or maybe a whole group of shady businessmen. The sky was the limit to your criminal ideas.

He the one to call—no questions asked.

"Jackson, what's this about a dragon head?" J-Hope said as he joined them.

Before he could answer the roar of another engine filled the air, and trailing behind the truck was an electric blue Lamborghini Aventador, the prized possession of the Clan's collector.

Known simply as V, he was a tall, obscenely handsome young man, his hair dyed to match the vibrant hue of his sports car. Stepping into the warehouse, he bore a bored expression, having been pulled away from the amusement of watching his men deliver a harsh beating to a poor guy who hadn't met his obligations. V swaggered in, seemingly uninterested. "What's all the fuss about?"

"Sounds like someone's stirring the pot." Stepping out of his striking red sports car,  a Ferrari 488, there he was the owner of Seoul's nightlife, Park Jimin. He adjusted the buttons of his suit, wearing an amused expression. It had been quite some time since anyone dared to provoke his clan

If you wanted a night of fun in the city, he was likely the owner of your chosen destination.

For him, every night promised to be interesting.

Seated beside him in the passenger seat was the youngest of the Clan's leaders. His boyish smile contrasted with the array of accessories he adorned himself with—rings, chains with the clan symbol, and piercings. The full combo of "mess with me, and I'll kill you, with a side of french fries."

Young JK, a taekwondo champion and a prodigy, had a penchant for personally training the clan's members in combat. He even dabbled in underground fight rings for fun.

Although he was too young to hold a formal position within the Clan, everyone knew not to underestimate him.

With all five leaders gathered at the same location, the gravity of the situation couldn't be denied. The Clan's Head had summoned them for a reason, a display of their collective strength.

Another car arrived at the shed's entrance, a luxurious foreign van fitted with bulletproof windows. Seated within were two of the most influential and prosperous young entrepreneurs in Asia. Though their criminal background was a not so closely guarded secret, no one dared to mention it openly. 

Kim Seokjin, also known as The Nation’s Prince, was recognized for his designer suits and a haircut worth hundreds of dollars. His presence in the underworld was a rare sight, but when one of his brothers reported a dragon's head on their territory, he couldn't ignore the summons.

Walking a few paces behind him was Kim Namjoon, the Clan's Second-in-Command and the only biological son of Kim DoHan, the head of their little gangster family. 

Impeccably dressed as always, he exuded an air of authority. Although not the eldest among his brothers, his words held the weight of the Clan Head's commands. Those who dared to defy him never lived long enough to share their stories.

If anyone were to inherit the Seven Moons, it would undoubtedly be him.

"I hope whatever you've got, Wang, is worth something. If not, I swear I’ll make you pay the clan for every minute you make me lose" the second in command grumbled.

The young man replied with an air of urgency, "Boss, take a look for yourself. But I am sure of what I’m seing. This is Jade Dragon's work."

Namjoon scoffed mockingly, "Wang, are you watching old gangster movies again? The Jade Dragon Clan is long dead, and you're barking up the wrong tree."

"The only one barking up trees around here," a mocking voice broke the silence, "is you, your highness." It was clear that The Shadow was the only one audacious enough to dare challenge Namjoon 

Suga stepped up to the container and grabbed the golden head. He examined it closely, then turned it around to reveal an inscription:

The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.

Suga's eyes flashed with realization. "Thia ia real, It's a declaration of war. It also means we've got ourselves a traitor."

Jackson stood rooted to the spot, dreading the potential consequences. Someone had dared to defy the Seven Moons, and betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow.

There was a traitor, among their own people.

According to the code.

They all had to die.

Suga really liked Jackson.

He was one of his most loyal men.

That’s why he just put one bullet to his head. 

A Fast death.

Sadly the rest of the clansmen that were with him didn’t have the same luck.

When Jackson Wang opened the heavy container doors he might aswell has opened the doors to hell.

But he didn’t know his life was really over.

And a new war had beggun.

“The damage is done, you're nothing but a savage. Someone, no going back to where you came from”

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Yes I killed jackson wang... 

Well hi, hello Again!! 

This is actually Chapter one  and two of the series, but I decided to post the Omen separately and make it easier to read on tumblr.

There are some slight changes in the story from the original one I wrote. To begin with, this wasn’t a memberxreader story, but i kinda like this style more. 

Note: I really like to describe Reader as less as I can, so It can be fun for everyone to read. But in this story in particular, reader’s origins are important ro the plot. I’m sorry if it dissapoints you ☹️ 

Note 2: Yes, every chapter is named after a song. I like Grey’s Anatomy and I got inspired from it... Im not sorry for that 🤣

Anyway I hope you are enjoying reading as much as I am re writing this story, althought I should be sleeping right now. 

That’s all for Today, 

Love, Ria 💗

[demonicdames]

A little writing project of mine that I have on A03 that I'm going to throw here to. Rated: E F/M Papa Emeritus II x F!Reader Cardinal Copia x F!Reader Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Chapter 4: Brotherly Talk

Your face scrunched up as you heard the sound of your alarm going off you reached over tapping the button and silencing the annoying beeping. "Sweet Satan morning already.." You were sore from the night before's activities, a cup of water and some painkillers caught your eye a smile on your face. "Copia." 

Getting up you slipped on a pair of shorts and a random shirt from your closet, once taking the medicine you headed out of your room and headed to the kitchen noticing that a note had been left on the table taking it you read over the scratchy handwriting.

'Dearest Sorella,    Grazie for your help last night, it was truly amazing I had to run out early today,        there is breakfast in the fridge for you I made it before         I left I will see you soon.                                                                                        Ta ta- Copia'

You smiled down at the paper thumb running over the words, he was a sweet man, folding the paper you slipped it atop your fridge, after eating the breakfast that Copia had left you and a quick wash you were headed to work with a smile on your face, nothing could dampen your morning well, almost nothing. Opening the door to Secondo's office. "Good morning Si-." He wasn't in his chair like usual, perhaps he slept in?- no he'd never sleep in. The door behind you was slammed closed making you jump and spin seeing the Emeritus standing there gloved hand on the door, he looked mad, then again he never really looked happy at all. 

"S-Sir?."  "I hope you and your friend had a good time yesterday Sorella, what did you do?."  He advanced closer to you the closer he got you took a step back until your rear bumped into his desk. "I-It was my day off S-Sir."  You managed to squeak out under his stern gaze. "That is not what I asked." Secondo's hands rested on the desk behind you, trapping you warmth coming to your cheeks. "We watched movies." You answered your voice squeakier than you wanted it to be.  "Is that all?." "Yes?."  Secondo leaned forward squinting, looking into your eyes as if to search your soul for a lie which technically you weren't lying you did watch a movie last night.. well some of a movie you stilled as his gloved hand ran down along your side. "There is much work to be done."  Moving away from you Secondo took his usual seat, you moved to your desk that warmth in your face still there as you started in on your work which soon helped erase the tension from you. 

Secondo glanced at you from the corner of his eye watching you, every day since you started your position you two had seen each other, been together even on your days off either you forgot something in the office or checked in to see if there was extra work that needed to be done, yesterday was the first time that he'd gone without seeing you and it left him feeling unsettled more annoyed, bitter than he usually was. There was a wave of intense anger towards whomever that friend of yours was that kept you away from him. You jumped as your boss suddenly stood from his chair. "Sorella, excuse me I must go meet with my older brother, keep working, and do not leave this room." 

You were confused by his choice of words none the less you nodded with a 'Yes Sir'. Leaving his room heading to the East Wing of the Ministry in search of his older brother. 

Primo sat in the courtyard watching the little ones play on the playground he had built years ago for them. His Prime Mover and spouse Sister Gemma sat beside him their fingers laced together, there was a lot of controversy when the two got together given that she was much younger than him by at least twenty years. 

"Brother, Sister."  Secondo greeted them as he approached.  "Brother I must talk to you, privately." Primo nodded and moved to get up though Gemma stopped him. "Love, I will go and attend to the children and garden you stay, rest and talk with Secondo."  "Thank you amore." Secondo adverted his eyes as Gemma leaned over and kissed her husband once, twice their lips broke into smiles as she kissed him once more.  "I love you."  "And I love you." Sister Gemma took her leave however a smack to her rear made her gasp in surprise turning to Primo who wiggled his brows at her making the nun chuckle and shaking her head, she loved that old man to bits and pieces.

For a moment Secondo was jealous of what Primo and Gemma shared, if only he could have that with his assistant, that sweet little-   "Now brother." Primo broke Secondo's thoughts patting the seat beside himself and silently instructing his brother to sit. "Grazie, Grazie." Secondo thanked taking the offered seat.  "Now brother what is the matter?." "I am struggling, emotion-wise I-."  "It is your assistant, no?." Secondo stared at him with wide eyes watching Primo snort.

"Anyone with eyes can tell you feel for her." Secondo looked away sometimes he hated how well Primo could read others. "Yes that is- part of the problem she was with a friend yesterday, all day I didn't see her and I felt so much rage that I wanted to see who this friend was and do unspeakable things to them."   "Oh dear brother, you got it bad." Primo teased. "Have you told her how you feel?."  "......"  "Your silence speaks volumes."  "I... Do not know how you of all people should know this."  Primo gave a tight-lipped smile nodding true his brother always had trouble expressing his emotions unless it was anger or bitterness.  "Try this, simply ask her out take her to ehh, a movie or a restaurant could set something up in the cafeteria by candlelight."   Secondo stared at him and deadpanned. "You are serious that shit works?."  "Hey, how long have I been married brother? it works." 

Secondo gave him a doubtful look. "Good talk, good talk," He spoke with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I will try that." Standing Secondo adjusted his robe about to leave when he heard Sister Gemma.  "Wait Secondo." She called carrying a container. "Here, I simply made too much and I wish to give you some, Spaghetti alla Carbonara not that the food in the cafeteria is not good but a home-cooked meal does wonders."  "Grazie Sister." He nodded to her as he accepted the container and took his leave Gemma moving to settle in Primo's lap. "The little ones are down for a nap amore." a slow grin came to Primo's face. "Oh, are they?." 

Secondo was on his way back to his office in deep thought he didn't notice the Cardinal who was also in deep thought walking down the hall, their thoughts being on the same subject. They collided with each other Secondo remained standing while Copia bounced back falling onto his ass eyes wide with fear as Secondo glared down at him.  "mi dispiace mi dispiace, sorry sorry." Copia spoke quickly as he stood up from the floor hands moving to dust at Secondo's robe only to have his hands smacked away.  "Watch where you are going Cardinal."  The Emeritus didn't have time to waste as much as he would love to tear into the male to the point of making him cry Secondo had more important things to do. --To be continued-- Tag List: If you wish to be tagged please drop me a message thx! @thesoundresoundsecho

[our-neighbours-cat-is-a-menace]

Demon brothers reacting to MC snapping at them

Pairings:Lucifer x reader /Mammon x reader / Leviathan x reader /Satan x reader / Asmodeus x reader /Beelzebub x reader /Belphegor x reader

Warnings: angsty

Lucifer

Lucifer has been super busy and it's been a week

Always holed up in his room and you're starting to worry about your demon lover

Keeping it to a bare minimum, you go to his office bring him something to eat and drink and usher him to take a small break

Repeating this routine for three days now and you were really on edge seeing those dark circles under his eyes

Sleep deprived and a mess

Not wanting to see him like this anymore you went to Lord Diavolo and asked him to let your lover rest for a bit

The prince gladly agreed and proceeded to tell lucifer he can rest

You went home thinking you can finally have him rest, maybe you should give him some milk to help him sleep better and maybe cuddle since it's been so long

Skipping towards the house of lamentation and upon arriving you are met with an angry awvatar of pride instead

"Who do you think you are to interfere with my work?" he spit, venom laced in his words

You were taken aback with his sudden outburst

"Look here MC, i don't need you to do anything, just sit still and do nothing, it's not like a human like you can help eith anything big anyway" he stated seething at you, he's talking to you as if you're his subordinate not his lover

Deeply offended and hurt by his words, you snapped

You slapped him HARD

"NO! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO SHOULD LOOK HERE YOU PIECE OF SHIT, I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT YOU'RE WORKING FOR A CAUSE AND I AM ALSO AWARE THAT I CAN'T HELP MUCH,, THAT'S THE FREAKIN REASON WHY I'M DOING THIS FOR YOU, I'M TRYING TO MAKE SURE YOU DON'T BREAK DOWN, HAVE YOU LOOKED AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR ASSHOLE. IF YOU'RE GONNA ACT LIKE A TOTAL DOUCHEBAG, GO DIE IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE AND SEE IF I CARE" you shouted at the top of your lungs and immediately bolted out of the house and trudging towards the purgatory hall

Mammon

"F*ck, where is it" you slightly cursed as you were desperately looking for the necklace your grandma gave to you while you were still in the human world

That was your grandma's last memento before she died

It's been 4 hours of endless searching with no necklace in sight

You felt like crying now

Feeling hopeless you wanted to ask your boyfriend for help

Not finding him in his room, you trudged towards the living room

Successfully seeing your boyfriend with Asmo and Satan lounging in the couch

You were about to speak to your boi when he suddenly said

"damn, i didn't know sapphires cost so much" mammon boasted to his brothers feeling proud

"Hey mammon" you called not wanting to jump quickly to conclusions "What sapphire? Was it a necklace Adorned with silver on the rim?" you inquired

"Yeah, how'd you know MC" he chirped

You saw red

you quickly grabbed the nearby vase and threw it on his direction

Him being a demon easily dodged it, but he's now face to face with a fuming you

"IS THERE A LIMIT TO HOW MUCH OF A SCUM YOU CAN BE, JERK THAT NECKLACE YOU JUST SOLD WAS SOMETHING PRECIOUS TO ME THAT NO AMOUNT OF MONEY COULD BUY" you were furious and mammon was quick to realized he fucked up big time

With how much you were cursing mammon, you didn't realize the tears steadily flowing out of your eyes

Mammon quickly walked towsrds you trying to calm you down, he reached out to grab your hand

"DON'T FUCKIN TOUCH ME!" you slapped your hand away and stomped back to your room, locking the door

Leviathan

You didn't mean for it to happen

It was an accident

You crouched down cause of sudden period cramps but when you stood up, using your hand to steady yourself by putting it on the shelf beside you but since you weren't looking you accidentally tipped one of levi's ruri chan figurine

You weren't fast enough to catch it, thus the figurine broke, right in front of you

Levi went to get some hot compress to help with your cramps and it didn't take long for him to return

Upon his arrival, he comes face to face with you hunching in front of the broken figurine

He quickly dashed to the broken figurine

"I'm sorry Levi, i was-"

"MC, DO YOU KNOW HOW RARE THIS FIGURINE AND HOW EXPENSIVE IT WAS" Levi cut you off and his basically screaming in your face

