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solxamber · 20 days ago

Note

Waaaah Cuteness aggression was so cool! Could you make a part 2 with Malleus, Rook, Lilia and Jamil? Thos Boys deserve all the love there is and I think the scenario would be funny. xD

Hope ur well and drink some water 💕

Cuteness Agression with: Malleus, Rook, Lilia, Jamil, Riddle, Leona

Part 1 with: Idia, Cater, Octatrio

a/n: requests are closed but the concept was so cute that i can't control myself lmao and added Riddle and Leona cause i'm down bad. and thank you and i will <3

Malleus Draconia

Malleus Draconia was intimidating to most people. To you, however, he was simply too cute for his own good.

His regal demeanor, the way his eyes gleamed in the moonlight, the slight tilt of his head when he was curious—it all triggered an overwhelming, uncontrollable urge to smother him in affection. Of course, being in a relationship with the crown prince of Briar Valley came with expectations. Decorum. Restraint.

You ignored all of that entirely.

The first time it happened, you’d been walking together through the gardens late at night. Malleus was pointing out constellations, his voice low and melodic, when he glanced at you, his lips curling into a soft smile.

“Do you not find the stars enchanting?” he asked, his tone gentle.

It wasn’t the stars that enchanted you, though. It was him—his sharp features softened by the glow of fireflies, his kind, unguarded expression.

“Uh-huh, yeah, stars,” you said distractedly, before grabbing his wrist. “Malleus, come here.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Is something the matter?”

“Yeah. You’re too cute.”

Before he could protest, you dragged him off the path and into the shade of a tree.

“What are you—”

“You’ll understand,” you muttered, cupping his face and smothering him in kisses.

His breath hitched at first, his body stiffening, but he quickly melted into the affection. “Child of man, I—”

“Kisses now. Talking later,” you said, planting another kiss on the tip of his nose.

When you finally pulled away, Malleus looked utterly dazed. His cheeks were faintly flushed, his pupils blown wide, and for once, he seemed at a loss for words.

“…You are quite... spirited,” he managed after a moment. “I was unaware my presence inspired such... fervor.”

“Fervor? I call it love,” you said with a grin, pressing one last kiss to his jaw.

Malleus chuckled, the sound warm and low. “If this is your way of expressing love, I find it most agreeable.”

It became a regular occurrence after that. Anytime Malleus did something you found unbearably endearing—which was often—you’d whisk him away for a smothering session.

When he brought you a bouquet of perfectly arranged roses with a rare flower from Briar Valley nestled in the center? You kissed him until he forgot how to form words.

When he tilted his head in that adorable, inquisitive way, asking, “Why does Sebek insist on shouting so often?” You had to physically restrain yourself from dragging him into the nearest alcove right then and there.

Even when he was just being his usual princely self, you couldn’t help it. The way he carried himself with quiet dignity, his cloak billowing behind him like something out of a fairy tale—it all made your heart practically explode.

One particularly memorable moment occurred in the middle of a ceremony. Malleus, dressed in his ceremonial robes, stood tall and composed, his expression serene. But then, he caught your eye from across the room and gave you the tiniest smile.

That was it. Your brain short-circuited.

You grabbed his hand the moment the ceremony ended. “Malleus. Now.”

“Is something urgent?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Yes. You’re too cute and I’m about to lose my mind,” you whispered, dragging him behind a pillar.

“Child of man, we are still in public—”

“Shh,” you said, cupping his face and peppering kisses all over it.

Malleus froze for a moment before sighing, his hands settling on your waist. “You are relentless,” he murmured, though his tone was fond.

“And you love it,” you replied, grinning against his cheek.

“…That, I cannot deny,” he admitted, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple in return.

Despite his initial confusion, Malleus seemed to delight in your affection.

One evening, as you sat together in the Ramshackle lounge, he watched you with a soft, amused expression. “Do you truly find me so... endearing?”

“You have no idea,” you said, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s criminal.”

Malleus chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Then I shall endeavor to remain... criminally endearing for you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. “You’re too perfect,” you muttered, leaning in to kiss him again.

“And yet, it is I who am fortunate,” Malleus replied softly, holding you close.

If anyone had told you that the fearsome prince of Briar Valley would be so utterly smitten with your relentless affection, you wouldn’t have believed them. But here he was, letting you smother him in kisses without a single complaint.

To Malleus, your love was as enchanting as the stars he so often spoke of. And to you, he was the brightest star of all.

Rook Hunt

Rook Hunt was accustomed to being noticed. Whether it was the way he carried himself with theatrical elegance or the poetic way he spoke, most people couldn’t help but take notice. But you—you were something else entirely.

You didn’t just admire him; you practically vibrated with cuteness aggression every time he flashed that dazzling smile.

The first time it happened, you and Rook were in the woods behind Pomefiore. He’d just finished a long-winded, flowery description of the autumn foliage, his emerald eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, when he turned to you with an expectant smile.

“Mon trésor, do you not find it magnifique?” he asked, gesturing to the fiery canopy above.

You didn’t even look at the trees. “You’re magnifique,” you blurted, already grabbing his wrist.

His brows lifted. “Ah? What is this sudden passion?”

“You’re too cute, Rook. I can’t take it,” you said, pulling him behind a cluster of trees.

“Ah, je suis flatté! But—” His words were cut off as you cupped his face and started pressing kisses all over it.

“Do you have any idea how unfair it is to look this good all the time?” you muttered between kisses.

Rook, to his credit, didn’t resist. Instead, he let out an amused laugh, his hands settling on your shoulders. “Ma chérie, you honor me with such fervent affection. I am truly overwhelmed!”

“Good,” you said, kissing the tip of his nose for emphasis.

When you finally pulled away, Rook’s cheeks were flushed, and his grin was impossibly wide. “Quelle passion! You are truly a marvel, mon amour.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you muttered, dragging him back to the trail. “Just stop being so cute, or I’ll do it again.”

“Ah, a most delightful threat!” he said, his laugh echoing through the woods.

It became a regular occurrence. Anytime Rook did something you deemed unbearably charming—which was often—you’d whisk him away for a smothering session.

When he recited impromptu poetry about the way the sunlight danced on your hair? You grabbed his hand and dragged him into an empty classroom.

When he surprised you with a bouquet of hand-picked wildflowers and a heartfelt sonnet? You tackled him onto the nearest bench and kissed him until you were both breathless.

Even when he was just lounging in the Pomefiore lounge, reading a book with his legs crossed in that infuriatingly graceful way, you’d have to physically restrain yourself from interrupting him.

One particularly memorable instance occurred in the Mostro Lounge. You were sitting with Rook and the rest of your friends, enjoying a rare moment of calm, when Rook leaned over to whisper something in your ear.

“You look radiant tonight, mon amour,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

That was it. Your brain short-circuited.

“Rook. Come with me,” you said, grabbing his hand.

“Ah, but our companions—”

“They’ll survive,” you said, dragging him out the door.

When you reached a quiet hallway, you pushed him against the wall and immediately started peppering his face with kisses.

“Mon dieu,” Rook gasped, though his grin was nothing short of delighted. “You are relentless, ma chère!”

“And you love it,” you said, punctuating your words with a kiss to his cheek.

“That is true,” he admitted, his hands resting lightly on your waist. “Your passion is as boundless as the stars themselves.”

Rook, ever the romantic, seemed to thrive on your bouts of affection.

One day, as you sat together on the steps of Ramshackle Dorm, he turned to you with a curious expression. “Tell me, mon amour, what is it about me that inspires such... ferocity?”

You paused, considering his question. “Everything,” you said finally. “The way you talk, the way you smile, the way you somehow make everything look effortlessly elegant. It’s infuriating, Rook.”

He laughed, his eyes shining with amusement. “Ah, to be adored so fiercely—it is a privilege I do not take lightly.”

“You better not,” you said, leaning in to kiss him again.

Rook sighed contentedly, his arms wrapping around you. “Mon trésor, your love is a treasure beyond compare. To be the object of such affection... I am truly blessed.”

If anyone had told you that Rook Hunt—Pomefiore’s poetic, theatrical huntsman—would enjoy being smothered in kisses at every opportunity, you wouldn’t have believed them. But here he was, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as you showered him with affection.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lilia Vanrouge

You always thought you had a pretty good handle on your emotions. Calm, collected, rational—those were the words you’d have used to describe yourself. But then, Lilia Vanrouge entered your life, and with him, your sense of self-control promptly packed its bags and left the building.

How could anyone expect you to act normal when he was that cute?

It started innocently enough. Lilia had been helping you tidy up Ramshackle Dorm one evening. He was humming some cheerful, old-timey tune while he dusted the bookshelves, floating effortlessly in the air as if gravity was just a suggestion.

You were trying to focus on organizing a stack of books, but every time you glanced up and saw his wide, mischievous grin and those bright, playful eyes, your heart would squeeze painfully.

Finally, you snapped.

“Lilia,” you said, your voice a little too tight.

“Yes, my dear?” he replied, flipping upside down mid-air to look at you.

“Come here,” you said, setting the books down with trembling hands.

“Oh?” He tilted his head, curious, but floated down to meet you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the couch. “You’re just too cute, and I can’t take it anymore.”

Lilia blinked, utterly bemused, as you pushed him onto the couch and immediately started peppering his face with kisses.

“My, my!” he laughed, his voice lilting with amusement. “What brought this on?”

“You!” you said, punctuating your words with more kisses. “You’re adorable! How am I supposed to function when you’re like this all the time?”

Lilia laughed again, a sound so warm and joyful that it only made your aggression worse. “You’re quite passionate, aren’t you?” he teased, his hands resting gently on your shoulders.

“You have no idea,” you muttered, before resuming your assault on his cheeks.

From that day on, it became a regular occurrence.

Any time Lilia did something you deemed unbearably adorable—like floating upside down while carrying a tray of tea, or singing one of his nonsensical little songs—you’d drag him away to smother him in kisses.

Lilia, of course, thought it was hilarious.

“Is this what the you'd call ‘cuteness aggression?’” he asked once, as you squished his cheeks between your hands and kissed the tip of his nose.

“Yes,” you said, not pausing in your efforts.

“Fascinating!” he said, his crimson eyes sparkling with mischief. “I didn’t realize I had such an effect on you.”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing,” you grumbled. “You’re impossible, Lilia.”

“And yet, you adore me,” he said, grinning cheekily.

You sighed, exasperated but hopelessly smitten. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

One day, you were sitting in the Diasomnia lounge, trying to read a book while Lilia floated lazily around the room. He wasn’t even doing anything particularly remarkable—just flipping through a magazine—but every now and then, he’d let out an amused hum or a soft chuckle, and it would send your heart into overdrive.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lilia,” you said, standing up abruptly.

“Yes, my darling?” he said, peering over the top of his magazine.

“Come here.”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile already forming on his lips. “Feeling overwhelmed again?”

“Just shut up and come here,” you said, grabbing his wrist and dragging him out of the room.

Sebek, who had been studying at the nearby table, sputtered indignantly. “Human! What are you—”

“Later, Sebek,” you said, waving him off.

Once you were alone in the hallway, you wasted no time. Pulling Lilia close, you buried your face in his neck and started pressing kisses along his jawline.

“Goodness,” Lilia said, though his laughter made it clear he wasn’t exactly complaining. “You really are incorrigible, aren’t you?”

“You love it,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his skin.

“That, I do,” he admitted, wrapping his arms around you.

Lilia might have been a centuries-old fae with countless stories and secrets to his name, but in your eyes, he was just your incredibly cute, endlessly lovable partner. And if that meant you had to drag him away for impromptu affection sessions on a regular basis, so be it.

Besides, judging by the way he always laughed and kissed you back, you had a feeling he didn’t mind one bit.

Jamil Viper

It started as a typical day at NRC: chaotic, mildly life-threatening, and somehow made worse by your inability to contain yourself whenever Jamil Viper was within a 10-foot radius.

You’d known for a while that Jamil was attractive—his sharp features, calm demeanor, and the way he moved with quiet precision made it hard to miss. But it was the little things that tipped you over the edge. Like the way his hair swayed when he walked, or how he absentmindedly hummed while chopping vegetables in the kitchen. The final straw? The rare moments when his lips would quirk into a tiny, private smile.

Every time you saw him, the urge to grab him, kiss him senseless, and smother him with affection became overwhelming.

And today was no different.

You were sitting in the lounge at Scarabia, watching Jamil supervise a group of first-years trying (and failing) to prepare a dish. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, an air of quiet authority radiating from him.

But then it happened.

He sighed, shaking his head as he stepped in to salvage the mess. His hair swung over his shoulder, catching the light, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he muttered something about "how hard is it to chop onions properly?"

Your brain short-circuited.

Before you knew it, you were on your feet.

“Jamil,” you said, your voice slightly too loud.

He looked up, one eyebrow raised. “What is it?”

“Come with me,” you said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the hallway.

“What—hey, wait a second,” he protested, glancing back at the confused first-years. “I’m in the middle of—”

“Later!” you said, dragging him into an empty corridor and shutting the door behind you.

“Do I even want to know what this is about?” he asked, crossing his arms and giving you a skeptical look.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you cupped his face in your hands and started peppering kisses all over his cheeks, nose, and forehead.

“Wha—!” Jamil stiffened, his ears turning red. “What are you doing?!”

“You’re too cute, and I can’t handle it!” you declared, kissing the tip of his nose for emphasis.

“...Cute?” he repeated, his voice a mix of disbelief and exasperation.

“Yes, cute!” you said, moving to his jawline. “How are you this adorable and this oblivious? It’s not fair!”

“Oblivious?” He frowned, though the pink dusting his cheeks betrayed his flustered state. “I’m not—this is ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you countered, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. “Ridiculously cute.”

Jamil groaned, though you could tell he wasn’t actually upset. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, his hands resting hesitantly on your waist.

“And yet, here you are, letting me smother you with affection,” you teased, pulling back just enough to plant a kiss on his lips.

That finally broke him. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as his arms tightened around you. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he said, though there was a warmth in his voice that made your heart flutter.

“You could start by kissing me back,” you suggested cheekily.

“...Fine,” he said, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile before he leaned down to kiss you properly.

Over time, Jamil got used to your random bursts of affection—well, as much as someone like him could get used to it.

One afternoon, he was studying in the library when you walked in, spotted him, and immediately felt the familiar wave of cuteness aggression wash over you.

“Jamil!” you whispered loudly, earning a warning glare from the librarian.

He looked up from his book, his expression wary. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of his chair.

“Do you have any self-control?” he asked, though he didn’t resist as you dragged him into the nearest empty study room.

“Not when it comes to you,” you admitted, grinning as you pushed him against the wall and started kissing him all over again.

“You’re incorrigible,” he said, though his voice was softer now, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“And you’re perfect,” you replied, kissing the corner of his mouth.

Jamil sighed, but the faint smile on his lips betrayed his true feelings. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Oh, I know,” you said, leaning in for another kiss.

And despite his grumbling, you could tell he didn’t mind one bit.

It was a quiet morning in Scarabia, the kind where the golden sunlight filtered through the ornate windows, casting patterns on the tiled floors. Jamil had just finished his early chores and was enjoying a rare moment of peace, sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea.

You, however, had other plans.

You had woken up early, groggy but immediately aware that Jamil wasn’t beside you. After a quick search, you found him in the dining room, looking effortlessly handsome as he sipped his tea. His hair was still slightly damp from a morning shower, and the soft lighting only made him more unfairly perfect.

It hit you like a tidal wave: the urge to smother him with affection was too strong to resist.

Jamil glanced up as you approached, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Good morning,” he said.

“Morning,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. But the way he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, paired with the serene look on his face, made you snap.

Without a word, you pounced.

“Wha—hey!” Jamil barely had time to set his tea down before you climbed onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“You’re too cute!” you declared, pressing kisses to his temple, cheeks, and jawline.

“It’s seven in the morning,” he said, exasperated but not pushing you away. “Can’t you wait until I’ve had at least one full cup of tea?”

“Nope,” you said, smiling against his cheek. “You’re cuter than tea, and I need my morning dose of Jamil.”

He sighed, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, his hands instinctively finding their way to your waist to steady you.

“And yet, you’re still letting me do this,” you teased, brushing your nose against his before planting a firm kiss on his lips.

“Because if I stop you, you’ll just pout and make it worse,” he said, though his voice was tinged with amusement.

“Exactly,” you said smugly.

Jamil shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love it,” you shot back, peppering kisses along his jawline.

“Unfortunately for my sanity,” he admitted, finally giving in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Yes, I do.”

You beamed, your heart swelling at his rare show of affection. “See? This is why you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

“Am I?” he asked dryly, though there was no hiding the warmth in his tone.

“Absolutely,” you said, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “And you’re lucky I like you.”

The words, a playful echo of what he often said to you, made him chuckle softly. “I suppose I am,” he said, his gaze softening as he leaned in to kiss you again.

The moment was perfect—quiet, intimate, and filled with a warmth that lingered long after you finally let him finish his tea.

Leona Kingscholar

It was midday, and Leona had naturally gravitated to his favorite pastime—napping. The way the golden sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a glow on his skin and tousled hair, made him look like a scene out of a painting.

You should’ve left him alone, let him nap in peace.

But no. You weren’t strong enough.

��Leona,” you whispered, crouching beside the couch where he lay sprawled out.

One eye cracked open, his voice a low, lazy rumble. “What d’ya want? Can’t a guy nap in peace?”

“Not when you look this cute,” you said, voice strained as you wrestled with your cuteness aggression.

His eye narrowed suspiciously, but before he could move, you pounced. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you planted a flurry of kisses on his face, starting with his cheek, then his forehead, then the bridge of his nose.

“Oi! Get off, you crazy herbivore!” he protested, but his laughter betrayed his words.

“Not until you stop being so perfect!” you declared, squishing his face between your hands to kiss him properly.

Leona groaned, but he didn’t push you away, even as he tried to keep up the act of annoyance. “You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, giving him one last peck before finally letting him breathe.

You had spotted him in the dining hall, casually sitting at a table and picking at a plate of meat with that trademark nonchalance. His ears twitched slightly at the sounds around him, and he occasionally flicked his tail, his every movement smooth and effortless.

It was unfair, really.

“Leona!” you called, practically running to him.

He glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What now? Can’t I even eat without you harassing me?”

“Nope,” you replied with a grin. “Not when you look this cute.”

“Don’t start—”

Too late. You grabbed his wrist and tugged him out of the chair, ignoring his grumbling as you dragged him to a quiet corner.

“Are you serious?” he asked, looking half-annoyed and half-amused.

“Dead serious,” you said, cupping his face and peppering him with kisses. His ears flattened slightly as his cheeks flushed, but he still didn’t stop you.

“You’re so embarrassing,” he muttered, though the small smile on his lips betrayed him.

“And you’re adorable,” you shot back, pulling him into a hug.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Just don’t expect me to say it back.”

Leona had taken you to a quiet spot to watch the stars, a rare moment of tranquility for the two of you. He lay back on the grass, one arm behind his head, as he pointed out constellations with a lazy smirk.

You were trying to focus on the stars, really. But the way his voice rumbled when he spoke, the way his tail lazily swished back and forth, the way his eyes glimmered like jewels under the moonlight—it was too much.

“Leona,” you said softly, turning to look at him.

“Hm?”

“You’re too cute.”

His eyebrow twitched. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope,” you said, sitting up and leaning over him. “I have to kiss you or I’ll explode.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” he teased, but he didn’t move as you leaned down to kiss him.

The first kiss was soft, then the second, then the third. Before you knew it, you were practically smothering him with affection, and Leona was laughing—actually laughing—as he let you do as you pleased.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, his voice warm with amusement.

“And you’re perfect,” you replied, grinning down at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, pulling you down to rest against his chest. “Just stay here, you crazy herbivore.”

