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casualhedonists · 10 months

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✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter two)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

chapter: 2/?

MASTERLIST

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, oral sex, thigh riding, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

a/n: first off, THANK YOU for the love on chapter 1. wasn’t sure how I’d fare since I’ve done a lot of writing in my life but little to no smut. with that said! longer chapter incoming. also I just know he’d give insane head okay i just do,the guy looks like he fucks and he definitely does

You weren't sure exactly how you slipped away from Snow’s room that night, but you could somewhat piece it together in flashes. First a head rush, then the fire in the pit of your stomach practically having gasoline thrown on it.

You remembered a quiet gasp escaping your lips, then panic, a flash of white, and suddenly you were stumbling away, head spinning as you tried to catch your breath, pacing unevenly down the hallway, any chance of a stealthy escape long thrown out the window.

Back in your room, once the door was bolted and your back was against it, making sure nobody could get in if they tried, you had your first shot at clear-headedness since you’d heard heels scuffing the hardwood.

You’d soaked your panties through and were dripping down your thighs, but you’d be damned if you could get into the headspace to take care of it. Panic flooded your veins, ice-hot as you tried to catch your breath. you slid down the door and sat there, legs numb against the cold wooden planks.

Who was she? A million questions filled your head all at once. Was she from the Capitol? Could she be one of Snow’s friends, one of your friends? The thought made you sick. What if you’d dined with her before? Talked to her? How long had this been happening? Who knew about it? Were you being played?

Had he seen you watching him?

Unable to help yourself, your one-track mind took you back to the way he’d groaned your name, though you were half sure that had been a fever dream of some kind. Still, you kept replaying it. Over and over, like a broken record.

It didn’t make any sense, you were so fucking confused. All this time you’d been hoping he would make a move, you’d practically begged him to. Why hadn’t he? When you were clearly on his mind, and yet he made you believe he didn’t think of you that way at all. Was he just respecting your agreement?

You fiddled with the lace on the hem of your slip as you mulled it over. You stayed sat like this for almost an hour, trying unsuccessfully to wrap your head around it. When you ended up right back where you started, and you were sure enough time had passed that if someone was coming to get you, they would’ve already, you finally stood up. Your caution led you to drag a chair from across the room, propping it up by the door to jam the handle. That left you with the sliver of peace of mind you required to shower off this cold sweat you’d formed.

The next morning, you dreaded breakfast. But you knew you had to face him, as well as the fact that this could very well be your last meal. You should at least try to eat well.

You made your way downstairs, a few minutes later than usual, enough for Coriolanus to already be sipping coffee, a few pages through his newspaper. You’d not got fully dressed yet, not wanting the contrast to be too obvious, but you’d wrapped a silk dressing gown around you so you were a little more covered up. You knew one thing for certain, you wouldn’t be trying any more of your tricks until you knew just what you were dealing with.

He didn’t look over at you, which you took as a good sign. The urge to hide from him, from what you’d seen and what you now knew, overwhelmed you. You didn’t say a word, and picked silently at your breakfast, but despite your best efforts, not managing to keep more than a few bites down.

“You’re quiet today.” He muttered, and you started.

“Um.”

He lowered his paper.

“Something wrong?”

How about everything?

“Oh, no, I’m okay. Just uh…” you glanced up at him, and met his sharp gaze. Fuck. You’d hoped you’d go unnoticed. You felt like a deer in headlights, like he could read your mind.

“Well?” He prompted, gaze unwavering. You blinked.

“Headache.” You managed to breathe, faking a small, pitiful smile.

He brought his paper back up in front of him, crisply turning the page. You both thanked the new barrier between you for cutting off his stare, and resented it as you looked at the tiny printed words you couldn’t make out from where you were sitting.

“I’ll have Lucille bring you up something.”

“Thank you.” you said quickly, almost too quickly, and you feared he might lower his paper again to watch you as you stumbled over another excuse. But you fell lucky this time.

The week seemed to pass in a blur, Monday’s gala being one of the only times you really left your room when Snow was around, other than meal times, which you spent in a similar state as that first breakfast. You cursed yourself for throwing out your longer dresses, and settled for the least suggestive of them, the white one you’d been thinking of pitching to Snow as a backup plan in your panicked state outside his bedroom. That all felt worlds away now. What you’d seen had shifted the tides, marking a solid, definitive line in your head between the before and after.

The gala went as well as it could given the circumstances. You danced, Snow was charming to you in front of the guests, but held your gaze no longer than usual. It was simultaneously terrifying and thrilling to feel his hands on your waist, knowing what you knew. It felt like you’d been tapped with a cattle prod and had to hide it every time his hand brushed yours on top of the dinner table, as unsuspecting guests smiled at you, the happy couple.

If only they knew that in the same breath, you were scanning the crowd, wondering who the blonde could’ve been, how close she was to Snow, if at all, and hating the way every touch he placed on your hands and waist served as a reminder that he’d been touching her instead of you.

Your stupid brain had formed a highlight reel of what you’d witnessed behind Snow’s door, and it tortured you with every passing moment. To know he was thinking of you. To think that maybe, he wanted you there instead. It put a strange sense of possessive pride into you, that weaved between your jealousy. Because yes, you’d seen another girl on her knees with her mouth around him, but you hadn’t heard any name other than your own while it happened.

You carried this strange hope, dwindling to start off, and then building each day that you were left un-hanged and very much alive, slowly chipping away at your fear of the worst. And yet, you knew the game, unbeknownst to Snow, had been fundamentally changed. You’d stopped your antics altogether, now barely meeting his eye as you passed each other in the hallway, covering up more at breakfast, and only talking just enough to avoid another interrogation. Avoiding touch, and conversation, and all-around keeping yourself away from him.

You were quieter still at night in your room. After a few days, you’d finally felt safe enough to move the chair away and sleep with the door locked as you normally would. But while your games had stopped, your want for him had only been amplified. Fuelled by jealousy and frustration, you had to bite down on your hand so that not even the slightest noise made its way out as you pictured him, not as you used to in your fantasies, but as you’d seen him that night, undone with your name on his lips. It was much easier, in your head, to picture yourself as the one on your knees. Any other fantasy just failed to make the cut now you’d seen the real thing.

Thursday rolled around and you’d made a new habit of pacing the downstairs library when Coriolanus was out of the house. That way, if he got home and stepped inside, you could pretend to be lost in a book. But the hours seemed to stretch out and you became bored, and with no Snow in sight, you decided to head down to the servants’ quarters.

This wasn’t a common occurrence, but it wasn’t unheard of. You were known for your gentleness among the house staff, less harsh than Snow, but firm nonetheless. It had led you to a respectful friendliness with the maids and servants, and once every so often you’d check in on them.

Today’s objectives, however, were purely self-motivated. You found Lucille, who dressed you, at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables.

She stood upon seeing you, and curtseyed (Snow was rather old fashioned that way). You nodded, then took a seat at the foot of the table.

“Do you need any help with that?” You glanced at the cutting board.

Lucille’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Ma’am.”

You laughed. Lucille chopped and diced, and you asked questions. At first, they were after her family, her brother was sick and despite your offers, she wouldn’t accept help. So instead you listened, and slowly but surely, your questions got a little more directed toward the object of your interest.

You were good at playing the long game, so you started by asking about the company he kept. What she thought of them, with the promise that it would stay between the two of you, cross your heart.

She wouldn’t say much but she knew a little more than you; Snow kept very similar company as you did, and rarely went out for social visits. Any trips were strictly work-related, and when you eased into the topic of his past, Lucille mentioned, in very polite terms, that he had left a small trail of women heartbroken after a short period of time. That not all of them had been pleasant, and that she was pleased you seemed to have a positive effect on him.

She knew about your arrangement, practically the whole staff did, but they were kept on a very tight leash and were thoroughly reminded to not say a word acknowledging it, not even to you. It was with a knowing glance that Lucille told you she was happy you’d stayed around.

You smiled. Knowing that was likely all you were going to get for now, you let her be. By then, it was late enough to have gone dark, and you headed up to bed.

You awoke to creaking outside your door, and the shadow of footsteps from underneath it. You’d been tossing and turning for the last - you checked your watch - two hours. Excellent. You rolled onto your back wondering who it was, and then you heard it again. At first you wondered if it was just a sleep-deprived hallucination, or a sense of deja-vu, but then you focused, and there it was. The sound of heels. Again.

You sat up in bed, pushing your hair out of your face. You were enraged the first time, but if this was becoming a Thursday night tradition, it would be a serious problem. You were tired, you reasoned, you could just try to go back to sleep. Ignore it. Not let him have this power over you, a power that he didn’t even know he had. All the more reason to ignore it, and make it tomorrow’s problem.

But you just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how hard you tried. Your mother used to say it was a problem, always sticking your nose in places it didn’t belong. But it had got you this far, hadn't it?

You knew you were going to follow her to Snow’s room again, it was just a matter of time. You had to at least pretend you had an ounce of self-control, whereas really your head was thrumming and you knew it would take getting hit by a high-speed train to send you back to sleep now.

So you held off. Five minutes passed. Then ten. You had to know, at least, what they were doing. Maybe you could get a look at her face, see who it was, and answer some of the questions you had.

So you went. With a purpose this time, knowing full well what and who you’d end up seeing, trying to take steady breaths and focus on your plan. Check who it was, then leave.

You’d never been that great at execution. Call it hedonism, call it a morbid fascination, or living vicariously, but when you walked up to the door - which was ajar again, strangely even more than last time, by at least an inch or two - you looked inside, and your feet planted. The last shred of your self-control allowed you to take in the room first, the desk and chair that was right within your sight, and as you tucked yourself into the room, half hidden behind the door, you finally looked back at the bed where you’d seen Snow with his blonde girl last time.

Neither of them were sitting now.

Thirty seconds ago, you would’ve believed the hottest thing you’d ever seen was what played out in this room last week. But that was before you saw Snow turned away from you, still fully dressed with his sleeves rolled up, stomach on the bed and face between the blonde’s thighs, eating her out like he was on death row and she was his last meal.

You’d gotten head before. You knew it felt good, but the boys you’d slept with before your arrangement with Snow were selfish and inattentive. They would try, but they were far more interested in getting their dicks wet than showing you a good time. But Snow - you’d never seen anything like it. You didn’t know it could feel that good, or at least, not as good as the blonde girl - who you noted in the back of your mind, wasn’t anyone you recognised - was making it look. Her hips were bucking so hard he was having to pin her down with both hands around her waist.

She was just moving so much, wriggling and crying out and gasping and - you didn’t think you’d ever truly known jealousy until that moment. You couldn’t look away, knees weak and hands shaking, letting yourself get sucked into this headspace again, losing all trace of rationality. You’d think she was playing it up for him, but you knew what that sounded like. You’d faked enough orgasms to know if she was, but this? This was real. As she got close, grinding into him, writhing, running a shaky hand through his hair then getting louder, you managed to snap out of your trance.

In a flash, you ran back down the hallway.

If you thought you were avoiding Snow before, this week was about to give you a run for your money. You took breakfast in your room, and kept only to the parts of the house you knew he never entered. You only touched yourself in the shower, silent cries washed away by the water and steam, paranoia backing you into a corner.

You feigned illness the one time Snow sent a maid to inquire after you. Nothing too major, but enough to put him off. When he left the house, you snuck into the library to smuggle books back to your room, a pile forming as you tried ceaselessly to distract yourself.

You wrote home, you studied art and history. You attempted a few terrible sketches. You tore apart your room, then put it back together.

Before you knew it, Thursday rolled around again. On longer days like this, when Snow had been away working for hours at a time, you’d doubled down on your efforts to get information, and after chipping away for just long enough, you finally managed to squeeze some tidbits out of Lucille. Namely that there was a certain gentleman’s club in the city that he used to frequent before his election as President. Snow’s old driver might know its name, she said.

“But that was long before he met you, ma’am, rest assured.” She added hurriedly.

“Of course. Thank you, Lucille. I think I’ve kept you for long enough. Goodnight.”

Snow had been gone for the whole day, and you weren’t sure if he’d come home yet, so as you headed up to your room, you quietly wandered a little further down the hallway, to check if there was any light beneath his door. There wasn’t. Good. You were glad he wouldn’t be continuing this routine of his. Maybe this Thursday night, you could sleep peacefully.

With a sigh, and mulling over what you’d learned today, you returned to your room, poured a drink, then collapsed into bed.

This night was as sleepless as the rest, and you’d been drifting - not uncomfortably - in and out. A storm was brewing outside, and the sounds of howling wind began to keep you alert. You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, then glanced towards your door. Snow must’ve come home at some point, and very late at that, because dim lights had been turned on in the hallway. Paranoia crept into your mind, slowly poisoning your thoughts and turning you inside out.

It didn’t take long before the feeling pushed you to roll out of bed, slide on a dressing gown, and crack open your door. This time, you couldn’t hear footsteps, or anything that might arise suspicion. You closed the door again. Waited. Then looked around your room, at the messy sheets and the half finished glass of liquor on the nightstand. You rarely drank alone, but these past few weeks had been getting to you, fucking with your head. Coriolanus Snow had driven you to this.

The wind got louder, and you knew you were too wired to sleep, so you stood by your window and finished the glass.

You’d never been good with mysteries. You wanted to know everything, all the time. Know who had power over you, know precisely how to take it away. Know exactly what was happening around you at any given moment. But most of all, you didn’t like being played for a fool.

And sure, the ethics of it had never been discussed between the two of you. Your business was strictly professional, but when you weren’t allowed to sleep around, why could he?

In fact, how dare he?

You poured another glass, straight whiskey. Downed it, pacing your room, back and forth between the door and the window, running your fingers along the ridges of the crystal glass. You thought about him, comfortably in his room, not a care in the world.

How dare he.

You weren’t sure if it was the drink or the buildup of your situation that had your blood boiling, but it didn’t matter. You were incensed. His behaviour was an insult to your name, to your family’s name. Sure, this relationship was a sham, but all the more reason for him to act with basic fucking respect. Sleeping with - and very obviously, at that - a whore, who had a bad habit of leaving the door cracked open, was unacceptable.

You were running hot, and if you knew one thing for certain, it was that when Snow met with fire, he was going to melt. You’d make sure of it.

Your feet took you into the hallway, with the decidedness that this would be the last time.

You rushed down the corridor with a tightly bottled rage that was about to burst, words hot on your tongue and demanding to be spoken, until you turned the corner and saw Snow’s door half open. You stopped in your tracks. Reassessed, then stepped closer, slowly, steadily. Remembering what you were there for.

Then, as you got close enough to see inside - right there, without you even having to step past the threshold, were the two of them, lit by a table lamp, Snow sat on the desk chair as the girl rode him to high heaven, obscene noises getting louder. As you approached you saw Snow’s face again, eyes shut, breath laboured, and you couldn’t believe that anyone just walking by would be able to see this. They were fucking like animals, out in the open. You didn’t know how or why you drew closer still, closing in on them. The girl’s head was dropped down to his shoulder, back facing you, and couldn’t see you unless she turned, but Snow? He was practically facing the door, almost as if he’d been…

No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

But you didn’t have time to think it through, because Snow’s eyes blinked open, and you knew. He was looking right at you, blue eyes piercing into yours, sharp and dangerous like he was going in for the kill. You stood there, jaw dropped, unable to look away. In what world could you walk in on someone like this, and feel like they held all the cards, and you none? That was how he looked at you; like you’d been there watching the whole time, and this was all a show, playing out exactly as he’d planned it. Like somehow, despite all your best efforts, he’d landed on top.

It was like he read your mind, because he wet his lips, unblinking as the blonde writhed on his lap, and fucking smirked.

a/n: can’t wait for them to hate fuck after this (oh sorry forgot i’m the author for a sec) thanks for reading <3

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii

if you’d like to be tagged, please leave a comment on the masterlist!! 💌

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #snow x reader #snow x you #the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow smut #tom blyth

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complete-clownery · 9 months

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Hahaha okay rant about this amazing fanfic (you probably heard of this one already but still)

So whenever it comes to explaining and writing under my posts I just get lazy but I need to push through this cuz I need to talk

So the fanarts were made for the lmk fanfiction sunbreak, that a lot of you (probably mostly shadowpeach shippers) had read, and it is amazing, I read trough it as fast as my brain let me and as you can see it has pleasantly scratched my brain so much so that I even (attempted) to make fanart for it

Ngl if I wasn't a major pussy I would try to illustrate the whole thing or make covers for each chapter but Im unable to work on something more than 2 hours and I would want those to look good, but good looking art (if I don't mess up) takes 6 hours ughh--- annoying much---

Anyways I'm not good with literature but man is this fix a masterpiece *chefs kiss* its everything its amazing, I was unable to put it down once I started it

Okay i dont think I have the brain capacity to explain how much I worship the writer of this masterpiece @ladygreenfrisbee , so i'm just going to talk about the drawings a tad

So first picture with Red Son and MK its sort of like an au in the fic where the whole lbd plot is somehow nonexistent and after Macaque gets to his sisters domain they settle down and raise the kids together without much of an issue aside from assassinations keep happening and trying not to get in trouble with the heavens

Id like to think that Gongzhu still wouldn't let the court tailors to put any form of red or gold on MKs outfits and only allowed the yellow after when MK was old enough to declare that yellow was his favorite color, but even now she would insist on some form of purple and shadow motives to let others know who the mother is

We also got baby MK and toddler Red Son and sassy LIF and Mac

Third pic with the lion: I don't know what it was or why but I just love general Song so much--- he's a major dickhead but sgvshshsevkdididhr (actually I kinda love all the original characters in this one, from the generals to the old lady in the beginning of the book, (gosh I also wanna draw some scenes from those chapters I loved how Mac and she interacted hshsjsj))

so chapter 34 was probably my favorite so far I re read it about two more times cuz it was amazing to see Macaque being the schemer he is and try to piss of Song lol

Last picture: its a sketch/a wip or whatever (probably not going to finish it but im still putting it there cuz its somewhat decent looking)

Its the part where Wukong remembered of Macaque finally finding him and asking for him to come back to flower fruit mountain.

I tried to make Macaque look more unhinged on this one but since I didn't finish it I dont think its that noticable so fuck that but I also gave him a halo like the saints to symbolise his suffering and what not (thought it looked cool and fitting think whatever you want about it lol)

And that all ((((hollly mother))))

If you read this trough, thank you and congrats👏👏

#clown does art #lego monkey kid #lmk sunbreak #sunbreak #shadowpeach #lmk macaque #six eared macaque #lmk mk #lmk red son #fanfiction #lmk #lmk pif #princess iron fan

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kesujo · 2 months

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Chapter 1: Miss Personal Trainer

This year was the year Kang Seojun would get his shit together. He would learn more recipes and eat healthier, he would start working out and craft himself a body of the gods, and he would finally get a girlfriend and lose his virginity. After finally being able to move out of his parent’s house, after enjoying his newfound freedom, he admittedly slacked off—but that would change. With the new year came newly discovered motivation, and that started with the year subscription he purchased to the gym located near his apartment complex.

And boy was Seojun glad he chose to do that, because the personal trainer assigned to him was smoking hot. Seojun had seen his fair share of scantily clad idols, actresses, and models, but they all paled in comparison to her. She had perfect, milky-white skin and a slim physique but by no means was a slacker in the curves department. The way her formfitting gym wear followed the soft curves on her body, accentuating the fullness of her breasts and her hips, was absolutely sinful. He immediately wondered what running his hand across her curvaceous body would feel like, not long after catching himself and chastising his dirty mind for thinking about a woman he just met that way.

She introduced herself as Kim Taeyeon, and despite being about half a head shorter than himself, she gave off an extremely mature, knows-what-she’s-doing aura, which stood in stark contrast to her baby-faced appearance. Was Taeyeon in her thirties already or was she still in her early twenties? Seojun secretly hoped for the former as he wasn’t particularly keen on dating someone more than five years younger than him. Not that he ever stood a chance with her—on a scale of 1 to 10, she was probably an 11 in sexiness, cuteness, and general attractiveness. Seojun figured if he spent a lot of money and tried really hard, he was maybe a 7.

“So, Seojun, what’s your goal with working out?”

Her silvery voice was another thing: it was smooth, like warm butter, the words just seeming to flow out of her mouth like water from a steady creek. It was disarming, dangerously so; Seojun felt like he could listen to it all day. He then wondered what it sounded like moaning his name, shortly after catching himself with the salacious thought—what was with him today? He wasn’t normally like this. Was he that desperate?

“Um, I—” he stopped short, his heart skipping a beat at the delightful sight of Taeyeon giggling for a brief moment.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, please continue.”

Seojun hesitated, briefly wondering if she was laughing at him. “—I just thought that with the new year, that I should actually dedicate myself to working out and get a nice physique.”

“That’s admirable—sorry about earlier, I wasn’t laughing at you, I just suddenly thought of something funny.”

Seojun was perhaps a bit too relieved upon hearing that. “Oh, no worries! I didn’t take it that way.”

“The first thing we should do is create a workout plan accordingly. If you want to bulk up, you need to commit to changing your entire lifestyle. Are you prepared for that?”

He nodded. “Protein shakes, eating meals of only grilled chicken, rice, and steamed broccoli, right? Stuff like that?”

She nodded. “Right, something like that…” It may have just been Seojun, but he swore that a gleam appeared in Taeyeon’s eyes when she trailed off. He felt himself naturally shuddering; as sexy as the expression was, the sensation that passed through him wasn’t of arousal, but more akin to a primal fear. Like Taeyeon was a lion and he, a wounded antelope. “…but that’s all really hard work. There’s another way to achieve that goal, but you’ll have to just trust me.”

Honestly, Seojun was having a hard time focusing solely on his personal trainer’s words: the way she was holding her arms at stomach level meant that they inadvertently pushed her ample chest together and outwards, letting Seojun know that they were bigger than what the outfit initially conveyed. He felt bad for being so distracted by it and was thankfully able to catch most of what Taeyeon said, but the added factor of being completely alone in the building only added to the growing sense of anxiety and resulting self-consciousness he was feeling. When it came time for him to answer, Seojun had to actively wipe his mind from such thoughts, fearing they might leak into his response. “Oh, yeah, I would love to!”

He caught Taeyeon giggling again, a bewildered smile unknowingly forming on his face. “Great! Before we get started, I need to test you to see if you’re eligible. Would you come follow me home?”

Seojun found himself choking on thin air. “Wh—What?”

In the few minutes they spent, Seojun’s mind had already gone wild with fantasies. But not even in the wildest ones would he have dared considering Taeyeon taking him home.

“No? I knew it, it’s too strange to ask a client I just met to follow me home…” the adorable pout adorning her lips and the crestfallen expression on her eyes twisted at Seojun’s heartstrings.

“No! It’s not—” Seojun, with all his might, tried not to get his hopes up. If anything, she just proved herself to have pure intentions. “—it’s not that—well, I mean, it is a little weird, but I still trust you.” Even as disarmingly sexy Taeyeon was, Seojun had his inhibitions. What if she was secretly insane? What if she was just leading him to his doom? Seeing Taeyeon’s elated expression vaporized every last one of thoughts, leaving but one thin strand of doubt and self-preservation lingering. “But, um, what are we going to be doing?”

