Got a request? Submit here!
This is where all writings of this fandom will live for easy access! Please save and check regularly!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Cross My Heart and Hope to Die (ongoing)
overall plot summary
Your parents didn’t give two shits where you were. But they made sure to leave you somewhere with someone. And you found yourself in the care of Mrs. Graves---she was no better.
Upon arrival, Ashley despised you, and Andrew kept his distance for your sake.
Chapter One: The Left-Alone Doll
Chapter Two: The Porcelain Doll
Chapter Three: The Wind-Up Toy
Chapter Four: The Wannabe Puppeteer
One-Shots (To be Announced)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Request rules = here!
Cross My Heart and Hope to Die is on AO3 = here!
series masterlist link < click here
chapter four The Wannabe Puppeteer
summary dry pill swallowings and stale pizza yield to the marching dolls' stomps.
warning same old, same old
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Andy’s head throbbed as if a battering ram came down upon it over and over. He hadn’t a clue where the ache began, and where the heavy metal blasting through his headphones ended. The plastic band cradled his head, pinching his hair between the grooves in a subtle sting each time he shifted. The night won over the frenzied household, leaving the rooms soaked in darkness while its occupants lay wide awake in their angst.
His… clung viciously against his back.
Leyley’s tears soaked his collar, and her breath moistened the nape of his neck. She seethed in silence. Her anger gripped his shirt’s hem in tight fists. Her toes scraped harshly against his calves so that by the morning, he would be met with narrow red lines rising across his flesh as if a cat had taken to his skin.
Andy tried to buck her off.
But Leyley held tighter.
He tried to get her to sleep in her own twin bed. It was a few steps from his, nestled in the opposite corner of the room. The AC unit was directly above her bed, so she never got stuffy like him when the sweltering heat passed through the window over his desk. Despite the cool night air, it was nonetheless stale.
Always on his side of the room.
It repelled Leyley from lingering even in her worst moods.
When and if his night terrors struck, Andy made it a point to slither into her bed instead of dragging Leyley to his. His thin blanket wasn't as idyllic as her starry night comforter—fluffy and thick, and overall pink. Dark purple moons splotched the duvet, and splatters of yellowish-green stars sprinkled about. His stare drilled a hole through the star-shaped pillow propped against the opposite headboard (a gift he gave to her), and Andy had the wherewithal to note that its owner had left it behind.
It screamed LEYLEY in ways no one would know aside from him.
Leyley was just as upset with him as he was with her.
Still, Andy fantasized about dragging her into the uncomfortable air he breathed. To smother her in his afflictions as much as she does to him. His arms felt so empty, rolled over his chest instead of coiling around her like a snake that caught its prey. Then, maybe, he would have the courage to swallow Leyley whole, headfirst, just to gain a bit of control over her.
Granted, he faced away now. His angst simmered and infected him so that he couldn’t act any more comforting than a brick wall. His molars ached with the need to bite down on her plump flesh.
One good chomp wouldn’t stifle the urge indefinitely.
It would make it worse.
Andy grimaced into the crux of his elbow, the throbbing ache rushing ahead to the front of his temple. The world swayed in and out of focus until the world went temporarily black. He could still hear the whir of the air conditioner: the wrecked sobs of his sister: and, if he deluded himself enough, he could hear your shallow breathing at the threshold of the door, where you sagged, neither fully in the room nor outside of it.
His gaze flitted to you—and with rapid haste, snapped away. Your cheeks were puffed with air in a soft pout. And that bunny toy you held tight all evening was tucked underneath your chin.
You were eerily stunning, so it was unnerving.
Andy didn’t want to think of it. It left bile on the back of his tongue. To give it more thought felt like a betrayal. To whom? Himself? Leyley?
In truth… he felt the shift in reality, intrinsically like the strings connected to a puppet—you were theirs to keep. Downpours couldn’t wash you from their systems. You were a lifeless thing made to move when directed, and he could be that conductor. But he was a novice to the craft of puppeteering; he couldn’t control his sister’s wind-up heart, nor did he have the willpower to conquer yours; therefore, you stayed a stranger in his home for years into his teenhood.
You found your footing in Leyley’s chaos; however, you had to be pushed into his by hands that always fixed you to her side.
Andy’s body sagged into the mattress without permission.
His consciousness swirled, mixing with a future that hadn’t unfolded and the present where music enveloped him in a warring clash of guitar riffs. Screams poured out instead of lyrical sung notes. His head couldn’t take it anymore, and as if the strings that tethered him to consciousness were cut, Andy became motionless.
When he awoke, he couldn't quite call it sleep.
Andy blanked, and time only turned an hour deeper into the night before his eyes landed on the empty spot where you had sat. He lifted onto his forearm, peering into the black hole that led to the kitchen. The door remained flung open as if the ghost of you stayed to prop it wide still.
He waited until he could no longer.
—
“Were you hungry?”
You startled. The cold pizza you’d shimmied from the box and into your mouth tumbled back into your open palms. You winced as heat began to flame through your lungs, past your collarbone, and pushed into the flesh of your cheeks.
You peeked over your shoulder into the darkness, faintly touched by the fridge’s light. And there you found the source of the grumbled voice, and Andrew stood as a prince of shadows—a magnet for disastrous things.
His hair swooped into that flat, bored expression he wore as if the dead haunted him, and he was tired of their endless tricks. If they could whisper or say anything at all, it must be he alone who heard them.
“You could have just eaten with us,” Andrew drawled with a sleepy cadence.
You shook your head. “I wasn’t hungry… Mommy eats with me.”
Andrew’s eyes snapped to the microwave, which displayed the time. He winced, “I guess that checks out. It's late, though.”
“Not tired.”
“I see that, doll. When do you sleep? If at all?”
You shrugged, legs splayed out. Your toes curled under the frilly white socks you wore. You hadn’t changed into pyjamas because no one demanded you do.
You were about to brush off the prodding. Your teachers asked about it all the same. Dozing off in class became a norm that you could only explain with a shrug.
One late fall evening, mommy gathered you in her lap. She held you tight against her chest, your back to her. She buried her face in the locks of your hair as she spoke so sublimely that you wanted nothing more than to please her. “You garner so much attention… It’s all because I love you, so so sooooo much, doll. They’re jealous of us. They wish to steal you from me.