"That's why I'm sorry, i didn't mean to-"

"IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU MEANT FOR IT TO HAPPEN, THE POINT IS, IT'S BROKEN, AND YOU BROKE IT, FUCK!" he cursed glaring at you

You snapped

"THAT'S WHY I'VE BEEN TRYING TO EXPLAIN TO YOU MY SIDE OF THE STORY, BUT YOUR JERK OF AN ASS ALWAYS INTERRUPTS ME, YOU MAY HAVE FORGOTTEN BUT YOU'RE THE ONE WHO DRAGGED ME TO YOUR ROOM, I TOLD YOU I'M ON MY PERIOD AND I JUST WANTED TO LIE DOWN ON MY BED, BUT NO! YOU DRAGGED ME HERE EVENTHOUGH YOU KNEW I WASN'T FEELING WELL "

Snatching the hot compress from his hand, you quickly threw it in a random direction

"I SAID I WAS SORRY, I REALLY DIDN'T MEAN FOR IT TO BREAK, I'LL GET A REPLACEMENT FOR THAT AND YOU BETTER START FINDING A REPLACEMENT FOR A GIRLFRIEND" you said leaving and slamming the door HARD

Satan

You were both out on a date

It was fun not until a demon child was clinging to your leg

You immediately asked the child where his parents were but to no avail, the kid also doesn't know

Now satan wasn't a fan of the kid, he was always trying to scare the kid trying to find the kids parents in the process

The child would cower and hid behind you, this continued for hours and you were getting irritated with satan since because of him the kid is very jumpy

You're already exhausted from the date and you're wearing heels, your patience was growing thin

As if on cue, your last thread of patience snapped when you hear the kid bawling his eyes out

You were currently out in the open and those stares from onlookers waa just adding fuel to the fire

"SATAN! COULD YOU FRICKIN STOP IT" you screeched at your boyfriend and now all stares was on you

"Huh, why are you shouting at me, you're the one who decided to help tge kid find it's parents" he simply stated

"I KNOW IT WAS ME BUT IS IT SO HARD FOR YOU TO NOT SCARE THE KID, YOU'RE NOT EVEN TRYING IN FINDING THE PARENTS, I'M THE ONE DOING THE WORK, THE LEAST YOU COULD DO WAS BEHAVE" you said growing more angry by the minute

"THAT'S YOU'RE PROBLEM, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO WANTED TO PLAY HERO" he mocked

you were quick to grab his collar and glare at him

Satan felt like you were underestimating him to much and that made him fuming as well

By this point you're standing face to face with a Satan in demon form

The kid was crying and onlookers were sure you are bound to die today

Not until the parents came running towards you, taking a hold of their kid, slightly bowing while saying thank you, and immediately dashed out of the scene not wanting to be caught in your argument

The ordeal made you slightly calm down but not enough to actually make peace and wait for your boyfriend

You left him saying that your off to play hero again

This earned a growl and a curse from the demon

Asmodeus

This mf

He invited you to a convention that his attending as well

Take note You weren't a fashionista, you preferred comfortable clothes

You're boyfriend Asmo begged you to come with him

Using his ever so gorgeous puppy dog eyes, you agreed

Now, you knew it was a convention, but you didn't know was that it was a fashion convention

Asmo usually drags you to shopping sales events, so you assumed it's the same place you're going to

You went with a white v neck shirt and a pair of tattered jumpers and, a pair of white shoes to finish off the look

You looked neat and pleasant to the eye and most of all it was comfortable

However as you arrived at the convention, people were wearing flashy, out of the world clothes

Asmo was supposed to be meeting you at the convention since he's one of the organizers and his busy

And when he did see you, you were sure you saw disappointment in his eyes

He sighed

He was wearing an outfit that could rival any clothes in that convention but the expression his wearing was a total mismatch

"MC, what are you wearing?"

"It's clothes Asmo" you replied feeling rebellious since he is to blame for this

He sighed again, he was about to say something when someone came and greeted him

After they exchange greetings, the man was quick to eye you up and down, also clearly not impressed by your outfit

"whos this?" the main inquired, the question directed to asmo

"she's here on an errand for me" Asmo lied without batting an eye

Xcuse me what!

"I see, since your an errand girl could you get me some coffee" the man ordered

Completely feeling humiliated, you snapped

Who cares if people will stare

Let them

"ASMODEUS, I KNOW HOW MUCH YOU LOVE BEING ALL FASHIONABLE AND ALL, BUT DID YOU JUST DENY ME BECAUSE I'M WEARING THIS!" you bursted while pointing to what you wear

A lot of eyes were on you, seeing as how Asmo was starting to go frantic trying to calm you down and get you to shut up

"JUST TO REMIND YOU ASSHOLE, YOU BEGGED ME TO BE HERE, YOUR ALSO THE ONE WHO DIDN'T SPECIFY WHAT KIND OF EVENT THIS IS, IF I KNEE YOU WERE GONNA BE A BITCH ABOUT WHAT I WEAR, I WOULD NEVER HAVE AGREED TO DATE YOU"

Not waiting to hear his response, you quickly turned around ready to leave but Asmo was quick to get a hold of your wrist

"Wait MC I'm sorry, i-"

"Let me go sir, my errand here is done" you said completely leaving him to his thoughts

Beelzebub

Nope

Nuh uh

I won't do mah baby like that

Who could snap at this cinnamon roll

I know i wouldn't

Belphegor

He misunderstood that you were having another guy behind his back

He confronted you about it rather harshly

"Yn, are you cheating on me?" he said in a rather cold tone

And you didn't like that

"what makes you think i am?" you questioned

He explained how you're always smiling at your phone and that you rarely even cuddle up to him

You of course found his reason unbelievably stupid, this caused you to snort

Well he didn't like that either

Asking you what's so funny and starting to grip your wrist real hard

You protest saying it hurts but his not listening at all

"The heck, let go"

"no"

"i said let go, it hurts"

"you've hurt me too, your cheating"

You explained how you were not doing anything behind his back though he wasn't really convinced

"yah Belphegor, i said let go" you said getting really mad with how he assume things and opt to get violent

"DON'T YOU DARE USE THAT TONE ON ME MC"

Well now he looks ready to pounce on you

"THE HECK'S YOUR PROBLEM, ARE YOU ON PUBERTY OR SOMETHING, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO ACCUSED ME FOR SOMETHING I DIDN'T DO AND WHEN I EXPLAINED YOU DIDN'T BELIEVE IT AND NOW YOUR RESORTING TO VIOLENCE, WHAT? YOU'RE GONNA KILL ME AGAIN IS THAT IT?" you snapped rationality completely thrown out of the window

With your booming voice and words he was quick to revert to his demon form

You feel like belphie was really gonna kill you

Good thing beel came rushing in and came in between you two

"You should try dying sometimes, it's thrilling, trust me, i know from experience" you said wanting to be the one who close the curtain of the argument

Here is the part 2 of this

A/N:Hey guys that was quite a long one wasn't it haha well i hope you like it, damn that's a lot of screaming on MC's part huh

Also all credits for the pictures goes to the rightful owners, i just saw them and thought they looked really nice

Masterlist🌻

[devildomcuties]

Kinktober Day 4: Satan

pairing: satan x f. reader

genre: established relationship, smut 18+

summary: Satan likes to keep you on edge.

wc: 1.1 k

warnings: use of magic (bondage), oral sex (f. receiving), pet names (love, kitten), slight pet play (collar/leash), dom/sub undertones, spanking, use of a vibrator, some edging, fingering (f. receiving), multiple orgasms (f. receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

kinktober day 4: magic bondage/edging

date: October 28, 2024

Satan turned the book's page, he whispered as he read to himself. 

You lay on his bed with your hands bound behind your back as Satan shut his book with a smirk. 

He cleared his throat and spoke the magic words with a flair and your rope binds glowed green. 

“That should hold you,” Satan chuckles as he approaches you. His fingertips tickle when he drags them down your back. Your thighs shake as you try to stay on your knees but you fall forward onto the pile of pillows. 

Satan kneels behind you, admiring your body as his hands grip a handful of your ass. He kisses your skin, gently spreading your legs open as you beg him to touch you. 

“I am,” he laughs as he touches your thigh. “But I think you mean you want me to touch here.”

Satan touches your cunt. He hums in approval as he pushes a finger into your wet pussy. He teases you, circling your entrance before he removes his finger. Satan replaces it with his tongue, moaning when he gets his first taste of you. 

His talented tongue makes your body quiver, your moans muffled by the pillow. Satan grinds his cock into the mattress, too overwhelmed by your sweetness to even think of pleasuring himself. You require his full attention, at least until you cum. 

“Satan!” You cry out as your eyes squeeze shut. 

You jolt as your body tingles. 

Satan licks you up, moaning when he finally stops. He licks his lips before he strips naked. 

“You did so well, love,” he praises softly. His hands are gentle as he releases the magic bonds from your wrists. He checks them over, kissing the sensitive skin before he kisses your lips. 

“Care to go for another round?” Satan asks as you get on your hands and knees once again. He chuckles, snapping his fingers. A thick black collar appears wrapped around your neck with the leash in Satan’s hand. 

“Let’s see how long you can hold out this time, Kitten,” Satan grins as tugs on the leash just to make you moan. His cock throbs and he shamelessly palms himself over his pants.

“Such a good kitten for me, huh? Can’t help but please your master. What a good girl,” he says softly as he runs his hand down your back. You nod, pushing your hips to his but he pulls back and clicks his tongue.

“Don’t be greedy,” he scolds, smacking your thigh. You moan, biting your lip to keep from begging for more.

Satan snaps his fingers, a vibrator appears in his hand. It's tiny, shaped like lipstick but it’s one of your favorites.

You whine when he turns it on, knowing you’re in for a night of edging.

“Satan!” you huff when he presses the bullet vibrator to your thigh.

“Hmm?”

“Please,” you beg as he unbuttons his pants, tugging the zipper down. He groans when his cock pushes against the rough material of his pants. He tugs his pants down a bit, stroking himself as he presses the vibrator a little higher, near your cunt but not touching it just yet.

“Fuck,” you curse, trying to wiggle enough for the vibrator to touch your clit.

Satan tugs on the leash, circling his hand to make the leash shorter. You curse, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Satan takes your moment of distraction to press the vibrator to your wet pussy. He speeds it up to watch your body tremble, moans escaping you freely and lewdly.

“What’s that, Kitten?” He asks with a mocking grin. “Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Please, I’m gonna cum!” you exclaim as he relaxes your leash a bit. He slows the vibrator, making your orgasm halt. You groan, cursing him in your mind as he removes the vibrator and uses his fingers instead.

“So wet for me, Kitten. Can’t wait to have you wrapped around my hard cock. Are you gonna cream on it?” Satan asks in a raspy voice. He’s almost as gone as you are, but he holds his restraint. It would be too easy for him to mount you and fuck you like an animal, but he must resist. He likes to watch you crumble in front of him from pleasure. It brings him joy to watch you orgasm again and again, but keeping you from doing so makes you more hungry, more desperate.

You push your ass against his cock, begging him to fuck you but he spanks you instead. He tugs the leash, pulling you up so your back is pressed to his chest.

“Be good, Kitten. Only good kittens get treats,” he reminds you as he traces the shell of your ear with his tongue before he kisses his way to your shoulder. “And you want to be good, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe as his fingers rub your clit in tight circles. Your body relaxes in his hold as he lets your leash go lax. 

“That’s what I thought,” he hums as he slides two fingers inside you, fucking your wet pussy while the vibrator is set on your clit.

Satan continues to kiss you and praise you, as he pays attention to your breaths, noting when you’re about to reach your high before he stops again.

You cry out, begging him to continue and he does so, at a much slower pace to build you back up again.

“One more time for me, Kitten. I’ll let you cum this time,” he promises as he lets you fall onto your hands. He strokes his cock, teasing your entrance, moaning when he feels how soaked you are for him.

“Fuck, Kitten,” He groans when he slides home, cursing at how warm and wet you are for him. He grabs your hips, fucking into you slowly at first as you whine his name. You grind against him, fucking yourself on his dick as he watches how eager and desperate you are for him.

You cream his cock nicely, and he nearly loses his load when you tighten around him minutes later.

“Satan!” you gasp as you meet each of his thrusts. Your nipples rub against the sheets beneath you as he fucks you harder, deeper.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my cock,” he demands, and you listen obediently, crying out his name as your body trembles with pleasure as your orgasm hits, soaking Satan and his thighs.

“Shit! Fuck, Kitten!” Satan curses as he fucks you through your orgasm, and then his, making sure you milk his cock dry before he pulls out.

You curl up beside him, despite being hot and sweaty.

Satan chuckles as he pulls you close.

“You’re such a good kitten,” he smiles before he laces his fingers with yours. “How about another round?”

You giggle before climbing on top of him.

day 3: leviathan

masterlist

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 1]

Summary: Mary knew the entire town hated him; the metalhead with the freaky make up and fake blood dripping down his face. He was the local menace, the town vandal, the cliché trouble maker. He played up to that image, enjoyed the havoc and the chaos, revelled in it. He loved pissing people off.

And so, what better revenge to get on his beloved town, than to fuck around with the Mayor's daughter…

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Porn with very little plot, filthy sex, public sex, quickie, dirty talk, teasing, very little foreplay, praise kink, pet names, degradation, hints at exhibitionism, fingering, p in v sex, squirting, oral sex (m receiving), cum play, cum swallowing

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3

A/N: Huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for beta reading this one! This, again, began as a silly little drabble idea from a request in my asks, and became a bloody one shot (with a second part planned out already because I. DON'T. KNOW. WHEN. TO. STOP. Enjoy.

Mary knew the entire town hated him; the metalhead with the freaky make up and fake blood dripping down his face. He was the local menace, the town vandal, the cliché trouble maker. They treated him like garbage from day one anyway, coming from a less than favourable background of struggles as he grew up. He played up to that image, enjoyed the havoc and the chaos, revelled in it. He loved pissing people off. 

The Mayor hated him the most, ruining his precious little suburban town’s image. Mary was public enemy number one; mostly because this quaint little place had absolutely nothing better to do than to impose this chaotic stereotype on him since he was 13 years old – he was just applying himself to the role... method acting, if you will.  

And so, what better revenge to get on his beloved town, than to fuck around with the Mayor's daughter... 

It started as a dare. His bandmates had seen you out with your girlfriends at the local biker bar he frequented. You stuck out like a sore thumb, in a cute little white sundress with daises printed all over. ‘What were you thinking?’ he'd wondered when he saw you. You were like a deer strolling willingly into the lion's den.  