“Oh, don’t worry! I’m not like a psychopath or a serial killer or anything, it’s just I can’t conduct the test here with what we have.” There was something about her chipper, excited attitude that annihilated that last strand of hesitation. “Oh, and don’t worry about the test, it won’t hurt. In fact, I think you’ll like it quite a bit.”

There it was again. That mysterious, mischievous, sexy gleam in her eyes: a predator eyeing its prey. But as soon as it appeared, so quickly did it disappear, leaving Seojun to wonder if he was just seeing things.

“That sounds great. Are we going right now…?”

She nodded, walking past Seojun, grabbing his hand along the way. His heart skipped another few beats at the feeling of her pillowy, warm hand sliding into his own, her delicate fingers locking around his hand. “Depending on the results of the test, I’ll decide on your training regimen. Did you drive here?”

The question went right over Seojun’s head, too preoccupied with staring at the impossibly smooth hand gripping his. Shortly after, he noticed another more delectable piece of eye candy in the corner of his eyes. His attention summarily shifted towards it: Taeyeon’s softly swaying hips, her shapely butt, molded nicely by the black yoga pants she was wearing, amping up his heartbeat so much he could hear the frantic pumping of the organ in his ears.

Taeyeon’s delightful giggle again reached his ears, Seojun’s concentration breaking, his face turning a deep shade of pink when he looked up to see Taeyeon stopped, head turned around and looking directly at him. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be rude, I—”

“It’s quite alright.” At this point, Seojun had to be sure it wasn’t just him. That same gleam shone again in her eyes, this time mixed with a bit of a playful sparkle. “Did you like what you see?”

Again, Seojun was left bewildered. Wasn’t Taeyeon about to scream at him for objectifying her? Unless she was attracted to—no, there was no way that was the case.

“Y-Yes,” he admitted, his gaze locked fiercely to the carpeted floor of the empty gym, the tips of his ears undergoing the inferno of his embarrassment and shame. “You have a very nice body.” There was an immense desire to lift his head just a little bit to catch another glimpse of what lay in front of him as they continued walking; it felt as though someone placed a super magnet on his chin and another on the ceiling, but he fought it with every ounce of willpower he had.

This wasn’t like him. Sure, he was a virgin and never had a girlfriend, sure he masturbated regularly to the idols he looked up to, but he was never so disrespectful to a woman when she was right in front of him. What was wrong with him?

“Thank you!” Seojun, again, found himself surprised; Taeyeon’s response of gratitude was so sincere, he almost believed that Taeyeon wasn’t the least bit angry or disgusted or fed up with his behavior. “As I said, did you drive here?”

“No, my apartment is within walking distance.”

Taeyeon nodded in satisfaction, continuing to walk, her hand still firmly linked to his. Seojun let himself get pulled along, his eyes fiercely trained onto the ground, not daring move his eyes up even one millimeter. “We’re taking my car. It’s a bit of a long drive, so I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, I didn’t have any other plans for today.”

“How about tomorrow?”

As often as Taeyeon was catching Seojun off guard, one would’ve thought that there was a point at which he would stop getting surprised. Her follow up question was not that point. “Hm? Tomorrow?” It was only then that Seojun raised his head, making sure to lock his eyes on the silky hair on the back of her head. Wow, it looked so soft, like … no. He wasn’t about to let himself slip down another rabbit hole of fetishization of a woman he met not minutes ago.

“Hmm, never mind~” she sang, pulling the door open, a blast of cold air greeting them. “Let’s just do one thing at a time.”

“Ok.”

Hearing his stiff reply, Taeyeon let out a deeper, fuller laugh—jarring to be sure, but equally adorable and endearing. “Why do you sound so professional?” She turned around, Seojun quickly diverting his gaze. She cupped the hand attached to her with her other hand, rubbing it gently. “Did me catching you staring at my butt embarrass you?” To this, Seojun only gave Taeyeon a curt nod, sending her into another explosion of giggles. “There’s no need to be shy about that! There’s nothing wrong with appreciating a fine ass, even I do that from time to time. Come on, my car’s nearby.”

Hearing her hearty reassurance and her genuine smile was all Seojun needed to open back up; although he still struggled with looking at her while in the car, they made light talk in the hour-long drive to Taeyeon’s residence. In that time, Seojun learned that Taeyeon had already experimented with many different jobs (which reassured him that she wasn’t the early-twenty-something he feared her to be) before settling on this one as a personal trainer, and how she liked the job because it gave her the opportunity to work with people from all walks of life. The idea of Taeyeon working with other men unsettled him, which he knew was bizarre since he had no right to be protective over a woman he didn’t even know last week.

Seojun then shared about his job at an IT products company, how the work was rather mundane but interesting in its own little ways. Upon further prompting, he told her about his education, how he majored in engineering, how he had trouble finding a job at first and how he had to live at his parent’s house because of it, and how relieved he was after finally being able to move out and how going to the gym was the first step of his plan to truly grow into adulthood.

Although her attention stayed on the driving, Seojun could tell Taeyeon was listening attentively by the way she occasionally nodded while he talked and how her gaze landed on him whenever they pulled up to a red light. It was nice, so nice that Seojun had to repeatedly remind himself to not get his hopes up, that Taeyeon was just a really kind woman and that these things didn’t mean she was into him. But it was so difficult, every time their eyes accidentally met and she would shoot him a dazzling smile and his heart would just leap out of his chest, he felt his grip on reality slipping further and further away.

Thankfully, they arrived at her residence before that happened, and when they did, Seojun’s jaw dropped. While it was no mansion, it was certainly bigger than most houses he’s seen before, not to mention how large and fenced off area was: the nearest neighbor had to be at least 500 meters away on each side. “Here we are, home sweet home,” she announced, pulling into the garage. Was she rich? It certainly seemed so. Seojun was just happy Taeyeon didn’t seem to mind his blatant sexual harassment from earlier, lest he spend a few years in jail with the power and influence she could probably wield.

Seojun followed the tiny beauty inside, unable to help but notice a distinct lack of furniture. While the dining room had a table and chairs, the kitchen equipped with stools, there seemed to be not much else: it gave off the vibe of being not very much lived in. Another thing Seojun found a little strange was how completely unaffected the frail-looking woman seemed to be by the cold weather despite wearing clothes that exposed her entire midriff, both shoulders Taeyeon stopped at what appeared to be her living room. “Here we are.”

“Um, should I wait here while you get your things?”

“Hmm?” Taeyeon’s eyes bore into him, so much so that a shudder inadvertently traveled down his spine. “Things?”

“I-I mean, your, um, your, uh, testing … stuff.”

Kang Seojun didn’t know why he suddenly unable to speak, nor did he know why he suddenly felt so uncomfortable and hot. To his chagrin, he could feel his erection spring up with life, to which he uncomfortably shifted under the ardent gaze of the older woman, embarrassment flaring back up.

“Hmm, but I have everything I need,” her voice lowered as she closed in on him, Seojun unable to even stumble backwards, his entire body inexplicably frozen. She raised herself on her toes, placing her head right next to his ear, whispering the final two words, “right here.”

This time, a powerful shiver jolted throughout his body like an electric shock, Seojun letting out a barely audible gasp. Taeyeon’s hands made contact with his arms, a jolt of electricity shooting out from the point of contact, a moan escaping the red-faced man’s lips as she transitioned slowly from rubbing his arm to his shoulders back down to his chest where her supple breasts lightly pressed against him.

“T-T-Tae-Taeyeon, what—what are y-you doi-doing?”

“I’m testing you,” she replied in a soft, sultry voice, her eyes never once leaving Seojun’s downcast ones. “You said you thought I had a nice body, didn’t you?”

At this point, Seojun felt like he barely had the ability to speak, hindered by his arousal and excitement and anticipation, but equally so his anxiety and confusion and embarrassment. There’s no way someone like Taeyeon, someone who undoubtedly could take pick of the litter amongst men she wanted to have sex with, would choose an average person, a virgin, like him. So why him? Was she teasing him?

“Well?”

“Y-Yes…”

“Tell me, Seojun…” her deep, sultry voice almost seemed to echo inside his head. At the moment, he felt no different than what he imagined an injured antelope would feel trying to hobble away from a ravenous lion. “…do you want to feel it?”

Kang Seojun was awkward around women, he would say, but even he had caught onto the signs of what was happening. Even still, hearing the words coming directly out of Taeyeon’s mouth was a completely different matter. It was only then that Seojun locked eyes with Taeyeon, something that proved to be a fatal mistake.

All it took was the one glance, and he felt completely and utterly hypnotized. The rapid pounding in his ear of his heartbeat, the warm feeling of her hands along his chest, her sizable breasts brushing against his upper body, every sensation he was feeling felt like they had been simultaneously amped up to 11 and dulled down at the same time.

“Y-Yes.”

Taeyeon smiled even wider at his response. “What a good boy you are…” she cooed, planting a kiss on his cheek. Seojun flinched, the cheek burning at the point her lips met it, as if someone had poured lava on his face. He didn’t even register that Taeyeon had taken a few steps back until he caught some movement in the corner of his eyes.

Black wings sprouted from her back, unfolding with the sound of a soft flutter, like a bedsheet being unfurled from the dryer, and stretching many arm lengths out on each side. Horns simultaneously sprouted from her head, a thin tail springing out from behind and wound around her legs like a snake. “Mmm,” she groaned, the wings spreading out, following the motion of her outstretched arms, her tail likewise straightening out. When she pulled her arms back in, the wings and tail followed suit. “That’s better.”

In that confusing swirl of emotions he was feeling, fear suddenly joined them. “Wha—Wha—you—your—wings, tail—…are you a demon?”

Taeyeon laughed heartily at Seojun’s completely dumbfounded expression and response. “Mmhm.” Seojun thought he was going to regret making such an accusation and almost tried to take back the words as soon as they left his mouth. What he was not expecting was for Taeyeon to confirm it so quickly. But, despite what he was seeing, despite what was right in front of his eyes, he still couldn’t believe it. “More accurately, a succubus.”

Kang Seojun’s mind spun until he was left light-headed. A succubus? That certainly explained a few things, except for the small detail that they didn’t exist. Succubae were just myths, folklore legends created by lustful men who tried explaining away their infidelity to their wives, or something like that. But they didn’t actually have basis in reality. Right? … But how else was he to explain the body-length, midnight-black wings anchored to Taeyeon’s back, the dark brown horns growing out of her head, and the tail swishing about her feet?

“Come here.”

The way Taeyeon purred the words out struck him; they resonated inside his mind, not so much a suggestion but an order he felt extremely compelled to obey. Seojun felt his feet drag across the floor, his eyes locked onto the winged, tailed, horned woman—demon—before him. He stopped when he felt Taeyeon’s hands reach down to grab his, the tail whipping around and resting on the backside of his legs.

“You smell so sinfully delicious, it was a real stroke of luck that I managed to find you,” Taeyeon cooed while leaning into him, her surprisingly strong tail pulling him forward. The bewildered young man stumbled forward into the seductress’s arms.

Feeling Taeyeon’s breasts more firmly against his body and her hands wrap around his torso went by almost unnoticed by the now properly and utterly terrified man. “Delicious? Wait, you-you’re going to eat me?”

Seeing his wide-eyed reaction, Taeyeon couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “No, silly. I’m a succubus. When I refer to something smelling ‘delicious’, I mean your semen.”

Hearing the word coming from her was one thing, hearing the provocative way she said was another, but realizing the, in retrospect, obvious implications of it positively blew away any semblance of fear he held, his arousal coming back in full force.

He groaned under his breath, the raw amount of lust he was experiencing overwhelming him all at once. “My-my what?”

“Oh, don’t play innocent with me, boy.” Her tone took upon a more playful attitude, a playful smile teasing at her lips. “You’ve been imaging what it’d be like to fuck me since you first laid your eyes on me.” Seojun was speechless, only feeling his ears burn a shade brighter. “I admit that was me trying to prime you, although I was impressed with your ability to quell your thoughts even after I grabbed your hand. Most men wouldn’t be able to resist at that point to the degree you did, you know. Especially not virgins like you.” Usually, Seojun might’ve taken that word as an insult, but there was a certain way Taeyeon said the word, the way she seemed to treat the word with respect and even seemed to revere it somewhat, that made him think otherwise. “I really tried my best—well, almost tried my best, but the most I could get out of you was a couple of stares. That’s impressive; I haven’t seen anyone with as powerful a resistance to me in five centuries, maybe six.”

Seojun didn’t know what it was with Taeyeon’s words, but the confident way she spoke them while holding about her a dignified maturity, Seojun found himself immediately believing them: that she really induced those out-of-character lustful thoughts (which, honestly, Seojun was all too willing to believe; he was willing to take any explanation if it meant that he indeed was not that desperate), that his resistance really was impressive, and that she was at least a few couple of hundred, if not a couple millennia, years old. That certainly explained the mature sophistication she seemed to exude and the supremely confident body posture she always had, even when standing a half head shorter than him.

“I think you should be rewarded for your hard work, shouldn’t you?” Taeyeon’s suggestive purring was too much; Seojun could barely contain himself. He was so aroused, he didn’t know what to do with himself: his knees were shaking, his heart palpitating, his penis painfully erect, the muscles on him limbs tensed, it was like he wasn’t even in control of his own body anymore. However, somehow, he wasn’t jumping her, and found that it wasn’t his own willpower that was holding him back but Taeyeon herself. Taeyeon, who looked to weigh 15 to 20 kilograms less than himself minus the wings and horn, was holding him in place so tightly he couldn’t move a muscle. “Would you like that? For me to reward you?”

It was this that allowed him to understand that Taeyeon was in complete control, and while Seojun might’ve ordinarily been inappreciative of his first sexual encounter with a woman controlling him so thoroughly, the fact that it was Taeyeon meant the thought barely phased him. “Please.”

A wicked grin befell Taeyeon’s face, this time that predatory gleam shining proudly and clearly in her eyes. The lion had finally sunk its powerful teeth into its prey. “Good answer.” Her tail tugged down his pants and boxers in one motion with the strength of two hands, Seojun’s boner springing free, proudly prodding her cottony frame-hugging pants. He didn’t even think about this until just then, but his insecurity about his size popped up along with his erection.

“Sorry, it’s small…”

“Mmm mm,” Taeyeon replied, patting his cheeks reassuringly, “Size doesn’t matter to a succubus. We adjust to our partner’s size. That way, we can enjoy the dick of any man without qualms.”

Maybe it was the simple fact that Taeyeon was reassuring her, or maybe it was the firm way she did so, but Seojun felt the burden of not being able to please her dissipate. “O-Oh, that’s good.”

He suddenly felt a rush of wind and, in the next blink of an eye, Seojun found himself sitting down on the couch that was previously behind Taeyeon, the succubus kneeling between his legs, her hands firmly placed on his thighs, her face situated a good meter or two away from his manhood. Her wings floated behind her in a more tucked position; definitely less intimidating, and now that he was starting to get used to it, a strangely arousing sight. “Mmm, fuck,” the lyrical moan sent another anticipatory wave of arousal into Seojun’s body, “You smell so good, I can’t wait to feel your hot semen down my throat. You better be prepared, Seojun, because I’m going to wring your balls dry.”

His dick strained even harder against his body in reaction to the filthy words leaving Taeyeon’s shimmering, luscious lips. “Shit,” Seojun muttered, his fists clenching tightly at his sides, seeing her eyes clouded in lust trained fiercely onto his veiny cock. He wanted to do nothing more than to take Taeyeon’s head and shove his dick inside her mouth, but with the strength and speed Taeyeon just demonstrated to him, he wasn’t about to take any chances with her.

“Be a good boy and cum lots for me, ok?”

“Wait!” It was while Taeyeon’s hands were closing in onto the hardened organ between his legs that a thought suddenly occurred to him. She stopped, big eyes peering up at him, her tail swishing around in excitement also freezing in place. “I-I’m not forfeiting my soul for this or anything, am I?”

Taeyeon giggled again, tickled by the overactive imagination of her prey. “No, nothing like that; souls are the territory of other demons. All you’ll lose is some semen, which you’ll have replenished by tomorrow night anyway.”

Seojun nodded, Taeyeon taking that as a go-ahead to continue. Her palm was the first thing to make contact with his engorged member, to which Seojun let out a loud moan, his brows furrowing at the sight of her small hand rubbing the length of his shaft, its delicate fingers gingerly making their way around its circumference. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, his legs tensing and his toes curling as another wicked grin appearing on Taeyeon’s face as both hands firmly grasped his cock and gave it a few pumps. “Fuck,” he moaned, unabashed in the ecstatic pleasure shooting up his spine. All the lonely nights spent by himself paled like the light from a firefly to the blazing afternoon sun in the face of the beautiful seductress kneeling before him, her expert hands inducing an amount of pleasure he didn’t realize was possible.

Taeyeon leaned her head over, her wings casting a shadow on his legs, hovering her mouth just centimeters above the swollen tip of his dick, gathering saliva inside her mouth and dribbling it onto the sensitive sex organ. “Ah, shit,” the moan inadvertently escaped Seojun’s lips, the warm liquid slathering onto his cock sending an electric shock into his entire body. A shudder rolled through up his torso and down his arms and legs, his dick twitching in kind at the sudden contact. Taeyeon smiled in satisfaction at his reaction, using her hands to coat his manhood with the viscous, translucent bodily fluid. Seojun moaned again, throwing his head back in pleasure, his fists tightly clenched at his sides, the ecstasy coalescing into the precum that dribbled out of his dick.

Upon seeing this, Taeyeon’s eyes shone with glee. “Oh, how kind of you; an appetizer, just for me?”

Seojun whipped his gaze back down just in time to see Taeyeon’s head dive down, rubbing her hot tongue across the tip, collecting every last drop of pre-ejaculate onto the pink muscle before planting upon it a quick kiss. Seojun hissed, his body jumping at the sensation, his breaths turning into pants. Taeyeon’s hands never once stopped pumping, gliding along the slick length of Seojun’s cock thanks to the lubrication provided by her mouth, her throat flexing as the first bit of her meal traveled down her throat. Taeyeon’s eyes widened, freezing momentarily, her entire body experiencing a rolling shiver of ecstasy. “Fuck, that’s so much better than I imagined,” she groaned, her voice full of lust and impatience. Her eyes crossed, an even more fierce look of lust clouding her facial expression, her hands resuming its prior task with even more ferocity than before. Seojun let out a surprised yelp, another jolt of electricity caused by another wave of ecstatic pleasure causing his entire body to jump. Tilting her head down again, she reapplied the warm lubricant, Seojun jumping again at the feeling of the warm, viscous liquid coating his cock.

“Mmm, you’re so close, I can feel it,” she cooed, her face drawing closer to the erect member trapped inside her warm hands, gliding along its length with ease. “You want to stuff your veiny cock into my mouth and shoot your seed down my throat, don’t you? Wouldn’t you like to do nothing more than to fill my mouth with your hot cum? I offered you a reward previously, but don’t you want to collect it already?”

“Yes, please…” Seojun half grunted, half moaned, his willpower teetering on the edge of abandoning all notion of ‘rationality’ and ‘self-preservation’ to grab the succubus’s head and force it all the way down his pulsating erection.

“Why don’t you do whatever you want with me then~” the smiling seductress sang, the soft, seductive sound seeming to sway about ceaselessly inside his skull.

Taking the suggestion—or directive, Seojun couldn’t tell at this point—as an indication that he could take the reins, both hands shot out and grabbed fistfuls of her silky, silver hair and pushed her face downwards, directly onto his awaiting penis. “Mmph, fuck—” the initial entrance of his penis into the wet warmth of her tight mouth sent a series of ecstatic shudders of pleasure all throughout his body, his fingers tightening around the silky locks of hair, but soon was amplified at the feeling of her skillful tongue wrapping around his length, that warmth from feeling her saliva dribbled onto his cock now spread across the entire surface area of his penis. Her head obediently bobbed up and down with the rhythm of his thrusts, her wings moving in conjunction with their lust-charged movements. “—fuck, god, you’re so good—” he could feel the familiar sensation of a building orgasm on the horizon, the sensation only pushing him to thrust harder and faster into the lustful demon’s mouth, abandoning all pretense of embarrassment for orgasming so quickly. “Taeyeon, shit, I’m close, I’m so—uugh!”

Letting out something between a yell and a moan, Seojun’s hips pushed his cock as far back into the waiting mouth of the satisfied succubus, ropes of his thick semen depositing directly into the back of her mouth and down her esophagus. Taeyeon’s lips were tightly sealed around the perimeter of his cock, her throat flexing impressively as she gulped down every stream of his seed in stride, making sure not to waste a single drop of the immaculate sustenance. Only after the last of his ejaculate emptied into her mouth did she let go of her vice grip of his dick.

Her breath deepened, her wings flaring out, her entire body burning with life, as if someone had just splashed her with a bucket full of ice-cold water as she was about to doze off, her entire being consumed with an even greater lust and desire. Seojun’s grip on the back of her head loosened, his body slumping against the couch listlessly, grimacing as Taeyeon came up for air and licked the entire surface area of his cock one more time for good measure. “Mmm, I haven’t had such a good feast from a human in so long.”

“I’m glad—w-wait, Taeyeon?”

Seojun’s eyes widened as he watched her snake her way up his body, straddling his waist with her luscious thighs, her hands sneaking under his shirt and, with a firm tug, ripped it clean off his upper body. “I want more,” she whispered. It was only when Seojun felt Taeyeon rub her wetness onto his leg that he realized Taeyeon had already taken off her pants, her tail looping behind her and pulling the last bit of clothing left off her body.

“Oh god…” the words spilled out of his mouth, arousal returning with force upon seeing her perky tits spill out of the restrictive material. The combination of that and feeling her hot, sticky juices rubbing dangerously close to his groin caused his erection to flare back to full tilt. Now that they were naked in front of him, adorned at the peaks with pink, hardened nipples, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. Of course, he had seen boobs in pictures and videos before, but seeing them in person, and that they were Taeyeon’s, was a completely other story.

“You like them?” She teased, shaking her upper body playfully, the bountiful mounds jiggling deliciously in response. Seojun simply nodded, to which Taeyeon replied, “You can have them after giving me a second helping.”

Without warning, Taeyeon lifted her hips and plunged her vagina down onto Seojun’s cock.

“FUCK!”

Seojun’s back arched all the way, his head involuntarily thrown back, the loud sound pushed out of his throat as the surge of pleasure overtook his body.

“Congrats on losing your virginity,” Taeyeon whispered to him, cupping his face gently before pulling him into a fierce kiss.

Seojun felt paralyzed by ecstasy, her soft and warm lips smothering him and massaging his own, the tight, hot walls of Taeyeon’s pussy slathering his already slick cock with other bodily fluids, her vaginal lips depositing her fluids onto his crotch with every hot connection of their groins, drenched with the honey of the domineering woman. Taeyeon’s movements were ferocious, her naked tits pressed firmly into the young man’s bare chest, her lips and tongue overpowering his in an instant, her hips propelling her tiny frame up and down the ex-virgin’s dick. Seojun’s hands naturally found themselves cupping her round, shapely ass, an action that only spurred the succubus on more. Taeyeon’s tail crawled up his right arm, softly guiding the fingers of his right hand towards her puckered, unoccupied hole.