It was early morning, and Leona was still in bed, sprawled out like a lazy lion as usual. You had come to wake him up, but the sight of him—sleep-tousled hair, slightly grumpy expression, and one arm draped over his eyes—made your heart practically burst.

“Leona,” you said, shaking his shoulder gently.

“Go away,” he grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head.

“Nope,” you said, yanking the blanket off him. “You’re too cute, and I can’t deal with it.”

“Not this again,” he groaned, but before he could stop you, you climbed onto the bed and started kissing him awake.

“Oi! Quit it!” he protested, though his laughter made it clear he wasn’t actually mad.

“Never!” you declared, peppering his face with kisses. “This is what you get for being adorable.”

“You’re insane,” he muttered, though his arms came up to wrap around you.

“And you love it,” you replied, grinning as you kissed the tip of his nose.

Leona sighed, but there was a small smile on his lips as he pulled you closer. “Yeah, I do. Now let me sleep, you menace.”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle Rosehearts prided himself on composure, discipline, and always adhering to the rules. He was Heartslabyul's steadfast leader, a paragon of order in a sea of chaos. But there was one thing he had no preparation for—you.

Your habit of getting cuteness aggression whenever you saw him was the one thing Riddle couldn’t figure out how to manage. Every time you dragged him away to smother him in affection, it left him flustered, red-faced, and utterly disarmed.

It started innocently enough that day. You’d been helping with the tea party preparations, setting out the sugar cubes in neat stacks, when Riddle appeared to check the arrangements. As always, he was dressed immaculately, his little crown on his head, and his expression firm as he inspected the table.

That’s when it hit you. The way his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration and how his gloved fingers adjusted a teacup ever so slightly made your heart explode.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Riddle,” you called, voice dangerously sweet.

He paused, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Yes? Is something—oh!”

Before he could finish, you grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the maze, ignoring his startled protests.

“W-What are you doing?” he stammered, struggling to keep up as you dragged him down a secluded pathway.

“You’re too cute, and I can’t handle it,” you declared, finding a quiet spot among the roses.

Riddle blinked at you, completely taken aback. “I—What are you talking about? That’s absurd!”

“You’re absurdly adorable,” you corrected, cupping his face in your hands. His cheeks were already dusted with pink, and you knew you were about to make it worse.

“Stop this at once!” he tried to say, but his voice faltered as you peppered kisses all over his face. His cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose—you didn’t leave an inch untouched.

“Hey—” he spluttered, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides as if unsure whether to push you away or pull you closer. “Th-This is highly improper! We’re supposed to be preparing for the tea party!”

“We can’t have a tea party if I’m dying from how cute you are,” you countered, pulling back just enough to give him a cheeky grin. “This is life-saving first aid.”

Riddle’s lips parted, clearly about to deliver a stern lecture, but the words never came. Instead, he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now.

“Impossible to resist?” you teased, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

His face turned an even deeper shade of red, but this time he didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a small, exasperated laugh, shaking his head. “You’re utterly ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” you said confidently, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I—” Riddle started to protest, but he stopped himself, glancing down at you with a reluctant smile. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

His quiet admission made your heart do somersaults, and you couldn’t help but squeeze him tighter.

Later, when you finally returned to the tea party preparations, Trey gave Riddle a knowing look as he noticed the slight smudge of lipstick on his cheek.

“You look like you’ve been... preoccupied,” Trey said lightly.

Riddle cleared his throat, hastily wiping his cheek with a napkin. “Nonsense! Everything is perfectly under control.”

But as he adjusted his tie and avoided your amused gaze, you could tell he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Riddle was meticulously organizing the Heartslabyul ledger, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sat at his desk in the library. His diligence was admirable, but it was also your doom.

The way his fingers adjusted his pen with precision, his lips pursing in thought, and the faint pink tint on his cheeks from the afternoon sun streaming through the windows—he was just too much.

You didn’t stand a chance.

“Riddle,” you whispered conspiratorially, sneaking up behind him.

“Hmm?” he replied absently, his focus not wavering.

You leaned closer, your lips near his ear. “I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t kiss you right now.”

That got his attention. His hand froze mid-stroke, and he turned to you with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

You didn’t give him a chance to argue. Gently grabbing his shoulders, you pulled him into your arms and planted a flurry of kisses on his face. One on his temple, one on his cheek, and a quick peck on his lips for good measure.

“You—” he gasped, his voice tinged with both embarrassment and delight. “This is a library! Have you no sense of decorum?”

“None whatsoever,” you admitted, grinning as you pressed another kiss to his nose. “You’re way too cute when you’re working. It’s unfair.”

Riddle tried to glare at you, but the way his lips twitched upward betrayed him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” you said smugly, brushing your nose against his.

He huffed but didn’t push you away. “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for you.”

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when you wandered into the Heartslabyul common room, groggy and still rubbing sleep from your eyes. You hadn’t expected anyone to be awake yet, let alone Riddle, who was already immaculately dressed and sipping tea by the fireplace.

The sight of him, with his perfectly styled hair and composed demeanor, made your heart flip. How could someone look so poised this early in the morning?

“Riddle,” you mumbled, walking up to him in a daze.

He glanced up from his tea, eyebrows raising slightly. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Instead of answering, you plopped yourself onto the couch beside him and buried your face in his shoulder. “You’re too cute. It’s unfair,” you grumbled.

“Is that so?” he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

You nodded against him, your arms snaking around his waist as you pulled him into a cuddle. “I need compensation for the emotional damage.”

“Emotional damage?” he repeated, chuckling softly. “And what form of compensation do you require?”

“Kisses,” you declared.

He sighed, though there was a fond smile on his lips. “You’re impossible.” But he leaned down anyway, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“See? You do love me,” you teased, snuggling closer.

“More than you’ll ever know,” he admitted softly, his hand coming up to stroke your hair.

One lazy afternoon, you found Riddle tending to the roses in the Heartslabyul garden. He looked so peaceful, carefully snipping away stray thorns and inspecting each bloom with the utmost care.

You stood there for a moment, watching him, before the cuteness aggression hit you like a brick wall. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms, and there was a soft smile on his lips as he admired his work.

“Riddle!” you called, jogging over to him.

He turned, surprised by your sudden enthusiasm. “Yes? Is something the matter?”

“Yes!” you said, grabbing his hand and dragging him to a secluded corner of the garden. “You’re too cute, and I can’t deal with it!”

“Wha—?!”

Before he could protest, you wrapped your arms around him and began peppering kisses all over his face. His cheeks turned as red as the roses around you, and he looked utterly flustered.

“We’re in public!” he hissed, though he made no real effort to escape your grasp.

“Then stop being so adorable,” you teased, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes.

He sighed, clearly torn between exasperation and affection. “You’re so infuriating,” he muttered.

“But you love me,” you replied, grinning.

“I do,” he admitted, his voice soft as he leaned in to kiss you properly. “Far more than I should, considering how insufferable you are.”

“Aw, you’re so romantic,” you teased, squeezing him tightly.

Riddle simply rolled his eyes, though the small smile on his lips said it all.

Masterlist ; Part 1 with Idia, Cater, Octatrio

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reignpage · 4 days ago

Text

Vice President!Sukuna

Pétain: losing it all pt 2

Word count: 3.3k Contents: cursing, alcohol use, angst, triggering, flashback to The Night, from reader's perspective

This is it.

This is the culmination of everything you’ve ever done in your entire life. All the late nights, the volunteering work, the part time jobs, the internships, the extra credit, all the clubs anyone could possibly do crammed into your schedule for years. Every friend you’ve lost, every teacher’s ass you’ve kissed, and every tear you’ve shred. None of it you regret.

Here, at Eden University, the top university in the country. Standing among the sons and daughters of the wealthiest, most successful families in the world, the best and the brightest, future leaders, record breakers, record setters, industry changing individuals. You’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted; you’ve got a scholarship to back you.

And now, it’s time to celebrate.

“Y/n, come on!”

Penny beckons you over, shaking her hair with a wide grin. She’s your friend, your bestest friend. And you came to EdenU with her. Wild and carefree, you two are opposites, but you’ve been stuck together like glue since you were in diapers. Insisting that you catch up on lost time, she’s made a pact with you.

You’re going to lose your virginity tonight.

Your alcohol, party, kiss, and of course, sexual virginities.

All things she swore eighteen-year-olds needed to have lost before entering university. You’re not convinced that’s true, but the idea does sound good. Losing everything that was holding you back from being just like everyone else and starting fresh on equal footing with your new peers.

That’s tonight’s plan.

With a giggle, you let her lead you into the middle of the dance floor. Club Lilith is packed; every freshman, both EdenU and non-EdenU students, filling the underground nightclub. Body to body, you’re being pushed back and forth and side to side, like waves crashing at you from all sides. The music is loud, and you can’t make out the lyrics, can only feel the beats thumping through your chest, piercing you with the bass. It’s exhilarating, to be moved by external forces and to go with the flow, to be untethered for one night.

You start to understand why Penny did it all the time whilst you were in the library.

Swaying, you both grip each other’s hips and waist, partially from a desire to let loose together, and to keep afloat amongst the crowd. Your cheeks are aching from smiling so much and so widely, giggling as she bops her head like a rockstar.

But then she spots something above you.

“Oh my god, look!” She screams in your ear. “It’s Gojo! And he’s with Sukuna and Geto.”

There’s only one name you recognise, and it wasn’t ‘Gojo’ or ‘Geto’. You have no idea who they are and why she’s screeching in your ear about them. The three people are standing on the second floor, leaning against the railing as they half converse together, and half watch the people. Suddenly, you’re being pulled again, this time away from the dance floor. The crowd doesn’t part, the people become steel walls, all rigid and fixed, and you both have to dig your elbows for leverage.

“This is your chance to get with Sukuna, come on!”

As you both make your way upstairs, with Penny flashing her family’s name at the security guard, you gulp. Having been no stranger to the world of politics, you recognised Sukuna immediately. You saw him at the induction day, sat just metres away from you as he eyed the hall with mild interest.

His family is Old Money, having been there at the very founding of the country, building every foundation and infrastructure with their bare hands, and continuing to do as leaders of the political regime. Ryomen is a world-famous name with a world-famous empire to back it up. And their one, and only, son?

He’s fucking hot.

And you hate that you find him attractive. You aren’t the type to get all nervous around a guy, they’re just boys, after all. But he might just be the first person you’ve ever had a crush on in your entire life. You hope he likes you.

“Gojo, hey, babe,” Penny squeals, jumping into a slightly surprised white-haired man. He returns the hug and introduces her to everyone as a family friend.

You stand there awkwardly, waving at the girls sipping champagne, and at the guys who eye both you and your friend. Walking over to Penny who’s chatting excitedly to Gojo, recapping her summer, you smile at Sukuna and, who you’ve deduced as being, Geto.

The latter returns a polite smile and the former quirks one corner of his lip, his own version of a greeting, you’ve gathered. Up close, he’s even better looking; his hair is a pastel pink, he has broad shoulders, and his skin is flawless.

You wonder if he tastes just as dangerous as he looks.

Rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, you try to make conversation, “So what are you guys studying?”

With a scoff, Sukuna stalks off.

Your cheeks start heating up.

“Don’t mind him,” Geto sighs, “he just doesn’t like crowds or strangers.”

Then why is he at a club on the busiest night?

That’s one of those thoughts you keep to yourself, so you nod. You make idle chit chat with the long haired man; he's sweet, polite and gentlemanly. You could see yourself losing everything tonight, with him, and you know he'd take care of you. But, somewhere in the back of your mind, you're aware your attraction is surface-level. There's something he wouldn't be able to give, something deep inside of you that can't be scratched. It's dark and sinister and you're ashamed.

Your friend and Gojo are laughing, talking about some family event they had to go to, and you kind of feel bad for how touchy she's being, though she's like that to everyone. She hugs his arm, squeezing it between her breasts as she slurs her words. The man only laughs and pats her on her head.

Eventually, appearing satisfied with the last ten minutes, Penny’s grabbing your arm and cheering. “Okay, let’s go dance again.”

Apparently, all she wanted was to make her presence known to Gojo. You say goodbye to everyone, even though their attentions already shifted to a couple making out in the corner, cheering them on. And you both return to the dance floor.

Another hour passes, well, it could have been ten hours, it’s hard to tell. There are no windows nor clocks, and the crowd isn’t waning. But despite how unnatural it is for you, you continue to dance, rocking to the music, and ignoring the ache in your chest that manifested after being shrugged off by your first ever crush.

This is everything you've ever wanted, all at your fingertips. The soothing coolness of alcohol lifting you higher and higher as you grind on a random man, his hands all over your body in a way you don't really hate. And you're elated, grinning at Penny who's fluffing her hair as she lets a guy kiss her neck.

You've talked about this night for so long, going over all the wild and crazy things you'd do now that you're unburdened by responsibilities. It feels incredibly surreal to be here, with everyone regarding you as a peer as they grin back at you, finding your body just as attractive as you find them.

Soon, the lack of fresh air gets to you, so you excuse yourself to step out for a second. Penny pouts but once a hot guy steps into her line of view, she lets you go without complaint.

Ascending the stairs and fidgeting with your wristband, you’re shocked to find that it’s still night. It’s as if time passes differently down there. But the cool air feels good on your flushed skin, and you feel light again. Partying is cathartic, for sure, but it’s also quite exhausting. The makeup and the tight clothes took up so much time and energy that you really didn’t think you’d have energy at all to dance, and yet you found it.

“Y/n, right?”

You jolt.

Sukuna’s leaning against the brick wall, one foot bent. He’s got a cigarette between his fingers and a hand in his pocket. You frown a little — he’s addressing you, but his gaze is set in the distance, at a flickering streetlight.

Clearing your throat, you answer, “Yeah.”

He nods.

A silence befalls you and you’re both standing side by side, careful not to touch, watching the lights, feeling the muted thumping of the music against your back. Your heart is beating pretty fast, and you don’t mind just staying here, listening to him inhale and then exhale the smoke.

But when your pinkie twitches and it brushes against his, a bolt of electricity runs through your body. You both glance at each other, looking away just as quickly.

When had he even taken his hand out of his pocket?

Flustered, you stammer, “I’m a law student.”

Slowly, he raises a brow, and repeats, “Law student?”

“Yep,” you pop your lips, “top of my class. Perfect grades.” The alcohol is not doing you any favours, it’s making you loose lipped, tearing down your inhibitions, and silencing that voice at the back of your head telling you it’s impolite, and shameless, to brag.

Sukuna doesn’t look impressed. In fact, his expression doesn’t change, not even with a flicker. “That a big achievement for you?”

His tone is patronising, completely condescending, like you’re a little dog he’s rubbing the belly of. Your eye twitches. He’s still not looking at you. How could he possibly just shrug you off like you’re not worth looking at? Sure, he’s rich, but what does that matter when you’re all in the same place, with the exact same opportunities in front of you.

“As opposed to getting here with your daddy’s money?” You fire back.

The temperature drops. You feel it. It’s the palpable tension, the one that pricks the back of your neck in warning, that tells you to apologise, to bow your head, present your neck in submission or run away. Gulping, you clench your fist, willing the anxiety to go away.

“What the fuck do you know about me?” Sukuna’s voice has dropped an octave, digging deeper than before, deeper than you thought possible. He’s turned his head towards you now, you definitely have his attention. Dark and raging, his eyes pierce through you, and it’s like he’s scouring your soul for weaknesses. “Oh, I see. Little Perfect Missy thinks she has a right to stomp her feet, yes? Why? Because you have a scholarship?”

“How- “

He scoffs, right in your face, and his smoke fans your face. “You reek the smell of a scholarship student. You think just ‘cause you have good grades that puts you on equal footing to me? And maybe even to your little friend?”

“Leave her out of this,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Tilting his head, he scans your body, and you wish he had never acknowledged your presence. With a lofty tone, he presses, “Which one are you? A Gojo Foundation kid? No, you would have been more impressed to meet the white-haired freak. You’re not one of mine, either, otherwise you wouldn’t dare speak to me like that. You must be an Adamson.”

Something must have flashed in your eyes because then he’s laughing.

“You are, aren’t you?” He flashes you his pearly white teeth, razor sharp and glinting under the warm streetlights. “And you have no idea about anything at all.”

“Fuck you,” is all you manage.

The corner of his mouth quirks up, then he’s softening his body, shoulders slouching, and he leans over to you. You try to step back but he grabs your waist with a firm hand. He smells good, he feels good, and you hate it. Hate it so much because you shouldn’t still find him the most beautiful man in all of Eden.

“Is that what you want?” He squeezes your waist, and you have to bite back a sharp breath. “You want to be fucked? I bet you’re nervous, hmm? New to all of this. Bet you’re someone who never stepped one foot out of line, all so you could be here, and now that you are, you want a taste of freedom.”

Are you so easy to read?

Is that what everyone sees when they look at you?

A meek little girl who wants to be just like everyone else?

“Leave me alone,” you mumble weakly. It has no real strength, no real authority. Because he was right on the money; you want to taste what liberation feels like, and right now, as your chest presses to his and you feel the hard outline of his torso, you realise you want to taste the freedom he’s offering.

It’s just for one night, one bad decision, one mistake — you’re allowed, you’ve worked hard your entire life, you should be able to have regrets. And this mistake is too damn good to let go.

“Meet me in Room 2, tell the bouncer you’re a Vessel, they’ll know what it means. Come in 10 minutes.” He snaps his teeth at you and his eyes twinkle at your flinch. “Don’t be late.”

And then he’s gone.

Sukuna’s retreated into the depths of Lilith, leaving you reeling in the streets, feeling as if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. But that one moment where he looked at you, really looked at you, set your blood ablaze; you're breathless, feeling adrenaline rushing your body. It was a taste of what you could have, and you want more.

So you head back down, deeper and deeper into the belly of the she-beast, and you push your way through the crowd. You’re being bumped left and right, and they constrict you with pulsing grooves until you’re getting lost in the music. Searching all around, you try to find any familiar face, and see only the blur of euphoric expressions, heads thrown back, eyes closed, and mouths parted.

Emerging into the hallway, you stumble onto the wall, gripping the smooth surface with clammy hands; the vodka in your system is slurring your movements and you’re lightheaded, delirious from the pull urging you forward. You do as Sukuna say, you meet a bouncer —bald, tall, big and mean — you tell him you’re a ‘Vessel’, stumbling with the word as if it’s foreign, and he lets you pass without even a cursory glance.

Stretching your skirt further down your thighs, you scan the hallway; long, narrow, and dark, it feels wrong to be here. There are only a few lights above, leaking dim red hues, barely enough to see what lies ahead, but you push through. You don’t know what you’re expecting, this is new to you — but you’ve been shaved and waxed and perfumed to the maximum; Penny insisted. And you’re giggling at the supple feel of your own body, still a little raw from all the scrubbing.

Would he hate that you’re inexperienced? Would he be disgusted by your clumsiness? Maybe he, himself, isn’t a very good lover. Would he expect you to do all the work?

To your right, you find Room 2, it’s a door so black you almost missed it; it blends into the shadows. But the golden number is hard to miss, and you know you’re at the right place.

Wiping your hands down your skirt, you exhale, and then you twist the door open.

Your heart drops.

Right in front of you is the bare back of a naked girl, she’s throwing her head back in pleasure, bouncing up and down. The sounds of pleasure echo in the room, and your voice is stuck in your throat; you know this girl. She’s been the person that braided your hair, that curled your lashes, that spun you around and cheered. The one on the front row of every play, every debate, every award. A girl who held your hand when you fell and scraped your knee at 6, and again when your dad left at 12.

“Tell me more about your friend,” a deep voice breathes out.

“Y/n?” The girl clarifies, she’s panting, a little confusion lacing her words as she continues her gyrations. “What is there to say? She’s boring.”

