#...i look forward to a day when my will out strips my fear and i can finally do the right thing

[kunareads]

if i believe you | chapter one

a bride adorned

clan head!satoru x reader

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wc: 1k

content: it's your wedding night! no smut, angst

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18+ please <3

your wedding had been beautiful.

ornate silks, golden light, the scent of incense. satoru had taken it all in stride, hands loose at his sides like he had nothing to prove. and when he turned to you, the weight of the gojo clan on both your shoulders, he only smiled as he took your hands.

he had squeezed your fingers once as the vows were spoken, just enough to get you to meet his gaze. and before you knew it, it was done.

and now, you wait.

the room is silent, save for the faint crackle of candlelight. shadows flicker against papered walls, stretching long and soft over the sheets where you sit, waiting.

your hands are folded neatly in your lap, resting over the embroidery of your wedding robes. you’re still dressed. the thought hits distantly, like you’re observing yourself from the outside.

why are you still dressed? should you have undressed first? would that have made this easier?

the thought of him undressing you feels too large, too intimate, too much. but it must be done.

you inhale, willing your mind into stillness.

you’re a wife now. you have a duty.

the door slides open.

he steps in, his presence swallowing the room. satoru gojo, your new husband. his robes are looser than before, the outer layer gone, revealing the sharp edges of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat. his white hair is slightly tousled after the long day, but the tilt of his head and the lift of his brows suggest amusement.

“you look like you’re waiting for an execution,” he says.

your fingers twitch in your lap. “i—” you pause, unsure how to answer. you are waiting. just not for an execution.

he rubs the back of his neck as he steps further into the room. the candlelight softens his features, makes him look younger, though you know better. satoru is anything but soft. he’s the head of his clan, the strongest, the one elders bow to in quiet reverence. or fear. he’s a man with power, with authority, and now he’s your husband.

you belong to him.

the thought isn’t scary. it’s not even unwelcome. it’s just a fact.

you straighten your spine, pressing your shoulders back as he reaches the foot of the bed. he watches you, blindfold off, something unreadable in his gaze.

you fold your hands tighter. “would you like me to—”

“no.”

the word is immediate. sharp.

you blink.

you’re so stiff, so still. like you’re waiting to be moved into place. or for something to happen to you.

satoru knew who you were before you married him, knew what kind of family you come from, knew how they would’ve raised you. but knowing it and seeing it are two different things.

he exhales heavily, raking a hand through his hair. “you’re—” he stops himself, shakes his head, and mutters something under his breath before sitting next to you.

you don’t flinch at the dip of the mattress under his weight, but something inside you goes very still. your heart beats in your throat.

“i…” you try again. “i know my duty.”

his head tilts, white lashes lowering as he studies you. then, almost lazily, he leans back on his palms.

“yeah?” he asks. “and what’s your duty?”

you swallow. this is a test, you think. maybe you just have to say it plainly, strip it down to the bare truth.

“to be a good wife to you,” you answer. “to—”

you force the words out, staring down at your hands. “to submit to you.”

his stomach turns. fuck. the back of his neck feels hot.

silence stretches between you. when you finally look up, his expression is unreadable. his mouth quirks at the corner, but it doesn’t look like a smile.

“they teach you that at home?”

you nod.

he hums, something distant in the sound, before sitting forward again. his hand lifts, and for a moment, you think he might touch you. might push you down into the sheets, might cup your jaw, might—

instead, his fingers brush the beading on your robe. the slightest pressure, knuckles grazing your sleeve. a test.

you don’t move. you stay perfectly still. a statue, waiting to be sculpted into whatever shape he desires.

he pulls his hand away. wrong.

“is that what you want?” he asks.

your mouth opens, then closes. want. what a strange word to use.

“it’s my responsibility.”

satoru’s jaw ticks as he sits back again.

you don’t know what you want, he thinks. you’re just repeating what you were told. he could do anything right now, and you’d just take it. he can’t stand it.

for a moment, neither of you speak. you feel like you’ve failed a test you didn’t know you were taking.

then, he shifts, reaching for the ties at his wrist, untying them slowly. you brace yourself.

this is it. this is when it happens.

but he only loosens the fabric, then moves toward the pillow and lies down at the very edge of the bed. just like that.

you blink at him.

he stretches an arm under his head, gazing up at the ceiling like the moment has already moved on. “go to sleep,” he says.

you don’t move. your pulse is loud in your ears. “but—”

“go to sleep, please.”

you stare at him, confusion twisting in your chest.

this isn’t how it was supposed to go. you were prepared. you were willing. why didn’t he—

your stomach twists. a new thought takes root.

you turn away, pressing your hands into your lap. your voice is quieter when you speak again.

“did i do something wrong?”

for a moment, nothing.

he wants to reach for you, to offer something—comfort, maybe? but if he touches you now, if he gives you even that, he doesn’t know how you’ll take it.

finally, he looks at you. his gaze softens, almost tired. “no,” he says simply.

and then, with finality, he turns on his side, his back to you.

you don’t move for a long time. you sit, still and quiet, staring at a flickering candle. it sputters once, then it dies. the room feels colder for it.

only then do you finally lie down. you keep your hands folded over your stomach. you stare at the ceiling.

you don’t sleep.

neither does he.

[mindmelter]

Turn A Bully Into A Drone

The moment Ethan stepped into the empty locker room, he knew his plan had worked. The shower was running and there he was—Jace, his high school tormentor, standing under the water, his white dress shirt completely drenched and clinging to his muscular body while wearing black speedos. His chiseled abs and big, perky pecs were fully visible through the soaked fabric, and his face... Blank. Emotionless. Obedient.

Ethan's hands reached out and unbuttoned Jace's shirt, revealing his big pecs.

Ethan’s heart raced as he took in the sight. It had all led up to this. The months of planning, the late nights spent perfecting the nanorobots, the careful engineering to ensure they would only activate upon contact with Jace’s skin. He had spent years enduring Jace’s cruel pranks, his cocky smirks, and the way he strutted around the school like he owned it. Jace was feared by everyone, and this granted him the title of the leader of the most arrogant group of jocks.

But now he was standing motionless, allowing the nerd he used to bully to enjoy the sight of his muscular body.

It had been easy for Ethan. Despite being a troublemaker, Jace was the golden boy of the swim team and would spend hours in the pool every day. All Ethan had to do was introduce the microscopic machines into the water supply and let them do their work. The moment Jace dove in, the nanorobots detected their target and swarmed toward him, slipping through his pores, traveling through his bloodstream, and finally settling in his brain. They rewrote his brain cells, stripped away his arrogance, his free will, and molded him into exactly what Ethan wanted.—His personal drone.

And the proof was right there. A small tattoo of a triangle behind Jace’s ear—a mark left by the nanorobots once their work was complete. Ethan had spotted it this morning when Jace took a swim, when he stepped out of the pool, his usual swagger was gone, his movements just a little too stiffy, his eyes just a little too empty.

Ethan watched as the swimmers all went to the locker room, and went home after getting dressed. Jace was the only one who stayed behind.

And now, here he was, standing under the shower, waiting for Ethan just like the nanorobots were programmed to do.

Ethan stepped forward and reached out, slowly pressing his palm against Jace’s broad, wet chest, feeling the firm warmth beneath the wet skin. Jace had always been built, his swimmer’s body honed to perfection. He would have never allowed a guy like Ethan to touch him, but now there was no resistance, no cocky smirk, no taunting insult. Just stillness.

Ethan let his fingers roam lower, finding one of Jace’s nipples. He gave it a testing pinch, rolling it between his fingers. Jace shuddered. A small, involuntary gasp slipped from his lips, but he didn’t move away.

“You like that? You arrogant prick,” Ethan murmured, squeezing his pecs harder. “From now on, these are mine. You understand?”

Jace’s lips parted. “Yes… Master. These pecs are yours.” His voice was distant, dreamy, like a zombie.

The triangle mark on his neck glowed with blue light for a few seconds, indicating that a new command had been installed in Jace's brain.

Ethan grinned. “You’re gonna be my obedient toy now, Jace. No more bullying, no more acting like you’re better than me. From now on, you’re gonna crave my touch.” His hands moved with purpose, pinching both of Jace’s nipples and twisting. Hard. Jace let out a strangled moan, his legs trembling. Ethan felt a rush of power, of pure satisfaction. This was what he deserved.

Before, Jace would have punched Ethan just for looking at his pecs. Now, all Jace could think about was how those slabs of muscles on his chest weren't his anymore, but now belonged to Ethan.

“My touch makes you so horny,” Ethan cooed, rubbing slow circles around Jace’s hardened buds. “Your pecs are so sensitive now. So sensitive that from now on, you can only cum when I play with them.”

The triangle mark glowed again, Jace gasped, his entire body quivering under the shower’s stream. “Please…”

Ethan smirked. “Please what?”

"Please make me cum, Master!" Jace let out a desperate whimper, but Ethan wasn’t feeling generous. He pinched harder, twisting cruelly, and Jace let out a deep, shuddering moan. His whole body tensed, and his cock thobbed inside his tight speedos—then he came, his face contorted in helpless pleasure.

Ethan chuckled, stepping back to admire his work. Jace stood there, panting, his dick printed in his speedos, still leaking cum. The triangle mark behind his ear was a permanent reminder of who he belonged to now.

“You're such a pervert, Jace. Now kneel and suck me off. Play with your nipples as you do it.” Ethan ordered.

The triangle was glowing again, Jace’s blank eyes slowly focused on him, and for the first time in his life, there was no arrogance, no cruelty—just need. Desperation.

And from that day on, Jace changed. He stopped shoving Ethan in the hallways, stopped laughing at him with his friends. Instead, he was always walking beside Ethan, his eyes pleading, wanting him to play with his pecs all the time. And Ethan would whenever he wanted.

Ethan would use Jace's pecs to jerk off, suck, or simply to torture the once-arrogant jock. One time, Ethan used a waterproof marker to write 'Owned by Ethan' on Jace's chest just before his turn in a swimming competition. It became the school's only talk for a whole week. It was all anyone at school talked about for a whole week.

Ethan even made Jace kneel in front of him in the hallway and beg him to play with his "tits" right in front of his jock friends... let's say he wasn't their leader anymore after that day, but Jace couldn't care less, all he cared about was Ethan using his pecs for his pleasure.

______________________

Seven years had passed since high school, and Ethan had long since moved on from his past with Jace. The nanorobots, however, had not. They remained nestled deep in Jace’s brain, an unseen force that still bound him to the programming Ethan had left behind. Ethan wasn’t cruel—he had allowed Jace to live his life normally. He could date, he could have sex, he could go about his days as if nothing had changed. But there was one thing he could never escape: he could only orgasm when playing with his pecs and thinking of Ethan.

It had been a failsafe. A final act of control that ensured, no matter where life took Jace, he would always belong to Ethan in some way.

Ethan had thrived since high school. College had been a playground for him—his intelligence, his experiments, and his confidence had expanded. In just a few months of college, the hottest jocks also displayed a triangle mark on their necks. Ethan had built an empire of control. A harem of jock drones, each under his influence in one way or another, devoted to him in mind and body. Ethan was living his fantasy.

And then, one afternoon at the beach, he saw him.

Jace was out in the ocean, carving through the waves on a surfboard with practiced ease. He had become a surfing instructor, and the years had only made him more impressive—He wore a tight surfing fit: a tight-sleeved compression shirt unzipped just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of his pecs and compression pants that clung to every sculpted muscle, outlining the power he carried between his legs. Ethan smirked. Jace was still as hot as he was in High School.

Ethan watched from the shore as Jace finished his lesson and walked up the beach, shaking out his wet hair. When their eyes met, recognition dawned in Jace’s face, followed by a wide, genuine grin.

“Ethan! Damn, it’s been forever, man!”

Jace’s voice was warm and genuine. He gave Ethan a tight hug, burying his face between his pecs... whether intentional or not, Ethan wasn't complaining.

If Ethan didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the years had erased the past. But he knew. He knew because Jace’s eyes lingered on him just a second too long, because the way Jace's pecs flexed with his face buried between them, told Ethan that deep down, the nanorobots were still just as strong in his brain as seven years go.

“Jace,” Ethan greeted, pulling his face away from Jace's pecs, pretending at camaraderie. “You look good.”

Jace laughed, wiping sweat from his brow. “Thanks. You too, though. You look... different.”

Ethan smirked. “Yeah, life’s been good to me.”

They caught up for a bit. Jace seemed completely normal. He had a job now, a life, a routine. In High School, Ethan always thought Jace would end up in a gang or having a shitty life, but thanks to the work the nanorobots did to his brain, Jace had a second chance in life... even if he was a mindless drone now.

But Ethan knew better, as normal Jace looked now, he was just a ticking time bomb waiting for the right command. And then, casually, as if he were simply making an observation, Ethan said.

“Activate Standby Mode.”

Jace stopped mid-sentence and the mark on his neck glowed. His muscles stiffened, and then—nothing. His arms hung loosely at his sides, his chest rising and falling in slow breaths. His face, once animated with conversation, went blank. Emotionless. His eyes stared ahead, unfocused, waiting.

Ethan took a step forward, tilting his head as he observed his former bully, now reduced to a mere puppet again, after seven years. He ran a finger along Jace’s chest, watching for any sign of resistance. There was none.

He reached for Jace's bulge and gave it a slight squeeze. “I missed playing with you, Jace,” Ethan murmured. Jace remained still, completely at his mercy. Ethan’s smirk widened. After all these years, Jace was still his. "You see Jace... I turned into a drone almost every hot jock at my school, yet, none of them had such perfect pecs like you."

And now, it was time to remind him of that fact. "Follow me."

Ethan led Jace away from the beach, guiding him toward the rocky outcrop where Ethan would have the privacy he needed. Jace followed obediently, moving without hesitation, his gaze vacant. He was still deep in standby mode, awaiting only Ethan’s next command.

When they reached the secluded area behind some rocks, Ethan pushed Jace down against the stone, positioning him just as he wanted. Ethan unzipped the tight, long-sleeved compression shirt, peeling it open to fully reveal Jace’s sculpted pecs that he missed so much, then he pulled down Jace's compression pants, revealing his tight black speedos.

The sight made Ethan hard—Jace’s blank face, his perfect, meaty chest and the massive bulge in his speedos... Suddenly, all the memories of the fun he had with Jace in high school started to flood back.

Ethan climbed onto Jace’s lap, his legs straddling the thick thighs beneath him. He gently pressed his palms against Jace’s pecs, kneading the firm flesh before lowering his mouth to one of the stiff nipples. He licked at it first, tasting the salt on Jace’s skin before closing his lips around the nub, sucking hungrily.

Jace remained motionless, his breath deep and steady. Ethan soon felt the twitch beneath him, the involuntary jerk of Jace’s cock pressing harder against his ass through the tight speedos. Smirking, Ethan bit down on Jace’s nipple, twisting the other between his fingers as he felt the cock beneath him throb in response.

“I see my command is still holding strong,” Ethan murmured against Jace’s chest before moving to the other nipple, sucking, biting, and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Each movement sent an electric pulse down to Jace’s cock, making it strain harder against its confines.

Ethan reached down, tugging down the waistband of Jace’s speedos. His thick, heavy cock sprang free, standing rigid and leaking.

Jace was too big—9 Inches hard. Ethan would need lube to take him fully. That's when Ethan remembered about a special command he would often use during High School. Would that still work? He asked himself. There was only one way to find out.

"Activate lube production mode," Ethan said. He waited a few seconds, a wicked grin formed on his face when he started to see a transparent sticky liquid oozing out of Jace's nipples.

During High School, Ethan would often pull Jace to a secluded room and fuck himself on Jace's big cock. To make it easier, Ethan gave the nanorobots a trigger word to produce a cum-enhanced lube that would be produced by Jace's pecs.

Ethan had completely forgotten about this trick until now, and he began to wonder what else he might be forgetting...

Ethan gave Jace's pecs a squeeze, making the transparent slippery liquid ooze faster. He then put some on his hand and coated Jace's dick with the natural lube.

Ethan’s own arousal was unbearable now, his own cock aching as he positioned his ass over Jace’s slippery shaft. With one slow movement, he sank down onto it, letting Jace's cock stretch him open.

A moan tore from Ethan’s lips as he adjusted, his hands bracing against Jace’s chest. The thick cock inside him pulsed, but Jace’s face remained blank, obediently waiting for direction. That only made Ethan hotter. He rocked his hips, setting a slow, deep rhythm, his fingers never leaving Jace’s pecs, smearing the slippery lube all over his chest making it glisten. Each time Ethan twisted or pinched a nipple, the cock inside him throbbed, reacting as if the sensations were directly wired together... Ethan knew they were.

Ethan rode him harder, his moans turning into gasps. He ground his hips, his fingers working Jace’s pecs mercilessly, alternating between soft caresses and sharp twists that made Jace’s cock throb uncontrollably inside him.

Ethan was close. His own cock twitched between them, untouched but fully ready to explode. He bit down on Jace’s left nipple and moaned as his orgasm hit him like a shockwave. His cum spilled in thick ropes over Jace’s chest, painting those perfect pecs in his release.

As his orgasm ceased, he grinned wickedly as Jace’s body jerked beneath him, his cock throbbing before spilling deep inside Ethan, his load pumping out in response to Ethan's command written into his very being.

Ethan sat there for a moment, still impaled on Jace’s cock, watching the way the cum dripped down his pecs and mindless face. He dragged his fingers through it and inserted one finger inside Jace's mouth with satisfaction.

“I'm never letting you go again,” Ethan whispered, pressing a final kiss to Jace’s agape mouth.

______________________

Ethan made his way to his personal gym, a massive space inside his mansion filled with state-of-the-art equipment and his favorite drone.

The moment he stepped inside, his eyes fell on Jace, standing frozen with his eyes open in the middle of the gym. Every night, before heading to bed, Ethan would shut down the nanorobots inside Jace, leaving him stuck like statue all night.

Ethan approached with a smirk, trailing his fingers along Jace’s broad back before stepping in front of him and gripping the bottom of his tight gym shirt and lifting it, revealing Jace's thick, heavy slabs of muscle that Ethan had grown obsessed with. His pecs, round and full, just waiting for inspection.

“Good morning, Jace,” Ethan said. His hands roamed over the meaty curves, squeezing them, testing their softness. The warmth of Jace’s body and the scent of sweat were pure addiction to Ethan. He leaned in, tracing his tongue around the stiff nub of Jace’s nipple before pulling it into his mouth, sucking greedily. Jace remained in sleep mode, his face blank, his body completely still except for the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.

Ethan gave the soft flesh a few gentle bites, just enough to leave teeth marks for a few days. He then flicked his tongue over the sensitive bud, his fingers teasing and twisting the other, eliciting a soft, involuntary grunt from Jace. The connection was undeniable—every pinch, every squeeze sent a pulse straight to Jace’s cock, hardening him instantly. Ethan smirked against his pec—Jace's body still responded to the command even when his brain was turned off.

“They're getting bigger, you're doing a good job at working out your pecs,” he praised, dragging his teeth lightly against Jace’s nipples before switching to the other side, giving it equal worship. Jace’s body responded even without conscious thought, his muscles twitching under Ethan’s control. This was his pec drone now—his to touch, to taste, to use. And Ethan had no intention of ever letting him go again.

"Turn off sleeping mode. Activate loving boyfriend mode."

The triangle mark on Jace's neck started glowing.

[leighsartworks216]

Understanding

dragon!Sylus x blind!oracle!Reader

Series Masterlist - Chapter One - Prev Chapter - Next Chapter

I DIDN'T FORGET TO POST THIS ON THURSDAY!!! I found updating on Thursdays actually a horrible idea considering it's one of my busiest days of the week, so I'm shifting to post on Saturdays now. Sorry for anyone who was looking forward to an update then and didn't see one <333

Warnings: none that I know of, but lmk if I missed something

Word Count: 1,910

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You’re scared to leave your room the next day. Not for fear of being hurt… or worse, surprisingly enough. You spent all night (day? It’s hard to keep track of time here) organizing your thoughts and morals. You couldn’t rest until you figured them out, and you were awake still long after, figuring out what to say to him.

With a deep breath and a quick run-through of the script you put together, you follow the rocky walls through the lair. You feel like a child again, trying to sneak out of the temple. As though any moment you’ll be caught and forced to recite hymns to atone for your mischief.

Your search for the fiend is made easy when you hear the quiet clink of metal hitting each other. It leads you to the treasure room, far more echoey than any other room you’ve been to thus far and with air that doesn’t feel as condensed.

Something is tossed into a pile of coins. You can hear them sliding down the side, scraping over one another before coming to rest on the floor. And again.

“Are you… organizing?”

The coins still and you’re left in the silence. You can just barely hear his breathing, the swish of air around the tail you’ve seen in your visions.

“You…” You inhale, trying to find the words you rehearsed to yourself over and over again, lost somewhere in the aether, never to return. “I don’t think you’re… as much of a monster as you make yourself out to be.”

He chuckles humorlessly. You startle at the sound. “No? How come, pet? Is it not in my nature to desecrate the world and its innocents? Is it not destiny that makes me maim?” Something is lifted from one pile and tossed into another with a loud clatter.

You clear your throat. Destiny is a complicated topic, one that has no tried and true answer. Thinking such is blasphemous in itself. You banish the thought quickly before you call down Astra’s ire upon you.

“You said they were trying to kill you. If that is the truth, then you are the innocent here. Everyone will do anything in their power to save their own life, even if that means taking another.” You exhale unevenly. “As far as I’m concerned, their lives were forfeit as soon as they encroached on your…” You gesture vaguely around. “Home.”

“Does your god share your opinion?”

A weak laugh jostles out of you. “Probably not,” you admit. You swallow nervously. “I’m sure He’ll let me know if He doesn’t. But He doesn’t speak for me, and I can only speak so much of His will into existence. Whether He likes it or not, I have beliefs outside of Him, and I believe that you’re not as unredeemable and unforgivable as the stories say… If you were, I wouldn’t be alive right now.”

Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest as you wait for any sort of response from him. Maybe you said something wrong, somewhere, somehow, and made things worse. Maybe calling him innocent was an insult, a miscommunication between dragons and mortals, blindly overstepped. But you wait. You listen.

Slowly, you hear him moving again. “Come here.”

For a moment, you think he’s calling you over so he can kill you, strip your bones and discard you with the rest. You force that assumption down, despite how tempting it sounds to get the hell out of there. You wouldn’t get very far anyway.

Carefully, you step further into the room. You have to abandon the reassurance of the doorway in favor of wide open space. Sliding your feet across the floor, you’re careful not to step on anything, with your arms outstretched to feel for anything solid. Some ways from the door, something hard and strong wraps around your waist and drags you to the side. You jump, yelping uncertaintly as you’re nudged to sit down on something plush and soft. It’s unlike anything else you’ve felt around the tunnels.

“I am organizing,” he confirms, as though your outpouring of sympathy never happened. “You can sit here while I do.”

You hesitantly, curiously, feel the plush cushion. It’s almost velvety beneath your fingers, if not a bit rough. “How long has this been here?”

It’s rhetorical, but you hear him chuckle. “Long before you got here, oracle.”

You try not to show your surprise at the new nickname for you. Anything aside from “pet” is greatly welcomed. It does more to ease your nerves than anything else he could have chosen to say.

