#the curator x reader

[lorebite]

𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings: 18+ minors dni. fem/afab reader. suggestive content (literary dirty talk (kinda, sorta), use of literary symbolisms and innuendos, cunnilingus). strangers to more. implied intercourse.

summary: you get to play the tale of many lives but who will play yours?

note: this one's for my girl, @kassiekolchek22. she said it's ok to lewd Death so I'm here unleashing this upon all of ya. 😁 also, the poetry reference is from a poem by Walt Whitman called Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night. and the opening line is a Judas Priest reference.

Oh, hear my warning; never turn your back — I'm the ripper.

You were back again – inside that dark cold office with rain whipping at the window in the far corner. It happened so fast it was gone in a blur. One moment you were wedged inside a compromising dilemma and the next, you were back on the old leather sofa and it was over. Your eyes fluttered slowly, adjusting to the dancing shadow of the silent voyeur loitering by the tall bookshelves. The Curator.

You watched him, the man – who was all except one of true flesh and bone – skimmed his fingers along the many a worn spine of books sat idly in his bookshelf. Your mind wandered to the tale you had just closed, the choices that veered the plot right off the beaten path as soon as you picked up your pen to write in the gaps left for you to fill. Choices you would’ve never made otherwise had you been in a different state of mind. You only wondered what he thought of your twisted accomplishments.

The Curator lifted his head as he flipped a book close, his back still turned to you. “Oh, you’re here,” the echo of his demanding voice reverberated in the room. 

He was back behind his desk in seconds, posture strong and confident as he sat himself down, his sharp eyes finding yours.

“Let’s see how you fared—” he leaned his elbows on the tabletop with a gentle flair, his cold steel eyes only briefly flickering down to take in your form, “—as onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones stole. The end, perhaps, hasn’t been so kind to your charges. Such an unfortunate becoming. For the souls lost, at least—” he flourished an arm towards the candelabrum atop his desk to pinch the dancing flames between his fingertips, “—though I must say, as exhilarating it’s been to watch you undo the threads I carefully wove for you, I fail to believe there hasn’t been a certain intention behind it.”

You blinked, voice helpless against words as you searched for an answer. You had returned, much sooner than you would've on an evening you took a story into your own hands – as evident as that may have been, it was startling how accurate he was. But it wasn’t as though you were going to give him the satisfaction of an honest response just to catch that faint flicker of a knowing smile on his face when he realized he saw through you yet again. 

“There was no intention besides writing a story differently this time.” You said softly with a forced apathetic smile.

The Curator crossed his legs, vaguely waving a hand that was propped on the handle of his chair as if pretending not to know what to say. 

“Did you perhaps assume this would impress me?”

A tingling heat flooded your cheeks and dulled the sliver of courage you still had in your heart. You averted your gaze to your lap, weaving and wringing your fingers nervously as you pressed your thighs tightly together. What a futile thought to even try to cheat Death.

“Quite bold, I’d say,” he spoke, finding your silence enough of a response. “Never once I’ve met a soul so daring and so… simple to make such a feeble attempt. Alas, I applaud you. Consider me impressed.”

You peered up as you heard him clap slowly, meeting his eyes that were now wrinkled from the soft smile on his lips. Your heart fluttered with a pleasant warmth and you found yourself sinking into the cushion of the sofa, growing instantly more relaxed.  

“I’m not one for words of affirmation but I’ll offer this – what you achieved was no easy feat. You did very well. And for what it’s worth, working with you is a remarkable trade off.”

Your eyes pinned him as he stood from his desk and made his way towards you, the floor echoing the determined clicking of his heels. He stopped a small distance away from you. 

Thunder struck beyond the cold walls of the repository, the furious light flashing across the expressionless mold of the man’s face. You looked up at him from under your lashes, head tilting up so you could hold his consuming gaze.

“So, this is a trade off?” You remarked with a weak huff of laughter and what little confidence left inside you, zeroing in on the lone word that had piqued your interest.

“In deed. I believe you earned yourself a reward. An interval of sorts, if you will. Would you care to receive it?”

You opened your mouth, a quick response burning on the tip of your tongue before you drew back the intention, suspicion tugging at your eyebrows. “And what’s the catch – the repercussions?”   

He smiled, head cocking slightly to the side. You remembered his words. Good. He isn’t at all surprised that it was you who managed to pull this off – whatever this situation was. What a shame a head that clever belonged on a mortal shell.

“Repercussions,” he echoed quietly, as if deep in thought. “I’m only offering you a glimpse. You come here every other evening to unfold a story. Ever wondered about the one you get to star in?” He leaned down, his arm moving just past your shoulder to brace against the backrest of the sofa. The leather squeaked under the pressure of his tightening fingers. “Would you like to hear how I’d tell your story… (Y/N)?”

You swallowed. Hard. Through the long months of knowing The Curator, he had never addressed you by your name. He never asked for it and you had never given him it. It didn’t alarm you at all that he knew. It was more weakening than anything; terrifyingly arousing – to have your name so softly yet authoritatively spoken like that. You never came to know such unyielding need could grip at your core. 

A shadow of a smile danced across his lips when you nodded quickly. 

“Ever the eager one, aren’t you?” He mused fondly.

The fingers of his other hand sat under your chin and you almost recoiled at how cold he felt. He lifted your head to bring your face that much closer to his, to let you feel the gentle and even caress of his breaths on your lips. Cold. He was so bitingly cold. Every brush of his skin against yours sent a jolt of shock through your body, making every fiber of your being vibrate.

“In my many travels,” his voice was low and silky; a gentle lilt in the way he drawled so slowly. “I’ve seen many things and heard many more. Of poets and writers and painters. Each has a story worth telling. Such as yourself. And more so’s been told the stories on the Roman stages for La Traviata.”

His lips only barely glided over yours, offering you a ghostly kiss. You were soon chasing after him as he pulled away and sunk to his knees before your legs. Oh, heavens! How you never believed you would ever come to look down at him and him up at you. His palms slid down along the span of your thighs before they came to grip the edges of the sofa. 

He smiled again. “Libiamo ne’ lieti celciti.”

Let us drink from the joyful cups. And with that, he was prying his fingers between your knees and pushing them apart. 

