#It's like late-night thoughts don't mind me

[drunkinyourbenz]

YOU DON'T REALLY NEED A BREAK

☆ SYNOPSIS: in which billie is stressed, so naturally she needs you more than ever. unbenkownst to her, she takes it too far. ☆ PART ONE ☆ RELATIONSHIP: dom!billie eilish x fem!reader ☆ WARNINGS: SMUT, use of safe word, angst, fluff, comfort, mean billie, reader is a little bratty, situationship/fwb, angry sex, crying, strap-on, edging, degradation, petnames, name calling (slut, whore, brat, etc.), choking, hair pulling, humiliation, dumbification, toxic dynamic (except less so because billie's realising things hehe), unedited. ☆ REQUESTED: yes, by a bunch of anons ☆ NOTE: y'all read my mind with these reqeusts i was already thinking of writing a part two abt exactly this and you all had the same idea!! sorry this took so long lmao exams are kicking my ass :/ this is very unedited sorry for any mistakes i read it through once and then posted it lmao read part one first for it to make more sense ☆ WORD COUNT: 3.5k words

billie hadn’t texted you in a little over a week, and you almost thought that she wasn’t ever going to again. the last time you’d seen her had ended like all of the other nights, she’d cleaned you up and then left you alone in the silent hotel room. usually, she’d text afterwards, just to make sure you were feeling okay, but there was nothing. the last text between the two of you was when you’d asked where she was when she was late that night. 

the two of you normally hooked up at least a few times a week, and you’d never actually gone a week without her since you started this four months ago.

you thought the worst: someone else had replaced you as her favourite. you’d always thought it would happen, but you thought you might have a few more times before it was over. but from the looks of it, you weren’t ever going to see her again. 

which was fine, obviously. you didn’t care—or that’s what you kept telling yourself. you had agreed to a no-commitment thing when you two started whatever this was, and she could do whatever she wanted. it stung a little bit that she wasn’t doing you, but ultimately, there was nothing you could do about it. 

so when you got home from a long day, thoroughly exhausted, your plan for the night was to hide in your bed and watch 2000s tv shows until you passed out. you showered, taking your time to wash your hair and feeling your tense and tired muscles relax under the hot stream of water. once out of the shower, you changed into some comfortable clothes, flopping down on your bed in relief. you were ready to finally just cuddle up under the blankets like you’d been wishing you could do all day.

about eleven minutes into the gilmore girls episode you were up to—rewatching for the hundredth time—your phone pinged, and you almost just ignored it, but you picked it up with a groan. 

your eyes widened when you saw it was from billie, the last number you expected to text. your heart almost skipped a beat.

billie: come over?

you paused for a moment, conflicted. you truly were exhausted, and it had been such a long day, and all you wanted to do was sleep, you honestly weren’t in the mood for what you knew billie would want. but… it was billie. 

so, inevitably, you ended up at her door. you were still in the clothes you’d changed into the moment you got home, just some comfortable sweatpants and a top—billie wouldn’t care about what you wore, she wanted you to be comfortable. plus, you knew full well that you wouldn’t be wearing them for long. 

you knocked on the door, and it opened within mere seconds, almost as if billie had been waiting by the door for you to show up. from the look on her face, you wouldn’t be surprised. she looked stressed, angry, and desperate. you looked her up and down, your eyes settling on her face. she was wearing a pretty similar outfit to you, sweatpants that hung low on her hips, the “HIT ME HARD AND SOFT” waistband of her boxers peeking out, and a white tank top that you could see the slight hint of her nipples peeking through. her arms were bare and your eyes seemed to gravitate towards the toned muscles there, which never failed to make your brain short circuit. paired with the noticeable outline of her strap in her pants, it was almost too much for you to take. 

you noticed the way her eyebrows were slightly furrowed and her eyes were narrowed in a firm gaze, the frustration was clear on her face. “rough day?” 

she groaned, and when she spoke, her voice had a slight rasp to it, “you have no idea.” 

the two of you fell into silence, just staring at each other for a few long moments. it wasn’t a comfortable silence, it was one that hung in the air around you, a claustrophobic silence. there were words left unspoken between the two of you that poked their heads around the corner but never truly revealed itself, it left you wondering when it would snap, but it never did. the two of you stared at each other for what felt like lifetimes, you waiting for billie to do something, and billie simply savouring the feeling of having you in front of her again. 

finally, she spoke, her voice still holding that same raspiness—which alone could get you on your knees for her. “it’s pathetic that you’re here so fast, considering i ghosted you for a week. you’re just a desperate slut for me, aren’t you? not that you’d be good for anything else.”

the bluntness of her words sent a chill down your spine, this was exactly what you’d expected. why else would billie text you after a week of not talking, if not to use her favourite girl? 

billie continued talking before you could even get a word in, it was like she’d read your thoughts. she leaned closer, her lips brushing your ear as she spoke, “you know i could just call over any of my girls and they’d be here in a heartbeat, and they’d be exactly the same. pathetic, desperate, and begging.”

you raised an eyebrow at her words. you knew what she was doing, trying to wind you up, get you to act out. you had honestly intended to just be her good girl tonight because you were so tired, but you knew she adored it when you acted up. so you spoke with the bratty tone you knew she loved.

“sure you could. but none of them are here now, are they? you called me.” 

the brattiness, especially when she was in a mood like this, made her eyes light up. your brattiness was her favourite thing, she loved it when you gave her an excuse to be harsher and meaner than she was on a normal day. so, when you talked back to her, she lets out a dark laugh. “don’t fuckin’ test me, mama.” 

you let a soft scoff fall past your lips, “or what?” 

“you know i’ll put you in your place, i’ve done it before.” and then you realised, this was what set you apart. this was why you were her favourite. you weren’t afraid to act up, so she didn’t have to be afraid of taking it too far. she could push you, because you pushed her. “maybe you should. you want to blow off steam, don’t you?”

at your words, her lips twitched upwards into a slight, barely noticeable smirk. you knew she would be taking them as a challenge, “you’re gonna have to drop the bratty attitude eventually, mamas.”

“maybe you should make me.”

that was exactly what she wanted—she wanted you to keep going, keep winding her up. she wanted you to give her a reason to pin you down and tear you apart; and you gave her that reason with that simple suggestion.

she took your wrist in her hand, her grip almost painful as she tugged you behind her to her bedroom. the air felt different than it normally did when you were here, everything felt so tense. her entire body language screamed irritated, dominant. but it wasn’t the normal kind of dominance she normally exuded. billie always had this kind of casual dominance that just hung around her, her presence was just effortlessly assertive. this is different, she had a look in her eyes you hadn’t seen before—she was always mean, but this was her normal level of mean times ten. 

she was clearly in a whole new headspace, not one you were familiar with. this wasn’t just dominant, wasn’t just mean, no, it was something else. she wasn’t just a little stressed, she didn’t just have a little bit of frustration she needed to take out on you, this was worse. it was an almost animalistic kind of energy, one that’s so raw, so intense, you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk by the time she was finished with you.

she took one of the belts from her merch from her dresser, shoving you backwards onto the bed and tying your hands to the headboard. she tugged it slightly, making sure it was firm but not too tight. it sent a rush of excitement through you, and you knew she felt the same. 

“gonna use you, mamas,” you knew from those words that she was going to absolutely ruin you, and you could tell by the look in her eyes.

sure enough, no more than five minutes later, she had her strap deep inside of you and was pounding into you at a bruising pace. the strap was bigger than the one she usually used, and it made you ache with a constant stinging pain. she hadn’t given you any time to adjust, and had started as she meant to go on. you were naked and on her bed, with her on top of you, fucking into you at a brutal pace. your hands were still tied up with her belt and the ache it brought only amplified the pleasure. one of her hands had your hair in a firm grasp, solely to make you feel the sting of pain it brought. she wanted to bring you to tears. her other hand grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it before letting her hand fall down on your ass in a harsh slap. 

the intense pleasure of her cock inside you and her finger circling your clit was a perfect contrast to the pain her hands brought you, and a trail of moans fell from your lips. “b-billie-” 

a mean, almost cruel laugh left her lips, “god, you’re such a slut.” another slap landed on your ass, “it’s pathetic, really. i mean, i can ghost you for as long as i want,” another slap. “and you’re still at my door in five minutes as soon as i ask.” slap, “pathetic fuckin’ whore.” 

you whined, which simply made her laugh. in her own sadistic way, she was enjoying this. 

this continued for what felt like hours—maybe it was, you had no idea. every time you got slightly close to your orgasm, she’d pull out, tugging you away from the edge. by now, you had tears rolling down your cheeks, and the fine line between pleasure and pain was slowly but surely being crossed. 

“fuckin’ take it,” she breathed. “god, you look so dumb around my cock. all you’re good for, hm? spreading your legs and taking it like the slut you are?”

you whimpered, and she simply slapped your ass again. 

this continued for much longer, and she wasn’t even mad at you for being bratty, not in the slightest. she just needed an outlet for her bad mood, and that was what you were. merely a way for her to release her frustrations. 

you let out a choked sob, your body trembling, “billie, please, i can’t—” 

you knew she wasn’t doing this because she had anything against you, there had been something deeply wrong with her day. she had never been this downright cruel before, and you knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t act like this without reason. but it was too much, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take. she hadn’t asked for your colour even once tonight, and that thought alone was putting you on edge. sure, her being rough turned you on, but right now it was scaring you just as much. this was darker than you’d experienced in all four months of your friends with benefits situation with her, and you weren’t sure if you liked it. 

you felt the strap hit your most sensitive spot, and you let out a sound that was a mix of a moan and a sob. “billie–” 

“like being used by me, yeah? taking everything i give you like a slut?”

you weren’t sure when you realised that you actually weren’t enjoying it anymore, but it was obvious all of a sudden. it hurt, and not in a good way. you were exhausted from both your day and the sheer amount of time she’d been edging you for. the way your arms had been tied to the bed for so long was making them ache painfully, and at some point down the line, your tears of pleasure had turned into tears of pain. 

you normally had the safety net of knowing that she was paying attention to your signals, knowing that she didn’t want to hurt you. but it didn’t even feel like she was aware of what she was doing, she was so caught up in herself and drowning out her own frustrations. you hated that lack of awareness, it was like she wouldn’t even notice if she actually hurt you. 

she looked like she was about to speak again, so before she could get out another degrading comment, you gasped out, “red, billie–”

whatever half formed sentence billie had been about to say died on her tongue, your gasped words making her freeze inside of you. her mind suddenly went silent, her frustrated thoughts about her day coming to a halt as she looked down at you with wide, almost scared eyes. you’d never actually used your safeword—obviously it was something that the two of you had communicated, but billie had never expected to actually go too far, to push you to that. she was meant to check in on your colours, and she felt an intense pang of guilt when she realised that she hadn’t done that. 

as she looked at you, noticing the tears and the exhausted expression, as well as the way your wrists were visibly sore from being tied for so long, she felt a sense of dread. she was overcome with shame and she didn’t know what to do about it. her breath caught in her throat as she processed what was going on.

“shit, i’m so sorry.” after a moment, she shook herself out of her paralysed shock, she would’ve pulled out immediately, but she was aware that that would just hurt you even more. so she leaned over, quickly untying the belt around your wrists and letting it fall to the ground beside the bed. she massaged your wrists gently for a moment, trying to soothe you. 

her hands moved over your tense muscles, trying to ease some of the soreness. she brushed some of your hair out of your eyes, her touch soft and cautious. “i-i’m so sorry, baby. i never wanted to push you that far.”

you knew that. you knew that she would never actually intend to hurt you, you knew that she wasn’t herself. you didn’t need her to over explain herself, you just needed her to hold you. the hand that had been pushing your hair out of your eyes moved to stroke your cheek, and you could see the intense guilt in her eyes. 

“i’m gonna pull out now, okay?” her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, eyes fixed on your face. 

you simply nodded, hissing slightly in pain as she gently pulled the strap out of you. billie felt her stomach twist at your obvious pain, knowing that she had done that. “i know, i’m so sorry.”

once she was out of you, she climbed off you and gently shifted you so you were sitting further up the bed, propped up on the pillows slightly. her mind was clearly racing with what she could do to help, “do you need anything? water, food, whatever?”

you shook your head softly. if your brain hadn’t been so exhausted, you probably would have thought more rationally about this. but you didn’t, and you didn’t once consider the limited affection in your dynamic. “can you just hold me?” 

billie didn’t hesitate, she just nodded instantly. “yeah, of course i can.” she joined you further up the bed, pulling you into her arms. she held you against her chest gently, her fingers soothingly running through your hair while her hand rubbed your back softly. 

you could hear her heartbeat, it was fast and a clear reminder of how stressed she was. you spoke softly, “it’s okay, seriously.”

but it wasn’t okay, not to billie. she had hurt you, she had pushed you too far, even when you were already clearly tired. she should’ve known better, and the guilt was weighing down from her and eating her up from the inside. not to mention she was terrified that this might be your last straw, that you might never want to see her again, that she might have broken your trust. wondering why she cared so much about her casual fling’s feelings was something that would have left her perplexed on any other day, but it was not currently at the forefront of her mind. “but–”

“it’s okay.” you said firmly, “i wouldn’t be asking you to hold me if i was uncomfortable around you.” 

those words seemed to ease billie’s nerves slightly, and she tightened her arms around you, holding you close. after a few minutes of this, she gently pulled you to sit in your lap, and you shifted so that your head was buried in the crook of her neck. you could feel her breathing on your skin, and you could feel her chest rising and falling with each breath. it was incredibly grounding, the feeling of just being close to her. ever so slowly, you felt your breathing calm and your heart rate slow down. 

at least an hour passed as you were just laying there in her arms, your breathing syncing with hers as her fingers ran through your hair. it was a foreign thing, for the two of you to be this close without sex, but it felt so right. it was like you were made to be in her arms, despite the situation that had brought you here. you could sense her guilt, and if you’d been a bit more aware of what was going on, you probably would’ve realised that there was something more behind that guilt—something deeper than just feeling bad for pushing you. but you were unaware, it wasn’t really what took place at the front of your mind. 

the room was filled with only the sound of both of you breathing, and your mind was taken over by the calming feeling of her playing with your hair. after a while, she broke the silence. “d’you wanna borrow something to wear?” 

you couldn’t deny that you liked the feeling of this skin to skin contact, but you also knew that it was a good idea. so you nodded quietly, and she delicately lifted you off her lap and set you down on the bed. she walked over and grabbed you an oversized t-shirt to wear, and she walked into the ensuite to grab a damp cloth. she came back over and gently wiped your thighs with the cloth, at this point you didn’t flinch too much because it had been so long. she held out the t-shirt, which you recognised as one she had worn at some point.

“arms up, darling.” that was a new pet name, but you didn’t comment. instead, you just lifted your arms and allowed her to slip the top over your head. it smelt like her, which somehow just added to the comfort. 

soon enough, she was back on the bed and you were back in her arms. she was laying down and you were laying with her, partly on top of her and partly just cuddled up to her side. this hadn’t happened before between the two of you, but you certainly weren’t complaining. her bed was comfortable, and her arms around you felt like a cocoon you never wanted to grow out of. 

gradually, your breathing started to slow as the exhaustion caught up on you, both from the recent events and your already tiring day. your head slumped onto her shoulder as a yawn fell from your lips, to which billie smiled softly. 

“do you want to stay the night?” 

that was not something you’d ever expected billie to say, but you hummed softly against her shoulder. “if that’s okay, yeah.”

you could’ve sworn you heard a sigh of relief from billie, “of course it’s okay, please stay. i want you to stay.” 

and so you did. you stayed that night, wrapped up in billie’s arms. it was so new, but it felt so right. that night had been an irreversible shift in your relationship, for both obvious reasons and more hidden ones. you knew that the two of you would have to talk about some stuff in the morning, and you knew you’d have to set some more boundaries. but you also felt closer to her than you ever had, somehow. 

little did you know, that night was just as  meaningful for billie as it was for you. she had had a revelation, one that she would likely keep to herself for a while, although there was no doubt you would find out eventually. 

but there was no doubt that billie wanted you to stay, longer than she’d ever thought.

[sstargirln]

❞ ᝰ .ᐟ stepdad(dy)!art

TW: smut MDNI - p in v, not proofread, so so much swearing, so much dirty talk oops, fauxcest/stepcest

word count: 2301

¡! ❞! a/n aka post-nut clarity : yikes! i am down BAD

“where the fuck have you been?” art's voice cut through the empty front foyer, his eyes narrowed and arms crossed as you stumble through the front door.

just a few years ago, art was nothing but a familiar face in tennis circles, your mom’s high-profile client from her days as a sports agent. you remembered watching his matches on tv when you were younger. hearing his name murmured around the house—art donaldson, the untouchable tennis star and his wife, tashi. but that marriage had fallen apart, fast. 

and then one day, you came home to find him at the dinner table, leaning back in his chair like he’d always belonged there. they were dating, your mom had said, not hiding the glint of satisfaction in her eyes as if she’d snagged the catch of the century. you never asked how it started, only watched as art slowly slipped from the screen into your everyday life.

art liked it—a family that wasn’t a media-fueled whirlwind, even if the kid was closer to his age than to being an actual child. 

the past few years had gone smoothly enough. art had settled into this new life, used to the late nights your mom spent at the office . . . and then you turned 18. and you were a rebellious mess of late nights and tight dresses and barely concealed fluttery eyelashes.  

whatever you were doing — if you meant to or not, was working. you were turning heads, catching eyes. and art’s mind had begun to shift as well. darken. 

he had begun to become infected by this feeling, creeping under his skin like poison. it bloomed inside him, a constant, gnawing need that he hated himself for. his thoughts spiraled, to you, to your body, to the way your mouth moved when you smiled, when you spoke. worst of all, the way the word daddy slipped from your lips effortlessly, so innocently.

“you reek. are you drunk?”  

you shake your head ever so slightly as you stumble towards the couch. "no, daddy, don't be ridiculous," you giggled, your words slurring. you adjust up the hem of your sleeveless dress as you spread on the couch, hair falling into your face. "i'm . . . tipsy at best."

art clenches his jaw at the sound of that forbidden word on your lips. his heart pounds in his chest, and he feels it low in his stomach, a jolt of heat straight to his groin.

he knows this is wrong, knows he shouldn't be picturing all the filthy things he wants to do to you, sprawled on the couch under him. "tipsy, my ass. who were you with?" he managed to choke out. 

you roll your eyes as you look up at him. "my friend sierra. went to a party." you lick your lips slowly, foot reaching out to graze against his leg. "my neck hurts from looking up at you, daddy. si'down." 

fuck, what are you doing? trying to drive him crazy? it's working. his cock twitches traitorously in his pants, already starting to stiffen at your casual touch. his body moves before his brain can catch up, sinking down onto the cushion beside you. "there. happy now?" he tries to keep his tone gruff, unaffected. 

you nod slightly, a small smirk tugging at your lips before you lean back with a pout, your eyes heavy. "so . . . what're you gonna do? hm? ground me?" you rest your legs across his lap.

it takes every ounce of his self-control not to reach out and touch you. all he can think how soft your skin must feel, how you would taste if he leaned in and ran his tongue along your inner thigh. his hands clench into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. "maybe I should call your mother. let her deal with you. this is ridiculous. "

but even as the words leave his mouth, he knows he won't do it. knows he'll take the fall for you, like always. because despite his better judgment, despite the sickness churning in his gut at his own twisted desires — he can't bear the thought of disappointing you. 

you just giggled at his scolding, apparently too far gone to care. you shift on the cushions, arch your back slightly. making the flimsy sundress ride up even higher on your thighs, giving art a peek of red lace that he should not be seeing. art swallowed hard, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

 the room is silent for a few moments, art’s confrontation long dissipated. 

“mom’s gone a lot, hm?” your slurred, shaky voice snaps him out of his daze. you shift closer to him, foot brushing right against his crotch. 

art inhales sharply, his cock twitching as your foot grazes his straining erection. a flicker of panic passes over his face before he could hide it. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked defensively, crossing his arms, trying to steady himself.

you just smirk up at him, eyes glinting mischievously even through the drunken haze. "oh c'mon, daddy, you know exactly what i mean." you draw out the forbidden word, letting it hang in the charged air between them. lick your lips. bat your lashes oh so innocently. "y'know, 's just that she’s never around anymore. mus' get real lonely for you.”

“don’t . . .” he choked. art dragged a hand over his face, trying to collect himself. "just go to bed," he stammered wearily, unable to meet your eyes. "we'll talk more about this in the morning when you're sober."

but you don’t listen, continue on as if he never said anything — lips curling into a knowing smirk. "mm, poor daddy," you murmur, a soft, taunting lilt to your voice. "don’t get much action, i’m sure."  

art exhales sharply, his eyes flicking to yours, then quickly away. “you need to go to bed.”

you scoot closer, your legs brushing against his. "i don’t want to sleep," you murmur, leaning in just enough for him to feel your breath against his ear. "maybe i want some attention. i know you do." 

“fuck,” he croaked. “stop.”

but you just smile up at him. lean in just a little. "must be hard, having so much to . . . hold in,” you whisper, your fingers trailing lazily along the edge of his sleeve. 

“please," he rasped. "we can't. i'm your father, for fuck's sake.” the words sounded weak even to his own ears. his resistance was crumbling by the second, defenses worn down by months of pent-up lust and longing. 

“not really.”

"go to bed," he repeats. this time his voice is barely more than a whimper.

"yeah, i'll go to bed . . .  but i’ll be thinking about you."

art's eyes slid shut as your fingers worked their way beneath the hem of his shirt, nails raking lightly over his abs. a low groan escaped him, the sound foreign to his own ears. he was in so deep, drowning in a sea of forbidden lust. 

“mhm, i’ll be thinking about you, daddy. are you gon’ make me take care of this myself?”  

art's breath hitched as your fingers trailed lower, brushing against the waistband of his jeans. his hips jerked involuntarily, aching for more contact despite the voice in the back of his head screaming at him to stop this madness. 

you pressed a kiss to his cheek, slow, wet. he wants to turn his head, to capture your lips with his own. to claim you, to ruin you for any other man. but he can't. he shouldn't. 

"please," he begs, but he's not even sure what he's asking for anymore. for you to stop? or for you to keep going, to grind against him until he explodes?

"i think you want this jus’ as badly as i do, huh?" your hand slid lower, brushing over the bulge straining against his zipper. "so why don't you stop fighting and just give in?"

and that's when art's careful control shattered. the last thread snapped, and a ragged curse tore from his throat as his hands shot out, grabbing your hips and hauling you onto his lap. capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, he scrabbles at your dress, rips it down.

he kisses you like a drowning man gasping for air, devouring you, pouring all his pent-up desire into the heated embrace. his fingers tangled in you hair, tugging roughly as he angled your head to deepen the kiss. you moan into his mouth, your own hands frantically roaming his chest and shoulders. art feels you grinding against him, the heat searing him even through his clothes.

he broke away from her lips to trail open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. down the column of her throat. "fuck, you drive me crazy," he growled against your skin, nipping at your pulse point.

your head lolls back, a wanton moan spilling from your lips. "please," you whimper, fingers scrabbling at his shirt. "i need you so bad."

art's mouth latched onto a pebbled nipple, sucking and biting as he ground his aching cock against you. his hands found your mouth, and he shoved a finger in. your tongue instinctively curling around the digits, lapping at them greedily. you mewled around his fingers, the sound muffled and desperate as arched into him, your own hands frantically working to undo his belt and zipper. art hissed in pleasure as your freed his throbbing member, stroking him slowly while he continued to ravish your chest. " 'm gonna fuck you so good." his hips rock into your hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. "i'm going to make you mine," he growls, fingers delving into your panties to stroke your slick folds. "gon' — fuck. gonna stretch this pretty pussy out. yeah? . . . yeah, 's that what you want?"

it's filthy, degrading, everything he knows he shouldn't want. but god help him, he can't stop. you nod desperately as you groan into his touch, grip on his dick loosening for a second when he teases your entrance with a finger. another light brush and he lifts his hand to your mouth, slipping it back inside between your lips before scooching back. pressing his cock to your entrance through your lacy panties. "pl — please," you cry, eyes wide and watery. "fuck me, please."

art groans, grinding his cock against your soaked panties. the heat of you seeps through the lacy fabric, making him throb with need. he rubs his tip against the practically see-through fabric, soaked through with arousal. relishes your needy, breathy moans. he hooks his fingers around your panties and rips them away, baring you completely to his hungry gaze. "look at you," he rasps, drinking in the sight of you spread out beneath him, glistening. ready. "so fucking perfect. fuck — 'm gonna . . . i'm gon' wreck this pussy, baby. make it all mine, yeah?" he slaps his length against your clit, smirking crookedly at the way you whimper. "make you forget about all those other — other little boys, yeah?"

and with that, he notches the head of his dick against your entrance and surges forward, burying himself balls-deep in your tight, slick pussy. you cry out, back arching off the couch as he fills you. stretches you, claims you.

he sets a punishing pace, fucking into you like a man possessed. the wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, punctuated by your pornographic moans and his grunts of pleasure "fuckkk," you whine into him languidly, hands scrabbling against his thick arms. "fuck, daddy. you're — you're so fucking big."

he leans down to capture your lips in a filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue. swallows your cries of ecstasy as he pounds into you. he grunts, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "you like this, huh? like daddy's big . . . fuck — big cock splitting you open, hm?"

you nod with a sob, thighs shaking at the relentless snapping of his hips into yours. his fingers find your clit, rubbing mercilessly. pushing you closer to the edge with every touch.

"gonna cum," he warns breathlessly, hips stuttering. "gon' fill your cunt up, baby. breed this pussy."

he leans down to bite at your neck, sucking dark bruises into your skin. marking you as his territory.

"cum for me, baby," he demands, voice strained with impending release. "milk — milk me fuckin' dry."

the filthy words send you over the edge, your walls clamping down on him like a vice. you cum with a scream, convulsing around his shaft as he empties himself inside you with a loud moan.

he collapses on top of you, both of you panting and sated. for a long moment, he just holds you, nuzzling into your neck. you smile at him like you'd just won the lottery, legs wrapping around his hips.

"am i better than mom?" you whispered into his ear.

he lets out a real, honest-to-god bark of a laugh. "jesus christ," he pants. "you're fucking . . . you're amazing. fucking intense."

understatement of the century. he just fucked his stepdaughter senseless, filled her with his babies, and he's already craving more. fuck, he's in deep. so fucking deep. literally and figuratively.

¡! ❞ © niya-writesshit 2024

[vaspider]

So, something happened last night that has been sitting heavily on my heart ever since. I'm not naming names for a reason, so don't ask. This is a clear example of something that's happened with increasing regularity.

When the Amsterdam attacks started happening last night, the first thing I thought of was a pair of my friends who had within the last 48h - I thought - been in Amsterdam to get married. (I got the place they traveled to wrong, bc it was late and I was tired, but that's not the point.) These friends are a Black frum Czech lesbian & her new wife, an in-progress convert who's seriously ill. I shared the CNN link on it & spoke with friends on a very small Discord server about how terrified I was that my friends had (again, I thought) narrowly missed being in the city while Jews were being advised to stay inside and, if they had to go out, to remove any visible symbols of their Jewishness.

Here's where I reach up and underline the word frum in that previous paragraph. Got it? Asking that friend to remove her visible signs of being Jewish is like asking her to go outside naked.

And here's the thing that's gonna stick with me for a long time: someone that I used to consider a longtime friend, who rarely, if ever, spoke on that server, popped up almost 4 hours after I was talking about how much this scared me about the relative safety of my friends to share a tweet containing the phrase Judeo-Nazis in order to contradict the CNN article and bring up what she apparently thought was the important part of the story:

"The Israelis started it," according to her & her "Judeo-Nazis" source.

That was what she thought was important to that story. Not that random fucking Jews are getting attacked on the streets of Amsterdam, not that I was relieved that my friends weren't in danger while still dealing with the fear and the shock of feeling they had been so close to it, but that I had to know, right away, that contrary to what CNN (and every other major news outlet talking about it) was reporting, this random person on Twitter referring to Israelis at a fucking soccer game and random visibly Jewish people of any nationality on the street in Amsterdam as Judeo-Nazis said that the Israelis fucking started it.

And like, no, they fucking didn't, but in context, the context in which I was speaking in a small group about my fear for two friends who weren't at the fucking soccer match but who I thought might be close to the danger, does that fucking matter? What does that have to do with "fuck, I think my friends were just there"?

Nothing. And yet - for some reason - that's the first thing that needed to be addressed in this person's mind.

A lot of Jews find our circles shrinking these days. Antisemitism is on the rise, and if we're not experiencing the direct slap in the face of people we thought were friends prioritizing "you know, the Jews started it" over anything else, we're watching people we thought better of make excuses for it, or tell us that we should gladly accept "our share" of the blame for the actions of a foreign government. (Yes, that has been said to me directly, recently.)

If I weren't so fucking stubborn, I would fold into myself & just keep company with the few and the trusted, a circle that gets smaller and smaller every day. But... I'm stubborn as hell. Maybe that'll fuck me over someday worse than it already has, I dunno.

I don't have a pithy closing for this. I'm just sad. It hurts to watch people that I used to trust vomit up shit like that tweet. It hurts that it's getting worse.

[anundyingfidelity]

HAPPY MISTAKE — Logan Howlett

Summary: Not ever, through all the years of your life, you found someone like Logan. Since he arrived at the school, something brought you together like a magnet. Sadly, not everything came out as you wished it would be. Time is not gentle with mutants, and you try so hard to show him your unconditional love before everything is over, but can you finally accept your feelings for each other? Or yours and Logan's tumultuous relationship through the years.

(PART ONE → PART TWO) | GEN MASTERLIST!

Pairing: Logan x mutant!female!reader.

Word count: 9.6k.

Warnings: slow burn, breaking up(?)/making up, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut and unprotected everything, language, character death, time travel, Logan hurting reader unintentionally, wounds and blood. Logan being a whore for both Jean Grey and the reader. Reader has slow aging as Logan and looks around mid 30s in my head. Anthropology teacher!reader. Reader can manipulate light (just like Starlight from The Boys). This takes place between different movies from the franchise, from X-Men 1 to DoFP, so spoilers of the movies ahead.

Notes: Long time no write. Life is horrible but somehow I managed to get this in like two months. I love Logan so fucking much now you don't have an idea. This was also written with Happy Mistake by Lady Gaga in mind. If you'd like to be tagged in the second part let me know or let me know your thoughts on this, it's very much appreciated! I suffered a lot writing it .

𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒙 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊'𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆.

—

2000

“Need any help?”

Logan stopped on his tracks from wandering around the cozy, yet strange place he woke up in. Turning on his feet, he saw your figure standing in the middle of the hallway. He said nothing, but you approached him as you had known him for a very long time.

“I assume you’re the new guy-”

“Where is she?” Logan abruptly interrupted once you stood inches away from him.

“Rogue? She’s fine. And you need to take a little rest.”

“I don’t need medical attention,” he said, looking around to search for a nearby exit. Before he walked away you took his arm in a soft grip.

He was, as much as you could tell, surprised by your boldness. You gave him no time to process his next movements once you talked again, your voice firm and welcoming in a way he had never felt before.

“Please, you need to meet Professor Xavier,” you said. “At least before you go. It’s totally fine if you wanna leave, I don’t recommend it though, but we can offer you a safe place here. We are just like you.”

Logan’s hardened expression relaxed for a moment, sensing no threat coming from you. All he saw in your eyes wasn’t pity, nor anger at him being kind of an asshole at first. It was just authority, the good kind where he also had something to say and decide about.

“Whatcha say, Logan?”

He was so immersed in his thoughts before you called his name, thinking it sounded beautiful falling off your lips. You gave him a half smile as he took in each detail of your face, as if he was memorizing every part of it.

It was the first time someone had been nice to him and it felt strangely good.

For some reason, it felt very good coming from you.

—

Logan just found out from the Professor’s mouth the mansion was a school for mutants. Gifted people, he called them. After learning another powerful mutant was behind him and Rogue, he had no other choice but accept the shelter. He didn’t like the other guys better, playing the teacher with a bunch of teenagers with special or cursed abilities. But besides Storm and Jean, you were the person who had welcomed him the most, even showing him the place and the room he would stay in.

One late night, you sat at the dining table together. Logan was silently drinking a beer outside school hours so the kids wouldn’t see him, and you, reading a bunch of papers from your students that you were missing. He realized how hard you worked, how you would praise your students, how you talked to them outside classes, being the one to actually convince Rogue to enroll in the school. Immediately, he knew you were really something, having much more in common than he thought. And you, living for so long, being both a mutant and a lady for sure had a hard life through time.

“What you teach again?” he suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence you shared.

“Anthropology,” you answered, giving him a short glance. “I took this at college a long time ago, and I’ve been alive long enough to know a thing or two,” you explained, putting away a paper after putting an A+ on it proudly. “It’s important to understand ourselves, humankind and mutants… It’s a diverse world and there are lots of cultures, languages and societies we don’t get to know, but it’s beautiful. I think I like to celebrate what makes us unique. I've had the chance to study some of them around the world since I had the time, y’know, and it’s truly amazing. It’s a shame we have to fight between us to make us heard when we could just be kind and empathetic to each other… Sorry, you didn’t ask but, y’know, anyway.”

You shook your head with a curve on your lips, going back to the next paper. Logan had taken the sparks in your eyes as you talked. He half smiled to himself once you buried yourself in your papers again, thinking you sounded just like Professor Xavier. No wonder why he took you in. Probably, if things were different for him, he would’ve found something that could light his face with so much passion just like you did.

“Been alive for almost two hundred years,” Logan said and you looked up to him. “We might have things about the past to share,” he drank from his beer. It was your turn to smile back at him.

“Yeah, well, I’ve lived both horrible but nice things. Couldn’t read or do math without being called a witch,” you chuckled to yourself, but hiding on the inside the awful experiences you had to endure. “Someday, we could go out and grab a coffee or something,” you said with a playful smile.

A light chuckle left your lips, but you and him knew it wasn’t just a joke.

He joined you with a warm smile that lit up his face before disappearing from his lips. “Of course. Count me in.”

—

The sun was shining bright and the weather was great that morning. Some of the students were in the yard playing, having some quality time, and others simply just left to go to the town. It was a good weekend before the next semester started, and it was better now knowing Magneto had been taken to prison after his failed attempt to use Rogue for his plans.

Sipping on your coffee, you saw the students outside. Laughing, running, having a good breakfast picnic. It felt heartwarming just taking this sight, wishing it would always be like this. Your mindful peace was interrupted when Logan entered the kitchen to have a coffee on his own. Visibly, you tensed just a little when he approached you and sat right in front of you at the dining table. The caffeine was not helping at all, you thought.

“Morning,” he greeted you, noticing something was off on you, but hoping it would pass. Maybe you already knew.

“Morning…” your voice came out as a whisper. “How you feeling?”

“Better. What about you?”

You gave a small nod. “Good, thanks for asking.”

A silence fell upon you. Not like the ones you used to share in lonely nights where you prepared your classes and Logan just sat down calmly because he couldn’t sleep. This time it was different. Words won’t come out of your mouth to ask what was really bothering you. You had grown up to like Logan and enjoy his company, but he had a lot of walls upon him, protecting himself of the world and people around him.

However, you understood why he did it. You both have been alive longer than anyone else. You saw people you love dearly dead, being killed because of your flaws. And you really connected to his idea of protecting people by leaving their side. It was better being away. That was until Professor Xavier recruited you. Here, you had a purpose and you helped young people to become the best versions of themselves. You wished Logan could do the same, stay and see he was more of what he thought of himself, but it wouldn’t happen. Right? He had things to sort out on his own.

“Are you leaving soon?”

When you asked the question, Logan knew you had heard something from the Professor. He gave you a nod.

“I need to reconnect with who I was,” he simply answered.

“Right… Wish you all the best there.”

Logan had grown to like you over the past few weeks you shared, exchanging experiences and lessons of life you had taken through the years. For a moment, he looked right into your eyes and smiled. He weirdly smiled, and you could swear he’d miss you too once he is away.