“Speaking of which, any new insights on your prophecy?”

Gods, you’d nearly forgotten all about it. “Not especially,” you say, “though you being a fiend does answer some of my questions.”

More clinking metal. Rather than being thrown, it sounds like it was carefully placed on the floor. “How so?”

“Your appearance, primarily. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before.”

“‘Seen’? Did you forget you’re blind, or have you lost your wits in the short time you’ve been here?”

You laugh. Ah, right, he’s never met a Chosen before. You find a back to the furniture you sit on. It’s wooden and intricate. You adjust to lean up against it, legs stretched out along the rest of the cushion. It feels heavenly after days of sleeping on hard rock. “No, I’m as sane as I can be. It’s how I receive the prophecies from Astra; he plays the events in my mind and I can see them actually played out before me as I sleep.”

He hmphs. Something heavy shifts across the floor. “That’s a bit cruel.”

“How do you mean?”

“How long have you been blind?”

“Um, my whole life. I was born this way.”

“And yet he dangles the gift of sight before you every time you need to relay the future. You’d think a god like him could find a better way to do so.”

You pick at the cloth on your hands. “I… I have no comment.”

“Do you miss it when you wake up? Being able to see?”

Do you? You’ve become so intimately accustomed to it, you don’t think about it anymore. Being allowed to see prophecies in such a unique way has become so detached from your blindness; you can’t seem to reconcile them together anymore. The waking world and the world of dreams are two separate entities, incomparable.

“I guess I just don’t think about it once I’ve woken up,” you choose to say.

“Do you wish you could see?”

“No.” There’s no hesitation, no doubt. You feel his eyes on you as you smile. “For all the hardships and struggles, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Do you wish you weren’t a dragon?”

He scoffs, amused, but a sour note lingers. He doesn’t answer. You suspect he may just wish such a thing.

You undo the messy knot in the cloth around your left hand and begin to unwrap it. Your hands don’t hurt anymore, so perhaps they’ve healed? Either way, these things probably need to be changed out. You clear your throat. “I don’t know much about dragons. Nothing that I’d consider trustworthy information, anyway.”

“What have you heard?”

“The usual: fiends are terrifying beasts that feed on human flesh and steal innocent girls for their own pleasure. They have huge lairs full of gold and priceless treasures.” You set the first wrap aside and begin working on the second. “The lair and hoard are true, I would assume, since…” You gesture around.

“Yes, those are true,” he laughs. You hear his footsteps getting closer. “I can’t say anything for my appearance, but we don’t eat human flesh. I’m sure some of us have stolen girls in the past. As for myself, you’re the first mortal I’ve brought back here.”

“What do you eat?” You can’t recall hearing him eat anything since you arrived. Even from afar, you could usually pinpoint the distinct chewing sounds, as unpleasant as they are. And for how many skeletons you stumbled upon yesterday…

He doesn’t respond right away. His steps stop in front of you, halting your wrapping as you wait for what will happen next. You nearly startle when his voice returns beside your ear, hot breath fanning against your skin and drawing goosebumps along your arms against your will. “Human souls,” he says. You think he’s smirking. He sounds far too amused. “The bones you found. They’re from hunters who come to kill me. Thieves who try to claim my treasures. I ate their souls.”

You swallow. “Will you eat mine?”

He chuckles as he backs away, speaking to you face to face. “Would you like me to?”

“No,” you answer sharply.

“Then I won’t.”

“I assume this is a very rare special treatment, not extended to others.”

“As curious as I am to know what an oracle’s soul tastes like,” he teases with a mournful sigh. “Let me see your hands.”

You finish unwrapping your right hand. The cloth drops into a pile with the other, and you hold both your hands in front of you, palms up. Something hard and sharp holds the back of your hands, startling you. They leave for a second, before holding them again.

“Are those… your hands?”

He hums an affirmative. He tilts your hands from side to side, examining the old injuries you sustained. “They’ve healed well,” he says, sounding impressed. “I guess I was wrong to underestimate you.”

You huff a laugh. “I told you! The people in the city are rough; even I picked up some things here and there for my own sake. I probably wouldn’t have been able to run away if I hadn’t been just a little resourceful.”

“You’re getting cocky now, oracle. Mind your head doesn’t get too big and fall from your shoulders.” He lets go of your hands. Something flicks your forehead. You grab it before he can fully pull away.

It’s sharp and tough, with ridges and plating coming together to form gauntlet-like fingers and a rough palm. He doesn’t take his hand back. You can feel his eyes watching you, staring you down like a bird of prey, but your curiosity fends off the embarrassment.

When you find his wrist, you think maybe you’ll find soft skin. Instead, it’s just more hard plating, as high up as you dare to feel. It’s cold, texture akin to a beetle’s shell. You hold the back of his hand in your palm, as he’d just done to you, and trace the other overtop. A small heart shape catches your attention. You follow its contour a few times, before lightly feeling up the lengths of his fingers. The tips are pointed, enough that if you dared press any harder, they’d surely break through your skin and draw blood.

“Why did you run away?” he asks, voice reduced to a low rumble.

You release his hand. “Astra gave me a prophecy that they didn’t like,” you explain matter-of-factly. Though, maybe he can see the sorrow that crosses your face. “It’s not the first time, but this one predicted the coming of doomsday. It topped the pile of bad prophecies, tipped the scale too far, and they decided I was the one wishing doom on their families. I heard them talking wherever I went, plotting to kill me at dawn’s first light, as a sacrifice to appease Astra. So, I ran.”

“Just the messenger, right?”

“Precisely.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @m0onfl0x @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @leiakitty

[daemour]

MDNI

➳Pairing: mafia boss! Wooyoung x f! nightclub owner! Reader

➳Genre: Mafia au, angst, hurt/comfort, some fluff, smut, E for explicit

➳Summary: The line between hate and love is thin. You're aware of this, and yet you can't help but love Wooyoung, no matter how badly he treats you.

➳Word Count: 15017

➳Warnings: Violence, toxic behaviour from a romantic partner, guns, death, murder, minor injuries, Wooyoung can be read as yandere-he's extremely possessive, manipulation, language, coersion, sexual innuendos [smut warnings under cut]

This was written for @sanjoongie's Year of the Villains: Year of the Snake collaboration! It was extremely fun to write for, despite all the emotion rollercoasters I went on (mostly of my own doing)

This is indeed a chonker of a fic, so I'd like to formally apologise >v< but please enjoy! It's got very dark themes, so please make sure to read the warnings amply!

A big thank you to @thelargefrye for helping me out with the plot!

➳Smut Warnings: Public touching (no intercourse), slight drunken sex (do not do this), some breast play, praise, degradation, dom/sub (Wooyoung dom, reader sub), unprotected (do not do this without prior discussion), oral (m), deepthroating, fingering (f), riding, !! UNDERNEGOTIATED GUN PLAY !! (do not do this)

➳Please Note: Some scenes will appear dubcon. In one, YN is tipsy, and in others, she has been in fear of Wooyoung prior. Please read at your own risk.

!! If I've missed any, please let me know !!

“C’mere, doll,” Wooyoung purrs. His lips pull into a wicked smile he has reserved for you, devoid of any softness. His eyes glint as he rakes his gaze up and down your body, every bit the kingpin of the drug scene in his city.

You step forward, your heels clicking with every step you take. You don’t remember how you ended up in this position, starting as a measly nightclub owner. But you hadn’t realised your club ran right in the strip he controls, and one day you were late with rent.

When he came personally, infamous drug lord Jung Wooyoung, something about you just caught his favour. And you can’t refuse his favour, not unless you wanted your club burnt to the ground.

As you move to take a seat next to him, Wooyoung tsks, raising a hand. “Not there,” he instructs, and you hesitate, your false confidence wavering.

“Where would you like me to sit?” you ask, although you know what his answer is going to be.

A smirk plays on his lips as he takes notice of your hesitation, clearly amused by the way you’re trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “On my lap, doll,” he commands, patting his thigh expectantly. His eyes gleam with a predatory intensity, making it clear this isn’t a request but an order from the man who holds your livelihood in his hands.

The air seems to thicken with tension as he waits for you to comply, the weight of his dominance palpable. It’s a subtle reminder of just how much power he wields, and how helpless you are against it.

You hesitate ever so slightly before moving towards him, your movements stiff. As you carefully settle yourself on the edge of his knees, you cross your ankles to try and keep some semblance of your composure.

Wooyoung narrows his eyes, displeased with the minimal contact between you two. Before you can do anything else, he grabs your hips and pulls you flush against his chest, his fingers digging into your body.

“Now, that’s better,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear as he presses a light kiss to your temple. His hand slides up your side, splaying across your waist possessively. “You look even prettier when you’re squirming under my touch.”

Your eyes flick nervously towards the other crime bosses lining the table. Although none of them are as influential as Wooyoung, you still never would’ve expected to see them so close. As Wooyoung’s hands continue to roam your body, you try not to flinch or squirm so much, not willing to hear lewd comments or see the leering from the others.

“Your rings are cold,” you mutter in Wooyoung’s ear as you lean away from his touch ever so slightly. It’s a bid to get him to focus his attention elsewhere, although you know it’ll be in vain.

At your quiet comment, Wooyoung chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “Oh, they’ll be warmed up soon enough,” he retorts, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your skirt to brush against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is deliberate, meant to break your fragile attempts at appearing demure. “If you’re truly feeling chilly, maybe we should find a way to heat things up, no?”

With that, he pulls your head towards him, capturing your lips in a brutal kiss that leaves you breathless with no doubt about his intentions. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming it as his own.

Fidgeting, you turn your head to whisper to him, “There are men here…” You turn your eyes down, avoiding meeting his gaze.

“Let them watch, doll,” he purrs, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment before shifting to the assembled men. “They all know who you belong to.” Despite his words, he does have business to attend to, and he reins in his affection, though his hands still wander your body possessively.

As the meeting progresses, as much as you try to pay attention, he leans in to murmur something in your ear, reminding both you and everyone else that you’re his plaything.

When a particularly heated discussion arises, Wooyoung’s grip on your thigh tenses, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin in a twisted comfort. It’s a silent message—stay close, stay quiet, and remember your place in this world.

You keep your eyes trained on the wall, although you can still feel the stares of everyone on your body. Wooyoung’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. The unspoken warning is clear; keep your eyes and hands to yourself, lest he shows exactly why he’s the kingpin.

As the meeting winds down, Wooyoung rises to his feet, pulling you up with him. He keeps a firm hold on your waist, guiding you through the crowded room, the men parting for him. Once outside, he releases you abruptly, stepping back to light a cigarette.

“You did well tonight, doll,” he remarks, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Remember, you’re mine to flaunt or hide, whenever I please.” With that, he turns to leave, expecting you to follow without question.

Before you can move to follow, a hand grabs your wrists and yanks you back. You come face to face with a face you’ve seen on papers Wooyoung leaves out rarely—an up and coming drug lord, one new enough to not realise exactly how damning it can be to cross Wooyoung. You quickly yank your arm out of his grip, holding back from striking the man in his neck.  “Now, hold on,” he grins like a cat waiting to swallow a bird. “Why don’t we share?”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrow to slits as he spins around, his expression deadly calm. “Sharing isn’t exactly my style,” he drawls, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. “Especially when it comes to what’s mine.”

His gaze flickers to the man holding you captive, a silent threat hanging in the air. After a tense moment, you’re released, the man stepping back with a sheepish grin.

“I was just joking, kingpin. No need to get testy,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

Wooyoung watches him for another beat before nodding curtly. “See that you keep it that way,” he warns before turning back to you. “Let’s go, doll. We have business to attend to.”

As we start to leave again, the man mutters under his breath, apparently just wishing for death, “Why bring your plaything along if we can’t use it? Might as well ask us to lick your ass.”

Unfortunately for him, Wooyoung’s hearing is sharp.

His expression darkens further at his subordinate’s crude remark, his grip on your arm tightening almost painfully. “You want a piece of my action, huh?” he sneers, spinning to face the insolent man once more.

Before you can even react, Wooyoung’s fist connects with the lord’s jaw, sending him crashing to the ground. The sound of cracking bone echoes as he delivers a vicious kick to his ribs, pinning him beneath his boot.

“You forget your place, fool,” Wooyoung snaps, his face contorting with fury. “My ‘plaything’ is off-limits to every last one of you. Touch her again, and you’ll wish for death before you even have time to blink.”

With a final, brutal stop, Wooyoung lends down and presses the butt of his cigarette to the lord’s forehead, branding him with shame before flicking the ashes onto the floor and straightening up.

“Apologies for the interruption, doll. Let’s get out of here before someone else decides to try me,” he hums, his voice softening until it’s almost unrecognisable.

He leads you away from the scene, his pace quick and purposeful. The silence is heavy, the tension from before still simmering in the air. As you reach his car parked a block away, Wooyoung finally speaks, his voice low and measured. “That was a mistake, letting him get under my skin like that. But you saw how quickly I dealt with him, right? Don’t worry, no one touches you without my permission.” He glances at you sidelong, his eyes intense.

You nod shakily, legs trembling from the biting winter wind. “I know…I just wish you wouldn’t lose your temper like that,” you mutter. His bursts of anger always scare you, but Wooyoung’s still riled up and your timing was wrong.

His grip on your elbow tightens, his knuckles whitening as he pulls you closer. “You think I enjoy losing control?” he snarls, lips curling. “I do it to protect what’s mine, including you. It’s my responsibility as the kingpin. How do you think you’ve remained safe? If you can’t handle that, maybe you should find somewhere else to be.” There’s a challenge in his tone, daring you to defy him.

You stumble a little, heels slipping in the ice as you shake your head quickly. You can’t afford to lose his favour. “I meant nothing of it,” you squeak out, shivering at both his intense stare and the wind blowing through your bones. You regret forgoing a coat. “I’m just worried for you.”

Wooyoung heaves a sigh, his expression softening slightly at your words, some of the aggression draining from his stance. He reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your chilled skin. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. Just focus on staying by my side, and let me handle the rest. You care too much about people, with disregard for yourself.” Oh, how false his words are.

He steps closer, enveloping you in his warmth as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, get in the car and warm up. We need to head home to get you out of the cold.” He guides you forward, his tone reassuring, but there’s an underlying edge that suggests he won’t tolerate any further dissent.

You try to keep yourself from tripping as you hurry forward to slide into the passenger seat. Your face is warm from his touch, but your heart is twisted at his sweet words. The back-and-forth of his actions always confused you, and today is no exception. A constant question in your mind is why he keeps you around.

As Wooyoung slips into the driver’s seat, he pauses for a moment, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

“Get comfortable, doll. We’ve got a long ride to the apartment,” he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the air.

Once you’re settled and the car is heated up, he pulls out of the parking spot, merging seamlessly into the late-night traffic. The silence between you stretches, punctuated only by the hum of the tires and the occasional blare of a horn.

Your hand twitches as you debate whether to indulge yourself and reach out to hold his hand resting on the console. It’s not wise to entangle yourself further into his web, but as much as you know you shouldn’t, you crave his touch as well.

Wooyoung notices your hesitation, his piercing gaze flickering to your hand before returning to the road. A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth as he senses your inner turmoil.

“After all these months, you still can’t decide whether to bite or run, hmm?” he muses, his tone laced with amusement and a hint of something else you can’t place. “It’s cute, really.”

Without looking away from the road, he lifts his free hand, extending his fingers invitingly. “Come on, doll. Go ahead.”

Tentatively, you reach out to interlock your fingers with his, enjoying the warmth his hand brings to you. As soon as your hands connect, Wooyoung’s thumb begins to rub gentle circles, applying gentle pressure. “There you are, doll. Just relax,” he coos, his voice dripping with honeyed persuasion.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine, the sensation both soothing and electrifying. You can’t help but lean into his side, craving more of his comforting heat.

As the miles fly by, Wooyoung continues to play with your hand, his caresses gradually becoming bolder. His fingers dance across your palm, tracing intricate patterns that leave goosebumps in their wake.

Despite the intimacy of the gesture, there’s always a quiet reminder in the back of your mind that he’s a dangerous man, and that in his world, you belong to him. Both body and soul.

-

Weeks pass, and the nightclub is hosting a private party for Wooyoung’s closest associates. Instead of attending as an owner, you’re Wooyoung’s guest. It’s almost embarrassing to be seen as this by your employees, but there’s enough liquor in your stomach that it doesn’t bother you as much as it should.

Wooyoung stands beside you, his arm slung casually around your shoulders as he surveys the crowded room. The dim lighting casts a flattering glow on his features, making him look every inch the powerful kingpin he is.

You’re doing great, doll. The place looks amazing tonight,” he praises, his lips curling into a smile. “My boys are enjoying themselves.”

He nods towards a group of suited men, their clothing a stark contrast to the colourful lights and their wives’ pretty dresses. They’re clearly mafia men, and the way they watch the room with calculating gazes makes it clear they’re always on high alert.

Wooyoung leans in closer, his breath tickling your ear as he whispers, “And don’t forget, you’re my doll tonight. So behave yourself and make sure everyone knows it.”

You nod happily, the alcohol in your system making you more responsive to his commands. Although you usually do end up bending to his will, there’s always pushback at first. Tonight, however, you’re content with being a good doll.

Wooyoung smiles fondly, chuckling low in his throat as he pulls you closer. “That’s more like it, sweetheart. I like seeing you happy and compliant,” he purrs, his fingers trailing lightly down your arm.

As the night wears on, Wooyoung keeps a possessive grip on you, ensuring everyone present knows you’re his. He introduces you to his associates as his “wife”, the endearment rolling off his tongue with a casual ease that makes your stomach flutter.

When a particularly bold associate approaches, thinking he can steal your attention, Wooyoung’s reaction is swift and decisive. He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him with an eyebrow raised and a sharp statement on his tongue. “Hands off. She’s mine.”

The man backs off, and Wooyoung turns his attention back to you, a smug grin playing on his lips. “See, doll? No need to worry, or fight for yourself. Just remember, I’m always going to protect you.”

He guides you towards the bar, ordering another round of drinks for you. As the bartender prepares the cocktails, Wooyoung’s hand finds its way to your hip, squeezing gently. “It’s a successful party,” he informs you, his tone businesslike despite the gleam in his eye. “But after this, we’ll celebrate in style…privately.”

His words leave no room for argument, not that you want to. He’s been in such a good mood since the last investment meeting with the other mafia families, and you’d like to try and take advantage of this rare occasion.

You nod agreeable, face flushed warm as you lean in to press your cheek against his. “Okay,” you hum, a slur to your words. “Want me to clear a room here or go back to th’ apartment?”

Wooyoung’s expression morphs into a quiet amusement at your state, a glint sparking in his eyes. “Leave the club to my people. We’ll head back to the penthouse,” he instructs, his voice low and husky.

As he steers you towards the exit, Wooyoung’s hand never leaves your lower back, guiding you with a firm yet gentle touch. Once outside, he flags down a waiting limousine and helps you inside before sliding in beside you.

During the short ride, the tension between you builds, the air thick with unspoken desires. As soon as the car pulls up to the building, Wooyoung opens the door and assists you out, his strong arms wrapping around you to support your weight.

Inside the lavish penthouse, he hands you a glass of water, sobering you up a little more before leading you straight to the bedroom, closing the door behind you with a resolute click.

You smile dopily at him, the alcohol flushing itself out of your system but the high of a party still lingering in your bones. Wooyoung’s gaze rakes over your dishevelled appearance, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Looks like someone had a bit too much fun tonight,” he teases, his voice laced with amusement.

He starts to undress you slowly, his fingers deftly working to free yourself of the dress. As the fabric falls away, revealing your body, he lets out a low whistle of approval.

“You look delicious like this doll,” he murmurs, his hands skimming your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. “All pretty and pouting for me.”

With deliberate slowness, he peels off his own clothes exposing his chiseled physique to your eager gaze. Once naked, he pulls you into his arms, pressing his hardening length against your lower stomach as he claims your mouth in a searing kiss.

Happily, you let your mouth drop open for him to take from, whining quietly as your hands tug lightly at his long hair. He groans into the kiss, his tongue diving deep to claim every inch of your mouth. As he deepens the kiss, he walks you backwards until your legs hit the edge of the bed, before gently lowering you into the plush mattress.

Straddling your hips, he breaks the kiss just long enough to trail his lips along your jawline and down the column of your throat. “I’ve wanted you all night, baby,” he admits, his hot breath fanning over your skin.

His hands roam your body, mapping out every inch of you with a reverent touch. His cups your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, coaxing needy moans from your parted lips. His touch is gentle, and you crave it.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” Wooyoung demands, his voice rough with desire. “Tell me you’re mine, completely and utterly.”

“I’m yours, completely and utterly,” you parrot, before mirroring his title for you at the party. “Please, ‘husband’. I want you so bad, Wooyoung.”

A triumphant smirk plays on Wooyoung’s lips as he hears your plea. “Good girl,” he praises, his words tinged with dominance. “Now, be a good wife and spread those pretty legs for me.”

As soon as you do so, he settles between your thighs, the tip of his erection teasing your slick entrance. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, mingling with your own feverish arousal.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t remember your own name,” he promises, his voice a husky growl. With that, he thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. A guttural moan escapes him as he savours the wet heat enveloping his cock.

You moan in tandem, back arching as he stretches you out so well. “Ah– please,” you whine.

Wooyoung sets a relentless pace, his hips snapping forward with each powerful thrust, smacking against your cunt with wet sounds. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound punctuated by your cries of pleasure and his deep groans.

Leaning down, he captures your mouth in another bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you with increasing intensity. One of his large hands grips your thigh, using it as leverage to drive himself even deeper.

When he breaks the kiss, he nips and sucks at your neck, marking you as his. “Look at me, baby,” he commands, eyes blazing with hunger. “Watch me while I claim this pussy and mark it as mine.

His gaze locks onto your face, the raw lust in his expression sending a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

You slowly raise your eyes to meet his as your hips stutter and your eyes well up with tears from the please. “Wooyoung– ah–” you moan his name repeatedly like a prayer on your lips.

The sight of tears glistening in your eyes only spurs Wooyoung on, his thrusts becoming more erratic and forceful. He leans down, his forehead resting against yours as he pants heavily.

“That’s right, baby. I’m your ‘husband’, your master,” he growls, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his impending release. “This cunt belongs to me, understand?”

To emphasise his point, he reaches down and rubs tight circles over your clit, the added stimulation pushing you closer to the edge. His movements become more targeted, hitting that spot inside you with each snap of his hips. “Come for me, doll. Let me feel this sweet pussy clench around me,” he demands, his thumb pressing insistently against your sensitive bud.

It doesn’t take much before you come easily with a shriek, creaming around his cock as you squeeze around him like a vice. It’s almost like you’re sucking him in deeper, and it triggers his own release. Wooyoung throws his head back with a guttural moan as he presses his hips against yours impossibly close. His cock pulses and throbs, shooting thick ropes of searing hot come into your cunt.

“Fuck– take it all, you perfect, pretty wife,” he snarls, grinding against you to prolong your pleasure. Wave after wave of pleasure crash over him, his body shuddering with the aftershocks.

