#not even taking into account the wives!

[sword-swallower-pin]

current fav thought experiment: if Greek island commune plan had worked out and they had ended up living there together, who would have killed someone first? And how long would have it taken them to snap?

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

The Vow Spoken Through Time - Part 1

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, mild smut (at the end), threesome 

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra

Words: ~1.9K

Description: Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?!

Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them.

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“God my head fucking hurts,” you whine, sitting up to rub your eyes. “That wine really hit out of nowhere.” Your head pounds, it has to be part of a hangover. The last thing you remember before drinking yourself to sleep was getting fired. Your boss hadn’t even had the decency to let you know face to face. An HR representative and your manager requested a zoom call at the end of the day and politely told you to ‘clean your desk.’

After nearly three years of work with the same accounting firm, it was weird to not wake up early and head into the office. The worst part really was that your performance was still stellar, the firm was just hemorrhaging money after several questionable expansions. 

Despite the pounding headache and sensitivity to light, you force yourself to open your eyes. “What the fuck?!” Glancing around the room frantically, you panic as you realize you weren’t waking up in the comfort of your room. You had to be the subject of some prank reality tv show because the decor was undoubtedly some renaissance festival shit. The walls were brick with large tapestries decorating the stone. You were laid in the center of a giant four poster bed, black and red canopies flowing.

Slipping from the tangle of sheets and blankets, you pad towards the door. “Okay,” you call out, “you got me. Very funny.” 

Silence. 

“This is so weird” you murmur, pushing the door open as gently as possible to peak out. A woman rushes by you, dressed in some kind of drab linen and an apron. “Excuse me!” you shout, attempting to get her attention. 

The short woman slowed down, stopping to curtsy quickly at the sight of you. “My lady, forgive me. I didn’t you see you there!”

“My lady?” You asked. “What are you talking about? This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, my lady,” she replied quietly. “Please don’t tell your wife I was making jokes! I swear I meant no harm-”

“My wife?!” Everyone has officially gone off the deep end. First this medieval times shit, now apparently you have a wife.

The woman’s eyes go wide, “Your wife, Queen Rhaenyra. My lady, are you unwell?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I have no idea what’s going on. I lost my job. I don’t know where I am or apparently who I am. I just want-” You choke off into sobs.

“Let me help you back to your room,” she offered, taking your elbow. “I’ll let the Queen know you’re unwell.”

You nodded, letting her lead you back into the room. The woman helped you into a steaming bath and left you to soak while she fetched your wife. “Can’t believe someone made an honest woman of me,” you laugh.

At some point, the entire situation stopped feeling like a prank. Maybe it was watching the maid fill the tub painstakingly bucket by bucket, or the significant lack of electricity. Either way, your situation was beginning to feel more and more real. You grab the bar of soap and lather up a cloth, scrubbing furiously at your skin. 

“That’s weird,” you murmur as you notice that your skin seems far too perfect. You usually had a couple scars littering your arms and legs, leftovers from frequently crashing your bike as a kid and general clumsiness. They all seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but perfectly smooth, supple skin behind. “Okay, I’m officially going crazy.”

You see a small mirror on the ledge next to the tub, and reach out with shaky hands. You sigh in relief as you glance into the mirror and see that you look the same. At least you have something familiar here.

“Admiring the view? I know I am.” A deep voice purred from behind you.

Tossing the mirror back, you swiftly cover your chest and pray that the water obscurs the rest of you. “What the fuck?!” You yell, turning to confront whatever pervert decided to interrupt your bath. A tall man towered over the tub, his white hair practically glowing as the candlelight reflected off of it.

“I’m trying to have an existential crisis in here,” you hiss. “Can you come back later or something?”

He snorted a laugh, stalking forward to grab a brush from the side table and sit behind you. “And miss this opportunity? I should think not, my love.” He gently began detangling your hair and brushing it out. 

“My love? You do know I’m a married woman?” You retort.

“You never let me forget,” he replied, kissing the top of your hair. 

“I mean I have a wife, asshole!” You twist around to snatch the brush from his hands, but he lifts it out of your reach.

“What a coincidence,” he purrs, blatantly staring at your breasts. “I do too. Two, if I’m not mistaken.” His eyes dart down to your left hand, as if he knows something you don’t.

You glance at the ring that’s been there since you woke up. The black metal has a dragon insignia that looks awfully similar to the embroidery on this man’s shirt. “Fuck.” 

The man’s brows furrow, “what’s wrong?” He sets the brush down, grabbing a sheet and pulling you from the bath. He wraps you up and sits you in his lap. The warmth seeping into your skin feels so familiar and you feel yourself begin to break. Tears stream down your cheeks, and you burrow your face into his neck to hide them. 

Warm hands rub up and down your back soothingly. “My love, I cannot fix whatever is wrong if you don’t tell me.” He hums. “You don’t even have to tell me. Just give Rhaenyra a name and I will ensure whoever made you cry will never breathe again.”

You laugh at the irony. “I don’t know who Rhaenyra is. I’m not sure I even know who I am.” 

Before he can respond, a door slams. “Daemon, thank Gods you’re here. The maid said y/n was acting ill and didn’t rememb-” 

Your head peaks up over the man–Daemon’s shoulder to see the woman who ran in. Her hair is just as white as Daemon’s and her clothing adorned with the same dragon insignia. This must be Queen Rhaenyra.

“Y/n?!” Rhaenyra rushes over, kissing your cheek before she hugs you tightly. 

“My queen,” Daemon greets, leaning in for a kiss. You find yourself pressed between the two, and as much as you don’t want to admit it….the warmth and pressure feels comforting…like home. 

“I hate to break this up,” you say, wiping the last of your tears away. “But can someone tell me what is going on. The last thing I remember was being fired, getting wine drunk, and going to bed early.”

“Fired?” Rhaenyra looked confused and immediately started inspecting every exposed inch of your skin. “Did you try to feed Caraxes again? He’s a temperamental old man, just like his rider.”

“Who is Caraxes? Do ya’ll have a dog or something?”

“Dog?!” Daemon sounded almost offended. “A dog?! Rhaenyra we should fetch a maester. Our little dragon is either begging for a punishment or in need of a healer.”

Rhaenyra attempts to cover her laugh. “Caraxes, Daemon’s dragon? You insist on telling him a goodnight story at least once a week.”

“He’s a dragon of war for fucks sake,” Daemon mutters. “You’ve been making him soft.”

“Dragon?!” Your eyes go wide. “You’re joking. You’ve gotta be fucking me right now.”

“We are most definitely no-”

“We certainly could be-”

Daemon and Rhaenyra spoke at the same time. You would have laughed, but the implications of Daemon’s words were starting to settle in.

“Wait,” you being. “So if Queen Rhaenyra is my wife….and Daemon has two wives…and you two seem to be close…that means-”

“That you both are all mine,” Daemon purrs.

“Daemon, we must call for the maester. This seems serious, she doesn’t even remember us.”

“What year is this?” You ask, not sure if you want the answer.

“125 AC.” Rhaenyra responds.

“And where are we?”

“The red keep.”

“What, is that like England or something?”

“We are in Westeros.” Rhaenyra feels your forehead. “Daemon, put y/n to bed while I have the maids summon the maester.”

You yelp in surprise and Daemon stands up, holding you close to his chest. He carries you to a vanity, setting you gently on the bench before rummaging through some drawers. “Arms up, love.” He says, pulling a white shift over your head. You stare of into space as Daemon gently braids your hair. 

“Where’d you learn to do that?” You ask as he ties a ribbon at the ends of the braid.

“You and Rhaenyra are quite the demanding duo when you want to be,” he snorts. “The staff might revolt and establish Rhaenyra’s cunt of a half-brother as king if I bothered them everytime you both needed your hair done.”

“Language,” you chide. Daemon rolls his eyes before he sweeps you back up into his arms. He carries you to the bed, depositing you in the center before he climbs in. Daemon sits up, back against the headboard as he pulls you in to lean against his chest. 

“Do you really not remember us?” He asks. 

“How long have we been married?” 

“Five years. We were married in the old ways. Your High Valyrian wasn’t as good back then though.” Daemon laughs. “But it was perfect, and I wouldn’t trade you both for anything.”

“So if Rhaenyra is queen, what does that make you?” You ask. He had to be King, right?

“A lucky man.”

You laugh, and lightly hit his chest. “No, really. I don’t remember anything. Help a girl out here.”

“Prince consort.” Daemon answers. You nod, so Rhaenyra must be in charge around here.

“So how’d I end up married to Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Consort Daemon?” You ask in the poshest British accent you can muster.

“You threw yourself at my feet saying ‘Please Rhaenyra, I cannot live without you! You are the sun that brightens the sky and the stars that guide ships home!’” Rhaenyra teased. You sit up to see that Rhaenyra isn’t alone, she brought back some balding man with her. 

“I didn’t say that-” You protest.

“Really?” Daemon laughs. “My queen, it’s not proper to toy with someone who is ill.”

“You’re one to talk,” Rhaenyra says, raising a brow. “You seemed rather close when I came in earlier.”

You groan. How did you manage to survive these two for five years. 

!!SMUT BELOW!!

PREVIEW FOR PART TWO

“No,” Daemon scolds, clasping your hands together in his larger one and wrenching your body into his. “You’re not in charge here. You’re going to listen and obey like a good little girl.” You whine in response, nodding furiously in agreement. Suddenly, Rhaenyra’s warm body brushes up against your back. She nibbles lightly at your ear before kissing and licking her way down your neck.

“No need to be cruel,” Rhaenyra purrs. “Our little dragon is just begging for attention the only way she knows how.”

You whimper, canting your hips into Daemon’s. He slides a thigh between yours, pressing it up against your cunt. Your eyes roll back and you moan at the friction. “Please,” you breathe out, your teary eyes meeting his. 

NOTE: Hey all! I'm not dead, sorry for disappearing! Life happened (new job, had to travel home for a funeral). But, I got my shit back together after taking some time for myself and I'm ready to give y'all the stories I've been cooking up. I have some steamy and inspiring requests I'm working on for Feyd Rautha (so if you requested...they're coming). Glad to be back and BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR PART 2!!!! - Lacie <3

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[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.

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 4 - Build

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Me again! We’re back. Sorry I know I keep adding new parts but I’ve broken up the final chapter into two as it just keep going and this is a huge bumper one (sorry). I promise there genuinely will only be one more looool. Thanks again for all of your reblogs/comments/love for this story, it means a lot!!

💔

Lou had welcomed you back with open arms, fixing you up with a waitress job at the diner. Of course he had. Lou was like the father you’d never had. His love was one of the few constants in your life.

Mercifully, he didn’t ask you much about Bucky, didn’t chastise you for making a bad choice and getting involved with a mob boss. That wasn’t what Lou was about. He knew that ‘I told you so’ served no purpose, he knew that you were a big girl and there was nothing he could tell you that you didn’t already know yourself. So why bother? All that mattered was that you were here, and you needed him. He would always catch you when you fell.

Going back to waitressing didn’t feel like you’d taken a step back or that you’d somehow failed, if anything it was quite nice to see this former version of your life once more. And you’d missed chatting with the regulars, helping Lou with the accounts, occasionally fighting small fires (both metaphorical and very occasionally, literal). With Bucky you didn’t need to work, which was nice in one way, but you’d missed the structure and purpose your old job had given you. You previously had no interest in daily gossipy lunches with the other mob wives, and there was only so much shopping you could do.

“How did we ever cope without you?” Lou had asked one morning after you’d successfully chased and caught a dine and dasher, and saved hundreds of dollars on the power bill after negotiating a new contract. All before 10am.

You grinned, “I feel the same way about this place”.

You had moved in with Wanda, she had insisted - despite your protests. She and her boyfriend, Vis, gave you the spare room and said you could stay until you got back on your feet. It was small and full of all the extra stuff they couldn’t fit elsewhere in their apartment, but you didn’t care. You would’ve been happy with the couch, or a sleeping bag on the floor.

Nat was equally helpful, sorting you out by buying new clothes and shoes in your size and giving you some of the toiletries and make-up she didn’t use. She even cut and restyled your hair (‘because hair holds memories’, she told you) and took on whichever role you needed. Sometimes that was nights on her couch crying as she held you, other times it was hitting up the bars and trying to forget. She did it all. She had come and got you that morning at the hotel, after you sent her a frantic message from the rickety computer explaining what had happened. She told you she’d be there in 30 minutes…but ended up doing the trip in 20.

One afternoon a week or so later, Bucky’s men radioed him to let them know that there was a redhead in a Mercedes at the front gates demanding to speak to him. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d sighed as he saw her familiar face on the security monitor and told them to let her in. He knew this day would come. He dismissed them, they didn’t need to be here for this.

Nat had parked up and casually exited the car, strolling across the patio as Bucky stood in the doorway and waited for the inevitable. She didn’t keep him waiting long, slugging him across the jaw with a sharp ‘thwack’ causing him to stagger back against the doorframe.

“Got it. Anything else to say?” he groaned.

She nodded and then kneed him hard in the groin, turning on her heel as she left him in a crumpled heap and ambled back to her car.

“I warned you this would happen if you hurt her”, she called out calmly without looking back.

“Always good to see you, Nat”, Bucky managed to eke out as she slammed the car door.

The generosity of them all was overwhelming, you knew how lucky you were. It’s often said that you don’t know who your true friends are until you fall on hard times, and your friends had proved themselves tenfold. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to repay their kindness.

💔

It had been about six weeks since the night at the hotel when he started coming to the diner. No goons or hangers-on, just him. Which was almost unheard of, given his position.

The first time was a Friday morning, around 9am. He sat in the corner booth, head buried in the menu.

“I can kick him out, hon’, I’m not scared of him”, Lou had snarled as he glared over at the man in the booth.

“It’s okay, Lou. I can handle him,” you told him gently, giving his arm a reassuring stroke.

You took a deep breath as you approached his table. You couldn’t see his face, just his hands, an eerie mirror of the first time you’d met.

“What can I get you?” you asked as you readied your pad and pen, your voice surprisingly even, in spite your stomach’s somersaults.

He lowered the menu slowly and you couldn’t deny it was good to see him again. His blue eyes shone, the former dusting of stubble over his chin and jawline now a fuller beard - just as tantalising as it had always been. A few strands of his hair had come away from the carefully styled gel, framing his face perfectly. Some of your former anger towards him bubbled away beneath the surface, but you couldn’t deny you had also missed him. You had loved him, after all.

The two of you shared a knowing smile.

“You know there are like…hundreds of other breakfast places in this city, right?” you teased, but half-serious.

“I do…but this is the only one that gets my eggs just right,” he grinned back.

“Mmm. I’ll pass your compliments onto the chef. You still want the usual?”

“Please”.

You scribbled down the familiar order onto the page. It felt strange to write it down again, it had been a long time since you’d done that for him.

“Are you going to behave?” you questioned, arms folded.

“Mostly”.

“You’d better. Lou will have your ass if you don’t” you scoffed.

“I don’t doubt it”.

“And Bucky, if you’re here to-” you began, your face betraying the pain that still lurked within you.

“I’m not”, he cut you off. “Just breakfast. I promise”.

You nodded, pressing your lips together with trepidation. The two of you watched the other for a few seconds.

“Well, okay, that’ll be right out”.

You turned and put his order into the kitchen. You didn’t have to look back to know he was watching.

“Here you go”.

You returned to the booth a little later, laying out the plates and re-filling his coffee, he thanked you and pulled a napkin from the dispenser.

“I like your new hair”, he said as he began to cut up his food, his eyes not leaving the table.

“Thanks. I like your new beard”.

“Thanks. Business going okay here?”

“Doing well. Yours?”

“Same old, same old…”

“And…Rumlow?” you asked, your throat catching a little as you said his name.

“Terminated” he replied coldly as he took a sip of coffee.

“Yes…I presumed so. HYDRA?”

“I finally cut off all of those heads”.

“I hope you mean metaphorically”.

“Mostly. The girls good? Vis?”

“All good. Steve? Sam?”

“Also good”.

“Good”.

“Good”.

“Well…good to catch up. Let me know if you need anything else. Enjoy”.

“Thanks”.

You waited for some big trick or reveal, but it never came. He ate his meal, drank another coffee refill, paid the bill, tipped, and left within the hour. Like any other customer. Lou was sceptical, and so were you – but there nothing to suggest it was anything else but breakfast…like he said.

And that’s how it was every Friday after that. He’d come in at 9am on the dot, sit in the same booth. Order the usual. You were always his waitress. Everything was the same, every week. The other regulars knew to avoid sitting at his table at that time. The other servers would barely bat an eyelid as he strolled in, taking for granted that you’d be along shortly to put his order in – even if he wasn’t in your section that morning. And it was…fine. He didn’t try and do anything more, didn’t ask you to meet anywhere or for a chance to talk. You initially thought it would be hard to see him again, but it was okay. Maybe a future where the two of you just pleasantly co-existed was possible.

The two of you would chat. Just small talk at first. Occasionally a joke. Even Lou would chat to him sometimes, he was still wary of Bucky but more open to him than he was previously. He certainly didn’t mind him spending money in his restaurant.

Weeks soon became months. Seasons changed. Still, he came in every week, rain or shine. Plates and plates of eggs eaten; endless coffee mugs refilled. He didn’t ever skip it, he was never sick, never seemed to take vacations. He showed up every time. Even if you weren’t there.

The small talk eventually evolved, so slowly you barely noticed it happen. You chatted more about the old times, memories started to feel fonder rather than sad reminders of what was lost. He told you anecdotes about Steve and Sam. You told him about Wanda and Vis, about Nat. You laughed uproariously one morning over the story of Sam’s disastrous vacation involving a mistaken suitcase and an overzealous TSA agent. It was nice to just sit and talk with him, just be with him. No expectations or obligations. You hadn’t forgiven him. You weren’t sure you ever could. But you had missed him. And seeing him for an hour every week, on your turf, just shooting the breeze – that was nice.

“So, you seeing anyone?” you asked one morning as you sat across from him in the booth and sipped your drink, your break coinciding with the end of his meal. You weren’t sure where it came from, but it popped out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop it. The curiosity was eating you alive. You seemed to talk about everything apart from his love life.

He firmly shook his head, “nope”.

You frowned. “Really? When was the last time you went on a date?”

“With you,” he replied in that no-nonsense tone of his.

You cocked your head, peering over at him in disbelief.

“But Bucky…”

“What? I’m not interested in anyone else”.

“But we’re not together. And it’s been months”.

“I know”, he replied stoically as he sipped his coffee. His eyes seemed to be studying you.

“And we’re not getting back together…”

“I know”.

“But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know, but I-I don’t like this. It feels like a ploy, somehow. To push me into taking you back” you stammered, your finger dancing on the rim of your mug.

“It’s not. It’s just a fact. I didn’t even bring it up, you did”.

He was frustratingly calm and unperturbed, finishing his breakfast like this was just some casual conversation about the weather or a movie he’d seen.

“So…what, you’re never gonna date anyone again? Is that it?” you scowled.

He shrugged, “I never said that. It’s just not something I’m looking to do right now. Work is taking up most of my time. Plus, I’m in therapy, working through a few things. I’d rather be in a better place before I start dating again. Learn from my past mistakes”.

“Oh…” you responded in surprise, “well…that’s very mature of you. And is it…helpful?”

“Mmm, pretty eye opening,” he nodded as he took another sip of his coffee, “I’d recommend it to anyone,” he looked at you pointedly.

You felt the heat at your cheeks, perfectly aware that he was suggesting you do the same. And he was probably right. But you didn’t like the potential to appear vulnerable in front of him, so you merely shrugged and went back to rubbing your coffee cup. You were genuinely pleased for him…it was just unfortunate that your break-up was the catalyst. You felt a wave of grief roll through you.

You paused for just a beat, again unable to stop your word vomit.

“Are you gonna ask if I’m seeing anyone?”

“No”.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of my business. You can date whoever you want”, he shrugged, keeping his attention on his plate.

You frowned. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Yes. I just want you to be happy, doll”.

“Bullshit!” you scoffed, “you once picked a man up by his ankles and dipped his head in the toilet because he grabbed my ass at that party…”

“Well, that was deserved. And I didn’t flush it on him, so he got off easy…”

You pointed an accusatory finger at him across the table. “Buck…I know you. What’s your game, here?”

He sighed heavily, taking a long sip of his coffee before he spoke. His eyes finally moved up from his plate to meet yours. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just like being with you? In whatever form I can? That maybe I’m happy just getting this time with you every week, no matter what happens between us?”

“And that’s enough for you?” you asked incredulously.

He shifted in his seat, his tone suddenly very serious.

“Look, doll. I’m always going to love you. And I’m always going to be honest with you. If you turned around tomorrow and you told me you wanted to give things another shot – sure, I’d bite your hand off to accept. But I live in the real world. And I know you aren’t likely to forgive me for what I did, and that’s fine. I’ve accepted that. I’m just happy to have you in my life in some way, even if that’s just talking to you every Friday while I have my breakfast”.

You blinked back at him, unsure whether to take him at his word or if this was some manipulation tactic. The word ‘love’ echoed in your ears, and you had to shake it off that he said he still felt that way about you. Maybe this was all some trick. You knew you couldn’t trust him anymore.

But as you looked into his eyes, for a moment his sentiment felt…genuine. Real. Maybe he was telling the truth.

“Fine”, you sighed as you took a sip from your cup, “I get paid to be here either way…”

💔

A few more months passed, it had been nearly a year since the break-up. Bucky remained a weekly customer but nothing else. You’d finally moved out of Wanda’s into your own place – a shitty, cramped studio apartment was the best you could do on a waitress wage and tips – but it was yours. It had been such a long time since you’d had your own space, you loved every meagre inch.