His cold fingers danced slowly on your skin, fingertips so soft and, dare you say, loving that made your core grip with heat. Those tender touches that sat gently upon you – so strangely uncalloused and delicate. As if he didn’t have eons worth of stranded souls tainting the lines of his hands. 

He gingerly lifted your leg over his shoulder and you gasped at the extent of confidence in which he moved. What electrifying madness this was going to be – to have Death himself knelt between your legs and mere instances away from sitting his mouth upon your wet heat. That burning cold mouth. You were certain he was going to have you begging for him within seconds.

He pressed his lips to the curve of your knee, slender fingers careful on your skin as his soft frost bitten kisses traveled up your leg, rousing goosebumps down your spine and enlivening your fevered body.

Your chest heaved as you stared down at the man – at this fantastical of a being. His sharp eyes flickered to yours when his lips brushed just shy of the hem of your skirt, raising his chin high enough to slip his long fingers under the delicate fabric. 

Breath knotted taut in your chest as the cold waft of his skin brushed over yours – so cautious with you, this man. It was hard to believe this was coming from the same entity that relished shamelessly in the demise of humans. Such perfect power and what a dangerous power! And it had you right under its spell.

“May I?” He asked slowly, voice clear and unchanged.

It was almost as if he wasn’t aware of the effect he had on you; or maybe he did and pretended not to. The calculated nonchalance in the way he peeled back your skirt to stare intently at the thin veil of barrier that was your panties flickered the rogue flame inside you – just like the way he would taunt a candle upon his desk when a soul was on the brink of falling into his grasp.

His clear eyes reflected the dull blue of the repository, lighting up with the clapping lightning that illuminated the entire office. You startled at the sound, your eyes darting to the corner of the room at the rain still pattering against the window. He splayed his hands across your thighs, fingers pressing tightly into the burning flesh. It drew your attention back to him and as soon as your eyes met his again, he lowered his face into you.

A single thread of hair cascaded down his forehead as his lips found the gap between your thighs, pressing a wet kiss to your skin that made a sharp sigh flit through your teeth. He nudged his nose into the damp crotch of your panties, his mouth hovering teasingly close to where you wanted him the most. 

Was he merely careful with you or was he, in fact, toying with you?

When he lifted his head again – lips adorned with a smirk so shameless, it had you believed immediately that he knew. In that instance, he looked more Death than man. The plain face of mortality worn off under the diluted mischief that only a creature like him could possess. As if he knew secrets you didn’t and he intended to bury them all into your skin. 

You swallowed as his fingers removed your panties; your eyes followed the delicate fabric glide down your legs and to the floor while his remained only on you, drinking in your soft face, your patient eyes – you were strangely serene. Perhaps secretly complacent? You did, after all, manage to send him to his knees. How pitiful. If this were a ruse all along, he walked right into the trap with his own two feet. Then again, his job has always been to follow your decisions. 

Was it truly wrong that he was meant to abandon his will for the sake of yours? 

And to think he was ever going to find a different purpose for your name besides writing it in his book when that inevitable future came – we will meet again. And he was going to tonight, perhaps many times and little by little, when he drew gasp after gasp through your clenched teeth and wisps of hot wet pleasure through your walls; perhaps he was going to erode that precious essence inside you, take you many times over and breathe back life into you. La petite mort. This would be how you take him – in tightfisted doses until you could no more.

When his mouth was upon you, so cold it set you alight, whips of blinding pleasure tore through your body. You writhed, nails lashing at the smooth leather underneath you; the office reverberated the muffled thrum of the rain and your moans – the sounds hung above the soft wet noises of your slick smearing over his tongue. 

His fingers found yours on the sofa, picking them up and sitting them down on his hair. Your fingers immediately coiled within the silky threads and you gasped at the overt urgency of your own behavior. But he did not object even once, returning his lips to your throbbing heat that begged for release.

You dared glance down at him, past his watchful eyes that looked up at you and at the messy shock of dark hair knotted between your fingers. You pulled, just slightly, eager to see a reaction if he was generous enough to offer you any. And he did. A delicate groan rumbled in his throat, his jaw visibly clenching as his mouth pressed against you more hurriedly. As if he couldn’t believe what he made you do to him and he quickly regretted the effect it had on him; and now he was desperate to put an end to it through you.

A low knowing chuckle broke past your lips before quickly tapering into a gasp of moan when he greedily sucked you into his mouth, your grip tightening on his hair and your head falling against the backrest of the sofa. His fingers pressed deeper into your thighs, eyes fluttering close for a moment before they were open again and peering up at you heatedly. 

He yanked you forward, without any warnings, and buried his face deep into you. A short cry of surprise caught in your throat, your fingers flying to catch against the edge of the sofa. His hair was a complete mess now, his once perfectly in place fringe fallen over his glimmering eyes as they remained locked upon your every movement. Ever the observer he was – always keeping to his duty even outside a written tale. 

Speaking of… was this how he meant to finish yours? 

You were surely close. That binding heat within you wound tighter the longer his mouth moved against you. Your body tensed with anticipation of your climax, ticklish warmth sputtering in your core as you sped unwittingly towards your peak. And soon, you were there to propel over while still held gently against Death himself as the sharp flavor of mortality washed over you and made your shell quiver. 

The blue darkness of the office glowed with overcast moonlight and mystery before your swimming vision, skin tingling from warmth and adrenaline. Your chest heaved more evenly as your heart slowed, fingers uncoiling from their iron grip on the edge of the sofa. 

You looked down again. Unsure what you were going to see this time. But it was still him who met your eyes with a small smile, his face glistening with your slick. He looked untouched besides all the souvenirs you left on him. And yet they looked so oddly suitable on him. You couldn’t believe it. Did this… truly happen? 

He rose to his feet, one hand braced against your knee as the other crawled up the side of your neck and held your face. His lips were quick to press to yours. More firmly than before. It was only fair for you to receive the taste of what little death he caused you – that clear thin tang of salt that lingered on his wet lips; and even his skilled, dumbfoundingly clever, tongue once he let it glide through his teeth to meet yours. 

He held your chin, sitting one knee between your legs as he sunk against your body with a content sigh, his lips still molded like molten ice against yours. He leaned away enough for a breath to escape, his leg beginning to circle slowly into your spent cunt. You whined softly in response.

“You make me a fool – like a simple man,” he spoke after so long, voice hoarse and low. “I have never become something so insignificant for a such a small reason. That’s quite… invigorating.”    

