#Workspace illumination

[havellsindia001]

Havells Adore LED Lamp 40W - Illuminate Your Space Efficiently

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[mehmetyildizmelbourne-blog]

Why I Like Hidden Gem Timothy Agnew and Why You Should Explore His Writing on Medium

Discovering the literary brilliance of Mr Agnew and why his stories deserve your attention, as appraised by a seasoned content curator. Written by Guest Author Dr Michael Broadly, Retired Health Scientist As a volunteer editor and content curator for the esteemed ILLUMINATION Integrated Publications (brain child of Dr Mehmet Yildiz (Newsletter) my mentor, I interact with countless writers in…

[luveline]

can I pls pls pls get an other single dad Spencer I'm on my knees here jade baby! I would love a fic where they r dating and reader comes over and basically Amy is like ur his gf?? But I thought u were my best friend?! And she's upset and reader is just like babe I can be both! Obvs we r bffs! And then May be she asks Spencer if she can take amy out of ice cream or something just the girls

thank you for your request! fem, 1.4k

Peeling Amy’s grapes is a repetitive, calming task. You press your nail to the top of the grape where the stalk had been, carving away a sliver of the fruit as you pinch the skin and pull. It comes away in small, triangular pieces that you put in the bowl on your lap. 

You put the naked grape in Amy’s hand. They’re seedless, so all she has to do is chew. 

“Thank you,” she says, distracted by the TV. 

“You’re welcome.” You move to another grape. 

You’re sitting together on the couch in Spencer’s apartment. Spencer sits at the dining table across the way, writing a letter, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Bright afternoon sunlight ebbs in through the window behind the kitchen sink to kiss his arms and illuminate his workspace, a beam of it catching his arm, his fine hairs like strands of gold. 

“Spence?”

“Yeah?” 

“Are we still going to the library?” 

“Yeah…” His writing gets very fast. He finishes it off with a smile and a resounding period, picking the paper up and folding it in a clean half. “I can post my letter at the same time.” 

You watch him give his hair a vigorous scratching as he stands. “I’m gonna go get a sweater,” he says, making for his bedroom. 

You follow him until he’s gone. Amy hums, kid-talk for please pay attention to me. 

“Oh, sorry. Forgot your grapes.” 

“Why do you look at him like that?” 

You smile shyly. “Uh, like what?” 

Her brown eyes widen as her eyebrows pinch together. “I don’t know. You looked at him for a long time.” 

“I guess I like looking at him, ‘cos I really like him. You’re beautiful because of so many things, but your dad is part of the reason. He’s beautiful, so you’re beautiful.” 

She wrinkles her nose, but she’s smiling. “You really like him?” she whispers. 

“Of course I do,” you whisper back, “he’s my boyfriend.” 

Amy winces hard. “What?” she asks. 

She’s suddenly and emphatically incredulous. You take her hand, but she takes it right back and stands up on the couch. She gives you a weird look as she backs away, sitting heavily on the armrest. “He’s your boyfriend?” 

“Why do you think I’m always here these days?” 

You know you’ve said the complete wrong thing the moment it leaves your mouth. You’re honestly shocked she didn’t know; Amy is a very smart little girl, and you were under the impression she knew about you and her father being a couple. But she’s also just a little girl, with big feelings. 

“I thought you were here to see me,” she says softly. 

You push the bowl of grapes across the coffee table, remorseful. “Amy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I come here to see you, too, of course I do, I love spending time with you.” 

Her eyes fill with tears. She’s not a crocodile crier, at least not when you’re around. You know these to be the genuine deal, and that makes it much worse for you. 

“Babe, I’m sorry! I really didn’t mean it like that, I promise. I’m here to see you, too, it’s not just to see your dad.” 

“Because we’re best friends,” she says. 

“Of course we are.” You open your hands. “Of course.” 

She finally takes your hands, despite her tears. Her face has turned dark with a hot flush, embarrassment twisting her lips into an expression that turns your heart. 

“I’m sorry for what I said,” you whisper. “Can you forgive me? You’re so important to me, Amanda.” 

Spencer appears behind her looking like a deer caught in bright headlights. You ignore him, giving Amy’s fingers a rolling squeeze. 

“I thought we were best friends– and– and–” She sucks in a shaky breath as a fresh crest of tears fall. “I thought you were here to see me.” 

“I am here to see you.” 

You’ve done loads of things with Amy without Spencer’s involvement. If he sleeps in, you and Amy watch cartoons together in your pyjamas eating breakfast burritos. You’ve babysat her on short notice, you had her for a sleepover once so he could give a talk in Michigan. You and Amy do tons of things without her father, like eating peeled grapes, and jigsaw puzzles while he reads, and girl talk. You cuddle. 

Poor girl. 

“Amy, I love you.” 

“You do?” 

“So much!” You wipe the tears from her chin. 

“I didn’t know that– that dad was your boyfriend,” she says bashfully. 

“Me and your dad started as best friends, that’s why. He’s my second bestest friend ever.” 

“Who’s number one?” she asks. 

You poke her chest gently. “Who do you think?” 

She nods and looks down. She wipes her cheeks, and that’s what upsets you the most in the whole ordeal. Her hands look small and uncoordinated. 

“You okay, angel?” Spencer asks, coming up from behind to hug her. 

“Sorry,” she says. 

“It’s okay. Crying is okay,” he murmurs. “What happened?” 

“I didn’t know you were boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew,” Spencer says, giving her arm a soft up and down, “when I told you we were dating I should’ve been more clear about what that means. I’m very sorry we confused you.” 

“It’s good!” she says, sniffling, pressing a little sob into Spencer’s chest. 

You bite your cheek. You really hadn’t meant to do this to her, just she’s as empathetic as her father. She’s a bubbling mess against him. 

You look at Spencer. It’s your fault, you misspoke, and you’re asking him to save you as a kindness. 

“What’s making you cry, sweetheart?” he whispers, pulling her right into his chest. 

“I just wanted to be her best friend.” 

“You are,” he whispers, nose against her temple, “I might be her boyfriend, but you think she likes me so much she’s here every single weekend? No way. She sees me every day at work, she doesn’t need to come over if all she wants to do is see me. But you know who she doesn’t see at work?” 

“Me…” 

“Exactly. She comes here every weekend to be with you, so we can all be together. Okay?” 

“Okay,” she says, taking in another shaky breath. 

“Are you crying because you’re still upset, or because it’s just a feeling?” he asks softly, slowly. “It’s okay if you’re still sad, but maybe we need to have some water?” 

“Okay,” she says, stretching it into one big cry. 

“Could I give you a hug?” you ask. You’re lost. 

She nods. Spencer says, “Okay, you guys hug and I’ll go get my Amy a glass of water.” 

You fold Amy into an embrace carefully. She’s heavy with her upset but she wants the hug, her arms at your sides as she rubs her nose against your shoulder. “Amy,” You say, taking a pause to brush her hair from her warm neck, “I’m sorry, angel. I really am. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

She sounds just like her dad as she replies. “I didn’t mean to cry.” 

“Well, that’s okay! If I thought you didn’t want to be my friend either I would be just as upset.” 

“You would?” 

“Amy, do you know how much I love seeing you? I would sit here and watch TV and peel grapes with you every day of the week, I’d love to…” You hope Spencer won’t mind what you’re about to suggest. “In fact, maybe you and I need to do more things together, what do you think? When was the last time we went to Penny’s Ice Cream Parlour?” 

She looks up at you with love and apt suspicion. “You just want me to feel better.” 

“Of course I do. I should be allowed to take my favourite girl for ice cream, right?” 

Spencer hesitates in the kitchen with the fairy glass half full. You’re stroking Amy’s hair away from her neck, so sorry, and so lovely. He couldn’t want anything more in life than Amy, but if he got to choose, he would love to have you, and to have you treat her as you are now, nothing but affection in your touch as you soothe her overstimulation. “We can go alone?” Amy asks. 

“Sure, bubby, we can go just you and me. Banana splits?” 

Spencer loves her, but he loves ice cream, too. “Wait, why can’t I come?”

[always-just-red]

I NEED some angst+comfort with Zayne PLEASE. It could be anything, the reader being run over in front of him, him being stressed about work and being mean to the reader... Literally anything

This was my first request, so thank you so much! I started this last night with a cup of tea and an "I'm sure I can manage some angst for Zayne, why not?" sort of attitude, and it culminated with me evil laughing to myself at 3am. Enjoy I guess? 😭

Reserved

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: You've been looking forward to this dinner with Zayne for a week, but it seems he has other priorities.

Genre: angst, SO MUCH angst (but sshhhh... we save it with some comfort... 👀)

Warnings/Additional tags: established relationship, fluff, uses of y/n, reader is feeling neglected, Zayne gets a tiny bit mean

| Word count: 1.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Zayne… c’mon. Let’s go.”

You feel like a child, whining for what feels like the hundredth time in the last half hour, but you’ve little else left to do. You’re perched on Zayne’s desk, having long ago lost respect for the sanctity of his workspace, and you pout as you stare down at the phone in your palm. The screen is lit up by a reminder you’d set a week ago: Reservation. The Cerulean. 8 o’clock.

It’s 8:25, and you’ve snoozed it five times already— each time more pointedly than the last.

“Just a minute,” Zayne mumbles.

“You said that an hour ago!”

The man hums in acknowledgment, but he doesn’t look up from his computer. His face is bathed in the ghoulish light of the screen, his glasses shining as he dips his head— just a fraction— to glance at the paperwork spread before him. You give him his minute: let second after second tick by, though you mark each one with an idle tap on the desk’s cold surface.

A murmur: “Stop that, please.” His patience is thinning too.

You’re feeling petty, because you’ve been listening to the patter of his keyboard forever and it’s driving you insane. You purse your lips and tap louder. One second. Tap. Two seconds. Tap. Three. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Stop it.” Zayne’s hand catches yours, his grip soft, but his face stern.

And he still won’t look at you.

He releases your hand, and his dutiful fingers are back to their post, pattering away. With a huff, you come away from his desk, stalking past him to the window, where you fold your arms and study the barren street below. The view is obscured by the dark and the drops of rain that carve hazy trails down the glass. You can just about make out a couple, emerging from the hospital’s entrance. No uniforms. A patient and their other half, and they’re leaning on each-other— no— pushing each-other, competing for the cover of an umbrella that’s much too small. They’re laughing, you think.

Your chest aches.

“Zayne,” you press.

His chair rolls back, wheels harsh on the floor, and he’s standing, logging out of his computer with a final, few clacks. “I’m done,” he snaps, but his tone says otherwise. He tugs his coat from the back of his chair. “We can go.”

…

You sit on the edge of the wet pavement, rain seeping from your hair and soaking the fabric of your clothes. You should be cold, but you’re not. You’re nothing. Your eyes are cast downwards and all you see is grey, though it’s illuminated by an orange glow.

Behind you, light bleeds through the windows of a busy restaurant. Zayne is still in there, playing diplomat. Playing doctor: always trying to fix things.

Your phone buzzes, and you slip it from its home in your coat pocket. There’s a message: having fun? Then another: ur welcome, miss bodyguard.

Rafayel. He knows a guy who knows the guy who owns this place, so you’d called in a favour. You and Zayne had been drowning in work for a week: him, overwhelmed by new patients at the hospital, and you, out hunting the wanderers that had put them there. Linkon is getting worse. Everything is getting worse, and you just wanted one, single night for yourself.

Well, not just yourself.

The monotonous drum of the rain breaks to the creak of an opening door, but you don’t react. “Y/N?” Zayne sounds far away. “Where did you— Y/N!?”

Footsteps echo on the pavement behind you, splitting puddles, and the orange light is gone. You’re trapped by a shadow that’s talking, speaking your name, but you pretend you can’t hear it. Let him say it a hundred times. A thousand; you can wait.

“Just a minute,” you lilt, your voice dripping spite.

You’re going to sit here for an hour.

“Y/N…” The doctor is oh so patient. “Please get up. You’ll catch a cold if you—”

“Good!” you spit, rounding on him. “Then why don’t I check myself into the hospital? Maybe then you’ll actually think about me once in a while!”

Zayne is towering over you: a small, wet, pathetic little thing, but you still make him draw back. His virescent eyes are wide, his lips parted ever so slightly. He almost always knows what to say, but this is an exception.

After a long moment, he moves around you. Slowly, he lowers himself to sit at your side.

“Do you have any idea,” you start, staring out across the slick road, “how selfish you make me feel? How much I hate myself when I… when I ask you to…”

The confession catches in your throat. It hurts, but you force it out anyway:

“What you do is so important, Zayne. You’re saving lives. You’re giving people back to their families, their loved ones, and you’re amazing for that. I think you’re amazing for that. But I miss you. It feels like I have to share you with the rest of the world, and I know I have no right to ask it, but sometimes? Sometimes I just… want you to be mine.”

You’re looking down, now. Hugging your knees— burying your face, so he won’t see you cry. There’s rain and salt in your mouth, and you wish he would say something. Anything. 

You have to wait a few seconds, but then you feel it: something heavy being draped over your shoulders. His coat. Then his arm is around you, drawing you close, closer, until you’re nestled against his chest.

“You have every right to ask,” he soothes, his tone so warm when it’s compensating for the rest of him. “I am yours, Y/N. I will always be yours.”

“But your work—”

“Can wait,” he finishes for you. “I know I forget that sometimes. And I’m sorry. But you?”

He lifts your chin, gazing down at you with something you can only describe as adoration.

“There is nothing in this world more important to me than you.”

Your heart flutters at the words and the feathery touch of his thumb on your cheek, wiping away a tear. It’s futile in a downpour, but it still makes you smile. Rain is spattering on your forehead, some dripping from his now-soaked hair, and you laugh as he tries to dry your face with his sleeve.

“You’re important to me, too,” you manage between chuckles, “and I’m sorry, too.” Your cheeks are flushed, even in the cold. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

“No.” A statement: not up for debate. Zayne untangles your limbs from his as he helps you stand. “We have a reservation.”

“We had a reservation. They gave away our table, Zayne.”

“Did they?”

There’s a hint of smugness. “Wait… what did you—”

He nods at the restaurant, and you follow his glistening gaze to where a waiter is holding the door— a menu clutched above his head, shielding him from the rain. He’s looking back at you. Waiting.

“Rafayel isn’t the only one with friends in high places,” Zayne smiles, leaning down to speak into your ear, and it makes you shiver. “The head chef is a friend of mine. I saved his brother’s life, you know.”

[pickingupmymercedes]

It comes with the territory (1/3) - Lewis Hamilton

Sequence: It comes with the territory / Hardest truth / Not even ours

request: "Hey Ella! I got an idea from some stuff I'm seeing on twitter. Some people thought that Alex was mild in her celebration for Charles win and started comparing her with how Nicole used to celebrate Lewis, she's even kinda trending and it made me think of some angst with Lewis new gf being criticized and compared with his ex and feeling really bad... 😘" - Anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: angst, it kind hurt to write this

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Anon, lovely anon, it took me sooo long to write this one (when doesn't it though?!) but I swear I've had it on my drafts ever since you sent it, I just couldn't get those dialogues right. Anyway, I hope the wait is worth it 🫶

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The plane hummed softly as it cut through the night sky after an intense race weekend. Lewis had finished second, and although he would have preferred to be on the top step of the podium, he felt satisfied the performance he had dragged out of the car.

The fans had been loud, the energy palpable, and he had Y/n, for the first time, by his side. However, glancing over at her now, he noticed her face illuminated by the phone screen, a furrow etched between her brows. The usual vibrancy that she held was dimmed, replaced by a quiet intensity.

Y/n had made her debut in the F1 paddock as his girlfriend this weekend, and though she was no stranger to the world of motorsport, the attention had been overwhelming.

She had been to races before, blending in with the grandstands as just another fan, but this was different.

Walking hand in hand with Lewis, she had felt the eyes on her, the cameras flashing, and the whispers following her every step.

As he peered over her shoulder, he saw her scrolling through a barrage of social media posts.

Criticism. Comparisons. People calling her stuck up, saying she believed she was better than everyone else.

Comments about how she hadn't mingled with the Mercedes team, how she had kept to herself.

And the most painful of all, comparisons to Nicole. How she, almost a decade back, had been friendlier with the engineers, happier in her celebrations.

Lewis's heart ached as he watched Y/n's face grow more disheartened with each swipe of her finger. He wanted to say something, to take the phone from her hand and throw it out the plane window, to tell her none of it mattered. But he knew that wouldn't help.

Y/n was strong, but even the strongest could be brought to their knees by the weight of the world’s judgment.

Lewis had tried to shield her from the worst of it, but he knew it was impossible to escape entirely. The F1 world was as ruthless as it was glamorous, and everyone wanted a piece of her, the woman who had captured Lewis Hamilton's heart.

It came with the territory. That’s what he had been told all those years ago.

He had noticed the change in Y/n throughout the weekend, a transformation broadcast in broad daylight.

On the first day, she had been a bright, curious presence, eagerly engaging with everyone. She had asked his engineers a million and one questions, her enthusiasm palpable as she delved into details of the car, he was sure he had never been told himself. Her eyes sparkling with genuine interest, and the team warming to her instantly.

Afterall, she had been the first one in ten years he had brought out to the garage.

But come Sunday, that spark had dimmed. As he looked over during the podium celebrations, he saw her standing at a distance, away from the cluster of Mercedes engineers and mechanics.

She seemed smaller somehow, as if she had shrunk within herself, retreating into a protective shell.

Concerned, he had asked her about it later, wondering why she had pulled back. She had shrugged, her expression guarded, and said she didn't want to bother them in their workspace. Her words had been casual, but Lewis knew better.

He could see the hurt behind her eyes, the uncertainty as she did a triple check to her outfit, to her hair, to how she would think twice before saying anything outload.

It pained him to see her, someone so vibrant and warm, feel the need to diminish herself under the weight of others' scrutiny.

They landed late; the drive home heavy as they went through the roads of an almost empty London.

"Long day?" he asked, his voice low.

She nodded, not looking up. Lewis reached for her hand, a silent offer of comfort.

"I know it's been overwhelming" he began, his tone gentle. "This world can be a brutal place, especially when you're in the spotlight."

Y/n sighed, her fingers moving to entangle in his "I feel like I’m drowning in it all, Lewis."

He squeezed her hand. "It's understandable. But I’m here, to talk, to feel, to try and make sense of the madness"

She looked up, his eyes catching the sadness in her glance that almost had him choke up in pain. "It's the comparisons that hurt the most." She turned to the window and murmured.