"Go on, Mare. She's his daughter, y'know? Dare ya to get in her panties..." His mates had shoved him forward by his shoulder, his beer in hand sloshing as he rolled his eyes and laughed, shrugging his signature leather jacket back on straight as he skulked over to your table, coughing to interrupt your conversation. Your friends had looked up at him in disgust and annoyance but you... pretty little thing... had smiled sweetly with a sparkle in your eye.  

"'Scuse me, doll, but I can't help but wonder... what's a pretty thing like you doin' in a dive like this?" he'd asked you. Your friends rolled their eyes and turned their backs, but you? You fucking giggled.  

"Just getting to know my father's patch, wanna be a people person, y'know? Helps his campaigns," you'd winked. Mary smirked at that, hearing the hidden meaning laced in your response. 

"Political power play; smart. Best keep away from me then, doll," he'd leaned in then, his arm resting on the back of your chair as he whispered in your ear, "I'm the town delinquent, after all..." 

"Oh, I know all about you, Mary." The way you'd said his name... the playful glint in your eye, the not-so-innocent smirk, the tease... Mary sucked in a deep breath through grit teeth and pulled up a spare chair next to yours, sitting astride it with his arms folded over the back of it that faced you. Your friends had started their conversation back up, ignoring you completely. They were fickle friends anyway, nowhere near the amount of fun you were looking for in your drab and over-controlled life. 

"They dared me, y'know. My friends, I mean. To get into your panties..." Honest and upfront, but he seemed confident enough in your playful little demeanour that perhaps that's exactly what you had wanted to hear from someone tonight.  

"What, these panties?" you had asked, tracing your fingertips up your bare thigh and lifting your skirt just enough to show off the waistband of white lace against your hip. Mary's eyes followed your fingertips intently, his jaw dropping open. He took a swig of his beer, hoping it would chill the rising heat in his face while images of you splayed out with your skirt bunched up around your hips for him flashed in his mind.  

"Yep. Them's the ones."  

"Well, play your cards right and maybe I'll let you," you smirked, snatching his beer from his hand and taking a gulp, holding his eye contact while you wrapped your lips around the bottle neck. You didn't miss the way his eyes bulged from his head at your gesture. This was going to be fun. Mary could be just the kind of excitement you were looking for... 

You ditched your friends pretty quickly that night; they barely bat a false lash in your direction anyway as you sauntered back to Mary's friends on his arm, happy to play up the 'prize' role as he showed you off to them with a twirl. You shared some beers, laughed at Mary's filthy and dark jokes, flirted and teased your way into his arms and within a couple of hours, you decided he'd done enough to charm his way into your lace panties after all.  

"Hey," you poked his ribs, leaning into his side as he looked down at you with a smug smile and took another swig of beer. 

"What is it, doll?" he asked, the nickname working wonders for you.  

"You've been dealt a decent hand of those cards, Goore. With me. Now." You snatched the beer from his hand and slammed it on the bar beside you, sauntering off through the bodies of bikers and cloud of cigarette smoke. Mary watched the way you bounced away from him, your ass so perfectly rounded and covered just barely by the flouncy little skirt of your sundress.  

You stopped by the bathroom door, turning back to him and beckoning towards him to follow you. His eyes trailed up your bare legs, across the curves of your body and the cleavage on display, and settled on the mischievous little smirk you wore. That's when he noticed, the door behind you read "mens" - oh, you filthy little thing... 

He pushed himself up from the stool he sat at, his leather jacket draped over the back of it. He found himself herding you into the bathroom quickly, paying no mind to the only other person in the bathroom stood at the urinals.  

"Hey, what the fuck man," the guy half-yelled, but Mary just shrugged in his direction with you hiding and giggling behind his chest as he pushed you further into a stall, slamming the door behind you and flicking the lock shut. "Animals, man..." the guy scoffed, finishing up and heading out the door.  

But as soon as he'd pushed you into that stall - remarkably cleaner than you'd anticipated - his lips were on your neck behind you, his hands running over your thighs and tickling the soft flesh there.  

"Wanted you all fuckin' night, doll," he growled against your neck, "And you bring me here, eh? Romantic..." 

"Just fuck me, Goore... Please..." you begged, reaching behind you to hold his head against you, pushing your ass back into the groin of his tattered jeans. The hands splayed across your thighs shifted, one snaking inwards, the other gripping your hip to steady you, keeping your ass pressed against his hardening dick.  

"You ask so politely, doll. Your daddy teach you those manners?" he teased, biting at the flesh of your neck.  

"Mhm," you hummed, cut off by his lips colliding with yours in a desperate kiss. No time to waste, his tongue dove against yours, savouring the taste of the beer you'd shared all night.  

His hand pressed itself between your thighs, cupping your mound over the pretty white lace you'd briefly flashed him earlier. You whined against his lips, fingers weaving into his spiked hair and pulling him harshly against you. Mary could feel how wet you already were, the fabric warm and damp against his palm.  

"I thought we agreed you could get inside my panties, Goore?" you taunted, reaching down to where his hand was pressed against you and pulling the lace to one side in one quick motion. His fingers immediately slid between your folds, coated in your arousal with a single swipe. 

"Fucking hell..." he huffed in a mix of pleasure and disbelief; how could you, the pretty little daughter of the damn Mayor be so utterly filthy as to fuck a guy like him in the men's bathroom of a fucking dive bar? It screamed 'daddy issues'. It screamed 'rebelling against your proper little life'. It screamed 'cliché' and yet... All he cared about was making you scream. 

“This needy for me already, doll? Bet I could slip right in, hm?” he teased, nipping at your earlobe and pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His fingers worked your clit expertly, forcing your eyes to shut and head to lull back against his shoulder. Your grip on his hair tightened, and a gasp of a moan slipped from your lips. 

Mary ground his hips into your ass as he dove his fingers into you, two able to slip through your folds and deep inside you without meeting any resistance. Mary growled, curling his fingers inside you in search of the spot to make your legs buckle. Had he not been ready, holding you up with his hand buried inside you, the other bracing your hip, you might have fallen to your knees there and then.  

“Sh-shit, Mary...” you gasped, your hands flying out to steady yourself one the walls of the cubicle.  

“I got you, baby,” he affirmed, wrapping the hand from your hip around your stomach and pulling you back against him again. His fingers worked you open so easily, spreading your arousal and readying you for him. But he was going to make you beg for it, first... 

He withdrew his fingers from inside you, now focused solely on your throbbing clit. He circled it over and over, earning whines and whimpers from you as jolts of pleasure soared through your body. You leaned back against him again, this time angling your head to be able to look at him, to see the absolutely feral look on his face as he drank you in with his eyes. 

His face paint had faded considerably, the fake blood starting to glisten again now that a sheen of sweat was forming on his skin in the cramped space. You couldn’t help yourself, deciding to smash your lips to his in a clash of teeth and lips; messy, uncoordinated but invigorating.  

“Fuck, who knew you were so filthy, hm?” His words were muffled by your desperate kisses, but you couldn’t help the whimper that surfaced. “How my fingers workin’ for ya, doll?” he chuckled, and as if to illustrate his point he dipped them back inside you, curled them up once to force out a cry of pleasure and retreated again, attention back to your clit.  

“A-ah! Need more, Mare... Please,” you begged, but he just laughed, biting down on your bottom lip and watching as your glazed eyes tried to focus on his.  

“Almost, babygirl. Not quite what I wanna hear though... Tell me what you want. Tell me you fucking need it,” he growled, pressing harder to your clit with each rotation of his fingertips. You knew exactly what he wanted to hear, and you were more than happy to oblige. 

“Need... need you... need your cock, Mary...” you cried, clawing at his arms so hard you almost drew blood. He hissed at the pain, enjoying every ounce of it.  

“Good girl...” he told you, removing his fingers from your cunt completely and manhandling you until you were bent at the waist, palms flat on the toilet tank in front of you to hold you up. He lifted your knee to prop your foot on the edge of the toilet, opening you up and giving him the best angle to grind his clothed cock against your burning hot centre. “Stay right there, doll.” 

He backed up half a step, and you heard the telltale sound of his belt buckle jingling, a button popping open, a zipper, some rustling of denim...  

Mary fisted his cock a few times, allowing himself a moment to take the edge off – had he dove straight in, he’d have finished embarrassingly quickly, too fucking turned on but your good-girl-turned-total-freak act. He bunched your dress up around your hips, pushing the white lace past your hips and letting them fall to the floor before he gathered them, stuffing them inside the back pocket of his jeans that were now around his knees. You could feel as he lined the head of his cock up with your entrance, toying with you and pushing barely the tip inside.  

Just as he did, the door to the bathroom creaked in protest, the background noise of the bar behind it growing louder and several pairs of heavy boots clunking across the linoleum of the floor. Voices that you recognised as Mary’s friends and bandmates laughed and chatted, filtering in one behind the other.  

Mary ran his hand up your back between your shoulder blades, his fingers threading with your hair to pull your head up towards him so he could speak directly into your ear. 

“Better be quiet, doll...” he whispered, “unless you want them to know...” 

Fuck... at that point you didn’t care. They could know if they wanted, hell they could stand on the toilet in the cubicle next to you and fucking watch if they wanted – you were too drunk on the feeling of Mary’s cock barely breaching your pussy to give a shit anymore. You just needed him.  

But Mary’s hand snaked around your jaw, shoving the two fingers that had been inside you past your lips and gagging you with them. Then, and only then, did he begin to push himself deeper inside you. 

You whimpered around his knuckles, gripping the porcelain beneath you tightly as the feeling of being stretched engulfed you.  

“Where’d Mary disappear to?” you heard one of his friends ask on the other side of the door.  

“Do you reckon he’s actually fucking that chick?” another laughed. Mary smirked at the interaction, bottoming out inside you with his pelvis flush to your ass. He rolled his hips up, relishing in the way you bit down on his fingers when he hit your g-spot again. 

“The Mayor’s daughter? Nah, no fuckin’ way. She’s just a tease... too prissy,” a third friend chimed in. “You know the type; get you hooked then leave you hangin’ with blue balls.” 

The guys laughed together, and you couldn’t help but clench around Mary’s length when his fingertips tightened on your hip, his nails digging into the skin as he listened to his shithead friends degrading you on the other side of the stall. No fuckin’ way... that was his job. 

“If only they knew the real you, eh, doll? The one who’s already squeezing my dick so tight she’s creaming all over me...” he whisper-growled, dragging his length out of you painfully slowly. Holding his fingers in place in your mouth to keep you quiet, he slammed back into you, a loud clap ricocheting off the stall walls where his skin met yours. Your cry of pleasure and shock muffled around his fingers but was still very much audible.  

His friends’ heads whipped around to the door of the cubicle where they stood at the urinals, a look of confusion on their faces.  

“Goore?” one of them called out. Silence – Mary stilled inside you again, shushing you quietly in your ear.  

“No fuckin’ way, man...” one of them said. With lingering silence, his friends shrugged and turned their attention back to the urinals, finishing up. It wasn’t until you heard their footsteps starting to retreat that Mary, in one quick motion, thrust his hips back and forth once more, another slap ringing out with another muffled whimper as you drooled on his digits.  

“Nah, that’s gotta be him... Mare, you in here?” one of the guys called out.  

“Shall I answer them, doll? Want them to know?” he whispered in your ear. When your eyes met his over your shoulder, he saw them glinting with mischief as you nodded at him. 

You would be the fucking death of him. 

“I’m here, man,” he called back, a smug smirk on his face. 

A chorus of “ohhh shiiiiit” and “daaaaamn” rang through the bathroom when they realised their ringleader, the famous Mary Goore, was indeed fucking the Mayor’s daughter in the men’s bathroom. 

“Nice,” one of them remarked, the slap of a high five ringing out. Mary rolled his eyes, again gripping onto your hip as if overprotective of you in some way. You stayed still though, waiting, listening... with Mary’s fingers still holding back your tongue. 

“You wanna get the fuck out now so I can make my girl cum in peace?” he yelled back, smirking when he felt your cunt squeeze him. ‘My girl’ - that’s what did it. That possessiveness when he’d known you merely hours, like primal instinct... 

“Jeez, we’re gone...” one of them complained, the door swinging open, that same background noise from the bar filtering in as it swung shut behind his friends. 

“Where were we, doll?” he purred, stroking the hair from your face before gripping your hip once again and pressing his fingers down onto your tongue harder, punctuated with an upwards thrust directly into your cervix. You cried out again, eyes rolling back into your head in bliss.  

He didn’t stop this time, his hips continuously thrusting up into you with vigour, pelvis slapping against your ass over and over. His eyes were trained on his bare cock disappearing into you repeatedly, your ass rippling with the impact.  

“Fuckin’ fill you so good, hm? Like you were made for me, doll...” he growled into your ear. All you could do was whimper on his fingers, closing your mouth around them to suck on them, driving him wild.  

“Ohh, shit... good girl,” he praised, earning a tight clench from you around his length, “make ‘em nice and wet for me, darlin’.” You did as you were told, coating his fingers in your spit whilst he continued to fuck you from behind. When he was satisfied with your work, he removed his fingers from your mouth altogether, and dipped them between your thighs to circle your clit.  

You gasped at the new sensation, coupling with the assault on your cervix you were barrelling towards an orgasm embarrassingly fast, so immensely turned on by everything up to this point that coaxing it from you was an easy goal for Mary.  

“This town thinks you’re such a good little girl, huh? What if they saw you now?” he teased, his grip on your hip tightening whilst his fingers began to swipe back and forth faster and faster over your clit, “What if daddy saw you now?” 

“Fucking hell, Mary...” you cried, hands bracing on the tank of the toilet to steady yourself while your legs shook. “Don’t stop, please...” 

“Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it, doll...” he smirked, his hips smacking over and over against your ass. True to his word, he didn’t stop, and he pushed your closer, and closer until he felt the trembling onslaught of your orgasm.  

As if on instinct, hand on your hip wrapped around your abdomen, holding you upright as your legs shook and gave out, the other keep a steady pace swiping back and forth over your clit. Mary held you up, yes, but continued to fuck into you, revelling in the way you managed to cum so violently that you squirted around his length and onto the floor of the bathroom stall. He kept you going, emptying you of all of it as you cried out, gripping the porcelain tightly.  

“Oh, doll, look at you, hm? You made a mess...” he snickered behind you, stilling his hips and removing his hand from between your legs. Instead, he helped you to stand upright, pulling himself from where he’d been sheathed inside you and turning your chin up to him so he could press a bruising and sloppy kiss to your lips.  

You turned in his arms, pushing him back against the door of the stall with the little energy you had left as you came down from your high, legs still unsteady. Mary groped at your ass, enjoying the feeling of supple flesh in his palms as he ground his still bare cock against your stomach. And then it dawned on you. 