But that warm feeling soon faded away once Jean walked into the kitchen, saying good morning and beaming to the both of you. Logan followed her with his gaze, straightening himself on his seat as she served her own breakfast and an extra plate that you already knew was for Scott. She also began putting fruits and snacks inside a picnic basket while looking all happy and settled, and you knew why Logan had fallen in love with her. It was all over his face.

And you wondered how could he act and talk to you so kindly and sweet, and then look at Jean like that. It was a pain in your heart you tried to dissipate. Everyone knew Jean and Scott were a couple, and the fact that Logan had a not so secret crush on her really played on you. It made you feel like a fool and you had too many heartbreaks and hurted people, putting them in danger due to your mutation, to take initiative and start a relationship - or anything of the sort - again.

Scott made his way inside the kitchen, saying hi to both of you - mostly you. And took the tray with their plates as Jean grabbed the basket, but she let Scott leave the kitchen before.

“Have a good trip, Logan,” she said kindly. “I hope to see you around here soon.”

“Thank you, Jean.”

She smiled one last time before leaving you all alone, Logan following her with his eyes. Just for a second, you wished he could see you like that underneath his facade.

—

You had packed your stuff later that day, deciding a little air and a change for one night would do no wrong. Just as you were walking to the main door, Rogue was saying her goodbyes to Logan after giving him a small hug without really touching him. It was a cute sight how Rogue was able to step into his cold heart. She said goodbye to you as well before leaving the entrance.

“You’re going away too?” Logan asked, rather surprised as you both walked through the door, the sun hitting your skin as soon as you were out of the mansion. He knew your life was at the school.

“Just for the weekend,” you shrug it off.

Logan gave you a nod with a warm smile. “Then have a good trip and enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks. I hope you find what you’ve been looking for.”

“I hope so too,” Logan answered and before he went to take Scott’s bike, he looked at you hesitantly for a couple of seconds. “We should go out and grab some coffee once I’m back.”

Your lips formed a wide smile. “That sounds really nice.”

For a moment, where time felt like hours and not seconds, you stood right out the door, looking at each other. You wanted him to go first, but he was waiting for you to say something. Probably to ride the bike with him, he could leave you somewhere near your destination and feel you close - just be around you for at least five more minutes. But none of that ever happened.

Instead, you studied his face, looking at his deep eyes, and then his lips - those lips you wanted to kiss so bad before, but never had the courage to do so. You didn’t think further, and if something had taken possession over you, you leaned towards him leaving a short, sweet kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Take care,” you mumbled once you pulled away.

Not waiting for his answer, you turned back, pulling your bag to your side stronger than ever and walked the path to the front gates, feeling his gaze all over you until you left the mansion.

He felt such an idiot for not kissing you properly.

—

2003

‘I know what I want, but what do you want?’

Mystique’s words echoed through his head. Logan left the tent so long ago he didn’t know what time it was anymore and the situation kept repeating again and again in his mind. The woman had shifted between Jean, Ororo, and you. The one that icked him the most being Rogue once Mystique had taken her figure in. Storm was a good colleague, Jean was a forbidden love, Rogue was like his little sister, someone he would protect as long as he could, and you… you were a different case. When Mystique was about to kiss him wearing your figure, he finally realized he started feeling things he had prohibited himself for a very long time, and he thought he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

Once or twice you shared experiences about love and partners, but he could tell it hurted you the same way as him. He couldn’t burden breaking your heart, or worse, getting you hurt because of what he was. Logan knew you had the same bad luck in the past, but it didn’t stop any of you to pull towards each other like a magnet.

‘Living for so long does things to you, Logan. I feel we become more aware of what we are.’

Those words you said to him one time remained in his head like a warning, and he took it personally.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against a hard tree trunk some feet away from the tents where the rest of the X-Men rested. He tried to find some peace alone for a few moments when the sounds of steps approaching alerted his senses. Claws out and ready to attack, he spun around the trunk only to stop in a second.

There you were, a bright light emanating from your hand to illuminate your path in the darkness of the woods.

“Logan?”

Quickly, he withdrew his claws and his body relaxed visibly. “Sorry,” he apologized, leaning against the tree one more time.

“Are you okay?” you asked, but you already knew the answer. The exhausted sigh he let out told you everything you needed. You let the soft glow of light floating between you and him, to illuminate both of you under the branches. “You wanna talk?”

He slowly shook his head, mumbling ‘no’. He became startled in the light floating like a firefly, letting his own issues wash away with your sole company. Ironically, everything that was troubling him was you. Softly, you caressed his arm, taking him out of his own thoughts. Your touch didn’t help his poor mind either.

Looking worried about the next mission in Lake Alkali, you feared for him and your team. And your lack of sleep was showing it. But just like Logan, the growing feelings were troubling your head. You had seen him talking with Jean earlier when you landed in the forest - talking too close to your liking once he pulled her for a kiss. But what could you do? Logan was still after Jean even when she had already declined him countless of times, and it didn’t really hurt you. It just felt strange inside. Why would he do that while still being nice to you, quitting being a dick when he wanted because he knew you’d snap back at him. And to be honest, Logan looked as if he liked that about you. But he won’t admit it out loud, and of course, you wouldn’t ask. Men were so damn complicated.

“Well, I only expect things to not get worse…” you finally said in a soft whisper since he wasn’t talking and you stopped your head going further on the matter. And you knew he wouldn’t talk soon either. “And you’re brave for seeking your past.”

Logan locked his eyes with your own, under the soft light. Your tired gaze, your figure, your aura pulling him like he found a treasure in an abandoned cave… He felt so bad for falling for someone like you, who was nothing compared to the crap he was. And then, for the first time in years, he decided to follow his instinct with you.

He leaned towards your figure, his rough hand cupping your cheek gently before pulling you in for a kiss. With a soft sigh you corresponded, your arms around his neck as it turned deeper and harsher. Logan lifted you easily from the ground, your legs tangling around his waist until you felt your back against a rough surface, trapped between the trunk and his body. Soft moans and grunts mingled, your chest pressing against his own, his hips grinding against your crotch. It was obvious you wanted this. Logan desired you so painfully after that day you kissed him goodbye at the mansion, he needed your body and soul. But you had to have answers before giving into the heat of the moment.

Pulling away, you broke the kiss, your forehead resting against his own as you tried to catch your breath. Logan tried to taste you once again, but you placed two of your fingers on his swollen lips.

“Why’d you kiss her?”

He remained silent, brows furrowed and eyes blown in lust. You didn’t make any effort to pull him away. He still had you between his legs, asking a simple question he had no response for.

“We’re adults here, Logan. Just wanna know why before we go further.”

Logan started to remember. He vividly heard Jean and Mystique voicing out and asking the right question.

‘Girls flirt with the bad guy. They take the good guy home.’

‘What do you want?’

“Do you really want me?” he asked in return.

You lifted an eyebrow at his sudden question. “And do you?”

He leaned again for a kiss on your lips, and thankfully for him, you didn’t stop it. But he quickly pulled away and inhaled your sweet scent from the skin on your neck, leaving a path of soft pecks, until he nipped the shell of your ear softly. You shivered under his touch.

“I’d love to have you,” he whispered, softly caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“Come to my tent,” you mumbled. “Sleep with me. But like, seriously, sleep with me ‘cause I’m tired,” you chuckled, hoping to not kill the mood.

Logan smiled for a bit and nodded, pecking your lips one more time before helping you get on your feet on the muddy ground, hands rubbing your sides slowly.

“As long as I have you by my side it’s alright with me.”

—

Jean’s death was hard to swallow.

For weeks, students and teachers mourned her, and you felt sorry for Scott for losing his soulmate. Logan was not in the best shape either. He didn’t attend her funeral, he never had the guts to stand by her grave either, until now. You stopped right behind him and noticed him sighing, under the afternoon sunset. He was tense because of everything, but when you took his hand out of the pocket of his jacket, he held onto you. Your fingers intertwined together, feeling his life depending solely on you, like a rock he needed to support his whole weight.

The day was about to end, the sun slowly hiding, giving a beautiful painting of orange and purple in the sky. You thought it would soon become an intense thunderstorm due to Ororo’s mourn - something you had gotten used to the last few days.

“She saved us,” Logan barely mumbled, looking intensely at the grave.

You nodded, even if he could not see you. “Can’t blame her, I’d have done the same.”

Those words cause him to look back at you, wishing it’d be a lie. But inside, Logan knew you really had the guts to sacrifice yourself for others. It was something he remembered both of you talking about some time ago. And you would give everything in your hands to save the ones you love.

Quietly, Logan gave a last glance at Jean’s grave, and guided you inside the mansion. Classes barely started again due to the circumstances and a few kids could be seen around the halls. You accompanied him to the doors of his room, noticing you had been holding hands the whole time. Probably no one really cared, they were too busy trying to go through the grief of losing a loved one. Slowly, you broke the gesture, taking your hand away and Logan immediately missed the heat and comfort of your hand.

“Do you need anything?” you asked in a low voice.

Looking at you, Logan reminisced how you kissed in the woods, the need and lust for each other that couldn’t be. He did sleep in your tent that night, in the comfort of your arms, feeling the warmth of your skin. It was, probably, the first time he had a good, peaceful night of sleep in years. No one had brought that up, but he knew something was there. And he needed to act on it before it was too late.

So he brought up his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks lovingly before planting a kiss on your lips, not caring he was standing in the middle of the hallway where anyone could see what was going on. You leaned against his touch, deepening the kiss until you couldn’t catch a breath. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead into yours, taking in the beauty of your bright eyes and swollen lips. Everything wandering his mind, making a path right into his cold heart was right in front of him.

“You.”

—

Knocking Professor Xavier's door, you walked inside as soon as his voice announced to come in. You caught your breath seeing Logan by his desk. He just gave you a quick, accomplice glimpse and left the room, closing the door behind. The exchange of glances wasn’t unnoticed by Charles.

“Here’s the report on my subject for this last semester, Professor,” you announced, leaving the folder on the wooden desk.

“Thank you. How’s Logan doing?” he asked all of a sudden, checking the door the man had crossed just seconds ago.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you believe he is comfortable helping the kids?” the old man asked again. He was seeing right through you, and you kind of hated every time he used to do that to you. Nothing could be hidden from Xavier; definitely you couldn’t hide a single thing for the man who took you in decades ago.

“Why would I know that?”

He shrugged it off. “Well, you seem very close lately.”

Close was not the best word to describe your relationship with Logan. Yet, you were sleeping on his bed just the night before. The trace of his kisses, the burn of his beard on your skin, his teeth biting softly your breasts, his rough hands all over your hips… Every touch he left on your body you could still feel it, and you wanted to think he was not just using you. During the past weeks, you were together. Not quite a relationship-thing was established properly, but it was the closest thing any of you could have as for now.

It was a mixture of grief, pain, and hope that had you both still standing. In the end, you understood what he felt. Being alone and alive for so long and then finding a place where people accepted you for who you were was a whole change, even if some years passed by. Though, the time Logan had been spending at the school was nothing but a blink of an eye compared to his past.

“What happened to our team is still affecting us,” you finally said. “I believe we are good friends, yes, we’ve been supporting each other. And he doesn’t know how to deal with the students yet most of the time, but I try to walk him through it.”

Xavier hummed, smiling at the corner of his lips as he eyed the folder you handed him. “I bet you both do.Thanks for bringing your report on time, as always, and I apologize if I am being intrusive. Just please be careful with the noises both of you make at night, we have kids around here.”

Shit.

You swallowed your pride right there and simply gave a nod, feeling the heat burning up your face.

“Will do, Professor.”

—

A loud gasp escaped your lips as you held for dear life on his broad shoulders, hips snapping against your own. His pace was reckless, keeping you on the edge of sin. Grunts mixed with sweet moans, skin hitting skin again and again every time you felt his cock inside you. If possible, your nails could have already left visible scars and marks on his back, scratching and bleeding off his skin as he fucked you senseless.

Logan sucked on the bare skin on your neck, inhaling your scent, feeling your walls clenching around his girth, his hands roughly grabbing the sides of your hips as you moaned his name, over and over, under the moonlight. He looked at you intensely with loving eyes when you came underneath him, eyes flashing that familiar bright light every time a powerful orgasm hit your body. The vulnerable sight of your figure shaking, eyes closing slowly and biting your lip to keep the pretty noises low, made him reach the sweetest high.

With a grunt, he leaned to attack your lips in a heated, wet kiss to moan against your mouth. Logan pulled back to press butterfly kisses on your jaw, until he reached your breasts, feeling himself soften inside your wet heat. His hips were still thrusting just enough to fill you up at a gentle rhythm. Marking you his and only his.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled against the sensitive skin of your chest. “Remind me why we’re here again.”

You chuckled softly, fingers tangling on his disheveled hair. You just had prepared a small date night out at the shores of a beautiful lake in the woods. No one could bother you if you were alone, and since your relationship was not so secret anymore, you needed him in a place that wasn’t the school. So here you were, laying on your back, fully naked on the picnic blanket, with the Wolverine between your legs, enjoying the calmness of the water, the green grass, the crickets singing around, and the cold of the night.

“Privacy perhaps?” you whispered as his eyes locked on yours.

Softly you touched his cheek with the palm of your hand and he rolled both of you over, until you laid on top of him, legs straddling his waist and your arms on his shoulders to sit on his lap. Silence took over, his hands soothing your hips and the marks he left on your body from the intense love-making.

“I’m so happy we took a couple of days off…”

You waited for Logan to say something. Anything. You wanted to continue, to tell him how you really felt. Instead, you decided it was better leaving it like this. Logan gave you a nod, pulling you for a short kiss.

“Yeah. Me too.”

He wanted to say it out loud, but was too scared to do so.

—

2006

After a couple of long years, the school and the team had to learn how to go through the grief and pain Jean left. Logan had a hard time processing it, just like all your teammates, specially Scott, and of course the students. It didn’t stop you from moving on as time went by though, always remembering her for the great person and mind she was. Going forward and keeping fighting is what she would’ve wanted for everyone, even now that a certain cure for mutants was announced to the public.

You tried to continue your life as a professor at the school, training students, leading young people, and you invited and encouraged Logan to do so countless times. Deep inside, you wished it was you the reason why Logan decided to stay and train young mutants - for you to be the answer to his loneliness. That he knew, for once and all, that he was not alone. You got each other, and you could do something about it. Words unspoken said more than anything, at least you thought so.

It was one of those rare nights where you got some time for yourselves, walking around the city after having a nice and calm dinner. Your shoulders brushed against each other while you walked downtown, your hands hiding inside the pockets of your jacket, protecting them from the cold.

There was a lot on your mind lately, thinking about what you two really were. If there was a stronger feeling in between, or if it was solely because he enjoyed your company and that was it. Both had lived enough to know there was a feeling in the middle. It wasn’t just friends with benefits, or co-workers who sleep together three times a week. Something was blooming deep inside you, but you tried to not give it a lot of attention all those years. Still, it felt like it had to be addressed sooner or later, and this could be the time. In the end, you understood each other perfectly. How painful it was, how living longer than anyone was, how you had to leave everything and everyone behind because you were dangerous…

“Have you ever wondered how’d it feel to have a normal life?” your question came out all of the sudden.

“How come?” He looked at you from the corner of his eye.

You didn’t know if his gaze was judging you but you continued anyway.

“Like living a normal amount of years… Not having these things, genes that make us different. Or special…”

Logan suddenly stopped in his tracks and grabbed your arm softly so you could lock eyes together as he asked. “You’re not thinking of getting that damn cure, aren’t you?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why’d you think that?”

“Because I never had anyone in my life, Logan,” you spat, pulling your arm away from his grip. “I’ve been alive for so long but I can’t promise myself a future. A real one. Not anything, it doesn’t matter if I live forever. Every person I loved before perished.”

Those words shook him out of the rough façade showing on his face. Your gaze told a hundred different stories when he studied your face every time. It was like mirroring himself at some point. You were the first person he ever got to know that has lived as long as he has, and maybe it was the sentimentalism, but he tried to push away those wishes of settling down. Of trying to be normal. Because he was not, and maybe, just maybe, you just didn’t accept it like he did. Probably, he was just giving up. But you weren’t, even after hundreds of years of disgrace continuously happening.

“I thought you’d get this, Logan.”

You mumbled, taking him out of his trance.

“Well, I do, in a way,” he said, but sounded more like an excuse for himself.

“Then why don’t you say it?”

“Wha-”

“Just say it,” you repeated and pointed between you and him. “What is this for you? What are we?”

Logan grabbed on your shoulders gently and leaned towards you, stealing a kiss on the sidewalk, a kiss you obliged with a bittersweet feeling for some reason, but then he whispered. “Darling, you’re everything to me now.”

Yet, you smiled and kissed him back, feeling his lips curve against your own. Well, that wasn’t so hard was it?

—

Needless to say, after the last date, your relationship with Logan had evolved to something more domestic, considering you lived together in your workplace. Affection, holding hands, quick kisses were shared now a little more freely, and you had received a couple of jokes and teases from some students and Storm. But it was fine as long as you had cleared your path with Logan, even if he didn’t act like a partner sometimes.

The certain calmness you felt one day disappeared when Logan and Ororo went to look for Scott, who often had these sad thoughts, and since Jean was his partner, it was thoroughly complicated for him to say the least. When Logan and Ororo came back to the mansion, it was not what you expected to see. Jean was alive and Scott was gone.

It hurted you, knowing first hand that their love wouldn’t be anymore. You met both of them when they were so young, becoming something like their mentor when they used to learn how to control their powers and how to fit in this world that loathed mutants to death. Now, the school was something else. It was a big, special place that was not the same without the brains of Jean, or the enthusiasm and leadership of Scott. Things were different, they had to change because the circumstances told so, and everyone had a difficult time adapting to it. One thing after another left you tired, with no option to run away, even if you wanted to. The complicated circumstances and the relationship you shared with Logan were no help either.

While on your way to check on Jean, who was still under observation after a couple of days, you stopped in your tracks when the heavy door of the med bay slid. Logan, looking all out of his daily self and mad, found you at the entrance, and you felt something different emanating from him.

For what you could see behind him, Jean was still asleep, and the Professor called Logan to come back with a serious voice, but he ignored the older man, instead approaching you.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Logan grasped your arm, his tone lower and deeper than usual.

You quickly pulled off his grip and hissed. “What are you talking about?”

“Jean.”

You felt silent. Of course she was anything he could think of since they found her.

“You knew he was controlling her,” Logan went on and your heart skipped a beat.

The look in your eyes told everything but lies. Logan scoffed and walked away, leaving you standing alone under Professor Xavier’s gaze.

“I’ll talk to him,” you mumbled at your mentor before following Logan, trying to keep his pace until he reached his room.

The whole way you tried to keep it professional, greeting students as normally you would, but when you crossed his door it was impossible to continue with the facade.

“Logan-”

“He’s insane,” he snapped, putting his jacket on and taking his bag out.

“Everything that was done was meant to protect her,” you responded calmly as he placed a handful of clothes inside the bag.

“No, you did it because you are disgusting. I bet this is what should’ve been for me if I refused to cooperate with your circus or something.”

“You don’t know what she is capable of-”

“Yeah, well I don’t wanna hear it anymore. This is so fucked up, even for you,” he continued, bag on his hand taking long strides until you were almost touching noses. 

You scoffed, trying to laugh at the irony. “What does that even mean? Do you know how horrible it is to be controlled by the Phoenix inside her?.”

Logan rolled his eyes, not wanting to hear another poor excuse. You continued anyway, looking straight in his eyes before he could leave you hanging with your own words. Exactly like he used to do every damn time when you had an argument. Today, he wouldn’t run away that fast.

“She could kill you in a second and won’t hesitate. For her, we’re nothing. We’re not rivals, we can’t do shit. The only thing we could do was keep her alter ego somewhere hiding inside her mind, or else we wouldn’t be here arguing about something you never witnessed. Because I did and you don’t wanna see that, trust me,” you spat at him. He breathed rage at your words and you knew that it was getting on his nerves seeing the way his hands turned to fists. “And you think this version of her cares for you? Or that she loves you? Jean is gone now, Logan, fucking get over it.”

With last harsh words, you turned around and left the room, closing the door with a thud. 

Logan breathed out. He wanted to scream, hit something, run away… Anything to let it out. He was a reckless mess but how could he react and accept Charles was playing with Jean’s mind? And you fucking knew all this time and didn’t say anything? Were his feelings dirty on him right now? Probably. Shit, he took years to finally tell you the truth about his love and affection towards you. He spent months trying to find the right words just to say ‘I love you’, and still, it seemed it wasn’t enough. The forbidden love he felt for Jean never disappeared, and he felt guilty for it.

—

You walked down to the med bay after calming down for a bit. You only needed to check on Jean for a moment and see how she was doing. Years prior, you had witnessed what the Phoenix was capable of, so you didn’t really question Charles’ methods when it came to hide this dangerous side of her inside her mind. You also thought your words might have been a little harsh on Logan, but it was the truth. He didn’t know who the Phoenix was and, if his feelings for Jean resurfaced after believing her being dead, then it wasn’t on you. As much as you loved him, as much as you tried and somehow managed to move on together, he was so easily dragged to her.

The anger you felt before took over you once again, as you found the metal doors of the lab in debris. Quickly, you made your way inside the room and found Jean wasn’t there and that Logan was lying unconscious on the floor. You knelt down by his side, calling him over and over and touching his face and shaking his shoulders until he finally opened his eyes slowly, coming back to reality.

“Logan, what happened?”

“She… she killed Scott. The Phoenix,” he whispered. You could tell he was a little weak and out of breath.

“You’re lucky she just ran away,” you pointed out, helping him to sit down. His eyes were lost in the mess in the room. Tools were destroyed, test tubes broken, crystal was everywhere, and Jean left the reminder of kissing him, yet again, before she escaped. God, he felt so idiotic.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, looking at you. “Sorry for being a jerk. It’s my fault.”

Taking his cheeks between your hands, you gave him a reassuring look. “We’re gonna find her, okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we’ll find her.”

“Come here, we need to alert Charles,” you said, helping him to stand up.

Inside, you knew he wouldn’t really need your help. He was strong and indestructible like the metal on his skull, but he seemed really taken back, and you decided to stay by his side, holding his hand strongly as a way to say sorry as well. It was kind of difficult to see Logan in that state of mind, confused and lost, and you wondered what had happened back there in the lab as you left him in his bedroom, ordering him to rest for a while.

“I’ll be right back,” you assured him with loving eyes.

Logan nodded, following your figure stepping out the room and disappearing in the hallway.

He let out a breath he didn’t know was holding. His mind was having a hard time and his heart felt like breaking, going in two opposite directions, and he hated himself for that. His fate was always the same: losing people he loved and cared for dearly. So seeing Jean back again was as if god or anything up there remembered he existed and brought her back just for him. Or maybe he was just being selfish because he already had you.

You were everything for him. A couple of years might be just a short glimpse for both of you, but he was able to feel peace and calm next to you, and he was sure you did as well. Because some nights, that was all you could talk about. Logan didn’t mind hearing you for hours, it reminded him he was alive. With you, but his stupid instinct had to act.

It was his fault Jean had left. The kiss, the whole act of embracing each other’s bodies for at least two minutes, and then her breakdown, begging for him to kill her… All of that was enough to bring out the beast inside her. And he felt such a jerk now for following his desires. He already had you. Wasn’t that enough?

His thoughts were interrupted once you arrived again, finding him sitting at the end of the bed exactly as you had left him there. Sensing something different on him, you sat down by his side and rubbed his hand gently.

“We might know where she’s going,” you whispered.

“I’ll go,” Logan said before you could finish.

“I’m not sure if I should ask, but are you okay? You could do some rest,” you suggested, since seeing the redhead was clearly getting some kind of reaction from him.

“No, I need to go,” he said. But Logan could read your face perfectly, and he knew you didn’t really like the idea of him leaving the mansion. You turned your eyes, scanning the room and avoiding his gaze.

You had the need to ask what exactly had happened back there with Jean, but you didn’t want to start a fight either. Feeling Logan’s hand on your shoulder, he leaned to kiss your forehead goodbye. Maybe you were the one who should stay, check the kids, the school…

“It’ll be fine,” he mumbled, voice low and deep, as if trying to convince you, but himself as well. You nodded with your arms around his neck, giving him a hug that felt like some sort of apology you weren’t able to say out loud. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

And how you’d wish things would be fine.

—

The school has been very quiet lately. Too silent even for his taste. At nights like these, he could still feel the vigor and presence of the students running around, grabbing something to eat, planning to go out for a while... Instead, Logan found himself in a place that was mourning. Grieving the loss of Jean, Scott and Charles.

The feelings inside were complicated. He didn’t really feel the same, and the disgrace and remorse of his actions were growing on him. They were still haunting him; every day, every single night. You knew it too. It was impossible to ignore the nightmares each time he woke up from seeing Jean’s lifeless body fall against his own after he gave what she wished for the most: death.

And then, there was you. He noticed how difficult it was getting for you to sleep. You tried to hide your sorrow into your work, studying even more, keeping yourself busy with the school and not thinking about anything else. Since Charles was gone, Ororo took his place and you were her second hand. But you pushed yourself too hard.

Tonight he found your bedroom empty. He didn’t find you on his either, so he went to the place he knew you would be: your classroom. The door was half opened, the dim light of the lamp on your desk barely illuminated the papers on the surface. He found you deeply concentrated reading on something, hands on the sides of your head hiding your face.

“Hey,” he softly mumbled, stepping inside the empty classroom.

You quickly straightened yourself on the chair, wiping your cheeks and tried to look decent for a moment.

“Hey,” you replied back, low voice.

“Come to bed,” he said, coming to stand before you, his hand on your shoulder comforting and soothing you, making its way to the side of your neck. His big palm on your cheek, caressing the skin stained with your tears as if it was the most delicate thing. He took a look at the mess of papers and old books you loved too much to get rid of, scattered on the wooden surface.

“No, I- I can’t. Need to finish these by tomorrow…”

Logan gave you a nod and a grimace before taking your hand, motioning to come closer. You stood up, knowing he was trying to get you out of the work that was consuming you.

He observed every feature on your face, the sadness in your stare couldn’t be hidden. He just knew you too well, just like the palm of his hand, and he wanted to make you forget. At least for a little. You had taken care of him, helped him with your presence and your unique aura, bringing him comfort and peace to his broken mind. He wanted you to be fine. To feel loved.

Logan leaned just exactly to brush his lips with your own, teasing a kiss that he longed too much, his hands around your waist pulling you towards him.

“Can you just let me take care of you?” 

Swallowing hard the knot on your throat, you curled your lips as much as the grief let you. “Yes,” you nodded.

With this, Logan leaned until your lips connected. Your arms around his neck pulled him as closer as you could get, feeling his chest against your own, his strong hands around your waist, softly touching you above your clothes.

Logan slowly walked you until your back hit the desk, hands roaming on your ass down to your legs, placing you to sit down over the loose pages. It might ruin the work a little, but none of you cared. Everything in your head was him, between your legs, running his wet mouth down your jaw, his stubble burning your skin as you gasped gently. Lying on your back on the desk, he began descending down your breasts, unbuttoning your blouse until he exposed you to the cold of the room.

He stopped right on your trousers, and gave you a quick glance. You were so eager, wet already. He could sense it. Your eyes were glowing and you were already trying to catch your breath by just his kisses and touch.

“You locked the door?” you whispered.

“Damn right I did,” he voiced, hoarse and low voice from just thinking of railing you right there and then.

“Then don’t stop.”

At your command, he unzipped your trousers, letting them fall down along with your heels on the floor. He then leaned to take your lips in a sloppy kiss, more urgent this time of feeling you close. You moaned, nails scratching his skin. His calloused hands explored your bare legs and things, creating friction with his hips with slow, controlled thrusts against your crotch. Logan left a trail of kisses down to your breasts, licking and tasting the saltiness of your body.

You urged him to go down where you ached the most, hand tangling on his hair. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, spreading to him until his nose was almost buried on your panties, smelling and taking the sweetness of your scent, licking softly with his wet tongue over the fabric. A trail of moans and curses left your lips. He pulled your panties aside before diving in your pussy, licking your folds and teasing your hole with two of his fingers.

“Logan…”

His name repeatedly left your mouth like a plea, his fingers now inside you, stretching your walls for him. The noises grew obscene and nasty as he ate you out like a sweet craving he had been denying himself the pleasure for so long.

He was growing hard just by hearing your whimpers, and he needed you. You always were a fucking longing for him. Your words, your intelligence, your beauty… Everything he needed, you had it. And still, he didn’t have any idea of how such a rational, smart woman like you learned to love him so deeply.

You tugged on his hair, hips thrusting up to meet his growling mouth. You were so close, felt almost there where you wanted, but he pulled away before you finished.

Logan unzipped his jeans leaning back, admiring your blissed out eyes and glistened figure.

“Come here,” you begged in a whisper, tangling your legs around his waist.

He let out a low, dirty chuckle, feeling your hands on his boxers, freeing his erection.

“So fucking eager,” Logan breathed kissing your lips, hands supporting his weight at the sides of your head on the desk.

You tasted yourself within the kiss and you moaned at his words, your hand pumped him just enough to feel his pre cum leaking already, lining his dick with your cunt. Inch by inch, he entered slowly so you could get used to his size. Logan pecked your lips gently, kissing your cheeks and the side of your neck to get into your sensitive skin. You tugged on his white shirt so he could remove it and he ripped your bra apart right after. He loved to feel your chest pressed against his own. You gasped but paid no mind, instead urging him to move inside you.

“Shit, Logan please-”

A particular harsh trust caught your breath on your throat. You held onto dear life with your hands on his shoulders. He pounded into you rock hard and deep. So damn deep the desk was shrieking under, papers fell off and the lamp moved at the same rhythm but you hoped it won’t break.

Logan growled, inhaling your scent and tasting the sweat forming on your collarbone, your breasts bouncing against his chest. He felt your nails trailing down his back, and oh, how he wished he could get damn scars on just by fucking you like this. But the view of you, squirming under him, eyes closed, being a whimpering mess… All because of him. He was so insanely in love with your fucked out expression every time.

Your walls clenched, close to the sweet end. Logan felt himself twitching inside your warm pussy and his thrusts were getting erratic and sloppy. He filled you up, reaching his own climax first, hot white ropes of cum painting your insides. Your pussy milked him all the way as he kept spliting you open until you let yourself go, legs trembling around his waist. 

For a moment, you stayed like this, with him kissing your shoulder and caressing your thigh, taking in the aftermath of your intense lovemaking.

“Thank you…”

Your whisper forced him to look up at you. There it was, that loving, sweet gaze you had reserved just for him.

He nodded, palm on your jaw holding you gently. “Of course…”

For some reason, he wanted to voice out for once those stupid three words.

I love you.

Or at least hoped you would do it first.

—

The night was cold under the moonlight, almost freezing. He wondered how he got trapped there, between the messy, withered shrubbery, fog, and the trees of a forest he never recalled knowing. He was alert, senses to the limit in case something might attack him. He felt as if he was being watched, but there were no eyes he could find around. He couldn’t see much like that.

But then a voice started to call his name from afar, claws coming out immediately as he sharpened his senses to find the owner. One, two, three times he heard, trying to find the person who was calling but there was only darkness. His heart skipped a beat when someone spoke behind him.

“Logan…”

He turned on his feet and he felt like dying again. “Jean?”

He withdrew his claws back immediately. The redhead smiled, coming closer until she touched his cheek with a soft hand before pulling away. “How are you, Logan?”

“What-”

“Are you happy now?” she asked, beaming brightly as if they were in a casual conversation instead of the darkness of the woods.

His brows furrowed. She couldn’t be real. She wasn’t there with him. Jean was gone, he had killed her because it was what she wanted. It was her way out to get what she needed; it was the key to her freedom…

“What do you mean?”

“With her… Be careful. You could kill her. Just like me,” Jean whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

Logan stepped back, trying to get away. He shook his head in disbelief, not knowing exactly why Jean was saying this to him.

“No… You’re not real…”

“Everything you love is destined to death and chaos, Logan. You shouldn’t be there,” Jean continued, her eyes switching from her usual tone to a deep black. The ground began trembling under their feet with each step of her, wind building up around. Logan felt truly scared, but somehow he couldn’t run, just stand there as she approached. “All she will know is a life of suffering if you stay. She doesn’t need that.”

“Jean-”

“She doesn’t need you!”

“Jean!”

And then it happened so fast. His claws buried on her chest, the Phoenix disappearing and leaving her to die. Jean collapsed against his body and Logan reminisced about the events of that battle, where he had to choose to be selfish or liberate her from her own demons. Logan wasn’t sure why he stabbed her like this. And when he thought Jean was dead in his arms, she started to call his name again. This time, he heard it far away.

Logan.

Logan.

Logan…

Logan!

His eyes went wide open. And there you were, by his side on the bed, calling for him with a pain grimace on your face. His claws buried on your stomach.

“Logan…” you gasped and he pulled the claws out, but you were already bleeding, your nightshirt and the mattress stained.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry- I-”

“It’s okay,” you managed to say as he caressed your cheek before taking you in his arms hurriedly and quickly made the way out of your room through the halls. “The nightmares… I know, Logan…”

“God, I’m so sorry, please forgive me. Hank!” Logan stood outside the scientist’s door. “Hank, I need your help!”

The commotion caused some of the students to peek from their doors, and Logan waited outside what he felt it was forever under the gazes of the teenagers. It wasn’t the first time he had caused the same accident. The door opened, finally revealing a sleepy Hank putting his glasses on.

There was no need to explain what had happened.

—

“She’ll be stable soon,” Hank informed once he let Logan inside the med bay. “If you hadn’t brought her soon…”

Logan swallowed the knot on his throat, watching your unconscious figure on the stretcher. You already had received blood to cover up what you lost because of the wounds, and Logan’s claws were not minor weapons. His mind was a mess, confusion taking over. He didn’t know how he let this happen. He had nightmares pretty often, yes, but nothing like this.

Maybe Jean was right. Maybe she was trying to warn him about something. Or Jean was just trying to protect you from him. The last one felt more realistic. Logan wouldn’t hurt you, not ever. You talked about how dangerous it was to sleep together not so long ago, but you had insisted on staying. It was the first time something felt so damn real in his dreams and he wished you wouldn’t let him in your room that night…

“She’ll wake up, right?” Logan asked.

“Absolutely,” Hank nodded. “I will need to monitor her vital signs though, hopefully within a day or two she will be normal again… At least she’ll be stable until the wounds heal completely.”

Of course, Logan thought. You didn’t have a healing factor just like him.

“I’ll be right back,” Hank announced before stepping out of the room, leaving Logan alone.

He felt so guilty for doing this to you. For everything. For being the cause of your suffering now. He was a threat and mentally unstable. He was strong thanks to his genes, but he was weak on the inside. He promised countless times to protect you, but he couldn’t avoid hurting you himself. It didn’t matter that it was a very bad dream that felt disgustingly real, he had failed and hurted someone who truly loved. Again.

Taking your hand gently into his, he leaned to plant a kiss on your forehead, wishing it would be just another game from his mind.

But it wasn’t. Now, he had the person he loved the most lying unconscious and hurted because he would let his darkest thoughts consume him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, watching you sleep peacefully. “I should have said it sooner.”

-

PART TWO

[ninetailedfoxmanchi]

Mafia! BTS - They Want to Spoil You

Warnings: /

A/N: They realize you're not well-off or are even struggling financially and that makes them want to take care of you even more. Per popular request <3.

MASTERLIST

Jin

Jin was already lying in bed when you got out of the bathroom. You grabbed your pyjamas from your bag as he watched you change.

"Oh no ..." you mumbled when you saw that the seams in your side tore and left a gap in your top. "Can I borrow a t-shirt?" you asked as you turned to your boyfriend but you already knew the answer. You were beginning to suspect too that Jin even preferred it if you wore his clothes.

"Do you need new pyjamas?"

"No, I'll just sew this up and they'll be like new again," you told as you grabbed Jin's t-shirt from one of the dressers.

"Just get a new pair," said Jin as he sat leaning against his pillow.