Lewis studied her features, he could see the strain in Y/n's posture, the way she held herself tight, as if bracing against an unseen storm. He didn't push, didn't pry, just held her hand and hoped his presence was enough to offer some comfort.

The rest of the ride passed in silence. As they got home, Lewis helped her with her coat, their touch a silent language.

The next morning, Y/n was unusually quiet. Lewis found her in the kitchen, staring into a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. He knew they would have to address the elephant in the room, but he also had no idea how to bring up the subject again.

It didn't take long for her to come to him though.

"I feel like I let you down this weekend." She finally spoke.

Lewis met her gaze. "Why would you say that?"

"I was so distant, so... guarded. I didn’t even feel like myself." Her voice steady as she finally held his gaze

Lewis put down the reports he had been pretending to read and walked over to her on the table. "Why would you say that?"

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes glassy but confident. "I saw what people were saying. That I didn't talk to the engineers, that I stayed away from everyone, that I think I'm better than them. And then... the comparisons to Nicole."

Lewis sighed, pulling out a chair to sit beside her. "Y/n, you were overwhelmed. It was your first time in the paddock as my girlfriend. That's a huge deal, and it's okay to need space."

"But they don't understand that," Y/n continued, her voice clear as she tried to articulate her feelings. "They just see me as this aloof, stuck-up person who doesn't care about anyone but myself. I was so excited on Friday. But by Sunday, I couldn't even bring myself to go near anyone. I felt like..." she took a deep breath and turned to look him before continuing “I felt like I was in the way, like I was intruding on their space. I kept thinking about how they're all so used to this, and there I was suddenly in the middle of it all. I didn't want to bother them or distract them from their work.

"You could never be a bother" Lewis insisted, his voice firm yet gentle. "The team welcomed you because they know you're important to me, and because they could see how much you genuinely care.”

“Look, I get it. I saw the comments on social medias. It's overwhelming, and it's easy to feel out of place. But that's not on you, love. " Lewis pulled her closer, wrapping her in his arms.

"I hate that you're feeling this way, Y/n. I wish I could shield you from all of it. But it doesn’t work like that. That comes with the territory and we both know it. The rest of the world can think what they want, but it doesn't change the fact that I love you, just as you are. You don't have to be perfect, and you don't have to change to fit anyone's expectations."

Y/n leaned into his embrace, her voice barely a whisper. "I just want to be enough."

Lewis held her tighter, his voice full of emotion. "You are so much more than enough."

They spent the rest of his Monday off together, their phones lost somewhere in the kitchen. Their quiet companionship all they both needed.

As the day drew to a close, they sat on the terrace, watching the sunset. Y/n leaned against Lewis’s chest, his arm around her.

"Thank you," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the rustling of the trees.

Lewis squeezed her hand. "For?"

"Being here. Understanding."

He turned to face her; his gaze steady. "You're strong, love. Stronger than you think. We’ll face this together, we’ll always do."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

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If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[monster-disaster]

Hey, I love your writing so much! ♥️

Can I request a male orc x chubby fem reader? I was thinking about bondage and discipline. The plot is up to you but I wanted it to be something related to that. Like she's his timid and clumsly employee and he's a strict boss who gets amused by it because this is a reason to teach her some good manners while working for him.

I love the idea! I hope you will enjoy it! :)

boss!orc x curvy!reader Warnings: dom/sub, spanking, spice

His broad smile is covered by his hand as he leans on the wooden surface of his desk. It's well-organized and clean. His shoulders are wider than the backrest of his chair, but he fits in it perfectly. The screen of his laptop illuminates the depth of his brown eyes as he follows you with his gaze. The tinted glass walls of his office give a perfect view of your desk. Unlike his, your workspace is a mess of papers, coffee cups, and sticky notes. That's why you wander back and forth between your desk and his office door for the fourth time, always searching for something.

You are a mess. But damn. You are a cute one.

He shouldn't think about you this way. He shouldn't think about you at all. And especially not when he is at home with his hard dick in his hand. But what else can he do? Your whole being screams and begs for dominance and guidance. It seems like to him, you desperately need someone to make rules you can follow and punish you if you break those. You need control. And who else could give that to you other than him?

The white blouse on you is a cheap one. Probably that's why the orc can see through it when the yellow lights of the lamps reach you just the right way. You wear a matching bra, and he can barely tear his eyes away from the soft rolls of your sides when you turn. His attention wanders lower. A light snarl forms on his lips at the sight. Your dark jeans are tight and hug your round ass perfectly. Your thick thighs rub together as you walk, and he can't help but imagine them around his head as he eats you out, gripping onto your flesh.

He is already hard when you finally reach his office. A few soft knocks echo in the silence. The documents he asked for are hugged to your chest. "Come in," he says. His voice is loud and husky. You are flushed and out of breath. It looks pretty on you. He is sure he could do much more to make you lose your breath, though. "The papers you wanted," you tell him, lifting the stack in your arms. You are still at the door, lifting your weight from one leg onto the other. "I wanted them ten minutes ago." You stare at the floor so intensely that you don't notice the amusement dancing in his eyes despite his rough voice. "I'm sorry," you reply. Your voice is timid, and for a second, the orc feels sorry for you. You are still new and not used to the way everything works in his business. And you are a good employee despite your lack of organization skills and occasional clumsiness. You work hard and learn quickly with the right motivation, and you always stay after working hours without a complaint when he needs your help.

But still. You could do better. Your boss is sure of it.

"Why are you late again?" He asks, even though he knows your answer already. You gulp. Your arm around the documents tightens. "I didn't find them." He hums, leaning back on his chair. He radiates dominance and authority. The black fabric of his suit stretches around his arms as he links them together in front of his chest. "And why is that?" He asks you, letting his gaze wander to your desk. When you notice his attention turning away from you, your eyes widen. He saw you the whole time. "I'm sorry," you breathe out. "Close the door behind you, Y/N," he says. "And come closer." You do as he says, stepping into the office further after pulling the door shut behind you. "I said closer, Y/N," he says. "And put those down." You put down the documents on his desk, keeping your gaze down. "Look at me."

When you finally look him in the eye, he is reminded of why he chose you in the first place. You are beautiful, for sure, but it was your determination that he liked enough to hire you. After working in a factory for years, you wanted something else, and you were ready to fight for the change.

"What did I say about keeping your space clean?" He asks after a few seconds. There is a heavy, disapproving sigh in his voice that makes your lips curl downward with shame. "I did," you tell him. "It just… it got too much, and before I knew it…" "It happens because you let it," he says. "If you take care of your things immediately, they don't become a mess." "I know." "Come here," the orc says, pointing at the small space between his legs after he turns away from his desk.

You shouldn't. It's too close. It's too intimate.

But your legs move before you can say no.

Even though he is sitting, his eyes are at the same level as yours. "Good girl," he praises you. "See? You can do what I say." His words send shivers down your spine straight between your legs. "But you know I have to punish you, don't you?" Your eyes are wide as you look at him. Your lips feel dry as you try to say something, but nothing comes out. "It's important to do your job as quickly as you can. What if I needed the papers immediately? What if I needed them for a meeting? How would it look if I couldn't do my job because you can't find what I need?" Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him, afraid he is firing you. "Don't cry, sweet girl," he hums, grabbing your hands to squeeze them softly. He is so much bigger than you. "I still want you here because I know you can do much better. But I can't let it slide, can I?" You shake your head, but it's not enough for him. "Speak, Y/N." "No, you can't." "Good girls." His praises again. Your tights clench, and something flutters in your stomach. "I want you to pull down your jeans to your knees."

For a long moment, you forget how to breathe. Your boss wants what?

The man watches your reaction like a hawk. Maybe it was a wrong idea. Maybe you will run out of his office to report him.

But damn, he can't make himself to save the situation and his reputation.

"You heard me, Y/N," he says with forced confidence. "You broke my rules, and you have to get punished." Your gaze snaps to the closed door, and his muscles tense to stop you, to do something before he loses his business.

But you surprise him again.

"What if somebody comes in?" You ask timidly. A slow smile appears on his face. His tusks dig into his upper lip. "Nobody will disturb us, sweetheart." After a deep breath, you nod and unbutton your pants. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and excitement. You can barely believe what is happening. And you are okay with everything.

Your boss is a handsome orc. You noticed his sharp jawline and wide nose from the moment you introduced yourself at your job interview. He was definitely not who you imagined with his thick, braided hair and broad body. Even the modern office and the expensive suit couldn't hide the primal dominance shimmering under his dark green skin.

"Good girl," he says with approval. His dark gaze follows the curve of your wide hips and the line of your panties between your legs. "Lean over the desk. Ass out." Your whole body trembles as you do as he says. His desk is cold and hard under your elbows and stomach. And you are sure your head is ready to explode when you register the fact that he has a perfect view of your ass. You want to reach back to pull down your blouse as much as you can, but you have a feeling he wouldn't be happy about it.

And you are right.

The orc's erection uncomfortably presses against the inside of his underwear at the sight of you like this. Your back is in a slight arch as you press your bottom out as he asked. Your white panties stretch across your ass, still leaving a handful of your cheeks bare. His palms burn with the need to touch you.

"Tell me why you get punished, Y/N," he breaks the silence when he finally finds his voice. The words almost come out as a low growl. "Because I was late," you tell him. Your voice is timid and quiet. He can see your muscles tense and relax as you wait for what he will do. "Why were you late?" "Because of the mess on my table." "That's right," he nods. "You are a smart girl, Y/N. And what did I tell you about keeping your space clean?" "That I shouldn't let my work pile up into a mess. I should put away everything as soon as I can." "Good girl," he hums. Your whole body jerks up when you feel his hand on your bottom. He is soft and careful, exploring your flesh while his other hand goes to the middle of your back to keep you in place. The green color of his hand fits perfectly to the shade of your skin. "I didn't say you can move," he says. "I'm sorry." "It's okay, Y/N," he hums, still caressing you. "I will tell you what I will do, okay?" You hum in agreement. "I want your words, Y/N," he says. "When I tell you something or ask something, I want you to answer with words." "Okay," you force the words out of your tightened throat. Your nerves are raw and tense as you lean on his desk, half-naked. Fear and anticipation stretch in your belly. "Good girl." The world starts to spin around you. "I want you to stay like this while I spank you, alright?"

ALRIGHT?!

"Okay." "I give you ten since I think this is your first time, am I right?" "Yes." "Good. I will give you the first five with your panties on, but I will take it off for the next five, okay?" You gulp. "Okay." "I would like you to add sir every time you speak to me, okay, love?" "Yes, sir." His hand on your ass is warm and almost comforting. He can't get enough of the feel of you. You are soft and much more than a handful. "And if you change your mind or it's too much, I want you to say red, okay?" "Okay." A light slap on your ass makes you jump and squeak with surprise. "Okay, what?" He asks. His voice is stern while he waits to correct yourself. "Okay, sir," you reply hurriedly. "Good. Now tell me, what did I say before?" "If I change my mind or if it gets too painful, I say red." "You are a smart girl, Y/N," he says. "And I'm proud of everything you did since you were here, but you have to take care of your messiness." "Yes, sir."

Even though it comes as no surprise, you still can't contain your reaction when his large hand lands on your ass again with much more strength than the first time. Your whole body tenses and bounces at the slap, breaking a high whine out of your chest. "Count, Y/N." "One, sir," you tell him tightly. "Good girl." You barely hear the end of his words because of the next smack on your cheek. Your panties do nothing to protect you from his hand. "Two," you breathe out. And three. And four. "Five, sir," you groan with tightly closed eyes. Every fiber of your body is buzzing with something unfamiliar. Your ass burns and tears gather in your eyes, but you still throb between your legs. With every small movement you make, your clit rubs against the white, soaked fabric of your underwear. "You are doing so good, Y/N," he says after the fifth slap. He goes back to caressing your bullied cheeks again while talking to you comfortingly. "Can you continue? Or do you want to stop?" You know this is the right time to get out of here, but you are too deep. Stopping now doesn't even occur in your mind. "I want to continue, sir." "My brave girl," he hums.

And he is really proud of you. You take everything he gives you like a champ. Your whimpers and moans drive him crazy, and the way your ass shakes after every slap is enough to make a man wild.

He feels like a kid in a candy store when his fingers slip under your panties to pull down the fabric to your jeans around your knees. His eyes barely have enough time to register the sight when you reach back with both hands to hide yourself.

"None of that," he grunts, grabbing your wrists to keep them between his thick fingers, pinned to your waist. The new position forces your back to arch some more, pushing your ass out in front of his hungry eyes. The fact that you can't even move anymore should make you afraid, but the only thing you feel is the hot, heavy arousal that burns through your body. "It's a punishment, no?" He asks, and your eyelids immediately fall shut because of the embarrassment that surges through your veins. You know what he is talking about. "Sir…" "But it seems like you enjoy it too much," he grins darkly. His free hand slips down from your ass between your legs. He barely touches your soaked slit, but it's enough to send a shock through your already tense body. "Sir," you beg. "Please! I-" "Are we done with your punishment?" He asks sternly. His rough fingertips are still sliding up on down over your pussy, rubbing your clit and almost reaching your empty hole. "No, sir," you moan, letting your head hit the desk under you. "Then be a good girl and stop begging for a reward you didn't earn." His words almost make you cry. You can feel your wetness making a mess on your inner thighs, and your pussy aches even more than your burning bottom. "Yes, sir," you croak.

The orc behind you have to force himself to leave your pussy and go back to your ass. He grabs a handful of your flesh, letting his blunt nails dig into your heated skin. He promises himself he will lick your stretchmarks later, but now…

"Six," you jump. Your breathing is heavy, and your lips taste salty because of the tears running down your cheeks. Seven. Eight. "Nine," you cry. "Please, sir. I-please!" He loves you like this. A mess of arousal and begging. Your musky scent fills his nostrils. His cock twitches with every deep breath he takes. "The last one, Y/N," he says. "One more, and you are done." Your bottom is on fire when his hand lands on your ass again. The smack is loud and clear, followed by the sound of your voice escaping your lips. "Ten, sir," you sob.

"Come here, baby," he coos softly, helping you up from the table and sitting you down on his lap. You hiss at the painful feeling when your sensitive skin meets with his pants. You want to stand up immediately, but he stops you. "It's part of your punishment," he says, holding onto your hips. He feels you up, enjoying your every curve. "How do you feel?" He speaks up again when you settle down on his thigh. "Why are you crying? Was it too much?" You shake your head, letting him swipe off your tears with his thumb. "I'm fine, sir." "But?" He asks. "I'm… I-" You can't say it. It's almost comical. Your boss spanked you barely a minute ago, and you can't make yourself admit the state of your pussy. "Are you horny?" He asks helpfully. You nod. "Show me." Your eyes widen at his request. Your arm is still around his neck to keep your balance. "Spread your legs, sweetheart," he says. Your first reaction is to close your legs even tighter, but after a moment, you open up your thighs, letting him see your wet heat as it makes a mess on his pants. "Oh," you gasp, wanting to stand up again, but he doesn't let you go this time either. "No," he says. "Did I tell you to move?" "No, sir," you breathe out.

For a second, you thought about arguing with him. You are too heavy, and you will ruin his clothes, but honestly? You have your own problems. Like the constant ache and throb between your legs as your blood sears through your system in a hurry. The orc under you is a big guy; you have no doubt about holding your weight easily, and if he wants you to make a mess on his pants? Well, it's his decision too.

When his free hand that doesn't hold your waist slips up on your thighs, your legs open automatically. A shiver runs through your pent-up body as his fingertips run through your folds, gathering your wetness before slipping it into his mouth. Your lips open breathlessly as you watch him taste you. The low rumble of his chest vibrates in your bones and nerves.

"Please," you gasp. Your arm around his neck tightens as if you could force him. "Sir-" "Do you want to cum?" The orc asks, and when you vehemently nod, a slow smirk pulls on his lips. The curve is crooked because of his tusks. "Do you think you earned it?" He teases. You nod again. You really hope so. His eyes wander to your desk on the other side of the glass wall. It's still messy with papers and cups. Your bag is dropped on the floor, and your coat is ready to fall off the back of the chair. His fingers are still on your heat, teasing and prodding but avoiding giving you the pleasure you crave so much. The muscles of your thighs shake as you force yourself to stay put. You want nothing more than to grind your burning pussy on his thick fingers. The feel of his erection pressing against your bare thigh gives you a good idea of what he hides under his pants.

"I tell you what," he breaks the silence after a few seconds. His dark eyes glint with amusement as he looks at you. "If at the end of the day, your desk will be clean, I will give you what you want." "What?" You gasp, panicked. No, you need it now. You can't go through the day with the ache between your legs that drives you insane. And you don't even have the energy to think about your still burning ass. He lifts one of his thick brows in question. "Do you have a problem with it, sweetheart?" You know his question means nothing. If you say the wrong thing, you will get nothing. "No, sir," you exhale. "Good," he hums, kissing the side of your head with a soft squeeze on your hips. "Are you ready to continue the day?" After another shaky breath, you nod. "Yes, sir." "Good girl."

[notmyneighbor]

Special Delivery - Doppelganger Francis Mosses x Female Reader

Word Count - 3.3k

Rating - Explicit

CW - masturbation, oral sex

Also available on AO3

You’re being followed.

You’re out later than you’d intended, but there had been a lot of requests that day. Word was spreading. You were getting quite the reputation among the doppelgängers.

Imagine, a human who was betraying her own kind, making forged documents to help the invaders into DDD restricted areas.

You don’t even feel guilty about it, either, because what has any human ever done for you? You’ve been on your own since as far back as you can remember, dealt a bad hand early in life. This scheme you’ve concocted pays well. Better than any of the other less savory things you’ve had to do to supplement your income, and it came with an added bonus: you knew how to write in the alien’s language as well, the symbols you inscribe on the frame of your apartment door and workspaces guaranteeing you’ll be exempt from harm.

Maybe you could’ve done something with your artistic and linguist skills if you’d had the opportunity, but alas, this was your lot in life. Making the best of a less than ideal situation.

You deviate your course a few times, just to make certain you’re still being pursued. Yes, he’s still trailing you. You’re certain it’s male but you’re not pausing long enough to discern more than that. Well, fuck.