Mary hadn’t cum yet. 

You refused to make him wait a moment longer, as much as you wanted to stay attached to his lips to taste his very distinctive flavour on your tongue – beer and cigarettes had never tasted so enticing.  

Without a word – mostly because the both of you were so out of breath already – you sank to your knees. Quickly, you noted the wet feeling against the bare skin – your wetness. Mary seemed to notice too, biting his lip when he saw you acknowledge your little puddle of cum and smirk back up at him. He knew what you were about to do, and his cock jumped above you at the thought.  

You wrapped a hand around him, feeling the remnants of your arousal at the base of his cock. Leaning forward, you took the head of his length past your lips, swiping your tongue over his slit that had beaded with precum. Between his salty taste and your own sweetness, you hummed in satisfaction and sent vibrations through his whole body. Mary hissed above you, pushing the hair back from your face so he could get a better look.  

“You’re fucking filthy, doll,” he praised, leaning his head back against the door and watching you through his eyelashes.  

“Mhmm,” you hummed around him, managing a subtle smirk before diving your head down to swallow him whole. Mary grunted above you, his hands slapping to the walls either side of him like you had done earlier; the only thing keeping him composed.  

You bobbed your head on his length, using your tongue to cradle the underside of his cock as you hollowed your cheeks. Your hands gripped his belt where it hung loosely around his thighs, pulling him towards you as if it would help you take him any deeper – but you were already nuzzling the soft hair at the base of his dick each time you took him down your throat.  

But feeling like he was being desperately pulled and tugged and sucked within an inch of his damn life was turning Mary on more and more, having the exact effect you had hoped. How needy you looked for him, on your knees in a puddle of your own orgasm, tasting yourself on his cock as you made sure you sucked everything your mouth could take of him, as if you needed it as much as he did. 

“Shit, you tryna make me cum, doll?” he panted, “You that desperate to taste me?” Mary stroked your hair, watching intently as you fluttered your eyelashes at him and fucking giggled on his cock. You were driving him wild, a familiar tightness coming to a head in his abdomen.  

“C-can I cum in your mouth, doll?” he asked, breathless and using every ounce of restraint he had to stave off his orgasm until had your consent to blow his load down your throat. You didn’t answer him immediately, revelling in the torture just for another few moments while you slide your hands from his belt to the tops of his thighs where his jeans were pushed down, then further up to his hips. You stopped there, digging your nails in and humming as you took his length as deep as possible one last time.  

The sting of your nails on his skin triggered the beginning of his end, and you retracted your head to balance the tip of his cock on your tongue, allowing him to watch as his seed spilled and spurted onto your tongue beneath him, your fist now generously pumping his length to milk him of every drop you could.  

“Dirty little bitch,” he grunted, losing himself to his orgasm and smirking down at you when you winked at him, unable to talk with a mouthful of his spend.  

As he finished, he took a deep breath, dragging the palms of his hands down his face and smearing the make-up and fake blood in the sheen of sweat that glistened on his skin. Not that he cared – he wasn’t precious about his appearance now his night was coming to an end anyway. He stood upright, tucking himself back into his underwear and doing his pants up.  

Redressed, he looked down at you, sat so prettily on your knees with your mouth still hanging open, the pool of his cum still sitting on your tongue. Mary smirked and dipped a finger into it, swirling it around before bending down and sucking his own release from his fingertip. You giggled again, satisfied with his reaction and swallowing what was left for you.  

“You surprised me, doll...” Mary said with a quirk of his head. “You don’t seem the type, y’know?” He helped you up from the floor, your knees protesting a little from being pressed to the linoleum for so long.  

“’Just a tease’, right?” you quoted his friends, an eyebrow raised, “’too prissy’? The type to ‘get you hooked then leave you hangin’ with blue balls’?” 

Mary scratched the back of his neck, feeling a sliver of guilt for the way his ‘friends’ had described you – but more so at the knowledge that’s exactly what he’d thought of you until tonight. “Ignore ‘em, doll. They wouldn’t know how to treat ya if they had ya,” he smiled goofily.  

“What, and you do?” you taunted. Mary chuckled, tapping his foot against the floor and drawing your attention to the little puddle at your feet.  

“I think this proves I do, huh?” He pushed his tongue into his cheek smugly, and you lightly punched his chest playfully. 

“You’re disgusting, Goore...” you laughed. “Now gimme my panties back.” You held your palm flat for him to hand them over, but he just stared at it incredulously. Even when you curled your fingers back in a ‘gimme’ motion, he didn’t budge to hand them over, still tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. 

“Don’t think I will, nah. Gonna hold ‘em ransom,” he said, leaning against the stall wall and folding his arms over his chest.  

“You’re kidnapping my panties?” you raised an eyebrow at him. “But it’s cold without them...” Mary laughed, not moving at all. He was keeping those panties of yours, and you weren’t talking him around. “Fine. Keep ‘em. Plenty more at home...” 

“In every colour, I bet...” Mary smirked, reaching behind him to unlock the door to the stall. “Shall we?” 

You pushed past him, giving twirling on your heels to exit the bathroom with just enough force that you briefly flashed your bare ass to him beneath your skirt one last time. Mary groaned in appreciation and followed you back out into the bar, jogging to catch up and slinging an arm around your shoulders.  

The bar had emptied a little, both his and your friends nowhere in sight. Mary’s jacket still sat on the stool he’d left it on, his cell phone in the pocket.  

“So, doll... reckon I could get your number?” he asked, leaning against the bar. You stared at him for a moment, as if contemplating your answer but you already knew you wanted more of Mary Goore. 

Without a word, you snatched his cell phone from his hand and typed in your number – your real number, not the fake one you gave to most guys who asked. “I’ll see you around, Goore,” you told him, pushing the phone against his chest once more. 

“Can I get you a cab? Walk ya home?” he asked, feeling uneasy about letting a vulnerable girl – with no panties on... - get home alone.  

“No need, have another beer. I got a car waiting outside – perks of daddy’s status, I guess,” you shrugged as you picked up the tiny little bag you’d brought with you from the bar where you’d stupidly left it, a tinge of sadness to your voice that Mary didn’t miss, but didn’t push you on.  

“And you don’t wanna be seen out there by your dad’s staff with... me?” he asked, already knowing why you wanted him to stay put. You gave him a look of apology, chewing on your bottom lip out of guilt. “Nah, I get it doll. Keep him sweet as long as possible. One more beer won’t hurt me, anyway,” he winked, pinching your cheek to ease some of your guilt. 

“Thanks for... tonight,” you told him, a blush creeping onto your cheeks now that reality was setting in a little. Mary chuckled, looking down at his feet. He turned to lean over the bar, calling over the bartender before he looked back at you.  

“Any time, doll,” he winked, turning his attention back to the bartender who was finishing up with another patron. By the time he turned back to look at you, maybe even give you a parting kiss to the cheek, you were gone.  

And so was the leather jacket from the back of his stool. 

You got back home just in time for your curfew that night, careful not to give your father’s security an eyeful as you got out of the car. Just as you’d got back into your bedroom after saying a quick goodnight to your father in his study, you heard the buzz of your phone in your little bag. When you looked, you had a text from an unknown number, the sender only possibly one person... 

U thief... guna want my jacket bck doll... nd if u eva want 2 c ur panties alive again, u bettr follow my instructions v carefully... 😉 

You smiled at your phone, biting your bottom lip as you text back a reply.  

Willing to negotiate a drop off time and location. You can have whatever you want, just don’t hurt my poor panties... 

You threw your phone onto your bed, heading into your en suite to turn the shower on – a much needed luxury after the filthy sex you’d had that night. As you stripped yourself from your dress, you heard your phone buzzing again with another text.  

Gd girl. Will be in touch xo 

You hoped he would. Mary may just have been the excitement you were looking for in your drab little life as the daughter to the Mayor of this suffocating little town. 

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♡ Two Hours - (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (ongoing)

♡ Shigaraki Kinktober 2024 - (Day 1) (Day 2) (Day 3) (Day 4) (Day 5) (ongoing)

Dabi:

♡ The Broken Window - (Chapter 1) (ongoing)

♡ Touya Drabble (SFW)

[molly-ghuleh]

Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 5

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: When it rains, it pours, but the drops wash away the uncertainty swimming in your mind.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: Thank you all for your patience!! I usually try to keep updates going every 10 days or so, but this one's a little late, so I apologize. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!! <3 If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!!

Warnings: possible descriptions of anxiety, you and Copia being idiots, mutual pining.

AO3 / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

You hadn’t known it was supposed to rain this morning. But now that you tilt your face up towards the gray-blanketed sky, you remember that it had been rather dark when you and Copia stepped out of the kitchens. The breeze around you feels sharp and the birds have gone quiet since you emerged from the flower labyrinth. The leaves—small and sparse after having just budded for spring—turn over to reveal their pale undersides. A sure sign of a rainstorm. 

As you hold your finger in front of your face to observe the rain drop that had landed on your nose, another falls on the top of your head. Beside you, Copia also lifts his head to look at the sky. He squints and flinches a bit when a drop lands in the middle of his forehead. “Ah, cazzo,” he mumbles, and uses his free hand to swipe it off. The raindrops are fat and heavy, and they scatter the tiny stones of the gravel path under your shoes when they fall. 

Another drop lands on your shoulder. “Should we go inside?” you ask. Immediately you realize that it is a stupid question. Of course you should go inside, crétin. It’s about to rain and you have no idea how long you’ve been outside for. 

That nagging thought tugs at the back of your awareness. The thought that you shouldn’t be taking up so much of Copia’s—Papa’s—time. He’s a busy man, and he probably doesn’t have time to walk the entire garden path during working hours. 

But… he had offered. And if you could, you’d walk the entire loop just to spend more time talking with him. 

“Yes… that is probably a good idea,” Copia answers with a small smile. 

He doesn’t want to go inside. He wants to keep holding your hand, keep walking on the secluded garden path until the sun goes down and it grows too cold to stay outside. And even then, he wants to take you back to his office, light a fire, and share a kettle of tea with you and talk some more. Maybe kiss you once or twice, if you’d be willing. Satan knows he would be. 

But you can’t spend what could very well be your last full day at the Abbey just killing time. He knows he should take you back and walk with you to the library. Copia knows he should encourage you to keep trying with Elizabeth’s diary until Sister Imperator is literally pushing you out the door, but he wants more time. He needs more time with you. This can’t be over yet, it can’t. It hasn’t even started, this thing that exists between you. 

The trees begin to shift a little more, a soft whooshing sound blowing with the breeze as the leaves and coniferous needles brush together. 

You blink once, twice, and then it’s pouring. 

“Diable ci-dessous!” you curse, swiping your free hand over your face as if that would help keep the water out of your eyes. The rain very quickly soaks through your habit and the wind bites at your skin. 

Copia squeezes your hand. “Sorella, come, come!” He tugs you into a run along the path. The gravel crunches and moves under your feet, making you both stumble every few steps. Your hands clutch together like a lifeline. 

Through the sound of the ever-growing rainstorm, you can hear the shouts of Siblings working in the garden who had also been caught in the weather. You can’t discern any words. The wind and the rain and the sound of your soaked shoes drowns out anything else, except for the bright laughter bubbling up from the man beside you. 

The rain falls in sheets, and you find yourself laughing with Copia. It’s ridiculous, this situation you’ve found yourself in. Like the sky had heard you speak to each other about your less-than-ideal childhoods, and decided to provide you with the clouds over your heads in a more literal sense. 

It takes you a moment to realize that Copia isn’t leading you back up the path towards the Abbey. You’re still running on the gravel past the greenhouses, which are teeming with Siblings hiding from the storm. Looking up through rain-soaked lashes you see the approaching silhouette of the tiny, sort-of-abandoned chapel in the far corner of the Abbey grounds. You can’t make out any details through the rain except for the small spire with its inverted cross. 

Your heart jumps at the thought of being cooped up in the small space with Copia until the rain subsides.

“Here!” Copia calls. He surges forward to the door of the chapel and almost loses your hand in the process. It takes him two tries before he can shoulder the door open, and then he’s practically dragging you over the threshold. His leather gloves are soaked and slippery, but his grip on you tightens until you’re both inside and safe from the rain. He closes the door behind you and it slams against the threshold with a creak and a loud rap of the ancient brass knocker. 

Then, you’re alone. It’s quiet inside the chapel, save for the storm pelting against the old, warped panels of stained glass along the side walls and the frantic beating of your heart in your ears. 

You wonder why a chapel has a knocker. 

You also wonder why such a pretty, quaint little chapel isn’t used anymore. The inside is lined with dark wood pews on either side of a carpeted aisle. The door is made of the same wood, as is the modest pulpit stationed at the front of the room. It stands on a raised platform, and behind it is another, higher platform with what looks to be a long table sheathed in a black cloth which reaches down to the floor. On either side of the pulpit are elaborate iron candelabras empty of any candles. 

The windows on either side of the chapel aren’t elaborate like that of the main Abbey. They each depict a single inverted cross of clear glass, with red stained glass filling the negative space of the arched windows. The walls are thick and built of stone, and each window lines up with a pew. Several books, which you infer are unholy prayer or hymn books, are perched on each windowsill, and you’re very suddenly reminded of Marseille. The stone walls, the tall, narrow windows, the old wood, the books on the sill. 

For a moment, you’re home and you’re very near to tears. 

“Cara,” Copia says softly from behind you. In your reverie you’d turned around to take in every little detail and your back is now facing him. His hand still holds yours, although you’re sure the soggy leather must be making your (and his) fingertips prune. 

Copia had watched you, watched your eyes flit around the chapel as you turned on the spot. He remembers what you told him about your home and realizes that this little building must remind you of it. He had watched your face alight in unrealized comfort and he had watched as your eyes grew glassy when you made the connection. He calls out to you. Cara, he says, and he means it. You are dear to him and it surprises him just how quickly you’d managed to become that way. 

You turn back to him, trying very hard not to let the tears building in the corners of your eyes slip down your already-wet cheeks. But then you see his face. Oh, your poor Papa, his face. 

One might think, for a Ministry with worldwide influence and many, many resources, they might be able to afford waterproof, smudge-proof paints for their esteemed leader, but they hadn’t. 

“Oh, no,” you giggle. It bubbles up in your chest and escapes your lips without your intent. And then your giggle turns into a rather unattractive snort and a full laugh, because your poor Papa looks like Hell. His paints are running down his face and dripping onto his leather vest. The black rings around his eyes have been tracked down his cheeks so that he looks like an overdramatic actress with terrible mascara. The pigment on his lips and beside his mouth have smudged so badly with the rain that he looks as if he’d drank a gallon of black paint. The white paint has almost completely run off, except for where it settles in the creases beside his mouth and between his brows. 