You'd also started therapy, to help get your head around your childhood and abandonment issues - to help understand why you were always ready to run and expect everything to collapse. Bucky was right, it was valuable - if not hard going. But you knew it was helping, even though nothing could be 'fixed' overnight.

You still visited Wanda and Vis regularly. In fact, you were over there laughing with Wanda and making an early dinner when you got the call that Friday evening. She knew something terrible had happened from the way your face fell, your eyes widening with shock as you listened to the voice on the other end telling you whatever horror story it was. Seconds later you were rushing out of the front door and trying to wrangle on your coat and grab your bag, as she called out to you in a panic just steps behind.

“It was a massive heart attack,” the doctor had said as she eyed the clipboard in front of her. “He was lucky that a passerby on the street called an ambulance, if he’d been alone…he may not have been able to call himself, and if it had been too late…”

You had not been at the hospital long, sweating and panting in your rush to get down there. Your head fuzzy, unable to fully take in what you’d been told. The doctor was still talking, her voice an unidentifiable drone in your ears as you concentrated all your efforts on staying upright. You tugged off your coat, suddenly far too hot. The hospital felt like a furnace, suffocating and stifling. You were dizzy, everything felt blurred.

A couple of chairs sat a few feet away along the sterile-looking hallway, you plopped down into one and put your head in your hands.

“Can she see him?” Wanda asked the doctor, her hands patting your shoulders supportively.

“He’s stable, but the team are just doing some observations on him. Plus, he needs to rest, and might be feeling groggy after the meds. He’ll be out for a good while. It might take some time to be conscious and lucid again, so-”

“I’ll wait,” you said defiantly, the first time you’d spoken since you got there. “However long it takes”.

“Yes, I understand. And you’re his…friend?”

“Daughter,” you corrected. “I’m Lou’s daughter. Well…good as. He doesn’t have any other family. Neither of us do…”

The doctor nodded kindly, pointing out the coffee machine across the hall and leaving you to it.

💔

Wanda waited with you for a while, but she had a work event that night. She insisted she’d stay but you waved her off, telling her you’d check in with her later. She’d been planning that event for months. Lou would be mad at her for missing it, let alone over him. And you meant it, you didn’t want her missing it because of you.

So, she left. Leaving you by yourself in the hard chair with the plastic cup of lukewarm motor oil masquerading as coffee. Nat was out in the Bahamas with some hottie for the week, and you didn’t really want to bother Vis, so you sat quietly alone. You kept sane by reminding yourself that Lou was stable, and his prognosis looked good. He would be okay. He would. He’s made of strong stuff.

Another hour went by, and you couldn’t help your tears from falling as you began to work yourself up worrying, exacerbated by the fact you hadn’t eaten and had nobody around to stop you from spiralling. Wanda had sent a few texts, but you knew she was busy and didn’t need you distracting her. You just wished you had someone to talk to. Or not even talk to, just be with. You squeezed your phone in your hands as if willing the idea that someone would suddenly call you out of the blue. A friend you’d forgotten, a long-lost family member. But there was nobody.

Well, almost nobody.

You pulled your purse onto your lap and dug through, retrieving your wallet at the bottom. You opened it up and checked each card holder until you found what you were searching for, slightly worn and torn tucked behind the library card you barely used, but the details still clear as day.

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

Director of 107 Inc.

You had scooped up the card after he left it in the hotel room. It was a bit of a split decision, you’d nearly tossed it in the trash but changed your mind at the last second and jammed it into your wallet, not really thinking about why. You hadn’t looked at it since, you’d never transferred his number into your phone, or even spoken to him outside of Fridays at the diner. But he had become something of a friend over the last few months, and you were surprised to find yourself looking forward to seeing him every week. It was as if you’d gotten to know each other again from scratch, a slow-burn friendship grown over time – the complete opposite of your initial whirlwind relationship, where heat had won out over foundations. But now, you felt you knew him differently. It was funny how you get to know somebody without the chemistry and physical attraction fogging up your brain.

Was this stupid? Were you asking for trouble? But…it would be nice to talk to someone. Just a phone call, nothing more. You took a deep breath and punched the numbers into the keypad before you could talk yourself out of it.

“Hello?” came his gruff voice in your year after two rings.

You sat upright, surprised he had even answered at all – let alone so fast. You hadn’t really thought about what you were going to say.

“Hey, Buck, I…” you squeaked, unable to mask the emotion in your voice.

“Doll?” his voice immediately softened, “what is it? Are you okay?”

“Yeah…well, no, actually. I’m at Mount Sinai…uh…Lou-uh, Lou had a big heart attack and I’m at the hospital and hesreallysickandI-I…”

You sobbed, your words melting into one as the pain of saying them out loud hit home, “I’m sorry I…”

“Hey. It’s okay. Take a moment for me, alright? Take a deep breath doll…”

You closed your eyes, inhaling and exhaling, blowing the air out of your lips like he said. You did it a few times, feeling slightly better afterwards,

“Good, that’s good,” Bucky told you. “Are you by yourself? Are Wanda and Nat there with you?”

“No…Wanda is working, Nat’s away. It’s fine…I just…”

“I’m so sorry about Lou, doll”, he said tenderly. “Do you want me to come down there?”

“No…no…it’s okay…I just. I just wanna talk,” you replied, wiping your eyes with the palm of your hand.

“Yeah…yeah, we can do that. What shall we talk about?”

You sighed, “I don’t know. Anything. Anything that isn’t hospitals or heart attacks…or food. Because I haven’t eaten and I’m starving.”

“Alright. Hmm. Well…I had to break up a fight between Thor and Scott today, if that helps distract you…”

“What? But Thor is twice Scott’s size. That was mean of him…”

“No…Scott started it. Said Thor was mouthing off about something or other and it all blew up. Scott swung for him”.

“What?? Is he insane?” you practically shrieked, the beginnings of a giggle forming in your throat as you tried to imagine Scott trying to land a punch as Thor towered above him.

“I guess so. But they worked it out. Last time I saw them they were laughing, and Thor was swinging him from his shoulders”.

You laughed. A proper, deep belly laugh. It felt good. Cathartic. You could practically see some of the tension leave your body.

“Well, I’m glad they figured it out. What else did you do today, Buck?”

“Hm. Not a lot. Mostly work. I went to the park. Just to get some air. Went to that duck pond you like and sat on the bench for a while”.

You smiled, “I love that pond”.

“I know. Remember that time you nearly fell in trying to help that duckling trapped in the weeds?”

“I do. I remember that you had to catch me and I accidentally splashed pondwater on your suit as I stumbled…” you laughed fondly.

“Not the worst thing I’ve had my dry cleaner remove for me. And we got the duckling back to its mom, even if she was furious at us”.

“She tried to bite you…”

“She succeeded”.

You both chuckled for a moment as you reminisced, then it suddenly went quiet between you both. You held the phone tightly to your ear, unsure and a little lost for words. It felt odd to feel tongue-tied around Bucky, it had always been so easy to know what to say to him. Despite how easy it was to slip back into nostalgia just now, and your newfound friendship, there was still something of a gulf between the two of you. You had been apart for so long now.

“…thanks, Buck,” you whispered.

“Anytime, doll”.

💔

After you hung up with Bucky, a nurse came over and you shot up out of your chair with anticipation. She told you that Lou was doing well but was slowly coming around after a heavy sedative. He should be ready for visitors in another hour or so. You sighed heavily but nodded grimly, as long as Lou was alright – that was all that mattered.

You sank back into your faithful chair, pulling out your rapidly dying phone again and wishing you had the foresight to bring a charger when you left Wanda’s. Or some food, at least.

You continued your vigil in the unfeeling hospital hallway, a place that seemed to exist outside of time. But you had to admit, speaking to Bucky had raised your spirits a little. It reminded you of the old days, when he was an anchor in a storm, a calming presence when things were tough. Part of you had missed that.

You’d just closed your eyes a little while later when you heard someone call your name.

“Still hungry?”

Your eyes filled with tears as your head snapped to see who it was.

There stood Bucky dressed in his off-duty grey sweats, his unstyled hair flopping across his forehead. In his hand was a brown bag, you instantly recognised the brand of your favourite take-out place printed across the front. It smelled heavenly.

“Buck…?” you mumbled in shock, not quite believing he was there, “what…what are you doing here?”

He shrugged, “you said you were alone and hadn’t eaten. I know how you get when you’re anxious. Figured you could use this”.

It wasn’t clear if he meant the food or the company, but in that moment, you were grateful for both.

He sat in the chair next to yours and began to methodically remove the food tubs, placing them on your lap and opening the lids as he pulled out a fork and napkins.

“Hope you still like this one,” he said as he revealed your usual order.

“I do”, you replied, your voice small.

“Good. Dig in.”

You began to eat slowly, feeling strangely self-conscious about your audience. Fortunately, he pulled out a tub of his own which took the focus off you. The two of you sat side by side and ate in silence.

“Thanks for this, Bucky,” you mumbled between mouthfuls.

“Anytime. Any news on Lou?”

“Should be ready for visitors soon”.

“Well, that’s good. He’s a tough old bastard.”

You both finished your meals and Bucky got to work tidying up the empty containers and old napkins and depositing them in the trash. You thanked him as he sat back down.

“Hey…thanks again, that was really thoughtful - but really, you don’t have to stay,” you shrugged, “you probably have a busy night”.

He shook his head, “nope. I’m wide open”.

He stared straight ahead and leaned back, his bulk squeezing up against the armrests of the chair. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“What do you mean when you said, ‘I know how you get when you’re anxious?’” you asked him tentatively.

“Just…I know how you can spiral when you’re stressed. Figured you could use some company is all,” he casually as he moved his hair away from his face.

“T-thanks,” you responded, your throat dry, “I’m not really up to chatting much right now, though”.

He was nonchalant, “that’s fine”.

The two of you sat side by side, nothing said.

It was awkward at first, sharing this cold and sterile space with your ex, worries about Lou weighing you down. But then after some time…it was sort of…okay? He didn’t try to initiate any conversation; he didn’t show any signs of boredom – even though he must’ve been feeling it. Didn’t complain. Didn’t check his watch. He just sat and waited with you, his arms propped up casually on the armrests and his eyes trained on the wall in front of him. You were grateful that he’d heeded your request not to speak as you didn’t have the brain power to labour a conversation. You didn’t fully understand why, but him just physically being there was strangely comforting - as odd as that was to admit to yourself.

Eventually the nurse returned, her smile warm as she greeted you.

“Oh, you have a friend. Right on time, Lou is ready to see you now”.

You quickly got to your feet and dashed after her as she led you to Lou’s room. Bucky followed close behind.

Your heart sank when you finally saw him, covered in wires and tubes, his face suddenly much older than his years. You gasped, rushing over to his bedside.

“Hey, kiddo” he wheezed, a smile creeping over his face despite the obvious effort it required, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Oh God, Lou, I was so scared…I thought you’d…” you took his hand in yours, unable to say the words out loud as the tears started again.

You felt like you’d cave in on yourself from the anguish, but a steadying hand found its way to your shoulder from behind you. Bucky squeezed once, a small reminder of his presence, then pulled his hand away. It was grounding, helpful.

“Hey there hon, I’m doin’ okay”, Lou rasped as he weakly tried to grip your hand in return. “But I guess this is a good reminder to lay off the bacon, huh?” he chuckled before the effort caused him to wheeze.

You smiled faintly and patted his hand, careful to mind the IV by his fingers, “you gotta start taking better care of yourself, okay? No more greasy breakfasts at work…”

He nodded slowly, his eyes flickering over to Bucky behind you, “you brought company…”

“Oh, yeah”, you turned to gesture to Bucky, “he sat with me and brought me dinner while I waited”.

Lou nodded, a flash of something in his eyes you couldn’t place. “You takin’ care of her?”

Bucky nodded in return, “of course”.

Lou inhaled deeply, “well…alright, I’m glad she’s not been by herself”, he begrudgingly offered. “I wouldn’t want her out in the cold…so to speak” he said pointedly, a clear reference to that awful night one year before.

“Rest assured…that would never happen,” Bucky responded coolly. “But I understand your concern”.

You watched as the two men stared at each other, something resembling an understanding seemed to lay between them.

💔

You sat with Lou for as long as you could before the doctor shooed you and Bucky out, explaining Lou needed to rest. You promised you’d be back tomorrow.

“Oh hon…no. Don’t waste your time on an old man like me,” he teased playfully.

“Oh, stop that. You know I’m going to be here with balloons and grapes, the whole shebang…” you grinned, putting your coat on.

“Good to see you, Lou” Bucky chimed in as he shook Lou’s hand, “you’ll be fighting fit in no time”.

Unbeknownst to you as you were busy with your bag and coat, Lou used a finger to beckon Bucky to move closer. Bucky obliged, leaning forward so that Lou could speak to him. His words were hushed but clear.

“Hurt her again and I’ll beat the living shit out of you. Bad ticker or not. And I don’t care how many of your goons you set on me…”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but his expression betrayed no emotion, “understood”.

You turned, smiling obliviously at Lou just as Bucky stood back up to full height and cleared his throat. They both smiled back.

“See you tomorrow, Lou”.

“See you, kiddo”.

You left the room with Bucky trailing behind. As a small sob escaped your throat, his hand pressed firmly against your back. A small reminder that he’d shown up for you. He was there.

💔

[tinygrove]

Decent Man Pt.1

The second part

Pairing: Cregan Stark/fem!reader

Author's Note: I've decided to split this into 2 parts just to give myself a chance to work on the ending but I was eager to get something written. This is the first fanfiction I've wrote, or at least posted on this account so I hope it's not too bad.

Summary: You're newly wed to Lord Stark after having only been courted for barely a month. Although the anxieties of having to perform as a 'royal' wife start to eat at you, Cregan proves to be a decent husband.

You must have done it, how else would you be alone in his chambers. Blocking out all the noise and going through the motions would only get you so far. You couldn’t even remember the vows. Lord Stark had arranged for there to be no bedding ceremony, perhaps an act of mercy. You’ve heard some lords complain they simply want their lady wives all to themselves, untouched and unspoiled. You were neither. You weren’t sure if your Lord husband was either. 

You hadn’t learned much about him during your courting, not that it lasted long. Your father practically jumped at the opportunity for a stronger alliance to the most powerful house in the North. It must have appeased Lord Stark as well, seeing how quickly he’d agreed to the marriage, it had barely taken place a fortnight after you’d met. Now though, you were in his room, none to accompany you but your ladies in waiting. A few had come with you from your own keep, or rather your fathers. And one or two had been appointed to you since coming to Winterfell to stay. You could hardly form the words to tell them you could undress yourself. Maybe it was the cloak weighing you down, making it harder to breath the harsh winter air. You let it slip off your shoulders and yet you still feel heavy, a weight in your chest and a hard lump in your throat. 

Hearing the thick wooden door swing open and shut after heavy footfalls and quick scurrying of feet made the pit in your stomach sink even lower. “Are you well?” He asked, definitely due to your silent stewing. The whole night you’ve been lost in your own thoughts. 

“Yes, I am well, thank you.” You force a courteous smile to you face, although more brief and sour than you’d intended. You figure you’ll have to do a lot more of that in the coming years. “You do not look well.” Your not sure he says so in a demeaning way, more so that he’s seen through your flimsy facade. Or maybe he’s focused on the way your hands desperately seek purchase on your gown as your eyes start to brim with tears. You can’t control it when they start to spill. 

“There is no need for us to,” He gestures between you with a sigh, trying to supplement actions for words. “Consummate the marriage tonight, if you do not wish it.” He tries to search your eyes for any sort of answer but you avoid his gaze. “Did you hear-” 

“Let’s just get it over with.” You say, voice low and wavering with all it’s strength to keep it from cracking. Another stray tear falls down your cheek as you reach behind yourself for the laces of your gown but two large hands hold your arms still. 

“You truly think so little of me? That I would– Like I said, there is no need to consummate the marriage tonight.” He brings your arms out from behind your back, holding your chilled hands in his. His fingers and palms are calloused, yet his grip gentle. “I barely had a chance to court you before we wed, perhaps we might come to know each other before; that.” Your eyes flicker down to where his hands encompass yours, and he quickly recedes after catching on but strangely, you find yourself missing his warmth. 

As your eyes find his once more he continues. “I shall have a few ladies in your service prepare a chamber for you. I know you’ve not had space for your things but I assure you they’ve been taken care of. In the mean time though you’ll need to take your rest here.” He turns to make for the door and surprisingly a part of you longs for him to stay. The brief bit of kindness he’s shown to you is more than you can say for those that attended your wedding. Your father truly had not exaggerated the icy attitude of those in the North. Lord Stark however, to see his wintry exterior slowly melt away has made it almost impossible to detest him. “I will see you on the morrow, my lady.” He opens the door and a cold breeze comes over you, yet you don’t shiver, the cold only emboldens you. “Thank you, Lord Stark, for your kindness.” your voice is somewhat steady now, no longer fighting an imminent sob. He nods at your words, “Cregan will do just fine, my lady.” You’re alone now and the chill is gone. All the warmth radiating from the hearth is slowly becoming too much to bear even as it smolders to embers. The absence of your Lord husband leaves you feeling alone now, more than you’ve ever been.

[thatone-girly]

K.R.E.A.M V.1

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Cherish Henry (OC)

SUMMARY: In the first chapter, we are introduced to the vibrant and bustling atmosphere of Roman Reigns' elite Las Vegas strip club. Roman, a commanding presence with a reputation for being both ruthless and charming, oversees the night’s performances with a keen eye. Among the dancers, Cherish stands out, captivating the audience with her grace and allure. Roman, usually detached, finds himself inexplicably drawn to her. He observes her from afar, intrigued by her mysterious aura and exceptional talent. Roman's interest is piqued, setting the stage for a slow-burning romance that promises to unfold with complexity and depth.

WORD COUNT: 4.0k

Authors Note: If you’d like to be added to the taglist, comment and let me know! Also, go check out this Roman x Stripper fic by @overrboarrd ! It’s hella good and it inspired me to get my lazy ass up and finish this since it’s been sitting in drafts for 7 months.

Red Lights.

There were so many red lights.

In the bustling streets of Las Vegas, there were lights everywhere. Blue, Green, Yellow, and Orange. But there weren’t nearly as many red lights on the streets as there were in Oasis Écarlate, French for ‘Scarlet Oasis’.

In the lounge of the club under the many vermillion lights, there were men scattered all over.

Surrounding the stage, there were the usual bums who popped up every other night. If not, every night. Those were the ones who only had twenty to one hundred dollars to throw, then had the nerve to ask for a private dance. The ones who would pick money up off the floor and throw it to look like they had more money, or just stuff it in their pocket and take it home for themselves. The ones who’d come in and get hammered over a silly argument with their girlfriend, or sometimes wives. The ones who’d come in the club in a dingy t-shirt, baggy jeans, and beat up tennis shoes.

Sitting at the intimately decorated tables scattered across the open floor were the middle class men. The ones who threw just enough to not damage their credit score. The ones who’d lend a few dollars to whatever vagrant had run out of money and could no longer ‘ball out’. The ones who’d never come in alone, either with a friend, or sometimes even their girlfriend. The ones who’d sometimes get private dances depending on how much they’d drank, or how a certain dancer made them feel. The ones who were always decently dressed, normally in a nice button down, or snug turtleneck.

Lounging clad at the booths along the walls were what the dancers liked to call ‘The Big Ballers’. Those were the ones the dancers payed special attention to and were always guaranteed to get a large payday from. The ones who couldn’t care less about how much money they spent because it wouldn’t even make a dent in their bank account. The ones who never associated themselves with the scrubs indulged in the hypnotic movements of dancers they’d never get to see outside of the club. The ones who bought out the V.I.P sections, the private lounges, and the sky boxes above everyone. The ones who’d outbid any and everyone on the club just to get the dancer they wanted to entertain them and their entourage.

However, no matter how much money they had or how much money they put down, there was one man that could come through and shut everything down. If he wanted your table, with the snap of a finger, he’d have it. If he wanted your private lounge, your V.I.P section, with the snap of a finger, he’d have it. He didn’t have to worry about the sky boxes. There was one sky box, the biggest one of them all, smack dead in the middle reserved for him. He had a perfect view of everyone. He could look down at the bums, the basics, and the ballers. He could look down at the stage and watch every single one of his dancers grace the pole with her alluring presence. Though he rarely, if ever did it, he could have his pick of any dancer he wanted. The man who was feared and respected not only in the club, but all of Las Vegas.

That man was Roman Reigns.

The 35 year old, whose real name was Joe Anoa’i, had ruled his club with an iron fist. Having taken ownership from his father, Roman took the running of his club seriously. Once his father stepped down from his position as CEO, the club went into a downward spiral. Clientele was low. No one wanted to visit anymore, no one was interested in the aging, washed up dancers his father refused to get rid of. Hell, even the scrubs stayed away. When Roman took over, all of that went out the window. He did a full rebrand. He had the club renovated from top to bottom. He changed the layout, the lights, the stage, everything. He fired everyone and started from the ground up with staff. He sent his cousins out to rival businesses to recruit dancers for the new and improved club. Due to that, he made enemies out of a vast number of club owners, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Now, some of the best dancers in the city belonged to his club.