Your fingers danced on the slope of his shoulder, coyly brushing over the smooth skin of his neck as you peered up at him from beneath your lashes. You offered a gentle laugh.

“I’ve never known you to be so humble.”

“I’m not,” he drawled matter-of-factly, his smiling eyes mischievous. “You will get your fill of it eventually. I’ll make sure you do.”

"Don't tell me. You think you can make me beg?" You challenged, lips curving with a teasing smirk.

He didn't answer immediately. His face hid from your eyes to instead, press against your neck, his lips beginning an upward spiral of sensuous kisses to your jaw as his knee continued to rub insistently into you. His breath flitted over the shell of your ear when he lifted his mouth to whisper huskily against it.

"I think I can make you mine."

⛓️🖤 Taglist!

@kassiekolchek22 @yellowroses-world @house-of-kolchek @yeslieutenant @katsufairies @ptichkayago @gaypanic1 @wadiyatalkinabeetmate.

#house of ashes x reader #the curator #house of ashes #dark pictures anthology #the curator x reader

[alessiathepirate]

December 24

Prompt: "I thought you were going home for Christmas." "Well, I couldn't leave you all alone."

The Dark Pictures Anthology: The Curator x fem!reader

•••

The Repository didn't look like an ordinary room at all. Even the halls leading up to it weren't normal, they led to many different places if you didn't have a compass with you and the ability to know how it works.

Still, for Christmas it was quite ordinary.

Nothing changed, everything looked like it did yesterday or the day before yesterday. It was dark, full of books and cold. Quite cold, even with the fireplace present.

But no matter how empty and cold it seemed when compared to the streets in the cities, she stayed there for the holiday. Or at least came back for the holiday.

"I thought you were going home for Christmas." The Curator said, not hiding his surprised tone, as she walked through the door.

He was holding a book in his hands, a thick one, the one she knew was full of empty pages. They must have had a visitor.

"Well, I couldn't leave you all alone here, could I?" she asked with a small smile as she got rid of her gloves and started to take off her scarf.

Soon the book was put on The Curator's desk as he walked around it to help her with her coat. His hands unbuttoned it carefully, and she couldn't help but smile shily when he helped it off her shoulders, his fingers barely touching her arms.

"I appreciate the concern dear, but you should've gone home to enjoy the holidays."

"I changed my mind. I'd rather spend it here with you than spend it with people who don't think of me as someone important." she explained slowly.

"Stupidity when one's left in the dark about things is always amusing." he said as she started to walk around, eventually walking up to the desk to see which story he's telling. "I hope you don't believe that of yourself."

"Every life is equally important." she said as she smiled, knowing that's part of the teachings in the stories. "If I see it right we have a story to finish. 'House of Ashes' again?"

"That seemed to fit our visitor best."

She stayed there, leaning against the desk as she looked at him and considered him. They both had important roles in the job they were doing even if she was the only human being in it.

Would they have time for a bit of celebration?

Did The Curator celebrate it?

"When will our visitor be back?" she asked.

"In about an hour or so, I believe."

They both looked at the other, seemingly both of them understanding what she wanted. She smiled at that.

"Merry Christmas by the way." she said with a careful tone and a slight headtilt. "Care to have a drink with me?"

It was very rare that The Curator smiled, but right then he did. Without answering her he picked up two glasses and a bottle of wine, the kind they drank once or twice when no visitor came.

They chose to move toward the fireplace, where she put two armchairs years before. That was the warmest corner of the Repository. She adored it a lot.

Before taking a glass from him and sitting down, she pulled the small Christmas stocking from her pocket, not bigger than her palm. She put it up above the fireplace, making her favourite corner more comfortable.

"It looks better, doesn't it?" she asked as she took a glass from him.

"Much better dear."

They sipped some wine after they gently collided their glasses. One of his arms rested around her waist as a sign of affection.

"You know, we are probably the only ones who work during Christmas and no one's there to appreciate what we do." she said as they sat down.

"Once again, the stupidity of the blind. The world would be empty without the stories we tell."

She hummed, putting her glass aside.

Loving Death meant having these moments. The calm ones. The beautiful ones. The ones in a warm and comfortable corner.

She looked at their hands holding each other, fingers intertwined.

Loving Death meant loving the thought of dying too.

"Care to read a story for me while we wait?" she asked.

The Curator most obviously said yes.

#the dark pictures anthology #the dark pictures #the curator #the curator x reader #the curator x fem!reader #alessiathepirate's christmas special

[burnedwriter]

‘’i will take good care of you in the after life’’

A/n:this is a small fic inspired/based on this fanart by the amazing @timethehobo,I think the curator is charon instead of death since the last scene we saw he made sth angry,his supirior maybe?,but anyways as soon as i saw that picture,i was like its time to write angst.I promise the next one is a happy one

warning:pure angst,blood,mild description of death,gender neutral reader

sumary:the curator has always liked the reader’s stories,sadly their life has come to an end so the curator visits the during their last moments before taking their soul.

The Curator walked closer to to one of the many bookshelves that surrounded his office,to pick up his favourite book,your book.finally having some time to himself to continue,he was curious to see the end of your story,you could say he grew quite fond of your little adventures and how you were able to push through no matter the difficulty that you encountered in your life.

Sitting on his desk he opened the book to the last chapter,he wished for you to have a happy ending unlike the previous stories he has read but he had a bad feeling that wasnt the case.After what he has seen you go through you deserved your happy ending but he was in no position to decide no matter what the outcome would be, he cant do anything to change it.

His eyes hovered the page reading it quickly finishing the book, he felt his stomach drop an unfamiliar feeling he hasnt felt in a long time as his intuition for your ending came true.He wished he could do something but it will only bring more trouble to him since hes already stepping on eggcells with his superior.Afterall his job was to guide souls and not save them,leaving him suffering in silence as he lost people he loved even though they werent aware of his existence.

Getting up from his chair he went over to his coat hanger,putting on his signature coat and later on his hat and off he was.The least he was able to do is to be there for you on your final moments.

Upon arriving at the location,he looked around desperatly to find you before it was already too late.It didnt took him long though before spoting you on the ground seeing in a pool of your own blood surrounding you painting the ground red,Letting out a sign he started approaching you,crouching on your side,he capped your face turning you to look at him,softly carrasing your cheek with his thumb trying to calm you down as you used your last bit of strength to pull at his clothes as a means to help you.