All together, he looks like a rather soggy zebra. 

Copia pouts at you. “What?”

You wish you had a mirror to show him. Part of you feels horrible for laughing at Papa, but you know that the man behind the paint will also find it rather funny. Slightly embarrassing at worst. “Your–” you try to stifle your giggles. “Your paints, they’re…” 

Copia’s eyes widen in realization. “They’re… not waterproof, no,” he says flatly. “Satana, devo sembrare uno stupido.”

He peels his sodden gloves off his hands and stuffs them in the front pocket of his pants. He swipes a finger under his eye and brings it back to find that his fingertip is gray and patchy. 

“No, you don’t look like an idiot,” you try to soothe him, although you’re still slightly laughing. “You simply… look like a man who was caught in a rainstorm with a full face of paints.” “Sì, so, like an idiot.” 

Copia begins trying to wipe his face with his sleeve. It does nothing to actually remove the paint, instead just smudging around his damp skin. Though, you’re beginning to see that his cheeks burn a pretty red through the streaks of whitish-gray paint, and his ears are nearly completely red. You guess that his face might feel just as hot as your own. 

He huffs in frustration, flicking his wet sleeve and causing water droplets to smack against the stone floor. “Dannazione,” he mutters to himself. “Shitty paints making me look like a…”

You remove your veil and bandeau—which are nearly plastered to your head from the torrential downpour—and wring them out. “Sit,” you command gently. Gesturing to one of the pews nearby, you fold your veil into a neat square. 

When Copia continues mumbling to himself and fruitlessly wiping his face, you reach out and tug his sleeve away. “Copia,” you say again, “Asseyez-vous.”

Copia reluctantly obeys. He knows his face is completely red now, for multiple reasons. It’s cold, for one—the rain had felt like tiny daggers of ice even through his shirt, and now that the two of you are in a drafty little chapel with soaked clothes, the air feels even colder. He’d also made a complete and total ass of himself, thanks to the rain. He’d spent so long this morning leaning against his mirror, going over and over the black paints to make sure each line was crisp and clean and perfect in the off-chance he might see you today. It had made him late arriving at his office, but it had led him to bump into you just minutes after his paints had dried, which is when they look their best, in his opinion. 

But the primary reason his face is practically glowing is because you’d commanded him in French. The language sounds sinful on your tongue. And spoken in that gentle but insistent tone… oh, he could come apart from just your words. You could string him along forever if you only speak like that. 

He sits on the edge of a pew with a sigh. Copia knows he’s being ridiculous—it’s only paint—but he’d spent an embarrassingly long time on it in the hopes it might impress you, and here he is, looking like an idiot. 

You approach him. You’re taller than him like this, so he has to tilt his face up to meet your eyes. Before you can overthink, before you can begin to question yourself, you gently reach out to place a finger under his chin and lift his head up a bit more. “Let me,” you say, almost a whisper. Your finger remains on his chin, keeping his head in place as you place your damp veil against his brow and begin to wipe. 

Surprisingly, the fabric of your veil is much more effective than his shirt, and the paint comes off easily. “Oh,” you say, lifting your brows in mild surprise. “It’s working.” 

You notice that Copia’s eyes slid closed at some point. “It feels nice,” he tells you softly. 

“It’s French,” you say with a little huff of laughter, which Copia echoes. 

Yes, he had meant that the fabric of your veil feels nice against his skin. But mostly he had meant that your finger gently tipping his head back feels like so much, all at once, and he doesn’t have words for any of it. It feels like it belongs there. He wants to touch you back, but where? And would you be okay with it, his hands on your hips or your waist or the backs of your thighs? 

So, he settles for shutting his eyes and clenching his hands on his knees to resist pulling you closer. You’re standing between his knees, which are spread wide enough to accommodate you without touching the sides of your legs.

He wants something. Something innocent, not presumptuous, because he really doesn’t know how you feel about him at all. He lets his legs fall closed a bit more, until the bends of his knees just barely brush against your legs. His pants and your habit are absolutely soaked but he can feel the warmth of your skin through the fabric, and oh, he’d never guess that leg-to-leg contact could feel so intimate. 

Copia opens his eyes when you gently drag your finger over his hairline to brush back the hair stuck to his forehead. You’re so focused on your task, as you always are. Your hands are cold and gentle as you wipe away his ruined paints. He wants to take your hands and kiss every finger until they’re warm again. 

Slowly, carefully, you uncover new expanses of Copia’s face with each pass of your veil. You press a little firmer into the lines along his forehead and between his brows to completely clear his skin. His eyes are closed again, and you’re partially grateful because if he had looked at you like that any longer, you might have leaned down and kissed him. His freckled cheeks or his strong nose or his lips, you don’t know. 

Somewhere between wiping the paint from his mustache and chuffing your veil under his chin, you begin to shake. 

“Tesoro.”

“Hm?”

“You are cold,” Copia says, his voice barely above a whisper. You can feel his warm breath on your fingers as you drag your paint-ruined veil over a spot of white you’d missed. 

“I’m alright,” you say. It’s partially true. Yes, you’re cold, but you don’t want to think about it or else you’ll really be cold and there’s nothing here to warm you up. Realistically you know it’s your habit; it’s soaked through and so are your socks and shoes. But it’s also the realization coursing through you that you have feelings for this man. 

Lucifer, they had developed quickly. It had been so easy for him to push past the barriers you’d set up around your heart and mind. He’d just walked right in, lit a cozy fire within your soul and asked you to call him Copia. And you let him. He’s carving a place in your life that you’d gladly have him occupy, and it scares you. 

He makes you forget why you try not to get attached. He looks at you and you forget the pain of leaving everything behind when you were eleven, which you are deathly afraid of having to do again. 

You’re brought out of your thoughts when Copia’s ungloved hand gently takes yours. You cringe at how clammy your hands must be compared to his warm ones, but you don’t pull away. “Sathanas, tesoro, your hands are like ice,” he says. His other hand comes atop yours to sandwich it between his own. 

You feel like you need to run. Your heart kicks against your sternum as your eyes meet his own. 

Copia’s face is bare now. His freckles stretch across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose, with a few scattered on his forehead and chin. You want to rip your hand out from between his own and tumble out the door into the rain. You want to bring him closer and trace little patterns into his freckles. Satan, you don’t know what you want. 

You want to protect yourself from hurting again. 

Copia, on the other hand, knows exactly what he wants. But he can practically see your mind working, churning back and forth between whatever turmoil is going on inside your head. As he sits in front of you, he can see the exact moment when you begin to panic. He can feel your hand begin to shake in his. He knows you’re not blind, or ignorant. He knows that you both know there is something happening, that it has been happening since you met, that it’s big. And he knows you’re scared of it, what it could become, what it could mean. Darling, he knows.

So, he stays silent. If he says anything or does anything, you’ll flee. This thing between the two of you is delicate, so delicate and new and foreign that any sudden movement will shatter the careful balance you hold in the little chapel. Anything but silence will cave the roof in and drench you all over again. Copia stays silent and holds your hand through your own tempest, and lets your eyes explore his face in search of answers he hopes you’ll find.

“I don’t want to go,” you whisper after another moment. “I want to stay and figure it out.” 

Copia doesn’t know if you’re talking about Elizabeth’s diary, or this thing between you and him, or both. Honestly, neither do you. 

He squeezes your hand tenderly. “Let’s get you back to the Abbey then, eh?” 