As he finally relaxes, he leans on top of you, careful to not crush you with his weight. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses along your sweat-dampened skin between heavy pants. “Thank you, doll,” he murmurs, his voice still rough but a hint of gentleness in it.

You hum, turning in his arms to smile at him. The alcohol is almost out of your system now, and it’s been replaced with a warmth in your belly from his sweet treatment. Your hand moves to cup his cheek gently as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

“I wish you were like this all the time,” you hum, more to yourself than anything. Maybe it would’ve been easier to love him.

Wooyoung stiffens slightly at your words, a flicker of something—Guilt? Regret?—passing over his features before it’s quickly masked. He rolls off of you, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

“You know I can’t be soft all the time, doll,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. “The world I live in, it requires a certain ruthlessness. But this…” he gestures between the two of you “this is real. You’re the only one who gets to see this side of me.”

His words shock you, a sincere admission of the feelings he hides. He turns his head to look at you, his expression unreadable. “Don’t ask for things you don’t fully understand, doll. My love may not be conventional, but it’s not false. I protect what’s mine, even if I have to do it in ways you don’t always like.”

You nod slowly, hurt flickering in your eyes, although it mixes with an understanding. “I know, Wooyoung. Just…grant it to me in private. Please.”

Wooyoung sighs deeply, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. After a moment of contemplation, he sits up and pulls you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

“Alright, doll. I’ll try,” he agrees softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “But you have to promise me something in return. Promise me you’ll never leave me, no matter what happens. Out there in that cruel world, you’re my only light in the darkness.”

His arms tighten around you possessively, as if afraid you might disappear. “I know I’m not an easy man to be with, but you’re stuck with me now. We’re bound together, for better or worse,” he states like it’s what makes the world go round, tilting your chin up with a finger to get you to meet his intense gaze.

You smile at him, eyes shining with an unspoken emotion. Although there are times you question his feelings, moments like these remind you just how much he truly does love you, in his own way. Guilt gnaws at your gut, but it mixes with the warmth of your misplaced love, and you lean up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll stay,” you murmur. “I’ll stay.”

Wooyoung returns the kiss with a tenderness that belies his usual rough exterior, pouring all his pent-up emotions into the gentle caress of his lips against yours. When he finally pulls away, his dark eyes are filled with a rare vulnerability.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with genuine gratitude and affection. “I know I don’t say it nearly enough, and I show it even less, but…I love you, doll. More than anything in my fucked up world.”

He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, his touch gentle. “Get some rest now, baby. Tomorrow’s a new day, and I want you well rested.” WIth that, he settles back against the pillows, pulling you flush against his side.

You curl into him, throwing an arm around him as you press your face into his neck. “I love you too. My love,” you murmur, as much as it pains you to admit.

A contented rumble emanates from Wooyoung’s chest as he wraps his strong arms around you, holding you close and enjoying your warmth. “That’s right, my sweet doll,” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing purr. “Sleep now, and dream of a world where we love each other freely.”

Despite his tone’s roughness, there’s a tenderness in his words and actions, a loving protectiveness that you’ve craved for so long. You feel cherished, and as it overwhelms the sadness in your heart, you drift off to sleep, lulled by the steady beat of his heart and the comforting weight of his arms around you.

As your breath evens out, Wooyoung remains awake, watching your face with a fierce devotion. His mind wanders to the enemies he must confront and the dangers that lurk in every shadow. But for now, in this quiet moment of peace, he allows himself to enjoy the feeling of having you by his side.

Gently, he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. “I’d do anything to keep you,” he vows under his breath, a claim over your heart. “Anything at all, to make you mine.”

With that thought, he closes his eyes, his dreams filled with visions of a future where you’re safe, and forever his perfect doll. A world where his darkness is gone and your love is pure.

-

When morning arrives, you roll over only to be met with an empty bed and a note on the bedside table.

‘Good morning, doll.

I had to take care of some business today, but don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, treat yourself and have a bath. We’ll have a busy evening ahead of us.

Wooyoung’

There’s a faint scent of his cologne lingering on the paper, a tangible reminder of his presence even though he’s not here with you. You can’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and trepidation, wondering what pulled him away so suddenly. Nevertheless, you decide to follow his advice and indulge in a leisurely morning routine.

As much as your heart aches waking up alone, the bath relaxes you, and you fall fast asleep, sinking deeper into the water.

Hours pass unnoticed as you nap peacefully in the warm, fragrant bathwater. Each soft breath makes your body relax more and more as the sun starts to set.

Just as you begin to stir, a sudden commotion erupts downstairs, the cacophony of raised voices and scuffling feet jolting you awake. Startled, you sit up abruptly, sending water splashing over the edge of the tub. The cool air hits your damp skin, causing you to shiver involuntarily.

Concerned, you quickly dry off and slip into a robe, hurrying down the hall to investigate the source of the disturbance. As you reach the corner, a hulking figure emerges from the shadows, blocking your path.

The imposing man steps forward, revealing a bruised and bloody face, one that is vaguely familiar. He’s clearly been in a fight, and judging by the menacing glint in his eye, he’s far from finished.

“Well, well, well,” he sneers, his gaze raking over you with a lecherous hunger. “Looks like the boss’s little puppet is all grown up and ripe for the taking.”

His words spark panic in you, but before you can react, he lunges at you, grabbing a fistful of your robe and yanking you hard towards him. His hot breath fans your hair as he growls, “Seems Jung has been neglecting his duties. Time to show you what real men can do.”

You struggle against his iron grip, but he’s far stronger than you. You don’t want to go back, and you scream, “Wooyoung–” before stomping on the man’s foot and biting into his hand in a bid to get away.

When his grip loosens, you book it to the bedroom, diving for the loaded gun Wooyoung keeps in the bedside table.

Bloodied and enraged, the attacker gives chase, his heavy footsteps thundering down the hall as you frantically search for the gun. Just as your fingers close around the cold metal, he slams into the doorframe, leaning against it heavily.

“Foolish bitch,” he snarls, reaching out to grab at you once more but missing with his clumsy movement. “You think a little toy like that will save you? You belong back with us.”

His words confuse you, but you don’t falter, whirling around in a flash and aiming the gun at his head. “Stay back! I won’t hesitate to use this!”

The intruder scoffs, unfazed by the weapon. “Oh, I’m shaking in my boots. Go ahead, shoot me. It’ll just make the boss angrier. You’ve stalled for too long.”

Your finger twitches but you don’t shoot, not yet. Deep down, you realise what he’s talking about, and your arms shake, but your aim remains steady. “I’ll take Wooyoung’s wrath over returning,” you snap. “I’m his doll.”

The man’s smirk fathers for a split second at your declaration, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his battered features. He seems to weigh his options, calculating the risks and rewards.

“I’ll give you credit, sweetheart,” he says slowly. “You’ve got spirit. But that won’t save you from me, or the boss. And it certainly won’t save you from anyone who wants a piece of whatever Jung owns.”

He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, his movements measured and menacing. “Now, either you hand over that gun and come with me willingly, or I’ll take it by force and make you regret ever double crossing me or the boss.”

As he advances, you find yourself backed against the wall, the gun still clutched in your white-knuckled hands. Your mind races, desperate for a solution, but the reality of your situation is grim.

Just as the man reaches out, you fire a bullet straight between his eyes. Blood splatters across the room as the intruder crumples to the ground, dead before he even hits the ground. The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. And as the gunshot rings in your ears, the door crashes open to reveal Wooyoung, blood streaming down his face and his nose crooked, but alive.

For a long moment, Wooyoung stands frozen, his gaze locked on the lifeless body at your feet. Then, with a low growl, he stalks towards you, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness.

“What the fuck happened while I was gone?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous. “Who sent this bastard?”

Before you can respond, he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his intense stare. “And why the hell did you think you needed to defend yourself? You’re supposed to stay hidden and safe, not play hero with my fucking guns.” His grip tightens, a hint of fear staining the anger in his voice and gaze.

Your eyes dart between him and the body, the adrenaline wearing off and the weight of what you’ve done settling in your stomach. “I…I didn’t know where you were,” you try to explain, your voice sounding foreign even to yourself. “I killed a man. I killed him…I’m a murder.”

As you start to panic, your voice raises in pitch, hands shaking as you drop the gun. Your knees start to buckle. With a swift motion, Wooyoung catches you as you collapse, holding you upright against his broad chest. He strokes your hair soothingly, his touch gentle despite the turmoil raging in his eyes.

“It’s okay, baby,” he coos, his voice a stark contrast to the fury that had consumed him mere moments ago. “You didn’t murder anyone. This son of a bitch had it coming. You defended yourself and me.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as he tries to calm your frantic heartbeat. “I should’ve been here to protect you, or brought you with me. Instead, I left you vulnerable, and this is what happens.”

His own breathing grows ragged, the weight of what happened finally crushing him. “We need to get out of here, clean up this mess. Can you stand for me, doll? I need you strong right now.”

You scramble up, leaning against the wall to steady yourself. You can’t keep your stare off the body, even as Wooyoung is hurriedly stuffing a handful of belongings in a duffle bag. He tosses fabric—a dress—in your face. “Put it on. You’re still in just a robe. We don’t have time for anything else,” he commands.

You quickly follow his instruction even as your mind whirs. As you slip into the dress, Wooyoung’s eyes roam over your stiff and stilted movements, a mix of concern and possessiveness flashing across his features. Satisfied that you’re covered, he nods curtly and zips up the duffle bag.

“Let’s go,” he orders, gripping your wrist firmly and leading you out of the room and then the penthouse. The sound of sirens wail in the distance, growing louder with each passing second.

He hustles you through the darkened streets, keeping to the shadows as they navigate the labyrinthine alleys of the city. The cool night air does little to calm your racing heart, and you can feel the tension from Wooyoung radiating through his taut muscles.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally slows, guiding you into a nondescript building. It appears abandoned from the outside, but as Wooyoung ushers you inside, it becomes clear that it serves as a secret hideout. The space is sparse but well-equipped, with surveillance monitors lining one wall and a cache of weapons mounted on another.

Wooyoung sets the duffle bag down and turns to face you, his expression grave. “This is our safe house,” he explains, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s where we go when shit hits the fan.”

He steps closer, cupping your face in his calloused hands. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realised were falling. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “That will never happen again. I swear it on my life.”

Wooyoung’s words hang heavy in the air, a promise forged in the heat of adrenaline and desperation. He pulls you into a fierce embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck as if seeking solace in your warmth. For a long moment, he simply holds you, his breaths uneven and ragged against your skin. When he finally lifts his head, his eyes burn with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I need you to stay here, lock yourself in the back room until morning,” he instructs, his voice low and commanding, leaving no room for disagreement. “I’ll deal with the aftermath of tonight, but you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

He brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle. “Rest, doll. I’ll be back before you know it.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help yourself and reach out to take his wrist, a pleading look in your eyes. “Please promise me,” you beg. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

At your desperate plea, Wooyoung’s resolve falters. He looks down at your hands wrapped around your wrist, then back up at your tear streaked face. A pained expression crosses his features before he forces himself to nod.

“I promise, doll,” he vows, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ll come back to you, no matter what. You’re mine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” With those words, he leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his love, fear, and determination into the passionate embrace. When he finally breaks away, he presses a final, tender kiss to your forehead.

“I mean it,” he whispers fiercely. “Wait for me, and I’ll return to you.”

As soon as he exits with one last glance towards you, you quickly follow his instruction, locking yourself in the back bedroom and shoving a dresser in front of the door for good measure. While you wait for his return, your mind wanders back to the moment you shot the man, and a shiver runs down your spine.

Hours pass in tense silence, the only sounds being the distant hum of the city and the occasional creak of the old building settling around you. You pace the cramped confines of the room, your thoughts jumbled mess of fear, guilt, and anticipation.

The memory of pulling the trigger replays in your mind like a macabre filmstrip, each detail etched into your brain with painful clarity. The feel of the gun’s weight in your hand, the click of the safety disengaging, the sudden bloom of crimson as the bullet tore through flesh and bone…

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, and you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shake off the haunting images. But they linger, refusing to be banished. Just as despair begins to creep in, you head the sounds of footsteps approaching, followed by the rattle of keys unlocking the door.

When it tries to open, but thuds against the dresser instead, you can practically see Wooyoung’s exasperated but fond expression in his voice. “Really, doll?”

You quickly rush over to shove the drawers away, thankful for a distraction from your spiralling thoughts. Wooyoung pushes past the now-cleared barrier, his face a mask of exhaustion and relief. The blood is still on his face, but his nose is set back into place, a bruise blooming over the mottled skin. He cans the room, ensuring you’re unharmed before letting out a sigh and collapsing on the edge of the cot.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he chides, reaching out to tug you onto his lap. His strong arms envelop you, cradling you close as he buries his face in your hair. “I thought…God, I thought I’d lost you.”

He rocks you gently, his breaths evening out as the adrenaline fades. After a moment, he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “We need to talk about what happened,” he says, his tone serious but not unkind. “But first, let’s get you cleaned up and sleep. You’ve been through enough for one night.”

You lean into his touch, body relaxing despite your racing heart and mind. “We’re safe?” you want to confirm.

Wooyoung nods solemnly, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm like he did in his car not even a month ago. “Yes, we’re safe. The body’s been taken care of, and the police won’t find anything linking us to the scene.”

He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “There might be some repercussions within our organisation, but I’ve got everything under control. You don’t need to worry about that right now.” Leaning in, he places a soft kiss on your temple. “All that matters is that you’re here with me, alive and unharmed. That’s all that matters.”

At his reassurance, your lips wobble, and that’s the only warning he gets before you burst into tears, sobs wracking your body. You can’t even form coherent words as the events of the day hit 

Wooyoung’s arms tighten around you as you break down, holding you close while you cry. He doesn’t try to comfort you with empty words or false promises; instead, he lets you pour out your emotions, offering only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the solid warmth of his body.

After a while, your sobs gradually subside, leaving you gasping for air and clinging to him like a lifeline. Wooyoung strokes your hair soothingly, his own eyes red-rimmed from the stress of the night.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Let it out, baby. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

He waits patiently until your breathing evens out, then gently wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. Since you’ve calmed down more, Wooyoung helps you stand and leads you to the small bathroom tucked away in the corner of the room. He starts running warm water in the shower, gesturing for you to undress and step into the stream.

As you wash away the grime and blood of the night, he keeps watch, his eyes never leaving you. When you emerge, dripping and shivering, he wraps you in a towel and dries you off himself, his hands gentle yet possessive.

After you’ve dried off properly and changed into a set of clean clothes, he brings you to the tiny kitchen area, making a warm meal for you. As you eat, he sits beside you, occasionally feeding you bites from his own plate when you’re too exhausted to manage to eat more than a few spoonfuls.

“‘M sorry,” you mumble, eyelids heavy as you fight to stay awake and chew mindlessly. “I fucked it up, didn’t I?”

Wooyoung sets his fork down, his expression melting into one of sadness as he reaches out to cup your cheek. “No, baby, you didn’t fuck it up. You did what needed to be done to protect yourself. I’m proud of you, doll.” He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before pushing your bowl away. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. We both need rest after tonight.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into his soft touch. “Okay,” you mumble, yawn escaping your mouth. “I’m sorry,” the apology leaves your mouth again without thinking, and Wooyoung chuckles with no amusement, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart. Your safety always comes first, okay?” He stands, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. “Besides, you’re mine. Shouldn’t I be the one handling everything? Rest tonight, doll.”

Carrying you to the small bed, he lays you down gently and pulls the covers over your chilled form before climbing in beside you. His arms wrap around your waist, tugging you back against his warm chest. “I’ve got you, doll,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear and his heartbeat lulling you into a relaxed state. “Sleep now, and dream of better days.”

As your eyes shut and sleep claims you, Wooyoung remains vigilant, his eyes never fully closing as he watches over you. Despite the weariness etched on his face, his grip on you remains firm, a silent promise of protection.

Hours later, the first light of dawn creeps through the grimy windows, casting a pale glow over the room. Wooyoung’s hold on you loosens slightly as exhaustion finally overtakes him, and he drifts off into a fitful slumber, still cradling you close. The sounds of the waking city filter in, a distant reminder of the world beyond this cramped sanctuary. But for now, in the quiet moments before reality sets in, a fleeting peace is found.

-

A few hours later, you awaken, blinking away the sunlight shining into your eyes. Wooyoung stirs beside you, your minimal movements waking him up easily.

He sits up, stretching his arms above his head and yawning before turning to regard you with a serious expression. “We need to discuss what happened last night,” he begins, his voice calm yet authoritative. “You were targeted because of our closeness, which means our situation just got a little more complicated.”

There’s a long pause as Wooyoung studies your expression intently. “Doll. I need you to be truthful with me. Did you know that man…the one you had killed?” His gaze is piercing, searching for an answer in your face. In this moment, he looks every inch the powerful kingpin, but there’s a vulnerability lurking beneath the surface—a fear that you had betrayed him, turned your back on him.

Your hesitation gives him the answer he needs, and you flinch, waiting for his usual anger to snap, but there’s a long silence. When you crack your eyes open, Wooyoung’s gaze hasn’t left your face. He’s waiting for your explanation.

“He…he’s part of your rival’s gang. The one I was a part of.” Your voice grows more and more timid as you continue talking, but Wooyoung still does not make a noise. “I was selected to take the place of the old owner of the nightclub, and my job was to try and feed information. When you took favour to me, they thought it would be a good opportunity. But I changed my mind at that point. I didn’t want to betray you, and I swear I didn’t do anything against you for the last few years—not since I was allowed to attend meetings. I didn’t want to betray you because–” you cut yourself off.

A flicker of something you can’t place crosses Wooyoung’s features, replaced swiftly by his usual stoic mask, making you wonder if you were just seeing things. “Good,” he says simply, before leaning in and pinning you still with his gaze. “Because I’m not letting you go anymore, no matter what happens.”

He rises from the bed, extending a hand to help you up. “First things first, we need to get you some proper clothes and supplies. Can’t have my doll looking like that, now can we?”

The smirk on his face is playful, but there’s an underlying steel to his words. This is a man who always gets what he wants, and right now, he wants to see you looking the part he wants you to play—a symbol of his power and status, and the failed attempt to rattle his spot as kingpin.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” he urges, not letting you wonder about his unbothered attitude at your confession. You let him lead you towards the door with a firm grip on your hand, just happy he hasn’t killed you on the spot, and is returning to his confident self.

“Wooyoung…” you can’t help but to ask as he unlocks his car parked behind the old building “...I understand if you can’t trust me, so you don’t have to answer. But what was the business you were taking care of? It said in the note you left for me last night, and then when you came, you were hurt. What happened?”

Wooyoung slides into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a smooth hum. As he navigates through the early morning traffic, he glances at you sidelong, his expression unreadable. “I went to see my associates. And it got a little out of control. Nothing to worry about.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, a habit that betrays his agitation. “Last night was a warning, doll. Someone thinks they can challenge my authority and test loyalties. But they picked the wrong man.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw as he accelerates through a yellow light. “Rest assured, I’ll deal with them accordingly. But for now, let’s focus on getting you settled and comfortable. That’s my priority.”

There’s a subtle emphasis on the word ‘my’, a reminder that, despite the lie you had lived, Wooyoung will always put your needs first. At least, that’s how Wooyoung sees it.

As you arrive at a high-end boutique, Wooyoung parks the car and rounds the hood to open your door, offering his hand to assist you. Inside, he browses the racks with an expert eye, selecting pieces that showcase your body in the most flattering way possible.

“You look stunning, doll,” he murmurs, helping you into a sleek black dress that flows around your figure like second nature. The material drapes elegantly across your hips and thighs, the neckline plunging just enough to make his pulse quicken.

He steps back to admire his handiwork, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Perfect.”

You smile slowly at him, finally feeling more and more secure in your relationship with him, the murder you committed pushed to the back of your mind. “As you wish it, I shall be whatever you desire.”

Wooyoung’s eyes darken at your words, a thrill of possession coursing through him. He steps closer, his large frame enveloping you as he trails his fingers down the side of your neck, leaving a tingling path in his wake.

“Indeed,” he rumbles, his breath hot against your ear. “My beautiful, obedient doll. Always dressed to please me, ready to fulfill her duties.” His hand slips lower, grazing the swell of your hip before settling on your thigh. The contact is electric, sending sparks dancing along your nerve endings.

“But remember, doll, you’re mine, body and soul. Don’t you ever forget that,” he continues, his voice low and menacing. With that, he releases you, stepping back to survey his work once more. “Now, shall we continue on, my dear?”

Your face flushed, you nod. “Yes, Wooyoung.” In moments like these, it’s easy to pretend that the two of you are a normal married couple, and it’s somewhat comforting. “Where to next?”

Wooyoung leans down to intertwine his fingers with yours. “Come, there’s a surprise for you. One to mark you as mine, truly and irrevocably.” He leads you to a jewelers, the woman behind the counter handing him a beautiful glass case.

Inside, a delicate necklace adorned with an intricate diamond pattern sits atop the velvet cloth. As he opens it and fastens it around your neck, his fingers press into your skin. Your breath catches in your throat. “Thank you, Wooyoung,” you gasp, quiet awe in your voice. You twist and lean in to peck his lips gently.

His lips curve into a smug smile as he accepts your kiss and your thanks, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you flush against him. “Anytime, my doll,” he murmurs against your mouth, his own lips brushing yours with a hint of hunger.

For a moment, he lets himself indulge in the fantasy, imagining that his is indeed a relationship built on love and affection, rather than power plays and manipulation. But reality soon snaps him back to attention, and he steps away, clearing his throat. “Let’s finish up here and head back to the penthouse,” he suggests, his tone returning to its usual commanding cadence. “I have some business to attend to, and it requires you to be by my side.”

It’s an unspoken reminder that your safety depends on your compliance and proximity to him. He still hasn’t quite given you a reaction to all the truth you had revealed to him. You nod with no further comment, reaching out to grasp his hand quietly as he leads you through the district.

Wooyoung glances at your pensive face, his eyes roving over your features. “You look stunning, doll. Like the queen you are,” he compliments you quietly, the last soft moment he allows you. And with that, the spell is broken.

As you step out of the area, Wooyoung’s demeanour shifts, his gaze hardening as he scans the\ surroundings. His grip on your hand tightens, a silent warning.

“We need to move,” he growls, ushering you to the awaiting car. “I’ve received intel that someone may be tracking your movements. Can’t be too careful these days.”

Once inside the car, he checks his phone with a frown, clearly displeased by whatever message he’s reading. Without saying anything, he speeds off, carrying you both towards the towering skyscraper that serves as Wooyoung’s second lair. The tension in the air is palpable, a stark contrast to the earlier intimacy.

As the two of you walk into the opulent penthouse, Wooyoung’s presence commands every inch of space. The cityscape stretches out before you, a glittering canvas painted by the setting sun. “Welcome home, my doll,” he declares, gesturing grandly to the lavish interior. “Make yourself comfortable while I attend to some urgent matters.”

He strides purposefully towards his study, pausing to glance at you over his shoulder. “We’ll discuss your role in this mess later. For now, sit tight.”

With that, he disappears behind closed doors, leaving you alone amidst the splendor of his domain. The weight of his expectations settles upon you, a constant reminder of the delicate balance between your roles as lover and pawn in his game of power.