Stop giving them reasons to question us.”
Don’t you love your dollhouse? You pouted. The tip of the pizza was to your lips when you spoke rather quietly. “With mommy… sometimes the nurses.”
“Nurses?”
You nodded, “At school.”
Andrew sidled closer, his bare feet slapping against the tile floor in hollow smacks. He side-stepped you and opened one of the cabinets. He rummaged among the shelves, withdrawing a white pill bottle and a flimsy party plate. “I could warm that up.” He offered the plate at your eye level.
You bit into the pizza—the cheese was all stiff.
Silence stretched over the divide.
“Or not,” Andrew cringed.
The older boy lifted his shoulders in a shrug. The gesture was so like Jared’s that you struggled to swallow the breading between your teeth.
This boy gave girls piggyback rides. Jared would never.
Andy pursed his lips. He was at a loss for what to say. His migraine cracked whips of electricity down his spine, so he turned his attention to dry-shallowing an Advil. He clamped his hands over his mouth to prevent gagging.
You cocked your head as he choked around the translucent blue pill.
A giggle fit burst through you, one of childish delight, as his face reddened around the pressure in his throat. Andy coughed against the back of his palm. He felt even wozier after the whole ordeal.
He blinked wide and rapidly—focused solely on you. How does his mom do this shit every morning?
“Can you do that again?” Your doe eyes were glued to his.
Andy heaved, “I'd rather grab water next time.”
The air grew pregnant once more. Andy clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth hard. His skin felt clammy, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat. You continued to dawdle with your slice, working through the crust in teeny-tiny nibbles. With an exasperated huff, he gritted out low, “Finish the damn pizza. Let’s go to bed before school. Plus, we don’t want to wake anyone up.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Not sleepy.”
“Not my business. Stare at the wall or see if you can see any stars from the shitty window in our room.” Andy thumbed his fingers together, “I’m tired. And I’ll get in trouble if Mom catches you like this. Leyley, too… would throw a fit.”
“Oh, you know me so well then.”
Leyley swung her legs forward like a marching toy—one foot before the other. Heel to toe. Andy’s breath hitched at the eerie calm schooling her emotions. No rage marred her, nor the grogginess of sleep. What remained was a wakefulness that felt practiced and lioness in nature.
His sister halted. “You left me for her.”
Leyley’s fingers fanned the air, where the tips momentarily breached the precipice of light, caging the lone doll from any approaching shadows. Your face was pointed in her direction, sure, but those eyes never once landed on her face.
As if burned, she whipped her hand back to her chest.
“You made her laugh.”
Scoffing, incredulous, Andy rattled the bottle in his hand, “I needed meds. Nothing serious, Ley–” He cut himself off as the migraine resurfaced along the nape of his neck. His body tensed and went rigid. “My head is splitting.”
“Serves you right,” Leyley nibbled her bottom lip, arms crossed over her front. “Headphones… really? God, if only I could be a doll.”
Andrew furrowed his brows.
You finished your pizza as the cogs churned in Andrew’s head. You scanned the fridge, craving the zest of lemon pepper wings. Your stomach yearned, never full. Never truly hungry.
But you wanted your mommy's arms to rock you to sleep. She knew where you should go and what you should do. She picked out your clothes and helped you learn to dance because she always wanted to practice ballet.
“What are you talking about?” The boy whispered harshly.
The girl's gaze swiveled past the photo frames above the dining area, filled with stock photos of animals her parents never owned or wanted. The sting in her heart intensified. Leyley whined low in her throat, “You got up without checking if I was asleep. So much for knowing me.”
Andy deadpanned. His expression was riddled with slight irritation that only Leyley could pick up on. “You are ridiculous.”
“I bet you would LOVE it if I just played dead all the time.”
“No… I would love it if you listened to me. But you never do.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thank you for reading! Request rules = here!
This story is on AO3 = here!
Tumblr Masterlist = here!
note Soooooo, I have not been writing in forever. But I rewrote this today, and I will come back with more original stories!!!
warning mature, smut, caregiver kink (not ddlg), manipulation, masturbation, dependency. 3.8k
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You felt reluctant to give in to the soft ministrations of your lover; however, your will is so, so, so weak. You hadn’t even tried to put up a fight this morning. Geto Suguru had once again brought you breakfast in bed; his soft-spoken words nicked at your ears as he came in close. He whispered how perfect and pretty you are as he brought spoons full of rice porridge to your lips, and then his. You hummed with content at the sweet apple taste, doused in honey and cinnamon. If you grabbed at the spoon, his hands would be quicker in swatting you away.
It was no use fighting him; you wouldn’t want to ruin the mood over something so small.
After breakfast, Suguru took it upon himself to gather the dishes on a simple serving tray. As you stood, he commanded you to stay put with a rub to your perky ass. He slanted his lips over yours for just a moment. “I have big plans for you today. Let me dress you after I wash the dishes, hmmm.”
His husky hum tickled your lips, eliciting a giddy squeal from the back of your throat.
Suguru scurried off and returned before you got too bored.
He brought out a modest outfit, laying the fabrics onto the foot of the bed. The pastel lilac sweater was to protect your frail skin from the forecasted winds. Then there was the beautiful high-waisted cream-colored skirt made of a thick, yet flowing material, with deep brown buttons decorating the left side of your hip. These were something you hadn’t previously owned. Suguru must have spent more money; you frowned.
You need to knock some sense into him.
He should be conserving his money, not constantly spoiling you.
You felt bad because you could never give Suguru all the things he has given you.
However, you looked cute in the outfit—like a flower bloomed in the most sterile of environments—that you held your tongue against your shame. Plus, today marked four years together, and the last thing you wanted to start was an argument over a simple gift.
In the stark white bathroom, your eyes flicked from the mirror to Suguru, who knelt before you, pushing sheer tights under your long skirt. He kissed and bit at your plump thighs, alternating from left to right. You purred as his nose brushed that sensitive bud that quivers each time you gaze at his muscular back or his veiny forearms, pushing your legs wider.
You rocked along his tongue that darted out like a cat taking sips of water. Slow and rapid over your panties, which dampen at each swipe. You mewled, and forgot why you ever frowned.