"I can already barely get through the month, I can't just buy new clothes whenever there's a tear in them," you laughed as you pulled on Jin's white t-shirt. You climbed into the bed but your smile faded when you saw Jin frowning.

"Are you okay?" you asked gently and scooted closer to him.

"You barely get through the month?" asked Jin seriously. Your mouth parted and your face went blank. Your cheeks turned pink as you thought about how much less you earned compared to Jin. You had made your peace with it already when you two began dating but the difference between your incomes and savings never crossed Jin's mind.

"It's not that bad," you smiled and tried to reassure your boyfriend. "I have a beginner's salary, it's normal."

"It's not normal if you're struggling," said Jin sternly as he sat up straight and his hand cupped your cheek. "Let me take care of you." He frowned even worse.

"You don't have to take care of me, Jin, I'm fine, really," you insisted although the past few months have been really tight for you financially. Your rent took most of the money whilst you were staying at Jin's place the majority of the nights. Then there was the food and the bills, the everyday things and the public transport. Your phone was so battered that the screen had began to flicker a couple of weeks ago.

A look so determined filled Jin's eyes that it began to worry you a little.

"Please don't think about it anymore, Jinnie," you begged as you took his cheeks and kissed him. He struggled to respond at first, his mind in a storm, but he couldn't resist your soft lips.

The next day when you woke up, you reached for the nightstand blindly to check the time on your phone but you couldn't find it. You rose your head and frowned when your phone was nowhere to be seen.

"Have you seen my phone?" you mumbled sleepily when you came into the living area, finding Jin already dressed in another one of his perfect outfits. It must have been late in the morning judging by the daylight if not close to noon. Jin liked to sleep in as well but not that day. He had been up since early morning.

"Here you go, princess," said Jin as he handed you a phone.

"This isn't my phone?" you asked confused and tried to give it back to Jin. It seemed brand new so you figured he changed his.

"It's your phone," insisted Jin, his eyes still filled with the same unbending look as the night before. You frowned and tapped the screen. The background was the same as on your phone, the contacts and the apps, everything was the same but the machine itself.

You looked up and finally noticed the dozens of bags lying around on the sofa and the coffee table.

"What's all this?" you breathed, your frown only deepening.

"You bought this for yourself, princess," said Jin as he took your free hand and placed a black card in your palm.

"N-No, I didn't," you backed away but tried to give the card back to Jin at the same time. He didn't even look at your hand.

"Jin, please," you begged when you realized what he was doing. "I don't need any of this—"

"Y/N," warned Jin when he turned to you. "Not another word." His hands caressed your neck gently before they moved up to your jaw and made you look up at him. He leaned in slowly and kissed you, silencing any protests that might want to come out of your mouth.

"I'll know if you won't use the card, Y/N," he cautioned against your lips, sending shivers down your spine, but you only wanted another kiss. Jin backed away when you searched for his plush lips again. You opened your eyes, seeing the stern look on Jin's handsome face.

"Just let me take care of you, princess," he spoke quietly, his chest vibrating with the deepness of his voice. You nodded weakly, folding at the prospect of Jin's affection. True to your presumptions, he rewarded you with another tender kiss.

Namjoon

You found your boyfriend sitting on the sofa, checking something on his laptop when you took a seat beside him.

"Are you busy?" you asked quietly, not wanting to disturb him.

"No, it's just some stupid emails," said Namjoon absently, his eyes scanning through the unnecessarily long blocks of text. "What is it, baby?"

"I was just ... I was wondering if ..." You cleared your throat as you squeezed your hands nervously. "If you could maybe lend me some money," you asked with difficulty. Your cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment when Namjoon tore his gaze from his laptop and looked at you, his eyebrows furrowing into a heavy frown.

"I'd pay you back everything," you said quickly. "It's just for rent—"

"What do you mean you'd pay me back?" asked Namjoon sternly, a tempest of thoughts behind his dark irises.

"I'll get my paycheck next week and I'll pay you back every cent, I promise," you explained although the demanding look on his features gave you little hope. His pensive eyes studied your face wordlessly. "It's okay if you don't want to, I'll ask my mom—"

"For rent?" Namjoon cut you off. His frown only grew deeper as he struggled to understand what you were asking.

"It's okay, I shouldn't have asked; I know it's weird," you said quickly and took Namjoon's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You tried to get up but he caught your wrist and pulled you back down.

"How much do you make?" demanded Namjoon. His voice was gentle but no less inquisitive. Your face went blank as more heat rose to your face. You didn't even make a hundredth of what Namjoon was bringing in in your first job as a beginner with no position.

"You know I don't make as much as you do," you swallowed. Even though your answer gave little information, Namjoon realized for the first time since you began dating that you might be financially unstable. He knew what you did and you liked your job but since money was never an issue for him, he never considered it might be an issue for you.

"I'll take care of it," nodded Namjoon and smoothed his thumb gently across your cheek before he got up.

"Take care of what?" you asked wide-eyed as you stared up at him. "Namjoon, I just need—"

"I'll take care of it," repeated Namjoon and gave your forehead a kiss as he buttoned his suit jacket. He grabbed his phone and his wallet and made for the door.

"Namjoon," you called again but he was adamant and gone.

A few hours later, you were looking through the fridge to think of some ideas for dinner when Namjoon came back. He set down a brown folder on the kitchen isle with a credit card on top of it before he pulled off his jacket and came to you for a kiss. You closed the fridge blindly as you responded to his lips but your mind was on the folder.

"What's this?" you asked as you removed the card from the brown paper and opened the file. It was a title deed with your name on it as part of a property transfer. The apartment in question was your rental paid in full and written in your name. Your eyebrows gathered into a frown as your mouth parted and your stomach gave a nervous squeeze.

"I told you I'd take care of it," said Namjoon easily and grabbed some orange juice from the fridge. You stared at him, your frown as deep as ever.

"You bought my apartment?" you asked astounded.

"No, you bought your apartment," said Namjoon as he drank the cold juice from a crystal glass. His fingers sat down on top of the dark credit card and he pushed it towards you. The letters of your name were engraved on the luxurious-painted plastic.

"Are you insane?" you blurted, your chest riddled with guilt. You were used to working hard for everything you had and hated accepting things from others. Even birthday gifts if too extravagant made you uncomfortable.

"I can't accept this, I won't accept this, Namjoon," you insisted although you could see it on his face that you were shouting in deaf ears. Your boyfriend was one of the most intransigent people in the world and when he decided on something there was no changing his mind.

"It's yours," said Namjoon nonchalantly, "Whether you like it or not."

Your eyes flinched in the direction of the crackling fireplace as you held the folder in your hands. Namjoon followed your gaze and smiled with amusement.

"I have a digital copy, baby," said Namjoon as he came closer to you. "The apartment is yours and so is the card." His arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you to him, his forehead almost leaning against yours whilst you stared up at him.

"I'll know if you won't spend anything," he purred a warning and came even closer. "And I won't like it if you don't spend anything." His deep voice gave you goosebumps as your eyes flicked down to his plush lips.

"I want to spoil you, baby," said Namjoon against your soft mouth. "You should let me." He closed the space between your lips and kissed you deeply enough for the folder to fall from your hands as he pulled your waist to his hips.

Yoongi

"Fuck ..." you mumbled under your breath as you scrolled through the bills on your email, your back against the foot of the sofa and your laptop on the coffee table. Your stomach was in a tight knot. You tried to calculate the priorities but even that surpassed the amount that was left on your bank account from your last paycheck.

"What is it?" asked Yoongi as he sat on the sofa behind you, his legs on each side of your frame when he kissed the top of your head.

"Nothing," you whispered and closed your laptop quickly. You looked up and gratefully responded to Yoongi kissing your lips. His hand was caressing your neck gently, the cold rings on his long fingers giving you goosebumps as they made contact with your warm skin.

"You sure?" asked Yoongi when he pulled away a little. You set your eyes forward again and bit your lip as you nodded. Yoongi's hand glided around your neck and pushed back your soft hair as he began to run his fingers through it. You leaned your head against the sofa and closed your eyes.

"Tell me what's wrong," said Yoongi. His voice was deep and quiet but no less authoritative.

"Nothing's wrong," you insisted as you shook your head a little. Yoongi frowned more and more with each second. You didn't even have to open your eyes to see his expression. You knew that he knew that you were hiding something.

"You don't trust me anymore, jagi?" asked Yoongi. His hand came down to your cheek and caressed you gently. Your eyes opened at those words and you turned around to look at him.

"Of course I trust you," you spoke feverishly.

"Why won't you talk to me then?" said Yoongi as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

"Because it's nothing," you lied. "And you'll worry and think that you have to fix it."

"Fix what?" pressed Yoongi. You groaned desperately and buried your face into the sofa. Yoongi seized the opportunity and opened your laptop behind your back, his eyes scanning over the bills.

"No, wait—" you tried to close the laptop when you noticed what he was doing but it was already too late. He saw everything.

"Yoongi, don't do anything," you begged as you got up to your knees and cupped his face. The look in his eyes was as hard and unmoving as a mountain and your words fell on deaf ears. He pulled the wallet from his back pocket and slid out a slick black credit card.

"Here you go, kitten, happy anniversary," said Yoongi as he offered you the card. You stood up with a frown.

"Our anniversary won't be for three months," you protested although that was far from Yoongi's point or yours for that matter. He stood up as well, took your hand and wrapped your fingers around his card.

"You can give me that card all you want but I won't spend a dime," you insisted. Yoongi turned to you slowly and took a good look at you. His eyes made your stomach dance with butterflies and fireworks.

"Fine," said Yoongi as he came closer to you. "Then I'll make you." His voice send shivers down your spine as he towered over you. He took your hand and you had no choice but to follow him. He drove you half-way across town until you arrived to a large glass building.

"Why are we here?" you questioned when Yoongi opened the car door for you. "Please, let's just go home." You took your boyfriend's hand but he wasn't paying your tugs no mind.

"Yoongi," you gasped under your breath and squeezed his hand tightly when he led you inside the Cartier boutique. It was too late to leave without causing a scene in front of the elegant saleswomen.

"Mr Min," said the older one of the two with her hair in a neat bun. "We're so happy to see you're back. It's been too long," smiled the other lady and took in the sight of you, giving you a warm smile as well.

"We have a very special thing for you," said the older lady and disappeared in the back.

"Yoongi," you pleaded in a whisper as you tugged on his hand a little but his fingers were tightly intertwined with yours. Yoongi looked down into your eyes, defeating you in an instance.

"This is one of our rarest and most sought after items, Mr Min," purred the older saleslady. She placed a beautiful red box on the glass counter before you and opened it with care. "This is out Panthere Maillon Etrier necklace in 18 carat white gold. It's distinguished for its geometric shape with the center of the necklace set with brilliant cut diamonds around 2,15 carats."

Your lips parted as your face went blank in the face of the exquisite piece of jewellery. You had never even stood in a jewellery shop, much less in Cartier itself. Yoongi observed your reaction for a while before he nodded to the saleslady.

"Very good," she smiled and motioned to her assistant to take care of the payment.

You realized that the purchase was agreed to and looked up at your boyfriend with wide eyes.

"Please," said the younger saleslady when she gestured elegantly at the payment terminal. Your gaze shifted between her, the astronomical number on the screen and Yoongi.

"Your card, kitten," said Yoongi as he stared down at you. You were still clutching to the black piece of plastic in your clammy hand. You swallowed before you inched the card closer to the terminal until it made a sound of approval.

"See? It's not that hard," purred Yoongi in your ear as his arm wrapped around your waist. You turned to him, your lips only inches apart. "You can use it for other things now too, kitten, and I'll know if you won't," he spoke quietly, his hot breath teasing your mouth as he slowly closed the space between you and kissed you greedily.

Hoseok

Although you have been dating Hoseok for a while now, you were never very comfortable talking about money with him. You grew up poor and even though you were just starting your first job now, you still struggled quite a lot. You didn't mind that Hoseok made a lot of money, you accepted that right in the beginning of your relationship, but you never wanted to talk about your situation because of that. Yet when you had a glass of wine too much with your dinner last week, you told Hoseok about your upbringing and how the notion of always having to save money was still rooted deep inside of you.

You shouldn't have said anything, though, because once Hoseok found out about it, he began to shower you with gifts every single day. You didn't mind him paying for meals when you went out but the gifts he was giving you now weren't anything short of luxurious.

"Hobi, I swear if you get me another thing—" you threatened when you saw the timeless Hermès Kelly on your nightstand. Your stomach twisted into knots just at the idea of how much it must have cost.

When you turned around with your index pointed at Hoseok, he was standing so close to you that the wind was knocked out of you. Your lips parted as Hobi towered over you.

"Or what?" he asked with an amused smile resting on his lips and in his dark eyes. You were at a loss for words. "Or what, kitten?" he asked again, taking another half a step closer to you and closed the space between your bodies.

"You should look what's inside, baby," Hoseok encouraged, enjoying every moment of seeing the puzzled and flushed look on your face.

You looked inside the leather bag hesitantly and found a creamy white jewellery box inside. It was already clutched in your fingers before you let it go and took a step back, your hands hugging your elbows as the corners of your eyebrows pulled downwards.

"I don't want it, you spoke weakly as Hoseok frowned at your reaction.

"You haven't even looked at it," said Hoseok but you shook your head and backed away some more.

"I don't want it - I didn't earn it and I sure as hell don't deserve it," you tried to leave the bedroom but Hoseok caught your wrist.

"Y/N," he called as he cupped your neck just beneath your jaw and made you look up at him but you were avoiding his eyes. "Y/N," Hoseok warned again and you looked at him. His frown softened when he saw the sad look on your face.

"That's the least of what you deserve, baby." He brushed his thumbs along the gentle line of your jaw. "Stop fighting me and let me take care of you." Hoseok leaned his forehead against yours, his closeness calming down your anxiety immediately. Your arms found their way around his sides as you came closer, pressing your cheek against his chest.

"It's okay, baby, you'll get used to it," Hoseok spoke gently against your hair before he kissed the top of your head, his hands caressing your back.

"Wear it to the opera tonight, baby," he said after a while. "Will you wear it for me, kitten?" Hoseok cupped your cheeks again and made you look up at him. You nodded a little. He smiled and leaned in, his thumbs caressing your soft skin as he kissed you tenderly.

When you finally found the courage to come near the bag and the jewellery box again, you were already wearing your evening dress. You opened the delicate velvet box and found a pearl necklace in 18 carat yellow gold. The letters Mikimoto were engraved in the satin interior of the box.

"Do you like it?" smiled Hoseok as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist before he pressed a soft kiss on your bare shoulder.

You nodded weakly as you studied the necklace without a breath in your lungs. "It's beautiful."

Hoseok took the necklace from the box as you scooped up your hair and the cold pearls made contact with your warm skin. Hoseok fastened the clip in the back and took your soft hair from your hands, his fingers letting them fall down your back.

"You're so beautiful, baby," purred Hoseok when his hands returned to your waist and pulled you to him as his lips left tender kisses along your shoulder.

Jimin

When you got back from work, you were surprised to find Jimin already at home. It was barely the afternoon and he sometimes stayed at the office until evening.

"Hey," you greeted softly as you cuddled up next to him on the sofa. You wrapped your arms around his sides and leaned against his chest but he didn't budge. Jimin was pretending to watch the TV and refused to even say hello.

You sat up perplexed as you studied your boyfriend's sullen frown.

"What's wrong?" you breathed, your chest heavy with guilt although you had no idea what you did wrong. You took your boyfriend's hand and squeezed it pleadingly but Jimin gave no reaction.

"Jimin-ah," you tried again, your voice almost cracking. You couldn't stand having him be upset with you, especially when you had no idea what could have made him react this way. Jimin was never upset with you no matter what, which is why his reaction affected you so much.

The desperation in your voice made Jimin break his harsh facade. He turned to you frowning no less.

"Why do you think I gave you that card?" said Jimin bitterly but you were lost. He leaned forward and grabbed the bank statement from the coffee table and showed it to you.

"You promised me that you would spend money on that card, Y/N," said Jimin when you read through the humble list of meals you had paid with Jimin's card, the 30 dollars that you had spent on buying some cute office supplies and the 20 dollars you had left at the bookstore.

"But I did," you insisted, showing Jimin the bank statement that he knew by heart now. He rolled his eyes and glared at you again. You had never seen him behave like this before. His jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed at you. A part of you knew that he wanted you to spend more money but there was nothing you really needed that much. After Jimin found out that you weren't exactly financially stable, he pulled the card right from his wallet and gave it to you.

"You promised me, Y/N," said Jimin and got up. Your wide eyes followed him and your lips were parted in shock. He grabbed his car keys and waited for you to get up as well.

"What are you doing?" you asked your boyfriend.

"I'm making you keep your promises to me, sweetheart," said Jimin darkly as he took your hand and led you down to his car.

Jimin drove you to the enormous glass building where he liked to shop. You had been there with him a hundred times before but the prices made your stomach twist into knots.

"Jimin, this isn't necessary—" you tried to reason with him but he only grabbed your hand and led you straight to Tiffany & Co.

"Jimin, please," you begged him as your chest grew heavy with guilt. The salespeople knew him. He already got you a pair of their earrings before but you had only worn them once to your anniversary dinner for fear of losing them.

Jimin picked out a 20 carat diamond necklace for you since he knew you'd refuse to choose any of the items the salespeople displayed especially for him.

Your boyfriend gave you his card and stared at you. He was still angry with you and the sight of it made your heart break.

"Jimin," you pleaded but he didn't budge. The lady at the cash registry waited patiently when the five digit number appeared on the payment terminal in front of you.

"Y/N," Jimin warned when he saw you hesitate. You swallowed and gave in. You pressed Jimin's card against the terminal and felt even worse when it gave a sound of approval.

Jimin took you to Dior next, then Celine, Balenciaga and even Chanel where his card caused more rings of approval from the payment terminal. Your boyfriend's frown, however, began to melt away when he saw you try on couture and get tended to from every direction by the salespeople.

Jimin leaned against the door frame of your dressing room as he watched you put on a beautiful white dress with a black ribbon that screamed Chanel. He glanced over his shoulder before he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. Jimin leaned his chin against your shoulder as he watched you in the mirror.

"See? It's not that hard, baby," he purred before he pressed a soft kiss on your exposed neck and you couldn't help but lean back against him.

Taehyung

"What's this?" asked your boyfriend as he opened his bank statement. You looked up with big wide eyes and your heart sank a little. After Taehyung found out that you weren't exactly financially stable, he gave you his card and practically threatened you to spend money on it when you refused.

"I-I just ... " you began to stutter. You had bought yourself a new bag for your laptop and for the things you needed whenever you went to study or to work and a perfume that you knew Taehyung loved. Those were the kind of treats you could only afford once in a while on your own but since he encouraged you, you got them for yourself although it made you feel no less guilty.

"You said ... You said I should get a few things," you spoke carefully as you watched Taehyung's frown whilst he scanned the contents of his bank statement before his dark eyes turned to you.

"Why didn't you?" he asked sternly, showing you the slip. Your eyes turned into a different kind of wide when he spoke the opposite of what you imagined. You took the bank statement and saw your two items on there along with a few meals that you paid for with Taehyung's card.

"What do you mean? I got the bag," you gestured towards the beautiful accessory that was sitting at the foot of the sofa. "And I got the perfume - it's Gucci." Even saying the brand name weighed heavy on your tongue with guilt. You had never owned a luxurious brand item in your life before you met Taehyung.

"Yeah, and you got tteokbokki, bubble tea, two coffees and spent 12 dollars at a pizza place," Taehyung listed the rest of the items of places where the card was used.

"Do you want me to pay you back?" you asked unsure but that made Taehyung frown even deeper.

"Come on," he instructed as he took your hand and led you to his car. You watched him as he drove you to the city center and pulled up in front of Cartier.

"Tae—" you protested but he cut you off by getting out of the car. "Tae," you tried again when he grabbed your hand and took you inside the luxurious boutique.

"Mr Kim," the elegant saleswoman greeted the moment she saw your boyfriend and you enter their exclusive shop. "We're so glad to see you return, it's been a while." She smiled a bright smile when she saw you before she brought out a collection of their most exquisite items, timeless pieces inspired by art deco.

You tried to get your boyfriend's attention and get out of there but he would not so much as budge. He chose a sapphire and diamond bracelet for you. When the lady presented a six digit on the computer screen, your face grew hot with fever.

"Tae, don't—" you tried but Taehyung glared at you so intensely that you were at a loss for words. He showed you his card - your card - and pressed it against the payment terminal. Your mouth parted when the machine gave a happy sound of approval and the saleslady thanked the both of you. She tried to hand you the velvet box within a beautiful paper bag but Taehyung accepted it instead.

"You're getting this when you pay for dinner tonight, kitten," said Taehyung to you and only you, his dark voice sending shivers down your spine as he towered over you. He handed you back his credit card and left a small kiss on your jaw right above your neck, his lips hiding a shadow of a smirk.

Jungkook

"Please don't make me do this," you begged when Jungkook took you to Calvin Klein and made you try on a series of luxurious fragrances. The prices of the items they sold made your cheeks flush red with discomfort. Ever since Jungkook found out that you weren't financially stable, he insisted you spend money on his elite black card. If you failed to meet his expectations, he made you go shopping and this was just one of those instances.

Jungkook's nose brushed against your neck where one of the wonderful perfumes mingled with your skin.

"You smell so good, kitten," murmured Jungkook, his dark voice giving you goosebumps. He pulled away, his face only inched from yours as he watched you with amusement. Your boyfriend leaned in slowly, a few locks of his dark hair brushing against your forehead. You put your arms around his neck and guided him to you but he pulled away at the last moment, leaving you wide-eyed and perplexed.

"Only after you use the card, kitten," said Jungkook and placed the black credit card into your hand.

"But ..." Your gaze flicked between your boyfriend and your palm. "Jungkook," you whined in protest.

"You should have done this on your own, Y/N," said Jungkook smoothly as he stepped closer to you and you backed away until your back hit the perfume counter. His long arms leaned against the wooden surface and trapped you there. A sharp breath caught in the back of your throat as you stared at you boyfriend but your gaze kept drifting to his lips.

"We could have been somewhere else right now," spoke Jungkook quietly as his eyes gained a dark, glossy look that made your knees go weak.

"O-Okay," you found yourself stuttering.

After you paid for the perfumes you liked, you were eager to leave the luxurious shopping center.

"Not so fast, kitten," said Jungkook as he caught your hand and pulled you inside the Bvlgari boutique.

"Jungkook—" you spoke breathlessly but the salesman already nodded to Jungkook and went to retrieve something from the back.

"Jungkook, please, let's just go," you tried to reason with your boyfriend, but this time, instead of tempting you with his kisses, Jungkook frowned at you. His eyebrows arched sharply as he caressed your cheek.

"Stop fighting me, kitten," he spoke quietly but his chest was vibrating with the deepness of his husky voice. "We made a deal."

Jungkook had made you promise that you would use the card and not just for the things you needed like meals and everyday items.

"Here it is, Mr Jeon," smiled the elegant salesman. He presented a beautiful velvet box on the counter and opened it carefully. A Serpenti Viper Necklace was sitting on the cushion made in its shape. The metal used was white 18 carat gold with so many diamonds it would take you a month to count them.

Your lips parted in awe as you looked up at Jungkook. His frown vanished behind a small smile when his eyes found yours, a playful look in his dark irises.

"Would you like to try it on, Miss?" asked the courteous salesman. You checked with Jungkook and he nodded to the employee. He didn't let the salesman put it on you, though, that was his job. You turned to the mirror whilst the salesman went to assist the person in the back and Jungkook's arms wrapped around your waist. His gaze traced the viper's tail that led down the middle of your chest.

"Do you like it?" asked Jungkook, his hot breath teasing your ear as his eyes found yours in the mirror.

"It's exquisite," you breathed, feeling the weight of the diamonds and gold against your skin. Your hand took one of Jungkook's and intertwined your fingers with his,

"Just like you, kitten," he spoke softly and left a tender kiss on your neck.

[sweetpupii]

Hi! Do you take requests?

If so, I think a fic bases on this excerpt:

"she can't have her parents walking in again. poor cassandra…finding your daughter with her whole face buried in between a girl's thighs is not the most ideal situation"

of your cailtyn story would be phenomenal 🙏

If you don't, feel free to ignore this! :)

Let's start by saying Caitlyn knows how to eat pussy and loves doing it :3 babe could have it for breakfast, lunch, dinner and even dessert. she wouldn't call herself an expert per se, but she's quite proud of her talent.

sure, receiving it feels good—but what's better than knowing you're making a girl cum with just your mouth? to cait, absolutely nothing. the moans, the hair-pulling, the thighs clenching against her head ♡ ugh chef's kiss.

( she came untouched a few times from it but you did not hear it from me ok? )

it's usually one the first things she does when you successfully sneak into her room. like a reward for getting through massive place she calls home without anyone noticing.

your back against the bed and legs immediately spread to expose the sight she absolutely adores. god, she could just stare at it forever and it'd still have the same effect in between her own legs. new panties are needed.

she doesn't dive in face-first like an animal the second your clothes are off, even if she does feel like a starved woman. she starts by slowly kissing your thighs and caressing any bit of skin she can, hand sneaking up your abdomen and ribs to massage your breasts a little—don't mind it.

“Should I continue?” cocky because she already knows the answer is a breathy ‘yes, please’.

oh and she gets way more cocky once she finally starts working on you, soft and slow stripes and twirls with her tongue. nothing fancy yet; she wants to tease a little more.

the second your hips start bucking into her mouth though? girl, grab onto something because she takes the signs IMMEDIATELY.

legs propped up on her shoulder while her hands hold your hips down to keep control of them. the slurping sounds are almost pornographic with how sloppy she's being. no whine coming from you is gonna make her stop any time soon. she's enjoying it waaaay to much already.

if she's feeling nice she will add a finger or two while sucking ๋࣭⭑ curling them just right inside you, not in-and-out like crazy. her tongue’s already lapping at you pretty fast so no need to overwhelm you…yet.

she wishes you would look down at her for a sec to see that pretty expression better, but she also understands it's her own fault that your head is thrown back against the bed, clenching around her fingers while pulling at her hair. what a curse to be so good at pleasing girls.

she knew speeding up her movements wasn't a smart thing to do so late at night as soon as the loud whine that escaped your lips reached her ears. obviously louder than the previous ones.

the heavy thump on the door when it opened proved her right.

“Caitlyn.”

of course it had to be her mother out of all people.

cassandra's eyebrows furrowed as she looked away with a small huff, trying to erase the sight from her mind by blinking and observing every detail on the window. she thought caitlyn was trying to sneak out and get involved with stuff she shouldn't like she had done in the past with serious cases or something, not this!

“It is 3 am; please take your… friend out of here.” a dismissive wave of her hand showed that there wasn't much room for arguing—none really because she's already out the door with a low mumble to herself before her daughter could say anything. tomorrow's talk is gonna be awful, that's for sure.

“just keep quiet some more, then you can go home, alright?” the blue haired girl softly whispered, leaning up and kissing the soft skin on your shoulder to reassure that you're not leaving until you get a few well deserved orgasms, her fingers already going back to rubbing small circles.

she's not gonna let a pretty girl leave her bedroom unsatisfied even if it means getting caught again.

[katiascraft]

"Tender is the night for a broken heart" | CL16

Parings: Charles Leclerc x Reader.

Summary: you been feeling very sad lately. Your emotional stress is taking you places you didn’t want to back in ever again. And Charles knows it - just wanna make sure you know you are loved despite it all.

Now playing: "Space song" by Super Pipo.

Word count: +2k

Warnings: INSINUATION OF SUICIDE - if you are sensitive to these kind of topics please don’t read it. ANGST WITH HAPPY ENDING. VERY SAD. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. I do what I can. Not proofread.

Author's note: I may or may not written this one about a real situation. PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION. Hope you like it and sorry in advanced if I make you cry. Charles the man that you are in my head 😭. Don’t forget to comment, like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

The wind was brushing the tears that were dropping from your eyes gently. You were shaking, scared. Nature was the only thing that surrounded you. Tall pines with your favorite gradient of green were all around you. You could hear the bird singing. You thought it was morning because the sun on your face was warm - that made you close your eyes to take it all in. that made you sob even harder. You could hear the water of the river crashing against the stonewall of the cliff you were standing on. when you opened your eyes you could see that you were on the edge of it. You took a gasp of fair freezing in the moment. A feeling so overwhelming took over you starting to sweat. Your hands wrapped your own body around. You hugged yourself there. The pain eating you alive was almost unbearable. The wind intensified, sending shivers down your spine. You closed your eyes again, ready to let go of everything. Of this pain you carried along so many years of your life. This burden you carried everywhere. This ghost living inside you is trapped, washing away your personality. Your soul felt in prison by the canvas it got. Your body felt the most uncomfortable place to exist. Your mind was so twisted sometimes you didn't know what was reality and what was your anxiety inventing fake scenarios which will hunt you all night long. Living with you was so difficult. It felt impossible for you that someone could actually love just by who you were. If you are this dark entity then who could love you? Anyone. Your mind convinced you, you needed to end it all to be finally free. You knew you were meant to fly. You just needed to let go. Relax your body and let it float. Let it fall into the immensity of the universe. Let you find a better place to live in. have your happy ending. You finally opened your eyes again out of breath trembling. You were ready. This was it for you. It was time. It was finally time. You even smiled.

But when you were about to let go you started hearing that voice. The same voice you heard every morning and you didn't know why it would choose to stick around your misery.

“y/n! y/n stop!” his voice almost broke your ears of how loud he screamed. You stopped freezing at your feet. Your heart started pounding like crazy. Adrenaline takes over your body turning your face red. Tears started to come out again even more violently. “y/n please don't do it!” his voice was torn in desperation. He was crying as violently as you, you could feel it. You could feel him grabbing your arms. You saw the watered disappear. Now you could only see the stone of the mountain you were standing on. You screamed at the top of your lungs and then everything was black.

“No!” you woke up sweating cold. You were a sea of tears shaking. Charles was already awake. He was trying to wake you up for a couple of minutes and now is really worried about you. You couldn't stop crying stunned by the nightmare you've just had.

“y/n. It's okay, love. I am here. You are ok” he said gently so wouldn't scare you. He grabbed you in his arms carefully. You looked so fragile he was scared he could break you. His heart ached seeing you like this.

These past few weeks were really hard on your end. You started feeling like your old self, self doubting about everything and anything. Insecure you weren't enough anymore for him or your job or your friend or even your family. You started feeling like a burden again lost in your own pain and struggle. Life was always a little harder for you. You've been out of really toxic relationships during your teenagehood that broke you down so bad you had to rebuild yourself all over again as if you weren't ever born. All this trauma you carried made everyday harder to live for you. You developed social issues not knowing how to interact or make friends as the aftermath. You also couldn't trust people or ask for help. Yeah, you were depressed for a couple of years. Thankfully you met Charles at your best self you liked to think. You were starting to feel happier. You liked who you were becoming. It wasn't that hard anymore to talk to people or open up with them.

When you met, you never thought Charles would even like you to be fair. He was the most gorgeous guy you have ever met. Real life prince charming you used to tell your friends. You were only an average girl, a troubled and messed up one, you thought you had no chance with him. But at the end of the road trip with friends he kissed you and you felt so overwhelmed with joy you couldn't believe it was actually your life, the one you were living. It felt strange and at the same time amazing. It was so easy with Charles to open up to him and tell him your story. He never judged you nor ran away from you scared. He didn't see you as a monster. As a broken record never able to be fixed. He fell in love with you because to him you were the sweetest person with the biggest heart he has ever talked to. You were so honest and real to everyone about everything he fell for it. He fell for your loud and weird laugh. So Precious and contagious. With your beautiful sparkly eyes always so honest and crystal clear. You were so you, so real. He felt you were so brave to be so you. In his world it was uncommon for your kind of people. He knew since the first night he met you at Lando´s birthday 5 years ago that you were the one. He didn't know you but he already knew. Destiny told him.

He knew your struggles, of course he did. He always listened to you. Felt so heartbroken every time. If he could, he would literally murder every single monster - because the one who hurt you didn't deserve to be called even humans - that did all of that to you. To him you were so pure, maybe too good for this cruel world. He tried to protect you from it all the best he could. But there was one thing he couldn't protect you against and that was your mind. He knew that your mind was the one who could move earth and seas just to hurt you in the worst way possible.

Heknew something was off with you when you started retreating. You stopped going to friends´ dinners. You didn't assist in the races you were supposed to. You stopped getting out of home more and more. You barely went out to the garden. Most of the time you were in your studio working non stop to preoccupy your mind and not think. He knew you were struggling when I stopped doing your hair the way you loved to do it. Stopped wearing your fancy outfits just to drive him crazy and urging you to take them all off when you two got home. You stopped eating the meals you were supposed to. He knew you avoid seeking help when you feel this down. He knew it was really hard for you so he let you be and wait for you to take your time until you're ready to address your feelings.

Tonight you were asleep when he got home from Max´s. You didn't want to go either and Max was your best friend. Charles was really concerned about you. He hated seeing you like this when you don't deserve to feel this. He would burn the world alive just for you to be happy if needed. You were sleeping peacefully so he decided to take a shower and join you. He laid next to you on his side to look at your face so peacefully relaxed. So angelical. He always felt so lucky to have you around in his life. Even without noticing you were the light of his life. You made him so incredibly happy, heard, understood, supported, embraced. You were his angel. Always reaching for him to give him a hand with anything he needed. So patient and understanding. You were his favorite place and he wished he could make you feel the same. Because he loved you with every fiber on his body and the only wish he had was for you to be happy.

After about 20 minutes of sleeping or so he woke up to you sobbing uncontrollably next to him. You were asleep. He guessed you were either having a nightmare or sleep paralysis. He settled on the bed so he could try to wake you up. His heart was racing in anxiety full of worry. He tried to wake you up for a couple of long minutes until you finally did and he clothed you in his arms. He rocked you gently trying to comfort you in some way.

“I'm sorry baby you feel this way” he whispered with a knot on his throat. You were shaking still but your crying ceased little by little. He kissed your temple lovingly and carefully. You just stayed like that until you could calm down.

When you did you felt drained. Your heart aches as your face from your salty tears and tries to wipe them everytime. Charles cupped your cheeks making you look at him. You felt so guilty and embarrassed to make him go through this. He didn't deserve to be with a broken soul. He deserved better. Someone that could make him happy as he deserved. You looked at him, his eyes glassy with tears.

“Listen to me y/n, i know you may or may not believe me. But listen to me okay?” you swallowed hard, ready to hate yourself for being a burden to him. “I love you. I know you feel like you don't deserve me like you are not enough for me. But let me tell you all of that is not true. I swear I would kill all these people who made you believe all these awful things about you if I could. You don't deserve to feel this pain baby. You are beautiful. You are important to so many people. You make so happy you don't have an idea” his voice cracked making you start crying again and so did he. “You really do y/n, please, believe me. You are an amazing person despite everything that happened to you. You fought so hard to be who you are and I promise it's beautiful to see. And I'm so proud of you baby. Everyone is, I promise. You are really important to me and to everyone that knows you. You are light and I know you don't feel like it. That you feel like a burden but you aren't. And you'll never be for the right people, the ones that see you, the real you. and the real you is so interesting and pretty baby. Yes you are my love” he was crying and smiling. You were sobbing but didn't take your eyes away from him. He was burning your soul with his words. Telling you everything you needed to hear and he didn't even know that. Charlie was so perfect to you even in this shitty as fuck situations with your mental health. You felt so lucky right there in his arms under the sight of his beautiful eyes that looked at you with deep love.

“I love you charlie” you said below whisper and hugged him tightly hiding yourself under his frame. You wanted to hide there forever if possible. He intensified his grip and kissed your head trying to comfort you as much as he could.

“You deserve to be happy y/n, i really mean it. You're the best person i've ever come to know.” he said softly making butterflies fly like crazy on your stomach. The pain you felt was fading away now little by little. You felt so dumb for not talking sooner about your feelings but you forgave yourself. That's what your therapist told you. You need to be more gentle with yourself and give the same understanding perspective as you give to others. Treat yourself as you treat others. Always.