Taeyeon broke the kiss, Seojun barely able to see amidst the sea of pleasure and lust he was drowning in. “Are you ready?”

“For—for what?” The split second after he spoke, he felt the two fingers nearing her other entrance melding together, elongating into what he somehow knew was another penis. “What the fuck?”

“What are you waiting for, my ass isn’t going to fuck itself,” Taeyeon quipped, grinning at the adorable, perplexed reaction of the young man below her.

His arousal soon drowned out his sense of reasoning, and the suggestion was all he needed to completely disregard the anomaly of a second penis inexplicably growing from his two fingers. Instead, he quickly found the unattended hole and plunged it inside.

“Shit, shit shit, fuck, oh my god—” Seojun let out a barrage of swears, the added feeling of Taeyeon’s tight asshole joining the already overwhelmingly pleasurable sensation of her pussy clamping on his cock. Taeyeon’s back arched, pushing her voluptuous breasts further against him.

“Mmm, fuck…” Taeyeon’s melodic moans soon joined the chorus of Seojun’s own moans, adding onto the layer of arousal that was starting to overwhelm his body fatigued by the first orgasm. “…do you want the third one to be a pussy or an asshole?”

Before Seojun could ask, the fingers on his left hand similarly started to meld together, elongating into another firmly erect penis. “Uh, um, I-I don’t know…” He could barely process the question, much less dedicate the brainpower needed to make a decision.

“Hmm, another pussy it is.” Again, her tail guided the newly formed cock into the space just above her asshole, soon meeting another pair of flopping wet pussy lips, eagerly awaiting its guest. Without hesitation, Seojun pushed the third member into her third orifice, the resulting explosion of pleasure causing him to blackout for a brief moment.

“Mmm, you like that? Feeling two pussies and an asshole fucking your cock at the same time? Feeling my hot, tight walls on your dick?” Taeyeon’s hot breath heated up his ear, Seojun rendered completely unable to speak from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure assaulting every fiber of his being. “Your cock is hitting my cervix with each stroke, god, fuck, I feel so fucking full with three of your cocks fucking me so hard. Yeah, hmmph, fuck all of my holes harder Seojun, pump your dick deep inside me and fill all three of my slutty holes with your thick cum.”

While Seojun could feel his arms start to give way, he pushed through. The looming feeling of a following orgasm drove his body wild with adrenaline, his arms burning with the strain of pumping so furiously into the wanton woman. His chest heaved with the huge gulps of air his body demanded, Taeyeon’s erect nipples poking firmly at his skin at the apex of each breath. As he neared his orgasm, he could feel both his own and Taeyeon’s movements grow more erratic. The previously cold room now felt blazing hot, the only sound to be heard being the wet sound of skin slapping against skin, the chorus of their combined moans of lust, and the ruffling sound of Taeyeon’s wings moving in conjunction with the movement of the succubus bouncing ferociously on Seojun’s cock. He could only muster a grunt in warning before he exploded all at once, all three holes sucking up the delectable meal at once.

“Uunggh, fuck,” Taeyeon exploded simultaneously, the ecstasy overwhelming her superhuman senses, her hands vacating the back of Seojun’s head and onto the cushiony backrests of the couch she crushed inside her grip, a tsunami of juices flooding out to match the streams of semen flowing into the satisfied succubus. “God, oh my god, fuck, it’s too much…” she panted, even after Seojun’s orgasm subsided, her entire body burning hot with the acquisition of such fine sustenance.

Seojun, on the other hand, was completely and utterly drained—he lost all ability to move, his untransformed arms dropping to his sides and his head onto the backrest of the couch. It was almost scary, how little strength he had left: it felt like he was half-dead, barely having the strength to open his eyes. He never felt this drained after masturbating, what was going on?

“Ah, fuck, Seojun…” Taeyeon remained panting atop the corpse of a man that remained below her, still trying to take in the influx of ecstasy from the consumption of three simultaneous loads of Seojun’s cum. “…ah, god, I’m going to cum again, holy fuuuck!” The panting moan transformed into an ecstatic scream, another tidal wave of lust and pleasure washing over the demon lost in her own desire. Her body vibrated violently against the lifeless man, sending his cock awash with a second tsunami of her nectar.

When her orgasm finally subsided a minute later, Taeyeon collapsed onto the taller man, her head resting on his shoulder. “Oh my god, I haven’t orgasmed so easily in so many centuries, but never before in my millennia of living have I orgasmed twice from one feeding. You should be proud, Seojun.”

When he didn’t respond, Taeyeon lifted her head to see the lifeless, pale expression in his face. “Oh my god! I—I’m so sorry, I forgot you were—oh my god—…”

When Seojun next regained consciousness, he found himself laying on a soft bed, wrapped up in a warm, thick blanket. His consciousness immediately started to drift off again when he realized that something felt wrong: his bed wasn’t this soft.

His eyes opened and he jolted awake, his eyes scanning his environment to find a naked Taeyeon laying beside him, watching him with a bemused expression. “Good morning, Seojun,” her honey warm voice eased the panic in his voice. It wasn’t long before he found his eyes drifting onto her perky tits and the firm, pink nubs sitting atop their peaks, feeling his erection starting to grow once again. Noticing this, Taeyeon giggled, sitting up along with the equally naked man. “You really like my tits, don’t you?”

He blinked, turning his head away, his face red. “Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize, you can look at them all you want,” she insisted, her soft hand reaching out and gently caressing his cheek. Seeing Seojun’s eyes close with content like a puppy cuddling up to its owner brought a smile to Taeyeon’s face. “I’ve decided. Why don’t you become my pet?”

The idols that are to appear on this story are something that you can influence! If that is something you're interested in, go to this link and scroll down a little to the 'Foreword' and follow the instructions listed.

Otherwise, lemme know what you thought, and thanks for reading!

Link to next chapter here.

#taeyeon #kim taeyeon #snsd #soshi #smut #snsd smut #kpop smut #girls generation #succubae #The Pet of Kim Taeyeon

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cordeliawhohung · 4 months

Text

In Limbo [Chapter 6]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist

mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

no good deed ever goes unpunished

cw: minor depictions of violence, shady activities, non-con touching/groping, non-con kissing, a lot of hurt, no comfort, playfully shitting on people from Birmingham.

wc: 5k

Small chunks of salt stick to the tips of Simon’s fingers, dusting them like fresh snow. You were right; a simple order of chips really isn’t enough to keep him going throughout the night.

If anything, the saltiness makes him hungrier. It pummels his stomach until it’s grumbling at an annoying frequency, and it doesn’t do much to help the dryness in his mouth, either. He would have tried to order something if it wasn’t damn near impossible to get anyone to deliver to the club, and god forbid Price actually install a proper kitchen. But there would be no use for any sort of kitchen in a place like that, as it’s not good food that makes people swarm to the club like brainwashed zombies. It’s the booze. The music. A quickie in the stall.

Shady activities in an alleyway.

Simon huffs as he tosses the empty chip container in the small bin that sits in the corner of the surveillance room. Monitors upon monitors line the wall on the far side of the room, illuminating the concrete floor with a grey glow as faint music pulses through the air. He hates this room. Small, stuffy, and overheating with the computers and servers; he’d rather be out in the bitter November winter right about now. He’s out of luck tonight, because after nearly two weeks, Johnny’s research has finally bore fruit.

About time, too. All Simon has been able to think about for the last few days has been you. Sometimes when he closes his eyes, he can still see the outline of your body that’s ingrained in his mind. Your limp, exhausted form as you rested in the conversation pit — too overwhelmed to keep conscious. He doesn’t know why you haunt him so terribly. Perhaps Mrs. Price is to blame; she knows how he never likes leaving a job half done.

Or maybe it’s because you’re so… peculiar. For a woman he could only describe as being a skittish cat, you’ve suddenly melted into some other version of yourself. Your dislike of his proximity to you was obvious. Short words, awkward exchanges, yet the impulsive need to constantly get even with him, like you were trying to sweep up the breadcrumbs that lead to your door so he couldn’t follow you home.

However, when he visited you a few days ago to check on your hands — as promised — you seemed to be a whole new person. Well, not entirely. If you were the world’s most skittish cat before, you had now become the feral stray that would maybe eat out of the palm of his hand if he didn’t look at you while you did it. He would ask you questions and you would respond with something more than simple words or an uneasy, anxiety induced joke.

I’m just… glad you’re not doing it just for me.

He still wonders what you meant by that.

“Hey, you paying attention?” Johnny quips.

Simon blinks the glaze out of his eyes — one which still carries a now greenish-yellow hue around his cheekbone — and pushes the thoughts of you out of his mind as his attention fully settles on the monitors in front of him. A chair squeaks as Johnny settles back against worn, faux leather. He’s already got everything loaded up for whatever presentation he’s about to give.

“Waitin’ on you, Johnny,” Simon playfully retorts.

“Right,” he replies, rubbing his hands together, “so I’ve been trying to do some research on your dance partner here, and he’s a slippery fucker. Whoever he is, he’s good at covering his tracks up. At least through the methods I use to find people. Nothin’ on the media or anythin’ like that. Might as well not exist at all in the tech world.”

A hum rumbles in Simon’s throat as he crosses his arms. “You drag me in here just to tell me you found nothing?”

Johnny’s neck cranes to the side where he then looks up at him with a smirk. “Come on, Riley, when have I ever wasted your time?”

Both men turn their attention back to the monitor as Johnny begins to wind and rewind through footage from a few days ago. Everything happens fast; speedy bodies darting across view, and the comedic speed up of light snow falling on the ground, but not sticking. Static streaks across the screen as the footage warps, before it suddenly pauses again.

“Since I wasn’t able to find anything on this guy, I decided to sleuth through this video again, and I found something a little odd about this bloke here,” Johnny explains as he points to a male figure. Whoever it is, they’re faced away from the camera with their hands shoved deep into their pockets to stave off the cold. “He enters the alley before your pal does…”

The video plays at normal speed, and the faceless man vanishes behind the brick corner of the building a few meters down, just as Johnny described. He fast forwards, and everything plays at triple speed. Simon’s seen it all before. The man who accosted you enters the alleyway, and then you unfortunately come across him a bit later, but then something happens that he hadn’t bothered to pay attention to before.

The man Johnny pointed out leaves the alley, this time facing the camera. He’s fiddling with something in his hands, and upon closer inspection, Simon’s able to tell it’s a wad of cash. It’s quickly stowed away in his pocket, and that’s when Johnny pauses the video.

“He leaves as soon as Chip arrives, shovin’ cash into his pocket like he struck a deal,” he concludes.

Tense fingers grip the back of the office chair as Simon leans over Johnny’s shoulder, squinting at the face on the screen. He scrutinizes every detail possible through the fuzzy footage, and his jaw flexes as he huffs. Square jaw, visible stubble, and eyes just as shifty as his character.

“He looks familiar,” Simon mutters.

“He outta. Fucker works here,” Johnny drops.

A rancid, sour taste floods the back of Simon’s throat at that revelation, and his fingers tense to the point the imitation leather of the chair threatens to crack beneath his grip. Fury rises in the dark irises of his eyes as he leans back and grumbles. It seems like such a simple detail to miss. Something that he should have caught on to the other night, even in his sleep deprived state. If he had, he would have been several leaps closer to the real issue ages ago.

“Who is he?” Simon demands.

“Marcel Wylder,” Johnny answers as he twists in his chair to face him. “Works part time as one of the bartenders in the VIP lounge. Only really works on weekends, and according to the floor manager, he’s a good kid. Only twenty three years old. Always shows up on time, things of that sort.”

“Good kids don’t meddle with men who like to scare women in alleyways,” Simon retorts.

Johnny shrugs. “Guess we all have our dark sides… some more dark than others.”

It takes a few more moments for Simon to finally get himself to look away from the screen, and his eyes land on Johnny with a malice not meant for him. He’s not quite sure why this revelation angers him so. The sting of failure pricks at his skin too violently for him to ignore it.

“He here tonight?” he then asks.

“Yeah, he’s working on the second floor right now. Or, at least that’s where he was last, according to the cameras,” Johnny answers. He pauses to lick his lips and tilt his head at Simon. “You’re brewing something up in that head of yours. None of it looks too cheerful.”

Swarthy eyes glare back at the monitor as Simon commits this new face and name to memory. Marcel Wylder. Twenty three. Square jaw. Stubble. Thin eyes.

“Thanks for the intel, Johnny,” is all Simon says as he turns on his heels and walks towards the exit.

A high pitched squeak echoes off the dull white walls of the room as Johnny spins in his chair to watch him leave. All he can make out are straight set shoulders, clenched fists, and an aura that demands blood.

“Go easy on the kid!” Johnny calls after him, his voice too saccharine to truly mean it.

There are very rare times when Simon Riley feels like a savior, but he can’t deny the fact that he feels like Moses when he’s walking through John’s club. All it takes is a single glance or a firm hand on someone’s shoulder, and the mass of pulsing bodies splits for him like the Red Sea.

This trend continues as he jogs up the wrought iron spiral staircase that leads up to the second floor, and his path to Marcel is highlighted by the mob of patrons crowding the bar. He looks nicer tonight than he did the other night, and his square jaw almost appears defined now that he’s shaved that fuzz off of his face. Pristine dress clothes mark him as a perfect employee as he quickly fills orders and stuffs tips in his pocket all with a thankful smile. Doesn’t look like he’s doing half bad for himself, considering there’s a near topless woman serving booze next to him.

“Marcel!”

Simon’s voice booms louder than the bass of the music, and is so sharp all other sounds nearly seem to cease for a moment. That pathetic sod glances up from his work like a schoolboy being scolded, and his face grows pallid. All it takes is a simple gesture of his fore and middle fingers to get the man to slip from behind the bar and join him in the crowd. Smart kid. Everyone knows not to mess with Riley.

He leads the boy out behind the building like a lamb to slaughter. Just like a good offering, he’s quiet. Hardly questions anything besides an is everything alright? to which Simon doesn’t respond. Frigid wind attempts to cut through the formidable fabric of Simon’s clothes, but it seems to really do a number on Marcel. Hardly even ten seconds out the door and the poor boy is wrapping his arms around himself and trying hard not to shiver lest he look pathetic in front of the head of security.

A flickering security light is the only source of illumination in the shady alley, and even in the bleakness of the winter the garbage spoils and festers with a stomach-churning odor. Marcel stands cornered with his back to the wall, and he watches with trepidation as Simon’s hand dives into his pocket. Relief doesn’t fill his face until he realizes it was only a pack of cigarettes he was searching for, and not something nefarious.

The cancer-stick sits at home between Simon’s lips as he lights it and puffs out a steady stream of smoke until it’s well lit. A gentle breeze whisks it away into the air where it quickly dissipates among the smog smothered stars. Once he’s satisfied, he holds the pack out toward Marcel.

“You smoke?” he asks.

“Yes sir,” Marcel answers.

Simon shakes the pack, and a smile pulls at the boy’s lips.

“Cheers.”

As Marcel’s trembling hands work on igniting the lighter, Simon takes a better look at him. There’s hardly a single scar on him, and his hands are much too soft to truly be a part of any violent syndicate. Still, anyone can be a mole, even if they’re a smoothed face kid. Besides, he’s got a Brummie accent, and Simon fucking hates Birmingham.

“What d’ya do outside of workin’ here?” Simon asks. It’s kind enough. Simple, polite conversation — but there’s nothing civil about the look in his eyes as he chews on the filter of his cigarette.

“School, mostly,” Marcel replies.

Simon hums. “Uni?”

“Greenwich.”

“Smart.”

Another exhale of smoke dances between Simon’s lips as he huffs, dark eyes still trained on Marcel. He’s damn near shivering out of his skin as the black fabric of his uniform is designed to whisk away sweat and keep you cool in warm, humid temperatures. No matter, the boy can warm up soon enough — Simon intends for this interaction to be quick.

“Since you’re a smart kid, you’ll do well to be truthful with me then, yeah?” Simon prompts as he flicks a bit of ash onto the ground. “That bloke you met up with the other night? Who is he?”

Trembling muscles suddenly freeze, and the cigarette seems stuck against Marcel’s lips. There’s no exhale of smoke, or the embers brightening at the tip to show he’s inhaling; there’s nothing.

“Bloke?” he repeats.

“The fucker you met up with in the alley a week or two ago,” Simon snaps, already impatient.

Marcel jumps and the cigarette falls free from between his lips and fingers. It sputters and whines on the ground, where the boy quickly puts it out of its misery by stomping on the embers until they’re no longer glowing.

“Right, erm, Andrei I think it was.”

“And what did he want?” Simon presses.

“Well, he had this picture of someone. Some bitch he didn’t want hanging around here I suppose. Was asking me questions about her and stuff,” Marcel replies earnestly.

A bright pink dusts the tips of Simon’s ears, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s from the cold biting his skin, or the rage boiling through his veins. “What did she look like?”

“She was dressed mostly in black, kind of similar to our serving uniforms. It looked like it was taken through the window of some restaurant, but I don’t know which one, I swear.”

Sapori. Teeth nearly cut through the filter of the cigarette as Simon’s jaw clenches, and he rips the thing out of his mouth to toss it on the ground, not even bothering to stomp it out. This man — this Andrei — is getting too close to you for comfort. He thinks back to the way you reacted in the alley; how petrified you were. A terrible thought plagues his mind as he wonders what else has been done to you to get you to fear someone so terribly.

Simon doesn’t like where his mind is wandering.

“What questions did he ask about her?” Simon continues.

“Dunno, just regular stuff? I suppose? Like when she was here and who she was with. Things like that,” Marcel answers.

Simon raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I told him the truth. About how she was here on Halloween. I mean, I didn’t see much of her so there wasn’t a lot I could tell him. Honest. I think he was mostly looking for confirmation that she was here at all. He didn’t ask for anything else after that and sent me on my way.”

Acid eats away at Simon’s stomach as the chips he ate before this seem to have a hard time settling with the heavy ire disrupting his mood. Dense feet scrape against the ground as he takes a few steps closer to Marcel, who puts his hands up in defense as if that’s going to do anything against the raging storm barreling straight for him.

“That’s it, that’s everything, honest! I swear!” he pleads.

“I know. I believe you,” Simon says through gritted teeth.

Worn knuckles crash into the tense flesh just underneath Marcel’s sternum, stealing the very breath from his lungs. He sputters miserably as his back crashes against the brick wall behind him, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t breathe. A deep purple hue stains his face as his body begins to jolt and spasm uncontrollably. It’s impossible to keep himself upright with the wind knocked out of him, and he slowly slides onto the ground with his hands over his stomach like he’s trying to stop blood flowing through a wound.

“You’re a smart boy, so listen close,” Simon says as he crouches to Marcel’s new height. “Be careful who you call a bitch ‘round here, because if I hear you refer to a woman like that again, I’ll knock your goddamn teeth out, ya hear?”

Still sputtering and heaving, Marcel nods.

“Good. Now, that woman Andrei showed you? Forget her. She doesn’t exist to you. If he comes ‘round here again askin’ about it, you tell him you haven’t seen her, because you won’t. You’ve got nothin’ for him, yeah? Nod,” Simon continues, and Marcel complies. “If anyone ever starts askin’ about any of our patrons or workers, you bring that shit right to me. Don’t you ever go ‘round behind my fuckin’ back again. You think there’s anything that happens here that I don’t know about? Huh?”

After an eternity of struggle, Marcel is finally able to get a good gasp in, and a few subsequent breaths after that. That bright purple begins to fade from the paleness of his face, and he quivers and shakes his head.

“N-No sir,” he stutters. “Sor-ry…”

“Good, and don’t fuckin’ forget that.”

Simon pushes himself up to his feet and looks down at Marcel as he writhes and chokes on his achy diaphragm. He haphazardly digs around his pocket for his pack before he retrieves a single cigarette and tosses it toward the pathetic lump of a man at his feet. It bounces on the slimy ground before rolling to a stop with specks of dirt sticking to the filter — a shitty attempt at an apology.

“Take a breather, then get back to work,” he orders while he turns to leave, but Simon only gets a few steps away before he pauses. A stiff finger points at Marcel as his attention is quickly brought back to the boy. “Keep in mind, that’s not even half of what I’ve got.”

Marcel’s pathetic response is drowned out by the uproar of music that fills Simon’s ears as he returns back inside of the club. A thick wall of heat melts the frost off of his skin as his brooding figure cuts through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. His blood continues to boil with clenched fists and heavy breaths. It’s all consuming. Swallowing him whole. Simon doesn’t like being angry. He feels too much like his late father, and sometimes he fears that he looks like him, too.

Violent, angry, sinister — his intimidating build and threatening demeanor have always been something he’s tried to fight against. A stereotype he’s been trying to break. Yet now that he’s gotten one step closer to uncovering the monsters hiding in your shadows, he’s grateful for it. For once, it’s a tool he can use to his advantage.

Something he can use to help you.

Except while Simon is busy taking baby steps through this web of lies, you’re already in the maw of the beast. Frayed string tangles around your fingers as trembling hands attempt to keep themselves busy with a solo game of Cat’s Cradle. It’s already the 25th again, and just like every other month, you’re in perfect position. Sitting properly on a bench with a wad of cash tucked neatly into the envelope that sits inconspicuously on your lap. This is a dance you know well. A dance you don’t think you’ll ever be free from.

Washers and dryers hum around you and clash terribly with the ringing of your ears and the violent pounding of your heart. Trepidation plagues you worse than it usually does on your payment days because you don’t know how Marco is going to react about what Simon did to Andrei. You keep going through possibilities in your mind. Things you need to say to keep him off of Simon’s trail. Ways to apologize to keep him from getting upset. You’ve gone through every option your mind can come up with, yet it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. There’s something you’re still missing.

But you’ve run out of time.

Frosty air slices through the warmth of the laundromat and you try your best not to shiver even though you’re already shaking. Marco's cologne drifts along the air, mixing in dissonance with the fragrance of soap and fabric softener. Green eyes scan the small room as he takes note of the single mom folding clothes in the back of the building as her young son watches videos on her phone. It should be comforting to know that you’re not alone — but you’ve learned that you’re never safe, not even when all the cameras in the city are trained on you.

Your attention stays firmly on your hands as Marco waltzes up and makes himself at home next to you on the bench. The scent of him scorches your nose as his arm wraps around your shoulders. You try not to jump as he involuntarily pulls you closer to him, and you find your fingers clamping down hard on the string in your hands.

“Long time, no see,” he greets.

He’s friendlier than he normally is, and that terrifies you. His thumb rubs at your arm through the fabric of your jumper and you feel your heart leap up into your throat. He knows. He knows, and you’re about to pay for it.

“Did you hear about our good friend, Andrei? Got scuffed up pretty bad the other night,” Marco then prompts.