The couch is comfy, but it does nothing to soothe your nerves at Wooyoung’s words. As you lose yourself in swirling thoughts and the view outside of the penthouse, a gunshot rings out every so often, echoing through the halls even through closed doors. Each sharp bang makes you jump, although your expression remains neutral.

Under your facade, every shot reminds you of the night you wielded the gun and shot a man dead. As much as you’d never regret keeping yourself and Wooyoung safe, you can’t help but wonder what if you had never gone so far in the first place.

Hours pass, the sound of gunfire punctuating the otherwise tense silence. You try to occupy yourself, browsing through the expensive art books and designer magazines scattered across the coffee table, but your mind keeps drifting back towards the bloodstained memories you’ve worked so hard to bury.

Just as you’re starting to feel the strain, the study door swings open, and Wooyoung emerges, his suit immaculate despite the violence that likely transpired within. He approaches you with a calculated stride, his eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and something darker.

“Well, that took care of the problem. Our little rat won’t be squealing anymore.” He reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly gentle considering the brutal nature of his actions. “But enough about that.”

You can smell the iron of blood off him, but you hold your tongue, waiting for him to continue.

Wooyoung’s gaze lingers on your face, searching for any signs of distress or hesitation. When he finds none, a hint of relief flickers in his eyes before he turns to pour himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter on the sideboard.

He takes a seat beside you, his thigh pressing against yours and sending heat through your body. Your heart pounds in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, hands fisting the fabric of your dress, waiting for him to deliver your judgement on the way you had worked against him, even for just a short while.

Instead, you hear a low chuckle, fingers brushing against your chin as he tilts your head upwards. “Look at me, doll,” he commands. When you raise your eyes to meet his piercing gaze, he continues. “Back when you were talking about your past, you said you didn’t want to betray me, and you stopped short at the why. Finish what you were saying.”

There’s an unspoken understanding in his eyes—he knows what you were going to say, the depth of your affection for him. And yet, he wants to force you to articulate it, to acknowledge the bond that has grown stronger each day.

The room seems to shrink, the weight of his expectations pressing down on your shoulders. Confessing it could either solidify your place by his side, or only bring you more suffering, depending on what he chooses.

You bite your lip, tasting the sting of blood as you look back down at your hands quivering. “I…I love you,” you finally admit, your words quiet enough you swear Wooyoung will be able to hear your heart pounding. “I stupidly fell in love with you.”

For a long moment, the only sound is the steady thrum of the city outside and the ragged beat of your heart. Then, suddenly, Wooyoung reaches out and cups your cheek, his thumb stroking your trembling lip.

“I knew,” he murmurs, his voice so low you almost don’t catch it. “I’ve known all along where you came from, your mission, and…and the change in you. I’ve seen it in your eyes for a while now. The way you look at me? It’s no secret.”

His fingers trail down to press his thumb against the junction of your neck, showcasing his power against you, and yet it is still soft, gentle, and reverent. “I have to admit, it pleases me. Having you by my side, loving me…it’s a treasure I hadn’t anticipated.” But beneath the tender words, a thread of hardness remains, a reminder of the ruthless world he rules. “Yet, as much as I enjoy keeping you close, you’ve lied to me. You’ve used me for your own gain, and you must be punished for that, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you deem as proper, I accept it,” you comply, ready for a sharp hit, or even a gunshot as well. You fight to keep your eyes on him, unable to read his expression.

A heavy silence hangs in the air, the seconds ticking by like hours. Then, unexpectedly, Wooyoung pulls you into his arms, holding you close against his chest.

“You’re mine, doll,” he declares, his voice a deep rumble against your ear. “Whatever happens to you, you belong to me. And I won’t let anyone, including who you were, threaten that.” His hands roam possessively over your body, a claim of ownership, a reminder of the twisted dynamic that binds you to him.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m absolving you of your sins,” he adds, his hot breath ghosting against your skin. “You’ll still face the consequences. Just perhaps not the ones you’ve feared.” He holds you tightly, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as if trying to burn away the shadows of your past. His hand drifts down to the small of your back, pressing you closer.

“You understand, my love? I’m offering you a reprieve, but you must learn to trust me completely. To obey without question, and you will be spared. I’m offering you a chance, and that is not something I give lightly.” Wooyoung leans in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. “In return, I’ll ensure your safety…and pleasure.” The implication sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

His grip tightens, as if to reinforce his claims, and yet also a silent allowance for your answer. Not that you need any time to deliberate. Your breath hitches as his lips brush against your ear, sending tingles down your spine. You nod, a silent agreement, your heart racing in your chest.

“Yes, Wooyoung,” you whisper, the name feeling like a prayer on your tongue. “I understand. I’ll follow your lead, as well as any and all decisions you make.”

You press yourself further into his embrace, craving the sense of security and belonging he offers. Even if it means surrendering parts of himself, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to stay by his side. “And…I trust you,” you add sincerely, the admission slipping out before you can stop it. The words hang in the air, a declaration of faith in the man who wields such power over you.

A satisfied smile plays on Wooyoung’s lips as he hears your whispered submission. He nuzzles your hair, inhaling your scent deeply.

“That’s my good doll,” he praises, his voice a low purr of approval. “You’re back in the game. Soon, you’ll be perfecting the role of my devoted wife.” His words send a shiver down your spine, and his wands begin to wander once more, tracing the contours of your body with a deliberate slowness.

“But first, let’s celebrate our new arrangement, shall we?” Without warning, he spins you to face him, his eyes darkening with a hunger that sends a flush creeping up your neck. “Get on your knees for me, doll. Show me the respect and obedience you’ve promised me,” he commands, his voice rough with desire.

Without hesitation, you quickly comply, falling to your knees in front of where he sits, looking up at Wooyoung with wide eyes and awaiting his next instruction. Wooyoung’s eyes follow the line of your body, a predatory glint in his eyes. He leans forward, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact.

“That’s a good doll,” he repeats, his voice dripping with approval. “Now, open wide. Show me how eager you are to please your husband.”

With that, he releases the button of his trousers, allowing them to sag slightly and reveal the impressive bulge straining against the fabric of his boxers. You can practically taste the musky arousal, making your mouth water.

You can’t help but to shift forward until your face pressed against his clothed cock, mouthing at his underwear until he’s groaning at your ministrations. A low growl rips its way out of Wooyoung’s throat as he frees his thick cock from its confines. It slaps against his abdomen, obscene wet sounds making you hunger even more as you watch his precum bead out of the tip.

“Such a pretty sight,” he murmurs, his hand wrapping around the base to guide himself into your waiting mouth. “Take it all, my doll. Every inch.”

As he pushes past your lips, you feel the heat of his flesh, the firmness of his cock stretching your mouth wide. The taste of him floods your mouth—salt and a little sweetness that makes your cunt clench and drip out more wetness to soak your underwear through.

Wooyoung begins to thrust slowly, savouring each vibration you send through his length as you moan and gag around his dick. Each stroke is deliberate, using your mouth for his pleasure and his pleasure only. And that in itself brings you into a heady mindset.

Your hands squeeze your thighs as you try to ignore the increasing wetness between your legs, focusing on sucking and licking as best as you can around his thick cock. His hips rock steadily, sliding in and out of your mouth with lewd sounds echoing through the penthouse. Groans and sighs spill out of his mouth, clearly enjoying your mouth working him to his orgasm.

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his fingers tangling in your hair to guide your movements. “Take every bit of my cock. You look so perfect with it stuffed in your mouth, truly my perfect wife.”

The praise sends a thrill down your spine, even as you choke around his girth. It only serves to heighten your arousal, your cunt throbbing more and more as you swallow around him. You can feel his cock twitch, but before you can react, Wooyoung’s hands tangle in your hair. He holds your head down as he comes, shooting ropes of hot come down your throat with his head thrown back.

Eagerly, you swallow it all, licking the head of his length to coax every last drop out of him. Before you get very far, Wooyoung pulls himself free, his cock slick with saliva. “Stand up,” he orders, a smirk playing on his lips. You scramble to your feet, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, and you can see his eyes roam over your body, drinking in the sight of you.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re worked up,” Wooyoung hums, reaching up to cup your breasts with his large hands, thumbs ghosting over your nipples. “Look at you, so cute. All for me, aren’t they?” His tone is teasing as he pinches the flesh.

As he continues to toy with your tits, he snakes a hand down between your thighs, pressing against your underwear. “So wet too,” he notes approvingly, his fingers pushing the fabric aside to slide into your cunt easily. “You really are my eager wife, aren’t you?”

“Always, for you,” you gasp, hands reaching out to grasp his wrists. “Your wants are my wishes, please.” Your voice lilts into a whine, Wooyoung chuckling low in his throat at your desperate plea.

“That’s right, doll,” he agrees, his fingers pumping slowly in and out of you as his palm rubs circles on your sensitive clit. “You’ll give me everything I want, whenever I want it.”

The pressure applied to your clout becomes more insistent, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Come for me, babydoll,” he demands, although he can’t keep the fondness out of his voice anymore. “God, you’re squeezing me so good with that greedy cunt of yours.”

The mix of praise and degradation sends you over the edge of pleasure. Shivers wrack through your body as you grind against his hand. “Wooyoung–” you gasp, legs trembling as you squeeze your eyes shut, moans cutting through your breaths.

As you tremble and quake through your orgasm, Wooyoung’s grip on your hips tightens, holding you still as he works his hand in you to help you ride out each wave. “That’s it, let go for me,” he hums, his voice silky smooth. “Give it all to me, doll.”

You lean forward, tears dropping out of your closed eyes and onto his thighs, Wooyoung easing his fingers from your pussy, licking your release off of the digits. “You taste even sweeter when you’re mine,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming with possessiveness. He holds the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss, his tongue pressing past your lips to claim every inch as his own.

Happily, you drop your mouth open to let him swallow every whimper and moan that tries to escape you as you chase his lips. Your core still aches but also craves more of him as your arms wrap around him.

Wooyoung breaks the kiss, his chest heaving with every breath as he gazes down at you with an intense passion. “I think it’s time we consummate this marriage,” he suggests, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth as his hand trails down to squeeze your ass.

Before you can even react, he hoists you up into his arms, carrying you effortlessly to his bedroom. “We have a lot to discuss, my dear wife,” he hums, his breath hot against your skin as he presses a contrastingly gentle kiss to your cheek. “And I plan to thoroughly discuss every inch of your body.”

He pushes open the door and stalks towards the bed, his strides long and purposeful. Deftly, he drops you onto the soft bed, crawling over until he looms over you with a confident smirk.

Your eyes don’t leave him as you reach up to stroke his cheek gently, pulling him into a soft kiss. “I love you,” you can’t help but to say again, your gentle words lightening the hunger coursing through your veins.

At your whispered declaration, Wooyoung’s expression shifts, a flicker of something almost tender passing through his dark eyes as he captures your lips again in a searing kiss. His hands roam your body, mapping every dip and swell as if memorising you.

When he finally pulls back, his voice is heavy with emotion. “I know, YN. And I love you too. It might be in ways you don’t understand, but I do.” There’s sadness in his voice, an acknowledgement that his love is complex, and toxic. He leans down to trail kisses along your jaw and neck, teeth scraping at your delicate skin as he tries to take both your minds off of the seriousness. “Come on, let’s get comfortable. I want to show you exactly just how I love you.”

His hands slide up your dress, his calloused palms gliding over the expanse of your stomach as he lifts the garment over your head. You shiver as the cool air hits your body, goosebumps littering you.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the side of your breast, sending a shiver through your veins. With a fluid motion, he flips your positions, drawing you close to sit in his lap. His hands settle on your hips, guiding you down to grind against his hardening cock.

“Ride me, doll,” he commands, his eyes burning with desire. “Show me how much you want my touch.”

Carefully, you reach down and grasp his hard length, letting the head push into you slowly. A broken moan leaves your mouth as you sink down more and more.

Wooyoung grunts, his hands gripping your hips as you envelop his thick length, your cunt gripping him like a velvet vice. “Fuck, yes,” he hisses, his hands digging into your flesh as he helps guide you down further, sheathing himself fully inside you.

For a long moment, he simply savours the sensation of being buried to the hilt in your warm folds. Then, with a sudden thrust, he rocks you against him, setting a brutal pace that has you bounding on his cock with a needy cry. “There we are, doll, take it all,” he groans, his lips pulling into a fierce grin. “You were made for me, wife. This cunt is just for me, right?”

You bite your lips, trying to quieten your moans as your arms wrap around his shoulders and you drop your head into the crook of his neck, pulling him even closer.

At your movements, Wooyoung chuckles, his hips snapping upwards in a relentless rhythm. “Such a good doll, taking all of me like this,” he hums, his voice low in his throat.

One hand slides up your back to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back to expose the slender column of your neck. He latches onto the tender skin, biting and sucking marks into your flesh as he pounds into you with increasing ferocity. “You’re mine, doll,” he growls against your throat, his words punctuated by the lewd sounds of his hips meeting your ass. “Every inch of you belongs to me, and I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

“I’m yours,” you repeat dumbly, eyes rolling back in your head. “Wooyoung, please…”

Wooyoung’s grip on your hair tightens as he leans in close, his hot breath fanning over your ear. “Please what, baby? Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you,” he prompts, his voice a seductive purr. He slows his thrusts slightly, allowing you to feel every inch of his thick cock as he grinds against you. “Or maybe you just need to come undone on my dick, screaming my name?”

His free hand trails down to tease your sensitive clit, circling the bud with maddening slowness. The stimulation is nearly too much to bear, your core coiling tighter and tighter until you sink your teeth into his neck. “Please, Wooyoung,” you whimper, unable to string together a coherent sentence. “I need– I need–”

With a wicked smile and a nip to your ear, Wooyoung pinches your clit firmly, sending waves of pleasure through your nerves. “You need what, sweetheart?” he taunts, his fingers still mercilessly tormenting your aching cunt.

He picks up the pace once more, driving into you with ruthless abandon. The room fills with the symphony of your ragged breathing, his groans, and the obscene sounds of him working his cock deeper into you.

You throw your head back as you reach the cusp of pleasure again, body tensing as your cunt squeezes in a vice around him. “Fuck– Wooyoung–” you cry out before your core snaps and you come, creaming around his cock as you whine and whimper.

Wooyoung’s control slips at the feel of your pussy clamping down on him. With a feral moan, he buries himself to the hilt and holds you down on his cock, the length of it pulsating as he fills you with enough come that it bubbles out of your conjoined bodies.

“Fuck, take it all,” he hisses, his hips jerking erratically as he rides out his climax. His fingers dig into your hips and thighs, marking you with crescent shapes as he buries his face in your hair.

As the waves of pleasure ebb, he collapses back onto the bed, dragging you down with him to nestle against his chest. His heart thunders against your ear as he strokes your hair soothingly, a rare display of tenderness from the usually dominant man.

“That’s it, doll,” Wooyoung continues to pet your hair softly, his breathing gradually evening out and his heart slowing to a lull. “Just relax now. Let me hold you, my wife.”

Despite the lingering ache between your thighs, his cock softening inside of you, you find yourself relaxing in his embrace, his warm body surrounding you. After a while, he tilts your chin up to capture your lips in a slow, languid kiss, his tongue sweeping across the seam of your mouth to taste the remnants of your passion. When he finally breaks away, his gaze is almost affectionate.

“Come on, doll, let’s get cleaned up,” he says, although there’s no real conviction behind his words.

You press your lips against his again, enjoying the soft domesticity of this. “Let’s stay like this for just a little longer, please,” you ask, voice tinged with timidness as if scared he’ll leave again.

Wooyoung’s expression turns thoughtful at your request, a small furrow appearing between his brows. For a long moment, he simply looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to decipher your emotions. Then, with a subtle nod, he enfolds you more securely in his arms, holding you close as if to shield you from the world.

“Alright, doll,” he agrees quietly. “Just a little longer. We’ve got all night, after all.”

He presses another tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if savouring the simple intimacy of the gesture. In this moment, the ruthless kingpin seems to fade away, replaced by a man who craves connection, however fleeting or unconventional. Time seems to stand still as you both bask in the afterglow, the world outside your intimate bubble fading into insignificance. It’s a fleeting reprieve from the harsh realities of their lives, but one they cling to desperately, savouring the precious few moments of tranquility before the storm inevitably returns.

-

“Doll, come here.” You can hear Wooyoung’s voice from across the apartment, his tone low and commanding. It leaves no room for disagreement, so you quickly slip out of the bedroom where you were going over the financial reports of your club. 

Wooyoung stands in the living room, arms crossed and face guarded. “It’s time for your punishment. Come with me.” You nod quickly, body tensing. It’s been weeks since you admitted your feelings, and Wooyoung had made no move to punish you for the disloyalty. Now, it seems he has finally decided on a fitting end.

Without waiting for a response, Wooyoung turns and strides out of the apartment, expecting you to follow closely behind. He leads you to a nondescript car, different from his usual automobile, the interior far more luxurious than the exterior would suggest.

He opens the passenger door for you, his expression still unreadable. “Get in,” he orders curtly, not offering any further explanation. You quickly follow suit, and Wooyoung walks around the car to get into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and starting the trip.

The cityscape blurs in the windows, an uncomfortable silence settling uncomfortably over the car. After a few tense minutes, Wooyoung finally speaks, his voice tinged with a hint of worry. “Doll, whatever comes, I want you to know this isn’t a reflection of how I feel about you. This is a necessity for you to understand I can’t let anyone cross me.” He glances at you sideways.

It takes you a moment to realise he’s waiting for an answer, and you quickly nod. “Of course, Wooyoung, I understand.” Your voice sounds quiet and foreign even to yourself, but your words are true.

Wooyoung’s jaw clenches at your obedient response, a flicker of something akin to pride crossing his features. He reaches over to squeeze your thigh reassuringly, his touch firm yet gentle.

“You’re smart, doll. That’s why I chose you,” he hums, his voice taking on a tone of affection. “Now, just sit back and relax for now. We’ll be there soon.”

As promised, you arrive at your destination in a short while—a seedy, rundown warehouse on the outskirts of town. Wooyoung parks the car and exits, motioning for you to join him. He leads you through the dark halls to a room, akin to a dungeon. The heavy wooden door creaks shut behind you both, enveloping you in an atmosphere of dark anticipation.

Once inside, he produces a dark cloth, wrapping it around your wrists and binding them in front of you. You twitch, wanting to bat his hands away, but you hold back. When he finishes, he steps back, his piercing gaze raking over your form appraisingly. “I’ll strip you,” he orders, his voice devoid of emotion. “Then I want you on your knees when I return.”

Without waiting for a response, he quickly rips your dress off of you and exits the room, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts. The cool air feels thick with tension, each second ticking by agonisingly slow as you hastily comply with his demands.

After what feels like hours, but is probably only ten minutes, the door swings open once more, and you register Wooyoung’s breathing before you even see him as he stands in the threshold. It takes you another moment to realise he’s got a heavy bag slung over his shoulder.

Before you can even question what’s in it, Wooyoung throws it to the ground in front of me, and the bag lets out a muffled grunt. You recoil as you realise there’s a human being in there. “Wooyoung–” you start to talk, but Wooyoung shakes his head and you snap your mouth shut.

“I don’t think dolls can speak, can they?”

As soon as you nod shallowly, Wooyoung reaches out and undoes the bag, pulling the person out roughly. It takes you a moment to register, but when you see it’s your old boss, Wooyoung’s rival, you can’t keep the sharp gasp from exiting your mouth. He’s got a black eye and a busted nose, but he’s awake, shifting uncomfortably.

“Say hello, doll,” Wooyoung hums, his voice light but dangerous. “Park here wants to apologise, right?”

He kicks his rival in the ribs, a glint in his eye that can be seen even in the darkness. You can see the figure of Beomjun scramble to his knees, a strong contrast to the terrifying leader you once knew. “I’m sorry,” he repeats what is a clear script, his voice tense and teeth gritted, “for using what wasn’t mine. Wooyoung’s property is not to be touched.”

You can hardly keep your eyes off the grovelling figure, so you don’t notice when Wooyoung approaches you until he presses a cool metal object in your hand. A gun lays in your hand, and your hands shift to hold it properly automatically. “Shoot him,” Wooyoung’s voice rings clear, his mock whisper meant to be heard by Beomjun.

“Wait, please, you said you wouldn’t–” Beomjun’s words dissolve into whimpers and sobs. You never thought you’d see such a strong leader in the black market appear so…pathetic. “I won’t bother you anymore, I’ll leave YN alone, please– let me live– I’ll give you all my assets–”

Wooyoung clicks his tongue. “Either way, I’ll get all of your offers, Park. Your incentives are nothing but dust.” He leans forward to brush his lips against your ear. “Shoot him, doll. Show me that you put all your trust in me, now. He is nothing to you.”

His hand moves to your waist, and the other one lifts your arm that’s holding the gun until it’s aimed at him. Although you hesitate just a moment, Wooyoung’s words wind around your mind like a snake, and your finger twitches on the trigger.

You don’t even register the sound of the gunshot as Beomjun’s next plea is caught in his throat and he collapses against the concrete, eyes open wide and blood pooling around his body. You can hardly think as Wooyoung presses a chaste kiss to your cheekbone, taking the gun out of your hands and shoving it in his waistband before leading you to a small sink in the corner of the room, where he wets a paper towel to clean the specks of blood that landed on you.

As he wipes gently, he leans in close, lips pressing against your temple. “Remember, doll, my patience has limits. Don’t ever test them again.” With that warning, he brings you to a different room, where it’s decorated simply with a bed and nothing else. “Come, sit on my lap,” Wooyoung commands, his voice strangely gentle.

Carefully, you follow his direction until you’re nested up against his chest. You can feel his boner through his slacks, curious as to where this is headed. Before you even have time to gasp, Wooyoung flips your skirt up and pushes aside your underwear before pressing his fingers into you.

He’s not gentle by any means, but the roughness only brings you pleasure as tears fill your eyes. You’re sure the wetness trickling down your cheeks only makes him hard, and you can feel it beneath you as well.

“Are you going to try to betray me again, wife?” Wooyoung asks, the pet name spoken without affection, although you know it’s hidden under the punishment you deserve.

You quickly shake your head, eyes wide. Killing someone still has you shaken up, but you’re in no mood to piss Wooyoung off ever again, and you want to enjoy the pleasure of his fingers. “No, Wooyoung, husband, I promise–”

Your quick response and lilt of a whine in your voice gives Wooyoung pause, his fingers slowing. “Good doll,” he croons, leaning in to give you a proper kiss, gentle and loving despite his rough treatment earlier. “You’re so pretty and perfect for me, let’s keep it that way.”

The gentle touch of his lips has you whining and twitching your hips, and you can feel the gun tucked away pressing against your thigh. The thought of it has you whining, and you must be easier to read than you think, your eyes flickering down to where it sits, because Wooyoung chuckles and reaches down to pull it out.

“Look at you, so dirty, wife,” Wooyoung preeens, pressing the barrel against your thigh and dragging it up until it’s hooked through the gifted necklace and pressing against your chin. “Begging for my cock, begging for my gun. Aren’t you a pretty picture for me? So pliable.”

You whine, nodding eagerly even as the gun knocks against your chin. “Please,” you gasp out, hips grinding against his hand even without his prompting.