Those very dancers were in the dressing room of Oasis Écarlate. As of now, it was intermission. The beaming LED lights were white, an obvious contrast to their usual crimson color. The sea of men below the stage talked amongst each other, some lended the other money, some recreantly slid money their way with their foot, and some made their way over to the bar while they awaited the next dance of the night.

The dressing room was a sanctuary of muted chaos, a stark contrast to the pulsating energy of the club beyond its doors. Makeup palettes, hair products, and costumes were scattered across the vanity tables, each an essential tool for the night's transformations. Amidst the flurry of preparation, Cherish sat quietly, a calm island in the sea of activity. Her reflection in the mirror was one of serene beauty. Her long, ginger hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves, and her eyes, deep and expressive, held a world of stories untold. She pushed her lips together, smoothing out any lipstick that hadn’t been before.

“Cherish, you up next?”

She looked in the reflection in front of her, locking eyes with Serena. With a sigh Cherish answered, “Yep.”

Serena was one of the few girls Cherish could tolerate. She and Serena were much alike. They both weren’t fans of drama, yet they took no shit. They enjoyed the same shows, hobbies, hell, they even shared some of the same regular clients. They both weren’t interested in the extra malarkey of the strip club scene. They came in, did their job, got their money, and left.

Like clockwork, the voice of Pat McAfee, otherwise known as simply Pat, boomed through the stereo of the club. Cherish stood from her spot at the vanity, doing one more once over on herself. She made sure her hair was smooth and kinkless, running her fingers through her bundles one last time. Her one piece Versace set, blinged out with crystals was bright enough to catch the eye of even the most uninterested being in the club. A huff left her lips as she made her way towards the door.

“Good luck, Cherry.”, Serena wished, also taking it upon herself to leave Cherish a good luck pat on the ass.

Cherish looked at Serena over her shoulder and gave her a wink before she walked through the string of crimson beads hanging from the door frame. She kept her confident stride up until she reached the curtain. The voice of Pat was smooth and sultry, a huge contrast to his usual hyped demeanor when he was not working as he introduced, “Gentlemen, please give a very warm, wet welcome to La Séduisante Dame Chérit.”

The Seductive Lady Cherish.

That’s what she was known as in the Scarlet Oasis.

The song that began to flow through the speakers was her song.

“Seduction”, by none other than Usher Raymond.

When that song began to play, everyone knew who was hitting the stage. Even if you didn’t know her by name, you knew who she was by that song.

Including the boss.

The heavy bass of the music thrummed through the club, vibrating the very air as Cherish made her way to the center of the stage. The lights dimmed, casting a sultry glow over the room. She took a deep breath, feeling the anticipation of the crowd wash over her like a wave. This was her moment.

Immediately, he was focused. Focused on the way she walked and moved. The scowl on his face neither softened nor hardened, but it stuck. His hands remained clasped together in the center of his manspread legs. He didn’t move, but his eyes? Oh, they moved. They followed her everywhere.

As the spotlight hit her, Cherish began to move, her body flowing with the rhythm. Every step, every sway of her hips was calculated to captivate and seduce. Her eyes scanned the audience, locking onto different faces, making each person feel like she was dancing just for them. As she moved across the stage effortlessly and suavely, her freshly installed burnt orange hair flowing almost cinematically as her body swayed to the slow, seductive beat of the music. She tried not to chuckle at the usual bums who didn’t have a dime to throw as their mouths became glued to the ground.

She moved with grace and power, her movements fluid and mesmerizing. The crowd watched in rapt attention, their cheers and applause melding with the music. She could feel their energy, their desire, fueling her performance. Her routine was a perfect blend of artistry and allure, each move telling a story. As she executed a series of spins and bends, her hair cascaded around her like a waterfall, adding to the visual feast. She was in complete control, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

She worked her way up the slim metal cylinder, climbing upward and onward until she reached the bright blood red lights of the ceiling. She tuned out the usual catcalls, whistling, and sweet nothings as she spun around at the very top of the pole, letting nothing be heard except the music. She listened to the lyrics. So did he.

Seduction

She split her legs open, beginning her slow, hypnotic descend to the ground.

Sensuous, Sexy, Erotic. How You Workin’ Your Body

The lyrics went perfectly with the scene, her legs which were once split in the air now in a perfect split on the ground. Her movements were hypnotizing and intriguing, that being made obvious by the way the men in smooth, steamed suits slid from their positions at their booths and moved up to the stage for a closer look at the gyrating woman.

Still, there was no display of interest whatsoever from Roman. He did nothing but watch.

He watched the stage with a keen eye, his powerful presence commanding the room even in silence. The VIP area provided a perfect view of the performance below, allowing him to oversee everything without interruption. Jey and Jimmy flanked him, their expressions mirroring his intense focus.

The way she commanded the stage, the energy she exuded – it was magnetic. He could see the raw talent and passion in her performance, something that set her apart from the other dancers.

Breaking the silence in the room, Jey snapped his fingers, “That one right there! That’s my favorite one.”

His brother Jimmy scoffed, “Shit, I thought my favorite was Bambi, but after seeing this one, I think I changed my mind.” They could sense her confidence, the way she owned the stage from the moment she set foot on it. The bass of the music thrummed through the floor, the vibrations a tangible reminder of the energy she was channeling. “She got the crowd eating out of the palm of her hands.”

Another wave of silence took over as the twins sat mesmerized. Once again, the silence was broken by Jey as he swatted Roman’s upper arm with the back of his hand asking, “Hey, man, you know what her name is?”

Smacking his lips, Jimmy looked over to his brother. “Her name is in her stage name, Uce. It’s Cherish.”

“Well, hell, I don’t know French!”, Jey scowled over at Jimmy, “And how the hell do you know?”

Swooping his hand down to his lap, Jimmy picked up his phone and flipped the screen in the direction of Jey. Displayed brightly was the Apple translator app, set on the French setting. “Translator. Keep up with the game, man.”

Ignoring the childish spat that started with Jey’s response, Roman kept his eyes on the scene below him, watching as Cherish slowly descend to her knees. On all fours, she crawled up to a crowd of men that stood at the right wing of the stage. Roman could see the way she fed off their energy, using it to drive her performance to even greater heights. He appreciated her dedication, the way she pushed herself to excel in every aspect of her routine.

The end of the song nearing, Cherish wrapped up her act with her signature kiss to the cheek of a random club-goer. Usually, it was one of the ones she knew would tip well, and maybe even ask for a private dance; and tonight was no different as she crawled up to the man with the cleanest suit, wrapped her manicured hands around the collar of his blazer and pulled him in to plant a firm kiss on his cheek. It was perfectly timed, the song coming to an end as soon as she pulled away, her lipstick leaving the print of her lips on the man’s cheekbone.

At the sound of whistles, applause, and catcalls, she stood to her feet and strutted her way behind the curtain, immediately dropping her act when the drapes closed. She made her way back to the dressing room, her feet aching with a terrible throb from the high heels she’d chosen for the night. Walking through the beaded curtains, she was met with all of the other dancers fixing themselves. Cherish was the last dance, and after the final act, all of the dancers went out and walked around the club, just waiting to see who wanted a private dance until the club closed at 2.

Plopping on the stool next to Serena, Cherish sighed of exhaustion. “Girl, I’m so ready to go home.”, she mumbled as she reached to grab her lipstick. “Tonight’s kind of boring.”

From across the room, two dancers, Bambi and Freddi, whose real names were Chelsea and Freeda, giggled amongst themselves. Something as simple as them laughing made Cherish and Serena exchange looks of mutual annoyance. They couldn’t stand those two. Really, no one could, but the pure disdain Cherish and Serena had for Bambi and Freddi was on another level.

The two duos were total opposites. While Cherish and Serena preferred to stay away from the nightclub life outside of dancing, Bambi and Freddi were all in with it. They partied all day and night, drank like unemployed 45-year old divorcee’s, and even dabbled in drugs here and there. The women felt like they were better than any and everybody, often criticizing other dancers on things they themselves couldn’t or didn’t do. On top of that, they were the messiest performers in the locker room. Most of, if not all of the locker room drama came at their hands, whether it was rumors, the airing out of someone’s business, or unnecessary comments and criticism, those two had a knack for pissing people off.

Ignoring the two women, Serena commented, “Yeah, tonight’s been pretty slow”, she agreed, “but, girl! You knocked ‘em down out there! I was watching from behind the curtain.”

Again, giggles erupted from Bambi and Freddi, only this time louder. Serena glanced back at the two, while Cherish opted to just ignore them. She was not in the mood for their bullshit. Not tonight. With a roll of her eyes, Serena turned back to face the white vanity she and Cherish shared. “They better not start their shit.”, she mumbled with a huff, “I’m in the mood to whoop some ass tonight.”

Cherish said nothing, deciding to not even entertain them a bit. Instead, she slid her lipstick across her lips, touching it up after her finale. “I’m not worried about them.”, she mumbled in the midst of applying the smooth paint to her lips. “They ain’t worth my time or my energy.”

At her declaration, Bambi mumbled a faint ‘bitch’ before she and Freddi burst into laughter. They weren’t giggling anymore. They were full blown cackling. With a huff, Serena turned on her stool to face the two women who stood doubled over in laughter in the corner.

“Y’all wanna tell me what’s so funny?”, she question, her tone hostile and annoyed. At this, the room grew dead silent as the other dancers stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to Serena. Some of them were being messy, while others were hoping nothing went down and got too serious. There had been one too many fights in this locker room, and none of them wanted to be the ones to clean up the aftermath. “I wanna know what the joke is. What are we laughing at?”

Bambi and Freddi were silent as they exchanged looks, mocking grins spread on their faces. “Oh, what, we’re not laughing anymore? Joke’s over?”, Serena asked with a sarcastic smile and tilt of her head.

“Chill, girl. We were just talking about one of Bambi’s clients.”, Freddi chuckled, the gum she was chewing making obnoxiously loud smacking sounds between her words.

“Oh, really? You sure?”, Serena quipped, her tone shifting to one you’d use when speaking to a child, “I find it real coincidental that y’all get to the funny part of the story every time me or Cherry says something. So y’all sure we’re not the joke? Y’all sure it ain’t one of us being funny and we don’t know?”

“Girl, relax. We just said we’re not laughing at y’all.”, Bambi put in her two cents, accompanying her words with an eye roll.

Preparing to stand up from her stool, Serena placed her brush on the vanity, but Cherish quickly grabbed her wrist before she could. “It’s fine, ‘Rena. I’m not worried about them, you shouldn’t worry about them either.”, she mumbled.

With a deep breath, Serena shot the two one last look before turning back around to face the mirror. “Can’t stand those bitches, I swear.”, she murmured before picking up her hairbrush.

Everyone went back to their business, some girls in various stages of changing, and chatting animatedly about their performances and the possible tips they could get from certain men. The rustling of the beads adorning the doorway of the dressing room pulled everyone’s attention away from whatever it was they were doing as the presence of the 6’3 Samoan they called their boss commanded the room. The sound of throats clearing and rustling clothes of women fixing their appearances overtook the silence as Roman stood flanked by his cousins. Everyone seemed to be so enamored by his presence, except Cherish. She kept her eyes on the makeup palette below her.

“Ladies,” Romans baritone voice resonated, commanding immediate attention. As if he didn’t have that already. “Great job tonight. I want you all to keep it up. Remember, I’m always watching.”

A few of the women had to stop themselves from squealing. He did something to them that they couldn’t explain. Cherish knew as soon as he stepped out of the room, they’d be gushing and cooing about his appearance. She rolled her eyes at the thought. She didn’t understand it. Sure, he was an attractive man. But the thought of lusting after her boss was a strange concept. She’d prefer not to.

He must’ve sensed her thoughts, because the next thing out of his mouth startled her.

“Cherish.”

It was simple. It was only her name, but something about it made her shoulders jump slightly. She looked up at him through her vanity mirror, her lashes fanning her face through her blinks. “Good performance. You got a lot of compliments.”

Forcing a small smile, she nodded in acknowledgment before looking back down at her makeup. His face holding his signature scowl, his gaze lingered on her a bit longer than anyone had expected. Even Cherish. She looked up once more, locking eyes with him through the mirror wondering why he was staring at her. Maybe it was her lack of response. Or maybe he could sense her sour mood. Whatever it was, it made her nervous for whatever reason.

Finally looking away from her, his eyes looked over the other dancers. Scowl deepening at the sight of Bambi mugging the back of Cherish’s head, he stood still. He watched as she leaned over to whisper something to Freddi, who found what she said extremely funny by the way she covered her mouth to keep from laughing too loud. Deciding that whatever was going on between them should be kept between them until it was brought to his attention by one of the parties involved, he turned to exit the room. He walked first, Jimmy and Jey following behind him.

“Sooo, Cherish is the only one that did a good job?”, Bambi asked bitterly.

Collective eye rolls from dancers didn’t go unnoticed by Bambi, but she paid them no mind. Cherish returned the favor by giving her no reaction, but Roman stopped in his tracks. His halt caused all eyes to be back on him and Bambi, everyone, including Cherish, watching as he slowly walked backwards into the room before turning to face her. “Is there a problem, Chelsea?”

Swallowing hard, she looked around the room as if waiting for someone to come to her defense. That didn’t happen, obviously, so now she had to fend for herself. “Well…you only told Cherish good job. Did nobody else have a good performance?”

Folding his hands in front of him, his shoulders bounced with his chuckle as he took a step towards her. “Jey,” he called out to his cousin who stood behind him, “Please, tell me. When I came in here, what did I say?”

“You told everybody great job.”, he answered, his eyes on Bambi with the look of a child watching their sibling get in trouble.

“Right. I told everybody great job.”, he scowled in her direction. “I gave Cherish an additional compliment because she got the most compliments from customers. Is that a problem?”

He took another step towards her, his intimidating gaze staying on her. Taking a step back, Bambi shook her head. “You sure? You seemed pretty bothered. Is there anything else you want me to break down to you?”, his tone was similar to the one Serena used with her earlier. Gentle, as if talking to a child, but firm and intimidating.

With another shake of her head, Bambi looked down at her white painted toes adorned by her pink heels. Looking around the room, Roman questioned, “Anybody else have anything to say?” Being met with silence, he nodded. “Alright. Finish up getting ready. Y’all have an hour and thirty left to work. Also, be here about an hour early tomorrow. I want to have a meeting with you all in the conference room.”

With one last glance around the room, his eyes landed on Cherish’s vanity one last time. Shifting in her seat under his gaze, Cherish looked back down at her lap before picking up her hairbrush to brush out her hair. Finally turning, Roman and the twins exited the room. The room erupted in chatter, some gushing over their boss as Cherish expected, some lowkey clowning Bambi, and some complaining about losing a few extra minutes of sleep by having to be here earlier the next day.

Being nudged by Serena, Cherish looked up. The expression she held confused Cherish, although she had an idea of what she was going to say. “Girl! Did you see how he was looking at you?”, Serena exclaimed, nudging Cherish once more.

Rolling her eyes, Cherish couldn’t fight the small grin that appeared on her face. Why the hell was she smiling? “Don’t start, ‘Rena.”, she shook her head.

Kissing her teeth, Serena tilted her head, “Start what? You know you saw that!”

Shaking her head once more, Cherish stood from her stool. “Girl, stop being delusional and come on. We have to be back out there in two minutes.” Doing one more once over of herself in the mirror, Cherish ran her fingers through her hair. She didn’t want to think too much about what just happened, especially when all he did was look at her.

“Alright, you just wait. You’re gonna see that he likes you. Mark my words.”

[monalisahyperdrive]

Primarch names from least moanable to the most moanable - entirely subjective.

Factors taken into account:

Name length

How easy it is to say

General vibes ('imagine having sex with a guy and having to moan gilbert')

I wrote this instead of sleeping. I don't know either. This is getting posted and I will probably never address it again if I don't delete it during my break tomorrow. I should not be given internet access past 11pm.

Perturabo

It pained me to put him all the way down (up?) here at the least moanable as I fear he may actually be one of my favourites, however... I am not delusional enough to ignore that not only is this a pretty long name, a good amount of people struggle not only to say it but to even spell it. Not at all dyslexia friendly. I would give it a good go but I feel like in order to enjoy yourself you kind of have to accept you will be calling him 'Perty' or 'Bo' or whatever you prefer.

Sanguinius

Sanguinius fans please spare me but this is a long ass name at 3? 4? syllables. I don't even know what you could call him for short instead. However, I don't doubt that it's entirely possible, I just think it would take a while to stop stuttering through.

Mortarion

Another long name. Are you sensing a pattern yet? I am. More moanable due to having less vowels than Sanguinius and less harsher (?) consonants like in Perturabo. Pretty middle of the road, easy to pronounce, could probably be easier if you just start calling him 'Morty' instead.

Alpharius / Omegon

Alpharius is again another longer name that I feel like I would trip over for a good couple weeks. I am NOT shorting it to Alpha. I must maintain my dignity, whatever crumbs of it remain. Omegon is an easier name - likely due to it having less syllables (3 rather than 4). However, I feel like the only way to shorten it would be 'Meg' and that would make me laugh and I would get distracted. Remember how I said this is subjective? This is why.

Jaghatai

3 syllables, easy enough to say, not a lot of vowels or harsher consonants to trip over. Incredibly doable, and I'm sure many have tried it. Hell, I'd certainly take a good stab at it.

Angron

Harsh G right in the middle, otherwise no complaints really. 2 syllables. Straight forward. You could certainly give it a good go.

Rogal

2 syllables - easy right? Wrong. Evil G right there in the middle again. Probably would have been higher (lower?) on the list if it was softened with maybe an H right after. Alas, it is not so.

Corvus

2 incredibly easy syllables. The V is a little evil (harsh) but with a relatively short name and a soft starting consonant I'm sure it's manageable. Best bird boy. Not much else to say.

Fulgrim

Although apparently a good chunk of people have given it a go - or at least his wives have - we're back to the G dilemma. Personally I'd suggest calling him 'Fulgie' - like Fergie but worse.

Konrad

Quite possibly the most normal name on the whole list. Konrad. Everyone can say Konrad. An easy two syllables with the harshest letter right at the start. Easy peasy.

Roboute

I actually don't know if this is 2 syllables or 3. I even went and looked on Reddit. Some people are saying Ro-Bou-Te, I've been reading it Ro-Boot. Either way these are easy, with the harshest sound being the T of all things. Either way I don't think moaning for poor long suffering Robert is too tricky.

Vulkan

Deceptively soft V and K. What a pleasant surprise. Anyone could moan this easily, and he'd probably be delighted.

Lion

Objectively this is incredibly easy, which is why it made it so high (low?) on the scale. However, I would argue moaning 'Lion' in full sincerity is somewhat hilarious. That sure is the name of an incredibly powerful (and unfortunately incredibly sexy) man.

Magnus

Easy to moan. Probably wouldn't mind if you gave it a go. Again, one of the easier names. I'm sure he'd be happy to tutor you on the subject.

Lorgar

Flows nicely, 2 short syllables, incredibly straight forward. Started mentally calling him 'Lorgie', never recovered.

Ferrus

Incredibly straight forward name. Ferrus, pronounced the same as Ferrous, like the iron tablets. Something something you should do it, it's medicinal.

Leman

Not at the top due to the time it took to decide whether it was Lee-man or Le-man (like lemon). Personal gripe, but if you've gotten this far down without understanding that I don't know what to tell you. Quick, easy, sure why not.

Horus

As much as I wish to be deeply spiteful and shove him somewhere unremarkable in the middle, I just can't do it. This is an easy name. Don't worry, if you struggle at all I'm sure he'd be willing to let you keep trying until you figure it out. Bastard.

[imagination-mess]

Reality Show: Pro Heroes Wives (Bakugou Katsuki Edition)

*Implied the Reader is on the heavier side. You can leave it up to your own interpretation of it. *

There is a reality show where pro heroes' wives are on television and paid to be there. It was juicy gossip and pure drama. There are two groups separated from one another. There is always shit hitting the fan.

This week's episode was Pro Hero Dynamight making headlines and fans tweeting on Twitter as the episode was aired. It was

The official account of Pro Hero Dynamight has liked fan edits of his wife with the SWING SWING SWING Audio.

#thegirlsarefighting #season2ofproheroeswives

DynaFan0123 tweeted Not Rika, the fashion designer trying to body shame [Name] during the pool challenge to only get humbled later. EMBARRASSING *Meme attached to tweet*

Earjackfan#01: [Name] left no crumbles behind.

It was clips of Pro Hero Dynamight's wife in a swimsuit swiping the floor of another Pro Hero wife, Rika. It was a battle stick challenge of trying to knock your opponent while standing on a pillar. It gets harder to not slip while wet. There are 3 rounds with a cycle of a fight.

Rika was knocked out of the pillar shamelessly and didn't even last a minute with you. It was embarrassing compared to everyone else who was doing it minimum lasted 3 minutes. You let her swing at you and fake out of falling off to only get smacked harshly to lose balance. It was the look in your eyes that were too similar grin of your husband across your face. She had no chance of winning because you didn't even give her a chance to do after the first round.

The other challenge was to feature the spiciest sauces across the nation. You were chosen for your team because of your relationship with Dynamight. The pro hero has his own restaurant being the number one spot for having the hottest, spiciest dishes that left the food critic having to buy a gallon of milk. He had also released his own line of the spiciest hottest sauces earlier this year.

Rika was again your opponent who was trying to redeem themselves after embarrassing themselves to only do it again. She challenges you to take on the spiciest sauce of wings to handle with grace. She couldn't handle it. She was dying, turning like a tomato, and coughing.

It had become a meme throughout the internet. Rika's reaction to the wings. You serve her a cup of milk with a smile, "Too spicy for you?"