You swallow your heart down your throat and back into your chest. “Is he alright?”

“Define alright,” he hums. Long legs spread apart and bump into your thigh, crowding you further like he’s trying to lock you in a cage of flesh. “Busted lip, broken nose. Face is so goddamn swollen he sounds like he’s got a cold.”

Images of Andrei’s face from the other night sear your mind. Bright red blood trickling down his lips, an appalled expression on his face as if he had never met anyone able to put him in his place before. You should have known then that you wouldn’t walk away unscathed from something like that. You never do.

“What were you even doing there, anyway? At that club?” Marco then asks.

“I was delivering food,” you answer truthfully.

“You a delivery driver now? Thought you were a waitress,” he digs.

“Hostess…” you correct.

“Who were you delivering to?”

“My friend… her husband owns the club and she was hungry… so… I, well…” you lie.

Firm fingers dig into your arm as Marco pulls you closer, and you try to keep your bottom lip from trembling. “Ah, right. John fucking Price.”

Shocked, you finally bring yourself to look at him. There’s faint amusement on his face as he stares at the washers in front of him. A mixture of soapy water and colorful clothes dance around in the machine as it gently spins and agitates the fabric.

“You know him?” you venture to ask.

A smirk pulls on his lips as he turns his attention to you, and your blood screams at how close his face is to yours. “Don’t worry about that, babe.”

His eyes capture yours in a way that makes it impossible to look away, like you’re an unfortunate deer caught in the headlights of a car. He wanders down. Down, down, down until he catches sight of the unmarked envelope on your thighs. He grabs it and isn’t at all courteous about where his fingers brush in the process.

“How did that guy even know you were in that alley? The man who fought with Andrei?” Marco asks.

As he waits for your response, he hits the envelope against the top of your thigh as if he’s bored. Tap, tap, tap. Each time it touches you, you feel your stomach twist.

“I, uhm, asked the same thing. Said he heard us. Thought I needed help. Guess he was the bouncer outside the VIP entrance during that time. M-My friend said he’s the head of security,” you reply, weaving truth and lies seamlessly together.

“Yeah, I know who the bastard is,” Marco mutters in reply.

Something in you wants to press him for an explanation of what he means, but you keep your lips sealed as he folds up the envelope and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans. Your gaze finally breaks away from him as you glance down at your hands. They’re almost fully healed — nothing but faint scars and scabs. You untangle the string from your fingers as you begin to wind it up, hopeful that he’ll leave soon.

“Well, it doesn't matter. I’m sure it was all one big misunderstanding. No use in getting worked up over it, pet,” he sighs. A pause follows his words, one that’s interrupted by quiet giggling of the child still playing on his mothers phone as she folds clothes somewhere to your right. “Still, some damage was done. Andrei’s been an annoying fuck ever since the altercation. As much as I would love to let you get off easy, it doesn’t really look too good if I’m letting some sweet, pretty thing walk all over me, now does it?”

Your eyes flutter shut as he speaks, and you attempt to mentally prepare yourself for whatever blow he’s about to deal to you. Of course it was naive to think you’d get out of this easily. In fact, you had planned to be hurt in some type of way. All you wanted to do was throw Marco off of Simon’s trail, and though it feels like you’ve succeeded for now, you’re not quite sure if you even accomplished that much.

“It doesn’t,” you pitifully agree.

Marco smirks. “Because of that, your monthly payments will be increased by five hundred starting next month.”

The very blood coursing through your veins turns to ice, and tears blur your vision when you open your eyes. Five hundred. A brutal panic wreaks havoc in your chest. You want to sob, and scream, and thrash but his hand is still on your arm, keeping you chained to him. Gluttonous fingers stain your skin and his leg is still pressed against yours and you can feel the disgusting warmth of his body and you can’t. You can’t. You want to rage, but you’re cornered and trapped, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“B-But that’s… that’s fifteen hundred a month, I… I’ve hardly- I can’t make that.”

You’re crying now, and you hate it. Hate how weak and pathetic you are. White hot tears cook your cheeks as they travel down your face, and you’re trying your best not to hiccup. Suddenly, you’re a kid all over again. Fawning, trying not to flinch as his hand reaches for your jaw to turn your face to him. His breath smells minty as it fans across the wet streaks on your face — he’s so close you can almost taste the menthol. There’s a small frown on his lips, something that almost looks sincere, but his eyes are too hungry for it to be real.

“Look at you,” he shushes. His hand moves up to cup your cheek as his arm keeps steady and firm around your shoulders.“Getting all upset over this? If it means that much to you, we can always negotiate lower, babe.”

It takes an eternity for his lips to meet yours, and once they do, everything freezes. The only thing you can comprehend is the ringing in your ears and warm shame on your skin. It’s degrading. Humiliating. A terrible reminder that you’ve never really belonged to yourself. Never really belonged to anyone or anything but him.

Things get worse when his tongue pushes past your lips. Everything becomes ten times louder — the washers and dryers, the video on that damn phone, Marco’s slight moan against your skin. You make a pitiful attempt to fight back by pressing your hands on his chest, but he only pulls you closer, holding you tight like a coiling snake.

Something in you demands blood. You feel obligated to bite down, to sink your teeth into his tongue until the mint in your mouth is replaced with iron and copper. When you were a kid, your dad taught you how to throw a punch. You wonder what he would think if he saw you now, too afraid to fight back.

Once he’s had his fill of your fear, Marco pulls away, but you still can’t breathe. Using his thumb, he wipes a stray tear from your face, and you can tell by his slick snicker that he savors the feeling.

“For that, we’ll drop it down to three fifty,” he whispers. He places another kiss against your lips — something chaste and quick — before he releases you and stands to his feet. “See you next month, pet.”

Marco leaves just how he arrived — with a gust of bitter, frigid wind. He’s taken something from you that you won’t get back, and it’s left you feeling empty on that bench. So void, so barren of anything, that you can’t even bring yourself to move. All you can do is sit there and curse yourself for being just as worthless as the day you were when you first got yourself stuck in this mess.

Shuffling sounds on your right, and you nearly jump out of your skin and look up at the source of the sound. It’s that lady and her son. You’d nearly forgotten about them. A small basket of neatly folded clothes sits on her hip as she’s holding the boy's hand to lead him out of the laundromat. There’s a look of disgust on her face, like she can smell every single sin that’s ever been forced upon you. As if you are at fault for the grotesque display of affection you were made to endure.

As she exits, you try not to think about why she didn’t help you. If anything, you’re grateful for it. No more favors. No random acts of kindness. It never turns out well. No good deed ever goes unpunished. Instead, you rise to your feet a few minutes after she leaves, wiping your face clean before you brave the cold streets of London to make your way back home. You promise yourself that once you get home, you’ll wash your mouth out with soap, and then call Sapori to see if you can pick up an extra shift for tonight.

No matter what, you can’t take Marco’s offer — that terrible promise he made you all those years ago. Maybe one day you won’t have a choice, but for now, you’re content on working until your hands bleed.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mafia!ghost #mafia!141 #f!reader

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ckret2 · 4 months

Text

Chapter 53 of human Bill Cipher not properly appreciating the fact that Mabel is his only friend on Earth:

Mabel has read a book about Bill's home dimension and is prepared to interrogate him all about where he comes from.

Bill is willing to do anything to avoid being interrogated.

(Featuring SEVEN illustrations, provided by 🌈 MABEL 💖)

####

Flatworld, from what Mabel had read, was probably literally the worst place to ever exist.

The book was a hundred pages of an old-fashioned formal-sounding super boring guy rambling on about the most egregiously evil society Mabel had ever had the horror of reading about.

Society consisted of a bunch of geometric shapes—which in concept sounded half nerdy and half adorable—but they'd made a brutally oppressive government organized by quantity of sides, with infinite-sided circles at the top and three-sided triangles at the bottom, and one-sided lines—women—oppressed into near silence. Career options, educational opportunities, who you could love, were all determined by your sides. Irregular shapes—quadrilaterals that weren't squares, triangles that weren't equilateral, anyone with a side too long or too short—were presumed from birth to be criminally insane. Each generation had sons with one more side than their father—and they had to, because having higher-ranked sons was the only way families could climb out of poverty. When babies were born with too few or irregular sides, poor families abandoned them—or worse—and rich families put them through oft-fatal bone-snapping surgeries to regularize or increase their sides. Knowledge of the third dimension was considered heretical, and anybody claiming it was real was locked in an insane asylum.

There was a lot of mathy stuff in the book about a square meeting a magical sphere and going on educational adventures to the higher and lower dimensions; but most of it passed by her in a blur. When she'd finished reading last night, Mabel had lay in bed for an hour, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about dead baby shapes and fighting the urge to wake Bill up just so she could hug him; until she'd finally drifted off and woken up in her own bed.

At least, thank goodness, the bit about banning colors so lower shapes couldn't contour themselves to look like higher shapes was false. But she was sure that at least part of the story was true. And it had happened to somebody she knew. It was a lot to process.

So she processed it the way she usually did the stories that weighed on her: by creating a self-insert and pulling out her art supplies.

####

"You're drawing fan art of Flatworld?" Bill asked warily.

"I wouldn't call it fan art. I'd say it's more of a... thoughtful artistic critique. I don't think I'm a 'fan' of the second dimension," Mabel said. "No offense."

"Sure."

Mabel had designed a shapesona of herself: a pink heart with a rainbow-colored outline, a big sparkly eye, and skinny black stick limbs like Bill's. If, as Bill had said, colors weren't illegal, she didn't see any reason she couldn't be rainbow. The heart shape was maybe unconventional, but Bill hadn't said she couldn't be a heart yet, so she was sticking with it for now.

She'd honestly expected Bill to come over and interrogate her about her creation long before now. Usually, when she was doing art and he was unoccupied, he was hovering right by her, examining her work and dropping hints—some more subtle than others—that she should draw him next. But she hadn't immediately noticed when he'd silently drifted into the room, and she wasn't sure how long he'd been there before speaking up. He was still leaning on the wall, arms crossed, watching askance from halfway across the living room as Mabel worked with her crayons, as if she were playing with a chemistry set and he was trying to figure out if she was building a bomb.

"Is Flatworld really about your world?" Mabel asked. "Did you tell Edward Bishop Bishop all that stuff? With the circles and all the laws about shapes and stuff?"

Bill mulled over the question, staring into space. Mabel had never seen his face look so inexpressive before—at least, not since his first night as a captive, after he'd gotten all the screaming out and had looked too exhausted to feel. "We talked," he conceded. "I'm surprised you got your hands on it. I suppose Stanford brought it up."

Something in the back of her mind pricked up defensively—what was that supposed to mean, he was surprised she got her hands on it?—but she pushed it back down. "Yeah, he told me and Dipper about it when you guys got home yesterday," Mabel said. "But you brought it up to me first!"

"No I didn't. When?"

"A few weeks ago? You mentioned Edward Bishop Bishop."

"I don't remember that," Bill muttered. "I probably didn't think you'd make sense of it."

"Hey!"

"You didn't make sense of it! Ford had to tell you about it."

"Yeah, but—mean!" She shoved aside her drawing and started on another one, grumbling, "I could've made sense of it if I'd looked it up."

What was up with Bill today? He wasn't usually this much of a jerk. To her. Lately. Plus, she thought they'd really had a moment yesterday! But Bill had had a rough couple days. Maybe he was just tired and cranky.

A wiser person might just leave well enough alone. But a wiser person wasn't exploding in their brain with curiosity about just how bad Bill's life had really been. There was something itching at the back of her head, had been itching since she'd woken up—something about Bill, something important, she was sure of it—but she couldn't quite put together what it was. She just needed to talk to Bill long enough to figure it out.

"So..." She glanced up from filling in a shape yellow, "were lines really executed if they didn't make noises all the time so everyone always knew where they were and they couldn't sneak up and stab anyone?"

Bill scoffed, rolling his eyes, as if the very idea was stupid. "It wasn't that extreme. Making a peace cry is like a human saying 'coming through' when they're trying to squeeze past somebody. Lines are just taught to do it in public because it's easier not to see a line, that's all."

"If they didn't, were they executed...?"

"No. They were just rude."

That was a relief. Mabel had been worried for her fellow ladies. She was plenty noisy, but she didn't think she could remember to make constant sound any time she was around other people. She turned back to coloring her newest drawing, but watched Bill out of the corner of her eye. "Is it true that rich people killed almost all of their babies by giving them surgery to break their sides?"

The corner of Bill's mouth curled in a sneer. "Do I look like a pediatric surgeon?"

"Um." Not a welcome question. She tried to backtrack to something softer. "So, in the second dimension, the outside of your body is just your outline and your guts are everything inside the outline, right?"

He gave her a wary look. "Yeah."

"So your bow tie is basically in your stomach."

Bill sucked in a deep breath; but quickly caved in to the need to be the most correct person in the room. "More like around my esophagus, but. Sure."

"So, where did you wear it when you were back in the second dimension? Was it on your side? Did you have to wear two so people could see them from both sides—"

"I didn't need a bow tie then."

Mabel stared at him. "What do you mean, you didn't 'need' it? What do you need it for now?"

Bill ignored the question. "You know, I didn't think Flatworld was an interesting enough book to deserve this much attention! Especially not from you. You like fun stories." It felt oddly like he was criticizing her for having read it.

"Well—yeah, but it's about your home! That makes it fun!"

Bill raised his brows.

"Right? Doesn't it?"

"Kid." Bill laughed condescendingly. "Don't give me that. You read an entire book. In the summer. About math. With a downer ending where the narrator goes insane and gets locked up. That's some people's idea of a fun time, but I know it's not yours."

Maybe "fun" was the wrong word—but it was still important. She was glad she'd read it. She'd cared about it. She'd cared enough to know Bill was describing it wrong. "That's not what happened. The square got locked up because he kept telling everybody the third dimension's real."

"Like I said! He went insane!"

"But he's not insane. Everyone says he is, but he's right about the third dimension! It's everyone else who's stupid!"

"So what," Bill said. "The things he knows mean he'll never be able to see the world the way other shapes do, and no matter what he does he'll never be happy with his home. If that's not insanity, what is?"

Last year, she'd heard Bill agree when Gideon called him insane. She'd always wondered. "Is that why you're insane?"

Bill shot Mabel a furious look. That was the wrong thing to say. "Shooting Star—"

(Oh no, she thought, he's using my full name.)

"—what's with the third degree." Bill crossed the room to lean on the other side of the table. He gave her the guarded glare of a guilty suspect facing down a cop in an interrogation room—and trying to figure out whether he could kill the cop before he was stopped. "What do you think you're trying to dig up?"

"I'm not trying to 'dig up' anything," Mabel said. "I just want to learn more about you!"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you do! Who doesn't wanna know all about me! And right after I trusted you yesterday! Do you think you're the first person to start digging into my history? 'Hey, does anyone know what made Bill Cipher so crazy'?" Bill laughed bitterly. " You're not even the first Pines to try it. Not even the second."

"That's not what I'm trying to do!" said Mabel, right before it dawned on her that that was exactly what she was trying to do.

"Right. I'm sure whatever you learn will make a nice two-page spread in Journal 5. Another secret you and Fordsy can add to your Mysteries, huh? Think he'll draw the dead babies?"

She thought back to Portland—to asking Ford what had made Bill so awful. I think if anyone’s ever had a chance of finding out what made him like he is, it might be you. Mabel shook her head. No. She didn't want to be that. "I'm not Grunkle Ford's spy, I'm your friend. I just—I just want to understand you—"

"Yeah, and the 'friends' who understand you are the most dangerous kind." Bill laughed harshly. "Your uncle and brother couldn't figure me out! And Sixer's been trying for years! So what makes you think YOU can?"

He was calling her stupid. He'd been calling her stupid all day. That was why he was so surprised she'd read the book.

"You—shut up!" She wadded up her latest drawing and flung it in Bill's face. (He snatched out of midair.) "All I did was read a book I thought was important to you, you jerk! I thought you'd like that!"

She hadn't meant for that waver to enter her voice. But she was exhausted from too little sleep and worrying about dead baby shapes and worrying about Bill's fear of death and worrying about what Ford had said about not giving Bill a second chance, and now Bill was being a jerk, and maybe he was just exhausted and upset too, but he was treating her like she was stupid—and there was that pathetic little waver.

But it made Bill pause in his onslaught; for a moment, he averted his gaze. Still, he said, "Maybe if you'd thought to ask—"

"You were asleep! I was being nice! And letting you sleep! In my bed!"

"But—"

"Just go away!" She pointed at the doorway.

Bill's face hardened again. "Fine!" He flung his hands in the air and stomped from the room. "Who wants to hang out with you when you're in such a bad mood, anyway."

Mabel glared at her stupid drawings so she didn't have to watch Bill's stupid back as he left.

Why had she bothered?

When Bill was out of sight, she dropped back onto her chair, pulled her sweater over her face, crossed her arms on the table, and buried her head in them.

####

Bill didn't think to smooth out the paper Mabel had flung at him until he was out of the room.

On one side she'd drawn Bill—properly triangular—with an expression that he thought was supposed to be fear and on the other side several angry-looking shapes, pentagons and hexagons, colored gray and black, being led by a pale figure shaped like a human skull and wielding a scythe; and between them, a bright pink heart, standing in front of Bill protectively, hands on its "hips," glaring down the would-be assailants.

The corners of Bill's mouth sagged down.

####

The bell rang and the shapes began filing out of class, muttering to each other about how they thought they'd done on the test. As the triangle cheerfully left the room, the teacher caught him by the arm again to pull him over. "Just a minute," she said. "I want a word with you."

Oh, he bet she did. Breezily, he said, "Sure thing! What is it?"

"Who was the first triangular president?"

"Wh— Th—" He spluttered indignantly. "There's been like—seven of them."

"Nine. And I'm only asking about the first one."

"How should I know!"

"You knew an hour ago."

He sputtered again. "That was— That was a multiple choice test! And it was an hour closer to when I'd studied! And I can focus better in the classroom! You can't expect me to remember anything in the hallway. You're using intimidation tactics. How could anyone focus under these conditions—"

"I don't know what you're doing," the teacher said, "or how you're doing it. Maybe I never will. But..." She sighed, and the anger seemed to leak out of her, and that only made him more nervous. "But whatever you're doing—you won't be able to do it forever. What will you do when you're out in the real world and you didn't learn anything in school?"

Her pity was worse than being hated had been. At least when he was hated, he knew she only looked down on him because she had something against him. What did he do with pity? With concerned warnings about the "real world"? He'd never heard anybody use the phrase "the real world" as anything but a threat. He hoped he was never out in the real world.

"Who cares! I'll never need any of this!" He should have shut up there. He didn't: "You're just jealous that me and my family make a million times more lying to everyone than you'll ever get trying to teach them the truth!"

His teacher gasped in shock; but before she could say anything, he was halfway down the hall with no intention of slowing down.

The next day, he stayed home, and his mom visited the principal. The day after that, he had a new teacher.

####

He was stupid. He knew that. He didn't know when he'd gotten stupid—if it was because he'd started touring so much and missing classes, or if he'd always been dumb and just didn't notice it before he registered just how often he was using his all-seeing eye to pick up answers that other kids couldn't see. It had crept up on him. But there it was. He was stupid, and he was too stupid to figure out what to do about it.

There was a big difference between being able to see everything, and actually knowing anything. And he might be all-seeing, but an idiot like him would never be all-knowing.

####

A trillion years later, he still didn't remember the name of the first triangular president. And look how far he'd gotten without it.

Lunch was toast and peanut butter. The toaster was the only source of heat he could use without having to ask his captors for access; and peanut butter and bread were the most nutritious foods he could reach without asking his captors to open a cabinet or fridge. He was sick of toast and peanut butter.

He wasn't about to ask Mabel to help him get lunch.

Well. He'd succeeded. He'd known just the right thing to say to get Mabel to lay off and drop the topic. Did he feel accomplished?

He stared out the window as he ate—there were hazy gray clouds on the horizon, beyond the trees, slowly inching closer—and he tried not to look at the picture Mabel had flung at him.

####

Mabel felt dumb about being upset that Bill thought she was dumb.

Because of course he did. Sure, he liked her art and he liked dance music and games without rules; sure, he was a willing student when it came to stuff like making friendship bracelets or artistically mixing sprinkles; sure, he was a weirdo fun guy; but he was also a Smarty McSmartypants, just like Dipper or Ford. And Mabel was the Girl Dipper who brought home C's. And even a weirdo fun Smarty wouldn't want to hang out for long with someone who couldn't keep up with nerd talk. He probably just... put up with her for as long as he could stand pretending he took her seriously, but he'd finally lost his patience...

And shown his true, jerky colors again.

Maybe Ford and Dipper were right about him; maybe he couldn't really change.

Except... there was something he'd said. And right after I trusted you yesterday. When he'd cried in front of her. When he'd told her about his fear of death.

He was being a jerk because he thought she'd betrayed him. But by reading a book?! Why couldn't he ever just explain himself? Did he think whatever was bothering him was obvious, and she was stupid for not figuring it out?

Something she almost but didn't quite remember thudded like a drum inside her brain. Dum-dum-dum. Dum-dum-dome.

From the entryway, Bill called, "Hey, star girl. I—"

He stopped in the doorway. Mabel had taped 28 pieces of paper together, drawn on a door knob, written "DOOR" at the top, and taped it across the doorway into the living room. Irritably, Bill said, "It doesn't work like that. This is obviously paper."

"Bill," Mabel grumbled. "Go away."

"No. I'm gonna say something to you."

He didn't phrase that like he was giving her a choice in the matter; but all the same, she said, "I don't wanna hear it."

"You know that horror story about a bride with a velvet ribbon tied around her neck, and her head falls off and rolls down the stairs when her husband unties it?"

She did. She and Dipper had read a book of scary stories to each other on Halloween a few years ago while waiting for it to be late enough to go trick-or-treating. In spite of herself, he'd piqued her curiosity. She reluctantly turned to look at him. "Yeah? So?"

Bill was leaning in the doorway, head tilted against the doorframe so he could see Mabel around the paper door curtain. "That's why I wear a bow tie."

Mabel blinked. "Wait—if you didn't, your head would fall off? What part of you is your head? How did it come off? Were you decapitated? Did you get decapitated for knowing about the third dimension—?"

"It doesn't keep my head on; it keeps my skin on."

Mabel's nose wrinkled. "Gross! How?"

"Remember how you said my outline is my skin and all my organs are inside the outline," Bill said. "That didn't change when we left the second dimension! We had to get exoskeletons on our top and bottom sides so solids like you can't stick you fingers in our guts. My bow tie keeps it tied in place."

"Whoa." So that was why they hadn't seen Bill's organs before. "Do you ever take it off?"

"Mostly when I'm eating!" He knocked on the doorframe. "So can I come in now?"

Of course. He'd been using information to buy his way back into her good graces. (No—that was what somebody who didn't think Bill deserved a second chance would think. He was making up for earlier by answering one of her questions about him.)

She took a deep breath, turned to face Bill, and said, "You didn't talk to me like a friend earlier."