Your begging only makes Wooyoung’s smile wider as he moves the gun until it’s pushing your bottom lip down, forcing your mouth open. “Did I tell you to speak, doll?” he grits out, hand stilling his movement. “Be a good doll and open your mouth for me.”

When your mouth drops open almost immediately, a delighted chuckle leaves Wooyoung’s throat at your eagerness. Without saying a word, he pushes the tip of the gun into your mouth, forcing you to taste the metallic tang of the barrel.

Your cunt leaks around Wooyoung’s fingers, your eyes glazing over as your mind drifts away and all you want to do is please. The gun doesn’t push too far past your teeth, not like Wooyoung’s cock would, and you lick and suck at it gently as you rock slowly against Wooyoung.

The amusement in Wooyoung’s eyes only increases as he reaches down to unfasten his pants, pulling his rock-hard cock out. “Come on, baby, ride me,” he commands, pushing your hips up until his cock aligns with your cunt. “Show me how much you want to be used.”

With the gun still in your mouth, you drop down, his length spearing into you until you whine around the metal. Saliva drips out of your mouth and down your throat, pooling in your collarbones and slicking up your breasts. Your eyes roll back as you start a slow pace, bouncing up and down as best as you can.

Wooyoung’s hang grabs your hip tight enough to leave bruises, pushing you down to take him even deeper. The whine you let out is cut short as he slams his hips up into you, fucking you with wild abandon.

You can hardly feel anything except searing pleasure as he thrusts into you, the gun now resting in your mouth too far gone to continue sucking on it. But then Wooyoung leans in closer, nose brushing against your ear. “The safety’s off.”

It’s a lie, a bald-faced lie. You saw him lock it before sliding it into its holster. You know that it won’t shoot, the trigger wouldn’t even budge. And yet, the idea of it makes you groan around the barrel, cunt spasming as you come around Wooyoung’s cock, squeezing it so tight your core aches.

Wooyoung gasps at the feeling, pulling the gun out of your mouth and tossing it to the side as he pulls you closer into a bruising kiss, teeth scraping at your lips. “Fuck–” he moans into your mouth “–you fucking slut. You love having a gun in your mouth and a cock up your pussy? Maybe next time I’ll shove it up your cunt while I fuck your ass, such a perfect dumb whore.”

The kisses he litters on your lips betray his harsh words, and he comes with a groan, cock twitching as his hands grope your tits roughly. You’re limp, leaning against you as he uses you for his own pleasure. He grinds into as you pant against his collarbone, drawing a few more weak drops of come out of his cock.

As you lay against his chest, Wooyoung chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “You know,” he hums, “a punishment isn’t supposed to be so pleasurable for you. But I’ll let it slide this time.”

There’s no way you can register his words properly, but it doesn’t seem to bother him as he lays you down and lets you regain your mind and energy. Your eyes flutter shut as he strokes your hair softly, his gaze transfixed on you, a mix of possessiveness and adoration flickering in his eyes. “Rest now, and we’ll talk later,” Wooyoung hums more to himself than anything else. For now, he’ll enjoy the calm of this moment.

-

The ride home is silent, the only sound is the hum of the engine and your ragged breathing as you try to grasp what just happened. You don’t know what to say or do, hands grasped together as you try to wrap your head around the events of today. After shooting Beomjun’s lackey, it never occurred to you that it might have to happen again, much less that it would be Beomjun himself. But something in you burns at the power you held over the gang leader.

Upon returning to the penthouse, Wooyoung ushers you inside, his demeanour softening slightly as he removes his jacket and kicks off his shoes. He glances over at you, noticing your conflicting expressions, and he sighs through his nose.

“Doll, you okay? It was intense, but you needed to understand the world I live in, through its entirety.” He pads over to you, closing the distance, reaching out to pry your fingers apart and weave his own through yours. “It’s late…let’s get some rest. I want to hold you.”

He’s trying to divert the topic, and you grasp at it, following him like a sheep led to slaughter, letting him gently change you into pyjamas. He even brushes your teeth, treating you like you’re fragile and may break at any moment. When he slides into bed, he pulls you alongside, wrapping his arms around you.

As you settle into the warmth of his embrace, you let out a sigh and your body finally relaxes and sinks into the mattress. Despite the tumultuous relationship he provides you with, his presence still gives you a sense of safety and security.

“Wooyoung…I love you,” you breathe out, turning to press your face into his neck.

He stiffens slightly at your words, his hold on you tightening almost imperceptibly. For a long moment, he remains silent, processing your words. He’ll never be truly used to hearing you say it out loud, his line of work stunting his emotions. But, it still gives him warmth.

In low tones, he responds, “You’d better, doll. You’re mine, body and soul.” Despite his gruff words, there’s a hint of vulnerability, a glimpse of the man beneath the hardened kingpin. He strokes your hair soothingly, his other hand tracing gentle patterns on your hip. “Sleep now, doll. We’ll worry about tomorrow when it comes.”

Despite the complexity of your relationship, you drift off easily, feeling a sense of belonging. For better or for worse, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. And one day, you’ll have him grovelling under you.

[honeylations]

CHO MIYEON x FEM!READER

Prompt: Miyeon can’t sleep so she thought riding your abs was the best option to help her.

Warnings/Notes: smut kekeke, ab riding, 6th member reader, bit of photography at the end

Miyeon tossed and turned with each huff but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t sleep. She didn’t understand.

She was moping earlier that day that she wanted lay down and rest but how come her body wasn’t letting her anymore? She tried counting sheep, drinking warm milk, going on her phone, but it still didn’t tire her out.

Then she remembered the other nights she couldn’t sleep and what she did to help that.

Her face went red.

She looked at the time on her phone that read 3:40am.

She had to be up at 6am for her next schedule and she knew if she didn’t catch a wink of sleep, she’d be cranky the entire day.

So she saw this plan as her only choice.

Within the next minute, she left the warmth of her bed and tip toed to your room, making sure she locked the door behind her.

She smiled at your sleeping self. Your star night light was on which was gifted to you by Miyeon on your birthday because you admitted on your first date that you hated sleeping in the dark.

A childhood fear you couldn’t grow out of, unfortunately.

Shaking her thoughts away, your girlfriend carefully crawled on the bed and pulled down your blanket, revealing your semi naked body.

Actually you only had a bra on with plaid pyjama pants and Miyeon knew you didn’t like wearing shirts because you claimed it was ‘too annoying’.

So accessing your abs wasn’t gonna be difficult.

You felt a few taps on your collarbone, waking you up instantly.

“Huh-what? Baby is that you?” You said in your tired husky voice that sent chills down Miyeon’s body.

“Yeah it’s me. Sorry to wake you up, Bub”

You glanced at your alarm clock and groaned. “Babe it’s almost 4am, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep and there’s only one way that can help me” she pouted and you saw her hands crawl up from your thighs.

“Miyeon…”

“Shhh you don’t even have to do anything. Just let me ride you please baby. It’ll help so much” she whined, already palming your hard muscles and caressing them.

You released a shaky breath and gulped. “Ok…ok fine. Just don’t complain about being sore tomorrow”

“When have I ever complained?” She smirked and stripped off her panties.

“All the time actually”

You heard Miyeon scoff. “Not my fault. Now shut up and let me use you”

Your hand immediately grabbed onto her hips as she lowered her slick covered cunt onto your abs. Just the touch alone made her release a small gasp, holding onto your shoulders as she watched herself slowly move forward and back.

You could see how wet and shiny your abs became from her juices, lips parting in awe before inching them closer to your girlfriend’s face.

“Baby, I want a kiss”

Miyeon hummed and crashed her mouth into you, almost knocking your soul out. Your tongue slid its way through her soft lips and each lick encouraged your girlfriend to slide her hips faster.

Each bump of your muscle brushed deliciously against her clit, Miyeon’s breathing going heavy. She was whimpering into your mouth about wanting to cum so bad.

You squeezed her hips and smirked into her wet lips, chuckling at how sloppy her movements were getting.

“Don’t slow down, Princess. Wanna cum right?”

“P-Please baby. Help me. I’ve been good..”

“Hmm, I guess you have” you mumbled, moving your mouth to her pulse point and sucking gently, Miyeon’s eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

“Come on, my love. Keep those hips moving, I’ll help you okay?” You said after placing a final kiss to the purple mark you left on her skin.

Miyeon mumbled a thank you as you sat up a little more, flexing your abdominal muscles more and forcing your girlfriend to ride you faster.

She let out cute squeals and quickly pushed her (your) oversized shirt up to reveal her plump tits.

“Suck them please, baby. Gonna cum soon”

Accepting your princess’ request, your mouth instantly latched onto her left, sucking harshly and biting onto the soft flesh before moving to the other side. Your arms were wrapped all the way around your girlfriend’s small body, letting her reach her orgasm.

You held her tighter when she arched her back, her hips starting to slow down from her high.

“Oh fuck oh fuck yes…your abs so good baby” she whined, pushing your head into her chest.

Once Miyeon’s vision cleared, she moved backwards and saw the mess she caused on your stomach. You were about to ask her to clean it off but she quickly snatched your phone from the bedside table and placed her other hand on your cum covered abs.

“Uh baby?” You questioned.

“I just realised I haven’t shown off my new acrylics yet. This is the perfect time, babe” she winked at you and snapped a flash pic of her nails being flexed onto your stomach that was visibly wet with white liquids.

“You’re not posting that in public are you?”

Miyeon shook her head and sent the photo to the G-Idle groupchat. “Just the girls”

After placing your phone away, your girlfriend leaned down and licked a stripe up your stomach. “Now let me clean you”

“Babe, we’re not gonna sleep at this point”

“Worth it though. Now shhh”

[G-IDLE GIRLIES🍒]

[4:00AM] Miyeon: *sent an image*

[4:00AM] Miyeon: I know u are all asleep but check out my new nails😍

[4:36AM] Minnie: EW WHAT THE FUCK

[4:37AM] Shuhua: :/

[4:37AM] Soyeon: OH FOR FUCK’S SAKES

[4:38AM] Yuqi: Killing you both DELETE THAT SHIT NOW

[jessiso]

"Let me take it from here"

Criminal Minds One-shot | Spencer Reid x Reader (18+)

sub! spencer x dom! reader

Spencer, overwhelmed and needy after a rough day, finds comfort in his partner’s commanding care. Through a tender, intense scene of dominance and submission, he surrenders completely—held, loved, and safe in their arms.

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, pinv, oral, restraints, spanking, power exchange

w/c 1,326

( enjoy ;) )

...

Spencer was curled up on the couch when you got home, hair a little messy from the way he’d been tugging at it, reading glasses slipping down his nose.

You could tell the book in his lap had long since lost his attention. His eyes met yours, soft and tired—and already a little needy.

“Rough day?” you asked gently, leaning over the back of the couch to press a kiss to his temple.

He nodded, letting his head rest against your arm. “My brain feels like soup. I missed you.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his curls. “Then let me help you forget.”

His breath caught, pupils darkening instantly as he looked up at you. “Please.”

“Bedroom. Strip. Knees.”

That was all it took.

You watched him obey—eagerly, desperately—as he left the book on the table and padded into the bedroom.

By the time you stepped inside, he was exactly where you told him to be. Naked, flushed, kneeling in the center of the bed with his hands resting on his thighs, eyes wide and waiting for you.

You took your time undressing, letting him watch, loving the way he stared at you like you were something holy. When you approached him, you tilted his chin up with two fingers.

“Safe word?” you asked.

“Dante,” he whispered.

“And your color?”

“Green. God, yes, green.”

“Good.”

You took one of his wrists, wrapping the silk tie you’d brought in your hand, and secured it to the headboard.Then the other. He whimpered, not from fear—but from anticipation.

“You trust me?” you asked, hovering over him, breath teasing the sensitive skin of his throat.

“Always.”

You kissed down his chest, watching him squirm, loving how he bit his lip trying not to beg.

“Tonight, baby,” you murmured, nails grazing down his stomach, “you don’t get to think. You don’t get to speak unless I tell you to. You just get to feel.”

Spencer whimpered again, arching toward your touch like he couldn’t stand even a second of distance. You smirked.

“Don’t worry, love,” you whispered as you slid lower, breath ghosting over his hard cock, “I plan to take very good care of you.”

Your breath was hot against the inside of his thigh, and Spencer was already trembling—bound, exposed, and entirely at your mercy. You looked up at him, letting your fingers drift teasingly along the length of his cock without giving him what he so clearly needed.

“Such a mess already,” you murmured.

'Dripping for me and I’ve barely touched you.”

He let out a whimper, back arching slightly as the silk restraints tugged at his wrists.

“Please,” he breathed, “please do something—”

Your palm met the inside of his thigh with a gentle smack, just enough to make him gasp. “Ah, ah. You know the rules. No begging unless I ask for it.”

Spencer nodded quickly, biting his lip to stay quiet, his cheeks flushed a deep pink. You loved him like this—so eager to please, so undone by the simplest of your touches.

You leaned forward, tongue flicking lightly over the head of his cock, just a taste. He twitched beneath you, moaning through gritted teeth.

“God, you’re so good like this,” you whispered, stroking him slowly with your hand as your mouth teased lower—along the underside, to his hips, his thighs, everywhere but where he wanted you most. “So obedient. So desperate.”

“Please,” he finally gasped, hips straining upward.

You paused, raising an eyebrow. “That sounded like begging.”

“I—I’m sorry—”

“Mmm. I’ll allow it,” you smirked. “This time.”

Without another word, you wrapped your lips around him fully, taking him into your mouth in one slow, smooth motion. The reaction was immediate—Spencer cried out, head thrown back against the pillows, muscles tightening as he fought not to thrust up.

You kept the pace slow at first, working him with your mouth and hand, alternating between deep strokes and maddeningly light flicks of your tongue.

He was squirming now, wrists straining against the tie, breath coming in gasps.

“I—I'm close,” he choked out. “Please, I can’t—”

You pulled back instantly, lips slick, eyes dark. “Did I say you could come?”

He groaned in frustration, panting. “No…”

“Then you don’t. Not until I say so.”

You climbed up his body, straddling his hips, your own arousal slick between your thighs. He looked up at you like he was drowning—pleading, hungry, completely undone.

“You’ve been so good for me, baby,” you whispered, dragging your fingers along his jaw. “Do you want to be inside me?”

“Yes,” he breathed, like it was the only word he remembered.

You reached down, guiding him to your entrance. You sank down slow—agonizingly slow—and the both of you moaned as you took him fully. His hips trembled under you, but he didn’t move, didn’t dare.

You rocked your hips in slow circles, letting him feel every inch of you, hands pressed to his chest as you controlled the rhythm.

“Look at me,” you said, voice thick with pleasure. “I want you to watch while I ride you.”

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and overwhelmed.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” you murmured, grinding harder now, drawing a cry from his throat. “So perfect. Do you want to come for me?”

“Yes— please—please let me—”

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.

“Then beg.”

That was all it took.

“Please let me come,” he gasped. “I want to so badly—I need to—I need you—”

“Good boy,” you whispered, clenching around him as you rode him harder. “Come for me.”

He shattered beneath you, moaning your name like a prayer as he spilled inside you, body arching off the bed as the orgasm ripped through him. You followed moments later, crying out his name, your body trembling from the intensity.

You stayed there for a moment, both of you breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.

“You did so well,” you murmured, kissing his cheek as you gently untied his wrists. “My good boy.”

His eyes fluttered shut as you pulled him into your arms, holding him close.

“I love you,” he mumbled, voice sleepy and warm.

You smiled, stroking his hair. “I love you too. Always.”

Spencer's breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling beneath you as the aftershocks rolled through him. His cheeks were flushed, eyes half-lidded and dazed in that beautiful, blissed-out way he got when you took control.

You untied his wrists with gentle hands, rubbing his skin where the silk had held him down. He winced slightly—more from sensitivity than pain—but relaxed immediately at your touch.

"Still okay?" you whispered, brushing his curls off his damp forehead.

He nodded slowly, voice barely audible. “Yeah. That was… intense.”

You kissed the inside of his wrist, then his collarbone, then the corner of his mouth. “Color?”

He smiled lazily. “Green. Still very, very green.”

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around him as you guided him to lie fully beneath the covers. You moved slowly, carefully, like you were handling something fragile—because in a way, you were.

Spencer wasn’t fragile in the obvious ways, but in moments like this, he gave you everything. Trusted you completely. And that kind of surrender deserved reverence.

He let out a soft sigh as you pulled the blanket over both of you. You reached for the water on the nightstand, holding it to his lips while he sipped.

“I love when you take care of me,” he murmured, voice still heavy with endorphins.

“I always take care of you,” you said, tucking him in close to your chest. “Not just when I’ve got you tied up.”

He laughed, the sound muffled as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You know what I mean.”

You ran your fingers through his curls, soothing him. “You were so good for me tonight.”

He shivered slightly, clinging to you tighter.

“I needed that. Needed to just… let go.”

“I know.” You pressed a kiss to his temple.

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

DEAD IN THE HEAD

KINKTOBER DAY 28 - DUMBIFICATION WITH JIM

Pairing.| Jim x fem!reader

Summary.| You put yourself into a close call, Jim saves you and wonders how dumb you really are.

Warnings.| Dubcon, head m!receiving, dumbification, deep throat, degrading.

Word count.| 1.2k

Notes.| Had to do him on the 28th

“How fucking stupid are yah, aye!” Jim lectured in hushed tones as he shoved you into your most recent hideout, a small apartment building west of London. 

Almost tripping on over your cheap sneakers, you sniffled back your tears, your body still trembled from the terrifying close call. If it wasn’t for Jim and his handy baseball bat, you’d be ripped from limb to limb instantly. Jim huffed out in frustration and dropped the bat to the floor, his hands rested behind his head as he paced around the room. The only sounds were his heavy breaths and your quiet sobbing. 

It was all your fault, even though you had no cruel intentions. You just wanted to help out for once, so you snuck out to a shopping strip in hopes of finding more supplies. Jim warned you against it when you first considered it. Too dangerous for you, he claimed, he’d always have to accompany you, he continued. But you were sick of contributing nothing to your duo. 

As you stood in the middle of the room like a lost puppy, Jim felt a pulsation of pity towards you. Jim exhaled as he tugged off his blood stained shirt, his pale skin filled your orbs, you gulped at his thin frame emerging closer to you. Not gently, however not roughly, he pulled off your stained hoodie, your hands rubbed over your bare arms. Jim bit his lip at how cropped your singlet was. You pouted at the specs of dried blood on the bridge of his nose and forehead.

The two of you were already sleeping together, the apocalypse split everyone’s souls in half, you both desired someone to hold onto, to comfort one another. The attraction was always clear and love had been growing daily. Jim took you into his arms, he swayed you gently, his eyes bore into your skull as your gaze remained low, fearful of his justified anger towards you.  

“Almost got us killed out there” Jim mumbled, his cold lips close to your ear, you felt his breath fan against your skin, it spiked up your goosebumps. 

You tried to apologize, but the words became mush as it left your lips, you whimpered in total humiliation. Jim chuckled at your timid behavior, how could he stay mad at you when you were so damn helpless? 

“How dumb are you?” Jim whispered. 

“Jim?” you frowned, confusion whacked over your expression. It only seemed to prove his point. 

“Come on, tell me how fucking dead in the head you are” Jim laughed as he tapped his fingers on your skull. 

Your orbs darted around as you tried to read the room, Jim’s expression was so sternly serious that you weren’t even sure what was the right answer. Surprisingly, he was quite patient with your answer, he admired the way your lip trembled and eyes swelled with hesitation. 

“I’m really dumb” you eventually whispered. 

“Keep on going” he exhaled, his hands rubbing against your lower back.

“Jim-” 

“Go on!” Jim hissed and he pulled your body against his, his erection poked against your stomach. 

You whined out, your hips awakened, desperate to hump against him. Sex always took the pain and angst away, it was a blissful distraction, for the both of you. Your thighs squeezed together, you fell to your knees, your hand shot up to rub his bulge and Jim sighed out slowly, his jaw stern and hips poked forward. 

“So fucking dumb, I can’t survive without you” you murmured, your mouth watered up, glistering eyes blinked frequently.  

“I know baby, you’re only good enough to please my cock it seems” Jim chuckled in a demeaning tone as you eagerly unzipped his pants. 

Your mouth felt numb, you were mumbling and humming in agreement, not even really caring about what he was saying anymore. As you pumped his hardening cock, Jim tilted his head at you. You looked at it for permission, after a painful minute, your mouth dripping with saliva, Jim nodded his head for you to continue on. 

Your tongue swirled over his tip, licking up every spec of his precum. A heavy sigh echoed throughout the room as Jim closed his eyes, you took him in your mouth quickly. His shoulders slouched, you were always able to relieve him of his aching body and tormented mind. 

“Such a cock hungry slut” Jim muttered, his hands slipped into your loose hair. 

You moaned around him, a wave of vibrations ran straight down to his base. Your hand massaged his balls gently, his blue eyes fluttered at the stimulation.  

“This is all you’re fucking for aye, worshipping my cock. Fucking waste of oxygen really… Dumb bitches always want dick” Jim mumbled, his lower lip stuck in between his teeth. As you nodded your head in agreement, you could feel your walls squeeze, the thought of jumping onto his cock fueled your energy. “Only good thing about you is how tight your fucking cunt is” he insulted, however it felt like the ultimate praise for you. 

Your head bobbed up and down his length, tongue poked all the way out, just the way that he liked it. Jim gulped down, he watched his tip poking against your cheeks as you hollowed them out. As his eyes rolled back, he grunted roughly. 

“You don’t even deserve to milk my cock with your pussy tonight” Jim spat, the grip in your hair tightened as he roughly tugged at the roots. But your eyes only widened at his comment. “Stupid fucking bitch” he swore harshly. 

You whined around him, when you attempted to pull your mouth off, he held you to his base. It quickly became hard to breath, you pushed against his thighs but his hold remained the same. 

“Oh, did you actually understand what I said?” Jim mocked, a sinister grin on his lips. 

As you nodded your head quickly, Jim chuckled and roughly patted your cheek as his hold finally loosened. 

“Bad, stupid girls don’t get to be fucked senselessly, I’ll fuck you when you figure out some common sense” Jim stated, his tone lacked joke. 

You mewled on his size, tears swelled your swollen eyes. But Jim ignored your muffled pleased and fucked your mouth forcefully. The volume of your gags seemed dangerous, however Jim was too built up to care at the moment. The sounds of his huffs, groans and curses implied how close to the edge he was. As he reached his climax, your nose is forced against his skin, cock pushed to the back of your throat, complete oxygen cut off. You cried out, but forced your mouth to remain open as the warm salty substance shot down your throat. The pats of reassurance to your cheek left a mark.

“Good fucking bitch” Jim praised as he let go of you, you fell onto your ass, gasping out, eyes swollen red. “You’ll continue to suck my cock until you know how to fucking stay in line aye? No touching yourself, no humping my thigh, nothing. Stupid girls don’t get to feel good” Jim made known, zero remorse on his look. 

You heaved out, tears slipped down your cheeks, your throat ached as you tried to swallow down the salty taste. With a smug smirk, Jim tucked himself back into his pants. Jim held out his hand which you reluctantly took. As you’re yanked onto your feet, he crashed his lips onto yours, his arms caged your body in.