You also mentioned one of Dynamight's sauces, "Crybaby is better than this." "Crybaby Sauce is better than this. It's spicy, but not spicy enough for me. I

You accidentally caused a trend to happen while making the restaurant blow up in popularity. People want to buy that certain sauce to try it themselves.

OfficalChargebolt tweeted: Rika was doomed from the beginning. [Name] is married to a man with a tongue of steel. *Attaches the classic meme of Pro Hero Dynamight's unbothered face next to Pro Hero Shoto and Deku is struggling to handle the spiciest.*

*Attaches another one of the unsatisfied faces of Pro Hero Dynamight with subtitles on, "I am disappointed." meanwhile in the background Pro Hero Deku is having a coughing fit on the ground, and Pro Hero Shoto chugging down a gallon of milk*

OfficalDynamight tweets underneath a thread of a meme, mentioning Crybaby is better the following: *attached link to crybaby sauce.* Leave me alone.

Pro Hero Deku Edition

Pro Hero Shoto Edition

Pro Hero Red Riot Edition

Pro Hero Eraserhead Edition

Pro Hero Hellfire (Touya) Edition

Pro Hero Mindjack Edition

Reality Show: Unmasked Pro Heroes

[bouncybongfairy]

Not A Peep

Simon (Ghost) Riley x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: You're a medic on Task Force 141 and Ghost finds out you have a thing for him when you get flustered stitching him up. Once you guys get back to the barracks, he fucks your throat under a desk.

Word Count: 1.0k+

Ref Account: @kaionyx

TW: Dom Ghost, Face Fucking, Rough Smut, BJ Under Desk

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

It was easy to separate yourself from all the stories being told while studying to be a combat medic. Tales about women falling for soldiers and then being immortally traumatized from watching the war take its effect on him. Whether it be emotionally or physically, the horror stories were gruesome. One teacher talked about how she had to treat her fiance after he’d been shot in the arm, apparently it fucked her up for a while. In a way, you would mock the fact that anyone would put themselves in that situation. Falling in love with someone with such a high risk job. It seemed like common sense not to put your heart on the line, especially when it could affect your job. 

That was until I met Simon and you started to understand that those wives tales weren’t so far fetched. The two of you didn’t talk much but it always felt like there was so much tension. Constantly making eye contact, becoming flustered and tongue tied whenever he spoke to you. Avoiding him when you could, not liking the feeling of your heart racing when you did. He held so much emotion in his eyes, like he was projecting his thoughts through eye contact. On a recent mission, a bullet brushed past the area above his hip bone; creating a laceration that needed stitches. Barding into the tent and pulling his pants down and shedding his gear.

 Immediately you get on your knees, pulling everything you needed to treat him out of your tactical vest. Looking up just before starting the first stitch, he was already looking down at you. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were narrowed onto you. Blood was running down, trailing down the contour of his v-line. Hands started shaking slightly, especially as he started to moan and curse in pain. Even though you were fully aware his reaction was from discomfort, you couldn’t but imagine if it… wasn’t. 

He was watching you like a hawk, swiveling his head to watch you whenever you grabbed gauze. All hope that he didn’t notice you acting flustered was ditched when you started feeling dizzy, swaying a little. He grabbed your arm to prevent you from falling, your partner taking over. Now back in the barracks, you took a long hot shower. Trying to figure out why you got so in your head, the water began to run cold. Prompting you to get out and get dressed, walking back into your room. Ghost who was stripped of gear, laying back on the bed supporting his weight with his elbows. 

“Do you need me to redress that for you?” you asked, assuming he was waiting to see you about his wound. 

“No. Do you need me to undress you?” he asked, sitting up. 

“I- What?” you asked, taken off guard. 

“Do you. Need me to. Undress you?” he asked slower, like you were too dumb to answer the question. 

“I don’t understand-” you began saying. 

“No no, I saw you today. The way your eyes widened when you were on your knees in front of me. The desperation and neediness was so potent I could practically smell it on you. I could have taken you right there if I wanted, forced myself into your throat. So hot and bothered you couldn’t even do your job, I consume your thoughts. Don’t act like I don’t” he said, backing you against the desk that was in the corner. 

“I don’t-” he interrupted. 

“Wanna say something you regret,” he said, running his thumb over your bottom lip. Dipping it into your mouth, feeling around to see your reaction, “I think it safe to say that if you didn’t want my cock, you wouldn’t be sucking my finger like a whore. Would you?” he asks, you shake your head and in response he gives you a sharp smack on the cheek.

“Would you?” he asks again, giving you a chance to correct your answer. 

“Yes sir,” you say, melting at the way he looked at you. 

“Good girl, get under the desk.” He said, which you did without hesitation. 

He unzipped his fly, struggling for a second to free his member but finally got there. Sitting down in the office chair, rolling into the small space under the desk. Completely trapping you inside the small space. No longer being able to see above his shoulders, not that it mattered when his cock was right in front of you. Every time your lips finally encased his tip, he would use his hand and pull it away. You reach up and try to take his length into your hand. His voice booming through the room as he pulls away a couple inches to look you in the eyes. 

“Put your fucking hand down, you haven’t done anything to deserve it,” he said, scooting back in, using his hand to guide your head down. 

After all the teasing, the feelings of his cock pushing past your lips felt like heaven. Ever since you met him all you could think about was him ravaging you. Using your body for whatever he wanted. A loud groan coming from the back of your throat, his other hand was stroking your cheek. Slowly starting to push your head down further, you gagged which made him chuckle. 

“Fuck, I knew i’d eventually have you gagging around my dick,” he cooed, letting his head fall back. You looked up, now being able to see his exposed jawline. Reaching your hand down and starting to play with yourself. Spreading your wetness around and circling your clit. Moaning as drool and pre-cum started sliding down his shaft. He grabbed your hair and starting to fuck your mouth. His eyes were rolling back, feeling feral hearing the wet slobbering and slapping sounds. There was a knock at the door which made you squeal and try to pull away. 

“Shhhhh!” He hisses before clearing his throat and answering the door. However just before he does, he presses your head down, applying pressure with both hands on the back of your head. Forcing your lips all the way down to the base of his cock. 

“Yeah!” he yelled, Soap opened the door but remained in the doorway. 

“Have you seen y/n? We have training soon,” Soap asked while you were digging your fingernails into his boots, swallowing around his length which hurt slightly.

“Yeah, I think she went to get some fresh air,” Ghost said, stars were forming in your vision. Soap thanked him and promptly exited and Ghost finally let you pull back. Gasping for air and wiping the tears out of your eyes. He moaned as the cold air hit his dick just after getting used to your hot throat. 

“That’s a good girl, just breathe. Yeah, you’re a such a good fucking girl,” he snarled and pulled you back down on you. 

He stood up and balled his fist in your hair, and pinning his hands onto the top of the desk. Essentially locking you into place and he obliterated your throat. Making sure your nose was pressed into his base with every thrust. Not bothering to pull his cock out as he started came. Warm cum flooding down your throat and into your stomach. He pulled out, not wasting any time putting his dick away. You rested your upper body on the now empty chair that sat in front of you. Ghost squatted down and grabbed your wet chin to look up at him before speaking, 

“Firstly, you should thank me for feeding you before training. Secondly, I didn’t make you cum because you left scratch marks on my boot,” he said, walking out of the room.

[sleep-deprivedracoon]

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f! reader

word count: 3680 Summary: Satoru doing his best to get you out of your downward spiral. He failed Suguru but he won't fail you. Author's note: based on this prompt. I think I speak for most of the fandom when I say we all need some extra fluff and love from Gojo after the week we've had with the anime and manga. So this one is for all of us Gojo wives. Ngl, I am literally shaking right now as I dare to post this. I don't know if y'all will like this or if this just flops. CW: depression, food habits, angst, implied relationships, patterns of isolation, fluff, angst to comfort, helplessness, mentions of smoking

Satoru Gojo stood before your door, an unusual sense of foreboding gnawing at the edges of his normally self-assured demeanor. It was a feeling he wasn't accustomed to, one that clashed against the confident façade he typically wore like armor. He couldn't shake the nagging sensation that something was terribly wrong with you, something that went far beyond the physical injuries. It had been weeks since you returned from that mission, and something had changed in you—It was as if something was tearing you apart from the inside.

He'd delved into the mission reports, scouring through the details, looking for any signs of what might have transpired. The mission had been a success, technically flawless, with only a handful of unfortunate bystanders caught in the crossfire. You'd managed to take down a first-grade curse with no fatalities—by all accounts, it should have been considered a triumph. So why had it left you so shattered?

As the door creaked open, revealing you on the other side, his sharp eyes caught the flicker of a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

Your smile, once a beacon of light that never failed to brighten his day, now seemed a mere shadow of its former self. It was as though the spark within you had dimmed, leaving behind an empty echo of what used to be.

"Toru," you greeted, your voice a little too forced, a little too brittle.

Gojo pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a desperation he couldn't quite put into words. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, a gesture that had become second nature to him, a silent declaration of affection. “Hi, sweets.” he murmured, his voice tinged with concern.

As he held you, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was teetering on the edge of a precipice, that the ground beneath him was unstable. He hoped beyond hope that he was merely overthinking, that you were stronger than he feared. But deep down, he knew. He knew something was fundamentally wrong.

You gently pulled away, and he followed you into your apartment, his senses immediately assaulted by the disarray that greeted him. Sure, you were a chaotic person, but there was usually an organized chaos to your living space. Books strewn haphazardly on shelves, art supplies scattered on tables, and the comforting scent of incense in the air—all elements of your usual environment. The chaos was familiar, a reflection of your vibrant, unpredictable personality. But this... this was different. There was an air of neglect, a sense that even your usual disorder had lost its usual rhythm. He took in the scene—the scattered papers, the toppled books, the forgotten articles of clothing strewn across the floor. Each item seemed to whisper a tale of neglect; a story of a mind too preoccupied to care for its surroundings. He saw the remnants of a once vibrant spirit, now muted and worn.

He followed you into the kitchen, concern etched into his features. "Have you eaten yet?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

You mumbled a half-hearted "yes," but he wasn't fooled. He opened your fridge to place a few drinks, and his heart sank at the sight. It hadn't been stocked in a while; the shelves almost barren. It was a stark contrast to the usual assortment of ingredients and snacks he was accustomed to stealing. He glanced at you, silently noting the tired lines etching your face, the weariness in your eyes that belied your attempt at a smile

You stood beside him, trying to deflect his concern with a forced smile and a weak excuse. "I've been lazy, just ordering takeout."

He glanced at the trash can, noting its emptiness. He saw right through the lie, but he didn't push it. Instead, he turned his gaze back to you, taking in the disheveled state of your hair, the dullness in your eyes, the weight loss that had left you looking frail. It was a familiar dance—one he had witnessed before, with someone else he had cared for deeply. That smile you offered him, that empty, hollow smile with closed eyes, it hit him like a tidal wave of dread. It reminded Gojo of Suguru after Amanai's death—their once lively friend reduced to a mere shell, hiding behind a facade. The parallels between you and Suguru's descent sent a shiver down his spine.

The weight of helplessness settled like a leaden anchor in Satoru Gojo's chest. He cursed inwardly, the bitter taste of regret mingling with the dread that had consumed him. How was it happening again? Why was it always the ones he cared for the most? The memory of Suguru, his once-vibrant friend reduced to a mere shadow of himself, haunted him. He had failed Suguru, and that failure still weighed heavily on him.

The mantra of his own strength echoed in his mind, a bitter irony. He was the strongest, but in this moment, he felt powerless. Weak. Useless. Helpless. As you stood before him, offering a smile that barely masked the turmoil within, you felt so distant, so far away. It was as though an impenetrable barrier had risen between the two of you.

It had started weeks ago, with your return from that fateful mission. Even then, something had felt off. You had been fatigued, weary, and Gojo had been there for you, trying to help you unwind and recharge. But you barely spoke of the mission, your words guarded, your gaze distant. In the ensuing weeks, he had watched as you withdrew, not just from him, but from their students. He noticed how you declined Nobara’s invites to go shopping, how the playful banter with Megumi had all but disappeared. Even your calls with Yuta who was overseas had become brief, the once-lively conversations now reduced to strained exchanges.

He caught a whiff of smoke around you one evening, a scent that hung in the air like a lingering secret. He knew then, without needing to ask, that you had turned to cigarettes for solace. There were signs, always signs. The subtle shifts in behavior, the hollow looks, the moments of silence that stretched on longer than they should. But he had chosen to give you space, believing that time would allow you to heal and find your way back. It was a mistake, one he deeply regretted now as he saw the signs he had missed piling up.

Gojo's gaze settled on you once more, his heart heavy with concern. You had lost weight, your eyes dulled, your once-lustrous hair now a tangled mess. It was as though a part of you had withered away, leaving behind a hollow shell. The pain in his chest intensified as he realized that he couldn't afford to stand by and watch you slip away. He had to act, to break through the barrier you had unknowingly erected around yourself. But how? That was the question that haunted him as he searched your eyes for a way to reach you, to pull you back from the abyss you seemed to be falling into.

He turned to you, his eyes tracing the weariness etched into your features, the fragility in your frame. "Sweets," he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of concern and determination. "We can't keep going on like this. You don't have to face this alone.”

As Gojo's concerned gaze bore into you, he couldn't help but notice the immediate defensiveness in your body language. Your chuckle, dry and forced, cut through the air like a fragile attempt to push his worries away. "I'm okay, Toru," you insisted, your voice wavering just slightly.

"(Y/n) …" he urged; his voice gentle but firm. "You don't have to pretend with me. I can see that something's eating at you. You can rely on me, you know that, right? I'm here to shoulder whatever burdens you're carrying."

You met his gaze, eyes guarded, and shook your head, a hint of stubbornness in your expression. "Toru, really, I appreciate it, but I'm okay. You're worrying unnecessarily.”

You remained closed off, a wall of resistance that he couldn't breach. Your insistence that everything was fine felt like a dagger to his heart, but he understood that pushing you further at this moment could risk you shutting him out completely and he couldn't bear the thought of losing you to the darkness.

So, he accepted your words, even as they left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Alright, sweets. Just remember, I'm here whenever you're ready to talk."

Ordering takeout seemed like the most rational thing to do, a glimmer of normalcy in the midst of the storm. He chose a spicy Chow Mein with Gyoza on the side, knowing it was a combination that never failed to put a smile on your face. As the two of you sat in silence, he couldn't help but notice how you toyed with your food, pushing it around on the plate rather than really eating.

He teased gently, "You know, you're starting to remind me of a kid being forced to eat their vegetables. Come on, at least take a few bites for me."

You glanced up, a faint glimmer of amusement in your eyes, and complied, taking a few bites to prove a point. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. It was through these small steps, he realized, that he needed to slowly guide you back from the darkness that threatened to consume you.

After dinner, he bid you farewell, his footsteps heavy as he walked away from your apartment. Once out of your sight, he clutched his hair in frustration, a tumultuous storm of conflicting emotions swirling within him. He couldn't bear to see you like this, not again. He couldn't let another person he cared for slip into the abyss.

With a determined exhale, he removed his shades and reached for the black blindfold that he rarely wore when it was just the two of you. He tied it securely and looked back at the window to your apartment. In that moment, he vowed to himself that he wouldn't let you slip away. He would fight for you, even if it meant stepping into the darkness alongside you.

-------------

In the days that followed, Gojo remained steadfast in his determination to pull you out of the suffocating depths of depression that had ensnared you. He knew he couldn't do it alone, and admitting that fact was a monumental step for someone as self-reliant as him. It surprised even Shoko, who had known Gojo for years, to witness his newfound vulnerability.

He started with small, manageable gestures, well aware that overwhelming you would only push you further away. Slowly, he began to tidy up your apartment, one step at a time. He organized the scattered papers, straightened the toppled books, and restored a sense of order to the chaos that had overtaken the space. He did it in small iterations, so as to not catch you off guard.  He knew that even the semblance of cleanliness and organization could bring a sense of calm. Another day, he arrived with a bag of groceries, quietly slipping into your kitchen to prepare a meal. At times, he found himself sneaking food into you, taking advantage of moments when your mind wandered elsewhere. He'd feed you, offering fruits and treats while you mindlessly chewed on it, lost in thought. It was a silent promise that he was there to support you, to ensure you took care of yourself.

Then came the day he dragged you out, insisting that you join him and his students for a shopping excursion. It was an attempt to remind you that there was still joy and fun to be had, even in the midst of the world's worries. He made sure to bring his students along, Yuji and Nobara, who shared a single brain cell with their hairbrained schemes, and Megumi, who often found himself the target of their antics. As you wandered through the bustling market, you couldn't help but be drawn into the silliness that surrounded you. Yuji and Nobara's playful banter, Megumi's exasperation, and the way his students relied on you for the silliest of things slowly began to chip away at the darkness within you. There were moments when you couldn't help but smile, caught up in the absurdity of it all. Watching Yuji and Nobara embark on their ridiculous plans, seeing Megumi squirm in embarrassment, witnessing the camaraderie among his students—it all served as a poignant reminder that life held moments of levity, even in its darkest corners. Gojo reveled in these small victories, each one a testament to your gradual recovery. His approach was slow and deliberate, mixing moments of genuine concern with his signature goofiness.

"Hey, sweets," Gojo said, nudging you playfully as Yuji and Nobara attempted to outdo each other with their ridiculous purchases. "You see what I have to deal with every day? They're a handful. Why do I always end up taking care of brats?” He sighed in exaggeration.

The sound of your giggle was a melody that resonated in the depths of Satoru Gojo's being. He couldn't help but be drawn to the warmth in your laughter, a glimmer of the vibrant spirit that still lived within you. Your fingers brushed against his cheek, a gentle caress that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He leaned into the touch, his heart leaping at the connection.

"You know," you teased, patting his cheek affectionately, "you adopted these brats yourself. You're such a mother hen, Toru."

His lips curled into a playful smirk. "Well, what can I say? I've always had a soft spot for the misfits." He took your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. "And I'm glad that this mother hen has you as my favorite rooster to come back to whenever I need a break from these rascals."

Your laughter, though still fragile, filled the room, a welcome sound that eased the weight in his heart. He was getting closer, step by step, to uncovering the vibrant spirit that resided within you.

------------------------

Several days later, the Tokyo Jujutsu High planned a retreat to an Onsen resort in Gunma. The students shared rooms, and Gojo, in his usual annoying fashion, had managed to finagle Yaga into assigning you to share a room with him. After all, you were both teachers and adults—it shouldn't have been a problem.

Gojo sat on the tatami floor of your room, dressed in a yukata, having just returned from the baths. He sipped on cold coffee milk, enjoying the tranquil atmosphere of the traditional inn. When he heard the sliding door open, he looked up, and his heart skipped a beat. You looked ethereal in the Yukata, the fabric draping gracefully over your form. Your hair was still damp from the baths, strands clinging to your skin in a way that made his heart race. There was a newfound fullness to your cheeks, a healthy flush to your complexion that spoke of progress.

In that moment, he realized just how far you had come. The bags under your eyes were still there, but the overall transformation was striking. He clicked his tongue several times, pulling you gently to the tatami floor in front of him. He reached for the towel that hung around your shoulders and scolded you gently, "Sweets, you need to dry your hair properly. You'll catch a cold like this."

His fingers moved through your hair with a soothing touch, the room enveloped in silence save for the rustle of fabric and the soft hum of the night outside. He was meticulous, his actions deliberate as he dried your hair strand by strand. As he continued to pat your hair dry with gentle strokes, he noticed that you were trembling. Frowning, he stopped, his concern growing. And then he heard it—the soft, muffled sniffle that escaped your lips. In an instant, he turned you around to face him, his eyes widening as he saw the tears welling up in your eyes.

Before he could say a word, you began sobbing, your shoulders shaking with the force of your emotions. You buried your face in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you cried. He didn't brush away your tears or offer empty reassurances. Instead, he let you cry, allowing the dam you had built around your emotions to finally break. He could feel the warmth of your tears soaking through his yukata, the shudders that racked your body, and the tremble of your hands as they clung to his robes. It was a raw, vulnerable moment, and he was there to bear witness to it, to share in your pain and offer his silent support. Gojo's touch was gentle, his hand stroking your back in a steady, rhythmic motion. He didn't speak, understanding that this moment was about you and your release. His heart ached with each anguished sob that wracked your body, but he remained a steadfast anchor, giving you the space you needed to let it all out.

As your sobs began to subside, your words spilled out in a torrent of emotion. You spoke of the mission, of how it had torn open old wounds, making you confront shadows from your past. The cursed technique of the first-grade curse had exploited your own memories, forcing you to relive the pain and uncertainty.

Gojo had been privy to your painful past, as you had confided in him long ago. He understood the emotional scars that had marked your journey, and now, he could see why you were descending into darkness.

Your voice trembled as you confessed your fear. You longed to return to the person you used to be, but you were terrified that you had lost yourself in the process. The fear that in losing yourself, you might also lose him gripped at your heart.

Gently, Gojo cupped your cheek, his sky-blue eyes locking onto yours. He removed his shades, allowing you to see the sincerity in his gaze. "No matter what version of yourself you present to me," he said, his voice soft but resolute, "I will love you. Whether you're happy, sad, angry, or anything in between, it doesn't change a thing. If you somehow turned evil, I'd love you. If you don’t want to be a sorcerer anymore, I’d love you. Even if you transformed into a worm, I'd love you. I will love every version of you that has been and that is yet to come, (Y/n). " He couldn't help but inject a touch of his signature playfulness into the moment. "Well, unless you turn into Gakuganji," he added with a mock shudder, "then you might be pushing it. But hey, I'll even love you if you morph into that old fart. Just… just don't test me on that one." He kisses your trembling lips gently. “I don’t think my heart could handle that.”

