#me pointing them out to you is not ''giving you attitude'' get over yourself

[brainfullofbees]

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[writersdrug]

Bartender!Simon accidentally running into Waitress!Reader while she’s carrying a bunch of drinks for a table, causing them to spill all over herself 👉🏻👈🏻

Even more bonus points if she’s dressed in a white shirt, iykyk 👀

You're onto something here

Also, combining this with the ask about reader snooping through Simon's flat on the 3rd floor

Warnings: NSFW, slight humiliation, Simon goes from gentleman to having nasty nasty thoughts

It's a busy night - when mid-September rolls in, the nights get colder, and people gravitate towards the warm lighting of the bar through the street-front window. You still have a couple of hours left on your shift, which means Ghost still has a while, too.

He can't remember how many beers he's poured tonight. The noise of the shaker is drowned out by the buzz in his head. Mack wants another PBR. Table eleven still needs their shots and two Martinis. He's in the zone, pouring liquor and juices and bitters with practiced skill. He catches every word from the patrons at the bar - at least, every order. He mumbles out a quick "step back, please" when a gaggle of girls tries to stand near the end of the bar, waiting for their drinks. The bar is completely seated, people stuffing themselves between chairs to place their orders. Somon's got half a mind to tell them to clear out and get the fuck back, but he has to be civil. It won't be this hellish for too much longer - Price texted Simon that he'd be there in a bit to help.

Simon's more concerned about you: you're running around, delivering food and drink, bringing condiments and refilling waters - you're weaving between tables, maneuvering around bodies with a quick "sorry" or "scuse me"... you're at one table, and in the blink of an eye, you're at another. Simon sometimes doesn't realize you went into the kitchen until you're busting the door open with plates of food. You're covered in a light sheen of sweat, your usual chipper attitude dampened by the Friday night rush. Simon doesn't miss the way you scowl when you hear a table calling for you, when both of your hands are full.

You push yourself through the crowd of girls hovering by the end of the bar. You huff, grabbing a tray and some glasses. "Is it national 'Go to a Bar' day?" You mumble, squeezing behind Simon and heading to the free soda gun.

He barely makes an effort to reply. "Must be." He grunts, pulling several bottles from the shelves and setting them on the counter. He's snatching this and that - you fill your glasses with water, sliding behind him and grabbing the various drinks on the end of the back and stacking them on your tray.

A man elbowed his way between the patrons at the bar. "Can I get another DogFish IPA?" He says, sticking his glass across the bar.

Simon groans internally, but he keeps a stoic face. He quickly leans to his left and reaches for the glass - right as you were picking up your tray, now stacked with drinks. You stumble back, not expecting Simon to be so close to you, and bump into one of the girls that crowds by the bar's entrance.

Simon feels his stomach drop when he sees each of the glasses topple over. You're instantly drenched, alcohol splashing across your eyes, which you have squeezed shut from the onslaught of fluids. Your shirt is absolutely soaked; a few of the glasses fall to the ground and shatter upon impact, alerting the entire bar and making their heads turn to you - the man who handed Simon the glass is ogling at you shamelessly, and the girl you'd bumped into turns around with a simple oh…

You're frozen, eyes wide and your entire front soaking. Your white shirt is practically see-through, clinging to your skin and providing little coverage for your pink, lacy bra. You look mortified and on the verge of tears. Your panicked stare drifts to Simon - you think he's going to yell at you, or worse: give you the silent treatment for the rest of the night because he's too frustrated to speak.

Simon is trying to keep his own staring under wraps – your tits look absolutely tantalizing, hugged so tightly by your wet shirt – but he snaps out of his daze when he sees your teary eyes. He drops everything - you're the most important person in the room right now. He quickly takes the tray from you and sets it aside.

"Here-" he shoves a fresh rag into your hands. "Cover up with that." He says, taking you by your shoulders and leaning down to your level. "Third floor, there's a dresser on th' left side, second drawer has shirts. Go dry off 'n get a new shirt, I'll clean this up."

You're too stunned to cry. You're angry, embarrassed, frustrated... there's so much happening around you, so many eyes staring at your fuck-up, but Simon's eyes keep you from losing control of your emotions. He doesn’t seem angry or irate – he’s worried about you. Shouldn't you help him clean up? It's your mess after all. "But-"

"Hush. Go on, luv - you're practically see-through." He quickly turns you around and gently shoves you into the crowd, and you hurry away to the stairwell without protest, holding the rag close to your chest.

Simon sighs. The pub slowly starts to return to normal, though people aren't trying as hard to get their drinks. A sense of shame seems to hang around everyone’s heads, though there was only one party at fault, here. He stares daggers at the girls who are still hovering by the bar. The one you ran into is gawking back in fear - she knows she messed up.

"Get the fuck back." Simon seethes, storming over to the POS. They all scramble away and press against the wall, afraid he might start swinging at them. "Finish ya drinks and leave. 'M closin' your tab. You're done."

They dissipate back into the crowd, right as Soap pops his head out of the kitchen. "Heard a crash, ye alright?"

"Fuckin' wankers can't understand simple orders." Simon grumbles, grabbing a broom from the corner and sweeping up the glass. "Slag couldn't get her ass out th' fuckin walkway and made bird spill a tray."

"Christ, she ok?"

"Upstairs. Changin'. Shirt nearly disappeared when it got wet."

"Need me tae check up on-"

"Got a fuckin' kitchen t' run, don't ya?"

Johnny scoffs and disappears back into the kitchen. Simon continues sweeping - he spots Price jogging up to the building throught he street front window, and he sighs in relief.

Upstairs, you do just as Simon instructed. You're topless, your bra still a bit damp after you tried to towel-dry it with he rag Simon gave you. You're sifting through his drawer, face scrunched as you shuffle through and inspect each shirt. You're a bit miffed at how many plain, black t shirts he has - has he ever stepped foot into an Old Navy? - but, eventually, you hit the jackpot.

You pull a shirt from the very bottom of the drawer. It's army green, a bit worn over the years, with a bit of a natural, masculine musk clinging to it. The right front chest has a skull, a sword, and wings, along with the table "Task Force 141". On the back, in large letters: "LT. RILEY".

A smile creeps its way onto your face. He never said which shirt... he said any shirt. And this is the one you want.

Your bra comes off quicky, the fabric still wet and uncomfortable. You toss it somewhere on the bed behind you – you’re sure Simon wouldn’t mind if you hung it over the back of his chair, right? Can’t be wearing a wet bra while you’re running around the restaurant; you’d have a bra-shaped water stain on your shirt. Or, worse – you’d get sick. And you know for a fact (though he’s never said it to you) that Simon would kick himself if you got sick on the job.

You quickly pull the shirt on - it swallows you, both in size and scent. It smells just like him - the bodywash you catch a whiff of when you pass him, the slight muskiness that surrounds you when he reaches above you to grab something - it's all there, just tenfold. You stand up and pull it down; it covers your thighs down to your shorts, almost making it look like you weren’t wearing any to an unassuming person.

You take a peek around the room: it’s quite cozy, even with a lack of real décor. The bed sits against the middle of the wall, with Carolina blue sheets and a grey comforter. The pillows look rather worn, but there’s at least three of them. There’s a television on the dresser that faces the bed, and a small bookshelf in the corner next to an antique-looking chair, except the shelf is filled with mostly keepsakes and memorabilia. Any books in the room are stacked on the edges of the two bay windows, embedded in the brick wall that faces the street. The only lighting comes from three lamps: one on the nightstand by his bed, a taller one next to the clothes rack near the bathroom, and a lantern-looking lamp that he’s somehow attached next to the door.

Curiosity gets the better of you – discovering anything about Simon that he hasn’t already told you is like striking oil. You pad over to the shelf, leaning down to inspect the various objects. A balaclava, rolled up and tucked behind a box. In said box is a medal, bronze and dull, with a fist tightly holding a blazing torch. A worn-down pair of sunglasses lay next to a ring. A green stone sits on a silver band, nestled between two ivy vines. There’s a picture of the four of them: Simon, Johnny, Price, and even Kyle – you had assumed they had met Kyle through the restaurant industry, but there they all were. Dressed in military uniforms, holding guns and posing with stern faces in front of a helicopter. Simon was wearing a rather terrifying skull mask, the rest of him completely covered by his uniform. You were only able to recognize Simon from his brown eyes, but the man in the photo looked entirely different from the bartender downstairs.

Fuck! You completely forgot that you were a waitress, sniffing around your manager’s office when you should be tending to your tables. You turned on your heel and left Simon’s room, running down the stairs two at a time.

Simon was still in the eye of the storm – barely a word had been passed between him and Price, other than a simple hello when he had first hopped behind the bar. Simon was keeping an eye on your tables, which were currently satisfied for the time being – but damn, what was taking you so long? Were you showcasing all of his shirts? The thought of that would’ve had him biting his cheek to prevent a boner, but he was too busy to be anything but concerned for you.

On cue, you come bounding down the stairs, throwing yourself back into the busy crowd as you tie your server apron around your waist. Simon pours a tap, barely able to make out your form flitting through the crowd, making sure your tables are well-off and happy. Price calls your name over the din of the crowd, and you squeeze yourself through the mass of people to collect the drinks sitting on the end of the bar.

“Sorry!” you exclaim, setting your drinks on a tray. “Had to mop myself up a bit with the rag. Did anyone order anything from my tables?” you ask, looking at Simon.

He’s… occupied. His eyes are trained on your shirt. His shirt. That army green that brought up so many old memories, ones he hadn’t thought of in a long time,..

His shirt. Covering your body – and, fucking Christ, you’re not wearing a bra. You’re completely naked under that shirt.

You’re confused. He’s staring at you with such a shocked, glassy pair of eyes that you wonder if you’ve shot him in the leg. You look down at what he’s staring at – oh, right. The shirt. A part of you heats up in embarrassment, and a part in… something else. Yes, I took your shirt. I’ve got your name on my back. If he’s thoroughly upset by this, he’s not expressing it. And if you’re mistaken in the thought that he looks aroused (you wouldn’t be surprised to find him drooling behind the mask – you know how delicious you look right now), you’ll give him the shirt back eventually and pretend this never happened.

“Thanks for earlier.” You spoke over the noisy chatter around you. “This, uh- I hope it’s ok, it was the first shirt I saw.”

Bullshit. He knows he buried that thing deep in his drawer. He did it on purpose. “’S fine.” He mumbles, still dazed.

You glance at him as you carefully balance the tray on your hand. The printer is dealing ticket after ticket of drinks as Price enters them – the man looks at Simon with a frustrated, tight-lipped glare, working double-time to push orders through.

“I’ll be back to grab the rest.” You say quickly. You scurry off, careful to avoid slamming into anyone this time. Simon nearly has a heart attack when he sees his last name across your back. You might as well have his bite mark branded onto the side of your neck.

This opens up a nasty can of worms for him. He’s a goner – he’s thinking about chasing you around the bar, after hours, while all you’re wearing is his shirt; snatching you up and slamming you down on the bar, shoving his face in between your thighs; what you sound like when he pumps you with his fingers; pounding you against the wall in the office, hips crashing into yours as he growls and grunts in your ear, “wanna wear my fuckin’ name, baby? hmm? wanna make sure everyone in this fuckin’ pub knows you’re mine? I’ll gladly fuckin’ help you, fuckin’ tease-“; god, he needs you, he needs to know what you feel like wrapped around his dick, what you sound like when he’s reaching those spots, he needs your nails in his back and your palm smacking him across his face and your teeth on his neck-

“Simon!”

John’s- no, Captain Price’s voice shuts off the movie playing in his mind. He looks at him, barely recognizing the growing frustration in his eyes – Simon’s fighting his own demons right now, and he isn’t even sure if his Captain’s wrath can save him.

“Stop thinkin’ with your Pork Sword and get your arse back on bar.” Price barks – a few of the regulars laugh at that, and Simon realizes he’d had an audience.

He clears his throat and grabs a ticket, quickly reading it and grabbing a glass. He forces himself to let go of the fantasy – he’ll have all night to think about it once he closes. That, or he’ll be hating himself for even thinking of you in that way, especially when the situation wasn’t in your favor. For now, though, he’s got a job to do. He continues to pour and stir and shake drinks left and right, occasionally stealing glances at you, prancing around with his title.

He knows one thing’s for certain – your bra is still somewhere in his room.

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 05:56 P.M 」

this has been rotting in my drafts for like months :'D based on a suggestion idea a while back—how gojo will definitely land himself in a police station, and since i have no better fic to share yet, i'll just post this :')

a part of gojo's love entries

everyone—or particularly, nanami—has warned you that marrying gojo satoru is going to be far from easy.

and true, less than a month since the two of you were married, he had landed himself in a police station. police station! of all places!

still, you were worried when you got the call, but when you rushed inside the place, all your worries—

“i’m telling you! i’m innocent!”

“sir, please don’t raise your voice here!”

“YOU are raising your voice against me!”

—evaporated. because… what the hell?

satoru, looking cross as if he owned the whole precinct, sat with his legs crossed high. he wore all black and his eyes was covered by that stupid blindfold. and with that haughty attitude, if someone accused him of being a suspicious person, now you would totally understand.

you were fuming as you stomped to where he was. “satoru!”

“oh?!” he turned to you with a wide grin, then to the officer in front of him, pointing at you. “look! i’ve been telling you. i have a wife— and there she is!”

the officer eyed you suspiciously as if he wanted to confirm your identity, and you huffed. “it pains me to admit that i’m his wife—”

“wha?! it ‘pains’ you?! i’m hurt!”

“—but yes, i am. officer, what do i have to do to get him out here?”

you could’ve sworn the officer gave you a look of pity. “ma’am, so we received a report that your… err, husband, was publicly harassing two students—”

you widened your eyes, turning to him accusingly. “you—!”

“i was not!” satoru fiercely interrupted, eyeing the police with clear disdain. “if i want to harass girls, shouldn’t i harass my wife first?!”

you were speechless as you shot him a look of disbelief.

“but sir, the girls said that you have been ‘leering’ at them—”

“i was just passing by! i didn’t even look at them! and when i have a wife this hot—” satoru wildly gestured at you with both hands. “what use is anything else?!”

dear lord. please give me strength. you felt like losing your head over this as you clutched your temple.

“sir, you’re being too loud!”

“i’m telling you, you’re slandering me! that’s crime too!”

this was utter chaos and you finally had enough. “both of you, just...” you breathed out— “shut up!”

both the police and your husband looked at you in surprise as you glared at them with so much ire they would have never expected out of you.

in the end, to settle this fiasco, you ended up paying the fine.

“wifey... forgive me, please?”

satoru dejectedly followed you from behind like a sad puppy as you entered your home. “please? don’t be mad at me...”

you suddenly stopped in your tracks, before whirling to face him, squinting one eye. “you got arrested, made a fool out of yourself, and i bailed you out. so, give me three good reasons why i shouldn’t be mad at you.”

“uh, w-wait...”

“three, two—”

“i-i’m a good kisser! i let you have my body!” he blurted in panic. “and oh—while at it, i also satisfy you sooo well in bed!”

how did you end up with a clown for a husband? despite yourself, you almost laughed at his response, and satoru obviously saw it as a sign of him succeeding. and before you knew it, he leaned and pecked you in the lips.

“look at you, you just smiled!” he giddily grinned as he pulled away. “i’m right, aren’t i!?”

“ha ha...” you let out an exasperated sigh, suppressing your laugh and faint heat in your face at the same time. “satoru...”

his eyes were practically shining. “yes?!”

“you and couch. tonight.”

[luludeluluramblings]

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family Part Two

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I was genuinely thinking this wouldn’t be as liked as it was. I kinda wanna take my time with it and slow it down. Focus on the Yandere aspect, and the little blurbs to go along with it. But, I hope y’all enjoy!

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Pregnancy, mild yandere themes (blink and you’ll miss it)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

It wasn’t like you had unintentionally forgotten to mention the apartment search to Stephanie. Mom brain can make you a silly forgetful goose.

Besides, other things had popped up that were much more important. Like, finding out the bean’s gender and finding yourself some actual maternity pants. Or, trying not to pass out. The waves of exhaustion that hit you were surprising. You had hit you second trimester and were supposed to start feeling better, the Doctor said.

But, apparently every pregnancy was different.

Stephanie, on the other hand, had started spending more and more time with you. Which was nice. The way you two were bonding over your experiences was kind of grounding. The little tips she gave were also kinda helpful. She tended to mother-hen you, though. Getting really strict about eating the cold cut sandwiches and your caffeine intake.

The lack of caffeine definitely didn’t help your irritably. Which you were struggling to control. You kept your snappy attitude to yourself as best you could, but sometimes the other’s in the house would do something that would make you glare at them. Alfred and Cassandra had definitely caught on that something was up. You showed the most restraint around them when it came to controlling your emotions. Stephanie was supportive as well.

But, Jason eventually had the absolute audacity to eat your fried cornbread one day. A recipe you had learned from your Momma’s Momma before she died. He left not a single crumb when you found him in the kitchen with a content look.

When you found the empty food container in the sink, you could feel your blood still.

“Did you eat my cornbread, Jason?” You had cooly asked, still looking at the empty container.

He had the further audacity to seem so nonchalant about it, “Yeah, it was good. You should make some more some time.”

“You ate my motherfuckin’ cornbread and you wanna telll me to make some more?” You were about take the empty container from the sink and chucked it at his stupid head.

“Watch the language, princess. It’s not that big a—“ Before he could finish, the restraint was gone and you were throwing the empty contain at him. Some of the dirty water splashing on him.

“What the hell? What gives?”

“You. Ate. My. Fuckin’. Cornbread. Do you know how much I was looking forward to that? And, you just fuckin’ ate it with a damn care?”

“Look, chill.” Jason is more baffled by your sudden behavior than anything to give you his usual temper. Normally you’re more mellow. Just letting them ignore you with ease. Hell, you used to seem scared of him.

“No, I will not fuckin’ chill. You ain’t ask, you just took it, you son of a bitch!” Honestly, you’re about to throw another dirty plastic container at him when Alfred walks in. Seeing the rage on your face and Jason sitting at the counter without care.

“Master Jason, I believe Master Dick requires your presence.” Alfred says with a masterfully controlled tone. You can’t tell if he’s lying or not, and, assumedly, neither can Jason because he gets up to leave.

Jason gives you a glare as he walks out of the kitchen. But, there is a hint of confusion in his gaze that you ignore in favor of trying not to cry over fucking cornbread of all things.

With a huff you go to pick up the empty container, only for Alfred to stop you.

“I believe you shouldn’t be straining yourself so much in your condition, my dear.” He picks it up for you before giving you a very pointed look. His eyes drifting towards the bump you have hidden underneath your oversized hoodie.

Instantly, guilt floods you. You hadn’t tell Alfred about the baby, despite him being your pillar of support in the manor. It makes tears actually spill over your lashes, and it cause you to feel even more frustrated that you can’t contain your emotions anymore.

“How long have you known?”

“I’ve had reason to suspect, but you yourself have just confirmed my suspicions, my dear.” The way Alfred’s single eyebrow raises makes to want to laugh on top of crying.

“Besides, I’ve noticed an unusual increase in the consumption of hot sauce and ice cream in this house. And, bowls containing the remains of the unholy concoction in the sink at the odd hours of the night.” But, the way he gives you a gentle and understanding smile makes a little choking noise escape you.

Thankfully, he lets you bury yourself in his chest as the tears start flowing. Willfully letting you ruin his freshly pressed clothes with your tears and snot. You can feel his hand rubbing your back like he was consoling a child, and you definitely felt like a child in that moment. A broken and pathetic child.

“I’m sorry” You mumble. The two words an apology for a million things. The tears, the recent volatility, the secrets, the way you’ve seemed to have lost control.

“You are forgiven, my dear. You are forgiven.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Jason had stormed into the cave, fully knowing Alfred had lied about Dick needing him when he saw him training with Damian and Steph. The sound of their soft grunts, punches, and kicks echoing a bit off the cave walls

“Alright, I’m just gonna say it. What’s the princesses’ deal? Little brat just threw Tupperware at me.” That got everyone’s interest and amusement.

