For the writing prompts! I'm thinking either Copia or Secondo! Maybe masc reader?
"I am the way
And you invited me to stay
However fair and pure, you crave the wand"
And/or:
"I am the one who preys on weak
I offer everything they seek
And I am the one who comes richly endowed
Harvesting crops of fields that others have plowed"
Hi friend :) this ask went off the rails... again. I feel I need to explain myself. In my mind, I replaced wand with cane and then, well... you're aware of how the Copia cane brain rot afflicts me.
Word count limit FAILED. Followed the prompt? Barely. But I hope you enjoy it anyway <3
18+ MDNI. Frater Imperator x Reader (neutral). Karaoke night lets Copia relive the glory days. Reader goes absolutely feral and Copia may be more bark than bite. ~1.5k words.
One of the silver linings of Copia's promotion to Frater was that he had a lot more time to attend Ministry social events and karaoke night had quickly become a favourite. He got to perform to a captive audience again and those who had devoted their lives to the organisation got an intimate performance from their retired Papa.
He was on top form tonight. Confident and more than comfortable with the attention and adoration from his crowd, which was absolutely raucous by the time the song was over. He definitely noticed that you hadn't taken part in the standing ovation afterwards, or the wolf-whistling and cheering. In fact, you hadn't moved at all, having been completely transfixed. The moment he grabbed his cane, twirling it before rubbing it against himself, you had been too flustered to visibly react at all.
It had always been one of your favourite songs but it had never quite had this effect on you. His choice of clothes for tonight hadn't helped; his leather suit jacket and those painted on trousers left little to the imagination. Although it was certainly stoking yours.
He definitely did notice the way you had bitten your lip as he had pointed the cane at you during the last verse. And so, after he had taken in the applause, he made a point of sauntering across the room to the seat next to you. In the few minutes that had taken, you had thankfully composed yourself and decided that neither of you would be staying at the party much longer.
There is a little conversation, but he lets you take the lead. He graciously accepts compliments on his performance and you make it clear it has lead to a curiosity about how many of the lyrics apply to him personally. He deflects in an enigmatic sort of way, still high on the adrenaline of the stage and asks the same of you. When he makes a quip about craving the wand while making a point of spreading his knees apart, you simply stand and ask how close his room is.
The journey takes twice as long as it should given you can't keep your hands off him. At first, he responds enthusiastically and just as desperately, grabbing handfuls of you and lapping at your neck as you press yourselves into the nearest solid surface. He groans at every filthy offer that comes out of your mouth, each promise you make getting him more and more riled up until he can barely function.
The gruff noises shrink into whimpers as your insatiable attention overwhelms him. You palm over his erection as you stumble towards his door, begging to see just how "richly endowed" he is and he practically yelps, flinching back slightly. Even as he fumbles with his keys, your hands crawl all over him and find their way back to his bulge. His body stutters and he lets out a high pitched giggle before grabbing your wrist to stop you.
"What's wrong?" You ask in between open mouthed kisses to his neck. "Suddenly feeling shy?"
"No!" He squeaks almost an octave higher than he means to. "No, ahem, just give me a minute to, uh—ah! There we go."
He opens the door and stumbles through. You give him some space, cautiously following him inside but allow him to catch his breath and set down his cane by the couch. He paces a couple of times with his back to you and when does dare to face you, all of that intense eye contact and swagger is gone. He actually looks a little terrified. You feel shame burn its way up your neck, a little embarrassed by being too much for him.
"You want me to go?"
He doesn't say anything, which somehow feels worse than saying yes. His mouth quirks upward into something close to a smile. You feel as though you are about be let down condescendingly gently and are more certain as his arms slide around you.
"All of those things you said," he whispers as he pecks kisses along your jaw. "Did you mean them? That is what you want… from me?"
"Yes," you reply with zero hesitation. "Afraid you might disappoint?"
You regret the words as soon as you speak them and he physically deflates. You're relieved however when he allows you to pull him back into your arms.
"I promise you, you won't," you assure him. "From what I felt already, I know you'll be more than enough for me. And if not… you can show me what else you can do with that cane." You drag his hand up your inner thigh and plant it firmly over your own arousal, to show him how much you want it. "Or we can find something else I'm sure you'll be comfortable playing with."