A small giggle burst from your lips, and you playfully swatted his arm, the sound like a gentle chime amidst your tears. It was a moment of relief, a brief respite from the weight of your emotions. Gojo couldn't help but chuckle in response, his grin boyish and goofy. “I will always love you (Y/n). Even if you lose yourself, I will walk with you to help you rediscover yourself. I am great at helping people find things. These six eyes are here for a reason, you know?”

You gently shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips as you leaned in to kiss Satoru Gojo on his lips, your gratitude and affection evident in the tender gesture. "Thank you," you whispered against his lips, "for being you."

His lips curved into a soft smile as he returned your kiss, savoring the warmth of your affection. "It's been my pleasure, (Y/n)," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. “After all, nobody is best at being Gojo Satoru other than Satoru Gojo himself.” He winks.

You continued, your voice barely above a whisper, "I know what you've been doing, Toru. All these days, you’ve been taking care of me, helping me even if I didn't want to admit it to myself. But I needed it, and I needed you."

Gojo's eyes softened as he gazed at you, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "If the roles were reversed, you would've done a far better and more efficient job," he admitted, a hint of shame coloring his voice. "I should've seen it sooner, (Y/n)."

You silenced him with a gentle finger against his lips, his mock pout making you smile. "Don't blame yourself, Toru," you murmured. "I didn't want you to find out, and it's not your fault. I feel lighter now than I have in days, although I am still struggling to cope.”

In response, Gojo spoke with unwavering determination, "I'll be here beside you, sweets. However you want and in whatever form you need.

“Whatever I need huh?” A wistful smile tugged at your lips. "Maybe turning myself into Gakuganji would help," you mused, a playful glint in your eyes. “won’t it, Toru?”

Gojo groaned dramatically, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. His fingers danced along your sides and ribs, eliciting giggles and laughter from you as you squirmed beneath his touch. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. His fingers attacked your sides and belly, evoking peals of laughter from you. The tatami floor beneath you seemed to come alive with the sounds of your giggles and Gojo's playful laughter. As he tickled you mercilessly, Gojo's thoughts were clear—he would do anything to keep that light in your eyes, to see you smile, even if it meant turning into Gakuganji himself. Anything at all. And with every joyful laugh that filled the room, he knew he was one step closer to bringing you back to him.

Taglist - @hiraethsdesires Note to @hiraethsdesires: thank you, Hira. I thought I'd never be able to get back into writing again. I thought I had lost it. But it felt so nice to dive right into this again. The first character I had ever written for in this blog was Gojo. It feels just right to get back into it with him again.

[milliesfishes]

୨ৎ⋆˚౨ৎRibbons (Act One)౨ৎ˚⋆୨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: depression, control, mention of a past suicide attempt, angst pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader author’s note: this work contains topics that may be upsetting pertaining mental health, controlling relationships, depression, and suicide. I did my best to portray them correctly. I hope you all enjoy the series, it's very angsty :) 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓑𝓸𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓢𝓹𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓯𝔂 𝓟𝓵𝓪𝔂𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

THE ELUSIVE FIRST LADY We've all seen the pictures. Coriolanus Snow was wed to the most beautiful bride Panem has ever seen in a lustrous ceremony two years ago. After the honeymoon, the young politician engaged in a slew of campaigning, and nearly exactly twelve months later, he was elected president. The First Lady has neither been seen or heard from since. In the past, it has been customary for the wives of the President to host galas and attend charity events. Mrs. Snow has done none of the above. President Snow was very open with his wife before the election, and she was alongside him at every speech and dinner. Presently, he attends what few events he does alone, his wife nowhere in sight. Due to the now-First Lady's popularity before her husband's candidacy, it is a curious occurrence indeed. So we, and all of Panem, have to ask the question- where is she?

Suffocation is very slow.

Even butterflies in bell jars flutter around for a bit before they take their last breaths. They are there to admire for what their captors know is a limited time. That was the difference between theirs and yours.

For your own peace of mind, you reasoned that Coriolanus Snow had not known what he was doing.

Breathing in the salty air of the seaside, you felt the scent and sound of everything wash over you and slip your mind into a state of relaxation. It had been months since you'd felt this free.

Hands on the smooth, grainy railing of the porch, you stood on your tiptoes, the edge pressing against your belly. The sea breeze tickled your hair around your neck, the skirts of your white dress brushing your ankles.

It had been four weeks of bliss; of waking up with cotton sheets tangled around your legs, of feeling the sun freckle your skin that was no longer pale as death. A whimsical month of sand in every crease, of collecting seashells the length of your little fingernail and spreading them over the kitchen counter to admire.

You were supposed to escape this way. To get better. But the little details of this place painted a picture of home; the very spot you were not supposed to think of. Truly, the great, roaring mass of water was more alike to what you had left behind than the thing itself.

The ocean was the same blue of his eyes, contained secrets of the same magnitude. The tide ebbed and flowed the same way he did. There was one marked difference, though. When you thought of him, resentment and sorrow bubbled in your chest to create a confusing swirl of unexplainable feeling. You did not feel this toward the sea.

Fisting the skirt of your dress, you ran a hand up the column of the house. The porch was strewn with sand, the pastel walls of the Victorian exterior worn with time but adding to the charm. This place had become your sanctuary. And you had your doubts about whether you would be allowed to return.

Padding inside, the knotted rug cleared the majority of the sand from your feet, but you knew some would manage to stick and track onto the hardwood floor. Your two round suitcases were packed, the few belongings from your month away tucked away and reminding you how little space things actually take up. Mass does not account for the memories.

Looking around at this little space that had become your home, you felt a familiar pang of dread tap your chest. You had been avoiding it- the idea that you must leave. The idea of returning to what had gotten you sent here in the first place.

A dam of memories began to crack, but you resisted, holding the splits in the structure with your fingers. I am better now. The whole point of you coming here was to recover. That single dreadful flicker of a recollection sparked, but you held it down.

Tires crunching on gravel. An involuntary shudder racked your body. It was time. Funnily enough, this felt more like a punishment than coming here had. You bent and picked up your suitcases, slipping your feet into the black flats that would deem your ensemble appropriate enough for return.

Your companions for the month had already departed, quiet goodbyes and well wishes in their wake. They knew what was waiting for you, and doubly they knew how you dreaded it.

Shutting the door behind you felt like forcing two magnets away from each other. You slowly pulled your hand away from the doorknob, thumb pressing into the embossed symbol in the center. When you looked down at your hand, you could see the imprint of it in the skin. A rose.

Using that hand to bunch your skirts again, you descended the creaky stairs and down the willowy, crunchy path of seashells and rocks to where the black-suited driver was holding the door of the car for you. He eyed you when you bent to pick a handful of beach aster before continuing your walk of doom.

Shutting the door behind you, he offered a polite tip of the hat, which you acknowledged with a smile. It wasn't his fault you were headed back into the lion's den.

The entire drive, you stared out the window, eyes chasing the sights as they whizzed by, back into the past already; those golden hours you missed already. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as the reality of it hit you.

Good-bye sandy sunsets and shining waters.

It was your final farewell as you were forced to greet empty halls and lonely luxury.

Back into the bell jar.

If you had wings, they would be wilted. The second you saw the mansion, looming over the car like a monster, you recoiled, shrinking back into your seat and wishing you could sink into the spot. Maybe if you willed it hard enough you would disappear and leave nothing but a white dress with a pocket full of seashells behind.

You shivered, folding your hands around your arms as goosebumps sprouted. Longing for the crackling fire in the hearth of your beach house, you tried to sit up straight. It wouldn't do well to have a shaky appearance.

Being in the car made you more anxious than the idea of returning. Clenching your fingers around your arms, you breathed in and out, tried to count to one hundred. The car ride to the beach house had elicited a similar reaction, your nerves getting the better of you.

The golden gates parted for the car, and that was when you saw him waiting, hands folded behind his back, standing on the pale marble steps leading up to the house. His hair was so light it was nearly the same color, the red of his coat a stark contrast. In your absence you had forgotten the season, and suddenly you regretted your choice in dress. The thin straps would do little to protect you from the cold.

As you stepped out of the car, using the hand of the driver as leverage, Coriolanus moved forward toward you. His icy blue eyes roved over your appearance; sun-warmed skin, simple dress, some beach aster stuck behind your ear and more peeking out of your pocket. The tiny shells in the same opening slightly jingled as you met him halfway.

"Darling," he greeted, his voice low. The only other people out here were the Peacekeepers used for the mansion's security and the driver of the car, who was taking your two circular suitcases from the back.

You lifted your chin, taking his offered hand and letting him help you up the steps. Repressing a shiver because the house was only a minute away, you eyed the barren trees lining the walls. There were only a few dried, stiffened leaves clinging to the spindly branches. Even the roses were trimmed now, at the stems.

Disappointment twinged at your insides. One of the only things you'd been looking forward to was escaping through the garden. Coriolanus noticed your face fall at the sight, and he squeezed your hand. "Some of them were cut and moved inside. We can have more brought in if you would like."

Nodding slightly, you gave him a soft smile, doing your best to hide from him the dread eating you from the inside out. Stepping through the lacquered white doors, the chill of the mansion made you shiver in a way unrelated to the temperature. Coriolanus secured his arm around you, rubbing your elbow. "You must be freezing in that dress. Come, let's get you something more...appropriate."

The disdain in his tone was hard to miss. But you knew he wasn't talking about your outfit. He wanted to transform you back into the woman he knew. In appearance only.

It felt like an attack. Coriolanus wanted to scrub from you any remnants of your escape, of the time you hadn't been under his shadow. Truthfully, you couldn't be too upset for it. He didn't know of the haven in your beloved ocean. All he knew was that you'd been away from him.

"Of course," you whispered, lifting your eyes to meet his. Your husband caressed your cheek briefly, an unrecognizable look flickering in his irises.

It quickly diminished though, and you were then escorted up the stairs, walking hand in hand down the hallway with him. His shiny shoes clicked on the tile, your flats barely making a sound.

Stopping at your door, Coriolanus turned to you, searching your eyes for any sign of discomfort. "Will you come down for dinner?" he questioned quietly, voice barely echoing in the expanse of the hallway.

Nodding slightly, you managed a little upturn of your lips, feeling like you were performing. "Of course."

A sort of relieved expression fell over him, and he lifted your joined hands, kissing your fingers. "Wonderful. I'll let you freshen up."

Once you were behind the door of your bedroom, you leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. It was over. The first part was over. Maybe this will have been the hardest.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment before getting to your feet, watching the sunset cast shadows on the floor and expose the dust of the air. At least the same moon would appear when the night fell.

Wandering into the bathroom, you studied your reflection for a moment. You didn't look at all like the woman who'd left these walls four weeks ago. But you didn't look like who you'd been before being her either. Now you were some foreign, unfamiliar thing whose nature you had not yet uncovered.

It was like stumbling upon the Gardens of Babylon; something inside you that there had been whispers of, but nobody had known existed. And now you weren't sure if you were entirely yourself. Everything you were before was shelled inside like a nesting doll, but you hadn't the courage to uncover it.

Tearing your eyes away from the mirror, you slipped off your shoes, feeling the cool marble beneath your feet. Checkered tiles. You had picked them out so long ago.

Turning your head to the side, you saw it standing there, like a lone specter. The smooth, rounded bathtub, like a cupped hand. Reaching out, you lightly ran a finger down the side of it. It wasn't the same one. Of course it wouldn't be.

You wondered what he'd done with it. Had it destroyed, maybe? He'd blame anything but you for what happened.

Even an inanimate object that had been doing nothing but what it was created to.

Dressed in a light pink sweater tucked into a matching skirt, a belt cinching your waist, you sat primly diagonal from him, picking at the food on your plate. Long gone were the beach asters, any grains of sand that may have clung to you. A shower had erased it.

Now you were back, settled into the space you'd inhabited before. Even though your heart wasn't the same shape anymore, you fit it perfectly.

He was looking up every few seconds, as if you'd disintegrate if he didn't always have one eye on you. You didn't question it.

Determinedly casual, Coriolanus commented, "The doctors reported well of your conditions." He speared a potato with his fork, bringing it to his mouth.

Hands folded in your lap, you let your chin move up and down as a response. It had been a topic in question for you; how he was going to broach the situation. If it was up to you, it would never be spoken of again.

Your husband set his utensil down with a gentle clatter, resting his elbow on the table, palm facing the chandelier above. Recognizing what he wanted, you lifted one of your hands, setting it limply atop his. His fingers closed around yours, squeezing.

Somehow you mustered the courage to meet his eyes, that deep blue that so reminded you of your missed getaway. Coriolanus rested his other hand on yours, thumb rubbing your knuckles. He made sure you were looking right at him when he said, "I apologize, darling. For everything I did to-" he cut himself off with a swallow. "I'm sorry."

Casting your eyes to the side for a moment, you noticed for the first time the vase of roses sitting modestly close to your setting. These weren't ordered, no, they were from the garden. Perhaps cut today even, spared until the last minute before you arrived unlike their stemless companions.

Turning back to him, you took in a light breath, lifting your free hand to touch the sliver of a belt over your stomach. Tracing the little buckle for a moment, your eyes found his as a question you'd been wanting to ask for a long time slipped past your lips. "Why did you do it?"

Coriolanus' face hardened slightly, but then his thumb traveling your hand found your wedding ring and his shoulders relaxed. "It was to keep you safe."

"I wasn't allowed to leave," you retorted quietly, some newfound bravery inside you urging the words from your mind. "Months trapped in this house, allowed to see no one-"

"To keep you safe," he reiterated. If it were not for the sincerity in his eyes you would have thought him cruel for feeding you the same statement he had before your trip to the seaside. "Darling...all of this was to keep you protected."

"And look where that's gotten us." Your soft response was punctuated by you pulling your hand back, clasping it with the other on your thigh. Freshly painted a pale rose color, your nails poked at your skin when you balled your hands up, an attempt to keep control. Quietly, you added, "The media got ahold of an account of my spending. Apparently, an inside source gave it to them."

Your husband sat upright, a frown creasing his brow. "I thought you weren't supposed to look at those things while-"

"I didn't." You looked down. "Not on purpose. One of the caretakers left a magazine out and I... saw my name. I couldn't help it."

"Did it say what you were spending on?" Coriolanus leaned back again, and you could almost see the wheels in his head turning.

"No," you shook your head, fingers coming up to touch the space between your eyebrows. A headache was coming, you could feel it. "But they had an exact amount."

"Anyone working with our finances wouldn't know what happened," Coriolanus reasoned, fingers thrumming the arm of his chair. His hair looked a little mussed, you observed. Like he'd been running his hand through it. You could see the gel wearing off, his natural curls beginning to take form again. How you'd loved petting his hair before. And how he'd loved letting you. "I'll have the staff cleared out and replace them."

Clenching your jaw so you wouldn't cry, you nodded. One tear escaped, trickling down your cheek as a wave of shame crashed over you. Unable to help yourself, you put your hands over your face, whispering, "It was awful, Coryo. The number was so high. And now everyone thinks I'm spending the country's money on parties and dresses."

"Darling. Darling." There was the sound of a chair being pushed back, and then you heard him step to you, two hands pulling you to stand and fall into him. Despite your qualms, you let your arms wrap around him, face pressing into the spot over his heart, where the steady thump nudged your cheek. He buried his nose in your hair, a gentle kiss finding a home there. "We know the truth, sweetheart. That's the most important thing."

"But you're the president," you sniffled, all previous fear forgotten as you remembered how good it felt to be in his arms. Living in his shadow also meant being protected by it. "I'm making you look awful. It won't be good for the reelection."

"I don't give a damn about the reelection if you're not well," Coriolanus murmured into your hair. "This isn't your fault, it's the staff's for letting this information get out. I won't stop spending my money on doctors as long as you're unwell." He rubbed your back. "I don't care if the tabloids think it's something else."

A dry sob erupted from your lips at his words, and he tightened his arms around you. You hated yourself for finding comfort in him after what he'd done.

"Let's get you upstairs," he said quietly, and you nodded into him. He made a move to take a step but hesitated. In a careful gesture, Coriolanus leaned down, securing his arm under your knees and lifting you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning your head against his shoulder and closing your eyes. The headache that had begun to make an appearance was now pounding, and you fisted your husband's shirt as it did.

Aware of your discomfort, Coriolanus swept you upstairs, and before you knew it you were being laid on your soft bed, atop the covers as he went to the closet to find something for you to sleep in. Sitting up, you began to undo your belt, sliding it through the buckle and winding it up neatly. You removed your skirt, unzipping the side, and then your sweater by the time he returned, one of your old favorite nightdresses in hand.

He bunched it in his hands, holding the neck open. "Lift your arms."

You did, and he slid the fabric over your head, straightening it out over your body. Wrestling your arms through the openings, you murmured. "The bathtub's new."

He paused, seeming surprised that you had brought it up. The sight of you was sure to be a sorry one, with messy hair and teary eyes, sitting in a little white nightdress, the skirt of which was messily pinched and spread over your thighs. Kneeling at your feet, he looked at your legs, one hand coming to smooth the fabric over them. When it reached your knees, the hem brushing the bone, he muttered, "In no world was I going to keep the old one."

Plunging your head underwater, you felt the thoughts numb. Every second you stayed under; the noise stopped. One moment you had hope of the end, and then the next a pair of hands were breaking the surface and yanking you from your peace.

Staring up at him, you felt the fog begin to settle over you again. Blinking tiredly, you said, "You could have."

Coriolanus inhaled, resting his head on your knees. Then his arms moved, encircling your waist and now his head was buried in your stomach. You lifted your hand, hesitantly touching his hair. It was mostly soft, a little stiff in some places from the dried out, hours-old gel.

For a moment, you didn't think he would let go. But his arms loosened, and he looked up at you. The vulnerability etched in his roaring oceans of eyes nearly drew from you a gasp. He shook his head, and you could almost see the reflection of what he was thinking in the blue.

You, wet hair sticking to your chest, water dripping from your bare body and pooling beneath on the floor.

Coriolanus grasped your waist, watching your chest rise and fall with your breathing. He rubbed your side gently, something melancholy drizzling over the scene. "Did you do it...because I made you stay?"

The question made your motions through his hair stop, and he lifted his head. His eyes pierced your heart, but you were tired of withholding the truth. Your response was soft. "Week after week of being confined to this place. And you still won't even tell me why." The look on your face was answer enough for him.

Rising, Coriolanus leaned in, hand finding the crown of your head and holding you as he pressed a kiss to your hairline. He held his lips there for a long time. Broad and strong, he stood firm and steady in the tumultuous waves of your life, drawing you in like an unbendable force.

Thunder seemed to shake your being, the waters up to your neck. And yet there he was, unaffected by any storm, his arms open and willing. And suddenly you missed him, needed him like you had never needed anything before. Hands shaking, breathily, you asked, "Will you stay?"

Even after everything, after the history that defined you by being written, you were helpless without him. It was that love you'd never rescinded, that had bloomed when he slid his ring on your finger and had hardly even wilted when he imposed such a harrowing restriction upon you.

You wished you hated him.

He began to loosen his tie. It was discarded along with his shoes, shirt, jacket, and pants. Each item shed unsheathed the man beneath the president. And then you saw your Coryo again, the one you'd loved before he consumed the power bestowed on him.

Maybe you weren't the only one with multiple versions inside yourself. He was just better at uncovering them.

Had it been the president who'd given you strict orders to never step past the grounds? Who'd brushed away your pleas to leave even for a few hours, saying he'd send for more catalogs and books to keep you occupied? Who'd pried the shiny, embossed invitations from your hands when you begged to attend events with him?

You had thought it was the president who you'd walked in on in his study after you'd been pulled from the dripping throes of death, in a meeting with the doctor who'd thoroughly examined you. The president who stared at the wood of his desk, brow furrowed, backs of fingers covering his mouth as the doctor told him he would recommend for you to be sent away to recover fully. "Many of my patients have said the seaside, in particular, has improved their condition," he said in hushed tones. The president nodded.

When you whispered, "The seaside?" it was the president who noticed you, who got to his feet and was at your side in an instant.

But it was a different man whose eyes roved over your disheveled appearance; messy hair, wearing nothing but an oversized sweater that fell to your middle thighs and engulfed your hands. He slid an arm around you, bringing you to his chest and smoothing your hair. "Sweetheart, you need to be resting. Let me take you back to your room." Still in a daze from the prescribed sleeping pills, you nodded hazily and let him lead you upstairs with an arm around your shoulders.

It was that man who was getting into bed with you right now, pulling you into his arms and tucking you to his side, whispering that it was okay, that all you had to do now was sleep.

Instead of drifting off, your mind wandered near and far, body feeling heavy with all the answers you lacked. The burden of it all was nearly breaking you. And before you could regulate, the one thing on your mind was escaping your head through your mouth.

"Did you do it because you love somebody else?"

He stiffened, and then his arms tightened around you. You could feel him shake his head immediately, even though you couldn't see it. "No. Never." Coriolanus adjusted the position of his hands, splaying one over your tummy. He kissed your hair, mumbling into it. "I love you. You're my wife." His words were firm, and you felt some comfort return.

"Was it because you were ashamed of me?" You turned around, facing him. The only light was from the candle at your bedside, flickering dependently. He exhaled softly at your questioning, thumbing the side of your face. You asked in a small voice, "Did you want to hide me away?"