“Are you sure you didn’t deserve it?” Tim quipped from the BatComputer with a grin. Typing away on another case.

“Shut it, Timbo. That’s not the point. She’s acting off.” He huffed as he moved towards one of the seats in the cave. Haphazardly throwing himself into the chair and leaning back with his legs spread.

“Maybe she’s finally coming out of her shell?” Duke suggested without looking over at him. Too focused on his gear. Checking over the material for any tears since the time he’d been on patrol.

Once again, the idea makes Jason scoff and further lean back in his seat.

“She’s literally been living here for years and now she wants to finally grow a spine? Not buying it. Something’s going on.”

“You sound like Bruce.” Dick immediately points out with a raised brow and a wiry grin. Him and the other two moving back over towards the rest of the caves current occupants. Sweat currently on their brows and forms.

“Fuck you, dickhead.”

Dick playful stumbles at the insult, clutching his chest. “Hurtful.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so concerned. Aren’t you always antagonizing her?” Tim points out mildly curious, but most of his attention is directed towards the giant screen in front of him.

“Not the point.”

“This conversation is pointless.” Damian mutters, taking a drink of water with a bored look on his face.

“Isn’t she your sister, Damian? You used to go on and on about being the blood son. Shouldn’t you care about your blood sister?” Tim goads him, never one to let Damian forget his old bratty behavior.

“Half-sister. She’s just a mistake.” He scoffs.

“Damian, knock it off.” Stephanie says with a sharp tone and a even sharper look.

That stuns everyone.

“Steph?” Dick says in… not concern, but bafflement.

“Excuse me, Brown?” Damian’s hackles rising. It was rare for him and Stephanie to go at it. But, not exactly unheard of.

“Just, knock it off, Damian.” She bluntly stated. Not allowing the argument to go any further before she’s whipping the sweat from her face and walking towards the cave’s stair. “Jason, where was she?”

He eyes her for a moment, slight suspicion on his blank face.

“In the kitchen with Alfred.”

“I’m going to go check on her.”

They’re quiet as her feet briskly climb the stairs.

“How much do you want to bet Steph knows what’s going on and isn’t tell us?” Tim breaks the silence with a curious look.

“I’m not taking that bet. But, I think you have a point, Jason.” Dick says, acknowledging his earlier suspicions.

“You have any ideas, Cass?”

“… Something is going on. Not sure what.”

“Guess we have a little princess mystery on our hands.” Jason snarks. Content on being validated, but mind now wondering.

“Might be interesting.” Tim replies with a shrug of his shoulders. “Oh, hey, Damian, just got a space transmission from Conner. Jon and him will be back in a few days and will probably stop by the manor.”

“Jon is tolerable, but must Conner come here as well.”

“Hey, he’s my best friend. Chill out.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Smalltown!Meta!Reader Part 8 has surpassed 4000 words and I’m still not done. And, I cut it in half. I’m really focusing on more dialogue, cause it’s starting to be kinda fun!

A/N: I will get to my asks. Eventually. I mean it, I cleaned it out and then y’all doubled it! I’ll get to it! One day!

A/N: The BatFam tags are lighting up y’all! We are blessed, we are fed!

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Taglist:

@bunbunboysworld @ellaprime7 @bad4amficideas @victoria1676

[ellecdc]

James and Sirius and Remus and Lily and *takes a dramatic breath* you?

this one's for you @enamoredwithbella, thanks for sorting this idea out with me @unstablereader

poly!Marauders + Lily x shy!reader who is so smitten with them

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3 // pt 4 // pt 5

CW: fem!reader, reader has hair long enough to be played with, reader is in Hufflepuff, swearing, consent because it's sexy AF

This was obviously a bad idea.

You’re not even sure how your friends managed to convince you to attend the Gryffindor party, but you swore to every deity it would never happen again.

There were too many people (most of whom you’d never spoken to before), it was too loud (songs you didn’t particularly care for), and the fifteenth time someone bumped into you nearly sent you over the edge.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.” A low voice commented as an arm quickly righted you from your nearly horizontal position. “Y’alright?”

You looked up to see the face of none other than Gryffindor quidditch captain James Potter beaming down at you.

You were ashamed of yourself for the way that smile made you feel.

“Erm, yup! Thanks.” You squeaked, quickly freeing yourself from James’ grasp so fast that you nearly knocked someone else over in your attempt at creating distance between you and the Headboy.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like James. On the contrary; you were rather smitten with him.

Him and his partners - which was nothing short of dense in simple terms.

But you couldn’t help the way you blushed when he held the doors open for you as you walked into classes, or the friendly smile and wave he’d shoot at you when he saw you on Prefect rounds. 

You sort of wished he’d stop being so bloody nice to you; maybe then you’d be able to get over this crush that was never going to amount to anything.

But James was taken; three times over. 

And what a sodding group they were.

Heart Throb of Hogwarts™ Sirius Black in his effortless style, his devil may care attitude, and his insatiable flirting. Being noticed by Sirius felt like your favourite rockstar singing a song written just for you. 

And don’t even get you started on the enigma that is Remus Lupin; the Cassanova of Gryffindor tower. Everyone in your year (and likely the years below you) had at some point or another crushed hard on the quiet Marauder; but it really couldn’t be helped. He was tall, he was handsome, he was kind, and though he was far more quiet than his counterparts, the quips he shared with you never ceased to reduce you to a fit of laughter.

And gods, was Lily Evans ever beautiful. She was the total package; she was funny, outgoing, smart, and stunning. Looking at her even now with her long auburn hair as she threw her head back in laughter; so open and care free in her actions. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be her or being underneath-

No.

No. That was not a nice thing to think about someone who was in a committed relationship.

You let out a sigh as you zoned back into the fact that James still had one of his hands on your elbow and was smiling curiously at you. 

“Thanks for the save! I really owe you one.” You chuckled awkwardly and nearly took out one of the Prewett twins in your haste to leave Potter’s vicinity. 

Unfortunately, trouble seemed to be following you.

And by trouble, you meant Sirius Black.

“Damn, Hufflepuff!” He cheered as he moved a sultry gaze up and down your body appreciatively. “Give us a spin, dollface.”

You felt all the blood in your body migrate to your cheeks as you fought to keep your mouth from falling open.

Lily, the beautiful angel (or the evil temptress, depending on how you looked at it), swatted at Sirius from her perch on the arm of the chair her boyfriend was currently occupying.

“Down boy; you’re going to scare her away.” She teased with a smirk as she winked at you. 

You felt momentarily grateful for her.

And then she spoke again.

“Then none of us will get to look at her.”

Fucking Helga, was it hot in here? They needed to open more windows; preferably one you could launch yourself out of right now, thank you very much. 

“That’d be such a shame, really. Sorry doll, you don’t gotta spin - no one else here deserves to appreciate such a view.”

“Okay.” You squeaked and turned in search of your friends.

You know what? Fuck your friends; you were leaving with or without them. 

They weren’t….flirting with you, were they?

Surely not.

Of course not.

What a ridiculous thing to think.

But…it certainly felt like they were flirting with you.

Maybe one more glance?

Just as you were about to approach the portrait hole, you turned for one more look at the objects of your affection and your current tormentors and - yup, sure enough - Sirius, Lily, and now James were all standing there smiling at you.

They were watching you leave?!

Okay time to go, that is enough nonsense for one day. 

You spun and collided with something tall and solid which thankfully caught your arms as you all but ricocheted off of them.

“Hey there, dove. Where’re you headed in such a hurry?”

Please for the love of gods, don’t tell me…

But of course, you looked up to see the face of one Remus Fucking Lupin smirking down at you. 

“You lot are everywhere.” You whispered in awe. The bastard only chuckled in response.

“Come on you guys! We’re going to start a game of truth or dare!” Lily called over to…you (?) and Remus.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to miss that, would we?” Remus murmured lowly into your ear as he steered you towards the growing circle congregating around the various chairs and sofas littering the common room.

And listen, you’re not particularly proud that you were so placid in Remus’ man handling you.

But in your defence…

In your defence, Remus was man handling you. 

And to your absolute horror, he plopped you down beside Lily on a large chair that was not quite large enough for two people. 

You tried to swallow your heart back down which was attempting to escape via your mouth as you became hyper focused on the fact that Lily sodding Evans was pushed up against you none too casually and- Merlin’s tits, was she playing with your hair!? 

You pretended to pay attention as a few rounds passed by; your friend being dared to give you a lap dance being the most brazen thing to have taken place.

Until it got to the Marauders.

Marlene dared Sirius to strip down to his boxers for a whole round which he was all but too eager to do, apparently. Meaning he got to ask the next person.

“Moony!” 

Remus smiled down at his lap before he looked over at one of his boyfriend’s mischievously. 

“I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl here.”

You’re not necessarily proud of the way your heart plummeted at that; this is what you had been telling yourself all night. They were taken.

No matter if they complimented you.

No matter if they caught you as you fell. 

No matter if they snuggled up to you on a chair designed for one.

No matter if one of them made you feel like you leaving the party early would have been truly devastating.

No matter.

“That’s impossible; there’s two of them.” Remus said quickly, causing your heart to ache for Lily.

Who even says that when their girlfriend is sitting right here!?

You kept your head down as the party all ooooh’ed and aawwwweee’d.

James let out a funny high pitched laugh as if he were an over excited kid on Christmas morning. “Guess you’ll have to kiss them both then.” 

You really should have left when you had the chance; you weren’t sure you could watch.

It was their business if they wanted to include another, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

“Or they can kiss each other; I think I’d enjoy that just as much.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Lily said as she stood; the space she once inhabited felt cold and vacant without her.

“Well? Come on then?” She said as she grabbed your arm.

“What?”

“Come with me.” She said again, wiggling your arm within your grasp, and who were you to deny her, really?

Like a well trained dog you followed her obediently over to where Remus sat before she all but shoved you into his lap.

“You seem like the fidgety type; maybe Rem can help with that, hm?” She said as she shot a wink at Remus over your shoulder.

His arms wrapped possessively around your waist as he rested his chin on the junction between your neck and shoulder.

“Is it okay if she kisses you, pretty girl?”

You had no time to be absolutely horrified at the pathetic little keening sound that escaped your lips as you looked up at the red-head now towering over you.

“What do you say, gorgeous?” And though her emerald eyes did shine with some mischief, you could see she was earnest; this was your choice.

“Okay.” You whispered barely loud enough for you to hear yourself over the hammering of your heart.

“Yeah?” She whispered as she knelt in front of you.

“Yeah.” You agreed.

And you only got to see the soft, hopeful smile that adorned her lips for but a moment before her hands were on either side of your face and she was pressing her soft lips to yours. 

It could have been hours or centuries but it was also all too soon before she was pulling away from you; a proud smile on her lips though her cheeks were a similar colour to her hair.

You became aware of the hooting and hollering going on around you as Remus’ chest began to vibrate in laughter.

“Beautiful.” He murmured - likely more to himself than to you, but you heard it all the same.

“Do I get a turn?!” James shouted before Sirius roughly grabbed him by the waist and planted him down on his lap.

“Not before me, Jamie.” He snickered as he shot you a wink. 

The audacity of a man to still be so confident sitting in nothing but his boxers. 

You tried to hide behind your hands though it was all for naught as Remus made a theatrical cooing sound and pulled you further into his lap until you were all but cradled in his arms.

“Maybe without an audience next time, hm?” He asked you as he brushed some hairs away from your forehead.

Not trusting yourself to speak (or to even make direct eye contact with the bloke currently cuddling you in your lap), you nodded with your face still hidden.

“Way to go babe.” James said as Lily went to join the two boys on their loveseat. “You were so good, we’ll even get a next time!”

read about their first date here!

[julietsbody]

innocence — modern ! coriolanus snow + reader : your friends ask you to get some drugs from the local dealer, but you never expect he would take a liking to you.

tags : 18+!!! MDNI!!! drug dealing ! coryo, drugs, praise kink, overprotective behavior, possessive behavior, porn with feelings, p in v sex, fingering, special treatment

coriolanus snow hated parties, they were loud, and the people were insufferable— but he needed the money from the things he sold. cocaine, weed, even some ecstasy. whatever the people wanted, whatever helped support his grandmother and cousin. they weren’t living in the most luxury like all the other people who held parties in these neighborhoods, so that’s why coriolanus attended them, they always paid the most.

he typically got douchebags or stuck - up pretty girls, they both always paid him in crumpled up ones that he took forever to straighten out and count— what a bunch of assholes.

what he never expected, though, was you, coming up to the man dressed in a korn shirt and baggy jeans with a bow in your hair as well as wearing a pretty dress. your doe eyes peered up at him when you tapped his shoulder, he turned, eyes slotting down to meet yours, “hey.”

“hi,” you hesitate, cute, “i.. do you sell drugs?”

he clears his throat, “sorry?”

“do you—“

“probably shouldn’t repeat yourself, doll,” he tips his head up, “i do, are you buying?“

“just for my friends, yeah,” you smile shyly at him, and he returns it.

you’re so innocent, had you ever done any drugs before? definitely not the ones he sells, maybe the weed, but cocaine or ecstasy? no, no way. if it were for you, he wouldn’t be selling you it anyway. coriolanus had a certain soft spot, if you will, for the innocent girls that wander up to him at parties with their batting eyelashes and naturally pouted lips.

“alright, let’s go upstairs,” he tips his head to the stairs, chuckling when you move to give a thumbs up to your friends before following after him, “why do they make you ask for them?”

he suddenly moves back to grab your wrist when the halls find themselves crowded, not wanting to lose you in the sea of people, nor you lose him. you were a client, a customer, and he always treats his customer this way.

loud incorrect buzzer.

he doesn’t!

coriolanus never dares to allow himself to sweeten up around his customers, or anyone, but something about your shy, deer like attitude— it had a wolf wanting to protect.

“they say they’re too nervous to do it themselves,” you finally answer when he leads you into the nearest empty room, closing the door behind you.

he finally lets go of your wrist, “that so? what are they askin’ for?”

“cocaine,” you swallow.

“then they’re not nervous,” he chuckles, having to deal with his fair share of cocaine users, none of them are nervous to approach him, “why do you let them push you around?”

he moves to sit on the bed, chopping up the cocaine from his pocket on the nightstand next to him. he typically doesn’t like when his customers stand over him, because he never knows what they will do, and he likes to be in control at all times— but you’re harmless, aren’t you? just a little deer.

you exhale a nervous laugh, “they’re not pushing me around, they’re just asking me for favors.”

he hums, eyes peering up at you as his hands absentmindedly work on the pearl powder, it was muscle memory for him at this point. “you promise you’re not doing this shit, too?”

“i promise,” your lips tip up to a curt smile, “it’s really.. scary, honestly.”

he exhales, eyes trailing over the curves of your face before they meet the nightstand again, swiping the powdered sugar like substance into a little baggie. you watch him, almost admiring, “yeah. it is really scary, dangerous, too— don’t want you doin’ this shit too.”

a warm feeling courses through your veins, you hardly realize he’s holding the baggies out for you until he clears his throat, you blink a few times, quickly trying to grasp the money you had— it wasn’t given to you by your friends to spend for them, it was just your own money. how cruel.

“it’s on the house,” he quickly says, almost unaware of what he was saying himself until it finally passes his lips.

you bat your lashes at him, “what—“

“free, doll, just take it,” he allows himself a faint smile.

you hesitantly reach to take the baggies, “are you sure…?”

he nods, “‘m positive.”

“thank you, snow,” his eyebrows furrow at how sweet his name sounds on your tongue, like nectar delivered by the kindest dove from the gods.

you turn to leave, but he quickly stands, “hey—“ he pauses, eyes sweeping over your figure as he tries to figure out what to say, you probably go to millions of parties with your asshole friends, possibly with other dealers.. “some other dealers are gonna try to rip you off, make you pay a lot for a little bit— so just, come to me and i’ll treat you good as long as you’re staying out of trouble, princess.”

“okay, i will,” you nod quickly.

“good girl.”

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

you don’t see coriolanus for a while after that night, it has been no more than a few days, less than a week but the idea of you is rotting in his brain and eating him whole from the inside out. at every party he went to, every girl with a bow in their hair (he despises that it’s the latest trend) or wearing a baby pink dress reminds him of you. with their fluttering lashes and soft smiles, god, he hates that he sees you in every one of them. he hates that you have completely plagued his entire conscience, but yet he never complains about it, not once.

sometimes, sejanus, one of the other known dealers, though he more so considers himself a look - out when coriolanus is selling, or a promoter for coriolanus’ business— he notices how coriolanus’ eyes linger more than usual on the women at parties, it almost makes him laugh, or tease coriolanus.

isn’t he supposed to be intimidating? not a man easily falling for women.

a lover boy, that’s what he seemed like now.

sejanus swishes around his drink in his cup, eyes falling to coriolanus, “what’s up with you?”

coriolanus blinks once, twice, “what are you talking about?”

“you haven’t blinked in like an hour,” sejanus liked to overexaggerate, “are you okay?”

“of course i am,” he scoffs, “‘m gonna find arachne.”

arachne, sejanus’ best friend, albeit she talks so much shit about him behind his back. sejanus is sweet, passive, and arachne is the complete opposite. some would call arachne a maneater, coriolanus thinks of her as a conceited bitch who needs to be put on a leash. she had a tendency to run off whenever she went to parties with coriolanus and sejanus, so coriolanus always had to run after her to try and find her.

sejanus nods, offering a small i’ll look too.

coriolanus allows sejanus to walk the opposite way as he turns the corner, eyes scanning each room for a brunette with a bold red lip. he doesn’t find her anywhere, god, she better not be having sex in one of the rooms upstairs like how she was last time. coriolanus likes to think opening that door to that sight was something out of a horror movie.

he does find a different brunette, though, with more golden tones and curlier hair.

festus creed, of fucking course creed is here. he was another one of the other well known dealers in the area. he wasn’t that well with his sells, mostly because he acts like he’s above everyone else in the worst way possible, and even allows people to pay with sex.

coriolanus heard his sex is never good.

funny, isn’t it? how someone with a small dick and hardly any skills on pleasing women would offer sex as payment.

coriolanus, at least, thinks it’s hilarious.

what he doesn’t think is hilarious, though, is that festus is talking to someone coriolanus is far too familiar with. glittery eye makeup, a lacy bow in their hair, baby pink dress.. it’s you.

coriolanus’ mouth runs dry when you spot him in the corner of your eye, your lips twisting into a sugar - coated grin as soon as your eyes widen, “snow!”

you immediately move to give him a hug, festus’ searing gaze following your every movement in the creepiest way possible— god, coriolanus hates him. his fingers lace around your waist, tugging you close, “hey, princess.”

“princess?” festus snickers.

coriolanus tries to ignore him, but he finds it near impossible with the words that leave your lips next, “this is festus, my friend, do you know him?”

coriolanus scoffs, does he know him, what a joke, “i know of him.”

festus finds himself chuckling bitterly, “is that right, pretty boy?”

coriolanus takes a step, and you feel a certain mold of metal against your waist when he does, a gun, his cold lips part, “sure is.”

your eyes roam over his features, the curves of his skin when his brows collide, the way his eyes darken with malice, the grit of his sharp teeth, the flush of his jaw against his flesh as he moves it. his muscles flex underneath his baggy band t - shirt, veins pulsing. he was angry.

festus’ lips part, but you speak before him, “snow?”

his head nods in your direction, but he doesn’t say anything.

“answer your girl, snow,” festus taunts.

“go upstairs,” he mumbles, it’s to you.

so you do.

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

coriolanus sighs when he closes the door behind him, coming in mere minutes later. you had been sitting on the bed in the vacant room, fingers playing together, eyes glossed over in fear and pricking with tears. coriolanus wasn’t the only one who carried, but you didn’t hear any shots, fortunately.

“kid’s such a fuckin’ asshole,” he mumbles, cracking his bruising knuckles, “he’s not sellin’ you shit, is he?”

“sometimes—“

“don’t buy from him anymore,” coriolanus pauses, swallowing, “he laces his shit sometimes.”

it was true, festus was messy with his work, he didn’t lace the products himself but the people that distributed them to him would, he was just too lazy to even notice.