You take another detour. Perhaps not the best decision in hindsight. You’re further away from home now. You don’t recognize the street you’re on. There’s a delivery truck parked on the side of the road. Dairy. Should you try to hide inside? The door was open. Where was the driver? You consider your options. No one would admit you into their house at this hour, and why should they, when you’ve been selling out all your neighbors? The truck, then. Your stalker’s footsteps still sounded a fair distance away. It was your only chance at this point. Maybe you could find something to mark the symbols. If there was still time.

The step to enter the truck is high. You have to ungraciously hoist yourself inside, clinging desperately to the sides to balance your weight. Made it. Your nose wrinkles. There’s a faintly sour smell. Spoiled products. The keys are in the ignition. A feeling of foreboding washes over you. The street lamp nearby barely illuminates the interior of the vehicle. You’re afraid to go into the back. You can’t see anything you can use to write the protection phrase. Your breath saws in and out. Too loud. You’re making too much noise.

A foot on the steel step makes you whirl around. It’s your pursuer. Dressed as a milkman, but you know instantly it’s not. Replicant. Deceiver. The clone of whatever human he’s copying. He’d chosen a handsome one, though you doubt it had anything to do with appearances, more a matter of convenience. Broad shouldered. Narrow waisted. He lifts himself into the truck with practiced ease. You’re so fucked.

Dark eyes and hair. Pale skin. He blocks the light from outside as he crowds you further inside. Well, you couldn’t say you’d had a good run, but you’d done your best. You close your eyes. You don’t want to see the teeth emerge before he devours you.

“What are you doing in here?”

Your eyes fly open again. He hasn’t advanced any further. He wanted to talk? Play with his food before he ate it? Maybe he wasn’t hungry. Mabe you could talk your way out of this.

“I…I got lost on the way home.”

“You’re lying.” No malice behind those words, just an observation.

“I heard you following me. I know what you are,” you admit, then instantly regret it. Stupid girl.

“I know who you are, too. You’re the one who makes the ID’s and entry requests.”

“Business hours are Monday through Friday, 8am to 5pm.” Were you seriously being flippant with a doppelgänger? You give a little chuckle to show you’re joking around, but the noise sounds more like a dying hyena, slightly panicked and hysterical.

“Those hours don’t work for me.”

“Oh.” So he was a prospective customer then? “Cash up front, half in advance, the rest on delivery. Currently working this week behind the abandoned grocery store off of Burke Street. I have to rotate the site to, you know…”

“I’ll pay extra,” he adds. “For the inconvenience of the hour and short notice.”

You lick your lips at the prospect of making additional funds. What would be fair to charge? “You need it right now? What’s the hurry?”

“Are you able to do it or not?” This now laced with irritation. His patience and good graces were wearing thin already. Best not to ire him further. You’re lucky to still be alive.

“Yeah, I can do it.”

“I’ll drive us there, then.”

“Where am I supposed to sit?” You glance around the front of the cabin. There’s only one seat for the driver.

You see his shoulders raise and lower in a shrug before he sits behind the wheel. You suppose your only choice is to sit on the floor.

“Your truck reeks,” you say, that sour smell assaulting your nostrils again as you lower yourself down.

The engine rumbles to life. “Deliveries didn’t get made today.”

“Did you…” You’re wondering what happened to the original, human operator of the vehicle. Had he suffered some grim fate? Were his remains sitting in the doppelgänger’s gut, being digested at this very moment? You shudder at the unpleasant thought.

He glances down at you. “No. I simply duplicated his form and stole the truck. You humans leave your body substances everywhere,” he says, lifting the cap off his head and tossing it onto the dashboard. “This one perspired all over that.”

That was all it took for a doppel to replicate a human. Just a little bit of something from the original. Sweat. Blood. Mucus. Probably other, even more unsavory substances, too.

It’s uncomfortable on the floor. The truck’s suspension jostles you roughly. Luckily you don’t have far to go. The driver eases behind the abandoned brick building, shutting off the headlamps. There are no functioning street lights in this part of town. You’re shrouded in darkness.

The doppel stands and you struggle to your feet, reluctantly accepting the hand he offers you to assist you to your feet. You’ve never touched one of the invaders directly before. It feels normal. Just like a human. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You’ve been working out of the manager’s office in the rear of the store. You’ve got an actual set of keys, pilfered once you’d broken into the building. Another of your talents, that. Breaking and entering. An additional skill this unfair life has made you adept at.

You’re not used to being here so late. It’s amazing no one’s realized the building is still on the electrical grid. You’re grateful for the mistake, switching on the light in the back hallway after feeling blindly for the switch. The doppel is just behind you. You unlock the office door and hit another light switch, sighing in relief. That was better. Familiar territory. No longer in darkness.

But there’s an anxious invader at your back, and that knowledge is less than comforting. You sit down in the office chair behind the steel desk and he settles into the hardbacked one across from you.

“So, um…about the fee.”

Without a word the alien digs into his pants pocket, extracting several bills from a wallet and sliding them over to you. “Will that be sufficient?”

You’re trying to keep a straight face. Where did he get this much money? “Yes, that’s fine. Do you…do you have a home address for the individual?”

Delving back into the wallet, he now produces a car registration. Francis Mosses. You recognize the area he resides in. A better part of town than the one you’re living in, but maybe someday you could change that.

Although, you’re about to make that area a lot less safe, you think, pulling the necessary tools out of the large bottom desk drawer, including a DDD logo stamp. That had been the hardest item to acquire. The rest were fairly routine.

“I need to take a picture. Do you just want to get that over with now?” He nods. “Can you stand in front of the door? It’s a good blank background.” Another nod as you stand. He closes the office door and positions himself, waiting for you to snap the Polaroid. Damn, he really is attractive. Exactly your type. You don’t even mind the little bend at the bridge of his nose or the shadows under his eyes. You take several pictures, one for the ID card and one for the entry request, with some extras just for…well, maybe just to have options if the others didn’t turn out well.

You’re not used to being watched while you work.

You typically have the doppels come back to pick the forgeries up later. These dark eyes watch your every movement like a hawk, from the way you print onto the request form to the drag of the scalpel blade around two of the photographs(they had all come out fine), carefully affixing them to both documents. You roll the stamp in the black ink pad and press it gently but firmly into each corner, waving a hand over the fresh ink to help it dry.

“You’re skilled at this,” he murmurs appreciatively, and your head lifts to meet his gaze. “I see why you come so highly recommended.”

“It’s not like there’s any competition,” you say, feeling a flush creep into your cheeks over the praise.

“True. Not many humans would betray their own kind, would they?”

Your lips press into a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t need the reminder. Was he mocking you?

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Somewhat mollified, you glance down at your work. It still looked a little moist. You need it to be completely dry before you apply the lamination to seal it in permanently.

The copycat is still staring at you. You, not the documents you’re working on. You clear your throat. “I want to make sure they’ve dried properly.”

“Of course.”

“It’ll just be a few minutes.”

“I don’t mind the wait.”

You lean back and the swivel chair creaks. Your shoulders are aching. You’d made a lot of forgeries today. Too much time spent hunched over the desk. Your eyes are a little sore, too, dry and burning. You needed a bath and maybe a snack and bed. Forget dinner. That sounded too complicated at this hour.

“You’re tired,” he observes.

“It’s been a long day.”

“I am inconveniencing you greatly, aren’t I?”

He doesn’t sound remorseful, exactly. You don’t know what he sounds like. It’s too difficult to process. You’re exhausted, that post adrenaline rush from earlier really depleting the last stores of energy. You don’t even think you’d protest if he decided to turn on you right now, taking the goods and making a meal out of you before he ran. The symbols are more of a professional courtesy than anything. It’s not like it actually prevented the doppels from physically being able to attack.

The legs of the chair he’s seated in drag across the dirty linoleum flooring, making a loud scraping sound. You watch warily as he comes around the desk, easing past a filing cabinet to reach your side.

“We haven’t really negotiated the full price yet, have we?”

Oh. Was that what was happening? He was going to stiff you. Suddenly that advance amount no longer seemed so generous. That was to be your total payment. Honestly, you should have been more demanding.

“I have more money,” he says, immediately canceling out your previous assumption, “but I don’t think that’s what you need most right now.”

“You’re right. I should be at home in the bathtub. Or better yet bed,” you add.

His hand reaches for the edge of the chair, turning you fully to face him. The abrupt movement catches you by surprise.

“Maybe what you really need is some good old fashioned milk.” His hand closes over your wrist, dragging your hand towards what you’ve somehow missed previously. He’s hard. Like full on, bulging, fit to burst out of his trousers. You should be terrified. You are scared, kind of. But turned on. Stupidly aroused because you haven’t had anyone give you this kind of attention in who knows how long. Sex had just kind of fallen by the wayside for you. There was so much else that needed to be accounted for.

You watch the hand pulling the leather strap of the imposter milkman’s belt in wonder, as if you can’t quite reconcile it’s your own doing this. Its partner joining, thumbing the button of the fly through the slot and parting the metal teeth below into a wicked grin. You shove the waistband of his briefs down and his cock springs free, flushed and thick and oozing precum. You stare at that clear bead of fluid as if hypnotized. Your mouth waters. You want it. You want to suck this creature dry.

Your tongue swipes over the crown of his erection and the doppel hums in pleasure. “Good girl,” he says encouragingly, and the praise sends heat right between your legs, your pussy tingling in response. You’re no longer thinking about your unfinished work on the desk beside you, about how dangerous it is to be alone with a doppelgänger in an abandoned building at night. You’re instead wondering how much of that dark pink length you’re going to be able to voluntarily sample before your gag reflex interrupts and he’s forced to fuck into your throat manually. Your sex throbs again. Time to stop wondering and find out.

Your lips close over the head and begin sliding over the shaft. Clean musk. A better flavor than perhaps you’d anticipated. You take a few experimental bobs, testing. He’s stretching you already. Your lips. The fat head bumping your cheeks, your soft palate. His fingers are in your hair, combing through the tresses with a strange kind of tenderness.

“So good. You’re so talented…”

You whimper a little, trying to reach more of him. There it is. That natural barrier of your body’s resistance. You struggle against it until you’re forced to withdraw, coughing and gasping, leaving a trail of thick saliva behind. You give yourself a brief respite, stroking the slick fluids over his prick. It makes a lewd squelching sound every time you massage the shaft. You can feel your arousal leaking between your legs, saturating your panties. You reach under your skirt, no longer caring about how depraved you appear. It’s a relief when your fingers make contact with your clit, dragging that wetness around the nub in frantic circles.

“That’s a good girl. Touch that pussy. It feels good, doesn’t it? So good…”

Your mouth engulfs his cock again. You roll your lips inward and massage the length in short bursts. Now relaxing and planting soft, passionate kisses on the tip. You spit on it and slurp up the liquid noisily. You like the sounds the doppel is making. You’ve never liked the men who were quiet, reserved. This invader isn’t holding back. He moans and groans and hisses. His teeth catch his bottom lip. His head tips back when the ecstasy of the blow job gets to be a bit overwhelming. And you love every minute of it. You savor every sound and gesture as you perform the obscene act while masturbating, grinding your swollen bundle of nerve endings against your pubic bone.

“You’re hungry, honey, aren’t you? Starving. I’ve got what you need, darling.” The nails of the hand you have curled around his hip dig into the cotton and polyester blended fabric of his uniform pants as you push yourself even further down his length, this time bruising your throat. You ignore the discomfort, grateful when the hand in your hair finally tightens and you feel him begin to fuck your mouth, battering the rear of that moist cavern over and over. “You want a drink, baby? You ready for it?”

You hum in agreement and he eases up, withdrawing until just the head of that thick phallus sits on the tip of your tongue. You’re panting, moaning, frantic for his release perhaps even more than your own.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” A couple of swipes along the shaft and that brief pumping is enough to send him over the edge, thick pulses of cum now spraying the inside of your mouth, pooling on the wedge of muscle his dick rests against. There’s a lot. An absurd amount. You can feel it leaking from the corners of your mouth. Bitter, but not the worst you’ve tasted. Sheer coincidence your body decides to shatter the instant you swallow that load, forcing that creamy baby batter down your gullet while your pussy spasms against your relentless finger.

“There you go, baby. Good girl.”

The milkman’s doppel bends to kiss you, surprising you with the gesture, now of all times, licking your face clean before thrusting his tongue between your lips and you crash right into another orgasm, moaning and twitching while the imposter fucks your mouth with his tongue.

Truly wrung out now, you collapse against the back of the chair, your chest heaving. The doppelgänger refastens his pants, but not before you notice it looks like he could go another round soon, and oh, doesn’t that make your cunt throb again in spite of being so recently satisfied, twice no less.

It takes great effort to smooth your skirt and your mussed hair back into some semblance of order, returning your attention to the documents that are certainly ready by now, the ink well set. The doppelgänger doesn’t return to his seat, instead remaining beside you, watching as the final protective layer is applied.

“There you go. Finished.” You glance up to see the doppel’s gaze fixed on you again, the money forgotten in his hand.

“Maybe…maybe we could work out a deal for the remainder of the payment.”

Your heart speeds up a little. “I’m listening.”

“Maybe I could make special deliveries. To your residence. For as long as it takes to cancel the debt.”

You hum, pretending to consider the offer even though you already know what your answer will be. “What happens after that?”

“We can renegotiate the terms when the time comes.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting as in you want to think it over, or…interesting as in you definitely want more?” He bends to kiss you again. Gentler this time, but no less appealing.

“The latter.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” He sets the cash on the desk. “Consider that a tip then, for a job well done.”

You’re not going to argue with that. You hurriedly put everything away and lock the office again, soon finding yourself back outside next to the truck.

“Are you walking home, or do you want a ride?”

You weigh the discomfort of being on the floor in the smelly vehicle against walking home alone at an even riskier hour, where an encounter with another doppel would most assuredly not go as pleasantly.

“I’ll take the ride. But you need to clean the truck out.”

“I’ll do it in the morning.”

“The real milkman must have caught hell losing all these orders and the company car,” you murmur as you return to your former position inside the vehicle.

“Not my problem.”

“Every man for himself, right?” You can hardly condemn the attitude, given your current career choice.

“Exactly.” A flash of teeth in the darkness. He steals another kiss before starting the engine, bending low to capture your lips.

You’re delivered safely to your apartment building minutes later, personally escorted by the cloned milkman.

“I’ll bring you your next delivery tomorrow night, hmm?”

“Okay.” He’s standing so close. It takes just the slightest lean for him to kiss you again.

“Unless, of course, you wanted another advance…”

You shove the door you’ve already unlocked open, inviting the doppelgänger inside.

[eccentricallygothic]

About burglar!Curtis…

This idea occurred to me too, and to shut me up he’d use me for his needs and breed me full of his child 🥵🫣🫣

KATHYYYY YOU SEXY BEAST 🥵

| Wrong Place, Right Time | 

Warning(s): Noncon, burglar!Curtis, frisking, corruption kink, groping, unprotected p-in-v sex, bondage, breeding kink, choking, fear kink, pet names, dacryphilia, mild spanking, creampie, degradation, drugging.  

Pairing: Dark Burglar!Curtis Everett | Naive!You.

It was ironic and yet fateful. 

The house that the shadowy man had broken in to rob wasn't even yours.  

You had just been a friend who was there for a sleepover. 

Your eyes widen and you freeze in your spot between the double doors of the fridge when you hear a click from the kitchen backdoor that opens into the yard behind the house. Either you were too caught up in your rummaging of the contents inside the appliance to find something to snack on, or whoever it was that was slowly entering the dimly lit room with soft thuds of their boots now was such a professional that they hadn't required any prior tampering with the mechanism before easing it open, because you hadn't heard anything until the door was being noiselessly pulled open. 

Your head whips to your sides frantically as you panic, unable to decide a course of action that feels right. 

It is when the footsteps become louder and louder that you drop to your knees with your ears flaming hot and you crawl to the kitchen island and grab the first thing that you can reach; which is a rolling pin for whatever reason. 

Clutching your weapon close to your chest, you bite your lip to try and champion your panting as you move to your feet but remain ducking behind the island, vigilant eyes scanning your surroundings. Whoever it is has most probably figured out that they aren't alone due to how the refrigerator light had been illuminating the otherwise mostly dark room, the thumping close of the magnetized doors only further damning you. 

You tightly chew on your bottom lip as you slowly move around the counter, eyeing the kitchen door while the footsteps circle the workspace in the same fashion.

Your eyebrows furrow when they abruptly come to a halt and everything goes dead silent again. You take a few moments before raising your head and peeking over the marble top to check the intruder's position. 

But no one is there. 

Self doubt suddenly grips at you and you wonder if you hallucinated or misperceived something else for a creep but then–

"Boo~" a deep whisper sounds right beside your ear and your eyes widen as you spin so fast you can barely comprehend anything. The way in which the stranger suspends your rushed attack by wrapping his rough fingers around your weapon bearing band and depriving it of any and all liberty while his other hand flies to your throat to walk you back into a wall is all too quick for you to register until after it's happened. 

"Woah, now. What do we think we are doing?"

Okay, he is a professional. 

Your eyes that can rival saucers instantly fill with tears as the man gathers your other hand along with the one that had meant him offense above your head. He easily snatches the rolling pin from you before looking around and then tossing it in a basket that holds various kitchen cloths in it. 

The harsh blue of his eyes is so bright that you can make it out even in the liminal lighting. "Now, where were we?" As his amused gaze now trails over your barely clad body, you realize that burglary is no longer the center of his focus, for a deep pink tongue reveals itself from his bearded mouth and licks a long stripe of his chapped bottom lip. Since one of his arms is half raised to keep you locked in place, the heavy scent of what can only be described as raw manliness wafts to your nostrils and lingers in the air all around you. His pale face is dirty and stern, cheeks scarred in some places under the thick mat of his dark beard.  

The stranger does not muffle your mouth but you're far too petrified to attempt anything unwise. He does not need to press a weapon to your skin to ensure meekness either, for his bruised and naked lethal fists are threatening enough. 

So you let out the only thing anyone in your situation would in their helplessness. "P- Please." 

"Hm" his eyes lower to scan your erect nipples that push against the sheer fabric of your tank top, his pearly whites -that are in a stark contrast to the rest of the darkness- flash as he smirks when he locates the spot that your natural moisture has caused in your fluffy cotton panties. "Gotta make sure you don't have any more surprises for me first" and then you're whipped around before his free hand is all over you, the coarse pads of his fingers roaming over every bump and crevice of your form. 