His head moved back and forth, declining your theory. "Darling, I have never been ashamed of you. Not once."

"But why else would you force me to stay where nobody can see me?" you asked quietly, on the verge of tears again. Over your weeks away, the medical care staff had discouraged you from wondering about such things, telling you they would only send your head into a spiral. But now, in the last honest moments of waking, you were incapable of holding back.

Coriolanus' face was tender, and he cupped a big hand over your head. You could hear the words before he said them and you dreaded their arrival. Shaking your head, your lower lip trembled as he breathed life into the phrase once again.

"To keep you safe."

Despondently, you watched him, giving no response as he gave you a final peck to your temple and tucked your head under his chin. The irony of the statement was not lost on you. He had protected you from everything except yourself.

Nobody tells you what to do once you survive. Once you are past the point of danger, there is nothing but wide, open space in front of you that only serves to collapse what you have thought you healed.

Even after your self-inflicted brush with death, the person whom you loved most still refused to give you the one answer that would bring you peace.

After blowing out the candle, it did not take Coriolanus long to slip into sleep. You laid awake for hours afterward, thoughts piling up like discarded flowers after a wedding.

You had held him as your lover; fulfilling your marriage vows before they were uttered. He was forever, adoring in every sense of the word. But now you couldn't help but feel as if he was holding you for a different reason.

He was concealing you. And if it be the will of Coriolanus Snow, undiscovered you would remain.

Though he had given himself to you, it radiated off him. The shame of being yours.

𝓝𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓐𝓬𝓽

[theotherdragomirgirl]

ELIA OF DORNE and ANDROMACHE OF TROY

I have long wanted to write this meta of sorts, because if there is one mythological woman Elia Nymeros Martell has always reminded me of, it's Princess Andromache of Troy (or Andromache of Cilician Thebe).

In Greek mythology, Andromache was the wife of Trojan Prince Hector, daughter of King Eetion, and sister to Podes. She was born and raised in the city of Cilician Thebe, over which her father ruled.

Following the Trojan War, after Achilles has killed Hector and Troy is being captured and sacked by the Greeks, her son by Hector, named Astyanax (born Scamandrius) was murdered by being thrown off the city walls. His killer, Neoptolemus, son of the mythical warrior Achilles, then took Andromache as his concubine. By him, she was the mother of Molossus, Pielus, Pergamus and Amphialus.

The world of ancient Greek Mythology mostly does not sees rape of women conquered in war as rape at all, and yet, King Priam of Troy, father in law of Andromache, himself talks of the mass rape that will happen should Troy fall.

In Iliad, Andromache is portrayed as the perfect wife, weaving a cloak for her husband in the innermost chambers of the house and preparing a bath in anticipation of his return from battle. Just as Princess Elia is said to be "a good woman, kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit", enough so that even her melancholic prince, who even by accounts of those who admired him most, did not have it in himself to be happy, grew "very fond of her".

Just like Andromache represents the injustice done to the women of Troy, to women of war torn lands in general, Elia represents the injustice done to women in King's Landing during the sack of the city.

Andromache and Elia are both widows of Crown Princes when their cities are sacked, but that doesn't save them from gruesome fates. If anything, being married to the dead heir to the throne dooms them too. One to a lifetime of misery, the other to an unbelievably horrific death.

We first learn about Elia through Daenerys, as she imagines the fall of the Targaryen dynasty:

"Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword."

Daenerys' description of the sack, and what happened to Elia and the rest of the Targaryen royals during it, is very similar to what befell Andromache. Her son was ripped from her arms, and murdered before her eyes, while her father-in-law was murdered by the invading forces. Elia and Andromache's role as mother, a fundamental element of their position in marriage, is emphasized within the text of their respective tales.

Following the murders of their sons (and daughter also, in Elia's case) both women are subjected to aggravated rape. Andromache is made a sex slave, and Elia is raped to death.

Both women had their family entirely stripped from them by the violence of war, making them fulfill the fate of conquered women in ancient warfare.

Both are wives of admired, beloved crown princes seen as the hope and future of their dynasty. And later, widows.

Both loose everything due to their husbands dying in war at the hands of a great warrior. Robert of House Baratheon, in case of Elia. And Achilles, in case of Andromache.

The so-called (or so-perceived) "good guys" of the stories victimize Elia and Andromache, or outright benefit from their victimization.

In some versions, it is Odysseus who kills Andromache's infant son, and then takes her mother-in-law, Hecuba, as his war prize.

Robert Baratheon had a just cause to rise against the man literally named "the mad king", but he defiles the justness of his own cause by walking to his throne of swords over the brutalized dead bodies of Elia and her children (Princess Rhaenys, not even three years old, stabbed half a hundred times, infant Aegon bashed into a bloody pulp against the wall, Elia raped with her son's blood and brain on her rapist's hands, then cut in half by him), calling them "dragonspawn" with disgust. Not only refusing her family justice, but actually awarding the man who orchestrated the monstrous deeds with a crown for his daughter.

Then there is their treatment by other women:

Hermione, daughter of Menelaus, king of Sparta, and his wife, Helen of Troy, wife of Andromache's captor and rapist Neoptolemus, blamed Andromache for her inability to become pregnant, claiming that she was casting spells on her to keep her barren. To the point that she asked her father to kill Andromache and her son while Neoptolemus was away at Delphi.

The same way, in text, Cersei Lannister blames Elia for her unhappiness as wife of Robert. Basically declaring that if Rhaegar had only married her, not Elia, everything and everyone would be well and happy. That it must have been madness that drove King Aerys to marry his son to the Dornish Princess.

Outside of text, we have the fandom's treatment of, and attitude towards, Elia. People who prefer Rhaegar Targaryen with Lyanna Stark, treat Elia as if she was the interloper in the marriage, and not his lawfully wedded legal wife, in eyes of both the Old Gods and the new. I have seen people outright say "fuck Elia and her children". It is honestly... Bizarre.

Andromache was famous for her fidelity and virtue. And it is safe to say Elia was both of those things too. Since even her biggest detractors, Jon Connington and Cersei Lannister, two people who wanted her husband for themselves, could not find any fault in Elia in that regard. Jon could only complain that Elia was sickly and unworthy of Rhaegar, despite the fact that she gave him two children in two years, and Cersei could only complain about Elia's breast size.

And yet, for all their amazing qualities, both women still suffered unquestionably and immensely, all for someone else's "love story".

Paris made off with Helen, and Andromache payed the price with all that she held dear.

Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna and thousands died for it. Including his innocent wife and children.

Andromache.

Elia.

Daughter

Princess

Sister

Wife

Mother

[dejwritesarchived]

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ( synopsis ) college boy toji proves that you're the only girl he has eyes on.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — reader discretion is advised: female reader, female anatomy described, her/she pronouns, feminine pet names, written with black reader in mind, third pov, college au, college boy!toji, he’s an international student in the states, hints at reader & him going to nyu, reader and toji in their early 20’s, reader calls him 't', alcohol usage, mentions of a hangover, a little angst, profanity, toji’s last name is zenin in this, friends with benefits trope, mentions of zenin family, toji’s a business major, mentions of pets (toji has a doberman named taichi), oral (f.receiving), doggystyle position, exhibitionism, flirty toji, you’re his #1 girl, early bday post for toji

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── click here for jjk masterlist. click here for ao3 link.

TWENTY-ONE-YEAR-OLD TOJI ZENIN SLUMPED DOWN INTO HIS SEAT IN THE BACK OF THE LECTURE HALL. Heavy bags under his eyes, headache clawing at the back of his skull, and running on 2 hours of sleep. When he plopped down in his seat, he flipped open his notebook to half-listen to the professor. The professor was boasting about the infamous wives of kings in different countries. He was late, very late. It was only his second semester at NYU as a business administration major, and he could already feel himself falling behind. He was sent overseas for school because his family thought it would help shape him for the family company back in Japan. Still, his last semester started with attending parties and social events (some on behalf of his family). Then on top of that, his younger cousin was also in town, so he was a major distraction. 

Within the stressful semesters and maintaining an image under a microscope from his family overseas, he met a gorgeous girl Y/N. The two had a pretty complicated relationship—they met at a party, and he hated to admit that he was falling for her. Toji adored seeing her on campus, and he damn sure loved staring at her during this elective women’s history course. On days when he wasn’t hungover, he would poke Y/N with his pen until she snapped at him to stop. But today, Toji slumped in his seat, doodling in his notebook.

“You should pay attention. This is going to be on the quiz this Friday,” Y/N whispers as she’s writing in her notebook.

“That’s what I have you for,” Toji says as he gives her some tired grin that causes her to roll her eyes.

Y/N rolled her eyes at the man because she hated that it was true. Toji and herself met at a party with him flirting with her the whole night. She ignored him, considering that she had heard so much about him from other women. Yet, it was Y/N’s luck that she entered this class and saw him sitting in the back of the class at the start of the semester.

She didn’t understand why he would be taking a course like this, but she wasn’t going to get him talking. After all, when Toji spoke about himself, he couldn’t stop. Perhaps, that’s why she liked him. He was a confident guy that knew what he wanted. Y/N didn’t expect the two to start an immature friends-with-benefits relationship. Even though, on some days, she’ll spot him flirting with other girls in exchange for accounting notes. He still manages to make her cheeks grow hot with his witty comments and captivating smile.

But the one thing the young woman hated was seeing him like this. His head was on the cold desk and his eyes closed, not paying attention. This education could have gone to someone who wanted to be here. Y/N’s teeth grazed upon her plump lip gloss-covered lips as she inched her chair closer to him. She lets her hand travel to Toji’s lap as she places her pen down. Her hands rubbed at his crotch until she could feel him squirming under her touch. His head still lying on the table with the hood to his NYU pull-over hoodie on turned towards her. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby,” He says as he tugs his chair further under the table.

“Oh, hush,” Y/N says as she unbuttoned his jeans quickly. Her curious eyes stared ahead at the clock, ten more minutes until the class ended. That’s enough time.

When Toji felt her hand in the comfort of his pants, his head shot up to lean back in his seat. His teeth grated at his lower lip as a slight hiss escaped his mouth. He tuned out the professor lecturing about the downfall of Marie Antoinette.

“I’m sure you can be quiet, huh?” Y/N questions as her hand glide up and down his thick shaft. Her thumb brushed against his thick pink tip that leaked with precum.

“Shit,” Toji uttered under his breath. His body was radiating so much heat at the moment, and it wasn’t coming from the layers of clothes he was wearing.

“Okay, I will be releasing you guys early. Please use the time to study for the quiz next quiz.”

Toji’s body seemed to go through shock when Y/N removed her hand from his pants. A cold chill goes down his spine as he’s quick to button his pants so no one can see. Toji quickly stuffed his belongings inside his bookbag to catch up with Y/N, who had already exited the class. He nearly knocked down some students trying to chase after her. With her brown skin glistening with each step she took through the halls and her head held up.

“Y/N, Wait up!” Toji’s jogging up to her, chest heaving up and down, and a look of determination on his face. His face flushed with color due to the teasing brief handjob she gave him. He grabs a hold of her forearm to put a halt to her walking.

“Toji, I have a class to get to,” Y/N huffs as she looks at him.

“And I said don’t start something you can’t finish,” He reminded.

“It was something to wake your lazy ass up,” Y/N says as she looks at him. She adjusted the tote bag on her shoulders. “Now, can I go to my class now?” She questioned.

“Well, I’m up now.” Toji would say before his hand was dragging her into one of the smaller classrooms.

“Toji.”

“Y/N.”

“We can’t do this here, what if someone walks in,” Y/N questions.

He stepped closer to her with such lust in his eyes. She’s mentally cursing herself for waking up such a beast, but she enjoyed teasing him. He tugged at her strings so much that Y/N wasn’t afraid to tug at his right back once in a while. With each step he took, she took one back until she hit the teacher’s desk in the middle of the lecture hall.

The two were close, with Toji’s curious green hues staring at her lips. His fingertips traced alongside her side and it sent a chill down her spine effortless. “No one is going to walk in. This class always is empty for an hour or so.”

“How would you know that?” Y/N questioned, her hands going up to toy with the strings on his hoodie. Her eyebrows knit together in curiosity. “Have you fucked other women in here because if you did-”

“You’re always assuming I’m fucking someone else,” Toji pointed out. He then lifts her up to place her on the desk which she didn’t argue against.

“Because when are you not fucking other women?” Y/N asked as she watched him toy with the ends of the skirt she wore.

Toji kissed his teeth as he took up the space between Y/N’s legs. “I’m not having sex with other women, Y/N. I only want you.” He would mumble his last couple of words on her skin while he was kissing her neck.

“Mhmm.” Y/N hummed as she craned her neck to the side giving Toji more access to her neck.

“You don’t believe me?” Toji questioned as he tore his lips away from her neck. His green-colored eyes stared into hers waiting for a response. If you asked Toji when he first moved here for university if he would be strung by some girl, he wouldn’t believe you. But here Toji was trying to defend his case that he’s actually been keeping his dick in his pants. Toji’s heart was growing a little warmer for Y/N.

Y/N looked up at him. Her curious eyes stared into his eyes to search for any clue for his foolishness. Toji was still young like any other guy on the campus. Which meant that he still wanted to fool around with other women. Yet, Toji was right here pleading his case. Toji’s fingers lingered a bit higher each second as they sat in silence in the small lecture hall. Y/N’s felt her body get so hot, feeling Toji’s callous fingers on the inside of her thighs. “Do you want me to prove it?” Toji questioned.

Y/N’s teeth caught into her lower lip, but the larger man did gain a nod from the woman. Toji’s muscular frame towered down as he reached up Y/N’s skirt to tug the lace panties she wore down. Her underwear dangled from her ankle as he would kneel down between her legs. His plush lips littered kisses on the inside of her thighs. Toji felt under an intense spell when he got a whiff of Y/N’s sweet scent. It was a scent of home, something he had no clue what was with his delusional family back in Japan. She had the scent of warmth and sweetness. He’d grown to love it so much when he started to spend more time with her.

“Toji..” Y/N let out a shaky breath while she was squirming under his touch. Which only led to Toji’s arms pinning her still. It was like pinning a paper doll together with small pins so it won't fall apart. “We’re going to get caught.”

“Not if you keep it down, now please relax. Let me prove it to you,” Toji’s words seem to become less clear to Y/N when she felt the flat of his tongue licking at her puffy lips.

Y/N inhaled nattily as she placed her hand on the wooden desk to hold herself up. Her eyes peered down at Toji who was under her skirt. The lewd sound of him collecting her wetness caused her to chew at her lower lip. She was afraid of letting out any noise. In fear that if they got caught her college years would be over and thrown in the trash. But when she felt Toji’s mouth latch onto her clit, a low yelp escaped her mouth. Y/N’s body fell back onto the wooden desk and her hands desperately tugged her skirt up further around her waist.

Toji’s grip on Y/N thighs only tightened with each second he spent lapping up her arousal like a thirsty lap dog. His nose nuzzled at Y/N’s soft skin as his tongue that lingered with her slick flicked at her clit. His right hand released from holding her thighs open so he could enjoy his meal. Toji’s fingertips traced alongside the inside of Y/N’s thighs. His subtle touch sent a tingle down Y/N’s spine as she grew impatient due to his teasing. Her lips soon gasped apart, feeling Toji’s finger rub at her lips, collecting her wetness with ease. His thumb brushed against his clit and he began to rub circular motions upon it.

Y/N let out a moan at his sudden action before she could feel him insert his index and middle finger into her wet cunt. Her hand went up to muffle her cries while Toji’s fingers gradually pumped through her. Y/N let out a string of moans before her hand grasped at Toji’s black strands of hair. Her groans of pleasure were like music to Toji’s ears. Like his dog, Taichi’s ears shot up in excitement when he was happy. Toji’s ears burn with so much heat, hearing her sweet moans.

He pulled forward to latch onto her clit while his fingers moved inside her. His tongue slurped up any wetness that leaked out of her cunt. He continued to push his fingers inside her with ease. The lewd sound of Y/N’s wetness coating his fingers caused Toji to grow even harder in his jeans. Curling his fingers slightly to attempt to hit that one spot that caused her toes to curl, Toji’s nose was nuzzling at the soft skin upon her pussy—her pubes tickling his nose, but he didn’t care.

“Toji…I’m going to cum.” Y/N moaned out as her back arched off the wooden desk.

When she felt his fingers pull out of her, she felt empty. She mentally wanted to yell at herself for letting him have such power over her. Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she watched him again stand on his feet. Her cunt was desperate to feel him inside her once again.

“Stand up and turn around,” Toji commanded.

The dominance that lingered off his tongue caused Y/N to stand up immediately. Before turning around, Toji tugged her in for a kiss. His tongue slides down her throat with so much aggression. When he pulled back suddenly, he said to her, “Wanted you to taste how amazing you taste to me.”

Y/N’s cheeks burnt with so much heat before she twirled around, urging him to fill her up again. Her hands were on the desk, waiting for Toji’s girth to stretch her out. She could feel his large hands gripping the flesh of her butt before he pushed her back down. Y/N could feel Toji’s plump tip brush against her entrance. A soft whine escaped her lips. “T, stop teasing.”

She knew Toji was smirking behind her before he pushed himself inside her. Her lips parted apart as she felt him stretch her fully. Despite the two having sex many times, each time, she still found herself gasping like an idiot at his size. Toji was eager to rock his hips forward to feel the addicting way her walls clenched around her. His fingertips rubbed random shapes on her waist, waiting for her to give him the go-to continue. “Relax, Y/N. I got you, baby girl,” Toji says.

Y/N relaxed under Toji’s touch before she began to back herself upon his waist. She could hear Toji chuckle before he cooed at her like some superior. “Look at you, getting a bit desperate.” He expresses.

Toji began to roll his hips upon her ass. The pornographic sound of their skin slapping against each other only boosted Toji’s ego even more. His thrusts grew more aggressive with each moan that escaped Y/N’s mouth. How his name rolled off her tongue caused his brain to go fuzzy. Or maybe it was the way her pussy clenched around him like a perfectly fitted glove. Either or was driving him insane at the moment. His large hands gripped at her ass as he lunged forward some more. “Fuck..” He uttered to himself.

Toji’s eyes looked down at Y/N. He realized how beautiful Y/N looked right now. Her fucked out expression was a stunning sight to see. Her lip gloss was smudged across her lips, tears spilling out her eyes, and gosh, those moans. They were beautiful to Toji.

Toji would prompt Y/N’s leg on the desk so he could thrust deeper inside her drooling cunt. His larger form hunched over hers as he’s rocking his hips forward in a rhythmic motion. Y/N’s hands flew back to push at Toji’s torso. Her cries echoed in the lecture hall while her briny tears stained her cheeks. “Toji…too much.” Y/N mewled.

Toji chews at his lower lip as he grabs Y/N’s hands to place upon her butt to spread herself wider for him. “It’s too much, but I can feel your pussy squeeze around me with each thrust, so what’s the truth, baby?” He cooed as his hips bucked forward to place kisses upon her cervix.

The only thing Y/N could let out was a string of moans of his name. Her drool decorated the wooden desk below her as he fucked her practically dumb. Which only led to the growing sensational pit forming at the bottom of her abdomen. When Toji glanced down, seeing how Y/N’s pussy swallowed him whole, he was close to telling the woman he was in love.

“Look at that; you’re taking it so well, baby girl.” He praised.

When Toji felt Y/N’s walls clutch around him, he knew he was close to tumbling down with her. His hips rocked into the soft flesh of Y/N’s ass. Toji let out a low groan as he could feel his balls grow heavy and tight. His fingernails dug into her waist as his thrusts grew slowly and sloppier. Toji’s larger frame hunched over as he could feel himself cum. His thick cum splattered upon Y/N’s walls while his mouth uttered an exhausted groan.

“T....” Y/N moaned as she could feel him slowly tug himself out of her. Her chest was rising, and embarrassment waved over her body. The young woman tried to process everything while her legs still felt like a fresh bowl of jello.

Toji had zipped his pants right up. His forearm went up to wipe the sweat that lingered on his forehead. He would lean down, pulling Y/N’s underwear back on her. A cocky smirk displayed on his face as he got a glimpse of his cum dripping out of her addicting cunt.

“You’re so annoying,” Y/N uttered as she turned to face him.

With a cheeky grin on his face, Toji tugged her skirt down. “You love it, though. Now let’s go.” He says as he’s leaning down to collect his book bag and soon extends his hand to her.

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked. “Plus, we still have class, you know?”

“I’ll get a doctor to write us a doctor’s note.” Toji bluntly admitted. “Now let’s get some food, and you a plan b.” His index finger tapped at Y/N’s nose, and she could only roll her eyes at his behavior.

“You’re so annoying.” She repeated once again, but she grabbed hold of his hand so he could lead her out of the lecture hall.

It was something about Toji Zenin that caused the young woman’s heart to flutter. But she had to remind herself that getting even more tangled with him would only hurt her in the end.