“i’m sorry,” it comes out hushed, a mere whisper, but coriolanus’ ears pick up on it easily.

his tone is softer now, “why?”

“i didn’t know—“

“then don’t apologize,” his head tips to the side, sniffling the bubbling blood in his nose, he inhales, pupils wide as they roam your features. a glass tear raced down your pliant cheek, and he immediately moved to carefully wipe it away, “don’t cry, doll.”

you don’t say anything, merely melt into his touch. coriolanus isn’t good with affection, he’s hardly had any girlfriend before and if he has, they don’t last long due to his struggles with showing kindness. so it’s obvious the next word that leaves his mouth isn’t one born from honeysuckle, “cocaine?”

your lips move nervously, bottom lip tugging under your teeth as your mascara covered lashes move to his frost - bitten eyes, “do you have.. ecstasy?”

his lips drop to a frown, “why?”

your lips tremble when they part, cheeks heating under his touch, “my friends want to try it.”

“no,” he swallows, jaw ticking, “i’m not selling you that shit.”

“what? why not?”

“that shit is too dangerous,” he chuckles, albeit it’s bitterness, “i don’t want you around that, it’s trouble.”

“i’ve been good,” you reassure, hips swaying when you scoot closer to the edge of the bed, closer to him.

“have you, now?” his thumb is gently rubbing against your skin.

“i have, i promise,” you offer, feeling his fingers move so his thumb is now moving against your bottom lip, dipping into your mouth ever so slightly.

you smile around it and his pupils dilate even more, are his eyes blue anymore or merely just sole pupil? “naughty girl.”

then he stops, as if he had realized something, and pulled away. your lips curve downward to a frown, desperate to have his touch again, “snow?”

“don’t,” his molars collide, “i’ll hurt you.”

“that’s okay—“

“—i’m bad news—“

“—i don’t think that—“

“—i’m dangerous, doll.”

you hesitate, inhaling sharply, “but you won’t hurt me.”

he doesn’t say anything for a minute, “so, you want cocaine?”

you give him a careful nod, and he smiles. again, he’s being sweet.

“you know how to chop up cocaine?”

you allow yourself a giggle, “you know i don’t.”

“i’ll show you.”

and he does, his hand is gentle as it guides yours, fingers curling against the curve of your own as he crushes up the cocaine, guiding you to chop it up with the card he gave you. you’re warm underneath his cold touch, his movements experienced whilst yours are new. “how many times have you done this?”

he shrugs, breath fresh against the shell of your ear, “a couple hundred, for sure.”

“i could help you, you know, with the business,” you offer, despite not even really wanting to.

“no,” his fingers are tighter against your skin, but not enough to hurt, “i don’t want you in this business, you being around me is dangerous enough.”

“you’re not dangerous, snow,” you hush out.

he moves closer, and you feel his gun brush against your ass, lips curving into a smile, “you think so?”

you shiver from the touch, it’s loaded, the safety is probably off, “i know so.”

your thighs push together, he feels it, making him chuckle, “you’re so needy, princess.”

“snow,” you breathe out, “this isn’t fair.”

“how so?” he presses a soft kiss behind your ear, “just because you aren’t getting what you want?”

“do you want it?” you pause your movements.

“of course i do, i want it as much as you,” he moves your fingers so you drop the card, guiding them to his bulge, “‘m just not spoiled.”

you frown at his works, fingers curving around his bulge, god, how big was he? “‘m not spoiled either.”

“whatever you say, princess,” he grits out.

you palm him so well, it nearly has him rutting against your hand, breathing getting heavier against your ear. his fingers move to trail down down your back, dipping underneath the hem of your skirt and tracing along the thin material of your lace panties. his jaw shifts, “such a dirty girl, wearing these panties.”

you whimper when his fingers graze along the soaked part of your panties, thick fingers brushing against your clothed clit, “please— snow.”

“please what, princess?” you mumble something in response, but it’s nearly incoherent, more of a whimper, “use your words.”

he moves to pull your panties to the side, now touching your bare clit, making your thighs tremble, “i need— fuck, i need you— inside.”

he nods, pressing kisses along the side of your neck, finding himself already pussy - drunk. it almost felt sacrificial, a sinful man dipping his fingers inside of a goddess, the way you moaned at the feeling of his finger stretching you out— it was as if he could be confessing of his sins at any minute.

to see your hips bucking against his finger, his name hushed on the tip of your delicate tongue. didn’t you know that many people wanted him dead? how many people hated him? how the police could arrest him at any second? yet you didn’t care, a lamb to the slaughter, a deer in between the jaws of a wolf.

yet you were rutting against his hand, begging for more, desiring him to push another finger in— and he did exactly that, prepping your tight cunt for his cock, “you’re so fuckin’ tight, doll, i don’t know if it’ll fit.”

“it will— it will, i know it will—,” you’re just babbling nonsense at this point, and coriolanus wanted to be gentle, he really did, but your sweet moans, your sugary whimpers, the way he so easily pushed his fingers inside of you, the way that when you curl, your moans up a few octaves. you were so sensitive, god, were you a virgin?

the thought had coriolanus pulling his fingers out, twirling you around so he can push his fingers into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself as his other hand undoes the belt holding his baggy jeans up. his eyes are crystalizing the memory of your tongue swirling against his fingers, sucking up every taste of your own cunt— have you thought of this as many times as he has?

he moves his hand to take his gun before it falls, placing it on the counter behind you, his fingers move from your mouth to help him push his jeans down, your lips part, “why do you have a gun?”

he smiles sweetly at your words, nearly chuckling, “why do you think?”

“‘m not sure, that’s why i asked,” you had a certain tinge in your voice that makes him quirk a brow.

“it’s to protect myself, princess,” he pushes his boxers down, finally freeing his cock, “now be a good girl, turn around, and bend over.”

of course you do exactly what he asks, bending over the counter so he can push your skirt up. the feeling of your innocence being stripped away right in front of you was far too good, like a cross ripped from the chain around your neck, or your holy water being unpurified. you were a cupcake with frosting on top, and coriolanus was sinking his teeth into you, rotting his sweet tooth.

his dick slaps against your heat when your legs part with desire, making you whine against nothing, “snow— please..”

“just say it, princess,” he moves to rub his red tip against your clit, making you shudder, knees buckling already.

“fuck me— f..fuck me,” you repeatedly beg.

he moves closer to press a sweet kiss on the back of your neck, bones colliding when his cock finally pushes into your cunt. you were so tight around him, squeezing him around your velvet walls. your jaw falls slack when you gasp at the feeling of him stretching you out, his lips pull tight together in a grunt, “so tight for me, princess— jesus christ..”

his breathing is labored when he pulls his hips back and thrusts in, he goes slow at first, treating you like you were a fragile statue made from porcelain, but then you’re begging him to go faster, to go harder. your fingers graze along the gun placed on the counter, right next to the cocaine. his tongue swipes along the roof of his mouth before he speaks, “are you sure, doll? i don’t— fuck— want to hurt you.”

“h-hurt me, it’s okay,” you mumble out, and he truly does hesitate for a second, then his thrusts are suddenly faster, bumping you into the counter with the sheer snap of his hips. your cries sound like noises formed from a blessed harp, passed down by the gods for him to listen to, each moan getting louder and louder until his ears are ringing, until the music sounds hushed compared to your screams.

it’s so obscene, all of the things that he finds himself spitting out as he harshly bucks into you. so cute, jus’ wanna ruin you, takin’ my cock so well, that feel good princess? he can’t help the way his hands snake up to your hair, tugging at the pretty bow wrapped around it, earning a frosted moan from your glossed lips.

it’s not long until you’re cuming on his cock, with him pulling out to twirl you around and push you to your knees, allowing you to jerk him off until thick white stripes are decorating your face. the white glitter, the sweet scent of your lip - gloss, now accompanied by his cum.

how cute.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbles as he tucks his dick back in his boxers, pulling his jeans back up when your painted nails move to wipe away the cum on your face, lapping it up with your pretty tongue.

you giggle sweetly, “do you do this with all your customers?”

he shakes his head, “no, doll, you’re special, you know that.”

and it’s true, you really were special.

you were a dangerous man’s doll.

[luvyeni]

( reaction ) failing no nut november ! ୨୧ 一 라이즈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ would they fail no nut november ヾ

boyfriend!riize・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・mentions of sex, a little bit of degradation‎ wc ・ ‎0.9k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. if you have your req open could you consider this! either a reaction or like short drabbles ig but the concept is: riizes reaction to u making them fail no nut november/ or trying to make riize fail no nut november

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i hope this is what you wanted...<3

﹙ 𐙚 : shotaro﹚ .ᐟ

he would definitely give up if you asked him to, the moment you bat those pretty eyelashes he's gone. “what can i do for you baby.” he smiled , but from the look in your eyes he could already tell what you wanted. “i need you.” that's all he needs before he's like ‘the hell with this challenge.’ picking you up taking you back to your room and laying you down. “you need me baby?” his hands finding his way to your clothed slit, rubbing circles on your clit. “y-yes.” he chuckled. “so cute baby.” your sweet cunt soaking his fingers. “don't worry baby.” the challenge no longer on his mind.

“no need to beg i'll fuck you the way you need me to.”

﹙ 𐙚 : eunseok﹚ .ᐟ

eunseok won't give in, he's not gonna give you what you want, no matter how much you beg him. “eunseok please.” you followed behind him. “what's the point of this stupid challenge?” you desperately pleaded with your partner. “don't you want to fuck me.” his silence pissed you off. “fine i’ll just go handle it myself.” he didn't like that at all. “go ahead and you won't cum at all in december.” he warned. “go ahead and touch what's mines, i dare you.” you whined, turning back to your room, still needy for your man's touch. “so mean.” you mumbled under your breath.

“keep talking back and you won't cum until january.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sungchan﹚ .ᐟ

he'll give in— after he's done fucking with you, he loves teasing you but in the end he'll give you what you want. “baby it's just a month, you can't go a month without me fucking you?” he smirked , you rolled your eyes. “please if you weren't doing this to piss me off you wouldn't be able to go a month.” he chuckled. “whoa baby , that's big talk for someone who wants to be fucked , maybe we should see if we both can last until december.” your entire attitude changed making him smirk condescendingly. “i like this attitude better, now get on your knees.” you followed his orders, getting down on your knees. “good girl.”

“i don't give a fuck about this challenge i just want a excuse to fuck the attitude out of you.”

﹙ 𐙚 : wonbin﹚ .ᐟ

he wouldn't give in simply to fuck with you. wonbin is a fucking tease and loves to see you struggle, it turns him on to see it — if anything it motivates him to finish until the end. “wonbin you know you don't give a fuck about this stupid challenge.” you rolled your eyes in annoyance. “it been almost a month since you fucked me.” he smirked. “you keeping track of the days sweetheart?” you wanted to slap him but that wouldn't get you anywhere. “why can't you just fuck me.” he laughed, mocking you further. “because you need to practice self control baby you're begging for dick right now.”

“don't worry i'll fuck you when this is all over.”

﹙ 𐙚 : seunghan﹚ .ᐟ

he’d give in simply because he can't not give you what you want. your his baby; and you're practically begging for him to fuck you… so he has to give his baby what she wants. he can participate next year , you needed him. “hannie please.” you begged into your boyfriend's ear. “i want you so fucking bad.” he smiled at you, cradling your face in his hands. “language princess.” you whined. “this game is stupid.” you sighed in frustration. “please just give up.” that's all he needed. “fine princess , be a good girl and lay down.” you were quick to undress yourself laying back , waiting for your man. “so pretty and desperate.” he said, now undressed. “so spoiled.” he climbed on top of you.

“always needy for my cock.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sohee﹚ .ᐟ

he's failing because he's not participating; number one munch here isn't gonna give up eating your sweet cunt for a let , let alone not fucking you for an entire month. you had to be the one to try and encourage him to go at least a month — it's last not even a full day. “sohee this is not how this works.” you try and push the boy currently in between your thighs away. he whined out like you cut him. “what do you mean i can't eat you out?” he questioned. “that's the whole point , not cumming.” you said. “well you don't have to cum , just let me taste you.” you pushed him away again, he cried out. “you have to wait a month.” he moved your hands , holding them down as he gave your cunt a lick. “fuck hee.” you moaned. “see that challenge is stupid.” he said.

“just let me make you cum on my tongue.”

﹙ 𐙚 : anton﹚ .ᐟ

he'll last a week or two before he can't take it anymore; his need for you overruling any stupid challenge. “anton you wanted to do this challenge.” he hated when you brought it his grave mistake. “it's only a few more weeks.” he whined , wrapping his arms around you, his obvious hard on pressed against you. “baby please, it's just a stupid challenge with the hyungs , they don't even have to know.” he kissed the inside of your neck. “please don't ignore me, I'm so fucking hard.” he groaned, feeling you up trying to rile you up. “anton.” you sighed. “see you want this too.” his hands came up to your boobs. “we don't even have a to tell them.”

“just let me fuck you , please baby.”

©LUVYENI

[yzzyhee]

love bite — sjy

bf!jake x gf! reader

warnings: established relationship, suggestive (minors dni), kissing/making out?, biting, marking, grinding, hair pulling, petnames (baby) , smallcases written work

wc: 930~

synopsis: your boyfriend’s collarbone makes you give dracula a small run for his money

a/n: i actually wrote for a second time. wow. it had to be done… anyway! genuinely don’t know what i did nor do i want to know anymore 😃 but this is mainly for myself bc i can’t either bite his or my wife’s collarbone so @ja3yun, angel, this one is for you. i wish to do to u what yn did to jakey 🙂‍↕️ or i just want jake idk anymore send help but anyway feedbacks are appreciated 🧛

“stop staring.”

“hm?”

“yn.”

you smile innocently at your boyfriend as he gives you a pointed look. to be honest, you have been staring at him — specifically his collarbone that is currently peaking from under his hoodie.

“can you please focus?”

oh, right. jake’s been trying to explain to you the material from the latest physics class but you seem to lose your focus. and how could you not? his pretty, kind of — definitely — suckable collarbone is just sitting there, waiting for you to bite on… you’re just a girl after all.

“let me bite you.” you say suddenly and for a second your eyes widen, surprised that you actually voiced your thoughts.

jake tilts his head and looks at you with a curious look. you’re not usually the dominant one in the relationship, always letting him to take the lead in your intimate moments.

although his focus should remain on the task at hand, your outburst has diverted him into your way of thinking and now his thoughts are filled of your soft lips on his skin and the way you look at him sends a small shiver down his spine as heat courses through his veins.

he leans back against the headboard of his bed, his hoodie somehow slipping a little further down his shoulder, exposing more of that collarbone you’ve been eyeing so intently.

“you want to bite me?” he asks, voice low, almost teasing.

you bite your bottom lip and nod, feeling confident now that you sense the desire in his voice.

“just a little bit.” you murmur, a mischievous smile spreading across your lips as you move closer to him and let your fingers brush against the fabric of his hoodie, tugging it down more to expose that tempting, just so tempting skin of his.

jake’s breath hitches as he watches you. it’s not like you to be so forward and that contrast between your usual shyness, submissive attitude versus this sudden boldness is making his heart race. he doesn’t stop you when you press your lips to his collarbone, slowly kissing the exposed skin. your teeth graze him without notice and he feels a jolt of electricity run through him.

“yn…” he breathes out, his hands instinctively finding your waist, pulling you closer as your lips work their way along his collarbone. the softness of your lips kissing, tongue peaking out to lick at his skin and the nip of your teeth is driving him insane, each touch of yours going straight to his dick as he feels himself getting hard.

you’re so focused on him, lost in the sensation of his warm skin beneath your mouth that you barely notice the way his hands tighten around you, pulling you into his lap and making you straddle him.

you let out a small gasp, feeling his hard on pressing into your core. his hands make their way to your back, lowering you completely on him.

you detach yourself from his collarbone and move to look at him. your breath halts as you see him looking at you with darkened eyes and slightly parted lips. he drops his gaze on your glossy lips, touching them slowly with his thumb. you part them, biting down on his finger.

his eyes seem to darken even more, his lips crashing against yours, hungry and demanding. his hands find the hem of your shirt and he doesn’t even think twice before he pulls it over your head.

he breaks your kiss to look at you and you suddenly feel a bit shy under his gaze as he’s taking you in, staring as if you’re the beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

you take advantage of him staring at you and you take control to reach the zipper of his hoodie, your fingers brushing against his chest as you pull it down, revealing more of the skin you’ve been craving.

you lean in, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone, revelling in the way his breath comes in short gasps and the way his grip on your waist tightens.

“baby, you’re driving me insane…” he groans, his voice strained and filled with a kind of desperation that feeds into your ego and makes you start rocking back and forth slowly on him.

you smile at his words, enjoying the effect you have on him. “i like driving you insane.” you whisper against his bone and feeling brave, you give him small kitten licks along it.

he swallows thickly as your kisses move slowly higher, settling on a spot just near his pulse, feeling it pounding. you let your lips part against his skin as you begin to suck gently, your tongue flicking against him and teeth biting into as you work on leaving him with your mark.

jake moans again and bucks himself up into you. the sound spurs you on and you suck and bite a little harder, feeling his heartbeat quicken. as you pull back you’re greeted by the sight of a dark mark blossoming on his skin and you smile in satisfaction.

his hands glide up your back, fingers threading into your flowing hair. with a firm grip, he gently tugs, tilting your head back to expose your neck and the curve of your chest, barely covered by your bra. he leans closer, his warm breath hovering over your skin. his lips graze your collarbone, pressing a slow, lingering kiss before his tongue begins to trace along the delicate ridge.

“my turn to bite," he murmurs with a cheshire-cat grin, and you've never been more grateful for giving voice to your desires.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

interruptions

words: 1.4k

warnings: 18+ ony, smut, bratty!reader, established relationship, public sex, caught, unprotected sex, p in v sex, bully!reader we love a girlboss

“big party tomorrow.” rafe says, watching you braid your hair effortlessly just as you do every night.

“yup.” you say, only half listening as you tie the pink scrunchie around the end of your braid, matching with your pink silky pajamas.

“are you gonna have an attitude tomorrow?” rafe questions as you get into bed next to him.

“of course.” you roll your eyes before looking at him. “but you like my attitude, right?”

“mhm.” rafe places a hand on your hip, pulling your body closer to his. “i like it when you get all spicy, even if that means i gotta drain my bank account to get you happy again.”

“if you just listened to me in the first place you wouldn't have to pay me off to like you again.” 

“are you gonna let me fuck you tonight?” rafe asks, hand moving from your hip to your bum, giving it a squeeze.

“nooo.” you groan, flopping onto your back. “you should have told me you wanted to fuck before i showered!”

“i always want you baby.” rafe pouts his bottom lip out.

“well…” you sigh dramatically. “after the party tomorrow you can then. or maybe at the party if you actually listen to me.”

--

rafe did everything right. he wore exactly the clothes you chose for him, got you your favorite drinks to pregame with, even put on your favorite songs in his truck on the way to the party.

“you've been such a good boyfriend today, rafey.” you coo, words slurring together slightly from how tipsy you are.

“yeah?” rafe smirks. “i get to smash then?”

“mhm.” you nod, pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips, smearing your lip gloss over his mouth. “want you right here.”

rafe glances around the crowded patio. “how about the kitchen?”

“fine.” you concede, allowing rafe to stand first before he helps you up from the couch, swaying slightly in your heels.

rafe keeps your hand locked tight in his fist as he leads you into the house. 

“get out.” he growls at the couple already making out in the kitchen. you snicker as they quickly leave.

“my big bad boyfriend everyone is afraid of.” you laugh as rafe lifts you to set you on the countertop, quickly stepping in between your legs.

“you're not afraid of me.” rafe points out.

“nope, but you should be of me because if you don't fuck me right here right now, im breaking up with you.”

rafe knows it's not a serious threat, but he wouldn't risk it anyways as he leans in, capturing your mouth in a kiss.

his hand drops between your legs, diving underneath your skirt as you spread your thighs. rafes fingers delve underneath your panties, feeling your wetness that is already building.