‘‘please h-help m-e,i d-ont let me di-e ’‘you choked,begging the stranger for help as your breathing becoming fainter and faither while tears streamed down your face,too afraid to be taken by the cold embrase of the death

‘‘i am deeply sorry it had to end like this dear’‘ he muttered softly,having a smile on his face giving you that fake reasurance that you needed as he saw the life slowly draining from your eyes as time passed.

Picking you up bridal style,taking you away from the scene,he brought your head closer to his chest,as you took your last breath peacefully.

‘‘i will take good care of you in the after life’’.

#the dark pictures anthology #dark pictures anthology #the curator #supermassive games #the dark pictures anthology curator #the curator x reader

[grievedeeply]

would u ever write for the curator..

oh absolutely i would love to!

#the curator x reader #nudge nudge #laufey answers

[arkhamslvts]

jason todd is fucking giant. . .

he promises to be gentle but fuck, you’re squeezing him so tight and you sound so fucking good. he buries his face into your neck and mutters against your skin “fuck.. m’sorry angel.. so fuckin’ good.. jus’ lemme fuck you right.” and he speeds up his pace, promising you’re gonna feel so good when he’s done. and he’s so fucking big, he goes fast and he’s talking filthy in your ears. you don’t even know when you started cumming but you know you couldn’t stop.

#. . . curated by mara #. . . maras lovers #jason todd smut #jason todd x black!reader #dhdhdjshshs. need him so fuckin bad. #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader

[jediavengers]

hayden pls bring the mullet back ilysm babe xx

#anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin x reader #anakin x you #hayden christensen #anakin fanfiction #star wars #curators on tumblr #star wars anakin #sw anakin #ellie rants

[at-child-eat]

#Johnny #jason todd x reader #aly michalka #anakin skywalker x reader #curators #frasi #kpop boys #uk politics #muscle men #hometown cha cha cha #r@petoy #anna torv

[gravehags]

something so precious

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: reader being sad and lonely, comfort from darling Copia, terzo being a scheming little matchmaker, mention of RATS OHWHOOOOAHHHH

Words: 1,461

Summary: When Terzo asks you to eat dinner with the rest of the abbey, how bad can it get?