TAGS — @maydayaisha @eiflawriting @takemichiluvr @stunnababyyabyyy @suunmic @neesiewrote @potofstewie @lacy111 @pocketfulofposies @destiiny-prtt @animetypagirlsstuff @sexbob-ombbeck @hyuene @rindouzfav @lostwanderr @comatosebunny09 @chosoguapo @melaninmight @lunarecilpse @thirstyforjeann @blueparadis @syomi @soumies @pyrusplantae @510hz @angelwa @diorlov3er @kiraricard @si00p @airheqds @getosbunny @atesumu @dark-night-hero @venusflytrapstar @sirenh4ll @vqmpirw

[izvmimi]

cw: palace drama au. multiple wives. fem!reader. brief explicit sex, minors dni.

the emperor takes the throne at the ripe age of 20 years old.

this is a good age to rise to power, auspicious according to all celestial calendars, all manners of prophecy and predictions of the wise. he’s proven himself blessed with brain and brawn, enough to overshadow his reputation to be quick to anger. quick thinking accounts for a quick temper, they say, and bakugou katsuki is nothing if not brilliant and quick to decide and act.

the emperor's harem is decided for him, however, because he is too young to choose, say his advisors. either way, the new emperor cares very little about matters of the flesh - or at least this is what he hopes his subjects believe- and with a bare bones list of specifications, five concubines are selected at the time of his ascension, and of them, you are possibly the most nervous.

after all, the flame emperor seems to hate you at first glance.

the other palace ladies are graceful enough that you seem barely above the benchmark of decency, and you can tell he’s questioning how you were selected in the first round of consorts by his extended glance, to which you bow your head respectfully. he doesn’t seem to study the rest as intensely as he does you after all. you aim to let yourself fade into the background as the ceremony continues, burdened by your own internal ruler to which you can never measure up and the heaviness of your elegant robes. even if you know that you are beautiful, the emperor is duly blessed by heaven with chiseled features, a sharp regard and hair as bright as the sun. it is enough to be seen as a potential match for him even if among many.

imagine your surprise when you are first to attend his chambers.

skin warm, damp and fragrant from a bath of milk, honey and jasmine, your heart races as you are presented clothed in white silk to the man who is both your husband and your sovereign. you don't dare raise your eyes, brain still befuddled as to why you are first. first is an honor. first implies that you've charmed him. first means...

he calls your name.

you look up quickly from your knelt position, and have not realized he approached you in your tremulous thoughts, even if you would have believed earlier that the very ground trembled as he walked. he's before you now, sitting on the edge of the bed, in silk pants that leave very little left to the imagination. the apples of your cheek warm again; with his chest bare, you're reminded that the once prince was also a budding general, a few scant scars betraying all the skirmishes he's lived through. his face is still beautiful in the dim, flickering light of hundreds of lit candles.

he calls your name again, and you apologize.

"my emperor, please forgive me for my airheadedness."

he seems to merely roll his eyes at you but even the gesture seems somewhat kind.

"tell me where you're from."

you try to think of where to start first but he takes your hand and pulls your from where your knees sink into plush, ornate pillows.

"sit first."

beside him, he means.

your heart thumps again as you think of how the night will end. women older than you have told you many different things about your wedding night, how long it may last, if he'll bother to hold you, if it'll fit...

the emperor doesn't satisfy any of your expectations because that night is spent talking until the last candle burns out.

---

katsuki doesn't sleep with you that night, or the next night, or the night after that. the other concubines frequent his bedchambers and you wonder, but no one will lay and tell, whether it's a manner of propriety or simply to not reveal the emperor's favor. after all, titles have not been given yet, not one of you has a title above 'wife' or a new name bestowed on them out of affection. you try to determine favor out of a tell-tale crinkle of the eye as he looks upon the five of you at dinner, or if there is too much mirth in one of your sisters' smiles. there is nothing.

months pass.

katsuki's hand will idly find solace in yours as he uses the other to read through a scroll, he allows you to snuggle closer as you sleep when attending him, but still he never asks to bed you truly anymore than letting you actually inhabit his bed. you wonder if he doesn't actually like women, and you would not care either way, as long as he had some affection for you. when his fingers intertwine with yours for a moment, you hope he may pull it to his lips and kiss, and perhaps there will be... something to fill this yearning, and yet nothing. in fact seconds pass, and his fingers unlink with yours. he gives you a glance, and you look up at him, hoping the desire is not too obvious in your eyes.

the red stare is a little too intense tonight and for a moment, he cups your cheek gently. you know not to return the favor. he whispers something under his breath, and you whisper his name back. you hold each other's gazes, and something thick forms between the two of you, husband and wife.

and then air dissipates. you are emperor and concubine again. he bids you good rest, and turns to blow out the last candle, and the two of you slumber.

---

a year of reign has passed and your well of lust has somehow not run dry. instead it's been replaced with a different type of want - you think less about how how handsome he is or how broad his shoulders are, or how soft his skin may feel against yours, but rather his voice as it laughs at one of your jokes and the way he sneezes. the awkward way he holds his writing utensils rubs off of on you, and he asks you about your family then arrives to speak to them when they come to visit you. you're unable to see the way the remaining concubines look at you as you start to spend more nights curled up by his side, and once you see the sneer of the boldest concubine as you arrive to the harem's meeting chamber, you care less about that and more about the fact that katsuki has curled up into your chest and reminds you that it's the softest, sweetest place he knows.

the favor has creeped into your lap the same way you now creep into his as he briefs himself for the bureaucracy of the next morning. he asks you what you think, and presses his chin on your shoulder as you answer. you allow yourself to disagree, he allows himself to kiss you.

a year and a day passes and he whispers,

"i love you"

into the darkness.

you ask him when, and he tells you the day he met you.

you ask him why he waited for so long to let himself hold you like this as your leg wraps around his waist, and your naked, vulnerable bodies press together, your suckled-on breasts flush to his skin. you want to know why he only chooses now to hold you, after you've needed him for so long, why he only marks you with nibbles to your collarbone and neck that won't disappear even with your chambermaid's best makeup tricks now despite having claim to you the day he obtained the throne.

he kisses you, and as the taste of his lips and tongue linger on yours, he says,

"beauty that sinks ships, grace that scatters birds, charm that drives men mad... i couldn't give myself to you so soon."

your breath holds in your throat and he holds you tighter.

"i wanted to trust you with the rational part of me, the same way my foolish heart did."

you're connected now, his warmth and your warmth slotted together like pieces of a puzzle.

"you wanted to love me as a woman, not a duty," you say, voice softened as you take his length inside you. your arms reach for him as he flips so that he's above you. his forehead presses to yours as he nestles deep.

"i wanted to call you my empress when i really meant it."

[inkyquince]

just thinking about Harper making some money on the side, being visited by men, unhappy with their wives, and paid to make them... Happy. Less nagging, more open to sex, suddenly likes more of his hobbies. The usual, and then the ones which have an increased fee. Making them they they're dog women, a craving for cum from all men they meet, wanting to whip their husbands and step on them. Hey, whatever floats their boats.

characters. harper the doctor.

cw. hypnotism, brief fingering, lots of talking about harper in the asylum and stalking the reader, reader being a neglected house wife. afab reader

notes. legit one person has asked for me to make a VGen account and ngl I legit think it's a really good idea, so this is my horny post for that.

So, when he was visited by your husband, he was a tad miffed. Just a tad.

He remembered you. You were so sweet, so nice to everyone, even to Eden and Bailey. You probably didn't have an enemy in that entire school. Didn't mean you weren't... A little oblivious though. Yeah, you never knew your up-skirt pictures were spread around. He even watched Niki slip his camera from his pocket and darted it forward while you were walking up the stairs. Your locker was broken into every now and then, which you put down to Bailey fighting some poor schmuck in the hallway and slamming them into the metal. You'd never suspect him of being the one to jimmy the lock and snooping through your things. Even snuck into the locker room to steal a pair of your underwear. Calming you and asking what was wrong as you stammered and looked humiliated was the icing on top, your panties burning a whole in his pocket. Of course, that was the same pair his mother had found when doing his laundry and had been the last straw. He was sent away shortly afterwards.

So, he could only half pay attention to your husband's complaints about you, his hand taking notes on instinct as he remember the smell of your shampoo as he sat behind you in History, the sound you make when you realized your bra was showing through the wet fabric after he spilled water on you. Good memories.

The only thing he could focus on was that he would be able to see you again soon. So, when he did finally look at your husband's list, his fingers twitched, the plastic of his pen creaking. Wasn't engaging with sex, crying at night, depressing him, wasn't engaging with his hobbies, your own interests were boring to him, not wanting to be lent out to his boss to get him that promotion.

This wasn't what you were supposed to be like when you were older. Harper had it all planned out. He was going to marry you right when you two had graduated. Live with his parents while he did his further studies, maybe you'd also want to do something. Live in the attic, planning to get a house on Danube street. Big wedding, so everyone knows that he got you, he got you, despite people calling him a stalker, a creep. Sex and kisses and fingering and christening every room in the house. Dinners with work friends and school friends and your friends and his friends. You two would die at the same time.

Then he was sent away and you were punished with being married to this man. You couldn't have picked him willingly.

But after long last, he had your address in hand. And an appointment, while your husband was out golfing. The house looked like what he'd imagined. Tended to, pretty. Even the doorbell was how he knew it'd be.

Your face upon seeing him was strange. An automatic smile for a stranger, then slow realization.

"... Harper?" You squeaked out, keeping one hand on the doorknob. "I thought you were still-"

"Oh, no no." He smiled at you, drinking you in deeply. You were still so perfect. Older, more sad, a look of worry that he never saw before, but oh-so perfect. "That was a whole misunderstanding. It was horrible. You know my mother ended it after she realized what she'd done?"

Your mouth parted in shock. Harper felt his facade slipping, having blurted out the excuse he was preparing since he was still in his old room, padded walls and high ceilings. Stupid.

"Sorry." He murmured, low, taking a moment to glance down and look at you through his blond eyelashes. "I didn't mean to say that. It's just been forever since I got to see a friend."

Finally. Your expression melted a bit.

"... How did you find me? I... My parents made sure none of my details would be released to-"

Of course. Your parents. You'd never hide anything from him.

"Oh, no, no. I didn't even know it was you I was going to be seeing. Your husband came to me."

The change in your expression was instantaneous. Your face crumpled, even if you tried to hide it, but it's what finally did the trick. The door opened and you allowed him in. Harper locked the door behind himself with a small smile before morphing his expression into something softer, caring. You barely made it to the kitchen table before beginning to cry. He didn't listen to your words as you blubbered against his shoulder, talking about your husband, he could only rejoice in holding you again.

Then he began his work. Made you a special cup of tea, started talking about the joys of his work, letting people fall into a trance so they could unburden themselves freely to him, so he could know the best course of treatment and counseling. You listened quietly, with your head tilted a bit, just the way he remembered.

It wasn't a surprise that you agreed. He was good at talking, like all that time ago. You mumbled something, the tea already taking affect. Harper grinned and cupped your face in his hands, part of him hating the glazed look to your eyes, but a... Larger, throbbing part of him loving it.

"Your husband isn't very interesting, is he?" He murmured, low and gentle. "No, I don't even think you like him. You always liked me more, didn't you? Even when you believed those lies, it excited you that I liked you that much. That I was the only person alive who could ever love you that much."

He pressed a slow kiss to your lips, sighing softly against your mouth. You made a soft noise. It was cute.

"You married him because you knew I was the only one, didn't you? But you feel bad about that now, don't you?"

You nodded weakly.

"You don't even like him. He doesn't get you wet, not like I do. You liked to think about me inside of you instead, even on your wedding night. You don't have to be embarrassed, I know. I always know. You love that about me. You don't want to sleep with him anymore."

You whined softly, shifting in your seat, like you used to do when you were called on by your favorite teacher in school. Harper frowned. His nails bit into your skin.

"In fact, after so long being forced into by him, you don't think you could stomach anyone but me sliding in-between those legs. Your pussy loves me so much, doesn't it?" Harper could feel himself get harder, pre-cum already staining his underwear. "No, you can't even think about me without getting wet. You've missed me so much."

You nodded hazily, wetting your bottom lip with your tongue and slowly focusing on his lips. Even tilting your chin up, as if wanting a kiss from him.

"So, you'll start coming to session with me. Lie to him, tell him anything you want to, but you'll be with me. That's when we can figure out how to cut him loose so we can be together. Forever?"

Harper couldn't help himself, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, immediately slipping his tongue in to drag against your teeth before pulling away. He was far more interested in checking something else. His fingers buried themselves into your underwear, greedily feeling you, your aroused little clit, your hole that was dripping wet. His own cock strained against his trousers.

"Oh, there you are." He murmured, before slipping his fingers free and tucking them into his mouth. Harper couldn't help but moan at the taste, but he had to hold himself back.

No, he decided, when he kissed you again and got his things, even with you clinging to his sleeve, that this was going to be done properly.

Kofi

AO3

VGen (https://vgen.co/inkyquince)

[synamartia]

“ No Strings Attached . . . „

“ I'll have you begging for more . . . „

synopsis ┊ ◜ You always dreamed of having a family of your own; the loving spouse, a couple of kids, maybe a pet or two - the whole nine yards. After spending years being unable to find a suitable match, and with your biological clock ticking, you decide to cut out the loving spouse and skip straight ahead to parenthood on your own. But when you discover how expensive alternative family planning methods can be, you're convinced by a friend to let a donor impregnate you the old-fashioned way - no strings attached . . . ◞ wc ┊ ◜ 6,817 ◞ warnings ┊ ◜ Adam x Reader ✧ Afab!Reader ✧ No pronouns or Y/N used ✧ Human!AU ✧ Explicit / 18+ Only / MDNI ✧ Sexual situations ✧ Breeding kink ✧ Dirty talk (you will never convince me that Adam is the quiet type in bed) ✧ Unprotected sex ✧ Creampie ✧ Prostitution (if you squint real hard) ✧ Teeny mentions of roofies and sexual assault (dialogue only; no actions) ✧ Sexting ✧ Vaginal fingering◞ notes ┊ ◜ I had so much trouble trying to figure out who fit this prompt best, and as much as I would love to have a bit more variety in my fics, my heart keeps leading me back to Adam. Go check out our masterlist and be sure to show how much you appreciate all the hard work my lovely wives are putting into this collab~! They're working their asses off to feed us so well - let them know how thankful you are for their dedication to the provisions of our wet dreams~! <3 ◞ links ┊ ◜ syn's masterlist ✧ coven kinktober 2024 ◞

"... and then this fucktard decides he's gonna hop up on stage and try to take my guitar from me in the middle of my fucking set!"

The loud exclamation had you looking around the restaurant, searching for its origin when you noticed the silvery coiffure of your friend at the end of the bar. You raised your hand up in hopes of catching her attention as you tried to squeeze through the small crowd, the buzzing noise of multiple conversations going on all at once drowning out the anxious thoughts racing through your head. "Lute, hey!" you called, weaving around tables and bodies alike when you realized that she wasn't alone.

Sitting on one of the stools was your long-time friend, Lute, and a rather stout, burly looking man in the adjacent seat. Even sitting, it was obvious he was tall, especially when compared to the much smaller frame of your friend. He had a sharp face, his jaw chiseled and nose straight, with skin smooth and free of blemishes save for the cropped patch of facial hair on his pointed chin. His tousled hair was a soft walnut brown, a short shag cut slicked back with a few loose strands hanging down over his forehead. His smile was wide, thin lips stretching across a straight row of pearly white teeth, with lines that told a story of a man that laughed and smiled often.

And his eyes - oh, those eyes. They were narrowed with a hunter's shape, a deep hazel brown with flecks of gold that beckoned you closer with nothing more than a wink and a smile the moment you caught his attention.

By all accounts, he was an attractive man. Under different circumstances, you would have asked Lute to set you up on a legitimate date, see if his personality was as smooth as his appearance.

The closer your feet dragged you to the table, the quicker your heart began to beat at the thought of going through with this. Swallowing hard, you had half a mind to turn right around and walk out, to back out of this meeting she had set up for you and go back to your original plan of finding a suitable life partner. But the thought of going through another string of first dates with someone giving you back-handed compliments all night helped you to steel your resolve and follow through.

"There you are. I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up or not," Lute spoke, pulling you from your thoughts as you approached the bar, heart pounding in your ears as you clutched the strap of your bag close.

"Huh? O-oh, yeah. Right... Sorry, traffic was a bitch. I left fifteen minutes early, but there was an accident on the freeway, so it was very stop and go for a while," you explained with a sheepish grin, sliding your bag over your head and slipping onto the stool next to Lute.

"Oh, tell me about it. I live near Main, ain't no such thing as calm in that hellhole. Always gotta leave at least thirty minutes sooner just to get out of the area," the man spoke, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "And that's on foot. Don't even think about it if you're in a fucking car. Trying to drive down there is a total shit show."

You laughed, silently cursing yourself for your subconscious desire for pathological niceties as you waited to be introduced, anxiety levels making it near impossible for you to say anything else in that moment.

"Yeah, yeah, traffic sucks, whatever," Lute dismissed the topic quickly, pointing a finger at Adam while staring at you. "This is Adam, my boss. He's the guy I was telling you about," she introduced him to you, then you to him as the bartender set a row of three shots down in front of her.

Reaching a hand across Lute, Adam flashed you a cocky smile as you shook it up and down. "Nice to meet ya," he said, reaching for one of the shots and downing it quickly before your friend could protest. Glaring harshly at the much larger man, Lute picked up the remaining two shots and threw them both back before standing up. "Can't believe I set this shit up. Both of you owe me big time," she said, voice laced with annoyance before turning around to make her exit and leaving you flabbergasted at the curt audacity.

You watched as she walked out of the restaurant, the bustle of patrons and work-staff soon swallowing her figure and shielding her from your line of sight. Biting into your bottom lip, you shyly turned back to Adam, unsure of where to begin.

"Well then," he started, shaking his head as you moved to the stool Lute had previously occupied. "I can't say her behavior is surprising. She's always been like that - very short and to the point. Can't say I blame her though; this is a weird ass topic to play third wheel to."

"Hah! Yeah, she can be a real bitch sometimes, but she's still good people. Just... very blunt," you responded, watching as he twisted back and forth on the stool, almost like a child playing with a swivel chair. It was a cute scene, especially for someone with such a no-nonsense type of appearance. Adam raised a hand to call the bartender back over before turning back to you, nodding his head to the assortment of liquors behind the bar. "What'cha drinking? My treat."

"Oh, I'm not drinking," you started. "I can't anyway. I don't have anyone to come pick me up," you explained with a sheepish grin, to which Adam rolled his eyes once more and turned to look at the person on the other side of the bar. "Don't worry about that shit, babe. I'll pay for a taxi if you get too wasted," he reassured you, flashing you a charming smile before ordering a drink you'd never heard of before. It must have been a specialty at this place.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from protesting. As much as you wanted this meeting to be purely transactional, the nature of the topic at hand had frayed every single one of your nerves and left you feeling too embarrassed to look him in the eye - a drink could come in handy and make things a little less awkward. When the bartender set the unknown drink before you, Adam raised a single brow at the uncertainty ever present on your soft features as you simply eyed the glass, leaning forward just enough for you to catch him in your peripheral vision.

"What's the matter? You think I'm gonna try to drug you or take advantage of you?" he asked as you continued to weigh the pros and cons of having a drink with your potential sperm donor. You couldn't help but laugh at the idea of him attempting to slip you something. It was probably a naive thing for you to do by assuming a complete stranger wouldn't try to harm you just because you were here to discuss a deal bordering on prostitution. But Lute had assured you again and again during the days leading up to this meeting that Adam wasn't that type of guy - he was a douche without a filter, sure, but forcing himself on someone while they were vulnerable wasn't his style.

"No. There's no point in doing any of that," waving a hand in the air to dismiss the notion as you reached for the cocktail he had ordered for you, taking a small swig from the glass. "Besides, if Lute trusts you, then you're good in my book."

Adam nodded his head, his grin widening a bit as he placed a hand on his chest. "You flatter me, babe. Where has she been hiding such a pretty little thing like you?" he flirted, eyeing you up and down momentarily as you set the drink down after you remembered why you were here in the first place. Reaching into your bag to pull out a vanilla folder and sliding it to him, you didn't beat around the bush, pushing aside social conventions of small talk and pleasantries. This meeting was meant to be strictly business in nature, so the less words you exchanged with each other, the better. "No small talk? Right down to business, I see. No wonder you two're friends," he added as he reached for the similar looking file sitting on top of the bar.

"Yeah, sorry. I've wasted too much time in the dating pool with nothing to show for it. I'd rather just skip that part now."

"Hey, it's all good. I get it," Adam raised his hands defensively for a moment before pulling out the pre-drafted contract you had passed him and skimming over the first page. He never really bothered to read these things - the legalize was always so confusing, and even when he did read it, his chances of understanding any of it was very low. "Saves me the trouble of trying to impress you to get into your pants later," he joked, to which you laughed back.

Already you were beginning to feel at ease around Adam - though you weren't sure if it was because of his apparent easy-going personality or the drink you were nursing, its fruity taste lingering on the tip of your tongue after each sip. He seemed nice enough. Maybe getting to know him wouldn't be so bad.

'Nope. This isn't a date, date. Can't let myself get distracted,' you told yourself as you pulled the contents of his records out to go over them, searching for the other shoe before it had a chance to drop. Things never went this smoothly for you - if they did, you wouldn't be here trying to pay a complete stranger to fuck a baby into you. Part of you hoped there wasn't one, but experience had taught you there always was - it was more about how big said shoe was going to be. And, based on his looks and his charismatic personality (or what you've seen of it, anyway), it had to be a pretty damn big one.

"So, that's all the medical documents you needed to see. Genetic test results, family history, my last physical, sperm count and all that shit, blah blah blah," Adam explained, waving his hand in the air as he flipped to the next page of the contract. From what he was able to understand so far, there was nothing in it that he had a problem with.