Geto brought you to the crest of a small orgasm. Your stomach clenched as your nerves shot out in a haywired effort to expel your juices… all over his face, rendering your boyfriend as nothing more than a servant to your pleasures.
Your stamina was surely shot from last night.
Now, cleaned and settled on the couch, Suguru combed through your hair that he tended to more like a gardener would a precious fruit he wished to harvest, than you ever took care of it. Once he styled it to his liking, Suguru brought his body down on yours. He massaged your throat with his thumb, digging the pads of his fingers into your pressure points until you gasped, lightheaded.
The lilt in your voice wasn’t lost to either of you. “I love you.”
Suguru's hips snapped against yours, his eyes warred with the lust trying to cloud his vision. His other hand pushed underneath your hips, circling the waistband of your skirt. “Poor duck… I worked you all up. I should take care of y’a, right?”
His lips fretted along your neck, dancing across hickeys, as he succumbed to the living fantasy of the final morning hours being lost within your pussy. He salivated over how tight you would grip onto his cock, spasming and milking his balls dry of cum. Suguru would fuck a baby in you soon, no doubt.
You nodded vigorously. “Yes. Please, Su…” You rasped. Your left hand squeezed at your breast, nipples aching for Suguru’s mouth to encompass them, while your right hand ventured to the bulge of his dick. You massaged through his dark slacks, unzipping his mighty girth so that you could be taken lovingly into the cushions.
“Say you’ll move in with me.” Suguru had the wherewithal to slip your tights down to your knees without ripping the thin fabric.
He sat up, gaze entranced upon your pussy. He needn’t have to prep your sopping hole, which opened greedily over the head of his cock, sucking him in deeper and deeper. Tingles flew in the air between where your two bodies melded into one. His balls smacked against your butt.
Suguru moved slowly, almost languid, despite the fervent nature that ended them in this position, as he awaited your response.
You rolled your eyes. “Can we not do this now? I want you…”
This has been an ongoing issue. Suguru wanted you to relent to his demands: live with him, quit your job, etc. Essentially, every aspect of your life that you built in the city—away from your hometown in rural Japan where women could only be mothers and wives—he wanted to strip from you. If he could do it all for you, he would.
The concept was sweet at times.
Like a fantastical prince choosing a common woman to wed and make his queen.
Yet, there’s a dark side to Suguru that he keeps locked away from your eyes.
Yet, you weren’t totally ignorant to its presence.
You knew that becoming his, whatever that definition is, would mean losing so much.
—
Geto thought of you as a little feather duckling. You weren’t capable of taking care of yourself. You waddled through life with your head held high. Without trying, you butt heads with him, unaware of how dark his thoughts traveled each time you told him no. This morning on the couch, he thought of snapping your legs as you evaded the topic.
Why didn’t you want to move in with him?
He hadn’t asked, or pushed. He just ground into your pussy with unrelenting haste. He poured his anger into each snap of his hips that he possibly bruised your cervix by the way you limped now. Your attention floated from shop to shop as Geto led you to a bakery, hands gripping onto each other. His indignation had simmered and snuffed just as quickly as he admired your ability to get enamored by shiny trinkets locked behind storefronts.
Geto asked at intervals if that—whatever caught your attention—would be something you wanted. He assured that he could buy it for you. “Today is a special day, duck. Let me buy it for you. I can afford it.”
With a smile, you rejected. “I’m grateful for the outfit, Su. I don’t need those things.”
Baked bread, fresh out of the oven, wafted in the air. The Parisian-style bakery had a line pushed out the door, which you two fell in the back of the line. You proceeded to talk Geto’s ear off about the different techniques of pastry baking, particularly the difference between brioche and traditional bread baking. Why you would know any of that information was beyond him. You were a horrible baker; measurements were not a rule in your kitchen.
You tended to fill your head with meaningless factoids.
Geto found it to be an endearing feature as opposed to an insufferable one.
He had your M.O figured. You were at surface level, either dense or purposely stupid about the world around you, staying blissful as if nothing evil could ever befall you. You were hard-working and painfully stubborn to a fault without being truly argumentative. You could find humanity in depraved places. Including, but not limited to… him.
Under a cloudless sky, six years ago, Geto sat in a rice field across the street from a star-lit bus stop. He nursed a bottle of soju while taking drags of a lit cigarette perched between his moist lips. In this moment, he understood Shoko’s habits a bit more. The burn distracted him. The disgusting smell kept his senses in the present moment. He wanted to go wild. Break loose and set the world on fire. This cigarette was his last-ditch effort to control the bloodlust.
The soju, on the other hand, heightened it up a notch, so he discarded the remnants on the dirt road near his toes. He disposed of his parents. Geto dismembered their corpse. He first took off their hands. Then their feet. He took his mother’s legs from the hip joints, while he got his father at the knees. The rest was a blur. All he knows is that their pieces are scattered across the small village in which he camped.
Geto could barely keep his lips from an upturned smirk.
He was ever closer to his ideals. A world built for the sorcerers.
You should have never caught his attention.
A rickety bus hobbled to the marked stop. Its doors opened, and you walked off it. That hair of yours smacked against the indigo backdrop. Geto's legs seized at the unadulterated glow of your smile, which seemed too big for your body. You yapped goodwill onto the driver. Bowing deeper than necessary. Your mouth never did still as words of thankfulness gushed like a river. You hopped in place, and both your feet never landed in tandem.
Geto regarded the interaction.
Minutes dragged into each other as if time bends to your will.
You wore a student’s uniform. Considering the time, Geto assumed you were back from cram school. Bookbag clung to your shoulder. You bowed yet again, and with a wave, the driver set into motion. Then, you had made your way to him.
What a setting for a romance.
A parent murder after the act gets the naive girl.
Geto still remembered your unnecessary fretting. You paced the road before him, throwing out rapid-fire questions. All of which pertained to gathering information on his identity because, as you stated, “I know everyone in this town.” You glared at the ground, wondering aloud if he somehow had amnesia that led him to such a nowhere-type town. “Do you even have a place to stay? Of course, being a drunkard is one thing… Oh! Maybe I should call the local police; Omawari-san will see you home… if you have one?”