"I—" Bill grimaced, looked at the ceiling for help, and conceded, "I mean—It's how I talk to my friends, but all right, I know you're not used to that—"

"Nobody should be used to that!" Mabel said. "What would Love Bunny say?"

"Wh—?! I— Th— You—" His voice cracked as it jumped higher, "What do I care what a cartoon rabbit thinks about—"

"What. Would. She. Say."

Bill's face screwed up in agony. He crossed his arms. "Ugh."

"Biiill?"

Eyes squeezed shut, Bill said, "She'd say my breath smells like I've been eating mean beans."

"Aaand?"

"I'm not going to say it. I won't say it."

"And you need to eat your nice rice!"

Bill let out a long, slow sigh.

"Say it!"

"This is my penance," Bill muttered toward his feet. "This is my penance. This is fair." He took a breath. "And... I need to eat my nice rice."

Mabel nodded. He'd confessed his sins.

"I think we're out of nice rice," Bill said, "but I've had the peanut butter of kindness and the toast of remorse. Good enough?"

She considered it. "Yeah. You can come in."

Bill batted aside the paper door curtain and ducked into the room.

He sat across the table from Mabel and set down the paper she'd chucked at him amongst her others. Mabel glanced at the drawing, embarrassed of it now; but Bill didn't say anything about it.

He just propped his cheek against his hand and started looking over her other art.

Mabel sat there with her hands under her legs, watching his spotlight eyes rove over the table, feeling like she was waiting for a teacher to grade a poster she'd made for class. He saw a stop sign red octagon in sunglasses that was labeled "Bill's parole officer" and snorted. She wasn't sure if it was an amused snort or a derogatory snort. His gaze stopped on her attempt to figure out how Flatworlder anatomy worked, and didn't move farther. She'd probably gotten everything wrong, hadn't she?

She couldn't stand waiting for him to pass judgment on her art. "You think they look dumb, don't you."

Bill took a moment to reply. He didn't look up from her drawings. "I don't think you're dumb, Shooting Star."

"You think I'm dumber than Dipper and Grunkle Ford."

Bill winced. "I don't." At her dubious look, Bill amended, "Only Stanford! And that barely counts, all humans are dumber than Stanford. It doesn't mean I think you're dumb-dumb"

"Could've fooled me," Mabel muttered.

"You bet! I'm good at fooling people. All I have to do is say things I don't mean that make people feel the way I want." His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. "I wanted you to feel like the conversation wasn't worth it. That's all."

She stared at him. "By letting me know you think I'm stupid?!" She chucked a crayon at his face. "You could have just told me you didn't want to talk about Flatworld!" Her voice was getting that stupid waver again. "If I'd known, I would have dropped it! I didn't want to upset you!"

"I wasn't upset, it's just a stupid thing to complain about! It's just a dumb book! It'd—it'd take a real loser to be bothered by talking about a dumb book! I'm not..." He sighed harshly. "I know you weren't trying to get on my nerves, kid. It'd mess up your sticker chart." (Mabel hadn't even realized he knew about her sticker chart.) Almost inaudibly, he added, "M'sorry."

She'd never heard him apologize before.

She let out a slow breath. "Biiill. I don't think you're a loser."

He muttered something she couldn't make out as he flipped his hood on and pulled it down over his burning face. "Forget it. Move on. It's in the past!"

"If you're so embarrassed—"

"Not embarrassed!"

She chucked another crayon at his chest. "Then why are you telling me this now?"

Bill shut his eyes; took a deep breath; and, with a look of solemn dignity, and no small amount of pain, he said, "Because. Teddy Tender says. Our friends can't help us feel better if we don't tell them why we feel bad." He almost, almost managed to say it without sounding sarcastic.

Mabel burst out laughing. Bill pulled his hood lower.

Bill didn't even like Teddy Tender—he thought he was the stick in the mud of the Color Critters—and he certainly wasn't actually trying to follow Teddy's friendship lessons. He was just... saying something he didn't mean to make Mabel feel the way he wanted. And he wanted her to feel better.

No matter what anyone else said, he could change. And he was changing.

"Apology accepted," Mabel said. "Gold star!" She peeled one off a nearby sticker sheet and held it out.

Bill eyed it, like a man so hungry he was too nauseous to eat eyeing a pizza; and then snatched it from her and stuck it in the middle of his hoodie.

Mabel said, "And... I guess I'm sorry for getting all diggy about your home world." Even if she hadn't known it was bothering him, she probably should've guessed, shouldn't she? With how crabby he'd gotten. "I just got all excited and curious and... kinda worried about you after reading that book?" She sighed. "I understand if you don't wanna talk about it. You probably hated your dimension."

"What? He lurched forward with the vehemence of his denial—"Of course I don't hate my dimension!" Mabel leaned away at the sudden rage that had flared up in his eyes; but it died just as quickly and Bill immediately reeled himself back in, sitting back, crossing his arms: "I mean, come on, kid, use your head: you read a book about a culture. We're talking about an entire dimension. Would you hold a grudge against Jupiter if an ant bit you on Earth?"

Even as casually as he played it off, Mabel was sure he hadn't meant anything as calm and measured as claiming it was technically irrational to hate an entire dimension. He meant—emphatically, with his whole heart behind it—that he didn't hate his home dimension, at all.

Then why didn't he want to talk about it? (Then why had he destroyed it? Or was not hating it just another fiction he'd made up because he'd prefer that reality? Or was the destruction itself a lie? He hadn't mentioned it once since they'd started talking about Flatworld. Or did he think she didn't know about that and didn't want her to know? Or...)

Something had been churning in her subconscious since she woke up, and now—watching Bill ball up around himself as he squirmed around the things he didn't want to say—it finally dawned on her. Two words. Another piece of the Axolotl's poem. She tried to hold the words in her head until she could write them down, repeating them over and over—Misses home. Misses home.

Quietly, she asked, "Then... don't you want to remember it?"

His face spasmed, like it was nearly cracking in two—and then smoothed out. His face was blank. He didn't answer for a moment. "The last time I told a human more than two sentences about where I'm from... he gave me the universe's most depressing geometry textbook."

Oh. Maybe Bill was following Teddy Tender's friendship advice. "That's because you were talking to a boring old-timey math teacher, duh."

He laughed wryly. "You may have a point!"

If Bill assumed anybody prying into his history was either looking for the reason something was wrong with him, or publishing a whole book about the super bad parts... No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk to her. "So you didn't dislike Flatworld? You just dislike the book?"

Bill grimaced. "Did you read Eddie's biography?"

"No?"

####

As soon as he'd buckled himself into his seat for the drive to Northwest Manor, Dipper read the summary on the back cover of Flatworld, and then the paragraph-long author biography underneath it:

Edward B. Bishop, born in 1838 in England, was an accomplished mathematician, writer, theologian, and closet occultist, as well as a professor at the esteemed University of Fancyton. He published twelve books, the last of which was Flatworld in 1884. After sentencing his square protagonist to a two-dimensional asylum for preaching of the existence of the third dimension, he himself succumbed to an ironically similar fate: three months after publication, he was committed to an asylum for insisting that two-dimensional alien invaders intended to conquer the Earth and were persecuting him for revealing their existence, a delusion he maintained until his death from sleep deprivation in 1886. His most enduring legacy is inventing the margarita glass, which he claimed came to him in a dream.

Dipper hissed between his teeth. "Ouch."

####

"Never mind, don't worry about it," Bill said. "But no. I didn't like the book."

"You poor thing! All this time you've been homesick for the second dimension, but the only things humans talk about is the bad stuff!"

"Don't call me that."

"Do you want to talk about the non-depressy stuff instead? Like..." Mabel wracked her brain for something nice she'd read in the book. She winced. "Uh... I'm sure there's something. You could choose the topic?"

Bill didn't look directly at her. He just looked over all her drawings again. "Tell me why you want to know so badly."

It was basically the same question he'd asked earlier—what's with the third degree—but his tone was different. Mabel swallowed hard and repeated, "Because... I'm your friend. It's crazy that we've been friends for like a month and I barely know a-ny-thing about who you are or how you grew up! By now, I'd usually know about a friend's family, favorite subject, favorite animal, opinion on glitter, and biggest life dream! Plus all the stuff humans have in common—like, 'do you breathe?'"

This time, Bill didn't argue with her answer. (He could have called her a liar. A month ago, she had just been trying to find out what was wrong with him. But this version of the truth she'd made up was better.) "You already know I'm pro-glitter in all contexts and my life's work is to throw an eternal party. What else really matters?"

"Those are the two most important questions," Mabel said seriously. Tentatively, she asked, "Did you have glitter in the second dimension?" He'd already reassured her that they'd had color, but it was hard to imagine glitter in such a bleak world.

"Sure."

Mabel heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."

She looked around at the morning's art production, pulled over the first drawing she'd done of her shapesona, and grabbed a bottle of glue to draw a thin line around the heart.

Bill watched as Mabel carefully sprinkled several separate colors of glitter on the line of glue, like a master chef adding a precise amount of spice to a gourmet recipe, to create a glitter rainbow gradient; and then he slowly sat up and leaned toward the table again. "So, who's this freak?"

Mabel gave him an exasperated look. She decided he'd meant "freak" neutrally; but she'd clearly labeled the heart "ME IN FLATWORLD," she thought it was pretty obvious who this freak was.

But Bill cheerfully went on, "He's the most hideously disfigured shape I've ever seen."

"Hey!"

"I'm not joking, it hurts to look at this guy. At least he's symmetrical, but woof."

"She's not a guy! She's supposed to be me in Flatworld," Mabel insisted. "She's a powerful lady and I think she's beautiful." She paused. "Can a heart be a girl?" Lines looked boring, but Flatworld said that girls were all lines and all other shapes were boys. (Or were they? When they'd talked at the mall, Bill had been very clear that he considered himself a triangle instead of male or female, which scuttled the "all polygons are male" concept. Maybe Edward Bishop Bishop had made that part up?)

"She can be anything she wants," Bill said firmly. "I don't see any gender cops around here, do you?"

Good point. "And when there's no cops around, anything's legal."

Bill laughed. "Hey, I like that."

"Grunkle Stan says it!"

"Wise man." Bill leaned forward further across the table and tapped a finger on the deep cleft at the top of the heart. "Personally, I'm more worried about that agonizing-looking birth defect. I'm surprised she survived past infancy!"

Mabel glared at him, but she supposed she couldn't argue. A heart was a pretty irregular shape. And according to Flatworld, almost all irregular shapes were executed in childhood or else imprisoned in adulthood, since they thought irregular shapes would grow up to be depraved, imbecilic criminals—

"Wait," Mabel said. "Wait. Last year, when I called you an isosceles freak—"

Bill cut in, "It was 'monster,' but go on!"

"Was that, like..." Mabel's voice dropped to a whisper, "a slur on Flatworld?"

Bill fought to keep his face straight as he decided how to respond. He went for the funniest answer. "Yes."

Mabel clapped her hands over her mouth and squeaked, "Nooo!"

"It's actually pretty impressive a human managed to come up with it!"

"I'M SORRYYY, augh I didn't know!"

Over her anguished whines, Bill went on, "It's just a good thing you didn't say 'scalene'! I would've had to wash your mouth out with drain cleaner!"

Mabel had pulled the collar of her sweater over her face. From within Sweater Town, she asked, "Was that the first thing I ever said to you?"

Bill choked back a laugh. "Yeah, it was."

She squealed in embarrassment and slid under the table.

"Heck of a first impression, star girl!"

"i'm sorryyy."

Bill reached under the table to pat the top of her head. "Ahhh, it was funny. Get up here."

As she climbed back into her seat, Bill added, "I'm getting back at you now, I'm not done making fun of your medical miracle yet. You know what she'd look like as a human? A headless, neckless body with an eyeball shoved six inches down her esophagus." He paused thoughtfully. "Actually... that sounds kinda cute."

"Eww, Bill."

"It is, it's cute. Like a clumsy puppy with a neurological disorder! I guess that's how the hideous Miss Heart here must look to humans!"

Mabel looked over her art again, wondering if she should change her shapesona, considering Bill's reaction to it.

So, maybe she was creating a freak. She didn't see any shape cops around here. She kept drawing. "I'd be fine," she said. "You like weird freaks! You'd keep me safe."

A stricken look crossed his face. He was momentarily silent as he watched Mabel start another picture. And then, as though he were only considering it for the first time, he said, "Yeah. I guess I would."

His gaze drifted to the wrinkled picture of Mabel's shapesona standing protectively in front of Bill. "Freaks can't afford to tear each other down."

####

(THIS is the chapter that's been giving me hell the last few weeks. Months. Last few months. I'm so glad to finally have it out, and I hope y'all enjoyed!! This chapter probably brings up a lot more questions than it actually answers—and completely different questions based on whether or not you've read Flatland lol—so I can't wait to hear what y'all think.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #mabel pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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ambrosiagourmet · 7 months

Text

Did Laios have a plan

... when he made his deal with the Lion? How much of it was intentional and how much of it was out of his control?

Well. If I'm being honest I don't really want to try and provide a definitive answer to that question, because I think the ambiguity is, itself, part of the story. I've gone back and forth a few times myself, and I don't think either category - "fully intentional" or "fully coincidence" - is entirely true.

That being said, I would like to point out a few things that I've seen taken for granted as true. Things that, imo, are much more about the character's perspective, or about what the character WANTS people to think (well, that's really just the Winged Lion).

Consider this not exactly an argument for "Laios masterminded everything from the start and saved the world with his cunning," but more... "Laios considered what he was doing more than people give him credit for." Make sense?

Alright then, let's go:

So to start with, I want to show every time (that I could find, at least) that the question of 'does Laios have a plan' gets brought up. This is specifically after his Ultimate Monster Form is revealed, to be clear - the question isn't about if he has a plan in general, it is if he has/had a plan when he made this specific deal with the Lion.

Here they are:

You'll notice, in all of these instances, there never really is an answer given to the question. Either because there is no way to get one, or, with Kabru at the end there, because he explicitly doesn't let Laios answer. There's even a bit of an arc here: we start with a sort of desperate 'I've mostly given up but maybe this isn't as bad as it looks,' then get a more optimistic 'maybe we really are saved,' and finally end on 'it all worked out in the end, so we maybe don't need to know.'

But, as much as there is some genuine growth in Kabru's 'accept the outcome, rather than dissecting the truth,' I also think it says a lot more about him than about Laios. Kabru is the one trying to handle his questions and his uncertainty - as he said, he wants to confirm his judgement of character. He wants to feel like he had control over things.

And he lets that go! But he also doesn't actually get the truth, either, and his implied assumption here (that Laios, the wide-eyed monster-lover, probably just followed his desires), still relies on his judgements and assumptions about Laios.

But okay, these bits are all focused on the characters theorizing about Laios. How about we look at the character who actually tells us the facts ("facts"): the Winged Lion.

The Winged Lion has quite a bit to say about Laios and his monster form.

He says that Laios hates humanity, and would rather be a monster

I've talked about this a bit already, but the Lion makes a lot of claims and assumptions about Laios that aren't necessarily true.

First of all, let's just make sure we clearly establish that the Lion is being manipulative here. That may seem obvious, but it's important to understand that there is a difference between 'the truth' and 'a version of the truth specifically framed to prey upon your deepest shame and insecurities about what you really want.'

To point out a few quick-and-dirty contradictions here:

If Laios really hated all other humans, then the Lion wouldn't hinge so many of his other arguments on Laios' love for Falin and his friends.

the Lion claims that Laios "[doesn't] even care enough about the future of [the] world to express an opinion about it," even though Laios has literally expressed opinions on what he wants for the world, to the Lion's face.

In general, the Lion does not make a distinction between urges and choices (see, for instance: him using Marcille's subconscious fear of the canaries as a way to keep her from stopping the monsters from attacking in chapter 86).

I'm not saying there is not a piece of truth here, but also... we are not our darkest thoughts, and we especially are not those thoughts as defined by someone who wants to hurt and control us.

But let’s move on to the stuff the Lion claims about Laios once he has been turned into his monster form.

2. He says that (or rather, acts like) Laios is under his control

The Lion really enjoys grandstanding about how Monster Laios is an ultimate tool he has control over. He gloats about making Laios fight the others, and has him smash through the magical barrier.

But smashing the barrier is kinda the only thing that Monster Laios actually does for the Lion. He doesn't attack anyone. He doesn't hurt his friends, despite Chilchuck thinking that Laios has "turned completely into a monster." And he certainly doesn't simply let the Lion go through with his plan to eat everyone.

This barrier smashing is actually an interesting and odd thing for Laios to have done specifically, so remember that one. I'll come back to it later.

But, yeah, to the original point... despite the Lion's dramatics, all that Monster Laios does is pose, smash up a magic barrier, and then eat him. Not exactly under his control.

AND SPEAKING OF EATING THE DEMON...

3. He frames Laios attacking and eating him as thoughtlessly violent

This one is pretty funny to me, and the Lion keeps it up for the whole scene. I'm not sure how much of this is his genuine understanding of the situation, and how much is him intentionally framing things in the most insulting manner, but like... truly. The ego involved in this. To see someone who has, multiple times, tried to stand against you - someone who has literally wished for your non-existence, to your face - to see this person attack you, specifically, and have your first reaction be 'huh, I guess he's a reckless weirdo to the core???'

Incredible stuff.

And this part, too:

He claims that Laios can't recognize anyone, that he's out of control. And yet, the Lion is the only person that gets eaten here. He is Laios' singular target.

Hell, Laios even specifically attacks one of the bodies that is actively hurting Chilchuck. I don't know if that was entirely intentional on Laios' part, but I do think it's notable.

The Lion torments Laios' friend, and when Laios does something that interrupts that action, the Lion reframes it as unhinged violence. I don't know, there's something here about the way that cruel people only talk about the things people do to resist them as violent, and ignore the violence that causes such resistance in the first place.

In any case, the main point is that the Lion insists on treating Laios like an unthinking animal during this fight, despite the fact that Laios is clearly trying to accomplish something here.

And what exactly is Laios trying to accomplish? Well, the Lion isn't entirely wrong. Laios is trying to eat something. He tells us as much.

And truly, everything Laios does as a monster points to this. He had a goal. And he accomplished it.

Let me back up a moment. I need to explain smashing the barrier.

So, Laios first starts considering how to kill the Lion when he is confronted with the fact that his only other choice would be to kill Marcille. Immediately and entirely discarding that solution, because of course he does, he tries to wrap his head around what defeating the Lion would even look like.

He clearly continues thinking about this, as a nearly identical conversation happens a few chapters later, when Laios is once again told that killing Marcille is the only way forward.

Only, this time, he's started to come up with an idea for how to do this impossible thing.

Harkening all the way back to the Living Armor chapter, Laios draws on the same lesson - if the Lion has made itself part of the world, if it has made itself into something alive, that means he can kill it. And eat it.

But there's an important extra detail to this. If he's going to try and kill (and eat) the Lion, he needs to strike when it’s vulnerable. He needs to strike when it's eating.

This is why he smashes through the barrier. Again, nothing else he does as a monster really benefits the Lion. He doesn't attack anyone else. The only command he obeys is to smash the barrier. Because the Lion has to think he has won for Laios to be able to eat him.

Beat him. For Laios to be able to beat him.

The question of why Monster Laios wanted to eat the Lion is, I think, the most ambiguous part. Was he curious? Hungry? Did he fight for his own life, for his friends, or for all of humanity? Did he know how to win because he had planned everything from the start, or because he was driven by an unquenchable instinct to do whatever it took to survive?

I don't know that it is possible to say for sure. But I do know that the Lion underestimates Laios, through it all. He underestimates Laios as a human, and he underestimates Laios as a monster.

And in the end, after he is bested, even then I don't think the Lion ever gets Laios. I don't think he understands how much Laios means his words about the Lion being burdened by hunger...

or what Laios cares about most...

or what meaning there is in life, for him.

So I don't buy what the Lion is selling about Laios, generally speaking. I don't buy that Laios didn't ever know what he was doing, and I don't buy that he was nothing more than a hungry beast.

Well. I mean. He was a hungry beast. But he was a more than that too. He was the Devourer of All Things Horrible. And he didn't just happen into that title by chance.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #laios touden #winged lion #dissecting how the Lion's negging works is a great exercise in understanding manipulation honestly #dungeon meshi spoilers #dunmeshi analysis

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tsukimefuku · 5 months

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the event (1) ❖ nanami kento

this part → part 2 (soon) | mdni! | the nile is a river in egypt 👍

summary: after struggling for so long with the feelings you had for nanami, your colleague and closest friend, you finally decide to put an end to your misery and confess to him. little did you know there was no misery left for you to wallow in that night — none at all. alternatively: nanami was a gentleman, but holy hell, given the context, there weren't many ways he could misunderstand the phrase "I want you".

tags: jujutsu kaisen, sorcerer!f!reader, colleagues in the field, 18+, alcohol, explicit! smut (oral f!receiving, piv, squirting), 1/3 plot 2/3 filth ratio, it’s romance guys, nanami x reader, reader is emotionally stunted, they're clearly in love, angst, fluff, hurt and comfort, basically a book chapter, no beta my inner demons proofread this.

wc: 8k

notes, etc.: if i have to rewrite this one more time i will commit a felony. inspo → just like you do (carly simon) and sonnet (the verve). saved by smooth operator (sade). the bit "love is something brave people do" is inspired by fleabag's last episode. appetizers for this fic are the shorties “would you let me die?” and “where does your mind drift”.

❖ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist

this is big but very worth it, i promise.

Today, you were determined to finally utter those three words and put an end to your own personal brand of misery.

Ever since you and Nanami kind of discussed if getting involved would be a bad idea — he said it would, but you had your doubts — you just couldn't stop thinking about it. He knew you had feelings for him. Maybe. He mentioned that he believed you thought about him.

But the thing was… nothing was actually said. It was all implied. Implied into oblivion.

You two had been working together for a good while now, and you didn't fail to notice that, in the most recent encounters you've had, be it on missions or just having a drink at your favorite bar, your heart would involuntarily throb whenever you gazed at him for too long.

Not only that, but you were finally able to admit to yourself that your gratitude towards the sorcerer, who saved your life years ago, had become love. You were, without a shred of a doubt, in love with him, and the fact that he clearly stated that getting involved would be ill-advised — his words, not yours — was a special type of torture.

So be it — you were confessing your feelings for him today, at least to have a definitive answer. It would be better to get shot down than keep doing this little tip-toe dance around the unsaid. You just couldn't do this anymore.

Thing was… You were terrible with feelings. And words. And putting feelings into words. And also just feeling your feelings, in general.

So you decided to invite him to a bar — like you always did —, and chat the night away — again, like you always did — to try easing yourself into this conversation in a comfortable, known setting. Your drinks were downed until the middle of the night like you were filling up a Jeep tank, trying to fuel yourself with liquor-bought courage.

Eventually you slowed down, because certainly throwing up would be less than ideal. Better to be sober and chicken out than drunk and vomiting.

You were so in your own head, though, that you failed to realize Nanami was accompanying you in the "getting completely hammered" department until about a few hours prior, partially regaining his sobriety, with a lot of things swirling around in his own mind.