[lillaluna]

guilty

"Wriothesley, I'm late," you say, and duck under your boyfriend's big arm, fastening the earring in your ear on the way.

"But you can stay late," Wriothesley says, watching you dash over to the wardrobe where you've started scoping out what you can wear to work.

Even though Wriothesley was now urging you to be late, getting ready in the morning was actually one of his favourite parts of the day. You weren't punctual, so like a cute, dishevelled kitten just waking up from a nap, you ran around his flat almost every morning looking for your things. He watched you dive headfirst into one of the shelves in his wardrobe. Your long hair spilled down your naked back, with only the strip of your black lace bra showing. Lowering his eyes down, the guy bit the inside of his cheek, remembering how last night he had, with his teeth, pulled down your black translucent panties that now clung so appetisingly to your taut ass.

"Where is she," you muttered angrily, worming your way back out of the bowels of the wardrobe. Almost jumping with fear, you put a hand to your chest, breathing heavily when you found Wriothesley already leaning over you, leaning against the wall. Considering your rather large height difference, he loved doing this to you. Looking up at you, his beautiful ice-coloured eyes on you, and teasing you.

"I guess you'll have to stay a while," the guy said with a cheeky grin, and then he reached his rough fingers up to the strap of your bra, sliding them upward to your collarbone and then down to the cleavage between your breasts.

Your pulse quickened with his actions, and like a mesmerised woman you thrust forward, resting your palms on the guy's torso. It was good that he hadn't buttoned his shirt yet, so you could run your fingers over all his muscles, feeling the relief of his body. You reached up on your toes to touch Wriothesley face, but he nimbly picked you up under his hips, and the next thing you knew, you were pressed against the wardrobe door, wrapping your legs around him.

Wriothesley clung to your neck, running his wet tongue along it before biting your earlobe. It sent a wave of goosebumps up your spine, and brought a muffled moan off your lips. You ran your slender fingers through the duke's gray-streaked hair, and then pulled his head back to look into Wriothesley eyes. He smiled slyly.

"Just admit that you hid my things," you said, carefully studying the face of your boyfriend, who already had stubble on his cheeks.

"Guilty," Wriothesley replied without resistance, pulling you into a deep kiss.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 78: Oliver's Awakening

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: aftermath of mind control, discussion of abuse

October 1925

Oliver writhed on the ground, his chest as tight as a drum and tears squeezing from his eyes, as all the fear and pain and shame that had been suppressed the past few months flooded him.

He'd been content, so content to give up his own life to become the servant of a vampire, hardly even struggling as he was taken and confined and ensorcelled. He'd enjoyed the vile feedings, looking forward to the vampire drinking away his blood, pleased to slump over in the vampire's arms as his life was drained, satisfied with the twin scars on his neck. He'd cheerfully allowed the vampire to pass him around like a party favor to his lover, to curl up around him as he slept, to dress him up in ball gowns and take him to vampire dens to show off…

But truly, it wasn't the shame that hurt the most -- that was just the easiest of his emotions to understand. No, the worst of it was the profound sense of emptiness. It was if Alexander's music had filled something within him he hadn't known was empty. It had given him a purpose, even if it was to follow the selfish whims of a monster, and now he was devoid. Knowing intellectually that it had never been a real purpose, just enslavement, didn't ease the sting of his heart.

Vivian crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Oliver, I know it's a lot to process. It might take days or weeks --"

"You don't know!" Oliver wrenched backwards to get away from her, furious. "You don't know what you just took. You can't!"

"I know it must hurt --"

"If you knew it would hurt like this, then why did you do it against my wishes?" Oliver demanded.

"Oliver!" Emily was standing nearby. "She was just trying to help. It's not fair to yell at her like that."

"It's not fair that I feel like this!"

"Leave him alone," said Vivian. "Let him scream at me if he wants. He's coming out of a much deeper enthrallment than you were in, Emily. It won't be easy."

"That's not true," she said indignantly. "I could barely talk, couldn't remember my past, wasn't even literate any more."

"Yes, and that's relatively easy for a vampire to do. What's been done to Oliver is far more precise and insidious, to keep him so intact on the surface while bending his desires and loyalties completely."

"Do you mind talking about me as though I'm not even here?" Oliver hated how angry he was, how he couldn't control the harshness of his voice. He was never angry, never so much as raised his voice at a difficult customer, not before he was captured. Even then, his anger had been weak, easily plucked out of his head by that damned Miss Lily. He felt sick to think of himself drowsing in her company, letting her rummage through his very mind, throw out anything she didn't like, and replacing his truth with a pretty painted facade.

"I'm sorry," said Vivian. "I know you're upset with me, but this is important. Can you still feel the connection with your former master?"

"No. It's been severed. I can't hear him anymore."

"That's good. With a vampire that powerful, it's likely that your connection is actually only weakened, not entirely destroyed. He may try to enter your head again, draw you under his sway."

Oliver nodded, ashamed that a part of him hoped he would, that Alexander's music would dull the pain. No, he would have to resist somehow. He couldn't go through all of this heartache for no reason, to go merrily skipping back into the arms of a vampire. Vivian's magic had stripped away the illusion, revealed the monster behind the handsome face.

"I'll try to resist," said Oliver shakily.

"Good, that's good. If you hear his voice, you need to tell me immediately, all right? I can help protect you, or wash out his influence again if we need to," she said. "It's my fault for not killing him when I had the chance. I was a coward. And now I'll have to plan to go after him again, before he hunts me down."

"Don't kill him!" Oliver's fervor surprised even him.

"Oliver, you'll never be safe until I do."

"I know that, but -- I don't want him to die. Maybe I should want him to die, maybe I'm still under his spell, but I can't bring myself to want him to die," he said, not understanding why he felt so strongly about this when he knew Alexander's true nature.

"He took you from your bookshop, remember?" said Emily. "The whole time we were in those cages -- at least, before Lily warped our minds -- that's all you could talk about, was your bookshop and how you had to return there. Don't you want to?"

His bookshop, and the tiny apartment above. His little safe haven, where he'd spent his entire life. The antique books locked behind the counter, the sagging shelves of the history section, the ratty armchair with the throw blankets that might still be waiting for him.

"I can't go back there," he said. "Alexander was one of my customers. He'd find me easily."

"That's why I have to kill him," said Vivian.

Mounting horror dawned on Oliver. "But even if you did kill him, it wouldn't do any good, because his sire would find out and hunt us both down. I'm sure of it."

"His sire? A vampire that powerful, and he's still beholden to his sire?"

"He's a terrifying vampire." The fear, which had been acute before, was now so much more sharp without Alexander's soothing influence. He could remember the feel of harsh fangs in his neck all too well, the panic of being unable to open his eyes. "Far more terrifying than Alexander could ever be. Alexander once told me that if we ever tried to escape him, he'd hunt us both down and make sport of it, and I believe him."

"It can't be…" Vivian muttered. "Tell me more about him, your former master's sire."

As much as Oliver didn't care to recall those memories, Vivian might actually be able to help. "I'll tell you whatever information I have. I'd be happy to see him die, and Alexander would, too. I don't know his real name, but they all call him the Maestro --"

"You've met him?" She gripped his shoulders like a madwoman. "You've actually met the Maestro?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You've heard of him?"

"He took my mother. He's the vampire I need to kill more than any other. You must tell me everything you know about him."

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said. "I can tell you everything I've learned about him, if you agree that you won't kill Alexander."

"Even if I were convinced you truly meant that and it wasn't just residual conditioning, I couldn't agree to that. Alexander is likely to come after me for taking you, and if he does, I need to be able to defend myself."

"I suppose that's true," said Oliver reluctantly. He didn't want to admit to himself that it would be ideal if Vivian were to kill the Maestro but spare Alexander, so that he would have the option of returning to the vampire without the threat of his sire hanging over their heads.

No, he must still be under the spell. He shouldn't return to Alexander under any circumstances, not if he wanted to keep a free thought in his head.

"You need to tell me," Vivian insisted. "Revenge on the Maestro is one of the main reasons I became a hunter in the first place. It wasn't just my mother who suffered. He's killed at least twenty hunters, and he's believed to have kidnapped a number of musicians and stage performers. He needs to be stopped."

"He does." Oliver sighed, feeling that tiny bit of leverage slip. "All right. I'll tell you what I know."

He tried to recall everything he could for Vivian's sake -- everything Lex had told him, and especially recounting his own experiences with the cruel vampire. Emily sat nearby, her eyes going wide with horror as Oliver described his blinding and the painful feeding. Vivian, on the other hand, was absorbing all of Oliver's words carefully.

"So when he controlled you -- was there any sort of induction he had to perform? Any conditions he had to meet?"

"I don't think so, or at least I don't remember any. Alexander didn't mention any either. He was able to puppet my body as easily as if I were a toy, and there didn't seem to be any way to resist it."

"Hm. That's going to be trouble," said Vivian, deep in thought. "And when he stopped you from opening your eyes again -- how long did it take for that enthrallment to wear off?"

"It didn't. The next day, Alexander took me to Miss -- to another vampire's home, one that specializes in hypnotizing humans, and she reversed the Maestro's command."

"A specialist in hypnotizing humans? Lily?"

"You know her too?"

"Yes, I'm aware of her."

"Are you going to kill her, too?"

"I really should, considering how many people's minds she's destroyed -- or are you going to defend her as well?"

"…No." Truthfully, he felt more conflicted about it than he should, given that Vivian was objectively correct. How many human minds had she stolen? How many lives had she cut short, selling innocent people off to vampires with nothing more than glee about her profits? She was the one who had twisted his mind, and all those feelings of comfort and warmth as he slept in her chair were nothing more than lies to keep him docile.

"So do have any idea where the Maestro lives?"

"No, I'm sorry. Those are the only two times I encountered him, and Alexander never mentioned where he lives, from what I can recall."

Vivian sighed. "It's a pity. But even so, you've given me far more information than I had yesterday, and I'm grateful for it."

"You know… both you and Alexander want the Maestro dead. Could you ever consider working together?" asked Oliver.

"Working with a vampire?"

"Only this one specific time, only to kill an even worse vampire!"

"I can't do that," said Vivian. "Even if we do have the same goal. Fighting a vampire as formidable as the Maestro would leave me vulnerable, and I can't trust that this Alexander wouldn't simply enthrall me afterwards. In fact, he'd be stupid not to, lest I kill him."

Oliver wanted to protest that Alexander wouldn't do that… except that Alexander might actually do that. After all, he had no qualms at all about buying a human at auction, even a human he previously knew as an equal. Why would he hesitate to enthrall a hunter?

"Come on," said Vivian, helping him off the floor. "We can talk more about this later. You've been through a lot tonight, and need more time to shake off the spell you've been under. We have a room that you can use, but I'm going to have to lock you in, and keep you under surveillance for now, at least until we're sure that your vampire isn't going to try and push himself into your head again."

"Fine," he said, accepting that Vivian didn't trust him. He didn't even trust himself. "Why can he still do that, if you've undone the enthrallment?"

"There's a psychic connection established when a vampire drinks your blood. It's not quite the same thing as enthrallment, and it can be very strong. It fades in days or weeks, but until then, you'll still be vulnerable to the vampire's influence."

"I see." He wondered if that applied to any vampire which had fed from him. If it did, that meant -- "But the Maestro, he…"

"Yes," she said grimly. "Has he ever entered your mind before, when he's not there in person?"

"I don't think so. I hope not."

"I hope not either. I'm not prepared to fight him just yet. If you sense anything, you need to tell me right away."

"Yes, of course."

Vivian led Oliver out of the attic and into a room little bigger than a closet, with a cot and a small chest of drawers. "You should get some rest," she said, herding Oliver inside. "You'll feel better once you have. Is there anything you need?"

"A glass of water, please?" asked Oliver, sitting on the edge of the cot. "And if you have any interesting books…"

"Certainly. I'll see what I can do."

Oliver waited patiently for Vivian to return with the water and a couple of old magazines. As soon as she left the room and he heard the lock click shut, he fell back onto the bed, knowing that he wouldn't even be able to concentrate on reading, not with all the thoughts crowding his head.

He was free.

Wasn't he?

It was terribly hard to feel free when he was locked into a small room, the threat of his vampiric master and his sire still hanging over his head like an executioner's axe. The confinement was for his own safety, and he understood the reasons, but he wouldn't actually be free until both Alexander and the Maestro had ceased to walk the earth.

He was frustrated with himself. He shouldn't care so much about the well-being of a vampire who had literally purchased him at auction. And yet…

Now that the initial shock and fear had worn off, he was finding himself gripped by a deep and profound sadness. The cot he lay on was hard and cold, and he couldn't suppress his longing for his bed at home -- no, Alexander's bed. It wasn't ever his. He'd been hypnotized to share it, to cuddle up with a monster.

He'd been hypnotized into affection.

And it was really the only affection he'd had since he was a child, wasn't it? He'd lived such a solitary and quiet life, spending almost every night alone in his small apartment with books for company. Even the simple pleasure of curling up to read next to someone else had been foreign to him until he came into Alexander's possession.

And it had all been a fabrication meant to keep him compliant, hadn't it? He shouldn't miss it. He should be glad to be rid of it.

But the thought of returning to his solitary life, of never experiencing actual tenderness, was crushing him inside. He'd been starving for so many years, but it had been bearable when he didn't know what he was missing. Now that he knew that his choice was between actual loneliness and false companionship, he could only be ashamed at the parts of himself which preferred the lie.

No, he had to press on somehow. He couldn't return himself to a monster, no matter how charming. He should be happy to be freed. He could have his own life back. He could sleep during the night and wake during the day, and walk in the sunshine, and choose to go wherever he pleased.

He could take what little money he had stashed in his bookshop and take a train out of town, or a boat overseas, see the new places that he dreamed about but never got around to visiting. He could start his life over, do something else with it. Live a fuller life in the here and now rather than wait in his lonely little bookshop, wait for something to happen to him. Something had happened to him, and it should have taught him a lesson about choosing what he wants before it's chosen for him.

It was exhilarating. But…

For all his newly gained freedom, he still had no idea what he actually wanted. The desire for fangs in his neck was fake, but at least it was a clear desire. What did he want before, apart from books and safety? And who was he now, now that he knew the dangerous world of the supernatural lurked just behind every streetlamp, just waiting to pull him into it?

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Next week: Oliver is not as free as he might have hoped.

I'll also have a Christmas-adjacent self-indulgent vampire story up tomorrow, so please keep an eye out! And vote in the holiday edition of Sedation Vending Machine!

Thanks for reading this story another year, and happy holidays!

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@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush @cepheusgalaxy

@whump-me-harder @whump-till-ya-jump @the-monarch-whumperfly @ium1naryy @wumpbean

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Steve’s Competency Kink

Thirsty Thursday - Steve’s Competency Kink

steddie, omegaverse, canon compliant

Steve isn’t expecting it, having spent so much of the past few days fighting a drop with how much stress his pack is under.

His desire to protect Max would be making it hard enough without the rest of the bullshit going on.

But the rest is going on, and he knows he’s been leaning too hard on Robin and the safety of her herbal scent. Leaning too hard on the pups, taking comfort in caring for them.

It should all be too much for any of them, really. He can smell it all the time: stress and fear and pain. Knows he’s giving off just as much of the same, no matter how much he works to exude calm and safety for the pack.

But here he is, watching Eddie Munson hotwire an RV and getting wet enough that he knows the alphas can smell it.

They must be able to, with how sticky he already feels. He’ll have to peel his underwear off when he finally has a chance, a mess of slick at his crotch.

Robin gives him a very confused look, and Nancy is fortunately focused on wrangling the pups. Eddie has a pair of pliers held in his mouth, the metal hopefully impeding his sense of smell, at least for now.

But Steve knows he’s too close.

It’s only a matter of time before Eddie picks up on his scent, on the arousal in it.

And it shouldn’t be hot! Nothing about the situation should remotely turn him on!

Steve presses his thighs together, grimaces, and tries his hardest to push down his desire to moan.

It’s just watching Eddie cut and strip the wires, keeping up his conversation with Robin, every movement sure… He knows what he’s doing. It may be highly suspect, but it’s a skill. Another way Eddie is good with his hands, and it makes Steve imagine those hands touching him.

Steve is shocked out of his daydream by Eddie turning to him. The smarmy, “Harrington’s got her. Don’t ya, big boy,” making him blush as he scrambles into the seat, his brain kicking into gear as they steal the RV.

They’ve made it decently down the road when Eddie leans over Steve’s shoulder and says, “Sorry for dropping the driving on you like that, what with involving you in the actual crime and all.”

“What?” Steve’s still having trouble focusing beyond driving and Eddie’s warm scent.

“Like, everyone else is just an accessory to theft, but if we get busted, it’s you and me—grand theft auto.”

Steve shrugs. “Price of saving the world, I guess.”

“Well, Thanks for being cool about it. Most people get all weird about the shit my old man taught me.”

Steve shrugs again, glances up into the rearview mirror to look Eddie in the eye. “Skill’s a skill, and you’re fucking skilled.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…” He swallows, feels the words ready to tumble out of his mouth and figures, fuck it, they might be dead by morning. “It was hot.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks again, voice so soft now.

“Really hot.”

His hand reaches forward, grips Steve’s shoulder. “Pretty much everything you do is hot.”

“Shut up.”

“If it weren’t for the fact I’m a total chickenshit, I’d have kissed you after you bit apart that bat.”

“Gross, Eddie! I had blood in my mouth! Monster blood!” Steve hisses.

“And it was fucking hot!”

“Whatever.” But Steve is smiling.

When he glances at Eddie in the rearview again, he’s smiling, too.

Camping in the meadow and prepping doesn’t give them much time, but Eddie and Steve still find a minute to meet up in the bathroom.

Eddie washes his hands, then he shows Steve what else his clever fingers can do.

[grimeshound]

SCOUT’S HONOR.

word count: 2,292

pairing: rick grimes x negan smith

summary: the one where rick shows off a skill he learnt in the boy scouts, to negan’s amusement.

warnings: 18+, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, oral sex (m receiving), creampie.

a/n: finally uploading my first ao3 work onto tumblr ^_^ this takes place around season 8/9 but i physically cant put a photo of s9 rick without laughing… love him but not his best look i fear

ill most likely use tumblr mainly for casual blurbs or short ideas not long enough for fics, but i wanted to upload this to get the ball rolling. hope you enjoy!

—-

Time blurred in the cell. Minutes bled into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. Negan Smith, the once-feared leader of the Saviors, had been stripped of his grandeur piece by piece. Life in the Sanctuary had kept him on his feet—always something to fix, someone to intimidate, something that demanded his attention. But prison was a complete 180, he was bored out of his goddamn mind. And just when he thought he’d go crazy, like some twisted prayer had been answered, the cell door swung open.

The sheriff strode down the steps, hips swaying with a deliberate, steady rhythm that had Negan’s ears perking up at the echoed sound of booted footsteps filling the prison cell walls. Rick’s expression was closed off, unreadable as he came to a halt just beyond the bars.

“Well, well,” Negan grinned, “Looks like Christmas came early. Missed me that much, Rick?”

Rick’s deadpan expression didn’t waver. “You can’t taunt me anymore, Negan. You’ll be stuck in that cell for the rest of your life. Your days are over.”

“So, you came here to taunt me, huh?” Negan drawled, slumped against the wall with one hand clutching his chest in mock agony. “Wanted to gloat a little, feel better about yourself? And here I was thinkin’ you actually missed me, prick. I’m hurt.”

Rick sighed, the irritation building with every one of Negan’s quips. “I came because I need you. We need directions to a Savior outpost up north.”

Negan’s face lit up as he pushed himself to his feet. Though the height difference between him and Rick was barely noticeable, the space between them always felt charged, like Negan was somehow towering over him. He stepped forward, pressing himself against the steel bars, closing as much distance as the barrier would allow as he slung his arms across the bars, hand inches away from Rick’s face.

“I can finally die a happy man now, hearin’ the great Rick Grimes sayin’ those words.” Negan mimicked Rick’s drawl, his voice dropping low. “I need you.” His tone was husky, his mocking imitation sending an involuntary shiver down Rick’s spine.

Rick had managed to grow somewhat used to Negan’s childish nature, the relentless teasing never seeming to die down. Even when the older was confined in prison. It was impressive, really. Ignoring the taunt, Rick grabbed his keys, stepping inside the cell as the door creaked open. Negan’s expression turned gleeful, an amused glint in his eye.

“Finally givin’ in, huh? Knew this day would co—”

Negan’s words came to a sudden halt as Rick grabbed him by the collar, slamming him back against the cold concrete wall, pinning him there with the weight of his body. “You’re coming with us,” Rick growled, his voice low as he leaned close, the words brushing against Negan’s ear. “And you’ll lead us to that outpost.”

Negan’s eyes flicked back, catching Rick’s intense gaze as he felt a rope loop around his wrists, binding his hands securely. A smirk played on Negan’s lips as he recognized the knot. “Real kinky, Ricky. A bowline knot, huh? Takes me back. They taught me that shit in Boy Scouts, you know.”

Even restrained, Negan’s mouth kept running, his taunts flowing without fail. Rick couldn’t resist a jab back. “I find it hard to imagine you as a Boy Scout,” he remarked, adjusting the knot and squinting as his eyes adjusted to the dim cell. “Oh, I was,” Negan huffed, grinning as he felt the pull of the rope. “Bet you were a real cute Boy Scout yourself, huh? Goody two-shoes Grimes.”

Rick felt a dry chuckle slip out before he could stop it, hoping Negan hadn’t noticed. But by the way Negan’s grin widened, he knew he had. But Negan only smirked, letting his eyes roam up and down Rick’s body, defiance in his eyes.

“Ricky,” he practically purred, “you can keep playing leader all you want. But, if only your people knew. If they saw you the way I see you...”

Rick’s brow quirked despite himself, curiosity flaring before he could tamp it down. He hated it, hated the intrigue that pricked at the back of his mind, that questioning look now painted across his face. Rick didn’t need to ask however, as Negan finished his train of thought.

“Like a whore ,” Negan breathed.

Rick’s mouth went dry, his pulse thundering in his chest. His mind flashed back to every brutal fight they’d had, all the times they’d wrestled each other to the ground—Rick on top, fists swinging as Negan laughed beneath him, their faces inches apart. He’d blamed the feeling that twisted in his stomach on adrenaline, on the thrill of the fight. But now, standing here, that mask of denial crumbled. He saw it for what it truly was. Lust .

Negan’s gaze locked onto him, a knowing glint in his eyes. Hands restrained with the bowline-knot, yet he still manages to have the upper hand. He couldn’t help the arrogant smirk that crept onto his expression. “Just give in, prick. You want it just as bad as I do. Maybe even more.”

Negan pressed in, closing the scant space left between them, eyes trailing over Rick with a predatory gleam. He leaned down, pressing his nose to Rick’s neck. The sheriff’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling as he felt Negan’s warm breath grazing his skin. Slowly, Negan began tracing kisses down Rick’s neck, letting his lips press against the sheriff’s skin. Rick’s hand moved up almost involuntarily, fingers tangling into Negan’s hair, once pure jet black now streaked with strands of gray.

Despite his cocky front, Negan couldn’t hide the desperation that lingered underneath. Cooped up in his cell, starved for touch, every brush of Rick’s fingers sent sparks across his skin. He’d wanted Rick since the moment he’d seen him at the lineup; now, finally, he had him, and it felt like ecstasy.

The air around them was charged, heavy with something undeniable. Even without his signature leather jacket, replaced now by a worn, navy-blue button-up, Negan still carried that distinct scent. Woodsy, with a hint of leather— that intoxicating scent that quickly filled Rick’s senses, overriding everything else. Rick let out a shaky breath as Negan’s tongue traced his neck, letting himself sink into that heady scent.

“Negan, please… need you,” Rick stammered, voice low and breathless. Negan’s hungry gaze locked onto him, something dark and primal flaring in his eyes. “Yeah, baby? Go on, then. You can have me.” That was all Rick needed to hear. He tightened his grip on Negan’s hair, pulling him in for a kiss that was deeper, more intense than any he’d shared before. It wasn’t like any kiss he’d ever had—not with Lori, not with anyone. This was something else. Something that changed him in a way he could never come back from

Caught in their haze, Rick managed to push Negan back onto the cot, the savior’s hands still bound behind him. Negan raised an eyebrow, biting back a wolfish smirk as Rick knelt down, fumbling with his belt.

“Look at you, Rick. So damn eager .” Negan’s voice was thick with amusement.

“Will you ever shut up?” Rick shot back, cheeks flushed, realizing he was on his knees between his rival’s legs—Negan Smith, the man he’d fought so hard against, and the man he’d come to feel so much for. His hands moved down, pulling Negan’s boxers down and wrapping his hands around Negan’s cock. Rick pumped his hand a few times before lowering his mouth. The brunette quickly realized that that was easier said than done, as he couldn’t help but gag loudly, tightly gripping Negan’s thighs as a low groan escaped the man above him. He was fucking big .

“Just like that… Always such a good boy for me…” Negan moaned, chest rising and falling as Rick struggled to take it all in. Rick, always a fast learner, began bobbing his head. The obscene sounds bouncing off the walls of the cell.

“Goddamn, Rick… suckin’ my dick like it’s what you were made to do. So good for me, huh, baby?”

Rick’s tear-filled eyes looked up at Negan, lips swollen and eyes glistening. Negan swore he could’ve cum from that sight alone. Rick, gazing up at him with that heartbreakingly sad expression, his brows knit as tears threatened to fall, brunette curls bouncing with each movement.

“Keep goin’, just like that, M’gonna cum in that pretty little mouth of yours…” Negan moaned. But just as he felt himself teetering over the edge, Rick pulled back, a trail of saliva connecting his lips to Negan. Precum still glistened at the tip, and Negan’s face twisted with frustration.

“Shit, this some kinda punishment? Payback for all the crap I put your group through?” Negan tilted his head, watching as Rick began unbuckling his own belt, pushing his slacks down just enough to give Negan access. “Want you inside of me,” Rick muttered, cheeks flushed as he settled on Negan’s lap, aligning himself

Negan’s smirk softened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. The sheriff, Rick Grimes—his rival, and the man he wanted most, was now here, on his lap. Rick was an amateur, clearly, but that only made this more intimate. Negan felt a wave of pride knowing he’d be Rick’s first—and last.

Rick took a breath, sliding down onto Negan’s cock, biting his lip at the stretch. The sting was sharp and Rick’s pace was slow, easing himself to adjust to the length of it all. Negan only watched, eyes hooded with lust.

“ Ffffuck… so damn good, baby. Takin’ it like a pro,” Negan sighed, as Rick’s movements became smoother, pain slowly turning to pleasure.

“Shit, hurts like hell…” Rick groaned, his eyes squeezed shut.

Negan leaned forward, kissing Rick’s neck softly, cooing, “Doin’ so good, baby… takin’ my dick like a good boy.”

And with that, Rick’s pained groans shifted into desperate, needy moans. Wrapping his arms around Negan’s neck, he rode the older harder, both of their moans reverberating off of the cell walls. Without warning, Negan bucked his hips up, meeting Rick’s hips with his own as he bottomed out, pounding harder with each motion.

“And what would your little Alexandrians say, seein’ their fearless leader like this, huh? Gettin’ fucked senseless like a bitch in heat?” Negan taunted, lips curled into a devilish grin. “Keep this up Ricky, and I might just knock you up.”

Rick’s eyes flew open, wide with arousal and disbelief, his cheeks red as he clawed at Negan’s chest, feeling himself reaching the edge. He’d never felt so damn full in his life. The feeling of Negan pistoning in and out of him at a breakneck pace was driving Rick mad. “F-Fuck, Negan… I… wanna cum, please…”

Negan’s grin softened, his voice low and rough. “That’s it, Rick… You’re such a good boy…” He pulled him in for a soft kiss, an action that would’ve been deemed wholesome if not for the way Negan was fucking into him like a madman. “Beg me.”

Rick looked back at the taller man like he’d lost his damn mind, eyes wide. “Wh-“

“I said, fucking beg me, or I’ll leave you here. On the floor all fucked out like a cheap whore for your people to find.”

“P-Please.. Please let me, Negan- Need to cum, need you-“ Rick mewled, babbling on dumbly, feeling light-headed from the relentless pace Negan had set.

“C’mon, baby. Cum for me.”

That was all it took. Rick’s climax washed over him, his moans filling the cell. As waves of pleasure rode over him, Rick steadied himself as best he could, hands tightly grasped on Negan’s broad shoulders as he began riding Negan harder. Rick looked at him, eyes low-lidded, light-headed and dizzy from the pleasure. The sheriff managed to rasp out, voice hoarse from all the obscene noises that have been escaping past his parted lips.

“Please, Negan.. inside, cum inside me. ”

Just like that, Negan felt that familiar twist in his stomach as came inside of Rick, the hot liquid quickly filling the brunette up to the brim as tears threatened to fall from Rick’s eyes. Panting from the climax, Rick slumped against Negan’s chest, head resting on his shoulder as his breathing steadied. Negan’s hand rubbed circles on his back, soothing him. “Did so good, baby. M’impressed.”

“The… the outpost…” Rick mumbled, still dazed.

Then, realization dawned on him. Negan’s hand was on his back. And as he looked closer, he realized—Negan’s hands were free. The rope, once bound tightly in a bowline knot, lay discarded on the cot. Stumbling back, Rick’s legs wobbled as he struggled to his feet, staring at Negan.

Negan gave a cheeky grin. “Careful there. Don’t want you fallin’ over.”

“The knot… You—” Rick started, realization dawning.

Negan laughed. “Knots weren’t your strong suit in Boy Scouts, huh? Not gettin’ any badges any time soon. Don’t worry, nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

Rick glared, but he couldn’t hide the dazed look in his eyes.

Negan smirked, standing up and placing a hand on Rick’s shoulder, holding his gaze. “I’ll lead you to the outpost. On one condition—you let me out of here.” He extended his hand, and after a pause, Rick nodded, dumbfounded, too rattled to refuse.

Negan handed Rick the discarded rope, watching him with satisfaction as Rick’s mind raced. What would the Alexandrians think if they knew? What if someone had heard them? Panic flickered across his face. Luckily for Rick, Negan knows the younger man better than the back of his hand. Ripping from his thoughts, Negan leaned in, whispering into Rick’s ear.

“Relax, Rick. I won’t tattle. Scout’s honor.”

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

For your au how do you think Bill deals with adjusting to Fords body and just human things in general? Sickness, aging, etc. Does Stan look after him and help? Do they do any holidays or traditions together? Like Stan and Fords birthday, or is it a one-sided/forgotten thing? You mentioned that Bills memory on things becomes more faded the longer he spends in a human body. Does this or never being able to get out/back to his original form or dieing with it scare him in a way?

Sorry if this is alot at once, but this au been on my mind since I saw that first post of it. It's so intense to me and I absolutely love it!

He’s absolutely terrible at dealing with even the most basic cold, and tends to get rather dramatic about it, because to him, all illness is equal, and he doesn’t really process the fact there’s different severities. Stan still looks after him despite this. Well, the first few years together, he tends to do the bare minimum, but after a while, he starts taking a more active role in sickness care.

He realises that, as dramatic as Bill’s being, he really can’t process the difference between a flu and a common cold well, or, possibly, something much worse, so it’s safer to keep an eye on him during sick periods.

Aging is a different beast though. Bill is generally amused by Ford’s face ‘melting’, but it is also a reminder of the passage of time, and his trapped state. It’s part of why he dyes his hair brown. He’s trying to pretend time isn’t passing, that he hasn’t been trapped in this body that long, and brush aside the growing fears he may not figure a way out. He does take great joy in making fun of Stan though. Out of the two of them, he likes to think that Ford — and therefore he — aged better.

An extra plus side is all the new bodily pains! The downside is that it makes being as hyper and active as he usually is more difficult. Agony is a double-edged sword for him. He is simultaneously fascinated, entertained and terrified!

Birthday-wise, Bill does actually play along with Stan, just a little. Mainly because the first birthday Stan celebrated on his own, he offered Bill a cake, which, Bill pointed out he isn’t actually Stanford, so the gesture is pointless… and then he protested when Stan went to take the cake away. Birthday cake became a yearly thing after that. Bill likes it. Stan gets a day of pretending things are sort of normal, even if it’s not. He won’t ever properly celebrate his birthday with Bill though. It feels like replacing Ford, or giving up on him, and Stan doesn’t plan on doing that. His birthday wish is always to Ford to come back.

Bill doesn’t mind any of that, as long as he gets that cake. He’s a trillion years old. Birthdays always feel pointless to him? Maybe even a little funny. It’s like a countdown to death!

The first birthday they really celebrate all out and commit to is when Dipper and Mabel stay, and they have to fully lean into and play the part of twin brothers.

The only other traditions they have is that Bill tags along on Stan’s yearly vandalism of other tourist traps, something they both get a kick out of it, and Bill looks forward to every year. As well as this, they have a particular tradition that stemmed from a drunken game of truth or dare, where Bill dared Stan to spend New Year’s Eve out in the woods, and Stan dared him to join in. Now they… kind of just go camping most New Years. As you do!

Alright. Now that I’m thinking about it, they probably also make Summerween and Halloween into a who can scare the most kids competition.

Finally: Bill’s memory. Yes, it scares him. He’s used to being this untouchable and powerful force to be reckoned with, being stripped of that gradually is one of the worst experiences of this whole thing to him. The one thing he had for a while was that at least he hasn’t forgotten anything. Then, he starts to forget. His new, human mind unable to keep track of a trillion years of existence. The first time he realises he’s forgetting leads to an outburst that Stan has to calm him down from before he hurts himself.

He prefers not to talk about it.

He is adamant he won’t die in this body. He just won’t. He knows Ford’ll die at ninety-two, so he has around thirty years left, and he’s going to get out within that time. He’s sure of it. He has to. He’s Bill Cipher for Axolotl’s sake — whoever trapped him here can’t keep it that way forever.

(He’s coping)

(Also it’s not a lot at all!! I love answering these sorts of asks a lot!! Ty!!)

[darlingsfandom]

Let's imagine Cillian and the younger!reader on vacation in Greece like they was in yacht, plus paparazzi photos! Thank u🫶

I’d love to go to Greece one day !

Tw: fingering, oral, drinking, swearing and not proofread!

It was a much needed vacation , after all the success Cillian has had the time for a vacation was now! The two of you had decided on Greece because it’s beautiful , historical and lovely. The first night was spent in the hotel room that over looked a beautiful body of water. It was a nice flight but long! The second day was the two of shopping and looking at tourist attractions!

Today though, today it was just the two of you on a yacht out in the beautiful sunshine. Cillian had helped you apply some sunscreen to your shoulders and nose! You did the same to him but you had to include his chest since yours was covered by your swimsuit.

“I know I’ve said it a million times already but this was needed.” You laughed sitting down against the throw pillow while he poured the two of you each a glass of wine. He held up the glass and clinked with yours before taking a sip. Cillian wrapped his arm around your sticky shoulder and kissed your head as the yacht stayed in the same spot. The sun was warm on your skin, his kisses tickled your neck as he placed his free hand on your chest. “Baby!” You giggled as he took the glass from your hand and set it down before untying the top of your swim suit which made you gasp.

“No need for all dat baby.” He moved your hands away from your boobs and kissed each one before wrapping his mouth around your nipple.

“Cillian! Someone might see us!” The fear in your body quickly changed when you felt his hand spreading your thighs.

“It’s just us baby.” He spoke against your skin as he kissed all the way down your body until he reached the most delicious part. Cillian licked his lips as he pulled your swimsuit to the side as you looked around nervously. This was a new territory for the both of you. Maybe it was the heat ? Maybe it was the wine? Maybe it was because he was actually relaxed but this newer side of sex with Cillian was exciting!

“Now be a good girl for me.” He spread your thighs as far as they could go before he was on his knees and buried his face between your legs.

“FUCK!” You moaned out. It had a been a minute since he had eaten you out. Lately it had been a few quickies or a fast fingering so this was a nice treat. Cillian hooked his arms around your thighs and licked a fat strip up your pussy until he found your clit. His tongue swirled around the pink bud making you moan his name in pleasure. Your hands reached up and massaged your tits as he licked at your pussy like it was the first time he’s ever tasted you.

“Such a delicious little cunt .” He licked his lips to catch his breath before going right back at it with the same amount of passion. Cillian looked up at you making direct eye contact with you as he sucked on your clit hard and as much as you wanted to look away you couldn’t , if you tried to look away he’d spank your thigh. As he devoured you Cillian slid a finger into you making you clench a little bit. He worked you over making sure to lick up your juices while fingering you faster.

“Don’t stop don’t ! Fuck me!” Your hips bucked forward against his tongue and he didn’t let you hold back this time. You used his face to get yourself off . He could tell you were close from the way you were gripping his hair, the way your thighs were shaking and how your voice was breaking.

“Dats my girl, cum fer me! Hmm be a good girl!” He egged you on making your orgasm snap!

“FUCK !!” Tears fell from your eyes as your thighs shook around his head. Cillian was enjoying every second of your orgasm ! Your juices coating his tongue and he was thirsty! You collapsed with a loud breath. You laid there panting as he pulled away licking his lips. He got off his knees to sit next to you and kissed you hard enough you could taste yourself.

“Give me a second and I’ll blow you baby.” You ran your hand over his chest.

“No no baby, today’s about you and your pleasure. I haven’t been fair to you.” Cillian kissed the top of your head and the two of you stayed on the yacht to watch the sunset together.

The next morning when Cillian walked out to the balcony with you sitting there having breakfast he smirked while tossing the newspaper onto the table in front of you. A loud gasp left your body making you almost choke on your fruit. Right there front and center was a picture of the two of you on the yacht.

“Guess I was wrong.” He shrugged his shoulders before sitting down next to you and grabbing your hand to run his thumb over your knuckles. “I’ll be wrong about things from time ta time but I’ll never be wrong about lovin ya.”

[deviousdevilx]

Because I have little self control; here is a fic? wip based on THIS post right here, may be several years late but anyways!

Warnings for violence, abuse, alcohol abuse, dub-con, and just Kreese being horrible! ;)

Part 1/??

Johnny looked like absolute shit. No that was an understatement, Daniel was hurting just looking at the guy. Former-bully, brief romantic partner, who then disappeared, only to show up looking like a tenderized piece of meat.

Bruises littered his body, there was a cut on his brow covered by a bandage, a swollen black eye, even a split lip. Clearly whatever had happened occurred a few days ago given the level of healing underway, and yet, yeesh it was bad!

Daniel hadn't seen Johnny in months! Almost an entire year after that one evening where Johnny finally opened up about his troubles with his step-father to Daniel. It took a few beers, and Daniel prodding him incessantly to get an answer while he was so down in the dumps, and chugging beers like water.

His step-father cut off all financial aid, including his college fees. Johnny had no option but to drop out. Daniel had offered to help him get set up for loans, but Johnny had brushed him off.

"What for? I can't get loans or any stupid aid because my step-dad's wealth, you didn't think I looked into?"

"I just, look there is something we can do, work part-time, study-part time, jeez Johnny you can't give up that easily!"

Johnny had crossed his arms shooting Daniel a hard glare, "You don't understand that bastard wants to ruin me, he hates my guts! A job? Never worked a single job in my life, all I did was school and karate. Nobody gonna hire me without a reference."

He bent forward, rubbing his hands over his face, his life was fucked as he knew it.

"Johnny...we'll figure something out."

Over the past few months Daniel and Johnny had gotten closer, and closer. Sharing their first kiss in a drunken heat of the moment one night after they chased off some goons harassing an elderly couple. Overcome with adrenaline of fighting together rather than against, hearts-pounding, loosened inhibitions, buzzed with booze, once the couple was escorted safely home, Johnny dragged Daniel around the corner into a darken alley for a kiss. After that, it was history

It was scary, thrilling, and well, they still butted heads constantly, but now instead of using their fists, they started making out after arguments. Like a lot. Anywhere and everything they could, Johnny or Daniel would drag the other off somewhere private to make-up. Like two very horny teenagers, which they still kinda were, now only 19 going on 20.

It never got further though than hurried sloppy handjobs, heavy petting, and making out. Whenever it started to get more serious, more heavier, Johnny kept pulling away.

Partially due to inexperience, ignorance, but also fear. Johnny knew if he took that plunge, he couldn't deny to himself that maybe he was gay. Daniel was pretty, almost like a girl, with big brown doe-eyes, soft plump red lips, no curves though, although he filled out more since high school, no longer as scrawny but still nothing like a woman.

No, if they really slept together, in this climate, Johnny just couldn't handle the implication, the idea that he was anything but straight.

So he chickened out each time Daniel started to really strip them down.

Finally one night he snapped. Daniel did not deserve it, and the guilt weighed heavily on Johnny. He was so hard, aching for Daniel who's deft fingers were stroking his cock wonderfully and then he ruined it when Daniel told him how much he wanted Johnny to fuck him.

Yeah, Johnny did want that too but the shame was stronger.

"I'm no faggot like you LaRusso," Johnny spat out.

He didn't mean for it to sound so harsh, but when Daniel looked at him as if he struck him with his fists.

Daniel was gone and out of Johnny's lap faster than Johnny could even blink.

Shit.

Then it all came crashing down hard. His step-father, who loathed him but tolerated Johnny because of his mum pulled the plug on the financial support Johnny depended on. Somehow, or someone must have told him about Daniel. And that was it. Written out of his will, disowned, and thrown out.

Johnny did not have the heart to tell Daniel he was the reason why johnny was now in all intents and purposes, homeless and broke. He knew Daniel would house him though, take care of him, and that made it so much harder to accept.

Possibly a homo, broke, jobless, and needing support from Daniel LaRusso. His ego, his pride, all took too hard of a hit.

So he ran. Sold what he could, and booked a ticket somewhere cheap. He ended up in Thailand.

Where whether by the hands of Fate or some cruel joke of the universe, Johnny ran into John Kreese. A man he had not seen or heard from for years after he tried to kill Johnny or attempted to in the parking lot after the All-Valley tournament in 1984. That was now over two years ago.

"Johnny Lawrence, what a surprise to see you out here. Not a place for Valley boys," Kreese said with a smug grin.

"Fuck you man!" Johnny started to walk away but when Kreese called him back.

He paused. Johnny knew he shouldn't after everything Daniel had shared with him after they had graduated high school, and Johnny had moved out of the Valley.

A big fucking mistake.

But Kreese had said all the right things; he apologized, and at the time it sounded sincere, maybe a part of it was. Kreese implored Johnny to listen to him, let him buy him a beer, so they could talk things out properly.

And just like that, Kreese had his hooks back into Johnny all over again. A mix of praises interspersed with apologies, "You were my best student Johnny, and I stupidly tossed you aside so easily, I was wrong. You deserved better, and I intend to prove to you that I changed, I can make you great again Johnny." It was enough for a wounded Johnny to accept.

Kreese explains the shootfighting ring he is a part of, fought in himself. The money and glory he gets from it, but mainly the money. It's underground, practically illegal, and it brings it an absurd amount of money from the betting going on.

"People will pay big bucks to watch a real fight, none of this fake crap you see on television or in tournaments with their rules. There are no rules out here Johnny, no mercy, only the strong survive against the weak."

"It sounds dangerous."

Kreese had scoffed, and waved away Johnny's concern, "So what? That's the point, no pussies allowed, real men fighting real men. And you could be a champion. What do you got to lose huh? Daddy tossed you out, college is a no-go, but here Johnny I can make you into something great. Money, girls, fast cars, fancy clothes; all can be yours, if you let me help you."

Johnny had been very dubious about it.

Kreese knew that, "Lemme take you to a fight, check it out yourself, see what you're getting into okay? Don't gotta rush into things. I want what's best for you Johnny, something I should have done a couple years ago. Let me make it up to you."

Exhilarating was putting it lightly. The fights were BRUTAL. Vicious, primal, raw, and the skills, the fighting techniques, the no-holding back was awe-inspiring. The crowds were wild fueled by the ferocity of the fights; mad with the need for blood.

And yeah, there was a lot of money to be made.

Johnny looked at Kreese, and Kreese had looked at Johnny knowing he had the boy hooked good. Johnny was his all over again.

The training was brutal; Johnny was pushed to his limited. Kreese brought in fighters he knew from all over; Korea, Thailand, Nepal, Vietnam, Japan. All with various martial art techniques and forms of wrestling.

It felt good. He ate and breathed fighting. Even when he slept and dreamed, it was all about fighting. Except for the rare dream he had of Daniel; soft lips, a warm body, a hand on his cock...but those dreams were few a far in between. They left Johnny feeling shame.

Sometimes when he really needed an outlet for his sexual urges, there were plenty of hot Thai girls around. There were boys too, but...Johnny did not dare risk Kreese ever finding out he batted briefly for the other team. No way in Hell could Kreese find out!

His first fight was short, ruthless, and he barely won. He struck first, and fast. All that mattered in the end was he won. Stumbling from the fighting cage, Johnny could barely see or hear but felt Kreese grab his arm.

"Good job boy, you did it."

After a couple of hot chicks tended his injuries, the high Johnny felt from winning, just barely, wore off. Looking in the mirror, Johnny barely recognized himself. His face was half swollen. The moment of self-pity quickly disappeared recalling Kreese's praise. Johnny grinned even as it hurt.

There was blood, bruises, busted lips, swollen eyes shut, concussions, broken fingers, twisted ankles; the list of injuries grew and grew, but so did the wins. There was a few losses, and a few ties, but Johnny was rising in rank and wealth. The pain came with a lot of gain; money, girls, and booze.

That was until Johnny killed a guy. Knocked him out cold, and the man was rushed out of the ring. It was hours later when Johnny heard the news the guy died on the way to the hospital. Suddenly all his victories, gains, and money rolling in meant nothing. It was like someone poured a bucket of ice cold water down his back, the chill he felt, the dissociation he began to feel, disconnecting from reality; it wasn't real, maybe it was a different guy. Johnny Lawrence killed a guy! YOU KILLED A GUY, a voice screamed at him.

It was overwhelming. Johnny began to panic. So he turned to the man he trusted and believed.

"He's dead Kreese, I fucking killed a guy!"

"So what, I killed plenty in Vietnam, it's shit kid, I get it. But you'll get over it. It was a fight, it's a risk everyone takes stepping into that ring," Kreese told him.

Johnny did not want to die fighting though. But he kept that thought to himself.

"If it makes you feel any better, I got us a new gig, back in L.A, a new shootfighting ring is getting a lot of buzz. Might be nice to go home eh? I have an old friend there too I need to reconnect with."

Johnny had heard about Terry Silver from Daniel. The guy sounded like a fucking whackjob. How he and Kreese had plotted to humiliate Daniel. Another grievance he had against Kreese, another issue he chose to ignore, well because, Kreese was the only man Johnny trusted, had trusted, who cared about, taught him how to be a man, made him strong. He was also the man who hurt you Johnny, a small voice reminded him. He's still using you.

Fuck off, Johnny would tell that voice. Kreese BELIEVED in him, accepted him as he was. Not like his mom, Daniel, Ali, even his shitty step-father.

Things did not improve after returning to California and Los Angeles. They got much, much worse.

Kreese became more controlling, more demanding, and Johnny was falling part, mentally and physically. He was being treated more like a dog than a man. And every time Johnny began to pull away, Kreese reeled him back in; more promises, a few days off, a night with a girl, but always, always, Johnny was back in the gym, training, then fighting in the ring.

And then Kreese's friend showed up.

Terry Silver.

Tall, and gorgeous. And filthy fucking rich.

Possibly psychotic too.

When Kreese made them spar one evening, Johnny believed he was gonna die that night.

Terry was beyond skilled. His high kick nearly sending Johnny to the ER. The worst part was that Kreese laughed.

"I told you don't hit him too hard, I need him to fight in a few days."

Terry merely shrugged.

The humiliation burned. Worse than the throbbing pain in his jaw.

He was trapped.

So he turned to the only person he had left.

Daniel.

"I need your help LaRusso. I have no one else to turn too."

"Johnny...of course! Tell me what the fuck happened man?!"

And so Johnny told his sorry tale. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

"It's not all bad," Johnny began to rationalize what was happening, feeling guilt and shame for coming here, betraying Kreese who gave him so much.

"You're being forced to fight in an illegal shootfighting ring Johnny! It's pretty fucking bad! Look at you! He's destroying you!"

"You don't understand, you couldn't understand..."

"You want my help getting out right Johnny? I don't need to understand! Just stay here with me, we can, we can go to New Jersey for a while. I need to get you out of L.A for a while. Shit.'

Daniel decided he had some calls to make, but when he reached for the phone, Johnny had clamped a hand over his wrist, "Don't, look this was a mistake, I'm tired, I'm sore. I just...wanted to see you okay? I'm fine. It's fine, I'm making a lot of money!"

"Fuck Johnny it isn't FINE! This is fucked up! You're covered in bruises, a busted face! You'll be killed!" Daniel shouted in desperation.

"Shut it LaRusso, stop being so hysterical like a girl."

And then Johnny left.

So Daniel went looking for him.

Getting access to underground illegal shootfighting fights was not easy, and avoiding Mr. Miyagi's questions and Jessica's concerns became difficult the more he went out at night.

Eventually he found Johnny. And then someone had also found him.

"Not a safe place for someone like you Mr.LaRusso," a familiar voice spoke up behind Daniel.

The dread that crept up over Daniel was immediate. He knew that voice very well.

A firm hand gripped his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, "I got some good seats to watch the fight, why don't you join me?"

There was no escaping Terry Silver at that moment.

Trying to remain calm, Daniel was led over to a balcony area, and forced into a chair.

"It's been a while hasn't it Danny boy? You haven't changed a bit have you, I mean, your looks. Never lost that pretty boyish charm eh? You're lucky I picked you up, there is a lot of dangerous folk here tonight."

"And you don't include yourself among them?" Daniel snaps back.

Terry grins, "Oh I do, but I'm no danger to you Danny boy, look what I did to do back then was inexcusable, I was...not in a good place mentally."

Daniel was taken a back by the admission and semi-apology but before he could respond, he heard another familiar voice.

"Well well who do we have here? Mr. LaRusso? What a surprise!"

Kreese steps into the balcony holding a cigar.

Terry gives Kreese a cold look which Daniel picks up on quickly.

"John."

"Terry."

"You better not disappoint John, I put a lot of money down," Terry says.

For a moment Daniel is forgotten.

"Don't worry yourself Terry, I'm always right. So you two got reacquainted again ? How nice," Kreese says with a sneer, looking up and down Daniel with a hint of disgust.

The boy was everything Kreese despised. Soft, pretty, and most importantly weak. Winning by a fucking Crane kick! A fucking crime.

He was also an object of obsession for Terry. Something Kreese could use to keep his rich buddy in line with.

What Kreese did not realize until that night, he was also a weakness for his champion fighter.

When Johnny saw Daniel sitting with Kreese and Silver, his jaw nearly hit the floor! What the fuck was he doing here! With them no less!

Suddenly his single minded focus on the fight was shredded to pieces. His mind distracted by the fact Daniel was in danger. Did Kreese find out about them? That Johnny went to him one night out of weakness? Fuck! He had to get Daniel out!

His first fight it was clear he was distracted and nearly loss, winning by a margin. Kreese was furious.

It wasn't quite apparent yet, not until he saw the glances Johnny shot towards Daniel up in the balcony. His champion kept looking up with an expression Kreese did not like at all. Concern, concern one had for someone they cared about. He knew that look well. Kreese wasn't blind.

He would get to the bottom of this, whatever it was, but first he had to get Johnny's head back into the fight or he'll lose it.

TO BE CONTINUED!

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Series Masterlist

Chapter 9

Warnings: Panic attacks, masturbation

Days had passed and you found yourself feeling comfortable, approaching safe. Carol had kept every word of things she promised with the exception of one: you had not been trained to defend yourself. Once you had gathered the courage to ask her about it, the kind woman had explained she wasn’t sure how to go about it just yet with the amount of fear and uncertainty you still carried. 

It was understandable. If a man approached you too quickly, you still cowered. You continued to feel intimidated by some of the other women. And then there were things with Daryl. He continued to avoid you like the plague. Now, he wouldn’t even approach Carol if you were near, often calling her over to him instead. She continued to assure you that he just needed time; that things would become less awkward. She had given no reason to not believe her. 

It was hardly midday when you ventured outside unescorted. You had helped Maggie with the dishes inside. She had made a valiant attempt at conversation but she was one of the females you still had a hard time being near. Being outdoors stripped you of the anxiety the chore had left you with, feeling less confined. 

You spotted Carol immediately, the smallest of smiles curving your lips. She was standing at the corner of the wall, looking out toward the gardening area and the fences beyond. You picked up your pace, eager to feel the safety only her presence provided. 

“Carol!” Your voice was still small and unsure but it was much better than the whispered replies you gave upon your arrival. It had only been a couple of weeks. You were constantly reassured that it would get better. 

“Oh, Y/N. Wait—”

The words failed to stop you in time and you skidded to a halt just in front of her—and Daryl, who was leaning against the other side of the wall. 

“Um, hello, Daryl.” You dropped your head, eyes on the ground. The man hummed, bumped Carol with his elbow, and then walked away a few paces. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see him. I wouldn’t have—”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Carol rubbed your arm, angling her head in an attempt to catch your gaze. “It’s okay.”

You gave a tiny nod, lifting your head but your eyes stayed focused on the ground. “I was wondering if maybe—if you don’t mind—could we work with my walker training a little today?” Carol opened her mouth to answer before letting her gaze shift. She held up a finger and strolled over to where Daryl was standing. 

You watched with muted curiosity, ready to drop your eyes should he look your way. Carol stood shoulder to shoulder with him, leaning into him to say something while keeping her gaze forward. Whatever she said had his head turning her direction so quickly that you flinched. 

His posture had tensed, his eyes wide beneath the dark fringe of hair. Carol kept speaking even while he shook his head vehemently. When her head turned enough for you to see her face, she was smiling. Daryl appeared to be fighting some sort of inner battle while under her soft gaze. His arms fell to his sides, fists clenching repeatedly. 

“Fine.” You heard him growl. 

Carol squeezed his bicep and turned back to you with a broad grin. “Great news! Daryl is going to train you.” 

Now it was your turn to go rigid. “Do you—are you—he hates me.” 

Carol clicked her tongue at you from behind that smile of hers. “We’ve talked about this. He doesn’t hate you. Daryl’s complicated but he’s got a good heart.” She gripped your chin ever so gently, making sure you met her eyes. “I trust him with my life.”

You felt tears stinging behind your eyes; from fear, from guilt, from a place of longing. You knew you could trust Carol with your life and she trusted Daryl, you could learn to do that too. “Okay.” 

She smiled again and moved her hand to your cheek. “Good. Now get on over there. He’s waiting for you.”

“Now?” You gasped. 

“Yes, yes. Go, go.” She made a shooing motion and crossed her arms when you finally made a step toward where Daryl was still standing. 

You didn’t quite stop at his side; just behind him instead. Swallowing hard, you gathered enough courage to extend your arm and tap his shoulder. He didn’t turn but acknowledged you with a grunt. “Carol, um, said you would help me. Help me learn to fight off the walkers.”

“Mhm.” Daryl shifted on his feet. “Y’ever use a gun ‘fore?”

You hadn’t. Growing up, your mother didn’t believe in guns and never allowed your father to have one. When the man broke into your house the day after your seventeenth birthday, maybe if there had been a gun, your parents would still be alive. “No, sir.”

“Daryl.” The archer was already massaging his forehead. “S’gonna be a long day. Let’s go.” He began walking in long strides. You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, and nearly had to run to catch up. 

Behind, Carol stood with her back against the wall, arms crossed, and grinning. Rick joined her a moment later, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

“You think that’s a good idea?” He asked, watching the two of you. 

“Probably not.” She met the former sheriff’s gaze with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Daryl won’t hurt her. He just needed a little push.”

“More like a drop kick.”

“What? I think they’ll be good for each other.” 

Rick smiled and shook his head. “If you say so.”

“Ya have to know what the endgame is ‘fore ya learn much else.” Daryl explained, pacing back and forth behind you with his arms crossed. He had handed you a large knife, the weight of it heavy in your petite hand. “Ya can’t kill a walker the same way ya’d kill a person.”

“Aren’t they people?” You asked meekly, clutching the weapon and not meeting his eyes. You could see his steps halt. 

“Not anymore, no.” His boots were walking toward you now and you kept your eyes on them. “S’a virus. We all got it. No matter how ya die, ya end up one’a them. Unless it's taken care of.”

“Taken—care of?” You finally looked up to find him watching you carefully. The sun softened your anxiety, shadowing most of his features from just behind him. You closed one eye and squinted the other. 

Daryl reached out to tap a finger against your temple, hesitating there before snatching his hand back as if you’d burned him. “S’gotta be the brain.” 

“The brain.” You echoed, looking back to the undead snarling and moaning against the chain link. You felt nauseous on top of the suffocating anxiety. “We’ve all got it?”

“Mhm.” The archer gave you a moment for that information to sink in. Being in such close proximity had his heart beating hard enough to break his ribs. The images he’d manifested that night in the shower forced their way to the forefront of his mind, and he thought he’d be sick. Clearing his throat, he took a step back, cursing Carol with every breath. “Ya ready?”

You began to tremble, flexing your fingers around the knife’s hilt. “No.” You had to be honest. Feigned bravado would get you nowhere. 

“They can’t get atcha.” You nodded and took a step toward the fence with Daryl following. “For now, aim for the eye. S’the softest spot.”

You nodded again. Singling out a smaller female, you lifted the blade, hesitating. 

“Don’t think. Thinkin’ gets ya dead.”

With a deep breath, you drove the knife home, flinching at the squelch of the eyeball being pierced. When the blade was as deep as it would go, you released it. The walker dropped down and dangled from the weapon caught in the opening of the fence. 

“Don’t leave it there.” Daryl corrected you sternly, rushing toward you to free the knife and allow the walker to crumble to the ground. The weapon was wiped clean on his thigh before he flipped it in his hand to catch it by the blade and hold it out to you. “Again.”

When you stabbed the next corpse, you pulled and stumbled back when the knife slipped free. Daryl caught you by your shoulders and let you regain your balance before quickly releasing you. He rushed backwards but kept a safe distance in case something went wrong. 

“Use your momentum. Stab an’ pull.” The archer freed his other knife from his hip and traipsed toward the fence, not hesitating to drive the large blade through an eye socket and pull back with a skillfulness you instantly envied. “Go.”

You mimicked his actions, stabbing and yanking the knife free. It was sloppy with a moment of hesitation you were sure he’d scold you for. Instead he gave a jerky nod. 

“Better. Again.”

Stab. Pull. 

“Again.”

Stab. Pull. 

“Again.”

Stab. Pull. 

“Again.”

By the time the sun was setting, casting a purple and orange hue over the sky, you had nearly cleared the fence on your own. Your arms ached. Your clothes were drenched in sweat. Finally, Daryl said the one thing you’d been yearning to hear for the past three hours. 

“That’s enough. You’re done for today.”

Dropping your arm heavily to your side, you turned with your eyes on the ground. Just as you started to offer his knife back, you realized that he was already gone. Looking up, you found him nearly at the prison doors. He was in that much of a hurry to get away from you. But surely he didn’t mean to leave you with his knife. 

Maybe you should go give it back? Take that time to say thank you? Maybe you should ask Carol. 

First, you desperately needed a shower. You were filthy. You felt like all eyes were on you as you walked. Your skin began to crawl. Your scars began to burn. You could hear the men whispering. Nails dug into the back of your ears as you covered them, filtering out the filthy suggestions made in hushed tones. 

You couldn’t get to the door fast enough, throwing it open and pressing your back flat to the wall just inside. You panted through whimpers and sniffles, your cheeks wet. 

You weren’t safe. Nowhere was safe. They would come for you. Rick, Glenn, all of them. Even Hershel would have his way. At least he could mend the damage he caused. Daryl. Daryl would watch. He’d let it happen. And then he’d have you. 

“Hey, hey. You’re okay. Take a breath for me.”

You were breathing, weren’t you? Breathing but no air could get through. Your lungs burned. 

“Come on, Y/N. Slow down, take a breath. That’s right.”

Carol. Carol was there. Carol was your safety. Carol promised. “Carol?” Your voice cracked on the second syllable. 

“Yeah, I gotcha, sweetheart.” A warm arm enveloped your shoulders, pulling you into her side as she walked you toward the cells. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I—” Your lip quivered, fresh tears gathering on your waterline. “It’s like—I was back—back with Big Jazz. All the men were—” You stopped walking, wide shining eyes searching Carol’s for reassurance. “They were gonna hurt me. All of them.”

“No one’s gonna hurt you. I promised, remember?” After a moment— and replaying her promise over and over in your mind’s eye —you nodded. “Besides, Daryl wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Daryl was gone.” You replied quietly, moving the blanket aside to enter your cell. You pulled your t-shirt over your head, leaving you in a camisole— leaving your scars visible to Carol. You knew she could see them but your trust in her ran deeper than you could explain. She still hadn’t told you her story. In a way, she didn’t need to. You could sense the pain she had buried. You could sense it with Daryl, too. 

“What do you mean he was gone?”

You gathered your night clothes and draped a towel across your shoulders, hiding the scars from the rest of the prison. “He had already gone inside.”

“Damnit, Daryl.” The silver-haired woman wore her frustration in her expression. The archer was in for it, you surmised. “I told him to stay with you.”

You wiped at your face and sniffled. “I told you, he hates me.”

Carol sighed. “Go take a shower. I’ll talk to Daryl.”

You gave her a tight smile and left the cell. In your time there, one of your most celebrated accomplishments was showering alone. It wasn’t far from your cell to the showers, within shouting distance if you needed the woman. 

You clutched your pajamas tightly, feeling exhaustion pulling at you from the earlier episode. You always felt drained when it happened, along with a sense of hopelessness. Big Jazz still had his fingers deeply rooted in your mind, dragging you down just when you felt you were making progress. 

You opened the shower door slowly. The way it creaked and moaned reminded you of the door to your cage at the club. Once it was open just enough for you to fit, you wiggled through and eased it shut. 

You always chose one of the back stalls. If someone came in, the door would alert you and you would have time to react. You were pulling the towel off your shoulders and the hair tie from your hair when you realized that there was water running. And by then, it was too late. 

You were frozen to that spot, eyes wide and unblinking. 

You were staring at a very naked Daryl. His skin was glistening from the water running down his back to the curve of his ass. His head was bowed and one arm outstretched with a palm pressed against the wall. His hair looked longer with the weight of the water. 

The first thing you noticed was the scars littered across his back. Deep, angry reminders of an unpleasant past. Some looked like your own. You flinched as if a belt snapped right by your ear. 

The second thing you noticed was the movement of his other hand. It was obvious what was happening, but just in case you were questioning, he gave a low groan as his forehead came to rest against his hand on the wall. The muscles in his back, his arm, rippled as he continued stroking himself. 

You started to back away. You shouldn’t have seen this. 

“Fuck.” Daryl groaned, pumping himself faster. “Y/N.”

Your clothes and the towel tumbled from your arms, hitting the floor with a soft thud. Panic bubbled up within you, seizing your lungs in a vice grip. You couldn’t breathe. But the sound went unheard, the hunter's senses muted by pleasure. You crouched, your eyes not leaving his form as you grabbed your clothing. Without another thought that could cause you to hesitate, you ran. 

And never noticed that you’d forgotten the towel on the floor. 

[swamp-jello]

Hope I'm not too late: 36 ...to give up control

My brain did a little oopsies and I ready 37 instead of 36. Anyways, I caught it after I wrote #37, so now you get two! #36 (to give up control) and #37 (without a motive) are beneath the cut. Enjoy!

#36: To give up control

If Neve has learned anything in her 35 years, it’s that poverty hinders self-determination.

Whereas Magisters have total control over their fates, as well as the fates of others, the people of Dock Town do not. Whether at the mercy of the nobility or struggling to make ends meet, the common man in Tevinter rarely had the opportunity to make their own fate.

Which was why they so often seized control where they could.

For Neve, that meant controlling the power dynamics of her interpersonal relationships. Between the endless tragedy that plagued her life and the realities of life in Dock Town, setting boundaries was a source of power for her. This was something she did not and would not compromise on.

Or so she thought.

From the moment she realized her feelings for Rook, her desire for control began to slip. The Crow’s desire to help, to be present no matter the risk, had unlocked a part of her she’d locked away. A section of her mind that acknowledged her bone-deep exhaustion and ached for hands that would hold her when the burden grew too heavy. It yearned for the safety of someone who allowed her to be vulnerable, to let go of her sharp exterior and melt.

It wasn’t that Neve was unaware of that desire, but rather she never expected to meet someone who fulfilled it. With much of their romance unfolding in the Fade, Neve regularly felt the urge to attribute Rook’s goodness to a trick of magic. But when those hands were there, holding her up as they fought for Dock Town, the excuse falls flat.

Rook is who she’s been looking for and despite the fear that prickles across her skin at the thought, she realizes she wants to surrender control. The one thing she’s clung to through hardship and tragedy is now her offering to the Crow.

She only hopes Rook finds it worthy.

As night falls, Neve decides she’s ready. Exiting her office, she crosses the courtyard and enters the library. She climbs the stairs and drifts down the foyer leading to Rook’s doors, feet carrying her forward before fear can stop her.

Neve knocks and the door creaks open a moment later, Rook’s expression soft and knowing. They drift hazily towards the bed, trading tender kisses before Neve’s back meets the mattress. As Rook leans forward, Neve stops her, a gentle hand on her chest. As the Crow blinks, Neve knows her partner is afraid she overstepped. It only confirms she made the right choice.

Taking Rook’s hands, she places them on the buttons of her blouse, silently giving the Crow permission to strip her bare.

There’s a pause where their eyes meet, and Neve hopes Rook understands; hopes she doesn’t have to say it aloud. Mercifully, Rook’s eyes narrow, comprehension clear in the way she stares at Neve with unbridled hunger.

Relaxing into the bed, arms stretched out above her head, Neve hums with delight as the Crow crashes their lips together.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

#37: Without a motive

Living with someone was new for Neve.

It was strange at first and, in all honesty, strange still. Waking up beside Rook here and there was one thing, but waking up beside her every day was foreign. Good, restful, but foreign. Sometimes, as her eyes flutter and sleep fades from her mind, she has center herself and process the warm body curled around hers. As much as she loves it, she knows it’s far from the life she envisioned for herself just a short time ago.

And then there’s the ease they find in the mundane. The way their lives weave together, allowing them to navigate their newfound space as though they’d done this in another lifetime.

Finally, there’s the physical touch.

The way Rook’s warmth finds her in quiet moments, fingers grazing her skin, unthinking movements heavy with affection. Neve is so unaccustomed to it, however, that the memories are formative. She thinks about the way Rook’s fingers danced along her shoulder as she set dinner in front of her. Or the way her hand found Neve’s lower back as she slipped past her in the kitchen. Even the collision of hands as they reach into the cupboard at the same time, soft smiles acknowledging their shared connection.

If it’s not her hands, however, it’s the soft, chaste kisses that leave Neve breathless. A kiss pressed to her temple as she wakes, stolen as Rook sprints out the door, or brushed against her wrist as she reaches for a book.

It leaves Neve unsteady in the best way.

And, if she’s being honest, a little guilty.

She’s guarded herself for so long that she’s unsure how to reciprocate. She wants to; the need is always simmering just below the surface, locked away after years of isolation. When she imagines herself doing the same, it feels awkward and clunky; almost as though it would be unnatural for her to do it.

She knows that’s not true; knows that she’s capable. She knows she wants to do it.

So, she makes a plan. Slowly but surely, she’ll incorporate small touches and fleeting kisses. She’ll express her own overflowing affection in the way she’s secretly always wanted to.

When Rook returns from a brief trip to Treviso, hair and clothes drenched by a storm, Neve moves quickly. She meets the Crow at the door, towels in hand. As she drapes one over Rook’s head, they smile, understanding passing silently between them. Then, smiling mischievously, Neve rubs furiously at the Crow’s hair, causing them both to giggle.

A moment later, Neve peeks inside the damp towel and instructs her to strip. As Rook begins shedding her wet clothes, Neve runs a warm bath. When her partner enters a moment later, she guides her into the water before sitting on a stool beside her.

They sit and talk, Rook sharing the details of her trip and Neve explaining her new case. Eventually, however, Rook’s eyes grow heavy and Neve knows it’s now or never.

Her fingers drift tenderly under Rook’s chin, turning her head. As casually as she can, Neve’s lips brush against Rook’s. Pulling back, she finds the Crow staring at her, a soft smile gracing her features. Neve knows she’s been had; knows Rook sees through her. Despite this, the elf doesn’t comment, content to enjoy the affection.

It’s then that Neve realizes what she’s found. For as long as they can stand each other, she has access to unlimited affection; unlimited tenderness. Passionate or mundane, intentional or casual.

She could wish she’d figured this out sooner, but instead, she basks in the realization, her thumb brushing lazily across Rook’s lower lip.