On your dumb tangent, you equated Geto to a bumbling fool. Which he took offense to more than the homeless statement, that he immediately corrected: “I’m not drunk. One bottle doesn’t do that, twerp. Nor do I drink regularly.”
You eyed the soju, “Right…”
Your tone was tinged with sarcasm.
Geto scoffed, "You’re working yourself over nothin'. Take a hit. Relax, sweetheart." He offered up the cigarette on its last few drags.
You pouted, fingers pushing his hand away.
"Ew… No, you can keep your poisoned air… And, it isn't just nothin'! You're on the side of the road, close to throwin' yourself in the fields for the vultures to pick at your drunk body. Dead. Drunk. Body.”
“Quite morbid,” Geto scowled with a tilt of his head.
At your core, you were weaker than a monkey.
A fragile duck who squawked like a self-deserving goose.
You continued, “Whatever has you hating the world is your problem, sure. Yet, as a moral citizen, I must take it upon myself to ensure you get home."
You had failed to see him as a threat or as a man. He couldn't get you out of his head even after you dropped him off at the rundown motel that only had visitors about twice a year. He wanted to drag you inside his room, yet he watched your skirt swish as you walked away.
Pure curiosity turned into an intangible obsession.
Humanity could rot for all Geto cared. He would see to it. However, the thought of you, his precious duckling, smeared by the monkey's malice, set his cells on fire.
You stood the fairest in a world riddled with cruelty. The indigo backdrop, a canvas, created for your beauty alone. Geto never saw rice fields the same again.
Geto had given you enough freedom.
It was about time that he took hold of your leash, pulled taut and fast, until you were behind the walls of his gilded cage. The one in which he would pile in riches only for you to enjoy. You deserved to be pampered in the new world order he planned to cultivate through some unsavory actions. Yet, he will blind you to it all—so that you may only see him as the valiant prince who swept you off your feet.
The world, this city which you came to love so dearly, is riddled with curses born from the inherent and evil will of being beneath you and him—monkeys better dead than alive. You don’t know that. And Geto would be damned if his dreams weren't realized.
Therefore, he needed you to depend on him.
To not question what is happening in the outside world.
"Suguuu… Are you even paying attention? What do you want?" You gripped his chin until his eyes snapped to yours. Geto didn’t realize that you two reached the front counters. With his attention, you disengaged your playful grasp, motioning at all the baked goods. You donned a mocking tone, "Since you’re not paying attention… I guess I'll have to buy my favorite treat."
"Buy?" Geto gave a slight humorous sneer. "You sure know how to piss me off. I got you, don't I?" He pulled your hips into his, "Y'a know I pay. Always"
He had given you enough freedom. Truly.
—
You couldn't believe your luck today. You had slept past your alarm. Cuddled in the overheated mass of your blankets instead of the embrace of your lover, who slept with his back turned to you. When you peeled your eyes open, the alarm clock read 8:45 am, and your heart sunk deep to the pit of your stomach. You had work at nine and you a ten minute train ride to catch. No matter how you sliced it, you would be super late.
Throwing yourself out of bed, you felt unease. Your doting lover, Suguru, sat back in bed and observed. His pointed stare traced your face, nonjudgmental as if he expected you to figure out your mistake. You fought the urge to cry and throw a fit.
He didn’t wake you up?!
Instead of screaming or pouncing on his stupid body where you would lay fists in an assault, you silently scurried to the bathroom where you could brush your teeth and gather clothes from the closet. As if engraved in your bones, you wanted Suguru to carry you on his shoulder, from room to room as he powered through your routine, and not you.
Your nerves worsened as you dragged your shaking arms in a blouse.
The fact that he didn't reprimand you for getting dressed without him made you insecure.
Was he mad at you? What did you do? Was he not in love with you anymore?
It was his digression, after all, to be overbearingly entwined with everything concerning you. He decided what you wore and what you ate for breakfast, while you half-heartedly nagged and snatched at things to do yourself, but Suguru’s actions were swift, sometimes jarring you into utter compliance. You hated that you loved it. That was the routine!
And you were so desperate for it now.
It had been a month since your anniversary. Suguru assured you at first that work kept him away more days than not. He rarely had a night off like yesterday to cuddle in your bed, and even then, his back met your front in the middle of the night. He didn’t let you spoon him. You felt like you slept alone even with him there.
He didn’t even worship your body.
Or got hard in your hands, as you tried licking your way to his v-line.
Suguru pushed you away, heading to the bathroom where he locked himself in. The spray of the shower rained down. When he came back out, he did not relieve your hormones. He was lost in his head as he prepared both of you for bed. It broke your heart. You were surprised that you didn’t burst into tears.
After smoothing down flyaways, you re-entered the bedroom. Your boyfriend’s massive frame turned away from you. "Sugu. Baby," You called with worry encasing each syllable. "I'm heading off to work. I should be home around five… I love you."
No response.
“Let’s talk when I get home… Please?”
Silence.
You brought in a sulking breath. You tried to gather yourself, exiting the room. Instead, you tripped all over yourself. You whispered sweet nothings that everything will be fine. But you knew it wasn’t. Your four-year relationship is crashing around you.
Slipping into some shoes, you didn’t bother to eat, rushing out on an empty stomach. You felt your belly tighten at the idea of fresh rice and an omelette cooked up by your boyfriend. But, what… It’s been a week since he cooked you anything. How were you supposed to know that would be the last time you would enjoy such a habitual thing?
You crashed into the front door, hissing as your fingers buckled with the weight of your purse. A frustrated groan accompanied your head smacking the metal frame. Still, there were no signs of Suguru coming to your aid.
Maybe you weren't made for any of this—being an adult.
This morning proved you were an utter failure without your boyfriend's aid. You shook your head, gathering your last sliver of courage, and left your desolate apartment.
And the series of misfortune continued.
The trains were so overcrowded that you missed two possible trips. You got harassed by some weirdo with blue pigtails outside of work. It was your fault that his coffee fell to the ground due to your clumsiness. And lastly, your boss had sharp words regarding your tardiness.
It wasn't even noon yet.
By lunch, you blanked at the fridge that held everyone's bento boxes but yours. You must've forgotten it. Did you even bring your debit card?
With a sigh, you rushed back to your desk. You ate an onigiri from the local convenience store, fuming over the insults hurled like rocks by unsatisfied customers who picked up your line all morning. Before you could hop back on calls, your superior collected you.