a/n: I hc Copia as being an extremely lonely person, particularly when he's a Cardinal, so naturally he would be the best person to receive comfort from when you're feeling isolated and alone.

~~~

“Terzo?” you ask, leaning back in your squeaky leather chair. “Why do none of the siblings speak to me?”

Papa Emeritus III, currently sitting on your desk twirling a pen between his fingers as he hides from whatever duties Imperator has requested of him on this day, stops his movement and looks at you askance.

“Well obviously, bella,” he starts in that smooth voice you’ve come to recognize as the signature tune he uses when he wants to convince someone of something, usually involving accompanying him to bed, “it is your immense beauty. Your stunning intellect. Your–”

You lean forward in your chair abruptly with a tired expression on your face.

“Cut the bullshit, please,” you say, snatching the pen out of his grasp, “I’ve been here almost a month and not a single person other than you, the other papas, Cardinal Copia, and Sister Imperator has approached me. Are my vibes that bad? Is it because I’m not a member of the church?”

“Eh…” he begins hesitantly, “the best guess I have is because you’re basically upper clergy, dolcezza. Most siblings don’t casually associate with anyone higher in rank unless it’s for…” his painted lips quirk into a lascivious grin, “...other reasons.”

You frown. “Upper clergy? How exactly am I upper clergy? I’m literally just an employee?”

“Well,” he says, hopping off the edge of your desk and slipping into the chair opposite you, “a cardinal once held the position you do. Performed the same duties you are performing. Therefore in a way, your status is equal to that of a cardinal. Capisci?”

“Oh,” you say, somewhat deflated. Terzo immediately picks up on your tone and hops out of his seat to stand by your side and take your hands.

“Come to the dining hall tonight, eh? I know you’re content to eat alone in your rooms but it will be good for you, I promise.”

You’ve been avoiding the dining hall like the plague since you got here, preferring to eat your sad bowls of cereal on your couch every night. Maybe it would do you good to have an actual square meal. You nod at him and he beams, squeezing your hands.

“Bene! I’m sure you will find your place at the abbey soon, mia ragazza.”

He pats a gloved hand on your cheek and bounds out of your office to go cause mischief elsewhere. You sigh deeply and prop your elbows on your desk.

“It will be fine,” you murmur to yourself before turning back to the work you had abandoned when Terzo came in, “you will be fine.”

—

This, you decided, was the worst fucking idea.

When you first walked into the vast dining hall you were taken aback by its beauty. Paneled walls lined the room and a dramatic arched wooden ceiling soared above you. After you finished gazing at your surroundings, you were hit with the fact that half the room was staring at you.

Oh fuck, you think, skittering over to the food line in an effort to blend in better. You gratefully take your bowl of hearty vegetable stew and sizeable hunk of crusty bread and turn around to face the room. Siblings eye you, whispering amongst themselves and suddenly you’re struck with the worst pit of anxiety in your stomach. The room is filled with a number of tables in varying sizes and as you scan the room, your heart sinks when you realize there are no empty tables. Shuffling with your food into the center of the room you’re about to panic and give up entirely when you turn to a four-person table in a corner with one occupant.

Cardinal Copia.

He’s hunched over his bowl, delicately spooning stew into his mouth when he spots you hustling towards him. Dropping his spoon, his mismatched eyes go wide as you approach the table, jaw falling open slightly.

“Can I, um,” you begin in a hushed voice, “can I sit with you?”

A beat passes and you’re starting to wonder if he heard you when he rockets out of his seat, straightening his black cassock. Before you can say anything he’s drawing a chair out for you, gesturing for you to sit.

“Please, signorina!” he says in a hushed, almost reverent tone as you take a seat. “Your company is eh, most welcome.” Copia returns to his own seat and gives you a nervous little smile that makes you smile in return. Graciously, he upturns your glass and fills it with water from the carafe sitting next to him on the table.

“Thank you,” you say, mirroring his hushed tone. “Thank you so much. This place…this place is like high school all over again,” you say in a rush as you finally spoon some much needed quality food into your mouth.

“Is it?” he asks, “I ah…wouldn’t know.”

You cock your head and your brows draw together.

“How so?” you say, leaning forward to take another spoonful of the delicious stew.

“I completed all my schooling within the church,” he says, pushing a carrot around his bowl.

“Oh! Were you raised in the church then?” you ask, truly intrigued.

“Sì…in Roma. I’ve been groomed for this position,” he sighs heavily, “my whole life.”

You had no idea the depth and breadth of the church’s reach throughout the world. Truly it both baffled and fascinated you. Not knowing quite what to say to his revelation, you both continue eating in silence.

“How are you…how are you liking it here?” he asks with a hint of concern.

“It’s beautiful. I can’t imagine a prettier place to live and work.”

“That’s not what I meant, signorina.” His eyes, particularly the white one that almost glows, burn into yours.

“I…” your voice chokes up a little so you clear your throat, “I don’t have a lot of people to talk to. No one will speak to me, you know? I left all my friends behind and I’m so isolated now and–” you cut yourself off, feeling the tears welling in your eyes. He looks startled by your confession, and reaches a gloved hand across the table to take yours. When he looks at you with more softness than you have seen from anyone in a very long time, you let out an embarrassing sob.

“I know,” he whispers, thumb stroking your knuckles. “Believe me, signorina. I know.”

You wipe your tears with the cloth napkin at the table almost viciously, feeling humiliated that you’ve let Copia of all people see you like this. You hold him in such high esteem and you cringe at what he must think of you now.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, removing your hand from his. “I…Christ this is so mortifying.”

“Not mortifying at all, signorina. I asked you a question and you answered with your heart. I…want to be someone you come to when you are feeling like this, sì?”

You nod, smiling at him gratefully as you watch him pick up his hunk of bread. He’s so…so wonderful and empathetic and charming and lovely and…and he’s currently picking apart his bread into tiny chunks and placing them within his napkin.

“Um,” you begin inelegantly, unsure of how to proceed, “what are you doing?”

“Hmm?” he looks up at you and his cheeks redden when he realizes you’ve been watching him. “Oh I…eh…”

You nod conspiratorially. “Midnight snack, huh?”

His painted lips twist into a smile and he chuckles, causing you to smile again.

“Not for me…for my bambini.”

“Peculiar babies who eat table scraps, no?”

“Eh…they’re…they’re rats.”

He’s positively glowing with embarrassment but your smile gets even wider.

“Oh!” you cry, clapping your hands together, “tell me about them! Can I meet them?”

He swallows several times before cracking a nervous half-smile.

“Sì, of course! They are such sweet little things…”

He’s got such a fond look in his eye, but you’re not sure if it’s regarding his rats or you. The thought makes you flush and look down at your lap.

“I’m glad Terzo told me to come to dinner tonight,” Copia says in a small voice, smiling at you. Your eyes widen at the revelation but you say nothing, simply mirroring his grin.

“He’s Papa for a reason,” you state simply. “Are you done eating? I’m dying to hear more about these babies of yours.”

Hours later, the two of you are the last people to leave the dining hall after being ushered out by irritated siblings. When you part, it’s with the promise that you will one day soon visit Copia’s rodent children. You bid your soft goodbye, hand lingering on his bicep when you thank him for his time and you begin the walk to your quarters.

Maybe the abbey isn’t so bad after all.

#cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #curator!reader #cardinal copia #copia #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

[every-ask-include-successful]

https://roberta-620.ludgu.top/u/94ZSg8j

#submisive faggot #jason todd x reader #funny #mountain] #faggot slave #aly michalka #lakes #anakin skywalker x reader #nursing #the witcher #curators #spencer reid #feminine

[much-give-cup]

https://loretta-530.ludgu.top/r/jSQtF1x

#gaten matarazzo #naturecore #高崎かなみ #summer fashion #wicca #the carrie diaries #Johnny #guinea pig #jason todd x reader #mountain] #cardinal copia #delicious #gay onlyfans #nursing #curators

[lorebite]

I'm sooooo tempted to ask about the Pleasure Dom Leon wip, but I have to stay loyal to Daddy Death and ask about "Curie Gets in Trouble" 😊💙

Haha! The pleasure dom Leon one has pretty much turned to hard dom Leon at this point, to be completely honest but I haven’t changed the file name yet. 😂

As for our sweet Daddy Death, here's a tinny tiny snippet of what's been in the works for ages now (😭). Currently, the placeholder title for this fic is Louder Than Mercy but we shall see if it'll stick.

Somewhat NSFW below the line!

Your eyes narrowed into a cold stare. A minute change of expressions which didn’t go unnoticed by him. If anything, that splinter in your blithe façade only served to kindle a glimmer in the depth of his icy blue eyes. To him, you were just another book to spread at the spine. 

And well, spreading you wasn’t anything he was a stranger to.

“Maybe I should remind you how serious this is,” you said in a harsh whisper, tone cutting. “Now’s not the time to be a wiseass.”

A languid airy chuckle burst from the Curator’s lips in response, his eye briefly roving your sweet face. His fingers began creeping across the desktop through the clutter towards your thigh, stopping just a touch shy of the slippery fabric swathing the curve of your hip. 

“Why, I certainly find it hard to be serious at the moment – or with you, for that matter.”

Soft shadows cast by the candelabrum danced like a bevy of wispy ghosts across your face as you tilted your head to the side. If his comment struck a chord within you, it was difficult to pinpoint through the hard look set deep in your eyes.

“Is it because you don’t see me as a threat,” you started slowly, your voice a careful whisper, low and smooth. “Or is it because you always find a way to convince me?”