“fuck.” you curse, head tipping back.

“gotta be quiet baby.” rafe warns before you can even moan. “don't wanna get interrupted, do we?”

“mmm.” you hum, trying to keep yourself quiet. “fuck me, come on. if i wanted you to finger me i would have told you to do that.”

“okay, okay.” rafe shakes his head, a smile on his face. he's truly met his match with you.

rafe moves your body along the counter until your back is facing the entryway. he carefully undoes his pants and pulls his cock out, keeping them up on his hips in case anyone comes in.

rafe pushes your skirt up, smirking as he pushes your underwear to the side and lines up with your entrance.

“kiss me.” you say, tugging on his shirt. “im gonna moan, you gotta kiss me.”

rafe covers your lips, swallowing your sounds with his mouth as he sinks inside of you.

rafe keeps kissing you, getting lost in your lips as his hips swing back and forth, steadily fucking in to you. your arms wrap around his shoulders and to anyone just walking past the kitchen they'd likely just think you were making out.

“harder.” you moan against his lips. 

rafe wishes he could push you back against the counter, to undress you and splay you out like he really wants to, but you are at a party after all, and then rafe would have to punch everyone who saw you in the compromising position.

“i got you baby.” rafes hands dig into your hips, pulling you even closer to the edge of the counter as he pushes into you harder, feeling the way your cunt squeezes around his cock.

“oh, that's it.” you moan, tucking your head into the crevice between his shoulder and neck.

rafe wraps one arm around your waist, holding you up as you start to wither, focus moving just to your pleasure instead of keeping you both somewhat covered.

“so tight and warm for me baby.” rafe says, large hand spreading over your back, feeling the soft material of your dress.

“you feel so good.” you whine.

“i know baby, i got you-” rafe loves the way you come undone when hes inside of you, the way your attitude disappears. he's about to praise you more when someone he doesn't recognize steps into the kitchen, probably some touron.

“get out.” he growls.

“just grabbing more beers.” the guys words slur together, obviously drunk.

“get out!” rafe shouts this time, not stopping the motion of his hips.

the guys hand halts halfway reaching to the fridge, eyes struggling to focus before widening in realization. “you two are fucking!”

he runs out of the kitchen, beers long forgotten.

“sorry about that princess.” rafe chuckles.

“just don't stop.” you bring your hands to grip onto his shirt, hands fisted in the material as he thrusts into your cunt.

“never gonna stop baby, your pussy feels too good.” rafe presses his head into your neck, pressing kisses against your delicate skin.

“leave a mark, please.” you whine. you usually don't allow rafe to leave visible hickeys, but you need it, need everyone to see that you're claimed as his, even if you do end up covering it most of the time with concealer until it fades.

rafe keeps his hips pushing in as his lips attach to your neck, sucking harshly before pulling back, watching the purple bloom right before his eyes.

“see, i told you someone was having sex in your kitchen!” 

rafe looks up to see the beer seeking guy dragging kelce through the archway.

“get out!” you squeal, turning to see kelces eyes widen.

“dude, that's rafe!” kelce pulls the guy away, leaving as quick as they entered.

“fuck.” you groan, tipping your head back.

“hey, it's okay.” rafe grunts. “kelce will keep everyone out. want you to cum for me.”

you pout at rafe, willing to ignore the first interruption but the second pissed you off.

“hey.” rafe says softly, hips slowing as he grips your chin in is hand. “can you do that for me?”

you take a moment before nodding, giving up your attitude as rafe begins to move again, thrusting harder, hands gripping your hips.

“oh, fuck!” you moan out.

“squeeze around me baby, that's it.” rafe encourages you, panting as he smashes into you.

“im-im close.” you barely have time to say it before your orgasm pushes through your body, back arching as you cum hard, shaking on the counter as rafe pushes into you, shoving his cock as deep as he can to release.

“fuck!” rafe groans.

“shit, that was good.” you pant, chest heaving up and down as you recover from your high.

“you needed that huh, baby?” rafe chuckles, carefully pulling out and tucking himself back into his pants before slotting your underwear back over your cunt, now wet with your juices and his cum dripping out of you.

“mhm.” you giggle, in a much better mood now.

“you wanna keep partying?” rafe questions. “or head home?”

“head home and cuddle.” you laugh softly. “but i gotta do something first.”

you slide off the counter, rafe following closely behind you as you stomp through the party until you set eyes on your target.

you grab a cup out of a girls hand, not caring that she protests as you walk over to the turon, turning the cup and dumping the alcohol over his head.

the guy sputters and turns around, now soaking wet. you just smile at him before strutting away.

“i really love you.” rafe says, wrapping his arm around your waist, leaving the game as the power couple you truly are.

“i know.” you smirk.

[bunnycvnts]

new bf! rafe that is slowly, very very slowly, getting used to having a girlfriend that cares about him !!

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

rafe was having a particularly rough day with ward screaming at him to be a better man and running out of gas three blocks from tannyhill, so when you came over that night, his attitude was at an all-time high.

every little thing was ticking him off. from the way his collared shirt was sitting against his skin to the crickets chirping outside, and to the way the tv was far too loud considering how close you were sitting. he was overstimulated, annoyed, and really just needed a fucking break.

when you got up to get a glass of water and your heels clacked against the wood floor, he sort of lost it. “can you- seriously? take the fucking shoes off.”

you paused at the entrance of the living room, your eyebrows furrowing as you turned around slowly to look at your boyfriend. “what?” you weren’t upset; you were just thoroughly confused about his outburst. you’d been together for three months now and had seen your fair share of him being dramatic or moody, but it was rarely ever pointed towards you.

“the heels, they’re driving me fucking nuts, clicking and clacking through the house, and the tv?” he paused to gesture angrily at the screen, “why is it so fucking loud? you’re sitting like six feet away from it.”

your teeth sunk into your lower lip, quickly slipping off your heels and heading back towards rafe, your feet now padding lightly against the floor, almost silently. “is everything okay?” the remote sat in your hand as you spoke, muting the tv effectively. you eyed him cautiously, now noticing the way his hands were fidgeting and his knee wouldnt stop bouncing.

his face scrunched. “yes, everything’s okay; that shits just mad annoying, babe. it’s giving me a fuckin’ headache.” your hand reached out to rub his arm soothingly.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know. how about we go to your room? it’ll be quieter, and you can change out of your clothes from today. i can go home too if you’d prefer. it’s okay.” your words were chosen carefully, bordering on demanding, and you tried to refrain from any tone that sounded condescending. it was easy to spot that he was overstimulated, and you only wanted to help.

“ye-yeah, yeah. let’s go to my room. don’t leave; why would you leave? i told you everything’s fine.” he didn’t know why you were acting this way, and it made his stomach feel weird. you guided him by his hand up the stairs and to his bedroom, speaking quietly as you went.

“i just know you need a minute, baby. that’s all. know you need some peace and quiet. maybe a nap. will help you feel better, promise.” he paused on the stairs at your words, but your hand tugged at his, making him regain movement.

once you both reached his bedroom, you pulled out some gym shorts and a loose t shirt for him to change into, shoving them into his hands. “here, put these on!” you smiled up at him before moving to his bedside table, where he kept matches. lighting one, you held it to a candle you had bought him a few weeks ago. he had noted how great the scent was but felt it was too girly for him to buy a candle— and he wasn’t girly. so, you took it upon yourself to buy it, and the trimmed wick and melted down wax covering the sides didn’t go unnoticed.

rafe changed quickly and leaned against the wall to watch you. the way you moved so efficiently and effortlessly through his room made his heart beat a little faster. you didn’t have to ask where he kept leisure clothes or the matches. you didn’t think twice before pulling the blanket up from the made bed and fluffing the pillows for him. you didn’t even need him to tell you that he hated sleeping with the top sheet, as you knowingly kept it tucked into the mattress. just watching you made his headache lessen, and he didn’t fight when you pulled him off the wall and helped him get situated in his bed.

“do you want some water or medicine?” his head shook at your question, denying it. all he felt like he needed was you. no one had ever paid so much attention to him or knew what made him feel better or worse. no one had taken the time or given the effort to care so lovingly for him. so when you sat on the edge of the bed, your hand running through his hair gently, all he could do was open his arms to gesture you closer. the blonde shuffled even closer to you, resting his head on your stomach, so you could continue massaging his head and playing with his hair.

“nah, just my girl.”

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

ok this is my first writing post pls be nice

taglist: @sunkissedrafe

[dollfacefantasy]

CRY IF I WANT TO ♡

pairing: negan x fem!reader

summary: life has been different since you've been taken to the sanctuary. you're not sure how you fit in here. some may call you one of the wives, but you don't think that's accurate. maybe his pet? his doll? as the days pass, you're not sure it really matters. the distinction doesn't get you any closer to escape.

cw: nsfw (18+), dark fic, smut, dubcon, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), kidnapping/captivity, stockholm syndrome, coercion, forced ddlg/daddy kink, humiliation kink, dacryphilia, violence (from negan, simon, and reader), hurt/comfort sorta

wc: 10.9k (oops lol)

a/n: ermmm... hehe yeah. i've been wanting to write this so i hope someone likes it. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 13 - mindbreak (i think)

"Rise and shine, little lady. We got a lot of things to do today."

Your eyes flutter open, the bright light from the window in front of you broken up by the silhouette of the man at your bedside. The sight of him, even just the outline of his body, sends a nauseating crackle of dread through your bones. It's a feeling you can't verbalize of course - not if you want this day to resemble any sort of pleasant.

"There she is," Negan says, speaking with his signature cadence that made you want to rip out your hair, "How'd you sleep, babydoll?"

"Fine," you rasp as you slowly sit up. The mornings were the only time you could get away with dull answers like that. Any small bit of attitude could be blamed on you being 'cranky' rather than feelings of hatred that hadn't been broken down by this point.

He smiles at you, his rough hand cupping your jaw.

"You're so pretty in the mornings," he mumbles, sweeping a thumb over your pouty bottom lip.

You pause for a second, but so does he. Like he expects a reply. Unfortunately, you know the words he wants to hear. Swallowing the last sliver of dignity you have, you force out the response you'd been trained to say over the last however-long.

"Thank you, daddy."

He grins even wider if that's possible and pats your head. "You're welcome. Now let's get you dressed. Like I said, daddy's got a lot to do today."

You get out of bed and follow him over to the dresser that held your outfit for the day. The chill of cold air bites at your legs as the lack of blankets leaves them exposed. The generator had been out for the past day or so, leaving the Sanctuary victim to the harsh Winter raging outside. You were hoping he'd take that into account when picking your clothes, but you didn't hold out too much hope.

The two of you shuffle around the gray furniture of Negan's room. Even though you'd been in here more times than you could count now, you still marveled at the quality of the chairs and sofa. Items like these seemed luxurious with how the world was outside these walls.

When you reach the dresser, you follow the routine you'd become used to. You peel the small shirt you're permitted to sleep in off and drop it in the basket nearby. Your panties are next to go. You pull the dainty garment down and toss it to the same place as your top.

You can feel his eyes on you with every move you make. They watch how your breasts bounce when freed from their confines. They admire the curve of your ass when you bend over. They glimmer with smug satisfaction as you stand there nude before him.

"I'll tell you what. I never get sick of seeing this," he teases.

You offer a weak smile in return. The lack of energy almost seems to please him more.

He walks around to stand behind you, giving you a light pat on the ass as he does. His hands land on your hips first and then slide up to cup your breasts. He pulls you back, positioning you flush against his chest.

"You know I'd keep you like this all the time if I could," he murmurs in your ear, "Sweet and ready for me. Ripe for the pickin' whenever I felt the need."

The deep, gravelly rumble of it seems to trigger a flicker of heat in your lower belly on instinct, and you despise yourself for it. Shame burns so hot in your heart, it threatens to take the nausea you felt earlier into a full on dry heave. You're glad there's not a mirror in front of you. It's easier to keep a docile look plastered on your face when you don't have to stare yourself in the eyes.

The rough pads of his fingertips pinch and tweak your nipples, causing you to squirm a bit where you're standing, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a noise. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck.

You choose not to say anything to his last statement. There's no guarantee that he hasn't actually considered that, and you don't want to find out. Displaying you in that way in front of everyone doesn't seem like his style, but back when he had you lined up on your knees with the rest of your group, you wouldn't have imagined yourself ever calling him daddy either.

As you'd quickly learned in regards to most things around here, the risk just isn't worth it.

"I'd never do that to you though. Don't think anyone could keep their hands off if they saw all of you, and I just can't have that," he whispers, calming your fears for you. He pulls his hands away from your breasts and steps back to grab the pieces he'd be putting you in today.

He starts with panties. This pair is pink and ruffly just like the last. You step into it with rehearsed timing. One foot then the next. He slides them up to your hips and lets the elastic snap into place against your skin.

You had no clue where he got this shit. You didn't want to believe that his hold on his men was so strong that they'd waste an entire supply run raiding a Victoria's Secret, especially for women they never even got to touch.

It wasn't worth thinking about though. It's not like discovering the origins would spare you from wearing the damn things every day.

Next, Negan shakes the wrinkles out of your dress. You step into that too, just like you did with the underwear. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the garment.

It's just as humiliating as all the rest he makes you wear. The fabric is bright white and baby pink. Like everything else, you have no idea how it was kept so pristine. The waist is accentuated with a pretty pink ribbon wrapped around it, tied into a large bow at the front. It's extra tight up top and melts into a puffy skirt down below.

He shimmies it over your body and yanks the zipper up in back. The dress conforms to the shape of your figure, leaving little to the imagination in terms of how much the neckline shows and how high the hem of the skirt sits.

Spinning you around, he whistles when he gets the full picture.

"Good God Almighty. Pretty as a picture," he praises, reaching out to pinch your cheek.

Again, you force yourself to smile.

He'd already dressed himself for the day before getting you up, so the rest of the time before you leave the room is spent working through the remnants of your morning routine. He takes you into the bathroom connected to his room to brush your teeth and do your hair.

"Say ah, sweetheart," he smirks before jamming the brush into your mouth.

He's not careful or attentive. He only does it long enough to let the weight of humiliation settle in your stomach. It's always obvious when it kicks in. You get this look on your face like that of an abandoned puppy. Only then does he let you spit and move on to the next task.

He styles your hair into something cute, though you hate it anyway. Like the dress, it's only intended to make you stick out. To draw attention to your status as his possession.

The last thing he does is put your socks and shoes on. Your feet get covered in a pair of frilly ankle socks before he slips a pair of chunky sneakers on you. At least if this place got overrun and you had to bolt, you wouldn't be totally fucked.

"You ready to go, honey?" he asks you when the first part of your torture has finally come to a conclusion.

Again, you nod while looking up at him.

He grins at you. "You're quiet today," he says.

"Sorry, daddy," you respond. The way he said it sounded like teasing, but you could never be too careful.

"Don't be. I like it," he says.

You don't know how he does it, how he deflates you so easily without even trying.

He turns and grabs that stupid bat he carries everywhere, swinging it to his side before facing you again and sticking out his hand.

"Got my two favorite girls, now we're really ready to go," he says. He gestures with his fingers. A small impatient reminder. "You know the rules."

Of course you know what he's referring to. Always hold daddy's hand when you leave the bedroom. One of the rules he'd prattled off to you when he first brought you here.

You reach out and take his outstretched hand, earning a kiss to your head.

The way he'd been holding his arm caused the leather sleeve of his jacket to ride up a bit. Beneath the stiff fabric, you could see the fading scar you'd given him around the same time you'd been informed of the rules. Two crescent shaped marks in the pattern of your teeth.

You can barely stand to look at it now. All it does is bring back memories of when you still held hope for escape or rescue. Back then, you'd thought it'd only be a matter of days until Rick or Michonne burst into the small bedroom they were keeping you in.

The day you'd sunk your teeth into him, he'd just finished giving you one of his speeches about your new life at the Sanctuary. According to him, you'd be so much happier here. Sure you couldn't see your family, but now you had someone better than them. You had him. And he would spoil and take care of a pretty thing like you in the way you deserved. Show off to the rest of your old group how generous he could be.

He'd reached forward to pinch your cheek just like he'd done earlier today. You wanted to smack him away, but he had your hands bound. So you did the next thing you could think of and bit him. Hard.

His eyes burned with fury you hadn't seen since. You can still hear in your mind the way he yelled, shouting "Goddamn it" so loud that the walkers out at the fence probably heard.

After that was a bit hazy. He'd snatched that limb away from you before bringing it back and striking you hard across the cheek. You'd nearly fallen off the bed from the force.

"You little bitch, you try some shit like that again, and I'll knock your fucking jaw loose," he growled before yanking you up right and forcing you to look at him.

Involuntary tears leaked from your eyes as you glared up at his face. Blood oozed from the stinging wound you could feel inside your mouth.

That cut had healed by now though.

You squeeze his hand harder while walking down the hall out of his room. Even though it was the hand that struck you, it was the only thing you had to hold onto now. 

Your brain tries to compartmentalize him nowadays. There's Negan, and there's daddy. Negan is the one who gets mean. Negan is the one who yells. Negan is the one who killed your friends. Daddy is the one who cares for you. He keeps you safe and healthy. He'd never hurt you like that. You didn't think you'd survive with a shred of sanity without that distinction.

He feels your little grip and squeezes your hand in return. That's what daddy does.

You stay close to his side as he guides you on the walkway that looks down on the commotion of the main room. Even after what you guessed had been a couple months, if not more, you still didn't like this place. Everything was so transactional. No one cared about each other. It was all about what everyone had to offer. That was by design of course, but it didn't make you any less critical of it.

Your eyes scan the clusters of people below. Although you weren't allowed to socialize on your own, you were starting to get a grasp on the cliques here. Negan's closest advisors all seemed to amalgamate in one area, spare the guy with the burnt face. The table closest to the window was where most of the soldiers ate while the one by the door seated the workers.

You weren't completely sure what class you fit into here.

The most obvious guess would be the group you're about to encounter, Negan's wives. But there are stark differences between you and them that prevent you from feeling camaraderie.

The two of you approach the room where he keeps this group of women. He maintains a tight grip on your hand as you slip through the doors. The disparities between you and the others become obvious as soon as you're within a few feet of them.

All of these women get to dress in black. They stand tall in heels, have earrings dangling next to their faces, and for some, a red tint painting their lips. All of them get to openly glare at him. They don't have to hide their hatred behind a feigned smile or soft laugh.

You know it isn't right to be jealous of them. They're suffering too. This isn't a happy situation for them either. But god, you can't help it. Envy nearly sears a hole through your heart every time you come into this room. What you wouldn't give to be one of them. To be allowed to drink and talk with other people. To not be under the constant threat of punishment.

Despite all these thoughts swirling through your head, you manage to keep your mask on. A simple, thoughtless look on your features as you stand next to him like an oversized accessory.

He looks down at you before dropping your hand.

"Stay right here for me, sweet thing. Daddy's only gonna take a minute," he says.

He stalks off to the back corner of the room with a woman you'd come to learn is named Sherry. They speak in hushed tones, so you can't make out what they're saying. You figure it's about one of the girls sneaking around with some other guy. That's what it's usually about when he makes a stop here with you in tow. Even with their status elevated above yours, they don't get to escape the wrath of his possessiveness.

You stand there awkwardly, arms crossed over your midsection while your weight shifts between your feet. No one tries to talk to you. You can feel their eyes on your pastel form, but their gazes don't hold curiosity or interest. It's pity.

In the beginning, you thought they were looking at you with jealousy. After all, you got your own cell and then graduated to Negan's bedroom while they had to share amenities.

But they weren't naive like you had been. None of them wanted Negan's attention. They didn't want to be his pet or his dolly or whatever the fuck he would classify you as. They had each other, and they got to share the load between all of them.

You sigh quietly and look down at the sparkly trim of your white sneakers.

He finishes his conversation with Sherry and then migrates across the room towards a blonde, crying girl. They speak at the same volume as him and Sherry. It's not worth trying to eavesdrop on.