—
Geto tidied your place.
First, he organised your footwear into the shoe cupboard, which you always neglected to restock. Your shoes littered the genkan without his attention to it; he never complained before because he would do it for you whenever he was at your apartment.
You had fallen here.
He wondered which shoe you tripped over.
That silly accident of yours wouldn't have happened under his care. It took all his energy to neglect your pleading cries for help in everything you do. His cock threatened to take over his head. He desperately wanted to fuck the hurt look off of you.
You needed him. That fact was evident enough after this morning.
You had even chosen a pair of flats, too tight on your heels. Geto meant to throw them out; however, this past month, he's disregarded his tasks.
You had to learn that you needed him.
You made it seem like a bad thing to rely on him. You fussed when he took the initiative to open jars and heavy set doors. You fumed at the mention of living with him. It was about time he shut it all up. Was it all that bad to be reliant on him when that's all he wanted from you?
Geto surmised that his care was all you needed.
Therefore, he set aside a pair of slides to alleviate your pain. He planned to pick you up from work once he got your call. Your lover had the answer. You needed to trust that. Today will be the day; he got everything he wanted. His ego swelled as he prepped food for the impending dinner. He chopped veggies and set aside chicken to thaw in the sink.
Geto kept glancing at the clock, knowing time was of the essence.
His phone buzzed. Geto fished it out from his pocket, and he was met by your teary, trembly voice. You spoke impassioned without any air entering your lungs. His cock swelled inside his sweats. "Duck," He cooed. A gutteral moan threatened to seep through the line because you quieted to mere sniffles at the nickname. He took hold of his swollen tip, applying pressure along his shaft. "I don't understand gibberish. Be clear. Take deep breaths." Geto demonstrated, and you followed.
"Su," You whimpered.
He balanced his phone on his shoulder blade. He brought his trousers lower on his hips. “What do you need?” Geto pinched his balls, heating the globes in his hand, causing his erection to grow larger. A few moments passed. Your incoherent whines steadied for his sake, but the settled panic encased each word you spoke.
"Su, please… Gu- get me. Please. I- I- uh, I need you. Like I really need you." Geto bit hard on his flesh lips that he tasted iron. He salivated over your lovely words.
He fucked into his hands like a fleshlight. He snapped his hips rough along the grooves of his calloused knuckles. He imagined his precious duck begging him to help her forget. He would use your filthy mouth like a yearning slut, hell bent on tasting his cum.
"What's wrong? You're at work, aren't y'a?" Geto kept his voice even, despite the impending burst of his swollen dick, about to soak your kitchen tiles.
"Yeah, I got fired." You sobbed, "My boss… she said some hurtful things. Su… please come pick me up now."
"Why should I?" Geto teased, and the silence of yours permeated. A new wail pushed through the quietness. What's this? You had questioned his love for you. What a stupid little brat. He spoiled you as clear as rain. It was you who fought him. However, a month of minimal attention and an orchestrated bad day had you pleading for his care. Your insecurities laid themselves bare on a silver platter for his taste. Maybe he was being too rude. "Duckling, I'll get y'a. Just joking. Say it. You need me."
You sniffled, "I need you."
Geto instructed you to pack your things. He will be on the way.
Once he hung up, he cummed on his bare feet.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thank you for reading! Request rules = here!
JJK Masterlist = here!
I still have the old version posted. But I might take that one down... who knows. This will be uploaded to A03 soon!
Thank you, @appleblueberry-pie, for the awesome request. I hope you like the rewrite if you're still on Tumblr!
series masterlist link < click here
chapter three The Wind-Up Doll
summary All dolls break, but apparently, wind-up ones go first.
warning slut shaming, familial neglect/abuse, quarantine trauma, hunger thoughts lead to cannibalistic thoughts? (the usual)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mommy wouldn’t come for you. Not that she ever came in meaningful ways to begin with; whores don’t come, not for their children nor for their men.
All that comes out is someone else’s.
The child-addled voice of Ashley rang in your head. She haunted every crevice of your psyche, even as she was silent in slumber. Her exhaustion was contagious, but you could only blink languidly over her still form. “I let myself rot away for you,” You whispered, head tilted over her collarbone, which protruded in an ugly forward motion.
You allowed your fingers to travel deftly over her calves and inner thighs, tracing across bruises that bloomed across her pale skin. Her feet pushed against your hips as if wanting you gone. But you stayed despite the friction.
And you’ll grow up to be just like that—a slut counting her ones.
“We could eat you…” You began with a lithe voice, thickened with a sing-song quality. You dusted feather-light kisses over Ashley’s arms, kneading her taut and diminishing muscles with the tips of your fingers. Each hour Ashley spent with little to no food, the worse off she became. It was no secret that Ashley struggled the most in the thick of this starvation. But you were in no position to alleviate her pain.
You couldn’t even help yourself.
“It would be romantic, for you and me--” You paused, eyeing the door that would lead to a brooding Andrew who nursed his ego with a smoke.
I bought you this camera! Now you can star in your own snuff films!!
“Or maybe, you would rather feast on me?” It felt less like a question and more like a statement that needed no answer. You scooped the digital camera off the center console table, and you hummed while you checked its battery.
You brought the lens a breath away from Ashley’s face, “It has always been big brother Andy and Leyley against the world. Huh? I stand no chance—” You hit record. “Either way, Andy couldn’t possibly live without you. So, in this hypothetical, if you die first, why not let us live off of you? Wouldn’t you want that for us? We’ll eat you to preserve our lives. Utterly romantic, as Andrew would say.”
You watched a spasm work its way down Ashley’s left leg.
All dolls break differently, you learned a while back: porcelain cracks, and Barbie dolls lose their heads. Teddy bears get dragged through mud by children late to the school yard; their seams ripped and their stuffing left to collect outside their bodies.
Ashley was the worst type of toy—a wind-up doll, cranked all the way.
Therefore, she broke with stillness, and that was all this coffin brought to her. Within these confines, she became a whirl of dizzy spells and creaking limbs; the key that wound her up so tight and spurred her movements became jammed. Now slumber came to her easier than wakefulness.
She was not dying all at once, but in slow, quiet inches. Her gears rusted over.