“You make me happy” you said with your face buried in his neck not wanting to get out of there anytime soon. He smiled relieved and pressed gentle kisses on your cheek.

He was the first person who listened to your soul. And you knew right there that with him by your side you could heal and finally be the person you deserve to be and be loved just because.

Charles was the love of your life. And he was yours. There´s nothing to be afraid of.

You will be more than okay.

[nakylvr]

hiiii can I request gp!sophia x fem!reader with angst prompt 1 + smut prompt 10 where basically reader just had a huge fight with her ex bf and went to sophia bc she’s her best friend (that she’s also lowkey really attracted to) and sophia tries to cheer reader up (by fucking her) but she’s really sweet and fluffy during it🫶🏼

(sorry if this doesn’t make any sense but I hope you get what I mean😭english is not my first language💜)

bestie this is so good...you made perfect sense i understood completely 🫶 thank you so much for requesting!

— ALL I WANTED ⚓️

sophia laforteza (katseye) x fem!reader

summary: angst prompt 1("i didn't know where else to go") + smut prompt 10("don't worry, i'll take care of you") from my 100 follower event OR you have a big fight with your boyfriend and break up. going to your best friend sophia, things take a turn by how she "cheers you up"

warnings/tags: language, nsfw content, g!p!sophia, soft dom!sophia, sub!reader, soft sex, lots of praise, unprotected sex, cumming inside

you stood in front of the door of your best friend's apartment. your arms were folded in on yourself, practically hugging yourself as you waited for the door to open. it was cold outside, feeling the chill breeze as you wore merely a thin sweater and leggings. you glance away for a split second, and suddenly the door opens revealing sophia, whose expression quickly goes from happy to concerned at the sight of you.

"oh my god, are you okay?" she immediately questions. "here, come inside. you're probably freezing." she grabs your arm and pulls you inside, closing the door behind you.

"sorry for showing up like this," you apologize quietly as you look down at the ground. "i didn't know where else to go," your voice cracks as you say this.

sophia can instantly tell something is wrong. the first thing being you apologizing when she would never be upset with you for randomly showing up in the middle of the night. second being the way your eyes won't meet hers. and third, the crack in your voice.

"hey, hey," she says softly, placing her hands on your shoulders. "what's wrong? what happened?" her tone is so caring and genuine like she always is with you. she hates seeing you upset to the point of near crying, but she doesn't know how to help if she doesn't know what's wrong.

"it-it's just my boyfriend and i got in a huge fight...he broke up with me and basically kicked me out so...i came here," your voice is quiet as you speak, still not being able to meet her eyes.

sophia's eyes go wide for a second at your answer. but when you finally look at her, eyes filled with tears, her breath hitches in her throat. she can't lie and say she doesn't think this is a blessing in disguise given the fact she's been pining for you for years now, but couldn't do anything with that stupid boyfriend of yours around, cause she does think it. she knows you feel the same, at least she thinks it with the lingering stares you've been giving her more recently and the way you've talked to her lately. she tries to think quickly of what's the best option to do right now, too many different thoughts running through her head as she stares back at you. hesitantly, she moves her hands from your shoulders to cup your face in her hands, seeing the way your eyes subtly widen at her action and hoping she isn't fucking this up. "how about i help cheer you up?"

you're frozen in your spot as sophia asks you the question, and you're not sure how to respond. you don't have a complete understanding of what she's meaning, your mind going in a direction you assume would never happen ever no matter how much you wanted. "what do you mean by that?" you respond quietly.

"whatever you want it to mean," sophia answers in the same voice. "i'm here for anything you need or want."

those words are enough reassurance you need to finally say what you've been wanting to say for a while now. "kiss me," you whisper.

sophia tries to fight the smile that creeps on her face at your reply, but fails miserably as she leans in and closes the gap between you and her. she can taste the remainder of your lipgloss on your lips that you applied earlier in the day, sighing softly against your lips. your arms wrap around her neck, pulling her closer to you before parting from the kiss. your face is inches away from hers, and your fingers play with her hair as you stare into her eyes.

"you're a really good kisser," you murmur. "how were you planning on cheering me up?" you ask next.

"will you let me show you?" sophia responds. "let me take care of you like you deserve." her hands move to your waist, somehow managing to pull you even closer.

"please," you say in a quiet voice.

that's all sophia needs to hear before she's pulling you to her bedroom, kissing you continuously and almost tripping when she hits the bed. she swiftly picks you up and lays you down on the bed, crawling above you and peering down at you. her hands find the hem of your swearer and she looks at you, silently asking for your permission to remove it. you nod your head, and she slowly pulls it up over your head, leaving you in your bra and leggings.

"you're so beautiful," sophia murmurs, her hands drifting up and down your torso. they stop at the waistband of your leggings, her fingers hooking around it and lightly tugging them down your legs and off along with your panties. "you have no idea how much i've wanted this," she says, her eyes wandering over your body, her cock throbbing in her boxers at the sight of you in front of her. she quickly discards her shirt and shorts, leaving her in her boxers that had a wet spot from the precum leaking from her tip. she brings a hand between your legs, fingers dragging along your folds before slowly slipping two into your wet heat.

"s-sophia," you whimper out when she slowly thrusts her fingers in and out of you.

your walls suck her fingers in greedily, making her only want you more as she pulls her fingers out after a few seconds, needing to feel you around her cock. she strips off her boxers, her cock springing out, the head red and dripping beads of precum. supporting herself up with one of her arms near your head, the other holds the base of her length, sliding up and down your dripping pussy, collecting your slick on her tip. "don't worry, i'll take care of you," she tells you softly. "are you ready?"

you nod your head, whimpering at the feeling of her rubbing against you. "yes- please i need you so bad," your voice comes out whinier than you wanted, but you can't find it in you to care seeing the way sophia's eyes darken at your words.

slowly, she pushes inside of you, watching the way your eyes roll back at the size of her filling you up. sophia curses under her breath at your walls squeezing around her tightly, stopping once she was fully in you. "you tell me when you want me to move, okay?" she presses a quick kiss on your lips.

your jaw falls open as you feel her stretching you out, a quiet whimper coming from you when she stops. you nod again at her words, taking a few shallow breaths before speaking. "y-you can move now."

inch by inch, sophia pulls out before sliding back in, the wetness of your pussy making it oh so easy for her to build a slow pace. "you're so pretty," she says, leaning down and kissing you. "god, you're so tight," she hisses against your lips.

quiet moans fall from your lips as she sets a slow pace, almost embarrassed of getting too loud, whimpering at her words as she kisses you. your arms hook around her neck, pulling her closer. parting from the kiss, you breathe heavily as you stare up at her, biting down on your lower lip to try and keep quiet.

sophia's eyes don't leave yours once, keeping eye contact while maintaining her slow pace. she didn't want to get rough with you in your current state, she was happy enough for this to be happening in general. plus, she seriously doubted your dumbass boyfriend gave a fuck about whether you actually came or not. so she was going to make sure you would. "don't be shy, princess," she pushes some of your hair out of your face. "let me hear you, my love. i wanna hear the pretty noises you make."

your face heats up at the realization that she wants to hear you, finally letting go of your lip from your teeth and freely moaning like she wanted. "sh-shit sophia," you whine her name. you're surprised at how slow and gentle the girl above you is being, as if she was worried she would hurt you when you know she would never even think of hurting you once. but, it was nice. she was right, she was making you feel the way you deserved.

hearing her name coming from you in that whiny tone has sophia's cock twitching in you, letting out quiet grunts with her gaze still on you. "how does it feel, baby?" she asks you, genuine. she needs to know she's making you feel good, she needs to hear you say it. she doesn't know how she's keeping up this slow, almost agonizing pace, but seeing your reactions each time she slowly pushes back in is enough for her to keep at it. "tell me how it feels."

"g-good," you manage out through moans. "it fe-feels so g-good- fuck- you're making m-me feel so good," you emphasize on 'you're' so that she knows that she's the only one on your mind. it was true, you couldn't even think about anything else except for the way she feels like this. you didn't even remember why you came here, and you didn't care, either.

"fuck," sophia breathes out at your response. she can tell you've long forgotten why you originally came to her place, and that mixed with you emphasizing that she's the one making you feel this good has her swelling with pride. "you're so beautiful like this. i love you so so much," she mumbles, not realizing the way her words could sound to you.

you can barely process her words, only hearing the 'i love you', and that alone has you clenching tightly around her cock, somehow getting even wetter than you already were. "i lo-love you too- o-oh my god!" your eyes roll back when you feel her tip nudge against your g-spot. "fu-fuck!" you feel tears welling in your eyes as you feel yourself getting closer to cumming.

seeing the tears in your eyes has sophia cooing at you, cupping your cheek with one of her hands and wiping the stray tear that falls. "shh, you're close, yeah?" she says quietly. she slowly speeds up her thrusts just a little bit, pushing so deep into you that she can practically see the outline of her cock bulging from your stomach making her twitch again. "i'm close too- shit!- tel-tell me where you want me," her words are starting to get interrupted by little whimpers escaping her throat as she feels herself get closer.

you nod your head quickly at her question, murmuring out, "ye-yes," through your noises that are getting louder and whinier. her next words have your head spinning to come up with a response. staring up into her eyes as she stares down at you, you know the answer you're going to give. "i-in me, please, i'm o-on the pill, please cum in me, please," you're begging for her in a way that would be embarrassing to you in any other moment, but you can't find it in you to care.

sophia's eyes go wide when you tell her what you want, but she isn't going to deny your requests in any shape or form. "don't worry, my love," she tells you before kissing you, moaning into the kiss and speeding up just a little bit more.

whining her name as she kisses you, you pull her down impossibly closer to you, your bodies practically pressed against each other. your legs wrap around her hips, bringing her even closer to you. pulling out of the kiss, you rest your forehead against hers, looking deeply into her eyes as short breaths and moans of her name leave your mouth. "f-fuck, sophia 'm so close,"

"go on," she pecks your lips quickly. "cum for me, my pretty girl. so pretty for me like this, god," she groans quietly.

after one final thrust, your eyes roll into the back of your head as you cum so hard you end up seeing white, your hands clawing at her back. not even a minute later, sophia is putting her face in your neck and letting out a long drawn-out whine as spurts of her cum fill you up to the brim. she stays there for a moment or two, breathing heavily into your neck before slowly pulling out of you. a whimper falls from your lips at the feeling, your arms still hooked around her neck and holding her close to you.

"do you...really love me in this way?" you whisper quietly.

sophia pulls her face from your neck at your hesitant question, looking down at you and nodding her head. "of course. i just didn't want to do anything while you were with him," she answers truthfully.

you nod slowly, clearly hesitating about asking the next question you were thinking of. "do you want...to be with me?"

there's a look in sophia's eyes that you can't figure out, as if she's struggling with a response. "yes," she says in a quiet voice.

"then i'm yours," you smile at her, moving your hands to cup her cheeks. "i love you."

sophia's face instantly lights up when you speak, a wide smile tugging on her lips. "i love you too, so much."

[ratgirl2020]

Cook with me

I like the theory that Gwyn will be the first to know about the bond. Whether she already knows hmm unsure. But here are some hints of a bond:

I think our librarian did some research on who saved her. The NC is notoriously secretive, with little known about the regions. Illyrians are seen as war brutes, somewhat lesser fae, so I don't think the meaning of their siphons is widely known. We don't know where Sangravah but it is very likely not in the Night Court. Lucien recognized rugs from Sangravah so he has either been there (he's never been to NC before) or Sangravah is well known, which doesn't seem likely if residing in the NC. I don't think the bond snapped for Gwyn at the time of her assault, but I think she feels that pull towards him resulting in her wanting to just know more about him.

Their first meeting after he rescued her. She's shocked? stunned? surprised? starstruck? We don't know her exact thoughts but she definitely recognizes him and he was on her mind that whole session.

Now I'm cooking a bit more.

Rhys and Feyre are always feeling eachother through the bond. They are daemati so it seems they can clearly see eachothers thoughts and surroundings. Other mates seem to be able to feel feelings/tugging but not thoughts (ignoring tog). Now, we know that both Azriel and Gwyn have trouble sleeping.

It would make sense that Azriel cant sleep because Gwyn cant sleep. And in the BC, what if one is remembering because the other is remembering?

Now for some Michelin star cooking. Also in the BC, Azriel says he can't sleep because he has all these wants and needs. It's possible that he, again, is feeling what Gwyn is feeling. She has started reading her smutty romances, she's asking Nesta about sex life with Cassian...

I don't think he is attributing his thoughts to Gwyn. And obviously he is attracted to Elain... but it's possible he's getting confused with his own thoughts and a brewing bond.

but if they were mates why doesn't Azriel care about her? why hasnt the bond snapped if he's known her for two years?

We don't know what Azriel did after Gwyn went to the library. Did he check on her? we don't know. Did he think about her? we don't know. We do know that Gwyn was traumatized. She was in a safe space. I don't see Azriel as the type to disrupt that.

Viviane and Kallias are the prime late mating bond examples. Childhood friends to lovers to mates. Gwyn and Azriel, by the end of acosf, clearly have a developing friendship. Yes, in the BC, Azriel says he wouldn't consider her a friend (but...) and the BC takes place in the middle of acosf. We see their banter increase after solstice. This is just my thoughts, but I could see Gwyn, by the end of acosf, already knowing about the bond with Azriel remaining clueless. Perhaps Gwyn believes she'll feel content with just friendship, that she's not ready for something more or that he wouldn't want something more. Either way, I think her knowing first would be a fun spin on mating bonds.

If you've made it this far, great!! Let me know what you think.

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Witcher Senses: Taste

Geralt has an enhanced sense of hearing and smell, so Jaskier reasons that of course his sense of taste would be enhanced as well.

Jaskier is maybe just a wee bit envious of Geralt's better sense of taste. It must be marvelous to taste food and drink on a whole deeper level than a human.

Even when the food at an inn or tavern is blander than h*ll, Geralt still appears to savor the taste, while Jaskier has to settle for suffering through the meal, or maybe be lucky enough to have a little salt in his pack.

And when the food is amazing? Jaskier wishes he could taste the food the way Geralt does. The food is absolutely delectable. The best thing he's ever tasted. Surely it is fit to set at the table of the gods themselves!

Jaskier is at a loss for words to describe the flavor. He looks at Geralt, and is instantly jealous of the Witcher's taste buds. The expression on his face suggests that the food tastes like pure sin.

Lucky b**tard

But Geralt's enhanced taste buds aren't just for enjoying food. Jaskier has seen him use it to keep both of them alive.

Geralt: Hm. Wine smells off. Let's see...

Jaskier: just the tip...of the tongue!

Geralt: *eye roll* Hm. Poison.

Jaskier: :O

Dead deer on the road with not a mark on it? Geralt's got it covered.

*nibble nibble*

Hmm. Wasting disease. Better stick with rabbit for dinner tonight.

Jaskier is impressed. The versatility is amazing! There are so many uses! He discovers another use for Geralt's tongue several nights later.

It's been a long day of travelling, and Jaskier has been taken over by inspiration and spent almost the entire day scribbling in his notebook and strumming on his lute. Geralt has not made as much progress has he'd like, but Jaskier is too distracted to keep up a steady, quick pace.

Oh well, there's really no reason they can't make camp early.

Jaskier is just sitting there later, minding his own d*mn business, when Geralt throws him for a loop.

He's been feeling off for the past few hours. Shaky, and a little sweaty.

He's staring at his notebook, glaring at the half-baked lyrics he's scribbled down.

He's getting worried. Had the meat pie he'd eaten earlier been spoilt? Was he going to die from eating rotten meat?

Geralt is abruptly at his elbow, grunting a concerned 'Hm'. His companion smelled off.

"What?"

"You don't look good."

"Excuse you, but I always look good!"

"You look like sh*t, bard."

"That's rude! Just for that, I'm sleeping on the other side of camp!" *Stands and stumbles*

Geralt grabs Jaskier's arm to steady him, but then doesn't let go. Instead, he starts snuffling at his skin.

Jaskier: *light-headed* Er...?

Geralt makes a thoughtful sound, then starts licking Jaskier's forearm.

"What the ever-loving--?!"

Jaskier can't complete his sentence because 1. Geralt is licking his arm. And 2. Geralt's tongue is scratchy, like a cat's, and he is having thoughts about it.

And goodness, some of those thoughts were making him blush!

Geralt apparently finds what he's looking for because he makes a satisfied grunt and lets him go.

Jaskier snatches his arm back, and stares at him, metaphorically clutching his pearls.

"You need to eat." Geralt says simply. "I can taste it in the sweat on your skin."

"You can...whAt?"

"I can tell from how your sweat tastes. It tastes bitter. Eat."

"But I ate earlier,"

"That was hours ago Jaskier."

Jaskier paused. Now that he thought about it, he'd eaten that pie for breakfast when they'd left town. It was now late afternoon!

"Well, f**k me running!" Jaskier exclaimed, feeling relieved. He wasn't going to die from a spoilt meat pie!

He took the dried meat, cheese, and nuts Geralt handed him and chewed contemplatively for a few moments.

Jaskier: *grinning suggestively* So, you can tell what's wrong with me by how I taste?

Geralt: *annoyed at the suggestive remark* Hm.

Jaskier: Do you have to lick my arm, or can it be any part of me? *eyebrow wiggle*

Geralt: Hmm (exhasperated)

Jaskier: Because, you do know that your tongue is interestingly scratchy, and it's making me rather curious as to what it would feel like on my--!

Geralt: *Shoves chunk of bread into Jaskier's mouth* Eat.

Jaskier: *muffled disappointed bard noises*

Geralt sighed to himself. Jaskier was going to be an insufferable menace this winter.

[nimnia]

‹ chapter 01 › LIBRARY

─── JUST Y☆UR ATTENTI☆N ⋆ ｡ ° ✩

WARNINGS── tittle-tattles. nothing serious yet.

WC── 1,395 words

── JYA main list

the sounds of chattering voices and clinking dishes fill the humongous room of the cafeteria, the lunchtime energy stuffing the air as students catch up, complaining about their professors, and sharing weekend plans.

minji sat among her friends, barely listening as they laughed and recounted moments from their morning classes. she had her usual plate of food in front of her, but her attention drifted off as she stared at her form, twirling it absentmindedly in her hand.

lately, her mind has been unusually restless, something she couldn't quite place. it could be her coursework or issues back in her home.

"minji!" hanni nudged her arm, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"huh?" minji looked up, blinking as she refocused on hanni's face.

hanni smirked, raising an eyebrow at her. "spacing out? don't tell me you're stressed about midterms already." she teased.

minji rolls her eyes, slightly tilting her head to the side. "not a chance, han. i was just thinking," another friend of hers, danielle, chimes in.

"thinking about what?" danielle leaned forward, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "or should i say… thinking about who?"

minji sighs, smirking despite herself. "not everyone's as dramatic as you, dani."

"oh, you're one to talk!" danielle shot back with a laugh.

their playful exchange was interrupted shortly when hanni suddenly lowered her voice, leaning in as to share something of a secret.

"forget that! have you heard about the girl who practically lives in the library? in this school we're in!"

minji raised a brow, feigning indifference even as a flicker of curiosity ignited in her. "the library? uh, i've been there quite a lot, and i don't think i noticed anyone who 'lives' there."

hanni's eyes gleamed as if she had been waiting for this conversation for some time. "oh, you'd know her if you saw her!"

"people say she's there all the time— like, almost every night until it closes. she's always by herself, surrounded by a million books!" hanni adds.

danielle nodded, lowering her voice to match hanni's. "she's kind of… intense," minji pressed her lips together, listening attentively.

"some people think she doesn't want to be around anyone— you know, like she's isolating herself on purpose or something!" danielle exclaims quietly.

a quiet laugh slipped out of minji, although her mind lingered on the idea of someone purposefully choosing solitude. "i mean… college is exhausting, pretty much. it's not that weird for someone to prefer studying alone."

hanni shrugs, a knowing look in her eyes.

"yeah, but this girl's a bit different, minji. it's like she doesn't even notice anyone else exists. no one knows her name, and she doesn't talk to anyone at all! she just sits there, toootally detached, like she's in her own world."

suddenly, the cafeteria noises faded around minji as she imagined it— a girl alone in the dim library, surrounded by books, studying late into the night as the world moved on around her.

the image was actually haunting oddly, almost poetic, and for reasons she couldn't really explain, it unsettled her. she had always thrived in social spaces, valued the connections she made, and enjoyed being recognized.

the idea of choosing to withdraw entirely felt strange, maybe even a bit… disturbing— yet again, she wasn't one to judge someone who chose to withdraw from reality, if that's the issue.

danielle nudges her arm, breaking her reverie, "don't you think it's weird though?"

minji glanced down at her tray, avoiding her friend's gaze. "maybe," she muttered. "but who cares? it's her choice, so we shouldn't be judging her."

danielle thought about it before shrugging and moving on to another topic, but minji found herself only half-listening.

she glances around the cafeteria, her mind drifting back to the image her best friends had painted of this mysterious, isolated girl who is also her schoolmate, though someone she didn't quite know yet.

'why would anyone want to be alone all the time though..?' minji wonders, a strange pang of intrigue and curiosity stirring in her chest.

throughout the afternoon, that conversation stayed entirely with her, never leaving her mind. it was rather ridiculous, she told herself, to be so curious about someone she hadn't even met yet.

but even as she moved from one class to the next, her mind kept circling back to that image of the mysterious girl who is practically living in the library.

when her last class finally ended, the resolve that had been bothering minji hardened. she knew where she needed to go.

so instead of heading to her dorm or meeting her friends, she took a different path, winding through the campus toward the library.

─────

the library was unusually quiet as she stepped inside, the warm glow of the evening sun filtering through the windows and the curtains.

the air felt quite heavy with silence, a sharp contrast to the lively chaos of the cafeteria. minji paused at the entrance, adjusting to the dim lighting and the stillness.

as she glanced around, her heart thrummed with a mix of excitement and nerves. she hadn't even realized how eager she'd become to catch even the slightest glimpse of this girl, to see if her friends' descriptions were as captivating as they'd made them sound.

after a little while, minji moved quietly between the shelves, her steps slow as she scanned the tables and reading nooks. she felt a bit silly, as though she was sneaking around on some sort of mission, but she couldn't bring herself to turn back.

and then, and just then, near the far corner of the library, she saw you.

you sat at a table by the window, surrounded by stacks of books, your head bent over a notebook as you scribbled with quiet intensity.

the late afternoon sun casts a warm, hazy glow around you, softening the sharp lines of your expression. your face was partially hidden by your hair, but minji could see enough to notice the calm, focused look on your eyes.

it was a look that suggested she was utterly alone in her own world, untouched by the presence of anyone around her.

minji felt her breath catch, a wave of something she couldn't quite name wash over her. she lingered by a nearby shelf, pretending to browse as she observed you, her gaze tracing the way your fingers moved gracefully across the page, your eyes never wavering from your notes.

for a moment, minji's own concerns felt distant, irrelevant.

she was struck by the quiet beauty of your solitude, the way you seemed so completely absorbed in your own world. it was, probably, a world that felt unreachable, as though it existed on a plane separate from everyone else's.

and minji couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to step into that world,— your world —to know what you were thinking as you sat there so silently, lost in her own thoughts.

as she continues to watch, you shift slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. minji quickly looked down, pretending to study the spine of a random book, her heart pounding as though she'd been caught.

she felt an odd, embarrassing thrill as if she was peeking into something private, something she wasn't supposed to see.

after a few moments, minji stole another glance. you were still immersed in your work, your expression serene and unbothered.

you seem to be unaware of minji's presence completely, oblivious to the fact that you'd become the center of someone else's fascination and attention.

minji's mind raced with questions, each one more insistent than the last.

why did she choose to be alone? why didn't she care about anyone around her? was she lonely? or was this solitude something she genuinely wanted?

with a quiet sigh, minji forced herself to look away. she couldn't believe how caught up she'd become, how affected she felt by someone she'd never spoken to.

it was as though your presence had cast a spell over her, pulling her in with a quiet, irresistible force.

she left the library that evening with her thoughts in a tangled haze, her mind racing with curiosity and frustration. she barely noticed her friends calling out to her as she walked back to her dorm, her focus lost in a strange, new obsession.

she needed to know your name soon.

TAGLIST── @iamtired10 @saysirhc @sixflame438 @gigislovergirl @trovao-penguins @flyingcigarettes @kmjs-girl @strangercat @secretcessy

[questionableratatouille00]

ʜɪɢʜᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟʟ 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an effort to get the two of you to bond, Tony Stark sends you and the ex-assassin Bucky Barnes on a road trip together. The reason? You hate each other. The situation? Two weeks in a car together. The reward: three days of a resort vacation. And the problem? He's kinda cute.

Warnings (Entire Series): Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, angst, fluff, crying, fighting, violence, chaos, mentions/talk of trauma, discussions of mental health, and potentially more.

Warnings: Reader wears a dress, cursing, mentions and eating of food, let me know if more needs to be added.

[Series Masterlist] <- Haven’t seen pt. 1?

𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒈𝒖𝒏

Day Two

"You look..fine." You mumble, refusing to say what you really meant: hot.

He nods awkwardly, before tilting his head towards the elevator. You walk with him to the elevator, and you try and study his expressions as you wait to get to the first floor.

He looked lost in thought. Shit. That was never good. If he wasn't talking, whether that meant exchanging insults with you and Sam or marveling at modern technology with Steve, he was lost in his head.

You’d noticed that since he’d moved to the Compound was that he was getting better. Better, in the sense that he wasn't staying holed up in his assigned bedroom pretending that the world didn't exist. Better in the sense that he was talking to people now. Better in the sense that he wasn't waking up violent or screaming in the middle of the night.

Yeah, sure, he's a petty asshole who's extremely good at pissing you off, but even semi-joking insults are better than eerie silence and pure fear of the outside world.

When he'd arrived at the Compound, he'd avoided everyone, even Steve. He didn't speak, barely acknowledged people unless he had to. He didn't eat. He could barely sleep. It was like he was a ghost. The first time Peter came over while Bucky was around, Bucky seemed to have shut down a little.

Peter was a good kid. He stayed over in his room during weekends, or even occasionally during weekdays in the summer. He didn't ask intrusive questions, and he really did try his best to make Bucky feel welcome. But it really just terrified Bucky.

After a few months of court-mandated therapy, which slowly evolved from twice a week to once every two months throughout the span of a year, he seemed to recover. He slowly learned to get out of those post-HYDRA habits he'd picked up. He'd eat with the rest of the team. He'd join in on weekly movie nights. He'd even help Wanda when she cooked for the monthly 'nice-family-dinner' days. She always loved making the food for those.

He started watching baking shows with Vision. He'd hang out with Natasha. He pestered Steve in a way only a best friend ever could. He made jokes. The first time you ever heard the former brainwashed assassin make a joke will be forever ingrained into your mind. It had been some stupid joke about Steve's old costume, and it had shocked everyone in the room. Except for Steve.

He only went silent like this on particularly bad days. Nobody ever said anything, because they knew that would only make it worse, but it was obvious whenever something rough went down. 'Bad days' meant days that followed nightmare-filled nights, or days that involved flashbacks or recovering from flashbacks, or days that were ruined by something triggering him.

"You good, there?" You decide to speak up, just as the elevator door opens.

He nodded quickly, beginning to walk to the truck. He hops into the driver's seat, and you don't fight him on it.

"We're a bit late." You note, glancing at the time. 6:13pm. Technically, it started at 6:00pm and ended at 10:45pm.

"Holy shit." You say aloud, looking through Bucky's window at the beautiful decorations. There were string lights strung from light posts, and hay bales for some reason, and other cute things. There was a little stage set up, with a small band playing vintage songs. There were little stands set up where you could buy food or random 1940's themed shit.

"You ready?" You looked to Bucky, before checking in the mirror to make sure the red lipstick you'd applied hadn't smudged.

He nodded, parking the truck against the sidewalk. He waited for you to walk around the front of the vehicle to join him.

"I'll grab us some dinner. You up for this? We can always go back--"

"I'm fine." He said, and at first you thought that he was getting annoyed at you, before a quick glance to his face assured you that he was just trying to convince himself of this. "I'm fine." He repeated.

The air was warm, and the yellow light of the string lights combined with the street lights made Bucky look..really nice.

"Ooh! That place looks good. C'mon!" You grabbed his hand, pulling him forward.

You pulled him to the food stand, excitedly looking around the little square. People from well into their nineties to kids who couldn't be older than five were all dressed up. You and Bucky blended in incredibly well.

"What do you think you're gonna get?" You asked Bucky, intending to pay.

"Not sure. Might just get a burger and fries."

"That sounds good. I'm not sure what I want yet. Everything looks amazing."

When the family in front of you got their food and left, you quickly made your decision, and Bucky made his. Just as you were about to put your card into the card swipe machine, Bucky beat you to it. When you opened your mouth to argue, Bucky gave you a sharp glare, silently telling you to shut it.

“I was going to—“ You begin, but he cuts you off quickly. “I got it.” He paid quickly for the meal, before leading you off to a table. There were a bunch of circle tables set up in a large rectangle. In the center, people danced in small circles or in sets of twos.

Setting the plastic baskets on the table, Bucky pulled out a chair for you. “What a gentleman.” You tease, and he just rolls his eyes.

The band played covers of old songs, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Bucky recognizes any of them.

Once the both of you wolfed down the delicious food, you looked around. The band was loud, so you had to talk at a slightly louder volume than normal.

There were lots of couples, ranging from elderly couples slowly swaying together, to newlyweds quickly moving and bouncing to the upbeat music.

You noticed Stacy, the long-haired brunette who worked at the Brandon Center. She was in her own baby blue 40’s dress, which paired well with her hair and bright green eyes.

She was standing at a table in front of her Aunt Brenda, and Barbara from the hotel.

Her grandma and her great aunt live up here, you remember. She’d said so at the store.

Barbara and Brenda were also dressed up, smiling and laughing at something Stacy said. Stacy was standing, but Barbara and Brenda were sitting together.

You looked to Bucky who was zoning out. “You okay?” You asked, and he snapped his gaze up to meet yours.

“Fine.” He assured. "Dance with me."

"What?" You look at him, bewildered.

"Dance with me." He repeats, standing up before pulling you out of your chair by your hands.

"Why are you--" You don’t get to finish as he pulls you to the makeshift dance floor, before pulling you close to him.

"Shut up and dance with me."

"Y'know, that's a song." You felt it was important to note this.

"Weird." He states, before he glances past you, his eyes narrowing.

"If looks could kill." You commented, and he focused back on you. "Who're you looking at?"

"The douchebag who's been staring at you for the past eight minutes." When you turned your head to look back, Bucky stepped to the side, forcing you to swing your body to avoid being crashed into.

"You've been watching him?" You thought it was weird that the guy who hated your guts seemingly wanted to keep you safe.

"Shut up." He glared at you, before he continued to sway with you to the rhythm of the song.

"I thought you said you couldn't dance."

"I said that I didn't. Not that I couldn't." He muttered, before spinning you.

You instantly recognized the opening notes of 'It's Been a Long, Long Time', and you look to Bucky, who also seemed to recognize it.

You laugh as the two of you continue to sway to the music together, before the song ends. Bucky keeps his hands on your hips, your hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. You’re not that bad.” You grin goofily.

“You’re not so bad either.” Bucky looked at you, a small grin on his face.

“Friends?”

“Something like that. You’re a punk.”

“And you’re a dick.” You shot back.

It was impossible to miss how all of the couples close to you glance at Bucky's hand, clearly metal against your red dress.

"They're all staring at me like I'm some kind of monster." He mutters darkly, beginning to pull away.

You pull him closer. "Who gives a shit.”

“I do. Tony does. The Avenger’s PR team does.” He retorted.

“Okay, smart ass.” You rolled your eyes, before glancing around. One old guy was staring at Bucky, as were the surrounding groups of people. “We can go, if you want. My feet kinda hurt.” You lied, hoping that if you gave a reason to go, he’d feel better about agreeing. When he gave you a simple nod, you smiled. You lead him to the truck, taking him by the hand. Once you reached it, you stepped down off the curb, opening the passenger door.

“That was..fun. For you, right? Like, you’re doing okay?” You asked after a few minutes. Everybody in the tower knew about Bucky’s nightmares and night terrors. Whether it was from hearing him scream late in the night or in the earliest hours of the morning, or if it was from being the one to wake him up from them a few times. It was just something that nobody talked about.

“It was alright.” He murmured. This was a win.

As he drove the two of you back to the hotel, you smiled to yourself.

Shorter chapter this time. Not feeling so great post-elections. Also, my taglist won’t link unless I format it like this. For the good of all, subscribe to/follow the HtH Masterlist post and I’ll reblog with a link to the newest chapter each time. (Hopefully you’ll get a notification?)

Taglist: @afraidofshrimp @kandis-mom @laughterafter @cjand10 @emmsybucky

@mrsnotfeelingsogood

@matchat3a @identity2212 @ilovemcuff @unaxv

@mysticalfuncollectorus @highwaytomichelle @lilbloggs @ordelixx @skiemi-blog

@allieb913 @winterslove1917 @chimchoom

@moonlight-readings

graphics by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 86 (Family Drama)

The next evening, before Heather and Conrad left for their date, her youngest sister, Hazel, arrived in Brindleton Bay to watch her niece and nephew.

Ash excitedly called to her from the computer as soon as she walked in the door. "Aunt Hazel, Aunt Hazel, come check out my new game!"

"Thanks for driving out here so Conrad and I can have a night out," Heather said. "The security cameras are working and Conrad's getting the kids fed before we go, so just get them to bed at a decent hour and no horror movies."

"It's just food colouring," she protested, but with Heather's stern glance she nodded obediently. "Sorry, Ashy. No Moonlight Massacre tonight, after all."

Heather changed the subject before Ash could complain. "I'm sad you won't be in town when we're in Henford this weekend to meet River and Cass' new baby boy. Dad says you don't call home enough."

Hazel laughed. "Dad tells me you don't call enough! None of us could ever call home enough. River still lives there and Dad probably thinks he doesn't get to see enough of him, either."

"Missing out on Dad guilt tripping us to visit for a political conference in San Myshuno's pretty cool, though. Ash, that's enough game time. Conrad's almost finished making your dinner."

Ash moaned, but he turned off the computer and headed for the kitchen as Hazel picked up her niece for a cuddle in her unicorn onesie. "I'm kind of glad to be out of Henford for the night to get in time with Ashy and Lava. Has that weird old dude been a problem lately?"

Heather made sure Ash was out of earshot. "Not since the restraining order," she said, the relief on her face more than evident. "And you're stuck on those nicknames, huh? I thought nicknames were too corny for you."

"It's not my fault your kids are just as cool as volcanoes, big sis."

Heather grinned. Hazel, the baby of their family, could get away with anything and dripped charm to spare, but Heather could tell something was weighing on her mind. "Are you doing okay?"

Hazel took a deep breath, setting Lavender down before she moved to the sofa. "What made you realize you wanted to be single when we were in high school?"

Heather laughed. "It was just easier than having feelings. It's still easier than having feelings, but finding the right person is better. What's wrong?"

She frowned. "What if Nicola and I got married too young? We're different people than we were as teens. When her dad died of a heart attack a few months ago, it felt like I wasn't married to the same person anymore. I know she's grieving, but what if we didn't wait long enough into young adulthood to figure it all out?"

Heather could empathize with her sister's confusion over love and relationships. Not too long ago, Heather would have found it unthinkable to offer her siblings, of all people, relationship advice, but Conrad had shown her what great love could be.

"You know I've never been very flirty or romantic, and I held on to my relationship with Malcolm too long because I didn't think I deserved any better. I'd never recommend it, but I also know Nicola's not Malcolm Landgraab. If you trust her, you can tell her the truth."

Hazel nodded. "No, she's definitely not like Malcolm."

"If you're truly unhappy, don't force it because you think you're supposed to. But if you're asking me, I think it means there's still some fight in you to keep it together."