“It’s—” your eyes dart to a window, “it’s still pouring, Copia.” Copia simply smiles at you, leaning in as if to tell you a secret. “What’s a little rain going to do, cara? Ruin my paints?” 

~~~

By the time you make it back up the hill, to your dorm, to the shower, and into dry clothes, the lunch hour is long gone. You hadn’t realized how long you’d spent with Copia that morning. It had been just past nine when you left Sister Imperator’s office, and now it is well past two in the afternoon. Somehow it felt like only minutes had passed in the cozy little chapel, and in that chapel you made the terrifying realization that no matter how long you spend with him, it will never be enough. 

You can’t think about that right now. 

Right now, you need to get to the restricted room. You’re halfway out the door of your temporary dormitory, slipping on your only spare pair of shoes as you desperately hold onto the idea you had when you and Copia were about halfway up the hill. 

With your shoes already soaked through, you and Copia had struggled to find traction on the sodden grass. With each step you found yourself slipping backwards, hands flying through the air until you regained your balance, or until Copia firmly grasped it in his own and didn’t let go. The two of you trekked your way up the hill, slipping and sliding and giggling at the absurdity of it all. Your hand would find his own whenever it would slip from his grasp, like they were magnetized. It felt natural, seeking his hand. Even if it was only for balance. 

As you slowly made your way up the hill, soaked and shivering, one thought prevailed in your mind. You only have today, you kept thinking. If you don’t figure out the diary, you’ll only have today. 

It was true of two situations. You have one word of the diary—Today—and you have only today if you can’t decipher the rest. 

You took a step forward, and slid back slightly. Copia’s hand steadied you. 

Only today. Elizabeth. Today. Copia. Today. 

Today. 

You’d stopped completely, just standing in the near-freezing rain. Copia had looked back at you like you were insane (which you might be), and tugged on your hand again. “What is it?” He’d shouted over the rain. 

You’d begun to climb the hill with a renewed vigor. “Today!” 

Copia had no idea what you’d meant by today, but he couldn’t question it when you were pulling him up the hill. It was like you’d suddenly found your footing in the wet grass, and he was glad of it. His shoes were completely drenched and he was shivering nearly as violently as you were. He didn’t need to understand what you were talking about right now. All that mattered was getting you (and himself) out of the cold. He can ask you later. 

Later, he’d thought. Would there be a later?

Yes, there would. As he watched you climb the hill towards the kitchen door, still clinging to his hand and helping him up, he’d decided there would be a later. Sister Imperator may control every other aspect of the Abbey and his life, but not this one. Not you. 

The Siblings working in the kitchen had looked at the two of you like you were crazy when you burst through the door, sopping wet and dripping onto the tile. Perhaps it was a mix of confusion and surprise—you’d wager that none of them had seen Copia without his paints before. You feel immensely privileged that you’d been the first, that you’d been the one to take them off. You’d been the one to strip away Papa. 

“Eh,” Copia had said, looking back and forth between you and the Brother who had smiled at you earlier, “We— I— sorry. We’ll be going, yes—”

He’d grabbed your hand again and pulled you through the kitchens the way you came that morning. Once you both had stepped out into the refectory, which was thankfully empty at this time of day, Copia stopped again. The sounds of his ruffled shirt and your habit dripping on the floor echoed in the large room. “Be honest with me, cara. How bad is it?” 

You’d struggled to hold in a laugh. “It’s… not as bad as you think,” you’d told him. In truth, it wasn’t. But you realized then that you’d missed a spot of paint in his hairline, which now trailed down his forehead in a distinct white line. Without thinking twice, you reached up to swipe it away with your thumb. “I can’t imagine I look any better.” 

Copia huffed a laugh through his nose. “We… should probably go get cleaned up,” he’d said. “I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.” 

“You either, Papa,” you said, and Copia had mourned the loss of his name on your lips. He understands—within the walls of the Abbey, he is Papa and you are Sorella. But perhaps he could make an exception for you. 

You and Copia had parted ways then, to wash up and resume your duties. All the way back to your dorm and through the time it took to shower and change, you’d recited the word today in your head like a prayer. Even now, as you quickly walk through the corridors on the path you've taken every day for the past week, you repeat today, today, today as if you would lose the thought if you didn’t.

If Elizabeth is the key to the first word, perhaps today is the key to the second. Two steps forward, one step back. The hill in the rain. You must look back before you can forge ahead.

With practiced ease, you open the diary’s lockbox and place it onto your usual desk. Having donned the pristine white gloves again, you unfold the linen and the gold embossment on the cover catches your eye. You smile. Soon, you promise to Elizabeth, you will live again in these pages.

The familiar string of letters greets you as you open to the first page of writing. You write the sequence again on a blank sheet in your notebook, the letters flowing from your pen with ease after having written them hundreds of times already. 

LzlhelzhkxbgwfqmnJkcfolBfbalBoiovtsheq.

You already know that the first five letters translate to today, so you cross them out. Underneath the next letters, you write hodie again and again, as you’d done with the word Elizabeth the first time. Your hands are shaking. Please, please, please…

You trace your finger over the letter grid, quickly mapping each letter of the cipher to its partner in the key. L of the cipher and the H of the key map to an E on the grid. You jot down a messy E. Z of the cipher, o of the key, l on the grid. And so on, until you’re confident you’ve found the next word when the deciphered letters stop making sense. 

The second word in the line reads electus. Chosen. 

Without translating the whole sentence, hodie electus could mean a number of things. Word order does not matter in Latin—hodie could be the subject of the sentence, or the object, or an arbitrary time frame. 

Your heart is beating hard in your ears. You continue, using electus as the new cipher key. 

The next word is sum. The Latin word for self, or I. 

Hodie electus sum. Today I was chosen. 

Sweet Satan, you think. Your breath comes shallow and quick. Holy Hell, I’ve figured it out.

You continue, your hands flying back and forth between the corresponding letters of each new key and the grid, double and triple checking to make sure you map the correct letters. Your head feels light, your chest heavy. Like if you dared to look away from the diary or your notebook or the grid, you’d find that you were wrong. You must translate this first sentence before it shifts and your idea doesn’t fit anymore. 

It’s easy to find where the first sentence ends, because it is isolated in its own paragraph in the diary. That also tells you that it’s an important statement; important enough to be separate from the rest of the text, which is a continuous flow of letters down the page. 

The final word of the cipher confirms your suspicions that Elizabeth wanted to keep her diary a secret for a long time. The final word deciphers as Papae, the Latin possessive form of Papa. 

Hodie electus sum ut Primus Motor Papae.

Today I was chosen to be Papa’s Prime Mover.

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

Tag list: @bonelessghoul @gbatesx @the-did-i-ask @leah-halliwell92 @archive-obsess @rosacrose @nikkyatyourservice @sodoswitchimage @portaltothevoid @lightbluuestars @thesoundresoundsecho @stephnthangss @enchantedbunny @jackson5611-blog @copiasprincipessa @kadedoesthings @justheretoreadleavemealone

[piastrinorris]

An Unambiguous Love [5/10]: Drunk on You

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10 ::

alternate AO3 link

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson x f!Reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: Your favourite customers really make it easier returning to the town you never went to school in. If only your friends at work would stop trying to play matchmaker between you.

Chapter 5 word count: 3684

A/N: Whoooa, we're halfway theeere~ Big word count only means big things happening in this chapter! Another warning for underage drinking in this chapter, folks. Also thank you for the surge of love for my baby, I appreciate it heaps!

“Yeah, yeah,” Nancy pulls a face as she takes the bottle from Steve’s grip and holds it high. “Who wants to play Spin the Bottle?!”

Nervously scrambling to stand up and reach for the bottle, Steve laughs, though it’s awkwardly forced. “Hey, c’mon, we still got all night for that!”

Eddie frowns at Steve’s absence, but quickly looks over to see you and grins, “Hey, there she is! C’mere,” he gestures down towards the floor where he’s sitting, and in your less-than-sober state, you sit right where you decide would be most fitting - in Eddie’s lap. He takes to it immediately, wrapping himself around you in a way that just feels… Safe. “You know,” he murmurs, quiet enough for only you to hear amongst the commotion Steve is causing by kidnapping the bottle, “I’ve never been the type to… cuddle when I’m drunk. But this has been nice.”

“Yeah! It’s nice to make your friends feel loved too,” you smile, before realising that you’ve never had any actual confirmation from Eddie that he feels that way, too. You look up at him and ask tentatively, “W-We are friends, right?”

He smiles down at you and squeezes you tighter for a second. “Absolutely.”

You settle back happily until you remember something about the conversation you and Steve had had earlier. “Were you really that set on not showing up tonight?”

“Yeah, well…” Eddie sighs heavily, and you feel your head rise and sink against his chest. “I’ve never been one for parties. Not since…” He stops, and you look up at him again. With a single, defeated chuckle, he continues, “It was my 16th, and my uncle and his friends, they made a big deal about all pitching in to book this place for me to invite all my classmates. Only thing is, they didn’t realise that my classmates, how can I put this… Fuckin’ hated me?” He rubs his face with his hand, causing some of his rings to twirl around his fingers. “Thought I was Satan himself for liking metal music and Dungeons & Dragons, my whole freshman year. Still, it was sophomore year, a whole new start, and I somehow convinced myself that maybe the promise of some free food and something to do for a day would have been enough to convince somebody to show up and give me a second chance. But, uh. They didn’t. And the only other one I’ve ever been invited to, it turned out to be a joke, so…”

You struggle a little, but manage to find a way to wrap your forearms around Eddie’s enough to squeeze them into a hug. “I don’t think Steve would do that to you, though! He seems like a good guy,” you look over at him with amusement as you watch him finally grab the bottle from Johnathan’s grip.

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles wistfully, leaning his head on the top of yours. “Yeah, he’s not as bad as I thought he might be.” Steve looks over to catch both yours and Eddie’s eye and looks at you both curiously. Even though you can’t see it for yourself, you can hear the grin on Eddie’s face as he speaks, “Hey, Harrington, are your ears burning?”

Steve, giving up on fighting, walks over to you both. “That can’t be good. You two look comfortable,” he gestures up and down your bodies.

“Aww, is Stevie getting jealous?” Eddie teases.

You frown, “There’s no need to be, I can make space, look!” You wriggle yourself to sit on the floor, still between Eddie’s legs, and stretch yourself out to make room.

With a soft chuckle, Steve shakes his head. “Might as well, since this is clearly where the party’s at.” Placing his bottle down carefully, he sits between your legs and you make quick work of pulling him close to you. While it feels nice being held, you’ve also missed the comfort of holding someone else, especially as fully as this. Your hands find home nesting in his hair, your fingers gently combing his head. After what feels like a long amount of time - but honestly, in your state of inebriation, could be any - Steve hums with delight. “Yeah, alright, I get it.”

“It’s good, right?” Eddie chirps. “Kinda jealous of Y/N though, getting the best of both worlds there.”

You laugh, “You just want Steve in your arms, don’t you?”

Eddie cackles, “You know it!”

Steve chuckles, trying to lean up to look at him. “Oh, you want some of this, Munson?”

Eddie puts on his infamous over-the-top dramatic voice, “Uh, I’ve not been gazing lovingly at you from afar for nothing, have I, pretty boy?!” The three of you laugh until it fades into a comfortable silence, and the music fills the air instead. You move your head from side to side in time with the rhythm, much to Eddie’s amusement, but he’s far more thrilled when he notices Steve tapping his feet to it, too. “No. Freaking. Way, Stevie.”

“Oh, oh, okay, what now? I can’t just like the beat that’s playing right now?” Steve asks with as much sass as Eddie delivered earlier.

“Not when it’s KISS, my dude,” Eddie smirks.

Feeling a certain vibration against your arms, you decide to chip in. “He’s humming along to the words, too.”

“What?!” Eddie yells gleefully, not quite loud enough to drown out Steve calling your name out, too. You fall out of the pair’s embrace, rolling on the floor with laughter. Steve swivels around to look at Eddie, who is looking straight back at him and pointing. “Do you actually know the words?” 

Steve bashfully admits, “Only the chorus.” 

Eddie grins, rushing to grab his empty beer bottle as the first verse comes to an end. Holding it like a microphone, he starts to sing, “’Cause girl, I was made for you… And girl you were made for me…”

You watch in glee, wishing more than anything that you had a camcorder to record the two of them jumping around Nancy’s living room, belting out the words into their beer bottles at each other: “I was made for lovin’ you, baby, you were made for loving meeee! And I can’t get enough of you, baby, can you get enough of meeee?”

Now that you’re sat up to watch them, Robin sits behind you. “Having fun?”

You laugh, “Yeah, a ton. Sorry I’ve kind of taken them up all night, did you want to talk to Steve or -?”

“Oh, no! Not at all! Please, I am… So glad to have a break from him,” she reassures you with a soft laugh. “Uh, I know Nancy kind of… Sprung… Spin the Bottle on us, but would you actually be cool if we did play it?”

You watch the two jumping and dancing around, then look at Robin. “Is everyone else cool with playing it if I am, too?”

“Nancy and Johnathan are happy enough with each other that they realise this is just a dumb game. I… Am happy enough that I do not want to kiss anyone, that I could do it just this once.”

“It looks like those two are one bottle spin away from going at each other,” you comment with laughter, pointing at Steve and Eddie.”You know what? Sure, what’s the harm.”

“SHE SAID YES!” Robin shouts, causing you to cover your ears. There’s a rumble from underneath as Nancy and Johnathan emerge from the basement where the younger ones had also been congregated for most of the night so far.

“Alright, Harrington, majority rules, we are playing Spin the Bottle!” Nancy points at him, and Steve stops, hurriedly looking over at you with concern.

You reassure him, “I’m… I’m with them, I said I’m cool as long as they are, it’s fine. I promise.”

Whether it’s because you haven’t had any alcohol for a good few minutes, or because of the situation at hand, you do start to feel your own heart beating as you sit between Eddie and Steve, with Johnathan directly opposite you.

Johnathan volunteers himself first. He lands on Nancy. Eddie and Robin jeer about being boring and predictable. Johnathan makes a cheesy remark about “fate” as he kisses his girlfriend. Robin and Steve lean in close together to mimic throwing up. 

Nancy lands on Robin. Both she and Steve have very similar expressions of shock. Nancy bites the lower lip of her smile as she leans across her boyfriend to press a sweet, gentle peck to Robin’s lips. Robin’s face remains unmoving the entire time.

Eddie lands on… Steve. Everyone seems both shocked and also not. You can’t help but giggle, “What was that about fate, Johnathan?” You don’t notice that he’s paying more attention to the stairs.

Eddie shrugs as he grins, “Well, Stevie? It’d be rude for us to lean over Y/N, you gotta come on over, big boy.” Steve briefly feigns an expression of annoyed disgust before making his way over to Eddie, desperately fighting off a smile while the others can’t see his face. 

“I don’t see why I should be the one to come all this way over,” he mutters once he’s on the move.

“But you’re doing it,” Eddie singsongs. You shuffle back and to the side to give them both space. Once Steve is knelt, completely on the other side of Eddie to you, Eddie pulls him in close by the sweater, still smiling. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll make this quick.” 

Steve seems to be portraying both his fake disgust and secret elation at the same time in the flash of a second before Eddie closes the gap. You expect Eddie to kiss him in some big, elaborate way, but he softens at the last minute. It lingers for a beat longer than the others had, even Nancy and Johnathan’s. Steve pulls away slowly, and they both share an awkward laugh.

As Steve moves to retake his old place, Eddie holds him by the back of his sweater, pulling him down. “Nah, you don’t get to just run away, c’mon.” He shuffles closer to you, winking. “Like that?”

Flustered, you reply, “I don’t really… Feel any type of way about other people kissing.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll feel it if you land on me, though,” he mutters so only you can hear, smirking the whole time. Something about kissing Steve has really bolstered Eddie’s confidence.

Now it’s your turn. You reach out, willing every ounce of energy into keeping your hand still as you spin the bottle around. It seems to spin a lot faster than you had swung it, but perhaps you’re still drunk enough that you’re more heavy-handed than you realise. It spins for what feels like hours, before settling on…

“Well, well,” Eddie grins. “Guess fate really is smiling down on the six of us tonight, huh.” 

You swallow hard as he grabs you by the back of your neck. Trying to embody the same amount of confidence as the others, you manage to tease, “That won’t work, I know you’re a soft kisser.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and drawls, “You… Know… Nothing.” before crashing his lips against yours with fervour. You’re able to recompose yourself for long enough to retaliate with the same energy for a moment before pulling away, not wanting to pull too much focus on the two of you. You simply look back at the bottle, suddenly very aware that all eyes are on you.

“Alright, Harrington, you’re up,” Johnathan calls, bringing everyone back into the game. Steve spins it, and it lands pretty quickly on you.

You look up at Nancy, “Is this floor slanted or something?”