You sighed after a great pause, “I’ll take that as a no.” You brushed off Ashley’s legs, no longer entertaining the hypothetical of cannibalising your best friend. You stood up on uneven footing, “I’ll cheer Andy up for you. Tomorrow, he won’t be mad at all. What are friends for anyway?”
Maybe you would always be the daughter of a used doll. The daughter of a seductive plaything… Some thrown-away object at the bottom of the Graves’ toy box—played with sparingly until it was all they had left to amuse themselves with. What a true reality that became—you were all they had left outside of each other.
You were as happy as one can be with this arrangement; they needed you.
However, once free, they could easily leave you behind. It’s a fate that has bored deep in your chest like worms eating through an apple core. When the time comes, the siblings may debate your worth, and you’ll sit as the little girl you once were and ponder your faults. Not realizing that they have already left you to suffocate under the weight of other toys, ones that yearned to be touched and sought after.
They can’t leave you behind. You don’t want them to.
That fate was who Nina became (a bitch in a box), and it’s what Julia would’ve become; choked on air made to vitalize them. Maybe that was all your existence was meant to be: a tireless fight for air.
One where you are gradually smashed through.
—
“NOOOO!!!!” Ashley welled. She had kicked her feet into the air, flailing them about like weapons with no aim. Anything and everything was a target in her blind fury. “I don’t want her sleeping in our room. It’s not fair!”
You huddled under the kitchen island, head buried in the flesh of your arm. Andrew hobbled past your form with your bookbag in tow. You glanced at the rabbit toy whose upper body popped out between the zippers. His head nodded off towards the door. Its one arm flopped over the Graves’ boy’s shoulder in a severe twist.
Mrs. Graves tore sheets out of the hallway closet with haste. She had bags under her eyes, and her groans were exaggerated. “Ashley! Stop. I told you, when she stays the night, she will be in your room.”
"No faaaaair-" The little girl drawled. "Let her stay on the couch!!!"
"And let that child have an accident on it? No."
"So, she'll pee in my room!" Ashley's cheeks turned red with heat.
"If she has to," Mrs. Graves rolled her eyes. "But, I assume she's potty trained…" The woman waltzed towards her daughter, depositing the linens over top of her head. Andrew wrangled Ashley from underneath the covers.
The little girl's arms spun like a broken windmill, knocking her fists against his head. The content of your bag threatened to take the young boy down as he stumbled out of range on unquilted feet.
"That's not the point!!! I don't want her here." The girl’s lips trembled with rage
Mrs. Graves flattened the blankets out on the ground. Her sigh took up space in the room. "It's not about what you want, Ashley."
“You all should prepare for bed. You all have school in the morning.” Mr. Graves trembled all over as if in a state of perpetual coldness. As quickly as he said a word, he slithered back into the comfort of his bedroom, leaving his wife to fend for herself.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thank you for reading! Request rules = here!
This story is on AO3 = here!
Tumblr Masterlist = here!
summary A doll's presence is all it took to cause a ripple effect to occur.
warning familial neglect/abuse, quarantine trauma, hunger, implied cheating
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Porcelain dolls have eyes that notice the insignificant details.
Their gaze would rather settle faster on a freckle four centimeters to the left and a quarter inch above your cupid's bow, than on the whole of a person’s face. To anyone but the doll, that would go unnoticed. So, expect that when you peek through its glass confinement, its eyes—akin to those of a person's—won't meet yours. Instead, it'll linger on those minor imperfections. Those fractures in what was supposedly a perfect mold.
No one's face is prettier than a doll's after all.
And once the doll has noticed all that makes you human, then and only then will it turn its gaze to the tacky floral patterns on the wall. Having seen past you, like you did to it. But, to it, you never mattered in the first place.
Mommy had dressed you as such. Like a Porcelain Doll for keeps. She spent her extra cash tips to keep you prettied up in your room filled with accessories. The French doors, see-through and meant to be an office, were turned into your dollhouse. Everything you did was seen or heard. Even as you changed, someone watched.
Then the yelling began. It was always there, further down the hall, but now it was outside your door more often than not. You would sit on your bed, sleep evading your startled form, as your mother berated everything your eyes noticed. Like the wrinkles that gathered around her brows, they added with age and multiplied with substances.
Daddy left when you were eight, and it meant that Mommy blamed you for driving a wedge into their relationship.
Father never wanted a girl. He reminded you of that fact each birthday that he was present. Only lesser men spawned pussies. Daddy would say. You never shot back a retort, finding buttercream swirls more appealing than his face.
In your mind, you'd think: you're right, Jared's a coward.
Jared ran away before you turned twelve. He always ran when he couldn't have something. And you were what he wanted the most.
He loathed your doe-eyed expressions. He wanted to cram you into a box to look at forever. The desire to snap your legs to keep you like a wingless bird is ever-present in his thoughts. You were so pretty that he tried to bruise your flesh to make you undesirable. But it fueled his preadolescent hormones further.
That's why Jared fled. His conflicts were written on torn-out pages from your favorite books, haphazardly strewn under his pillows. By fifteen, all Mommy had was you and your porcelain eyes. Never were those boys to reappear in your lives because…
Daddy and brother died.
—
You tensed over the checkered tile floor, which you've stared at all morning. The A/C whirled down the hall, sputtering out of sync; it hardly worked, and no repairman could be called. You toed at the roughed-up edges of wooden planes, meeting the kitchen flooring. You traced purple scribbles from a marker long discarded with the heels of your feet. You chuckled at your balance seeming off. Your stomach ached, but nothing could be delivered.
The last thing you've eaten to satiate the tiniest bit of hunger was a can of tomatoes warmed on the stovetop a half day prior. Unfortunately, it was split among three—the Graves siblings and you.
You paced on tiptoes from the sink to the front door, barred on the outside.
Each morning since the quarantine started, you would peek through the peephole for a sign of life besides the lone security guard making his rounds. And each time, there was that one guard whose footfalls squelched on the water-drenched carpet.
These days, you feel more like a marionette, stumbling through the motions on uneven limbs. Your right side lifted higher than your left, and your arms splayed parallel to your hips as if you held onto the wire strings themselves. If you hopped off point, you felt limp and discarded. Worn out. As though the puppeteer decided a doll of more novelty deserved to breathe life.