Instead, you patiently wait the couple minutes it takes for them to finish up and for him to return to you. When he walks back over, you can tell the discussion hadn't been a positive one. His shoulders seem weighed down by whatever information he'd gathered from them.

But the dark cloud above him fades away as his hand slips back into yours. He leads you out of the room just as you'd come in and continues walking with you.

You hesitate but decide to try. "Are you ok?" you ask softly.

His head turns slightly to cast you a look. For a moment, it seems the daddy act has fallen away. He looks at you like he would any other woman who asked him that. Cold. Analytical. But the persona makes its reappearance seconds later as he pulls on a smirk for you.

"Just fine, honey. You don't gotta worry about me," he answers.

You know you should just nod and shut up, but it drives you crazy being led around like a child expected to be seen and not heard. So you decide to try again.

"Did they do something bad?" you ask. You hate how weak your voice comes out. There's no spark to it, no bite or sharp edge. All of that, he'd extinguished in you.

He drops your hand and drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to his side.

"What are you so curious for, huh? You know something about it?" he responds.

You shake your head. Your arm rises and wraps around his torso.

"No. I just don't like when you're upset," you say. You lean your head into his chest to really sell it.

"Oh-ho, look at you. Turning on the charm," he chuckles, "I am just fine, sugar. I swear it. Sometimes those girls give me trouble, but it's nothing I can't handle."

You decide to just take it and nod this time. 

He looks at you with satisfaction. "They can't all be like you, y'know? So well-behaved," he praises.

The compliment makes your blood curdle. You couldn't stand that he would act like obedience was your defining trait.

When you were with your group - your family more like -  you would never have been described as obedient. Whether at the prison or Alexandria, it felt like every other day you were sneaking off to try something. You were always quick to spring into action, never the type to let someone belittle you. Rick got on your ass about deviating from plans in spurs of emotion more than anyone else. Maybe that's how you wound up here.

You had tried to stop them from taking Daryl. On that dark night in the woods, surrounded by the ring of headlights, you had tried. You didn't rush at Negan like your friend. Not wanting someone else to get their head bashed in, you were more subtle than that. But you attempted to get in the way of the guys carting him off. That's what landed you here. Tucked under his arm, the very weapon that took away two people you love swinging a foot away from you.

But you swallow down all of this rage and nod again. You nuzzle into his chest, a way to conceal the tightening sensation in your throat and the sting of tears at your waterline.

This is the worst part about Negan, you decide. The way he makes you act like you want it.

From your first day here, he made sure to tell you over and over how he's staunchly against rape. He's not a monster. He's not that kind of guy. No, no. You are a prisoner, so yes, technically here against your will, but never in a million years would he violate you in that way.

And he'd stuck true to that. Whenever you screamed or cried or yelled "no" on a loop until he shook you around like a bobble head, he always backed off of his advances. He never copped a feel or slid a wandering hand in your panties while you slept, never held you down or physically forced himself on you.

Instead, he broke you down until saying yes seemed like the only sane option.

You didn't want his affection? That meant you must not want to talk to anyone at all. For days. You didn't want to sit in his lap? Maybe you'd prefer kneeling by his feet for a week, in private and around everyone else. You didn't want to sleep in his bed? Fine. You could sleep on the concrete floor without a pillow or blanket while the heat was out.

You reflect on all of this as the two of you trot through the boxy halls. He takes you around on all his errands for the day. You stop by the doctor's office, inventory, and Dwight's room. All over the place. You stay quiet the whole time. busying yourself with your thoughts as you stay attached to him.

Everyday the line between survival and free will becomes blurrier. You tell yourself that you have to be like this with him. You'll be worse off if you don't act the part of the sweet, adoring girl he wants. But then sometimes you wonder if you truly are becoming obedient. Like a wildcat tamed into a lazy house pet. You almost never resist his touch anymore. You even go to him for comfort sometimes.

The idea kills you, so you deem it best not to think about for now.

Rather, you focus on guessing what the rest of the day would hold. It's already the afternoon by now. The sun hangs low by the tree line, shimmering into the Sanctuary through the rectangular windows across the walls. He wouldn't have a meeting with the lieutenants today. Those were almost always around lunch time. You didn't think he'd spend it with one of his wives either. If that was the case, he usually gave you a heads up in the morning.

The most likely possibility you come up with is the dilemma from earlier. You had never been invited to see the culmination of those though. Normally, he kept you safe and sound in his room while he tended to matters like that, ready to provide him some stress relief when he finished.

But things can always change, and now it seems like that's the case.

He guides you back into the main room. A crowd has gathered down below. You can't see the center point of their conglomeration. All you can sense are the nerves vibrating between everyone.

Their feet shuffle around on the hard concrete flooring. They look between each other with anxious eyes. Hushed chatter clouds the area until you and Negan begin to descend the stairs. That's when they all go quiet. Mouths close and pupils snap to the position of their leader.

You look down to lessen the ache of humiliation that came with accompanying the center of attention. The few times you had scanned the crowd for others' reactions, seeing if you could find a sympathetic gaze or outraged expression, all you found was animosity. The male workers and soldiers leered at you. They smiled and smirked, visibly amused by your girly outfits and docile disposition. On the other side of the aisle, the women glared, taking in the details of your appearance with disgust, like somehow it was your fault you got toted around like this.

His voice booms out to his audience as he takes step after step towards them.

"You all know what we're here for today," he starts, "We got simple rules 'round here, but some people still seem to have trouble following 'em."

Your hand stays linked with his as the two of you reach the landing.

"Watch your step, babydoll," he murmurs to you before continuing his speech. Your cheeks burn with shame.

"It feels like I'm doing this every other month. It's getting ridiculous," he lectures, "I don't like having to be so harsh. Truly, I don't. But rules are rules, and I don't know how I can make myself any clearer. They are not optional."

He walks further into the room with you. Being level with everyone else, you can see more of what's happening. They're gathered around a furnace. Dwight stands near the opening to the flames, clearly preparing something. Another man sits a few feet away. Over in the corner, the woman from earlier is looking at him and crying.

Looks like your guess was correct.

"So we're gonna do this again. Hopefully it's the last time," he concludes.

The crowd parts as you and him head towards the center of the room. He leads you over to an empty spot near the wall. Dropping your hand, he cups your jaw and makes you look him in the eyes.

"Stay right here for me. Daddy'll be right back," he says.

You nod and then watch as he turns away, waltzing over to where Dwight stands.

While your eyes are up, they can't help but catch on somebody familiar standing at the front of the crowd.

Daryl.

Your heart stutters, and you can see on his face that his does too. He looks worn down. Eyes dimmed and face hollowed. His clothes, dirty and ill-fitting. You start to feel tears pricking at your waterline from the sight. You weren't the only one they'd broken down.

In him, you find the compassion you'd been searching for. The look that told you at least one person here didn't take enjoyment from your suffering. But it comes from someone who truly can't help you. Who's in a situation as bad as your own.

You sniffle and try to wipe away any beginning tears before Negan or someone who would tell him notices.

The loud creak of a metal door opening drags your attention to the furnace though. You watch as Dwight pulls out the item he'd been preparing. A burning, metal iron becomes the new focus of everyone in the room.

Upon seeing the small object, so many things connect in your head. You know what's going to happen. You realize why Dwight's face is scarred. You understand why that woman is crying. And you know no one is going to stop any of this now or in the future.

Your heart pounds harder, and your breaths become shaky. Tears blur your vision further. You dig your nails into your palm to try and ground yourself, but it doesn't help. The scene in front of you has whipped your mind into a frenzy. You haven't felt this bad since the early weeks of being in this place.

This stupid fucking place. You hate it. You hate how cruel it is here. How disconnected and lifeless everything feels. You hate him for being the only one allowed to really live. You hate everyone else here for letting him get this powerful.

It's a complete spiral whirlpooling in your mind, only made worse by the fact that you have to keep it contained. You try to tell yourself you just have to wait it out. This couldn't take more than five minutes and then you could go back to the bedroom. You'd be ok. You could take off this itchy dress and put your hair back to how you like it. You could kick off these shoes and hide yourself beneath the warm blankets. None of these people would be around, all you'd have is the quiet between those walls where daddy could make it all better.

As you're in the process of mentally talking yourself down, Negan takes hold of the iron. To free up his hands, he offers Lucille off to someone nearby. Your eyes follow his leather-clad limb to the neck of the bat and then up to its new handler. You see Simon.

You have to look down now. If you don't, everyone here will see the look of pure terror on your face. You close your eyes and rein in whimpers that threaten to spill from your lips. Everything feels fuzzy around you, intangible and like your hands would drift right through them. Your head heats up, the sensation making you dizzy. You try to steady yourself by leaning back against the wall, but the cool, flat surface does little to ease your nerves.

It does even less when you hear his voice closing in on you.

"Hey there, princess," he starts, voice laced with mockery, "You feeling alright?"

You're not looking at him, but the image of his stupid face projects with HD clarity in your mind. You swallow hard and nod.

Laughing lowly, he comes to stand beside you. "You sure about that? You're looking kind of lightheaded," he taunts.

"I'm fine," you choke out.

His hand darts up and grabs your jaw. He doesn't gently guide your eyes where he wants them to look. He yanks your face in his direction like an unruly child with a doll.

"I don't know about that. You're looking kind of rough," he says while glaring down at you with those ruthless eyes, "Maybe I should take you over to the doctor's. We both know Negan wants his favorite toy kept in good condition."

Your entire body vibrates with hatred for this creature. Every breath you take acts as an effort of restraint, a way to lull yourself into not ripping out what hair he has left.

You didn't just despise Simon because he's an asshole or because he was the person harassing your group leading up to that horrible night you were taken. Your aversion for him stems from experiences entirely your own.

A few days after the biting incident, you had tried getting physical with Negan one more time. You'd managed to worm one of your wrists out of your restraints, and instead of aiming for escape, you decided revenge held a higher priority. You waited for him to come check on you, keeping your arm tucked to your body as if it was still bound.

When he finally came in, you sat there and took the speech, took the condescension, and took the promises that you would conform. And then he leaned a bit closer. That's when you backhanded him as hard as he had you the few days prior.

After the hit landed, you lunged forward and tried to wrap the rope connected to you around his neck. You pulled as hard as you could, and for a moment, you thought you had won.

But wrangling you off was easier than you anticipated. They hadn't been allowing you much food or sleep, so the strike took most of your energy. It only took him a handful of seconds to snake his hand under the rope and then pry your arms away.

He stood up and slammed you into the wall with his hand around your throat. In that moment, he didn't look at you with the same fury he had before. This time around, frustration dominated his gaze.

"Was that fun for you?" he asked.

You didn't answer. Your chest puffed with exertion while your eyes stared daggers into him.

"What did I tell you last time? What did I fucking tell you?" he asked. Despite the look in his eye being less volatile, his tone of voice was dangerous as ever. "I told you I would knock that jaw of yours loose. That's what I said, and I meant it. I don't want you thinking I didn't. But I'm not gonna do that right now because I don't think it would work, and I'm not one to waste my own time."

Internally, pride swelled in your chest, thinking you had called his bluff. But then he kept speaking.

"I have a bad feeling that if I struck some sense into you that you'd just try to strike it into me right back, and I can't have that. That's just not gonna fly around here," he said, "So I'll tell you what: I have a better idea. You don't wanna play with daddy? Then you can spend a weekend with your Uncle Simon. See how much fun he can be."

Back then, you didn't know Simon as the right hand man. You didn't have his name and face connected yet. Now, you wished you could go back to that state of mind.

You were with him for three days while Negan did a tour of the outposts and subjugated communities. Only 72 hours. But an hour of him would have been enough to scare you for a lifetime.

When he first came into the room, you didn't get the feeling that him and Negan would handle you so differently. You could tell from the way he looked at you that, like his boss, he looked at you as something to toy with. A source of amusement. The difference, you soon found out, was how they played with their toys.

Unlike daddy, Simon didn't talk just to talk. He didn't warn you of future spankings or timeouts. He hit. And he kicked. And he shoved you down and tossed you around. He didn't offer the same condolences daddy did, there was no "this hurts me more than it hurts you." Nothing he did even bothered Simon. He watched you hurt, and he enjoyed it.

You didn't even get a reward once you'd settled down. Your attitude had disappeared almost instantly. Having the wind knocked out of you once was enough for you to become more amicable, but your change in demeanor didn't phase him. It wasn't his goal.

The only rules Negan left him with were the basic ones for the Sanctuary along with no killing you or causing permanent damage. But that didn't mean he couldn't threaten you with breaking them. He went on and on during the down periods where you cowered in the corner or huddled against the wall of your bedroom cell, telling you stories of how he went rogue before. Any horrible thing he could think of, he dangled in front of you as a potential fate.

When Negan finally came back, you eagerly awaited him. Despite your sleep deprived and bruised condition, your eyes stayed locked on the door like a puppy expecting their master. For the next week, you latched onto him. Didn't want to leave his side. He had made his point. You could hate him as much as you wanted but leave you alone with Simon for a little while, and you'd beg for him back.

That's how you feel right now, staring up into Simon's eyes while he holds your jaw. The pressure his fingers put on your cheeks serve as a reminder of the pain he can inflict while his other hand holding the bat twirls the weapon near your calf. As much as you had been internally preaching your hatred for everything to do with Negan minutes ago, all you want to do now is run into his arms.

You feel more tears wanting to slip down your cheeks, but you try your best to hold them in. The more you cry, the more I like it. That's what he'd told you more than once over those three days.

"Just leave me alone," you tell him. You try to sound as firm as possible, but even your own ears catch the way your voice quivers. "Negan wouldn't like you talking over him."

Your attempt at taking a stand falls flat. He doesn't back off any, rather, he leans in closer.

"Negan, huh? Are you even allowed to call him that?" he mocks and feigns a pout. 

"Just shut up!" you say. You mean it as a threat; though, it hits his ears like a plea. More hot panic rushes down your spine from the stress of having to remain quiet while also trying to be assertive.

His lips flatten into a line before he continues speaking. "Your head's getting too big for those shoulders, little girl. You better watch your attitude, or I might have to suggest you're due for some more correction," he mutters.

A loud scream rips the two of you from your conversation. He drops his hand from your face, and you both straighten up against the wall. Negan stands in the center of the room, pressing the blazing iron to the side of the man's face.

He wails until he passes out, and that's when his leader peels away the device of torture. Sticky skin goes with it before snapping back against his face like a rubber band. You grimace, your stomach twisting at the sight. You'd seen so much blood and guts over the years of living out on the road and fighting with other groups, but melted skin was a new one.

Negan turns to Dwight and gives him the iron back. You breathe an involuntary sigh of relief, subconsciously soothed by the thought of him returning to your side.

The reprieve ends suddenly though when a small, sharp pain slices along the meat of your calf. You whimper and lift your leg away on instinct. Looking for the source, you see the bat twirling from the motion of Simon's wrist. One of the barbs had caught your skin. Your eyes flit up to him.

"Watch out!" you say. The old you would have been seething. She would have pulled out her pocket knife and given him a little receipt for the cut. But now, you watch him with fearful eyes, trying to gauge whether or not you would get in trouble for calling him an asshole.

"Remember what I said," he tells you quietly as a trickle of red runs down to the lacy frills of your sock.

Before you can respond, a warm hand lands on the small of your back. Your head turns to find Negan smiling down at you.

"What's with the long face, sugar? Simon bothering you?" he asks, clearly not meaning it seriously even though to you it is exactly that.

You part your lips to answer, but Simon beats you to it.

"Bothering her? C'mon. I'm just checking up on her. She looked a little dizzy, so I offered to take her to the doctor's," he says, light as ever, "I'm just watching out for her, y'know? Sweet thing like her will get eaten alive here if she's not careful."

Negan raises his eyebrows, and for a second, you think he's about to take your side. But then he just chuckles and shakes his head. 

"She's doing just fine. That was her first time seeing one of those, so she's probably a little shaken up," he says, rubbing your arm.

"Hm... Sounds about right," Simon replies, "I know that's not how her little group did things."

"Yeah. So I'll get her back to the room. Think you can handle shit down here?" he says, gesturing around to the dispersing crowd.

"Always," Simon says with a mock salute. He then hands Lucille back.

Finally, you find some relief, some true sanctuary as Simon walks away. Your body physically relaxes. Negan feels it underneath his arm and spares you a glance as the two of you walk back up the stairs.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

You want to just take the easy route and say no, to play along with this sadistic charade and not cause any trouble. But you can't get the single syllable out. It feels impossible to even shake your head. Even though Simon's gone, the weight of everything that happened still remains along with the stinging in your leg.

Your throat feels tight, and your eyes feel like they're two seconds from overflowing. The lights suddenly seem too bright, and everyone here is too loud. You can't show him that though. You don't want more correction. You don't want someone to like it when you cry. But you can't ignore him either. That would be the worst thing to do.

All you manage in response is a shaky shrug. You let out a broken sigh with it and lean into his chest. The tension in your shoulders returns as you fight to keep the tears from leaking out against the worn leather.

At first, he doesn't say anything, and the two of you keep walking. Your steps remain in time with his as you traverse the walkway and around the corner. Then the two of you come to a stop when you're out of sight. He turns you by your shoulders, holding you in front of him so that you can't shy away.

"I got one more thing to attend to out by the fence. Think you can handle that?" he asks.

Your heart pulses to an uneven rhythm, trying to decide what to do without devolving into pure panic. You bite your lip as you mull your options over. Say yes and go with him. Then inevitably fail to contain yourself and get in trouble. Or, say no now and risk punishment for being defiant. You're not sure which one will end up worse.

"Can... can we just go back to the room?" you ask. Your voice comes out weak as if every word siphons a drop of energy from you.

He eyes you with uncertainty of his own; though, there's no fear in his look. His gaze is careful, an attempt to decipher if this is some kind of deception. You'd been pretty well-behaved as of late, but one bad day could take even the most obedient pet to a rabid dog, jaws primed to gnash.

But you didn't really have a reason to lie. The bedroom with him would provide the least likely chance at escape, and in the condition you were in now, you didn't seem to be planning an attack.

Slowly, he nods. "Sure, honey. I'll have Arat handle the other shit," he tells you before leading you in the direction of his bedroom.

The words he mumbles through his radio sound distant to you. You watch your legs switch between one and the other as you walk. On your right, you see the small red splotch staining the pristine cloth of your sock.

Before you know it, he's pushing open the bedroom door and bringing you inside. It then closes behind you, creating a barrier between you and everything else out there. It gets a little easier to breathe.

He guides you the few steps over to the edge of the bed and sits down, pulling you onto his lap. You feel his eyes scanning over you in an attempt to figure out the problem without asking. His hand rubs up and down your back over the crinkly fabric of your dress. His other palm focuses on your legs, coasting over your knees and the area of your thighs the skirt doesn't cover.

The code is harder for him to crack than usual. Normally when you got upset, it resulted from something he said. And he knows that because, usually, that's his intention. It was always either that or you'd just generally be feeling down, missing your home. But that doesn't seem to be the case right now. You seem more antsy than your normal bouts of sadness. He doesn't think it was from watching the spectacle downstairs. He knows you hate the saviors indiscriminately. Watching some random guy's face melt off wouldn't have you this upset. Finally, he relents.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He actually makes an effort not to sound like he'll make fun of whatever your answer may be.

"I just don't feel good," you choke out and bite your lip.

He feels you shudder on his lap, and he knows it's not the full truth. Pulling you a little closer on his thighs, he continues to look down at you.

"C'mon, baby. Tell daddy what hurts," he coaxes.

Your face tenses, but you know he won't drop this. "Just... just... I don't know. A lotta stuff," you say. You couldn't decide on a lie to commit to.

He sighs and bounces his leg with you on it a few times. "Did someone say something to you? Was someone bothering you?" he asks as his scope of potential causes narrow.

You're in the middle of trying to think of a cover story when his hand glides down to remove your shoes. He knocks one off. Then the other. The foamy white sneakers clatter to the ground next to his foot.