Mostly, he still thought about the non-conversation you both had about thinking of each other. More specifically, the fact that you inquired, right at the end, if it would really be such a bad idea.

Would it?

Could he dare to dream of a life beyond killing curses and hoping not to die every time he stepped his foot into a mission?

He wasn't sure about it anymore, and could feel his usual negative stance about getting romantically involved with someone while still being a jujutsu sorcerer wavering — an absolute first for him. He was hardly someone to be swayed on his stances in life.

But this time, just maybe, you were able to do that without even realizing.

He caught himself gazing at you more frequently than usual, and wondering what would be the texture of your flower-scented hair tangled in between his fingers.

Today, your hair smelled like jasmine flowers.

Unlike you, however, Nanami was unsure if he'd touch upon the subject that night, specifically, in case he ever decided to do so. He’d prefer to talk about it in an appropriate setting — dinner at a restaurant, maybe? No, you weren't someone who'd like that. Perhaps at a picnic, she does enjoy nature...

He tried shaking those thoughts away along with his feelings, but it didn’t work.

The conversation was very pleasant, and you two were reminiscing about his mission at your hometown where you both met years ago.

”Do you remember when I tried cooking breakfast? Oh, that was a good one,” you jested, chuckling.

Nanami nodded, resting the edge of his whiskey cup on his bottom lip.

“I’d say that was a terrible one. You nearly set your entire kitchen on fire trying to fry eggs,” he noted, letting a smile take over his lips.

You laughed in response.

”Yeah, you’re probably right. But at least you rescued me and made one of the best tamagoyaki I’ve ever eaten.”

He put his glass down on the counter, looking at you with those adoring, beautiful, brown honeyed eyes.

"One of?"

You chuckled, trying not to stare too much.

Good God, he's looking gorgeous tonight.

“Oh, come on. According to you, I can barely taste my food the way I eat, mixing everything up in my plate,” you joked, “I don’t have the same particular taste buds of yours.”

Nanami sighed, rolling his eyes at your teasing, taking a sip of his whiskey.

The ice had melted a little, and he felt the watery coat on the drink with displeasure, grimacing a little.

Somehow, Nanami failed to see the irony in that.

You noticed, and laughed a little before continuing.

"The other amazing tamagoyaki I had was when you rescued me from starving during my first week here. But I don't think I'd really regret burning Jujutsu High down, even if it was an accident."

Nanami shook his head lightly, the smile still on his face betraying his half-hearted chide.

Then, after the banter evaporated in the air, that moment finally came.

The absolute silence.

Arguably the perfect opportunity to say these types of things… So you began.

"Nanami, I…" words gagged. "I wanted to tell you something."

His body visibly tensed up a little, but he probably didn't realize it.

He knew, of course.

Nanami noticed all the recent instances you'd stare at him, and ever since pulling you in for a not-so innocent hug when you were both stranded on the road after a mission together, he felt dangerously close to crossing this boundary.

Nanami's words were easily controlled, always so neatly put together with mathematical precision to express his thoughts. However, ever since he crossed the line of physical contact beyond pure platonic affection, it had been difficult keeping his hands to himself.

Right now, he wanted to cup your face with his palms and brush his thumbs against your cheeks.

Perhaps even press his lips against you- stop that, you’re not a teenager anymore.

This comfort zone of avoiding the discussion about the feelings you both had for each other was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"What?"

You gulped, and took a few more sips of beer.

"I…"

Your voice got stuck in your throat.

Your syllable had stretched long enough for this to have become a little awkward.

"I wanted to thank you," you blurted out, more for your benefit than his.

Nanami was equal parts relieved, disappointed, and surprised.

Did he actually want you to tell him you had feelings for him?

"Thanks for welcoming me to Jujutsu High, for shepherding me all this time, and for being a reliable, good friend. I was ready to face hell here, but it was… much better than I had anticipated. So, thank you, Nanami."

He looked at you, and both held each other's gaze for a moment. His hazel brown eyes were always something that lured you in, and you surely enjoyed how he'd always remove his green shades to talk to you.

Seeing them felt strangely — and endearingly — intimate.

"You're welcome," he offered in a kind note.

"Last call!" the bartender stated loudly, as you and Nanami looked at each other, feeling somewhat disappointed that the night was about to be over.

Stepping outside after paying, you both realized it was raining — something neither had noticed from inside the bar.

With half a mind to do something, definitely inebriated, and still with a declaration stuck in your throat, you absentmindedly made a question to Nanami.

"Can I wait the rain out at your place?"

He did live close by, in any case.

For a second, you realized you were probably butting in his rest hours, and felt a little embarrassed.

"Yes," he replied immediately, also absentmindedly, before you could retreat your request.

***

It was actually the first time you ever visited his apartment, and it was interesting to see his place. To no one's surprise, Nanami's pristine apartment, with his collections of books and CD's — he still had an actual stereo CD player — felt as every bit put together as Nanami himself did.

His kitchen drawers alone were surely more organized than your income tax return.

You sat on the counter and had your drenched hair haphazardly covered with a blue towel as Nanami fixed something to eat for the both of you.

The smell of cooked rice and eggs filled the air, hugging your senses, as you watched, still halfway drunk, how he skillfully walked back and forth, being somewhat inebriated himself, making way more than instant noodles, your first choice after proposing you both ate something to ease the alcohol out.

You stared at his back while he cooked, trying to push the thought of telling him how you felt to the back of your mind, at least for a while, just so you could enjoy the following moments without the sensation of impending doom.

As he finished plating the food, you were nothing short of impressed — the man mustered up the skill to cook omurice while inebriated, a feat you couldn't do sober even in one of your best days.

"This is incredible, you're such a badass," you remarked as Nanami gave you a plate with a pair of chopsticks.

"It's a simple recipe," he replied, getting his own and taking a bite out of it as he leaned against the sink counter, facing you.

"Oh, it surely is,” you remarked, ironically.

You were getting ready to eat as Nanami interrupted you.

"Don't desecrate it," he chided, referencing the way you'd usually stir up your food on your plate until it became an unidentifiable goo before eating, "try to taste your food at least this once."

You chuckled a little, acquiescing.

"Okay. This is too beautiful to get vandalized, anyway."

Nanami huffed, the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips, before he took another bite.

"I am so going to regret this entire thing tomorrow," you stated, taking the first piece out of your plate, “I drank like a sailor.”

It was absolutely delicious, of course. It was Nanami's food, after all.

He swallowed before proceeding.

"Me too, most likely. I hadn't drunk this heavily since… ever."

"Hah, me neither."

You both resumed eating peacefully, partaking in a comfortable and cozy silence for the next few minutes. During that time, he looked at you without you noticing, and realized just how much he wanted this small sliver of peace — sharing a good meal with you in his kitchen after a remarkably pleasant night — to keep going for eternity.

You were looking so adorable with his blue towel over your drenched hair.

As you were finished, he took both plates and put them inside the sink, going back to his original position. Nanami had already removed his tie, his weapon holster and opened the top of his blue buttoned shirt by this point, both of his sleeves rolled up for him to cook.

It was becoming increasingly hard not to stare.

"Thank you, Nanami," you said, smiling at him.

"It's no trouble," he answered, softly smiling back at you.

His smile was much sweeter than usual, and it sent your heart throbbing against your chest.

The urge came again, to finally tell him.

However, when you actually spoke, something entirely unexpected came out of your mouth.

"Why did you come back to Jujutsu High after years of working a regular job?"

Nanami was surprised, to say the least, and pondered for a while before resuming his answer.

He had left the jujutsu world shortly after the mission where he met you and ‘failed you’ — that last part solely according to him — so, needless to say, this was a sensitive topic.

"Well, I had known the jujutsu world, and after entering the corporate one, I realized both were idiotic. So-"

"No, not that speech," you interjected, "I want to know exactly what happened for you to come back. I mean, when we ran into each other years ago, you seemed pretty resolute in trying your retired-by-40 and moving to Malaysia plan, and from what I gathered, not long after that, you just came back, out of nowhere."

Nanami was silent, because he remembered vividly what had transpired, and that you had something to do with it.

"Well," he began, "a few days after we had that conversation, I went into a bakery to buy breakfast. It was always the same person at the cash register, and she had a small fly head curse on her shoulders for a while. It began affecting her sleep, given her complaints. I had avoided doing something about it, but our conversation kept ringing in my head."

Nanami averted his gaze, as if remembering the moment in its details before proceeding.

"After I exorcised it, her shoulder pain subsided, and she thanked me. That was it."

You remembered well how you chided him, telling Nanami to go back into sorcery because the world of jujutsu needed people who truly cared, such as himself. You just didn’t think it would have such a direct connection to the reasons he came back.

"So... you realized the importance of the job we do?" you inquired, with a half-smile pulled on your cheek.

He sighed. "Something like that."

"Oh, Mr. Nanami 'I'm just doing my job' Kento... you have finally understood that meaning is something relevant to you, it seems," you remarked, light-spirited.

He smiled, looking the other way, somewhat appreciating the fact that he had just been read like a book by you.

"But... don't say I had something to do with you coming back," you stated, "I might feel responsible if something happens to you."

Even as a joke, this snapped at your heart a little. The mere thought of losing him felt terrifying.

Nanami sighed, smile vanishing, looking back at you.

"You always see things from a perspective of assigning responsibility and guilt... It is a perspective that usually warrants unnecessary suffering."

You scoffed, still wearing your mid-smirk on your face.

"Oh, and looking at everything from a protective perspective is any different? I mean, both boil down to us thinking we're responsible for other people's fates."

He was slightly taken aback, before smiling discreetly and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"I guess you're right."

Nanami looked at you, and seemed to be staring at your cheek. Under the dim light from the stove hood, you could make out the contours of his face — his sharp jaw, his chiseled cheekbones, and his now exposed forearms with taut, sculpted muscles, right under the rolled up sleeves of his blue shirt.

If pupil dilation could be felt, you would have definitely felt it at that moment.

The urge came up again, but by this point, you were already feeling defeated enough at your pathetic inability of confessing your feelings, so you just let your mouth roll with whatever came out of it.

"I really admire you, Nanami."

You surprised even yourself.

His eyes then met yours.

"Do you?"

Pondering on your words, you nodded, thinking a little about it.

"You're such a calm, collected and responsible person. You seem to always know exactly what you're doing, meanwhile I'm usually just guessing around. No wonder Ino and Yuuji look up to you."

Even under the soft lighting, you could swear you saw Nanami's face blush a little.

"Thank you," he stated, bowing his head slightly towards your direction.

You smiled at him and sighed right after.

"Most times, I don't think I'm someone people would call admirable or actually look up to."

This was something you hadn't anticipated you'd say. You had never told that to anyone.

But, well, this was him. This was Nanami.

"Why do you say that?" he inquired in earnest.

"Because... Because I'm often hanging by a thread, just trying to survive. I'm not doing great things. I'm barely existing, sometimes."

He mulled his thoughts over for a second before answering you.

"You have a good capacity for adapting, taking whatever life hands you and doing the best you can with it," he noted, "and you keep going even if you feel like you're guessing. Even when you don't know where you're going. That takes bravery, and I find it to be admirable."

Now you were the one surprised, and you could feel your entire face burning the moment he finished uttering those words. You were never one to take compliments easily, but this was a whole other level.

You stood there, mouth slightly agape, faltering without any words.

His eyes had returned to your cheek, and in a swift movement, you heard him say excuse me as he stepped into your direction, rubbing his thumb on it to take off some food you hadn't realized that was still stuck on your face.

Nanami barely registered that the thoughts looping around his mind the entire night about touching you had finally taken the best of him.

Before he could remove his hand, though, you held it in place, lifting your eyes to meet him.

His palm felt warm against your skin, his digits rough, and perfect. Just like he was.

Nanami's expression was unreadable as he gazed back at you, and you began hearing your heartbeats against your ears, muffling the sound of the tapping rain on the window.

Words failed him too, and he was guided by his body once again.

Nanami lowered his face and softly pressed his lips over yours, still tasting like whiskey and Demi-glace, which sent waves — that you couldn't quite discern if were hot or cold, perhaps both — all throughout your body.

It was a quick kiss, though, because shortly after, Nanami backed out, still with his eyes closed, and had something resembling a frown on his face.

"I apologize, that was inappropriate," he mumbled, beginning to pull his hand out from your cheek. You, however, held it in place, and that got him to open his eyes and look at you.

He seemed taken by trepidation under his usual collected demeanor, and his lower lip had the slightest twitch to it as his eyes flickered quickly between your mouth and your eyes.

For a moment, you felt like you were looking into the eyes of the Nanami you once knew — the bangs, the uniform, the seventeen-year-old version of him.

Little did you know that your corresponding younger version was looking right back at him with the same bated breath, just like the teens-becoming-adults in the most traumatic ways you two once were.

"Stop apologizing and kiss me," you pleaded, edging your face closer to his, pulling his towel off your head.

You could feel his breath exhaling against your skin, as Nanami approached his body to yours, putting himself in between your knees, and cupped your face in his hands. His body was incredibly warm, just like his hand, and his woody, musky scent sent your senses spiraling when he finally descended his lips to yours, determined on taking his time — after all, this was a kiss ten years in the making.

His mouth felt velvety and supple, and you both melted into each other while exploring the way his head tilted against yours, how your nails would eventually find their way up the nape of his neck, how your breath would hitch every time he pressed his mouth against yours more intently. Your lips slid wetly over each other with a newfound ease none of you expected.

You were both dipping your toes in the ocean and testing the temperature before committing to dive into deeper waters, taking all the time into familiarizing with the feeling of each other's bodies.

Nanami's hands descended to your waist, leaving a trail of heat on the way, and you let out a soft moan into his mouth when he pressed them against you. He groaned lowly, a sound reverberating from the depths of his chest, as he parted his lips from yours and put some distance in between your faces with his eyes closed.

You didn't understand, but before you could ask anything, he began speaking.

"I don't mean to assume," he stated, letting his forehead rest on yours.

"Hm... What do you mean?"

"I... What I mean is we can stop, in case you don’t... We're both still somewhat under the influence. You are," Nanami replied, opening his eyes to look into yours. The faltering restraint dwelling in them was palpable.

In the back of your mind, you wondered if there was any way of loving him more than you already did. Even now, he was so mindful and careful with you.

"I want this," you replied, resolute, "I want you. I've wanted it all for a very long time. It's not a drunken decision, I mean it."

His gaze softened in a way you had never seen before, one of his hands ascending to brush his thumb over your cheek. Nanami snuggled his nose against yours and sighed, seemingly fluttering.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure. I want you," you repeated, incisively.

He let out a huff of air against your mouth, and you could smell his breath, mingled with the scent emanating from him and his clothes. Intoxicating wasn't a strong enough word — you were completely enthralled, entranced and overwhelmed by him. Every sound got muted, but the sound of his breathing. Every smell disappeared, but his. And there was no other temperature in the room other than the warmth of his body.

You had entered tunnel vision mode, and at the end of it, he was your light.

Closing the remaining inches that separated the both of you, he brushed his lips against yours, whispering, "then have me. Have all of me."

Still cupping the side of your face, Nanami tilted it, finally fitting your lips against his again, like lovely little puzzle pieces getting more and more accustomed to each other by the second. He felt around your contours, pressing the tip of his tongue softly over the seam of your mouth, and you warmly welcomed him in, his true taste lingering just under the drinks and sauces being enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

He was salty, fresh, and a breeze of cool air by the seashore.

There were a few times you wondered what he'd be like, but your fantasies were quick to pale in comparison to the reality of him.

Nanami’s broken restraint was completely done for, and just this once, he wanted to let it come tumbling down like a house of cards, as he parted to gaze at your disheveled hair, your flustered face, your slightly puffy lips.

His chest swelled full and content at that sight.

He met you once again, and the ruffling from the fall was sounding better than he could have ever hoped for, insistent heart beat pushing against his ears, encompassing your breathless kissing like a sonnet.

Nanami's hands, however, didn't dare explore beyond your waist, and all this intense make out session was starting to make your panties feel uncomfortable against your pooling arousal. You were starting to feel antsy, and your body was nearly twitching at the aching desire. You needed some kind of relief, or you'd go insane.

Nanami was a gentleman, but holy hell, given the context, there weren't many ways he could misunderstand the phrase I want you.

You put your hands over his and slip them down to cup your ass, parting from his lips for a moment.

"Stop keeping your hands to yourself. Touch me," you pleaded, with some type of simmering desperation to your voice that you hadn't yet heard — never, actually.

He looked at you, and seemed equally desperate in an unfathomable way. He pulled you in, kneading his fingers fiercely against your skin while moaning into your mouth, and pressed your bodies hard enough for you to feel him pulsating through multiple layers of fabric.

Oh, my.

You knew he was strong, but this was something else.

Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his hips, and drew the tips of your fingernails down his back, while grinding over his growing erection with your clothed core. Nanami let out a muffled groan on your skin and began kissing your neck intently with messy, open-mouthed kisses.

He put his hands under your thighs and whispered in your ear, "hold on to me."

That caught your attention from your hazy brain.

"I... My hair is still wet. My clothes are a little damp, too. I'm kind of a mess right now," you told him, chuckling sheepishly.

This man's apartment was the most immaculate place you had ever been in your life, and the last thing you wanted to do was to dirty it around with dripping water from the rain. In his bed, of all places.

Nanami immediately pulled himself back and held your face, locking eyes with you.

"You are beautiful right now," he remarked, not giving you enough time for an answer, as he pressed another kiss on your lips — this time, more urgent, a little sloppy, but just as passionate, if not more. You gasped into his mouth, letting your body take control.

In an instant, your arms were draped over his shoulders, your legs tightened firmly around his body, and his strong hands held the back of your thighs, as Nanami lifted you from that counter like you weighed nothing.

You squeaked in surprise, and he uttered a soft, deep chuckle before planting a quick peck on your lips.

After walking you both into his room, he calmly descended towards the mattress, laying you down delicately and climbing his way on top of you.

When he approached his face to yours, you smiled at him, and he smiled back, sharing a tender moment of silent closeness.

This was probably your favorite shared quietude yet.

“I should get out of these wet clothes,” you stated, giggling softly, before tugging your shirt over your head.

He huffed a soft smiling hum in return, as his palms found their way towards the sides of your hips. Their warmth clashed a stark contrast against your still dampened, cold skin, and his touch was electric, making you involuntarily sigh.

"Help me take these pants off," you cooed, relaxing your legs around his body.

Nanami didn’t need to be told twice, and swiftly slid his hands down to unzip you and pull your damp pants off while you unclasped your bra.

After he was done, his eyes lingered over the drenched patch on your underwear, a realization that definitely riled him up, as his breath got caught midway out his nostrils for a second.

Nanami’s fingers swirled around your bra straps, but before he removed it, you began unbuttoning his shirt, finishing off unclenching his belt and unzipping his pants.

"It would be unfair for me to be the only one exposed here," you remarked, light spirited, while smiling tenderly at him.

He smiled back very much the same way, and pulled his shirt off, downing his pants, letting it all become a wrinkled puddle on the floor. Nanami caged you in between his arms, and pressed a quick kiss on your lips, asking, "do you ever stop?"

"Why don't you try to find out?" you slyly replied.

Nanami wasn't usually one to appreciate being teased. This was especially true when it came to Gojo annoying the hell out of him, and he could — and would — also get annoyed at your snarky teasing from time to time.

But it felt different with you. He wasn't nearly as irritated as he would've been with anybody else.

Perhaps because you teased him with love.

Your hands pulled your bra off and tossed it aside, and for some seconds, he was speechless, contouring his eyes all over your body. With butterflies on his chest, he finally cupped your face in his hands again before kissing you once more, and you couldn’t help but notice he really liked holding you like that when he kissed you — and you'd let him, every time he wanted to.

It was lovely to be held so preciously under such an adoring touch.

Letting go of your lips, Nanami began planting kisses under your jaw, descending towards your neck, and nesting his face in between your breasts, inhaling your scent with his face laid over your skin. With your encouraging hand tangling in his hair, he began kissing and licking his way around, kneading on your breasts with his palms. Your hips instantly bucked up against him, at the same time you let out a needy moan.

He noticed it, very pleased, and gave you the tiny mercy of removing your panties.

Still with his mouth plastered on your skin, Nanami descended one hand towards your folds, and groaned the second his fingers touched over your wetness, cock twitching inside his underwear.

You were drenched.

He sounded so satisfied, you couldn’t help but blush a little in between your moans and mewls, wanting to brat out just a little.

“Hah-- I did say- a-ah… that I wanted you,” you half jested, trying to fend off your fleeting embarrassment, “w-what did you… hah-- expect?”

He stopped briefly, and lifted his face to look at you, sighing with his classic I could be eye rolling at you right now expression.

You smiled mischievously, fully aware he noticed the teasing.

Nanami brushed his fingers above your clit softly, not breaking eye contact, and you thrust your hips up again, mewling mindlessly. Huffing, you tried saying something, but he pressed his fingers a little more intently, having your words turn into incoherent moaning tumbling down past your lips.

At that moment, you just knew…

You stood defeated.

“Finally, you relentless little devil,” he mumbled, kissing his way down your body, as you huffed a few chuckles in between your pleasured sounds.

If he was so hellbent on shutting down your antics like that, you’d probably try to keep them going all night long. Perhaps you could even break his composure completely.

The idea was enticing.

However, he was the one about to break you apart completely, as you realized when his wet, hot tongue got seared-flat against your clit, and stroked on your glistened folds with the ravenous dedication of a starving man.

Nanami was delighted to have finally shut down your quick-wit tease mouth completely, especially like this.

In the back of his mind, he realized he’d gladly do it every time you got on his nerves.

Being a pretty tactile person, with heightened senses overall, Nanami was sure that tasting you would feel amazing, but this was otherworldly.

Completely enthralled, he began dipping his tongue inside you to drink you in, having your walls clenching immediately around it.

The sounds you made — your moaning and begging, as your thighs rubbed against his cheeks and fingers tugged on his hair — would be etched in his brain for eternity, he was sure of it.

The moment his hands pressed harder on your thighs, pulling them against his shoulders, and you let out a mixture of a squeal and a moan, something inside him snapped, sending his mouth into a feral quest against your cunt.

Groaning and panting into you, he lapped relentlessly on your folds, nuzzling your clit so intently it nearly sent you crawling over the walls. Your vision was white, starry, black, and then white again, and you wondered for a minute if this was all pleasure or if the light of the room was actually flickering.

Mouth agape, your moans bounced off the walls, and your back arched desperately, while your entire body tightened with the tell-tale signs of an intense orgasm. Your toes were curling, your ears were ringing, and your face contorted in desperate need for release.

“D-don’t stop- don’t… Hah-- I-m… I-I… Hah---!“

Upon hearing your pleas, Nanami latched his lips on your clit and sucked on it so powerfully you didn’t get tipped over the edge, but was effectively thrown from it with no parachute or lifeline.