(Lovestruck's new relationship and chemistry features went after Hazel and her new wife, and I'm rolling with it to see what happens. I cheated their relationship back up a bit - as if what Heather said encouraged her to fight a little more - and we'll see how it goes with them.

The way I said that probably gave away what might happen but pfft you don't know!)

Grateful for her eldest sister's advice, Hazel turned her attention back to Lavender, while Heather joined Ash and Conrad in the kitchen.

"Tomorrow night we'll pack some things into your backpack for your weekend at your dad's," Heather said to her son. "He'll pick you up after school on Friday and take you to his place for the weekend."

"He'll probably send their driver like usual," he shrugged. "But Ray's cool."

"What do you mean, 'like usual?'"

Ash looked at her with confusion etched on his face. "Daddy's reporting til seven on the news every weeknight, Mommy!"

Heather stared at Conrad, wide-eyed. "He told me he does those hits pre-recorded."

"He always sends Ray, and Ray always takes me to get ice cream before we get to Daddy's penthouse. Why do you look pretend happy, Mommy? I love ice cream!"

"Your mom just hasn't met Ray, buddy."

"But Mommy, he's not a stranger. He's Ray!"

Heather plastered a smile, and Conrad reached under the table to caress her clenched fist. "I'll be at school on Friday afternoon when Ray's there to pick you up at three," she said. "If he's as nice as you say, I don't want him to be a stranger to me."

Ash smiled. "Okay, Mommy, that's a good a idea."

Heather felt constantly undermined by the Landgraabs. But there was little she could say without disappointing her son, and she didn't want bitterness to affect her night with Conrad. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Their date continues Monday but tomorrow there will be a bonus post inspired by @purplesimmer455! 👀

NOTE 2: Also noting, since this is an episode where nothing much seems to be happening, there are a few subtle hints in here, too, about how Conrad is on a pedestal, especially when Heather compares him to Malcolm, even though we all know he's keeping this massive secret from her, too.

[doink-boink]

Finally drew my interpretation of Zach's parents!

Have had these fellows in the works for a good while!

Really had to lock in when doing the writing here lol - my handwriting is normally a weird hyper mix between cursive and print. But messier. Hopefully its legible! Enjoy some more yapping about these guys below the cut >:D

Must mention this is within my own AU! My interpretation of Zach specifically is a trans man. So uh! No way in hell Arthur is supportive in that regard. He is a miserable man whose only concern is furthering the family business and his public image.

Really looked to both Moral Orel and Bojack Horseman as inspiration for how these two would be. Did not intend for Arthur to share a name with the character he is inspired by lol - but uhm! He specifically is like Arthur Puppington when Clay was a kid: Distant, cold, though not physically abusive. Emotionally? Oh brother, you bet.

Regarding Kim and Arthur's relationship, that was really dead in the water. Kim is a self published author, or rather, an ASPIRING self published author. She mostly writes crime novellas/dramas, though needed some outsider input regarding the legal side of her stories. So, of course, she decides to reach out to the biggest law firm in the area.

It is initially a short and sweet interaction: "I ask you questions, you give me answers and insight when you can." However, she grows to enjoy Arthur's company, falling for him quickly. VERY rushed marriage ensues! Good god! (Of course not ASAP, within a few months time of dating/correspondence) Not too certain as of right now where Zach comes into the mix, but definitely in that honeymoon stage of a relationship where you don't quite know the person yet to really gauge if things will work out or not.

I mean, things absolutely do NOT work out in the end, but they don't know that yet. Arthur I feel is the type to want a family ASAP. Need that sweet sweet heir to the company. Will accept nothing less than a son. Sucks for him, doesn't end up coming to fruition until much later! AFAB child, disappointment on Arthur's behalf, compassion on Kim's. Like a night and day difference - even after Zach does eventually transition (his mother is deceased by this point) his father refuses to accept it until he dies. By until I mean: "You still are not my son." *flatline*

Kim was there for Zach until the day she died, which would probably be around late middle school to early highschool? In that age range. Old enough to have fond and in depth memories. Which! Arthur is the one who discovers what had happened. Busy writing a novel when wham, sudden cardiac arrest - alone, as she tended to keep to herself. Entire family dynamic changes from then onward, though the abusive aspects of it were ever present. Arthur is generally unsupportive of Zach's endeavors, frustrated that he is going into science and robotics as opposed to law. (Though I do think he'd have been trained or prepped for a career as a lawyer throughout his teens-adolescence)

Zach is the closest to his mother, with most of his fashion sense coming from her. Gotta love the turtleneck sweater! @novazentryx came up with the idea that he inherited his early black sweater from Tazzy Chris from her after it shrunk in the wash, loved that so y'know what! This totally applies here. Not only did he inherit the sweater, but also her V-necklace! (Which, if you have seen Zoey, is where she gets it from! As well as she looks strikingly similar to Kim. On that front I think that was a surprise from Aviva, knowing how close he was to her)

Spitballing with this one, but I think it would be interesting if Zach had assisted in pitching ideas for Kim's stories! What aspects of it I do not know, but maybe names for the characters. Mayhaps that is where he gets ZACH from? Don't ask what his deadname is, haven't thought of that and would prefer not to lol

I think that concludes my rambling! Do not really have anything else that is coming to mind at the moment, so feel free to ask questions or leave suggestions about these two! I will more than likely respond ^^ (To asks or replies) Thank you for humoring me and reading all of this if you're here lol, I really appreciate it!!

[nora12379]

Make Me Lose Control — Part 1

SUMMARY: Park Sunghoon, a boxer with a difficult career, devotes his life to fights that leave marks on his body as well as his soul. His neighbor, Y/n, a nurse with a big heart, then becomes a pillar in his existence. After each match, she welcomes him to heal his wounds and lighten, even briefly, the weight of his solitude. Over the course of the care, a discreet bond develops between them, hinting at the possibility of a relationship that could turn their lives upside down.

PAIRING : Park Sunghoon x Neighbor Nurse! Reader.

GENRE : Romance, Drama, Psychological Darkness, Slice of Life, Erotica.

WARNING : Graphic violence (brutal fighting with detailed descriptions of open wounds, broken bones, torn muscles, and profuse bleeding), self-harm (through Sunghoon's repeated injuries and the physical toll on his body), intense and chronic physical pain, use of violence as an escape from his inner demons, physical and psychological abuse (emotional manipulation, constant belittling), humiliation by opponents and in combat settings, physical assault in tense situations, psychological trauma related to experiences of violence, fits of rage and self-destructive violent outbursts, threats of violence in interpersonal relationships, clandestine fights with serious injuries and fatal consequences, injuries resulting from violent accidents, emotional and physical shock leading to self-destructive behavior, scenes of invasive and painful medical care that exacerbates suffering, emotional suffering related to addiction to violence, and Sunghoon's internal struggles with his inability to escape his violent past.

SEX WARNING: Vaginal sex, oral sex, no protection, explicit and rough sex, sex after fights with bodies covered in blood, power play and domination, BDSM (binding, spanking, and other practices), exploration of dark fantasies, wild sex with screams of pleasure and pain, intense and aggressive foreplay, passionate kissing on wounds, sex in inappropriate places (like a doctor's office), use of medical equipment (like gloves or bandages) in sexual contexts, feverish embraces after fights, role play where Y/n takes control, mutual masturbation with explicit encouragement, consuming desires and physical obsession, dirty talk during intimacy, fantasies of care mixed with elements of dominance and submission, injured bodies explored in an erotic way, sex toys used to intensify the experience, ejaculation on wounds as a symbol of possession, and provocative and obscene verbal exchanges during the act.

Number of words : ~34k

Author’s Note: I would like to clarify that I don’t have much knowledge about nursing, medicine, or boxing, and I’m not familiar with what really happens in the ring. I mainly relied on my imagination and Google research to write this story. I apologize if there are any inaccuracies. Additionally, this story will be divided into two parts as it’s too long to explore everything I have in mind.

Happy reading!Not proofread, sorry for the mistakes!

The darkness fills the living room as you lie on the couch, half-sleepy, half-conscious. The voices of the characters from Gossip Girl echo faintly from the television, a monotonous murmur that accompanies your solitude. It's just background noise, something to fill the emptiness around you, but you know that deep down, this oppressive silence weighs on you. Your thoughts wander, get lost in the silence of the night, like waves of despair washing up on a deserted beach. Melancholy envelops you, a dark blanket that you don't want to leave.

Suddenly, the shrill sound of the doorbell breaks the silence. Your heart skips a beat. You jump, your eyes open with difficulty, still heavy with sleep. For a moment, you remain frozen, slowly emerging from your torpor. The seconds stretch out, leaving you prey to an inexplicable anxiety. Who could possibly be disturbing you at this late hour? The television continues to play in the background, but your mind is elsewhere, fixed on this unexpected presence behind the door.

Still half asleep, you stand up, your bare feet brushing the cold floor, a shiver running through your body. Without thinking, without even thinking to check, you remove the security chain and open the door. As soon as it opens, you find yourself face to face with him—Park Sunghoon, your neighbor. But he is no longer the same as the last time you saw him. He is not the charming young man, always smiling and somewhat mysterious. Tonight, he is another man, both captivating and terrifying.

He stands there, swaying in a state that almost makes you recoil. One eye is swollen shut, a purplish blue betraying a violent blow, hiding his usually piercing gaze. Welts of blows streak his face, scrapes and bruises mark his jaw and neck. A clenched hand covers his side, and his ragged breathing reveals the effort it takes to stay upright. Despite everything, he tries to smile, but it is a distorted smile, a heartbreaking reflection of the pain he is trying so desperately to hide.

You stand still, caught between worry and confusion. Heart pounding, you slowly move closer, your hands naturally finding their place on his shoulders to help him steady himself. Beneath your fingers, you feel the warmth of his skin, the tension of his tense muscles. He leans weakly against you, an almost crushing weight, a silent testament to the pain tearing through him. Instinctively, you bring him inside, placing a firm hand on his bruised shoulder to give him a point of support, and you feel another warmth: that of the blood, still fresh, soaking his clothes.

In the dimly lit living room, every second drags on, amplifying the tension. The contrast between his state and your comforting surroundings is brutal. You gently lead him to the couch, guiding him carefully, your heart pounding. Each of his steps is a silent struggle, and Sunghoon tenses with each movement, making you feel each pain as if it were your own. You say nothing. Your thoughts swirl like a storm in your head, but you push them away, locking them behind a forced calm. Once he is seated, you lean down to take a closer look at the extent of his injuries.

He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, as if to contain the pain that invades him. You scrutinize his face, detailing each bruise, each scratch, a landscape ravaged by violence. There is something tragic in his vulnerability, a dark beauty that touches you deeply. The sight of his injuries tightens your throat, and yet, you remain strangely calm, almost professional, like a nurse facing a seriously injured patient.

“What happened, Sunghoon?” you ask in a low voice, your words heavy with a worry that you no longer even try to hide. He looks up at you, a look that is both defiant and broken, a struggle between pride and pain. His lips, swollen and cracked, sketch a bitter smile, a fragile mask that trembles under the weight of the truth.

“A fight,” he whispers, his voice rough and raspy. “It was a fight… The other guy was… like a beast. He wouldn’t back down from anything.” His attempt at a laugh turns into a pained grimace, and you see his face twist in pain. Every word he says is a stab to your heart.

You nod, hiding the pain that washes over you. “And you win, I guess,” you say, a forced smile briefly lighting up your face. But behind that facade, your heart clenches, a dull ache gripping you. The air in the room becomes stifling, charged with palpable tension.

Sunghoon answers with a simple nod, trying to keep his gaze fixed on you. You get up to go get your first aid kit, the need to treat him overriding the anxiety that eats away at you. Coming back, you position yourself in front of him, your gestures precise and controlled. With cleaned and gloved hands, you begin by inspecting his jaw, barely brushing it, fearing to inflict more pain on him. His eye, tired but intense, remains fixed on you, and you see a glimmer of vulnerability mixed with an undeniable strength. He does not take his eyes off you, as if he is looking for an anchor in your presence, a promise of safety in this chaos.

“It’s not broken,” you finally say reassuringly, stopping yourself from letting out a sigh of relief. His features soften a little, but you can tell his pride is hurt as much as his body. “I’m proud of you,” you whisper, gently stroking his hair, a spontaneous gesture you can’t explain. You feel his shoulders relax slightly, a moan escaping his lips, a mixture of pain and relief. It’s as if, in this touch, he finds an unexpected redemption.

When he opens his eye again, you feel an almost burning intensity in his gaze, a dark and troubled glow that makes you shiver. It's an intimacy you've never shared before, an unsettling connection that seems to bind you by invisible threads.

“But… I don’t like seeing you like this,” you say again, your voice trembling, almost broken. “You don’t deserve to be in this state for… what, a fight?” The words, laced with anger and pain, come out more bitter than you’d like. It’s unfair, this suffering he’s enduring, and your voice trembles under the weight of emotion.

He looks down, his battered fists clenching, his cracked knuckles dripping with blood. “I know…” he whispers, his voice barely audible, choked with shame he struggles to contain. “I didn’t want you to see me like this… I’m sorry, Y/n… so sorry.” A lone tear slowly rolls down his cheek, and you watch his expression fall as he sniffles and grimaces, realizing that his nose, swollen and bruised, hurts as well.

You step closer, placing a gentle but firm hand on his face, your thumb brushing gingerly over his nose. You know you have to put him back in place, and the thought makes you hesitate, a mixture of fear and desire washing over you. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the painful task ahead, and the ordeal he'll have to endure. 

He stares at you, his eyes filled with trust and determination, as if he accepts whatever you are going to inflict on him, willing to endure it as long as you are by his side. The intimacy of this moment, this fusion of anguish and desire, makes you understand that this night could change everything you think you know about him… and about yourself.

“This is going to hurt,” you whisper softly, your voice trembling with apprehension as your latex-gloved hands cup either side of his broken nose. The heat of his body, sweat-soaked and strained by exertion, mixes with the acrid smell of blood that permeates the air. The dim lighting of the room accentuates every feature of his face, emphasizing the deep circles that are a testament to his sleepless nights. “Sorry…” you continue, your words barely audible but filled with genuine empathy.

Your gaze locks on him, observing his face contorted with pain, and you offer him a soothing smile, though grief tightens your chest. “I’m going to have to press pretty hard.” But your smile breaks as you see the fear flash through his eye. You’ve never been faced with such an intensity of pain before. Without waiting any longer, you press your thumb and index finger against his nose, applying a measured force. The crack echoes through the air, a mournful sound that makes you shudder.

Sunghoon grits his teeth, biting his swollen lips to stifle the moans that threaten to escape. Every muscle in his face tenses, his features contorted in pain. Beads of sweat bead on his forehead, a mixture of pain and concentration, as you realign his nose, gradually bringing it back out of the desolation. When you release the pressure, you see a flicker in his eyes, a spark of defiance, as if he wants to prove to you that he is stronger than the pain.

Your gaze lingers on his eyes, and a lump forms in your throat. Silent tears fall from his good eye, tracing a painful path down his cheek. The sight of his grief pierces you like an arrow. “I’m… so sorry, Sunghoon,” you say, your voice trembling, feeling your own tears threaten to overflow. You never wanted to cause this much pain, even out of necessity.

“Hey… I’m tough, I can take it,” he whispers, his voice betraying a fragile bravado. He raises a wounded hand to wipe the tears from his cheek, like a warrior refusing to bend. The contrast is poignant: his physical strength is eroded by raw vulnerability. “Look… it’s just a scratch! I’m a boxer… not a weak man.” His forced smile is a rictus, a mask that tries to hide the pain that eats away at him.

Your tears fall harder in response to his desperate bravado. “Don’t say that…” you say, your voice cracking with emotion. “You’re more than that. You… you’re human.” You see his gaze harden for a moment, a flame of pride flickering in the darkness of his despair. He doesn’t want to be seen as weak, and yet here he is, broken, in front of you.

“Y/n, please don’t cry… I’m not worth it,” Sunghoon whispers, his desperation weaving a web between you. He leans forward, a fragile movement, wincing at the pain of his fractured ribs. Still, he manages to capture your face in his bloodied hands, a gesture that awakens something deeply instinctive within you. “Your tears…” he says, his voice a mixture of sweetness and pain, “are too precious to be wasted on me.”

Tears continue to fall from his eye, but he struggles to hold them back, as if showing his pain is a betrayal. His sobs echo, weak but persistent, and you see the fierce struggle on his face as he tries to control his emotions. “I’m so not worth it… Princess… I’m done for,” his words escape between breaths, heavy with regret. “That’s why no one stays with me for too long… I know I’ll lose you eventually… too.”

The words fall like stones, an immense weight in the already tense air. You witness his distress, and your own pain awakens, the incomprehension of his sacrifice and his grief breaking your heart. “Don’t say that, Sunghoon. I’m here… and I plan to stay, even if it hurts.”

Sunghoon closes his eye, and you see his breath quicken, a dull panic emerging. His hands clench on his bloody t-shirt, searching for a hold, an anchor in this storm that is carrying him away. The sounds of his rapid breathing become more and more disturbing, and you realize that he is in the throes of a panic attack, the anxiety gripping him with a devastating force.

Without thinking, you step closer, taking his bloodied hands in yours, seeking to offer him an anchor in this storm of pain and chaos. “Look at me, Sunghoon. Breathe with me,” you say, your voice both firm and gentle, breaking through the fog of his fear. You make eye contact, seeking to capture his attention, to draw him away from the shadows that haunt him.

“Breathe in… and out,” you say slowly, matching your breathing with his. You see the struggle on his face, a struggle between fear and the desire to hold on to that glimmer of hope. With each breath, you see the panic evaporate a little, replaced by a fragile but persistent lucidity. “I’m here… we’ll get through this together,” you promise, your words acting like a silk thread weaving a connection between your tormented souls.

His hands are still shaking, but his grip on yours is getting tighter, and you know he’s trying. “I’m here for you, Sunghoon. I’m not going to leave, no matter how much it hurts.” The heavy silence between you is filled with palpable tension, a silent promise of loyalty in a world falling apart. His gaze sinks into yours, searching for meaning in this moment of shared chaos. You feel overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes, by the raw vulnerability that connects you inexplicably. He sighs softly, his forehead resting against yours, in an unsettling proximity where pain and comfort intertwine.

You slowly move away from him, an almost imperceptible smile forming on your lips, but behind this facade hides a dull pain, an unacknowledged fascination that consumes you little by little. Sunghoon's gaze, a heartbreaking mixture of despair and impassivity, fixes on you. A soft moan escapes his lips, a sound that resonates like a tragic melody, illustrating a vulnerability that he struggles to hide. As a boxer, this image of weakness touches you in an unexpected way, a crack in his fighter's armor that makes something vibrate inside you.

Kneeling before Sunghoon, you are overwhelmed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Heart pounding, you carefully lift his t-shirt, revealing a muscular but bruised torso, a landscape devastated by blows. The bruises spread across his skin like shards of dark paint, stains of purple, blue, and black testifying to the fierce battles he has fought. Each blow received leaves an imprint on his flesh, and you shudder at the extent of the damage, a mixture of admiration and sorrow that invades you. Your fingers slide over his skin, hesitant, and you feel a shiver run through his body, a reaction that is not only due to the freshness of the air, but also to the touch of your hand. It is as if your touch awakens something primal in him, a survival instinct mixed with a heartbreaking vulnerability.

As you begin to examine his ribs, you see his face contort in pain. A thrill of excitement washes over you as you see his suffering, and when your light touch elicits no reaction, relief washes over you. But with each harder squeeze, he groans, a guttural sound, a desperate cry that echoes through the room like a silent plea. It’s a symphony of pain and defiance, and you can’t help but be drawn to the duality.

"It's just swelling, nothing serious, but I'm going to give you some antibiotics to help with the pain. You have to take it all, Mr. Park!" you say in a commanding voice, almost amused, but deep down, you wonder if these words are really for him or to convince yourself that everything will be fine.

His face tightens at the thought of taking medication, a pout of disgust forming on his features. A light laugh escapes your mouth, a sound that contrasts with the gravity of the situation, breaking the ice and easing the tension. But inside, you struggle with conflicting emotions. You want to protect him, but this urge to touch him, to see him suffer and fight against the pain, deeply troubles you.

“But first, I’m going to disinfect your bruises and scratches,” you say, preparing yourself for a painful act, a gesture that goes beyond simple medical care, an intrusion into his intimate space.

You grab a gauze, soak it in alcohol, and the strong scent of disinfectant invades your nostrils, a pungent and familiar scent that evokes treatment rooms where blood and sweat mingle. You stand up slightly, leaning towards Sunghoon, your eyes deep into his, where a spark of defiance flickers. This moment becomes a cocoon, a closed universe where each beat of his heart resonates like a drum, each sigh resonating deeply. As you prepare to tap the gauze on his wounds, you give him a small smile, but you know that the pain is inevitable. His muscles tense, every fiber of his body clenched with anticipation.

“This is going to hurt,” you whisper, your voice tinged with an almost unsettling intimacy. Looking into his eyes, you see the storm raging inside him: the physical pain, the humiliation of his situation, but also something deeper, a desire for connection, a cry for help disguised as defiance. The shared gaze becomes a silent exchange, an unspoken promise of something darker that binds you, an attraction to the chaos you create together.

The first touches are both gentle and violent, a delicate balance between care and pain. He winces at each touch, his face betraying the pain, but there is also a glimmer of defiance, a fierce determination not to give in to weakness. In his gaze, you perceive a mixture of frustration and desire, an inner struggle that captivates you. Each harder pressure on a bruise fills you with a shiver, a palpable tension between you, a macabre dance of conflicting emotions that seems to transcend words.

As you continue to disinfect his wounds, each tap becomes more intense, charged with palpable emotion. He grits his teeth, and you can almost hear the beating of his heart, resonating like a drum in the silence. The pain that seeps into the air becomes a form of communication, an unspoken connection between you. You feel the attraction building, a burning desire enveloping the atmosphere, an electric tension vibrating through every fiber of your being. In each grimace, you sense a mixture of pain and pleasure, and you wonder if, behind that warrior facade, he also feels an attraction to this shared moment.

The silence is heavy, saturated with an unbearable tension. When you finish disinfecting his wounds, you step back slightly, observing the marks you left. The look he gives you is charged with an indefinable intensity, a deep connection you hadn't anticipated. His dark eyes, usually impassive, sparkle with admiration mixed with pain, a complex tangle of emotions that you have trouble deciphering.

But you know that the next step requires even more attention, precision and care. You have to wrap him up, get even closer to him, to his body. The contact is inevitable, the proximity almost unbearable. You take a deep breath and slowly open the box of bandages, amplifying each movement, each gesture, as if to make this step even more intimate.

“Now I’m going to bandage you,” you whisper, your voice low, almost caressing. Those simple words carry something more, a silent promise, an invitation to let yourself into his world, a world where the pain is made a little softer by your touch. You step closer to him, your hands shaking slightly, but it’s not nervousness. It’s the effect of the excitement this particular moment brings you. You slowly unroll the bandage, the rough texture of the fabric sliding between your fingers, and prepare to begin.

The first place you place the bandage is his right shoulder. His body is tense under your hands, and you can feel the heat of his skin, marked by blows. You approach slowly, wrapping the bandage around his arm, making sure it is snug, but not too tight. The contact of your body against his is inevitable, and you can feel the tension in every fiber of his muscles. Each pass of your finger against his skin makes him shudder, a shudder that betrays his resistance to the pain, but also to the intimacy of this moment. The softness of your touch contrasts with the brutality of the blows he has received, and you feel something primitive awaken between you with each wrap of the bandage.

You slide the bandage over with an almost unbearable slowness, making sure to cover every inch of his skin where still visible bruises testify to the battles he has fought. The bandage hugs his shape, wrapping around his shoulder, then down to his bicep, your gaze fixed on the dark skin marked with bruises. With each new turn, you move a little closer to him, your body brushing his. He says nothing, but you know he is fully aware of your presence, of your touch. You see his muscles tense and relax with each movement, and you wonder if he is fighting against this pain or against the attraction you arouse in him.

When you finish applying the bandage around his shoulder, you look up and meet his gaze. He is impassive, but his tight lips, the slight trembling of his jaw betray a certain emotion, a resistance that he does not want to let show. You know that he wants to show you that he is strong, but you feel beneath his surface the broken, vulnerable man who fights with everything he has not to succumb to this intimacy that you offer him without saying anything.

You prepare to move down to his chest. With calculated slowness, you take another bandage, and unroll it under your fingers. The first part is easy, a simple wrap around his chest, but with each stroke of your wrist, you brush the skin marked by the blows, and you see a shiver of pain cross his muscles. The skin of his chest is still marked by the shrapnel of the fights he has endured. Each bruise is a painting, an illustration of his struggle. As you apply the bandage to his ribs, you feel the tension in his breathing. With each pass, you go a little lower, following the curve of his chest, and your hands brush areas of his body that he normally keeps secret, protected. You feel his muscles quiver under your touch, and you know that you are going beyond simple medical care. It is an intrusion into his space, an intimate penetration that destabilizes him, but he does not let himself go.

Wrapping the bandage around his torso becomes an almost ceremonial act. He lets you do it, but you know he’s fighting the urge to push you away and be harder. Still, his eyes don’t leave you, and you see a spark of defiance mixed with a fragility he doesn’t usually show.

Then you move on to his wrists. The wounds on his hands are deep, deeper than he lets on. You sigh inwardly, gently touching his palms, brushing against the still-red scratches. He stops himself from wincing, but you see the effort he makes to remain stoic. With measured slowness, you take the bandages, wrapping them around his wrists one after the other, applying moderate pressure to support his wounds without causing additional pain. Your fingers brush his with each pass of the bandage, an intimate, almost sensual gesture, like a silent promise. The bandages around his wrists are a way to contain this violence, this broken energy, and to embrace it in the softness of your gestures.

Each pass of the bandage on his wrists seems to reduce the distance between the two of you. Each wrap is more than a gesture of care, it becomes a signature of intimacy, an invisible thread that binds you closer. And when you finish tightening the last turn of bandage around his wrists, you leave a moment of silence between you, a suspended moment where only the sound of his slow breathing resonates. He looks at you, and for the first time, his eyes seem to tell you that he accepts what you are doing, even if he doesn't show it entirely.

Your gaze travels over his body, settling on every bandage you’ve applied, every wound you’ve carefully tended. He’s there, sitting in front of you, exposed, vulnerable, and yet his gaze is that of a predator. This duality, this underlying violence, hits you. A struggle between accepting his fragility and the need to maintain control, to defy you.

Slowly, almost without thinking, your hand settles on his chest, following the contours of his muscles under the skin, each line marking the blows he has taken, each curve of his scars resonating like an echo of his fights. As your fingers slide, you feel trapped in a strange fascination, an almost unhealthy need to feel this pain he endures, to immerse yourself in this suffering that seems to be his, to see how far he is willing to go.

“Does it still hurt?” you whisper, your voice soft but filled with a surprising intensity. It’s not just a question; there’s something darker, more insidious beneath the words, as if you’re trying to discover the limits of his endurance, to understand what he feels in front of you, in front of this contact so close, so intimate.

His gaze, which hasn’t left yours, darkens further. He remains silent, but the slight twitch of his muscles under your hand is an answer in itself. Slowly, his lips stretch into a wry smile, a smirk that carries as much defiance as desire, as if daring you to continue, to test how far you’d be willing to go. His voice, hoarse, barely a whisper, infiltrates the heavy air between you, each word laden with innuendo.

“Pain is nothing. But you… you are more dangerous than any wound.”

These words hit you, paralyze you for a moment. Sunghoon knows exactly the effect he has, and this power play tinged with seduction and darkness fascinates you as much as it destabilizes you. You have crossed an invisible threshold, a point of no return where everything becomes possible, where every gesture, every look becomes a weapon, a means of control that you silently dispute.

Without you really being able to control it, your hand slowly descends along his torso, your fingers tracing invisible lines on his bruised skin. It is no longer a simple gesture of care; it is something more intense, darker. You feel his breathing quicken, his gaze become more piercing, more intense, and a shiver runs through his body, betraying the mixture of pain and pleasure that he seems to feel under your touch. This proximity, this tension, makes you feel like you are playing with fire, exploring a dangerous and forbidden zone where suffering and desire mingle, where the boundaries between pleasure and pain dissolve.

“Maybe you like it, the pain,” you breathe with a provocative smile, your words wrapping around him like a poisoned caress. Your voice is soft, almost innocent, but the look you give Sunghoon is anything but. It’s no longer a question, it’s a challenge, as if you want to see how far he’s willing to go, how far this dark fascination could take you.

Sunghoon stares at you, his eyes burning with a feral glint. You can feel him holding back, fighting something inside him, a part he’s trying to stifle. His hand comes up and traps yours on his chest, his fingers squeezing yours with a force that electrifies you. It’s a possessive gesture, almost brutal, but you don’t move. Instead, you move closer to him, so close that your faces brush, feeling the heat of his breath against your skin, your heart beating so hard it feels like it’s about to explode.

“Maybe so,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, his breath hot against your face. His words are a confession, a painful admission, as if he’s giving you a part of himself he’s never shown anyone. His fingers tighten a little around your hand, his grip almost desperate, as if he wants to make sure you’re really there, that this tension between you is real.

At that moment, you feel like everything is changing.

Your heart races, resonating like a drum in your chest, amplifying the tension that binds you. The air is charged with a palpable energy, an electric current that draws you in despite the pain that eats away at Sunghoon. The darkness of his wounds is not limited to his flesh; it encompasses his soul, and something in you awakens, an unhealthy curiosity, an insatiable desire to touch him, to understand him, to reach him in his depth.

You let yourself be carried away by this impulse, this irrepressible attraction that pushes you to get closer, to cross this limit that you have maintained until now. With measured slowness, you lean towards him, your face brushing his neck, the heat of his body mixed with the musky smell of sweat and dried blood. Each breath becomes a delicate dance, each beat of your heart resonating in the heavy silence of the room.

Your voice, low and vibrant, slides between you, each word wrapping around him like a silk thread, delicate but inexorable: “Maybe you need this… maybe you need someone to make you feel something real, something raw, something painful.”

Those words, laden with a murky promise, hang in the air, seeping into Sunghoon like a bittersweet poison. You watch his reactions, the shiver that runs through his body, the way his muscles tense under your proximity, revealing the extent of the effect you have on him. He closes his eyes for a moment, as if to savor the impact of your voice, to let your proposition penetrate his mind, awakening that part of him he desperately seeks to stifle.

When he opens his eyes again, his gaze is even darker, almost bestial, broken but overflowing with buried desires. Sunghoon lets out a whisper, each word heavy and almost desperate: “I don’t need someone… I need you.”

These words hit like a shockwave, a statement that resonates deep within you, leaving you frozen in this unsettling proximity where silence seems to burn with a thousand unsaid things. A spark is created, a moment suspended in time where everything seems possible, where every breath, every beat of his heart is intertwined with yours.

Your mind ignites with a dark and tempting melody, that of an unspoken desire, an irresistible urge to dive deeper into the abysses of his being. You move forward slightly, your nose brushing the burning skin of his neck, and you smell his scent, a mixture of adrenaline, pain and wild virility that consumes you. Your heart races even faster, and you realize that you are crossing a threshold, that of vulnerability and pleasure.

The acrid smell of dried blood on his neck, mixed with that of his sweat and the leather, creates a palpable, almost hypnotic atmosphere. Every beat of your heart resonates like a drum, every panting breath of his seems to synchronize with the dark melody you compose together. You are spellbound by this proximity, by the raw vulnerability that emanates from him, but also by the danger of this moment. It is as if you are dancing on a tightrope stretched over an abyss, one wrong step and everything could change.

His hand, still held captive by yours, tightens even more, and you feel the tension intensifying, almost palpable, between you. His fingers are chains that are both restrictive and comforting, and you wonder if you could free yourself if you really wanted to. The thought, a mixture of anxiety and excitement, makes you shudder. In his gaze, you perceive a dark promise, that of a shared desire but also of submission.

“I need you,” he repeats, his raspy voice weaving invisible threads between your souls, tugging at the strings of your consciousness, awakening a buried desire you’d never dared explore. You feel a shiver run down your spine, a heat rising inside you, irresistible, almost like a call to rebel against your own caution. What he offers is more than just a need; it’s a cry from the heart, a desperate confession that touches you at the very core of your being.

For a moment, you weigh the weight of his words, and the intensity of that moment freezes you, pins you to the ground. What does this mean? What does he really want from you? You realize that this dynamic between you, this play of power and desire, is intertwined in a spiral of sensations you have never known. It frightens you and attracts you at the same time, an internal struggle that echoes the wounds he carries.

You want to answer his call, to lean into Sunghoon, to explore the darkness that draws you together. But instead, you choose to play with that thread of tension, to tease him, to urge him to go further. “Do you really think you need me?” you ask, your voice slithering like a snake, soft but charged with deliberate provocation. “What if I bring you more than you can handle?”

The effect of your words is immediate. A shiver of defiance runs through his body, and you see his eyes light up with a feral glint, as if your question has opened a door to an abyss he is ready to explore. “I yearn for this,” he murmurs, his voice almost a growl, revealing a depth of desire that you begin to understand, to apprehend.

And then, without thinking any further, you lean down, your breath mingling with his, the heat of your body clashing with his. You brush your lips against his skin, a delicate kiss that quickly turns into something much more insistent, more desperate. You feel his muscles tense under your touch, his breathing become more erratic, and each movement you make brings you a little closer to the precipice, a little closer to this obscene desire that is emerging between you.

“You’re already breaking me,” Sunghoon says, his voice a mixture of pain and ecstasy, and in that moment, you realize that you’ve never had this much power over someone. It’s an unsettling, almost intoxicating feeling, to be the one guiding this dark dance between pain and pleasure. The fact that he’s here, at your mercy, aroused by every kiss, every brush, makes you realize that you’ve crossed a line from which there’s no return.

“So show me,” you say, your voice a whisper, an invitation, a challenge, and you know that no matter what path it takes, you’re ready to dive into that darkness with him.

Sunghoon leans towards you with deliberate slowness, each step echoing like a heartbeat in the tension-filled atmosphere. His gaze, both hot and possessive, fixes on your lips, and you can almost feel the static electricity between you, an invisible thread connecting you in this darkness. The air is heavy with unspoken promises, an atmosphere charged with a wild desire that just begs to be released.

When his lips brush yours, it's as if a spark has been lit. This first contact is delicate, almost timid, but it is already charged with a palpable intensity. You feel your heart accelerate as the softness of his lips kisses you with an unexpected tenderness, making you shudder. His hands, strong and assured, slide slowly into your hair, mixing movements of softness and domination, as if he were trying to anchor you in this moment, to make you understand that you belong to him now.

He tilts your head slightly to the side, a calculated gesture that opens you up to him further, and you feel vulnerable, but in a deliciously arousing way. Sunghoon takes his time to explore this budding connection, his tongue slowly making its way between your parted lips, seeking to discover you, to learn you like an artist observing his masterpiece. When his tongue touches yours, it’s a shock, a fusion of burning desires. His gentleness gradually turns into a pressing insistence, and you feel a wave of heat rising inside you.

There’s a dance in your movements, an exchange where he teases you, his tongue brushing yours with a defiant delicacy, then pulling back slightly, as if he’s toying with your impatience. You feel him move even closer, his lips pressing against yours with increased intensity. The passion you’d only touched on before becomes all-consuming, slowly consuming you. You open your mouth a little wider, inviting his tongue to venture further, to explore this forbidden territory you share.

Sunghoon, not needing to be asked twice, slides his tongue against yours with more confidence, each movement creating waves of sensations that envelop you. His tongue intertwines with yours in a sensual choreography, the contact becoming bolder, more urgent. You feel your breath quicken, panting softly with each thrust of his tongue, each caress of his lips. He sinks deeper, savoring the intimacy of this moment, as if he wants to possess you entirely, to suck you into his dark world.

Your breathing becomes ragged, a mixture of desire and anxiety. You are aware of the power of this kiss, of how it pushes you to abandon all restraint. Sunghoon’s fingers slide from your hair to the nape of your neck, caressing your skin with a tenderness that contrasts with the intensity of his kiss. His hand, soft but firm, acts like a chain, holding you captive to his desire. The touch of his fingers against your neck sends shivers down your spine, and you feel every beat of your heart echo in your ears.