His fingers slithered on top of your thigh, the sensation of his touch luxuriant like the very silk on your body. It was gentle and tempting, making heat flutter deep in your belly.

“Perhaps both.”

It was a simple response, afforded by all your previous visits, birthed from the past experiences you shared with him. A vicious pull and denial which had roped you in this situation in the first place. You were both pawns in the other’s play.

“Perhaps you are that easy to sway, little Havoc.”

#the curator x reader #the curator #also that gif 🥹

[arkhamslvts]

imagine jason being extremely sensitive touch wise. you brush your arm against him? he’s holding back moans. your heads laying in his chest? suddenly he’s rushing to the bathroom. he’s balls deep inside you? prepare for a noise complaint, not due to you, but due to him.

sigh. what i’d give to hear jason whimpering.

amen to that

i think he’s so touch starved and the fact that he’s extremely attracted to you doesn’t help. he likes bending you over, something you learned early on. any time you’d brush against him, you’d be bent over the nearest flat surface before you could realize. and he’s needy, absolutely plowing into you as if you would disappear, “fuck.. so fucking tight, so good baby” he’s shameless, why would he not let his girl know how good her pussy is? “so perfect, all mine… fuck, thank you”

#. . . maras mailbox #. . . curated by mara #. . . hearttjason #jason todd x black!reader #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut

[jediavengers]

Need some help? ⋆ ˚｡⋆

Warnings: 18+, smut, dom!ani, sub!reader, bratty!reader, oral (f receiving), squirting, praise kink, arm kink, overstimulation

Pairing: Gamer!Anakin x fem!reader

The glow of the holo tv wasn’t the only thing keeping you awake. Anakin’s relentless clicking of his game controller and the sounds of muttered insults directed towards his opponents wasn’t either.

The ache in your lower abdomen that had been eating away at you all day was the real reason you were tossing and turning. It seemed like every move you made caused the slight discomfort to worsen, so your back and forth movements definitely didn’t help.

You groaned, shoving your face into your pillow. Normally, you didn’t like to initiate anything in the bedroom between you and your partner. You preferred him to do that. But the ache was only worsening, so you felt it was time to hint that you needed some assistance.

Anakin, his back resting up against the headboard and his body covered in a blanket, was oblivious to your nearly painful arousal. He was far too caught up in the stupid game he was playing.

You turned so you were facing him, cheek smushed against your pillow as you peaked up at him. The dim light of the TV illuminated his face deliciously, outlining his jaw and extenuating the scar next to his eye. His pretty little lips were pursed and his nose was scrunched, focusing on whatever the hell he was doing in his game.

Anakin was shirtless, like he usually was at home. You didn’t mind it. Although, it was making your situation a little worse. Your eyes glued to his chest, admiring his muscled pecs and bulging arms. Maker, his arms..

You swore his arms were the biggest you’ve ever seen. Every move he made with his controller traveled up his limbs and made his muscles ripple.

Practically drooling, you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together as your thoughts got away from you.

Slowly, you scooted closer to him and snuggled into his side. The hint was subtle, especially since you were basically always in his arms. So, like a typical man, Anakin didn’t get the hint and thought you just wanted to cuddle.

“Oh, hey there, pretty girl,” He chuckled, lifting up his arm so you could snuggle in closer. You laid your head on his lap and he rested his forearm along your collarbones so he could continue playing. “I thought you were asleep.”

You rolled your eyes. Had he not noticed your constant tossing and turning? “Nope.” You breathed in his scent, his musk making you slightly dizzy. “Cant sleep, Ani.”

“Oh? Why not?” He asked, not taking his eyes away from the screen. “Dammit.” He muttered, his clicking getting more aggressive as he gritted his teeth and stared at his game.

You grumble, smushing your face into his stomach. You could feel a chuckle run through his body, causing you to whine.

Anakin started mumbling curse words as he aggressively pressed the buttons, moving his controller closer to his body as whatever situation he was in got more intense.

“Ani..” Your voice was almost bratty, but you could feel that your panties were practically soaked. It was nearly impossible not to snap and yell at him that you needed him to touch you.

“Hold on.” He gritted, tensing up. He continued smashing away at the buttons.

“But-“ You began, but you were cut off.

“Just let me finish this round.” He insisted, eyes not straying from the screen.

You began to pathetically pout. An idea came into your mind and you devilishly smirked. You shifted so you were no longer lying on his lap. Now, you on your stomach, your face hovering above his crotch. Peeling back the blanket, you peaked up at him while you did so. He paid you no attention, so focused on his precious game.

That made you even more frustrated, so you began to gently paw at his clothed length. You could hear his breath hitch and he tensed up. “What are you doing?” He squeaked. Anakin’s eyes finally tore away from the screen, landing on your innocent little face as you looked up at him, your movements slow.

“You’re ignoring me.” You whined, frowning. Feeling his cock harden underneath his sweatpants, you smiled triumphantly as he tossed his controller to the side and pulled you up into his lap.

Gasping as you sat on his clothed hard on, you subconsciously rocked right as you sat down on him. “This what you want?” He chuckled. Anakin’s large hands gripped your hips, resting on the bare skin. You were in merely some panties and a white tank top, giving him a show of your hardened nipples.

You frowned and buried your face in his neck. “Ani..”

“I see,” He ran his fingers through your hair and then traveled his fingertips down your spine. “Are you horny, baby? Do you need some help?” Gently gripping the back of your neck, he made you look at him. “Come on, pretty girl. I need you to use your words.”

“It hurts.” You whined, tears welling in your doe eyes. You could feel the dam about to burst, your tears threatening to spill out onto your flushed cheeks.

“Oh, baby.” Anakin cooed, cupping your cheek. You leaned into his touch, the ache in your core only growing. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I would’ve turned my game off immediately.”

You didn’t answer, you just sniffled and let a few tears fall from your eyes.

“Alright, lay back.” He spoke firmly yet so sweetly at the same time. You did as you were told, climbing off his lap, your head now at the foot of the bed. Just as Anakin was about to move, he glanced down.

Where you were sitting on his lap, there was a large wet spot. Your arousal had soaked through your panties onto his sweatpants, causing Anakin to chuckle. “Baby, you gotta tell me when you need me to do something for you. This won’t do.” You blushed furiously at his words.

Anakin crawled down so his face was a few inches from your clothed sex, your cotton pink panties completely soaked through. He didn’t waste any time, hooking the fabric with his fingers and pulling them down your creamy thighs.

Tossing the panties to the side, he groaned as he saw your sopping pussy. “Maker, Y/N..” He whispered, his fingers tracing over your slit.

You whined, arching your back and bucking your hips. Desperate for more, you couldn’t help but groan.

“Easy.” He scolded, placing a soft kiss to your swollen clit. That’s what he did for who knows how long. Anakin placed soft, gentle kisses around your pussy. On your clit, your hole, your thighs. He even placed some pecked on your puckered ring a couple times. Each touch caused you to whine and thrash, bucking your hips towards his face.

By the time he was done teasing, you were absolutely dripping. Your inner thighs were slick with arousal and your clit was painfully pulsing.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” He praised, spreading your legs further with both of his large palms. “Good girls deserve rewards, don’t you think?”

Then, something snapped. His face was now harshly pressed up against you, his mouth devouring your throbbing cunt. His pace was rough and quick, making your back arch painfully and your eyes to roll back into your head.

Loud moans came from your throat, which were music to Anakin’s ears. He’d only been lapping away at your pussy for a half of a minute, but you could feel the coil in your stomach tighten.

“F-fuck- Ani!” You mewled, fingers tugging at his blonde curls.

Moaning into your pussy, he shoved two of his digits into your hole as he continued to eagerly lap away. He felt your walls begin to clench around his fingers, so he began to harshly suck at your clit.

A nearly pornographic moan fled from your mouth as you came, your juices gushing all over his chin and into his mouth.

Anakin didn’t stop there. No, he didn’t slow down his pace. He kept going, viciously, roughly. The pleasure was almost too much to bear. The overstimulation of him not stopping made you begin to close your legs around his head, but he harshly shoved them back down after his fingers slid out of your cunt.

You already could feel a second orgasm approach, Anakin’s pace only quickening if that was even possible.

With another pathetic whine, you gushed again. This time, it was like a faucet was opened. Your slick gushed out of you at a rapid pace, squirting all over Anakin’s hands, his face and your bed.

You were shaking horribly, which made Anakin pull away from your soaked pussy.

“That’s what you wanted? Huh?” He smirked, licking his lips and chuckling. You whined, breathing heavily and letting your eyelids flutter shut. Anakin used his bare arm to wipe all of your juices off of his face. “I’m not done with you yet.”

#anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin x reader #anakin x you #star wars #anakin fanfiction #curators on tumblr #hayden christensen #star wars anakin #sw anakin #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin and ahsoka #obi wan and anakin #anidala #padme naberrie #padme amidala #anakin and padme #anakin skywalker smut #anakin imagine

[gravehags]

i am the heart that you call home

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: reader has depression, Copia once again to the rescue, two awkward fucking nerds miscommunicating, RATS OHWHOOOOOAOA

Words: 2,295

Summary: You're having a rough go of it. The cardinal brings you a small guest.

a/n: once again just two lonely dumbasses bonding over being lonely dumbasses!! soft and sappy