“She didn’t look boring.”

The sound of her laughter penetrates your chest like a dagger digging its way into your heart and when she says, “Trust me, she is. All she does is study and yet she couldn’t get into Eden by herself,” you feel the dagger’s hilt twist.

You reel back like you’ve been slapped.

She continues, still bouncing, still moaning, “Yeah, had to get my dad to talk -ha- to the Dean, they’re -fuck!- long time golf buddies. Oh, that’s so good! Right there, yes! He -fuuuuck- gave her a scholarship so she’ll feel better about herself.”

Sitting up, the man grips her waist and kisses her neck. His eyes meet yours. His stare burns and your eyes are watering, a bead of sweat dripping down your forehead. There’s a blazing heat in his gaze, not one borne from pleasure but from a sick satisfaction. You’re going to throw up.

“You do that often?” His eyes aren’t leaving yours, he’s watching for every single twitch of your brow, every flutter of your lashes, and narrows his gaze on the quiver of your bottom lip. “You have to make her feel better?”

“Fuck! Yes, Sukuna, right there, baby!” She digs her hands into his scalp, clutching him close as she seeks out her release. “I always have -ngh- to make her feel better. Daddy says she’s going to be -yesssss- somebody someday so I need her for connections.”

Then she's laughing. It's the kind you've never heard her use. No. You have. Just never at you.

"She didn't know Adamson's my dad's name. Everyone else -ha- knows who I am but she's never bothered to care. So good! God, she thinks we're actually on the same level. It's pathetic."

The bile is rising from your throat and the urge is overwhelming. Your blood has run cold and you’re stumbling back out, tripping over your own feet as you clutch your stomach, trying to find your way back out. You wind up back at the dance floor and there’s somehow even more people in here, jumping, grinding, gyrating. The beat is blaring, thumping and thudding, and the crowd sways in waves, pulsing as they surround you.

Spinning, your vision is spinning. And the flashing lights is blinding, disorientating, you're losing your mind. You have no idea where the exit is, where you are, who you are. You're going to throw up.

“Let me out,” you don’t know if you scream or whisper that. “Please.”

You’re gasping, clawing your hands wherever they can gain purchase. The crowd doesn’t let up, they tighten around you, squeezing every breath away, and their skin is sticky, dampening your clothes with a mix of things you don’t want to think about. You need to get out of here.

“I want to go home, please.”

You’re crying. There’s no doubt about it, there are tears streaming down your face, fat droplets that are drowning you. You push and push, shoving past every person in front of you but it feels like you’re only going deeper and deeper, being dragged down into the circles of hell. It's like you’re already at the very centre.

It’s hot in here. All the air’s been sucked out of the room, you toss your head in all directions, gasping and gasping and gasping, there are hands on your hips, your waist, gripping your arms, twisting and kneading and scratching, it’s all too much.

“Let me go!” You sob. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

No one can hear you.

“I DON'T BELONG HERE!"

You blink.

You’re on the streets. The cold air nipping at your skin and it stings your eyes, threatening to freeze the tears there. There’s no time to think about how you got there or how long you’ve been there; you run back to your dorm, clutching your ripped up cardigan and wiping the mascara from your cheeks.

And all night long, until the sun comes up, you cry.

Hours pass by, and those hours turn into days until a whole week has come and go, and you’re numb. Half of your things are still in their boxes, collecting dust, and you’ve received a ton of emails that stare back at you.

Your mother calls. She asks how you’ve been, and you lie.

You’ve made lots of friends, your subjects are super interesting, the people are welcoming, and you love it here. There isn’t anywhere else you’d rather go. She beams at you, spouting about how proud she is, and you watch her wipe tears away, just as you had before you picked up the phone, and whatever is left of your heart breaks further.

It’s from that very moment, where she says she’s happy you’re where you’ve always wanted to be, you decide that it may not be now, but you’ll make it become the place of your dreams. It doesn’t matter how you got here; what matters is that you are here, and where you will be once you get your head down.

No one needs anything other than hard work and ambition. You have never needed anything more, and you will never need anything more.

These are all the lies you tell yourself as you fix yourself up, showering, changing and walking to class. The lies you repeat over and over again as you cry yourself to sleep, as you work at your desk, and when you try to drown yourself in the shower. A hollow mantra that holds no real weight as you ignore the onslaught of texts and calls from a person you no longer know.

And a month later, when she walks past you wordlessly, you repeat it again.

This is how things are supposed to be.

How things will be.

And you’ve never been happier.

#jjk x reader #jjk sukuna ryomen #jjk angst #sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #jjk drabble #jjk fic #geto suguru #gojo satoru

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dollfacefantasy · 2 months ago

Text

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.

#negan x reader #negan smut #negan x you #negan smith x reader #negan smith x you #negan smith smut #twd x reader #twd smut #twd imagine #twd x you #twd x y/n

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chaconnehoonie · 6 months ago

Text

Wet- L.HS

☼ Lee Heeseung x Fem Reader

Synopsis- As temperatures rise, so does Heeseung’s dick.

WC: 4k+

Warnings: smut, one(1) food play-ish scene, water gun fight, cursing, nothing too extreme it’s just pwp

Smut warnings: Verbal and physical teasing, kissing, oral(f), unprotected sex, creampies, voyeurism and they (kinda) get caught, pool/outdoor sex

This is fiction and the scenarios are completely fake and from my brain, none of the characters are accurate in real life, MDNI!

A/N: This was originally supposed to be written for Sunghoon but I can’t get over that picture of Heeseung so I changed my mind. Enjoy!

You’re so hot

The summer sun warms the exposed areas of skin, but your water soaked shirt keeps you cool in the one hundred degree weather. God damn the sun and its harsh rays—cursing the land with heat waves and rising temperatures that force you and your friends to find ways to cool off.

Heeseung can’t help but stare.

Even as he feels a stream of water hit the back of his head, he can’t keep his eyes off of you. Especially when Jake takes aim and pulls the trigger of his water gun to shoot straight at the center of your chest. God bless the sun.

“Alright, pervert! You got me.” You run a hand through your wet hair, laughing to yourself as you make your way towards your friends and knock water guns with Sunoo as a small celebration.

Jake shoots you one last time, whining about how unfair you play. “Seriously, how did you even get back there? I swear I checked thrice! I want to switch teams!” You poke the muscle of bicep that’s outlined by his own soaking wet shirt, teasing him for his terrible skills at his own game.

“Maybe you should’ve checked better.” With a click of your tongue you prance towards the pool, placing a palm upon the hot pavement to determine the heat. Heeseung watches as you stand up and pull your shirt off of yourself, back arching and neck rolling back as you peel the sticking fabric off of your body to reveal your bikini.

He admires the way you swiftly throw your shirt to the side, grabbing your beach towel and placing it next to the pool to sit on. Plopping yourself onto it, you dip your freshly painted toes into the water and splash them around.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Jay startles Heeseung from his trance, snapping his head to see the younger is now the only person standing next to him, a quirked eyebrow following his question. “I can’t.”

Heeseung replies simply, turning back just in time to notice Sunghoon handing you a small ice cream cone. He’s unable to focus for long as his attention is caught by Sunoo loudly laughing from the pool, where Jake is swimming around with an open mouth, begging Sunghoon to at least attempt to throw his own cone into his mouth from where he stands next to you.

“I don’t think Sunghoon would like that.” Heeseung sighs, shaking his head and deciding his own fate is to watch you from afar. To admire you from a distance.

But Jay wouldn’t let that happen. He doesn’t call himself “Heeseung’s number one wing man” for no reason, which is why he encourages his friend to go after you. Even if Sunghoon seems to be the only guy in your field of vision.

Of course, you’re just friends. At least that’s what you both claim. Heeseung doesn’t believe it though, in fact, he believes you two have been keeping it on the low. He’s created a whole fantasy relationship between his two friends— a fantasy that he isn’t a part of.

“Your first problem is not Sunghoon.” Jay brings up the topic once they’ve made their way into the cool house, alone. “The problem is you thinking there’s something going on between them.” Heeseung scoffs, taking a beer from Jay then turning his head to look at you through the window.

Your ice cream cone is melting in the hot sun, creamy liquid running through your fingers and down your forearm and Heeseung shivers. He’s always known he has a strong imagination, but with the visual stimulation right there; the suggestively colored desert leaving trails of itself down your arm, he can only imagine how his is own cream would adorn your body.

“Are you even listening?” Jay smacks his friend’s head, snapping him out of his scandalous fantasy. “You need to make a move. And I promise you Sunghoon won’t care. Sure, he’s a little protective but he’s your best friend too—he knows what’s best for both of you.”

Heeseung only pays attention to the first half of Jay’s rant, falling back into a trance as you finally lick a long stripe up your forearm, swapping your ice cream cone to the other hand to suck on your messy fingers. He only looks away when Sunghoon grabs your wrist and forces your fingers further down your throat and you gag for a second, then bring your ice cream and spit covered hand to the back of Sunghoon’s head, pushing him into the pool with Jake and Sunoo.

“You’re so right.” Heeseung’s voice is barely audible to Jay. “What-”before Jay can even question him, the older is patting him on the back and muttering a quick thanks you’re the best and rushing outside. Jay stands there for a second, sighs, then quickly entertains himself with an unopened bottle of vodka. He’ll pay Sunghoon back later.

You move your attention from the pool to the house just in time to see Heeseung sitting down next to you. You note that he looks nervous, maybe even shy, but you don’t say anything to humiliate him. Yet.

“Hi, Hee. What’s up?” You chirp out before bringing what’s left of your ice cream to your lips, licking a sensual stripe along the side. You don’t break eye contact with Heeseung as you twist the cone between your fingers, coating the entire expanse with your tongue.

Heeseung gulps, adam’s apple bobbing as he watches a drop of melted cream land on your chest, then can’t help but follow it with his eyes as it glides down your skin over your right breast, then between your breasts, and finally landing somewhere in the covered area of your bikini top.

As if he wasn’t just ogling your body, he looks back up to see you staring at him in amusement, and finally answers your question. “Nothing.”

You nod, smirking to yourself and quickly glancing towards all four of your friends now in the pool. “Nothing, huh?” You repeat and he nods eagerly.

“So what about that?” Your gaze drops to his lap, and only then does he realize how hard he’s gotten over this short interaction. “That seems pretty up to me.” You tease, letting out a giggle before abruptly standing up and stretching out the hand currently holding your ice cream.

Heeseung grabs the cone, confused but so love-struck that he’s barely processing anything at the moment. You push his hand closer to his mouth, watching as drops land onto the crotch of his swim trunks and he once again follows your gaze.

Grabbing his cheek with one hand and pushing the ice cream past his lips with the other, you smile widely at him. “Finish for me, yeah?”

.☼.

If yesterday really happened, then Heeseung is in a slight dilemma. After arriving home last night, he did finish for you. At least, he hopes that’s what you meant by finish. Perhaps you really did mean the yummy treat but he knows you. He knows your double meanings and your teasing jokes.

But this makes his situation all the worse. To anyone else, these interactions would have confirmed your requited feelings for Heeseung, but it’s you. You’re so confusing.

With the way you’re so teasing with everyone, and the way you show affection in questionable manners. Even the way you openly treat all and any of your friends as if they’re your boyfriend.

Heeseung remembers when Sunoo complimented the scent of your lip gloss, so in return you kissed him for a solid five seconds, stating that you “just wanted him to taste it”. Yeah, sure.

Or the time Jake wanted you to clean up his eyebrows for him, which resulted in you sitting in his lap for fifteen stiff minutes applying your entire skin care routine on him.

Whatever you have going on in your head, it confuses Heeseung. Which is why he decided he’s finally going to man up and ask you on a date at your daily pool hang out.

At least, he’s going to try to. Hopefully if you’re not wearing his favorite red bikini. Hopefully if you somehow magically forgot the events of yesterday. Hopefully if he just grows some balls and lets his feelings free for the first time in years. Probably not.

.☼.

It’s safe to say, you did not forget the events of yesterday, you’re definitely wearing Heeseung’s favorite red bikini, and he has not at all grown any balls to even make eye contact with you yet.

He’s been here for an hour. One whole agonizing hour of watching you climb onto Jake’s shoulders and wrestle Sunghoon who is on Sunoo’s shoulders. Thankfully, Sunoo has thighs of steel and is able to keep Sunghoon steady while you push and pull all in an attempt to knock him over.

Heeseung’s jaw clenches and his eyes don’t leave your hands— your hands that are currently touching up every part of Sunghoon’s body. He contemplates leaving now and skipping out on the guy’s night he and his friends hold biweekly.

Your fingers grip Sunghoon’s biceps before making their way to his chest, nails scratching their way down his ridged stomach, letting out frustrated groans as you poke and poke at Sunghoon’s body.

Oh, how Heeseung wishes it was his body you were touching. He can’t take it anymore, standing up quickly and pushing his lawn chair back, where it hits the floor with a loud crash before making his way into the house just like he did yesterday.

The crash distracts you and Sunghoon takes this as an advantage as he swiftly loosens your harsh grip on Jake’s shoulders and pushes you down into the water.

From outside of the pool, Jay sighs to himself before following Heeseung back inside, finding him snooping through Sunghoon’s home bar.

“She’s not going to fuck you if you’re not sober, you know.” Heeseung jumps at the sound of Jay’s voice, almost dropping one of the expensive bottles of alcohol.

He shrugs and continues snooping. “Who said anything about fucking?” His reply is nonchalant but his best friend can see right through his act. “Your eyes say everything I need to know.” Jay laughs to himself but Heeseung doesn’t find it funny.

“Whatever. She’s not into me like that anyways.” Heeseung speaks like he’s trying to convince himself, but Jay can hear the hopeful tone in his voice. “Trust me. She was eye fucking you earlier when you weren’t looking.”

Jay barely gets the sentence out before Heeseung is visibly perking up. “Really?!” His face is bright and his eyes are glossy and wide. “Relax, man. Don’t pop a boner in front of me.” Jay teases his friend and Heeseung rolls his eyes in embarrassment, because he definitely would grow stiff at just the mention of your name.

Jay heads back towards the sliding door but turns back to Heeseung before he opens it. “By the way, Hoon invited her to stay the night with us also.” He smiles to himself before continuing his sentence. “So please try to keep it down if you do happen to make it past first base.” With that, he makes his way back to the pool and leaves Heeseung with a heavy problem in his swim trunks.

.☼.

Heeseung opens his eyes to the sound of obnoxious snoring echoing throughout Sunghoon’s living room. He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep but by the looks of it, everyone else seems to have knocked out by now too. Closing his eyes, he decides to try to fall back asleep. Until he’s startled awake-

“Heeseung.”

Shooting his eyes back open, he sits up from his place on the couch and looks around the dark room. With his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, he can only barely make out your figure kneeling next to him on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?” He whispers a little too loudly and you stand up, a palm covering his mouth swiftly as you take place onto the couch next to him.

Heeseung is a big man, meaning he already takes up most of the space, leaving you only a small sliver of cushion to sit on. So, you climb up onto his lap to get comfortable— because of course you would. Stiffening up from under you, he makes eye contact with you the best he can with the dim lighting, only the moonlight peeking through the curtains.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You whisper, slowly taking your hand off of his mouth and trailing it down his chest and stomach, finally resting it at his side. Your thumb swipes comfortably there, almost as if you’re reassuring him, letting him know that this is real. “And I’m bored.” You lean in closer to him, your hand now coming up to his chest and pushing him to lay flat underneath you, his head landing softly on the armrest of the couch.

He gulps, big doe eyes looking up at you almost innocently. But you know that’s not the case. You’ve seen the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Seeing him drool over you is one thing but seeing him think he’s being slick with it? It, makes you way more aroused than you’d like to admit.

However, it’s taken too long for him to act on his desires, so you decide to do it for him. “Wanna help me?” Your voice is sultry and low, and Heeseung’s tummy feels warm as it stirs with excitement when he nods. Leaning down slowly, you stop as soon as the tip of your nose brushes Heeseung’s. Nodding your head slightly, you rub your nose against his almost domestically, before leaning in and lightly pressing your lips to his.

The kiss doesn’t last long, as you’re quick to pull away and smile. But Heeseung isn’t pleased yet, instead cupping the back of your head with his hand and pulling your face back towards his. Your lips smash together almost painfully, but you’re distracted quickly as his tongue immediately pushes its way into your mouth. It’s warm and wet, strong as it glides against yours in a teasing manner.

You catch his bottom lip between yours, sucking on it for a second before biting it softly and pulling away, watching as it bounces back now glossy and red. Heeseung expects more, but to his surprise, you just jump off of his lap and quietly walk to the door that leads outside.

Looking back, you watch his silhouette as he runs a hand through his hair and sits up again. You turn back to unlock the door, already taking your shirt off to expose your bare torso before turning to him one last time. “You coming?”

.☼.

If anyone had told Heeseung two days ago that he would be not only skinny dipping at 2am with you—but shoving his tongue down your throat as well, he wouldn’t believe it.

But, lo and behold, he currently has your back pressed to the edge of the pool with your legs wrapped around his naked waist, lips locked and swollen.

It all happened in a rush, between you stripping to nothing in front of him to him following your lead and ending up intertwined, he suddenly finds himself in a dream-like state.

Was this really happening? The girl he’s been craving for years is finally giving him a chance? Heeseung feels like happiest man on earth right now, and judging by the little moans you let out every now and then, he thinks you may feel the same.

“Heeseung.” You practically whimper as he drags his lips to your neck, nipping and sucking at your warm skin. His lips kiss down your chest softly, landing on one of your hard nipples. He pecks it so so softly, almost afraid of hurting you, but you want it to hurt. Grabbing the back of his head and pushing your chest forward, you encourage him to take your nipple into his mouth and he easily gets the hint.

He’s barely done anything and you’re already shaking in his arms, gripping his biceps and throwing your head back with a loud moan. “Heeseung- I need you to fuck me.”

He stops immediately, then slowly detaches his mouth from your nipple and looks up at you. “Yeah? Want me to fuck this pretty pussy?” He thrusts his hips up, his movements slowed by the water but his cock still manages to brush against your folds. You bite your lip, nodding your head eagerly and Heeseung smiles. “Let me get a taste of it first.”

Without waiting for your response, he lifts you up and places you at the edge of the pool, your pussy sat deliciously in front of where he keeps himself afloat.

He almost drools, noting the way he can still see your slick drip out of you despite your whole body being drenched in pool water. Heeseung wastes no time, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you closer so his tongue can lap at your slit.

The pleasure sends a shock through your body, your back arching almost painfully and your hips push themselves harder against Heeseung’s face. He’s forced so close into your cunt that you can feel each feature—his nose stimulating your clit as his tongue teases your entrance and his plush lips sucking almost obnoxiously all while his chin is already slippery with your arousal.

“Ah-fuck!” He’s only been at it for a few minutes yet you’re already so close. But this isn’t want you want. No, as much as you want to release all over his pretty nose, you didn’t seduce him just to finish so quickly. So, you use all of your strength to pull him off of you and scoot away. “Need you to fuck me, now.”

That’s all it takes for Heeseung to lift himself out of the pool, pick you up, and then throw you on the nearest lounging chair. Thank fuck for Heeseung convincing Sunghoon to buy these at the start of the summer. Otherwise he may have opted for fucking you on the itchy grass.

Grabbing his face, you pull him down, kissing him with a sloppy force while you grow more impatient by the second. “How do you want it?” He’s so polite as he asks, but just the idea of him caring about your pleasure is so arousing. You turn around, placing your cheek on the cushion of the pool lounger and wiggling your ass to taunt him.

It works, of course, and Heeseung takes his place behind you. He slaps his thick girth on the crevice of your ass, feeling the heat between your bodies mix with the humid summer night air. “Hurry, please.” You whine but he just shushes you, dropping his cock to gather your slick on his tip.