As the kiss deepens, Sunghoon becomes more dominant. He takes control, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth, every movement a declaration of his will. The sounds you make are melodies of pleasure and submission, a symphony that encourages him to go even further. His lips move with such fiery passion that they seem to burn your skin, marking you with his imprint.

The dynamic between you becomes more complex, a power play where you are both the object of his desire and the source of his torment. You feel the passion, the need to get closer, to melt into each other, while a part of you resists, aware of the vertigo that this moment can engender. Yet, the darkness of his intentions and the intensity of his desire remind you of how vulnerable you are to him.

The kiss takes a wilder turn, his tongue searching your mouth with a brutal fervor, as if he were trying to tear something hidden deep inside you. You let yourself be carried away, lost in this ocean of sensations where pain and pleasure mix, where each caress is both sweet and devastating. Your heartbeat accelerates, the rhythm of your dance intensifying with each second.

Every time his lips break away from yours, you shudder in anticipation, each sigh a plea to find him again, to plunge back into the darkness that envelops you. He doesn’t leave you without contact for long, returning to the charge with renewed fervor, his tongue seeking to remind you of how much you are his. Sunghoon seems to enjoy your response, each gasp, each shiver of your body revealing to him the extent of his power over you.

As the kiss deepens, the outside world slowly blurs. Everyday worries, fears, doubts fade into the darkness of this connection, and you feel free, but at the same time trapped in this whirlwind of emotions. You are both a lover and a prey, and this duality makes you tremble with pleasure.

Sunghoon, in all his complexity, becomes both your refuge and your ruin. In that dark, obscene kiss, you share more than lips: you reveal yourself, your souls touching in a dance of light and shadow, desire and fear. It’s an exploration of boundaries, a journey into the depths of what it means to love in the dark, and you realize, with a consuming intensity, that this is just the beginning of a journey that will mark you forever.

When Sunghoon finally pulls away from you, his burning face is lit up with a deep red hue, revealing how intense, almost unreal, the exchange has been. His lips, now swollen and shiny, still bear the mark of your kiss, and his breath, irregular and panting, betrays the ardor of his unquenchable desires. His eyes, dark and deep, scrutinize you with a devouring intensity, as if he were trying to pierce the secrets of your soul. The air between you is charged with electricity, each breath interrupted by sighs of anticipation and desire.

He keeps one hand anchored to your waist, his warm, possessive touch calling you back to him as his heart beats at a frantic pace, synchronizing with yours. His chest rises and falls with a wild intensity, a chaotic rhythm that vibrates the air around you. You’re completely lost in ecstasy, eyes hazy with desire as every inch of your skin ignites under his touch, each brush making you shudder with pleasure.

Your hand slides slowly down his shoulder, desperate to catch your breath, but he doesn't take his eyes off you, a feral glint lighting up his expression. "You're so pretty, princess," he whispers, his voice husky, almost a growl, "but I need more... so much more." The words resonate through you like a haunting melody, awakening a burning, desperate desire to be his entirely, to experience every nuance of his passion.

His fingers slide along your waist, slowly descending to your hips, where he grips your flesh firmly, as if he wants to make sure you belong to him entirely. He pushes you gently, but with possessive determination, onto the couch, settling you into his spot as he kneels in front of you. In that moment, the outside world disappears, and only this intimate bubble between the two of you exists, saturated with desire and palpable tension. Ignoring the pain that can habituate him, his only concern is your presence, the remedy he desperately needs. “Be my medicine… I need you so much,” he murmurs, his gaze locked with yours, and you know he’s talking about more than just your body. He wants an escape, a refuge, and you are that light in his darkness.

He plays with the elastic of your pajamas, lifting them slightly, a gesture both tender and provocative. His fingers linger on your skin, each movement a caress that makes your body vibrate with desire. You lift your hips to help him remove your garment, your heart beating wildly, the thrill of anticipation invading you entirely. When he removes your panties, his eyes shine with a devouring greed, and you can see the raw passion that drives him. “Don’t hide my view, Y/n, I want to see everything… of you.” His voice is a hungry whisper, and as he spreads your thigh, he discovers your nakedness with an almost pathological admiration, his eyes lingering on every curve of your body.

“That’s the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, princess,” he murmurs, his gaze piercing and burning. His hot breath caresses your skin, and you shudder at every touch, feeling utterly vulnerable under his hungry gaze. The tension builds, and you’re suspended between apprehension and excitement, each second stretching out in unbearable anticipation. When his tongue darts out, first caressing the tender skin of your thighs, a shiver of intense pleasure runs through you, and you can’t help but moan softly. Sunghoon savors every movement, his gaze fixed on you, watching with perverse satisfaction the effect he has on your body.

He moves up slowly, his tongue skimming your skin with delicious lightness, each touch making you tingle with anticipation. When he finally reaches the warmth of your intimacy, a shiver of pleasure washes over you, as if an electric current were running through your body. Sunghoon kisses your pussy softly, his warm lips wrapping around you, and you let out a moan, a melody of pleasure and desperation. He savors the wetness that slides over his lips, tasting the arousal that overflows from you. His tongue slowly comes out, sliding over your skin, licking with exquisite care, each movement calculated to make you shudder. You are intoxicated, completely captured by this sensation.

As he continues, you feel a growing heat inside you. The shiver that invades you is both delicious and unbearable. Sunghoon knows exactly how to control you, each gesture being both tender and cruel. He spreads his tongue, licking slowly along your pussy, tracing circles, each pass of his tongue drawing a louder moan from you. His movements become bolder, hungrier, as if he wants to taste every drop of your desire. He enjoys your taste, he delights in every reaction you have, watching with satisfaction as you slowly lose all control.

“You want more, princess?” he asks, his voice hot and teasing. The sound of his voice makes you shiver with excitement. “You want me to fuck your pretty little slutty pussy with my tongue, hmm?” He lets his thumb slide slowly over your clit, his touch causing a surge of pleasure, making you impatient. You see the spark of defiance in his eyes, the pleasure he feels at seeing you like this, vulnerable and at his mercy.

“Please… fuck me with your tongue, Sunghoon,” you growl, your voice betraying your desperate desire. You can’t tear yourself away from his gaze. The intensity of his cocky smile takes your breath away, his smile seeming to say that he’s in complete control. As his eyes remain fixed on yours, he gently nibbles on one of your pussy lips, a gesture that’s both tender and possessive. He begins to suck with meticulous attention, his lips wrapped tightly around you, all the while maintaining eye contact, as if he’s trying to read your soul through your eyes.

The sensation is both exquisite and disturbing. Sunghoon deploys his tongue with obsessive thoroughness, exploring every corner of your intimacy, each movement is imbued with a delicious obscenity. His tongue slides slowly over your pussy, kissing it, licking it with a mixture of sweetness and voracity. The movements of his tongue become faster and faster, more ardent, and you feel the orgasm rising in you, like a wave ready to break.

Your hips lift involuntarily, seeking to pull him closer, to urge him to give you even more of this delight. Every moan that leaves your mouth is a plea, a silent demand for more of what he offers you. He plays with your body like a maestro, every note he touches perfectly tuned to your desire. You cling to the couch, your nails digging into the fabric as the intensity of your response increases.

“Oh, Sunghoon…” you whisper, the name escaping your lips like a prayer. He responds with an approving groan, his eyes shining with satisfaction. The warmth of his breath, mixed with the wetness of your skin, makes you shiver in anticipation.

Sunghoon seems to absorb your pleasure, revelling in every reaction, every cry. He alternates between licking and sucking, using every part of his tongue, every movement to keep you on the edge between pleasure and pain. He takes you further, plunging you into a sea of ​​ecstasy and anguish.

“You’re so delicious,” he murmurs, and you feel the thrill of his words vibrate through your body, intensifying the desire bubbling inside you. The movements of his tongue become more fervent, digging deeper, each thrust making you cry out in pleasure, your thoughts blurring under the force of the impending orgasm.

“Let yourself go, princess,” he orders in a husky voice, his gaze never leaving yours. The intensity in his eyes captivates you, and you know he wants you to surrender, to give him everything, to lose control. With every movement, he pulls you further into this spiral of pleasure, his tongue swirling around you, digging in and making you moan even louder.

“Sunghoon… Oh my God, you’re going to… kill me,” you say, your voice trembling, betraying the anguish mixed with an unquenchable desire burning inside you. Each syllable that escapes your lips resonates like a song of surrender, a delicious plea for him not to stop. His tongue, hot and agile, delves deep into your pussy, thrusting in and out with a precision that draws guttural moans from you. Each lick is a promise, a lewd caress that slowly consumes you, drawing you into an endless spiral of pleasure.

You arch under him, your body captivated by the heat of his breath, pressing your intimacy against his face, desperate to reach an unparalleled intensity. Your hand slides into his hair, gripping it firmly, tugging lightly to draw him even closer, as if that could increase the ecstasy that invades you. His movements are hypnotic, each gesture of his tongue a delicate dance that explores every corner of your being, tracing slow and languid circles around your clitoris, immersing you in a sensation of unprecedented euphoria.

Sunghoon explores your body with disarming eagerness, his tongue twisting and curling around your heat, as if he were trying to discover all the secrets buried within you. The sweet, musky scent of your flesh urges him to go even further, his silky lips pressing against your skin, each touch resonating within you like an electric shock. Each moan that escapes your throat seems to ignite him further, fueling his insatiable thirst.

He moans softly in response to your sounds of pleasure, his vibrations coursing through your flesh and flooding you with intoxicating sensations. The guttural sound that escapes his throat, a mixture of desire and devotion, makes your heart beat faster. At this moment, it's just the two of you, lost in this sensual dance, each movement resonating with palpable tension. You're at his mercy, completely overwhelmed by the need for more, for everything.

His movements become bolder, his tongue wrapping around your clit, teasing it with a delicious delicacy that leaves you panting, almost desperate. Each thrust and pull of his tongue pulls you further into ecstasy, forcing you to bend under the pressure of your own desire. “Yes, Sunghoon, more…” you whisper, your voice trembling, almost pleading, as you lose yourself in the delight he offers you. The words that leave your mouth are an invitation, a battle cry for him to never stop exploring your body.

The sensations mix, creating a whirlwind of intense emotions. His nails dig into the tender flesh of your thighs, a light pressure but enough to tear delicious shivers from you. It’s both pain and pleasure, a tasty cocktail that intensifies your pleasure as he devours you with an insatiable passion. With each moan, you feel the adrenaline rise, your most primal instincts awakening, each cry resonating like a song of submission to his will.

He keeps playing with your body, alternating between fast and frantic movements of his tongue and softer caresses, as if he wanted to push you to explore the limits of your pleasure. His eyes, deeply anchored in yours, shine with a glint of defiance, a promise of obscene desire that makes you shudder. He loves to see you lose control, savoring every moment when you give in to him, every shiver that runs down your spine.

As he intensifies his movements, you feel a wave of heat wash over you, a primal desire that envelops you and pulls you towards the abyss. The pressure builds inside you, a delicious tension that drives you to scream his name. “Sunghoon, I… I can’t…” your voice breaks, the struggle between pleasure and pain reaching its climax, each word betraying your total surrender.

He revels in your vulnerability, each moan bringing you closer to orgasm. Your body responds to his touch, arching and pressing against his face, begging for more as you feel your sanity waver. The room is filled with your cries and the sounds of his insatiable devotion, an erotic symphony of raw, desperate pleasure.

When you feel the breath of his nose caress your clitoris, a wave of pleasure invades you, each brush transforming into a divine caress, as if he knows every part of your being. Sunghoon leaves nothing to chance, exploring with a disturbing thoroughness. His tongue movements become more and more pressing, more and more desirous, as if he wants to devour you entirely, each second belonging to him and nothing else.

You know you're at his mercy, that he has the power to take you places you've never dared to go. You're completely engulfed by this experience, the outside world fading away as you lose yourself in the twists and turns of your own desire. The orgasm begins to form, a ball of intense heat in the pit of your stomach, and you know you won't be able to contain it much longer.

“Sunghoon, I… I’m gonna…” you whisper, your voice broken by moans, your breath coming out in short bursts. In one last desperate motion, he intensifies his tongue, bringing you to the edge. The orgasm washes over you like a tide, a wave of heat and pleasure that leaves you panting and shaking, every fiber of your being vibrating with ecstasy. You cry out his name, letting yourself be completely overwhelmed by the passion, and he continues to kiss you, to suck you dry, as if he wants to make sure this moment never ends.

Finally, as the wave of pleasure begins to fade, you fall back, your body tired but satisfied, a soft, exhausting warmth coursing through you. Sunghoon slowly straightens up, a satisfied smile on his face, his eyes shining with animal satisfaction. You know you've just shared something unique, something dark and filthy, a bond that unites you beyond physical desire, a carnal communion marked by devotion and unquenchable desire.

Sunghoon approaches slowly, each movement echoing like a heartbeat in the heavy silence of the room. He sits down next to you on the couch, a movement charged with tension, with pain. His eye, dark as night, settles on you, piercing you with an almost palpable intensity, a kind of obsession that freezes you in place. You feel trapped in his gaze, as if every fiber of your being is exposed, vulnerable under his scrutiny. He takes you in his arms, a gesture that seems tender but conceals a possessive, almost brutal force. His hands, as warm as the sun, tighten around your waist, his embrace asserting his dominance. It is as if his hand seeks to mark your flesh, to impregnate your body with his imprint, a silent affirmation of his desire and his power.

His hand slowly slides under your t-shirt, each caress a fire that spreads on your skin, burning you deliciously. He doesn't hurry; on the contrary, he savors each moment, each shiver that he manages to make you feel. His fingers trace imaginary lines on your stomach, then go back up, his nails brushing your skin with a promise of sweet pain. This contact is so intimate, so direct that it tears a sigh from you mixed with pleasure and fear, a shiver that can only be his, a mixture of irresistible desire and overwhelming terror. This shiver, unique, only he can produce it, a feeling of exhilarating danger.

As he holds you captive in his arms, he leans down to press a kiss to your hair. It’s not a simple kiss; it’s an act charged with meaning, filled with dark intent. He closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of your hair, as if he wants to imbue every fiber of his being with your essence, seeking to possess you beyond the physical, to the very soul. A satisfied smile slowly forms on his lips, a smile you can’t see but you can feel in the way his body tenses against yours, proud and triumphant.

You turn your head slowly towards him, lifting your face until you meet his eye. It shines with an intense, almost dangerous glow, a mixture of dark desire and a kind of quiet madness, the one that whispers to you that he will never let you go. “You are so beautiful…” you whisper, your voice weak, as if it struggles to rise in the face of the raw emotion that overwhelms you.

Slowly, you pull away from him, just enough to gaze at his face, and you observe the marks of his fights, the bruises that run across his skin. It is a face sculpted by violence, a raw beauty that captivates you. Your fingers slide over his cheek, brushing against the large blue bruise that colors his skin, and you approach, placing a delicate kiss, a caress so soft that it almost seems out of place. Your gesture is filled with an obsessive tenderness, as if each kiss were an attempt to appease the rage that lies dormant within him. You kiss each mark, each scar, as if you were trying to heal a man who refuses to be healed.

As you continue, you feel his breath quicken, a palpable tension building around you. He looks at you with an almost suffocating intensity, as if each of your kisses is a victory he savors. You lean down to kiss his black eye, a light kiss, a feather over his pain. His hand tightens around your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, and he pulls you closer, forcing you to almost lie against him, his warmth enveloping you. His gaze sinks into yours, serious, burning with a strange affection, a possessiveness that consumes you.

His features harden as he grips you tighter around the waist, crushing you against him, as if your body is the only refuge that can soothe the rage inside him. His words, heavy with promise, hit your heart like an electric shock. “Don’t think for a second that I’m going to let you go. I’m not ready to lose you, Y/n. Not now, not ever.” The gravity of his words oppresses you, a weight that squeezes your chest. A wave of emotions surges through you, excitement mixed with terror, as the outside world fades away, leaving only the beating of your heart, your short breaths, and the urgency of the moment.

Before you can form a thought, he leans down, his hot breath caressing your skin, a shiver running down your spine. “I’ve fallen in love with you, and I can’t turn back. It’s an obsession, a need… You’re everything to me.” The words hit you like a punch, a mix of euphoria and fear, and you feel engulfed by conflicting sensations. 

“Sunghoon, I…” you begin, but he interrupts you, this time with desperate impatience, breaking the air around you.

“Let me show you how serious I am. Tomorrow I’ll take you on a date, and you’ll see. I want you to feel what I feel. I’ll do anything for you.” His words rise, heavy with dark promises and unspoken desires, a hypnotic melody that envelops you. The tension between you becomes palpable, a taut rope ready to give way under the weight of your emotions, each glance exchanged a promise of dark delights to come.

He lays down on the couch, pulling you with him, his strength forcing you to wrap yourself around him. The warmth of his body against yours envelops you in a wave of raw arousal. His scent, a mix of musk and leather, intoxicates you, pushing you closer. His fingers caress your shoulder blade, lingering on your skin as if he were trying to etch this moment into his memory, an invisible tattoo of desire and possession.

You try to sit up, aware of his pain, but he holds you tighter, deliberately ignoring his injuries. You know he's fighting the pain, but his determination to keep you close wins. His eye slowly closes, and you feel him savoring this moment, this fragile cocoon you've woven together, almost sacred. 

The silence of the room is punctuated by the rhythm of your breaths, an echo of the intensity that envelops you like a velvet blanket. “You’re like a drug, Y/n,” he confides, his voice laced with passion. “Every time I touch you, I lose control a little more.” His words reach you, and a deep heat invades you, making you realize the extent of his obsession. It’s a dark beauty, a dangerous attraction that sucks you in, devours you, and you know you’re about to cross a line from which there will be no return.

As you lose yourself in this exchange, a shiver of anticipation runs through you. Adrenaline pulses through your veins, and you want to feel him all over, taste his lips, merge with him in an act of desperation and passion. His intense gaze fixes you, and in his eyes, you see a vulnerability, a fear of losing you that intertwines with his possessiveness. “Promise me you’ll never leave,” he whispers, his voice trembling slightly, breaking the armor of strength he usually wears.

The words escape like a desperate plea, and you feel a warmth in your chest, a tenderness in the face of his pain. This connection goes beyond physical attraction; it’s a silent pact, a promise to explore the depths of your darkness. The thought of losing yourselves in each other, of abandoning each other, becomes an unbearable temptation. 

“I’m not leaving,” you whisper confidently. “I want to see how far this can take us.” A smile plays on his lips, a mixture of relief and triumph, a promise of passion and devotion, an invitation to delve deeper into the darkness together.

The darkness is only just beginning to engulf you.

The glass walls of the aquarium refracted a mystical blue light, creating an almost magical environment, an underwater world where time seemed suspended. Inside, Sunghoon and you, hand in hand, moved slowly among the shifting shadows of the colorful fish that glided gracefully through the water. Each movement of their sparkling bodies reflected the magic of a shared moment, but there was also this palpable tension between you, like a rope ready to break.

Sunghoon looked at you with a devouring intensity, his dark, almost invasive eyes, seeking to pierce the secret of your soul. He loved to see the wonder dance on your face, especially when you were ecstatic in front of shells or fish. “You are so fascinated by these little things,” he said, a teasing smile stretching his lips. Each time, you pouted, feigning anger, but the flame of a mischievous joy danced in the depths of your eyes. The shiver that inhabited you with each look he gave you was palpable, a mixture of defiance and desire.

“I’m really glad you brought me here,” you whispered softly, squeezing his hand in yours, your palm warming against his. As a shark approached, opening its large mouth to reveal sharp white teeth, a shiver of fear mixed with curiosity ran through you. You instinctively backed away, seeking refuge behind him, and he burst out laughing, a deep, rich sound that resonated in your chest.

“It’s just a shark,” he joked, but the amusement in his voice was tinged with something darker, a promise of adrenaline. Sunghoon turned to you, cupping your face gently in his hands, his fingers brushing your skin with unsettling tenderness. “Why are you hiding? You seem so happy to be here,” he asked, his gaze shining with a devouring interest.

“I’m not hiding, I’m just protecting myself with the attractive body of my… boxer boyfriend,” you said, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. You placed your ear against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart, a rapid beat that resonated throughout your being. He pulled you back slightly to look into your eyes, searching for something deep in your gaze, a buried truth, a deeper connection.

“W… What? Your boyfriend?” His tone betrayed surprise mixed with an almost possessive satisfaction. You slipped your hand into his, the feel of his warm skin against yours making you shudder. Every movement was charged with tension, a shiver of anticipation that promised something much more intense.

“You don’t want to be anymore?” you asked, feigning innocence as you pointed to a random man in the crowd. “Maybe I should ask that man then.” As soon as you finished speaking, he growled, a deep, possessive sound that sent shivers through you. Sunghoon tugged at your hand, pinning you against him with controlled strength, and you gasped in surprise, your heart racing as excitement coursed through you.

His lips found yours in a heated kiss, the burning passion pouring out like a torrent. It was a wild and eager touch, a thrill of heat and devotion. His hand, not in yours, slid around your waist, his fingers wrapping around your body with an unsettling possessiveness, pulling you even closer to him, as if he were trying to fuse you with him.

The taste of his lips, sweet and salty, intoxicated you. He gently nibbled your lower lip, asking you for access to a universe that you were ready to explore. The warmth of his mouth mingled with the softness of his tongue that ventured timidly at first, then with increasingly bold confidence. His movements were hypnotic, and you could feel your body reacting to each caress, each touch.

As you immersed yourself in this intimate dance, you slid your hand to the nape of his neck, your fingers sinking into his thick, soft hair. The way he touched you was both rough and delicate, revealing a duality that fascinated and intoxicated you. The air around you was charged with palpable electricity, each sigh and moan becoming a melody shared between your lips.

Your tongues mingled in a torrid dance, a feverish exploration of your unspoken desires. Each movement of his tongue against yours was like a promise, a call for total surrender. Your bodies clung to each other, losing themselves in the intensity of the moment, and you could feel his hot breath on your skin, each breath more panting than the last.

A moan escaped your lips, a vibrating sound of raw desire as you let yourself be carried away by the passion. The beating of your heart echoed in your head, drowning out any other noise. Sunghoon kissed you with such fervor, as if he were trying to mark you, to make you his in this frenzy of sensations. Each touch was an affirmation of his desire, an act of possession that made you swoon.

His hands slid along your waist, exploring every curve, every contour of your body, while his lips nestled the corner of your mouth with a voracious sweetness. You shuddered under his caresses, unable to resist this burning heat that spread throughout your entire being. The taste of his desire, mixed with the shiver of fear, created an intoxicating cocktail, a dance of pleasure and anguish that set you ablaze.

As he pressed you closer to him, every movement of his lips against yours became more urgent, more desperate. His hands, ever so gently, traced burning paths on your skin, and you let yourself be carried away by this storm of sensations. A tear slid down his cheek, a drop of vulnerability in this passionate dance, and the bitter and salty taste of his emotions mingled with your kiss, intensifying each kiss, each sigh, as if you were merging into a reality where nothing else mattered.

Sunghoon pulled away slightly, but not without resting his forehead against yours, creating a contact that was both intimate and disturbing. The warmth of his skin against yours was electrifying, the hot air of his breath mixing with the breath of your own life, forming a mixture of embrace and intensity that enveloped your bodies. He could feel your heart beating against your chest, a frantic rhythm that harmonized with his, each pulse amplifying the tangible electricity in the air. His dark eye, captivating and full of promise, plunged into yours, reflecting a passion that was both devouring and vulnerable, as if he had already understood that this moment would mark a decisive turning point in your relationship, a passage towards something deeper, more intense.

“What are you doing to me, Y/n?” he asked, his voice husky, almost broken with emotion, each word vibrating with palpable tension. A sigh laden with desire escaped his lips, and you could almost see his eyes light up as he let his hand slide slowly over your waist, skimming the curve of your body with a delicacy that was both tender and possessive. Each touch of his fingers made you shiver, a shiver that ran through you, filling you with a mixture of excitement and fear. It was a delicate dance between the desire to get closer and the fear of losing you.

“I want you to let go…with me,” you whispered, your voice soft as a caress, an irresistible invitation that echoed in the closed space between you. Leaning down slightly, you placed a light kiss on his neck, your lips brushing his warm, tender skin. He shivered under your touch, a muffled moan escaping his throat, like a desperate plea for passion. The gesture, though so simple, awakened a wave of buried desires in him, a fire that burned within him with every second, making him more addicted to you.

You could feel the warmth of his hand slide slowly, wrapping around your waist before moving down to your ass, where he gripped it tightly. His hand closed around your flesh, an act both possessive and irresistible, and you couldn’t help but moan as it vibrated against his neck. The sound, both desperate and hot, resonated within him like an echo of his own unspoken desires. You felt his body tense, shuddering under the weight of the sexual tension that was rising between you, like an impending storm.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, his gaze locked on yours, a playful smile playing on his lips. However, his eyes revealed a hidden depth, a desire that simmered beneath the surface, almost palpable. The last press of his hand on your ass was both possessive and admitted, leaving a bitter taste of unfinished desire on your tongue, a burning memory of his touch. “I don’t want to go to jail for exhibitionism,” he joked softly, his laughter resonating like a haunting melody in your ears. Yet, behind that joke, you could perceive a disturbing depth, a darker reality he wouldn’t admit, a palpable tension between duty and desire, like a taut rope ready to give way at the slightest provocation.

His fingers intertwined with yours, a touch laden with silent promise. The tenderness with which he held your hand warmed you, each caress evoking the intensity of your shared emotions. His thumb slid in circular motions over the back of your hand, sending waves of heat down your arm and making you vibrate with unquenchable excitement. Yet beyond that gentleness, you felt something much darker and more captivating, hidden beneath the surface. A fire burned within him, an unspoken desire, a palpable tension ready to break free at any moment.

You continue to advance in the dark corridors of the aquarium, where the blue glow of the pools intermittently illuminates your skin. These reflections of water seem to capture fragments of your secret thoughts, enveloping you in an almost hypnotic state. Sunghoon's hand, wrapped around yours, is warm, reassuring. With each intertwining of your fingers, the outside world seems to dissolve, leaving only this fragile bubble between you. But suddenly, a dull noise, like a detonation, erupts at the end of the gallery, breaking this moment. You feel him stiffen instantly. It's imperceptible at first, a slight tension that spreads in his grip on your hand, but something darker, more violent, infiltrates him.

Sunghoon stares into space, his dark eye swallowed by a shadow that seems to expand, swallowing the light around him. His face turns livid, the contours of his features distort, and his expression turns into a puppet of fear. Slowly, he releases your hand, but it is to grab it again with a force that surprises you and makes you shiver. His fingers tighten so tightly around yours that sharp pain runs through you, but you don't dare move, as if breaking this contact would risk him collapsing. His lips part without emitting a sound, his breathing panting and irregular, each inhalation a struggle to catch his breath.

He presses his free hand to his chest, fingers clenched, as if trying to tear away an invisible pain that hides beneath his skin. The gesture is brutal, desperate. His chest heaves under the weight of anguish, and you see a solitary tear form in the corner of his eye, rolling slowly down his cheek, tracing a wet furrow on his taut skin. This tear is a reflection of the pain he usually hides under a shell of indifference, and your heart clenches at the sight of him so broken.

You step closer to him, your throat tight, feeling an icy fear creeping through you. This was the second time you’d seen him like this, exposed in a vulnerability that seemed to crush him from the inside. His distress was palpable, a silent storm raging inside him, and you found yourself wanting to absorb every bit of that pain, to become the refuge he desperately sought, to immerse yourself in the darkness that enveloped him to offer him a glimmer of hope.

Gently, you tighten your grip, your palm pressing against his with a firmness filled with tenderness. You slide in front of him, diving your gaze into his, seeking to capture the chaos swirling in his dilated pupils. “Sunghoon…”, you whisper, an infinite sweetness pearling in your voice. Your free hand slowly slides towards his face, and you place the tips of your fingers against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, the salty wetness of the tear that shakes you more than you would have thought.

Your forehead rests against his, in an infinitely intimate gesture, creating an invisible barrier around you, a cocoon where he can abandon himself without fear of breaking. In this contact, you want him to feel the strength of your love, a love that accepts everything, even the shadows that surround it. You stay like that, your breaths mingling in a shared breath, slow and fragile, while you murmur in a soft and soothing voice: "Breathe with me, Sunghoon... just with me."

He hesitates, his gaze sweeping between your eyes and a distant point, as if he can no longer distinguish the present from his tormented memories. Little by little, under the caress of your words, his hand that is squeezing yours loosens slightly, like a flower that opens timidly to the sun. You continue to slide your fingers against his cheek, tracing tender circles, letting your warmth penetrate his skin. With each movement, you try to comfort him, to free him, until he lets himself go completely, his head leaning further against yours.

When he finally lets out a deep, almost broken breath, you know he's freeing himself from an invisible weight. His lips part again, trembling, and he whispers in a raspy breath, as if each word is tearing a fragment of his soul away: "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to show you this, not here, not now."

At these words, a wave of raw and intense tenderness invades you. He lets you glimpse this part of him that he usually keeps buried, this vulnerability that he tries to hide behind his apparent assurance. Without answering, you slide your hand into his hair, caressing his locks with a gentleness that erases time, your breaths synchronizing in a peaceful rhythm. The touch of your fingers in his hair is both soothing and electrifying, like a silent promise of comfort.

“You have nothing to hide, Sunghoon. I’m here, for all of it. For every part of you, even the ones you think you have to hide.” Your voice is low, each word imbued with that silent promise, etched into Sunghoon’s flesh. You feel him shudder under the weight of that truth. His fingers intertwine more tightly with yours, and his thumb slowly brushes your hand, a fragile, almost unconscious caress, as if he were trying to engrave your presence into his flesh.

Time seems suspended, each second expanding in this silent embrace. You share pain, flaws, a vulnerability that you had never dared to reveal. Each beat of his heart resonates in you, and you feel torn between the anguish of seeing him sink and the desire to keep him close to you. His eye, now clouded with tears, captures your light in an ocean of darkness. In this silence, a fragility is woven between you, a silent promise to stay, to never fail.

Sunghoon, in the throes of inner turmoil, looks at you with an intensity that pierces you. His lips move closer to yours, and you feel the overwhelming urge to kiss him, to seal this moment. You can almost taste the salt of his tears on your mouth as you brush your lips together, a mixture of sweetness and despair.

“Let me be your strength,” you barely whisper, as his hands slide around your waist, pulling you a little closer, erasing the last barriers between you. In that suspended moment, a new understanding is born: the fragility of love, its power and its ability to heal, even in the darkness.

He leans in slightly, and the space between you disappears as your lips meet, joining your breaths, your fears, and your hopes. It’s a tentative kiss at first, like two lost souls searching for their way, but it quickly intensifies, every movement of his lips a promise of solace. You feel his breath mingle with yours, each sigh shared like a confession.

His hands linger on your body, tracing invisible lines, each touch electrifying your skin. He explores, searches, discovers, transforming this pain into something beautiful, alive. In this kiss, he transmits his pain to you, but also his desire, a dark and intoxicating mixture. You feel the pressure of his tongue, timid at first, but which asserts itself little by little, asking for access to your heart.

You answer him, letting your tongue slide against his, a slow, hesitant dance, laden with promises and unspoken passions. Each movement becomes a silent cry, a longing request to surrender to each other, to forget the cruelty of the outside world. You are united in a fight against the darkness, united in a kiss that transcends pain.

Sunghoon slowly detaches his lips from yours, a disturbing heat awakening in the space between you. His eye, dark and deep, clings to yours, seeming to read you like an open book. The rest of the world fades away, the noise of the people around you dissipates, and it's just him and you, in this moment of pure intimacy, this silent promise that you share.

He begins a sensual journey on your face, his lips brushing your skin with a delicacy that makes you shiver. First, he caresses your eyelids, pressing them lightly, as if he wanted to seal a secret between you. His kisses are light, almost shy, but an underlying intensity causes a growing impatience to arise in your stomach. He moves to your nose, his lips tracing a warm and humid path, before lingering on your cheeks, his kisses becoming more insistent, as if to mark every inch of your skin with his touch.

But it’s your lips that he focuses on the longest. When his lips meet yours again, a wave of desire washes over you. The exchange is steamy, filled with palpable tension, every movement of his lips seeming to demand more. His tongue brushes yours, a gesture both possessive and desirous, and you feel a shiver of pleasure run through you, like an electric shock. He pulls back slightly, his hot breath mingling with yours, and the air becomes thick with passion and tension.

“Don’t walk away from me, Y/n,” he whispers, his voice low and husky echoing through the air like a gentle threat. It’s not a simple request, but a veiled command, a promise of intensity that holds you to him. His words are like a chain, heavy with meaning, binding you to him irreversibly. You know he’s not kidding. His presence is omnipresent, and you know that walking away from him would be like running from a storm.

Instinctively, your hand slides to his waist, but you hesitate for a moment, aware of his injury. Yet the need to touch him, to have him close, overrides your reluctance. You press gently, trying to find a balance between desire and caution, and he responds immediately, his hand moving to grasp yours. His fingers wrap around yours, a firm grip that reminds you of his power, but also his vulnerability. His gaze is insistent, almost desperate, as if he’s trying to make sure you stay there, by his side, even in the heart of the storm.

He then leads you towards a small waffle shop in the aquarium, each step seeming like a dance on the edge, a precarious balance between attraction and danger. The dim lights create shadows on your faces, making the atmosphere even more charged with tension. You feel the electricity between you, an almost palpable connection that vibrates in the air.

As you walk through the door of the store, you’re greeted by the sweet smell of waffles, a stark contrast to the intensity of the moment before. But even that sweet smell seems to be tarnished by the warmth of his body next to yours. Sunghoon doesn’t let go of your gaze, his eye glinting with a feral glow, his impassive face masking a burning desire.

“You know,” he says, his voice deep, each word resonating with an unsettling intensity, “sometimes I wonder how far you’re willing to go for me.” The question hangs in the air, heavy with meaning and ambiguity. You feel a shiver run through you, excitement mixed with fear. His voice is a whisper, but it resonates like an ultimatum in your head. You can’t ignore the shadow of menace hanging over his words, the idea that there are no limits to him.

The salesman calls you, but the noise seems distant. You are lost in Sunghoon's gaze, where unspoken desires and dark secrets mix. His gaze is an abyss into which you could easily fall, and a part of you is terrified at the idea of ​​discovering what he expects from you. Anxiety and desire mix in your stomach, creating a tension that leaves you speechless.

He orders a waffle for the both of you, his gaze never leaving yours, and you feel a wave of adrenaline rush through you. The intimacy of this moment is overwhelming, every second a mixture of excitement and fear, pleasure and pain. When the waffle arrives, he takes it in his hand, but doesn't take his eyes off of you. You can see the tension in his muscles, like he's about to break, every movement both controlled and desperate.

“Want a taste?” he asks, his voice low, each word sliding over your skin like a caress. He brings the waffle to you, but his eyes never leave yours, the air heavy with unspoken promises. In that moment, anything seems possible, and you realize that this isn’t just about dessert, but a power play, a dance between desire and domination.

As you take a bite, the sweet flavors explode in your mouth, but you are aware of Sunghoon's overwhelming presence, his gaze scanning you, analyzing every movement, every reaction. He needs to know that you are his, that you belong to him.

When you finally pull away from the waffle, the sweet taste and creamy texture of the whipped cream mix with the scent of Sunghoon surrounding you. You are aware of every movement of your tongue, every brush of your lips, as if each gesture is an invitation. As you bring your hand to your mouth to clean the corner of your lip, you are interrupted by a gentle but firm grip on your wrist. Sunghoon, with his burning gaze, draws you towards him with an authority that makes you shudder.