~~~

You are a downright mess.

Curled up on your side on the couch, you clutch a throw pillow to your chest and sob into it quietly. You haven’t left your quarters since Friday and it is currently Sunday evening. It’s been a week since you had your lovely conversation in the dining hall with Cardinal Copia and the thought makes your eyes well with tears again. You had felt so hopeful after that night, after spending time with Copia who comforted you about your loneliness. You thought that was the end of it, as if a flip was switched and your brain would suddenly be okay.

You sniffle into your pillow. If only.

The week passed and you saw no familiar faces to help support you through the week. The siblings continue to largely ignore you beyond terse, but polite smiles. You’ve thrown yourself into your new duties - going through the late cardinal’s paperwork, trying to make sense of the rudimentary cataloging system he created - but once your work week came to an end, so did your strength. And not just alone, but anxious and miserable. You constantly question whether you belong here, whether you’re good enough to do your job and meet Sister Imperator’s exacting standards. You feel inadequate, and moreover, lost. You’ve been huddled on your couch ever since, crying into the quiet room and feeling desperately alone. Texts from faraway friends soothe you but ultimately don’t help your current problem.

And speaking of texts, your phone buzzes from its spot on the coffee table. Throwing the pillow to the other end of the couch you reach out to grab the device. The screen illuminates showing one text, from an unfamiliar number.

Signorina, are you well? No one has seen you for the past two days and we are worried.

Your brows furrow. Signorina…it could be anyone in the abbey in all honesty. You’re about to inquire as to who the text is from when your screen lights up again.

It is Copia.

Heart swelling, you regard the name with a deep surge of affection. Opening the message box to type, you falter for a moment. Do you tell him the truth or just brush him off? Then you remember his earnest words from a week ago.

I want to be someone you come to when you are feeling like this, sì?

No, you think. It wouldn’t do to be dishonest with the one person who has truly made you feel welcome at the abbey. He deserves the truth, as embarrassing as it may be.

Hi Cardinal, thank you for checking in. Honestly, I’m actually not doing very well - having a rough time mentally and emotionally.

You chew your bottom lip as you consider what you want to type out next. What you really want right now is company, and his nervous yet warm presence would be a balm to your soul. At the same time though…he’s a cardinal. You know exactly how much work he has on his plate at all times - between seminars, sermons, budgeting, helping you with your task - and you find it very unlikely he wants to spend time listening to you cry about your own simple woes. Fingers to the screen, you peck out the next line.

Would you mind coming over? I don’t really want to be alone right now

Your thumb hovers over the send button and your stomach twists but you ultimately tap it. A horrid sense of dread settles in your belly as you watch the Seen 7:24 PM message pop up. Your phone stays painfully silent for over a minute and you hold your head in your hands, absolutely mortified. Asking a grown ass Satanic cardinal if he’ll come babysit you, you sneer at yourself, how fucking embarrassing. What a silly little girl you are.

Your lip trembles pathetically and fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks when your phone lights up again.

I will be there right away. Un momento, per favore.

A horrible sound somewhere between a sigh and a loud sob escapes you when you see his message. He’s so kind to you - too kind - and you’re so thankful for him. Brushing away the tears, you text him back with the floor your quarters are on and set the phone down next to you on the couch. Picking up the pillow you discarded earlier you hug it to your chest again, resting your chin on the edge. Your breathing, ragged from crying, begins to even out as you sit there and wait.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, ten minutes maybe, when you hear a tentative knock on your door. When you stand, joints aching from being so folded up, you remember that you look awful. You’re wearing an oversized black t-shirt with a large graphic of Nosferatu and your plaid sleep shorts, hair greasy and hanging in your face. Furtively you give yourself a sniff and recoil slightly.

“One minute!” you call as you run to your bedroom. You hear a muffled “okie-dokie” in response and nod to yourself. Grabbing your perfume bottle off the dresser you spray yourself liberally and after a quick inspection, call it good. There’s nothing you can do further than that, you think as you eye your reflection in the mirror. Deep, dark circles cast shadows under your eyes and your lips are dry and cracked. You smooth your hair a little, trying to distract from the fact that you clearly haven’t washed it in several days, but end up making the oiliness more pronounceable. 