Nancy, Johnathan and Robin all simultaneously yell out a, “No!” with Nancy clarifying, “Uh, we’ve played a ton of games on the floor before, and it’s never been an issue. Just luck of the spins, I guess.”

“What’s up, Y/N, scared I’ll be better than Munson?” Steve smirks. “At least I’ll get my old space back.”

Feeling that feigned confidence from earlier kick in for round 2, you swivel round to look at Steve and push Eddie’s chest so he’s leaning back. “I don’t think so, Stevie.”

“First you shove me, and then you take my name for him?!” Eddie asks, faking offence.

“Yeah, deal with it, Munson,” you laugh before leaning over to Steve, who happily takes your face in both of his hands and kisses you with what you could only describe as a delighted passion. Deep in pressure, but you can still feel the corner of his lips turned up against yours.

You’re not sure whether it lasted longer than Eddie’s, but you tried to time it as closely as you could remember before pulling away. You return to sitting, adding a, “Sorry, Eddie,” as you do.

Sitting up straight again, Eddie shakes his head. “Don’t be.”

Robin lands on Steve, in the most awkward and stilted kiss yet. It’s over before you can blink, despite Robin now having to reach all the way across the group.

“Hey, here’s a fun idea,” Robin quickly changes the subject, “how about now we go the other way from me? So, Y/N, you’re up again!”

“Says who?!” you ask.

“Says us!” Nancy and Johnathan also chorus. Not wanting to argue with new friends, you shrug and take the bottle again. 

—[ meta ]—

“Are we really just watching people kiss?” Lucas asks in a hushed tone as six children all huddle in the space on the stairs that overlooks where the older kids are sat.

“Shhh, yes! It’s part of Robin and Nancy’s… Plan, I don’t know, you should have been listening earlier,” Mike hisses back.

“I’m telling you guys, the way Y/N was looking at Eddie, that was for more than just drawing, and did you see them cuddling earlier?” Max points out.

Dustin shakes his head. “No, no, you don’t invite anyone to join you if you’re that into each other, much less someone like Steve. And he was letting her touch his hair, like it was nothing! He doesn’t do that!”

Will rolls his eyes, “Are we forgetting that Steve and Eddie were literally singing a song about loving each other, to each other?! Who knows what any of that means.”

“Guys, shut up! Let El concentrate!” Mike bats at all of them with his hand. “Alright, first up is… Johnathan, just have him kiss my sister, I guess,” Mike’s tone is laced with disgust. Eleven lets the second spin happen naturally, trying not to giggle at the sight of Nancy kissing Robin. Mike puts a hand on her shoulder after. “Okay, remember what order this goes in. Eddie kisses Y/N, Y/N kisses Steve.”

“I still think we should see if Eddie and Steve are the ones who really want to kiss, too,” Will puts his feet on the step directly beneath the one he’s sitting on, resting his chin on his knees. “For scientific purposes.”

“Yeah, but that might just be a drunk kiss, like Robin and Nancy, they’re not into each other,” Mike retaliates.

“Okay, but then you could say the same about all three of the others, and we’re still doing this,” Will points out. “It’s either legit for all, or bogus for all. Science.”

Eleven moves Eddie’s spin around and around to land on Steve, looking over at Will with a smile, which he returns fleetingly. All the kids are taken aback with how well-received Eddie’s kiss is. Will is especially happy at the sight, though thankfully nobody notices. Mike sighs, “Okay, fine, can you at least make sure these two spins make it fair for Y/N to kiss both of them now, like we promised?” 

Eleven looks at Mike to roll her eyes jokingly, before having your spin linger - just to mess with Mike a little more - and land on Eddie. Max leans close, pressing her face against the railings and points at you both excitedly as you kiss. “See?! What did I say?! That was so much more than the last one!”

“Yeah, yeah, you know what to do next, El,” Dustin shuffles himself to shove Max out of her place. Eleven moves Steve’s bottle to land on you, and Dustin holds his breath. He flails around watching you and Steve kiss, waving his hands in that direction. “Now that! That is how Steve kisses the girls he likes!”

Everyone slowly turns to look at Dustin with confused disgust. “You spend way too much time with him, dude,” Mike comments.

“Yeah, that’s not normal,” Lucas shakes his head.

Dustin rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m right.”

Then Robin throws the curveball by suggesting they reverse the order. Eleven panics ever-so-slightly, and ends up pointing your bottle spin exactly between Steve and Eddie. She watches the three of you react carefully. She can’t hear you, but she sees you all smiling, laughing, flirting. Thankfully, you’re all so interested in the conversation, none of you notice the bottle swinging wildly between you. 

It’s only when Nancy nudges Johnathan and starts to make her way up the stairs as Johnathan grabs the bottle that Eleven realises what she’s been subconsciously doing. Nancy chases the kids upstairs as Johnathan proposes a hydration-and-fresh-air break.

Once everyone’s safely on the second floor, Nancy holds Eleven’s shoulders. “Thank you for your help, but not a word of this to anyone. I am not equipped to explain any of that to Hopper.”

—[ meta end ]—

“Actually, I could go for a smoke break, you guys coming?” Eddie asks. Steve jumps up immediately, but you hesitate.

Steve pouts, “Are we that bad at kissing?” His tone is laced with sarcasm.

You laugh, “Not at all, I’m just not really a smoker.”

“But you can still keep us company, right?” Eddie holds his hand out, as does Steve. You take them both gleefully as they help you to stand up and lead you into the yard. “Oh, here,” Eddie takes the lead, walking you all over to a low garden wall and hopping up to sit on it. “Harrington and I can sit up here, and then you,” he takes hold of your shoulders and spins you round so your back is to them, “can stand here, and we’ll just blow the smoke away to the side of us. Right, Stevie?”

“I wish you’d be more consistent when you call me names,” Steve teases.

“Oh, you want to be called something else, big boy?” Eddie smirks, taking a packet of cigarettes out from his denim vest pocket and handing the box to Steve with a wink.

As Eddie also takes out a lighter and ignites it, the expression Steve had faked earlier returns. “Don’t know how to feel about that.”

“Eh, give it time, you’ll love it,” Eddie speaks through his teeth as he starts to puff his cigarette, handing the lighter over to Steve, too before taking the cigarette out of his mouth and blowing a long stream of smoke out far away from you.

“You good, Y/N?” Steve asks, stroking your head lightly. “Hell of a night, huh?” He adds with a grin.

You mirror him, “Totally.” The three of you sit in a comfortable silence as the two of them smoke, Steve’s hand still playing in your hair until they reach their end.

“Out of curiosity,” Eddie chimes in, tapping his last few embers away, “what would you have done if we’d have continued the game with the bottle between me and Stevie?”

“Well come on, Munson, that’s easy.” Steve puts his cigarette butt out on the wall, puts it aside. “She’s had no problem kissing us so far tonight, what’s one more?”

“Yeah, and it’s been pretty tame so far, so…” You shrug. “No big.”

Steve scoffs. “You wanna call me tame?” You feel his hand reach over to hold your jaw, pulling it towards him as he bends down to kiss you with much more passion than the kiss he gave you inside. His other hand reaches up into your hair to ball into a fist, and you can’t help but let out a little moan. In that instant, Steve takes the opportunity to quickly slip his tongue into your open mouth.

This time, interruption does not come from either of yourselves, but Eddie reaching over to hold your jaw in the same way, just from the other direction, to pull him over to you. “Don’t go hoarding our girl just for yourself now, Harrington,” Eddie purrs as he leans down to kiss you as well. His hand settles a little lower than your jaw, just pushing against your throat ever so slightly. You moan again, and this time feel Eddie’s tongue against yours. 

Again trying to gauge equal time between the two of them, you reluctantly pull yourself away, but you do swivel round to look at both of them expectantly. Steve looks over at Eddie with an expression that silently asks, You want to? Eddie grins, shuffling over to him with a, “Get over here, big boy.” You await them finishing their own kiss with no ill feeling toward either of them whatsoever. It’s much more… Pleasant. You don’t feel excluded while they’re doing their thing.

When they’re done, they simultaneously hop off the wall and the three of you head back inside. The couch suddenly seems very inviting. Inviting and comfortable. You ask the boys to join you over there. “Sure, but if there’s more cuddling then I’m being in the middle this time!” Eddie holds a finger high in the air, and you nod with a laugh as you take his arm and lead him over. 

Steve sits at one end of the couch, with Eddie tucked under his arm and you laying over Eddie to settle your head in his lap. Steve’s arm rests over the back of the couch as his hand slowly strokes up and down the part of your arm he can reach. Eddie’s hand finds your hair and starts to gently fan his fingers in and out. It’s the last thing you remember that night.

[xoxo-teddybear]

4 weeks - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: SMUT, cursing, needy Bakugou, 18+, sub!bakugou, dom!f!reader, oral, use of viagra, NOT SPELL CHECKED (sorry >w<)

Summary: Bakugou done fucked up and now he has to pay the price..sorta

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

A/N: just for the sake of the story, your quirk is “Command.” As long as you come into physical contact with your opponent, even for a second, you can command them to do your bidding until you say “rebel.”

“WHAAAATTTTT??????!!!!!!”

You could’ve sworn the whole house, scratch that, the whole world shook as Bakugou screamed at you.

Bakugou had fucked up. During a little heated session, things got a little too rough. As Bakugou was railing you from the back, he tugged at your hair. However, along with your soft locks, he pulled on your thin necklace chain that was gifted to you by your precious 5 year old son. The chain broke and Bakugou didn’t even tell you. He opted to have you both finish before he even mentioned the broken gift.

And now it was the next day and Katsuo, your son, had noticed the missing necklace. It did hurt him a bit especially considering he did so much to earn money and go with grandma to buy the necklace but he assured you it was okay. You sent him off to his room to play as you walked to the kitchen to scold and punish your husband. As you complained to him, he conversed with you as his back was facing you and only turned when he heard your punishment for him.

“You heard me. 4 weeks. No sex, no touching, no hugs or kisses, no nothing. No. Physical. Contact.” You said with a stern and nonchalant face. Your arms were crossed as you faced your husband who looked at you with an open mouth and open palms.

“Wha- but- WHY???” He whined.

“Katsuki come on! You broke my very expensive necklace!” You said, gesturing to your now bare neck.

“Who cares if it was expensive, I could buy you another one! We’re pros Y/N, we could buy a unicorn if we wanted!” Bakugou argued as he was still trying to get out of his punishment. You only crossed your arms and pressed your fingers into your forehead.

“That’s not the point! It’s the fact that even though it was so expensive, our 5 year old son still bought it! And so because you broke it, this is your punishment.” You explained. Bakugou groaned as he threw his head back and huffed towards the ceiling when an idea came to his mind.

“You know..” he began as he walked towards you, “I broke that necklace, on accident, because I was so focused on pleasuring my queen. Anndddd I could make it up to you in the exact same way~” He attempted to wrap his arms around your waist but you spun around and stepped behind him resulting in him stumbling forward. He turned towards you and growled.

“Really Katsuki? You’re gonna snarl at me? Look, you know the rules, so follow them. Now I’m going with Katsuo to get him a new toy to cheer him up, you just...heh, sit in your room and think about what you’ve done.” You teased. You grabbed your purse and had Katsuo get ready. Once he was done you told him to get into the car and you walked to Katsuki to say bye. You smirked as you looked at him and pressed your hands against his chest. You slowly went in for a kiss and Bakugou looked at you in shock before he smirked and leaned in too. But just as your lips were about to touch, you pulled away and walked to the door. As you opened it you turned to him and spoke.

“No kisses. Remember?” You grinned at him. He snarled and picked up a pillow off the couch and threw it towards you but you shut the door before it could reach you. This was gonna be a long 4 weeks for Katsuki.

—

Katsuki awoken to his gorgeous wife....sleeping on the other side of the bed far..far away from him. No touching meant no sleepy time cuddles either. It had already been like this for a week. He looked a little closer at her sleeping figure and smiled at her peaceful state. He scooted closer and he tucked his head into your neck and wrapped his arm around your waist. Or more like he tried to. The second his arm made contact with your body for cuddles, you woke up and smacked his hand away.

“Ah! Y/N!! This isn’t fair!” He whined. He looked at his arm and saw a little red shade forming as he pouted at you. You turned towards your doting husband and just gave him a stern look.

“Who broke my necklace?” Bakugou sighed and flopped onto the bed on his back as he faced the ceiling.

“Me.”

“And now who has to pay the price?”

“Me.” He pouted again. You chuckled as you got up and stretched.

“Stop pouting Suki. You’re not Katsuo.” You giggled but he only looked at you with the same pout.

“He’s my carbon copy, we’re basically the same person.” You smiled at your humorous husband and he smiled seeing the grin that bestowed your face. You kneeled on the bed and leaned into him. You placed your hands on his chest as you got close to his face.

“You’ll survive, Love.” You said and then gave him a loving kiss. His eyes went wide at the surprise contact but he quickly smiled into the kiss and returned it as he shut his eyes to enjoy it. You intensified the kiss but when Katsuki went to pull you in closer by your neck, you quickly backed away. He looked at you in shock before whining again.

“Okay, first of all, I thought you said no touching.” He growled as he clenched his fist.

“I said you couldn’t touch. Never said anything about me,” you said with a cocky grin. Bakugou’s face went red at your devious actions.

“Okay well what the fuck? You can’t just kiss me like that and stop after I already went a whole week without touching you. Come back here,” he said as he tried to grab onto your wrist but you backed up and walked to your bedroom door.

“Get ready for the day love, this is just the beginning.”

—

Mitsuki and Masaru had just arrived. Katsuki was sitting on the couch trying to distract himself with the TV while you were in the kitchen making a smoothie when door bell rang. You opened the door greeting your in-laws with love and expectance.

“Hi Mom! Dad! Come in! Katsuo is almost done packing his bags,” you happily said as you stepped to the side to allow your mother and father in law to enter.

“Umm, what? Why is my son packing his bags?” Katsuki asked as he stood from the couch.

“Y/N didn’t tell you? We called a few nights ago asking to bring Katsuo on a trip. She said yes and told us she’d tell you about it later,” Masaru explained. Katsuki jerked his head towards Y/N in disbelief as she placed her hand on the side of cheek and spoke.

“Oops! I guess I forgot,” you said with sarcasm dripping in your voice. Mitsuki and Masaru believed you but when they turned to face their son again your mischievous grin returned as you also faced Katsuki. He was silently fuming as he watched you go from angel to devil in a second.

“Ah well, who cares. Point is, we’re here to pick up my grandson!” Mitsuki said as she took a seat on the couch. You all made small talk but Katsuki continued to stand as he processed just how conniving his wife was.

“Mama! I’m all set!” Katsuo said as he came down the stairs with his little suitcase and teddy bear in hand.

“Hi baby! Grandma and Grandpa are already here,” you said and Katsuo excitedly ran to his grandparents.

“Grandma! Grandpa!” Katsuo said as he jumped into their arms.

“Ohh, hello my little firecracker!” Mitsuki said, greeting her grandson. “Ready for a vacation in Rio?”

“Mhm!” Katsuo quickly replied but Katsuki just stuttered in shock before he spoke again.

“Woah- wait? Rio? You’re taking him to Brazil? That’s across the globe, how long are you guys gonna be gone?” Katsuki asked with concern. Not for his son, he completely trusted his parents with his child and he knew they would have fun. He was worried for himself. Taking care of Katsuo was a distraction for Katsuki. Watching his son kept his mind off of wrecking Y/N. If his son was away for too long, he didn’t know how long he would survive his punishment.

“We’ll be gone for about 3 weeks. Don’t worry, we’ll be back before you know it.” Masaru said.

“Wha- huh? 3 WEEKS?! .....Y/N you little satan,” he whispered the last part. He turned to face you and saw a Cheshire grin on your face. His face turned red and you swore you could see steam leave Katsuki’s ears but you continued as if everything was normal.

“Alright well, we’ll be going now!” Mitsuki said as she stood alongside her husband. Katsuo said his partings with his parents and they said their “I love you’s” before their son walked out the door with his grandparents. Katsuo was about to have the time of his life while Katsuki was left to suffer.

Y/N was seated on the couch as Katsuki was still seething. She held a grin on her face as Katsuki slowly turned to look at her.

“You got some explaining to do, princess,” he said adding poison to the loving nickname. You only smiled some more as you stood and walked to your husband. He towered over you but right now, you were above him because you held all the power now. You got in his face as you spoke words that would set him off.

“Whatchu’ gonna do now without your little distraction running around, daddy?” You softly but sinisterly and seductively said as you chuckled and purposely bumped into his shoulder as you walked away.

—

Bakugou has slowly been losing his mind. He was on the last day of the second week and it’s been killing him. When he sat down he would spazz a little and his fingers would be having a little seizure. His eye would twitch at night as he kept his back to you to restrain himself. The soft quiet moans you would release in your sleep every now and then would send Bakugou into the bathroom in the middle of the night to relieve himself. Just the sight of you was daring Bakugou to pounce.

You weren’t making it any easier for him either. First you send his son AKA his distraction from his hot wife away, then you tease him constantly, you also allow yourself to touch him but refuse to let him cop a feel on you, and now, you walk around after work in his t-shirt and a pair of cute panties. Your plump ass on display and the sight of your plush thighs drove him wild.

You were sipping tea in the kitchen when your frantic husband came in. You took notice of him and greeted him with a smile before it quickly dropped at the sight of him. He looked awful. Bags under his eyes, a twitching eye, a crooked line for a smile, disheveled hair, and his posture was horrendous. He took a seat next to you saying nothing as he just tapped his foot against the floor.