He goes to bring his hand back up, dragging it over the fine threading of your socks, but his eyes catch on the bloody splotches near the edge. Grabbing your ankle, he tugs your limb upward. It puts you at an awkward angle and nearly knocks you from your perch on his thigh. He stares the small wound down, assessing every detail of the tiny scrape.

"How'd you get this?" he asks. He looks over to you.

In reality, it may have been the most standard question in the world. But it hits your ears like an accusation and brings a fresh wave of tears that you can't control. Your lip quivers as your lids blink a few droplets over your water line.

"Simon did it," you weep.

You're scared he won't believe you, but after a few seconds, he drops your foot and pulls you close. His arms wrap around you tight and keep you flush against his chest. The warmth of the embrace encompasses you. You let the dam burst and cry into him, pouring all your sadness out against his body.

His hand sweeps up and down your back in comforting strokes. "Shh, shh, shh, sweetheart. Daddy's got you," he murmurs.

You feel him shrug off his jacket and push it aside, leaving the plain material of his t-shirt to soak up your anguish. He keeps you as close as possible. One of his hands cradles the back of your head to ensure you don't pull away.

"Does Simon bother you a lot?" he asks.

You nod. "Whenever I'm not with you," you choke out.

He hums in acknowledgement. "I'll talk to him. He's not supposed to hurt you when you're being such a good girl for daddy."

"I was trying really hard," you sob, your voice cracking, "I've been trying to be good. But he just hates me anyway. He's so mean to me."

Your arms snake around him as tight as a pair of snakes aiming to kill. You cling to him with everything you have, as if he's your one true savior from this living hell and not the cause of it.

In your head, you feel like you're annoying him. He's probably waiting for you to calm down, so he can nip this blossom of resentment in the bud. Good girls don't have tantrums or meltdowns, right? And all he cares about is that you act the part of a good girl.

But you only think all of that because you can't see the smile on his face right now.

He's grinning more than any of the times he got you to say something humiliating or cooperate with a punishment. The look he displays now reaches a new level of smugness, higher than the night he killed two of your people and traumatized the rest of them. His satisfaction runs deeper this time because right now, you're truly broken.

This isn't something you agreed to because the other option was worse. It's not something he had to coach you into or manipulate a situation into becoming. You did this all on your own. You came to him. Sure, he had to coax it out of you a little bit, but once he got his foot in the door, you let him right in. You're clinging to him for comfort, looking to him for a solution. He couldn't be more pleased. This is exactly what he wanted - to break you down. Now he just had to reel you back in the slightest bit, get you in that perfect middle ground between too independent and non-functioning.

"You have been doing really good for me, y'know? I'm proud of you, baby," he tells you in the most earnest tone he can manage, "Don't worry about Simon for right now, ok? Daddy's gonna set him straight. He won't bother you again."

You nod, but the reassurance doesn't stop the flow of tears from your eyes. Your fingers stay clenched around the fabric of his shirt.

"No more tears, honey, c'mon," he coos. He pries your limbs from around him and boosts you to your feet, standing you between his thighs. "I'll take care of it just like I take care of you. Let's just worry about what my little baby needs to feel better right now."

You take a few seconds to think about it, but the answer comes with relative ease. The most agitating thing about this situation right now is wrapped all around you, scratching at your sides and digging in under your arms.

"Can you take my dress off?" you sniffle.

His eyes fall from your face over your body. "What? You don't like this pretty little number?" he teases.

For once, you don't feel like you're two seconds away from punishment. You feel like it's a joke, and you don't have to awkwardly straddle the line between playing along with the humor and submitting to the literal interpretation.

"It's ok... it's just kinda scratchy," you say and wipe away your tears with the back of your hand.

"Spin around for me then. We'll get it off you. Can't have it irritatin' that soft skin while you're tryin' to relax."

You take the few steps to turn around. His fingers grasp the zipper and undo the baby pink prison you'd been trapped in for the day. Feeling the chafing fabric pulled away from you lets you take a real breath for the first time in hours. Already a small bit of relief. It only compounds when the garment hits the floor and pools at your feet.

He tugs you back by the waist and lays you across the bed, body on full display for him. Right now, you don't mind his gaze tracking your curves. He leans over you, his hands coasting from the sides of your breasts down to your hips.

"You're prettier like this anyways, princess," he praises.

"Thank you, daddy." It spills out as naturally as water from a faucet.

He rewards you with his lips on your stomach instead of words. Kissing the smooth, warm skin, his lips travel from just above your navel to the divot between your breasts. Your nipples rise to attention automatically.

His hands slide up to cup your mounds of flesh. He fondles and gropes them as his lips migrate up the curves to the hardening little peaks. They don't latch on just yet. He teases them with kisses instead, letting the anticipation of blissful suction build.

You take your lip between your teeth as you watch him. Chills break out across the rest of your body. You know you should be fighting. You know you should kick and scream and cry. You should try to take advantage of his closeness and get towards your revenge. But in your hellish life, are you not allowed one moment of pleasure? You haven't let those plans of escape and vengeance go, but you want this right now. You want to feel good, and he gives you that. 

This isn't Negan. This is daddy. And you don't wanna hurt daddy.

His tongue peeks out from between his lips to trace wet circles around your nipple. The sensation draws a whine from you. Your body squirms beneath him with an eagerness to feel more.

"I think I know how to make you feel better. Take your mind off all that stuff from before," he whispers.

He takes one of your nipples between his lips, flicking the bud with the tip of his tongue and scraping his teeth against the sensitive area. You reward the choice with a mewl and squirm your legs. He chuckles and then switches to the other one.

"That feel good?" he asks.

You nod, your head tilting back and your eyes fluttering.

Grinning, he continues his work on your chest. You whine and squirm for him, giving him all the reactions he craves. Soon, his hand ghosts up your inner thigh. His fingertips drag over the flesh and land on your clothed center. Through the thin pink cloth, he rubs at your clit. That garners a breathy moan and a full body shudder.

"Goddamn, you are so cute," he chuckles, "Just a few little touches and you squirm around like a virgin for me."

Heat floods your cheeks, but you don't bother disputing the claim. It was the truth. You weren't sure what it was about him that got you so amped up and needy.

The pad of his middle finger swirls around the little nub in your panties. He can already feel the fabric getting sticky from the wetness between your thighs.

"Poor baby. You're so easy to play with," he says.

His mouth leaves your breasts now and begins to retrace its path down your stomach. It glides over your skin with open-mouthed kisses all the way down to the hem of your underwear. His fingers fall away from your center to your dismay.

Your disappointment is short lived though. You feel him position your thighs on his shoulders. When you look down, his eyes are staring right back up at you, gleaming like that of a panther ready to pounce.

"You want daddy's mouth on you? Will that help you feel better?" he rasps.

You nod quickly. "Please, daddy," you whimper.

"So polite. You didn't even need me to remind you of your manners," he smirks.

You don't even care about that remark. It washes right over you. All your mind is concerned with right now is getting more of his touch.

He brings his index finger back between your legs. He hooks it beneath the soaked seat of your panties, pulling it to the side and revealing your slick folds to him. The thumb on his opposite hand comes up to rub over the length of your slit up to your clit. Back and forth, nice and slow, just to tease you.

Your hips writhe the slightest bit, and he nips the skin of your inner thigh.

"Tsk. You know good girls are patient. They don't wriggle around. I've taught you better than that," he chides.

"Sorry," you say, backing down quickly.

"It's alright. I know you're having a rough day, so I'll let it slide this time," he says. He then leans in to lay some kisses on your clit.

Your eyes roll back and your toes curl. He never let things slide. This must have been a miracle. The same man who always toted that the rules weren't optional, letting you bypass one? Maybe you were his favorite. That's what you took it as anyways.

He makes out with your cunt like it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. His lips engulf it, spreading his affection from your little bundle of nerves all the way down, nearly reaching your puckered entrance below. You whine and clutch at the bedsheets. You were still too scared to grab his hair. You weren't sure if he'd like it and groan or glare at you in a way that said you'd pay for it later.

It doesn't matter to you right now though. What you hold isn't important when you feel this good. It feels like a firework show is erupting in your belly, bright bursts of all different colors. Your heels dig into his back, subconsciously keeping him buried between your thighs.

He's tempted to tear your panties off and fling them aside. He would if not for the limited number in his possession. If this was normal life, he'd rip a pair to shreds on a weekly basis. These things were so cute when he put them on, but when he wanted at you, he despised them. If this was normal life, he'd just buy you new ones whenever a tattered one had to be tossed. But then again, if this was normal life, he wouldn't have you at all, so it isn't really worth thinking about.

Refocusing his mind on your pleasure, he dives further into your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue fucks into you. He pushes it in a few times before pulling back and just lapping at your pussy in broad strokes, getting every drop of you he can. Two of his fingers prod at your entrance before slipping in. They fuck deeper than his tongue, but don't stretch you out like his cock. A happy medium to walk the steps of preparation.

He maneuvers his digits with expert precision, scissoring and curling them at the perfect intervals. You can't help the way your hips buck in response. He doesn't get on you about it though. He just wraps your arms around his hips and holds you in place.

Your thighs squeeze around his head too. Luckily, that wasn't against the rules. He loved feeling the heat of your plush legs wrapped around his skull, keeping him close.

He pumps his fingers faster, curling them right against that spot that got you to squeal and cry out his name.

"Cum for me, babydoll. All over my face. I wanna feel it," he rasps.

It's a fortunate coincidence he gives you that command because you were about two swipes of his tongue away from doing it on your own. You melt against the bed, eyes fluttering and body jerking and quivering as rushes of pleasure sweep through you.

Your fingers grip the blankets so tight they threaten to tear into them, but then they loosen completely and go lax next to your hips. He licks your cunt through the entire thing, not letting you come down until the euphoria has thoroughly washed through you.

While you're lying there, dazed and blissed out, he untangles himself from your legs and stands at the edge of the bed. He wipes your nectar from his facial hair before pulling his shirt over his head and unzipping his pants.

"I think daddy deserves a little reward for making you feel so good, pretty girl. What do you say?" he asks.

Of course, you nod. There was no way you would reject him while still so close to the high of your last release. He grins at your hazy movement and shoves down his pants, jerking his cock a few times and crawling on the bed to hover over you.

"You're such a good girl for me. Better than I ever thought you'd be," he says while looking down at your face.

"Wanna be good for you, daddy," you say softly, blinking at him with your misty doe eyes.

His grin spreads even wider. In your sane mind, you probably would have thought it looked like some creature out of hell. But right now, the look just makes you giggle and squirm.

Down below, he lines up at your entrance. He slides his tip through your arousal a few times, getting it nice and wet before he sinks in. A smile of your own rises on your face, and he groans at the deep satisfaction of having your cunt embrace him so readily.

"Perfect little pussy, fuck," he grunts, "Think it's the best I've ever had."

You preen at that compliment. He balances his forearms on each side of your head as he begins to thrust. Your legs rise up and lazily wrap around his waist, which he loves. He can't get enough of the fact that you want him, that you're pushing him deeper and not letting him pull out too much.

His head falls beside yours, letting you hear every pant and grunt that falls from his lips. Your walls squeeze around him every so often. The noises make your tummy flutter for him. It drives you wild to know you brought him to such a state of lust.

"Christ, you're so fucking tight," he mumbles.

You giggle again and drape your arms around his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. You just get lost in the feeling of him inside you, his cock battering all your sweet spots just right. He leans in and kisses at your neck. His hips pump deeper, ramming his shaft further into the warm depth of you.

In this moment, everything feels so good and pure. You can't even imagine any of the pain he inflicted on you before. It all feels like a distant dream. Memories that belonged to someone else, not you. At this second, it feels as though this bliss will last forever. Just you and him tangled in the throes of passion without a concern for anything else happening beyond the privacy of his room.

When you open your eyes, they're a little watery from all the stimulation and how good it feels mixed with your saccharine thoughts. You arch off the bed a few inches, pushing your pert breasts against the warmth of his chest. He pushes you back down with ease, keeping you angled exactly where he wants you.

Pulling back a little to look at your face, he smiles when he sees the water gathering in your eyes.

"Oh, those are the tears I like to see," he croons.

You moan, a little shiver coursing through you. It only encourages him to pound his hips harder against you, in and out, in and out, until you're both approaching the edge.

"You gonna cum again for me, sweetheart? Show daddy how good he's making you feel?" he murmurs.

"Yeah, mhm, ah-" you whimper, "I wanna cum daddy, wanna cum for you."

"I know you do," he chuckles, "I can feel it."

Your cunt contracts and releases around him with increased frequency now. He knows you're moments away from reaching the peak. Swiveling his hips, he tries to strike that chord and bring you crashing down.

You whimper, the pitch getting higher as the glass gets closer to shattering. Finally, with one good jerk of his pelvis, you tense up and cry out. A couple tears trickle from your eyes. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

Your body trembles and rolls with the feeling. He fucks you through it, savoring every delicious squeeze of your cunt around him. A few breathless groans rumble out of him. He gets every last second in your hole he can before he has to pull out.

He snaps his hips back, replacing the tightness of your pussy with his hand. It's not the same, but it will do. He gives it a few quick strokes before he explodes and spills on your belly. You lift your head and watch as the ropes of hot, sticky cum land on your skin.

His hips jerk with each surge of release firing from him. When he finishes, his head hangs, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. He scoots off of you and cools down beside your body on the bed. It's quiet for a few moments; though, he's never one to be vulnerable, so he doesn't let the silence linger for too long.

"You feeling better?" he asks and rotates his head to look at you.

You nod, visibly more relaxed than before.

"Thank you, daddy," you say, sweet as can be, before leaning in and pecking his lips.

He stares at you for a few moments in fond satisfaction. Then he gets up, and pulls you to your feet with him.

"C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up," he says.

You follow obediently to the bathroom where he wipes you off with a damp rag and makes sure you're all set to get some rest after. Both of you make your way to the dresser next. He pulls another set of those panties out and slips you into them. They don't feel so horrible this time around, but in the back of your mind, you're sure that won't be the case tomorrow morning. A soft, thin shirt covers your upper body next. It's the same baby pink color as the dress, but you don't mind since it's much more comfortable.

On your own, you tuck yourself to his side for the short walk back to the bed. He climbs in first and then tugs you into your spot next to him.

"I want you to try and get some rest," he tells you, stroking down the side of your face, "When you wake up, I'll get you something to eat, but for now, I want you to take a nap, ok?"

You aren't particularly tired, but while living here, sleep has become your greatest method of escape. You never reject a chance at it. The only thing is, right now, you don't really want to escape. You don't feel a horrible gnawing sensation from being so close to him.

However, you agree anyways because daddy knows best for you, and you don't want to make him upset.

You lie your head on his chest and snuggle up to him. He holds you close, rewarding the compliance by rubbing your back.

"Sweet dreams, babydoll," he murmurs.

You shut your eyes, allowing your mind to recede into visions of the life and people you had before this. The life you still hoped one day you would get back, even as it became more and more like a fantasy rather than a realistic future.

[murdrdocs]

WHERE YOU ARE. luke castellan

description. almost a year after you and luke breakup, you find yourself in his embrace once more to scratch an itch you can't reach yourself.

includes. SMUT 18+, exes hooking up, fem!coded reader, unprotected p n v, outdoor sex, both r and luke have major attitudes, r is claimed but not specified, a little angsty (they're exes cmon what did u expect), takes place during tlt but no major plot points mentioned; title and inspiration from sunshine by steve lacy

wc: 4.2k+

a/n: as mr steve lacy said, "still will give you dick anytime you need!". ao3 link

There is an itch you can’t scratch.

It’s been there for almost exactly a year, persistent and reminding you of what you’ve been lacking since last summer. You’ve attended to it time and time again, digging into it with all of your might, only to be left semi-satisfied. Never left with lazy eyes, relaxed limbs, and a far away want to do it all over again once you recovered. 

The blame for your lack of satisfaction is placed on your chosen partners. 

Humans, all either far too eager to please or not eager enough. Either too cocky and overconfident, or lacking any and all confidence at all. 

They got between your legs, did the job, but never well enough. They never did it like he did. 

And for the past year, specifically the past few months, you’ve been trying to ignore it. Day by day, when you were forced to coexist with your ex, you attempted to push the feeling to the side. You instead focused on the heat on your skin and the gravity pushing large droplets of uncomfortable sticky sweat down your body, ignoring the way sweat made his skin shine. You buried yourself in work, taking up chores offhandedly mentioned by Mr. D, especially if they would get you away from group settings. 

But then, in the solitude of mindless duties, you had nothing to do except think about Luke Castellan. 

His dark curly hair. His even darker eyes. The way his rounded face had become more chiseled since last summer. The sound of his laughter and the smell of his shampoo. The feeling of his hands on your hips and your waist and your ass and especially between your thighs. 

At the end of the night, you would always fall back and spend a little extra time in the showers, bringing yourself to orgasm after orgasm with hopes that eventually one would give even half of the amount of satisfaction a single orgasm from Luke would. 

Clearly, with the way you’re watching him from across the dining hall with wide eyes, it hasn’t been working. 

“You’re staring.” The pointed voice of your sister next to you breaks you out of your stupor. 

You’re quick to avert your eyes to your plate instead, finding that your food had been picked over, conformed from its original shape and placed in a few different spots so your plate appears as if it’s overflowing instead of losing its contents. 

You don’t bother saying anything in response, instead shoveling a fork full of brisket into your mouth. 

“Just two more days. You can last until then,” she reassures you. 

You’re not sure if you could. 

ㅤ

Only a few minutes later were you sliding almost all of your food into the fire, completely ignoring the rumbling in your stomach. 

Please. 

The rest of your brisket glides into the fire. 

Just give me one more time. 

Your cheese and bread join it. 

That’s all I ask for. 

In goes the fruit and then your plate is empty. 

Someone steps up beside you and you’re about to leave anyway, so you pay them no mind. Not until they speak to you. 

“Hey.” 

Gods, it’s almost pathetic how the simple greeting makes you feel. 

Suddenly, the waving flames of the fire in front of you is the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. 

“Hey.” 

“What’d you give up?”

Has his voice always sounded like that? Suddenly it’s … deeper. Granted, the last time you spoke to him alone was a year ago. Both of you have matured since then, but in some ways you’re still stuck in your old nature. 

“Fruit. Bread. Brisket. The usual.” 

Even though the conversation is extremely lackluster, you find yourself wanting it to continue. You want to speak to him more. 

Luke hums and it’s only then that you look at him. 

He’s turned to face you now, holding an empty plate in his hand and you wonder: when had he given his offering up? Surely you should have seen it since the fire was all you could focus on during the last minute. Really, you just weren’t taking in any information at all save for the addicting sound of Luke’s voice. 

“And what did you ask for?” His eyebrows lift, his tongue darts out to glide over his lips for a split second. A brief memory of how nice it’d been to kiss him comes back before you can prevent it.  

“You know I can’t tell you that.” You take a step closer to him as you easily fall into this old routine. Tease and tease and throw in a flirtatious tone to beat around the large bush that held a ‘please fuck me’ sign. 

“Telling you my prayer is like telling you my birthday wish.” 

Luke tilts his head, letting his eyes wander to the side for a second before finding you again. The fire reflects in them, adding a warmth to his eyes you haven’t seen all summer. 

He’d been off the past few months, holding a tension in his shoulders and having a clipped-ness to his voice at times. You might be imagining things when you feel as if he’s different—good different—with you. 

“Which you used to do all the time.” 

You shrug. “It was always things you could do for me. I just wanted my wishes to come true.” 

“Oh yeah, like do your chores. All that time I spent scrubbing the bathroom floors for you.” 

A grin finds your lips. “It was a good lesson in responsibility. Right, Luke?” 

When he rolls his eyes, you notice how there’s no malice behind the action. It’s almost too easy for both of you to fall back into your old pattern. 

“Yeah. Sure.” He takes a small step closer to you and if you weren’t so in tune with every detail about him, you wouldn’t have noticed it. “So you gonna tell me what you asked for or not?” 

There’s no point in him knowing, other than to intrude on your life. Unfortunately, you don’t mind the intrusion. 