“Let me do it,” he whispers, and his voice is a mixture of velvet and danger. He leans forward, his night-dark eye staring at you with an intensity that makes you swoon. There’s nothing pure about this moment, only a raw, palpable desire that hangs in the air between you. His warm, wet tongue slides over the corner of your lips, a touch so intimate it makes every fiber of your being vibrate. The shiver that runs through your body makes you moan, an involuntary sound, an instinctive reaction to this mixture of shame and pleasure. The world around you fades, every whisper, every snicker becoming insignificant background noise in the face of this sensual dance you share.

Sunghoon pulls out slowly, savoring every second, and with a confident gesture, he brings your finger to his lips. The innocence of the gesture is disturbed by the way he sucks it, his warm mouth enveloping your finger with disconcerting sensuality. He removes the slightest trace of whipped cream, and you can see the satisfaction shining in his eye, a glint of arrogance that makes your heart beat faster.

“Sunghoon… we’re in public,” you whisper, your voice a mix of disapproval and excitement. Each syllable is laced with hesitation, but the heat in his gaze makes you doubt your own desire to stop. The heat in your skin spikes, aware of the stares of a few customers watching you. Their eyes slide over you, curious, and you feel a wave of vulnerability mixed with an intoxicating arousal. It’s as if, in this room, you’re the only ones who exist, surrounded by noise and color, but enclosed in a bubble of desire.

Sunghoon, unfazed, removes your finger from his mouth with casual nonchalance and places a kiss on the palm of your hand, a gesture that makes you shiver. The simple touch, mixed with the warmth of his skin against yours, floods you with a wave of confused emotions: the fear of excess, the excitement of risk, the insatiable desire for what might come next. His smile is both innocent and laden with obscene promise, a reflection of the underlying tension that boils between you.

“As long as we don’t fuck in front of them, princess, I don’t care,” he says, his voice smooth as satin, but with an underlying edge. His words hang in the air, creating an electrifying atmosphere where each whisper seems to resonate with a new intensity. You swallow, feeling a mixture of shame and arousal wash over you. His gaze, still fixed on yours, leaves no room for ambiguity. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows how it makes you feel.

Sunghoon brings the waffle to his lips, biting slowly at the exact spot where you left the mark of your teeth, almost with a perverse reverence. The gesture, simple in appearance, is charged with a striking heaviness, as if he is capturing a fragment of you, appropriating a part of your essence. Your heart races, feeling the dull tension settle in, a promise of something darker, more visceral. His gaze catches yours, intense, penetrating, and a serious smile stretches his lips as he murmurs softly: “It’s delicious.”

He holds the waffle out to you, forcing you to accept the almost sacred offering. Hesitantly, you bite into the spot where he left his imprint, your gazes clashing in a silent dance of possession and vulnerability. You feel your heart pounding in your chest, gripped by an oppressive heat. A mischievous wink escapes your eyes, but you see him blush slightly, a reaction so rare for him that it almost makes you laugh. You bite your lip to stifle a chuckle, amused by this apparent vulnerability that he clumsily tries to hide.

“You’re so adorable, Sunghoon,” you tell him in a breath, the words sliding softly, almost ironic, given the dark storm brewing between you. At these words, a slight shiver crosses his features. A deeper blush invades his cheeks, and you see him look away, his hand instinctively rising to run through his hair, as a gesture of defense against this compliment that seems to destabilize him.

Yet beneath that slight embarrassment, there’s something else. Something darker, more painful, hidden in the shadows of his gaze. He stares at you again, his eyes burning with an almost bestial intensity, as if, in this moment, you’re all that’s still keeping him anchored to this reality. He leans forward slightly, sliding an uncertain hand towards your face, his fingers delicately brushing the outline of your lips curved into a smile. The touch is so gentle, so careful, but also desperate, as if he’s trying to etch that smile into his memory, to capture that moment before it fades.

Unable to resist the impulse inside you, you place a light kiss on the tip of his finger. This simple contact seems to trigger a tidal wave of emotions in him. Sunghoon closes his eye, inhaling deeply, as if to smother the fire burning inside him. When he opens it again, his gaze is veiled, filled with a sorrow that he tries to hide under a fragile smile.

“I love your smile,” he says softly, almost like a whisper, his voice betraying a tiny tremor. His fingers slide gently from your lips to your cheek, where he strokes your skin with a tender thumb, his gestures oscillating between an almost possessive tenderness and an underlying pain. The way he watches you, as if every second spent with you costs him a part of his soul, makes you feel a strange weight, an inexplicable unease that grips you.

Then his hand moves down again, sliding along the back of your neck, where he exerts a gentle but undeniable pressure, a gesture of subtle control, as if he wants to keep you close to him, to bind you to him, even if it has to be through pain. Your breath catches for a moment, feeling the weight of his emotions, the tormented storm playing out behind his mask.

“I want you to be like this forever… happy,” he says in a low, almost broken voice. You sense that behind this statement lies a much darker truth, a fear that eats away at him from the inside. He looks at you like someone looks at something unattainable, a treasure he fears he won’t be able to preserve. A shadow of despair passes through his eyes, a sadness that seems endless. What he doesn’t tell you, what he doesn’t dare admit, is that, for him, every moment shared is an internal battle, a conflict between his desire to make you happy and the certainty that he will never be the one to truly fill your heart.

In his mind, fleeting images of a lonely future emerge, visions of a world where you are no longer here, where you have found a peace he could never give you. He already imagines the day you decide to leave, when he will be forced to let you go so that you can find the happiness he thinks he can never give you. The thought consumes him, a cold, piercing pain that sinks like a dagger into his chest, tearing at every fiber of his being.

“I’ll smile so much for you that it will annoy you,” you reply, gently squeezing his hand, seeing the storm that ravages his soul. Your worry, your innocent sweetness, lights up his face for a moment, but it only reinforces the contrast with the abyss he finds himself in. Behind his fragile smile hides an unfathomable sadness, a loneliness that has always accompanied him. Since childhood, he has learned to hide his emotions, to erect walls to protect himself from blows, but your presence threatens to break down each barrier, exposing the scars that mark his heart.

Sunghoon knows, deep down, that this happiness he feels by your side is fleeting. He watches you like you contemplate a dream that you know will eventually evaporate. His heart bleeds with every smile you give him, with every tender look, because he understands that, sooner or later, reality will catch up with him. The fear of being abandoned, this visceral fear, anchored in him since forever, mixes with a devouring love, a passion that consumes him, but which, he knows, will end up costing him everything he has.

So he grabs you, holds you tighter against him, as if to etch you into his memory, to capture this moment before it disappears into nothingness. His fingers dig into your skin, his gaze fixed on you with an almost desperate intensity, as if he wanted to possess you completely, to keep you anchored to him by the force of his will alone.

Every moment spent with you is a sweet agony, a sublime pain that he savors while dreading the inevitable end. Sunghoon knows he is losing himself, but he is ready to sacrifice every bit of his soul to stay by your side. Because for him, loving you means accepting to burn himself, to destroy himself, to abandon himself to the darkness that eats away at him.

In the boxing gym, the air was thick with sweat and that dull, palpable tension that vibrated with every punch Sunghoon threw. The neon lights flickered faintly above him, barely illuminating his face marked by fatigue and a consuming rage. Facing him, Jay remained impassive, holding the punching bag tightly and absorbing the violent shocks that echoed in the empty room. Sunghoon's gloves came down with brute force, each impact spreading through his arms, burning his knuckles. He punched again and again, desperate to extract this anger that consumed him.

His movements were mechanical, almost frantic, as if each blow was aimed at erasing something buried, something he didn't dare face. His breathing was jerky, each breath carrying away a fragment of the pain he hid under a mask of coldness. But Jay saw beyond that. He perceived that tormented glint in Sunghoon's eyes, that shadow of sadness mixed with rage. He knew what this fight against Heeseung meant to him.

Sunghoon redoubled his efforts, his fists hitting the bag with desperate intensity. With each blow, the memories resurfaced, relentless, taking him back to that moment when everything had collapsed, when Heeseung's betrayal had left a gaping wound in his heart. The face of his former best friend haunted his mind, fueling his rage.

“So, are you ready to face Heeseung in a month?” Jay’s voice rang out like a challenge in the silent room. He could sense that Sunghoon was on the verge of exploding, that a simple provocation would be enough to shatter the façade of control he was trying to maintain.

At Heeseung's name, Sunghoon punched the bag even harder, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with suppressed fury. "Heeseung is nothing more than another man," he replied, his voice shaking with anger. He paused for a moment, his breath short, staring at the bag as if he saw the face of his former friend there.

Jay remained silent, his sharp eyes observing every emotion that crossed Sunghoon's face. He knew that this hatred was not a simple rivalry; it reflected a deep wound, a broken friendship that left scars more painful than any blow.

“Is that really what you want to believe?” Jay’s voice cut through the silence, calm but relentless. He loosened his grip on the bag slightly, forcing Sunghoon to stop, to face a reality he was desperate to escape. Jay had that look that saw beyond appearances, that could discern truths that even Sunghoon refused to admit.

“You can convince yourself all you want, but it’s not Heeseung you’re fighting. It’s yourself, what you’ve been feeling since he abandoned you.” Jay’s words hit Sunghoon where his pain was hidden, where that gaping wound continued to bleed.

Those words made him falter. He looked away, his fists unclenching slightly, the gloves slipping from his shaking hands. Sweat trickled down his face, but it wasn’t just physical exhaustion that was weakening him anymore; it was that visceral pain, that feeling of abandonment that never left him. Heeseung hadn’t just been a friend, he’d been a pillar, and his betrayal had left him adrift in a sea of ​​bitterness and loneliness.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Sunghoon muttered in a faint voice, the words struggling to come out. A bitter smile played on his lips, a smile that couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes. “He’s just another opponent to beat.”

Jay shook his head slowly, without a word. He knew that Sunghoon was not ready to face this truth, that he was hiding behind this facade to escape the pain. But he also saw this fragility, this crack in his armor. Sunghoon could pretend that Heeseung no longer mattered, but deep down, this loss continued to haunt him, to consume him. Each blow was just a desperate attempt to forget, to free himself from this crushing weight.

Sunghoon felt Jay's gaze pierce through him, exposing his weaknesses, his fears. He turned away, grabbing a bandage for his bloodied hands, his fingers trembling slightly. He tightened the bandage tightly, as if to contain the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

Jay stepped closer and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, a gesture heavy with meaning and filled with silent compassion. “You know, Sunghoon, facing Heeseung won’t change anything if you’re not willing to face what he’s awakened in you. It’s not hatred that will make you stronger, but what you choose to do with it.”

Sunghoon stood there for a moment, staring into space as Jay's words seeped into him like a slow poison. Each sentence had struck a chord, each word had awakened a pain in him that he had tried to bury under layers of anger and contempt. Jay was right. But admitting that truth was a chasm he didn't dare cross yet.

He released a shaky sigh, like a weight breaking silently. Then he straightened up, trying to regain that mask of coldness. But he knew that Jay had seen through him, that this man standing before him knew the depth of his wounds, even the ones he didn't dare name.

“Why do you do this, Jay?” His voice was low, almost hoarse, as if each word cost a superhuman effort. “Why do you insist on bringing me back to this, on reminding me… of what I want to forget?”

Jay watched him in silence, his eyes filled with a gravity and a melancholic sweetness. He didn't look away, giving Sunghoon all the space for his anger, for his questions, for this weakness that he tried to hide. He waited a moment, as if to let the question seep into the silence of the room, before answering.

“Because you deserve to be free of this, Sunghoon,” Jay whispered, his voice low and calm. “Because as long as you remain a prisoner of this hatred, of this pain, Heeseung will continue to have power over you, even if it’s absent. And that’s worse than any defeat.”

Jay's words hung in the air, heavy with truth, imbued with that relentless realism that left no escape. Sunghoon felt something break inside him, a piece of his soul he had held prisoner for too long. He felt a strange mixture of rage and relief, a silent storm that shook him from the inside, making him vulnerable, almost fragile under Jay's piercing gaze.

He looked away, staring at an invisible point on the ground, trying to gather his thoughts, to calm the fury that pulsed through his veins. He took a deep breath, his shoulders heaving with the effort, before whispering in an almost inaudible voice:

"He should never have betrayed me."

The words, simple and direct, echoed in the room, filling the space with a painful intensity. Behind that sentence, there was all the pain, all the incomprehension, all the weight of a broken friendship. Jay knew it, he had always known it. This betrayal had left invisible scars, wounds that Sunghoon had never been able to heal.

Jay approached him, his hand still on his shoulder, a gesture that, despite its apparent gentleness, carried an unwavering firmness. He spoke with a calculated slowness, as if to ensure that every word would be heard, understood, and accepted.

“We don’t always choose who hurts us, or how they hurt us,” Jay says. “But we can choose how we rebuild ourselves afterward. This fight against Heeseung… It’s not just revenge. It’s a chance to show that you’re stronger than this betrayal, that you won’t let it define who you are.”

Sunghoon closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the conflicting emotions that were raging inside him. Jay's voice continued to echo in his mind, each word seeping into the cracks of his heart, awakening that part of him that he had long suppressed.

When he opened his eyes again, he met Jay's gaze, and for the first time, he didn't try to hide his vulnerability. His eyes were bright, filled with a poignant melancholy, and his voice, when he spoke, bore traces of an old fatigue, almost resigned.

“I tried to rebuild myself,” he whispered. “I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter anymore, that I could move on without him… but this rage, this hatred… it’s all I have left.”

Jay nodded slowly, understanding the depth of this confession. He knew that Sunghoon had built his identity around this anger, that every blow he threw was a desperate attempt to convince himself that this hatred could fill the void left by Heeseung. But he also knew that this road led nowhere, that this spiral of resentment would eventually consume him.

“Then let her go,” Jay replied, his voice almost a whisper, but with a strength that seemed to fill all space. “Let that rage go, and find who you really are, Sunghoon. Not the fighter consumed by hatred, but the man who deserves to live without being haunted by the past.”

Jay's words seeped into him like a balm, bringing a gentle yet painful warmth. Sunghoon felt his fists slowly unclench, his breathing calming, as if a weight he had been carrying for years had finally lifted.

He turned to Jay, his gaze filled with silent gratitude, a recognition that went beyond words. Maybe this fight with Heeseung wouldn't be the end of his quest for redemption, but he knew now that he could find a beginning there, a starting point to free himself from his inner demons.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He wasn't yet ready to forgive, to forget, but he knew he was no longer alone in this struggle. Jay, silent, understood him. He offered him this stable presence, this unwavering compassion, and in that moment, in that cold, dark room, Sunghoon felt, for the first time in a long time, a little more at peace.

The door had barely closed behind Sunghoon when the air in the room seemed to condense, heavy with a palpable tension. You looked at him, but he was no longer the distant man you had come to know, nor even the one you loved despite his flaws. Tonight, he was different, like a shadow of himself, haunted by something deeper, darker. The air was saturated with an unspoken need, and you could almost hear your heart beating in the oppressive silence.

He stood there, motionless, almost frozen, fighting an impulse he could barely contain. His eyes, dark and piercing, were fixed on you, burning with an intensity that made you shiver. A wave of conflicting emotions passed through you. You knew this feeling, this mixture of fear and desire, repulsion and attraction. But tonight, it was stronger, almost unbearable, as if something primitive was awakening between you.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, trying to break the heavy silence. But no sooner had you said his name than he started moving, like a predator let loose in the wild.

In a split second, he was in front of you, so close that you could feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, like a fire burning in the night. His breath, short and irregular, brushed against your skin, making you arch under his weight. He enveloped you in his presence, a devouring shadow that paralyzed you. You could feel the tension emanating from him, every muscle vibrating with contained energy, ready to explode.

His hands rested on your arms with a measured, almost delicate force, but you could feel the tension in his fingers, as if he was fighting not to grab you more roughly. Each touch sent you into a whirlwind of emotions, a mixture of excitement and anxiety. He was like a storm, and you were calm inside, but that calm would not last.

“I… I don’t know who I am anymore,” he blurted out, his voice hoarse, broken by an emotion he never wanted to show you again. He leaned closer, his forehead brushing yours, and you felt his hands slide from your arms to your waist, pulling you into a hug that nearly took your breath away. There was an urgency in his movements, a desperate need to possess you.

At that moment, the outside world disappeared. There was only the two of you, isolated in a space saturated with electricity. His hands slowly snuck along your waist, exploring every curve of your body, tracing paths of fire on your skin. You could feel his need, his thirst, and this intensity awakened in you a burning desire, but also a dull fear. What would happen if you gave in to this temptation in his state?

“I see you… I feel you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear in a hot, almost possessive breath. “Don’t leave me… Don’t push me away.”

He moved closer, his hands sliding down your back, his fingers tracing lines of fire on your skin, triggering an uncontrollable shiver. It wasn't a simple caress, it was a claim, a way of reminding you that you belonged to him, that you were his. All his. Your body tensed under the pressure, torn between the desire to flee and the desire to answer this primal call.

There was something dangerous in the way he looked at you, in the way he touched you, and you knew that part of you was afraid of it. But another part, darker, deeper, let itself be drawn to this intensity, attracted by this destructive force that emanated from him.

“Tell me,” he whispered again, his voice almost pleading, filled with an unsettling vulnerability. “Tell me you’re here. That you won’t leave.” His hands tightened on your skin, his fingers digging into your flesh with an almost painful force, but you didn’t struggle. You didn’t want to run. Not now.

“I’m here,” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely more than a breath. “I’m not leaving, Sunghoon.”

At these words, you felt his body relax slightly against yours, as if he had finally found a semblance of peace. But this peace was fragile, ephemeral, and you could still feel the storm rumbling under his skin. He held you against him with such force that you had the impression that he was trying to merge you with him, as if he feared that you would disappear at any moment. His lips, which had until then grazed your skin without ever really settling, finally slid over your neck, tracing a burning line that made you gasp. It was not a tender gesture, it was a mark of possession.

“You belong to me,” he whispered against your skin, his voice both soft and terribly assertive. “And I won’t let you go. Ever.”

There was a finality in his words that made you shudder. You knew he meant it. To him, you were more than just a person in his life. You had become an obsession, an anchor in his inner storm. The intensity of his desire, his possessiveness, was both terrifying and intoxicating. You knew none of this was healthy, that this relationship, so intense, had long since passed the limits of what was normal. Yet, despite everything, a part of you wanted to believe that you could help him, that you could be the one to calm this rage that was boiling inside him.

His hands slowly moved up your back, still holding you tightly against him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath caressing your skin. The scent of his perfume mixed with that of sweat and adrenaline enveloped the air, making the situation even more intoxicating. You could feel the heat of his body, the tension in his muscles, and that electric energy that vibrated between you.

Every move was a struggle for him, an effort to not give in entirely to the darkness that was eating away at him from the inside. You knew his desire was fueled by pain, anger, and that simmering rage that was bubbling beneath his surface. It terrified you as much as it fascinated you.

He pulled you even closer, if that was possible, his body pressed against yours with such force that you could feel every beat of his heart, every gasping breath he took. The intensity of the moment was almost suffocating, and you could feel the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, pushing you to react, to embrace this unquenchable desire.

In this whirlwind of emotions, a part of you felt guilty for being so attracted to him, but that guilt was quickly drowning in the ocean of passion and desperation that united you. His hands roamed your body with a devastating certainty, as if he sought to possess you not only physically, but also spiritually. The shivers that his touch caused in you were both delicious and disturbing, and you let yourself be carried away, blinded by this moment.

Sunghoon was a broken man, and you knew that came at a cost. But in his eyes, you also saw a glimmer of hope, a quest for redemption that he couldn’t admit, even to himself. It was this inner struggle that fascinated you, that made you addicted to him, to his intensity. You were two lost souls, seeking refuge in each other’s chaos, desperate to find some semblance of peace in the midst of the storm.

The beat of his heart pounded against your chest, and in that suspended moment, you knew there was no turning back. A line had been crossed, and there was no going back. The future was uncertain, but what you shared in that moment was real, visceral, and terribly beautiful in its dark obscenity.

“Let me use you, Y/n… I need it.” His voice rose softly, almost like a whisper, but the words were charged with raw intensity. His lips brushed your delicate skin, each touch sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your body. His hot breath against your neck made you shiver, a visceral desire stirring within you, insistent and insatiable. He nibbled gently at your skin, his teeth leaving burning marks, each caress igniting a flame of voracious passion deep within you.

Your heart raced as you slid your arm around his muscular back, pressing your body against his, unable to resist the irresistible call. Nodding slowly, you watched the change in his gaze: a wild, possessive glint lit up in his eyes, a promise of a night of unbridled pleasure that captivated you. His eyes sparkled with primal need, and you knew that what he felt for you went beyond simple attraction.

In one fluid motion, he lifted you effortlessly, his strong arms encircling your body with an authority that made you vibrate with excitement. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him close as he led you to your room, each step building the anticipation. The air was thick with desire, each second that passed making you crave his touch even more. When he set you down on the bed, the feel of the mattress beneath your back was both comforting and electrifying, an invitation to abandon all reserve.

Sunghoon was on top of you, his body positioning itself with a dominance that you found both intoxicating and terrifying. You felt vulnerable, but also burning with desire, ready to dive into this dark intimacy. Your gaze plunged into his eyes, troubled by a devouring passion, as if he were seeking to pierce the secrets buried deep within your soul. He kissed your cheek, his warm lips sliding against your skin, leaving a shiver down your spine.

His hands moved forward, eagerly searching for the fabric of your top. As he began to remove it, his cold fingers brushed your skin, triggering a shiver of pleasure and anticipation. With calculated delicacy, he removed your top, revealing your bare skin to the dim light of the room. His hungry gaze scanned every curve of your body, as if he was trying to etch this image into his mind, to remember for the rest of his life.

Pulling away for a moment, he slid down slowly, his tongue brushing your skin, tracing hot lines across your stomach. You felt a wave of heat flood your body, a quivering anticipation enveloping you. He pulled off your sweatpants with delicious slowness, leaving you completely exposed, your nakedness offering itself to his insatiable desire. The tension in the air was palpable as he admired your body, a possessive devotion emanating from him.

Without warning, he turned you around abruptly, placing you on all fours, making your vulnerability even more palpable, a submission that you embraced. He smacked your ass with controlled force, the sound echoing in the room like a call for obedience. A soft gasp escaped your lips, a wave of pleasure mixed with pain settling deep within you, a delicious confusion of sensations. His nails dug into the tender flesh of your skin, his attention on your ass growing more intense, almost possessive, as if he were marking his territory.

A moan escaped your lips, then a cry of pleasure as he smacked your ass again, the delicious pain causing an overwhelming surge of arousal. “You’re so wet for me, princess, you’ve wanted my cock for a long time, haven’t you?” His voice, soft and playful, mingled with the palpable tension, each word resonating within you like an echo of shared desire. He watched the arousal slide down your thigh, his gaze lingering on your skin and the liquid, intensifying his desire with deliberate skill.

“Sunghoon… take me, don’t keep me waiting,” you whispered, your voice trembling, thick with ardor and desperation, each syllable a torture of impatience. You felt his laughter echo behind you, a promise of imminent pleasure, a delicious threat of what was to come. The sound of his clothes being torn reached your ears, and the anticipation made you vibrate from head to toe. When he finally placed his tip against your intimacy, a shiver of excitement ran through you, making you aware of every detail of this encounter.

“I’m not going to be gentle, princess,” he growled, and in one sudden motion, he thrust into you. The sensation was intense, almost overwhelming, a wave of ecstasy washing over you as you felt your stomach and vagina buckle under the impact. A moan escaped your lips, both a cry of pain and a cry of pleasure, a symphony of conflicting sensations that left you panting. He grabbed you firmly by the hip, his fingers digging into your flesh, and you were caught between ecstasy and pain as he began to move inside you, his thrusts becoming more and more powerful, almost brutal, making you lose all sense of time.

His nails dug into your flesh as you desperately clung to the sheets of the bed, your breathing erratic, almost desperate. Every movement of his body against yours caused a whirlwind of emotions, and you felt yourself losing yourself in the warmth of his embrace. His pace was relentless, almost wild, each thrust making you cry out in pleasure, each impact bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The room was filled with the sounds of skin against skin, moans and panting breaths, a chaotic melody of unquenchable desire that consumed you both.

Sunghoon leaned down, his tongue grazing your skin, tracing hot lines on your back, each movement both gentle and devastating. His breath was hot and heavy against your skin, each moan you let out giving him more power over you, intensifying his already voracious desire. He pushed even deeper, each thrust piercing you, making you lose all sense of reality, almost making you drunk. The room became a world of its own, a sanctuary of passion where every shudder of his body against yours became a declaration of his desire.

Each thrust seemed to resonate through every fiber of your being, sending you into a spiral of ecstasy. You felt like you were burning from the inside out, eager to explode, to reach that apotheosis that seemed so close and yet so far away. His pace became frantic, a wild dance between pain and pleasure as you clutched at the sheets, your voice echoing in the darkness, a mixture of pleas and cries of pleasure.

“I want more of you, princess.” Sunghoon moaned, his voice husky and eager, vibrating through the air thick with palpable tension. The way he said the words consumed you, each syllable resonating like a drum to the frantic rhythm of your heart. There was a promise of all-consuming pleasure in his tone, one you yearned for. His burning gaze lingered on you, a flame in his eyes that stirred buried instincts.

He grabbed your hair in a firm grip, his fingers digging into your locks with a force that was both sweet pain and delectable submission. The back of your skull flexed slightly under the pressure, plunging you into a state of exhilarating vulnerability. The pain on your scalp stirred a delicious resonance within you, an anticipation that made you shiver with desire. The sensations mingled, and you knew you were about to be swept away into his world.

A strangled cry escapes your lips, a sound you can’t control as he arches your back, lifting your body to offer you entirely to him. The tension in the air is electrifying, a static charge that makes you feel alive. You feel the overwhelming heat of his body close to yours, his firm, powerful muscles pressed against your skin, making you aware of every inch of his surface. He leans closer, his hot breath caressing your neck, sending shivers through your being. “Moan louder for me,” he whispers, each word stimulating your soul, a command you’re ready to follow.

His voice, soft and commanding, envelops you, awakening a primal need in you, a need to abandon all barriers. “I want to hear everything… I want to know how good I make you feel.” His demand, both possessive and greedy, resonates in your mind like an intoxicating melody. The way he looks at you, with a mixture of pain and love, makes you shiver, aware of your role and your place in this obscene exchange.

You are overwhelmed by this need to please him, to be his object of desire. He lets his tongue slide slowly over the sweat that beads on your skin, each caress causing a shiver of pleasure. His delicate gestures contrast with the brutality of his intentions, a dance between gentleness and violence that slowly consumes you. The sensation of his tongue on your skin is both soothing and exhilarating, like a burning fire that spreads through your body, burning every fiber of your being. Each movement is loaded with obscene promises, and you feel your heart beating wildly, excitement and fear merging into a unique melody of ecstasy.

He begins to suckle at your skin, nibbling gently but with an intensity that makes you shudder in anticipation. His lips, hot and eager, slide down your body, awakening torrid sensations that spread from your neck to your spine. With each movement, he sinks deeper into you, your heat enveloping him, making you moan louder. Those moans, an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain, turn into a primal scream, a scream that testifies to your total surrender to his unbridled desires. It’s an instinctive reaction, a response to the wild nature of what’s unfolding between you.

His fingers grip your hair, tugging harder to pull your face towards him, forcing your gaze to meet his. You’re at his mercy, completely submissive to his desire, and that vulnerability excites you in a way you’ve never experienced before. Every breath feels heavier, every beat of your heart echoing like a war drum in the tense air. Sunghoon’s lips slide down to your neck, nibbling with delicious precision, and you swallow slowly, shivering under his touch. A mixture of excitement and fear pulses through your veins, like a sweet, addictive drug.

He intensifies his movements, spreading your walls, reaching depths you didn't even know were possible. The feeling of his manhood swelling inside you is breathtaking, an explosion of sensations that plunges you into a world where only his body exists. The stars dance before your eyes, a dazzling glow, accompanying your moans of pleasure and anguish. Each blow resonates inside you like a shockwave, pushing you further into the abyss of ecstasy, each impact vibrating the strings of your desire.

“Sunghoon… oh my God! You fuck me so good!” You cry out, your voice a mixture of pleasure and desperation, each syllable a confession of your total surrender. Tears stream down your cheeks, testifying to the intensity of your sensations, a mixture of delicious pain and immeasurable pleasure. You feel both freed and trapped in this whirlwind of emotions, a contradiction within you that you cannot ignore. He pushes you roughly onto the bed, withdrawing from you for a moment, leaving a painful void that makes you moan at the loss of this essential connection. This withdrawal, far from being a punishment, reminds you of the depth of your desire for him, a depth that you had never dared to imagine.

“Don’t stop… please.” Your voice trembles, weak and cracked, the plea evident in every word. You lean into him, desperate to regain his touch, pressing your ass against his hardness. But he pushes you back slightly, a defiant smile on his lips, a smirk that expresses the complete control he exerts over you. This power play, this dynamic between you, excites you in ways you never thought possible, a dangerous dance on the edge of the abyss.

“You’re such a slut to me, Y/n.” His voice is full of delight, each word sliding over your skin like a caress, as the smack of your ass echoes through the room as he hits you. The blow, though painful, is tinged with a voluptuousness that you can’t ignore. The burning pleasure of this humiliation makes you moan, and when his manhood enters you again, a cry of bliss passes your lips. Your body arches, welcoming this intrusion with greed, every fiber of your being resonating in unison with his desire, a desire that consumes you.

He presses your head into the pillows with one hand, pinning your face, while the other slides under your stomach, pulling you up slightly. The movements start slowly, each stroke a mixture of gentle and brutal, a hypnotic rhythm that seems to resonate in every fiber of your being. Your moans are muffled by the mattress as he pushes your head deeper and deeper into the bed, making you lose all sense of time and reality. The outside world disappears, leaving only the intensity of this shared moment, the fusion of your bodies like a sacred dance, a communion in pain and pleasure.

“I’ll never stop,” he declares with a savage determination, a promise of submission and power. The blows grow more powerful, each impact resonating in your flesh like a violent melody, a symphony of pain and pleasure. His nails dig into the tender flesh of your stomach, marking your body with his imprint, each pressure making you moan louder, like a war chant. The pain becomes a caress, and you know you’re at his mercy, each sensation intensifying the obscene bond between you.

You tighten around him, your body pulsing with every movement, each thrust making him sink deeper into you. “Fuck, you’re clenching tighter around me, princess,” he says, increasing his pressure on your stomach, making you feel every inch of his manhood. The thrusts become more intense, each movement pushing you to the edge of ecstasy.

The pace becomes frantic, every movement of his body against yours a declaration of power and possession. You feel your body react, contorting around him, and a cry of pleasure escapes your lips as you reach the limits of your own pain and pleasure, lost in an ocean of sensations. Each wave overwhelms you until you can no longer distinguish where pleasure begins and pain ends. In this trance, you are both the witness and the protagonist of this torrid encounter, aware of the ecstasy that builds with each second.

Your mind drifts, each blow transporting you further into oblivion, a whirlwind of pleasure and pain that drags you to a point of no return. The walls of the room blur, the outside world fades away, leaving only him and you, bound by this obscene and passionate bond. Each second becomes an eternity, a dance where you are both the dancer and the puppet, entirely at his mercy.

Breathless, you feel the orgasm looming on the horizon, a storm of sensations that threatens to engulf you. Every movement, every thrust brings you a little closer to this explosive denouement, a release of all the accumulated tensions. Your body is on fire, consumed by desire, and as the orgasm approaches, you know you are ready to let yourself be carried away, to dive into this abyss of pleasure and pain that he has created for you.

In a final thrust, as the pressure reaches its peak, your body arches, and you scream his name, a cry that mixes pain and bliss. It's a primal scream, a total release, and in that moment, you know you are truly his, entirely, without reserve. The wave of pleasure carries you away, submerges you, and in this sea of ​​sensations, you finally find peace, a fragile balance between love, pain, and pleasure.

Sunghoon doesn’t slow his pace, even after the orgasm has rocked your body, leaving you panting, your breathing erratic and panting. His movements are brutal, filled with a savage intensity that vibrates every fiber of your being. He continues to bury your head into the pillows, plunging you into a damp darkness where only the sound of his hips slapping against your ass resonates. This sound is the echo of his power, a primal rhythm that resonates in your flesh, awakening an animal desire that engulfs you.

His fingers, large and powerful, explore your stomach, slowly descending towards your waist which he grips with force, as if he wanted to anchor you in this carnal reality that he imposes. The heat of his hand on your skin is both a caress and a threat. You feel the fire spreading under his fingers, an insatiable desire that consumes you. Your stomach contracts under his hand, each movement of his body reminding you that you are completely his, that you belong to him absolutely.

A guttural growl escapes his throat, an expression of bestial pleasure that intensifies with each thrust. He thrusts into you with such vigor that pain mixes with pleasure, each stroke making you gasp, your body arching involuntarily to accommodate him deeper. Each thrust is a mix of force and sensuality, a wild dance between submission and power. You are aware of every fiber of your body, the tingles that run through your skin, the adrenaline that pulses through your veins. The sheets of the bed are pulled back in a chaotic mess, testifying to the intensity of his assaults, and you feel yourself sucked into the mattress with each impact, as if you become an integral part of this space, an extension of his desire.

When his come washes over you, it’s like a surge of heat and dominance. His heavy body collapses onto yours, his muscles pressing against your back, holding you firmly against him. You feel the heat of his breath sliding down your neck, mingling with the sweat that beads on your skin. The contact makes you shiver, each breath punctuated by moans of satisfaction. You realize that you’re seeking this warmth, this connection, this feeling of fullness that only he can give you.

Sunghoon pulls out slowly, his manhood sliding out of you with a wet sound, before turning you around with disconcerting speed, placing you in front of him like a puppet at his mercy. The intimacy of this position makes you feel a mixture of vulnerability and arousal, a palpable tension vibrating in the air between you. You feel the mixture of your fluids escaping your body, a tangible reminder of the heat of your embrace. Sunghoon grips your jaw in his hands, his fingers squeezing your skin with undeniable possessiveness. He wants to make sure you belong to him, that you are fully aware of his hold on you.

His eyes bore into yours, brimming with a darkness that made you tremble. Their depth was both hypnotic and threatening, an abyss where you could lose yourself. He stepped closer, his mouth brushing yours, his warm, luscious lips promising you something intense, something delicious. When his warm, wet tongue slid over your lips, a wave of desire washed over you, a promise of what was to come.

You open your mouth, inviting him in, thirsty for what he has to offer. His tongue wraps around yours with delicious fervor, exploring every corner of your mouth. The movements of his tongue are both dominating and tender, creating a perfect blend of power and sensuality. He explores your mouth with expert mastery, his gestures becoming more and more demanding, as if he wants to take you into a hypnotic dance.

His tongue slides against yours, finding its way into every nook and cranny, creating a connection that transcends a simple kiss. He begins to suck tenderly at your flesh, his teeth delicately grazing your lips, adding a new dimension to what he’s doing to you. The sensations intensify; each pull, each squeeze makes you moan quietly, a melody of need and pleasure rising between you. The taste of him and the two of you mingled explodes on your tongue, a fusion that awakens deeply buried instincts.

His lips are warm and soft, but also possessive, marking their territory on your flesh. With each movement, you feel the desire intensify, making you capsize in an ocean of sensations. His kisses become a clash, a dance between softness and brutality. He deepens his hold on you, encouraging you to submit to this shared desire, to embrace this connection both tender and wild.

Your breaths sync up, clash and mingle, as the passion intensifies. You are trapped in this kiss, aware of how its power consumes you. You know you are his, body and soul, ready to explore the limits of this all-consuming desire. Every movement, every exchange of breath between you seems to create a stronger bond, as if every caress, every sigh, attaches you a little more to him.

Sunghoon pulls away from your lips, gently tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth, a gesture that is both possessive and hungry. The moment is charged with tension, a mixture of pain and pleasure that makes you moan under your breath, your breath hitching under the intensity of his gaze. “You’re making me lose control,” he murmurs, his voice husky and eager, like a predator intoxicated by its prey. As he lies on his back, he pulls you against him, and you let him, bending to his authority.