You're afraid you may have scared him again as when you force him to meet your gaze - his eyes have almost popped out of their sockets. He swallows hard and opens his mouth to speak, but he can only gasp for air.
"I can leave. Or you can tell me what it is you want."
"I'm just not— not sure I can—ah, I am sorry. If you wanted the man on that stage, I'm not sure if you will get it. But I am sure that I want you to stay. Please. I want all of it. Everything you promised."
You accept his invitation with a searing kiss. He flounders for a moment before allowing his hands to begin to roam. Unbuttoning his shirt as you move, you guide him backwards towards the sofa until he trips back into the cushions. As you look down at him, dishevelled and still a little uncertain, a realisation hits you. The thought alone makes you throb.
His reactions to all of your lust filled ramblings had been genuine - and he couldn't fake the tenting of his trousers now. The idea of a little pain as an appetizer to pleasure hadn't scared him; the decision on who would be doling out the punishment had just not been clear. His hand rests on the metal cane topper and his fingers flex around it as it settles in the chair. His other hand reaches out to you, beckoning you to his lap and a flash of the performer breaks through.
But that isn't what he really wants. You move forward to stand between his legs but, instead of taking position over his knee, you snatch the cane for yourself. You push its end into his chest, just hard enough to make him squirm, before dragging it down over the hair peeking out of his shirt, all the way down to the erection currently threatening to tear out of his trousers. He hisses as you apply more pressure, wincing but not making any effort to stop you. His eyes are just still just as wide, but now with a hunger you plan on thoroughly satisfying.
He has done enough performing. Enough giving. In all those years of fulfilling his duties, you wonder how often his own needs were taken into account. It's someone else's turn to take the reins and take care of him. To remind him of his own cravings, and how to give in to them.
You strip slowly standing over him, with the use of only one hand, blushing as he watches hungrily while rubbing up against the rod between his legs.
"We may need to be quicker than this," he says," if we are to get to everything you wanted. It was a long, colourful list."
You again start to feel a little bashful, confronted by your own forwardness. You feel a confession coming.
"Well," you begin, "maybe you need to remind me of some of those. I don't exactly… remember them all. They sort of just came out. You, tonight, just did something to me. Maybe I came on a little strong, but I couldn't help myself."
It's true. You don't consider yourself shy but you're also not in the habit of throwing yourself any somebody the way you had tonight. You don't usually want someone so badly that it makes you weak at the knees and so desperate for them to do unspeakable things to you that you actually tell them.
The admission switches the energy in the room again. Both of you take a breath as Copia considers your admission and its implication. You can't read his expression, but you see something switch on in his mind.
He's out of his seat and on you before you can react, grabbing you and bending you over the couch. The cane is ripped from your hand and brought in front of you to be pressed firmly between your thighs. Suddenly, with just the right kind of ego stroking, Copia is very confident he can provide what it is you seek.
We need an acceptance arc, like he already went through denial, anger... Maybe let's skip steps and now Ford is like "well, if it's gonna happen I WILL be prepared" lmao
No you're so right. The weird thing is that now I've found myself creating a friggin NARRATIVE??? And the question is exactly when that would happen. I know for certain, if he wins this one and eventually goes up against kirk, he'd be willing to throw himself into pregnancy if it meant sparing his hero. No doubt.
Also, I was thinking about ford being "assigned" his younger self as a support person, to convince him that getting pregnant wouldn't be that bad, and in fact a great opportunity for science. Ford Hates it.
But like I said, now there's some sort of plot that we've been thrust into, and mpreg poll ford has a fuckin character arc???? Idk what's happening man
I got back into mgs after a few years, and I have been stuck thinking about your old wings au! I just wanted you to know that is so amazing that years later it still plagues my mind
I Think About It Too.... TRUST...... mgs floats in the back of my mind like a little devil in my room. One day.... je serais de retour auprès d'elle...... hal (crossed out: ugly) Emotionally Stunted Duckling lore............. one day. I prommy....