You’re tired of waiting, pushing yourself back only slightly to feel him enter you just an inch. “Oh, God.” You gasp, caught off guard by the stretch of just the head. He fights the urge to fully push himself in, instead gently sliding in more, your walls clenching tighter and tighter as each inch stretches you out, a tingling feeling fluttering in your stomach.

He fully bottoms out, standing still with his hands on your hips for a second, before somehow pushing even deeper. You squeak, brows furrowing as you try to ignore the pain of the threatening size currently stuffing you full. You open your eyes, looking back to see his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his eyes shut.

You reach your hand back and tap his own hand, letting him know he can finally move. He nods, leaning forward a bit to hover his body closer to yours. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” You smile at him for a second, but it’s quickly replaced by an open mouthed moan as he pulls back a few inches, then slams himself back in.

Building up a steady pace, he thrusts a few times before finally letting out his first moan. And God, was it beautiful. “Yes-yes let me hear you, baby.” Your voice is weak as his thrusts push your whole body against the chair, your breath unsteady and shaky with each meet of your hips.

It feels amazing, but you can’t help but feel that Heeseung is trying to be gentle with you, which you don’t want. Pushing yourself back again, you meet his thrusts with quiet hmph hmph hmph noises that catch his attention. “You need more? Yeah? My cock isn’t enough for you, needy baby?” He coos at you but you know he’s still holding back. “Please, Heeseung. More.” Your fragile voice ignites something in him, and you’re suddenly being picked up by your hair.

Heeseung grabs your wrists and pins them to the top of the lounger, romantically intertwining his fingers between yours before aggressively snapping his hips against your ass. You let out an almost-too-loud moan, but it only fuels Heeseung more. Your bodies are close and he can’t pull back fully, so instead he fucks into you at a fast, almost blinding pace.

He watches your ass jiggle as it meets his pelvis, the bouncing fat sending him to an almost trance like state. The only thing that snaps him out of it is your whiny voice. “Harder, Heeseung, harder!” He pulls out fully, not giving you time to process his actions as he sits down on the lounger and pulls you on top of him, slipping his cock back into your heat easily.

Thrusting up once, twice, then a third time, he watches your thighs tremble as you try to hold yourself up for him. He finds it cute, how you’ve teased him for so long only to end up too cock drunk to even ride him. He wraps his arms around your body, pulling you flat against him so you’re chest to chest with your face in his neck.

He slowly drags his cock out of you, then fully shoves it in, a loud squelching noise following. “So fucking wet. So fucking noisy.” He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw as he fucks up into your cunt in an almost inhumane pace. “Ah ah ah, shit! I’m cumming, Heeseung!”

Your warning barely falls from your lips as you clench impossibly tight around him, body stiffening for a second until your toes curl and you feel the knot in your stomach releasing with a tingling sensation spreading throughout your entire body, which then goes limp against Heeseung’s.

This encourages him to thrust harder, chasing his own release that he can already sense creeping up on him. His fingers dig into your ass, nails leaving indents as his hips don’t slow down. The sound of your release mixing with the slapping of his balls on your ass is all too much, and he finally lets himself go.

“Gonna cum in you, baby. Gonna cum so fucking deep-fuck!” He bites down on your shoulder as he cums, hips stilled and cock stuffed so deep inside of you, you’re sure you’ll end up pregnant even on birth control.

He slowly lowers his hips, caressing your back soothingly as if he’s apologizing for his harsh treatment before. “Was that okay? Did I hurt you?” He cups your cheeks to look into your eyes, only to meet your fucked out expression and lazy smile. “That was the best I’ve ever had.”

That was enough to almost have Heeseung stiffening up again, if not for the sound of the sliding door opening and Jay’s pissed off voice. “Brought you guys some towels.” He walks out with a hand covering his eyes and the other holding out two beach towels, which he throws on the floor carelessly, then walks back to the door. “I told you to keep it down if you got past first base.”

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen x female reader

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erwinsvow · 9 months ago

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babe i have a thought but idk if i can word this right

so rafe x shy!reader when theyre still taking it slow with the dry humping n fingering but she wants to make rafe feel good as well yk but she isnt mentally ready yet for sex !! n so she quietly tries to learn on how to give head from porn n when she executes it on rafe hes all like ?? huh ???? how the hell .

rafe asked you what you were doing last night. you told him you were studying.

you were studying, you hadn't lied about that. he'd just assumed it was your schoolwork and didn't ask further questions, when you were really about six pages into the pornhub results, searching up deepthroating. an hour ago it'd been just blowjob but all the videos seemed to indicate this was the superior method.

you were nothing if not thorough, studious. you were a quick study too, swiftly realizing nearly all the 'blowjob' videos had some aspect of 'deepthroating' in them, and you wanted to learn everything for rafe, learn the best for him, be the best for him.

so that's how you ended up like this, practicing your new techniques on a second banana from your kitchen. you had accidentally choked and bitten down on the first one, so you had to go back for another, avoiding your parents' questions.

you were getting better though, which is all that mattered. another tab was helping you learn how to not trigger your gag reflex, and another still reminding you to breathe through your nose and use your hands where your mouth couldn't reach. you had accumulated enough knowledge, you just needed to practice, hence the fruit.

rafe was taking you to dinner tomorrow, and you always slept at tannyhill after one of your dates. that would be the perfect chance to show him your new skills.

rafe was experienced in every sense of the word, all you wanted was to impress him, make him realize you can handle more than he thinks you can. he's still concerned he's gonna break you and even though you know he can—the first time you guys tried to have sex lingering in your mind—you know he won't.

after dinner, rafe tries to take you for ice cream, the way he always does, and you surprise him by saying no. you never refuse dessert so he thinks something's wrong, but you surprise him again, getting to your knees in front of him while he takes a seat on his bed.

"what're you doin', kid?" he mumbles, thinking you're not sure what you're causing right now.

"you said i can have dessert. this is what i want," you murmur back, taking out his hardened dick. everything's a blur, you don't even remember unbuckling his belt but it rests beside your knees.

you glance up hesitantly, remembering another website that had said to keep eye contact. you'll have to go back to that, too concerned with how much you can fit in your mouth—rafe is bigger than your banana.

you start slowly, looking up while your hands stroke up and down. you think you're doing well—rafe's reacting how you imagined, heavily breathing, his hand snaking into your hair.

"jesus, shit, kid-" now you know you're doing well, lowering your entire mouth onto rafe's dick, feeling him fill up your throat. you choke around it for a moment, sucking down and running your tongue over the veins there. you take him out, catching your breath for a second while spit runs down his length and the side of your mouth.

you spit again, this time on his head, licking all the way up and then bringing him into your throat again. it's going good—you think! rafe's moaning and you definitely like the sound of it, staring up at him with watery eyes while you choke and moan around it.

he's getting close you think, the way his grip tightens on your hair and his hips start thrusting up into your mouth. you don't stop or slow down, but rafe does, yanking your hair and pulling you off.

you sputter, catching your breath, wiping away the spit.

"what happened?" you question quietly, looking up at him. a tear runs down, not able to stay in place. you're not upset though, just curious. "was it not good? did i do something wrong?"

"you told me you've never done that before."

"i haven't," you reply, shaking your head.

"so, so you just knew? to do all of that? don't fuckin' lie to me, kid, i'm not playin' around-"

"i didn't! swear! i've been studying, i told you-"

"this is what you've been studyin'?"

"...yes. i thought i was doing good." you mumble the last part, hugging your knees. you look away from rafe, feeling embarrassed.

"hey, hey. you were. i just wasn't expectin' that, s'all. scared me. you're too good at that." you perk up.

"i am?"

"yeah. you little freak. c'mon, finish up. gotta put that studyin' to use, hm?"

#oh ur fucking lovely for this prompt im OBSESSEDDDDDDDDDDDD #i adore u #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader

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madamechrissy · 2 months ago

Text

Silent Serenades

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x you

♔ Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, mentions of disordered eating of the reader and past emotional abuse, Satoru doesn't really help how he should but his dumbass tries, heavy angst, jealousy, smacking, Duke Gojo is becoming pathetic, lots of begging, heartfelt chap, cunnilingus, fingering, toxic attraction, Gojo is toxic. OOC. ANGST. SO MUCH TENSION.

♔ Word count this chap: 9.7k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you, and now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage. Royal AU, dark bridgerton vibes, Cruel Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Slow burn, enemies to lovers. Gojo is awful at first, HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you

(taglist open/Comments/ reblogs always appreciated 🥰

Part Five - Masterlist - Playlist

Part Six- Dinner is just a Masquerade

Satoru sits right across from you, glaring as you sit there in your chair, sipping on black coffee from a delicate china, and not touching your plate. You do eat of course, but you refuse to do so in front of him, even after he’d said it was false, you were too nervous. You’d always been a peckish little eater, and your parents praised that, so many people praised your impeccable manners at the table.

Your arms rest just so on the edge of the table, your pinky sits up so high as you take a sip, you know just how many times to chew to seem as if you’re enjoying a dish. You know all the etiquette, and you know how to keep from gaining weight, or to quickly slim if you catch the slightest ounce, you know how to keep healthy enough without looking overly indulgent.

For once, you’d just enjoyed a damn dish, you figured you did not need to impress Duke Gojo, after all he said he’d never want you. But the comment had triggered something you don’t quite like. Aside from Nanami stuffing your mouth full of delicious cookies, you’ve not eaten too much, it’s almost like a control you feel you need, but you must admit, you’re starving right now.

You have fluffy scones, tea and biscuits, and you’re just sipping this coffee, hoping it eases your throat. Duke Gojo slams his hands on the table then, picking up a scone and striding to you, yanks you by your hair. You gasp at the sensation, smacking at his big, stupid hands as he bends low over you.

“Get your damn hands off me.” You bite out, grabbing at his strong wrists and pulling at them, digging your long nails in his skin.

“You’ll fucking eat something, goddamn brat. Open your mouth.” He bends low and you grit your teeth, brows low as you scowl right back at his pretty face, as he’s trying to shove a scone in your mouth.

“Excuse me- ah!” He’s shoved it now, shoving your mouth closed by your jaw, and you’re forced to chew the sweet thing. He leans close to you, thumb brushing against your lower lip, staring at you with swirling blue eyes, so intense you shut your own, chewing it slowly.

You swallow it down, only for him to open your mouth more gently, and it does something to your tummy you hate, this feeling, it’s not butterflies like Nanami, no it’s brutal moths flying violently, and you detest it. You detest that you take another bite of scone for him, finishing it, licking your lower lip and sucking in a breath, your eyes locked on him.

“I should have never said that.” He sits on the table, most casual for him as he’s typically as formal as can be, his thighs spread far too wide and making you remember seeing him. You blush furiously, sipping your coffee then carefully.

“I have forgiven you, Duke. I am not much of an eater anyway.”

“It’s what I said, and I know it’s why you’re wasting away.” He grabs your wrist, wrapping his hand around it gently, an odd sensation and it feels so intense from what you’re used to.

“I’m still a healthy size-”

“For now. Please fucking eat. I know I’m horrible, I know you hate me, I know you owe me no kindness…” You hear his usually cruel voice break, and you struggle to keep your breaths steady, as he caresses your jaw in a way he shouldn’t. “Just don’t let me be the cause of this.”

“Why do you care? You’re so bloody confusing.” You pop another one in your mouth though, and watch his exhale in relief, running a hand through his silky white hair, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I wanted you to hate me, not hurt yourself.” You blink, looking up again.

“Well, you succeeded in me hating you.” You finish chewing and dab your mouth with the handkerchief, an action Satoru’s insane eyes follow.

“I know I did. I will not make a comment again about this however, you have my word. I am… I am sorry.” You feel the sincerity, and though you still hate him, you decide to finally let this go. If this was as good as anything would get with the infuriating, cold Duke.

“Well, thank you, Duke Gojo.” You sip more coffee, as he hops off the table, and your heart thuds in your chest, throat feeling tight again.

“I actually like women with more meat on their bones. You see my mistresses, it was just… I honestly didn’t think you’d believe me.” His voice is strained as he sits back down next to you, nibbling on his own food now slowly, and you sigh, leaning back a bit in your seat, not your typical straight stature.

“I am confident in ways but I have always watched how I look. Making sure to look perfect. It’s what I am praised for, it’s my worth, how well I am wedded. To marry a Duke made my family proud of me, and that is all my worth is, appearance, posture, how I act, how I laugh… how I eat. All of it. A woman has nothing else truly.”

Duke Gojo sips his sweet tea with milk, contemplating you carefully. What were you doing, opening up to this man? Stupid.

“I assumed you were highly confident, that you would know you’re nothing close to a ‘pig’ in how you eat.”

Your hands run along the edge of your little ceramic cup, touching the handle and studying him, tilting your head. “So why say it, then? To make me hate you?”

“Yes.”

Huh.

“May I know why?”

“No.”

There it is, the confusion, the haughty look on his face you want to punch right off of him. He’s clearly done with whatever tiny vulnerability he’s shown, and likely done affording you any kindness. You sigh, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. “And I still disgust you?”

He clears his throat, pulling at his collar, stiffening in his seat. “Don’t I disgust you, Duchess?”

You bite your lower lip, nodding. “You have lay with four women since I’ve known you, covered in their rouge, their perfume, their lip stains. Indeed, I do not find that attractive. But as for your looks, of course you are handsome.” His eyes widen, full lips parting for a moment.

“I’m handsome to you?”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re extremely handsome outwardly, on the inside is quite another story, Duke. But you already know that.”

He sips his tea once more, just a hint of color on his cheeks. “Well you have not said so.”

“You want me to? You hate me.”

He looks away. “Yes, I do.”

You sigh then. “This conversation grows tiresome-”

“You’re attractive outwardly as well, very, very attractive. You disgust me because… of other reasons than your beauty.” His soft words are barely a whisper, especially at the end.

Now your cheeks flush, but you just sigh. “Oh, so you were not serious when you said-”

“No, I should not have said that either. Now you disgust me because you spread your legs wide for that man.” His fists clench, you stand then, shaking your head.

“What care you? Your cock in another woman every night.” Gojo stands now, stepping right in front of you.

“And was his cock in you, like a whore?” You smack him then, right across his face, and he scowls now, grabbing your wrist, bending low over you. “You’re the most insolent brat I’ve met.”

“And you’re the most stupid, cruel man I’ve ever met. I will not answer your stupid question. I ask not what you do.”

“Well you’re the innocent one here, or you were.”

“What do you care? My innocence isn’t yours to take. I’d never give it to you.” You whisper, and he grabs your waist then, pulling you flush against him, eyes darting to your lips.

“You act as if you do not want me, when I touch you, your body tells another story.” His voice is dangerously soft as he runs his fingers down your skin, where it’s bare on your shoulders, you shiver, your nipples tightening involuntarily. You can’t stand your stupid body.

“And you beg to touch me, don’t you Gojo?” His eyes narrow, long white lashes over his gaze now at your soft words. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Just because you taste good doesn’t mean I… you know what? Fuck you, Duchess.”

“Fuck you, Duke. Are the formalities in order for our daily battle? Do you enjoy them so, Duke?” Your free hand slides down his abdomen, watching him suck in a breath, feeling his muscles tense. “Enjoy touching me? Enjoy tasting me? Do you hate that I let someone else?”

You watch his jaw clench, watch him gulp, as his grip on you tightens just so. “It’s disgusting that you do. You’re so desperate, so pathetic, to jump in someone’s arms so quickly. You know you are.” His voice is hoarse, however, strained, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

You laugh softly, giving him a mean smile. “So what does that make you, the man who jumps in any woman’s arms? So fucking desperate anyone will do?”

Satoru grabs your face then, squishing your cheeks as he leans even lower, and you hate your body’s reaction again, you hate everything about him. “What do you care who I lay with then, hmm? Jealous of them?”

“Ha, no… I wouldn’t touch you, lord knows where you’ve been? You wish.”

He snorts. “I do not wish.”

You raise a brow. “Mmm, indeed.”

“Eat one more, wife, since you wish to please your husband, don’t you? The perfect little fucking wife.” You scowl again, popping one more, noticing the pleased smile.

“Only because I am hungry.” You speak after you chew, and he exhales, letting your wrist go, caressing your cheek softly, you hate it, but find that your eyes are fluttering shut.

“Good. Prepare today, we have that dinner with our parents.”

“I’ll be the picture of fake wedded bliss.” You smile sweetly, and he shakes his head, why won’t he let your damn waist go!?

“You sure do know how to pretend. We don’t want them knowing the truth, that we hate each other, hmm?”

“Indeed, I can absolutely pretend. Watch.” You take his hand, batting your long lashes and smiling sweetly, leaning up and pecking a kiss on his cheek, watching the blush decorate the shameless man’s face. “Oh Mama, Papa, I’m ever so happy as Duke Gojo’s wife.”

“Bitch.” He huffs, and you pull back and curtsey.

“I know, perfect performance, hmm?”

“No, you’d be calling me Satoru by now. If I wanted to, I’d have you screaming out ‘Satoru’.” His husky whisper is against your lips as he brushes the backs of his knuckles down your collarbone. You fall into that infinite pool that are Gojo’s eyes, for just a moment, before righting yourself.

“I only scream ‘Satoru’ when he pees on the floor.” You coo, yanking back from him just a step, and earning his furious scowl.

“You’re such a bitch. Imagine if I were the type of husband to take what’s mine, to keep you locked up like some pretty bird in a cage. Ever been happy I don’t?”

“I’m very happy you don’t fuck me. It will be so fun to fuck him-”

Gojo grabs you by the throat then, squeezing just so, and you just laugh as he bends down low. “You’re such a stupid whore.”

“I’m learning from the best.” You whisper out, nails digging into his wrist, but something about how he squeezes, how his other hand slides up your rib cage, makes you…

Wet.

Something’s so wrong with you!?

He releases you, leaning down again, and you hold him at a distance, his blue stormy eyes dilated now. “I should occupy your mouth with other things.”

“I wouldn’t suck you, who knows where that cock has been-”

“You know what that is!?” He demands, tips of his ears red.

You clear your throat, looking down and stepping back, as Satoru is furious. “It’s none of your-”

“You sucked a man off like some-”

“Like how I saw a girl suck you. Mmhmm.” You say then, defiant, raising your eyes back to his, looking at him under your lashes. Gojo grabs you again, and you smack him again, in this stupid fucking dance you both do.

“Did you really?”

“You mad it wasn’t you?” He opens his mouth, those pink lush lips wide, as if he’s at a loss for words. “Maybe I’ll ask your women for tips, you know, for next time.”

He laughs harshly, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair, exasperated clearly. “Ask my mistresses for tips on sucking cock?”

“Mmm, indeed. I’m not sure if I did the best as my first time. But you know, he enjoyed it clearly, he… well you know.”

“You’re such an evil little bitch.” You just smile as he chokes you once more, you feel him holding back, you know he wants to crush your windpipe, but the soft pressure is thrilling. “So you’re just swallowing cum then?”

“Why not? Don’t they swallow, Gojo?” He says nothing, as he’s panting, as you’re whispering through the squeeze of your throat.

“You wouldn’t be able to talk if I fucked your mouth, that’s the difference, wouldn’t be able to swallow anything for days without remembering my cock fucking your little throat.” His words shoot straight to your cunt, and it’s like he knows, as he grips your skirts tightly into a fist.

“I’d never suck you.” You say then, earning a tighter squeeze before he releases you, furious now. “You won’t be any of my firsts, I don’t even count our kiss.” You cough then, rubbing your throat, and Gojo’s fury just grows, as does his despair, as his eyes look so… sad then.

You don’t care.

Gojo deserves this and worse.