It was a pretty cut and dry contract, detailing the transaction and individual responsibilities of each party along with waivers to parental rights and financial liabilities, dates for when conception should be attempted and how often it should occur. "Everything's looking good over here so far- ... wow, you're a retired veteran? I would have never pegged you for the commander type, you seem so chill," you spoke, glancing up from the paperwork when Adam chuckled at your response.

"Yeah, I get that a lot. It's been years since I was honorably discharged though, so I've had some time to fall out of the stricter regime of military life," Adam explained to you as he flipped to the third page, skimming over the first couple of paragraphs when his eyes zeroed in on one particular clause. Turning to you, he leaned in closer and pointed at the section in question. "You said you wanted this to be a no strings attached type of thing, but this part's gonna make it really fucking boring. The sex is the fun part, so why put restrictions like no foreplay or kissing?" he asked, his voice just a tad louder than necessary and calling the attention of a couple nearby.

Your cheeks heated up when you noticed them staring, lowering your head as you leaned even closer to Adam and whispered, "Shh, keep it down! It's just to make sure things don't get too complicated, is all," you explained, bringing the papers up to hide your face before continuing on. "And besides, I've never had a partner that's made me... you know..." you trailed off shyly, face burning even hotter when you noticed the smirk now plastered on his chiseled features and his laughter flooded your ears, cursing yourself for agreeing to do this in public.

"What's so funny?" you asked when, even after several seconds, his laughter showed no signs of dying down. The embarrassment of such a revelation as well as his laughing was beginning to sting, and the eyes you could feel were glued to your back only made it that much worse. Setting the papers down on the bar top, Adam covered his mouth with one hand and waved the other in the air, trying to stifle his laughter before you could walk out on him then and there.

"I'm sorry, really. I'm not laughing at you, I promise. I'm laughing at those fucking losers that couldn't get you off. It's just- it's so fucking sad," he said in between each breath, his laughter finally dying out before he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning closer so that only you could hear him this time. "Because if it were me, I wouldn't have let you leave the bed until I made you cum on my face at least three times," his voice low and husky, his smirk wide and arrogant as he pulled away. Bringing a hand up to rest his chin against his palm, Adam discreetly stuck his tongue out between two fingers and rapidly wiggled the tip up and down when no one was looking, reveling in the squeak you let out as you tried to cover your face once more.

"Oh my god," you mumbled, hiding your crimson red face behind the documents he had provided you, rubbing your thighs together for some much-needed friction as a damp wetness began to pool between your legs. Adam stared at you for a couple more seconds before he reached for the nearby pen you had clipped to the vanilla envelope. "Save the flattery for after I've made you see heaven, babe," he told you, drawing a line through that particular clause. He then reached for the papers you were hiding behind, pulling them down until they rested flat on the bar top and scribbled something at the top of the page you had been reading.

"Here's my number; I can get yours from Lute. I'll have a lawyer look this over, and we can meet up to make it official after," he promised, handing the pen back to you before leaning in to place a lingering kiss to your left cheek, dangerously close to the corner of your mouth. With another wink of his golden flecked hues, Adam stood up to his full height, giving you a complete idea of just how massive he actually was while tossing some money down for both the drinks and the taxi he had promised you, turning to leave a couple seconds later.

"Be seeing you real soon, sweetheart."

...

Wait, what just happened?

A couple of weeks had gone by since your first meeting, and you had yet to hear from Adam. You couldn't keep him off your mind after that day at the bar, the way he looked at you and how he spoke, his voice thick with honey as he promised to make you see heaven over and over again. Anxious for the contract signing and curious to see if he really could, you found yourself scrolling through his social media during your down time and typing out lengthy messages detailing everything you wanted him to do to you with lewd photos of yourself attached, only to delete it all before pressing send.

With each day that passed, your desire to see him again was getting stronger, turning more desperate with every night he appeared in your dreams. It was becoming borderline obsessive, but it never went further than staring at his picture or watching videos of him when you were touching yourself, imagining it was his hands that were pleasuring you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he pounded into you from behind.

It was ridiculous how easily he managed to wrap you around his finger with just a single line and a wink.

Even now, sitting at your work desk and filling out paperwork, you found Adam worming his way to the front of your mind, sapping your concentration as the voices of your coworkers went in one ear and out the other. Eventually, the words you were writing began to shift to illegible scribbles as you closed your eyes, wondering what he could be doing right now. You felt a sharp pang in your chest when you considered the idea he may have lost interest in your deal, and that was why he hasn't contacted you yet.

Sighing heavily, you slammed your pen down on the desk and reached for your phone, finding his contact immediately. Your patience was running thin at this point. If he did lose interest, why didn't he at the very least message you so that you didn't dwell on him any longer? The whole point of this was to beat the clock, and he was wasting your precious time with his radio silence. And on top of that, you were ovulating, your hormones running rampant and leaving you in a perpetual state of emotional chaos. Ready to give him a piece of your mind, you began to type away furiously while struggling to hold back your tears, teeth sinking into the side of your cheek and leg bouncing rapidly beneath your desk.

But just as you were about to press send, your phone beeped, a new message from Adam popping up as your finger hovered over the send button. Part of you wanted to send the message anyway and not bother to hear his explanation for his ghosting you, but as per usual, your hormones seemed to run the show during this stage in your cycle. You couldn't help yourself.

Scrolling up until the text box was just a singular line, you checked the message he had just sent you. When you opened the attachment, you slammed your phone down the second you saw the picture, making your nearby coworkers jump at the sudden noise. "... You okay?" one asked after a few seconds of silence passed and you hadn't made a single attempt to explain your sudden movements yet. Bringing a hand up to cover your mouth, you nodded slowly as you looked down, wrapping an arm around your lower abdomen as you tried to play it off as menstrual cramps.

"I'm okay! Just cramping a bit, I think I might be on my period," you hurriedly explained as you reached for your purse, not sparing another second for them to ask further questions as you rushed off to the bathroom. "I'm going to lunch! Be back soon!" you exclaimed, your words barely reaching the rest of the group as you had already put a considerable amount of distance between you in your rush for privacy.

Once you reached the bathroom and locked yourself inside one of the privacy stalls, you unlocked your phone again to get a better look at the picture Adam had sent you. Heart pounding in your ears and heat pooling within the gusset of your panties, you studied the shape of his nude body, cursing the redrafted contract he had used to cover up his cock, that arrogant crooked smirk that has haunted your dreams present as he looked directly into the camera.

A: Lawyer's done reviewing the contract. U ready to sign? 😘

With a whine, you hastily deleted your lengthy rage fueled rant from before, instead choosing to send a much shorter response,

Y: Yes!! When and where?? ❤️‍🔥 A: Are you free rn??? I can meet u at the notary's office in 20 Y: Sounds good!! Just went on break, be there soon!

You couldn't control the excited squeal that escaped your throat as you reached for the lock on the stall. Before you could unlock the door though, you stepped back and set both your purse and phone down on the mounted toilet paper rack.

Without thinking about it at all, you reached to pull your hair down and undo your shirt to reveal the lace bra you wore underneath and bunching your skirt around your waist so that your matching panties were showing as well. You picked your phone back up and opened your camera, trying not to think about it so as to avoid losing the confidence to follow through on teasing him back. You took a few snapshots of your scantily clad figure - squeezing your breast in one; dipping your hand beneath the fabric of your panties in another; and taking a few of your bare pussy for good measure, careful not to show your whole face in any of them.

Before you could change your mind, you sent a couple of the best shots you were able to get, setting your phone back down the second the 'sent' note popped up above the images. As you were redressing yourself and raking your hands through your hair to pull it back up, your phone dinged with a new message from Adam lighting up the screen.

A: 🍆💦💦💦 A: Fuck that's hot A: Want you to shove your tits in my face while you ride my dick A: Gonna stuff that pretty pussy so full with my cum baby

Your phone dinged again at the arrival of a new message with an attachment - a video this time. Reaching for your purse, you searched for the earbuds you carried with you, quickly popping them in after making sure the bluetooth was connected and the audio wouldn't play out loud before you opened the attachment.

Slapping a hand over your mouth to stifle a moan of excitement, you watched as Adam slowly pumped his hand along his girth, using the precum that dribbled from his tip as a lubricant, breathy moans coming through your earbuds and making your heart race. If you weren't on a clock right now, you would have stripped back down and fired back with a video of your own.

Unfortunately, you were at work, and in the public bathroom no less. You couldn't do something like that here, lest someone walk in and hear the noises you would make just to torture him a bit more.

Y: Promise? 🥺 A: Ofc ❤️‍🔥 Hurry up and get here. Can't wait much longer, need to feel your pussy gush on my cock Y: omw 🫦💦

You had never sprinted to a car so fast in your adult life.

"... Alright, everything looks to be in order. You both signed, initialed, showed your IDs," the notary seemed to drone on forever, her voice high and nasally as you squirmed in your chair, anxious to get through the signing process. Adam didn't seem bothered at all as he sat next to you, face calm and collected save for that ever-present smirk of his that had you biting your own tongue to keep yourself from shoving it down his throat.

Adam would steal glances at you, winking whenever he managed to catch you staring as he drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, foot tapping to the beat of the song playing in the back of his mind. "Okay. I'll get this filed for you in a jiffy. You'll both get a letter in the mail once the processing is complete and everything's official," the notary informed you, and your heart sank momentarily when you thought you would have to wait to feel his hands on your body.

Just as you opened your mouth to ask the notary how long it would take for the processing to be complete, Adam reached over and placed a hand over yours, signaling for you to drop the issue and follow him out. "Thanks!" he called back, leading you out of the cramped office building and onto the street.

You followed him in silence as he guided you down the busy sidewalk on Main Street, weaving through the crowd so fast you were struggling to keep up with him. "Adam? Where are we going?" you tried to ask over the loud hustle and bustle of the noisy street.

"I told you I can't wait."

Adam had told you twice already, yet still you were shocked by the urgency with which he kissed you the second his front door was locked. Slamming you against the wall and pressing himself into your body, he wrapped his hands around the backs of your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, tongues swirling and teeth clashing as you rushed to undo your buttons.

"Been- ... fuck, been dreaming about this for weeks now," Adam mumbled against your mouth, leveraging you between the wall and his hips as he pulled back far enough to pull his novelty tshirt over his head and discard it somewhere nearby. Rocking back until he was supporting your full weight once more, Adam turned and took a few long strides to the nearby couch, plopping down with you straddling his lap.

"Yeah? Then why'd you wait so long to text me?" you asked breathlessly when you pulled back, pulling your arms free of your dress shirt and carelessly yanking the clip out of your hair to let the tresses cascade freely down your back. "Don't tell me you got shy all of a sudden," you teased, grinding your hips down against his clothed length and pulling a guttural moan from his chest as he guided your hips back and forth.

"H-had to- god that feels good!" he said through his panting, cheeks flushed red and pupils blown wide with arousal. Tracing a hand up the front of your body, Adam gripped the center band of your lace bra and pulled it down until your breasts spilled from the cups. He wasted no time in shoving his face into the valley between your breasts, pressing heated kisses to them and teeth nipping at the tender flesh before hungrily sucking a pert nipple into his mouth, massaging the other with his free hand and eliciting a deep moan from you.

"S'that right, baby? Why?" you asked him in a breathy whisper, your fingers tangling in his mussed-up hair as you pressed your lower half further against the bulge of his worn-down jeans. Adam pulled away from your chest long enough to move to the other one, moaning against the hard bud as his hands trailed down to your skirt, pushing it up to bunch around your waist. Running two fingers along your clothed pussy, Adam smirked against your skin when he felt how wet you had become with so little stimulation before he pulled back again to look up at you.

"'Cause if I hit you up before the contract was done, I was gonna come over to your place and fuck you stupid," he explained, licking a stripe up between your breasts until he was nipping at your jaw. Gripping your hip tightly with one hand, Adam pushed the gusset of your panties to the side and dipped two fingers into your waiting heat, groaning loudly at how easily they glided against your gummy walls thanks to how wet you were. "Ohh fuck, you're so fucking wet and I've barely touched you," he moaned as he pumped his thick digits in and out quickly, setting a rapid pace as your juices dripped down his hand, leaving dark spots on his jeans.

"You weren't the only one dreaming about this, you know," you gasped, bracing yourself against his shoulders as the meat of his palm slapped against your clit each time he pushed back in, the squelching noises of your wet heat filling your ears as the pleasure built twice as quickly. "That so? You been dreaming about my cock?" Adam asked as he sank his teeth into the side of your neck, your cries making his cock jump within the much too tight fabric of his pants. "M-mhmm, fuck please don't stop!" you whined when he slowed down his ministrations, opting instead to press the pad of his thumb to your puffy clit and draw rough circles against the little bud.

Adding a third finger to your dripping core, Adam picked the pace back up when he felt your thighs begin to tremble, realizing that you were already close to a release. If he wasn't so bricked up, he would have slowed down until your orgasm escaped you, but he was just as - if not more - desperate for your touch as much as you were for his. "That's it, baby, let me feel you gush on my fingers," he urged you, reaching down to palm himself through the rough fabric as your nails dug into the bare skin of his shoulders.

Clenching your eyes shut tightly, you lowered your head as you began to grind down against his hand, chasing that elusive high that you could only seem to reach by yourself. You were so close to an orgasm, your first one with a partner and not one of those fake ones to make the other person feel better about themselves. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuh-uuhhck-!" you cried wantonly, rocking your hips back and forth as he pressed his fingers further into your greedy cunt, rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive little bud. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Adam urged you on, pulling away from your neck and staring up at your tensed expression, struggling to move his fingers in and out as you began to clench around them, grip tight and unrelenting.

A few more pumps of his fingers and a couple more hard circles drawn on your clit, and you were throwing your head back in a silent cry, your walls fluttering around his girthy digits, refusing to let him pull back even a single centimeter as your orgasm crashed into you like a freight train. After what seemed like forever, you finally released the breath you didn't realize you had been holding, chest heaving as your lungs sucked in air and your vision began to clear as you came down from one of the most intense orgasms you've experienced yet. Grip loosening on his shoulders, you tilted your head down to look at Adam, a groan falling from your lips when you saw him greedily sucking your fluids from his fingers.

Catching your gaze, Adam pulled his fingers from his mouth and swiped at your oversensitive pussy, collecting more of your fluids before reaching up and pressing the pads of his fingers against your lips. "Open," he commanded you, and you wordlessly obeyed, letting him push his slick covered digits into your mouth and press against your tongue, sucking harshly as you hummed around them. "Shit, that's so fucking hot," he moaned as he pulled back his hand, grabbing you by the hips and pushing you off of him to stand up and undo his belt.

Turning to look over your shoulder at him, you bent over until you were on your hands and knees, wiggling your ass just to tease him that little bit as he frantically unzipped his pants and pushed them and his boxers down to his knees. "Gonna make good on your promise to fill me up?" you asked innocently, biting your bottom lip as you felt the couch sink in when he knelt down behind you.

Chuckling in response to your tease, Adam bent over your form to whisper in your ear. "Oh I'll do more than just make good on my promise," he told you, supporting his weight with one arm on the back of the couch as he lined himself up with your slick entrance. Placing several messy kisses to the nape of your neck and shoulders, Adam straightened himself out as he rubbed the tip of his weeping cock against your folds, groaning at the warmth that enveloped it when he pushed in just slightly. He wanted so badly to drag this first time out with you, but the absolute hunger, the animalistic desire coursing through his veins in that moment sapped every ounce of self-control he possessed.

"M'gonna stuff you so good, make you scream-" a grunt interrupted his speech when he suddenly slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your warm wet walls in one swift motion, "-my fucking name while you cum on my fucking cock!" Retracting his hips until only the tip remained inside, you whimpered at the emptiness you felt until he was driving his hips forward again, pelvis slapping against the fat of your ass as he repeated the action over, and over, and over again, knocking the breath from your lungs each time his wide girth stretched your gummy walls open.

"Oh, f-fuck!" you gasped every time, pressing one hand against the armrest of the couch to find some purchase as you tried to push back against him each time he thrust forward, his hands holding you by the hips tightly, grunting each time your tight pussy wrapped around his aching cock. "Yeah, that's it baby, push back on it, just like that, fuck!" he groaned, speeding up as he watched your ass bounce with each slap of his hips, ripples rolling through the fat each time he drilled himself impossibly deeper into your core.

"S-shit, pussy's so fucking good, barely even started and you're making me wanna cum already!" he grunted through gritted teeth, delivering a hard slap to your ass cheek before caressing the spot where he struck you, repeating the action several times and pulling loud squeals of pain mixed with pleasure from your throat. "Oh fuck me, Adam, harder, please!" you begged, nails digging into the faux leather of his worn-down couch, that coil in the pits of your belly tightening faster than the first time he made you cum.

Strings of profanities spilled from both your lips as he fucked into you at a brutal pace, the rhythmic 'pap, pap, pap!' sound of skin on skin bounced off the walls and drowned out any noise coming from outside. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, fuck, give it to me!" you begged, losing yourself in the pleasure and clenching your eyes shut as Adam felt that familiar flutter of your walls, signaling your release. Reaching up, he wrapped one hand beneath your jaw and pulled up slightly, pressing his other hand down into the small of your back and forcing you into a deep arch as he ground his hips into yours, making minute thrusts as he arched himself over your contorted figure just enough for you to see his face.

"You want it? Y'want my fucking cum, baby? Yeah?" he asked through his grunting and groaning, delivering another slap to the round globe of your already reddened ass cheek as he delivered minute thrusts now, heavy balls slapping against your puffy clit each time he thrust forward. "Yes, please, I want it, I want it so bad Adam!" you begged, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you felt the first tethers of that coil snapping in your belly, your walls clamping down on his cock as he brought his hand around to rub fast circles against your clit.

Sweat dripped down his forehead as he felt his balls tighten and that urge to let loose everything he'd been holding back for the past two weeks becoming painfully unbearable by the second. "Okay, I'll give it to you," Adam started, releasing your chin and letting your body fall out of the arch as he grabbed onto your hip once more, his other hand still rubbing determined shapes into your overstimulated clit. "But not until you cum for me! 'm not gonna give you my cum until I feel you gush around my fucking cock!" he told you, groaning loudly as he desperately clung to some semblance of control, wanting to feel you quiver and shake one more time before he let himself be swallowed up by the pleasure your sweet pussy offered him.

It only took a couple more thrusts before you were doing exactly what Adam was telling you, walls constricting around his hardened length almost painfully and your vision going white, a searing pleasure ripping through your being as your essence dripped down your thighs and his, shaking violently as you struggled to hold yourself up. Adam praised you, talking you through your high as his pace quickened even more, chasing that high, determined to deliver on his earlier promise. "Oh fuck, that's it, take my fucking cum! Take it baby, take it, take it!" he beckoned, his grunts growing higher in pitch as his own release barreled towards him at an unbelievable speed.

With one final thrust, Adam was pushed over the edge and he emptied his load into your quivering hole, lurching forward to catch himself on the arm of the couch and not crush you beneath his substantially larger form, his abs clenching beneath the thin layer of fat with each pulse of his hot seed into your welcoming cunt.

Back pressed against his heaving chest, you reached behind yourself once you found your strength again and tangled your fingers in the damp mess of hair atop his head. Craning your neck, you tried to pull him close enough to place tender kisses to his face, but the angle he had you in was too deep for you to get much further that his bicep when he wrapped his arm around your upper torso. With a groan, Adam eventually pulled you up against his chest and plopped back, his half hard cock still seated deep within your pussy as he tried to catch his breath, littering your shoulders and back with tender kisses of affection.

"Fuck... what time did you say you had to be back by?" Adam asked suddenly after several moments of content silence, reaching for his phone that had fallen haphazardly from his back pocket when he pushed his pants down.

Swallowing hard, your throat felt dry as you tried to gather your senses enough to answer his question, glancing over at the digital face of his phone as the time flashed brightly for you to see. If you hadn't just had the most mind-blowing sex of your life, you might have been a little bit concerned by how late your "lunch" was running. "I was supposed to be back thirty-seven minutes ago," you rasped, to which Adam chuckled as he tossed his phone onto the nearby coffee table. He wrapped both arms around your waist, holding you close and refusing to remove himself from your core, remembering the deal that had brought you two in the first place.

"Well, shit. Didn't mean to keep you from your work," he said, his tone apologetic as he nipped at the discolored flesh of your neck where he had sucked hickies into your otherwise flawless skin. A light laugh tumbled from your throat as you craned your neck once again, this time pulling him forward just slightly so that you could place a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his lips, your nails scratching lightly at his scalp and eliciting a low moan from him at the pleasure.

"It's okay. I have sick leave. I'll call them and say I got food poisoning, or something," you rasped, coughing slightly at the pain in the back of your throat. Reassured by your quick thinking, Adam smiled into the kiss before he unwrapped his arms from around your body, lifting you by your hips until his spent cock was pulled from the warmth of your core, moving you off of him entirely a second later so that he could get you a cup of water. Standing up, Adam reached down to pull his pants up, stuffing himself back inside his boxers as he walked to the nearby kitchen and letting you sink back into the cushions of his couch comfortably.

"And what about the contract?" Adam called from the kitchen, to which you hummed, sleep closing in fast with how spent your body was. "What if you wind up pregnant before the contract goes into effect?" he asked once he returned, offering a plastic blue cup filled to the brim with water to you. Thanking him with a nod, you didn't hesitate in taking the cup from him, swallowing several large gulps before you offered it back to him. Adam finished off what was left before he moved you forward to squeeze himself behind you once again, tracing lightly his fingers over the sweaty skin of your face and through your hair.

...

"... We lie?"

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