You let out an audible gasp when his palm brushes against your breasts -that he had neglected along with your intimates during the initial frisk- and he lets it circle the shape before taking a proper squeeze. You wince and your body responds to the pain by making your muscles twitch. Your back arches as a result and your ass bounces up to collide with his own privates and then the man has no choice but to look down with a grunt at the assaulter. 

The sight that his cruel blue eyes meet with pulls his lips wider and his expression deepens into a grin. "Jeez" a small patch of fuzzy little threads resembling a bunny tail stands erect an inch or two above your covered pucker. 

What? 

You like cute things and so you reward yourself with them every once in a while. 

The realization that you are wearing that underwear claws at your throat and cheeks alike and you can't help but flush even in this depraved situation. 

"Didn't know I had myself a bunny here" your thumping heart begins to thunder when you feel his hand toy with the 'tail' for a few moments before he flicks it. You are on the verge of letting out a peep but he suddenly snatches your throat back into his grasp and sandwiches your body between his hard one and the wall you're facing. 

"Tell me" his beard scratches against the shell of your ear from behind and you tremble in fear. Your legs try to press together to try and cover yourself in any way you can but the stranger ruthlessly worms one of his feet between yours and roughly pushes them apart. The action causes you to lose your balance and your legs go to split but the knee he props up in the middle catches you just in time. "Do you like to breed like one too?" He doesn't care for the frantic shaking of your head and instead caresses your nether regions with the intruder he has pushed between them. 

"Plea–"

"I think you do" he decides for the two of you and marches you into the pantry closet before pushing you over a big carton that stands in the center. The stranger easily manhandles you and before you can try your luck even in vain, he grabs an apple from one of many baskets lined along the edge of a table before pushing it in your mouth. Your teeth dig into it and your jaw locks in place due to its size, your head having no choice but to lay against the box sideways as your eyes release stinging tears all the while. 

The man seems to be in a rut as he does not bother with ridding you of what little covers you have on, instead only roughly pulling down your panties before grunting at the sight of your sex that glistens even in the small light that shines in the dark closet from the kitchen. A calloused palm lands on your ass and makes you jump up with a whimper, your bloodshot eyes unable to see much even though they frantically dart about futilely in every direction they can. 

The man does not waste another second and aligns his rock hard cock along your entrance and pushes in within the next moment, groaning at the balmy tightness of your soft walls. "Fuck, bunny" while one of his coarse hands keep your wrists arrested above your ass, the other squeezes at your hip before steeling you in place. "Trying to shake your head no but makin' a mess inside those cute little bunny panties like it's your job" he jerks the rest of his seemingly never ending length deep up your cavern. 

Your pussy has had to expand so much to accompany him that you can feel a very obvious and painful strain in the band of your opening, the ache causing you to fear that you might rip. Your mouth is full of apple juice as you blink away your tears, face scrunched in discomfort as you stare at the wine rack in front of you. 

The man pulls back almost all the way out only to plunge his cock deeper and harder up your hot channel now. Your head spins and can tell that his unforgiving size has already located your sensitive bundle of nerves within the first few thrusts. 

His stiff and thick tip is unrelenting after that as he just keeps on increasing his speed, his heavy balls slapping your sore ass as they try to push their own way in with each push of his hips. The man grunts, curses, gropes, squeezes, spanks and somewhere along the way even leans down to bite at your tear stained cheeks, licking them in long stripes and twitching at the taste while the box below you violently shakes and threatens to come undone by how roughly it is being rocked back and forth. 

"You like that, huh, bunny?" He has realized that each time he spanks you or pulsates inside you, you clench sensitively with a moan. And so he has been doing that for the past couple pounds. "Like getting fucked like the little breeding bunny that you are?" His face is next to yours as you sob into the apple, forcing yourself to keep your eyes trained on the wine bottles as he glowers down on you while pistoning himself in and out of you like you're nothing but a toy meant for relief of the depraved sorts.

"What is with the crying, huh?" His hips snap against yours so hard that your aching ass and even pucker shake with each thrust. "You finally have what you always wanted; a man to breed you full and swell like the dirty little bunny that you are" his deep voice is now even more hoarse due to his irregular breathing. "Isn't that why you saunter around other people's houses in nothing but slutty little underwear? So someone can come along and take you for the breeding bunny that you are?" Your eyes move from their position for the first time in a while.

How does he know that it's not your house? 

"You don't have to worry about anything now" he wraps your hair around his hand before roughly pulling at it to withstand the force of his orgasm that shoots up your cavity. "Except. For. Bearing. Me. A. Healthy. Fuckin'. Fluffle." Your body naturally reacts to the overwhelming stimulation as he gives you a jab with each word, fucking his hot seed deeper and deeper up your womb, causing your hips to tighten and pussy to milk him as your eyes roll to the back of your head and you fall. 

Your owner takes his sweet time fucking his orgasm out and into you as you spasm against the carton helplessly, drowning in a numbing combination of myopia and vertigo of your forced ecstacy, thighs quivering violently. 

"Now," the stranger lets up only when he is fully satisfied… for now. Pulling himself out of your abused channel with a wince, he fixes himself up after letting your arms fall limp at your sides. "Oh– there, there" he abruptly halts whatever it is that he's doing behind you to pull up your panties when his seed threatens to spill out of your stuffed slit. "Can't let it go to waste now, can we?" He snickers to himself before appropriating the rest of his condition.

"Now, let's get you to your burrow" you are manhandled up to your malfunctioning feet by your nape and a wet cloth presses to your nose before your eyes can even adjust to the sudden burst of light that shines in from behind his towering form. His face is the last thing you can make out before your knees finally give out and you go to fall on your back but he catches you in one of his hard arms. 

"There, there, bunny" his voice echoes in your head as the world around you starts to melt. "I've got you" you feel him remove the apple from your now slack jaw before he lumps you on one of his shoulders. 

And then your consciousness fades into an unfathomable abyss. 

MASTERLIST

[nejiverse]

A DISTANT MEMORY

Boothill

In which an array of events briefly teleports Boothill to the past, where is daughter would forever remain. Fem! Reader

cw: suggestive, a teensy bit of angst, not prood read (ik its unlike me but im feeling lazy lol)

1700 words

"So..what do you think?", Y/n held the gun up to the light on the ceiling, admiring her handiwork.

"Beautiful", Boothill responded but Y/n could see from her peripheral vision that he wasn't looking at the gun at all, he was looking at her.

"The gun, Boothill", she had to let him know he wasn't slick.

"Yeah an' I said it's beautiful", he defended himself, crossing his arms as he crossed his legs on top of the empty side of Y/n's workspace, a knowing look on his face. "Good with your hands, ain't ya?". Boothill smirked, his pointy teeth poking out of the crevice between his top and bottom lips.

You know what else they can do?", she noticed how his eyes shone with a glint of expectation, until she used the butt of the gun to hit him on top of his head.

Boothill let out a disgruntled groan as his hat fell lopsided on his head.

"Geez, where'd all that strength come from?", he took his hat off, rubbing the crown of his head.

"It's all natural", she puffed out her chest, flexing her non existent arm muscles.

Boothill chuckled, shaking his head. "Well darlin', you sure know how to handle yourself", he teased, cocking his head to the side as he scanned her from the bottom up. "Y'know, I've always had a thing for women who can handle a firearm", Boothill winked, placing his hat on top of her head playfully.

Y/n rolled her eyes at his words and actions, a grin playing at the side of her lips. "As ironic as it may sound, I don't actually know how to use a gun...I just tinker with them", she admitted, a tinge of embarrassment floating in her chest.

Boothill's grin faltered for a moment, his eyebrows arching in surprise. "Is that so?" he replied, his tone more curious than accusatory. "Well ya sure had me fooled". He took the gun from the table, twirling it around his index finger. "I can teach ya".

"Sure, why not", she might as well know how it works, there was no harm. She adjusted her seating as she listened attentively, but instead of Boothill picking her ear about his knowledge on guns, he instead stood up behind her.

"O-oh you mean actually teaching me", she muttered, her eyebrows furrowing in uncertainty.

"Well how else would I teach ya?".

Boothill stood behind Y/n, his body close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. His hands gently guided hers as they held the gun, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

"Now, darlin', you gotta hold it steady," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "Nice and firm, but not too tight."

Y/n nodded, but internally her brain was malfunctioning at the ambiguity of his words. She tried to focus on his instructions rather than the electrifying sensation of his proximity. She adjusted her grip, her fingers brushing against his as they wrapped around the handle.

"That's it," Boothill spoke in a tone above a whisper . "Now, ya gotta aim true. Find your target and focus."

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she followed his guidance, her gaze fixed on the red thumbnail on the notice board hung up on the far side of the dimly lit workshop, but her attention kept drifting back to Boothill, his rugged features illuminated by the soft glow of the desk light.

"Steady now," he murmured, his hands moving to adjust her shoulders.  As Y/n exhaled slowly, she felt Boothill's body press against hers, his chest firm against her back.

"Atta girl," Boothill praised, his voice laced with pride at how good he was at teacher her. "But you gotta remember to relax. Let the gun do the work".

Y/n nodded, internally noting all the tips and tricks he was giving her. Despite all the waves of emotions she was being smacked with, she truly did appreciate his efforts in helping her fully understand how a gun works and how to use it.

"Y'know, darlin'," Boothill murmured, his voice low. "There's more to shootin' than just hittin' a target."

Y/n hummed in anticipation. She turned to face him, her eyes meeting his in a silent exchange.

"Like what?", she breathed.

"Like trustin' your instincts," he said, his voice dripping with promise. "And lettin' go of control."

Before Y/n could respond, Boothill's lips were on hers. Boothill felt as though he had just came home from a long journey, albeit her workshop not being his home, and having not went on a long journey at all.

Y/n melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair as she surrendered herself to his touches and deep kisses. Though she was taken aback when she felt his head against her chest. Boothill couldn't help but notice the rapid thumping of Y/n's heart beneath against his face.

Y/n's lips quivered in embarrassment. "Stop that", she uttered, shooing him away.

Boothill let out a hearty laugh as he fell back into his seat. “I gotta say, it's mighty gratifyin' to know I have that kind of effect on you—".

Y/n shoved his hat in his face in efforts to shut him up. "Nonsense", Y/n retorted, opting to change the subject. "Besides, you said you only came here to say hi and leave", Y/n swatted away his roaming hands.

Boothill grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sometimes sayin 'hi' just ain't enough".

As Boothill and Y/n chatted away together, caught up in their moment of bonding, they were interrupted by a soft sound nearby. Turning, they spotted a little girl rubbing her eyes, her tiny form illuminated by the light of the room she just came out of.

Y/n shook her head with a lazy smile. She just couldn't bring herself to be mad at her daughter for coming out when she looked so cute. "I told you no coming in when I have visitors", she cooed, getting up to pick the little girl up while she brushed her bed hair back. The woman was still curious as to how she managed to get out of bed all by herself.

Boothill's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of the child. She couldn't have been more than a year old, yet there was something hauntingly familiar about her features—the same dark curls, the same wide eyes that he had seen in his own daughter.

"I'll be damned", Boothill whispered to himself in bewilderment.

His heart clenched with a mixture of astonishment and grief as he stared at the child, his mind racing in utter confusion. It was uncanny.

"Never knew ya had a daughter", Boothill opted to just forget about it, but he would soon find out that it wouldn't work.

"A lot of people don't, my line of work isn't the safest you know", forging and enhancing weapons for both good and bad people certainly came with its risks, but Y/n thought that being neutral to both sides was the best idea.

The little girl looked over her mother's shoulder at the stranger. She babbled incoherent words whilst pointing at the cyborg.

"Wanna say hi?", Y/n asked the child who flailed her arms around as a response. Y/n turned her gaze towards Boothill. "You any good with kids?".

Was he? He's not sure since he wasn't able to protect his own kid. With hesitation in his voice, Boothill spoke. "I...dunno".

Y/n chuckled. "Well you must be 'cause this girl hates strangers", Y/n put the little girl down as she slowly waddled over to Boothill.

Boothill's eyes softened as he looked at the child, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, ain't that somethin'," he murmured, his voice filled with surprise. "What's your name lil' lady?", he asked the little girl.

The child babbled happily, her small hand reaching up to touch his face. Boothill chuckled, the sound reverberating in the quiet room. "Guess you're not quite ready to tell me yet, huh?".

Y/n stepped closer, her heart swelling at the sight of Boothill holding her daughter with such care. "Her name is D/n," she said softly. "She's not really that verbal yet".

Boothill nodded, his eyes never leaving D/n's face. "D/n huh?".

Y/n watched them, a mixture of emotions swirling within her. Seeing Boothill with D/n, so tender and gentle, made her heart ache with a longing she hadn't realised she carried. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

"You're good with her," Y/n remarked sincerely. "You look like you've done this before."

Boothill's smile faltered for a brief moment, a shadow passing over his eyes. He quickly masked it with a grin. "Well, kids seem to like me," he said lightly, though the weight of unspoken memories lingered in his gaze.

D/n made grabby hands at the feather on Boothill's hat, intrigued by how it moved every time he did.

The man took off his hat and handed it to her, the  accessory engulfing half her head.

She giggled and lifted the hat up, or attempted to till Boothill did it for her, angling it in a way which would allow her to see. She flashed her still developing teeth into an award winning smile.

As he held Y/n's daughter, memories of his own daughter, who had been taken from him far too soon, flashed through his mind. The pain of her loss had been a constant shadow, a wound that never fully healed. Yet, holding D/n, he felt a glimmer of healing, a sense of connection that he thought he'd lost forever. It was as if life was giving him a second chance to protect and cherish a child.

Boothill never wants to leave, ever.

masterlist :)

[ariseur]

kindly requesting a dante x reader where hes so stupidly flirty with his accountant who gets flustered easily

you grimaced once you had entered the office of the ‘devil may cry’, the place dark and dreary inside. you squinted as you heard dante’s footsteps walk ahead of you, almost as if he knew where everything was without the lights. you hummed, “i suggest you start paying your bills, dante.”

he sighed, the moonlight shining through the windows’ glass panes while he leaned back in his chair— painted a blue shade as the illumination was the only source of light in that forsaken office. “bills, money, work.. that’s all you talk about, dont’cha think?”

your shoes tapped against the floor, echoing in the quiet room with only the whirring of the air conditioning in the distance. “well, you hired me for a reason,” you mumbled, looking around the messy workspace.

“and what reason is that?” dante clasped his hands, leaning over the desk as he looked at you.

you tilted your head at him, letting a beat of silence passed as you placed a hand on your hip. you pressed your lips together in a tight line. “so that i make sure your dumb ass doesn’t get careless.”

he sighed, “oh, how i love it when you talk dirty to me.” your brows furrowed as you crossed your arms against yourself, gaze shifting off to the side. you huffed, walking over to the vacant space of his desk and pulling out your legal notepad— the dingy yellow standing out behind the faint parallel red lines. your hand reached into your back pocket as dante’s eyes lingered on your movements a little too long, focused on the way you pulled a ballpoint pen from your jeans and pressed the top as it let out a satisfying click.

“just—.. look at these finances, devil may cry isn’t exactly doing the best right now. i’m telling you, you have to go out on some more jobs—“

“how’s about,” he turns his chair over towards you, leaning back further, “i go out with you instead?”

you looked at him, your mouth shutting instinctively. your tongue went dry as your stomach churned with a weird sensation.

“what,” you gulped, “are you talking about?” you winced at the way your voice quivered. were your ears heating up? at this stupid fool?

he laughed, “i think you know exactly what i’m talking about.” dante waved his hands around in a dismissive manner, “i’d like to take you out on a date.” you narrowed your eyes at him, a cool, thin wave of sweat following your thoughts.

standing upright, you grabbed the pocketbook and notepad. you tucked in under your arm as you walked away with haste. “i suggest you get your shit in order, dante.”

he tipped his head back a little as he watched you speed walk away. “oh, trust me— i will.” he said, his words cut off abruptly with the sharp sound of the double doors quickly shutting behind you.

dante danced his fingers along the wooden desk, a dejected exhale leaving his lips as he closed his eyes. “one day,” he sighed. for now, he’ll only keep trying.

[fallenangelkitten]

Examination

Synopsis: Professor Walker fantasizes about one of his students.

Warnings: au Professeur!August, August’s pov, mentions of oral, restraints, and penetration, presumed age gap, kind of stalker vibes?

Note: Read part two Obedience now :)

The auditorium was large and always seemed so hollow until the university’s students filled the seats. I was leaning against my broad desk, arms crossed over my chest as I watched them file into the room. I took a mental note of everyone who showed up while I waited for them to prepare for the lecture.

As I waited for her to stroll through the door.

I couldn’t help but wet my bottom lip as she made her way to her usual place; just to the right of my workspace, three rows up.

I pried my gaze from her and cleared my throat.

“Please turn your attention to the screen above,” I instructed before turning off most of the lights.

I dimmed them just enough for the students to still write notes on the documentary.

And for me to see her.

The glow of the film illuminated her pure little face. Her eyes so bright as she stared at the screen- so full of life I wanted so desperately to help her explore.

I could already picture her kneeling before me, those innocent eyes begging for me to allow her a taste. I wanted to run my thumb across her cheek and grasp her chin as she would take me into her lush mouth.

It took everything in me to stifle the groan emerging in my throat.

I ran a hand over my face, my mustache scratching my palm, and attempted to grade some past assignments. I tried to plan for future lectures. Fuck, I even tired watching the damn documentary myself.

But my attention always landed on her.

I took in how she wrote on that cute pink notebook of hers. The way her elegant wrist moved with each stroke of the pen she wielded.

I could practically feel the roughness of my favorite red rope in my hands. I wanted to fasten her wrists together in knots as beautiful as the skin they strained against.

My cock twitched against the now tight fabric of my trousers.

I wanted to secure them to- god, to anything while I devoured her body and soul. To taste her in every fucking way possible.

My heart skipped a beat when her eyes flicked over to mine. To feign disinterest took every ounce of my focus.

Even when my now throbbing length begged to feel her clench around me. To brush away that stray piece of hair that now fell over her eyes, only to grip it all into my fist while I fucked her.

Suddenly it was too quiet.

Fuck.

It wasn’t the first time I’d spent the entirety of the class gawking at her. I’m sure it wouldn’t be the last.

I cleared my throat again to get their attention.

“Please fill out the questionnaire online,” I ordered while turning the auditorium lights back on.

She looked like an angel as they shown down on her.