You don’t care when he storms away without a fucking word, and you don’t care when he says nothing to you even in that carriage ride to your parents home, where Gojo’s Mama and step dad would be. You don’t care how his thighs are spread, one pressed against yours, how you feel the heat of him against your skin through those layers of satin.

What do you care if he’s upset?

The carriage ride to your parents' home is tense, the silence thick with tension, as Satoru Gojo sulks like a damn child. He keeps peeking at you, before glaring and staring back out the carriage window, fuming. You sit rigidly, your heart racing from the altercation in the dining room, you can still feel his hand on your throat, and you wish you hated it more.

The soft rocking of the carriage and the rhythmic clop of the horses' hooves against the cobblestone streets are the only sounds that fill the space in the tense quarters. You hate that his scent fill the air between you, a mix of sandalwood and something sweet, fuck does this stupid man need to smell so good!?

You focus on the passing scenery outside the window, you should take this as a good thing, Satoru Gojo finally shutting the fuck up. Right? How often have you gotten him to-

“Bet you were wet.”

What!?

You look to him incredulously, mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“When I choked that pretty throat of yours.” His ankle is crossed over his knee, he’s resting his chin on his hand, smirking now.

“I was certainly not, damned brute!”

“No, not a bit? You looked like you liked it. Wonder how freaky your baker really gets, could he handle you?”

“Stupid fucking man.” You shove at his arm now, maybe you should have enjoyed that silence. “You presume too much, your Grace.”

“Felt you twice, soaked.” His voice drips with sex, as drippy as he had your little pussy, but you'll not say it out loud. Fuck Duke Gojo.

“Wasn’t you who did it.”

“Lying little bitch.”

“Conceited dick!”

As the carriage draws to a halt in front of your parents' grand estate, you both are glaring at each other, and he’s too close, he’s too close. You want to punch him if not for being at your parents’, and them seeing your ‘husband’ with a giant bruise on his face. Your fingers itch badly to, but soon one of the attendants was opening the carriage door, and Satoru steps out.

He holds his hand out then, and you ignore it, choosing to step down instead, holding your skirts up, nearly tripping as your legs aren’t quite long enough with your flouncy skirts. Then Satoru’s hand catches you by your bare upper arm, and it sends a jolt through your body, a reminder of his earlier touch, and you immediately pull away, smoothing your skirts as if to wipe away the sensation.

“Wanted to land on your face, brat?” He demands through gritted teeth, earning your glare up at him.

“Face planting is preferable to your touch.” He scoffs, walking ahead of you, and you struggle to compose yourself, hating everything about this man.

Perfect.

Composed.

You can do this. You can’t let Satoru see his stupid effects on you anymore than he already has.

Once seated at the long, elegantly set dinner table, the weight of your parents' expectations press down on you. Satoru sits next to you, and instead of being perfect and composed, he seemed on the very edge, fury just radiating. You wonder at him, why was he mad you did the same thing he did? He’s confusing, he’s stupid, he’s bloody infuriating.

You wish you were instead baking with Mr. Nanami, not forcing smiles in this masquerade of an affair next to London’s biggest asshole. Let him ruin the sham of marriage you think, perhaps it will end it all sooner… Though you know in your heart your parents will not let this go, they would simply force you to stay, as would Gojo’s mother.

Gojo’s stepfather looks bored, he and Gojo do not even acknowledge each other, which you find somewhat curious as you pick at your food, the rich aromas of roast beef and steamed vegetables doing little to quell the nervousness in your stomach. You make yourself eat some, noticing Gojo’s relief next to you.

Why does he suddenly care?

The room is lit by several candles, along with a beautiful chandelier overhead, casting flickering shadows across the polished silverware and crystal glasses. Your parents manor was one of the most grand aside from royalty, which of course you were now, but the beauty is hard to rival. If your parents liked one thing, it was opulence, it was being the top of society.

It doesn’t feel much like a home truly. You did not have a bad childhood, no indeed you are very lucky, your parents let you ride horses, play outside, cook in the kitchens. The only pressures you faced were preparing to be a good wife, to be the most perfect, and even though you’ve ‘accomplished’ it, the weight of their gazes and their expectations drowns you still.

The sound of forks and knives clinking against porcelain plates fills the air, punctuated by the occasional forced laughter, along with perfunctory conversation, until they get to what they really wanted to talk about. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as your mother looks at you both.

“So, are we trying for an heir?” You sputter, and Gojo smirks then, looking down at you and raising a brow.

“We have been actively trying, haven’t we, my love.” You grit your teeth at his stupid words, sure he’s playing a game but you hate them.

“Indeed, we have been trying most… fervently, sweet Satoru.” He gulps audibly on the sweet wine he’s drinking, raising brows at the use of his name.

“I’m most pleased to hear this. We had our worries.” Your mother says, and Gojo’s mom smiles.

“I also had my worries. But I can see the sparks between you both.” You stifle a rude laugh, but Gojo snorts, earning a subtle stomp on his foot, and a glare from him, to which you just smile brightly, batting your lashes at him.

“Indeed, I see them as well. Young and in love.” Your dad says, winking at you both, and you literally can barely stop yourself from snorting, instead shoving food into your mouth, and you notice your parents shock, brows raised.

“Eat like that so often and you won’t keep that perfect little waist, darling.” Your mom’s words make your fork clatter then, and you clear your suddenly tight throat, feeling your eyes prick with tears.

“She barely eats, like a damned bird, she has an appetite from us riding horses earlier is all.” Satoru says then, and you look at him in shock, as he’s… is Satoru… defending you?

“Of course, she also must eat well to have a baby you know.” Satoru’s mom says softly, and your mother smiles a bit, nodding, as her crushing words hit an already fragile part of you.

“Indeed, but your husband married you a certain way, you know.” She quips then, and your chest heaves with labored breaths, as you sip on your drink, and you feel Satoru’s hand then, under the cover of the heavy damask tablecloth, on your thigh, not sexual either it’s…

Supportive?

“I assure you she could stand to eat more, she’s rather petite. I enjoy a woman who eats.” He says, and his touch is light, almost imperceptible, but it sends a shiver up your spine, as he speaks so bravely for you, on something he himself had said. He now looks to you, and you see it, pain in his eyes that's reflected from yours.

Understanding.

“You’re not the same size, are you, when you married?” Satoru’s mom quips to your mom, and she gasps, you and Satoru hold in your chuckles just barely.

“Well, I… I’m older and had a babe! We can’t all stay your size, Lady Gojo.”

“Leave her alone, she’s just hungry.” Your dad says, and you sigh a bit as your mother finally relents. You can’t eat another bite, as she picks you apart.

“You look pale. That’s not well. You should have more color.” She says now, and you can’t stand another moment, wanting to throw back your wine.

“She’s been in the bed chambers so much, Mama.” Satoru quips, and soon everyone laughs at his remark, and once again, he squeezes your thigh, giving you a small smile.

“Why are you being nice?” You whisper, leaning to his ear, as a loving couple would do, and you inhale his scent, you feel the heat of his palm over your skirts.

“Because your mom’s a bitch.” You giggle a bit, looking up and seeing a different side of him, his smirk… charming and not cruel. You try to remind yourself he’s horrible, and you will remember that later, but for a brief moment you’re content to enjoy him.

“They’ll definitely be making babies.” Satoru’s mom says, and she looks to Satoru curiously then. “Have you given up your rakish ways, Satoru?”

“What rakish ways, you wound me, Mother.” She rolls her pretty blue eyes, a shade darker than Duke Gojo’s, and you tentatively put a hand on his, making him squeeze your thigh, you watch him suck in a breath.

“He’s a reformed rake at present, aren’t you, Satoru?” The room is quiet, and he looks at you in surprise, nodding, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and his warm lips feel far, far too sweet on your skin.

“Indeed, reformed for you my love.” He murmurs, and you can’t take how charming he looks, acts, even when you know how he really is.

You hate that you wished for one moment this was real, that the man you’d had dreams of as a young girl, the Duke - he’d been so charming and funny you noticed from afar- was actually kind. That he wouldn’t be fucking another woman right next to you, right in front of you. That he would truly mean what he says, and not constantly confuse you.

Was there kindness in him, in Satoru Gojo, or just this moment, where you both have some strange agreement? Why won’t you lift your hand off of his, why are you brushing a thumb along his knuckles, and why won’t he release your leg? His hand slides higher, his thumb ghosting along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and you bite back a gasp.

The conversation carries on, until Lady Gojo brings up Satoru’s father, and his grip gets brutal, his breathing labored. You clutch onto his hand, looking at him with concern stark in your gaze then. That vein bulges out of his jaw, and now he’s downing a whole glass of wine, holding the empty crystal for a servant to fill, beginning to chug that one down.

“I won’t speak of him, you know that Mother.” She sighs then, shaking her head, cutting a piece of roast beef and chewing it delicately.

“I do not know what ever happened.”

“You need not know. Do not bring him up, he’s dead, he’s gone.” At Satoru’s harsh and cruel words of his own father your mind races, what could he have done to earn such ire?

“Let’s speak of other things.” You chime in then, and he exhales, turning his hand up to entwine with yours, it’s as if you both were relying on each other to get through this sham of a dinner. Something about this was nicer than you cared to admit. “What of the opera this weekend? Are any of you going?”

“Indeed, we have a box seat. Are you two going?” Your father asks, as Lady Gojo is quiet, contemplative, and your mom is still rather huffy about the weight comments.

“We’re going, of course. You know I love the opera.” You say brightly, and soon the topics shift, and they’re on to speak of the races, of gossip, of different businesses and even political matters. The heat is off you and Satoru, so you let go of a hand you’ve held far too long.

Satoru’s hand doesn’t leave your body, it wraps around your back, rubbing little circles against it that feel so good. You laced incredibly tight due to your Mama and her perpetual comments, and you’re struggling just a bit to breathe, but he’s so comforting, his presence. It shouldn’t be.

It shouldn’t be.

It can’t be.

You hate him.

How dare he comfort you, defend you, how could you do the same, how could you act this way when hours ago he’d choked you, and you’d slapped him, and you’d both been so nasty? What was this, were you thinking more into it, was he just keeping up appearances?

Satoru leans close to you then, holding a piece of dessert on a silver fork, and you have flashbacks, of him and Catherine, so vivid you feel sick, you pull back then, wondering how you’d let it get so far, this facade. Just hours ago you had slapped him and he had choked you, and even you had been cruel, something you frequently were lately.

“I need some air, I’m afraid. Excuse me for just a moment.” You say softly, and Satoru’s eyes narrow a bit, his lips pursing just so.

You rush out into the gardens now, just like you had that night, taking several shaky breaths, trying to compose yourself, remind yourself of the cruel reality that Satoru is not kind, he is not interested. The truth that you have someone who cares, and every moment you enjoy with Satoru feels like some betrayal to him, in such an odd way.

You would be at best a plaything, and at worst, something for Satoru to mock, to have something over you. It was not as if the man for whatever reason feels some attraction that anything has changed. You are a damn fool, you realize it, as you walk past the beautiful marble statues of couples in love, naked aside from rippled sheets gracing their bodies.

You touch a particular one then, seeing the beauty of it, but also the pain, a statue with two women and one man. One is pulling at the man’s shoulders, while the other is in his arms, and you see the pain in the woman’s ivory face, the set of her brows, her hollow eyes, as the other woman smiles so coyly. There is the utmost detail as the man’s hand presses into her flesh.

You are that other woman, or you become that woman when you have just one feeling, just one care, just one moment. He is not sincere, he is not kind, just because he gave you one moment of reprieve, just because he apologized for one wrong doing amongst the countless… he is not worthy of forgiveness… he is not…

“It is rather beautiful, isn’t it?” You jerk and turn when you see him behind you in the dark night, where thousands of glittery stars watch you and judge you, will they laugh at how stupid you’ve become?

“It is my favorite piece in these gardens.” You say softly, clearing your throat and tilting your head back to look up at him, at his soft lips that tempt you with every breath, at his long white lashes casting shadows down his cheeks. You look down then, nervously gripping your sapphire gown. “I’ll be back momentarily, your Grace.”

“Your mother, she upset you.” His words surprise you, and you take a nervous breath, nodding. “I did not know… I see now, how jealous she is of you.”

“Jealous of me?”

“Mmm, young and beautiful, and she wishes she still was, not that she’s not a pretty lady, but certainly not…” He trails off then, tugging at his cravat, nervous by your shocked expression. “Not you.”

Your heart falters, tears pricking your eyes, and as they fall, Satoru brushes one away with a thumb, ripping apart a fragile psyche. “Why are you being kind? What games do you mean to play?”

He sighs, looking down now as well, broad shoulders slumping a bit. “I just realize that I triggered something already there, and I feel fucking horrible.”

“Then why do it? Why do any of it? What did I do to deserve-”

“I can’t tell you.” His voice is broken, his words so confusing you can’t stand it. “But we have something in common. Or, we did.”

“What, pray tell, is that?” You ask, raising a brow.

His jaw sets. ‘Shit parents who clearly hate us. Though, my shitty parent is since deceased. And yours lives and eats across from you. Was she always like this?”

You blink rapidly, nodding and brushing tendrils that have fallen from your half up do out of your face. “She’s always needed me perfect, picked me to fucking pieces, it’s like I couldn’t live up to it.”

He laughs, dark and without humor then. “I understand that feeling, to need to be perfect. I suppose I thought you were though.”

“I just come across that way. There’s so much wrong with me…”

“Like what?”

“A lot. As you know.”

“Hmm.” He sighs then, as you both stand together in the night, and you hate how much you ache to touch his chest, to feel his arms around you. And why!? Why?

“Well thank you for the kindness tonight, even if it was an act, it was a rather beautiful one.” You turn then, head dropping and shoulders stopping just a bit, as the gentle breeze of the night blows against your skin, making you shiver. Satoru’s big hands grip your shoulders then, and you stiffen, fighting how good it feels, fighting that feeling when he’s pressed against you.

Satoru leans down, breath tickling your ear. “It was not an act to defend you. That was not an act when you helped me either, changing that subject, was it?”

You shake your head then, breathing so heavy, wishing it would calm, as he’s so fucking close, you can feel him everywhere in the night, as if it’s all him. “You helped me, so of course I helped.”

“After all I’ve done, you owe me no kindness. No forgiveness. None.” His words are terse, as his grip tightens, and you bite your lower lip so brutally you tear the skin of it, tasting just a bit of blood. You fight every urge in your body.

“You’re not owed any. That is true. And we will go back to normal, as soon as we are at Gojo Manor-”

“Home. At home.”

“Your home.” You look up and glare, as he scowls. “You’ll have a mistress waiting in your bed, and you’ll cease to need to excite yourself with this stupid game, once a woman you desire is there.”

“You think…” His hands slip down to your waist, pressing you against him, and your head falls back against his chest before you can stop it, letting out a little whine that you despise. “I don’t desire you? Are you so stupid?”

“Fuck you, Gojo. Fuck you confusing me, fuck everything about you, including making me think… making me…”

“Think what, Princess?” His husky tone and that word make you so on edge you can’t stand it, as a big hand presses on your tummy over your corset.

“Don’t call me that, I’m a Duchess, and that’s temporary.”

“You’re a whole fucking Princess, everything about you. This body, this face, that annoyingly perfect posture, the way the entire room holds its breath-”

“Don’t do this. Don’t. You’re a liar.” You turn then, only for him to bend at the waist, cupping your face, shaking his head, the moonlight like a halo behind his head, behind his body, like he’s an angel, when he’s not. “Devil. You’re a devil.”

“And you’re a fucking angel.” You shake your head again, shoving at his chest, but his lips descend, and they feel so good they pulse through you, until you find yourself tip toeing, and he moans in your mouth. “Slutty angel.”

“Whore devil.” You whisper back, only for him to grip you roughly, hands obscene, grabbing your ass over your gown, picking you up with ease and pressing you against that statue, it digs in so hard but you come alive, as he’s kissing down your throat, your chest, biting and moaning so softly.

“Why must you do this to me? Haunt me so. I should hate you.” He says then, confusing the ever living shit out of you. “I should not want you.”

“Why not? Why do you… no… just, let me go. Don’t want this, don’t want you, I don’t!” You smack at his chest, and he grabs your wrists, shoving them behind your back, bringing your hips to him, and he’s hard and thick over your layers. You cry out, head falling back, and he devours you, bit by bit.

“I hate it. I hate you.” He kisses and kisses, as every confession of hate confuses you, as does your throbbing pussy. “I can’t stop it, I can’t stop these thoughts… of tasting you, of kissing you, bit by bit, of making you cum so much you’ll forget that man, he’ll be nothing.”

“Mnh, stop it. You can’t. You won’t. I won’t.” He’s sliding his hand up your bodice, gripping your breasts, shaking his head. “I can’t fall for this, for you, just leave me be!” He frowns then, brows knitting together, as he caresses your cheek far too softly.

His eyes devour you, full of… it’s fucking desire, isn’t it? A person can’t fake that look, but you must ignore it! You must… “Please… I need-”

You both fall apart as you hear your family now, and you just barely manage to escape with your mind intact. Partially.

You can’t fall for this, what even is this!?

It’s a silent carriage ride back, as you both stare out those dark carriage windows, pitch black nearly aside from soft lights hanging along, marking your path, and you can’t get his touch out of your mind, his kiss off your lips. You touch them then, sighing, and his eyes lock on you.

“What?” You say then, putting your fingers down, and he opens his mouth, then shuts it, opening it again. “Say it, Duke.”

“I was not pretending. I meant it.” You laugh then, shaking your head and facing him, as he faces you in the night, the carriage rocking roughly, shoving you into his damn arms, making him suck in a breath, as you push back.

“You’re such a liar, instead of just being cruel outwardly, you want to make me think you actually…”

“Actually what?”

“Want me! When you don’t!”

“I do! I do, fuck I do. Can you not fucking see!?” He demands then, and you shake your head quickly, breaths in quick pants, as his stupid fucking hands run down your shoulders. “I want you so badly I came and begged to taste you. Twice. What do you think that means?”

“That you’re stupid, confusing, a dick! Angry I don’t fall to my fucking knees for you. Conceited, narcissistic and ruthless! Cold and beautiful and hard, like some fucking diamond. You’re the diamond, you!” You shove at him, and he lets you, he lets you smack at him. “I hate you! I hate my life because of you!”

When you stop for just a moment it’s because you hear his labored breaths, and you look up to see tears in the night. You gulp, shaking your head, unbelieving them, gripping his suit so tight it hurts in your hands. He rests his forehead on yours, and you taste the sweet brandy on his breath, and fuck you hate it, when his head tilts, and when his lips brush yours like a ghost.

“You make me cry, you make me hate myself more, you make me… make me want to… you’ve pushed me so hard I-”

“I’m so fucking sorry. I am. I swear to god.”

“Then explain it!”

He chokes on his own cry, you feel your tears mingling together. “I can’t explain it to you, I can’t, but it was never your fault.”

“So I just accept that!? Fuck that. That’s bullshit.” You shove back, swiping your eyes and backing up, your back slamming against the rocking wooden carriage seat, thighs shaking. “It’s because I’m happy without you, you can’t stand it.”

“No, I can’t stand it, not when it’s me who should be making you cum.” You nearly growl in anger, glaring at him and smacking him, only for him to let you, to grip your wrist and kiss your palm. “Don’t fucking do that! I won’t stop seeing him. He is who deserves me, you do not!”

“I know I do not deserve you. I know.” He pins your wrists against the sides of you, and he’s now between your thighs, on his knees, and you’re panicking. “I know you’re too good for me. I know it, goddammit you shouldn’t even let me touch you, but you want it too, don’t you.”

“N-no! Never!” He exhales, slipping up your skirts, and you let him, fuck you spread your thighs for him. “What on Earth are you doing!?”