You couldn’t stop moving even if you tried. For if you did, then the TV's saccharine buzz would meld into your pores as it spoke its static language. Foreign, if not for its monotony over your current life. It reminded you that death remained your last resort.
You wouldn't survive this. Couldn't. But you kept moving to be alive.
"You're up..." A voice startled your reverie. Her tone was lithe and woolly in the air with hints of sleep attached to each syllable. Leyley stretched over the couch's mustard arm. "That burns calories." She gestured flippantly at your display.
"Your point... We'll die anyway," You chewed on your inner cheek.
Ashley faced away. Any snide remark wrangled tight to her chest. She shrugged, "Who's Andy on the phone with?"
You glanced over at Andrew, the only member of this dump who was fortunate enough to receive weekly check-in calls. "Probs it's Julia." Who else could it be besides her? Julia, this and Julia that.
When the phone rang, Andrew pounced for the receiver, soaring headfirst into her tales of a world outside. You had not bothered to listen except to the forlorn sighs breaking over the static. But your steps mimicked the rhythm which he'd spoken—hushed and bothered.
Ashley wore a blank facade. Her pink eyes sparked devilishly against the paleness of her skin. "Oh?" She gritted through thin lips.
You brushed frigid fingers through your hair, which remained a hot-knotted mess. Leyley reached over the pillows for the remote, and with speed, she muted the sound before filtering through the television stations as if anything would pop up. However, she knew there was nothing but the news, which had shut off an hour prior.
Andrew sneered at his sister. "Or I can try talking to them? But-- No, or I mean yes. But that doesn't--... No, I'm not angry. I'm just--"
Pause. More shoutings of female rage sputtered over the receiver.
"No, I--... Can you let me talk?" Andrew snorted.
A female voice shrieked from the phone, "--'ve time to think---... just can't do it anymore."
"What else is there to say …Sorry?" Andrew stiffened. He pinched the furrow of his eyebrow. "Although I don't see why I should be held accountable for--"
beep -- beep -- beep… CLANK
Metal smashed against itself as Andrew deposited the rotary phone back into place.
"Who was it?" Ashley spoke. Her fingers stroked the gem dangling from her choker, wrapped in a death vice around her neck.
"My ex-girlfriend. Apparently."
You brought your bare heels to the ground.
"Oooo, she dumped you? Why is that?" Leyley twirled her words together into a song.
A silence bloomed between the siblings. The back tag of Andrew's sweater was flipped up, reaching toward the nape of his neck. "Why do you think?" He breathed out low.
"H-how should I know? Maybe… because you're a parasite-infested homebody, that's perma-quarantined?" Ashley brought her knees to her chest, resting her chin above them. "Or, it's because she found somebody new? It's been a few months, buddy. Or maybe she didn't like you much in the first place."
"…Whatever you say, Ashley." Andrew dragged his feet to the balcony. The door slammed shut on this argument.
Leyley swiveled her gaze to you. "I didn't even tell him the worst of it. I could've brought up the fact that he's fucking you."
You puffed out a soft laugh. "It's because you tell me to."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thank you for reading! Request rules = here!
This story is on AO3 = here!
Tumblr Masterlist = here!
summary Drugs have always been your friend. A source of courage and tonight's no different. Now it's time to fuck a nerd. Hope your BF understands. 1.7k
You are shit outta luck, now wear those kitten ears and purr real good.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You blurringly watched ahead. A TV buzzed with images of red, blue, and clover green. You didn't feel luck at all. Jeffery kept you stable on his inner thigh, carding through knots twisted amongst your hair. You listened past his singing to the crickets beyond the attic crawl space, where cars whirled by, and left without hearing your pleas. Cody laid bleeding out on the creaky wooden slates. One thought persisted, he would die here. You talked him through it as best as you could, but in a twist of fate, you wished him dead. He'd be better off that way.
The rusted odor was acidic to your nostrils and filled the space like a migraine after a bender. All you could do was to constrict your throat. You were afraid that you'd double over at the sight. It's game over. As if you could save anyone? Much less yourself. Time to roll the credits. And spoiler, you'll remain fucked into death on top of a Hatsune Miku body pillow.
What the fuck were you supposed to do? What exactly could you have done differently? Go back in time and do what? Not be nice?
You smoothed snot into the wrist of your cardigan. The answer was a simple one. It stared you plain in the face, and it taunted you with the ferocity of the North Seas. You were the issue. Everything you did, all who you've interacted with, culminated into a thick poison settling in your skin. You wondered if you were destined for this - a life dictated by god where autonomy may be gifted or provoked.
And if you were to see Jeffery as that god, he had chosen to take you in as his rascal stray kitten. There will be no more choices afforded to you besides those he'll offer. Either to obey or not to obey. To crawl or to not be afforded the chance to ever walk again.
You were on the cusp of that new version of normalcy, having started with whom you placed the blame on. Jefferey directed it at Cody, as did Cody directed it at Jeffery. They were both wrong.
This was your fault. Jeffery showed you how easy it was to make you disappear. He cleaned fast that first night, ten days ago. You wouldn't have realized a stranger in the dark. He packed clothing for Cody and you, alongside sentimental items you'd fail to leave behind. He took a handful of Percs for the road and set up a snorting station of crushed Valium in the middle of your coffee table.
Jeffery had ushered you over by your biceps. He urged you to snort what you could of the powder. "Only a little, hun. He'll take the rest."
You wailed into your hands. Any and all protests were stumped in the pits of your belly. Drowsiness threatened to take you. But, your heart seemed to pound greatly outside of your body.
Jeffery whispered, "Please." He brought your head to his, forehead to forehead. "I promise, you'll sleep this all off. I love you. All I ask of you is to do this one thing to ensure our future."
"H-how?" Your voice sounded feral.
"You need to disappear. I'm setting the scene..." Jeffery brought your hands together. "If you aren't all mine, I can't stand it."
You gnawed on your lips, "How would this make me disappear?"
"I thought of many scenarios," Jeffery began, using his other hand to smooth flyaway strands from your face. His thumb rested upon your cupid's bow. "Most of them endited you for murder. But, I don't want people to think bad of you... So the plan is to-umm..." It seemed hard for him to set his words in order. He started once in stutters then he collapsed back against your boyfriend's bound leg. Jeffery basked in the silence.