[nayziiz]

Reckless | CS55

Summary: Via finds herself caught up in office politics and encounters Carlos Sainz Jr., the intimidating son of her boss. Despite her initial reluctance, she is drawn into a web of intrigue surrounding the Sainz family and their business empire. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, Via and Carlos grapple with professional challenges, personal relationships, and the allure of forbidden romance. Via must navigate the complexities of power, ambition, and desire, ultimately confronting difficult truths about those around her in a world where appearances can be deceiving and loyalties tested.

Warning: Violence, blood, alcohol, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Via Driscoll) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 1

The bleak London sky seemed to reflect Via's mood as she sat in her office, the persistent rain tapping against the window panes like an incessant reminder of her dissatisfaction. She longed for the comfort of her home, envisioning herself cocooned in her favourite pyjamas, a bowl of popcorn in hand, escaping into the world of a movie. But duty called, and she found herself tethered to her desk, the glow of her computer screen casting a harsh light on her weary face.

Via's gaze drifted from her monitor to the expansive windows that framed her workspace, offering a panoramic view of the dreary cityscape below. The rain streaked down the glass in rivulets, distorting the already dismal scene outside. With a sigh, she swirled her chair to face the window, mesmerised by the hypnotic dance of the raindrops.

Her office, part of the executive suite, was a realm of corporate austerity softened only by the occasional flourish of personalization. Across from her was Eleanor's desk, a colleague whose meticulously organised desk offered a stark contrast to Via's own desk, cluttered with documents and folders. Beyond them lay the hushed confines of the boardroom, its sleek furnishings a testament to the gravity of the decisions made within its walls. And nestled at the heart of it all, concealed behind a frosted glass door, was the sanctum of the CEO, a figure whose presence loomed over the entire floor.

The executive suite was a realm unto itself, delineated from the rest of the office floor by imposing frosted glass panels. These barriers, both physical and metaphorical, served as a symbolic boundary between the realm of power and influence and the humbler domains of the rank and file.

As the sudden flash of lightning illuminated the room, Via instinctively recoiled, her chair scraping against the floor as she sought refuge closer to her desk. The starkness of her workspace mirrored the dreary weather outside, save for a solitary splash of colour—a bright red ribbon adorning her computer monitor, a token of whimsy amidst the monochrome.

Before Via could fully regain her composure, the jarring chime of a message tone shattered the silence, dragging her attention back to the task at hand. With a resigned sigh, she dove back into her work, sifting through the influx of emails that clamoured for her attention. Among them, a cluster of documents awaited Julia's scrutiny, prompting Via to spring into action.

With a sense of urgency gnawing at her, Via swiftly printed out the documents, the whirring of the printer adding a discordant rhythm to the otherwise hushed ambiance of the office. Clutching the papers in hand, she hastened down the main passageway, her footsteps echoing off the sterile tiles with each resounding click of her heels.

Despite her distaste for the clamour her heels inevitably caused, Via pressed on, her posture rigid and purposeful as she navigated the familiar corridors. Straightening her navy blue pencil skirt and smoothing down the crisp lines of her pearly white blouse, she maintained a facade of professionalism, unwilling to betray any hint of vulnerability to the world around her.

As she finally approached Julia's desk, Via's pulse quickened with a mixture of apprehension and determination. With each step, she drew closer to the epicentre of the office's bustling activity, her resolve unyielding even in the face of the tempest raging both outside and within.

“Hey, Jules.” Via greeted Julia with a warm smile, hoping to inject a bit of brightness into the weary atmosphere.

“Hi, Via.” Julia replied, her voice laden with fatigue, betraying the toll that the relentless demands of their profession had taken on her.

“I have some paperwork Eleanor wants you to go over. Mostly just details for the upcoming gala.” Via nodded sympathetically as she approached, presenting the stack of paperwork she had carried with her. 

Julia's shoulders slumped slightly at the mention of more work, her sigh echoing the sentiment shared by many in their line of work.

“The work never ends, does it?” She lamented, a weariness evident in her tone as she prepared to delve once more into the endless stream of tasks that awaited her.

“Sadly, no.” Via echoed with a resigned sigh, her own weariness mirroring Julia's.

“I've actually been meaning to call you over.” Julia interjected, her tired gaze flicking between Via and the documents she held.

“Yeah?” Via prompted, sensing there was more to Julia's invitation.

“Eleanor mentioned that Mr. Sainz wants you in the quarterly meeting tomorrow morning.” Julia explained, her voice tinged with a hint of intrigue as she relayed the information. Via's curiosity piqued at the unexpected news.

“Did she say why?” She inquired, her mind already racing with possibilities as she awaited Julia's response.

“I assume he wants to transfer some of Eleanor's workload to you. Which is both good and bad.” Julia speculated with a nonchalant shrug, acknowledging the mixed implications of such a directive. Via frowned slightly, her thoughts swirling with the implications of the impending meeting.

“She hasn't mentioned anything to me yet.” She murmured, her mind already strategizing how to navigate the potential changes.

“Anyway, listen.” Julia continued, steering the conversation toward more immediate concerns. “There have been a few big projects happening and we need to update the website. Would you mind going through some of our most recent projects and writing up some articles on them?”

Via's expression brightened at the prospect of a new task, eager to immerse herself in a creative endeavour amidst the routine of administrative duties.

“Sure, with pleasure.” She replied, enthusiasm infusing her words as she welcomed the opportunity to breathe life into the neglected facets of their online presence.

“Great! It's just we haven't focused on our website in ages-” Julia began, her words trailing off as she glanced around the bustling office, a silent acknowledgment of the perpetual whirlwind of activity that often left such tasks relegated to the back burner.

Julia's abrupt silence drew Via's attention, and she followed her gaze to the elevator lobby, where four figures stood, three of them familiar: Mr. Sainz, the imposing CEO; Eleanor, his steadfast executive assistant; and Paul, their ever-watchful bodyguard. But it was the fourth man who captured Via's curiosity, his dark chocolate brown hair a stark contrast to the sleek professionalism of the others.

As he turned to face them, Via's breath caught in her throat. The resemblance was uncanny—a younger version of Mr. Sainz himself, yet with a vitality and energy that set him apart.

“Who is that?” Via whispered, her voice barely above a murmur, her eyes fixed on the enigmatic newcomer.

“Carlos Sainz Jr.” Julia replied in hushed tones, her expression betraying a mixture of awe and trepidation at the unexpected arrival of the CEO's son.

As Carlos Sainz Jr. passed by Via and Julia, his impeccably tailored suit accentuating his lean physique, Via found herself momentarily speechless, her gaze lingering on him as he disappeared into the executive suite alongside his father and the others. A palpable tension hung in the air, an eerie quietness enveloping the office as everyone processed the unexpected encounter.

“How come this is the first time I've seen him?” Via queried, her curiosity piqued by the sudden appearance of Mr. Sainz's son.

Julia hesitated for a moment before responding, her voice tinged with a hint of apprehension. 

“He hasn't been involved with the family business. Neither has Blanca nor Ana, his sisters.”

“Why not?” Via pressed, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“It's complicated.” Julia muttered cryptically, her eyes darting around as if searching for eavesdroppers. “He only ever brings trouble when he's around.”

Via nodded slowly, absorbing Julia's words as she contemplated the implications of Carlos Sainz Jr.'s presence and the enigmatic aura that seemed to surround him.

Via's frown deepened as she watched Carlos Sainz Jr. lean casually against her desk, engrossed in conversation with his father and Eleanor. Despite the distance separating them, Via felt the weight of his gaze like a tangible presence, causing a shiver to run down her spine. She averted her eyes, the intensity of their brief connection unsettling her.

Even after breaking eye contact, Via couldn't shake the sensation of being watched. It was as if Carlos Sainz Jr.'s dark brown eyes had left an indelible mark on her consciousness, their magnetic pull impossible to resist.

A few moments later, the trio retreated into Mr. Sainz's office, the heavy door closing behind them with a finality that left Via feeling strangely bereft. She shook off the lingering unease, burying herself in her work as she tried to banish thoughts of Carlos Sainz Jr. and the inexplicable hold he seemed to have over her.

“I suggest you get back to work, Via.” Julia suggested, her tone gently nudging Via back into focus.

Via nodded in agreement, acknowledging the need to redirect her attention to the tasks at hand. With a determined resolve, she made her way back to her desk, the weight of Julia's words lingering in the air.

As Via settled behind her desk, poised to begin her work on the website articles, the shrill ring of her landline shattered the quietude of the executive suite. Startled, she reached for the receiver, her heart rate quickening with anticipation.

“This is Olivia Driscoll. How may I assist?” Via answered, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest.

“There is a black and a blue folder on my desk. Please bring them to me.” Eleanor's voice commanded, brusque and to the point, before the line went dead.

Via's brow furrowed in confusion at the unexpected request, but she wasted no time in complying. With a sense of purpose, she rose from her desk, her footsteps echoing in the hushed confines of the office as she made her way to Eleanor's domain, the folders clutched tightly in her grasp.

Via carefully selected the two folders from Eleanor's desk, ensuring she didn't overlook any additional blue or black folders that might have been hiding in plain sight. Satisfied with her choices, she proceeded to Mr. Sainz's office, her footsteps measured and deliberate as she approached the frosted glass door.

Pausing briefly, Via knocked three times, a customary gesture to announce her presence before entering. She knew that Eleanor was expecting her, but she still felt a twinge of nervousness as she awaited permission to step inside.

With a click, the door swung open, granting Via access to the inner sanctum of Mr. Sainz's office. Stepping inside, she cast a quick glance around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with a sense of curiosity. Despite having visited only a handful of times, she had never lingered long enough to absorb the nuances that defined the space.

Mr. Sainz was engrossed in something on his laptop screen, his attention fully absorbed by the task at hand. Via approached Eleanor, who sat poised across from Mr. Sainz, her demeanour composed and professional as always. With a respectful nod, Via handed over the two folders, her movements precise and efficient.

Via listened intently as Eleanor and Mr. Sainz exchanged words, her curiosity piqued by the mention of the gala and the logistical challenges they faced. She couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension at the prospect of navigating such a crucial aspect of the event planning process.

“Did you give Julia the paperwork for the gala?” Eleanor asked.

“Yes, she's working through it right now.” Via confirmed, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

“Good. We need to get sign off from the fire departments because we're literally at capacity for the event.” Eleanor continued, her tone conveying a sense of urgency that wasn't lost on Via.

The weight of Eleanor's words hung in the air, directing Mr. Sainz’s attention towards Via and then back to Eleanor, his expression unreadable as he absorbed the information. Via shifted slightly under his scrutiny, acutely aware of the weight of his gaze upon her.

“Retract some of the invitations that have no responses.” Mr. Sainz suggested. “I'm sure Ms Driscoll can handle that?”

Via's attention shifted as Mr. Sainz offered his suggestion, his directive clear and concise. She nodded in acknowledgment, her mind already processing the task at hand.

“Do you have capacity, Via?” Eleanor inquired, her gaze shifting to Via as she awaited confirmation.

“Yes, of course. I'll get right on that.” Via replied with unwavering determination, her resolve firm as she prepared to tackle the assignment entrusted to her.

As Via turned to leave, her gaze inadvertently fell upon Carlos Sainz Jr., who sat in the corner of the room, his presence a silent observer to the exchange unfolding before him. Eleanor followed Via's gaze, her eyes meeting Carlos Jr.'s intense scrutiny with a hint of curiosity. Via quickly averted her gaze, a sense of unease settling in the pit of her stomach as she made her exit from the office.

“Via.” Eleanor called out, halting Via's departure.

“Yes, Ms. Pope?” Via turned back, her attention fully on Eleanor.

“I don't think you've met Carlos Sainz Jr. yet?” Eleanor gestured towards Carlos, who stood and approached Via.

Via met Carlos's gaze as he extended his hand, and she shook it firmly, her composure unwavering despite the unexpected introduction.

“Olivia Driscoll.”  Eleanor added, providing Via's full name as a formality.

“Lovely to meet you, sir. If you'll excuse me.” Via replied politely, her tone respectful as she acknowledged the introduction before taking her leave.

With a nod to Eleanor, she exited the office, her mind racing with the events of the day and the newfound knowledge of Mr. Sainz's son's presence in the company.

Via retreated back to her desk, the weight of the encounter with Carlos Sainz Jr. still lingering in her mind. As time passed, her curiosity grew, eventually leading her to seek out Eleanor once more. With a sense of purpose, Via made her way to Mr. Sainz's office, her footsteps echoing in the hushed confines of the executive suite.

Entering the office, Via found it deserted, the air heavy with the lingering presence of power and authority. Her gaze swept over the room, taking in the dark wood cabinets and the photographs adorning the counter. Intrigued, she reached out to run a hand over the polished surface, her fingers lingering on the images captured within the frames.

“Looking for something?” Carlos's voice shattered the silence, his sudden presence causing Via to spin around in surprise.

Startled, Via found Carlos leaning casually against the door frame, his demeanour relaxed yet undeniably imposing. Her pulse quickened at the unexpected encounter, her mind racing to compose herself in the face of his scrutiny.

“I don't think my father would like it much if he knew you were snooping around in his office.” Carlos remarked, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement.

“I wasn't snooping.” Via replied defensively, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the implication.

“Olivia, was it?” Carlos inquired, his gaze probing as he addressed her by her full name.

“Yes.” Via confirmed, her voice barely above a whisper as she met his gaze.

“If you're looking for Eleanor, she's left with my father - something about a last-minute meeting.” Carlos informed her, his tone casual yet authoritative.

“Noted, thank you, sir.” Via responded, her voice polite as she acknowledged the information.

“Please, call me Carlos.” He insisted, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Via nodded in acknowledgment, her mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter with Mr. Sainz's son. With a polite smile, she excused herself from the office, determined to focus on her tasks and put the encounter behind her.

Via felt a jolt of surprise as Carlos's hand closed around her wrist, his grip firm yet strangely gentle. She met his gaze, her eyes widening in apprehension as he spoke.

“I won’t tell my father you were snooping,” Carlos stated, his tone low and deliberate.

“Because I wasn’t.” Via countered, her voice tinged with defiance as she resisted the implication.

“I won’t tell him on one condition.” Carlos continued, his gaze unwavering as he held her captive with his intense scrutiny.

“What’s the condition?” Via asked, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

“You don’t come in here by yourself again.” Carlos stated firmly, his expression unyielding as he laid out his terms.

“Yes… Carlos.” Via replied reluctantly, her voice barely above a whisper as she acquiesced to his demand.

With a sense of relief, she extracted her wrist from his grasp and quickly made her exit from the office, the encounter leaving her unsettled yet strangely intrigued by the enigmatic figure of Carlos Sainz Jr.

As Carlos released Via's wrist, she felt a rush of relief flood through her. She offered him a brief, uncertain smile before turning on her heels and hurrying out of the office, her steps quickening as she made her way back to her desk.

Behind her, Carlos watched her retreat, his gaze lingering on her figure until she disappeared from view. A faint smile played at the corners of his lips as he reflected on their brief interaction, a sense of intrigue stirring within him at the enigmatic Olivia Driscoll.

With a thoughtful expression, Carlos turned his attention back to the deserted office, his mind already pondering the implications of their encounter and the potential consequences of his decision to keep Via's presence in the office a secret from his father.

Via settled into her seat at the cosy coffee shop, greeted by the familiar faces of her close friends: Rosa, Tori, and Neil. Their playful banter brought a much-needed smile to her face after the events of the day.

“Well, nice of you to join us, big shot.” Rosa teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Hi, Miss rays of sunshine.” Via retorted with a chuckle, exchanging playful greetings with her friends.

“You look terrible.” Tori remarked with mock concern, her tone laced with humour.

“It’s a new look I’m trying out.” Via quipped, her reply eliciting laughter from the group.

“I don’t understand why you have to work so late.” Neil chimed in, his expression one of genuine concern. 

“It's just the nature of the job, you know? Deadlines, last-minute meetings, unexpected tasks. It never seems to end.” Via sighed, her demeanour growing more serious as she explained,

Her friends nodded in understanding, their expressions sympathetic as they listened to her explanation. Despite the challenges she faced, Via couldn't help but feel grateful for the support of her friends, their presence providing a much-needed respite from the demands of her hectic work life.

“No, there’s something else bothering you today. Out with it.” Rosa insisted, her intuition sharp as ever. Via sighed, relenting under her friend's scrutiny.

“The boss’s son showed up.” She confessed, her voice lowering slightly as she revealed the source of her discomfort.

“Ooh, do tell.” Tori exclaimed, leaning in with interest.

“There’s nothing to tell. He’s just intimidating.” Via replied, her gaze flickering with uncertainty.

“You never find people intimidating.” Neil pointed out, his brow furrowing in concern.

“I do when they’re my boss and his son.” Via admitted, her shoulders slumping with the weight of her confession.

“What’s he look like?” Rosa pressed, her curiosity piqued by the mention of Mr. Sainz's son.

“He’s attractive, that’s for sure. He’s the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.” Via admitted, a hint of reluctance in her voice as she acknowledged Carlos Sainz Jr.'s undeniable allure.

“At least he’s something to look at.” Tori remarked with a playful grin, attempting to lighten the mood with her characteristic humour.

Via couldn't help but chuckle at her friend's comment, grateful for the lighthearted banter that helped to momentarily distract her from the complexities of her professional life. Deep down, though, she knew that Carlos Sainz Jr.'s presence in the office would continue to loom large in her thoughts, his enigmatic aura leaving an indelible impression on her psyche.

[cyber-dump-171]

Chapter 4: Crewel & Crowley

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

← Chapter 3 | Masterlist | Chapter 5 →

Word count: 4.5k.

WARNING: brief mentions of possible drug addiction and smuggling pills.

Note: this is more of a filler chapter, but, Heartslabyul's arc begins next chapter. Enjoy!

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The door opens with a rather loud creak, giving way to an empty office plunged in darkness, the only thing he can see is the mahogany desk illuminated by the silver moon and some pictures depicting the “Great Seven” slowly floating up and down a few meters above the floor.

If someone asked Crowley why his workspace is so austere, the crow would reply, "less is better". It's more professional, cleaner, makes a better impression, and can also be intimidating. But in reality, he rarely uses this space, preferring to work in the office of his subordinate and “close friend,” Divus Crewel.

His office is much more cozy than his, the reduced space and furniture-lined walls can be claustrophobic to some, but to him, it is just perfect. Besides, Crewel's taste in decor and color is trendy yet classy, and the crow man understands why the fashion enthusiast and scholarship science nerd ended up as the Pomefiore dorm leader during his high school years.