“Umm...baby? Are you okay-“

“NO! I’m not! I’m not okay, not at all!” He snapped as he looked at you with wide eyes. You stared back at him with the same eyes as you slowly took another sip before continuing.

“What’s the problem, love?” You asked as if you didn’t know.

“What’s the problem?” He began with a whisper. “What’s the problem?! Oh, like you don’t know you TEASE!” Bakugou stood from his seat as he clapped his hands to dramatically to explain.

“HOR-NY!” He said as he brought his hands together for each sound. “I am insanely horny, you shitty woman! I can’t get myself off, I don’t have my son around to keep me busy, work is just annoying now, and my fine ass wife won’t let me touch her!”

You laughed a little as he explained and Katsuki had his jaw dropped at your rude behavior.

“You’re laughing? Oh you think this is funny? Oh okay,” he said and walked away.

“WHEN THIS BULLSHIT IS OVER, YOU’RE SUCKING MY DICK Y/N!” He slammed the door to your shared bedroom but he screamed loud enough for you to hear all the way from the kitchen. “ON SOFT!”

—

The end of the third week. It was almost too much for Katsuki. Katsuo would be back in another week but it would be pointless because the punishment would be over by then. I mean yeah, he’d get to have his son back again (yayy familyyy) but when Katsuo would be back, Katsuki would be completely indulging himself in Y/N. How the fuck were they supposed to keep quiet?

Whatever though. Katsuki had no time to think of the future. He was living in the now, and so he had to come up with a plan to get Y/N to break. In the beginning of the 4th week, Katsuki spent time and time again tweaking his plans and coming up with new tactics until he realized....his damn wife was just as stubborn and hard headed as he was. Nothing was gonna break her. And so we’ve been led to this.

“BABBYYYYYYYYYY”

“...”

“PRINCESSSSSSSS”

“...”

“Y/N BAKUGOU!”

Bakugou resorted to being a puppy that basically had separation anxiety. He would yell and shout and whine at every chance he had. He would do whatever if it meant getting you to break. He missed you. The last time you made physical contact with him was during that kiss and man did it send Katsuki into a frenzy.

Considering Katsuki’s quirk contained nitroglycerin, a chemical commonly found in viagra, it was safe to say it was very easy for you to rile him up. And as he thought about that, it hit him like a train. If he can’t go to you, then he’ll make you come to him. He’ll set you up and he knows exactly how to do it.

Bakugou left the bedroom and ran down the stairs to find you in the living room. You were cozied up with yourself under a blanket that covered your booty shorts that you wore. You were entranced by the story of a book as you allowed the TV to play at a low volume for background noise and Bakugou’s heart swelled at such a domesticated moment. “Hi baby.”

You looked up to your husband and rolled your eyes with a smile as you looked at him. You wondered what trick he had up his sleeve this time around. “Hey. You need something?” You asked.

“Mm mm,” he shook his head with a soft smile, how cute. “Just was wondering if you wanted to watch a movie with me. Get some snacks, sit in bed, and just enjoy some time together.”

You smile grew wider at the thought of a little date night in your shared bedroom and you were quick to agree to his offer. “I’ll get the snacks,”

“No don’t worry about. I’ll get it. I already have everything set up. Picked a movie and everything. All you have to do is just be there with me.” You awed at your husband’s kind gestures as you went up to peck his cheek.

“Thanks Suki!” You happily said as you walked away. Bakugou watched your form disappear into the master bedroom before he quickly ran through all the cabinets and fridge. He frantically looked for viagra but when he couldn’t find any he whipped out his phone. He called a number that he knew was going to be able to help him.

“Listen Dunce Face. Don’t ask any questions, just do as I say if you want to fucking live. I know you have female viagra on you and if you don’t, get your ass to the store right now and pick some up for me. Bring it to me ASAP!” He quickly said and hung up before giving Kaminari any time to reply. Bakugou slowly prepared snacks to eat and in 5 minutes a knock was heard on the door. He ran to it and opened the wooden piece to find a huffing electric blonde.

“I....I....I got it!” Kaminari tiredly breathed out as he held a bag over his head to show the items he brought. Bakugou snatched it out of his hand before giving a quick ‘thanks!’ To show his appreciation and slammed the door.

Katsuki took the pills out of its containers and crushed 2 into a powder. He mixed it in with your bottle of water and finally brought the snacks and drinks up to you. He walked in to find you waiting on the bed for him and you smiled at the sight of him. He placed the bags of junk on the bed as he quickly joined you until he realized something was off.

“Umm...Y/N?” You smiled as you knew what he was going to ask and considering you guys were gonna have a little movie date, you gave in.

“Fine.” You happily said as you gave in and Bakugou was quick to pull you into his arms and become the big spoon. He finally got to hold you after so many weeks but this was not his main goal. No he wanted much more. This was only a stepping stone to his victory.

The movie began and Bakugou had you cuddled in his arms. You were enjoying the warmth of your husband as your eyes were drawn to the screen and you couldn’t help but smile at these sweet intimate moments like this. Yeah. You’ve missed him over the past few weeks but a punishment is a punishment. So you decided to savor this time with him before going back to cutting off physical contact once more.

Time had passed and Bakugou watched as you picked at the snacks and swallow down sips of the contaminated water. He smirked every time you downed a gulp and now the best part was coming up. See, Bakugou chose everything so that he knew exactly how everything would turn out. With that being said, he chose a movie that he knew would help the viagra in your system to get you going.

The erotic scene played and Bakugou watched as you rubbed your thighs together for friction. You bit your lip from time to time to hold back a needy groan and you began feeling heat all over you. And it wasn’t coming from Katsuki. Seeing you in this state, Bakugou slowly went to place a hand on your bare thigh. You didn’t push him away and Bakugou grinned at the fact that you were breaking. He soothed and rubbed at your thigh as he would squeeze it every now and then as well. The whole time you were asking yourself why the explicit scene was so detailed and so long.

Out of nowhere, you felt Bakugou’s hand travel up your leg and to your core but just for a second. The teasing touch had you silently gasp and you craved for more. You turned to Bakugou to see he was leaning against the headboard and he would release a grunt every so often which didn’t help relieve your growing heat. He didn’t seem bothered by anything or affected at all as he watched the movie continue.

Enough was enough, you picked up the remote and turned off the TV. Bakugou turned to look at you with a raised brow but openly smirked once he saw you straddle his lap. You shamelessly began to grind yourself against his core as you both released sighs and moans at the friction. His hands went straight to your hips as he spoke.

“What’s wrong princess? What happened to my punishment?” He teasingly asked.

“Shut up,” was all that you said before you quickly dove in for a hungry kiss that Bakugou happily returned. It was all teeth and tongue as you both pressed against each other, grinding against one another’s clothed centers. Moans were released into the kiss as you began to undress yourself. You both pulled away for a second to remove your tops but quickly went back in for the kiss. You removed your shorts as Bakugou remained in his sweats. You were left in nothing but panties before Katsuki decided to rip those off.

“Katsuki...nobody said anything about you being able to touch me again,” you clarified with sharp eyes. Bakugou’s eyes went wide. He thought this was the end of the punishment. He thought you gave in.

“What do you-“

Before he could finish, you placed your hand on his shoulder and activated your quirk.

“Sleep.”

And just like that, Bakugou was out like a light. While he was unconscious, you took the opportunity to tie his wrists to the headboard using one of his dress ties. You removed his sweats and briefs as you allowed his member to stand tall. You stared at the red, angry tip that was drenched in pre-cum. You smirked as you sat yourself on his waist as your hand went to stroke his member the slightest bit. He moaned in his sleep and you giggled as you spoke again.

“Rebel.”

Bakugou slowly woke up, but once he fully came to, he was completely submerged in pleasure. His eyes were blessed with the view of your naked body, with a beautiful face that adorned a smirk. And he understood why you held the malicious smile. He groaned as he felt your pace at his dick speed up. You leaned down to his ear as Katsuki held heavy breaths with a flushed and red face.

“No touching, remember Suki?” You whispered as you then licked the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“F-fuck! Fuck, Y/N please. Please just do something...Ahh~” You trailed your thumb up to his tip as you focused on it. The feeling sent Bakugou into heaven.

“Awww, you thought you could tell me what to do? If you didn’t notice, tonight, I’m in charge.” You said with a grin and devious eyes. Bakugou groaned even more as he waited for you to do..anything! “I’ll tell you what though, Suki. You have been pretty decent for the past few weeks so I’ll give you a little something. And maybe if you’re a good boy for me, I’ll let you have the main course.”

Bakugou watched as you stopped your hand movements and scooted back. You were face to face with his dick as you jerked him off some more. You held his member in your hand as you made eye contact with him. You licked the base of his cock all the way to the tip causing Bakugou to sigh and moan. You kissed the tip before taking it into your mouth and swirling your tongue around.

“Oh s-shit! Baby! Fuck-“

You went down on him one time and moaned around his cock, allowing the vibrations to have full affect on your trembling husband. You pulled off him with a pop as you smiled up at him.

“Oh I’m sorry. You wanted me to suck your dick on soft, right?...Mm, well it’s not my fault you can’t control your hard on.” You teased to which Bakugou growled at you. “Again with the snarling? That’s not what good boys do Suki. Good boys do what they’re told so they get to cum inside a pretty pussy~”

Bakugou perked up at the temptation. Cumming inside you. Breeding you. Pumping you full until you give him another brat. The thought of you walking around beautifully swollen with his kid drove him mad and desperate.

“Let me cum inside you Princess.” He asked with a soft but stern tone.

“Ah ah, you don’t get to tell me what to do. You’re not the one giving orders tonight, Katsuki. So listen up. I’ll go down on you for about 5 minutes. If you don’t come in those 5 minutes, I’ll let you cum inside. However, if you do, I’ll be leaving you here with a cock ring for the next few hours while I go and pleasure myself somewhere else. Understand?” You watched as he attempted to fight against his restraints.

“No.” He refused to give in. He turned his head down, avoiding your gaze and you sighed in return.

“Fine, I guess I’ll just have to take care of myself,” you said and slid off him. You were about to walk away before Bakugou called out for you.

“No wait!” You turned to him and gave a little curl with your lip. “Tch....please.” He said while blushing and staring off.

“Please what suki?” You said, acting dumb. Bakugou really didn’t wanna beg but he’s so close to getting what he’s been craving all month. Screw his damn pride. He was gonna get laid and he was gonna get it tonight!

“Please! ....Fuck me, touch me, suck my dick, let me cum inside you, do something to me! Please Y/N,” he begged. His member still stood erect and you smiled as you walked towards him.

“That’s my good boy,” you said as you caressed his jaw and gave him a quick and passionate kiss before moving down to suck him off. You kissed his tip multiple times before taking him in. He gasped and sighed at the contact and feeling of your warm cavern but he’ll be damned if he came undone in less than 5 minutes. He needed to cum inside your sweet little cunt and he was gonna do whatever it took to do so.

You bobbed your head at a steady pace causing Bakugou to plead for more. You swallowed his pre-cum, which left him gasping. Your hand went to fondle his balls as he fought against his restraints. He wanted to use his hands to take control but he couldn’t, not with them being tied up.

“P-please baby. Faster! Please!” He begged. And who were you to deny your good boy. You sped up your movements and moaned with his cock seated in your throat. “Ohh god! Yess!”

His legs shook as he was close to cumming. He looked at the time and saw he only had 1 minute left. Just 1 minute. Hold it in and he gets to cum inside you. However, he didn’t know you had a little trick up your sleeve.

When you walked away before, you grabbed a mini vibrator. Seeing he only had 1 minute left, you turned it on and placed it at the base of his cock while you sucked him off and moaned some more.

“F-fuck baby! S’too much! Stop- stop! ...ohh fuck I’m-I’m gonna cum!” Bakugou screamed with his head thrown back. He jerked his hips up as he attempted to fuck your mouth but you squeezed and scratched at his bare thighs to get him to stop. And finally, with your permission..

“You can cum now, good boy,”

He filled your mouth as he screamed in pleasure. His legs shook in pure ecstasy as he filled your mouth with his sweet-salty release. You pulled off him with a stuffed mouth and watched as his chest puffed up and fell down. He sighed before he looked at you with rosy cheeks. You smirked at him, opening your mouth to show him his work before swallowing it all. The erotic scene caused him to bite his lips and throw his head back as he puffed some more.

He can’t believe he was at his limit and all because of a blowjob. His dick grew soft but rose once more as vibrations came in contact with his shaft again. He flinched at the sudden feeling and looked at the cause of it and saw you holding the vibrator against him. “Baby? W-what? W-hy?”

“Aww Suki. Don’t you remember? It’s time to give you what you’ve wanted all month,” you smirked at him. His eyes went wide. How could he forget? He wanted to cum inside you so badly, but he didn’t know if he had any left. He didn’t know if he would be able to take it after his extreme climax.

“W-wait! Wait Y/N. I-..I need a break for a second. I can’t-“

“Excuse me?” You cut him off. “So you’re the only one that gets pleasure out of all this? I don’t think so.”

“No baby, that’s not what I meant. I just- it’s just...s’too much!” He cried out as he watched you hover over his erection. You lined his dick up with your entrance and smirked some more.

“You can handle it. I know you can. You’ll be my good boy and pleasure me too, right?” You sweetly said. Bakugou didn’t know what it was. He was never the submissive one but you calling him a ‘good boy’ did something to him. It made him want to completely submit to you and do whatever you pleased. You slammed down completely on his cock as you both cried out in pleasure.

“Fuck!” Bakugou screamed. You began a fast pace bouncing up and down on him. Your hands found placement on his bare chest as he threw his head back and made an abundant amount of noise. “Oh baby! Baby- slow down! F-fuck too much!”

“Mm..c’mon Suki..I thought you wanted this. Fuck- I thought you wanted..to be my good boy,” you teased while moaning. You held a devious grin as you rode him and he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Poor baby was so overstimulated.

Bakugou released sobs of pleasure but he enjoyed it all nonetheless. “S-shit! Oh my godd Katsuki! S-So big!”

“Ahh! Fuck! Y-Y/N..baby please! Let me touch you! Please!” Bakugou seethed out. He had his feet planted on the bed as he attempted to thrust up into you. You, growing a soft spot for the man below you, gave in.

“Heh...be a good boy and please me Suki.” You released his wrists from their ties as you never stopped your motions and his hands were quick to find home around your waist.

Bakugou was quick to take control and bounce you up and down on his shaft, controlling the pace. Now it was your turn to scream and cry in pleasure as Bakugou slammed you down on his cock while ramming up into you at the same time. He was going to be a good boy and please you.

“F-fucking shit! You like that? Huh?” He gave your ass a quick and hard smack before continuing. “You like the way my dick feels inside your sweet pussy?”

The pleasure was too much for you. You could barely form words as he catered to your body. His thrusts were beginning to bring you to your end as you felt the familiar tight feeling grow stronger in your stomach. You pussy clenched around his shaft as he released a gruff moan at the squeeze.

“Shit..you gonna cum baby? Gonna cum on my dick? ...fuck yess~ let me fill you up princess,” he said as his thrust grew sloppy. He was close to his end as well and you nodded in approval to his desire.

“Ka-Katsuki! I’m gonna cum..fuck baby I’m cumming!” Bakugou sped up the slightest bit to help you reach your climax until you finally came. You both released cried of euphoria as you both met your orgasms and met each other for a hungry kiss. At the same time, Bakugou stopped his thrusts as he shot his load in you, and a mix of your releases seeped out of your cunt. Your kiss was sloppy as your tongues fought for dominance. Bakugou let his hands travel to your ass where they helped you grind on his dick a little more and smacked it once again.

You both had moaned into the kiss until oxygen became necessary. You separated from each other with small pecks before finally stopping. Bakugou remained inside you as you settled into his chest. He had his arms wrap around you as you both spent time catching your breaths. Once you both finally settled, you bathed in the comforting feeling of the after sex glow and cuddled in a comforting silence. Bakugou had kissed the crown of your head before he spoke up and broke the quiet.

“So much for a punishment,” he teased. You looked at him with slanted eyes as a way of telling your husband to shut up but he only chuckled at you. He lifted your chin and brought your lips to meet his once more for a loving kiss before separating to tell you sweet words.

“I love you, princess.” He said with his husky voice.

“I love you too, Suki.” You sent your hand to intertwine with his and he gladly accepted. He was right though. So much for a punishment. Oh well, you’ll get him next time he fucks up.

A/N: EW THE ENDING WAS SO BAD!!!! WTFFFFF! Whatever. I hope you enjoyed it bear Cubs! I’m sorry I’ve been in my lil slump but I feel myself getting better and I’ll be back soon!💗🧸 And now...to start on the ninth chapter of my series. Yayyyyy😓

A/N: I think my favorite part is when Katsuki yells “Suck my dick!...on soft!” Cuz I be walking around and saying that to mfs who test me. If you disrespect me, SUCK MY DICK..ON SOFT! 🤣 am I a female? YES! But you will suck my soft non-existent dick if you decide to act like a prick for no apparent reason. Thank you!😂