You stare at him a little while longer, your eyes flickering back and forth between his. Every so often, you let your gaze fall to his lips, only to bring it back up to his eyes like nothing ever happened. 

For a second, you pretend to think about it, falsely balancing his proposal before deciding. 

“I’m good. See you around, Luke.” 

When you return to your table and sit next to your sister, she has the kindness to not say anything about your prolonged absence for only a few moments. 

Then, “Am I covering for you?” 

You delude yourself into believing she won’t have to for a few seconds. And then you catch Luke’s eye from across the dining hall and you sigh.

“Yeah.” 

ㅤ

“Knew you weren’t over me.” 

You stop walking at his words, shoes thudding against the grass. The thunderous roar of the waterfall covers any other possible sound you could’ve created, but Luke never needed to hear you to know when you were approaching. It was a weird intuition thing you never understood.  

“Hello to you too, Luke.”

He turns around to face you, and as expected, he’s wearing a smirk. His arms are crossed over his chest, he’s no longer sporting his camp tee, having replaced the bright orange material with a deep blue hoodie instead. Practically everything about him screams relaxed, his gray sweatpants adding to the ambience that his aura creates—one that says he knew you were going to meet him tonight. 

“We’re way past formal greetings at this point, don’t you think?” He turns back to face the waterfall in front of him when you join his side. “You never used to greet me before.”

“Things change.”

“Yet you’re still out here. That could only be for one reason.” 

You shrug, folding your own arms over your chest. You have nothing to do with your hands yet, and you’ve been flexing them impatiently with anticipation. 

“Maybe I wanted to stargaze. Who knows.” 

Luke doesn’t say anything. 

In your peripheral vision, you can see him staring up at the sky, presumably stargazing like you falsely claimed you were doing. You try to do the same, picking out a few easily recognizable constellations you knew. But it’s only a minute later that you’re caving. 

“Okay.” 

You turn to face Luke. 

He does the same. 

He’s brought a lantern out here and it sits on the ground in front of you both, bright enough to illuminate the side of his face with an orange-yellow glow. 

“Okay?” he asks for clarification. 

Your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip for a second as you mull over your words. After tonight, there’s only one more night of camp left, and then you won’t be seeing Luke for another year. There’s almost no repercussions for laying it all out now, dropping your poorly built guard to get what you’ve been craving for a year now. 

“I’m not out here to fucking stargaze.” You sound exasperated as you admit it. 

Luke paints a picture of faux shock on his face. He gasps, splaying a hand out over his chest as his eyes widen. “Really? I never would’ve guessed.” 

Really, his attitude is starting to get on your nerves. 

Your temper flares and you suddenly understand the rage and frustration Clarisse always inhabits. 

“Don’t be a dick.” You try to manifest the negative feelings taking over your mind when you speak, but your tone betrays you. The command comes out too soft to change anything. Too gentle to be real. 

“Thought you liked it when I was a dick?” 

Something you’d told him in confidence last year. Confidence and drunken delusion. The shameless way you were grabbing at his clothes at the time clearly showed your inebriation. 

“Gods, Luke, would you just stop talking and kiss me already?” You take the step closer to him, finally entering his space to get what you want. What you’ve literally been dreaming about for the past year. 

He stops for a second, his eyes flitting to your lips once, twice, and just when you think he’s about to kiss you, his lips part for a different reason. 

“You also liked it when I ta–” 

You do it yourself. 

You expect him to hesitate before giving in, but his response is quick. 

Hands at your hips pulling you closer to him. His head tilting to the side so he can deepen the kiss just enough. His tongue wastes no time entering your mouth, pressing against your own tongue which allows you to taste the slightly off flavor of the root beer he’d had earlier in the night. 

Just like everything else had gone tonight, you two found the rhythm easily. 

You let Luke lead, pressing your chest into his, arching your back when his palm rests right above your ass. 

He kisses you like he wants more, a little over eager as the tip of his nose presses into your cheek with a little too much pressure. And he could take more, you’re offering it to him with the way your hands slide under his sweatshirt and press against his bare abdomen, fingers tracing his abdominal muscles. Luke just refuses to take it. He refuses to go the extra step. 

You huff against his lips, eyebrows furrowing in vexation. 

Luke pulls back from you first. He stares down at you, unmoving, not saying anything and when your brain is clouded like this, you don’t have it in you to try and decipher the storm in his dark eyes. 

When your brain is clouded like this, all you can think to do is speak.

“And for what it’s worth, I’m over you. I’m just not over…” you trail off, not really feeling like a conclusion is necessary to communicate exactly what you’re missing. 

Luke’s laugh is more like a sharp inhale. He cups your cheek with one hand. “And that’s a part of me, angel.” The pet name sounds almost villainous coming from his lips now. It’s too heavily dipped in confidence, dripping with sour arrogance. 

If you weren’t so horny, you would be turned off at the sound of it. At least, that’s what you convince yourself. But there’s very little that Luke could do to turn you off. 

Instead of dwelling on it, you lean back up and press your lips to Luke’s again. 

This time, Luke kisses you how you expected. 

He’s rough, lacking politeness and a little bit of coordination. His hands grip at your ass, pinching the fabric of your pajama bottoms and the fabric of your panties between them. There’s lots of tongue and even more spit, a few moments where your teeth knock into each other’s.

Now that he’s participating how you want him to, there’s not much anticipation. 

Your long sleeve tee is thrown over your head and placed at your feet, the same treatment goes for Luke’s sweatshirt. Your hands glide along each other’s bodies yearningly. You can’t help but start to feel satisfied with what you’re getting, even though it’s close to nothing. 

You’d been wanting to even be in Luke’s vicinity with intentions other than solely platonic—almost professionally—for so long now, so just feeling the weighted heat of his hands on your bare skin is enough to make you sigh. 

It doesn’t take long for both of you to end up on the ground, and after a small dispute about who gets to be on top, you end up on your hands and knees, hips wiggling impatiently as you wait for Luke to make the final move. The one to start the end of the beginning. 

There’s a few prolonged moments where nothing happens. You’re trying to be patient, busying yourself with chewing on your bottom lip and listening to the soothing sounds of water falling, but you’ve been so empty for so long and you really don’t think you can last any longer. 

You look over your shoulder to see Luke sitting on his haunches behind you. Just staring. 

He seems to be stuck in a trance, and just when you start to get a little insecure, Luke spits into his hand and runs his fingers down your cunt, reaching back up to probe two fingers into your entrance to the first knuckle. 

It’s slightly too much of a stretch all at once, and you wince a little, fingers gripping the strands of grass beneath you. 

You think you hear a small apology from him but you can’t tell. Either way, he corrects himself and slowly sinks one finger into your cunt. Already, you’re letting out a drawn out sigh. It comes out more guttural than intended, as if Luke pulled it directly from deep within you as he draws his finger back out, only to plunge it back in. 

His fingers scratch along places you haven’t been able to reach on your own. The tip of his digit strokes along a spot you’d been searching for for months, only having found twice on your own. (Both occurrences can be attributed to pure luck … and sheer desperation)

You don’t have to ask for more. Luke pulls the singular digit out and when he pushes back in, you feel the same stretch from before. This time, it’s more expected. 

You know to let yourself relax to allow him to continue. 

He enters you easily, and he starts to set a pace that hints at his intentions. He isn’t fingering you to prep you anymore, at least that’s not what it feels like he’s doing. His fingers are caressing parts that he only reaches when he wants you to cum. His pace isn’t one of careful leisure. Instead it’s goal searching. 

“Luke,” you start without even knowing if there’s a finish intended. 

He hums distractedly. 

“Fuck me. Please.” 

You aren’t above begging at this point. It’s all a means to an end for you. 

But you don’t know if it’s the same for Luke. 

His free hand comes to your ass and he caresses the flesh in a surprisingly tender way. You watch him lean up, and you watch him pepper kisses along your lower back. 

“I’ll get there, angel, promise.” 

And it suddenly occurs to you that Luke is taking his time with you. He’s savoring it all. 

For a second, the carnal desire melts away to reveal something more raw. The urge you used to feel to just talk to him first thing in the morning and last thing at night. The way your insides would flutter when he smiled, or the way everything seemed a little darker when he was down. 

Every emotion you’ve been working to get over for the past few months comes back tenfold in this small moment. 

And then Luke hooks his fingers and you’re brought back to the more debauched side of your circumstances. 

His pace speeds up a little. He introduces his other hand along your clit, singling out two fingers and rubbing wide and slow circles around the bud. 

During your nostalgia filled moment, your body had gotten closer to orgasm. Luke only has to pump his digits a few more times and tighten the circles just enough and you’re digging your hands into the dirt, pushing your hips back into his touch, and arching your back as your muscles tense up and you announce your orgasm, only to let go a few moments later. 

It’s a little more than pathetic how hard you cum. But you haven’t felt the touch from someone other than yourself in a long time. And you haven’t felt the touch of someone adequate enough to satisfyingly please you in an even longer time. 

Your hips twitch back and forth, the muscles in your thighs tense until you ache to relax them, only to repeat the action as waves cascade through your body. Luke is there through it all, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you as he coos gentle words from behind you. 

Your head hands low between your shoulders, but you still hear him coaxing you through it. 

“That’s it … just let it happen. ‘S it’s a big one. You really did miss me, hm?” 

He still sounds smug, but it comes off more affectionately this time. At least, a little less annoyingly. 

You’ve barely let yourself calm down from your orgasm before you’re reaching between your thighs blindly, swatting Luke’s hands away and searching for something else entirely. 

He chuckles, mumbles something under his breath that is definitely snarky, and you’re immediately swearing. 

“Luke, I swear to the fucking Gods, if you don’t fuck me right now I’ll..” 

It’s embarrassing how the meeting of his head and your entrance instantly shuts you up. It’s like a pacifier nestling between your lips, not fully settling into your cavern without a few teasing strokes up and down the plane of your cunt first. 

But the teasing makes it all so much more worth it. Just the first inch makes your eyes roll back. 

It’s so familiar, but in a slightly foreign way. You haven’t had it in so long, but you remember everything you loved about it. 

The way his head stretches you out first, and then comes the rest of him, only a few moments of reprieve before you get to the thickest part of him. The way his fingers press into your skin as he sinks in, exercising as much restraint as he could. The way his tip parts you open, scratching parts of you that have been itching for a while now. 

He’s bare within you, and if you hone in your senses enough you can feel everything. Every ridge and mountain plane and every vein. The way he’s warm and heavy within you, filling you so well you don’t know how you’ve been empty this long. 

It’s like an insatiable hunger has finally been filled. 

You don’t know how you’ll ever go back to being without this. Without Luke. 

By the time Luke has bottomed out, you’re already attempting to fuck yourself back on him. Luke takes over quick enough, digging his hands into the fat at your hips as he drives into you. 

You can feel your ass rippling with each thrust, and you think there’s clapping, too. 

Luke is harsh with it, any tender moments you two had during the night are gone, replaced with fierce thrusts, his cock pistoning in and out of you with an intensity that tells you he wants to cum as badly as you do. 

You have the sudden urge to see his face, to watch his eyebrows pinch together as he cums. You look over your shoulder once more, and sure enough his thick eyebrows are pushed together. His lips glisten in the ambient lighting, pink and plump and parted as he focuses. His eyes don’t leave your ass, trained on where the two of you connect. 

Only a few moments later does he notice you’re watching him, and he casts a look up to meet your eyes. His expression doesn’t change, still as concentrated as it was before. 

Then he tells you, “turn over”. 

You’re quick to comply, barely even having to mourn the brief emptiness before you’re on your back (on the ground but it doesn’t matter at this point) with your legs spread, Luke quickly entering you and resuming his pace. 

He leans down, holding your thigh for leverage with one hand and holding himself up beside your head with the other. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes close and yours do too. 

“‘M close,” he tells you. 

Your hand slinks up to dig into his curls, and like this, you’re allowed to reminisce once more. 

Not one specific memory finds you, but the position is so well known. It’s so intimate, only becoming more so whenever Luke presses his lips to yours. 

It doesn’t cross your mind to tell Luke to pull out. But you don’t want him to. 

You need to feel him, all of him, just one more time. 

So when Luke spills warm cum inside of you, it’s the highest form of pleasure. 

He fucks it into you a little more, a few punctuated thrusts ensuring none of him leaks out, and then the hand on your hip comes between your thighs again. He pulls out, waits, and when you feel something trickle out of you he catches it with two fingers and drags it up to your bud. 

“Can you cum for me one more time?” he asks, voice sweet and gentle. 

Even if you couldn’t, if you were physically unable to, you would still give it a try if he talked to you like that. 

You nod, keeping your eyes pinched shut and licking over your now unoccupied lips. 

“Look at me,” Luke commands. “I wanna see you.” 

Your eyes peel open. You stare up at Luke. And with two more flicks, you cum. 

“Heard you’ve been calling me your ex.” 

You shrug as you pull your bottoms over your hips. Your shirt is already on, but you shake it out a little, trying to get rid of dirt remains that somehow found their way into it. 

“Yeah. That’s what you are.” 

Luke pulls his sweatshirt back over his head before responding. “We both know I’m more than that.” 

“You were more than that. Things change, Luke.” 

When he meets your eyes, there’s something in his gaze. Maybe remorse? 

He licks his lips, shrugs. “They don’t have to. We could go back to how things were before.” 

It’s such a tempting proposition, one you laid with for weeks. Watching the sun set and then watching it rise all in one wake, wondering where things went wrong, trying to fix them in your head so you could get it all back. You treated your breakup with Luke like a mission gone wrong, and that’s where you went wrong. 

You shake your head a little and start to walk away. 

“Goodnight, Luke.” 

His hand catches you around the wrist. He stares down at you, gaze hard and serious. 

“Hey, anytime you need that. Anytime you need me to give you that, you come find me. Okay?” 

Satisfaction flares in your chest as you nod. 

ㅤ

By the time the sun has made itself comfortable in the sky, you’re the last one out of bed. 

You shower quickly, paying extra attention to your knees to scrub the remnants of dirt off of them, and then you’re at the dining hall for breakfast, sliding up next to your sister with striking bags under your eyes and an alluring glow added to your aura. 

She doesn’t say anything for a while and neither do you. Both of you tend to your hunger, slowly setting food into your mouth and savoring the sweetness of the strawberry pancakes. 

Only when nothing is left on your plates but your offerings does she speak. 

“Covering for you tonight again?”

You don’t hesitate at all when you say, “Yep.” 

“You owe me.” She’s trying to come off a little demanding, maybe a little mean. But she looks a little amused. Maybe even happy for you. 

Your eyes leave hers to look across the dining hall, finding Luke already looking at you. 

When you grin in response, sickly sweet and triumphant, you don’t know if it’s towards her or Luke. 

Either way, your reply is the same. 

“I love you.” 

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

LISTEN. HEAR ME OUT. eddie and Best friend!reader petty arguing, right, so reader says 'ooh you wanna kiss me soooo bad' and he does.

Hear ME OUT!!

What about we sprinkle in some jealous!Eddie too give it the ol'razzle dazzle.

Jealous! Eddie Munson x Bestfriend!reader

Warnings: fluff, some cursing, kissing that's about it.

Not proofread ignore mistakes.

Eddie has been in a pissy mood all damn week. He was short with you. He was snappy and just passive all around. The bottom line is that he was being a real asshole to you. You couldn't pinpoint exactly what made him this way. You chalked it up to him, barely getting any sleep. Maybe he cut back on smoking and is dealing with those withdrawals.

Doesn't matter at this point he was a dick and taking it out on you specifically. Ever since you went out on that date with his friend, Eddie has been insufferable. Little did you know that's the exact reason he's been moody with you.

He was jealous. You were his, and he had to watch his friend pick you up for a date. He sat in his room thinking about his friend kissing you. His friend holding your hand, and God knows what else you two did on your date together.

But you've had about enough of his attitude. You were sitting on his bed flipping through his heavy metal magazine while he tuned up his guitar.

"Hey, eddie, can you turn on the tv?" You looked before turning another page. You weren't even reading the comic. You were more interested in the artwork than anything the plot.

"Turn it on your damn self." He already sounded aggravated with you. "And stop turning those damn pages like that you'll rip them."

He rolled his eyes and turned his chair to face more away from you.

You huffed immediately, getting fed with him now." Alright, what hell is your problem?"

You slammed down his magazine, crossing your arms over your chest. You felt your face heating from the anger rising inside of you. You've dealt with his mood swings before, but that's because they were never directly pointed at you. Not until recently.

"I don't have a problem." He shrugged, still refusing to face you.

"Oh yes, you do. You've been a complete douche all week."

He smirked and finally turned around. "I've been a douche? Me? Maybe I wouldn't be such a douche if you weren't so fucking annoying."

"I'm not annoying!" You defended yourself, raising your voice slightly.

"Oh, but yes, you are. All you do is yap all day long, and I gotta listen to it." Eddie, let out a condescending laugh after you argued back with him.

You squinted your eyes, "Yeah, well, at least I'm not walking around with a stick up my ass."

You could hear him growl something under his breath. His lips were pressed in a tight line.

"You're right. I do have a stick up my ass. How about you get your ass up and turn on the TV because my ass is currently busy with a stick rammed up it." His voice was dripping with sarcasm while bickering back and forth with you.

You rolled your eyes and got up off his bed to turn on the TV. You messed with the volume until it was as high as it could go. You were purposely trying to press his buttons. You wanted a reaction out of him. You wanted that last word, and you were going to get it. He couldn't hear himself think or focus on what he was currently doing.

Eddie jumps up from his chair and turns down the TV. You just stay standing there, twisting the nob to it turn back up. You're both staring each other down in the process.

"You're bein- he went to speak, but you raised the volume up again, cutting him off.

Eddie let a deep breath and turned the tv back down once more. His face is all red, and sets his guitar back against his dresser. "You're being reeeeeally petty right now. I'm trying to tune up my guitar."

"Yeah?...so?" You slowly turn the TV up again with your eyes locked onto his.

His jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare. You decided to mess with him. You wanted to rile him up some more. He rubbed his hands down his face.

You watched him closely, and a little idea sparked in your head. You don't know what really came over you. Probably, his attitude with you has finally made you lose your mind or something.

"Ooh, you wanna kiss me sooo bad right now, huh?" You taunted him.

There was always this unspoken crush between the two of you that was mutual. You were being mean, and you didn't care. You were past your limit right now. You wanted to get under his skin, and it was working.

He doesn't say anything he just looks at you. He steps closer, leaving very little room between the two of you. Without any warning, his lips came crashing down into yours. His hands go up to hold both sides of your face gently. His soft lips locked with yours as his tongue slipped past them.

The kiss was sloppy but passionate. He didn't care if your teeth clashed a little bit. He needed to do this. You felt light-headed while your tongues fought for dominance. Your face felt all tingly, and your hands moved up to grip onto his forearms. Only a few seconds have passed, but it felt like hours. Time stood still as you made out with your best friend in his bedroom.

He let go of your face and moved his lips slowly away from you. He had a smug expression on his face. Your eyes flutter back open, and you swallow. You're breathing heavy, and you don't know if it's from the kiss or from the fight you and Eddie were getting into. Or a combination of both.

"Why have you been so mean to me all week?" You whispered your fingers, move up to trace over your own lips. You could still feel traces of him on your mouth.

Eddie looked at you and with a sad smile. "I couldn't get over the fact that you went on date with my friend Cody."

Your eyebrows raised. "You-- You were jealous of Cody?" You were in disbelief. Here you thought he was just annoyed being around you.

You couldn't believe he would be so irritated over that date. It was one date, and you were miserable. Plus, it's not like you haven't seen him take home his fare share of women from the bar.

Those nights where he would be out with a made you feel sick to your stomach. But you never once took it out on him like this. You shake those thoughts and try to listen and understand where he is coming from. Right now, it's about him, not you. He was never good at expressing his feelings, and because of that, he was more prone to lashing out.

"Well, yeah, just the mere thought of him being so close to you really upset me. I know I've been a dick but I just couldn't help it." He plopped back down in his chair.

You moved to sit at the edge of his bed. Your legs felt like they were going to give out after kissing him.