Your entire body tensed and jolted. You came with a desperate cry, tightening your grip on his hair with bruising force. He let out a loud moan, trying to hold himself together as you fell apart on his mouth, and started to lick you softly to wean you off your high.

For a few seconds, your entire body stopped answering any voluntary movement signals from your brain, and you could’ve sworn you forgot your name.

You were sent to heaven and returned unscathed.

Coming back to Earth, your grip on him loosened, and Nanami brought his mouth up to one of your thighs, pressing gentle kisses over it.

When your vision wasn’t all abstract colors anymore, you looked down to see Nanami with hooded eyes, resting his chin over your mound, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful creature in existence.

Given what had just transpired, you found it to be incredibly absurd that this — him gazing at you — was what had you blushing violently.

But here you were, hiding your face under the back of your hand, as you chuckled sheepishly solely from the way he looked at you.

This beautiful, adoring man.

The urge to tell him how much you loved him came back, but even like this, so unclad and vulnerable, it was incredibly hard.

Nanami was barely blinking, wondering how he had allowed — or better, forced — himself to live without this, without you, for so long.

“I’m starting to feel embarrassed,” you said, equal parts joking and genuine, as you finally managed to meet his glance again.

He blinked a few times, being pulled from his thoughts, whispering a half-hearted apology as he crawled his way back to you.

His hair was a mess, his lips were rosy and puffy, and his eyes…

His eyes.

Trying to keep yourself from becoming a fluttering chaos all over again, you shook your head lightly as you resumed speaking.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” you cooed, sliding your fingers down his face, pressing your lips to his. Nanami pushed his tongue inside your mouth, and you moaned in response, tasting your essence mixed in with his own flavor.

God, you could kiss him and taste this for hours on end.

His mouth and tongue flowed and veered softly, with no rush other than to imprint your flavor in him. Nanami clearly was a kisser — a very good one —, and was delighted to keep exploring you like that for as long as you’d let him.

Suddenly, you had a little wicked idea creeping up on you, as you made some effort to finally part your lips from his and uttered, “you know what, I’m sorry.”

Nanami was puzzled.

“What do you m-“

With your strength back, you locked your legs on the sides of Nanami’s waist and rolled his body over, landing on top of him.

His breath was caught for a moment before he smiled at you. Smiling back, you straddled yourself back, diving your fingers on the edges of his boxers to slide them down.

Nanami helped you by raising his body, and the moment you removed the piece of clothing, his cock sprang out, bearing a flushed, bulbous, red tip that mutely slapped against his belly. It was bigger than you anticipated, thicker too, and you wondered if you could fit it all in your mouth.

Probably not.

You also didn’t fail to notice the very evident damp patch on his underwear from his pre-cum alone.

He must be desperate right now, you thought to yourself, enticingly amused.

However, the moment you were about to wrap your fingers around him and descend, Nanami held your hand and sat up. He seemed slightly… Embarrassed?

“Hm… what is it?” you asked, pressing against his hand.

He cleared his throat.

“I’m… very wound up. Could we…” Nanami mumbled, words dying on their way out.

Truth was, ever since the moment you were grinding your clothed cunt against him, his mind was boiling to the thought of burying himself inside you to the hilt.

There was no sugar-coating it.

“Oh…” you let out, “so… you want me too?” you asked, a hint of amusement to your voice.

You weren’t the only one needy tonight.

He sighed from the depths of his soul.

“Stop teasing.”

His voice came out raspy, more of a plea than an actual chide.

The man was crumbling down, and it was delightful to watch The Nanami Kento, always so unflappable, falling apart like this.

You chuckled and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you offered in earnest.

He exhaled gently, gaze towards you softening as he did.

You blushed a little before proceeding.

“Where is the…”

“First drawer.”

Everything happened quickly. You snatched the condom from his nightstand and opened it. Nanami took it from your hands and slid it down his length. A soft sigh escaped his lips as the rubber snapped at the end.

Softly crawling your way towards him, you put both hands on his shoulders to straddle on his lap. Nanami locked his gaze on you, not breaking eye contact even for a second, right up until you both finally kissed again.

His hands began making their way down your back, and then…

You felt it.

The tip of Nanami’s fingers pressed against the scar you had right over your spine, and you gasped in pain as it hit the bundle of tangled nerves bumping over your skin. You instantly backed your face away with an aching grimace.

Nanami had witnessed how you got that scar in the fateful mission in which you two met years ago.

The sound of the blade piercing through your skin and flesh still lingered on in his nightmares.

His hand retreated so quickly you barely felt it leaving your body.

Following the aftershock, you opened your eyes to see him with his own eyes sealed shut, and Nanami appeared to be crawling his way back into his mind. His expression, usually so calm and collected, was replaced by a pained frown of his brows.

“I apologize, I… I’m…” he muttered, and you realized this wasn’t an apology for what just happened.

He still blamed himself for what had taken place then.

It broke your heart to shambles to see him like that, knowing full well nothing that transpired that night was his fault.

You cupped his jaw in your palms, and pressed your forehead to his.

"Hey, stop it. Stop apologizing, you haven't failed me. You never failed me."

Nanami's eyes were still very much sealed, and he seemed to be pulling even further away from you as the memories swirled around in his mind.

"Please, look at me," you pleaded, nuzzling against his face.

After a sigh, he answered, "I… I can't."

And he truly couldn't, still feeling the shame eating away at his chest like a parasite.

You scrambled your mind after something that might help, and finally realized the only thing you could say to pull him back.

Shit.

You were still terrified, and your entire body tensed up.

This is it. Now. I have to tell him now.

According to Nanami, you were brave.

And love, apparently, is something brave people do.

Still cupping his jaw, you sighed before letting the words come out of your mouth.

"Nanami Kento, I love you."

Your voice didn’t falter or stutter. Your declaration smoothly left your lips as naturally as breathing — the same way loving him came to you.

His breath caught halfway out, and he finally opened his eyes, soft and bare, gazing into yours.

"I love you, I have loved you for so long, I…" you repeated, sighing greatly, "I love you."

Nanami opened his mouth, but for a second, nothing — not even a huff of air — would pass. Knotting away in his throat, the words also struggled to form.

Should he? Could he? How deep in trouble would this launch the both of you?

Surpassing his worries, eventually, the words finally came out.

"I love you too."

The guilt and trauma had taken a backseat in his mind, at least for now.

When you heard Nanami’s words — heard him say that he loved you too —, your heart immediately began fluttering, and you could've sworn there was a ringing sound around the both of you.

There wasn't, though, just as much as the honeyed dewy warm rain that prickled over your entire skin was a manifestation of your love ridden excited imagination.

Smiling, you pulled him in for a kiss, and he intently pressed his lips against yours, no exploration left to be done — your tongues, by this point of the night, had met and familiarized themselves with every inch of each other's mouths, breaths, and moans.

Mindlessly, his hands plastered themselves back into your body, and brushed up from your hips, to your waist, over your back all the way to your shoulder blades.

Nanami brought you even closer, and kept kneading his hands against you, almost as if he was trying to touch your entirety all at once.

His fingertips ghosted softly around your scar accidentally again, and your breath hitched for a second. You pulled your mouth from his, just long enough to say, "lay me down."

Nanami understood it, and acquiesced. Swiftly, he supported you from your shoulders and hips, laying you down like a porcelain treasure, and caged you in with one hand to each side of your head.

You both took a few moments to admire each other.

Nanami was a tall and broad man, but from underneath, he seemed even more mountainous. His angular face, his wide shoulders and muscular arms, everything about him was just grand.

In a second, though, interrupting your gazing, his hand pulled a pillow from the top of the bed, and he gently lifted your head to put it underneath.

That was it.

In the end, you knew that his kindness, just as grand as he was, was what stole your heart.

Nanami slowly descended over you, and supported himself with his forearm to the side of your head, using his free hand to part the slightly sweaty hair on your forehead and press a fleeting, soft kiss in between your brows. Your heart skipped a beat, and his mouth came down pecking at your face in the most delicate fashion, until it rested on one of your cheeks.

You guided your hand down and positioned his tip towards your entrance, noticing Nanami shuddering with the sensation of your fingers clasping around him. His hand got down to the side of your hip, and Nanami let out a soft huff as he began to slowly push his length inside. He could feel himself gliding along your slick folds, and scrunched his eyes shut as the tip got past the resistance of your ring, eyelashes brushing over your skin with a feathery lingerance.

To say he was savoring this down to the last infinitesimal tactile sensation would be a gross understatement.

You dragged the tips of your fingers down the muscles of his abdomen, seeing how he deliciously flexed himself inside you, as you savored this in your own way too.

Sinking inch by inch, you could feel all the muscle stretches while his girth accommodated inside your walls, widening and filling you as he slipped in further. Your mouth opened in a muted moan, and with a hazy mind, you turned your face towards his, having the tip of his nose brushing over until your noses bumped against each other.

You captured his lips haphazardly, and Nanami stroked his tongue over your mouth, groaning the moment he bottomed out inside you.

You felt him almost kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock, and your mind was sent spiraling with the shivers that shot up from your lower abdomen to your entire body. It got you fluttering around his shaft, and Nanami's grip on your hip suddenly tightened, as a strained groan fell from his lips.

It took you a second to realize exactly what was going on.

"I-I… need… a second,” he mustered up to say in a cracked, coarse voice. His length was throbbing strongly inside you, and his expression looked almost pained. You noticed his fist beside your head was strongly clenched around the bedsheet.

Nanami wasn't lying when he said he was very wound up.

You planted a small, loving peck over his cheek and drew your hands to the back of his head, gently brushing your thumbs against his hair until you felt Nanami’s body relaxing, and his pulse inside you evening out to something calmer. He eventually let go of the bedsheet and drew his hand closer, tangling his fingers in your hair.

In an easy, gradual pace, Nanami began dragging his length out from you, and did so completely, pushing back inside the same way, robbing you of a gasp the moment he bottomed out again. His hips began in a steady, calm rhythm, and from your mouth, came out what he could only say were the best sounds he had ever heard.

“Fuck-- y-you feel… so good…” you purred for him, sending pleasured shivers all over his body. You were both completely covered in sweat right now, and your bodies slapped against each other, sounds only covered by your begging whimpers.

However, as good as it was, you needed more. Greedily, you felt the increasing need of being completely taken apart, and this slow love making was not doing it for you.

“Harder…” you pleaded, and Nanami picked up the pace as soon as he heard you, thrusts becoming more intense. It was better, no doubt about it, but you still wanted more.

Your hungry desire had become something indescribable, and all you could do was mumble softly in between mewls, pleading him to go even harder.

Nanami was also feeling himself grow more and more intent on satisfying your pleas, and realized this might not be the best position to do so.

He stopped for a second, and you muttered in complaint.

However, your disquiet was short-lived, as he propped himself up, manhandling your hips to accompany him and pulled one of your legs straight, letting your ankle rest on his shoulder, supporting your leg with his arm's length and hand cupping your ass. Your other leg kept hooked around him, and this shift sent his cock even deeper.

“Harder?” Nanami asked, almost as a dare, with his disheveled hair falling over his forehead, a few golden strands tangling with sweat. There was something remotely playful in his eyes, and it sent your heart pounding inside your chest to see him in a way you had never seen before.

Oh, how you coveted to freeze this moment in time.

In answer to his question, you nodded, half-lidded eyes and an anticipation smile, only to be surprised with a thumb making its way to your bottom lip, softly asking its way in.

You obliged, and put your lips around it, sucking on his thumb, basking in the view of this boulder of a man completely shuddering to the sight and sensation of that.

Nanami pulled his hand back, resting his digit over your clit.

“Hold on to something, darling” he warned, having a cheeky smile pulling on his face.

In sweet anticipation, you pressed your hands against the wall on which the bed rested, and locked eyes with Nanami, just to see him admiring you for a moment before he made a complete mess out of you.

In a sharp motion, he thrust his cock into you so intensely his tip bumped fully against your cervix, trembling the bed on its foundations. Your head launched on the pillow, your mouth falling open to let out the loudest moan — if that sound even be called a moan — you had ever uttered in your entire life.

Not sparing you a moment to recover, he retreated and plunged again and again inside your cunt, sending wet plap sounds bouncing over the walls. Nanami began rutting into you, kissing you deeper and deeper with every thrust, and you were nearly yelling from the pleasurable pain with which he had you finally crumbling down.

“Fuck,” he let out, “is this-- hah- hard enough--?” Nanami asked half in jest, knowing full well he didn’t need an answer. The way your back began arching so deliciously as you yelled and mumbled incoherently was enough of a response.

Every time he’d thrust, your body would tense up, and your walls would suck him in. It was sending his mind into a wild spiral.

Nanami was mesmerized by your face, and had the faintest feeling that he might cum from it alone. You looked and sounded like you were having the most delicious, toe-curling, gut-wrenching, blissful-stupor inducing sex of your life.

And well, up until at that moment, you actually were.

Dear God, he could die right now, and he’d die the happiest man alive.

You were having shock waves of stupor-filled pleasure shooting through your body, and Nanami began circling his thumb over your throbbing, sensitive clit. Oh boy, did he have you seeing the entire Milky Way in a split second behind your eyelids. Your mind distantly registered the noise of dragging wood and your fingers starting to struggle reaching support behind your head.

Is the bed pushing away from the wall? Are we literally rocking the bed? Holy shit.

A heat you rarely felt began to burn like incandescent molten lava in your belly, and you looked at him wide eyed, holding out onto some kind of desperation.

Nanami barely registered that you were looking at him like that when he felt the warm spurts, getting his entire crotch completely greased. You squirted so intensely that for a second you felt like you actually fell unconscious, before coming back to the second wave — the continuum of earth-shattering, convulsing orgasms that always followed it.

He wasn’t ready to have you squirt all over his cock so fervently, letting out the most heavenly, luscious, indecent and pornographic sounds he had ever heard.

He could never be prepared for that.

The sheer scent alone sent shivers throughout his entire body. Your scent was completely smeared over him, slowly dripping down his thighs.

With your walls tightening around his cock, his own peak took him by surprise, as much as he had tried to hold it away. The most animalistic and ferocious groan came out of his mouth as thick strands of white cum filled up the condom. Nanami's entire body jerked, making it incredibly difficult to keep pumping himself into you without risking pulling out too much by mistake, so he just let the convulsing waves finish washing down his body before collapsing on the bed by your side.

You both took a moment to breathe, then two, then three, still panting like you had just run a marathon.

Hell, you were probably panting even harder than that.

"I'm… I’m s-sorry about… the mess," you apologized, huffing and puffing, face blushing as you rolled your eyes back, still recovering from the aftershock.

Nanami instantly turned your face to his, mouth agape and gaze locked onto your lips, as he, without uttering a word, thrust his tongue inside your mouth in an open-mouthed, wet, sloppy kiss. All while still panting heavily.

Pulling back, you smiled, asking, “nothing to apologize for?”

He huffed, smiling back at you, “nothing.”

You both felt like you'd have the best night of sleep of your lives.

Nanami would not, however, as the thoughts he shoved away to the back of his mind earlier that night were about to take him into unwanted nightmares.

End notes:

I can’t reread this again. I just can’t. Hope I got all the typos out, lol. Old version of this fic is here. When I read it a few weeks ago, I came to the conclusion that I didn’t quite like it, so I decided to give it a go on rewriting it. Three rewrites later, here it is, hope you guys enjoyed it.

Tag list (for this fic + current AU tags):

@jadedjane @senseifupa @nikos-a-clown @fairy-corno @ldrcvlt

@magical-girl-b @montyrokz @hexrts-anatomy @g-kleran @otomesass

@redlikerozez @yammy-yammy-yama

508 notes · View notes

lou-struck · 7 months

Text

Made With Love Part 2

OM Brothers & Datables x reader pt.2

Featuring Special parts with Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan.

MASTERLIST

Part 1 Here

~ As the Room erupts in chaotic, love-drunk chatter. Luke tries desperately to figure out what is going on, meanwhile you finally show up to the party late and confused.

WC: 6.7k

Warnings: Love Potion based personality changes, obsessive behaviors, feelings of self doubt, possible accidental drowning attempt, mention of suggestive behavior, lots of teasing, kissing, touching, etc.

a/n: Wow! This is turning into a much longer project than I thought It was going to be. I love how this is developing and I hope you guys are interested too. If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters comment below!

"Look at this one Satan." Lucifer giggles happily, kicking his feet on the sofa. The screen of his DDD is illuminated with a picture of you as the Avatar of Pride leans up against his younger brother and brings the image closer to his blush-covered cheeks.

Satan's eyes are as large as saucers as he takes in the picture. "This is the bestest picture ever." he gasps in entranced delight, not a single thought in his head other than you.

"That's what ya said about the last twenty pictures." Mammon laughs from the other side of him. "But I get it. Mc is soooo amazing. I could look at their cute face all day long."

Luke watches as the three brothers swipe to the next picture in Lucifer's album and sigh lovingly.

Asmodeus shyly creeps up behind his brothers, his eyes brimming with curiosity. Strange spell or not, cute photos of you have always been his kryptonite. Mammon notices his presence and gives his brother a smile. "Cmmere Asmo, don't be shy; there's more than enough pictures of Mc to go around."

How generous…

But when the Avatar of Lust gets closer to take an eager glimpse at the picture, he gasps and takes a flustered step back. His face turns beet red, and smoke looks like it's about to come out from his ears when he sees the (fairly tame) photo of swimsuit-clad you.

"T-that is so inappropriate." he cries, covering his eyes and running away with an off-balanced stumble as if he was the one who took you shopping for the suit, sat back and watched you try on outfit after outfit, and insisted on rubbing sunscreen all over you once you made it to the beach.

Asmo runs away from his other brothers. But they don't seem to notice. They just continue gushing about how cute you are.

Aside from those troublemakers, Luke scans the room to see how everyone else is acting under the effects of the spell or whatever it was that found its way into the sugar cookies.

From a lonely window-side chair, Beel looks out the window like he is a little puppy. His face, a deep pout as he waits for your arrival. He looks too distressed to even look at the overflowing table of food.

Belphie is energetically pacing about the room, too excited to see you to even think about being tired.

Speaking of tired, Barbatos sluggishly leans against the door mumbling to himself about how opening the handle is just too much work for him right now.

Levi and Simeon begin arguing loudly in the center of the room. They are standing chest to chest, staring each other down with dark, possessive expressions.

"Don't get me wrong, Simeon, I may have admired your work in the past, but now the only fandom I want to be a part of is Mc's." Levi's hand comes to rest on the Angel's shoulder in a condescending manner.

There is a darkness to Simeon that is quite unnerving as he removes Levi's hand. His face is a cruel mask of disgust. "Why would anyone want to spend time with someone like you?" Instead of flinching or looking away in shame, Levi stares the Angel down as if daring him to say more, which Simeon obliges. "Especially Mc. How about you be a good little demon and leave us be?"

"Don't make me laugh you freaking Normie. Why would Mc want to spend time with you?"

Luke pales as Diavolo steps up to join the argument.

"No one will be spending time with Mc today," he says in an authoritarian tone. "The poor thing will be exhausted when they arrive, so I personally will be tending to them."

Both the Angel and the Avatar of Envy grow quiet, glancing between one another and the Prince before boisterously laughing in his face.

"What's so funny?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. The Hearts in his pupils looking remarkably out of place on his regal features. "Do you not think me capable of caring for Mc?"

"Ahh yes, the Prince born with a silver spoon in his mouth is the most qualified to care for a human." The sarcasm in Simeon's voice chills the room as everyone's conversations come to a halt.

The Demon's nostrils flare, and he crosses his arms over his chest. "Believe me, Simeon, I am more than capable of caring for them."

"Shall we prove it?" Simeon coo's, his voice laced with condescension. "How about each of us go our separate ways to spend time with Mc. Once they have had their share of each of us, we can ask them who they enjoyed their time with the most today."

"It's obviously going to be me." Levi declares as the others gather around.

"Why can't we jus’ share em?" Mammon wonders aloud. "Mc is so amazing they can spend time with all of us."

Luke spots Asmo taking a worried step backward. "A-alone? W-with Mc?" he stutters. "I- don't know if I am ready for that. I gotta go and get ready."

"Hey, he's getting a head start on us. I won't lose." Belpheghor calls as he rushes from the room after his brother.

It's a madhouse as the rest of them push past each other to claim their spot for a date with you. But as Solomon tries to creep off, he is stopped by the little Angel who grabs his cape. "Not you, Solomon. If you know what is going on with everyone, you have to tell me," he says exasperatedly.

"Oh, Mc is going to hate meeee." Solomon cries as the others disappear behind the doors.

Luke shudders as he uncomfortably feels how clammy the human's skin is. Judging by the deep blush on his cheeks and how clumsily he stumbles behind the little Angel, he is clearly under the same spell as the rest of them.

"Solomon, what is going on?" He questions the teary-eyed Sorcerer in the most authoritative tone he can manage. He even tries to invoke the same confident, commanding tone that Lucifer uses to control the room by crossing his arms and trying his best to look displeased.

But in all reality, he just looks confused. And that pout only makes him look constipated as Solomon keeps rambling on and on about how you will never love him because he ruined yet another Valentine's Day for you. He is so fixated on you, it's like Luke is not even there.

Luke takes a deep breath in and clenches his little fists into tight balls of tension. He knows he needs to relax so he can fix the problem in front of him and save the day.

Save your day…

"Solomon!" he yells, tugging the Sorcerer's dark blue cape for attention. "Why is everyone acting so strange? They are more obsessed with Mc than usual and are acting differently."

Solomon's heart-shaped pupils dilate as if hearing someone say your name is a drug to him. But he is coherent enough to answer Luke's question. "D-did you use one of the bowls in my lab?" he asks softly; he nervously fiddles with his fingers, never actually looking Luke in the eye.

"Yeah, I saw my light blue one on the counter, and it looked clean, so I used it."

Solomon's eyes go wide in alarm as they flicker to the doors of the banquet hall. "The Potion," he breathes, stepping back against the wall and sliding it down in embarrassment. Luke flinches briefly, that impact sounded painful but Solomon doesn't seem to notice it at all. He tucks his knees to his chest in an almost childlike fashion.

If he hadn't seen him eat the cookies, Luke would not believe that the trembling, flustered man in front of him is the infamous Human Sorcerer Solomon the Wise. "I-I did it again…" his voice comes out muffled from his arms. "I ruined Valentine's Day."

Despair courses through Luke's veins like glacier water. "What do you mean? What Potion?"

Solomon gulps and looks up from his spot on the ground.

"A few weeks ago, I was out at a used book store with Satan and Mc…." The mere mention of your name is enough for the Sorcerer's blush to intensify, and he begins to lose focus.

"Hey, Keep going…" Luke encourages urgently. "What did you find at the bookstore?"

Solomon blinks down at Luke as if he had just noticed his presence. "Oh yes, the bookstore. I just went the other day with Satan and…"

"WHAT DID YOU BUY?" he interrupts before the Sorcerer can say your name and get lost in the effects of whatever was in that frosting.

"It was an old recipe guide for making love potions." He answers. "One of the recipes in particular stuck out to me. When consumed, it amplifies feelings of affection for the person they love most along with a few interesting side effects."