“I’m going to lick you. And you’re going to cum so hard you’ll forget anything, anything in that pretty head but me.” He whispers, you’re soaked clean through those pantalets he’s ripped off you then, and you gasp.

“No, you won’t… you can’t… don’t want you…”

“No? Then explain this.” He’s slid a thick digit in your already dripping entrance, and you’re screaming out in the rocking carriage, earning his moan, his look of desire, as his eyes watch you in the night, watch your heaving breasts pressed high in your corset. “Soaking wet little cunt.”

“You can’t, you don’t want me, remember!? Fuck! I don’t want you… mmm… I don’t, no… ah! Fuck you!” He’s barely moving a finger and you nearly cum at that, as your fingers itch to shove his face where it’s so close, as he’s kissing and biting your thighs.

“Please.” He begs, looking up, eyes still glossy, and fuck he looks good, fuck you hate that you want it, that you want to so badly you can’t imagine anything else feeling that good. “Let me feel your cum on my face, dripping down my lips, let me drink all of you, Duchess. Please.”

He’s desperate, he’s whiny, he’s between your thighs just begging, his own breaths labored, as he’s curling that finger up, and your head falls back, dripping down on him. “You can’t. It’s not… right. You’ll… fuck your whores… you’ll…”

“Just once, let me.” His desperation makes his voice break, as his breath tickles you. “Let me devour you, let me fucking feel you.” His words, his eyes, the finger sliding against your damp folds, it’s too much.

You hate yourself.

“F-fine, once. I won’t like it, I know I won’t.” You say with a glare, earning a smirk, and a quirked white brow.

“We’ll see about that, Princess.”

He spreads your puffy, aching lips then, and moans when he watches wetness dripping out of your little hole, pooling out of your entrance, then he bends down, sliding his tongue up you, and it feels so good you can’t stop your moan, as those gorgeous eyes look up, and he’s tasting you, his tongue flicking your clit, making it twitch under it, your thighs tightening.

“Fuck you taste so good.” He whispers, lovingly almost, what a joke right, then he’s not just licking you, he’s grabbing you by the fat of your ass, pressing you against the carriage seat, and he’s devouring you.

“Ohmy- ah- what!? I- f-fuck!” You scream out, your hands clinging to his shoulders desperately as he’s sliding his tongue in and out of your soppy entrance, fucking you with it, drinking you all in. Your hips buck up, earning his groan, as he thrusts his tongue in and out, his nose bumping your clit, making you a mess, making you so wet it’s stupid.

You’re so close so quick, you can scarcely hold it in, and when he looks up at you, and takes your hand, putting it on his hair, you feel so fucking powerful then, so desired. You grip his soft hair, hips arching up for more, pulling at his strands, as he moans against you, diving back down, then you’re done for, you’re destroyed, your tummy is clenching with so much pressure you can’t hold in.

You scream out as you cum all over Duke Gojo’s pretty face, and he’s gripping your thighs bruisingly, sucking your swollen clit into his mouth now, humming, as you cum so hard it’s blinding. It washes all over your entire body now, thighs shivering violently on either side of his head as he pulls back, licking his lower lip, covered in your arousal.

“That’s it, you love it don’t you pretty girl?” His words kill your last resolve, if cumming hadn’t, and they confuse you, as your eyes are lidded, as he teases your sensitive entrance with prodding fingers, eyes locked on your face.

“P-pretty… pretty…”

“You’re so pretty like this. Fuck you are so, so pretty, falling apart for me.” He’s sliding two fingers in now, pumping in and out, and you’re on that edge again, as he huffs, leaning up, a breath away. “Lick your sweet cunt off me.”

“Fuck.” You cling to him then, against any good goddamn judgment, as he’s rocking fingers up and down in your tight entrance, and he’s kissing you desperately, so fucking hungry. Your teeth click as he steals your breath, as your tongues swirl so goddamn messy, saliva mixing with your arousal, and you’re both rough and brutal against each other.

He pulls back, biting his lip and sliding a free hand up to your breast, squishing it and making you cry out. “Cum again pretty. Like a good little slut.”

“S-slut… fuck you… fuck!” He’s dived back down now, as the carriage jostles you both, serving to only shove his face further between the apex of your thighs, and you can hear him groan as he licks you from bottom to top, fingering you and licking you, all while his snowy lashes cover his pretty eyes, his face tilted to the side to hit the underside of your clit in quick flicks.

You can't hold it together, everything falls apart again, and this time you're clinging to that white hair, rocking your hips up fucking shameless. He slurps up your wetness, so goddamn obscene in this little carriage as you scream out - “Gojo, c-cumming!”

He pulls back, face glistening, still pressing on that little spongy spot that has you panting, vision darkened as the carriage rocks you both. “Satoru, call me Satoru when you cum.”

“I can’t, I hate you… we hate each… f-fuck you…” He leans up, kissing your breasts, nipping and biting as his fingers work you, so deep it's insane how they hit, the pressure more and more intense as it builds.

“Please just one time. Say my name.” He whispers, vulnerable and begging again, as he's worshiping your cunt, your body. Your body heaves as you struggle to breathe, to think. “Please, Princess…”

“Princess, stop it, stop saying it fuck!” You’re crying salty tears as you’re about to cum again for this horrible man, who is looking at you hungrily.

“You are one, fuck you are, and I'm nothing. Please. Scream my name for me while I feel you gush this sweetness.” He begs again, eyes so dilated they're hard to look at, you're dripping down the carriage seat. You shouldn't be doing this, you shouldn't… you're awful, he's horrible…

“You’re-”

“I know. I know. Please.” He says again, dipping back down, looking up at you now, and it ends you, that hot, wet tip of his tongue flicking where you're sensitive and you can’t stop your back from arching, your hands from pulling him closer. “Say my name, please. Please.”

His whispers are tickling that clit, as he now sinks two fingers so deep, deeper than you’ve had something in you, pressing so deep it’s almost painful, but you want it, you want more. You want all of him, you even want that pretty cock against all your better judgment, thinking of it just makes you squish lewdly, makes him lick his lower lip hungrily.

“Once?” He nods, free hand pressing your thigh up, flounces of skirts dangling as he still his motions, as he watches you eagerly.

“Then make me cum, and I’ll say it.” He moans at that, lashes fluttering as he dives back down fully, using two fingers as he mouths your clit, and you’re dripping all the way down, so much you’re slippery, and you can’t take it, you are so on edge, as he’s building this intensity in your core, as you listen to his hoarse moans muffled by your cunt.

Satoru has you there again, this time even more intense, your building climax, as you buck up your hips, grinding on his face, before stopping yourself, only for him to pull back for just a moment. “No, Princess, keep doing it. Fuck my face. All those frustrations, please fucking do it, get them out on me.”

You sputter, but then moan and pull him against you, grinding on his beautiful face in the night, as his tongue laps and laps, and your cunt spasms around his fingers now, pulsating as it hits you, as it rocks in waves, and you scream it, fuck you scream it… “Satoru! Satoru!”

He groans, fucking you with his long fingers as you cum so hard, harder than you could imagine possible, fucking reeling and weak, head smacking the seat as you pull his face so tightly, as he’s suffocating against you, but his mouth never stops. His fingers keep pressing up, forcing you into another, blue eyes looking up as he watches you so intently, fall apart.

“Satoru!” You scream again, and finally he relents, leaving you weak and boneless, and he’s kissing you again, as you cling so hungry, as you realize that carriage stopped. “Satoru…” He cups your face, eyes swirling, as you swipe some of your wetness off him.

“I want you around my cock so goddamn bad. So bad. Fuck I’d do anything to feel her.” He whispers, and you can’t stop it, you just kiss him again, and before you know it, you’re out of the carriage in his arms, and he’s quickly walking you in as you cling to him, as your mouths don’t leave each other, not even to breathe, tongues in desperate strokes.

He presses you against the wall of the drawing room, yanking down your bodice now, and you gasp, eyes rolling back as he kisses and bites, as your cunt grinds where he’s so hard, as you want more impossibly more. And from him!? But you can’t remember a goddamn thing he did when he looks at you like that, when he cups your face, pressing you further.

“I need you, fuck I need you.” He says then, and you can’t respond, as your mind swirls. “Are you innocent still? I don’t even care, I won’t judge you, I just need to know if we take this to my bed or I fuck you here.”

As he’s whispering, you blink back tears, sucking in a breath. “We shouldn’t do this, Satoru.”

His eyes get heady, glazed over as he grinds again. “Fuck, my name on your lips?”

“Satoru I… I am still-”

“Your grace, your mistress and Lady Elaine are both here for you.” Satoru’s butler says then, clearing his throat, and it’s like someone threw a bucket of water all over you. Satoru looks in horror as he watches you break, as you shove and shove until he lets you go.

“I am stupid, you’re right.” You whisper then, running, and he’s running after you, shoving past the butler, and you run almost into them, those ladies giggling and sipping wine in your home.

But it’s not your home.

“Please, it was before this. I’ll send them home!” He pleads as he catches you on the stairway, and the ladies are scowling at you, making you so goddamn angry, you shove at him, and he yanks at you. “I want you! I want you!”

“You never did. It’s a game! That's all I am to you.” You sob uncontrollably, hunching over as he clutches you, and you wriggle in his hold. “I hate you!”

“I swear, I didn’t… I didn’t know we’d…” He cups your face then, gulping, his lips tremulous. “I had no clue I’d ever get you like this. I don’t want it to end, not this… I want tonight to be about you, about you only. Please.”

“You knew they’d be here! Is this funny to you? Toying with my goddamn emotions, making me think you could… we could… Ugh!” You shove past him again, running to your room in your pretty silver heels, clicking up the steps, lifting your skirts, and you hear those women now, making your blood boil.

“Duke Gojo-”

“Fuck off.” He shouts back, chasing you, but you’re already in your room, and you’re trying to shut it. “They’ll go home, I swear. Please, let me… let me just touch you more, taste you more. You can do nothing to me if you don’t want to. Please.” He’s pleading now, as you’re trying to shut the door on him, and you can barely look at him, it hurts so bad.

“It’s a game.”

“It’s not!”

“It all is to you. You mean to break me in other manners.”

“No I do not!”

“Then tell me, why do you hate me!? Why!?” He blinks then, opening his mouth, then exhaling, hands reaching for your face, hands that feel too perfect on your skin, hands that made you forget. “You cannot open up to me, you cannot do anything but confuse me. You go down there with them, have your fun, what do I even care, I’m nothing to you!”

“I want you goddammit, you! They’re nothing compared to you.” He speaks through gritted teeth, and you want to believe it, but you steel yourself, as much as you can, shaking your head. “I swear it. I swear it, let me show you…”

“You’ve made enough of a fool of me. Imagine me thinking you could be my first? After…” He pauses, eyes wide, and you shake with your emotion. “I’m an idiot. You were right.”

“I am the idiot. Fuck I know it. Please, give me tonight, please.” He keeps cupping your face, as you hear his women laughing.

“They laugh at me. I’m a joke.”

“You’re-”

“I am. A laughingstock. But at least before I had my dignity, now you strip even that away! Go, I shall never be a fool again.”

He growls, grabbing at you tightly. “Goddamit, stop this, just let me try!”

“I can’t take it. I can’t.” You sob harder as you finally shut the door on his forlorn face, and he’s smacking the door with an angry fist, as you gently touch the door where his hand is, resting your head on it. “I wish it was real.” You whisper, against your will, and you feel another thud on the door.

“Please let me in, please.”

“It hurts too goddamn much. Play your games with someone else. I can’t take this. I can’t.” You feel yourself losing control, and finally you’re sliding down the door, curling into a ball and sobbing, and it takes a long, long time to calm down, to stop banging on the door.

“Please, I’m begging you, open this door. Even if we… even if I just look at you, please.” Your eyes are so full of tears they burn, at his emotional voice, but it’s got to be an act, it’s got to be!

You’re stupid.

You’re so stupid.

You hate yourself for this.

How could you!?

You almost…

“It was real.” He whispers finally, before you hear one more punch at your door, then hear his thuds as he leaves. And your mind wracks, with what will happen, what you’ve done.

What have you done?

And was he in their arms, as you held yourself and cried?

Or was he truly…

You hear nothing that night, but who knows, what if they’re in the dining hall, in the kitchens… you hear nothing as you climb into your bed, aside from a sob ripped from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You sit up in the bed, heart pounding, talking yourself out of this, out of this folly.

He’s cruel.

It’s a game.

You’ve wronged Nanami Kento now.

Someone who really cares.

For what!?

You touch the cold wall of your room, where his bed is on the other side, a bed you’ve never slept in, a bed you’d have let him fuck you in tonight. How could you, how could you, stupid, stupid, stupid. Those women were waiting, and who knows, what if he was fucking them now!?

What do you care!?

You care.

Fuck you care.

You stomp out of the room an hour later, throat so tight, Satoru always takes your goddamn breath, he never gives you oxygen, just pain, just confusion. You tense as you walk past his room, and you expect it, his women, but Satoru is alone in the night, in his bed, bare back strong as he shivers against the cold, his window wide open.

You hate when you step in, when you shut the window with a quiet click, and you see him sleep for the first time. You hate when you pull up his thick blue blankets over his bare upper body, when he moans in his sleep, and turns his head, so the moonlight illuminates his face. You hate when you caress his cheek with a finger, and you hate when his lips part with a sigh.

You hate how you want to kiss his forehead, you hate how you can’t find the proper way to be mad at him enough. You sigh then, blowing out the candle barely flickering by his bed, brushing soft white hair back one more time, before padding out quietly, shutting the door behind you, resting your back on it.

You can’t be feeling this. He’ll only make a fool of you. So what if he maybe sent them home early? What’s it matter? You should know better. You go back to your room then, laying in your gigantic bed, all alone, empty, as tears fall on your pillow, as you wonder if you should have let him in, but how can you?

Your eyes shut, and you flit from dream to dream, in flitful images, as the heavy weight in your heart fills, as you remember all he’s done, all he’s said, and how easily you almost forgot it with his kisses. His tongue. His eyes. The way Satoru consumed your mind, until it was nothing but him.

Who is Satoru Gojo, was he this cruel man or was he perhaps something more? Why do you care so much?

You finally cry yourself to sleep, dreading what the reality of tomorrow brings, and hating especially that you had to tell someone you care about that you’re horrible. Nanami’s handsome face makes your heart sink, as you realize you’ll lose him, and you’ve lost yourself, all for that man, a man you don’t know, a man who drowns you just existing.

A man that makes it so hard to breathe.

Until the next one dear masochistic readers <3

Part Seven

#satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojou satoru x reader #jujustu kaisen #duke gojo #bridgerton au #royalty au #arranged marriage #so much angst #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #silent serenades

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hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf · 6 months ago

Text

Brother

best friend’s brother!mingi x fem reader

Trigger warnings: none

Content warnings: oral (f receiving), names ( babygirl, baby, good girl, angel), ass slapping, unprotected sex, cream pie, mingi's got a big dick (bc ofc he does)

Summary: your best friend's brother finally makes a move

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: hi angelssss i hope you like thisssss i had brain rot and wrote this in the span of maybe six hours total while i was at work. also message me or comment if you'd like to be on my tag list!

Tags: @bahng-chrizz

Smut below the cut

“Come on, you’re gonna love it! I promise.” Your best friend tugged at your arm, leading you up the front steps and into her family home. The house was large and you were certain that all of the rooms weren’t used. There was no way a family of four could make total use of a space so large.

“But this is a family event, babes. Are you sure?” You asked nervously, looking around as you toed your shoes off with trepidation.

“I’m positive. You’re my chosen family so you still count.” She squeezed your hand and you nodded slowly, taking in the massive foyer. A glittering chandelier hung above your head and before you was a sprawling staircase that led to two separate wings of the house.

Yeah, no way a family of four can use all this…

“Is it like…cousins and aunts and uncles or is it even more extended?” You asked nervously.

“It’s just my parents’ siblings and their children. And of course the grandparents. But my parents both come from large families so it’ll be close to eighty people. Just stick with me and all will be well. Now, they’re all in the den. Come on.” She reassured you and then you were headed in the direction of the family room. In a house like this, it felt more fitting to call the large room a parlor but you didn’t point that out.

As soon as you entered the room, all eyes were on you and your friend, including those of a tall, gorgeous man. You couldn’t bring yourself to look directly at him though. He was too pretty and too intimidating for you to stare. Besides, your friend was introducing you to the room and you were too focused on not passing out from the attention as you waved and gave a shy smile.

As the room returned to their conversations, the tall man made his way over to you and your friend. “Hey, mom wants you. She’s in her room.” Wait a minute. This was her brother? This was the ever-annoying Mingi she always spoke of?

“All right.” She pulled an apologetic face as she turned to you. “Just wait right here. I’ll be right back.” Then to her brother. “Mingi, can you keep her company while I’m gone?” He nodded and you felt a ball of nerves form in your stomach. You were going to be alone with her hot older brother?

As she walked away, you offered an awkward smile and looked anywhere but at him. He was far too attractive for you to act normal around. And his deep voice was doing things to you. No way could you uphold a conversation.

That was four years ago. Since then, you’d gotten comfortable at these events, which you’d learned happened several times a year on major holidays. Today was one such event and you were seated on the patio, chatting with one of the many cousins you’d come to learn were close to your age. He was a few years younger and a sweet guy. You could tell he had a crush on you but you weren’t interested. You were hyper aware of Mingi on the far side of the patio, your stomach in knots anytime you caught him looking in your direction.

Over the course of the last four years, you’d grown comfortable with the family but even more nervous around Mingi. He was even more beautiful than the day you’d first laid eyes on him and he seemed to hover nearby whenever you were around. It made you nervous even if you did love the way he seemed to be everywhere you went.

“Well, it looks like I gotta go. But I’ll text you!” The younger man stood with a smile.

You offered a bright one in return and nodded. “For sure. It was good to see you again.” You stood as well when he walked away, stretching. Then Mingi had a grip on your wrist and you startled but allowed him to pull you along. “Mingi? What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk.” His tone sent a shiver down your spine and you didn’t bother trying to pull away as he led you towards the pool house. There was no room for argument. Your gut twisted but you followed.

Once inside the cramped, dark room, he turned to you with a frown. “Mingi, seriously. What’s wrong? You’re making me nervous.”

“Good.” He said simply before crashing his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

Hello?

You didn’t fight him though. You gladly accepted his advances despite the nerves settling in your belly. When he pulled back, you tried your hardest to remain nonchalant despite the way your chest heaved. “What was that?”

“You’re not allowed to flirt with anyone else, let alone my cousin.” Was his only response before his lips were back on yours in a heated, demanding kiss. Mingi was always the shy type around you so this was entirely out of character for him. You never imagined he’d react this way to you simply chatting with his cousin, as you’d done countless times before.

You allowed him to press you back against the door, your hands moving to his sides as his lips worked yours open. His tongue swept into your mouth and your head spun. This was an entirely new side to the man you thought you knew. He was starved and you were the only thing that could sate him.

His hand came up to your jaw and you bit back a small sound at the touch, still reeling from everything that was transpiring. Finally, you pulled back just enough to take a breath and pressed your forehead to his. “What is happening?”

“I’m making it obvious why you can’t have anything to do with other men.” He whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “I’ve wanted you since the day we met.”

“She’ll kill us.”

“She’s wanted us together even longer, y/n. I told her not to tell you that I liked you.”

“Why now, Mingi?”

“Because I was too much of a coward before.” He nudged your nose again and you tipped your head back enough to meet his lips again. It was a brief peck but it was enough to send electricity shooting down your spine. “I’m tired of being afraid, y/n. I’m telling you now: you belong to me and no other man can so much as look at you the way he did. I won’t stand for it.”