Originally, Crewel found it frustrating that the bird man was constantly swinging by to his workplace, already annoyed that he barely had any alone time during the day and then the flamboyant man was invading and working in his personal office. 

It started with their papers and files getting mixed up, then Crowley left empty cups and plates strewn around his desk, and the breaking point was when he found the crow man’s mask and coat hanging from his office chair.

Crewel told him to get lost and use his own office. 

Crowley offered to double his salary and extend his vacation days in exchange for using his office. 

A deal was quickly struck.

And he'd be working there right now if he hadn't been so rudely kicked out by the potionology teacher. A little birdie (Sam) told Crewel that Crowley had placed the magicless kids in the health hazard that is the Ramshackle Dorm.

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Crowley's concentration is interrupted when the office door bursts open and Crewel steps in, his fluffy white and black coat nowhere in sight. His eyebrows are furrowed so tightly that they might melt together as he shouts angrily at the headmaster. “Explain to me why, in the name of the Great Seven, you thought it was okay to put these children in that house!?” his screams echo through the room.

“Good evening to you too, Divus,” the man in front of him sneers before slamming the door and walking over to the desk, hands on his hips. “Don’t ‘good evening’ me! Answer the damn question!” the crow man can already feel the headache coming on as his brain pounds at his friend's screams.

“Well, where else was I supposed to put them? I wouldn't let them just walk out of here, this world is very dangerous! You know I'm a very benevolent person,” he mutters the last part with a grin, proud of his actions. On the contrary, Crewel wants to gouge out the crow's beady little golden eyes and slap him across the face. “Benevolent!? Dire, just last week we were talking about tearing that thing down after the ceiling almost collapsed on Trein!”

Ah, he's on a first-name basis now, that’s not good.

“If you feel so bad for them, why don’t you house them, then?” Crowley proudly retorts, finally lifting his gaze from the paperwork, noticing his friend’s flat and unimpressed expression. “I live in a one-bedroom apartment. I’m not about to add three teenagers into the mix and force them to sleep in the sofa bed.” 

That's a lie, it was actually a two-bedroom apartment, but he turned the other room into a walk-in closet with a huge mirror... What? He ran out of room for his clothes!

“What about your house? I know you have plenty of space,” Crewel crosses his arms, remembering last year's staff holiday party that Crowley begrudgingly hosted in his home after pulling the short stick from the pile. The crow man scoffs, offended by the idea. “There’s not enough space for the four of us there.”

“Dire, you live in a mansion!” “I value my space!” “And not mine!?”

Crewel sighs, throwing his head back exhausted from this pointless conversation. He fails to understand why his “friend” is so reluctant to give these kids a proper space to live. “Did you tell them that they can get food from the cafeteria? Or to use the gym showers?” Crowley quickly averts his gaze, shyly twiddling his fingers as he remembers the deal. “I… um… well…”

“Crowley,” the potionology teacher warns in a low tone and the crow man can feel the rage that emanates from the man, making him even more nervous to admit what now seems like a really bad idea. “I kinda… told them that… well, that they'd have to work for their food and clothing,” he watches in horror as Crewel goes slack-jawed, the color draining from his face as he processes the sentence. “But! Don’t worry, I’ll give them a good salary and plenty of time to rest!”

He says this as if it were a good solution.

“Child labor!? Crowley, we’re going to get sued!” 

“They can’t sue us, they don’t have valid IDs!” 

“Not them, the government, you moron!” Oh… 

“Well, I'll just draft some contracts to cover our ass, we'll be fine, don’t worry!” 

“They're minors, they can't sign them without their parent's permission!” 

“One of them is 18! The blonde one... I think…” 

“And the other two?” 

“Well, if you're so worried about them, why don't you adopt them!?” 

“Because, legally, they don't exist in this world! Also, I'm too young for children!” 

“You're 32!” 

“Shut up! You're older!”

Ah, this conversation is getting nowhere.

Crewel runs his fingers through his hair, completely ruining the hairstyle he spent a few good minutes on this morning. This is bad, terrible, even a disaster! Throughout the entire debacle of the entrance ceremony, he watched from the sidelines in pity as the faces of the three children fell in horror and shock when the mirror declared that their home didn't exist.

He can't imagine it… suddenly being ripped away from your world and thrown into a dimension where your only support system is two strangers close to your age and an idiot headmaster who can't even house you properly while forcing you to work. He gets it, it's expensive enough to maintain this school and repair the walls and hallways from other students' mischief, but...

For the sake of the Great Seven, he lives in a mansion and enjoys a good salary that's close to six figures, so he can spare a few thaumarks! Besides, Crowley can't even use the excuse of “crow-like nature” to take and keep shiny things. That is the behavior of a magpie!

Despite all the talk about "disrespectful puppies" and his desperate need to take a long break from his students, Crewel still loves and cares for them. And these three kids struck a chord with him, reminding him of his childhood. 

It was also heartbreaking as he walked by the Ramshackle dormitory and watched the three students cover the lower half of their faces with their shirts as they shook the dust off the blankets and old pillows they were going to sleep on tonight. 

The teacher turns to face the headmaster, who has taken his silence as an indication that the conversation is over, and returns to his paperwork, scribbling something unintelligible on the manila pages. Ugh, if only he could get out of his office to think of a solution... Wait a minute! That's it!

“All right, since you're so stubborn and selfish, you can't set foot in my office or talk to me until those kids are sleeping in a safe place and have proper food and clothing!” Crewel grabs the back of Crowley's coat, the crow man gasping in surprise as the teacher tucks the documents that were sprawled on the desk under his arm. 

He was going to threaten to quit, but he needs this job. That set of platinum rings his favorite designer released the other day won't pay for itself.

“Wha- Divus, what in the world!?” the door of the office flies open as the headmaster is unceremoniously kicked out into the hallway, a heavy pile of papers shoved hard against his chest, causing him to momentarily lose his breath. “I said what I said... I'm changing the lock on my office as well. Goodbye now.”

As soon as the piece of wood is slammed shut, Crowley snaps out of his stupor and turns to the blocked entrance, papers falling to the floor as he loudly bangs his decorated fists on the door. “DIVUS, I'M SORRY! CAN WE PLEASE TALK!?” a muffled groan interrupts his tantrum, but the potionology teacher does not attempt to get up from his chair and reason with the crow.

Whining and yelling, the headmaster continues to demand entry and a calm conversation, the complete opposite of his current childish behavior. In his stupor, the crow man fails to notice another member of the staff rounding the corner of the antique hallway, the fluffy, chubby cat in his arms yawning sleepily as his golden eyes suddenly focus on the Headmaster. 

And his owner gazes horrified at the scene.

“Crowley! What is the meaning of all this shouting!?” the booming voice of Mozus Trein echoes through the walls as the crow man turns to face the sound, his beady golden eyes widening in relief as he sprints towards the faculty member.

“Trein! Thank the Seven! Divus has gone mad! He kicked me out of my office!” before the older man can even process the scene unfolding in front of him, Crewel's angry voice intervenes from the other side. “It's MY office, Crowley. Yours is at the top of the building!”

“I thought you weren't talking to me!” he's being petty now, and he knows it, but he can't help it. “Yes, because you're making a ruckus and not respecting my boundaries! GO AWAY!” the two of them return to their pissy fight, Lucius, Trein's cat, ducks his head with an annoyed “meow” and covers his ears with his little paws.

“Enough of this display! You two should be ashamed of yourselves, you're grown men fighting like children. Imagine what would happen if a student saw you two like this. And answer my question, what caused this kerfuffle in the first place?” as Crowley opens his mouth to explain, Crewel cuts him off and sums up the situation in a matter of seconds.

The hall is filled with a palpable and tense silence as Trein's eyes narrow on the headmaster, who nervously shrinks his shoulders and twiddles his fingers. Man, he forgot how intimidating the old man really is, no wonder the students are deathly afraid of him. "Crowley, this is incredibly irresponsible of you," the crow man groans, slapping his face in frustration at the phrase that has become a mantra in the last few minutes.

"UGH! But what was I supposed to do?" he acts like a petulant child, his hands falling harshly to his sides in exasperation. From the other side of the door, Crewel coughs loudly and slips in a comment that irks Crowley to no end. "Don't put them in that dump." "Are you talking to me now!?"

“Quiet you two!” Trein interrupts again, holding his furry companion a bit tighter in his arms, a prominent vein adorning his forehead as he grows increasingly exhausted by his colleague and boss fighting like an old married couple. 

"We'll deal with it tomorrow, but I agree with Crewel that it is dangerous to let them stay in that house. Either fix the building or move them to another one."

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And that’s how the crow man finds himself stuck working in the cold office, HIS cold office, a pout on his lips as he lays the crumpled documents on the desk. Fucking Crewel, why did he suddenly turn into a mother and defend those children so much!? None of them complained when he took them to the building, even that Yuuken kid seemed excited to meet the ghosts!

Ah, whatever, he’ll deal with that later. Right now, there's the more pressing matter of repairing the Ceremonial Hall after the fiasco caused by the blue flame monster and finding a replacement nurse since the other one is on maternity leave.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the dimly lit office as the headmaster quickly scribbles unintelligible words on a piece of paper. The antique clock hanging above the doorway ticks away the seconds, the hands nearing together at the top, signaling that it will soon be midnight. Outside, the commotion of students running amok as they finish their dorm welcoming parties is long gone, replaced by the singing of the owls and the howling of the cold wind.

The silence and stillness are shattered when Crowley's pointed ears perk up at the sound of hurried footsteps approaching his office. He groans softly as a pair of knuckles rap urgently against the old wooden door, the crow man pushing back his fatigue as a quiet "come in" falls from his lips.

The door opens slowly, a few seconds later a recently familiar head peers over the opening and Crowley recognizes the slightly familiar face. What was your name... "Ah, (Y/N), how may I be of assistance?" you take a few steps and stand awkwardly in the doorway, curious eyes scanning the room.

Crowley thought you were the most "normal" of the three non-magical students. Figaro creeped him out during the walk back to the dormitory, sharp eyes watching every move and pestering him with rather invasive questions. In contrast, Yuuken's reactions to the ghost made the crow man think of him as an endearing, if not bizarre, naive boy. At the entrance ceremony, he mostly took you as a panicked person attempting to maintain a level head while processing copious amounts of new information.

He can't blame you. If he were in your situation, he might go crazy, too. Let's hope you don't turn into a troublemaker, he already has enough headaches to deal with.

“Sorry for barging in so late, but can I steal a few minutes of your time?” how polite! My, after all the rudeness he experienced today your well-mannered question is more than welcomed! He extends a hand with a small smile and silently beckons you to come in and not wasting a single second, you hurriedly shut the door before walking over to the desk.

“I saw a student behave and carry something suspicious while exiting the infirmary,” ‘oh well, darling, if you stick around long enough, you’ll find out that everyone in this school is suspicious, but, do spill the beans,’ he thinks while nodding along at your sentence, before stopping abruptly as a puzzled look crosses his face.

“Infirmary? I swear that door is supposed to be locked,” he whispers under his breath, brows furrowed as he urges you to continue. You tell him everything that you witnessed during your late visit to the library: the student’s erratic and twitchy behavior, the mention of a “Master” and most disturbingly, the syringe with the mysterious liquid. 

Crowley's chin rests flat on the back of his gloved hands, his elbows digging into the wooden surface as golden eyes stare off into the distance, processing the myriad thoughts floating through his mind. “Were you able to see who it was?” you give some of the details you managed to catch under the dim light but admit that you weren’t able to truly see who it was. The crow man simply nods, jotting down your words on a piece of paper.

An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of the headmaster's stomach. Originally, he thought you might have caught some students smuggling pills or antibiotics out of the infirmary, an unfortunate incident that has happened several times before, which is why the room is always locked when there isn't a nurse in it.

But this...

As if a switch had been turned on in his head, Crowley clumsily yet hastily searches through all the drawers of his desk before finding a rectangular device tucked away under some papers and trinkets. His phone. He unlocks it, his golden claw clacking harshly against the glass as he types out an urgent message to the faculty and dorm chat groups:

“ATTENTION: it’s been reported that a student has broken into the infirmary and was spotted carrying a syringe containing an unidentified liquid. The student has the following characteristics: approximately 175 cm tall, pale skin, black, dark purple or blue hair, and green or brown eyes. He was spotted exiting the room at around 11:55 p.m. wearing ceremonial robes.

It is mandatory for dorm leaders to search for this student and make a surprise inspection of each dorm room. You will be allowed to skip the first three periods of classes and have the option to have two other people assist you. Please report their names in this group chat to report them as excused from their responsibilities. If you find the person and/or object, report immediately to faculty.”

“Um, that’s all. I don’t know if you need me for anything else, so, I’ll go,” you’re about to scurry out of the cold office when Crowley calls out your name, asking you to wait. An idea crosses his panicked mind, and he knows that Crewel will definitely have his head for it, but with this incident and the lack of a nurse, he can’t leave the infirmary unoccupied. “(Y/N), how much do you know about medicine?”

The question catches you off guard, and your eyes widen momentarily in surprise before returning to their normal state as you contemplate his question. Crowley remembers your actions at the entrance ceremony when you cleaned the wound of the blond boy (whose name he doesn't remember, but the crow man associates it with a cat). 

The small homemade first-aid kit you pulled from your bag tells him that you've at least had to constantly deal with treating wounds or that you're an over-prepared person. Either way, you would work.

"Well, I've taken several first aid courses and have basic medical knowledge," the headmaster half-listens to what you mutter under your breath, something about "university" and "medical school." Eh, he doesn't care to know about the details. "Great! You're hired! Instead of reporting to the courtyard, go straight to the infirmary tomorrow morning. I expect to see you there at 6 a.m. sharp!"

A stunned gasp escapes your lips as your eyes scan the headmaster, confused by the sentence you just heard and hoping inwardly that he was joking. Instead, Crowley simply tilts his head to the side, an innocent smile on his partially covered face as he decides that this is a wonderful idea. Why, this could be an experience for you!

“H-Hold on! Isn’t this the job of the nurse!? Also… what would happen if during my shift someone gets stabbed or comes in with a broken leg!? T-The bone poking out of the skin and everything!” the crow man momentarily grimaces at the mental image, but he quickly regains his composure as an evil thought crosses his mind. 

“Do not fret! You’ll deal with superficial or minor injuries. If anything serious were to happen, just give Professor Crewel a call using the office’s phone! He'd be more than happy to help you!" Crowley exclaims as he rises from his desk, the velvety chair making a loud noise as its legs scrape against the floor. 

With a grin that could rival that of the infamous Cheshire Cat, he jots down the potionology professor’s number on a ripped piece of paper before handing it to you. ‘That’s payback for the office!’ He saunters over to the entrance, completely ignoring your horrified expression as you stare holes at the paper in your hands.

“Ah! That reminds me…” his voice snaps you out of your detrimental thoughts, curious eyes turning around to watch as the headmaster opens the door. “I’m aware that your current situation is far from ideal. Therefore, until you are back on your feet, please use the showers in the gymnasium and your meals from the cafeteria," he proudly puffs out his chest as he watches your eyes light up and you nod excitedly, quietly thanking him.

“Also, feel free to take anything from the ‘lost and found’ box in the library. We have a policy that the items that remain there for more than three months can be taken by anyone. From my knowledge, the objects there have remained for more than five months,” he adds as you head out into the hallway, and Crowley can't help but feel proud of himself. “My, aren’t I so kind?”

He ignores your face as it shifts from one of gratitude to one of disgust, too busy enjoying his generous actions. “Uh, sure… t-thanks man,” his beady golden eyes follow your figure as it fades into the distance. When you disappear as you make a right turn, Crowley gently closes the door before sighing, fingers pinching his forehead as he feels the oncoming headache.

Alright, now, to deal with this situation.

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You take your time walking back to the dorm, admiring the starry sky with each step. Your head swims with different thoughts, fueled by your chronic insomnia, as you ponder once again where you are and what you have seen. A world where magic exists and where there are ghosts, flying broomsticks, monsters, and a bunch of crazy people.

If someone had told you the day before that you would end up in a magic school, living in a dormitory that would fall if you looked at it the wrong way, you would have laughed your ass off.

Fucking hilarious.

You yawn, hot crystalline tears clouding your eyes as you rub them vigorously. You groan as the cold wind kisses your skin and you feel more awake than tired, even though the exhaustion of everything you have experienced today weighs heavily on your bones and muscles. You feel restless, but not tired. 

Frankly, you kind of hate your body.

The dead leaves and twigs crackle beneath your soles as you stuff your hands into your pockets, a morbidly familiar building creeps up from the horizon, but you watch in confusion as two pairs of lights move erratically in through the windows. Seconds later, Figaro and Yuuken almost kick down the front door as they emerge from the house, their hair disheveled and their eyes red as they sneeze and cough violently.

Your walk turns into a light jog as you approach the two men, the blond one letting out a sigh of relief when he sees you. It turns out that during your failed adventure to the library, the three ghosts of the house decided to play a prank on the Finnish man by ruffling the white sheets covering the nearby furniture in his bedroom, causing a huge cloud of dust to rise from the fabric and enter his nostrils.

On the other hand, Yuuken awoke to a tickling sensation on his hand, only to almost punch a hole in the nearby wall as a spider seemed to be happily walking on his appendage. Then part of his back began to itch and he panicked, thinking he had some kind of rash from the dirty blankets. However, when you pulled up his shirt to examine him, all you found were some red marks from his nails and, thankfully, no small bumps or any sort of physical ailment.

You, on the other hand, recounted the events and swore that the porch lit up with Figaro's excitement as you informed the two men of Crowley's offer. He even started bouncing on the balls of his feet at the mention of a free shower. But when the chatter dies down and the only sound is the song of the nocturnal animals, the three of you stare back at the intimidating building.

“I’m not going back in there,” Fígaro whispers in a scratchy voice, his eyes still watering from the sneeze attack. “Where else are we supposed to sleep though?” you retort, not too thrilled about the idea of going back to the house and laying your back against the stiff and dirty mattress. Yuuken is rather quiet, a thoughtful hand scratching his chin before an idea pops into his head, bright eyes turning to look at you both.

“Why don’t we sleep outside? It’ll be like camping, just without a tent,” you almost snort out loud at the sight of Figaro's face contorting into an expression of astonishment, eyes wide open as the blond man is rendered speechless. “Are you mad!? And what, get our eyes clawed out by some bizarre three-headed night creature!?” the Kendo student crosses his burly arms over his chest, quietly clicking his tongue in disapproval at the Finnish man's words.