“Fuck it,” you murmur as you shut your bedroom light off and close the door. “He’s getting warts and all.”

When you finally answer the door your heart grows three sizes upon seeing your cardinal. He’s wearing the red cassock - your favorite of the two colors - and his biretta sits slightly askew on his swept back brown hair. The dreamy smile on your face, simply pleased to see this dear man for the first time in a week, is no doubt making him uncomfortable so you clear your throat and speak.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, “please come in.”

To your confusion he holds up a hand and leans down to the ground behind him for something. Perplexed, you watch him as he picks up a small cage bearing a single, fat, white rat.

“Oh!” you exclaim, hands flying to your mouth. “Come in, come in, bring them in!”

Shutting the door behind the three of you, you escort him over to your depression lair and he delicately sits down. Copia places the rat cage on your coffee table, and you see his eyes dance over the different books you have scattered on its surface. His gaze lingers particularly on a book entitled The Origin of Satan, which makes his mustache twitch as he smiles.

“Thought I’d, you know,” you say, scratching the back of your neck, “do some cultural research.”

The two of you are silent for a moment as he looks up at you with a fond expression that makes you fidget.

“Will you not sit as well, signorina?”

“Oh!” you feel stupid as you scuttle around to the other side of the couch and inelegantly plop down. Hands on his knees he angles his body to face you.

“Now please, tell me what is wrong,” he asks as the rat scratches at the cage grates in front of him.

“Oh, well,” you begin with a huff, trying to play your mood off as casual, “the usual bullshit. Feeling inadequate, like I’m not qualified or capable of doing this job. Still no one to talk to, no one to spend time with, no one even fucking acknowledges me–”

“Mi scusi,” he interrupts, “do you not speak to me? Do we not spend time together, signorina?” He sounds so put-out, so genuinely hurt, it instantly brings tears to your eyes.

“No, no, no that’s not what I meant!” you cry, “I value your companionship so much - more than I can say - but I just…I don’t want to bother you.”

The words come out in a rush and you look away as you swipe at your tear-stained cheeks. This was a mistake.

“Signorina, may I tell you something?” he asks as he toys with the cuff of his cassock. “Before you came to the abbey I had very little in the way of friends. The papas are like fratelli to me, sì, and Papa Primo practically raised me but that’s it. I was a very lonely man until you came along, signorina. Your presence…is a breath of fresh air for this old cardinale and I…I hope I am able to call you a friend.”

Tears are slowly and steadily sliding down your face as you reach out to grab his hand, as he did with yours in the dining hall all those days ago. His own eyes look a little watery and he regards you and you take a deep breath.

“I want to apologize to you, Copia,” your voice is clear and strong, these words the most sure thing you’ve spoken in many days, “I want to apologize for giving you the impression that your time is not valuable to me. The evening we spent together in the dining hall was so lovely and I am so very thankful for your presence at the abbey and in my life. I would be honored to consider you a friend.”

You look away when you see an errant tear slip out of his green eye, still squeezing his hand. What a pair the two of you make, crying on your couch about miscommunications. The rat thinks so too and lets out a loud squeak to put its point across. For the first time in a week you burst out in loud laughter and Copia joins you.

“Eh, always must be the center of attention, huh?” he says, picking up the cage and bringing the rat eye level to his face. “I think it is about time the two of you are introduced.”

“Please,” you say, using the neckline of your t-shirt to clear your face of moisture.

Gently setting it back down on the table, he opens the little cage door and the rat crawls obediently into his hands.

“This,” Copia says, bringing the creature in front of you, “is Stelline.”

“Stelline,” you breathe, looking at her intently as she peers back at you, nose in the air. “You’re beautiful.”

“Sì,” the cardinal laughs, “and she knows it too. Don’t you, piccola bellezza.”

You swear the rat preens at his endearment, making you giggle.

“Do you want to hold her?” he asks, lifting her towards you.

You’re taken aback, but excited. “Can I?”

"Sì, naturalmente! She’s heavier than you might think so take care to cup your hands firmly, eh?”

When Copia deposits Stelline in your outstretched hands, you slowly draw her to your chest to cradle her. You’re talking to her, complimenting her whiskers and inquisitive little nose, when she puts a paw on your belly.

“She’s so sweet,” you coo, “aren’t you bambino piccolo?”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Copia smile at your use of Italian. You’ve picked up a few things from Terzo.

When she lets out a little squeak and curls up in your palms, your heart melts and you give Copia a gooey-eyed expression. He looks just as enamored as you are.

“Now,” he says, leaning back into the couch cushions, “tell me about your week. I want to hear everything. And then I will tell you exactly why you are perfect for this job and how you belong here.”

The three of you sit like this for one hour, two hours until Copia briefly looks at his phone and nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Merda,” he hisses, “I’m on confession duty tonight,”

“Oh! I’m sorry I took up so much of your time I–”

“Do not apologize, signorina,” Copia says sternly, making you blush. “It was time well spent. I do, eh, have to be going though.”

Gently, you hand Stelline back to her father, who delicately places her in the cage and stands. You follow suit and before he can say anything, before you can second-guess the action, you throw your arms around him. He’s stunned for a moment, stiff as a board as you hold your arms around his waist and press your forehead against the red wool of his vestments. You can practically feel the deep sigh he releases as he wraps his own arms around you and embraces you in turn. Nothing is said - nothing needs to be said - as you let the metal of his pectoral grucifix press into you. Briefly, he reaches up to caress your hair and you hum deep in your chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper against him, “thank you for everything, always.”

“Naturalmente,” he says in a hushed tone, gloved hand rubbing your back softly. “Grazie mille, signorina.”

You could stay like this forever, you think, locked in his embrace. When Stelline lets out another urgent squeak you reluctantly pull back and give each other sheepish smiles. Picking up the rat cage, you escort him to your door and bid him goodnight. After the door snaps shut, you feel as if you’re floating. As if you’re filled with the most radiant, pure light that spreads from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. You know what it is but you don’t want to say it. You can’t bring your lips to form the words - not just yet anyway. It’s been years since you’ve felt like this - had anything to feel like this about.

But you know a crush when you feel one.

#cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #cardinal copia x f!reader #curator!reader #cardinal copia #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes