#I leave that to your discretion though :>

[scotianostra]

On February 8th 1587 Mary Queen of Scots was beheaded at Fotheringay Castle.

The Queen was heard to repeat 'Into thy Hands O Lord, do I commit my Spirit' many times as she went to her death.

Pierre de Bourdeille, seigneur de Brantome was a member of the French nobility who accompanied Mary during her internment. He provides us with a sympathetic account of Mary's execution that begins with the arrival of a delegation from Queen Elizabeth announcing that the former Queen of the Scots is to be executed the next day:

"On February 7, 1587, the representatives of the English Queen, reached the Castle of Fotheringay, where the Queen of Scotland was confined at that time, between two and three o'clock in the afternoon. In the presence of her jailer, Paulet, they read their commission regarding the execution of the prisoner, and said that they would proceed with their task the next morning between seven and eight o'clock. The jailer was then ordered to have everything in readiness.

Without betraying any astonishment, the Queen thanked them for their good news, saying that nothing could be more welcome to her, since she longed for an end to her miseries, and had been prepared for death ever since she had been sent as a prisoner to England. However, she begged the envoys to give her a little time in which to make herself ready, make her will, and place her affairs in order. It was within their power and discretion to grant these requests. The Count of Shrewsbury replied rudely:

'No, no, Madam you must die, you must die! Be ready between seven and eight in the morning. It cannot be delayed a moment beyond that time.' " It was that sudden, very little time for Mary to prepare, a brutal way to spend the last few hours on this earth........Mary spent the rest of the day and the early hours of the next morning writing farewell letters to friends and relatives, saying goodbye to her ladies-in-waiting, and praying.

At 2 am on Wednesday 8 February 1587, Mary Queen of Scots picked up her pen for the last time. Her execution on the block at Fotheringhay Castle was a mere six hours away when she wrote this letter. It is addressed to Henri III of France, brother of her first husband. The letter was written in French, the following is a translation and is a fascinating insight into the mind of our Queen hours before her murder. Mary had only learnt her fate a few hours earlier.

Note, even though she had been forced to abdicate, and had been a prisoner of her cousin for 19 years, she still called herself, Queen of Scotland.

Queen of Scotland

8 Feb. 1587

Sire, my brother-in-law, having by God's will, for my sins I think, thrown myself into the power of the Queen my cousin, at whose hands I have suffered much for almost twenty years, I have finally been condemned to death by her and her Estates. I have asked for my papers, which they have taken away, in order that I might make my will, but I have been unable to recover anything of use to me, or even get leave either to make my will freely or to have my body conveyed after my death, as I would wish, to your kingdom where I had the honour to be queen, your sister and old ally.

Tonight, after dinner, I have been advised of my sentence: I am to be executed like a criminal at eight in the morning. I have not had time to give you a full account of everything that has happened, but if you will listen to my doctor and my other unfortunate servants, you will learn the truth, and how, thanks be to God, I scorn death and vow that I meet it innocent of any crime, even if I were their subject. The Catholic faith and the assertion of my God-given right to the English crown are the two issues on which I am condemned, and yet I am not allowed to say that it is for the Catholic religion that I die, but for fear of interference with theirs. The proof of this is that they have taken away my chaplain, and although he is in the building, I have not been able to get permission for him to come and hear my confession and give me the Last Sacrament, while they have been most insistent that I receive the consolation and instruction of their minister, brought here for that purpose. The bearer of this letter and his companions, most of them your subjects, will testify to my conduct at my last hour. It remains for me to beg Your Most Christian Majesty, my brother-in-law and old ally, who have always protested your love for me, to give proof now of your goodness on all these points: firstly by charity, in paying my unfortunate servants the wages due them - this is a burden on my conscience that only you can relieve further, by having prayers offered to God for a queen who has borne the title Most Christian, and who dies a Catholic, stripped of all her possessions. As for my son, I commend him to you in so far as he deserves, for I cannot answer for him. I have taken the liberty of sending you two precious stones, talismans against illness, trusting that you will enjoy good health and a long and happy life. Accept them from your loving sister-in-law, who, as she dies, bears witness of her warm feeling for you. Again I commend my servants to you. Give instructions, if it please you, that for my soul's sake part of what you owe me should be paid, and that for the sake of Jesus Christ, to whom I shall pray for you tomorrow as I die, I be left enough to found a memorial mass and give the customary alms.

This Wednesday, two hours after midnight.

Your very loving and most true sister, Mary R

To the most Christian king, my brother-in-law and old ally.

We rejoin de Bourdeille's account as Mary enters the room designated for her execution and is denied access to her priest:

"The scaffold had been erected in the middle of a large room. It measured twelve feet along each side and two feet in height, and was covered by a coarse cloth of linen.

The Queen entered the room full of grace and majesty, just as if she were coming to a ball. There was no change on her features as she entered.

Drawing up before the scaffold, she summoned her major-domo (steward) and said to him:

'Please help me mount this. This is the last request I shall make of you.'

Then she repeated to him all that she had said to him in her room about what he should tell her son. Standing on the scaffold, she asked for her almoner, (chaplain) begging the officers present to allow him to come. But this was refused point-blank. The Count of Kent told her that he pitied her greatly to see her thus the victim of the superstition of past ages, advising her to carry the cross of Christ in her heart rather than in her hand. To this she replied that it would be difficult to hold a thing so lovely in her hand and not feel it thrill the heart, and that what became every Christian in the hour of death was to bear with him the true Symbol of Redemption."

Standing on the scaffold, Mary angrily rejects her captors' offer of a Protestant minister to give her comfort. She kneels while she begs that Queen Elizabeth spare her ladies-in-waiting and prays for the conversion of the Isle of Britain and Scotland to the Catholic Church:

"When this was over, she summoned her women to help her remove her black veil, her head-dress, and other ornaments. When the executioner attempted to do this, she cried out:

'Nay, my good man, touch me not!'

But she could not prevent him from touching her, for when her dress was lowered as far as her waist; the scoundrel caught her roughly by the arm and pulled off her doublet. Her skirt was cut so low that her neck and throat, whiter than alabaster, were revealed. She concealed these as well as she could, saying that she was not used to disrobing in public, especially before so large an assemblage. There were about four or five hundred people present.

The executioner fell to his knees before her and implored her forgiveness. The Queen told him that she willingly forgave him and alI who were responsible for her death, as freely as she hoped her sins would be forgiven by God. Turning to the woman to whom she, had given her handkerchief, she asked for it.

She wore a golden crucifix, made out of the wood of the true cross, with a picture of Our Lord on it. She was about to give this to one of her women, but the executioner forbade it, even though Her Majesty had promised that the woman would give him thrice its value in money.

After kissing her women once more, she bade them go, with her blessing, as she made the sign of the cross over them. One of them was unable to keep from crying, so that the Queen had to impose silence upon her by saying she had promised that nothing of the kind would interfere with the business in hand. They were to stand back quietly, pray to God for her soul, and bear truthful testimony that she had died in the bosom of the Holy Catholic religion.

One of the women then tied the handkerchief over her eyes. The Queen quickly, and with great courage, knelt dawn, showing no signs of faltering. So great was her bravery that all present were moved, and there were few among them that could refrain from tears. In their hearts they condemned themselves far the injustice that was being done.

The executioner, or rather the minister of Satan, strove to kill not only her body but also her soul, and kept interrupting her prayers. The Queen repeated in Latin the Psalm beginning In te, Damine, speravi; nan canfundar in aeternum. When she was through she laid her head on the block, and as she repeated the prayer, the executioner struck her a great blow upon the neck, which was not, however, entirely severed. Then he struck twice more, since it was obvious that he wished to make the victim's martyrdom all the more severe. It was not so much the suffering, but the cause, that made the martyr.

The executioner then picked up the severed head and, showing it to those present, cried out: 'God save Queen Elizabeth! May all the enemies of the true Evangel thus perish!'

Saying this, he stripped off the dead Queen's head-dress, in order to show her hair, which was now white, and which she had been afraid to show to everyone when she was still alive, or to have properly dressed, as she did when her hair was fair and light.

It was not old age that had turned it white, for she was only thirty-five when this took place, and scarcely forty when she met her death, but the troubles, misfortunes, and sorrows which she had suffered, especially in her prison."

The account of Pierre de Bourdeille was originally published in 1665 and republished many times thereafter.

There are many different illustrations of Mary's execution......

[the-odethaj]

may I be sans haj undertale

How the game concept going?

Well, I'm not able to do too much of the story and stuff about it until all the major characters have been decided who the hajar are for, so I still need the one for Sans at least, and I'd prefer to have Napstablook, Monster Kid, and Muffet too before starting to make the story, and such, but once I have the haj for Sans I'll start plotting it out roughly

With this, if any haj reading this would want to be Sans, or any other character (The ones available are the ones previously mentioned + all the snowdin dog guards + Grillby + Glyde + Mad Dummy + Temmie + The Amalgamates + All regular encounters (Like Froggit, Whimsun, Ice Cap ect) + Any NPCs less important than a miniboss)

[thesaintofnevergettingitright]

Sometimes you just gotta shamelessly project on your parasocial best friends, ya know? 

[valyvinny]

╰┈➤ ❝ Love and deepspace boys *:･ﾟ✧*: Losing control ❞

PAIRING : Caleb x reader, Sylus x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader and Xavier x reader GENRE : Soft smut WORD COUNT : 2.6k TAGS : MDNI 18+ NSFW, kissing, making out, grinding, dry humping, allusions to sex, rafayel is implied to be in heat, back scratching (only is sylus') A/N : PHEWW, I know I said that the next piece of writing may take a while but I also have no self control lol. Though this time I promise its gonna take a hot minute cause final year med school exams are kicking my asssss. Also, I didn't expect my previous piece to do as well as it did. Thank you all so so much for reading it and I hope you enjoy this one :)

The lads boys can't help but lose control around you

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Caleb

Caleb is addicted to your lips. It’s almost like he’s making up for the years he’s spent abstaining from you, littering fleeting pecks throughout the day. 

Caleb just can’t seem to help himself. He’d always kiss you hello and goodbye. He’d kiss you good morning and good night. 

He was always so gentle with it, tucking strands of your hair behind your ears before cupping your face in his palms, holding you like you’re made of glass. Afraid that with one wrong move, you’d break. 

He’d take his time to admire your features. Features that he’s cherished and adored his whole life, that he can probably draw out from memory. Your expressive eyes gazing at him in anticipation, the plush of your inviting lips, the dusty pink hue that’s settled on your cheeks.  

You were his entire world and he could only hope you’d be able to feel at least a fraction of what he felt for you and how much he treasured you in the way he kissed you. Soft and tender. Pouring all the passion he could as he moved his lips against yours. 

But perhaps most infuriatingly (not really, you secretly loved it), he’d often kiss you mid conversation. A light peck to stop you in your tracks. It was his trump card, especially when you were scolding him for something. And it worked every time, it always seemed to melt you into a puddle 

“You just look so adorable when you’re talking to me pip-squeak” he’d say, laughing at your display of annoyance. But the fact that you we’re fighting off a smile said you felt otherwise. 

But when he had the time to indulge himself in you, it was an entirely different experience. An entirely different Caleb. The duality of your childhood friend always gave you a whiplash. 

He’s pulling you close to him, savoring the feeling of your body against his. You’re caged against his imposing form and whatever surface he’s crowding you against this time. You’re pinned, completely at the mercy of the man that’s yearning for your touch. 

Caleb kisses you with the hunger of a thousand men. His kisses are feverish, demanding, ravishing every corner of your mouth like it’s the first time. He bites down on the plush of your bottom lip, taking you by surprise. 

“Sorry”, he breathes. But he isn’t really. Not when the sound of your wanton moans sends tingles down his spine. God, how did he get so fucking lucky. Having you here like this, so pliant and needy in his arms is his version of heaven. 

The feeling of you carding your fingers through the strands of his hair, tugging at the roots makes a filthy groan escape from his lips. You’re going to be the death of him. 

You’re impatiently pulling his lips towards you again, and it only spurs him on further, pressing one bruising kiss after another, leaving your lips swollen. All the while his hand is sneaking up your shirt to feel the intoxicating warmth of your body. 

You rarely ever stop him when he gets like this. You know he needs it, needs you. And you want him too. Desperately. So you take a hold of his hand and guide it lower, Caleb’s eyes darkening in response. It’s safe to say that neither of you are going anywhere anytime soon. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Sylus

Sylus is subtle with his affections, it reflects in his gentle and otherwise discrete mannerisms. 

The silver haired man has made a habit of kissing your hand in greeting.

“My lady”, he’s tease, smirking at the your cheeks tinged pink and your defiant pout. 

Occasionally, he’d press a kiss on the top of your head and interlace his fingers with yours. Other times, he’d wrap your hands around your waist, guiding you through noisy crowds. 

However, behind closed doors, your proximity was a drug to him. 

He’d rarely, if ever, be apart from you and your lips. Once he had you against him on his bed, perched on his lap, you’d be better off clearing your schedule. 

Sylus could spend hours savoring the touch of your lips against his. He’s a sensual kisser. Taking his time to draw out every moan, every whimper he can draw from you. 

He’s slow, concentrating first on your upper, then your lower lip, your mouth moving against his in tandem with a rhythm that comes with practiced ease. He’s thoroughly infatuated with the way you move against him, seeking more of his touch. 

He strokes your cheek with his thumb, before entangling his fingers in your hair, angling your face just right for him to kiss you deeper, while his other hand is wrapped against your waist leaning you against the headboard. 

It’s intoxicating. You’re drowning in the presence of this man, and with each kiss, you only want to sink deeper and deeper. 

His kisses are numbing. Your lips tingling with how much they’re being ravaged by his, but you don’t want it to stop. In fact, you want to break his resolve further. 

So you pull out his shirt that’s tucked neatly in his pants, your hand snaking up his back, feeling the muscles flex underneath your fingertips. 

You rake your nails across his back, the sting making the silver haired male shudder in response, satisfied at his break in composure. 

“You sly minx” he chides, black tendrils of his Evol emerging to bind your wrists over your head, freeing him to continue his offense. 

Each press of his lips steals your breath away, leaving you completely drunk with need, until the only thought consuming you was the man in front of you. 

As the minutes tick by, Sylus is emboldened with a new sense of ferocity and intensity as you find yourself grinding against his thigh, desperate to ease the growing warmth in between your thighs. 

And if you were willing to, he’d be very happy to indulge you, give you everything you want and more. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Zayne

Zayne is a sensible man. His logical reasoning and quick thinking, even in the most critical situations, is what makes him the most sought after Cardiothoracic Surgeon in Linkon. 

He’s very rarely swayed by his emotions. But that also means he comes off as cold and unfeeling to the people around him. 

Not to you though. Never to you. Zayne is the warmest presence in your life.

In the midst of all his responsibilities, you are his reprieve, a breath of fresh air. When he has you to himself, the doctor throws all sense and reason out the window. You are his ultimate weakness. 

You are his to worship. The need he feels for you is indescribable. It consumes him, swallows him whole, until he starts to let lose any remaining restraint that holds him back from you. 

The way Zayne kisses you can only be described as reverent. He takes his time with you. Worshipping you. 

Kissing featherlight kisses up your jaw, his lips just barely brushing your skin, trailing them to just beneath your ear, before tugging at your earlobe with his teeth. 

You shiver in response, angling yourself towards him, trying to press more of yourself to him in hopes that he will relent. 

But Zayne is in no hurry. Not at all. He wants to watch you unravel under him. Bit my bit until you’re completely pliant. 

He wants to be selfish with you. So he continues his ministrations, peppering kisses down your throat, feeling the vibrations of your hums and huffs with his lips. 

You’re struggling to keep your eyes open now, Zayne’s gentle but lethal movements sending a flush of warmth down your body. You need his lips on yours, you need it like you need air. 

“Please Zayne…kiss me” 

How could he deny you when you begged him so sweetly? 

The sight of you so debauched with just a few simple touches sends Zayne into a frenzy. It pleases him, knowing you want him as much as he wants you. 

So he relents, giving you what you want and kissing your lips, while you sigh in relief. Finally. 

Zayne kisses you with intent. His hands are at your hips, squeezing slightly as he devours the moans that leave your lips.

He moves his hand to touch your face, earning a surprised gasp from you, your eyes shooting open. His fingertips are icy cold. Only then do you notice, there’s frost creeping up his neck and hands. His Evol is responding to you. 

But Zayne pays it no mind, he’d die before ever causing you harm. So he grazes your bottom lip with the tip of his thumb, gazing into your eyes while nodding reassuringly. 

“I’m okay” he’d confirm before he captures your lips again, this time with renewed vigor, determined to finish what he started. 

He’s everywhere all at once, and you find comfort in each other’s kisses, touches and presence. Allowing yourselves to get lost in each other further into the night. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Xavier

Xavier is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His unsuspecting and otherwise modest appearance only serves as a facade, concealing his genuine desires. 

While he comes off as quiet and unassuming, the truth is far from it. 

He can’t help himself. You’re his. The hunter wants you next to him at all times, kissing him, touching him, loving him. He wants your undivided attention on him, selfishly so. 

It always starts out so innocent. He’s pulling you into his embrace, kissing the tip of your nose in greeting. 

“Hello my star” he says, as you giggle under his affection. And God his heart clenches at the sound. It’s music to his ears. 

He repeats the action, then tenderly peppering kisses all over your face. Your forehead, the apple of your cheeks, the dip of your chin and the corner of your lips. Over and over again until you’re reduced into a fit of laughter. 

“Xavier, it tickles” you whine, with no real complaint in your tone. 

He ceases his playful gesture, only to wrap his hands around your waist, picking you up and placing you on the dining table with practiced ease. 

You often find yourself in this position. Perched on a surface with Xavier spreading your thighs, finding his rightful place between them. 

He’s burying his face in your neck, brushing his lips against your thrumming pulse. The sound of your breath hitching in response makes Xavier smile against your skin. He’s got you exactly where he wants you. 

“My light, can I please?” He asks, pleading for your permission to spoil you.  

You find it very hard to deny the hunter, especially when you know what usually comes next. And you want it so bad. Want him to come undone and take you for himself. You’ve never stopped him before and you’re most definitely not going to stop him now. 

The breathy ‘please’ that leaves your lips is all the confirmation he needs as he dives to nip at the nape of your neck. Your skin is soft and warm as he swipes his tongue along the line of your pulse. You throw your head back in response, inviting him to take more of you. 

Xavier worries the skin in between his teeth, sucking and tonguing at the spot until he’s satisfied with the dark splotch that blooms in its place. 

He continues a similar onslaught across your collarbone and throat, leaving you hissing at the delicious sting. 

The hunter trails his lips up your throat, finally connecting his lips with yours. He kisses you like a man starved, encouraged by the sight of the dark purple marks he’s left decorating your skin. 

It satisfies a primal part of him, knowing in a way, he’s claimed you for himself. 

He’s greedy for you, and isn’t ashamed to show it. Pressing chaste kisses one after the other, barely giving you a second to catch your breath, swallowing the lustful moans that threaten that leave your lips. 

And as his hand squeezes the fat of your thighs, edging his fingertips higher to the warmth that sits between your legs, you know that you’re not leaving his apartment until you’re absolutely ruined. 

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Rafayel

There’s only two things that Rafayel needs to survive in this world. One is his art, the second is you. The merman is needy and he isn’t ashamed to show it. 

Sometimes, it’s difficult to get anything done when the Lemurian is around. He’s practically glued to your side, sneaking kisses to your cheek, wrapping his hand around your waist and nuzzling into the nape of your neck.  

You aren’t complaining though, you find it endearing when he’s all pouty and clingy.

And then there’s Rafayel when there’s an insatiable need growing under his skin that he just can’t seem to itch.   

When he gets like this, you’ve learned to surrender to his mercy. That’s how you find yourself currently perched on his lap. 

His gaze is intense, half lidded eyes staring you down like you’re his prey. He’s breathing heavier than usual, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. 

“Raf, are you okay?” You question worryingly. He’s burning up, you can practically feel the heat emanating from his skin. 

Wordlessly, Rafayel takes a hold of your hand, placing it on his cheek, nuzzling into your palm. It’s not enough though, he’s growing more restless. He needs more of you touching him. 

On instinct, the merman turn his face to bite at the fat of your palm, laving his tongue over the skin. When he hears your breath hitch, he breaks. 

With all semblance of reason now completely disregarded, Rafayel grasps at your neck, pressing your body into his eliminating any space between the two of you. 

His lips are on yours in an instant, and your hands are in his hair, tugging at his waves as he nips and sucks at your lips, bruising them. 

“Y/n…” he groans. His voice dripping with lust, brows knitted as he struggles to catch his breath. 

You look up at the merman. He looks positively ruined. His shirt is in disarray, hair standing up in a hundred different directions, lips swollen. And his eyes, there’s a storm brewing behind them, having darkened considerably. 

You’ve never seen him like this. Rafayel’s always been playful, using his humor as a front to his true feelings, always keeping you at arms length. 

But right now, he feels so raw. Trusting you with his deepest desires as they erupt to the surface. 

Seeing him like this, so open, so vulnerable makes heat pool between your legs. You want him, God no you need him. So you crash your lips onto his with fervor, matching his frenzy with new determination. 

Rafayel is loud. He doesn’t hold back, reacting to every press of lips, every pull of hair, grinding himself against you to relieve at least some of the tension built up in his pants. 

His tongue is swiping at your bottom lip, begging for permission which you grant without hesitation. It’s wet and messy, one hand kneading your thigh, the other playing with the button of your jeans. 

It’s all a well choreographed dance then, motions you’ve been through many times. But somehow this moment feels different, a tangible electricity in the air. You have a feeling the Lemurian isn’t going to let you go until he’s had his fill of you. 

© valyvinny. All right reserved. Do not steal, copy, translate, repost or reupload any of my works. Do not use my work for AI

[atlabeth]

heat lightning

pt 1 / pt 3

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you end up at the heart of the bau's latest case.

a/n: took way too long but here's more gideon reader! just as irritable as ever with some actual human emotions this time around. send help and prayers bc she's gonna need it. and before you ask there will in fact be some more parts to close up this case, i just have to write them first and it may take approximately 10 years. thank you for your consideration

wc: 4.1k

warning(s): reader still has daddy issues, still hates spence, and still argues w gideon the whole time. more angst! typical cm case stuff (a stalker that has taken vulnerable pics of reader) read w/ discretion if you are sensitive to those things. more drama and more tension and more not being a good time for anyone but me

“On your right, pretty boy.” 

Spencer stops as Morgan rushes past him back to his desk, eyes trained on the hallway. 

“Why are you in such a hurry?” he complains. “I nearly spilled my coffee.”

“Gideon’s daughter is here again,” he says. “Did you not feel the temperature drop five degrees?”

Spencer frowns. He opens his mouth to say something when he hears the telltale signs of your arrival: arguing. 

“—so typical of you! I have to drop everything the moment you need me, but it’s like pulling teeth to get you to listen to me.”

Gideon turns the corner with you in tow. He has a duffle bag in one hand and a file in his other, his brow furrowed in frustration. 

“That’s because this is important,” he says. 

“Oh, and everything else I try to get you to be around for isn’t?” 

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” Gideon says, keeping his voice level. 

“This is ridiculous,” you spit. 

“It’s necessary,” he corrects. “I’m not going to play games with your safety.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you mock. “Because you’ve always cared about that.” 

He just shakes his head. “I’m not debating this with you.”

“Why? Because you’ll realize that it’s ridiculous?”

You follow Gideon into his office and Spencer watches him close the blinds. The door slams shut, and though he can still hear the muffled argument he can’t make anything out.

“Oh, great,” Morgan says. “Now we can’t even get Reid to read their lips.”

“I don’t think we need it to know what they’re talking about,” Elle says. “They’ve been arguing since she was brought in.”

“Of course they have,” JJ says. “Gideon sent Hotch to pick her up instead of doing it himself. She sees it as another slight.”

“She sees everything as a slight,” Spencer says. “She hates him.” 

“I don’t blame her,” Morgan mutters. “Not when we only found out about her last month.” 

“Surely this isn’t helping with anything,” JJ says wryly. 

Elle shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Sometimes pointless arguing makes you feel better, even when you’re in the wrong.” 

“That’s enough, agents.” Spencer’s attention—along with everyone else’s—snaps to the top of the bullpen to see Hotch holding a file with the same expression as always. “I need you all in the conference room.” 

“Does it have anything to do with that?” Morgan asks, tilting his head towards Gideon’s office. 

“You’ll find out,” he says. Hotch starts walking to the conference room, the conversation clearly over. 

JJ sighs as she stands up and grabs the files on her desk. “I’ll get Penelope. The rest of you try not to gossip too much.” 

She goes off, and the others disperse back to their desk to finish up some last-minute things before the case takes them away. Spencer can’t tear his eyes away from Gideon’s office, even though he’s not getting anything. 

All he can think about is the last time you were here, when he got caught in the middle of your argument with Gideon—your dad, which was still a little weird—and he can’t help but feel guilty. 

Gideon is a father figure to him, sure, but it isn’t that difficult to end up with that dynamic when Spencer’s the youngest on the team. And he can go into everything about his father leaving and the psychology of that, but it doesn’t matter. Gideon treated him like a son when he had a daughter all along that he’d been neglecting. 

For all Spencer knows, it is his fault. 

“Reid,” Elle says, snapping him out of his thoughts, “you coming?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding far too many times as he catches up to her in a few quick strides. “Sorry.”

“No need,” she remarks. “Gideon’s kid was all anyone could talk about when she first showed up here. This is only gonna make things worse.”

“He can’t really be that bad of a dad,” Spencer says, “right?”

“All I know is that having a parent in the force rarely ends well,” Elle murmurs. She opens the door to the conference room and looks at him. “We can’t be too hard on her when we probably see Gideon more than she does.”

Spencer recalls his meeting with you, how he barely got a word in edgewise while you spent the whole time arguing with someone half the office viewed as immovable. 

“Yeah,” he says distantly. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

-

“Why? Because you’ll realize that it’s ridiculous?” 

Your dad shuts the blinds on all the windows in his office, then closes the door behind you. He sets your duffle down on the floor then looks at you, that infuriatingly even expression still unchanged.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he says. “Sit down and lower your voice, please. We have some things to talk about.” 

“I gathered that when you sent your guy to pick me up,” you say, crossing your arms as he walks over to his desk. “Couldn’t even do it yourself?” 

“Aaron Hotchner is the chief of this unit and one of the most accomplished agents here,” he says. “He lives closer to you than I do, and I asked him to pick you up on his way in because I knew you would be safe with him. Sit down, please.” 

“There it is again. My safety.” You remain standing. “Tell me what this is about. I’m missing work right now— I know you can understand that, at least.” 

He lets out a sigh as he says your name and looks at you. “Can we get through this without any arguments for once?” 

“That depends. Are you going to treat me like your daughter or an inconvenience?” 

“You’re my daughter, I love you, and your life is in danger,” he says evenly. 

You open your mouth to retort, but your dad opens the file in his hands and sets it down on the other side of the desk. You can see from your position that they’re photos, but your curiosity ultimately wins out. You walk over to get a closer look, and any words die in your throat as you pick up the first photo. 

A photo of you. 

You pick up the next one, only to see it’s another picture of you. At least ten photos are tucked away in the file, and they’re all of you. Taken outside your work, at your apartment, on your morning run— god, there’s even one taken through the window of your bedroom, half-naked in a towel after a shower. 

You fall silently into the chair, your heart hammering inside your chest as your eyes dart between all of the photos. You want to crawl out of your skin. 

“What the fuck is this?” you breathe. 

“The heart of our newest case,” your dad says. “It appears that you have a stalker.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes still glued to your oblivious self, “I would fucking think so.”

“These photos were dropped off at my door this morning,” he says, and he flips to the next section of the file, “with that note.”

The erratic handwriting instantly stands out to you as you pick the photocopy up, the lump in your throat growing with every word you read. 

such a pretty little thing. I wonder if she knows it.

you don’t care about her, but I do. she’s just like all the rest of us, everyone that you’ve ruined.

think about your priorities, agent gideon. I’ll be watching.  

“What the fuck is this?” you repeat. Blood pounds in your skull as a distant chill creeps down your spine. “I— I’m one of your cases now?” 

“We’re not sure yet,” he admits. “These only appeared yesterday, but from the looks of it, the unsub has been watching you for a while. Can you pinpoint when any of these photos were taken? 

You stare at him. “Some psycho has been stalking me for a while?” 

Your dad says your name again, slightly strained. “Please. I know this is difficult to think about, but figuring out a time frame would help us.” 

“Difficult,” you scoff. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” 

But it doesn’t have the bite your words usually hold. For once, you don’t think you’re mad at your dad. You think you’re terrified. 

“...Yeah,” you finally murmur, and you pick up one of the photos. “I thrifted a mirror a month ago, and this one doesn’t have it.”

Your dad nods, and he picks up two others. “Neither do these.” 

“So this has been going on for at least a month,” you say bitterly. “Great.”

Your dad says your name, quieter this time, and when you finally look at him his eyes have softened. 

“We’re going to figure this out,” he says. “This is a threat against an FBI agent’s family, and it will be treated accordingly. Forensics is doing tests on all the original copies to try and find a lead. The whole BAU will be on your case—I will be on it, and we won’t rest until we find whoever’s doing this.” 

“Yeah,” you say numbly. “You sure that’ll help? Because it looks like all this is happening because I’m your daughter.” 

“I know this is scary,” he says. “This… this is nothing like you’ve ever dealt with before. You shouldn’t have to deal with it. But you have to trust my team. We know what we’re doing.” 

“Of course you know what you’re doing,” you say. “You’re always here.” 

Your words have no bite behind them, more of an instinct as you grab your purse from the ground. You can feel the pinpricks of incoming tears, and you refuse to cry in front of your dad. 

“I— I need a minute,” you say. “This is all just—” 

“I understand,” he says. “Just don’t go far. Stay on this floor.”

You nod and start towards the door, but you pause right before you reach it. Your mouth opens as you try to think of something to say, but it falls shut just as quickly. You shake your head as you reach for the door handle, but before you get the chance, it swings open and you’re met with a familiar face. 

Spencer Reid, the kid your dad likes more than you. He’s nothing less than surprised to see you, from his stumbled step back, the slightly wide eyes, his hand poised to knock on the door. 

A mumbled apology falls from your lips as you move around him, and you can still feel his eyes on you as you speed off. You wonder what ideas he and the rest of the BAU have drawn up about you since your last visit to the office. 

You don’t really care. 

True to your word, you don’t go far—just to the bathroom. Thankfully it’s close, because the moment you make it to one of the stalls, knees stinging as you fall to the tiled floor, you vomit. 

By the time you’ve expelled the contents of your stomach, it feels just as empty as the rest of you. You stare at the wall, breathing slightly harried and skin warm to the touch, and you resist the urge to punch it. 

You have a stalker. Someone has been watching you for a month—at least a month, maybe longer—and you had no fucking clue, and now your only decent hope lies with your dad and his team. 

Normally, you wrote off anything depending on your dad as fruitless, but this involved the thing he loved more than anything in the world: his job. 

You huff a wry laugh at the thought. This wouldn’t get solved because it concerned you, it would get solved because it concerned his job. 

You stand up and walk over to the sink. You rinse your mouth, then just stare at yourself in the mirror. 

It— it feels strange. Looking at yourself like this, knowing someone has been—still is—watching you. 

You recall their words. 

Pretty little thing. 

You don’t care about her, but I do. 

A chill crawls up your spine. You can’t shake the dread settling all over you. 

What the fuck are you going to do?

You have to trust your dad, but you’ve never trusted your dad. God, he’s not even really your dad. He’s Senior Supervisory Special Agent Jason Gideon, nothing more—the estranged kid is an unfortunate side effect of the estranged wife.

You let out another breathy laugh. Would he even care if this psycho actually ends up killing you? 

You stand there for another couple minutes, time idling in the background as you continue to stare at the mirror. 

You haven’t cried, at least. That’s certainly something.

The door opens ever so slightly and someone says your name. Your eyes flick to the mirror almost immediately as your body tenses, and you recognize her as one of the BAU’s agents. She’s pretty and blonde with sympathetic eyes, and you know they’ve been briefed on your situation. 

If you have to deal with an office of pitying looks, you think you might lose your mind. 

“Are you alright?” she asks softly. 

“Just peachy,” you mumble. “My dad ask you to check up on me?” 

She nods. “You can imagine why Gideon is a bit high strung at the moment.” 

“I’m fine,” you repeat. “I just… needed a second.” 

“I understand,” she murmurs. “Do you still need some time?” 

“What do you need?” 

“Gideon wants to talk to you. It’s best if he explains it.” 

You huff a laugh and shake your head. “Fine. Lead the way, Agent…” 

“Jareau,” she supplies. “But call me JJ, please.” 

In lieu of a response, you walk over to her. She offers a thin smile and holds the door for you, then falls into step with you. A moment of silence passes before she speaks up. 

“We’re going to figure this out,” JJ says. “Your dad is one of the best to walk through these doors. If anyone can solve this, he can.” 

“So I keep hearing,” you murmur. 

-

Spencer watches you hurry off with wide eyes, and it takes a few seconds for him to snap out of it. He’s less surprised by your pace, and more surprised that you actually apologized for bumping into him. 

“Reid,” Gideon speaks up, and his attention snaps back over to his superior. “What do you need?” 

“Is she okay?” he asks instead. He can’t help it—after what Hotch just told all of them, he’s worried about you. 

Gideon gathers the photos back into the file then stands up. “Our job is to make sure she will be.”

“Hotch briefed us,” he says, and his eyes darted back to the doorway almost on instinct. “This— this is crazy. We just found out about her last month, and some guy’s been after her for longer?” 

“What this is is one of my enemies targeting my daughter because they’re too much of a coward to go after me,” Gideon says evenly. “We just have to figure out which one before they escalate.”

“How do you know?” he asks. 

“What you said is true,” he admits. “Hardly anyone knows I have a daughter. Even fewer would know where she lives. Someone who wants to hurt me would have incentive to discover both.” 

“So we look into unsubs you’ve put away that have been released,” Spencer says. “Or ones that are still in, but have family that might be bitter.”

“Exactly,” Gideon nods. “But I have to ask something of you, Reid.”

He frowns. “Anything.”

“We’re working on getting a safe house for my daughter,” Gideon says. “I need you to stay there with her.” 

Somehow, his frown deepens. “What?”

“I need to know she’s with someone I can trust,” he says. “There’s someone after her, and we don’t know who—that means we need to keep this circle tight.”

“So you want me to be her bodyguard?” Spencer marvels. “Do you remember that you had to waive all my physical tests?”

“Less of a bodyguard,” he says. “More just… keeping her company. Making sure she’s alright—mentally as much as physically.”

“Why am I the one that has to keep an eye on her?” Spencer asks. “She hates me!” 

“Don’t take it personally,” Gideon says. “She hates a lot of things.” 

“But it is personal,” Spencer insists. “She hates me because she thinks you like me more than her.” 

Gideon doesn’t seem phased at the comment. “She’s opinionated, but she’s harmless. And right now, I need to know that she’s with someone I can trust.”

“I— I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Please, Reid.” Gideon leans forward, and there’s an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his eyes. "If I'm going to be on this case, I need to know that she's safe. I won't be able to focus otherwise."

Spencer wasn’t going to lie—he genuinely thought it was a bad idea. But… Gideon said he trusted him. And this was his daughter—they might’ve argued, but they still cared about each other. if he could keep Lila Archer safe, he could keep you safe. 

“…Okay,” he finally concedes. “Okay.”

Gideon nods, and he watches the change in his eyes, the slightest bit of tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Just… make sure there are two bedrooms,” Spencer says. “I don’t need her to kill me one day in.”

At that, he cracks a rare smile. Spencer is thankful for it, that he can bring even the smallest amount of levity to Gideon’s life right now. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

-

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your dad says your name, but you hardly let him finish. 

“No! First I find out I have a stalker, then my whole life’s going to be uprooted until you find them, and now I have to be stuck with boy genius?”

“You know, we’re about the same age—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” you cry, whirling on Spencer.

“I actually don’t talk that much when I’m around you,” Spencer says, his brows creasing. “This is the third time I’ve met you, and I’ve only said nine sentences across those meetings. Thirteen, if you count all of these too.”

You let out a strained laugh as you shake your head, trying to blink back tears. “This is fucking unbelievable. I know he’s practically your son, but this is just—”

“A safety precaution,” your dad interrupts. “Doctor Spencer Reid is another one of the BAU’s finest agents, and he is fully qualified to keep you safe.”

“He looks like a strong breeze could snap him in half.”

“This is not a joke,” your dad says sternly. “None of this is a joke. Your life is in danger—you have a stalker that has been watching your every move for at least a month, and we have no idea what their next move will be. Doctor Reid is more experienced than you in every facet of this, and I am entrusting him to your care. I respect him immensely, and you will do so as well.”

You don’t even look at Spencer, quiet rage simmering beneath the surface as you stare at your father.

“You really don’t get it,” you murmur. “Do you?”

“The only thing to get is that your life is in increasing danger with every moment you spend pushing against me,” your dad says, and he stands up. “Get your purse. Reid, get her duffle. We’re leaving.”

He leaves before you get the chance to do anything—you assume he’s finally tired of you. 

You just shake your head and pick up your purse, and Spencer clears his throat as he reaches for your duffle bag. You wonder if it even has anything useful—Aaron Hotchner was the one who packed it. 

“…So,” Spencer says. “I guess we’re gonna be roommates for a while.”

You huff in fully unveiled annoyance, and you push past him on your way out. 

“Great,” he mutters to himself as he follows you. “So this is what Gideon’s trust earns me.” 

It doesn’t take him too long to catch up to you, despite the unnecessary quick pace you’re taking. You bypass the elevator and head towards the stairwell, and Spencer catches the door before it’s able to slam on him. 

He says your name, but you just shake your head. 

“If we’re gonna be stuck together until this is over, I’d prefer silence.” 

“I don’t really do silence,” Spencer says. 

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of books for you to read in whatever jail cell they throw me in.” 

“It’s actually going to be a pretty nice safe house,” he starts, throwing his hand up against the wall to catch himself from running into it as he turns, because god you are moving fast, “Gideon picked it out himself.” 

“Oh, then it’ll definitely be a jail cell,” you mock. “It’s not like he knows anything about me, so he’ll probably think that it’s perfect.” 

Spencer frowns. “Cut him some slack. This is all just as hard on him as it is on you.” 

You come to a sudden stop, whirling around to face him, and Spencer has to reel to the side to prevent himself from running into you. Had he not already been pressed up against the wall, he would have moved back further, what with the fire blazing in your eyes. 

“I’m not going to cut him any slack,” you spit. “This is the most time I’ve gotten to spend with my dad in months, and it’s only because some creep is stalking me to get back at him. The only reason I’m in this at all is because of his job that he cares about more than me, and now he’s sticking me with the guy that he wishes was his kid. So no, Doctor Reid—I’m not going to cut him any slack.” 

You’re already off on your way again before Spencer even has time to blink, and you’ve made it down the whole last flight by the time he pushes himself back up. 

He takes the steps three at a time to catch up to you, and he once again barely manages to catch the door before it slams on him. He calls your name, finally managing to fall into step with you right before you reach Gideon. He, like a normal person, deigned to take the elevator. 

“You haven’t started arguing already,” he says, passing a glance at Spencer, “have you?” 

“What do you think?” you ask, your arms crossed. 

“I think you’re giving him a hard time that you usually reserve for me,” he says. “Cut him some slack.” 

Your jaw clenches. “I’ve been getting a lot of that lately. Save the profiling for my stalker, will you?”  

“There’s plenty of profiling to go around,” Gideon says. “You two wait here—I need to confirm the safe house location before we head out.” 

“Can we stop by my place before we go?” Spencer asks. “I need to pick up some things.” 

“You have a go bag, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, but I— I wasn’t exactly prepared for this sort of thing when I came in today.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Gideon says. He walks off before Spencer can protest, and he sighs. 

You lean against the wall, your arms crossed with your purse hanging off your shoulder, and for once you don’t pass judgment on his—admittedly small—plight. 

“I changed my mind,” Spencer speaks up, deciding to try and break the remarkably high amount of tension that had built up in such a short time, and your eyebrows rise as you glance at him. 

“About what?” 

“I— I think I can do silence,” he says. “Temporarily.” 

You huff a laugh. “Really?” 

“I don’t really want to annoy you while we’re stuck together in an undisclosed location,” he says. “I don’t know what you’re capable of.” 

And for the first time since Spencer has met you, you actually smile. It’s the smallest thing, just a slight tilt of your lips that’s more akin to Hotch’s moments of levity than anything, but it’s a smile. 

“...Good choice,” you say. It feels like a joke, but Spencer isn’t sure. 

He smiles anyway. You meet his eyes, and for a moment, you’re just another girl. Someone that Spencer could imagine himself stealing glances at in a lecture hall, a regular at his favorite coffee shop that he falls for over the course of an especially cold winter, someone he meets on a night out with the team that he ends up talking to all night. 

You really do have pretty eyes. 

And then your gaze hardens, darts away from him, and Spencer sees Gideon coming back in his peripherals. The moment fractures. 

You’re not just a girl. You’re Gideon’s daughter, you’re in a remarkable amount of danger, and lest he forget, you do in fact hate him. 

Spencer lets out another short sigh. 

At least this safe house won’t have a pool.

[pseudowho]

"Oh, fuck-- Kento, stopstopstop-- go back--"

Kento grimaced, almost comedically, as you tried to push him back out through the coffee shop doorway, and into the freezing rain. The bell above you dinged, and dinged, and dingalingdingdinged as the two of you battled, and the door danced back and forth against it.

Kento wouldn't leave the promise of fresh bread without a fight.

"-- if they haven't got the casse croute left, I'll be perfectly happy with something else-" (he wouldn't) "--and I can come back later to grab one for lunch tomorrow--" (he couldn't) "--and I'd just prefer to get out of the rain--" (please)

"No," you hissed, urging, "no, it's not that, it's--"

Kento blinked, one long, slow blink, over your shoulder. He clocked a man-- a familiar man, one whose photos he had once seen you tear to shreds-- who was sat at a window table already. Ah. He understood.

"Don't worry," Kento murmured, slipping a discrete, strong hand around your waist to press you through the doorway, as you looked up at him in anguish, "he won't bother us. But if he does--" (no, Kento-- you shouldn't--")

By the time the inevitable occurred, and your ex approached to wipe the smile off your face, Kento had already calculated the sum of the man, and found he came up short.

Kento watched you from over the rim of his cup, concealing a smirk in foam as you cold-shouldered your ex with such exquisite vindictiveness that he felt himself twitch against his thigh. Kento pinched your thigh, softly, as you stalked past him to excuse yourself to the bathroom.

Your ex chewed on something Kento only hoped was gum, and sat on your chair (have to dry-clean her coat for her, shit) and regarded Kento's beige suit with a shit-eating grin. He held out his hand, which Kento shook, despite its filthy nails (ugh).

"New guy, are you?" Said your ex, kissing his teeth with a glint in his eye, "How do you like my sloppy seconds?"

Kento smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, "I find flowers stay fresh and thriving in new soil, actually. And anyway, things were rather fresh after the first, ah...four inches, was it?"

Your ex balked, and recoiled. As he leaned back against his chair, his face turned puce, and he opened his mouth to make a scene, which we can't have, Kento, oh no, so--

"I advise you move forwards again-- just a little more-- there. Perfect."

Your ex, stunned, had followed Kento's mellow instruction without questioning, and shuffled back forwards into the fresh sunlight. Kento smiled again.

"There we go. Things don't grow in the shade. Would you like the lamp on? I can reach it for you."

Your ex scoffed now, and scoffed some incoherent curses, and scoffed himself into standing and tripping over the leg of his chair. You arrived back from the bathroom, and regarded your soiled chair with disgust.

"--you can keep her--" Your ex spat, jostling his pockets for his car keys, "--of all the cheek-- I'm leaving--"

"In that?" Kento regarded a car outside the coffee shop, as its one working indicator flashed to life, "I didn't bring my jump cables. Will you be alright?"

You choked into your latte, clattering it down onto the table to turn away and cough into your sleeve. Your ex looked as though he may hit Kento (he can try), but remembered himself, and went to move to the cashier.

Kento piped up one last time, barely audible above the coffee shop din.

"I wouldn't worry. I paid your bill, when we arrived. Buy yourself something...nice."

Your ex scarpered, bursting out of the door like a cat out of its cage. You took a bite of cake through teary-eyed, muffled laughter. Kento smiled over at you, leaning on one hand to admire your blossoms and life.

"You're such a bitch, Kento, I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with him--"

(you're right; you shouldn't have)

[hannyoontify]

the way you said hello - kim mingyu

member | executive chef!mingyu x reader (ft. jeonghan & seungkwan)

genre | (implied) soulmates!au, meet cute, strangers to lovers au, fluff, (angst if you rlly rlly rlly squint)

word count | 2.8k

synopsis | after a disastrous blind date, the night takes an unexpected turn when the restaurant’s handsome owner, mingyu, steps in. what starts as an act of kindness quickly becomes something more as sparks fly over a chance meeting

warnings | cursing, lowk kinda suggestive if you squint, kissing, one (1) mention of a knife, mentions of mingyu having previous injuries sustained from his occupation, there is a SIGNIFICANT time skip at the end but i don't specify how much LMAO that's up to ygs discretion

notes | requested by anon! i'm so sorry if this wasn't the direction you wanted it to go in 😭 i swear i tried my best! lowk don't know if i like this or not but i really liked the bickering between oc n seunghan NOT PROOFREAD

this can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to this mingyu fic!

You anxiously bounced your leg under the table, gently gnawing on your bottom lip as you glanced around the fancy restaurant. Across from you, the chair in front of you had now been empty for an awfully long time now and something told you that your blind date had ditched, leaving you with the incredibly overwhelming and taxing bill.

Fuck.

You rested your head in your hands and let out a tired sigh. There was no way this was happening.

As you reached for your wallet, you flagged down a nearby waiter to ask for the bill. He nodded at your request and you let out what seemed to the umpteenth sigh of that night. While waiting for the bill to reach your table, you began rearranging the leftover peas on your porcelain plate.

“Didn’t know we had a Picasso in the house.” An unfamiliar voice remarked next to you. 

You yelped in surprise and whipped around to see a tall, handsome young man peering over your shoulder with an amused smile. He was in a black button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his prominent forearm muscles, tucked into a pair of dark trousers. “That’s very impressive… is that a self-portrait?”

You snorted in disbelief, your shoulders shaking as you let out a quiet laugh. “No, it’s supposed to be my date. Too bad they left before I could remember what they looked like.”

The mysterious man scrunched up his handsome face, as if to say ‘Ouch’. “Do you mind if I—?” He gestured towards the empty seat in front of you and you nodded.

“Go ahead. That seat’s going to be empty for the rest of the night anyways.” You let out a bitter laugh. He gave you a sympathetic smile and situated himself in front of you with an arm outstretched reaching over the table.

“Kim Mingyu. I’m the owner and executive chef of this restaurant. I received a report that there was an attractive young person who was left on their lonesome after their date mysteriously disappeared.” The man, Mingyu, tilted his head. “Didn’t think said person was going to be this attractive though.”

You blushed at his compliment as you shook his hand. “[Name]. Not sure who snitched on me, though I’m glad to have new company.”

“Are you… on your way out now? Since your date is gone?”

“Yes, I’m just waiting for the bill.”

Mingyu waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

After spilling coffee on your blouse this morning and running 30 minutes late for work, you were more than positive that the day was going to end in disaster. The disappearance of your blind date following a very long, tiring day at work only confirmed those suspicions. However, it seemed like that the goddess of luck was no longer hellbent on making your life a living disaster with the way the stranger sitting across from you managed to douse out the fire that had been burning within you for the past few hours with a single smile.

“I’m afraid I’m not. But if you feel pressured or aren’t comfortable with it, no worries!” Mingyu said lightheartedly. 

“Oh my God,” You ran a tired hand through your face and let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “You literally just saved me from having the worst day ever. I was preparing myself to break down into tears once I received the check. Thank you, I really appreciate that.”

He smiled at your words. “Of course, just doing my daily random act of kindness for a stranger. Although…” He trailed off and you quirked an inquisitive brow at him.

“Although?” You asked.

“Although… would it appall you if I said it was my way of shooting my shot?” Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. His eyes nervously darted back and forth between your face and the half-eaten plate in front of him, left by your crappy blind date who was honestly, no longer in your realm of attention. Not when Mingyu was in front of you. 

Shooting his shot? You felt your cheeks burn at a temperature similar to the candle perched on a candelabra on your table at his words and you coughed before fumbling to find the right words.

“I mean… I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Since you’re my savior tonight and all…” Your voice faltered and Mingyu beamed.

“That’s great! Here’s my business card, if you ever want to contact me.” He pulled out a crisp card and handed it to you as he got up from the chair. “Well, I must be getting on my way now. I’d love to stay and chat but I have big boss duties to do.”

Mingyu tipped an imaginary top hat towards your direction. You smiled. “It was nice meeting you, [Name].”

“It was nice meeting you too, Mingyu. I’ll contact you,” You waved his business card and he nodded.

“I’ll be looking forward to it. Bye, [Name].”

And with that he was gone, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of his perfume and the fluttering of your heart.

“Just call him!!” Your best friend urged you. He was sitting on the other end of the sofa, munching on a bag of chips as he watched you metaphorically rip your hair out over the business card you received from Mingyu a week ago.

“It’s not that simple, Seungkwan! What if he hates me now because it took me so long to contact him? I bet he’s forgotten about me at this point.” You pouted and continued to stare at the worn, but still elaborate cardstock in your hands.

Seungkwan rolled his eyes. “Dude, you’re overthinking this entire thing. Listen to me,” He paused to fix his posture to face you. “He gave you the business card, right?”

You nodded.

“Did he ask for your number?”

You shook your head.

“Did he receive any kind of contact information from you?”

You shook your head again.

“But he gave you his business card? [Name], he literally served you the ball on a silver platter. He’s interested in you but won’t make any moves unless you do. The ball is in your court. Take that damn ball and BOUNCE IT!” 

Seungkwan let out a frustrated yell and shoved another handful of chips into his mouth. “I swear, you have the IQ of Jeonghan’s pet rock sometimes.”

“Hey! Doljjong is very intelligent!” Your other best friend yelled from the kitchen. “He has really good hearing too, so don’t insult him like that or else you’ll be dealing with me.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes and you laughed as Jeonghan came out into the living room to give his own two cents.

“But Seungkwan’s right. The entire fate of a whole new possible relationship with this mythical Kim Mingyu—”

“HE’S REAL. I SHOOK HIS HAND.”

“—is in your hands. Don’t blow it. Or else me and Seungkwan—”

“Seungkwan and I.” You corrected him.

“—will be—Okay, fuck you, grammar police—Will be taking this matter into our own hands so we no longer have to hear your bitching and whining.”

You let out a frustrated groan and threw down the business card that’s been putting you through pain and misery through the past week.

“God, he was literally perfect. I don’t wanna blow it and—”

“That’s what they said.”

“Jeonghan, I’m going to literally throw Doljjong into the bottom of Han River and you’re going to be joining him soon after if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

Seungkwan burst into laughter and watched you and Jeonghan continue to argue back and forth.

“Forget it, it’s useless talking to a person who believes that a rock can be a pet.” You got up from your spot on the couch and reached for your phone. “I’m stepping out for some air. Lock the door if you leave before I come back.”

“See ya, don’t wanna be ya!” Jeonghan yelled from the living room as you left the house and you loudly groaned.

You loved both your best friends but they sometimes drove you absolutely insane.

The sky was dark but the countless lights from the skyscrapers and streetlights illuminated the Han River, making the surface twinkle and shine under the pale moonlight.

You were sitting on a lone bench, facing the river as you mindlessly fidgeted with Mingyu’s business card. The edges were fraying from the countless amount of times you’ve handled it between your fingertips, and you traced the black lettering of Mingyu’s name with your index finger as you silently sounded out every vowel and consonant of his name.

Seungkwan’s words rang in your head. ‘He literally served you the ball on a silver platter. He’s interested in you but won’t make any moves unless you do. The ball is in your court. Take that damn ball and BOUNCE IT!’

Like a switch was suddenly flipped inside you, you reached for your phone. The screen lit up and you pulled up a new message to type in the phone number that was written on the card in your hand. 

Without a single thought, you sent,

hey! it’s [name]!

Before you could even type the first letter of your follow-up text, the status of your message changed from ‘Delivered’ to ‘Read 21:24’ and you let out a gasp.

And then the loud, shrill ringing of your ringtone cut through the peaceful night air.

You gasped louder than before after seeing the caller ID, reaching to frantically turn off the ringer before answering the phone.

“He–hello?”

“Took you long enough,” Mingyu’s voice sounded crisp and clear on the other end of the line. You couldn’t see him, but you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. “You almost had me thinking that you were ghosting me or something.”

You let out an apologetic groan. “I’m so sorry, Mingyu. I got in my head and kept putting it off. I swear it wasn’t personal…” 

Mingyu’s laugh was bright. “No worries! I assumed you had your hands full. Although, I did jump a little every time I received a text from anyone from the past week.” 

“Oh, man… I feel horrible. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m telling you, don’t worry about it! Better late than never, right?” There was an awkward moment of silence before he spoke again. “What are you up to right now?”

You hummed and looked out at the tranquil water of the Han River reflecting the bright lights of the city. “Nothing much. I stepped out for a minute for some air. What about you?”

“Oh, really? I’m actually out for a walk too.” You swore you heard a second voice near you, echoing the words Mingyu was saying in your phone. “Turn around for me?”

You whipped around with the phone still pressed to your ear to see Mingyu standing behind the bench, a small smile playing on his lips. You ended the phone call.

“Mingyu?”

“‘Morning, sunshine,” He slid into the empty spot next to you and you scooched over to make more room for him. “What a way to run into the guy you’ve been ghosting, huh?”

You snorted at his greeting, ignoring the slight burn you felt in your cheeks from the nickname he had addressed you by. “I told you, it wasn’t intentional.”

Mingyu grinned. “I know. Just felt like teasing you.” 

“What are- what are you doing here though? Do you live in this area?” You asked. He nodded.

“Yeah. I moved into that apartment complex not too long ago,” He pointed to a tall building on the other side of the river. “Has a killer night view. You should come over to check it out sometime.”

You choked on your spit, resulting in you barking out a short, panicked laugh. “Do you—-do you usually say these… these things to people?”

“No, not really. I’m not usually like this,” Mingyu looked over at you with a slight tilt in his head. The night breeze brushed his bangs across his forehead and you felt your breath falter at the way the closest streetlight illuminated his honey-like, gorgeous skin.There was a particular glint in his eyes as he opened his mouth to speak again. “Pardon me if this is too brazen, but I’m only like this when I feel like I’ve met the one. My soulmate.”

Your breath was caught in your throat.

“Does it… usually work?” You choked out. Your face felt incredibly hot and your clammy hands were sticking to the bench.

Mingyu turned back to face the river and your stomach did an odd flip. “I’m not sure. You tell me.”

Oh God. You thought you were melting on the spot with the way he was looking at you. Mingyu was holding eye contact with such intensity, you physically couldn’t look away. Your heart hammered wildly against your ribcage and you decided you were going to sign yourself up for the upcoming Olympics, with the way your stomach was doing flips like an Olympic gymnast. Simone Biles had nothing on whatever routine was going on inside you right now.

“… I’d give it a solid 8 out of 10.” You gave him the most nonchalant shrug you could afford, knowing that there were enough butterflies in your stomach to start a butterfly conservatory. Mingyu looked at you as if he was surprised by the score.

“Really? What would I have to do to win back the last two points?”

You gave him a pointed look, and the next words to leave your mouth almost sent you into cardiac arrest. “Hmm… live up to your words? I guess?”

And the smile Mingyu gave you in that moment was the brightest one of all. His entire being seemed to glow in ecstasy, glowing brighter than the streetlights as he looked at you with a suggestive glint in his eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Mingyu?” You called from the living room. Mingyu didn’t respond and the only thing you heard from the kitchen was the clattering of plates and silverware. “Babe?”

Pushing yourself off the couch with a quiet groan, you padded over to the kitchen where your fiancé was busying himself with preparing dinner. He was hunched over the counter, his hands and trusty knife busy at work as he chopped away on his chopping block. Careful not to startle him when he had a knife in his hand, you snuck your arms around Mingyu’s torso and peered over his shoulder to watch him work his magic.

“Watcha doing?” You asked sweetly. Mingyu acknowledged your presence with a short peck on your forehead.

“Hi, baby.” His voice was rough and the sound sent shivers down your spine. “Preparing to feed you. Why?”

You hummed and nuzzled your face into Mingyu’s back. He smelled like a mix of spices, sweat, and his faint woody cologne permeated your senses. “Do you think we’re soulmates?”

Mingyu set down his knife and turned around to face you, his back resting against the marble counter with his hands resting comfortably at your waist.

“What’s with the sudden question?” He quirked a well-groomed brow at you and you smiled.

“Nothing… I just read a blog about soulmates and I was curious about whether you thought they were real,” Your fingers danced along Mingyu’s strong, muscular forearms, your fingertips lightly tracing all the old scars and burn marks that signified his experience and years spent working to master his craft. You repeated your original question again. “So… do you think we’re soulmates?”

Mingyu leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I don’t think so, love. I know so.”

“Really?” Your eyes brightened at his words and he nodded.

“Mhm. I knew from the moment I saw you playing with those leftover peas on your plate that I was going to marry you,” Mingyu leaned in again, nuzzling his nose against yours. You giggled. “Sometimes, I have dreams where I knew you in another life. But those dreams felt so… real. Like they’re fragments of memories from a past I can’t recall.”

“Are we married in those dreams too?” 

“Mhm. We were happily married, just like we’re going to be.” Mingyu captured your lips with his, sighing gently as your fingers combed through his dark hair. 

“I love you, Mingyu.” You whispered against his lips, like a secret only meant for the two of you to know. Something to be taken and hidden away, kept a secret in the deepest depths of the earth. A secret so sacred, it can only be cherished in the deepest, darkest places so that no one else can know.

“I love you too, [Name],” Mingyu’s love confession was more bold. Something he uttered with purpose and intention. He wanted the entire universe to know that he was yours. His heart belonged to you. He was going to love you loudly and boldly. “I’ll love you in every universe. Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow.”

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

a/n: this is a big personal FUCK YOU to writer's block AHGJSJD i somehow managed to push through and finish this 😭 (it was at 300 words when i started today) albeit it was on my phone, in the dark, at 1 in the morning BUT I FINISHED IT. n now my insomnia's back LMAOO

[whoreforsexymen]

The VIP Booth | Vander Smut Oneshot 🫗🤎

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairings: Husband!Vander x Wife!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked! 🤺

Word Count: 3.1k (whoops. got carried away with storybuilding)

Tags: Cunnilingus, Fingering, Face Fucking, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Semi-Public Sexual Acts, Established Relationship, etc.

Summary: You coax your husband into eating you out in the only private area The Last Drop has to offer.

Notes: AAAA!! Idk if this idea is ANY GOOD but it came to me in a moment of delusion. The last bit was probably a little rushed, too. SORRYYYY. I’ll make it up to yall later.

Also, tell me I’m wrong when I say that Vander will go to any length to eat some pussy. Do it, cowards. I dare you. YOU KNOW JUST AS WELL AS I DO THAT THIS MAN WOULD HAPPILY DIE WITH HIS FACE IN BETWEEN A PAIR OF THIGHS.

Asks/Request fics are coming soon, as well as a few more special treats for y’all!! Enjoy, my lovelies, & stay tuned. 🤍

(I can see you, minors!! Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

Inside the walls of The Last Drop, there was one booth unlike any other—a private, exclusive spot tucked away behind the bustling central room. It was a booth reserved for those willing to pay for top-tier service, offering a secluded escape from the usual chaos of the bar’s environment. But as co-owner of The Last Drop—and wife to the main owner—you didn’t need to fork out any cash to reserve it. Especially not on a night like this. No—tonight, luck was on your side. The booth had gone unclaimed by any paying customer.

Truthfully, the undeniably significant feature were its curtains. The enormous maroon tapestries that enveloped the entrance ensured complete privacy, shielding it from prying eyes. After all, that’s what made it the VIP booth—an oasis of solitude amidst the drunken chaos of the crowd.

With the booth left unreserved, its privacy ensuring a rare moment of seclusion, and the crowd blissfully distracted by their own drunken revelry, the opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up. You had concocted a devilish plan—one that had been simmering in your mind all night. It wasn’t just about messing with your husband—it was about messing around with him.

Your overwhelming desire for your husband was impossible to ignore on any given day, but tonight, it seemed even more intense—an insatiable hunger that gnawed at you, its cause elusive and beyond your comprehension. Whatever the reason, it gripped you with a force you couldn't obstruct, leaving you restless and consumed by pure unadulterated lust.

This, naturally, allowed your plan to unfold effortlessly, as if guided by an invisible hand, bringing it closer to fruition.

To carry out your devious plan, you had carefully cultivated the trust of one of the few individuals who worked for you and Vander. They weren’t exactly employees in the traditional sense, but rather a handful of people you kept on the fringes, offering a few coins in exchange for their occasional assistance. Their loyalty was fleeting, bought with small tokens, but it was enough to serve your purpose. Especially in a moment such as this. A seemingly crucial one—at that.

You kept things vague, framing your request as though it were purely concerning a business discussion needing to be had. You asked your employee to discreetly inform your husband that someone was calling him from behind the velvet curtains of the VIP booth. You also made it clear that the employee should mirror your discretion, avoiding any mention of your name or your connection to him.

The employee appeared curious, even somewhat uneasy, at first. That was, however, prior to you slipping a generous cash bonus their way, eliciting their cooperation without room for protest.

"Go on, please," you plead with your unsuspecting employee, your voice laced with a blend of urgency and excitement. "But remember—don’t tell him it’s me."

As the employee slips into the bustling crowd, you struggle to contain the surge of excitement building within you, all while fighting to maintain a sultry—yet composed, demeanor. You adjust your hair, breasts, and clothing, making subtle moves to enhance your allure and mystery. Every gesture is deliberate, designed to keep you as collected and captivating as possible, cultivating an air of intrigue about you as you desperately await the arrival of your beloved husband.

They fulfilled your agreement as you waited—approaching their boss and informing him that someone had entered the VIP booth, insisting on speaking with him directly.

"VIP booth? Thought nobody booked it tonight," Vander remarks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a moment to process the information. Normally, you were the one who handled the VIP booth, and he’d have gladly passed this task off to you—if the employee hadn’t mentioned that the VIP “customer” specifically requested Vander. Looks like he’d have to put on a more hospitable facade and give them what they wanted.

If only he knew just what this "customer" truly wanted from him.

After a series of grunts, groans, and huffs, Vander finally made his way to the booth. After forcing a welcoming smile onto his face, he slowly pushed aside the curtains.

"Sorry for the wait. You wanted to speak to the owner—"

His voice faltered, trailing off faster than it had taken him to summon the words.

You feel your own response threaten to catch in your throat, but you won’t cave. You abandon your nerves.

"Why yes, I did. Although..." you drawl, your tone laced with playful mischief, "...'speak' isn’t exactly at the top of the list of things I want to do to the owner."

Your sultry gaze locks onto his, deliciously teasing. Vander, already an imposing figure, looms even larger from your vantage point in the booth. Seated as you are, you find yourself craning your neck significantly just to meet his eyes, the angle only amplifying his commanding presence.

A slew of unidentifiable emotions cross his face in a mere flash before fading into a singularly—equally mischievous to yours—-expression.

“Well. Seein’ as how you are the VIP patron of the night, how can I oblige you?” He queries, his eyebrow raising once more.

Your heart stutters beneath your breast as his expression shifts, his eyes darkening with a lust-filled intensity that sends a shiver through you. The chemistry between you two never failing to baffle you.

"...Serve me," you murmur, your voice soft yet determined to keep the air thick with seduction.

"And what, if I may be so bold to ask, can I serve you with?" he inquires, his voice dipping low, the provocative edge in his gaze unwavering.

"Your body." you quip, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves stirring in your gut, desperate to make it quiver.

Vander eyes you carefully for a moment, savoring the way your confidence wavers. He deliberately toys with the knowledge of how easily he can unsettle you, his gaze lingering as if relishing every flicker of hesitation you try to hide. A smirk slowly spreads across his mouth—the very one you ached for—his eyes glinting with an all-knowing, deviously sexy twinge. He nods softly, his hand rising to casually caress his beard as he watches you, the tension thick in the air.

“Mmhmm. I see," he murmurs, his tone laced with teasing amusement. "Who am I, if not a man willing to care for his loyal customers?" He phrases simply, the words carrying a heavy, unspoken promise before he moves, gracefully lowering himself to his knees across from you. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before he slowly begins to push himself beneath the table that had kept you both apart.

You don’t dare look beneath the table, almost afraid to meet his gaze at this moment, unsure of what you might see on his face now that the situation has shifted. The tension coils tighter, each passing second amplifying the anticipation that overwhelmed your senses.

You practically jump at the brush of his shoulders against your shins as he crawls to them, the rush of anticipation making every nerve in your body jolt. The aching desperation pulling through you draws attention to your core as you feel his strong hands gently caress your legs, the heat of his touch settling on your knees, sending a shiver through you. The way your teeth begin to tug at your bottom lip seemed like the only way you could physically process your eagerness.

Vander remains silent, his hands moving deliberately in opposite directions, the gesture designed to spread your legs—yet he did so with enough force to split you down the middle if he hadn’t been careful enough. It isn’t until he successfully parts them that he speaks again.

“No bottoms? My. What a dirty girl you are, my dear customer. What if someone else had walked in here, hmm? Did you plan on flashing your bits to any bloke who popped his head in?” He teases, practically groaning some of his words, the guttural tone an unintentional yet instinctual reaction to the sight of you so bare—-so clearly prepared for whatever scenario it was you anticipated happening in this little corner of the establishment.

It was obvious to your husband, from the way you were reacting, that the possibility of him crawling under the table to bury his face between your thighs hadn’t even crossed your mind. The surprise and hesitation in your twitches and subtle movements told him everything he needed to know.

The distant, familiar chatter of real customers beyond the thin barrier tightened the knot in your stomach, throwing you into the reality of the moment. It became an unrelenting presence, grounding you in the tension that hung in the air. Meanwhile, the hot, damp breath of your husband seethed against the cold slickness seeping from your cunt, a stark contrast that deepened the unease coursing through you.

A shiver ran up your spine, your body trembling as nervous spasms raked through your bones when he edged even closer—his hair grazing your skin in that familiar way you knew so well. It wasn’t uncommon for your husband to spend most of his time down here, yet no matter how often it happened, the anxiety it stirred within you never waned.

You had an even harder time controlling how your body writhed as you felt the warmth of his tongue flush itself against your sopping heat. Your nails pressed into the soft wood of the table, digging in as you braced yourself, your body jerking. The spasms faltered for a moment, your body going rigid once he started violently lapping his tongue against your aching clit. The abrasing way his beard rubbed against the skin of your thighs sent you into a spiral.

You had expected him to fuck you directly on the table, to take you in the way you were used to—but instead, he toyed with you from beneath it, the unanticipated choice leaving you bewildered. You had been aching for what felt like ages, the desperation almost unbearable. It was a struggle to keep your mouth from parting—your head tilting back, eyes closing as your husband began to ease the tension that had gripped you for so long.

All you wanted was to whimper, to cry out for him, but you couldn’t—not with the patrons so close, just beyond the curtains. If he had only fucked you as you’d expected, he would’ve easily pressed a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, as he had in similar situations before. But this time, you knew he had chosen this path deliberately, testing whether you could hold your composure.

It was his unspoken way of making you atone for the ploy you used to get him here. He was a patient lover, understanding that even though you had pulled him away from his work—which he didn’t mind as much as he let on—you were just too eager to be patient. Always attuned to your needs, he was more than willing to satisfy the cravings of his most cherished wife, finding joy in fulfilling your desires—no matter the time or place. The absence of his familiar presence behind the bar, and the slight potential for upsetting customers, felt like a small price to pay in exchange for the chance to fully indulge in you. To unravel and claim you in ways only he could.

His tongue was relentless. He sloppily sucked and licked at your needy clit, his nose rubbing against the mound of flesh above as he devoured you. His hands were as equally hungry as his mouth, and in need of something to grab. He manhandles your legs, draping them roughly over his shoulders, his fingers gripping at your plush thighs as he curls his arms around them. In doing so, he pulled you closer, your back slipping against the booth as he guided you down, drawing you nearer to him with a purposeful force. His cock was begging to be set free from its cloth prison as he sunk his tongue deep into the void of your cunt. The rhythmic, wet sounds became a melody more captivating than any song he'd ever heard, especially when paired with the soft mewls of you struggling to stay collected—and most importantly—silent.

You can both hear and feel his laugh against you, a deep, low chuckle that carries a mix of arousal and amusement, vibrating through you with every huff. He found the way he could make you squirm incredibly sexy, the reaction sparking a deep sense of pride within him. There was something about the ease with which he could unsettle you that thrilled him, and he took great satisfaction in knowing how little effort it took. He knew all too well that it only took something as simple as a certain look to have you coming undone—and right now, he was determined to make you come undone. All over his tongue.

Vander knows just how wild his fingers can make you on their own— yet especially so when paired with the mastery of his expertly quick and thoughtful tongue.

He wasted no time in combining the two, intent on making you crack under the pressure. While Vander didn’t particularly want to be caught by patrons, either—or, for that matter, by one of your employees—his desire to make you scream was always his top priority.

He grips your thighs with more gusto than before, continuing to pull them further apart in hopes of expanding his ‘workspace’. He releases one of them, the fingers of that hand moving to replace the tongue that was working its familiar magic inside you. He doesn’t give you so much as a single moment to collect your thoughts as he makes the exchange, effortlessly ramming and curling two up into your cunt as his tongue continues its prior attack on your clit.

You swore you were seeing stars behind your eyelids, your grip on the table faltering just like your efforts to stay in control. You couldn't even attempt to cover your mouth, not with the relentless—yet unintentional—way your hands found their way under the table, tangling in his hair and gripping with enough force to pull some strands loose.

You greedily buck your hips down to meet the thrusting of his digits, pulling his head as far into your cunt as possible. He doesn’t complain. He never would. Maybe it was his own type of preferred masochism, but he’d consider suffocating and perishing in between your legs in this way, a noble death.

Your toes ache from the force with which you’re curling them, your legs clutching and winding around his shoulders and neck like a python.

By now, you had abandoned all caution, hope, and effort to moan quietly. You were practically screaming over the deliciously knowing way he prodded his thick fingers into your cunt. He had long forgotten to move them in and out. He knew exactly what spot drove you mad, and he made his most conscious effort to curl them into it as rapidly and frequently as possible.

As much as Vander adored your cries, they were truly becoming far too loud. He really didn’t want any curious folks to come wandering in to spoil the moment when you were so close to your inevitable peak. He has no choice but to silence you. With the hand that remained on your other thigh, he removed it from its resting place, reaching up from beneath the table as he gazes up at you. With a smirk against your cunt, and his eyes studying how your head was still thrown back against the booth, eyes shut tighter than a steel trap—-he shoves two of his free fingers into your mouth. Your eyes shoot open. You look down at him, earning a wink from your husband as he smirks harder against your cunt. The eye contact was filthy, in the most erotic way possible. It always made you feel slightly awkward, in an oddly arousing way, when you made such a type of contact with him in the heat of a moment like this.

You willingly sucked on his fingers, now understanding the purpose for his actions after a thoughtful moment. He groans against your cunt, luckily the sound being muffled by how much his mouth was buried into it. Your tongue swirls itself rapaciously around the digits, drool falling from your mouth as you did so. Vander simply can’t tear his eyes away from such a sight. He groans more as you lower your own gaze, your expression deadly with seduction. He was almost pissy that both of his hands were occupied at the moment. He was anxious to palm at his cock, desperate to find friction of his own now.

His tongue and lips were still working their relentless job on your clit, suckling every few seconds amidst the slurping. The way his facial hair brushes against it every now and then almost sends you into hysterics—bordering on a full blown frenzy.

Your legs are quaking, twitching and spasming with every harsh lick to your clit. It was so sensitive, you couldn’t help how it shocked your nerves, causing them all to fire simultaneously. Electricity burned in your veins, desperate to chase your orgasm as it made your hips flick against his mouth faster than he could lap at you.

Your orgasm burrowed itself into the pit of your stomach, commanding you to follow it down to your cunt.

It didn’t take much longer for you to keel over the edge of your impending climax. It burst through you, your legs clamping shut around his face—a move which Vander was used to by now—-hips mindlessly gyrating against his face as you brutally cum around his fingers. Vander can feel your walls clenching and relaxing back to back with each additional thrust he gave, your voice begging to slip past his fingers as you come undone. He thought you had been dripping wet at the start of this—but he had been sorely mistaken. Your arousal was seeping out of you despite his fingers plugging you up.

“Attagirl..” He whispers against you, giving your clit a few final licks before reluctantly pulling away. The grip on his hair finally loosened as your body went almost completely limp. Your breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, just as desperate as Vander, himself, now was. His cock was so hard, it felt like it was being choked by his trousers. But he had the patience of a saint. He could wait as long as needed for you to collect yourself once again.

“So, was the service to your liking?” he asks, his tone teasing—and entirely rhetorical—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The fingers that had been in your mouth slide free as he takes a moment to compose himself.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, clearly amused by how speechless you’ve become.

“Just don’t forget to tip your server..” He teases, alluding to the painfully obvious fact, that this situation is far from over.

[sugarushwriting]

cherry popper

heeseung x reader

getting your cherry popped by popular f-boy, lee heeseung

adult content featured, read at your own discretion

requests are open

tonight, you were on a mission. on a mission to get rid of your virginity! maybe a frat party wasn’t the best place to lose your virginity, but you knew who you wanted to take it.

lee heeseung.

except you didn’t know if he cherry popped girls or wanted them already experienced.

you couldn’t blame him or any guys though if they preferred not to be the one to take a girl’s virginity. there was a bad stigma around girls who had sex for the first time.

they became attached. needed rose petals and slow sex. needed to cuddle afterwards.

well, not you. at your age, you just wanted it out of the way. the term “virginity” was stupid anyway.

you’ve heard the good things about lee heeseung when it comes to his bed activities. so why not lose your virginity to a guy who was 99% sure to make you come your first time?

there’s nothing more depressing than having your first time be with a guy who is terrible in bed.

your friend knocked on your forehead with a laugh. “you okay?”

you nodded with a smile. “still on the hunt.”

“he’ll be here any minute. just remember, don’t pounce on him. you have to seem mysterious. he’s never seen you here before, so just seem uninterested. he’ll come to you.”

“got it!” you nodded and took a small sip of your cup. you didn’t want to be drunk or even tipsy, but just wanted enough to calm your nerves.

you’ve heard how alcohol ruins some people’s sex drives. even heard the term, ‘whiskey dick,’ so you’re hoping heeseung doesn’t suffer from that.

forty minutes passed, and you still hadn’t seen heeseung, giving up to even look for him. you sighed and looked at your friend.

“i’m going to the bathroom.”

“need me?”

you shook your head. “i’ll be fine.”

you made your way up the stairs, following your friends directions to the bathroom upstairs. your pink miniskirt for sure was covering nothing of your behind, but your friend convinced you to show more skin than usual. your baby tee was tight and short, perfectly flaunting your chest.

once you finished in the bathroom, you quickly gave yourself a once over look in the mirror and opened the door, only to run into a tall figure.

well if that wasn’t perfect timing and a coincidence by the universe.

“hmp, sorry!” you huffed out looking up to eye heeseung.

“no worries baby. haven’t seen you around here before?” he smiled.

oh damn he was a smooth talker.

“oh yeah—first party, with, um, my friend.” you stuttered out.

there was no need for you to pretend to be all shy around him. his aura made you shy. you still had to force yourself to not outright ask, ‘hey heeseung, can you take my virginity?’

all heeseung was doing was smiling at you and you felt intimated. how the fuck were you gonna get this man in bed?

heeseung proved to be easy.

his eyes flipped from your eyes to your lips, back to your eyes, suddenly wanting a taste of the girl who’s never been to a party before. who he has never seen before.

his thumb traced your bottom lip, his own bottom lip being caught between his teeth. “i saw you downstairs with your friend, and thought to myself, ‘damn she’s hot as fuck.’” heeseung whispered out to you.

“re—really?” you asked surprised.

how long has he been here? eyeing you? why hadn’t you seen him walk in?

he nodded, “i knew i had to have you.” he said leaning down to kiss your lips with a peck, leaving you wanting more.

yeah, he wanted you for sure because yes, you were cute, but also, fresh-meat at this party. he couldn’t let his friends get to the cute new girl first.

from observation, he could tell you were the shy type, and he was allured even more by you because of that.

the peck left you wanting more. his lips were just so soft. you’ve kissed boys before, but his lips were the softest.

“mhm, wanna make out?”

“are you twelve?” you teased at the way he asked you.

heeseung chuckled. “just trying to be polite.”

you nodded. he grabbed your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together. heeseung pulled you to a bedroom at the end of the hall.

surprisingly the room was clean and neat. you’ve seen the horror pictures and movies and videos of frat houses.

your friend had told you, the upstairs was completely off limits and they reinforced it. but if you had to use the bathroom (the clean one) sneak upstairs. she had distracted the guy blocking the stairs.

you stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, after heeseung let go of your hand, walking towards the bed.

he smirked. “no need to be shy.” he patted his lap. “you can come sit.”

he wants you to sit on his lap?

you slowly walked towards him, slowly resting on his lap. your knees on either side of his hips. his own hands went to rest on your hips.

bringing your lips down to meet his, you both started making out like a bunch of horny teens. heeseung took it slow with you at first, before his kisses became more desperate and longing. wanting more from you.

his hands squeezed your hips, catching you off guard, and he took the opportunity to poke his tongue in your mouth.

your hands wrapped around his neck, your lower half beginning to feel a bit wet. heeseungs own lower half was starting to get hard, you able to feel him through his jeans and your short skirt.

you rubbed your lower half against him, heeseung letting out a low gritted moan. “keeping doing that and i will come in my pants.” he gripped your ass from under your skirt.

you smiled against his kisses. “again, what are you? a teenage boy?”

heeseung actually loved the teasing. he squeezed your hips tighter, tickling lightly, causing you to squeal.

he flipped you on your back on the bed so he was hovering over you. his lips never leaving yours, he lifted your skirt up more, pulling your underwear to the side.

his middle finger rubbed circles around your clit and the hole of your cunt, teasing you to get you worked up, slick, and ready for him.

his finger teased at your entrance, he could feel the tightness of you.

although you’ve pleasured yourself a few times, your fingers were in no comparison to heeseung.

heeseungs finger slowly entered you, his lips still not leaving their spot from you, and as he slowly inched deeper, you whined into his mouth at the feeling.

slight sting but feeling good. heeseung slowly added another finger and began pumping his fingers in and out of you, his lips moving to suck on a sweet spot on your neck.

an odd sensation came, you riding heeseungs fingers, feeling your stomach feel tight, your cunt becoming needier.

“ride my fingers, there you go.” heeseung said to you.

you bit your lower lip and an over pleasuring sensation came over you.

did you just come? you thought it’d be more intense than that.

you felt good, and when he went to rub his fingers against your clit, you did feel over sensitive.

you didn’t realize heeseung had left a hickey on your neck.

heeseung removed his fingers from you, standing up to unbutton his belt and pants pulling them and his boxers down.

leaning on your elbows, your eyes widened at his length. aw shit.

heeseung pumped his own length a few times, “mhm, open your mouth.”

“can you be a little nicer?” you asked with a smile.

“please open your mouth?”

you nodded and scooted towards the end of the bed where you sat comfortably while heeseung stood.

you licked his tip, swirling your tongue around the head before slowly taking just the head in between your lips giving it a suck.

“please don’t tease.” heeseung sighed. your mouth just felt too good.

you smiled with his dick in your mouth, opening a bit wider to take his length in as much as you could. your hand stimulating whatever was left over and his balls.

you did have a gag reflex, and you weren’t about to test it now.

“fuck, so good. please come to these parties more often.” heeseung sighed out as your head pumped back and forth against him.

you sucked, your tongue swirling against the underside, your hand putting small pressure on his balls, squeezing just right for him.

heeseungs hand went to the back of your head, and when he pushed a bit for more than you could take, you choked, your gag reflex kicking in.

you pulled away, needing to breathe, a line of your spit between his tip and your lips.

“fuck that was hot. i love a girl with a gag reflex honestly.” heeseung moaned. he took your jaw back in between his hands, his thumb tapping your lower lip to open.

you followed, and he stuffed his dick back into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat, you gagging once again.

heeseung had to control himself to not lose control and just fuck your face.

as you bobbed your head, heeseung also moved his hips back and forth. “mhm, mouth feels so good, i’m gonna come.”

you used your hand to help stimulate what your mouth couldn’t. heeseungs moans became lower and more messy.

“fuck, can i come in your mouth?”

you nodded, and that’s all he needed before hot spurts of his come entered your throat. heeseung let out strings of curse words in pleasure.

“fuck that was hot.” he mumbled, catching his breath.

with your skirt still flipped up, heeseung undressed your lower half completely, and he finished taking off his clothing, grabbing a condom from the pocket of his jeans.

most girls would probably be like, ‘return the favor!’ but if you came one more time without his dick, you wouldn’t have the stanima to go a third round on his dick. tonight, you were okay with giving a blowjob and not getting your pussy ate.

heeseung kissed you, tasting himself, biting your lower lip, all while slipping on the condom.

you hadn’t realized how fast and skilled he was until you felt his head prodding your hole.

“oh fuck!” you whispered. your eyes squeezed shut, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other the bed covers.

“mhm so tight, like no one’s ever fucked this pussy.” heeseung mumbled out.

he slowly eased into you, feeling the warmth and resistance but thought nothing much of it. heeseung thought maybe you just hadn’t been with a guy of his size.

you bit down on your lower lip, the stinging sensation back, you fighting off the feeling of the pain trying to focus on the pleasure.

breathing deeply through your nose, you tried your best to relax, heeseungs eyebrows knitted in confusion and focus.

he slowly moved his length back and forth, feeling your hand tighten on his shoulder.

that’s when it hit him. the tightness and resistance. your eyebrows knitted, eyes closed. your hand having a death grip on him and the bed.

“are you fucking serious?” he said out loud, taking you off guard, you opened your eyes, “are you a virgin?” he narrowed his eyes at you.

a tear dropped down your cheek, you sniffling your nose. “please don’t be mad.” you sighed out a little sob.

heeseung shook his head. “it’s not that im mad, im just—i don’t know.”

regardless, heeseung didn’t pull out, but he didn’t move further. he stayed still inside of you.

you sniffled again. “it’s just—i—i was tired of being a virgin, and i heard about your reputation of being with a lot of girls and being able to please them. i didn’t want my first time to suck, and i debated on telling you, but i didn’t know if you were the type to get an ick when it came to virgins!”

heeseung lowered his head in shame. he couldn’t believe someone who sucked dick so good was a virgin.

“you suck dick too good for a virgin.” he said then raised his eyebrow at you.

you smiled shyly, “i uh, never did that either.”

“fuck! what have you done that i wasn’t your first?”

“i’ve used my own fingers, but of course that doesn’t compare to yours. and yes, i have kissed others before.”

heeseung sighed, “this is bad,”

before he could finish you cut him off, “no! it doesn’t have to be okay? i promise i won’t get attached, i am not expecting anything from you after this okay? i don’t need roses or cuddles either. i know what i’m getting myself into, heeseung.”

“you know my name, but i don’t even know yours. can i at least have the name of the girl’s virginity i took?”

you told him your name. “i’m really sorry, i didn’t mean to undermine you.”

heeseung laughed, “yes you did and it’s honestly okay and kind of refreshing. usually im the one undermining girls.”

all while this conversation went on, heeseung was still hard and sat still in you.

“i’m surprised you’re still hard.”

“my dick is in a tight pussy. a virgin pussy. must have a virginity or corruption kink, i guess.”

“i’m okay. can we please continue, heeseung?”

heeseung nodded slowly. “only if i can be the first one to eat that pussy too.”

you chuckled, “as you wish.”

heeseung began to move, his pace slow. he finished bottoming out, a loud moan leaving your lips, but you tapped his shoulder with two fingers, to let him know to keep going.

heeseung pulled out to his tip, before he bottomed out once again. although you were a virgin, he wasn’t going to be too gentle with you, and you were okay with that.

after a few thrusts it began to feel better. “mhm, feels better heeseung.” you groaned, your head resting to the side.

you wrapped your legs around heeseung, locking him in, your hand resting on his cheek, bringing him down for a kiss.

“can’t believe you let me fuck this pussy first. chose me.” heeseung moaned. “so happy you let me fuck you first. going to ruin you for anyone else. not going to want anyone’s cock but mine.”

heeseung began his spew of dirty talk, which just made you wetter by each statement.

who knew dirty talk would turn you on so much.

“looks like my cherry likes dirty talk.” heeseung laughed as his pace sped up just a bit.

heeseung sat up on his knees, taking you at a different angle so he could reach deeper, and closer to your cervix.

you looked down, able to see the outline of him inside of you. you moaned at the sight.

“look at you. taking me so well. so tiny underneath me. too big for you baby.”

heeseung slightly put pressure on your lower stomach, your legs wrapping tighter, as you lifted your hips.

“gonna make you come on your first cock, cherry.”

“please make me come, hee.” you begged, your mind going blank, your vision blurry with tears of pleasure.

spews of groans, moans, random words leaving your mouth, mixed with heeseungs name.

oh yes, this was the intense orgasm people talked about. what your friends talked about, and gloated about.

heeseungs finger went to rub circles on your clit, adding pressure which tipped you over the edge.

his dick thrusting in and out. the angle of his dick hitting somewhere within you so good. his thumb on your clit. his palm pressing down on your stomach. his dirty talk and praises.

you were overwhelmed with pleasure. and in no time, with one last scream and cry, heeseungs name leaving your lips, you came around his dick.

heeseung helped you ride out your orgasm while he reached his, stilling inside you, emptying into the condom.

heeseung collapsed above you, nose to nose, and he gave you a peck on your lips, then moved his face to the crook of your neck, leaving a kiss there.

he pulled out, your lower half fluttering at the loss of him, both of you moaning from loss of each other.

heeseung rolled on his back, and took off the condom, noting a little blood. when he looked down, no blood was on him, but he was worried about you.

he looked over to you, no blood on the sheets.

“what?” you asked sitting up, feeling a bit of an ache already settling in.

“let’s get you to the bathroom. there was a bit of blood on the condom.”

your face felt hot in embarrassment. “i’m sorry.” you mumbled.

heeseung kissed your forehead. “no need to be embarrassed. it’s normal and it happens.”

heeseung got up and you followed him to the bathroom.

you made sure to empty your bladder, just tiny spotting. you groaned. “i can’t ruin my underwear.” you sighed. this was so embarrassing.

heeseung opened the cabinet, you looked over seeing pads and liners. looking back at him with a glaring expression.

“this is jays bathroom. he’s a romantic, always making sure whatever girl he’s with at the time is covered.” heeseung explained, scratching the back of his head.

“maybe i should have had jay take my virginity then.” you joked.

heeseung didn’t laugh. “absolutely not. you’re off limits to him and any of my friends now.”

crossing your arms, you stared into his eyes, “now who’s the clingy one after taking someone’s virginity?”

“get used to it cherry.”

“cherry?”

“yeah, cause i popped your cherry.”

you pushed his shoulder. “you are so—!”

“sexy? handsome? amazing in bed? i know.”

you both laughed easing any tension or doubts between one another.

heeseung left you to finish your business in the bathroom and get dressed, as he got back dressed in the bedroom.

you felt guilty allowing him to take your virginity—have sex—in his friend’s bed.

when you came out the bathroom you said, “should we offer to wash his bed sheets?”

“don’t worry, he’ll make me wash his sheets, cleanse his room, perform an exorcism.”

you both chuckled opening the door, jay leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, not a happy smile.

“i lock my door for a reason! you’re damn right you’ll be washing my bedding AND performing that exorcism.”

poor jay.

[harrysfolklore]

Imagine max x driver!reader with the whole fia and swearing situation they’d be such a power couple. Manifesting more max fics!! I love all your work esp little bitch and honorary wag💓

okay this is teeeny tiny piece but i just had tooo. max is too iconic

You're sitting beside Max, your boyfriend and teammate, in the press conference room after the qualifying session in Singapore. The air feels thick with humidity and tension, though most of the tension is radiating off Max.

His latest penalty from the FIA—a fine and community service for swearing —has him fuming. He made it very clear on the way in that he wasn’t going to play nice. Today was going to be a day of vague, shady responses, and you were more than happy to back him up.

The moderator starts with the usual question for Max about how he felt securing P2.

“It was fine,” Max replies, voice completely flat. No elaboration, no typical analysis. Just that.

The reporter stares at him, clearly expecting more, but Max leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly as if daring anyone to push him further.

To your right, Lando is barely holding it together, his mouth twitching as he watches the whole scene unfold. You catch his eye and he shoots you a look like, Is this real?

The next question is directed at you. Something predictable about how you’re feeling being P3, your thoughts on tomorrow’s race strategy.

“Well,” you start, raising an eyebrow, “I guess the plan is… to go fast and not crash.”

There’s an awkward silence in the room, the journalist blinking at you as if he didn’t hear you correctly. Lando makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a cough, struggling to contain himself as you sit there, completely straight-faced.

“And the tire strategy?” the moderator presses, trying to steer things back into something vaguely professional.

“Use them until they wear out, I suppose.” You lean back in your chair, mimicking Max’s posture, crossing your legs casually as if you’ve just given a perfectly reasonable answer. Max looks at you with a cocky and proud smile, you discretely wink at him.

"Max, can you elaborate on your car's performance today?" another reporter tries.

Max tilts his head, considering for a moment. "It went forward when I pushed the pedal, and stopped when I hit the brakes. Very efficient, really."

You can't help but smirk at his response, and you notice Lando has given up on maintaining composure, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

The moderator, looking increasingly uncomfortable, turns to you again. "YN, how do you feel about potentially challenging your teammate for position tomorrow?"

You lean forward, adopting a serious expression. "Well, I've been told it's important to keep things clean on track. Wouldn't want to use any… inappropriate maneuvers."

"Absolutely. We're all about clean racing now. Very family-friendly." Max adds

The reporters exchange glances, clearly unsure how to handle this united front of sarcasm and vague responses. Lando, meanwhile, has resorted to covering his face with his hands, his shoulders visibly shaking with suppressed laughter.

As the press conference draws to a close, you and Max stand up together, your body language mirroring each other's. Before leaving, you turn to the room with a final statement:

"Just want to thank everyone for their thoughtful questions today. This has been a very enlightening experience. Almost as enlightening as some recent FIA decisions."

As you exit the room, hand in hand with Max, you can hear the burst of chatter from the journalists behind you, no doubt trying to decipher the subtext of your responses. Lando catches up with you in the hallway, finally letting out the laugh he's been holding in.

"You two are unbelievable," he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. "I thought I was going to lose it in there!"

Max grins, his earlier tension now replaced with a sense of satisfaction. "Well, we aim to entertain," he says, giving your hand a squeeze.

[hopesangelsprite]

His Little Angel

Pairing: ClanLeader!Gojo x Wife!Reader

Summary: Being the big boss of an infamous Jujutsu sorcerer family can be pretty hard, but being the wife of said boss is even harder.

Warnings: Groping, Dacryphilia, Size Difference, Gojo's Powers, Virginity Loss, Slightly Mean Gojo, Pet Names (Angel, Little Love, etc.), Overstim, Cunnilingus, Semi- Public Sex (behind closed doors but people are still around-), Creampie

MINORS/AGELESS ACCS DNI

Viewer discretion is advised.

The first few months at the Gojo estate were arguably the hardest months of your life.

Everything from the elders to the wedding day, the stares and whispers that came with your new title of Madam Gojo; all of it seemed to be a part of some elaborate scheme designed to drive you insane. It didn't help that your husband was almost never around, busy with meetings and overseeing that the Gojo name remained sacred. His absence only gave way to more rumors, whispers of you being unable to fulfill your roles as a wife, that your marriage was one of convenience and that your affections lay with another man.

Only half of that was true. While your marriage had been arranged, born of the necessity to produce a strong, viable heir, your affections lay with no one other than your estranged husband. Though you didn't know him well, you respected the hell out of him for being able to take on the weight of the world and maintain composure under the constant watch of it. You only wished he'd allow you to take part of that weight away, to slow down enough to let you do your duties as at least a business partner if not his wife. "Madam, you're scowling again.", came a quiet voice from behind you, "You'll get wrinkles.". As your consciousness came back to you, you found that you were indeed scowling. The troubles were beginning to get to you.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as your features softened, eyes darting up to glance at your handmaid in the mirror. "My apologies, I seem to be more tired than usual.", you mused as you watched her fingers carefully detangle your hair. In all honesty, it was a surprise you hadn't keeled over from exhaustion yet. Ever since you'd said your vows, your hands had been very full and very busy. Though Satoru took care of mostly everything, there was still quite a lot to fulfill on your end as well. If you weren't overseeing food and flower selections, you were playing nice with the elder ladies at the estate. Being cordial was tiresome and quickly becoming stale.

At your words, the hands in your hair stilled and the eyes trained on you in the mirror narrowed. "You aren't falling ill are you, Madam?", came that same small voice, this time laced with suspicion. You quickly shook your head and sat up straighter in your chair. "No, no.", you answered as smoothly as you could, "I just need a bit more rest, that's all!". There was a moment of silence before she nodded and continued to brush your hair.

That was another thing about the residents of the Gojo estate, they all were obsessed with your health. You understood that you needed to be healthy to produce an heir, but being under constant watch and polite restriction was agitating. It drove you to respect your husband even more when you considered the standard of perfection that he held himself to. After a few more minutes of quiet conversation, your handmaid withdrew from your chamber with a bow leaving you in silence.

The longer you stared into your own reflection, the deeper you found yourself slipping into your mind. On the outside, you were the picture of perfection, pristine and pretty with all the makings of a great partner, but on the inside... on the inside you were falling apart at the seams. You thought you had what it took to be the wife of the strongest, you had been raised to possess all the independence, intelligence, and talent your parents could give you. Still, it all seemed to amount to nothing in comparison to the cunning politics at the Gojo estate where every word had a double meaning, and every smile hid something sinister behind it. Though you had only been married for a short time, you honestly were beginning to think you weren't cut out to be a wife to the man people revered and worshipped.

Behind you, the sound of your door sliding open once again drew you back to reality. Your eyes flickered upward expecting to see that your handmaid had returned only to find yourself staring into the cerulean eyes of your husband. He entered into the room with a grace unknown to normal humans, bowing his head as he crossed the threshold with arms tucked into his haori. The door slid shut behind him, his presence commanding all of infinity to draw to him as well as your full attention. You stood with quickness, bowing deeply while fighting to calm the racing of your heart. "Welcome home, Gojo-sama.", you spoke politely into the room that now seemed to be buzzing with electricity.

A deep, sultry chuckle filled the silence of the room, and you swore the candles in the room flickered for a moment afterward. "Rise.", he commanded, and your body followed suit, "There's no need for formalities here.". A sudden heat washed over you at the timber of his voice, stern yet cordial as if the only interactions you'd had with him since your wedding day weren't in passing. As you took in the sight of him, however, any sort of ill feelings you'd been harboring disintegrated into nothingness. Gojo Satoru was a vision of beauty itself. He was tall and broad, standing proudly as his snowy hair fluttered in a nonexistent breeze. His eyes were a sharp blue that pierced into the innermost parts of your being, carefully analyzing all that made you you with every flutter of his wispy lashes. At your silence, his pretty pink lips turned upward into a smirk, the rosy color a stark contrast from his milky white skin.

"I hear that you've been hiding things from me... that you've begun to overexert yourself with the duties of the estate.", he purred with a darkness that made your heart flutter, "My duties.". Your eyes widened at his words, your head shaking in denial as you mentally cursed your handmaid for running her mouth. "I am perfectly well, I assure you.", you replied earning a deep hum, "As for the duties... I was under the impression that I was doing the tasks of a wife, of a partner.".

Gojo traversed the room silently, his footfalls eerily quiet as he invaded your space with an odd gentleness. Now that he was closer, your senses were bombarded with the heavy mint vanilla scent that wafted of him in waves; it made you dizzy. "As a partner, yes.", he began while taking your chin in between his index finger and thumb before leaning in closer, "But as a wife, your only duties are to live comfortably, look pretty, and serve me well.". From the steeliness in his eyes to the gentle tightening of his grip, it was clear that this wasn't a suggestion and most definitely not up for discussion. A glint of mischief flashed in his eyes as if he could read your mind; you wouldn't be surprised if he was able to.

"Do you understand, angel?", he pressed while standing up straight and towering over you to which you nodded. With a shaky exhale, you poured your remaining courage into words and answered him, "Yes. I understand, Gojo-sama.". He hummed again, eyes darting over your figure unabashedly. The heat from earlier returned with fervor as you fidgeted under his gaze; the feeling of being exposed screaming at you to hide yourself from him, but his existence demanded that you stay put, that you submit to him. "There goes that damned title again.", he said with a click of his tongue more to himself than you, "Seems like I'll have to cleanse it from your palate.". Before you could fully process his words, his mouth was on yours.

The kiss started as a slow one, gradually increasing intensity as you let him lead you. The cool of his lips and the mint on his tongue made your spine tingle, a shiver slithering down it as his tongue invaded your mouth drawing a whimper from you. As the kiss deepened, you felt Gojo's hands begin undoing the ribbons of your kimono, the silky fabric sliding of your shoulders to further expose you to him.

More layers began to fall from you until you were bare, shaking under the cool touch of your husbands' hungry hands. For a moment, the air around you spiked with electricity and as the tension died down you realized that you're no longer in your bedroom. The scent and feel of an unfamiliar mattress greeted you as Gojo broke the kiss to begin marking a trail down the column of your neck. It took you a second, but the realization eventually settled in; he'd used his powers. The thought sent a wave of arousal pouring from you.

More slick began to trickle from you as his lips descended lower and lower until he was placing open mouthed kisses over your clothed mound. Your heart skipped a few beats as you watched him remove the soaked white fabric from you and your heart nearly gave out completely as he separated your clenched thighs with ease. A strangled moan escaped him as he took in the sight of your cunt, lips plush and coated. "I suggest you be a good little wife and let me have my way with you.", he hissed, and the sudden rush of air made you tremble, "I'd hate to have to pin you down.".

Gojo didn't hesitate to flatten his tongue against your slit, licking upward until his lips latched onto your clit. A breathy moan fluttered from your chest as he sucked hard, cyan colored eyes locked on you as he started devouring you like a man starved. The unfamiliar sensation of his tongue swirling between your folds made your hips buck, your hands gripping the sheets in a weak attempt to ground yourself. Between your legs, Gojo had descended into madness; the sweetness of your pretty pussy intoxicating him with every swallow he drank down. As he suckled at your pearl, breathy moans met his ears, and he felt you begin to shake and inch up the bed.

He released your folds with a wet pop and nipped at your bud, a warning for you to hold still before pulling you back onto his mouth with dark eyes. You tried to protest but the words were ripped from your throat before you could utter them. Another long lick was dealt to your cunt followed by the prodding of his long fingers at your entrance. As his tongue flicked rapidly across your clit, the tips of his finger pushed past your entrance and began to scissor you open. The pressure that'd been building in your belly grew unbearable, tears prickling at your lash line as a hum from Gojo sent vibrations straight to your core. You opened your mouth to warn him of your impending release just as his fingertips brushed against a spongey spot deep inside your velvety walls. You shuddered, vision going white as your cunt clamped down on his digits; the orgasm rushing over you, pulling loud pleas from your kiss bitten lips.

He let you ride out your high for a few moments before separating himself from your folds. He watched you struggle to regain control of your body with pride, hands busy with undressing himself and freeing his throbbing cock from its confines. By the time the spots had cleared from your eyesight, he's placed your ankles on his broad shoulders and aligned himself with your entrance. You gasped as you watched his fat, pink mushroom tip slip through your lips. "W-wait! Gojo-sama-", you called only to be silenced by a hard stare from him. "Satoru.", he corrected you with a slap of his tip against your puffy clit, "You'll refer to me as Satoru from now on.".

You nodded, eyes still fixed on the massive length preparing to split you open, possibly split you apart. "Satoru, t-there's no way that'll fit inside me.", you tried to reason with him, "I've never... It'll break me.". A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he started to grind against your mound, precum mixing with your slick and covering his member.

"Don't worry, angel. I'll make it fit.", he assured you as he rolled his hips forward to catch on your entrance. Inch by inch, Satoru began sinking into your cunt with shallow thrusts. The sting of being stretched well past your limits caused the tears that'd welled in your lash line to fall from your eyes in streaks. At the sight, Satoru cooed and licked them away between whispered apologies and sweet nothings. He promised you that the pain would go away soon, a lie he partially felt bad for telling you. Afterall, he wasn't even halfway in yet.

When he did finally bottom out, he was fighting against the urge to fuck you into the mattress. Instead, he busied himself with adjusting the both of you, with manhandling you into a deep mating press. In that position, all your senses are once again overwhelmed with him. You could feel the tickle of his snowy locks against your forehead, his scent further addling your already frazzled brain. Your mind only slipped further away when Satoru pulled out completely to slam his hips into yours.

He fucked into you with long, deep strokes, pace slow and torturous. Any pain from earlier was chased away with white hot pleasure, your gummy walls fluttering around him as you fought to keep yourself quiet. You could only imagine what the elders would think of you if they heard you getting ruined, what the maids would whisper about if they heard the sound of Satoru's hefty balls smacking against your ass.

He wasn't having it, though. Swiftly, Satoru took your face into one of his huge hands, squishing your lips into a soft oh. "Ah ah ah, don't you fucking think about it.", he growled as he picked up the pace, "Keep that pretty mouth open for me, little love. I don't give a damn about who hears.". The knot in the pit of your stomach tightened at his words and he didn't miss how you clamped down on his cock. He chuckled at the sensation and took a moment to suck your tongue into his mouth before trickling a large globule of saliva into your own. He pulled back, hips now pistoning into yours as his high drew closer.

Moans and broken pleas bubbled from your chest with every drag and bump of his tip against your cervix, barely registering when Satoru's hand snaked between your bodies to rub quick circles into your already buzzing clit. A desperate scream escaped you at the staticky pops of his cursed energy against the sensitive bundle of nerves. " 'Toru, please!", you sobbed as the knot grew dangerously close to snapping, "I c-can't take it anymore!".

He couldn't hear you, he was too far away, too pussydrunk to comprehend your words or the flicker of the candles around him. A feral growl tore from his chest as he pounded into you harder. You should've already been done for, his reverse technique holding you together as he ravaged you with the selfish intent of pumping you full of cum. He dealt you a few more long thrusts before your chest pressed into his, back arching off the bed. You came with a silent scream, body shaking underneath his as you blacked out for a second and drenched his cock in a fresh wave of slick. As your walls spasmed around his pulsating head, Satoru's balls tightened and emptied into your needy pussy. "Fuck fuck fuck!",he hissed through clenched teeth, "That's my pretty little wife, take my cum.".

It took several moments for either of you to begin coming down, Satoru's hips grinding into yours as he fucked his cum deeper into your still fluttering walls. You shivered as the overstimulation took hold of you. A sudden knock came from the outside of the room, a timid, flustered voice calling for Satoru to meet with the elders; down the hallway you heard the overlapping voices of angry men drawing nearer. You gasped as you felt his teeth scrape against your collarbones. "Don't worry about them, pretty girl.", he warned, and you felt his cock stiffen again.

"They're the least of your worries tonight.".

[entitled-fangirl]

Only you, pretty girl.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

SMUT 18++++++

Summary: the reader is feeling insecure about herself. Is she worthy of Cregan? He'll have none of that.

Warnings: insecurity, disordered eating, unhealthy thoughts about food, oral (f receiving), fingering, just a lot. Read at your own discretion.

A/N: based on an ask!

Masterlist

...............................................

She stared at herself in the mirror as her handmaiden tied the last piece of her dress.

Earlier that day, the young Lady of Winterfell had ventured out into the city to meet with the various townsfolk. Passing by the brothel, one woman in particular began to say horrid things about the woman's weight, looks, dresses, and anything that could dig under her skin. 

And it seemed to follow her the rest of the day.

Now, back in the safety of Winterfell, she smoothed down the fabric of her evening dress. 

And every insecurity seemed to be put on display.

Was she too big? Too needy?

Was she worthy of Cregan?

"Lady Stark?" Her handmaiden murmured.

"Hmm?" She turned her head to the girl.

"I'm sorry, my lady, but you seemed rather scattered."

"Do forgive me. There is a lot on my mind."

"Perhaps I should get Lord Stark to escort you to supper?"

"No." She was quick to counter. "No. I… I actually will not be attending supper tonight."

"Shall I undress you then, my lady?"

She sighed lightly. "Yes. Yes, I am sorry."

It was the first night Cregan had ever eaten by himself since they had wed.

It reminded him of his life after his father's death. An empty table. The only sound was his fork against the plate.

He hated it.

…

"Good morning, pretty girl," Cregan whispered as he brushed her hair from her forehead. "Ready to break fast?"

She hummed contently, not daring to open her eyes.

He pressed a light kiss to her forehead. "C'mon. I won't eat by myself again."

When she did not move, his arms quickly moved under her, picking her up and into his arms as he moved off of the bed.

And when he began to leave the room with her, she put up a fight, "Cregan, stop."

He walked the two through the doorway and into the corridor.

"Cregan, I'm not dressed!"

"Don't care."

She began to wiggle in his arms, desperate to get down. Her playful tone was quickly lost. "Put me down!"

He set her down on her feet, confused by her sudden urgency. "My love, what-"

"I had said stop. You are not listening to me." She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to comfort the sudden exposure she was feeling. "I just have no hunger."

He sighed, "Forgive me. It was not my intention to-"

But his words fell on deaf ears as the door to their chambers shut with her on the other side.

Another meal alone.

…

He made another attempt that afternoon, finding a small sliver of time amidst his lordly duties to find his wife.

He entered the room where she and the other northern ladies met consistently at this time every week.

But they all looked up at him as if they were expecting it to be someone else.

"Where is my wife?"

"Dunno, Lord Stark," Lady Mormont shrugged. "Handmaiden said she wasn't comin."

Cregan's head tilted.

"What do you mean? Is she ill?"

She was not ill.

Not physically.

She had spent every second since her interaction with Cregan in her room.

More accurately, in front of the mirror.

Perhaps if she did more heavy lifting, she might be more muscular. No, that was not womanly. Perhaps just less food. Yes, less food will do.

Cregan threw the door open.

And though she jumped away from the mirror, he still saw what she was doing.

"Are you ill?"

"No. I mean," She looked at him. "Um…. Yes."

His brows raised, "Well? Which is it?"

"I just feel unlike myself is all."

He gave a small 'humph'. His eyes studied her intensely.

…

"When was the last time my wife has eaten?"

Her handmaiden stared up at him. "I dunno, my lord."

…

He had to practically beg his wife to join him for dinner.

And there the two sat in silence. 

The only sound was his fork on his plate once again.

Cregan slammed his fist down on the dining table. "What have I done?"

Her eye flick up to look at him, confused by his sudden aggression. "W…What?"

He forced himself to take a steady breath. "Have I angered you? Upset you? I don't understand."

She was albeit more confused than him. What was he talking about?

At her silence, Cregan continued. "You're not eating. Not as you should."

"'M not hungry."

"That's what you've been saying. I think it's rubbish."

Shit.

Her eyes widened and she stared back up at him.

"Y/n."

She only stared.

"Speak."

Another moment of silence.

"DAMMIT, GIRL!"

Her eyes watered immediately.

Cregan felt horrid. But he didn't know what else to do. So he double-down.

"TELL. ME."

She began to weep in her seat, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

He stood up, knocking his chair onto its back with a crack that echoed through the hall.

The sound did nothing to stop him as he rounded the table, grabbed the armrest of her chair, and pulled it further out. He knelt in front of her. He sat silently, but his eyes spoke more words than he could count.

She only cried into her hands.

Cregan pulled her wrists away, then cupped her face with a strong grip. "I'm not understanding you."

Her face was pink with embarrassment and tears. 

"What has caused you such distress?" He tried one last time.

"Have you ever… ever wished to visit… the brothel?"

Cregan feels ice go through his veins. "What?"

She sniffles and puts her hands over his. "The… the brothel. Have you ever-"

"Quiet."

She immediately hushes.

"I've never had the thought."

"You can be honest with me, Cregan," she sniffled. "I will not fault you if you-"

"I said to be quiet."

She quieted again, staring at the man.

Cregan sighs and drops his hands to her thighs. "I have never thought about that, my dear wife. I've never wished it. Never wanted it. Now, tell me- What brought this on?"

She shook her head, still sniffling and hiccuping through the remainder of her tears.

"You know I've held no other thoughts in my mind since the moment I saw you," Cregan finally stated calmly. "I used to think of everything and anything all the time. And when you entered… I have no thoughts but ones of you."

"I'm… I'm not the prettiest of women-"

"QUIET!"

"Cregan-"

"WHEN WILL YOU LISTEN TO ME?"

Her lips pulled into a thin line at his words.

"Just…" He stood up, his frame towering over her sitting one. He held his hand out to her, "C'mere."

She dared to take his hand.

The stubborn wolf of a man began to drag her through the halls of Winterfell, his pace quick and steady.

When they got to their chambers, he practically threw her onto the bed. 

He quickly pulled himself over her. "When are you gonna listen to what I have to say about my wife?" He growled in her ear. 

"Cregan-"

"Say you want this. Say you want me. If you don't, I'll leave you alone. But if I am to stay, there will be a change in you, and I'll make sure of it."

She nodded her head, "I can change, Cregan. I can, I promise-"

He scoffed, "Am I going to have to fuck some sense into you?"

She felt her thighs rub together, trying to hide how aroused it made her.

But he noticed. He smiled, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He nodded and pulled himself up a a bit more. "You're going to be quiet. And you're going to listen. You can only speak if you need me to stop. Understood?"

She nodded.

His smile grew into pure content. He leaned back over her, kissing her lips lightly. "You'll listen closely, yes?"

"Every word."

"Good."

His lips trailed down to her jaw, leaving kisses in the wake as he whispered, "Such a pretty girl. You're made for me, you know that? Made just for the Lord of Winterfell. You're mine, aren't you?"

She let out a soft whimper when he kissed a soft point on her neck.

He grinned, noticing her lack of response to his question. "Good. You're listening."

His arms pulled her up to a sitting position as he began to pull at her dress, sliding the fabric down her shoulders.

She moved to cover herself, but Cregan was quick. He grabbed her wrists. "Be good for me, my girl. I want to see you."

He pulled her small clothes with it to pool at her waist, revealing her breasts to him.

She turned pink at the way he stared at her.

His hand moved slowly up the side of one of her hips to the underside of her breast. His thumb made a soothing motion as he stared down at her.

"Lie down again."

She opened her mouth to speak, but she remembered his rule. So she laid herself down with hesitancy.

Immediately, Cregan moved over her again. He studied her eyes for any real hesitation.

They had laid together only two nights before. How quickly she had fallen apart.

Her body wanted it. He knew her as well as the back of his hand. But something in her mind was causing a hindrance to her. And he intended to find out what.

With the promise to stop if she merely asked, Cregan began to kiss down her neck once more. 

"Pretty thing." 

A soft moan escaped her throat when one of his hands began to caress one of her breasts. 

He grinned against her neck and flicked her nipple with his thumb, enjoying her reactions. 

But he quickly moved his hand and focused on where his lips trailed. 

A kiss to her cheek. "A pretty complexion. Color and all."

A kiss to her lips. "Soft, pouty lips to speak your mind, even when it is frustrating, as well as to kiss your husband."

A kiss on the the bridge of her nose, between her eyes. "Pretty eyes that are as rich as the ground they will lie our bodies in."

His head bent down, his nose pushing her chin up so he could lay a kiss to her neck. He felt her breath hitch. "You believe all that, don't you? I'll make you believe it."

A kiss to one of her biceps. "Arms that will carry our future child. It's a wonder I've not filled you with one yet." He smiled as he looked at her. "Don't fret. I'll change that soon enough."

He pulls her hand up to his lips. He kisses each finger. "Hands that do your bidding every day. Each one crafted to perfection."

He moves back to her chest, kissing between the valley of her breasts. Her breath quickens in anticipation of his movements. He turns his head, kissing the underside of her right breast. "And you dare think you're not enough?"

He moved his head to the other side, repeating the action. He then sits up and stares lovingly at her breast. "My girl…"

He grins and moves down, finally giving her what she wanted as his lips begin to suckle on one of her breasts.

She lets out a whine, moving her hands finally to the man's hair.

"Our babe will feed from these breasts," he groans as he tilts his head up to look at her. "How will it do so if you do not eat?"

He gives the other attention, giving soft kisses to the side where stretch marks mar her skin before moving his head further down. His thumbs knead at the sides of her stomach. "And the child will be here. It already is. Just waiting. I'm trusting you to care for it. Can I trust you with that? With my future?"

She nods her head adamantly, trying to listen carefully but mostly drunk on his touch. 

"Good." He kisses above her navel.

He lifts her hips, pulling the dress down her legs and throwing it off of the bed. She laid bare before him. She wanted to be embarrassed, but she couldn't bring herself to.

His hands move to the underside of her thighs, pushing her legs up and his face becomes level with her slit.

"And this wonder. Gods, it weeps for me." His breath blows onto her skin, making her hiss. "Do you believe that one man and woman are truly made for one another?" He asked. "I do. I do quite fiercely. Look at you. Just the sight of you makes me feel things."

When her hands grip at his hair, he smirks and pulls her hands away. "Easy. You know I'll give you what you want. I'm almost there."

Cregan draws the moment out, making her whine. "I've never been a religious man, but I do believe I know a copy of the Mother when I see one and gods… I really do believe I have."

His lips press a gentle kiss to her mound. 

She gasps. 

She can feel his teeth pull into a grin at her reaction, and he pushes his face down to brush his nose over the nerves as his tongue darts out to her slit and begins to feast. 

"This taste," he moans. "I'll never get enough."

Her hips move to jerk, but he's quick to catch her, holding her in place.

"Cregan…" she groans."

"You want me to stop?" His voice muffles against her.

"NO, No. Don't… don't stop. Please…"

He replaces his tongue with two fingers, sinking them into her. "Then let me finish what I was saying."

When she closes her eyes at the familiar stretch, he continues. "Do you think anyone else can do what you do to me? You won't find one."

He mutters small praises as his motions continue, a third finger being added. "I wake up each morning to the thought of you. Of this. Of… being yours. Tell me you see that?"

Her whines continue, close to reaching her high.

"I savor each whisper and moan. Every tear is mine to wipe away. And if I could take each smile and treasure it, I would." His voice softens, "I would, sweet girl."

"Cregan, please…"

"I know. I'm almost done." 

His fingers continued but his other hand messaged at one of her thighs. "Strong legs to walk you around. Takes strength to keep them up now, doesn't it?"

"I… I'm so…"

"Do you think I want to see anyone else fall apart like this? Do you?"

She moans as she feels the bind in her stomach whined up. 

"Answer me this time, my girl."

A broken whine comes out of her throat. 

"Answer."

"N…N..no…no, Cregan."

"Good. I just want to see you. Repeat that."

"You just want… to…to see… see me."

There's a happy smile across his lips, "C'mon now."

She quickly comes undone, the snap in her stomach satisfying yet aching.

He coaxes her through it softly, his other hand massaging her lower stomach lightly.

The two stare at one another for a while as she tried to catch her breath. Finally, he spoke again. 

"Only you, pretty girl."

He pulled his fingers out, standing and grabbing the nearest material and began to wipe along her thighs. 

He threw the cloth to the side and hovered over her again. "This pretty body pleases me very much. Have you understood that now?"

She nodded.

…

Each night after that, they sat together and ate, no matter the location- the dining hall, their chambers, the woods, even once in the middle of the Winterfell Courtyard. They didn't care. 

It was only them.

Well, until a child swelled in her belly soon afterward.

...............................................

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne

[saintobio]

LUCIFER.

his fall was not from grace, yet in his descent, he found freedom—a kingdom of his own making, where he rules not with light, but with the shadows it casts. and you, unfortunate soul, are the sin that fuels his eternal reign.

♱ genre. gothic, dark romance, smut, angels/demons au, 18+

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ tags. 5.2k wc. this fic will contain dark and twisted themes. please heed the warnings and proceed with proper discretion. demon!sylus, sylus is ooc, not set in lads universe, profanity, heavy sacrilege/blasphemy, catcalling, sadistic undertones, noncon/dubcon, toxic relationships, corruption, sex in church, dacryphilia, mentions of obsession, allusions to stockholm syndrome, yandere, fingering, unprotected sex, explicit smut.

♱ notes. this is an old rewritten/reimagined fic of mine bcos i saw a theory abt sylus being a demon. and coincidentally, rewatching a season of lucifer only made my brain rot tenfold D; so if you've seen me post this fic before with another character, pretend you didn't >:D

Thunder grumbled as a flash of lighting struck through the dark blanket of twilight skies. The rumbling sound angrily resonated through the stretch of clouds as if the heavens were to wash away human sins that have long been plaguing this era of the 21st century. A shower of rain soon followed that started in huge droplets and later cascaded from the slate gray clouds like waterfall. 

Checking your old leather watch, it was only 6PM. It had been two hours since the power outage doomed the whole neighborhood because the utility poles were severely damaged after the hurricane ravaged the city yesterday. 

The thick soles of your boots landed heavily on the tessellated sidewalk with every step, holding your umbrella closer to seal you from the heavy rainfall. Your eyes followed the beads of rain that bounced off the cold cement as your mind wandered further than where your body could take you to. 

You had left Sylus sleeping in bed back in your shared apartment so you could walk around the city and drop by the church. It wasn’t like you sneaked out, but was only reluctant to let him know of your whereabouts because you didn’t want him to follow you around, especially to such a scared place like church. Before you left, however, you did ensure that his silver cross was still enclosed around his collar just for your sanity. 

It had been a while since you last visited the church. With the power out and nothing else to do, you decided it was the perfect time to visit the cathedral where you always made your most solemn prayers.

The streets were still in shambles, though. Road signages were sprawled on the sidewalk, branches were barely hanging off the trees—the city had vestiges of wreckage from the hurricane that emptied a usually busy metropolitan area today. Most people were still at the leisure of their homes as work and classes have been suspended until further notice, for everyone’s safety and to allow the government to clean the roads. 

You could already imagine Sylus shaking his head at your resistance to just stay indoors and simply be with him. The only reason you were confident to leave his side today was because it had been awhile since the last incident. You could live with the thought of coming back home to Sylus and his usual self. Sylus, who was always thoughtful and tenderhearted albeit his dominant exterior. Never did you think that you could land a man of such warmth—a year in two days—but how you met was a story made for another day. 

Amidst the already dismal atmosphere outside, stepping by the narthex inside the baroque church greeted you with an even more caliginous surrounding. Darkness enshrouded the interiors of your chosen place of worship with only as much as three paschal torches by the apse to light up the altar. Still, with God’s presence, your feet carried you in slow footsteps along the velvet red aisle as you made your way towards the nave. 

You were alone in the eerie cathedral, but fear did not consume as you were in attendance to the crucifix above the high altar. This was your favorite cathedral among all the others in the city simply because of its gothic Victorian architecture.

Fixed with the cathedral’s grandeur and bedight with ornate decorations, you became more comfortable at situating yourself by the pew—genuflecting on the elevated wood behind the stretch of oak benches as soon as you found your usual spot. 

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” you whispered in sotto voce, performing a sign of the cross with your eyes glued to the crucifix that represented Jesus Christ. You had your elbows propped atop the bench as you silently prayed. 

Loving and gracious God, with all love and mercy, we thank you for blessing us with another day and protecting us in times of natural disaster. 

You wanted to ignore the unusual cold air that slithered on your skin in horripilation. Your prayer resumed despite the Stygian gloom that darkened the cathedral’s interior or the sound of the harsh wind slamming through the towering doors by the vestibule. The storm is coming again, you mentally noted. 

With your grace and kindness, Lord, I pray that you will continue to guide us—

The manly fleer echoing through the vacantness of the church made you halt from your recital. “I knew my cute church girl would be here.” 

You knew that devilish voice all too well that it had you shutting your eyes, petrified. No wonder the air felt sinister. But if your gut-feeling about him was right, then there was no need to be frightened. “Sylus, I’m in the middle of a prayer,” you hushed, although before you could turn around to face his silhouette, he had already transported to your side with a wicked smile plastered on his pallid face. 

“I’m not him,” he spoke in an orotund voice, stepping closer and closer. His ash blond hair did not hide his incarnadine eyes. “Stop looking for that runt when you’re with me.” 

You stepped out of the pew with a rapid heartbeat, standing by the aisle as the tall man towered over you. “S-Sylus, where’s your—” you searched for his silver cross and found it still hanging around his neck, “did you break it?” 

He glowered at your accusation. “You know I would if I could, sweetie.” 

You exhaled a deep sigh. This was not Sylus, this was the malevolent demon inside of him. You ought to be cautious of yourself. “Okay, well... Leave me alone. I’m praying.”

“Ordering me around?” Each step that he took reverberated across the cathedral. He stretched his head from side-to-side in a manner that showed his ennui. “Don’t you miss me, kitten?” 

There was no stopping to the loud thumping of your heart as you stood along the aisle with Sylus backing you off further to the center. “Sylus, I said not now,” you begged, but he refused to listen and only wiped his lower lip with his thumb. 

“I hate it when you make me wait,” he muttered, stepping forward until your lower back hit the credence table at the altar. You found yourself trapped in a decreasing distance between yourself and the sadistic devil in front of you. “Don’t look so scared. We do this every time.” 

“I’m not scared, but...” Your voice was getting softer, yet filled with fret. You pressed a hand on his chest as he locked your body with both arms around the table. “Please, not here.”

You had to be firm, you just had to be but you couldn’t muster the courage to fight back in Sylus’s presence. He was the embodiment of power and you were the representation of weakness. 

He was a demon that thrived on sin, and he drew strength from indulging in the seven deadly sins. Vainglory, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth—all of those fueled his existence. Today, however, it was the third sin that consumed him, the one that ignited his darkest sexual desires. 

“I’ll be quick,” he bargained, undoing the upper buttons of your dress despite your failed attempts at pushing him away. Doing it at such a place! You sent him a glare but he only returned a sly smile. “How about we show your God what you’re really like underneath that maidenly exterior, hm? Show him how dirty you really are?”

God, help me. You desperately shook your head, now overthinking if someone could see what he was about to do to you in this holy sanctuary. Long before you could cover your chest, he already pinned your wrist on the side as he lowered the fabric to show your collar. “Sylus—!”

“Don’t be shy, kitten,” the whisper he sent through the shell of your ear caused shivers to your spine. With his heightened senses, he placed his mouth on your ear, “No one’s here to watch us except for your God. Be a good girl now.”

You tried to push him once more to no avail as he sucked on the flesh above your shoulder. There was no warning to prepare you from the sudden harsh suction. “I-It hurts!” 

Your nails dug into your palms to leave crescent marks on your flesh while you were squirming out of his strict hold. 

“It hurts? Good.” He continued to leave marks all over your flesh as he caged your waist around his arm. The feeling of his teeth pricking your skin had you whimpering in pain, and his eyes had grown rutilant when he momentarily pulled away to look at you. “You’ll hurt even more,” and then he erupted into a deep chuckle as if you were a meal that he was seasoning with a sprinkle of fear, “I should really just keep you for myself.” 

Your desire to breathe grew exponentially. “I’m not yours.” 

A low sneer and a dissatisfied ego had you pressed against the oak table in surprise. “Yes, you are,” he reiterated as though he was enforcing the idea in your head. “Your soul, your heart, your body—you are mine.” 

“I’m not! I wasn’t born in this world to be your property,” you protested, pulling away from his grip only to be slammed harsher on the table. You knew you should never anger a demon but his possessive nature irked you. Aside from your already shameful situation, you wanted nothing but to get away from him. “You’re evil.” 

“What makes you so brave? Your beliefs?” he gritted, reaching for an object near your head that turned out to be the Bible. “This?” he quickly opened the sacred handbook and ripped the pages in front of your very eyes with a distasteful smile. How easily he ripped it, how easily he also tossed it. “Whatever, then. There’s no God. You humans are complete idiots for worshiping a nonexistent being. Weren’t you the ones saying that I’d burn as soon as I stepped into a church?” 

“He is your father!” You sat back up, revolted by his blasphemy. He had no right to mock God like this. “Don’t taint my beliefs with yours. My faith in Him is stronger than you think.” 

“You should know what it’s like to be in hell before you say that shit,” he retorted, placing his lips back on your ear, “I’ll take you there with me.” 

This is not the time and place! What a shameful situation he was putting you through, so unbelievably shameful and obscene that you couldn’t look at him in the eyes. “Sylus, I swear. I’m going home if you’re gonna keep on—”

He huffed, showing boredom by dismissing you with a wave of his hand. “Ah, fine. You’re boring. Continue the prayer, then.”

For one of two things; first, Sylus would never let you off easily. Every act of defiance would garner you a punishment. Second, he was a time bomb. You never knew when his most cruel intentions would come to show. He was a malefic being that wouldn’t give two shits about where he was as long as he was having fun at torturing your soul. 

You should have known that when you chose to finish your prayer back at the pew. Sylus would simply not last long enough to just sit by your side in his apathy. 

“Holy Father, please forgive us for our sins—”

He snorted in ill-humor. “Pitiful.” 

And while you sat there looking up at the crucifix, Sylus’s hand was already sneaking its way under your skirt. His icy fingers traced your inner thighs until he reached your center, and that was when you finally grabbed his wrist to stop him with wide, scandalized eyes. Was anyone on the qui vive to see you right now? 

“Sylus, for heaven’s sake,” you hissed, pulling his wrist away but his slender fingers were already coordinating motions against your clothed core. You had to look around in panic lest there be any unknown audience peeking from the shadows. Despite your refusal to submit, the contact was eliciting suppressed moans out of your parted lips. “Y-You’re insane. This isn’t the place.” 

His smile was full of triumph and excitement, his right eye glowing ominously he spoke. “What makes it different?” he asked, raising your skirt and inserting his fingers inside your underwear. You had to press your lips together as soon as he started rubbing his fingers on your clit. “See, you enjoy the fuck out of it. I can see through your deepest desires, kitten. It’s telling me… ‘don’t stop’.” 

Your palm was pressed on his chest while his other hand tried to spread your legs open. The very position you were in—leaned on the wooden bench, legs spread apart, and being fingered in the presence of God—you were certainly going to hell. This was going against your belief, having your chastity corrupted in arrant disgrace by a man who was the devil himself. 

How exactly did you find yourself in this predicament? You came here to offer a quick prayer, not to be pressed on the bench by a man who was now unbuckling his belt in haste. You could only think of how Sylus, who was an angel beyond his demons, was perhaps trying to come out of being trapped in the dungeon where Satan had him caged.

“This is so wrong,” your lips quivered as you spoke, both of the curling of your toes and of the shameless sacrilegious act. You knew you couldn’t stop this no matter how hard you tried because Sylus would remain tenacious until he got what he wanted. 

With that, you fully submitted yourself to him and let the back of your head rest on the wooden surface while you stared at the stained glass that roofed the cathedral in different hues. 

Sylus was fast to display a smirk while positioning his hardened length on your entrance. The bands of your underwear were now resting mid-thigh as he pressed himself down on you with one knee supporting the angle of his hips. He was running his throbbing tip between your plump folds to lubricate himself with your slick. No screams could be released because you restrained your own whimpers, but your tears brimmed on the corner of your eyes from the initial penetration. 

“Ngh!” Your nails dug deep on his forearms. “S-Sylus!” 

“Are you crying?” His carmine eyes glinted of sadistic humor, running his gelid thumb across your lower lip only to sink it deep inside your mouth. “How does it feel knowing that the God you worship can’t save you?” 

A tear slid down from your eyes to your temple as Sylus started moving his hips in an achingly slow rhythm, each thrust going deeper than the last. You almost bit his thumb before he released your mouth by gripping your wrist. “Sylus—someone could see—!”

To your irony, the crucifix stared down at you and enkindled your conscience from this sinful act. Father, forgive me. You could only whisper those words in your head because your mouth was too occupied in crying out Sylus’s name.

“So warm.” It was hard not to think of how attracted he looked when he raked his fingers through his hair, later meeting your eyes with overpowering lust. He didn’t hold back at burying his cock into your cavern, allowing your walls to fit his girth like tight gloves—the feeling garnering his raspy grunt. “You’re mine, sweetie. All mine.” 

Sylus. You blinked your tears away as you closed your eyes. Sylus’s lips were now on your neck as he increased the pace of his member sliding in and out of your cunt with squelching noises that shamelessly echoed across the cathedral. “Sylus,” your lips were on his ear, “we’re in—aah—church.”

Unlike you, he was nonchalant about the sacredness of the house of God. He was mocking the supreme being that you held faith to as an act of engraving his existence into your mortal soul. While you restrained your moans as he slammed his pelvis against your hole, there was fulfillment rattling in his bones when he pressed your face to the side before diving in to suck on your sweet flesh.

“Cry more. Did you know your walls get warmer when you’re aroused?”

It was hard to describe the feeling. The median between pain and pleasure was the closest example you could liken it to. The grazing of his fangs added to the burning sensation that you had all over your body as if fire was ignited to light up all your nerves. 

Your hand latched onto his shirt before his body collapsed on top of you. With your legs spread wide, his head hung low on your neck—still and unmoving, strangely like he had fallen asleep. 

“Sylus.” You tapped his arm through the heavy rise and fall of your chest.

And before you could move away, he shot straight up and looked at you with those foxy incarnadine eyes that were now in the shade of deep crimson. Eyes that were wide and full of horror as he looked around the cathedral before he slowly realized what he had just done. 

“Y/N,” he said your name regretfully, pulling your dress down to cover your exposed parts, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I did this—? I don’t—” 

Long dried were the tears on your cheek. As you two scrambled to fix your clothes, you pulled him into a hug while he murmured endless sorry’s to your ear. At least, for now he was back. That was the most important thing with all the sanity you had left. 

“Just get me out of here, Sy,” you said, back into the arms of your human lover. 

~~

You’ve always wondered why Sylus often slept during the day. Or why his normal heartbeat was at the pace of someone who was having a heart attack. Or why he could get serious wounds but managed to heal himself fast. Sometimes he would disappear from your sight and transport himself into another. Sometimes he would see and hear things a thousand times clearer than any other person could. 

For almost a year of dating, these questions only came up to you without much of an answer. You thought that you were simply theorizing over things that you shouldn’t. Why does Sylus always wear that cross around his neck? At the back of your head, you were always intrigued. 

You didn’t find out about the real reason until two months ago when you finally met ‘Lucifer’ out of nowhere. If Sylus was Jekyll, Lucifer was his Hyde. It was his way to allow you to form a dissociation between the two beings in one body. 

You never believed in devils until Sylus showed his demonic face to you one night while you were supposedly peacefully sleeping. You recalled the screams that you released when you found out that Sylus was the fallen angel all along. That the rosary around his neck was meant to seal his dark side, the side that you still didn’t know much of. Up until this day, he didn’t provide a concrete answer as to why he needed to seal himself. He was taciturn about the topic of his other self despite you bringing it up every now and then. 

But because you loved him, trusted him, and believed him when he said that he didn’t plan to hurt you—you stayed. You knew his human side better than the monster within him, so you told yourself that you could stay for him. You just needed to learn more about him. 

There were still moments where you felt cautious around him, but when you looked to see his softened expression, you were comfortable at seeing the Sylus that you knew. 

“Y/N,” he broke the silence that lingered between you two as you walked around the city, “I’m sorry.” 

You tugged at his hand in reassurance. “It’s okay, I just...” As flashbacks of the earlier events returned to your head, you felt ashamed at having done such dirty deeds at a holy place. “He always gets what he wants.” 

Because you let him. 

“I can’t do anything when I’m trapped,” Sylus mumbled, keeping up with your footsteps as you strode along the street. 

Your curiosity bubbled from his statement. “What happens when he’s taking over?” 

This time, Sylus didn’t shy away from giving an answer while he interlaced his hand with yours. “I can hear everything, but I can’t feel or see. It’s all black, like I’m in a dark void.” 

“Like comatose?” 

“You could say that.”

How could a rosary seal his other self? How come he had two versions of him? 

“He’s obsessed with you,” he admitted, frowning at the thought as you passed rows and rows of boutiques and restaurants. “Your soul, your scent, your body. That’s probably why he always has the urge to come out.” 

The thought of it permeated heat on your cheeks even when it shouldn’t. Sylus had always been sweet and loving with his intimacy with you, but his other side was rough and sadistic. He liked tormenting your innocence with his immorality. 

“You said the rosary was meant to seal him, but how come he keeps on—”

“It doesn’t work these days. Only my father can help, but I don’t wanna go that far just to tell him about this.” 

Father. It was the first time he had ever spoken about his father in your twelve months together. Or did he mean father as in God? “Where’s your father, Sylus? Or the rest of your family? Are the other archangels roaming on Earth, too?” 

You could see it in his saintly face that he was about to give an answer and you anticipated it, not until the nearby catcalling distracted you two. 

“Nice legs, gorgeous,” whistled the man who was leaning by the street railings with a cigarette in his hand. The man was probably in his mid-40’s with disheveled hair and unshaved face. You sent him a glare but a crude wink was returned. 

“It’s a bit rude to ogle at my woman in front of me, don’t you think?” was Sylus’s warning, the tendrils of his black-red mist extending to surround the man.

You could hear the man hooting again, unaware of what would become of him. “Ha ha! You punk. I’d spread those legs in a heartbeat.” 

While Sylus’s eyes were deepening into a darker hue, you knew you couldn’t risk seeing him release his demonic side again. It was a dangerous gamble. And the city could become a bloodbath. So, in your insistence, you told your lover to just leave it be.

“Sylus, let it go,” you gently asked, tugging at his arm softly. You wanted to avoid confrontation and just continue walking with you until you could reach your destination. “It’s okay.”

~~

“Happy anniversary to my favorite couple!” 

The clinking of glasses was followed by cheers on the booth where your boyfriend and your friends sat together. It was Avery’s idea to celebrate the special day two days prior as an excuse to hang out and drink. Luke and Kieran, being Sylus’s minions, were very much willing to join. 

“It’s not until Wednesday,” Sylus corrected with a smile, sipping on his pint before putting an arm around you. He gestured towards Avery and Luke with a knowing look. “Now you two should date each other.” 

You giggled at the thought. “Yeah, I totally support that.” 

Instead, the two of them reacted heavily against it—faking a gag, making a face, name it all. They were adamant on showing how disgusted they were at the thought of dating each other and it was quite a hilarious sight to watch. 

“Boss, come on,” Luke replied in outward distaste. 

Avery, on one hand, was rolling her eyes. “You wish I was interested. I’d rather do Kieran than you.” 

Kieran was Luke’s twin, the less obnoxious and more empathic one. But when those two were combined, their level of mischief wasn’t really any different from each other. 

“Picking Kieran is the most insulting thing you can say to me,” huffed Luke, earning yours and Avery’s chuckle. 

After an exchange of playful banter and teasing remarks, the conversation was redirected back to you and Sylus as Avery curiously brought up how you first met your boyfriend. It was only a year ago and the memory was still vivid in your head. 

“Oh my God. I remember how Y/N first saw you at this auction,” she gushed towards your boyfriend while you blushed, gripping his arm closer, “and she’s acting like she just saw her soulmate.” 

Kieran decided to chime in, “Boss was looking at her too, though. He may look tough, but he’s a hopeless romantic deep down—”

“Enough,” Sylus warned before sipping on his glass. 

You rested your head on his shoulder and relaxed against him. “Next thing you guys know, we’re living together.” 

Frankly, everything was normal until Sylus showed up. 

“What do you like most about her, Sylus?” Avery egged on with a grin spreading on her face. 

Your boyfriend didn’t even take a second to answer, “She’s cute like a cat,” he said, caressing your hand with his thumb from under the table, “and smart, and caring. Can get spicy, too. It won’t end.” 

Sylus was the same, if not better. You didn’t have much experience when it came to dating, but you were surely on top of the luck department for being blessed with a man like him. He was the most protective person you knew, the most affectionate, the most thoughtful. Sylus was the moon that illuminated your dark nights. You could even remember how he would wait outside of your workplace to pick you up in his motorcycle—those were the little things that lasted for a lifetime in someone’s memory. 

“She’s also a nun.” 

The sudden panic in your eyes came simultaneous to the fast beating of your heart. You swiftly whipped your head to look at Sylus who was now displaying a deriding smirk across his pale face. Oh, were you doomed. The ruby eyes and the stony face was clear confirmation that the demon had taken over him. Twice in the same day. 

Even Avery was surprised by his word of choice, but nonetheless found it amusing as it was rare for them to see Sylus acting bold. You were grateful for her obliviousness because you didn’t know how else you could explain the situation at hand.

“She’s a what, boss-man?” Luke jeered, chugging on his pint and looking at his boss in his newfound entertainment. He was among the very few people that knew Sylus’s true nature. Because the twins were demons like him.

“A nun,” Sylus answered, sending a look of mischief your way. You were deeply panicking that you had to squeeze his hand in hopes of stopping him from showing his true colors. “What? Don’t be shy, kitten. Didn’t we have fun in that church?”

You quickly shook your head and denied it in front of your friends. “We didn’t. Don’t believe him.”

Avery was unbelievably taken aback. “Wow,” she held back a chuckle, “I didn’t know Sylus has a vulgar mouth.” 

~~

The night carried on while the downpour engulfed the streets heavily. Your desperation to leave the dinner earlier than intended was solely because you weren’t comfortable at having Sylus around other people. The man was clearly enjoying the embarrassment that he was putting you through. And you, you were only being cautious. Who knew what things he could do to Avery while in his other form? 

You didn’t want things to end up where Sylus would be ostracized by the people who knew him just because they couldn’t understand that he was completely harmless in his benevolent self. 

It took a lot of effort to finally make an excuse of getting home early while the skies have temporarily calmed down. However, as you two strolled across the street, Sylus wouldn’t stop blabbering on and on about how you should have stayed more to talk about how prudish you were. 

“I’m not in the mood right now,” you spoke in a detached voice, moving away from him as you walked together. Because you ruined it, you wanted to add. The cold breeze kissed your face through the dark. 

Sylus only moved closer to you. “You shouldn’t be so uptight,” he countered, “Is that how kittens should act? Or do I punish you back at home?”

Punishments. You didn’t wish to go through another round of his ‘punishments’ because you weren’t certain at how creative he could be at delivering them. There was no doubt that a man who traversed the ages would have seen enough torture devices used during the earlier times. Perhaps he could get inspiration from those. 

“I just wanna go home,” you muttered, almost inaudibly had his heightened hearing senses not worked. 

“Good, then I can have fun with y—” Sylus halted from his words as his face froze at the sight in front of him. His body had completely gone stiff and his jaws were clenched. You would have thought that he was angry until that evil upturn of his lips came to show. 

“Sylus...”

Following his sight, he was all eyes on a man from a distance before he dashed towards the stranger, leaving you utterly stupefied from where you stood. What’s he on about? You rushed as your heels landed in lightweight steps across the sidewalk while you watched in terror how Sylus mercilessly throttled the man by the neck and dragged him into a dark alleyway. 

“Sylus, stop!” 

As you reached him with a panting breath, you realized that the man he was holding high up against the wall was the same person that catcalled you earlier. The man was wriggling away from Sylus’s tight grip, only to be asphyxiated harsher than before. 

“Wh-What’s your problem?” The man struggled to breathe due to the strangulation and you were pulling Sylus’s other arm to stop him. 

At the sight of Sylus’s crimson eyes and vicious stance, you knew there was nothing much you could do to prevent harm. He was determined to do what he wanted without paying attention to his surroundings. 

“You’re fantasizing her, huh?” Sylus taunted with a sinister undertone in his words. “You wanna spread ‘em open?” 

Recalling the very words he spoke, the man saw you with frantic eyes as his face was reddening from the lack of oxygen. With a rushed shake of the head and a face that was begging for sympathy, he tried to break free. “N-No, no. She’s—haaa! She’s all yours.” 

“Sylus, stop it.” You grabbed his arms and attempted your best to pull him away despite the trepidation that caused you goosebumps. “Please stop, you’re gonna kill him.” 

Every time you saw this demonic creature, you were learning new things about him and most of those things were of the worst kind. Not only was he possessive—he was diabolical, potentially obsessive, and a cutthroat sadist who wouldn’t even blink before ending someone’s life. This was the true nature of a demon, not some silly fantasy that today’s pop-culture portrayed them to be. 

He was a body without a soul.

Unfortunately, you should have thought twice before choosing to get involved with him. 

“That’s my plan, sweetie.” 

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 1

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: 18+ Chapter Summary: To save money for law school, you accept a job at Maid Discretely; a high end, anonymous cleaning service. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in, more than just your curiosity peaks.  CW: Author chooses not to use warnings in this chapter in order to avoid spoilers. While I never want to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. AN: Oh boy, here we go! I'm in a straight PANIC getting ready to post this. I hope it meets all your expectations, I was not at all expecting that reaction to the teaser post. Love you all and thank you for all your support. Please share or comment, I have a praise kink LOL. Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for future chapters. Dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Thank you @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk and @burntheedges for being my little cheerleaders over this, ily!! Chapter Word Count: 4.4k

You stare down at the very intimidating legal document you have clasped in your clammy hands. There are so many big legal sounding words that seem to be mocking you with their importance. Somehow there are clauses that have sub clauses that are then further broken down into sub-subclauses. It feels heavy to be handed this on a Monday morning. Truthfully, this doesn’t seem like something a soon-to-be twenty-one year old woman who literally just graduated college, albeit a semester early, should be allowed to sign without parents and a lawyer present. 

This is just supposed to be a simple job working part time as a maid for your best friend's family’s cleaning company. A job where she promised easy money and part time hours that you set for yourself. The perfect opportunity for you to be able to save money AND set aside lots of study time for your upcoming LSAT rewrite. You passed it a few months ago and applied to a bunch of law schools, but you aren’t going to waste these next few months waiting around. You know how competitive law schools can be, so you’re preparing to be better just in case you don’t get in.

Your eyes scan words that your brain can’t seem to comprehend. The internal panic starts to bubble in your chest, someone who has law aspirations should know what these words mean.

This is just supposed to be easy. Cleaning. Vacuuming. Washing floors. Simple things. 

But now, as you sit in this shiny, fancy downtown office building looking at your full legal name typed beside a bunch of ‘initial here’ and ‘sign here’ lines on a nondisclosure agreement you’re starting to feel like this is anything but simple. 

“Our clientele is VERY exclusive,” your childhood best friend Jamie says. She looks very professional and grown up sitting behind her glass desk. Her long, toned legs are crossed, the slit along the side of her crisp, white pencil skirt showing off her tanned upper thigh. She’s paired her white skirt with a baby pink silky blouse that's perfectly tucked into the high waist of the skirt. Her long, dark silky hair is twisted into a jeweled claw clip. Even though you’re the same age she has an air of sophistication and grace, even with winged eyeliner, a matte pink lip, and a slender rose gold septum ring that sits tight to her little button nose. She almost screams old Hollywood in the middle of Austin, Texas. 

She continues, “You won’t know the names of the clients and they will never be home. If they do come home, leave immediately, and try your best not to be seen or heard. Then you can fill out in the company app what you did and didn’t manage to get done.” 

You put the paper down on her perfect desk so she can’t see your hands shaking. How can you work at that desk all day and not get a single fingerprint or smudge on it? There’s a very good chance that I am not cut out for this. This is fancy. And expensive. I’m neither of those things. 

“What am I gonna be walking in on at these houses, Jamie?” You ask, swallowing the fiberglass that’s suddenly prickling at your throat. 

Jamie shakes her head and laughs, saying your name through her melodic giggles. “Most likely nothing. We’ve never had an encounter or run in with a client. They pick times for cleaners to come when they aren’t home.” She leans back in her high backed chair and continues, “But the clients are big deals. Politicians. Judges. Athletes. The odd celebrity. They don’t want anyone in their home that will snoop or snap pictures. Hence the NDA.” 

“Well, why didn’t you start with that!” You laugh. “Jesus, I thought I’d be walking into like a virginal sacrifice or some shit!” 

“Well, there was that one time…” Your face drops and she immediately starts laughing again. “I’m kidding. Relax. Look, you’ll probably get three homes a week, each house will take six to eight hours. The hourly pay is twenty dollars plus whatever tip they’ll leave you in these black envelopes.” 

She puts a perfectly polished finger on a stack of black envelopes with a red ‘Maid Discretely’ logo on it and continues, “In my experience, the tips are around five hundred, completely tax free. This is a good gig! You’ll be in law school becoming smarter than all of us in no time. Fuck, you’ll be writing insane contracts like those before we know it.” 

She stands, one hand resting on the desk while the other slides the paper towards you with a closed pen. She drops the writing apparatus on top of it, the metal casing of the pen clanging loudly on her glass desk. You let out an exasperated sigh, dramatically clicking the pen before signing the NDA. Jamie claps her hands excitedly then snatches the contract away before you can rip it up and says, “Let’s get your uniform and supplies!”

She hands you a few fitted white polo style t-shirts, black dress pants, white Keds (that she scolds are for inside the houses only), a caddy full of high end cleaning supplies, a top of the line Dyson vacuum and everything else you’ll need.

She ends your meeting with instructions on how the company's scheduling and tracking app works. "Essentially, you set the days and times you’re available and it will populate for you. You’ll have addresses, dates and times, as well as tasks to be done, all nicely laid out for you. If a client likes you, they can request you for additional shifts, but for continuity purposes you should get the same couple houses that you’ll rotate through throughout the month."

You nod along, mostly surprised to hear the girl who did a keg stand just a few days ago sound so professional, using words like 'continuity purposes'.

The next day you have your first official shift. Tuesday from nine to three and you’re scheduled at a mansion in a neighborhood you’ve never heard of and you most definitely wouldn’t fit in to. Jamie is already waiting there for you when you pull up. She explained yesterday that she’d help you with the first one and then you are on your own after that. Well, not completely alone. Your iPhone is loaded full of smutty audio books, murder podcasts, and law books to listen to as you clean. 

Jamie was right, you think to yourself as you scroll to the latest romance novel you’ve downloaded and grab your AirPods, this is a good gig.

The house is absolutely massive, and you highly doubt you’ll be done in six hours. You gather all your stuff and head up to the house. Jamie shows you where the company supplied key box is and how to open it from the app. As you grab the key Jamie excitedly says, “This used to be my client. He always leaves a huge tip!”

You unlock the large front glass door and enter into a white marble foyer. The windows on the first floor are easily ten feet tall and allow in so much natural light. Gold and obsidian swirls in the marble reflect along the walls, dancing in the sunlight. To the left of the front door is a large open kitchen that might be bigger than your entire apartment. The marble of the expansive countertop is the same colour as the foyer. All the cabinetry is matte black with brushed gold handles. The kitchen opens into a lavish living room, a massive fireplace and TV sits on the far back left wall, encompassed by a very cozy looking white sectional. 

To the right of the front door, starting furthest away from where you stand in awe, is a door to a huge half bathroom, followed by a long table with a bowl for keys and mail, and then the door that leads to the garage. About fifty feet in front of you is a grand staircase that branches out to the left and right. Beyond the staircase you can see into the backyard. This is by far the nicest house you’ve ever been in.

As both you and Jamie slip into your keds she says, “Upstairs to the left are a few bedrooms and the office. I usually started there and then went to the right side where he has a huge entertainment area. Then I would clean down here since he doesn’t cook very often and it’s usually just a quick wipe down.”

Just as you start to panic over how you’re supposed to remember all this she nudges you and adds, “But that’s all in the app for you, most of the clients are very particular so they’ll lay out exactly what order you should be cleaning in, as well as any other extra things they need done.” 

She helps you carry all your stuff upstairs and then watches you work. Sure enough, the app says to start in the office so you do just that. Careful not to disturb the few piles of paperwork you dust the desk and shelves and then wipe down the windows and computer screen. You vacuum the hardwood and plush rug last and after Jamie gives you an approving nod, you move onto the next room.

You continue like that, going from room to room, your friend, and now boss, occasionally giving feedback or leaving to answer a phone call or respond to an email. The job is easy enough; repeating the same steps in each room over and over again. It’s the exact type of work you exceed at. You enjoy having clear sets of instructions and expectations, and a prioritized list where you can start at the top and work down. You’ve always excelled at following meticulous directions in school. Your life maybe not so much. When it comes to dating or your parents you aren’t one to do what you’re told.

When one o’clock rolls around you just have one bathroom upstairs and the already pristine downstairs to tend to, but Jamie coaxes you into taking your break, which is another thing you’re bad at. You were raised not to take breaks, taking a break or doing nothing means you're lazy. You should be working all the time, and pushing yourself to accomplish things. As a child you’d push and push yourself to be the best, honor roll ceremonies were the only time your dad would show up. He’d smile and brag about you to whoever was around.

“It’s important that you take all your supplies to your car with you when you eat your lunch. Never eat in their homes and never park on their driveways.” You nod and hoist all your stuff to the front step. “Make sure you lock up like you’re leaving too.” 

“How am I doing so far?” You ask as you lock the door, your stomach growling loudly as if it needs to prove to her how hard you’re working. You hadn’t realized how much of an appetite you’d gain just from cleaning. The few stale crackers and small can of tuna you managed to find in your cupboard this morning doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough. 

“Really well! I actually think I might leave you to finish up. Don’t forget to take whatever he left for you out of the black envelope on the kitchen counter.” She doesn’t look up at you, her fingers tapping out an email on her shiny iphone screen. She doesn’t have her phone in a case and you can only imagine the level of self confidence you have to have to carry around an expensive item unprotected like that.

“Is it weird that there’s no pictures or anything of the family that lives here?” You say curiously as you both walk towards your parked vehicles. 

“No,” she says flatly. “I think it’s just one person here and that’s pretty normal for the houses you’ll be cleaning. Lots of them are rarely home or only home to sleep.” 

You gawk at the massive house from across the street as you throw all your supplies in the back of your used and rusted SUV. One person lives here. Alone. How is this possible? He’s clearly doing well for himself. Either he’s really lonely or a complete asshole. 

After you eat, you head back inside to finish up cleaning. The entire house looks like a show home. Not a single thing out of place. The kitchen seems staged, void of life aside from a tiny droplet of coffee on the countertop beside the Italian coffee maker, and a tiny brown stegosaurus toy that sits on top of it. Two minutes before the end of your shift you do a final sweep to make sure you haven’t left anything behind and then slip open the black envelope. Inside you find seven one hundred dollars and a note that just says ‘TY - JM’.

As you log your day in the company app you can’t believe you just made seven hundred freaking dollars to clean up after a man who makes no messes. You excitedly check your upcoming schedule and it looks like you’ll be back here in two more weeks. You could potentially be getting fourteen hundred dollars a month from this elusive “JM”. A man with no pictures or personal touches in his shiny white, black and gold mansion.

It’s been almost two weeks since your first clean at JM’s house. Your other clients were good tippers, usually between four to five hundred, but you’ve been looking forward to going back. You know you’re not supposed to know who the clients are, but you couldn’t help but google JM to try to figure out who he is and how he has so much money. In hindsight, you guess all your clients have money, but something about him has alerted your curiosity. He seems like smoke, or a ghost, in his own home. Your other clients had some sort of semblance of life in their houses. A dent in the pillow. An open newspaper on the kitchen table. A coffee cup dropped in the sink before they headed off to whatever fancy job they have to afford such a massive house. A toilet seat left up or a smudge of toothpaste on the mirror. 

But not JM. 

No, the only thing JM left was a tiny droplet of coffee. Coffee that was probably imported straight from Italy. You’re almost ashamed of the amount of times you’ve wondered about that stegosaurus toy. It seems so out of place in his house of clean lines and sterility. 

You’re just settling in to enjoy a Sunday night of sushi, rosé and Bridgerton with your roommate when your phone bings, a little red notification bubble popping up on the Maid Discretely app. You have an added shift request for JM tomorrow. Instead of one six hour shift on Tuesday you now have two six hour shifts. You accept the request and scroll through the tasks. He’s requested you to wipe the baseboards and lightswitches on the main floor, a deep scrub of every bathroom, as well as doing the inside of the fridge, stove and microwave. There are also instructions for washing the sheets in the main bedroom, and spraying down the patio furniture around the pool.

Only a millionaire in Texas would ask for his pool furniture to be cleaned in February. 

Shortly after you accept the shift you get a text from Jamie:

Saw you accepted the shift. The client asked for the normal clean on the first day, please. Extras the next day. Thanks.

The following morning you head to the large, bright mansion. Parking across the street and hauling all your stuff in. It feels a bit weird to be here on a Monday and you have a feeling you’ll be reminding yourself all day that it is indeed Monday and not Tuesday.

You get all your stuff together, change into your indoor company issued keds and head up the stairs. The pink and orange hues of the sunrise glitters off the white marble tiles, glints of gold and sparkling black reflecting off of it. You take a second to look down from the landing as you pop in your airpods. It really is a beautiful home, and it’s too bad that whoever lives here is either lonely or an asshole, but for a split second you let yourself pretend that you and JM just finished making love and he’s now in the kitchen making you an espresso or a latte with that insanely fancy coffee machine in the kitchen. You shake your head at yourself. You didn’t find anything when googling, which isn’t surprising since two letters aren’t much to go on, but this house seems to draw you in, like it’s calling to you. It’s strange, it’s almost like you have a crush on this house and you couldn’t help but make a whole persona for whoever lives here. Even with its clean lines and lack of life, something about it settles in your gut, it feels like home. 

You scroll your podcast app trying to pick what episode you want to listen to and head down the hall, you can’t seem to decide so you pocket your phone without starting anything and reach for the matte black handle of the office door. You’re expecting to see JM’s tidy office with a few stacks of paperwork in one corner, but the sight you find before you has all the blood rush from your head and your stomach dropping right out of your body. Your jaw drops and you freeze in utter shock and fear.  

Instead of the usual stacks of paper, there’s an icy blond haired woman tied to the desk. She’s completely naked and on her back with her legs spread wide. Her ankles are tied to the legs of the desk with a scratchy looking rope, her wrists wrapped in matching rope and resting above her head. Her nipples are almost purple underneath the clothespin attached to them. You freeze, just the lewd wet noises of her pussy being worked furiously by the mysterious, fully clothed JM. His deep, commanding, gravel filled voice reverberates through the office. “Little fuckin' slut. Gonna split you in two.”

The woman lets out an unashamed cry of pleasure. Your entire body seems to go numb as your caddy falls from your hand, crashing loudly against the hardwood flooring. His head whips to the side, the icy blonde woman letting out a scream and trying to cover herself up. Your hands cover your mouth and even though you can’t feel your legs you spin and run for the stairs.

“Fuck. Fuck. Wait,” JM calls after you.

One of your AirPods falls from your ear as you run, you’re tempted to stop and grab it but you need to get out of here. Jamie’s voice echoes through your skull, ‘try your hardest not to be seen or heard’. 

He catches up to you as you reach the front entryway, his strong hand pushing the door closed. You can feel the heat of his body against your back. You’re shaking - both from being terrified and embarrassed. You have so many thoughts running through your mind. This will get you fired, or worse, you could have just possibly lost the company a client. Fuck. You aren’t supposed to know who lives here and you certainly aren’t supposed to see them doing that. 

“Please wait,” he says softly behind you and the heat of his broad body sends a chill down your spine.

The blood is rushing through your ears as your heart pounds in your throat. You don’t like confrontation and even with the softness in his voice, you’re sure he’s about to scream at you. You feel sick, and when you replay the words he said to the woman upstairs, and the sound of her moan that made you drop your caddy you start to feel dizzy and nervous.

Your hand falls from the handle of the front door and the brick wall of a man behind you steps back. You spin slowly to face him but keep your eyes on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, linking your fingers in front of you and focusing all your attention on the cuticle of your right thumb.

“No, please. This is my fault.” You trail your eyes from the floor to him. He's in perfectly pressed black dress pants paired with a white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his forearms and he’s holding his hands up in front of himself as if to show you he isn’t armed or as a way to say 'you’re safe here'. 

You flick your eyes up to his face and he’s looking at you softly, the morning sunrise lighting up his tanned face and salt and pepper hair. JM is probably twice your age, but he is incredibly handsome. 

“I am so sorry. I must’a got my days mixed up when I booked you.” He says, a soft southern accent sneaking out. 

“I’m going to get fired,” you respond shakily.

“No,” he says stepping forward, you subsequently take a step back, pressing your body against the glass front door. Something about this man makes you nervous, but not in the same way women are trained to be nervous of strange men that are almost twice their size. “No. This is my fault. Please, let me explain. I jus’ gotta - well, can I go deal with…” his head cocks towards the stairs, “And then let me explain. Please?” 

You look at him, his handsome face all soft and apologetic. His dark brown and amber eyes dance around your face and without realizing you're even doing it, you nod your head. 

“Thank you,” he drops his hands at his side, visibly relaxing at your decision not to run. “Sit at the island for me. I’ll be back.” 

He watches you as you pad over to the island. The tall bar chair squeaks on the tile floor as you pull it out. He peels his eyes from you and heads upstairs. When you sit you have to stop from moaning out, the pressure of your body weight there sends a wave of rolling pleasure through you.

What the fuck? 

It’s a dull, throbbing ache followed by a small gush of thick wetness. Did you mistake a feeling of arousal for dizziness and nervousness upstairs? Were you turned on by what you just witnessed? 

Certainly not. There’s no way! He was, well, he wasn’t being nice to that woman. 

Soon you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and towards the foyer, his body blocks her from your view as they talk at the front door. They speak in hushed voices, all you’re able to make out is her saying thank you followed by the sound of a soft kiss and then she’s gone. 

She thanked him? It seems like he should be thanking her. 

He wanders into the kitchen and your throat goes impossibly dry. As if he can read your every need, he grabs a glass from the cabinet, puts it under the water dispenser on his fridge door and then slides the glass across the large island to you. You have to lift off the chair to reach it, whispering a thank you before taking a sip. 

JM leans against the countertop beside the fridge and watches you take a long drink. You put the glass down with a quiet clink and then fold your hands in your lap. His eye contact is intense, not in a creepy way, it’s almost like he’s assessing you. You find it hard to look at him so you avert your gaze to the glass. 

He clears his throat gently before he starts. “I jus’ want to say how sorry I am. You didn’t consent to seein’ any of that and I can’t imagine how awful that was for you.” His voice is so calm and soft. 

You flick your eyes up to him, “No, this is my fault. I am not suppose-“

JM shakes his head and holds up one hand, signaling you to stop. “No. This was me. I got my days mixed up. Meant to book ya for next week. This ain’t on you. This was my mistake. If it’s ok for me to ask, what’s your name?” 

You mumble your name into your glass and down the rest of your water. You figure you’re probably fired either way so who cares if he knows who you are. His face ticks up slightly, almost like he’s proud of you for drinking, and says your name back to you. 

“I ain’t gonna say anythin’ to your boss and I understand if you want to leave for the day. I’ll pay ya either way. I also understand if you say somethin’ to them and I can’t be a client anymore. It was unacceptable for me to be doin’ that when you’re supposed to be here. There ain’t any other way to word it. I was inappropriate and wrong.” He steps forward and holds his hand out so you slide the glass across to him. 

He refills it and puts it back for you to grab. “No,” you say, your voice cracking. After clearing your throat you continue, “No, I appreciate your apology but I’m not going to say anything.” 

He watches you again as you drain the glass, the same look of pride flashes across his eyes, “I’ll - umm - I’ll be in my office. You can uh,” he runs a hand through his scruff, “You just do whatever you need. I’ll stay outta your way.” 

He disappears before you can say anything else. You head up the stairs after a few minutes to find your cleaning caddy sitting in the hall with everything placed neatly where it belongs. His office door is closed and you can hear the deep rumble of his voice while he’s on a call. You grab your things, head into the master bedroom and begin cleaning. 

A few hours later while you’re sitting in your car eating lunch, the garage door opens and JM goes whipping past you in the sexiest blacked out sports car you’ve ever seen. He doesn’t even look over you as he speeds by. Your heart sinks, it's unexplainable but being in that house with him there, even after what you witnessed, felt more comfortable than being alone. JM must have some sort of magic touch, how you went from nervous and embarrassed to calm and comforted with just the look on his face and few words is beyond you.

After wiping down the kitchen you are all done for the day. You grab the black and red envelope off the kitchen counter and open it, peering in nervously. There’s a piece of matte black paper on top. You slide it out gently, the paper feels expensive between your fingers. As you unfold it you reveal a shiny black JMK logo at the top. In neat gold lettering is his writing.

‘Please know how sorry I am. Your consent is more important than anything. I broke that. Just hope I didn't break your trust. -Joel Miller.’

At the bottom of the envelope are ten crisp one hundred dollar bills. 

Next Chapter

[lemonsdietcoke]

Get Gone - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 3 of my mini series love ridden

Warnings: physical abuse, DV, implied NONCON, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, and intense depictions of psychological distress. Reader discretion is advised.

Summary: “How many times do I have to say To get away, get gone?” A late-night confrontation unearths buried truths, forcing you to confront the cost of her own survival. loosely inspired by Get Gone-Fiona Apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: yall I’m sorry this took so long, I have work & school during the week and low-key got lazy lol but it’s finally here!!! Lmk if yall fw it. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!! <3

…………………….

The room feels smaller now, the air pressing down on you like it’s alive, like it’s conspiring with him. Every second ticks by painfully, loud and sharp in your ears. You swear you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“If you walk out that door,” Su-bong says again, his voice low, deliberate, “you’ll never see me again.”

There’s no anger in his tone, no malice. Just a quiet certainty that chills you to your core. It should feel like a relief—like a clean break. But instead, it feels like a threat wrapped in a promise.

Your hands tighten around your phone. Ji-hye’s name still flashes on the screen like a lifeline you’re too afraid to grab.

“Why would you say that?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because it’s the truth,” he says, tilting his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. “I don’t want to play games anymore, Y/N. I can’t do this halfway. Either you stay, and we figure this out together, or you leave… and that’s it.”

The simplicity of his words makes them hit harder. They slice through you like glass, leaving behind wounds you can’t see but can feel.

“You don’t mean that,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

His lips curl into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t I?”

You feel like the floor is shifting beneath you, like the ground you’ve been standing on has suddenly turned to quicksand. “You’re just saying that to scare me,” you accuse.

“Am I?” His voice is calm, measured, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. “You think I don’t mean it, but deep down, you know I do. You know I’ve always meant it when it comes to you.”

“Stop,” you say, your voice cracking.

“Why?” he presses, taking a slow step toward you. He’s close now, too close, his presence overwhelming. “Because you don’t want to hear it? Because you don’t want to admit that it scares you?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you shoot back, even though your heart is hammering in your chest.

“No,” he says softly, almost thoughtfully. “You’re not scared of me. You’re scared of what happens if you leave. You’re scared because you don’t know who you are without me.”

Your stomach twists violently. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but that only makes it worse. “You don’t want to leave, Y/N. You’re just trying to convince yourself that you do. But we both know the truth. You’ve always been afraid of being alone.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” His words are quiet, but they land with the force of a wrecking ball. “You stayed with me for two years, even when you knew you should’ve left. You forgave me for things most people wouldn’t. And why? Because you didn’t want to be alone. Because you don’t know how to be alone.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “You don’t get to do this,” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t get to make this about me. You’re the one who—”

“I’m not making this about you,” he interrupts, his tone sharpening. “I’m just telling you the truth. You don’t want to hear it, fine. But don’t act like I’m the bad guy for saying it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you struggle to hold yourself together. “You don’t know anything about me anymore.”

He scoffs, the sound low and bitter. “I know everything about you, Y/N. I know how you think, how you feel. I know you better than anyone, including Ji-hye.”

The mention of her name sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric.

“that’s who you’ve been talking to, right?” he asks, his voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “Ji-hye?”

Your throat tightens. “She’s my friend. Of course I’ve been talking to her.”

“About me?” His question is calm, but there’s something venomous just beneath the surface.

“She’s my best friend,” you say, lifting your chin even though your hands are shaking. “I tell her everything.”

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought what we had was private. I guess I was wrong.”

“Private?” you repeat, your voice rising. “You’ve been calling me nonstop for weeks, leaving voicemails threatening to kill yourself, and now you want to talk about privacy?”

“That’s different,” he snaps, his control slipping for the first time.

“Is it?” you shoot back, your voice cracking. “Because it feels a hell of a lot like you’re just mad that I told someone the truth about you.”

He steps closer, and you instinctively take a step back. “You’re the one dragging her into this,” he says, his voice low but cutting. “You’re the one making this worse.”

“She’s worried about me!” you shout, your emotions spilling over, raw and unfiltered. “She’s worried because she knows what you’re like!”

His expression darkens, his gaze boring into yours. “She doesn’t know you like I do. She doesn’t know what you’re like when you’re falling apart. When you’re scared. When you don’t know what you want.”

“I know what I want!” you yell, your voice breaking. “I want to leave!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Then go,” he says, his tone soft but razor-sharp. “But don’t come back. Because if you walk out that door, Y/N…” He pauses, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “I promise you’ll never see me again.”

Your chest tightens, panic clawing at your insides. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m done,” he says simply. “I’m done chasing you, done begging you to talk to me, done waiting for you to figure out what you want.”

You stare at him, your mind racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen, Ji-hye’s name flashing like a lifeline.

“She’s outside,” you say, your voice trembling. “She’s waiting for me.”

He doesn’t react at first. And then—

“Of course she is.” His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “You always need someone to save you, don’t you?”

The words hit you like a slap, the sting radiating through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“Go ahead,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door. “Run to her. But don’t pretend you’re doing this for you. We both know you don’t have the guts to face this on your own.”

Your legs feel like lead, your heart pounding as you take a shaky step toward the door.

And as you reach for the handle, his voice cuts through the silence one last time.

“When you realize I’m right,” he says softly, “don’t bother coming back.”

You don’t look at him as you open the door.

But you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car door shuts behind you with a heavy, final thud.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your own ragged breathing, loud and uneven in the stillness of the cabin. The air inside feels thick, stagnant. You reach for your seatbelt with trembling hands, but the buckle slips from your fingers twice before you manage to click it into place.

Ji-hye doesn’t start the car. She doesn’t even move.

Her knuckles are wrapped tight around the steering wheel, her nails biting into the leather. The dim glow of the dashboard casts her face in sharp relief — her set jaw, the hard line of her mouth, the slight tremble in her lips she’s fighting to keep still.

Her eyes flicker toward you, then away, like she can’t bear to look too long. “You okay?” she asks, her voice low, strained. The question sounds more like an accusation than concern.

You nod — a jerky, unconvincing motion that does nothing to quiet the storm inside you. “I’m fine,” you lie, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, the tendons standing out in sharp relief. “You don’t look fine.”

“I just…” You press your hands to your lap, flattening them against the fabric of your dress to keep them from shaking. “I just want to go home.”

She exhales sharply, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. But she doesn’t start the car.

“What happened, Y/N?” Her voice is still low, but there’s an edge to it now — a tremor beneath the surface, like she’s holding herself back from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking the truth out of you.

“Nothing happened,” you say too quickly, too defensively.

Ji-hye’s head snaps toward you, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t bullshit me.”

You flinch at the sharpness in her tone, the anger laced through it, though you know it’s not directed at you.

“I…” You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t know.”

Her jaw tightens. She turns back to the steering wheel, but her fingers twitch against it, like she’s holding herself back from punching something. “What the fuck does that mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t remember!” The words explode out of you before you can stop them, loud and jagged and filled with panic. Your chest heaves, and your eyes sting as the tears start to well up again. “I don’t fucking remember, Ji-hye! I blacked out, okay? I don’t know what happened!”

She goes still, completely still, her hands frozen on the wheel. Slowly, she turns to look at you again. “You don’t remember anything?”

Your breath hitches, and you shake your head.

Her gaze sharpens, her eyes scanning your face like she’s searching for the pieces of a puzzle you can’t see. “But you woke up there,” she says finally, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “At his place.”

You nod, and the weight of the admission makes your chest tighten, makes the shame press down harder.

Ji-hye leans back in her seat, dragging a hand through her hair. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath.

Her reaction makes your stomach churn. “I—” Your voice cracks, and you have to swallow hard before you can speak again. “I don’t know if anything happened.”

Her head snaps toward you again, her eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know,” you whisper, the tears spilling over now, hot and relentless. You clutch at your dress, twisting the fabric in your fists as the words come tumbling out. “I don’t remember getting there. I don’t remember going to bed. But when I woke up—” Your voice falters, your breath hitching painfully. “There were bruises, Ji-hye. On my thighs. And my underwear was—” You choke on the words, unable to finish the sentence.

The silence in the car is suffocating.

Ji-hye doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when you finally glance at her, her expression makes your chest tighten even more. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes are dark, her gaze fixed on the dashboard like she’s barely holding herself together.

“You think he—” She can’t even finish the question.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “I don’t know, Ji-hye. But what if he didn’t? What if I’m just overthinking it? What if I’m—”

“Stop.” Her voice cuts through your rambling, sharp and commanding. She turns to you fully now, her gaze locking onto yours. “Stop right there. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“But—”

“There is no ‘but,’” she snaps, her voice rising. “You were drunk, Y/N. If he did anything — anything — that you didn’t consent to, it’s not your fault. Do you understand me?”

You can’t answer. Your throat is too tight, your chest heaving as you fight to keep yourself together.

Ji-hye exhales sharply, dragging her hands through her hair again. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, her voice trembling now. “That fucking piece of shit.”

Her words make your stomach twist, the nausea bubbling up again. “What if I—”

“You didn’t do anything,” she cuts you off again, her voice softening but no less firm. “Do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one—” She stops herself, her voice breaking on the last word. She clenches her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable.

Finally, Ji-hye starts the car, but she doesn’t drive. The engine hums beneath you, the only sound in the suffocating quiet.

“What do I do?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Ji-hye’s hands tighten on the wheel. She stares straight ahead, her gaze burning with quiet fury. “You don’t go back to him,” she says, her voice steady now. “Not ever. I don’t care what it takes, Y/N. He doesn’t get to be a part of your life anymore.”

You swallow hard, her words cutting through the fog in your mind like a lifeline.

“We’ll figure it out,” Ji-hye says, her voice softening. She reaches over, her hand resting on yours. Her grip is warm and steady, grounding you. “I promise. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

The weight of her words sinks into you, anchoring you to the moment. You don’t know what comes next. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to put the pieces of last night together.

But for now, you let her words steady you. For now, you let yourself believe her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air smells like caramelized sugar and charred meat. Smoke curls from food stalls, the sizzle of grilling pork belly mingling with the faintly sweet aroma of tteokbokki simmering in spicy sauce. Somewhere in the distance, someone’s laughing, the sound light and bright, cutting through the low hum of the crowd.

Ji-hye’s arm loops through yours, her grip warm and grounding as she steers you through the maze of vendors. It’s loud here, chaotic in the way only street markets can be, but you’ve missed it—this pulsing rhythm of life, the neon lights reflecting off puddles of rainwater on the pavement, the voices overlapping as vendors shout over one another to hawk their food.

“Y/N,” Ji-hye says, tilting her head toward a stall where skewers of fish cake glisten in the warm glow of a heat lamp. “You want one?”

You start to shake your head, but the look on her face stops you. She’s been trying so hard to pull you out of your own head, to make you laugh, to make you eat.

“Sure,” you say. Your voice feels foreign, stiff and distant, but Ji-hye beams anyway.

She orders two skewers, handing one to you before taking a bite of her own. “This is the best part about winter,” she says, her words muffled around a mouthful of food. “I swear I could eat eomuk every single day.”

You take a bite, the broth-soaked fish cake warm and savory on your tongue. It’s good—comforting, even—but it doesn’t reach the hollow ache in your chest.

Ji-hye is still talking, something about the new club opening next weekend, but her voice fades into the background as your gaze snags on something across the street.

Purple hair.

Your breath catches in your throat, the skewer trembling slightly in your hand. It’s not him—it’s a girl, her hair cropped short and spiked, her face unfamiliar—but your body doesn’t know the difference.

Your heart is racing, the world around you narrowing to a pinpoint. The noise of the market fades, replaced by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.

“Y/N?” Ji-hye’s voice cuts through the haze, her hand on your arm.

You blink, your chest heaving as you drag your gaze away from the girl. “What?”

“Are you okay?” Her brow furrows, concern etched into every line of her face.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “I just—thought I saw someone I knew.”

Her lips press together, like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she squeezes your arm and changes the subject, dragging you to the next stall.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You smile when Ji-hye laughs, nod when she talks, but your mind is elsewhere. Your skin feels too tight, your senses stretched thin. Every shout from a vendor, every gust of cigarette smoke, every glimpse of purple in the crowd sends your heart skittering in your chest.

When you finally part ways with Ji-hye, your cheeks ache from forcing smiles, and your stomach churns with the weight of pretending.

The walk home is quiet. The market’s noise fades into the background as you leave it behind, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog.

Your apartment building looms ahead, its shadow stretching long and dark across the street.

You reach the door, your fingers trembling slightly as you punch in the code. The lock beeps, the door clicking open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of your apartment wrapping around you like a blanket.

Safe.

You kick off your shoes, leaving them by the door. The silence is heavy, pressing, but it’s better than the noise. Better than the chaos.

You make your way to the bathroom, the tiles cold under your bare feet. The fluorescent light flickers to life, casting your reflection in sharp relief.

You look… tired.

But not the same kind of tired you were before. It’s different now—less hollow, less fragile. Still frayed around the edges, but stitched together enough to pass.

You wash your face, the cool water shocking against your skin. Your movements are slow, methodical, each step of your routine grounding you just a little more.

The week since you left Su-bong’s apartment has been a blur.

You’ve thrown yourself into small, safe routines: going to work, meeting Ji-hye for meals, scrolling aimlessly through your phone until sleep overtakes you. Anything to fill the silence. Anything to drown out the questions.

For the first time in years, you feel like you’re breathing again. Slowly. Unevenly. But breathing.

Ji-hye says you look better. Healthier.

You believe her, mostly. Even though you still jump at sudden noises. Even though crowds make your chest feel tight. Even though you sometimes find yourself scanning unfamiliar faces for someone who isn’t there.

The clock reads 12:03 AM when you finally collapse onto the couch, a mug of tea cooling in your hands.

You’ve only just started to relax when the knock comes.

At first, you think you imagined it.

You weren’t expecting anyone this late.

Then it comes again. Louder this time.

You freeze.

Another knock.

“Y/N.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s him.

No. No, this isn’t possible. He doesn’t even know where you live.

You moved after the breakup. You didn’t tell anyone except Ji-hye.

So how the fuck does he know?

Your chest tightens, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you stare at the door.

Another knock.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

His voice is slurred, thick with alcohol or something stronger.

“I just want to talk. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the couch cushion, your nails scraping against the fabric.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, the words cracking in his throat. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You know I didn’t mean them.”

The lump in your throat grows heavier, your stomach twisting violently.

“Don’t ignore me.” His tone shifts, harder now. “I can see the lights are on.”

Your pulse roars in your ears. You grab your phone from the coffee table, your hands trembling as you scroll to Ji-hye’s name.

The knocking stops, but his voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Y/N.”

Your fingers freeze.

“Just open the door, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a lead blanket.

“I need to see you.”

No.

“You’re not being fair, you know that? After everything we’ve been through…”

You press the phone to your chest, your other hand gripping the armrest so tightly your knuckles ache.

“Do you really want me to cause a scene?” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but the threat is clear beneath it. “Your neighbors don’t need to hear this, do they?”

The knot in your chest tightens, fear and anger twisting together into something sharp and unbearable.

“Come on,” he says again, his voice breaking slightly. “Please. I just… I just need to talk to you.”

The silence stretches, your own breathing ragged in the quiet.

Then, a softer knock.

“I’ll leave if you just talk to me,” he says. “I swear.”

You close your eyes, your stomach churning violently.

You don’t want to open the door.

You don’t want to see him.

But you know Su-bong.

You know how loud he can get when he doesn’t get his way.

And it’s late. Your neighbors are probably asleep.

You take a shaky breath, your body trembling as you rise to your feet.

The floor feels unsteady beneath you as you make your way to the door, every step heavier than the last.

Your fingers tremble as you unlock the deadbolt, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness.

You open the door just a crack, your body blocking the gap.

And there he is.

His hair is a mess, his shirt wrinkled and half-untucked. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils blown wide. The faint smell of alcohol wafts off him, mixing with the cloying scent of his cheap cologne.

But it’s his expression that makes your stomach drop.

The desperation in his eyes.

The anger lurking just beneath it.

“Y/N.”

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, soft and broken.

You grip the doorframe, your nails digging into the wood. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

“I want to talk.” He shifts his weight, his hands twitching at his sides. “That’s all. Just… just talk to me.”

The second you crack the door an inch more, you regret it.

It’s instinctive, the way you step back as he pushes forward, brushing past you into the apartment like it’s his. Like there aren’t layers of pain, distance, and boundaries between you now.

“Su-bong, wait—”

“I’m not waiting,” he says, his voice low, a slur of alcohol softening the edges. “Not after you’ve been ignoring me for a week.”

He’s already halfway to the couch. The door is still open, the cold night air seeping in as you stand frozen, your fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe like it might ground you.

He turns back to glance at you, his expression unreadable in the dim light of your apartment. “You’re going to leave it open?”

You blink, your heart hammering in your chest. Slowly, reluctantly, you close the door.

The sound of the lock clicking into place feels like a nail in your coffin.

When you turn back, he’s sitting on your couch, slouched like he’s settling in for a long stay. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands clasped together loosely, but there’s nothing casual about the way his gaze locks onto you.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” His voice carries a hint of something sharp, but his eyes stay soft, almost sad. “I didn’t even know where to find you, Y/N. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

You stay near the door, keeping as much distance as you can, your pulse roaring in your ears. “How did you even—”

“How did I find you?” He cuts you off, leaning back into the couch like he owns it, like it’s still the one you used to share. “I have my ways.”

Your stomach churns. The vagueness in his tone makes your skin crawl. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “What do I want? I want to know why you blocked me.”

His words hit like a slap, the audacity of them stealing the breath from your lungs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His gaze sharpens, the softness in his eyes hardening. “You didn’t even let me explain, Y/N. You just—what? Cut me out? Pretend I don’t exist?”

“I had to,” you say, your voice trembling. “You wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Because I needed you!” The words burst out of him, loud and raw, echoing in the quiet apartment. “I didn’t know where else to go! I didn’t know what else to do!”

Your throat tightens, your chest heaving as you fight to keep your composure. “That’s not my problem anymore, Su-bong.”

He flinches, just slightly, but the hurt in his eyes is quickly replaced by something sharper. “You really think you can just shut me out like that? Like I don’t matter?”

“I never said you don’t matter,” you whisper. “I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Couldn’t do what?” he demands, standing suddenly. The movement makes you instinctively take a step back, your fingers brushing against the wall behind you.

“This.” You gesture between the two of you, your voice cracking. “You calling me nonstop. Showing up here. Saying things you can’t take back. I couldn’t—” Your voice falters, breaking on the words. “I couldn’t keep letting you drag me down with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Drag you down?” he repeats, his tone quiet but venomous.

You press yourself harder against the wall, your palms flat against the cool surface. “You know what I mean.”

He takes a slow step toward you, and your stomach twists violently. “No,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t think I do.”

“Su-bong, please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just leave.”

He stops, just a few feet away from you now. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your breath hitches, your chest tightening painfully. “Get what?”

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “You’re scared,” he says finally, his tone softening. “You’re scared because you don’t know what you’re doing without me.”

The words land like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Yes, it is.” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. “You’ve always been scared of being alone, Y/N. That’s why you stayed with me for so long, even when you knew you shouldn’t.”

Your nails dig into the wall behind you, the sharp pain grounding you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but it only makes the words hit harder. “You blocked me because you couldn’t handle it. Not because you’re over me. Not because you’re moving on. But because you’re scared of facing me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, your chest heaving. “That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” His voice drops to a whisper, his eyes searching yours. “If it’s not true, why’d you let me in?”

The question cuts deeper than you want to admit.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why I let you in.”

His lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile, something that makes your stomach twist. “I do,” he says softly.

“What do you mean?”

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. You flinch, but he doesn’t pull back.

“You let me in,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, “because you still love me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “That’s not—”

“You do,” he says, his tone almost gentle. “And that’s okay. I’m not mad about it. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand lingers on your arm, and you feel like you’re drowning, like the walls are closing in on you.

“Su-bong, please,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face now. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says, his voice soft and coaxing. “Just… let me stay. Just for a little while.”

You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t want you here.”

“Yes, you do,” he says quietly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “You don’t have to say it, but I know you do.”

The weight of his hand on your face is unbearable.

And in that moment, you realize—

You’re trapped.

His hand lingers on your cheek, warm and steady, but the weight of it feels crushing. Your breath catches in your throat, your vision blurring as his thumb brushes gently over your skin. It’s too much — the closeness, the intimacy he’s trying to pull you back into.

“Stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t.

“You don’t have to fight this,” Su-bong says softly, his voice slurring at the edges. “I’m not your enemy, Y/N.”

The words twist in your chest, sharp and suffocating. You push his hand away, your fingers trembling as you take a step back.

“You need to leave.” Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge of panic creeping into it.

He doesn’t move. Instead, he watches you, his gaze heavy and unreadable. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice low and raw. “Why are you pushing me away when you know—”

“Know what?” you snap, cutting him off. “What the fuck do I know, Su-bong? Because right now, I don’t know anything.”

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” you continue, your voice rising, breaking under the weight of your emotions. “I don’t know why you can’t just leave me alone. And I don’t know what the fuck happened that night.”

The room goes still.

For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

Your chest tightens, your stomach twisting violently. “Don’t do that,” you say, your voice cracking. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N.”

“Stop lying!” The words burst out of you, loud and jagged, echoing in the suffocating silence. Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless, as you take a shaky step forward. “Stop fucking lying to me, Su-bong!”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Your voice breaks, the weight of your anger and fear crashing over you all at once. “You’ve been lying this whole fucking time, haven’t you? About everything.”

His gaze flickers, something dark and frantic flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Tell me what happened that night,” you demand, your voice trembling but unrelenting. “Tell me what you did.”

He flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “I woke up in your bed, Su-bong. I had bruises on my thighs. My underwear was backward.” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of the words. “And I don’t remember anything.”

His face goes pale, his eyes widening ever so slightly before he quickly looks away.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Fucking say something.”

He drags a hand through his hair, his movements jerky and unsteady. “I didn’t—” He stops, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might shatter. “I didn’t mean for it to—”

Your stomach drops. “For it to what?”

His gaze snaps back to you, wild and panicked. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?” His voice rises, cracking at the edges. “You were just—”

He stops himself again, his words hanging in the air like a noose tightening around your throat.

“I was just what?” you demand, your voice trembling. “Say it, Su-bong. Finish your fucking sentence.”

He doesn’t.

He looks at you, his chest heaving, his lips parted as if he’s searching for the right words. But none come.

And that’s worse than anything he could have said.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Your mind spins, piecing together fragments of the truth you’ve been trying to avoid.

“Did you…” The words catch in your throat, your stomach churning violently. “Did you touch me?”

“No,” he says quickly, too quickly.

You flinch, the sharpness of his denial cutting through you like a blade. “Then why can’t you just tell me what happened?”

His hands shake at his sides, his knuckles white as he clenches them into fists. “Because it doesn’t fucking matter, Y/N!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“It doesn’t matter?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales sharply, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not what you think, okay? I didn’t—” He stops himself again, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

The room tilts, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

“That far?” you whisper, your chest tightening painfully. “What the fuck does that mean, Su-bong?”

He doesn’t answer.

The silence is deafening, your pulse roaring in your ears as you stare at him, waiting, hoping for something—anything—that makes sense.

But all you get is the look on his face.

The guilt.

The shame.

The fear.

And you know.

You know.

Your legs give out, and you sink to the floor, your back pressing against the wall as your breath comes in short, shallow gasps.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice soft now, pleading. He takes a step toward you, but you hold up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “Don’t come near me.”

“Please,” he says, his tone desperate. “Just let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” you say, your voice cracking. “You did it, didn’t you?”

His silence is all the confirmation you need.

You press your hands to your face, your tears spilling over, hot and relentless.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I swear, I didn’t—”

“Get out.”

The words are quiet but firm, cutting through the suffocating tension like a knife.

“Y/N, please—”

“Just fucking go!” you scream, your voice raw and jagged, echoing through the apartment.

He doesn’t.

“Get the fuck out!” you scream again, your voice raw and jagged, slicing through the suffocating tension.

But Su-bong doesn’t move.

Instead, he stares at you, his chest heaving, his face twisting into something you can’t quite recognize. Something darker. “I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous.

Your stomach twists violently. “You need to leave, Su-bong. Now.”

“Why?” he snaps, his voice rising. “So you can sit here and hate me? So you can keep twisting this into something it’s not?”

“Something it’s not?” Your voice cracks, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “You just admitted it! You just fucking said—”

“I said I didn’t mean for it to go that far!” he shouts, cutting you off. His face is flushed now, his eyes wild, the faint slur in his voice sharper. “That’s not the same thing!”

“It’s exactly the same thing!” you scream back, the words ripping out of you like a knife. “You knew I was drunk! You knew I couldn’t—”

“You didn’t say no,” he interrupts, his voice low and venomous.

The room falls silent.

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

And then, quietly, trembling—

“That never stopped you before.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Su-bong’s face twists, something dark and ugly flashing across it. His jaw clenches, his fists tightening at his sides. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” you say, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve always pushed, always taken. And I—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I let you, because I loved you. Because I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you!” he shouts, his voice breaking. He takes a step closer, his movements unsteady, uncoordinated. “I’ve always fucking loved you!”

“Love?” you laugh bitterly, the sound harsh and cutting. “This isn’t love, Su-bong. This is control. This is you trying to fucking own me.”

“I don’t want to own you!” he yells, his voice cracking. “I just—” He stops, dragging a hand through his hair, his movements erratic. “I just want you to stay. I just want us to be okay again.”

“There is no ‘us,’” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “Not anymore.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. He staggers back slightly, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

And that’s when it happens.

He lunges forward, grabbing your wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you flinch. “Don’t do this,” he says, his voice desperate, pleading. “Please, Y/N. Don’t fucking do this.”

“Let me go.” Your voice is sharp, but your heart is racing, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Not until you listen to me!” he shouts, his grip tightening slightly.

“Let me go!” you scream, jerking your arm back. The force of it sends you both stumbling, and for a moment, everything is chaos.

Your hand connects with his chest—an instinctive push to get him away from you. He stumbles again, his back hitting the edge of the couch.

And then he snaps.

“Fuck!” he yells, slamming his fist into the wall beside him. The sound is loud, jarring, the plaster cracking under the force. “Why the fuck do you always have to make everything so goddamn hard?”

Tears stream down your face, hot and relentless, as you back away from him. “Get out,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “Not until you stop lying to yourself. Not until you admit you still love me.”

You laugh. Bitter. Sharp. The sound scrapes its way out of your throat, raw and venomous.

“Love you?” you say, the words trembling on the edge of rage. “I fucking hate you.”

The air in the room shifts.

His expression changes — a flicker of something unrecognizable crossing his face before it hardens into something darker. He steps toward you, his chest heaving, his fists still clenching at his sides.

“What did you just say?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet.

“You heard me,” you snap, your voice rising, shaking. “I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate what you’ve done to me, what you’ve made me. I fucking hate you, Su-bong.”

For a second, you think he’s going to hit you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches for the mug sitting on the table beside him.

“You hate me?” he says, his voice shaking with barely-contained rage. “After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve put up with?”

The mug is in his hand now, his knuckles white as he grips it.

“You could barely last a week without me,” he spits, his voice rising. “You think you’re so fucking strong now? You’re nothing without me, Y/N. Nothing.”

And then he throws it.

It happens so fast, you barely have time to react.

The mug shatters against the wall behind you, fragments raining down around your feet. You flinch, your heart slamming against your ribs, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Are you fucking insane?” you scream, your voice cracking.

“You’re the one who made me like this!” he yells, his voice raw, ragged. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively step back, your shoulders hitting the wall behind you.

“Get out,” you say, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes, you are!” you scream, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore! You don’t get to keep fucking breaking me and acting like it’s my fault!”

“I never broke you!” he yells, his voice rising to a roar. “You were already broken, Y/N! You’ve been broken since the day I met you!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face.

“Go ahead,” he snaps, his voice venomous. “Blame me for everything. That’s all you’ve ever been good at.”

“Blame you?” you shout, your chest heaving with rage. “You ruined my life, Su-bong! You fucking destroyed me, and you don’t even care!”

“I cared more than anyone else ever did!” he shouts back, his voice cracking. “No one else gave a shit about you, Y/N! No one else stayed!”

“I wish you hadn’t!” you scream, your voice breaking. “I wish I’d never met you!”

The room goes silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a guillotine.

He stares at you, his chest heaving, his hands shaking at his sides.

“Say it again,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I wish I never fucking met you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

The air in the room shifts, heavy and suffocating.

His chest heaves with every labored breath, his fists trembling at his sides. And then he moves.

It’s a blur—the way he closes the distance between you, the way his hand shoots out and tangles in your hair. Pain flares at your scalp, sharp and instant, as he yanks you closer with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Su-bong!” you cry, your hands flying up to claw at his wrist. “You’re hurting me!”

“No,” he snarls, his face inches from yours, his voice cracking with rage and desperation. “No, you’re hurting me, Y/N! You’re hurting me!”

His words are guttural, raw, as though they’ve been ripped from the deepest, ugliest part of him. His grip tightens, pulling harder, and you stumble, your knees buckling as you try to twist away.

“Let me go!” you scream, panic lacing every word. Your nails dig into his arm, leaving crescent-shaped marks against his skin, but it only seems to fuel him further.

“You don’t get to do this to me!” he yells, dragging you closer until you can feel the heat of his breath on your face, the wildness in his eyes swallowing you whole. “You don’t get to walk away like none of it mattered!”

“I didn’t—” Your voice cracks, tears spilling over, hot and relentless. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

“Liar,” he spits, his grip jerking you violently. “You’ve done everything, Y/N. You’ve ruined me, and you don’t even fucking care.”

Your heart pounds, a frantic, desperate rhythm that drowns out everything else. “Please,” you choke out, your voice trembling. “Please stop.”

But there’s no stopping him.

You twist sharply, pulling against his hold with every ounce of strength you have. He lets out a snarl of frustration as you manage to free yourself, stumbling back against the wall. For a moment, you think it’s over, that maybe he’s come to his senses.

But then his gaze drops to the lamp on the side table.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t hesitate.

The lamp is in his hand before you can react, his fingers curling around its base like it’s an extension of his rage.

“You want me to stop?” he spits, his voice rising. “Fine. I’ll fucking stop.”

And then he throws it.

The lamp sails through the air, and for a split second, time seems to slow. You see it coming, but there’s no time to move. It smashes into your shoulder with a sickening thud, the force of it sending you sprawling to the floor.

Pain blooms instantly, sharp and white-hot, radiating from your shoulder down to your fingertips. You cry out, clutching the spot where it hit, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Does it hurt?” he taunts, his voice dripping with venom. “Good. Maybe now you’ll fucking listen to me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, the pain and fear twisting together into something unbearable. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, your voice breaking.

“What’s wrong with me?” he snaps, his voice cracking. “You, Y/N. You’re what’s wrong with me. You made me like this!”

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

His laughter is low and bitter, a sound that sends chills down your spine. “You drove me to this. You, with your lies, your fucking games—”

“I didn’t play any games!” you shout, your chest heaving. “I just wanted to get away from you!”

“You don’t get to run!” he roars, his face twisting into something unrecognizable. “Not after everything I’ve done for you! Not after—”

He stops abruptly, his gaze flickering to you, then to your throat.

And before you can move, before you can scream, he’s on you.

His hands wrap around your neck, his grip cold and unrelenting.

At first, it doesn’t feel real—the pressure, the way your breath catches in your throat, the way his face looms above you, wild and furious. But then the reality slams into you all at once, and the panic sets in.

You claw at his hands, your nails scraping against his skin as you gasp for air. The world narrows to the sound of your strangled breaths, the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fire spreading through your lungs as you fight to inhale.

“Why do you always make me do this?” he growls, his voice shaking with anger. “Why do you always push me, Y/N? Why?”

Your vision blurs, black spots creeping in at the edges.

He’s saying something else, his voice a low, guttural snarl, but you can’t make out the words. All you can focus on is the pressure, the way it feels like your throat is collapsing under his grip.

And then—

A loud, sharp knock cuts through the haze.

“Police! Open the door!”

The sound barely registers at first, muffled and distant, like it’s coming from another world.

But it’s enough.

The knocking grows louder, more insistent. Voices shout from the other side, commanding, urgent.

“Police! We’re coming in!”

Su-bong’s grip falters, just slightly, as the realization dawns on him.

His gaze snaps to the door, then back to you.

“You called the fucking cops?” he snarls, his grip tightening again, his face contorting with rage. “You think they can save you? You think anyone can fucking save you from me?”

The sound of the door bursting open cuts him off.

In an instant, the room is flooded with voices—sharp, commanding, barking orders that you can’t quite process.

“Get off her!”

“Hands up!”

Su-bong freezes, his hands still around your throat, his body trembling with barely-contained fury.

“Let her go now!”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The tension in the room is suffocating, the weight of his anger pressing down on you like a vice.

And then, finally, he lets go.

You collapse to the floor, gasping for air, your body trembling violently as you clutch your throat.

The officers swarm him, grabbing his arms and pulling him away from you. He struggles against their hold, shouting obscenities, his voice wild and broken.

“She fucking lied!” he screams, his voice cracking. “She lied about everything!”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

All you can do is lie there, your chest heaving, your vision blurred with tears, as the reality of what just happened crashes over you.

The officers’ voices blur together, a cacophony of sound that you can’t quite make out. One of them kneels beside you, their hand on your shoulder, their voice soft and steady.

“Miss, are you okay?”

You don’t answer.

Your gaze drifts to Su-bong as they drag him toward the door, his screams echoing in the apartment.

And for the first time in years, you feel something you haven’t felt in so long—

Relief.

You know what’s good for you.

You’ve done what you could for him.

And he was finally gone.

[maiamore]

STAR-STRUCK

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 5k

Summary: You’re a fresh-faced production assistant for known action star Joel Miller. He’s not quite what you expected–but neither are you.

Tags: actor!joel x production assist reader, action film set, no use of y/n, rough/dom Joel, use of the word ‘kid’, mirror sex, rough sex, unprotected pinv, mentions of injuries & violence, Joel does his own stunts, public sex, bdj (big-dicked-Joel), Joel is not nice in this fic, more untagged read at your own discretion A/N: oof this a long one. also! i swear i've seen something similar relating to the mandalorian reference. if anyone knows the fic, pleaaaase let me know

READER’S TATT/PIERCINGS-SPO

This wasn’t what you’d imagined your life to look like. 

For the majority of your adult life, you’d clung to a glittering, idealistic vision of your future. You’d blame it on those countless movie marathons with your dad–the late nights, the worn-out couch and the satisfying click of the DVD player setting the stage for your ambitions. You’d dreamed of being a part of the magic. The glitz, the glamour, the art of it all. 

Directors like Ridley Scott, Martin Scorsese, John McTiernan captured your adolescent heart, fanning the flames of your Hollywood dreams.

You knew coming into this that it was going to be far from easy. God knows you’d paid your dues living in NYC after having moved from your small town–sharing a tiny shoebox of an apartment with three others, taking multiple part-time gigs, hustling to finally land a Production Assistant (PA) role.

And now here you were. Accommodations comped, flown to Atlanta for the shoot of some action movie you weren’t even allowed to know the title of thanks to the NDA you’d signed.

It was suspenseful, sure, but not in the sexy, thrilling way you’d imagined. More like in the “what fresh hell did I sign up for” sort of way.

“So you’ll be handling scheduling, coordinating, and helping the stylists. And making sure his overall well-being is met.”

You shuffled behind Jonah, the PA you were supposedly replacing. It was nearly overwhelming. Already built streets, custom housings, all wrapped up in a larger than life sound stage. Everyone was in their own world, working on their own tasks.

Normal people might have felt small and unseen. But you? You were still star-struck. You could be a part of something so much bigger than you, and that thought excited you. 

“7am every morning. You’ll need to be on standby to help Joel with everything he needs. So here’s the schedule.” 

More papers were being shoved to you, your arms slowly vanishing beneath an ever-growing stack. You scanned it, eyes twitching in dread. 

Every fifteen damned minutes had its own designation. Was this a movie or a military operation?

“Right! Got that. So…who exactly am I…” You squint at the bolded text on freshly printed paper, still warm to touch. “Wiping sweat at 16:45…for?”

Jonah halts mid-strut, turning back to you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “What…do you mean? You don’t know who you’re working for?”

“I do.” You shoot back defensively. “Well–okay. No. Not really. I was given an NDA, so I’m–”

“It was a yes or no question, hun.”

Suddenly, you were grateful to J-hole leaving. Not so much of replacing his long ass list of endless tasks, though. 

He stops before the stylist’s station, gesturing to a cluttered board, displaying headshots and costume references for your apparent “boss.” As you step closer, your breath catches in your throat.

No way. No fucking way. 

“Joel fucking Miller?”

Your fingers, almost acting on their own, plucked one of the profile shots from the board. Joel’s broad frame was practically sculpted.  His Special Forces uniform taut over his muscles, probably for the character he was playing. Another close-up featured his face smudged with faux grime and fake injuries, his expression hardened and grim. 

And then…there were the less clothed test shots. Your gaze betrayed you, dipping to the dark trail of neatly trimmed curls disappearing beneath his belt.

Your head snapped up so fast it was a miracle you didn’t pull a muscle, as though the sheer force of willpower could exorcise the horny demon possessing you.

Jonah grins at your obvious surprise. Sighing dreamily at the profile shots of him, side views and costume shots.“Yep. Now. It isn’t going to be a problem with you now is it? We had to fire the old girl cuz’ she attempted to–nevermind. Don’t wanna get into that. It was a whole debacle. You can look it up in the files under the Miller versus Nancy lawsuit.”

You glanced at Jonah, confusion knitting your brow before returning the photo to the desk. Honestly? You probably wouldn’t have blamed this Nancy. Joel had been the blueprint for your sexual awakening. 

As fucked as it was. Considering he was closer in age to your dad than your own.

Watching him star in films by the greats back in high school had left you fantasizing, his smoldering intensity seared into your brain. God. You were going to need the entire night to mentally prepare for this.

“You tellin’ that story again?” The voice behind you sent a shiver up your spine–it was the kind of voice that wrapped around you like a thick yarned blanket on a cold night. And the kind of voice you fantasized about when you were grinding against your pillow.

You froze, every damned nerve on high alert. Turning slowly.

Joel Miller stands there. Resurrected from the photos itself.

He was dressed like he’d just walked off a lazy Sunday pickup game. Grey athletic shorts that hung low on his hips, revealing sturdy, hairy legs that somehow made him seem even more rugged. A black t-shirt clung to his frame, dampened at the collar with sweat. Navy cap sitting snug on his head.  

You couldn’t stop yourself from shamelessly dragging your eyes from the damp curls peeking out at the nape of his neck to his thighs. 

He scratches his stubbled jaw, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on you. They paused, and you realized–a little too late–that he’d caught you gawking.

Joel nudges his head towards you. “This her?”

Jonah nods, handing Joel a call sheet. “All new and sparkly.”

He looks you over–not in a predatory way, but like he was cataloging every detail. Dark and steady. And it lands on your shirt. For a split second his brows lifted, just barely.

“You watch that one?” 

Your brain stutters and you look down, realizing you’d stupidly worn your Mandalorian graphic tee. His face–or well, Din Djarin's helmeted face, was plastered across your chest along with the iconic Star Wars logo.

“Oh! Um. yeah,” you stammer, tugging the hem of the cotton as if the ink would magically disappear. 

Great. You meet the man you had dozens of posters of and you were stuttering like a fucking idiot.

“Big fan. Of the show. And, um, the movies. And, you know, your–” Joel holds up a palm, silencing your rambling. “Right.” He sounded amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “...‘preciate it.”

Joel never liked change. It was ironic, given his line of work. An actor, in its nature, had him slipping into new roles and personas on a constant basis. But no matter how many characters he played, he'd preferred the familiarity of a constant crew. 

So the news that Jonah was leaving and that his replacement was a fresh out of film school rookie had Joel grumbling for days.

Then he saw you.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you were seconds away from fainting. Or maybe it was the shirt. That damn shirt.

You clearly hadn’t gotten the memo about dressing for long hours on set. Instead of the usual hoodie and less than glamorous foam sneakers combo, you were rocking a cropped baby tee stretched taut across your chest. 

His gaze dipped, almost involuntarily, taking in the rest of you. The way your bootcut jeans sat low and snug on your hips—to the bunch of keys and a juicy grape chapstick hung on a carabiner attached to your belt loop. 

When you shifted nervously, the movement sent a glint of light flickering from your stomach. A silver charm, shaped like a star, dangled from your belly button. He caught himself mid-thought, forcing his eyes back to your face, but the damage was done.

You weren’t as innocent as you looked. He’d figured out that much. 

Your fuck-ups hadn’t gotten you fired. Not yet, at least. Somehow, you were still here. Holding onto your job by a thread.

It still felt surreal, working for Joel Miller. You’d spent years watching this man on screen. All his works & press interviews. It seemed pretty fucking unreal to think that you now had his name saved to your phone like no big deal.

Given you weren’t able to tell anyone about it, though the purple vibrator that sat in your bedside drawer was pretty much the only thing that knew his name by now.

In the weeks that followed, you’d fallen into a rhythm with him. There were rules–unspoken ones. You didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t hover too close, and didn’t take it personally when he barked orders or dismissed you with a grunt. Joel wasn’t an easy man to work for.

What was even worse, was that in Joel's eyes, you were probably the least sexual entity to have ever existed. It stung, especially when you considered how much of your mind he occupied.

“Give me a…second. Dunno how these things work.”

You’d shifted uncomfortably, dropping to your knees to Joel’s horror. You sat on your thighs with a huff. Attempting to gather the hem of Joel’s pants to tuck into the army garters.

 “Christ. You don’t hafta…” Joel’s throat tightened as he fought the sudden, unwelcome heat pooling low in his gut.

“Huh?”

It was distracting, the sight of you so close. On your fuckin’ knees no less. Joel tugs around his belt. He snaps his fingers to catch your attention and you look up at him, with wide eyes. 

His thumbs twisting around the two metal hooks of the thin garter until it connects. “Just hook em’ together, kid.” 

You nodded at his words. Finally managing to neatly tuck it into his boots. 

Though from his vantage point, something else catches his eye–a small mark etched into your skin. Black ink at the nape of your neck, a star, delicate like the charm that hung from your belly button. 

“Ya got a thing for stars?” 

You blinked a few times before the words finally registered. Was he really starting a conversation when you were on the ground like this? You notice the slight nudge of his head towards your left. 

Instinctively, you cupped around the back of your neck. “Oh..yeah. I mean…it’s pretty and all.” You had to admit, Joel’s childlike curiosity over the ink on your body all of a sudden caught you off guard. 

He raises a brow at your admission. “What’s the point of puttin’ it at a place you can’t see. Seems pretty pointless.” 

“Didn’t put it there for me to see.” You say with a shrug. 

Joel’s jaw ticks when he realises the insinuation behind your words. He drags his hand down his face, opting to finally keep his mouth shut when the images conjured in his mind couldn’t be held back anymore. 

You didn’t quite notice his distress till you looked up after the lengthy silence that settled. 

The imperceptible twitch in his crotch area catches your attention. Your lips parted to stifle a gasp of surprise. 

Was he— “Jus’ get the hell up, kid.”

The respectable thing to do was to go on about his job. It was humiliating enough that you’d caught him in a painfully embarrassing position. 

But Joel Miller learned two new things about himself.

First, he didn’t quite mind the soft, lingering scent of strawberries and vanilla you seemed to carry. A quiet, comforting sweetness that seemed to cling to the air whenever you were near.

The second? Well, the second was far more troublesome. 

The thoughts that plagued him at night when he was fucking his fist, or someone else for that matter. It didn’t help that he was aware of such vivid and intimate details of you. It fucked with his head how desperately he wanted to draw pleasure out of you and stain that pretty little dainty star you had on your belly with ropes of his cum. 

The culmination of it all was taxing. But somehow? He managed to keep those thoughts at bay.

When the director finally called cut for the day, Joel stepped off set, muscles aching and shirt damp with sweat. He scans the area out of habit. 

Jonah would’ve been there by now–towel, water & phone in hand, ready for the usual barrage of calls and texts he needed to deal with.

Instead, it was you. 

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as the realization hit him again. Right. Jonah was gone.

“You don’t have to look like the world’s ended, Joel.” 

He doesn’t answer you, not at first. 

“It’s not like I’m going to tell people that you—“

Joel seats himself in his chair loudly. A silent warning for you to not go there. He lets out a long, drawn out exhale. Folding his arms tightly. “Kid. Don’t know whatcha think you saw–”

That again. Kid. Was that how he saw you? You had half the mind to admit what the idea of it did to you—the idea that he might’ve gotten hard at the thought of you. 

“Hate that I even have to ask.” You begin, not letting him finish his thought. “You realize I’m not.” You were dabbing a little harder now, tossing out the used makeup wipes in the trash beside you. 

“Y���are when I’ve got a decade over ya.” He says simply. Wincing at your harsh gestures. “Don’t need the complications.” He pushes your hand away, his deep brown eyes stayed locked on you, searching, warning. 

“Leave well enough alone, got that?”

The following weeks on set proved to be grueling, even by Joel’s standards. His reputation preceded him. A stubborn, self-reliant actor who insisted on doing his own stunts. For the studio, it was a nightmare. Higher insurance premiums, a ballooning budget, and his manager losing sleep over the what-ifs. 

For Joel, it was just how he’d always worked.

But his body wasn’t what it used to be. He could feel the aftermath of his aching limbs with every roll, leap, and landing. By the end of each day, he was a drained man.

The tension on set that evening was suffocating, the kind that made every sound sharper, every movement feel urgent. 

Joel’s stunt wasn’t supposed to go wrong. It rarely did. But today was different. 

You’d seen the way his jaw tightened with every take, the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. Monitoring him from the sidelines when the cameras were still rolling. 

Then it happened.

A sickening crunch, the unmistakable sound of something gone wrong. Joel hit the ground hard, and the set erupted in chaos. The director’s voice echoed through the sound stage, “Cut! Jesus. Check on Joel. Now!” as the crew scrambled toward him.

You froze, the towel and water bottle in your hands suddenly feeling useless. Your feet moved on instinct, but the crowd around Joel was essentially a wall. Blocking you out. 

You couldn’t get through.

“Back off. M’fine.” Joel’s voice cuts through the commotion, frustration dripping from every word. He swatted away helping hands, gaze darting through the crowd. His face twisted in anger, not from pain but from the lack of order.

“Where the hell is she?” he grumbled. 

You hesitated, your stomach knotting. His eyes finally locked onto you, and his expression darkened. “You. Get over here.”

The weight of his command pulled you forward, even as your gut screamed to stay back, letting someone more qualified deal with it.  You shuffled behind him as you’d maneuvered out of the crowd and back into his trailer. Eyes widening at the sight of blood seeping through a tear in his shirt.

“Joel, I–…shouldn’t we call–”

“Don’t need someone else,” he interrupted, his tone biting but strained. “Just. I’ll tell ya what to do. Kits in the left drawer.”

“Okay,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady, wracking your brain for memories of those first aid videos you’d seen on YouTube. Film school did not prep you for this. 

As you grabbed the first aid kit, you watched Joel slump against the trailer walls. You stood there, awkwardly, watching the scarlet blossom against his abdomen.

He looks at you for a moment before exhaling. “Y’know, you can ask n’ not jus’ stand there like a mute, darlin’.”

The witty remark dies in your throat when he yanks his shirt off. Effectively shutting your brain down entirely. You stare down at his body in its’ full glory. Damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. Blood smeared in jagged trails down his arm to his abdomen, mingling with grime from the fall. Joel pulls out the antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit, handing it to you.

“Shit, Joel. That looks fucking bad.” You hissed out, as though you were the one with a darkened gash on your midriff when you attempted to wipe the first streak off.

“Why…” Fuck. Your voice was cracking. “Why didn’t you just let someone else help you?”

He huffed, his dark eyes flicking to yours for a moment in amusement before looking away. “Ain’t worth makin’ a scene over somethin’ small.”

“This isn’t small, Joel,” you protested, frowning as you uncovered a deeper gash on his side. “You should’ve let the medics handle it.”

“Don’t need all that fuss.” His tone was clipped, defensive. “Been doin’ my own stunts for years. Ain’t stoppin’ now ‘cause of a scratch.”

“This isn’t a scratch.”

Joel’s gaze flicked to yours again, a flash of something unreadable in his expression. “Look, I get it, alright? But I don’t need everyone actin’ like I’m fallin’ apart. I’m fine.”

He knew deep down that his ego was far too big to admit that he actually needed help. 

“Stubborn,” you murmured under your breath, shaking your head as you pressed a clean pad against the wound.

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.”

Joel’s patience was paper thin, but he bit back whatever comment was forming on his tongue. “Enough of that. Just…tie it up” He sighs, strained, handing you a roll.

You nodded, fumbling with the bandage as your heart pounded in your ears. The wound was deeper than you’d thought now that it was clean, and the sight of it made your stomach churn.

“C’mon, darlin’. Ain’t got all day.”

You secured the bandage, tying it off with a bunny-eared bow before sitting back on your heels. Fingertips drumming on your knees, seemingly proud of yourself. 

Joel glanced down, his brows furrowing as he took in your work. “What the hell is that?”

“What?” you say defensively. “You told me to tie it.”

“Looks like ya wrapped a damn present,” he muttered. 

“Fine, I’ll redo it–”

“Don’t bother.” He caught your hands before you could move, holding them in place. “It’ll hold.”

The silence that followed proved to further intensify the air between the two of you. His grip on your wrist was firm but not harsh, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t dare to move. 

The curve of his nose grazed your cheeks, the faintest touch sent a shiver down your spine, but he had enough sense to move away. 

You however, didn’t think, didn’t hesitate when you leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick, tentative kiss.

It seemed to have caught the both of you off guard.

Joel froze, the kiss barely lasting a second before he pulls back, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he’d tell you off.

But instead, he leans forward. Kissing you harder, deeper. A palm slips to the back of your neck to anchor you in place.

With nowhere else to put your hands, you placed them on his thighs, gripping them tightly.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin. His other hand gripped your waist, drags you closer until your knees pressed against the side of his hips.

But just as quickly as it started, Joel stops. He pulls back with a bated breath. His hands slip from where he held your neck. “Shit,” he mutters, his jaw clenching as he looks away. “Shit.”

You blinked, your heart racing as you tried to catch up. Trying not to let the disappointment show in your voice. “Joel–”

“Stop. I shouldn’t have.” The curtness in his tone startled you. But you frowned. Trailing behind him as he gets up. 

“Well you did.” You blocked his path towards the door of his trailer. Eyes filled with a burning persistence of him once again denying you. 

“Don’t push it, kid.”

You’d practically stepped up to him confrontationally. “—Or better yet, you gonna tell me that I imagined it?”

“You can’t do all of that and then just back off.”

It frustrated you to no end when he stonewalled you like this. Like you were some irrational kid who couldn’t read between the lines.

When Joel finally does speak, he merely says your name. With a finality you couldn’t quite refute. You bite the inside of your cheeks. Feeling humiliated at being shot down when you’d thrown yourself onto someone like this.

“Fucking coward.”

This time, you didn’t mumble. 

Joel visibly grimaces at that. You feel his hand grip painfully around your wrist, stopping you from leaving the trailer.

You let out a choked gasp when his hands shoot out to grip around your throat before you could even react. Forcing you backwards at every step. Instinctively, you grab around his wrists to loosen his grip. 

“Hey!” 

He leans down to your level, lips grazing against your ears in a deep whisper. “Fuckin’ coward, huh?”  You'd pushed all the right buttons. He'd held back for so damned long and he didn't have it in him to hold back. Not after you'd run your mouth.

You let out a shaky exhale. Teeth grit painfully. You should’ve felt scared. Horrified, really. But the tenderness in his hold makes you feel conflicted about what you should’ve felt. 

Joel’s grip held you firm. Tipping your head up. “Y’want me to fuck you that bad?”

A soft whimper leaves your lips when his back presses against you. The hardness rubbed up against your core. You shudder at the sensation, nodding weakly. 

His rough palms circle around your waist, turning you over the dressing table until your pelvis sat flush against it. The grip around your throat swiftly turns to a vice grip around your jaw. 

He tugs at your jaw. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Ugh—yes.…need you..tofuckme.” You manage through gritted teeth. It irked you to say it, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t have let up.

Joel tugs you to look up into your own reflection. Your gaze immediately sours, attempting to look away. 

“C’mon now. S’a pretty sight.” He tuts. His other palm drags the fabric of your top up harshly, pulling it up along with your bra. Your tits spilling at the notion. A gasp slips from your lips. 

“Joel!” Your palms tightens into fists on the table at the obscene sight. 

So much for someone who didn’t want to give in.

It doesn’t faze Joel, merely letting out a low whistle. Kneading them in his palms. “Perfect fuckin’ tits.”

He presses a kiss down the sides of your neck. Twisting around your nipples till they hardened between his fingers. You let out a pathetic whine at the sensation. Holding his arms firmly, you squirm as he nips your shoulder. 

“Could you just—“ Your protests don't stop him in the slightest. Nudging your head a little to give him room. He takes it as a sign to bite down on your neck, bruising you with hickeys all over. 

Joel seems to catch your nervous flickers towards the doors. He shifts your hair over one side of your shoulder. Thumbing over the ink on the nape of your neck. You hear the sound of the zipper, briefly catching sight of him shucking his pants down. He winces slightly at the dull pain shooting across his abdomen, but the desperation of needing you was far greater than the pain.

Somehow, the idea of not being able to see it made it so much worse. And as though he reads your mind, he presses his jaw against the side of your head. “Relax.” The tenderness in his tone through the roughness does manage to soothe your nerves. You nod slowly.

Your hips jolt as the cold air hits your body when Joel dips a finger under the waistband of your sweats. He teasingly brushes his fingers lightly against your skin before swiftly tugging them down to your thighs along with the flimsy cotton panties you had on. “A little warning would help.” You bite back, finally losing patience at his tactless gestures. 

Joel meets your gaze through the mirror. A lopsided smirk quirking up his lips. “Right. My bad.” You could feel the disingenuity in his tone before he taps the length of his cock against your lower back. The gesture almost mocking.

A shudder runs down your spine. He was big, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. 

He hikes your hip backwards and flush against him. Your palms instinctively clutches around the edge of the table. Joel takes his time, sliding his hard cock between the softness of your thighs. The sensation nearly sends you doubling over. Watching the weeping tip poke through in the reflection, slightly smearing his precum on your clit.

You squeeze your legs together subconsciously, earning a wince from him. He was certain he could come just from fucking your thighs like this. The pace he took now bordered on torturous. Teasing you with everything but giving you nothing. 

You took it upon yourself to stretch your hands between your thighs in an attempt to notch him in you. You were aching. Badly.

Joel lets out a grunt of disapproval, yanking your wrist to pin it behind your back. Leaving you to steady your body weight onto your other hand. “Eager little thing. Daddy ain’t ever teachya patience?”

His snark burned in your cheeks. It was a futile effort. He could see every single expression you were making from your reflection and he fucking thrived on it. Joel takes a hold of his cock, lining it up against your soaked cunt, he slowly drags your slick over his length. You were soaking him before he even started.

Your head dips, clinging onto the fleeting pleasure every time the tip of his cock bumped against your clit. 

“Joel–please just fuck me...”

So he does.

Before you could even catch your breath, he snaps his hips into you. “Deep breath f’me, sweetheart.” If not for his grip around your wrist, you would’ve probably face planted into the dresser. 

The sting from the intrusion of his thickness had your cunt tightening with every move he makes, squeezing the absolute life out of his dick.

Your hair falls in front of your face as he mercilessly fucks you. You swore you could feel him almost grazing the entrance of your cervix. “T-Too..too fucking...big.”

Joel tips his head at the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock, probably only halfway. He doesn’t say anything yet. Only humming at your whines. “I know baby.”

You look down shakily at where the both of you were connected, the lines between pain and pleasure blurring to the point you hadn’t registered the tears prickling the corner of your eyes. “Hurts…”

Joel seems to feel a tinge of empathy at the way you were struggling to take him, hiccuping through your whines. His gaze flickers to the way your pretty little face scrunched up, doing your fucking best like the good girl you were. A slight groan leaves his lips involuntarily.

All rationality be fucked.

His hand grips around your throat, forcing you to look up at the mirror. 

As humiliating as it was, you couldn’t help but feel increasingly turned on at the sight of his cock fucked into your dripping pussy in squelches. “See that? Takin’ me so ’fuckin’ well.” He sighs into your shoulder. 

The praise has you lifting your hips higher, on your tippy toes–forcing a deeper arch at your hips. With how slick your thighs were, you weren’t even sure yourself if you did come.

Nothing but the sounds of his pelvis snapping into your ass in rhythmic, hard slaps. He buries his head in the crook of your shoulder. And you hear him audibly grunt this time. Thrusting into you at a punishing pace. 

Joel could feel the all familiar tightening in his sack, he knew he was close. The sheer suction your soft, slick walls were providing him was nothing he’d ever felt before. He lets go of your throat, both palms gripped around your hips, painful enough to leave a mark. The table rattles under your combined weights and Joel’s frantic thrusts, products rolling and clattering onto the ground. He noses your cheeks, stubble rubbing against your pulse point. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy…” 

You offer a slight whimper at his words, meeting the intensity his thrusts weakly. You both still at the shuffle of footsteps approaching the trailer.

 The sharp knocks against the trailer door has the both of you whipping your head towards it. 

“Everything okay?”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears loudly. The door wasn’t locked.

Joel doesn't answer, simply looking at you. Your expression twists in frustration. Mouthing the words ‘me?’. There wasn't time to deliberate. Your lips parts to speak, barely able to form coherent words. “Y..yeah. A-All good.” 

“Right…productions cutting it close. So if Joel’s oookaaay…”

You cursed internally at how persistent whoever behind the doors was. But you nearly see white when Joel fully slams into you. Deeper than before. You couldn’t control the sharp cry that leaves your lips, but it is soon muffled by Joel’s rough palms covering your mouth.

“M’fine. Give us ten.”

Your tears pool around his hand. Gripping onto his wrists when he continues to pound into you at a faster intensity. You were whining by the time the crewmate finally left. Joel pulls you against his chest. Audibly groaning into your ears now. “Fuck. M’close.” 

You nodded dumbly, not even sure just what at anymore. Shaky hands clinging onto him like a lifeline. With a final rut, his hips stutter, ropes of his cum painting the insides of your walls.

He held it there for a couple of seconds before pulling out. All messy and soaked with your arousal.

You let out a strained exhale at the feeling of loss as your pussy convulses around nothing, pearlescent liquid dripping from your reddened cunt. 

Joel sighs wantonly at the sight. With the state of you, he was briefly worried that he might’ve gone too hard. And then he sees it. Your smaller, manicured hands, pushing more of his dripping come into your folds. Yeah. Joel was fucked.