"Why didn't you say something?" You sighed and picked at your chipped nail polish.

"I don't know.. I don't want to mess up what we have." He gestured between the two of you. His voice was a lot softer now than is has been all week.

You nodded and understood why he felt like he couldn't express his feelings. "Can you kiss me again?"

Eddie's eyes dart up, and he looks a little surprised. "Can i?"

You couldn't have actually wanted to kiss him again? He thought to himself. He was already feeling guilty for just happened. He felt his heart start to race again.

You smiled and nodded, "I wish you would have kissed me sooner."

[luveline]

Hi Jade! I’ve been on my criminal minds rerun and it made me come up with this Spencer request if you’re taking them right now! Something along the lines of the reader and Spencer being together and she becomes pregnant but he pieces it together before she does!

tysm for requesting! hope this is ok♡ 1k

cw fem!reader has a positive attitude towards her pregnancy. vaguely adult theme

"I really don't think I can go," you say, flopping down on the bed. 

Spencer laughs and shakes out the shirt in his hands, hoping the creases from the dryer will iron themselves before dinner tonight. "You always say that."

"I really mean it this time. I miss Hotch, I do, and I'm glad he's out of WITSEC, but thinking about the restaurant is making me queasy." 

"Really? I looked it up, it's a nice place. They have their Grade A, it should be spotless in there. I'm pretty sure they almost got a Michelin star." 

You groan, turning onto your side. "I looked too. The entire menu is seafood," you whine. 

"What's wrong with that?" Spencer asks, giving you a quizzical look. 

"The smell." You rub your nose against his pillow and sigh. "I don't feel good. Didn't rough me up in my sleep, did you?" 

"I would never do that," he says, putting the last of the laundry aside to sit by your hip. His hand rests naturally against the slight curve of your side, fingertips pushing the hem of your shirt up enough to steal a glance at your back. 

He wouldn't say this aloud and it doesn't matter, but you've gained a little weight recently. Actually, it does matter in that he thinks it's adorable, but he knows that telling your partner they've gained weight is a faux pas. He likes it, anyhow. It's happy weight. 

Things are so serious now but they don't feel serious. There's no solemness in your relationship, just comfort. He's putting on weight in tandem. 

"You really don't want to go?" Spencer asks. The earlier he lets Hotch know the better. 

You wrap an arm around your stomach. "Sorry, Spence. I'm so sorry, I've felt sick all day and I think it'll just be a repeat of yesterday morning." You puked before breakfast, the smell of eggs too much to bear.

Spencer feels it click into place then and there. The weight, the puking, your changing taste. Your sore chest and lower back, your sensitivity. 

He pushes you gently, a hand on your hip to encourage you down. Careful, he lays down next to you, propping his head on the pillow as he brings hand up to hold you. He can't know for sure… but if you're pregnant as he suspects, it fits. And more than that, it's insane. He doesn't know how to handle this besides wrapping you up in his arms. He'll keep you forever, if he can. 

"Don't be sorry," he says, his voice faraway. You relax completely in his arms, sliding your leg over his to lock him in. "Does your back still hurt?" 

"My chest, Spence," you lament, "it feels like I'm winded. I think I'm coming down with something. Maybe you shouldn't be near me." 

"In that case, I'm staying right here." 

You laugh softly, the warmth of it a circle on his shoulder. "I can call Hotch myself and say sorry. I'll feel better in a few days, and we'll reschedule, and I'll pay even if he tries to." 

Spencer draws a line up your back. Now or never. 

He steels his nerves, the beginning of a hypothesis hesitating on his tongue. Your symptoms in addition to your irregular period and your regular sex lives points toward pregnancy. How does he say that? How should he say it? Should he even bring it up? Perhaps he should wait until you discover it yourself. And you aren't definitely pregnant, it's just a possibility. Maybe you're simply sick—

"Hey, earth to handsome," you whisper, cupping his cheek in your soft palm. You smile as he snaps out of his thoughts. "Hey. I lost you for a few seconds, where'd you go?" 

"Nowhere. I'm here." 

Your smile gets impossibly fond. It's not dissimilar to how you usually look at him. "Are you okay?" 

"Fine. I love you." 

"I love you," you say. 

There's something about you now, this gaussian blur to you. Sunlight seeps in lazily through the blinds thick as honey, a golden kiss to your skin where you lay face to face with him, and your I love you makes him want to cry. This is all ridiculous and amazing and he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to make his mouth move into the right words. 

"What is it?" you ask. You know him better than anyone. 

"I think you're pregnant." Spencer winces, though he can't beat his smile into submission. "I mean. You could be pregnant." 

"Why do you think that?" you ask, visibly startled. 

"Your sensitivity to strong smells, your soreness, your late period, to name the more obvious. That's not factoring in your worsening low iron lately, and your headaches." You make a strange sound he doesn't like. "What?" he asks worriedly.  

"I'm late," you say into yourself, looking past him as you puzzle it over. 

"It's a good thing, if you are. I mean, it's an amazing thing if you want it to be. I'm saying everything wrong. It's only amazing if you want it to be, I want it to be. But I'm on your side no matter what." He grimaces into his hands, rubbing his face with both palms. 

You sit as he panics. He clicks his neck looking up, racing to follow you, alarmed as you shimmy down the bed toward the ensuite bathroom. 

"What are you–" 

"I'm gonna take a test." 

"Wait a second." Spencer catches your hands before you can get too far, pulling you back to the end of the bed to sit down. "Wait. Is it– is it bad? If you are?" 

You look down at your stomach briefly. Anyone else might miss it, but Spencer can't not follow your behaviour, and the way you're acting now makes him think he got it wrong. That you won't be happy. 

You grab Spencer's hand. "You know, it's not funny. All our friends are gonna ask how I found out, and I'm gonna have to admit that you noticed it first." Your eyes track up his face almost shyly, and soon your smile is as blistering as his. 

Spencer bends under your weight as you jump up, throwing your arms behind his neck, your lips smashed to his ear. "I love you," you whisper urgently, "so much. This is good, right? This is really good." 

"Are you kidding?" he asks incredulously. 

Spencer takes your face into two hands and kisses you as hard as he ever has. He realises a second in that he'd much rather be squeezing you, caging you into the circle of his arms unrepentant. 

"We have a really good excuse to miss dinner," Spencer says.

He sounds close to tears. You're worse, laughing wetly as you pull him into the bathroom to take your test. 

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

What if I...

—You make a tempting, unexpected offer; how are they going to react?

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairings: Dazai, Chuuya, Nikolai, Fyodor, Sigma, Jouno X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, mentions of giving blowjobs (whether it'll happen or not is up to you lol), unstablished relationship (you're just friends, but are you..?), rushed writing

Genre: Humor

Format: Drabble

Word Count: 1.6K

↳Osamu Dazai"

Listen y/n..." Dazai cooes at you. "I'm a little bit busy with... uh, work; so I don't think I'll be able to accompany you on this mission"

Shaking your head to the side with frustration, you bend a little on the desk, gazing into his Hazel eyes to show your desperation "Oh c'mon Dazai! You're not seriously gonna make me go to this tiresome mission by myself?! They're all politicians! It's gonna be boring as hell!"

The pile of paperwork on his desk are making you question your eyesight, but you know Dazai better than that. He probably saw it coming so he placed them there on purpose to prove his point.

...Not that it could exactly be called a "point".

"Listen..." Your voice is so low that only Dazai can hear it. "There must be some way for me to change your mind"

His expression doesn't change one bit, still looking through the documents for nothing, pretending to be occupied. "Sorry to burst your bubbles, but I really can't—"

"What if I suck your dick?"

Eyes shooting you a shocked gaze and hands staying still, it seems like he's completely lost interest in the paperwork. He's looking through your soul and the moment his lips start moving, you know you've won the battle.

"For... for real?" "Yes, for real"

The surprised face is all gone and instead, there's a totally new face now; a smug face of a man who's gonna team up with you for the mission and get a little prize in the end.

"So when do we leave?"

↳Chuuya Nakahara

"Listen Chuuya, with great looks comes great responsibility. There's a reason why you're this hot!"

The red-haired man looked away as an attempt to hide his flustered face, his voice still gravely. "Stop it y/n. I'm not gonna be your model for the photoshoot"

"Why not? You're the perfect choice!" "The answer's no! Get over it"

"Hmph! You're no fun" You crossed your arms and pouted as you leaned to the chair. You couldn't make heads or tails of it. Why was he so against being your model? You were just gonna take a few photos of him wearing casual clothes and maybe some light makeup. It was for your photography class and you were supposed to take a pic of somebody under the rays of sunset. With Chuuya's red hair and blue eyes, it would be a breath taking pic. He just looked so pretty under the sun.

As Chuuya took the bottle to sip from it, you found yourself desperate enough to give it one last shot.

"What if I suck your dick as a payment?"

And then the explosion happened. Chuuya's hand snapped, the bottle fell on the floor and drops of wine literally squirted out of his mouth. He was coughing so strongly that you rushed over and started hitting him in the back like he was some kind of ketchup bottle. His face was crimson red, but whether it was from choking or embarrassment, you couldn't really tell.

When he finally came down and caught his breath, he placed his hand on his chest and looked at you with eyes the same size as a baseball, meanwhile you looked at him miserably with the word "sorry" written all over your face.

"So... is that a yes?" "NO!"

Well, at least you nearly killed him.

↳Jouno Saigiku

"Ok I don't know why you're refusing. I'm just giving you the opportunity to make up for your mean attitude by doing something nice! You know, to go to heaven, like me and other nice people, Teccho for example"

Jouno was still expressionless. He merely sipped his cup of coffee and placed his hat on the table. "I appreciate the offer, but after a lifetime we definitely need a break from each other"

"Ugh you jerk! C'mon it's a piece of cake for you! You've arrested plenty of people before! You're smart, you're strong and I came to you for help which shows that I'm really desperate!"

Your relationship with Jouno was... questionable. He teased you, had a tendency to piss you off all the time, but somehow you were friends. The weirdest type of friendship that had ever existed, probably.

"I can see that. See I do wanna help you out, but I just love seeing the new you"

Shaking your head to the side, you leaned back to the couch. A hard case was given to you and you really didn't want to blow it up, but you needed help, and everyone else were busy. Except for your horrible friend here.

"Jouno, Jouno, Please..." You took his left, gloved hand. "I need you! I'll do anything in return! I'll team up with you and insult Teccho for a whole year! I'll write every one of your reports! I'll even suck your d—"

Jouno didn't hear your voice anymore. In fact, the only thing heard in the room was pure silence, and of course your heartbeat.

You were shocked.

He got his hand out of your grasp, placing it next to your head. His other hand found its way to your lips, softly caressing them. Meanwhile you didn't say a word, just stared at his handsome face and swallowed your saliva.

"Hypothetically, if I help you out, how far would you go to make it up to me?"

Forget about your friendship. You weren't that close anyway.

↳Fyodor Dostoevsky

"I'm going to go to my parents' with my boyfriend tonight"

"I thought you didn't have a boyfriend, dear" Fyodor tilted his head to the side to gaze at you.

"I don't! That's where you come in!"

Nikolai exchanged a look between your nervous expression and Fyodor's smile, and pouted. "Hey! Why didn't you ask me instead?"

"Yeah yeah, if I ever wanted to give them a heart attack you'd be the first person I'll go to" You sighed and looked back at Fyodor. "So? Would you please help me out?"

Fyodor was sitting next to you on a chair. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "Ah... I'm not sure about that. Wouldn't it make our relationship awkward?"

"No! No not at all!" Your voice was rushed and shaky. "You see you're the perfect choice for this"

"Hmph!"

"Shut up Nikolai. I mean, you're tall, you know how to talk to people— in a satisfying way, ah, you know what I mean, you're handsome, you have very pretty hair, you have the most beautiful violet eyes I can stare at until forever..."

His brattish smirk made you shut up and give a few embarrassed coughs. Your flushed cheeks weren't exactly helping you out at the moment.

"Eh... So you're the best in many ways... Now, would you please help me out?"

Fyodor gave Nikolai-who was also smirking- a meaningful look, and his smirk got broader. "I will think about it"

"What's there to think about? You get to have a free dinner and also have a great time! My dad has the same taste in books as you! I'll even suck your dick at the end!"

You suddenly shut up and stared at the two men with eyes the same size as a racket ball. Now there was also two pare of knitted eyebrows along with the smirks. Nikolai's winking and muttering "Yeah baby" didn't help you loosen up at all.

Fyodor leaned closer until the phrase "personal space" lost its meaning, staring at you. His pretty eyes were sparkling, making it harder to steal your gaze from them. His voice was as gentle as the sea breeze, the perfect melody to caress your ears.

"So... I'll get to date the most beautiful girl in the world, spend a whole night with her and then get something afterwards?"

You were so drowned in your thoughts that you couldn't utter a single word. This moment was magical, making you wonder if he were going to seal your lips with his, totally forgetting about Nikolai's presence.

...Until he started talking.

"Do you guys want me to leave the room? Cause there's no way I'm doing that"

↳Nikolai Gogol

"...Which is why clowns are so fragile and have strong emotions!"

You shook your head with disappointment. "Yeah yeah, get it. But that doesn't answer my question"

"What was your question anyway?"

Ugh.

"Would you please babysit my cousins with me?"

"Hahaha! I remember now!" His face brightened with joy. "Well, no"

You leaned closer to him miserably. "Oh c'mon Kolya!"

"Sorry dove, I just don't get along with children. Not a fan"

"But they're triplets Kolya! I can't handle them on my own!" At this point you were literally begging. "Pretty please?"

"Triplets? Ha! Another reason for me to say no"

Well, that was it. You were going to be alone with your naughty cousins for four hours and then hand a burned house and probably only one of the boys back to your aunt because you lost the other two.

"Unless..."

Ah! There's still some hope left.

"You offer me something in return?"

Nikolai's face was dangerously close to yours. His smile was bright, but his intention didn't seem to be. Although that didn't scare you. It only made your body numb with excitement and through your clouded mind, you somehow put two and two together and blurted something out.

"Eh... What if.. What if I suck your di— Woah Nikolai what are you doing?"

A chuckle left his mouth as if something simple had happened, but this wasn't simple. He had just lifted you up and was carrying you bridal style to your bedroom.

"You took the hint all by yourself. How about that, my naughty dove?"

"K— Kolya! Where are you taking me?"

Your red cheeks only made his smile broader. "We're gonna get your clothes changed, go to your aunt's aweful house, babysit your horrible cousins, and then get ready for a night of fun"

↳Sigma

"So... How's the best manager in the world?"

Sigma's stare was still pointed at the documents. "I'm not planning a birthday party for your friend y/n"

"What are you talking about?" You smiled cunningly, lightly caressing his arm from the other side of the desk. "Can't I just compliment my incredible friend? Who happens to be an expert in planning and managing stuff?"

When you two first met, he used to get flustered by your flattering comments, but now Sigma's eyebrows only jumped in surprise. "You... can, but it won't change my mind"

"Pretty please?" Dropping the act, you got up from your seat and stood next to him, putting both of your hands on his shoulders. "I really need your help. I don't have a clue about this and you're the only one I know"

"I'm sorry y/n, but I'm caught up with work. You know that the casino is very busy this time of year, there's nothing I can do"

You sighed and sat on the chair again, desperately thinking about a way to convince him. What would make men do women a favor...

"What if I suck you dick?"

Sigma was still staring at the documents, which made you wonder if he had heard you, but his eyes were not the same. They were widened. He slowly lifted his head and looked at you like he was about to chop off his hand and stick it down his ass, and that made you finally realize it.

"Oh I forgot that you're three years old! I mean you haven't even hit puberty yet. Oops. My bad"

Yeah, Sigma needed new friends.

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[boowritess]

notsobaddasssoldier!reader who is kinda a cunt

reader who just doesn't give a shit about the 141 rank or title.

"you think just cause your captain of some lil task force i'm gonna bend over backwards for you? be serious."

"cool you're lieutenant...and.... anything else interesting? like how you think halloween is 24/7, or...?"

"oh so it's a big accomplishment you're sergeant at your big age? tell someone who cares."

you're just so... eh about their ranks. but they get some power trip when you call them said rank. makes them feel some sort of way that depsite your snark, you still call them by rank. showing the clear difference of inferiority and superiority between you and them.

till you notice and shut that shet down.

"your so fucking stupid. it's like if i met The Pope. I'm gonna call him Pope because he's The Pope. I still don't give a shit though."

"or like meeting a Doctor and calling them Doctor. I don't give a fuck that the persons a Doctor. I'll still call em it."

"better yet. hate the king. hate the queen. but i still call them the queen and king. because their dumbassary is just linked to their 'ranks'. if you keep annoying me the same is gonna go for you."

you have so much sass and snark that it becomes a truly humbling experience. and it's like - damn. they could put you over their knee and really put you in your place but reader takes things from 0-100 real fucking quick.

"you wanna what you fucking freak?"

"excuse me-?"

"you're so fucking dumb. get a braincell dumb bitch. do it and fucking find out what happens."

"shot me in the head and watch my corpse not give a fuck because I don't."

and when the guys get a lil too fucking serious about putting reader in their place. reader suddenly has a gun pointed at their face. you see what I mean by taking things to 0-100 real quick?

"dummy. really tryna fuck with me when we're surrounded by guns? fuck outta here with that bullshit."

"matter fact I'd just kill myself-"

"NO!" *141*

it's obvious you may be young and perhaps a little too mouthy for your own good but it's clear you're not going to be pushed around.

but it's obvious you ain't here for the 'greater good' and just doing the work to get the paycheck. while the guys find your snark to be really fucking annoying.

it turns out that you definitely have some perks.

you may not be able to hold yourself very long in battle, just a very basic solider with basic skill sets- your mouth and attitude can really work wonders on people.

in particular, the egotistical rookie who things they're all that. taking their sweet time with basic tasks, belittling other recruits who can do the bare minimum. just in general, an asshole. that's when you step in.

"you ain't shit bitch cause at the end of the fucking day turdface, you ain't bullet proof. i can shoot you right now, and all your running and yapping will cease to exist. your corspe will rot. people will stop knowing you as the loudmouth rookie, and you will just become nothing. infact. you are nothing."

*the recruit opens their mouth. you interrupt.*

"Nothing."

*recruit tries again.*

"Nothing."

it's an endless cycle that ceases when your hardened glare doesn't stop and you pick up a rock intending to throw it at the recruit. the blank, dead, serious look in your eyes showing you are more than fucking serious.

what really works wonders though, is they way you aren't worried about putting a superior in their place. the other 141 have basically been beaten in and to not question anything. they have been made to believe they are weapons more than human.

that gets shut down real quick.

you all have just come back from mission, that was grueling. a couple of you were injured. everyone looked worse for wear. dirts, scratches, blood. someone no longer had their vest. a few lost weapons. barely had any inventory. needing food, sleep, and then a long shower shower.

but instead waiting for the task force, was a superior officer, holding the next mission file. a mission they were supposed to be getting ready for and practically leave as soon as they got back.

before price could grab for it, you intercept. grabbing the mission file and throwing it at the superior officers face.

"you giant fucking anal peice of dried solid dog shit. we're not fucking doing that. we just got back from hiding in a fucking forest for three weeks with enemy surrounding us to get intel from a camp- THAT WASN'T FUCKING THERE. so you better turn and take those pretty polished shoes to another task force."

"what is your name, soldier?" *superior officer growls.*

"Dolly Parton. Now Dolly has just worked longer than a nine to five and Dolly ain't got the patience for dealing with a man like you. i got two bullets left. one for you and one for me. and if you think i won't do it- well we can put it to the test now-"

perhaps it was the utter dead look in your eyes, or the gentle yet seething venom in your tone. the superior officer simply growls and turns on their feet, leaving the task force.

it's funny cause you do get the respect, you are barely a good soldier but dang you can get shit done when need be. so price doesn't transfer you. he still keeps you close.

ghost is the one who loves the feral little shit you are. gaz and you talk mad shit about everyone on base. soap just absolutely adores you, you're the little sibling he's always wanted.

a/n: inspired by the feral nature of gen z.