A deep shudder runs down Luke's spine. He accidentally gave all his friends a love potion. He looks at Solomon's ruddy cheeks and hazy eyes. Are these some of the side effects. If he is going to learn anything else about the potion, he better ask his last question before the human runs off to prepare his own alone time with you.

"What kind of side effects?

A dry, cold wind slices across your face as you run towards the castle gates. Luke's DDD lies securely in your hand as you try to think of the best way to word your apology for being late to the party.

You are already wondering how Lucifer will scold you for your tardiness. Just imagining that handsome smirk on his prideful lips makes you feel a mixture of both anticipation and annoyance swishing around your gut.

But all in all, you are ecstatic. You get to spend the day with all of your favorite people, eating sweets, playing games, and enjoying what Valentine's Day has to offer.

There's a spring in your step as you make it to the first of the stone stairs of the palace. But before you can move any further, you watch as Luke runs from the Castle towards you.

"Wait, don't go in there." He says frantically, waving his arms

"Why?" you ask. "don't tell me I missed the party already."

The color drains from the Angel's face, somethings wrong. "it's not… I'm so sorry Mc. I ruined everything."

Your reassuring smile is quick as you place a hand on the Angel's shoulder to calm him down. "Whatever it is you think you did, I'm sure it's not that bad. Luke, do you want to tell me what happened?"

He looks at you and takes a deep breath. "When I was making the cookies, I used a bowl from Solomon's lab that contained some kind of love potion. Right when I set the tray down at the party, it was like everyone was drawn to them. They ate them, and now they just won't stop talking about you, and they're acting strange."

You blink in surprise; out of all the things to come out of Luke's mouth, you were not expecting this. But honestly, after living in the Devildom for a little bit you have developed a wonderful attitude for dealing with these unexpected situations.

"Strange how?" You ask curiosity and worry evident in your voice.

"They are acting completely different. It's like their love for you has changed their personalities. Lucifer is all giggly, Barbatos is super tired, and Simeon… Well, let's just say he's not being that nice."

"Oh dear," you breathe. Luke was just starting to get used to things down here. This love potion fiasco must really be traumatizing the poor guy. "Is there a cure?"

"I-I think so." Luke furrows his brow. "I was trying to get some details from Solomon before he started acting love-drunk like the rest of them. And he said he got it from a book. Before I could ask him anything else, he ran off. Apparently, they all wanted to claim a spot in the Castle to spend some time with you."

You nod thoughtfully, the wheels in your head turning as you formulate a plan. With everyone scattered about the Castle, you will definitely have to check on each guy individually, but other than that, at least you know that they aren't going to be actively arguing with each other, "If we can find that book, I bet there is a page of antidotes we can make. You head back to Purgatory Hall and I'll go inside and make sure everyone stays where they are. If we play along with what they want right now, it will be easier."

He looks concerned, "are you sure you should go in there by yourself?" For all his worrying, you know he has a point; if everyone is acting unpredictable, you will have to be on your guard. They may still love you, but even on their best days, these guys can be a bit possessive.

Reassuringly, you give the Angel your best smile and send him on his way. "There is nothing to worry about. You go find the book, and I'll make sure that everyone here is okay."

He nods bravely, "I'll go right away. But if you need any help, call me; I want to make sure they don't try anything crazy."

He rushes off, and you take a deep breath. The moon casts a long shadow on your figure as you climb the steps. You hate to admit it, but you are actually more amused with this situation than worried. You know in your heart that this situation will be resolved.

Curiously, you wonder how the potion seems to be affecting each one of your loved ones.

Maybe all these themed chaotic events that have taken place in the Devildom have messed with your head a little bit, but nevertheless, you find yourself smiling to yourself.

This could be fun.

Lucifer ~

The Castle has never felt more empty. The dark halls are eerily quiet, and the grand, empty chambers echo the sounds of your light footsteps in every direction. You recall Diavolo saying that since the Valentine's Day celebration was planned to be an intimate affair for you, he had sent the entirety of his staff home to enjoy the holiday with their loved ones.

You thought that was really admirable, but now you wish that at least one of the little D's was around to help you find your way. There are easily a thousand rooms in this place, and you have 11 cursed individuals to find.

You pass the empty banquet room where the party should've been held; something about the full table of food unsettles you. If Beel isn't crouched over the charcuterie table, stuffing cubes of otherworldly cheese into his mouth like a chipmunk, this love potion thing may be pretty darn serious.

Throughout the quietness, a light sound reaches your ears. It may be horror movie logic, but you follow the sound down the hallway until you reach a stone room with a stained glass ceiling. In the center of the room lies a beautiful indoor fountain. The crystal clear water flows enchantingly into the carefully carved basin. The steady ambiance is soothing, it invites you closer so you may admire the mosaic of jewels embedded into the column.

Suddenly, two strong arms wrap around your waist. The warm embrace makes you jump and let out a yelp of fear as you try to wiggle yourself out.

Just as you wind up your elbow to drive it into your attacker's ribcage, you hear a happy chuckle against your ear that makes you freeze your attack. "You're here cutie, I knew you would find me."

"Lucifer?" you breathe. "Is that you?"

"Yea~, I just missed you so much." gone is his usual serious tone. Now, his voice sounds giddy with excitement, and you feel at ease. Your shoulders slump as the Avatar of Pride nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

Although you are safe, his hold on you is like a vice. There is hardly any space between the two of you as you turn around to get a good look at him. When you two are chest to chest, he lifts his head. Beautiful strands of his dark hair fall in front of his eyes in a messy but not entirely unbecoming way.

His cheeks are flushed a baby pink color as you take in his simple, lovestruck smile. It looks so unserious you want to burst out laughing. But the thing that really sticks out to you is the strange heart shape his pupils have taken. The black hearts against his deep crimson eyes is captivating to behold.

"You're so cute," he whispers loudly, even though it's just the two of you in the room together. You don't miss the way he seems to sway unsteadily in front of you in an almost tipsy manner.

So this is what Luke meant by 'Love Drunk.'

"So are you." you smile; usually, this kind of compliment is not one that he would typically accept, but thanks to this sweet and very touchy disposition brought on by the love potion, he just giggles and holds you tighter. "How about we try and find some of the others so we can have our party?"

"No," he states abruptly; the look of hurt on his face tugs at your heartstrings, and you almost want to apologize to him. He looks down at you with glassy eyes that are brimming with tears. This unusual sight reminds you of your current mission.

When he notices the worry on your face, the tears begin to cascade down his cheeks and become one with the fountain. "I'm sorry for yelling at you," he murmurs with a small voice. "I just love you so much. Why do you want to find the others? Stay with me. Please?"

Lucifer's lack of pride is astonishing. He clings to your arm as if you are about to turn into smoke and vanish into thin air.

What if we held hands while we looked?" you offer the Demon. His eyes light up at the prospect, but you know you'll need to offer a bit more than that if you are going to be able to leave this room to look for the others.

"We can hold hands in here," he whines toying with your fingers as if they are the most fascinating things in the world. He smoothes the pad of his thumb over the glossy coat of nail polish Asmodeus painted last night and looks at you with puppy dog eyes.

"What about a kiss then?" you ask

That love-drunk smile returns to light up his features once more at the prospect once more. "A kiss?"

"Yes," you say. "If we can leave this room to find the others, then you can have all the kisses you want."

The offer is tempting and you see the contemplation in his eyes. If he says yes, he'll get what his heart has been calling for, but then he won't get as much attention from you. He can hardly remember what the others are doing right now. All he can think of is you, you, you.

He nods excitedly. "Please, please kiss me Mc. I'll do whatever you want."

You smile victoriously as he cups your face. There is so much love in his gaze as he meets your eyes. "Beautiful," he whispers before leaning in close to you.

Your eyes shut as his warm breath fans your face. Potion or no potion, he kisses you like he always does, heartfelt and tenderly. His lips are soft against yours as he steals away that pesky breath of yours.

You find your head in the clouds, not wanting to pull away from this for even a moment.

But surprisingly, he pulls away first. Your eyes shoot open as you see him run a hand through his hair. His eyes blink tiredly as they look at you with round pupils.

"Mc? What just happened?" he asks, "I remember being at the party and then…" He pales and looks at you with concern.

"Apparently, there was a potion accidentally mixed into the sugar cookies," you say. "Are you feeling alright?"

He nods. "I'm fine now; I believe that when we kissed, the true affection we felt for each other was enough to break this enchantment." his cheeks flush, and he averts his eyes from yours, "It felt like I was dreaming; I apologize for my actions today, I hope I didn't make you feel uncomfortable at all."

You gently take his hand and offer up a smile, "So, you dream of me often?" your teasing brings a little smirk to his lips, and he knows there is nothing to forgive,

"Quite often, my dear." he gently kisses the crown of your head. "Although I wasn't acting like myself, I truly meant it when I said I never want to leave your side. I've prepared a special outing for us next week as a gift for you. I know we all agreed to spend today with you together, but I am still a Demon, and I must have my own time with you without distractions."

"That sounds wonderful." you smile, hugging him tightly. You notice the sudden fatigue that clings to him, possibly a side effect of the potion. "How about you head back to the banquet hall and rest. Now that we know how to undo the spell, I can find the others, and we can get this party back on track.

He looks a bit disappointed but he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. "I suppose that's for the best, My Dear." He leans in close and murmurs into the shell of your ear, "But if you ever tell anyone of the details regarding my behavior under the effect of this potion, I promise you it will not go unpunished."

Mammon~

With one down and ten to go, you search the Castle once more. Your footsteps sound much quieter as you walk along the luxurious carpet that lines the long hallway. The knowledge of how to undo the effects of the potion is soothing, but this unintentional little game of hide and seek is certainly not helping speed this whole thing along.

Another worrying possibility is that simply kissing everyone may not work. Is it possible that the spell on Lucifer was broken due to something else entirely?

Your worry clouds your judgment as you wander past the heavy double doors of the palace treasury. For the first time in all of your visits here, you notice a lack of guards outside the doors. The treasury is completely unprotected. If it were any other day, you just know you would find Mammon poking around, trying to break into the vault using some cheap-looking skeleton key he got on Akuzon.

If Lucifer's clingy behavior was any indication of what was yet to come, the crown jewels of the Devildom would be the last thing on the Avatar of Greed's mind at the moment.

You pass the vault and begin to meander your way past the wall of portraits. You remember Barbatos explaining to you a while back that the individuals in these portraits are crucial to the Devildom's history and are up here as a way of honoring them.

You pass Ancient Kings and Queens of old, their names carefully embedded on golden placards, written in languages that no longer are spoken. Painted eyes seemingly track your every move. They only stop when you stop in your tracks. Near the end of the lowly lit hallway, you think you see someone sitting on the carpet. As you creep closer, you see that it is Mammon. He is staring up at the wall with complete fascination.

"Mammon?" you call gently. His head snaps in your direction as soon as the soft sound of your voice reaches his ears. His eyes widen when he sees you, and those big, heart-shaped pupils stare back at you.

"Mc, it's really you." he smiles, getting slowly to his feet. His lack of coordination is evident as he walks over to you with small, shy steps. "I knew ya wouldn't forget about me."

"I could never forget about you, Mammon." Your smile lights up the dark hallway and beckons him closer. You brace yourself for an inhumanly strong bear hug, but it never comes. Mammon stops just a foot away from you and stares at you with eyes full of pure devotion. You feel a bit shy under his spotlight as he takes in every inch of your being.

"You're perfect, aren't ya?" he murmurs in a dreamy tone, his knees buckling in front of you. "Ya look like you were carved outta marble or somethin."

Mammon has never been one to be so generous with unprompted compliments before now; the potion must have something to do with all of these flowery words. You try to fight the flustered heat blossoming beneath your skin with a teasing remark. "That means a lot coming from The Great Mammon."

The use of his self-given nickname usually would make the Demon puff out his chest with pride, but now, he just seems to shrink meekly. "I'm not that Great," he says softly. "But you, you are Greater than Great. They should call ya the…uhhh…"

He tries to think, but clearly, the love potion is scrambling his thoughts. "Whatever it is, yer it." He glances to the side and looks off at one of the pictures on the wall again.

"I was ready to stare at this all day long," he says, his blue eyes shining in admiration. "But now, with ya in front of me, I think the real thing is way better."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" you question, finally noticing what it was that has been entertaining the Demon for however long. Instead of seeing an oil painting of some long-dead member of the Devildom nobility, it's a simple Polaroid photo of you tacked to the wall.

Peering closer, you recall spotting this photo tucked securely in Mammon's wallet. At the time, you had teased him about it and watched in amusement as he grew flustered, stammering through some half-hearted excuse as to why it was with him. It was flattering to know that he likes to keep a piece of you close to him, but now, you just feel that it looks so out of place next to these large paintings. A sharp feeling of shame and unworthiness plucks at your heartstrings, and you look away from it and back at the swaying Demon.

"What is that little thing doing up there?" you joke, looking between the elegant frames and your pixelated, kinda blurry face. "One of these things is not like the other."

Mammon looks at you with a confused expression on his face. "I put yer picture up here so then everyone will know just how special ya are. Yer Special Mc, and everyone in the Devildom deserves to see yer cute face."

It's a flattering notion, but the Love Potion has clearly made him overestimate the perception of your importance in the Devildom.

"That is very sweet of you to say Mammon," you smile at him as you reach out to take the picture. "But I think this hallway was just meant for art."

Your fingers just graze the corner of the photograph before Mammon steps between you and the wall. He grabs your wrist with a firm intensity and you feel an unnatural warmth to his skin. Is this another side effect of the potion?

"No, it should stay." His tone is firm as his eyes scan your face. "Yer the best, better than all these clowns up on the wall." His eyes flicker to a portrait of a cat-like demon, and he scoffs. "Who even is this guy?"

You try to remember why his face looks so familiar. "Oh, I know this one." You explain proudly, recalling your Devildom History Class. "He was a botanist who made a fertilizer that promotes plant growth under the moonlight. He got the Devildom through a huge food shortage a couple thousand years ago and saved a lot of Demons."

Mammon gives you a huge smile. "See! That's why yer so amazing. So pretty, smart, cool, and ya always know how to make my heart do that thing where it keeps me up at night just thinking about that cute smile of yers." he grins, looking at you with his previous, unserious, lovey-dovey look in his eyes. You know he believes every word.

"Fine then," you say, your heart feeling full from his shower of compliments. "How about I get to take the photo with me if I give you a kiss?"

He nods instantly. "Kissin' ya would be the best." he sighs dreamily. "Ya just got these really soft lips that always taste like honey or somethin else that's really sweet."

There is a flash of that signature green in his eyes as he gently cups your face and leans in for the kiss slowly, as if he is trying to savor this brief moment.

When your lips touch, the unnatural warmth to his skin seems to fade away. As Mammon seems to wake from the spell, he takes a reluctant step away from you in confusion.

"W-wha. Mc?" he blinks, furrowing his brows, trying to piece together the events from the last hour.

"How are you feeling?"

"Those damn cookies," he growls, clenching his fists into balls at his side. "Just wait. When I get my hands on that Chihuahua, I swear I'll.." he stops mid-sentence, and his eyes go wide in shock. "I didn't say anythin weird or mushy, did I?"

"Ummm, like what?" you ask, feigning innocence. "You didn't say anything weird."

He laughs, throwing his head back. "Course I didn't. I'm the Great Mammon after all."

"You sure are," you say back, wrapping your arms around your First Demon.

"What's that for?" He asks, hugging you back.

"No reason." you hum, "Lucifer is in the Banquet Hall; you should head back and find him."

"Don't tell me. Ya gotta go and find the others?" he sighs, looking disappointed.

"Seems like it." you shrug.

"Fine, but ya gotta promise me somethin'. Be careful; some of those guys are actin' all weird." he warms, reluctantly stepping out of your embrace. It's then he notices the photo of you on the wall. He looks confused and subconsciously feels around for his wallet.

"How'd that get up there?" he murmurs, carefully removing it from the wall. But instead of tucking it back into the leather sleeve of his designer wallet, he decides to put it up higher on the wall, out of your reach.

"Aren't you gonna put it back in your wallet?" you ask

He shakes his head, "Nah, let's keep it up. Ya deserve a spot up there among the greats."

Leviathan~

After skillfully pointing Mammon back towards the banquet hall on the pathway that avoids the palace treasury, you find yourself alone once again…

Your shadow follows behind you like a cowardly companion, doing little to help with the feeling of isolation and paranoia that prickles down your spine.

Taking another step forward, you step on something small and let out a small gasp as you flinch backward. The thing you stepped on has a human shape and your heart sinks to your stomach.

Was one of the strange side effects of the potion shrinking?

Did you just kill someone?

You take your DDD out of your pocket and shine your flashlight on the floor, praying to whoever is listening that you didn't crush any of your loved ones with the sole of the designer shoes Asmodeus bought for you.

Immediately, you feel relief as the light hits the object you stepped on. It's not a tiny demon, Angel, or Sorcerer. Instead, the minuscule, solid-plastic, smiling face of Rui Chan stares back at you.

Without a doubt, this little phone charm belongs to LEviathan. It's twin swings from your device from a daintily braided string, but hers looks frayed, like it was ripped off and she was discarded.

"You poor thing," you say softly, crouching down to pick up the fallen character. "I promise I'll get you all fixed up in no time."

You slip the figurine into your pocket and continue onwards. Levi must be around here somewhere, but where?

Beneath the cracks of one of the doors, you notice light spilling out. Slowly, you open the door to reveal one of the Castle's many indoor pools. The water ripples, and a head of purple hair breaks through the surface.

Levi has discarded his shirt and gracefully swims around in just his dark pants. Swimming in denim may not be super comfortable, but since he is an aquatic demon, he must be used to this kind of thing.

When he sees you, he stops what he's doing and just stares at you with a blank expression. Unlike the others you have seen so far, there is no sign of a blush on his cheeks, but he seems different somehow.

Is it his posture?

"What are you doing in there?" you ask, calling out to the Demon. He seems to shake himself out of his daze and hunches over in embarrassment.

"T-the others wanted to have dates with you." he stammers. "But no one is as strong in the water as me, so I claimed the pool. None of those Normies could take you away from me now.

So far, Levi isn't acting as strange as the others, but you are still cautious. "That is very smart of you, Levi," you say. "But I am not dressed for swimming, so maybe we could do something else together."

His eyes rake up and down your body, eying your attire. "Oh, you're right." he mutters, "I bet you think I'm just a stupid otaku who needs to touch grass."

"You know I don't think that," you say, briefly wondering why he dosent seem to be embarrassed as he usually is. He swims over to the edge of the pool and stares up at you expectantly. "I-i can't get out of the water on my own. Will you help me up?"

He holds out his hand for you to take, and you reach for it like it's second nature. It's only when he has a firm grip on your hand that his features shift, and he smirks devilishly, dropping his shy and unconfident act. "Oh, Mc, I just knew you would come to me."

He pulls you effortlessly over the pool's edge, and you squeal, hitting the water with a loud splash. Water fills your mouth as you thrash about, trying to breach the surface.

Levi's arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you to the surface. As you cough up water and try to catch your breath, he looks at you with those heart-shaped pupils.

"There you go Mc," he purrs seductively. His fingers swipe away damp strands of hair out of your face. "Now I can see you clearly."

"Levi, what did you do that for?" you cough blindly, reaching for the pool's edge. But his grip around your waist is firm. You aren't going anywhere.

There is a weight in your back pocket that makes your heart sink. "Oh shoot." you take your DDD out of your pocket and raise it above the water. The screen flickers once, then twice, before going completely black.

It's ruined…

So much for telling Luke you found the cure…

Levi's eyes flare with jealousy as he gives your side a gentle squeeze. "Hey now, put that thing away. You're with me, so you won't be needing any of those distractions.

This side of Levi is bold, smooth, and a bit aggressive.

You would be lying if you said you didn't think this boldness was kinda hot.

Gingerly, he takes your waterlogged device out of your hand and starts to place it on the edge of the pool behind him, but when he sees your little Rui chan charm swaying back and forth, he stops, narrowing his eyes at the collectible. "Why do you still have that junky thing?

Your gut starts to feel uneasy. Levi really did rip off that limited edition charm you guys got at the meet and greet.

Just as he starts trying to unravel the little braided cord, you come up with a plan.

Turning on your natural charm, you let out a little giggle and loop your arms around his chest, successfully grabbing his full attention. "Noooo, come on. It's just too cute. I like keeping it with me since you got it for me."

He chuckles and nips at your ear. "This piece of plastic is nowhere near as cute as you Mc, but if that's really what you want, then I guess it can stay." With the DDD and the phone charm safely out of the water, you feel relieved.

"Thank you, Levi." you coo, tracking his predatory gaze as it drops to your lips. He wastes no time pressing him to yours with confidence.

The butterflies in your stomach take flight as your eyes flutter shut. Seconds later, you notice that his initial ferocity fades, and he lets himself go.

His eyes are wide open now, and he looks absolutely terrified.

Mc, why are we swimming?" he gasps, looking down at your kiss-swollen lips. "What did I do?"

"It's okay Levi," you say comfortingly. And you mean it, this was because of the potion. "You were under a spell and didn't know what you were doing."

"But I still did it." he cries. "Brb, I gotta go become one with the pool now."

He starts to lower himself into the water once more, but you pull him up so he cannot sulk at the bottom of the pool for the rest of his day. "Hey, come on. Let's get out of here and dry off the best we can.

He looks down at your soaked clothing and hair. His face flushes redder and redder until he looks like he is about to faint. Wasting no time, you start to lead him out of the water for his own safety.

"I am so so so sorry." he apologizes again. "I know you will never want to see me ever again. All I am is a gross Otaku shut-in who tried to act like some kind of Dating Sim protagonist and failed miserably."

You take a fluffy white towel from one of the tables and gently pat his purple hair dry. "I still want to see you silly."

He shyly meets your gaze and gives you a wobbly smile. But then he sees his DDD resting on the table next to him. "Wait. Where is Rui-Chan?"

He scans the room frantically, and his breathing quickens.

Before he has a full-blown panic attack, you take the charm out of your pocket and drop it into his open palm. "Shhhh, it's okay. The string broke, but it's an easy fix. How about you go back to the banquet hall and try to put it back together."

He looks at you like you have just hung all the stars in the sky. "You're an angel, Mc. That's my Henry, I always knew I could count on you."

He starts to head back toward the Banquet Hall, the sound of wet denim swishing back and forth, following him as he goes.

Alone again, you look down at your pool-soaked clothing and roll your eyes at the inconvenience. "Okay. Three down, eight to go."

Tagging: @nutmeg030 @im-in-love-with-fairytales @snowthatareblack @stressed-cryptid @miracl3d @that-1-simp @the-panda-queen @melpomenelurks @romaissa @randomdutchgirl @skei2p @downinbedrock @yuuvis32 @exrellian @cuddlybelphie @yeet-skeet-nifty-neat @thorn--bush @commets-space @enchantedforest-network

#obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #lucifer x reader #levi x reader #mammon x reader

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