Cody winced, flailing his limbs as best he could against the restraint. His muffled voice berated against your skull's cavity. Jeffery cleared his throat to begin anew. "Frankly... this world wouldn't miss druggie one," He slammed his fist hard into Cody's gut who began to wheeze while constricting in on himself as best he could. "Shut the fuck up! I told you if you attract the neighbors, I gut you. Now..."
Jeffery brought your head back to his. "You are druggie two. One and Two go missing. Then the cops assume these... 'lovers' fled together."
"And snorting Val?"
"You two were high off all the shit you took tonight. Friday nights are your weakness. The Valium is to cement the final hoora! of the night! Then I'll drive your car to the edge of town where there's no security, I'll withdraw money in his clothes, then dump him somewhere. And I get to have you! We can start our new lives with each other."
You blinked rapidly then slowed to the rhythm of your breaths. Were you ever breathing? "D-uuh Dump him... where exactly?"
"Anywhere. I don't know. I never disposed of a body. I'm doing this for you. You're my first. Will be... at least. After you, I won't be a vir- ah ah vir... virgin."
"Jeffery," You shuttered. "That's stupid."
"Which part? The virg-"
"No, not that. The dump his body somewhere -that part." You rubbed your eyes. You can't believe what you're about to do. "It would ruin all of this-" You waved your hand around. "If anyone finds the body."
Jeffery hummed, "Then what would you do?"
"Take him with us. That way you could think of a better solution. We could come up with something better!" You blamed the Percs. But it was all you leading at this moment. "I-uh don't know. We could chop him up or... or um."
What the fuck are you supposed to do? What exactly could you do to keep Cody alive? Fuck! fuck! fuck! fuck?
You gathered Jeffery's collar at the scruff of his neck. You huffed into the space between you before breaching the surface tension. His lips were chapped against yours, thin and twitched at first contact. Cody stomped furiously, swinging forward and back until he tipped over on his wrist. You watched his head crack down on the pavement.
"If no one cares about two druggies. Then, no one would care if I had fucked someone before high tailing it. Maybe you could convince the police that I had an affair. Cody found out, and then he murdered me outside of town in the dark spooky woods." You inhaled deep as you climbed Jeffery's knee. "You're right... he's a bastard."
You settled your fingertips on his neck, cupping his Adam's apple. "I want him to suffer. And he should see me enjoy our new life. Starting with me pleasing you."
Jeffery's eyes dart to your chest as you lean over him to glare at the nothingness behind. You were stalling. You felt too weak to run or to put up a fight. Morning would come eons from now, it seemed.
You had to keep him here until then.
~ ~ ~
Jeffery had sat enamored at your little performance. He kept his eye trained on your spasming body as you rocked faster into his leg. He'd known your druggie boy-toy trained you to drip at the gulp of a Perc, but he didn't expect to reap the benefits so soon. His brain fogged as the butterfly kisses you swept over his collarbone came up to his ear.
His mouth salivated at the faintest breath. He trembled as you bit his ear with tender care. Jeffery convinced himself of your love. This had to mean you loved him back. You had chosen him in the end over the waste of human parts. Your ex didn't use his eyes to watch anime nor did he jack off to big-breasted waifus. His dick had never spurt ropes of sperm into the air at watching a 2D woman leaking men's cum.
Not like Jeffery did. And all those nights felt like preparation for the day you saw him in his truest light. One which can now be actualized!
He would no longer be a virgin. Thanks to you.
Jeffery compared himself to Cody who had never had to imagine the subtle dips of a woman's hips as he did. He saw how the Baka would greedily smack your flesh. He knew that Baka had felt your pulsating entrance around his unsavory shaft. Jeffery wished to rid you of the phantom touch of your ex by burying his face deep into your pussy.
He felt rushed to gather its aroma on his palette. If only you would let him. Jeffery felt too afraid to string you to his whim when you chased pleasure so eagerly from his body.
He wondered if you would even want him to. He could try taking the reigns. Yet your lips slotted over Jeffery's like water over ice. He had to stifle a pitiful whine. His brain short-circuited at each pass of your tongue over his teeth. Jeffery's hand searched frantically the globes on your chest. He came to twiddle with your nipples.
You circled your hips to the beat of his thumb pressing down on your peaks. It was too good to be true. This must've been in a dream that he carded away in the depths of his depravity.
Your pussy mound molded over his thigh, wetting his jeans. What a sweet dream. Jeffery planned to relive the moment in all future sex encounters. He'll be in his late seventies, jacking off to the memory.
It has been hours since that moment came to pass. Jeffery caved to your sly demands. Cody lived another day. He knew you.
However, you'll soon realize that this was a part of the plan. Jeffery needed you to kill the piece of shit. How else would you move on if you painted him out to be the monster? Jeffery couldn't have you glorify the fucker in death. You would twist the truth in your sweet little head. All Cody's abuse, a symbol of his love that he's dead.
Hopefully, you finish the Baka off sooner rather than later. Jeffery had designed the attic with only you and him in mind.
Jeffery wiped your swollen cheeks. You were a princess adorned above your Sailor Moon duvet. He felt his cock swell with need at your peaceful yet grief-stricken face.
Three's a crowd.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thank you for reading! Request rules are here! Follow my ig = lil.thoughts.xo!
Decided not to do the cosplay idea. Maybe in another fic not related to this concept. Wrote the ending in the dead of night bc I would've put it off.
Will edit it later. Come back in 2 days, maybe I'll add an actual penetration scene. Or part 4, just smut, little plot.
I get too into the plot thoooooo
A: HEAR ME OUT PLEASE- I hate his character personality and he’s actually so annoying and creepy but why is his design and the fanart cute 😭
B: Fully hearing u out!!!! Like if u take away the things that make him a degenerate (his porn addiction) and make him a functioning human in society he’s just a nerd who’s never felt the touch of a woman
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Saw this random convo on Pinterest. FYI!!!! Almost done with Benzo-Addict. I just need to write the smut scene. I always trip up on these sorts of scenes. But, I should have the story out tomorrow.
P.S. I don't have work for the next four days. NO MORE EXCUSES!!!