“Is either this or you sleeping back inside that dust-infested room… Or you can also clean out another bedroom, but, Pembroke and I aren’t going to help you, we’re tired,” the booming voice of Yuuken echoes through the dilapidated porch, his intimidating side finally coming out to the moonlight. But, Fígaro doesn’t seem to back down, even though he’s quietly stunned for a few seconds. His body rapidly turns around to you, blue eyes scanning your face. “Please, tell me that you’re with me on this one.”

“Eh, I’m not. I’ve slept on the balcony of my house multiple times and nothing happened, so, Yuuken’s idea is fine by me,” you shrug, the blonde man gawking at your words. To be honest, you've slept in worse places and the idea of falling asleep under the stars doesn't bother you at all. “Dude, calm down. The most that will happen is that we’ll get some bug bites.”

You would have thought about it more if you'd been a little more awake, but all your rationality was thrown out the window as you suddenly felt more sleepy and tired. Finally.

And so, with two votes against one, you found yourselves lying on a thick blanket spread out on the dead grass, the branches of a nearby tree serving as your cover, at Fígaro's request. The whiny blonde is snuggled between you and Yuuken's back, having insisted on the spot because he was cold and “forced by both of you to participate in such an activity.”

The Kendo student didn't give a damn about his complaints, shushing him between sleepy yawns, too exhausted to argue with him about the stupid place in the makeshift bed. Meanwhile, you were more concerned about the fact that you'd only be able to sleep for a few hours before you had to go to work. Will you have enough energy?

You hope so. A good shower and a strong cup of coffee should give you a boost tomorrow morning.

As the blades of grass gently nudge your back, the three of you say a quiet good night. Your heavy eyes finally begin to close, the cold wind gently kissing your skin as the soft snores and tired breaths of your new roommates lull you into a deep sleep.

The three of you fail to hear the horrifying screams of Crewel and the booming laughter of Ashton Vargas, the gym teacher, as the two faculty members watch you sleep under the tree.

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Tag list:

@rotknox @agaygothicmushroom @sherryclover @mielle-estelar @yuriluvr2000 @Shironakuronatasa @yourlocalhot-simp @stvrbrighttt @tearsofgenshin @mewmew-dream @lehn2206 @coleisyn

[cr4yolaas]

blue spring — two-headed lamb

prev: coping mechanism | masterlist | next: new, scary, unexpected

when he walks in, she's still painting. the air conditioning is on full blast, and one old, barely working lamp illuminates her workspace. the soft glow of the light spills down her cheeks, down her arms, down her spine, and he can't stop looking.

she doesn't acknowledge his presence, maintaining her focus on the canvas. it's the same one from her bedroom, he recognizes, and the sketch he last saw has been completely filled in with flat colors, ranging from velvety reds to pale peaches. the creature in the photo is clearer, now, and the girl in the center more closely resembles its creator. it's a two-headed lamb, again, and he thinks back to the one he saw at the exhibit. his head is spinning.

he doesn't say anything for a while, instead opting to stand in the doorway and watch. he watches the shadows on the concrete beneath her shift as she moves, and the delicacy in which she dips her brush into the paint. it's thick enough that he could scrape it up off the canvas with a spatula. evidently, it's a different medium than what she normally works with, given that what he saw a few nights ago consisted of watercolors and flatter, thinner acrylics. he watches her paint in the tiny details — the fluffy fur of the lamb, the somber swirl in the girl's eyes, the shadows along her bare skin. he's not used to seeing things like this; it's a far cry from the volleyball matches he grew up watching or the medicinal videos he's assigned from his nutritional courses. it's different. it's more human, and it's beautiful.

there's a pregnant pause in the air as she stops to stare at her work from afar. she leans back in her stool and observes each little curve and line and shade that she's placed, and kageyama does so with her, just from a little farther away. when she turns around to face him, his head darts to the floor. he bites the inside of his cheek and pretends to be preoccupied.

"you didn't have to come," she muses while turning back to the piece. the paintbrush finds its way back between her fingertips, and gently, she continues what she was working on. "i would've gotten home fine on my own."

"i would rather you be safe," he mutters in response, and she doesn't admit that the sentiment has her head feeling fuzzy. "you didn't ask your roommates to bring you home?"

"i told them not to."

he approaches her, the light now shining against his face as he stands beside her. he doesn't pry, instead allowing her to follow her own pace. he's scared of being too much. of being overbearing. "you should go home," she states. she's stopped working, now painfully aware of his gaze. she'll continue it when he leaves, she decides.

kageyama shakes his head persistently. he's scared of messing this up. "it's not safe. just let me do this for you."

her mind is telling her not to go. not because she doesn't feel safe around him, but because she doesn't feel safe letting go of this. she knows that, as soon as her focus is broken, she'll return to the inconvenience of staring at the canvas, hoping it'll paint itself. on the other hand, her heart wants to follow him. to take his hand and to abandon the white-hot anger bubbling in her throat.

she follows her heart, just for tonight.

tsukishima is the first to see them when they get to her place. his face is blank, but in his eyes, it's evident that there are hints of worry. yachi follows suit, this time more vocal in her care. she thanks kageyama quickly before shutting the door, too focused on her roommate. yamaguchi is nowhere to be seen.

kageyama doesn't know what to do with himself once he's out. the night is quiet, and his own apartment isn't too far away, but the walk there feels like it drags on for far too long.

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks @scxrcherr @yuminako @girlkissersco @diorzs @causenessus

[fishwithtitz]

A Simple Existence (a Papa Emeritus IV x f!reader one shot)

A/N: This one was written specifically for my sweet cheese, my main babe Jen (@copias-juicebox). Her birthday was on Wednesday and this is a very belated present created with her in mind. Girl, you wanted subby sweet Copia, you got him! Love you so much and I'm so happy I met you. Alles Gute zum nachträglichen Geburtstag!

Also, special shout out to @anamelessfool, @eyeslikelilith, and @portaltothevoid for beta'ing and feedback <3

If you'd like to be on my tag list, please comment!

⛧⛧⛧

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Papa Emeritus IV x f!reader / 5.1k words

Warnings: dom/sub relationship, hints at dub-con (if you squint?), oral sex, piv, language, cock worshipping

ao3 link

Over the past few weeks, it had become more commonplace for Papa Emeritus IV to be sitting at his cherry wood desk, pen in hand as he rifled through various Ministry tasks late into the night. 

To many, Papa was a figurehead of the church — both through his leadership in the spiritual sector of the Ministry and as frontman of the Ghost project. But so many didn’t realize the influence he had within the planning and implementation of the church and its projects as a whole. 

It was almost as if he breathed much-needed oxygen into the lungs of the abbey and transfused his own lifeblood into the theatrics of the band. The Ministry was, to put it simply, his everything. It was something you had come to love and loathe about the man.

Tonight was no different than any other night the past few weeks. Copia sat perched in his worn office chair (the one he’d taken with him from his stay at the abbey in Venice during his time as a bishop), papal paint smeared somewhat from the occasional swipe of his palm against his cheeks as he thought through a complex task. A banker’s lamp and the starlight were the only sources of illumination in the office space — a tell of how late into the evening it had become. 

You’d sat up night after night waiting for your Papa to come back to his chambers at a reasonable hour. Most nights ended with you falling asleep as you sat  against the headboard in your shared bed or lounged on the loveseat in the sitting room. Tonight, however, you’d had enough. You were worried that the ministry was taking advantage of the Satanic pope’s hardworking and passionate spirit and the last thing you wanted was for him to spiral into burn out. Tonight, you would put your foot down. 

It was a short walk from the Papal chambers to Copia’s office. You’d made the trek what felt like hundreds of times and this specific time, it was as if the route had been cut in half. Perhaps that was the speed at which your bare feet carried you, or perhaps it was the simmering frustration you had bubbling in your chest. Nevertheless, you didn’t bother to knock before you pushed on the oaken double doors to Papa’s workspace. 

As soon as you shut the heavy door behind you, Papa’s head sprung up in alarm as if he had been shaken out of a trance. You walked into the spacious office, nightgown flowing behind you like an estuary, and stopped a couple of meters away from where he sat. 

“Il amore mio, what are you doing h-”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” You found yourself cutting off his tired greeting.

Copia pressed his thumb and forefinger against his temples, gently rubbing them as he closed his eyes in defeated frustration. “I haven’t looked at the clock in a while.”

“It’s nearly one in the morning,” you answered for him, taking a step towards the cherrywood desk. “Come to bed.  It’s not doing you any good burning the midnight oil.”

Copia’s hand dropped from his temples and on any other occasion, you would smirk at the sight of the smudged paint on his fingertips. “I assure you that I have plenty of fuel left for this candle’s flame, amore mio,” he said. 

“But you’re burning it at both ends!” you retorted, voice raising in a mix of sympathy and frustration. “Copia, it’s not a matter of if you’ll drive yourself into the ground but when.” You moved to round the large wooden desk, and as you approached him, your expression softened. “All of this can wait until tomorrow,” you said, voice slightly calmer now.

You shifted behind him and snaked your arms around his shoulders, resting them on his strong chest. Your lips pressed to the hair atop his head.  The salt-and-pepper streaked strands that once were combed back on his head but had since begun to fall into his eyes and around his temples. “Just, come to sleep. I miss you. I miss my Papa.”

And you realized that this man, this hopelessly devoted man beneath the cloak of your arms was the picture of leadership. A perfect blend of authority and quiet strength. Measured. Loving. Dedicated. And when necessary, absolutely ruthless. 

Papa sighed at your admission and reached up to place his non-dominant hand over one of yours, his pen still gripped tight in the other. “Il mio amore,” he began, voice apologetic and oddly tinged with dampened annoyance, “you must understand that I am everyone’s Papa. The work I do is necessary to maintain and grow the ministry — our outreach, our education, charity — the very diffusion of our beliefs lies within my leadership.”

At his dismissal, you felt your grip around him loosen, your hands sliding from around his shoulders as you stepped away from him. “You think I don’t know that? You are one man, Copia. You can’t do it all,” you began as you ran your hand through your hair in frustration. You stepped to the side to better face him, hoping to see him — even just a glance at the mismatched eyes you were growing to love. “I’m tired of watching you run yourself ragged trying. And quite frankly, I’m tired of being left behind while you choose your work over everything else in your life.”

Copia’s eyes finally rose to meet yours. His voice changed from his more understanding and apologetic (possibly even patronizing) tone to one of seriousness. “My work is my duty…my oath to the lightbringer, to his infernal majesty.”

The earlier simmering of frustration in your chest came to a roaring boil at his retort and you moved to face him, arms crossed over your chest as you leaned just slightly over his desk. “Well, I suppose it’s good to know where your duties lie.”

With that, you left the office, leaving Copia to ruminate in the reverberating slam of the heavy oak door and the ringing of your words repeating in his head.

Copia tried his best to finish up the task he’d been in the middle of when you’d stopped by his office at the end of the clergy wing, but no matter how much he attempted to focus, he couldn’t drag his mind away from the argument you’d just shared. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps he had been neglectful in other areas of his life. After a light yawn escaped from his lips, he decided to pack up his work and return back to your shared room. Afterall, he probably owes you an apology.

He didn’t even remember walking back to the papal chambers, the weight of his exhaustion being so heavy that it dulled his sense of time. Despite this, when he entered your shared room, he still had the wherewithal to show slight shock that you were still awake and waiting for him on the sitting room chaise. 

“Tesoro,” he started, walking around the loveseat to approach you, “I am sorry for the way that I spoke earlier—”

His apology was cut off, however, when you held up a hand as if to nonverbally signal for him to stop. His eyebrows creased just slightly in confusion.

“Go to our bedroom and get undressed,” you said, voice devoid of any emotion yet strangely demanding given your usual countenance. As he opened his mouth to protest, you raised an eyebrow, holding your hand up again to silence him once more. With this, Copia’s eyes adopted a slight glimmer and his lips fought the desire to curve into a smirk. He knew what this meant. 

He took a step closer to you and his voice lowered as he spoke. “You want to play Papa tonight, dolcezza?” As he approached you, you fought the desire to conform to him, to allow him to take hold of the reins that he so often gripped. 

You steadied your countenance and gave him a simple nod in retort. 

This time, his lips made the final curve into the smirk he had tried to withhold. As he made his way into the bedroom, his gloveless hand reached towards his neck to loosen his blue cravat (a favorite of yours, he remembered), and unfasten the buttons lining the center of his shirt. He shrugged both of them off and set them on the bench at the foot of the bed before working to remove his pants, belt, shoes, and socks. Soon enough, he was left only in his boxers, and he began to move towards the bed, assuming your insistence that he get some rest.

Instead, you nonchalantly walked by him as you rounded the four-poster bed. “I said undressed, Papa,” you remarked coolly.

He turned to look at you, eyebrows raised once more, before his expression crinkled slightly. “As you wish, amore mio,” he said. Your face remained stoic.

The truth was, as you waited for him to return from his office after your discussion, you realized that you had two choices. You could be angry with him for the neglect he’d shown to your relationship. It would definitely be well-founded, and you had every right to give him a prolonged cold shoulder in retaliation. 

Or, you could approach the situation with the empathy you had craved from him. You could help him realize that his ascension to papacy did not require him to work himself to the bone. On the contrary, it should allow him to revel in the devotion that others craved to provide to him.

You’d decided on the latter.

Papa slid the silken fabric of his boxers down his toned legs (oh, how you’d love to worship those legs) and let them pool on the floor below as he stepped out of them. You motioned to the bed with nothing more than a flick of your gaze, and he sat against the edge. 

“Back against the headboard, Papa.” Your voice felt weirdly not your own. Not that you were complaining, by any means. You felt a surge of confidence and power prickling through your body and you couldn’t help but wonder if this is what he felt like when he presided over Mass. 

Copia scooted his body back to the headboard, back flush against the aged wood, and set his palms down against the pillows. After reaching down to grab his discarded cravat (to which you internally smiled as you noticed the blue hue), your feet carried you towards him, padding softly against the carpet in the papal suite, and you pulled up the sheer organza of your nightgown to reveal the thigh-high stockings you’d adorned while waiting for him to finish in his office. His pupils widened. 

Slipping them off with deliberate purpose, you gathered them both in your hands by their length and reached to grab his right wrist. Without hesitation, you looped the black nylon fabric around him and began securing him to the headboard. “You better than anyone know the values of our church,” -the nylon tightens- “the importance of self indulgence” -pull- “practicing the sin of lust” -loop- “showing our devotion to the one below through celebration of carnal desire.” He watched as you tightened the knot, testing its strength, his eyes deeply curious as he allowed this scenario to play out. You then brought forth his cravat and secured his left hand to the other side in symmetry. 

You backed away and admired your prize. There he sat — the leader of the Ministry of Satan, Papa Emeritus IV, his Unholy Eminence, looking back at you while restrained against the bed with his infernal eye burning. With what? You wondered. Curiosity? Anger? Lust? Annoyance? Intrigue? He opened his mouth to speak, and you reached forward to press a single finger to his lips. 

“You’ve spent so much time speaking on behalf of the church that I think you’ve forgotten how to listen.”

And it was true. All of his duties hung heavy on his shoulders. His ascension to papacy only seemed to increase the workload, and in recognizing his competence, the other senior clergy members dumped task after task upon him that he knew were not required of his predecessors. But, he’d wanted this. He’d yearned for it for so long. How could he stand up against the very ministry that he vowed to serve eternally?

Once more, you lifted up the flowy nightgown to reveal a pair of white satin lace panties. A symbol of purity, innocence — a stark contrast to your actions and the wicked man in front of you. Your thumbs hooked under the waistband and you slid them off, before neatly balling them up in your fist. “Open,” you directed. Surprisingly, Copia obeyed. You smirked and pushed the fabric past his lips and into his mouth, effectively silencing him. 

Your attention turned to his legs splayed out before you. His strong thighs sat parallel to one another as they rested against the pillow-top mattress. Stretching forward, you began to run your hands along each thigh, enjoying the feel of the muscles beneath your palms as they lightly flexed under your touch. “I love these thighs,” you murmured, almost to yourself. You moved to straddle him, climbing just above his knees with your legs on either side of his. Lifting your arms slightly, you loosened the front tie to the bodice of your nightgown, then pulled both breasts out of the scoop neck. They sat directly in front of his painted face, and your eyes watched his as they traveled across the expanse of your chest, his kohl-colored lips barely parted. You swore you heard a noise escape from them. 

You leaned in, breasts brushing against his bare skin as you hovered your mouth by his ear. “Patience,” you breathed, a smirk evident in your tone. As you pulled away, you licked your lips and continued. “You’ve proven that you’re very good at doling out orders. Now,” you trailed your finger down his chest, pausing at the bottom of his sternum, “let’s see if you know how to follow them.”

You knew at this moment that your attention, your affection, was what he craved. However, you also knew that for him to learn to let go, you couldn’t give him what he wanted so easily. Not just yet. So, you leaned back slightly and hovered your bare crotch against his own. You could feel the heat of the both of you and you smiled, pushing down just barely to push your mons against his length. It involuntarily twitched against you and you used this moment to pull back further, earning you a near whine from him (which you purposefully ignored). 

As you sat back against his legs, you looked back down at them, biting your lip. “Fuck, touring has done so much for you. I can’t get enough of these,” you spoke, running your hands along the skin of his quads. “You never have time to let me feel them against me. How sculpted the muscles are, how strong they feel…”

With that, you shuffled your body so that you were straddling his left thigh, your own heat ghosting against the skin of it. You began to press your core down against him, putting pressure against your clit. Looking up, you locked eyes with him. “Do you feel what they do to me?” you asked, beginning to move your hips just slightly, just so, so that he could feel your wetness slipping against him. “How wet it makes me just thinking about touching you?” 

Copia groaned against the fabric of the panties in his mouth. It was muffled but audible, which made you realize just how loud it would be without the gag. 

“And yet…you deny me? All for your work?” Your voice took on a tone of inquisitive mock innocence and hurt, and you creased your eyebrows for effect. Forgetting about the restraints, Copia moved his arms to grab onto you, but groaned again as he realized he was secured into place. 

“What was the saying? ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy?’” At this, you reached down and grabbed onto his erection, trapping it between your leg and his as you ground down on the top of his thigh, pussy pushing down much more forcefully. You let out a moan and tilted your head back at the feeling. He was nearly shaking beneath you. 