“Prove that I’m yours then.” You pulled back enough to make eye contact and saw a myriad of emotions swimming in his chocolate eyes. “What other men do is none of my concern, Mingi. What matters is what you do.”

“Do you really want me to prove it? Because there’s so much I wanna do right now.”

“What do you want to do? Tell me about it.”

His eyes seemed to darken with lust and he glanced down at your lips before locking eyes with you again. “I wanna taste you. Wanna make you fall apart on my tongue and then stuff you full of my cock and make you scream my name so everyone knows you’re all mine.” He paused. “And that’s only the beginning of it.”

Your pulse ratcheted up at the confession and you found yourself nodding before you could even fully process his words. It had been a long time since anyone had laid a hand on you and the dry spell was getting to you. Your inability to say no was worsened by the fact that it was Mingi propositioning you. “Do it then. Do everything you want to do to me.”

“You don’t know what you’re signing yourself up for.” He warned even as he looked back to your lips, descending on them a moment later. His kiss was ravenous, his lips devouring yours. He tasted like candy and smoke, a combination you couldn’t comprehend but knew you wouldn’t get tired of anytime soon.

All too soon he was pulling away and leaning down to press his lips to your neck instead, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt. You reached blindly behind you to lock the door then tangled your hands in his platinum hair, your head tipping back to further expose your throat to him. He began to lift your shirt and you pressed your chest against him, arching off the door. You needed to be closer to him.

“Down girl.” He teased as he tugged your shirt up and over your head, letting out a soft breath once he saw your bare breasts. “No bra? You wanted me to lose it, didn’t you?” He accused as he leaned down to take one into his mouth while the other rested in his massive hand.

“I may have thought about the possibility a time or two.” You grinned and closed your eyes, taking in the sensation of his tongue on your nipple as your head rested against the door. He rolled the opposite nipple between his thumb and first finger and you made a small noise of appreciation. “You know, I always imagined you to be a boob guy.” You teased, gasping when his teeth caught lightly on your nipple.

“I’m a man of culture, y/n, I like it all. Boobs, ass, and thighs. And I'm about to worship every inch of you.” Then he was swapping sides as his hand dipped between your legs, cupping you through your shorts.

You bit your lip hard as you looked down to watch him work, his fingers tugging your shorts to the side and tracing your slit. Things were moving fast but you couldn’t be bothered to slow it down. You needed him to do everything he’d said and more or you feared you might lose your mind.

“Wait.” He paused and pulled back, concern etched on his face. You offered a small smile and unbuttoned your shorts, shimmying the material down your legs along with your panties. “I need you.”

“Say less.” He groaned as he dropped to his knees before you and hooked your right leg over his shoulder. “You’re so pretty, baby. So perfect. And all mine.”

“All yours.” You agreed with a nod as he leaned in, his breath fanning out over your heated core. You held his gaze as his lips molded to your pussy and you let out a high-pitched whine as his tongue met your folds. “Mingi…”

He groaned against you at your taste and set a teasing pace, his tongue gliding through your folds and flicking over your clit. It was as if he’d known your body for centuries, the way his tongue worked you. He knew exactly what to do to get a rise out of you and he was all too happy to pull out every stop.

Your hand tangled in his hair and you pulled him closer when his tongue delved into you. “Mingi-” You gasped his name and rolled your hips, grinding against his mouth. His hands held you still as he fucked into you with his tongue and you whimpered at not being allowed to move against him.

“Steady, baby.” He murmured, trying to calm you down. It didn’t work, obviously, and he hiked your other leg up over his shoulder instead.

“Fuck- don’t drop me, Mingi, I swear-” You sounded panicked as both your feet dangled at his back.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, angel. Relax. I’ve got you, babygirl.” His voice was soothing as his hands smoothed over the curve of your ass, kneading the soft flesh there a moment later. “Just hold still and let me take care of you, yeah?” You nodded despite wanting to writhe against his face and he kissed your thigh. “Good girl.”

You melted at the endearment and relaxed against the door, allowing him to fully support you as he leaned back in. His tongue was fucking heaven the way it flicked over your clit then pressed back inside you. You didn’t want anyone else to ever attempt to go down on you again after this. He was the only one whose head you’d want between your legs from then on.

His deep voice vibrated against your pussy as he groaned at your taste, his tongue now lapping at your clit. You whimpered and fought the urge to attempt to grind against him, not wanting to knock him off balance and end up on the floor. Instead, you tugged at his hair and tried to pull him closer.

“Please- oh-” Your toes curled as he sucked on your clit and your thighs squeezed tight around his head, earning another suckle and a long groan against your soaking cunt. “Mingi, oh my god- please don’t stop- fuck ‘m so close-” You babbled as the knot in your belly began to fray. Any further teasing and he’d ruin your orgasm. You needed him to see you through it.

“Cum for me, angel. Cum all over my tongue like a good girl.” He coached before leaning back in and sucking harshly on your clit, his tongue flicking wildly over the sensitive bud at the same time.

You couldn’t have held back even if you’d wanted to. Your back arched and your toes curled as you shuddered with your orgasm, white hot bliss filling your veins. You worried for a moment that you’d fall as he lurched backwards but he quickly countered your movements to steady you and continued his motions, guiding you through your orgasm.

Finally, he backed away slowly, letting one shaky leg down and then the other. “Good girl. You did so good for me.” He pressed kisses to your thighs before standing and pecking your lips. “So good. Think you can take my cock now, babygirl?” You nodded instantly, not wanting to even think about what would happen if you said no or even that you needed a break. You simply needed to be filled right then.

He instantly shucked his shorts and boxers, then lifted you from the floor and you gasped as your legs wrapped around his waist. You loved feeling small and taken care of and he was just strong enough, just large enough to make you feel so tiny and fragile. God he was large… His dick, so thick and long, was straining with interest and already leaking precum and your pussy throbbed at the thought of taking it all. You needed him.

The blunt head of his cock prodded at your entrance and you quickly shimmied down onto his length, earning a hiss. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight…” He lightly slapped your ass and you whined softly, clenching around him. “Shit- don’t do that, I won’t last. It's too good.” He warned and you did it again, knowing exactly how to get him to lose control now.

He gave an experimental thrust and you knew this position wouldn’t work. “The table.” You looked over his shoulder, gesturing to the table positioned against the wall behind him. “Fuck me there.” It was by a window so it was risky but you didn’t care. You needed him to fuck you and you needed a stable place to do so.

As he carried you to the table, his motions sending him further into you, you peered out the window. All the children were long gone and it seemed only a handful of folks still milled about in the yard, including your friend and her parents. You let out a soft sound at the cool press of metal on your bare skin as he seated you on the table and gave a shallow thrust, letting out a low groan. “So fucking tight for me, babygirl.”

“You’re just so big.” You whined, tugging him in close with your legs. “Kiss me.” You whispered, grabbing a fistful of his royal blue shirt and pulling him down. He gladly obliged and you let out a weak moan at the taste of yourself on his lips as he snapped his hips forward.

The motion was enough to knock the air out of you and you made a pathetic noise as he set a demanding pace, his hips already slapping against your ass. He drank up your moans, muffling the sounds so as not to get caught - yet.

He fit perfectly. He was massive and the stretch was delicious. He reached places your fingers couldn’t and filled you in ways your toys never had. You’d never felt so perfectly full and cared for in your life.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

You slipped a hand between you and began to massage lazy circles on your clit. A moment later, though, your hand was gently knocked away and Mingi took over. That was a new one. No man had ever truly cared about your pleasure. No man had been so set on being the one to make you fall apart.

Until Mingi.

He pulled out suddenly and urged you to sit up. “Turn around.” He commanded and fuck if you were going to disobey. You loved taking it from behind.

You quickly complied with his orders and a moment later he was back inside, filling you in a whole new way. “Oh god-” You moaned pathetically as he reached around to toy with your clit some more.

“Not god, baby. Just your Mingi.” He crooned in your ear and you clenched around him involuntarily.

“Mine.” You agreed with a nod. “My Mingi. All mine.”

“That’s right, babygirl.” He nipped at your earlobe and your flesh puckered, your nipples tightening. “And I'm gonna make sure you never forget it.”

His words were emphasized by a sharp thrust that knocked you forwards, his thick cock abusing your dripping cunt. “I couldn’t forget this even if I wanted to, Mingi. It’s all I've wanted since the moment we met. Can’t forget it when I’m finally getting you.” You sounded breathless and whiny as you spoke.

A lewd squelching filled the cramped room as he railed you from behind and you felt the coil in your belly growing tighter with each thrust. You couldn’t help but lift your head and glance out the window to ensure you were still going unnoticed and found even less people in the yard, the group now down to one couple along with the rest of Mingi’s immediate family, who were cleaning the yard now.

“What do you see, baby?”

“They’re gone. Just a few left. Fuck-” He drove into you harder and your toes curled as your elbows buckled and dropped you back on the table. “Feels so good, Mingi!” You cried out quietly, careful not to be too loud lest you get caught.

“Yeah? You like when I fuck you like this?” His hips slammed against your ass and you heard the table hit the wall as you nodded.

“Love it so fucking much. Don’t you dare stop- oh-” He slapped your ass with his free hand just as he lightly pinched your clit and you felt your orgasm lurch closer. “Fuck, Mingi, do that again!” You gasped, fingers tightly gripping the edges of the table. Your knuckles whited in response to your death grip on the cool metal surface.

The table was now steadily knocking against the wall and you prayed you were far enough away from everyone that they wouldn’t notice. You weren’t sure if you could handle being caught.

“Oh god, Mingi- fuck ‘m so close! Please-” Before you could ask permission, you felt your orgasm washing over you.

Your walls clenched and fluttered around the thick cock inside you and you allowed yourself to fall forward onto the table, your cheek pressing against the metal as you came undone. It was intense. Your body jerked from the force of it and you continued to twitch even as you came down from it.

“Fuck- babygirl- tell me where you want it, baby.” His grunts damn near pulled another one out of you and you clenched around him intentionally.

“Inside. Want it all inside.” You whimpered, hugging his cock tightly with your sensitive cunt. The pressure was enough to drag him over the edge and he let out the most beautiful sound as he came undone, filling you to the brim with his cum.

He didn’t stop until you were so full you were dripping his release all down your thighs. When he pulled out you made a small, dissatisfied noise and stood straight. You walked on wobbly legs to gather your clothes, biting your lip when he caught you by the waist. “Let me clean you up some, baby.” His voice was roughened with sex and your head spun at the sound.

A towel was pressed against your thighs and he began to wipe up his mess. When had he had a chance to grab one from the shelf? It didn’t matter. What mattered was how his hands felt against your skin. He was so gentle with you and your heart swelled at the care he used.

When he released you, you quickly tugged your panties on and reached for your shorts. “Mingi?” You called softly as you dressed yourself. He hummed in response as you buttoned your shorts. “You know this means things can’t go back to normal, right? This changes everything.”

“That was the plan.” He grinned as he tugged his underwear and shorts back on. Once dressed, he made his way to you and helped you adjust your shirt. “I want things to be different between us, y/n. I want us to be more than acquaintances. More than friends.”

“I-I do too.” You bit your lip and looked up at him. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you from across the room.”

“Then I’m yours.” He smiled softly and pulled you against him. “All yours.” He whispered just before kissing you sweetly. You could still kind of taste yourself on his lips and it made you dizzy.

You were about to say something sweet in return when the door handle rattled. “Guys come on. Mom and dad are getting suspicious.” Your friend’s low voice came through the door. She knew you were in here all along?

#kpop smut #ateez #ateez smut #ateez mingi #mingi smut #mingi #ateez song mingi #song mingi #song mingi smut #mingi x reader #song mingi x reader #alura's works

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bunnygirllover45 · 2 months ago

Text

— FLESH DIVINE.

♱ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Johann purposely weakens reader's body on this one, manipulation, Johann and the reader have an established friendship, reader has a crush on Johann?, suggestive kiss at the end ig. word count: almost 2k.

Johann was always meticulous, almost maniacally so. Maybe that was why he never got along with other people—he always had a way of pushing people away with his complicated nature. Always controlling, observing, and criticizing, a guy like him was hard to deal with, and you knew that very well.

Even though you managed to get through almost five years of friendship —a very rocky one at that— it still amazed you how someone who could seem so utterly unapproachable stuck by your side. Have you needed a shoulder to cry? Johann was there. Need a hand with your work? Johann is an expert on this, somehow. Need someone to remind you when to take your meds? Oh, he had the days marked down in his calendar already. No way he could forget such important details, he was a meticulous man after all, remember?

Not that you weren’t reliable either, during his first breakup you were there. The memory was still fresh in your mind as you recall how utterly bored he looked as he told you about that girl you thought was his soulmate. Couldn’t help but wonder if he truly cared about any of the relationships he had before, or even if he cared about the ones he has now, but you held back from asking at the time. Johann really cares about you, if he didn’t then he wouldn’t go and take such measures to ensure you’re doing alright, or checking up on you, right?—the little bug gnawing at the back of your mind didn’t think the same.

He cares about you, he really does, right? Even when you’re this weak and unable to do anything for yourself, he doesn’t think you’re an annoyance.

“You’re spacing out again.” Johann’s deep voice pushed those thoughts away in a split second, the man stared at you, leaning in to tap with one finger against your forehead in a playful gesture that was a little strange taking into account he looked as expressionless as always. “You’re thinkin’ too much, gonna fry your brain into jelly if you keep doin’ that.” A small smile rose on the corners of his lips, black eyes staring at you with a little glint on them you couldn’t quite decipher. “I like you better when you don’t think.” The words made you shiver a little, ‘I like you— ’ and the rest was a blur inside your head. A part of you wished he genuinely meant that in another way, he liked you truly, entirely, not just a small part of you. “What’s that even supposed to mean?” You laughed a little, forcing a smile.”Last time you told me you ‘liked me better when I was sick’ should I be worried?”

Johann’s eyes scanned your face for a second before he went back to pay attention to the stove; he was boiling some water to make you tea, Johann always made you some when he came home, you didn’t know why, he wasn’t even a fan of tea, but the gesture was sweet enough to make you forget how utterly weird it was the fact he only made one cup.

“Worried ‘bout what? I just said I like you when you’re sick because you’re more obedient. That’s it.” He turned to grab some cups from the cupboard as he spoke. “You’re less prone to pull out some bullshit and get hurt.”

Your face twisted a little into disappointment, oh, so he meant that. With a deep sigh, you tapped your fingers against the table, head resting against the heel of your hand. His words really weren’t laced with any malice, he spoke with his usual soft and calm tone, so you knew he wasn’t jabbing at you or even really blaming you for anything, but it still hurt a little. Noticing your expression Johann quickly approached, leaning over the counter to pat your head, his hand lingering on top as he scratched a little, like you would do with a dog. “Hey, sorry, was I too harsh? Y’know I don’t mean it for real.” “I know, I do. But it just feels bad… I’m always depending on you and I— I’m starting to feel that I’m just a burden, you know.” Johann lifted his hand, the sudden movement making you stare back at him. Eyes widen a little as you notice how his hand is still hovering on top of your head, it was like his brain stopped midway, his black eyes pierced through you. “You’re not a burden. Not for me.” Your head fell downwards as you managed to speak again, fingers fidgeting against the edges of your clothes, Johann’s stare was like a nail digging onto your skin, it felt so fucking unyielding you just wanted to pull back, to get away from his eyes. Why is he even staring at you so intensely? You didn’t say anything that bad.

“Yet I’m still calling you each time I can’t get out of bed in the morning. I really don’t fucking know why my body is like this, I-I’ve been healthy all my life, and then all of the sudden—”

His hand shooted to grab at the sides of your face and tilt it upwards to stare back at him, his fingers weren’t harsh on your skin but you could still feel the lingering threat of his nails about to dig, veins around his forearms bulging with barely restrained rage, yet his face remained so calm. “You’re thinkin’ too much again.” He continued. “Will you just let me take of you? I don’t care if I need to get up the bad at fucking three in the morning to help you go to the bathroom, I will.”

Your hand reached to grab his, trying to peel it away from your face, but Johann’s doesn’t even budge. “You’re not my family to have me as your responsibility, I’m really thankful, trust me, I am. But you’re my friend, and it’s not your job to take care of me when you’re always busy with college and—.” “I’ll quit college for you then.” What the fuck. Your eyes widen at his words, but he doesn’t look any less cold than a few seconds ago. “W-What…?” “You’re worried I’m wasting my time? I might be. I’m wasting my time by being away when I could be here with you.”

You should be happy, really, he’s telling you something so sickly sweet yet the way his eyes never waver away from yours, the way he holds your face like he’s about to break you and yet still remains so gentle, the way he’s speaking so carefree about something that important— yes, you really can’t be happy. “What are you talking about? I don’t want you to do that. Hell, you worked so hard for this career!” “I worked hard for this, for us. My career? It’s just a fucking side hobby at this point when I want to distract my head for a little while.”

You didn’t even notice when he walked around the kitchen counter, now he stood there before you, crouched down to meet your eyes. His thumbs caressed your cheeks with a tenderness you never imagined a guy like Johann could have, the feeling helping your already confused and dizzy head become even dizzier. “You know. For the only thing my studies have helped me is to know where to start.”

“Start—what?”

A dark chuckle escaped his lips, it was rare to hear him laugh and it was even weirder to see him with such a delighted smile, if you squinted you could even see a small blush forming on his cheeks. His fingers kept caressing your face as he kept your head still, unable to make any movements, forcing you to stare. “Oh, don’t play coy. You said it yourself, your body was never like this, right?” “Feeling sick all of the sudden, being unable to walk sometimes due to your debilitating state, damn, sometimes when I look at you I wonder if you can even breathe for yourself. I would love to help if that isn’t the case.”

Cold sweat began to form on the palms of the hands you clutched so tightly against his wrists, nails digging past the bandages and reaching to his skin, Johann didn’t even react to the stinging sensation, too lost on the heady feeling of excitement coursing through his veins. Leaning forward he pressed his body against yours, caging you against the chair. “That was me. All me. I even made sure you didn’t do any kind of physical activity to be extra sure you wouldn’t be able to handle it by yourself.” Bile rose inside your throat, what kind of fucked up person could say such things with that gleeful glint in their eyes? Was this the same Johann you knew all your life? Something felt so wrong, something with him was off this time, the hints were there but you were too blind to see.“And eventually like a flower, you bloomed into something beautiful and mine. Scheiße.”Your hands fell helplessly by your sides, you couldn’t even speak anymore, words long gone together with all the thoughts inside your head, the confusion and fear took a toll on you, and your weakened state made you unable to struggle, even if you wished to do so, your brain screaming to fucking kick him and run away. “You look pale, baby. Is your blood sugar running low? Here, let me help you.” Peeling his body away from just a second but not giving you enough room to even stand up Johann reached for something on the counter, you could some kind of paper being ripped, probably with his teeth or the free hand he didn’t hold against your shoulder, and then he went back to look at you again. “Here, say ‘aah’.”

As you didn’t even make the attempt to move Johann frowned slightly. “Y’know I don’t want to be forceful with you, sometimes I’m afraid you might break if I do too much. But you don’t leave any other options, do you?”

Next thing you know, Johann’s lips are against yours, tongue sliding with ease against yours, you could even feel his tongue piercing scraping against the roof of your mouth, he lets out a low amused sound like he was approving the taste of your lips. Being suddenly snapped out of your daze your hands reach to clutch against his shirt, clinging onto dear life as he devours you with eagerness. The kiss is unusually sweet, and you notice the small wrapper of the sugar you use for the tea empty on top of the counter. You close your eyes, embarrassed at how utterly disgusted you felt, not because of the sensations or the fact he was kissing you, but at how much you enjoyed it.

Once the two of you separated, you let out a breathy sigh of relief, and Johann wipes away your lips with his thumb, then his with the back of his hand. “There, much better now, right?”