Your hips found a slow yet strong rhythm as you gyrated against him. With every forward movement, your leg squeezed against his cock and he let out a series of noises — muffled whimpers and moans — and eventually, his eyelids tightly pressed shut. 

“Is…is pastoral care one of your duties, Papa?” You breathed out, your own voice becoming more lust-dipped as you moved against him. “When you’re taking care of your flock…all of your flock…does that include their desires?” You reached up and grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you. “Aren’t I not part of your flock, Papa?”

He nodded in your hand, eyes nearly ablaze as he all but came undone beneath you. He was so hard it was almost painful, and as you moved above him, riding his thigh like a fucking mechanical bull, your own visage was morphed into one of powerful pleasure. Your tempo increased and you let out a shaky moan at the pressure building low in your abdomen. You were close to feeling the release you’d craved from him for god knows how long. This, along with his own impending orgasm, caused him to spit out the panties from his mouth. 

“Dolcezza, please, do not tease me like this,” he whined, words dripping with need. His papal paints were smeared around the mouth and chin from your touch and you bit your lip at the sight. He pulled on the wrist restraints. “Need you,” he choked out. You smirked and immediately ceased your motions against him. His face fell.

“Let’s see if you can use your mouth for something more useful.”

You moved from his thigh, leaving his cock unattended as it dripped for you, hungry and red, nearly pulsating. Suddenly, you stood up and straddled him, bringing your core directly to his face. His increased breath danced across the slick of your pussy and you held back a groan of your own. “If your duties lie only to the church, then maybe you should prove your devotion to honoring the one below.”

Without warning, you slid your hand into his hair and brought his mouth to your wet heat. A strangled groan erupted from him and he immediately dove in, nose against your mound as he fervently moved his tongue between your impossibly slick folds. You reached out with the hand not currently lost within his hair and gripped onto the top of the headboard to steady yourself. 

Copia flattened out his tongue and you began to buck your hips against his face, riding him as he broadly licked up and down your clit and to your entrance. You were certain you were making some sort of pleasurable sound, but at the moment, it was as if the world and all of its stimulation paused. The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of his skillful mouth against you, his eyes shut as he ate you out like a starved man. 

His tongue moved to flick against your sensitive bud and he wrapped his lips around it before sucking harshly. It was a move that he knew drove you crazy, and the burning in your thighs as you tried to stabilize yourself heightened the pressure. You could feel your own legs shaking, but you continued to grind against him, and for the first time, you wished his hands weren’t restrained so that he could fuck you with his fingers, too. 

“You are so good at this,” you hummed out, looking down to watch him as you rode his face. The previous tension from your near orgasm on his thigh was back, and your own reserve was faltering. He flickered his eyes open and growled against your cunt at the sight of you above him, trembling and absolutely wrecked from arousal, and the combination of the vibration of his noises and intensity of his stare sent you reeling over the edge.

You cried out his name, head snapped back as your hand gripping onto the headboard turned white-knuckled. He continued to move his tongue up and down your folds, occasionally flicking his tongue against your oversensitive clit as he helped you through your orgasm.

Eventually, you pulled away sea-legged and released your grasp from his now messed coif, sinking down onto your knees. Your own breath was ragged and you gripped onto his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. He looked directly ahead at you with a prurient expression, the paint of his cheeks and nose and chin smeared and saturated with your arousal. In a normal situation, he’d make a racy or teasing remark, but he remained silent. It was as if he had finally learned his place. 

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you placed a solitary kiss to his sternum, relishing in the feeling of his chest hair against your lips and chin. You then moved south, mouth lightly kissing and sucking on the skin of his abdomen, the angular hip bones that framed his cock, and the trail of hair right below his belly button. 

His neglected length twitched as your face brushed against it and you smirked, sitting up just barely to look at it. Reaching out, you grasped onto him, grip firm, and began to languidly stroke. 

“How could I forget about you?” you cooed, thumb pad pressing against his frenulum before you continued your pace. “You deserve to feel good.” He groaned at the contact and his head jerked back against the solid headboard. You chuckled darkly and licked your lips at the sight of him below you. “The lightbringer would be disappointed if their chosen figurehead didn’t properly spoil in self-indulgent sins of the flesh? Wouldn’t he?”

Copia whined beneath you, but you paid no mind, continuing your slow movements. You lowered your head, breath tickling against the end of him, and began to rub his shaft and tip against your cheeks and lips. “I love your dick,” you said, voice barely above a sultry whisper. You began to press kisses to every inch of his cock, savoring him, worshiping him. 

He squirmed beneath you, and unable to restrain himself, he groaned out, “Cazzo, please.”

You stopped and peered up at him. His eyes were shining with tears of frustration and you were sure that the mix of submission and denial was pushing him to his limits. But despite the look of exasperation on his face, you knew him well enough to know what he truly desired in this moment. And he trusted you completely, fully, to deliver him to reverie. 

“Let me take care of you,” you said, pressing a kiss to the very tip of him before laving your tongue over him slowly. Copia moaned loudly and his hips twitched up into your mouth, requiring you to hold him down with your other hand. “You don’t need to control everything,” you responded, mouth still pressed against his length. 

Had you been looking up, you’d have seen him nod in response, but you were too focused on what was throbbing in front of you to pay him any mind. Lips parted, you descended down his length, taking him as far into your mouth as you possibly could. Copia hissed in response and you smirked around him. You knew that the sudden sensation of warmth would be nearly unbearable, too much, and you delighted in being the one controlling his fire. 

You hollowed out your cheeks and slowly popped off of him. With a swift readjustment of your frame, you straddled his thighs (marveling at the drying slick on the left one), and took his chin in hand. “Look at me,” you murmured, and he obliged. Your non-dominant hand traced the contour of his jaw, fingertips now glazed in white and grey paint, and you dipped your index finger between his lips as you positioned yourself over his cock and sunk down. 

The Satanic Pope’s mouth dipped open and a low groan slipped past your finger still perched on his lip. Your own center was still sensitive from your recent orgasm and the sensation of fullness was almost overwhelming, so you stilled your movement to allow for the both of you to adjust to the feeling. For the first time, you dipped your head forward and rested your forehead against his own, your hand cupping his jaw. You could feel the sweat slicked between the both of you and you closed your eyes as a soft, shaky breath escaped you.

After a moment of blissful stillness, you opened your eyes to look at the man you currently had caged in by your arms and thighs, and you carded your fingers through his hair. His gaze held a knowing fire that you recognized as one of silent permission, of need, desire, of his own restrained dominance. With that, you gripped at his hair near the scalp and tipped his head back as you lifted yourself almost completely off of his length. 

“Out there, you might be the leader of our congregation. You might proselytize to millions of siblings and fans. But right here,” your grip tightened, and you leaned in to whisper against the shell of his ear, “right now, you answer to me. How badly do you want it?”

“Merda, badly, so badly,” he growled. You pulled away and your telltale smirk returned to your features. He looked positively sinister. His face flushed beneath his skull paint and sweat was beading across his brow. Both of his eyes nearly black from lust-blown pupils. A manifestation of evil incarnate. 

“Then take it. Take everything you need.”

And take he did. His hips canted up into you and he slid in to the hilt, flesh pressed against flesh, and you fell forward into his shoulder with a near-howl of your own at the fullness. Your hands found purchase against his pecs and you matched his movements as he pumped into you frantically. Every movement stretched you further, licked flames against the sore muscles of your legs, but you ignored the pain and moved with purpose. Your lips found his and you kissed him for the first time this evening, pouring out your loyalty into the action as his tongue pushed greedily into your mouth. 

As you shifted your position atop him just slightly, his cock brushed against your g-spot and you cried out in euphoria. The corners of his lips curled against yours as he panted through his movements, knowingly hitting that spot with every single upward thrust. 

You swallowed back another moan as you tried to speak. “Fill me so good,” you nearly slurred as you pulled from the kiss. “Look at me,” you said, voice less commanding and more sweet. You knew your release was imminent and you wanted him to visualize the effect he had on you. How he made your body implode as he dragged you down to hell himself.

Your own words were rushed, nearly babbled as you continued. “Look at how good you make me feel.” His eyes locked with yours and you rested one hand on his chest, the other snaking to grasp onto the nape of his neck, while moonbeams erupted in your skin as your climax took hold. Your jaw dropped just slightly and although your mouth threatened a moan, no sound came out as he fervently bucked up into you. 

Your shared motions sped up and you could feel how close he was by the sloppiness of his thrusts as he helped you ride out your release. “Take what you need,” you repeated in a pant. “Take everything you need from me.” 

You pushed through the overstimulation and watched as his hands balled into fists in the restraints and he planted his feet firmly onto the bed, fucking up into you like he never had before. His eyes shone with unsprung tears and he was spitting out a slew of curses in Italian, with affirmations of love peppered in throughout. 

“Cazzo, dolcezza, I-” And just as hard as he had climbed, he crashed down violently. He came roughly with a sound that sounded like a mix between a groan and a sob, hips jerking as he pumped his spend into you with wild abandon. He filled you so deeply that you could feel him beginning to leak down your inner thigh as he pistoned through his orgasm. 

“So good for me,” you purred, pressing a kiss to the place where his hairline began at the top of his forehead, ignoring the sweat-soaked strands that fell into his tear-filled eyes. As you pulled away, you saw one of those tears fall and you quickly swiped it with your thumb. And with that, it was as if the dam had been broken, and both eyes began spilling rushed streams down his cheeks. 

You moved to quickly untie his wrists from the headboard and as soon as he was set free, his arms wrapped around your middle and his head fell to your chest. “So good for me,” you repeated, more of a coo this time, and you pressed another kiss to the top of his head as your hands lovingly traced up and down his back. 

You sat like that for a while, holding him as he softened inside of you, his tears and quiet sobs the backdrop of your denouement. He almost surprised you when he lifted his head to properly look at you. 

“Mi dispiace, tesoro. I don’t know…I’m not sure where this is coming from,” he admitted, thumbs rubbing against the curve of your spine. 

You smiled softly, reassuringly, and brought one of his wrists to your mouth. A red mark had formed from the friction of the cravat, and you kissed at it soothingly. “You have needs too, Papa,” you said as you continued to kiss at the sensitive skin. He hummed in response and you smiled again, this time a little wider. 

“Thank you for letting me love you.”

And in his eyes, you saw a dawning realization, a comfort of sorts that came to flood his mind. He had known this had been an exercise of shared power, of course, of allowing you to express your needs in a way that the both of you enjoyed, even though you hadn’t previously explored the swap in control. However, as you took the reins, you’d gifted him with something he hadn’t anticipated — you’d guided him to liberation, encouraging him to release his expectations (the ones he’d built up of himself and the ministry) and just be. 

Your permission for simple existence was the best thing he hadn’t known to ask for.  

image/gif credit: imgur

[milfjuulpod]

Guidance, Ch II

lunch, coffee, perfume, emails

read chapter one here

A/N: heyyyy sorry for my absence my writers block is insane rn….anyways i hope y’all enjoy the second chapter, lmk how u feel abt it and what u wanna see! also- i have posted both of these chapters on my ao3, same username. ok here u go bye

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The office you resided in was dark, a soft light illuminating from the computer screen, gentle music playing from its speakers. The desk was littered with papers, folders, notes, pens—it was quite the mess. Ava had dropped off a stack of reports on students, those who were falling a bit behind and needed a bit of help. So naturally, you quickly got to work. You knew when you arrived at Abbott that you wanted to help as much as possible, and there was no point in waiting to get started. Sure, it was only the first couple of weeks, but you figured it was best to get a head start on things.

Thus, you launched yourself into work. Most of these students had struggled all last year, and you decided to take some preventative measures to help both the students and teachers. Organizing the files into different piles, you heard a knock at the door. You invited whoever it was inside, and were met with a delightful surprise. “Hi Melissa, how can I help you?” You asked, taking your eyes off of the mess sprawled in front of you. “I think you might be the one who needs help, kid, what's all of this?” She asked, almost laughing at how disheveled your workspace was.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, as Melissa took place in the seat across from you. “Ava dropped off some files on students, so I’m trying to make plans for them for this year.” She looked at you with such care at that moment, before returning to her usual demeanor. “Well don’t run yourself into the ground before we get halfway into the school year, I have a feeling your desk is gonna look like this a lot,” she teased. You replied with a quiet yes, and went to turn the music down before Melissa stopped you.

“Hold on, is that Italian?” She asked, trying to hide the smile on her face. Glancing at the screen, you realized what was playing. “Yeah, it's called Salvatore, by Lana Del Rey, I listen to this song a lot.” Her smile grew at your statement, and took mental note of it. At this point, you wondered why Melissa came in here, she still has yet to say. As if she read your mind, she spoke again. “I came to bring this to you, I had some extra and wasn’t sure if you’d eaten already, and I’m gonna guess you haven’t,” She gestured to the desk once again before setting down a tupperware in front of you. As she stood up to take her leave, she said, “I hope you like this Italian food as much as you like listening to the language,” and walked out of your office. You felt nearly as warm as the food sitting in front of you. 

       

When five p.m. rolled around, you figured it was about time to call it. Many plans were made for students, the rest would have to wait until tomorrow. You packed up your things to leave, when you remembered the tupperware sitting on the edge of your desk. Melissa’s tupperware. Hoping she didn’t leave, you grabbed it and rushed to her door. Unfortunately, her lights were off and the door was locked. Looks like that will have to wait until tomorrow too. 

      On the way out, you were stopped by Janine. “Hey! how’s the first week going?” She asked, excited as ever. You told her about the work you had done, and what was still left to do. “I just gotta take this home and wash it now, it’s Melissa’s.” Janine’s eyes widened at that statement, making you feel like maybe you said something you shouldn’t have. “Oh, Melissa gave you that? It took weeks before she even remembered my name, let alone give me something,” She shuffled on her feet nervously. “I hope she’s not trying to butter you up for anything,” Janine’s rambling was cut off by Gregory pulling up to the two of you. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

      Walking to your own car, you wondered what Janine could’ve meant by that. Melissa had been nothing but kind to you, what could possibly make her say that? Sure, the older teacher had a bit of a tough exterior, but she already took a liking to you. Janine’s words echoed in your head, and the anxiety grew as you thought about what Melissa really wanted from you. 

        

The following morning, you walked to Melissa’s classroom with her clean tupperware and coffees in hand. One for you, one for her. You were just going to return her dish, give her the coffee, and leave. Nothing more, nothing less. The crush on her was a bit ridiculous at this point, you barely knew the redhead, and yet you wanted nothing more but to learn everything. Knocking lightly on the door, you let yourself in. “Good morning, you left yesterday before I could give this back to you. Oh, and here’s a coffee as a thank you.” You greeted Melissa with excitement. Except she didn’t match the energy, at all. She didn’t even look up from her computer as she quietly said “thank you.” 

        Okay, maybe you were planning on staying a bit longer and chatting with her before getting to your own work, and you felt a bit defeated. Silently, you left the classroom and walked to your own office, wondering if Janine was right about Melissa. It was hard to focus on work feeling this way, and slowly, but surely, it was lunch time. Opting to work through it, you didn’t visit the break room with everyone else. You missed Melissa anxiously looking for you in the break room. But her best friend didn’t. 

        

“Why do you keep looking at the door? Are you waiting for someone?” Barbara asked the woman next to her. Melissa glanced at the cameras, before deciding to lie. “Uh, no. Just…paying attention. You can never be too careful.” Barbara knew what that tone meant, but decided to let it go. Playing the events from this morning back in her mind, Melissa felt a little bad for ignoring you, and this made her upset. Why did she care? 

      “You’re shaking the whole table bouncing your leg, Melissa. What’s going on?” Barbara questioned. Melissa just sighed in response and leaned back in her chair. With a stern look from her friend, she started talking. “I don’t know. That new guidance counselor came by this morning to return my tupperware and I was busy so I didn’t really say much. And then she just left, but what was I supposed to do? She got me coffee too, I didn’t even realize until she was gone. It was good though, I haven’t been to the place she got it from. Maybe I should ask her where it is? Or…I don’t know…” The redhead trailed off. Across from her, Barbara tried her best to hide the shock from hearing her friend’s words. 

       “Why are you overthinking this? I’m sure she’s fine and wouldn’t mind you inquiring about the coffee. Go, before the break is over and I have to hear about this all over again tomorrow morning.” Barbara laughed as Melissa rolled her eyes, but she stood up to go searching. 

     

  You, on the other hand, decided to pick up a sandwich from the corner store across the street for lunch. Upon returning, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you opened the office door. “Melissa! Oh good god you scared me, what are you doing in here?” You whisper-screamed, adrenaline still rushing for a moment. “I had a question for ya,” she replied, so casually. As if it was normal for her to sneak into your office while you were out. Come to think of it, you remember locking the door, how exactly did she get in?

       “A question that couldn’t wait for me to get back from the store? And that’s my chair, scooch it,” You set the sandwich on the desk and leaned against it as well waiting for Melissa to move out of your seat. She didn’t. “Sorry for being so short with you this morning, kid. I was a little overwhelmed with making plans for both of my classes, but thank you for the coffee, that was sweet.” She smiled at you sincerely, and if this is what you get for buying her a coffee, it might become a daily thing. “Where did you get it by the way?”

        “Oh! It’s this new place that just opened up by my apartment, Opus. I’ve been a few times already, might become a regular there,” you told her. “Yeah, that makes two of us.” Melissa stood up to leave, and without thinking, you grabbed her hand to stop her. “Wait! Did you say both of your classes? You have two?” 

        Melissa was visibly surprised at your physical touch, but she didn’t pull back either. “Yeah, a combined second and third grade class. Gonna be a great year,” She informed you, rolling her eyes in the process. You let go of her hand finally and took in what she said. “If you need any help, with lesson plans or grading, you know where to find me.” 

        The teacher took your hand again and gently squeezed it before letting go, “Thanks hon, I’ll keep that in mind. And next time you need lunch, you know where to find me,” She said with a smirk before walking out the door. Sitting down, you took in the smell of her perfume that coated the area for a few moments more. The sweet scent was quickly forgotten when you looked at your computer screen. Many emails, forgotten assignments, but what caught your eye immediately, was a new email, from Melissa of all people. 

       Forgot to ask while I was still with you, but would you want to meet this afternoon or later this week to help me with some planning? Maybe we can enjoy a coffee inside the shop this time. Let me know. 

-Melissa Schemmenti