You were right, Johann was truly a meticulous person.

#eng sucks please ignore that #also the ending is VERY rushed lol #anyways #yandere #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere x reader #original character #johann the bastard #chrona... writes stuff?

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ckret2 · 4 months ago

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Chapter 73 of human Bill Cipher still being stuck in the Mystery Shack but currently fearing back pain more than execution: it's Day 1 of Bill being off death row, let's see what everyone other than Soos is doing with their day.

When Fiddleford answered the door to Ford and Stan—Stan with the Quantum Destabilizer's case slung over his shoulder—the first thing Fiddleford said was, "That demon's still alive, isn't he?"

"Demon's still alive," Stan confirmed.

Ford let out a long sigh. "I was afraid we'd have to break the news."

"I figured when the power here flickered during your shot." He planted his hands on his hips. "You didn't use the NowUSeeitNowUDontium, did you?"

Ford shook his head.

"Well?" Fiddleford fixed Ford with an angry squint, lips pursed. (Maybe it wasn't an angry squint, Ford told himself hopefully. Maybe it was just because Fiddleford didn't have new glasses yet.) "Why didn'cha shoot him?"

"I couldn't. He escaped," Ford said. As panic began to bloom on Fiddleford's face, Ford quickly added, "But he's back! That's why I used the wrong fuel. Somehow he overheard that we'd made enough Dontium for one shot, and he—tried to persuade me to cover his escape. Firing a blank made him think I'd used the Dontium up and he was safe—"

"—So's he'd come back and you could get a proper shot at him! Ha!" Fiddleford jumped up, kicking his heels in the air, hollering, "Stanford Pines, you clever sonovagun!" His hooting and hollering died down as he realized, "So... why're you here with the destabilizer instead of shooting him?"

Ford and Stan exchanged a glance. Stan said, "Well—He—He's pretty harmless right now, really—And he's great with the kids—"

"Not with Dipper," Ford muttered.

"He's great with one of the kids."

Ford said, "And he's..." It would be a lie to say improving, wouldn't it? "He's... got the potential to improve. And we— We thought— If there's a chance he could do better..."

Sternly, Fiddleford said, "You let him get into your head again, didn't you."

Ford sighed. "I let him get into my head."

Stan held out the Quantum Destabilizer's case. "Which is why we're here. He's not in your head. You won't hesitate to pull the trigger."

"I getcha." Fiddleford accepted the case grimly. "You need me to finish the job."

Ford hastily added, "If—if it becomes necessary."

Fiddleford gave him a hard look.

Ford swallowed as he realized—as always, a moment too late—just what an enormous thing he was asking of Fiddleford and his fragile nerves. "But if you don't think— I mean, if you'd rather it stay in our hands—"

Fiddleford held the Quantum Destabilizer away from Ford. "No, no—you're right. It's safer here," he said. "You oughta shoot him. I'm never not gonna think you oughta shoot him. Especially now we know he knows how to escape. But, if you won't—better that this is in my hands than with the fellers what let that devil sucker 'em into thinking he deserves to live."

Ford wanted to say I'm sorry. If he was so sorry, why had he chosen to let Bill live? It seemed like his problems always became Fiddleford's problems—yet the only times Fiddleford's problems became Ford's was when Ford caused them. "Well—the good news is, even if he does escape, he can't get far. He's trapped inside Gravity Falls' weirdness barrier."

"Well, that's somethin'," Fiddleford muttered. Then he frowned and gave Ford a sharp look. "Wait," he said slowly. "Are you sure he can't get out?"

"I—" Ford tried to remember when they'd learned that. "Sure, we—found out that first night, didn't we?" It had been a very long night.

"Yeah!" Stan laughed. "Almost accidentally killed the guy by driving him into it."

Fiddleford nodded, his expression faraway and thoughtful. "I need to run some calculations," he said. "I'll let you know what I find."

He turned away, muttering to himself. Just before he shut the door, Ford saw Tate at the far end of the great hall, arms crossed, watching the proceedings sourly.

And then the door was shut without so much as a goodbye.

"Huh," Stan said. "Ominous!" He clapped Ford on the shoulder. "Welp, let's get home!"

####

Tate leaned into Fiddleford's lab. "Dad?"

Fiddleford was sitting at a space he'd cleared at a worktable, hunched forward and squinting to see his work as he ran through a towering stack of calculations, using a calculator to double-check his math and a second calculator to double-check the first one. As he often did, he'd put on an old record to help block out distractions; and an old country song was blasting at top volume as Fiddleford sang/yodeled along: "I haaate Bill Cipher more'n I looove my son! How I looong to shoot that sonuuuvaguuun. I'll seeee my boy when that triaaangle's done—cuz I haaate Bill Cipher more'n I looove my son—"

"Dad," Tate said louder.

"Tater!" Fiddleford sat up, automatically reached to adjust a pair of glasses he wasn't wearing, and just bumped the bridge of his nose. "What is it, son?"

"Couldja turn the volume down?"

"Turn th—?" Fiddleford looked at his record player, started when he realized what was playing, and quickly took the needle off the record. "Sorry, Tater, I—"

"It's fine," Tate said glumly.

"Didn't even realize which song'd come on. They're just words to sing along to. You know I don't really feel..."

"Just don't like Pluckin' Jim's yodeling style, that's all."

Fiddleford dropped his gaze. "All right, that's fine. I'll keep it down."

Tate stuck his hands in his pockets. "Might oughta be careful with that album, anyway. If any guests overhear it talking about the triangle and call the police..."

"Oh, I know, I know. You're right, I'll be careful. It's just..." He reached under his hat to scratch at his head like he was trying to massage his brain into working. "When it feels like the whole darn world's gone crazy, it's comforting hearin' somebody sing something sensible," he said. "I—I don't mean Jim's attitude toward his family. Just the rest of it."

"Mm." Tate nodded.

Fiddleford sighed and shook his head sadly. "I don't know—maybe I'm the one who's going crazy."

"Naw," Tate said immediately. "You're not. You're the sanest I've seen you since I was a kid, dad."

"Well—thank you, Tater. That means a lot."

"You're just stressed, that's all." Tate nodded toward Fiddleford's stack of calculations. "Don't overwork yourself, all right?"

"I won't, I promise."

"If you need help with all that math..."

"No, no, that's all right." Fiddleford waved off the offer. "It's got to do with Stanford's weirdness thingamajig." For the past few months, Fiddleford and Stanford had been working on a paper about the Law of Weirdness Magnetism—although that had seemingly ground to a stop at the start of summer.

Tate paused. "Okay, but I'm dragging you out of there for meals."

"Heh! I won't fight you."

As Tate left, Fiddleford set the needle back on the record, starting the next song: "The Three B's Poisoning Your Children (Booze, Bebop, and Bill)." Tate shut the door and let out a long sigh.

####

"I'll get it!" Dipper doubted anyone else could even hear the phone; Abuelita was asleep in the living room, Soos was upstairs hammering on something, and Bill and Mabel were at the far end of the house playing the piano and singing.

Dipper jogged into the office. "Hello?"

"Dipper!" Wendy said. "Dude! Just the man I wanted to reach."

"Wendy, hey! What's up?"

"Are you still looking for the Nightwigglers?"

"Yes! Why, did something happen?"

A couple weeks earlier, Wendy had shown him where her brother had seen the Fremont Nightwigglers; but by the time she showed him the path, they'd already come and gone a couple nights earlier. They'd found footprints and followed them to what looked like a campsite—there were odd empty burrows in the ground and traces of ashes—but when Dipper had tried to figure out where they'd gone after leaving the campsite, he'd lost their trail in the underbrush.

"Gus says he saw them on the same trail again last night," Wendy said. "Which means, if they were going back to that place we found with the burrows, and it was a campsite—"

"—then that's where they're camping today. So they'll still be there tonight!" Dipper laughed. "That's perfect! I can stake them out and watch when they wake up! Hey, do you wanna come along for a stakeout?"

Wendy groaned. "I wish. Gus freaked my dad out talking about the Nightwigglers. He says we have to stay home after dark and he's actually been checking our rooms."

"Aw, man. That stinks."

"But hey, tell me all about it at work, okay?"

"You got it! Oh—I could make a Guide to the Unexplained episode! I'll show you the whole thing."

"Oh, awesome. I can't wait to see these things," Wendy said. "Head's up, you probably wanna be quiet to avoid spooking them. Gus said they looked super skittish last night. They're probably wigging out because of gravity disappearing for a couple of days, lots of other wild animals are. I don't blame them, I'm still wondering what was up with that."

"Giant invisible flying axolotl from another dimension."

Wendy laughed in surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah! I'll tell you about it at work too." Probably leaving out Bill's involvement. Speaking of Bill, where had he left Dipper's backpack? "I've gotta pack for the stakeout. Thanks for the tip!"

####

Gideon knocked on the shack's back door and waited anxiously, tugging at his sleeves and shifting from foot to foot.

The door opened to the sound of distant piano music. Dipper stood there holding a heavy backpack and a box of granola bars. "Gideon?" He didn't sound thrilled.

"Well, hey there, Dipper!" Gideon tried to sound more chipper than he felt. "I don't suppose Mabel's ar—"

"Nope," Dipper said. "What do you want?"

Gideon took a deep breath. "It's about Bill—"

"Shhh!" Dipper cast a nervous glance back toward Soos's grandma asleep in the living room. "Keep it down. Only Mabel and I know you know about Bill and no one else can find out."

"Why not?"

"Because... Mabel and I will get in trouble for not telling them sooner?"

Fair enough. Adults didn't need to know everything, Gideon thought. Voice lower, he said, "I didn't notice him with the others at Rainbow Club this week, and I saw that big laser thingamabob at the shack,"—and the next day received a panicked call from a cultist who couldn't reach Bill—"and... well—I need to know if Bill's dead, or—"

Over the piano playing, an off-key voice sang at top volume: "AND IIIIIIIIII will never HATE yooOoOOou—!" In the living room, Abuelita started from her nap, blinked sleepily, turned up the volume on the TV, and fell back asleep.

Gideon's shoulders sank in disappointment.

"Still alive," Dipper said. "He has a really bad backache, though."

"Well, dang it!" Gideon kicked at a twig on the porch. It didn't move.

"Yeah, I know," Dipper said. "But... I kinda think Bill has to stay alive? I heard this prophecy that I think is about Bill saving everyone? Probably not voluntarily—he actually really didn't want me to hear about the prophecy—so... yeah, we might just be stuck with him. At least for a while."

"Well," Gideon said sourly. "Isn't that just wonderful."

####

As he trudged home, Gideon tried to think of a way out of this. For one day, he'd thought he was blessedly free of Bill; finding out he was wrong felt like getting hauled back to prison.

If the adults didn't know he knew about Bill, maybe he could tell the Stans that Bill had been using him—surely they'd forgive Gideon for using a little dream magic to brainwash the town, right? Stan understood the lengths a businessman had to go to to advertise his business, and Ford was apparently the one who'd recorded the spell in the first place—and maybe the two of them could prevent Bill from spilling his blackmail to the rest of the town; or maybe Gideon could arrange for the Stans to "accidentally" find out Gideon had been working for Bill, and then Bill couldn't blame Gideon for spilling the beans...

Or maybe he could just stop helping Bill. Simple as that. He knew he'd been helping Bill arrange escape plans. Bill had promised he'd keep quiet about Gideon's crimes as long as Gideon didn't pick up dream magic again; but he'd never required Gideon to help him. The only issue was what his contact in Bill's cult might do and whether she might out him as one of Bill's allies; maybe he could just tell her that his parents were getting suspicious and he couldn't be a go-between anymore...

When he got home, as soon as he opened the front door he could hear his father excitedly talking in the kitchen: "It's the darnedest thing! I don't know where they came from—must be tourists, I suppose..."

Gideon followed his voice into the kitchen. "Daddy? What's all this fuss?"

Bud was grinning from ear to ear; even Joy was faintly smiling, a half-washed dish forgotten in her yellow-gloved hands. "There you are," Bud said. "Son, I've got the most terrific news! I just sold the three most expensive cars on the lot, all on the same day! Can you believe that?!"

"Well, hot dog!" Gideon grinned as well, relief washing over him. "That oughta keep us going for a while, shouldn't it?"

"It sure will! I guess you were right—we never needed any magic hocus-pocus, just good salesmanship!" Bud beamed. "But it's just the darnedest thing," he said again, "they all said they'd been referred to the dealership by a Mr. Locke."

Gideon's smile froze and his stomach flipped.

"I don't remember any Mr. Locke passing through town."

"Oh," Joy said, "there was one a—a week or two ago. Some sort of talent agent, I think? He came to see Gideon."

"Did he," Bud said, clearly a bit deflated that it wasn't his prowess as a salesman that had lured these customers to town; but he quickly recovered, "Why, that's wonderful! Maybe looking to line up another television appearance?"

"No no no," Gideon said quickly, "no, it was—it was purely a social visit. I-I knew him last summer. I'm not doing that sort of... television thing anymore."

"Ah, well. Still! Having connections pays off," Bud said. "If all he wants to do is send customers our way, I'll be mighty happy! If he comes by again, invite him to stay for dinner, it's the least we can offer him as thanks."

"I think that's a—a wonderful idea," Joy said, voice even softer than usual. "He was very friendly."

"Son?" Bud called. "Where you headed?"

"Just upstairs, I remembered I need to make a call," Gideon said. He had to ensure Sue knew Bill was alive.

Seemed like he'd be working with her and Bill for a while yet. His family couldn't afford for him not to.

####

Dipper pounced the Stans the moment they entered the shack. "Hey! Great Uncle Ford!"

"Dipper? What—"

"Grunkle Ford, remember you promised that as soon as we weren't dealing with any Bill bull, we could go on an investigation—?"

"Hey," Stan said sternly, "any Bill what?"

"Bull... soup?" Dipper tried.

Stan nodded, satisfied. "That's right. And if your parents ask, that's exactly what you think it means." At Ford's look of amazement, Stan said, "What! Last year the kids' parents said if they came home swearing, I couldn't take 'em over the summer again."

Dipper resumed his attack: "Well, we're not dealing with any Bill bullsoup today! Come help me track the Nightwigglers!" He held up his journal, proudly showing off his unfinished spread. "Wendy told me where they're camping today! If we're there before they wake up, we can finally see them in person!"

"Really? Tonight?" Ford asked. "We just had a late night yesterday."

"Can't we have two late nights and sleep in tomorrow?" Dipper pled. "They might not be there tomorrow night! What's more important: sleep, or seeing the Nightwigglers?"

"Yes, I see your point. You're absolutely right," Ford said. "I could take a nap now and we can leave after dinner."

"Yes!"

Stan groaned, "Great—the insomniacs are enabling each other." He shook his head and started upstairs, muttering, "I'm gonna see what Soos is hammering on."

Dipper said, "I've already packed my camping supplies! Do you need help packing? I can help you pack! Come on—I can show you where we're going, too!" He impatiently led the way to the elevator.

####

This weekend, Bill had escaped the shack, faked his death, and proven that the whole Pines family actually wanted him alive; and yet, for all that, Mabel thought he seemed pretty down in the dumps today. He'd been kind of off since the eclipse.

Actually, now that she thought about it, he'd been off since before the eclipse, ever since the day he'd been grumpy to her about the glass pyramid "Mysteries." She was pretty sure he wasn't mad at her about that anymore; so she didn't know what was wrong.

But even though Mabel could see him wince when he leaned certain ways or moved his arms too quickly, he was trying to hide that he was in pain and he was trying to hide his gloomy mood. He grinned when he played the piano, and he alternated between popular songs that she knew and could sing along with and a bunch of old boring things like jazz and opera. (Bill tried to sing along to everything, even when he shouldn't. Mabel was pretty sure he was the worst opera soprano in the world.)

She didn't know how to fix whatever was actually bothering him. She could hang out with him and sing and talk—that seemed to make him happier. But Bill needed more than that.

He needed more friends.

Bill attempted a run, one hand crossing over the other and back as he rolled up the keyboard; his hands tripped over each other and stumbled across several keys at once.

Mabel laughed. "That sounded like a musical fart!"

Bill blew a raspberry. "I'll show you a musical fart." He attempted the run again, and messed up again.

Mabel laughed again. "I don't think you've got that part."

"Hey! I'm usually great at that part. It's this body—I'm used to playing it with flat fingers, I haven't practiced it with an extra dimension before," said Bill, who was lying, and had never been good at that part, and truthfully was pleased he now had an excuse that let him pretend he was actually better than he was. "Playing piano in a human body really holds me back. It takes nine hands to play my favorite song." That wasn't a lie.

He started the song over and elbowed Mabel. "Hey. Something's eating at you. What's up, kid?"

She hadn't realized she wasn't hiding her gloomy thoughts well enough. "Uuugh, I want you to meet my friends, but this morning Grunkle Ford said I still can't invite them over even though you're off death row. I guess he and Grunkle Stan are still worried you'll brainwash them or something?"

"Pff. We're still—renegotiating the terms of my imprisonment."

"Oh yeah? What have you renegotiated so far?"

The corners of Bill's mouth turned down. Mabel suspected that might have something to do with his foul mood. "Hey, I've got an idea to get your friends over here."

"Yeah?"

"Tell your uncles that the girls' parents are starting to wonder why you haven't been inviting them over like you did last summer. Say they're beginning to think that something is going on over here, and they're worried you're not in a safe environment—buuut if their kids can come over and see everyone's just been adjusting to a new guest, maaaybe their parents will calm down, right?"

Mabel shot Bill a dirty look. "Bill! That's a complete lie."

"But it's the kind of lie that could easily be true, and might even be true in the future, so is it really a lie?"

"Yeah it is."

"No it's not! Besides, it'll get your friends over here and it won't hurt anything, won't it?"

Mabel grimaced. "Okay, I can try—but if I try it and it works and I bring my friends over, you've got to make friends with them."

"Hmm!" Bill's face twisted up. "I like Candy's taste in art. And her bloodthirst."

Mabel elbowed him. "What do you have against Grenda?"

####

Eight-year-old Grenda sat at her desk kicking her feet and staring at her $1 bill, waiting for the bell to ring for lunch. It was Chocolate Chip Cookie Monday, they were fresh and gooey, and she was ready.

For the first time, she noticed the design on the dollar had a weird little one-eyed triangle with a hat. She pulled out a marker and drew a little smile under his eye.

And then she added buck teeth to the smile.

And then she gave him a second eye, stupid glasses, and a spiky beard that poked out in every direction.

And then drew wavy stink lines over him and added a word bubble that said "I'M SMELLY!"

"Heh. Stupid looking guy," she mumbled.

####

With an air of haughty disdain, Bill said, "She knows what she did."

"Okay, but you'll be nice to her, right? Pleeease?"

"All right, fine," Bill said. "For you, I'll be nice."

####

"Grunkle Stannn can my friends please come over? Even their parents think it's weird that they haven't been here all summer! If Grenda and Candy come over they'll know nothing weird's going on!"

"Uhhh..." Stan grimaced. "The last thing we need is parents asking questions... Yeah, sure, you should probably do that sometime soon. Maybe after we figure out what we're doing with Bill for the rest of the summer—"

"Thanks!" Mabel hugged him, ran off, and decided she'd heard Stan say "yeah, sure, you should."

She pulled out her phone. "Candy! Grenda!" She kept her voice at a loud whisper. "Great news! Dipper's gonna be out with Grunkle Ford tonight and I kinda-sorta got permission for a sleepover! Get ready for a party. I have a plan."

####

(This is a bit of a transition chapter for a couple more plots, but I hope y'all enjoyed! Let me know what you think!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(for the fic)#gideon gleeful #dipper pines #(for the art)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(Dec 12 edit: chapter has been renumbered)

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