Your body presses against his, his warmth enveloping you. His hands slide down your back, tracing familiar patterns on your damp skin, and each touch sends shivers down your spine. You moan softly, breath coming out of your chest as you sink into the crook of his neck, feeling his musky scent mix with the sweat that beads on his skin. He shudders beneath your lips, his muscles contracting as your soft, wet kisses trail over his flesh.

“Then let yourself go,” you whisper, your voice almost a breath, kissing the pulse throbbing against his neck. The softness of your lips against his marble-hard skin contrasts with the rawness of his desire. He tightens his hold on you, his hand sliding authoritatively along your waist, moving to your hips, an insistent pressure that makes you feel his burning need. His fingers dig into your flesh, leaving a visible mark of his possessive hold, an affirmation of your submission to his desire.

“What if you can’t handle it?” he asks, his voice soft, but there’s an underlying intensity in his words. He’s worried, and that vulnerability touches you. You can see the internal struggle in his eyes, that irrational fear that you’ll one day pull away, that you’ll discover the depth of his inner demons and no longer be able to handle the truth of who he is. He’s broken, and despite his strong exterior, he’s walking a fine line between passion and despair.

You’re here, in his arms, and you know that you’re not just a simple object of desire for him. You’re his anchor, the one that ties him to reality. “I’m here,” you assure him, your hand slipping into his hair, tugging lightly to get his attention. Your gaze sinks into his, and in this silent exchange, you transmit the strength he needs. He needs to know that you’re not going to leave him, even when his fears take shape in the darkness.

His hand, soft but firm, slides along your body, getting lost in the curve of your hips, then slowly rising to brush your waist. Each touch is electrifying, awakening sensations in your heart. Sunghoon approaches, his lips brushing the skin of your neck, his kisses becoming more insistent, more urgent. He consumes you, and you let yourself go to this euphoria, intoxicated by his tongue on your skin.

“You’re all I need,” he says with heartbreaking intensity, his breath hot against your skin. His voice echoes like a desperate plea, a heartfelt cry that carries through the dark room. He begins to explore your body, his hands running over your skin, discovering every inch with a thoroughness that leaves you panting. His caresses become more urgent, and you can feel the tension rising between you, a fragile thread ready to snap.

As you let yourself be lulled by the warmth of his caresses, a new wave of desire blossoms deep within you, spreading through every fiber of your body. Sunghoon's fingers travel down your spine, tracing a line of fire across your sensitive skin. Every pressure of his hands, every movement of his fingers, is a silent promise, a whisper through your body. You arch your back instinctively, offering yourself fully to him, as if your body already understands that it exists only to belong to him.

He descends slowly, his lips brushing every inch of your skin, tracing a burning path that makes you shiver. Each kiss is a sweet burn, an invisible mark he places on you to remind you that you belong to him. His teeth graze the skin of your stomach, creating a light bite that makes you gasp, and he watches each of your shudders, each of your sighs, with an almost animal intensity, as if he savors each reaction, each emotion that bursts within you.

When he reaches your pelvis, he pauses for a moment, his fingers firmly on your hips, preventing you from moving. You feel vulnerable, offered, but there is in this vulnerability a promise of safety, as if, in this moment, he is ready to devour you while protecting you in the same breath. His lips brush your stomach one last time before he looks up at you, and in that dark gaze, you perceive a passion that takes your breath away.

Sunghoon begins to kiss you with an almost unsettling gentleness, his lips exploring your skin with a thoroughness that makes you shudder. His kisses are deep and passionate, each movement of his mouth on you resonating like an intimate caress, a gesture of pure possession. You feel your body react, your muscles tensing under the effect of this intense desire that consumes you. He murmurs inaudible words against your skin, as if he wanted to anchor himself in you, to engrave himself in your soul.

His hands slide along your thighs, and you feel his warm breath descend slowly. Each caress is calculated, controlled, as if he took pleasure in prolonging each second, in savoring each shiver that runs through your body. And while he explores your flesh with this intoxicating thoroughness, you lose all control, abandoning yourself completely to this whirlwind of sensations that overwhelms you.

As he holds you tightly, his hand tightens on your thigh with intense possessiveness. “You know you belong to me, right?” His voice, low and raspy, resonates in the thick air of the room, seeping into every corner of your being. You nod, unable to respond otherwise, captivated by this declaration that seems to seal your bond.

“Say it,” he demands, his fingers digging into your flesh, marking his presence, asserting his hold.

“I belong to you,” you whisper in a wavering voice, each word carrying the brutal truth. “Body and soul, I am yours.”

Sunghoon stood there, a few steps away from you, and the distance between you seemed both infinite and terribly close, crackling with tension, like a rope ready to give way under pressure. The air around you was saturated with an electric charge, heavy, almost suffocating. You felt like every breath you took was barely entering your lungs, compressed by this oppressive atmosphere. Before you, he looked like a wild animal on the verge of losing all control, every muscle in his body tense to the limit, every line of his face marked by a mixture of anger and despair.

His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white, his fingers clenched to the limit, looking as if they were going to break. His breathing, jerky and irregular, made his chest rise and fall with an almost violent intensity. It was as if he contained a storm within him, a furious rage that he was forcing himself to hold back. His eyes, which had once offered you warmth and tenderness, were now unfathomably dark, filled with an icy glow that pierced you through and through. They watched you as if they were trying to pierce to the depths of your soul, and you couldn't help but shiver at this intensity that gave off both threat and pain.

Underneath that fear that froze your insides, a dark attraction pulled you towards him. It was something indefinable, an irresistible force, almost primitive, stronger than your reason, more dangerous than your prudence. It was like a fever that crept into you, burning and uncontrollable. A part of you understood the danger of letting yourself be drawn into this darkness, but the other part, the one that only obeyed its instincts, was ready to cross that limit, blinded by a devastating passion.

You could sense this inner battle in him, this brutal, invisible struggle that seemed to tear every fiber of his being apart. His gaze was filled with palpable hatred, a violent disgust that he projected onto you with suffocating intensity. But behind that impenetrable mask, there was something else. You could feel it, this underlying fear, this fragility that he tried to hide, like an open wound that he refused to expose. He looked at you with unbearable tension, and you could almost feel the visceral terror that hid beneath his anger, this fear of abandonment, of loneliness, that had been eating away at him forever.

His voice cracked through the air, harsh, sharp, each word coming like a brutal slap. “Fuck, Y/n, you don’t understand anything, do you?” he growled, lips twisted in contempt. Each syllable was spat out like poison, and his gaze burned with that black anger that froze you to your soul. He took a step back, tipping the table and knocking over a vase that shattered into several pieces, as if your proximity burned him, as if the very idea of ​​your contact filled him with hatred. His entire body felt ready to explode, every muscle tense to the limit.

He ran a trembling hand through his hair, pulling so hard that his fingers seemed ready to break under the pressure. The gesture betrayed his state: he was no longer in control of anything, not even his own emotions. He tried to hold back, but the pain was too deep, too brutal, as if every word he spoke was a desperate attempt to make you run away, to disgust you. But you stood there, unable to back away, unable to look away from the burning chaos that was tearing at his soul.

“You can’t come see me in this fucking arena!” His voice rang out with a violence that made you freeze, a cry torn from your guts, laden with raw pain that gripped you deep inside. In his eyes, you could see the abyss he was plunging into, like a drowning man, unable to hold on to anything. His words were filled with unbearable despair. “I don’t want you to see me like this, to watch as I get torn apart, as I lose what’s left of my dignity!”

He looked away, unable to bear the thought of you seeing that vulnerability, that terror he held on to so as not to completely collapse. His fists clenched again, so hard that the sound of his knuckles cracking under the strain echoed like a sinister echo. A dull fear crept into you, a sinking premonition that Sunghoon was slowly sliding towards a point of no return, an abyss from which you could never bring him back. Yet despite this fear, a fierce determination consumed you, a burning will not to abandon him.

“Sunghoon��” you whispered, taking a cautious step forward, your eyes fixed on his, trying to make him feel your presence, your strength, your love. Your heart was beating so hard that you could feel the pounding in your temples, every movement on his part exacerbating this all-consuming anguish. He backed away again, his bare feet crushing the shards of glass scattered on the ground. The sharp, sharp sound made you shudder, and you saw the blood flow from his feet, scarlet drops staining the ground. But he seemed impervious to physical pain, as if it were an insignificant echo compared to the anguish he carried within him.

“My God… you need healing,” you whispered, your voice trembling. The sight of his blood, of his face marked by this unbearable pain, stabbed you, rekindling in you this visceral fear of losing him, of seeing him sink. But he sneered, a bitter, acid laugh, as icy as a winter wind, filling the room with an implacable coldness.

“Healing? Seriously? You think fucking healing is going to change anything? You think this is what’s going to help me?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but every word oozed a burning sarcasm, an icy hatred that spread through you like venom. “I don’t need you, Y/n. I don’t need your fucking compassion. You’re standing there with your big, hopeful eyes, like you think you can change anything.”

His words were like blades, each syllable digging deeper, digging a gaping wound inside you. But you refused to show the pain that was eating away at you. “Why are you doing this, Sunghoon? Why do you insist on pushing me away, on hurting me?” you asked, your voice trembling, desperate to understand what he was really looking for, what he hoped to find in this spiral of hatred and self-destruction. His face closed even more, his eyes becoming as impenetrable as abysses.

“Why? Because you’re blind, damn it!” he yelled, and his fist slammed into the wall, leaving a reddish mark, a splatter that seemed to convey all the violence he could no longer contain. “Because you don’t understand! You’re here, looking at me with that damn pity in your eyes, that pity that makes me want to puke! What do you take me for, huh? A lost cause? A damn case to save to give yourself a clear conscience?”

His words were cruel, sharp, designed to hit you where you were most vulnerable. You felt tears welling up in spite of yourself, each word resonating like a punch, but you forced yourself to stand tall, not to falter under his attacks. “No, Sunghoon. This is not pity. This is not charity. I love you. Even with this part of you that you try to hide, this broken and painful part… I accept it, because I accept you.”

His gaze locked on you, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw a crack in his shell. He faltered, his eyes betraying a fleeting vulnerability, a flicker of fear and pain he tried hard to hide. But that flicker was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a bitter, contemptuous smile, directed as much at himself as at you.

“You really think you love me, Y/n? You don’t even know what I am. You have no idea what it feels like to be with me. One day, you’ll wake up and realize that I’m nothing but a monster, a wreck.” Sunghoon’s voice was icy, each word falling like a stab. His gaze, once so gentle, was now filled with a consuming rage, a pain he had long hidden, but which was now overflowing like an uncontrollable torrent. His eyes, usually so warm, had become dark abysses, where pain and anger danced together, creating a storm that you didn’t know how to face.

“So do me a favor. Save yourself before it’s too late.” Each syllable seemed to charge the air with a palpable threat, pressing you against the wall of the room. You backed away slowly, each step feeling heavy, as if you were fleeing a storm ready to engulf you. Tears began to pool on your cheeks, hot and salty, but you were determined not to let them fall.

You knew his words were laced with desperation, but the anger that accompanied them struck you right in the heart. He was staring at you with devastating intensity, and in his eyes, you saw the reflection of unbearable pain. He wasn't just angry at you; he was fighting his own demons, and you found yourself trapped in the middle of this bloody battle.

“No, Sunghoon,” you breathed, your voice shaky but firm, filled with emotion that seemed to pierce your heart. “I won’t leave. No matter how much you try to hurt me, to scare me away… I will stay. I will stay because I love you, even if you refuse to accept it.”

At that moment, he looked at you, his eyes flickering between anger and fear. You could almost feel the anguish that was choking him, this visceral panic that he hid under his mask of rage. His anger was only an armor, a rampart that he erected to protect himself, but you knew that he was afraid. Afraid of losing you. Afraid of letting you into his life. Afraid that you would discover what he really was: a broken being, a monster made of pain and despair.

He wavered for a moment, his gaze becoming hesitant, almost vulnerable. But, as if some invisible force was holding him back, he looked away, refusing to let himself be weak, even with you. “Then you’re even stupider than I thought,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. His words were like arrows, aimed straight at your heart, a desperate attempt to hurt you and push you away from him. It was a painful dance, a struggle between his desire to lock you away and the need to keep you at a distance.

Without a final glance, he grabbed his things, his abrupt movements betraying the inner storm that was consuming him. You watched him get dressed, each movement filled with a mixture of desperation and resignation. The muscles in his arms clenched with tension, and you could almost hear the crunch of his teeth clenched in a fight against his own demons. When he put on his shoes, the sound of leather hitting the floor sounded like a parting sentence, marking a brutal break between you.

Sunghoon felt your heavy footsteps guide him into the night, each meter he traveled pushing him deeper into the sticky darkness of his thoughts. The icy wind bit at his skin, slicing his face, but he welcomed the pain, the discomfort, as a punishment he was inflicting on himself. The memories of your haunted face, of your broken voice asking him to stay, overlapped his regrets. He hadn't wanted to run away, not really. But he knew that by staying, he could only hurt you more, drag you into his own downfall.

The silent streets stretched before him, each shadow drawing him closer to the place he had vowed never to return. This was not a triumphant return; it was a defeat, a bitter acceptance that he was nothing without this violence, this chaos that flowed through his veins like a slow poison. His throat tightened, rage and despair intertwining in a hot, oppressive knot. He clung to that anger like a shield, refusing to let weakness overwhelm him.

At the end of the street, in the fading light, a rusty door appeared. He knew it by heart, every scratch, every mark. The door that led to a world of shadow and brutality, a world where blows spoke louder than words, where blood and sweat flowed freely, without judgment or remorse.

He knocked three times. The metal vibrated under his fist, a shock that resonated in his soul. A few seconds passed before the door opened, and Nishimura Riki appeared. The guard had that usual arrogant look, that smirk that said it all without him needing to speak. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized him, a cruel pleasure shining in his gaze.

“Hunger Flayed… we thought you were gone for good,” Riki drawled, his tongue rolling each word like a calculated taunt. He knew where to strike to hurt, knew Sunghoon was here because he had failed elsewhere. This was a humiliation, and Riki wasn’t going to deny himself the chance to savor it.

Sunghoon felt anger boiling inside him, but he forced himself to keep his cool. The urge to smash that smug grin shot through him, but he just stared into Riki's eyes, cold and sharp. "Don't play with me tonight, Riki." His voice was low, dangerous, each word a warning heavy with the promise of violence.

Riki shrugged, that same smile still plastered on his face. "Still nervous, huh?" He opened the door wide, and Sunghoon stepped forward, the sound of the door closing behind him like a prison cell locking.

From the first steps, the rancid smell of sweat, blood, and dirt rose to his nostrils. This place had never changed. The walls, covered in dark, sticky marks, seemed to ooze this accumulated violence, as if each fight had been embedded there, each scream absorbed by the building, fed by their fears. A familiar shiver ran down his spine, a mixture of adrenaline and disgust. He hated this place as much as he needed it. This was where he could let it all out, where he could be the beast the world wanted him to be.

His steps led him through the narrow corridors to the locker room, a squalid room with walls yellowed by time and dust. The flashing neon cast a sickly light, bathing the place in a dirty green hue. Puddles of stagnant water, footprints, mud mixed with other substances he preferred not to identify, covered the floor.

Facing his old locker, a rusty and dented block of metal, he felt a strange nostalgia mixed with bitterness. Everything here had been witness to his nights spent fighting, destroying himself for strangers eager for sensations. He entered the code, an instinctive gesture, and opened the locker with a sharp blow. Inside, his things were still there, exactly as he had left them: a pair of black and red shorts, worn, soaked with the blows and sweat of past fights. As he grabbed them, he felt the weight of his past, each tear in the fabric like a memory of his defeats and victories.

He slowly removed his sweatshirt, revealing his arms, which were covered in scars that painted a brutal landscape of old injuries. These marks he had collected like trophies, tangible proof of his survival. As he began wrapping the bandages around his hands, squeezing each turn with a strength that betrayed all his pent-up anger, a figure appeared in the doorway.

Sim Jake.

The master of the place, the one who saw him as a simple animal destined for his cage. In Jake's eyes, there was no pity, no respect, just this gleam of unhealthy excitement. To Jake, Sunghoon was nothing more than a commodity, a monster he could exhibit to satisfy an audience in search of thrills. Jake smiled, a cruel smile that lifted the corners of his mouth without ever reaching his eyes.

“Well, well… the great Sunghoon, back in the pit,” Jake hissed as he approached, his heavy footsteps echoing in the silence. “Looks like you’re not as healed as you’re pretending, huh?”

Sunghoon continued to wrap his hands, each movement slow and precise, trying to quell the fury that simmered within him. He felt Jake's gaze weigh on him, a crushing, cold weight. It probed his flaws, relishing in every sliver of vulnerability he could perceive.

“Maybe I just need to remember why I left this place,” he replied, his voice raspy and laden with sarcasm.

Jake gave a cold laugh, a sharp sound that sounded like a knife scraping glass. He stepped closer to Sunghoon, his strong hand settling heavily on his shoulder, his fingers pressing into his flesh in an almost possessive gesture. “Oh, I guess you never really wanted to leave, Sunghoon. Because you’re just a caged beast, and the cage is here. Nobody understands you outside, right?”

Sunghoon gritted his teeth, every muscle tense. “Don’t talk to me like you know anything about me,” he spat, roughly pushing Jake’s hand away. His breathing quickened, each pulse in his veins like a war drum.

Jake took a step back, but an amused smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, I know you better than you think,” he murmured, his voice soft and poisonous. “You’re just a kid who convinced himself he was a monster because it’s easier to hit than to feel. You’re pathetic, Sunghoon. And you know it.”

The words slid through him like a blade, hitting a sore spot, a part of him he refused to acknowledge. Sunghoon felt the rage boil over, his vision narrowing, focused solely on Jake. His fist clenched, the bandages cracking under the pressure, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. He could taste something metallic on his tongue, like his own anger was eating away at him from the inside.

“You don’t have the right…” Her voice was barely a whisper, a mixture of hate and pain, a fierce vibration that shook him from the inside. “You think you can break me with your words? You’re nothing, Jake. Just a parasite who feeds on the misery of others.”

Jake stared at him, a sadistic glint in his eyes, his smile widening. "Look at you, all you can do is hit. Just like your father, right? Always trying to prove something, always..."

The words were lost as Sunghoon, in an uncontrolled burst, grabbed Jake by the collar and slammed him violently against the locker. The metal shook with shock, and Sunghoon found himself face to face with Jake, his breath short, his gaze black and furious. Hatred, despair, pain, all mixed together in that moment. He was cornered, a wounded beast, but he refused to submit.

“You have no idea what I am,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice sharp as a blade. “You and your little shit of power… You’re just a coward. A coward who hides behind words because he never had the courage to fight for himself.”

Jake stared at him, a mixture of fear and defiance in his eyes. But despite the fear that was beginning to show, he dared to smile again, defiant to the end. “Go ahead. Hit me, Sunghoon. Prove to me that you’re just a beast, just like I always said.”

Sunghoon felt the call of violence, the irresistible temptation to silence Jake, to release all the pent-up rage, as his fist rose. But a cold shiver ran down his spine, like an invisible bite. A voice, soft but persistent, rose in his mind, breaking the impulse that pushed him to strike. He slowly lowered his hand, a gesture heavy with despair. The pain, the regret, and the echo of your voice echoed in his head, filling him with emptiness. He released Jake, letting him collapse backwards, his gaze burning with disgust.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away, the darkness of the room engulfing him as he sat down on a makeshift bench. The murmurs and raucous laughter of the other fighters, the harsh light, everything mixed and distorted around him. In this chaos, he felt more lost than ever, a prisoner of his own choices, thinking back to you and everything he had told you.

The dilapidated warehouse is shrouded in heavy darkness, pierced only by flashing neon lights that cast yellowish halos on the eager faces of the packed crowd. The air is humid, saturated with the smell of metal, sweat, and a palpable tension that stifles every breath. The walls are stained with grime and damp, and rusty pipes snake along the ceilings like the veins of a gigantic, decomposing body. Every corner of this place seems imbued with a macabre history, as if violence had left an indelible imprint, etched in stone.

The ring, at the center of it all, is a crude, dimly lit arena where men come not for glory but for survival. There is no refined audience, no bright spotlights. Only shadows with hungry eyes, clenched jaws, eyes sparkling with morbid curiosity. Dirty money is bet, names are whispered, blood is awaited as one would await rain in a burning desert.

Kim Sunoo is already standing in the center of the ring, elegant in his role as commentator, but he seems out of place in this grotesque scene. His suit is too well-tailored for this place where brutality reigns, but his sly, calculated smile shows that he is perfectly at home here. He is the spectacle. His microphone squeaks slightly as he taps it, cutting short the murmurs of the crowd. Silence falls like an axe, all eyes fixed on him, impatient.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Sunoo begins, his voice rising like a crescendo, seeping into the dark recesses of the room. “Tonight, you are here to witness a spectacle you will not find anywhere else. Not in legal arenas, not on your screens. Here, it is only raw, real, blood and flesh!”

His smile is sharp, almost predatory, as he scans the crowd, his eyes sparkling with restrained malice. Sunghoon, standing in the shadows of a corner of the ring, feels his muscles tense with each syllable Sunoo utters. Each word reminds him why he is here, why he needs this fight. He hates this place, this stage, these spectators who only come to see him destroy himself, but deep down, he knows he needs this pain to hold on to something, to feel alive.

He stares at his hands, already bandaged with mechanical precision, as his fingers tremble slightly, not from fear, but from suppressed rage. His breathing is slow, but his heart beats at a speed that betrays him. He knows he can't back down anymore. Here, he's not Sunghoon, the man with regrets. Here, he's The Flayed Hunger. A nickname his opponents whisper with awe-tinged fear, a nickname that reduces him to one thing: violence.

“In the left corner… a man whose name evokes terror and chaos. A man who fights as if he has nothing left to lose. As if every blow is his last breath. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the man known as The Flayed Hunger… SUNGHOON!”

Sunoo lets the last words hang in the air, and some of the crowd erupts into wild applause, while others boo. Sunghoon steps out of the shadows, striding forward with a heavy, determined stride. His fists are clenched, his muscles tense beneath his pale skin. His face is closed, expressionless. A mask of calm, but beneath the surface, a whirlwind of rage. He is a time bomb, ready to explode at any moment, and everyone in this room knows it.

His eyes scan the crowd quickly, not lingering on any face. They don’t matter. Nothing here really matters, except the fight that’s coming. This ring, this violence, it’s the only thing keeping him alive, the only thing that calms, if only briefly, the chaos in his head. He clenches his fists a little tighter, feeling the tension in his muscles like a promise of pain. Pain, after all, is the only thing he truly understands.

But it's not just physical pain he seeks. It's this inner war, this battle against himself, against what he's become. Every blow he takes is a kind of redemption, a punishment he willingly inflicts on himself, for something he can't name. Something he can't fix.

He steps into the ring, impassive, his features hard and merciless. The noise of the crowd fades away for him. They are only spectators, there to feast on his destruction, but he has no use for them. They are insignificant. What he waits for, what he desires, is the confrontation. It is this inevitable collision that will break the silence in his head, even if it is only for a few moments.

“And now, in the right corner…” Sunoo continues, his tone darkening, becoming more serious, as if he were about to reveal a beast he himself had unleashed. “A man who has no pity or remorse. A cold, precise fighter, whose blows leave marks that no one forgets. The Butcher… the man who cuts without hesitation… JUNGWON!”

The applause rises, accompanied by shrill whistles and nervous laughter. Jungwon steps forward, not even glancing at the crowd. His eyes are already fixed on Sunghoon, as if nothing else exists in this room. He steps into the ring with the slowness of a predator sure of victory. He doesn't smile, shows no emotion. His body is tense, ready for the fight, but his face remains icy cold.

The tension is at its peak when the ring girl enters as Sunoo descends. She crosses the ring with a calculated, sensual gait. Her outfit is provocative, her curves highlighted by the shiny black leather that reflects the flickering neon lights. Her heels click softly on the floor, almost inaudible under the murmurs of the crowd. But her smile, frozen and lifeless, betrays the falseness of the scene. She is only a distraction in this arena of violence, a dissonant note in this symphony of brutality.

She raises the sign that says “Round 1” above her head, displaying it proudly as she circles the ring, oblivious to what’s to come. Her eyes reflect nothing. She’s here, simply because that’s her role. An empty role, one that has nothing to do with the storm brewing between Sunghoon and Jungwon.

Sunghoon stood at the edge of the ring, his muscles tense with the pressure. He breathed deeply, but each inhalation burned his windpipe, as if the air itself was saturated with venom. The bandage around his fists squeezed his knuckles so tightly that he almost lost all feeling. His eyes, fixed on his opponent, were filled with a suppressed rage, a fury ready to destroy everything inside him. Hatred snarled, rising from his insides to his throat, ready to explode at any moment.

Facing him, Jungwon remained impassive. A thin, almost provocative smile touched his lips. His piercing black eyes seemed to dissect Sunghoon, looking for his flaws, his weak points. This was no ordinary opponent. No, Jungwon was not here to simply fight. He was here to destroy Sunghoon, physically and psychologically. He was playing with him, and Sunghoon knew it. This smile, this nonchalance, everything in Jungwon's attitude exuded a frightening confidence, that of a man certain to dominate. He was not only looking to win, he wanted to humiliate, to break.

The gong finally rang out, its echo vibrating through the chaos of tense silence. The moment had finally arrived. Sunghoon felt his muscles tense further, like a spring ready to break free. Every fiber in his body screamed at him to fight, to strike, to destroy.

Without thinking, Sunghoon charged. His body was a mass of tension, of pure violence. His fists came down with the force of a raging animal, his blows seeking to tear flesh, to break bone. But Jungwon moved with disconcerting fluidity. Every blow Sunghoon threw was blocked or dodged with insulting ease. Jungwon barely moved, brushed by Sunghoon’s frantic assault, his movements controlled, calculated. He was toying with him. Frustration was rising, bubbling in Sunghoon’s stomach.

The blows rained down, each one more desperate than the last, but none of them hit their mark. Then, in a moment of inattention, Jungwon struck. A well-placed punch sank directly into Sunghoon's ribs. The shock was instantaneous. Sunghoon felt his bones vibrate from the impact, and his breath immediately failed him. Pain exploded in his chest, a fire burning his lungs as he tried to breathe. He staggered backwards, gasping for air, but found only the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

Jungwon didn't give him time to recover. Before Sunghoon could fully straighten up, another blow, quick and precise, crashed against his brow bone. A searing pain tore through his skull, and almost immediately, blood gushed from the cut, running down his face in thick, hot streaks. The reddish liquid obstructed his vision, blurring his senses, but he couldn't stop himself. He quickly wiped his eyes with his forearm, feeling the blood stain his skin, but Jungwon was already on top of him.

An uppercut caught him square in the chin, sending his head snapping back with such force he thought his neck would snap. Pain flared in the back of his skull, his vision flickered, and for a split second he felt the world around him fade away, as if his mind were floating out of his body. All he felt was emptiness, a cold, black abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

But he did not fall.

With an almost inhuman will, Sunghoon took a few steps back, his legs shaking, but still standing. The taste of blood filled his mouth, a bitter and metallic taste, reminding him of his own mortality. But even more than the physical pain, he felt the humiliation. Jungwon stood there, still with that same cruel smile, his fists slightly raised, waiting for Sunghoon to throw himself into the wolf's mouth again.

“Is that all you got, Sunghoon?” Jungwon hissed, his low voice cutting through the din of the crowd. “I expected more from you… But you’re just a rabid dog who bites without thinking. Pathetic.”

Those words hurt more than any blow Sunghoon had taken so far. He felt rage surge through him, an uncontrollable wave of pure hatred. His fists clenched, his knuckles turning white, his nails digging into the flesh of his already cut palms. But this time, it wasn’t blind rage. It was cold, calculated anger. He knew that if he kept this up, he would lose more than just the fight. He would lose everything. So he focused, ignoring the throbbing pain in his ribs and the blood that still blurred his vision.

He moved forward again, this time with more control, his blows more measured. But Jungwon was still faster. He dodged the first blow, then the second, before counterattacking with blinding speed. A right hook crashed against Sunghoon’s jaw, and before he could react, another blow struck him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him once more. His knees buckled under the impact, and he half-collapsed, his hands desperately trying to grip the ring ropes to keep from collapsing completely.

The crowd roared. Screams of delight and excitement rose, bets were made in the shadows. They wanted to see blood, and they were getting it. Sunghoon’s face was a macabre painting of pain and rage, blood running in thick rivulets down his chin and chest. But even so, he wouldn’t give up. Not yet.

“Get up. Show me you still have some pride,” Jungwon murmured, stepping closer to him, his hot, mocking breath inches from his face. “Where’s the Sunghoon everyone feared? Where is he, huh?”

Those words made something burst out in Sunghoon. He stood up straight, his fist slicing through the air with a speed increased tenfold by anger. This time, his blow landed. He felt the impact against Jungwon's jaw, his opponent recoiling from the force of the shock. A smile distorted by rage twisted Sunghoon's lips. He struck again. Again. His fists came down like hammers, seeking to destroy, to crush, to draw blood. Jungwon took a few blows, but his guard remained high, and soon, he struck back.

The blows exchanged became more and more violent, each impact echoing in the warehouse like a clap of thunder. The ground was becoming slippery because of the blood and sweat, and each step of Sunghoon seemed heavier, more difficult. He felt his strength leave him little by little, but he refused to give up. His blows were less precise, more disordered, but the hatred which animated him kept him standing.

Then came the final blow.

A straight punch to the face. Jungwon's fist crashed against Sunghoon's nose with devastating force. He felt the bone crack under the impact, a searing pain erupted in his skull, and this time, he fell.

The ground beneath Sunghoon seemed to give way as he collapsed, his heavy body hitting the ring hard, pain tearing through every fiber of his being. His breath was short and ragged, his throat tight with the terror and violence he had just endured. He couldn’t move, his vision darkening as blood rushed into his eyes, the burning heat of pain filling every inch of his skin. The thud of his bones breaking echoed in his skull like a final hammer blow. The delirious crowd roared, a clamor of triumph, of rage, of sick pleasure vibrating in the air. The bets were made, but none of that mattered. What mattered was the pain, the rage that still boiled inside him, the sight of Jungwon, that mocking smile of the fucking monster.

He stood there for a moment, lying there like an abandoned carcass. His body was nothing more than a pile of bruised flesh, his torso beating in time with a heart that seemed to want to burst under the intensity of the pain. Each breath was a fight in itself, a struggle against the blood that flooded his throat, against the heat of the pain that had taken hold of every muscle, every nerve fiber. But somewhere in that pit of suffering, a flame persisted. Anger. Rage. That fucking determination that he had never been able to eradicate.

He wasn't done yet. Not until this fucking rage was satisfied. Not until that shitty smile was broken, crushed under the force of his fists.

The images flashed through his mind, blurry but burning with truth. The pain. The hate. The promise he made to himself that he wouldn't lose. Not like this. Not in front of him. Never in front of this asshole.

With a muffled groan, he forced his body up, fighting the dizziness that threatened to swallow him up in the darkness. His shaking arms clung to the ropes of the ring, each movement a sheer agony, a test his mind was not prepared to endure. He rose slowly, the crowd looking down on him, murmuring, speculating about his imminent fall. But he stood up, regardless. His face was unrecognizable, bloodied, his body scarred by every blow, every accumulated defeat. He was nothing more than a walking corpse, but he stood there, standing. Not yet. Not yet down.

Jungwon stared at him, a cruel smile tugging at his lips, his eyes burning with sick satisfaction. He knew Sunghoon wouldn’t surrender easily. He knew this wounded animal wouldn’t give up as long as there was a breath of life in his lungs. Victory was within reach, but the look in Sunghoon’s eyes, that look filled with rage and defiance, was beginning to intrigue him. He hadn’t expected this. He’d expected a quick end, an inglorious submission. But that wasn’t the case. Sunghoon stood there, a broken man but still ready for a fight. And that was fascinating.

Sunghoon lifted his head, staring at Jungwon, every muscle in his body on fire, but determined not to let that shitty smile stay on that face. He took a deep breath, feeling the burn in his chest, the blood pulsing through his veins like poison. But he didn't care. It was nothing compared to what he had endured. It was nothing compared to the hatred he carried deep in his gut.

“This fucking fight… it’s not over.” His voice was hoarse, each word seeming to crush him further, but he managed to clench his fists. He pushed away from the ropes, wiping his face with a sharp gesture, clearing the mixture of sweat and blood that blurred his vision, the rage still palpable in every gesture. He wasn’t going to be crushed that easily.

Jungwon snickered, openly mocking Sunghoon, snapping his neck like a predator ready to devour its prey. “You’re a fucking monster, but you’re also a fucking idiot.” He stepped forward slowly, his eyes shining with mischief. “You should have stayed down, left all that behind… But hey, if you really want to say your last words for that girlfriend, for that woman you think you might still see again, go ahead. I’ll take care of it. And who knows… I might even take your place.” He gave him a smirk, accompanied by a provocative wink, knowing full well how much he could hurt Sunghoon with those words.

Jungwon's breathing became faster, more erratic. He clenched his fists, his body shaking with rage at the very thought of Jungwon next to you. The taste of betrayal, of helplessness, was eating him alive. He had screwed up, he knew it. But he couldn't accept this. Not you, not with him. Not after everything he had endured. Not with that son of a bitch.

Sunghoon's eyes were bloodshot, and he gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw cracked. He was far from finished. In that moment, he was nothing more than an animal, a raging beast. His arm shot up, cutting through the air with superhuman strength, propelled by his all-consuming rage. He threw a right hook toward Jungwon's jaw. The sound of the impact was like thunder, a dull crack of bone under the force of the blow. Jungwon's breath escaped in a gasp of pain, but he didn't fall.

The taste of blood mingled with the air, the pain in Jungwon's gaze amplified by the shock. Sunghoon wasn't waiting for him to fall. No. He wanted to break him. The blows rained down, merciless, savage. An uppercut to the abdomen, followed by a knee crushing Jungwon's ribs, all of this followed by a fist that crashed with bestial violence on his left eye. A blow that knocked out a few teeth, sending blood flying into the air, like a macabre spectacle, a symphony of pure violence. Sunghoon was no longer aware of his own pain. All that mattered was hearing him scream. He wanted Jungwon to suffer, to pay, to burn in the same hatred that boiled in his guts.

“Don’t even come near her, asshole.” Sunghoon spat, the taste of metal in his mouth. Every word, every syllable, was a promise of destruction, pure hatred.

Jungwon staggered, a trickle of blood running from his nose, his mouth, his eyes already almost closed under the intensity of the shock. But he didn't fall. No, he straightened up, forcing himself to ignore the pain, to push back the inevitable. He had learned to take it, to never let himself be defeated. He had been forged in this brutal environment. But this fight was not what he expected. He had underestimated Sunghoon. He thought the pain would be enough to destroy him, but he had not taken into account the tenacity that inhabited Sunghoon's soul. The latter was not going to give in. Not as long as there was a breath of life left in his body.

As he struggled to his feet, he hissed through his teeth, "I'm gonna fuck her over your fucking corpse." He wiped the blood from his face, staring at Sunghoon with a look of disgust and strange admiration, his smile slowly stretching.

Sunghoon let out a throaty laugh, a sneer twisting his bruised lips. He stood up, panting, his body burning with the effort. “I’ll break your legs before you can even lay a finger on them.” He took a step forward, an aura of murderous rage emanating from every step. “But you’re the one who’s going to die here, Jungwon. Not me.”

A cry of pain escaped Jungwon's throat as Sunghoon lunged again. This time, he didn't even try to dodge. There was no more play, no more holding back. Sunghoon struck, again and again, his fists becoming masses of steel striking with uncontrollable rage. Each punch tore Jungwon's soul a little more, each impact pushing him deeper into an abyss of pain.

Jungwon found himself pinned against the ropes of the ring, with no room to defend himself. His back hit the cables brutally, but Sunghoon, carried away by pure and unheard-of violence, did not slow down. He raised another fist, this time to strike at the face, to crush that cruel smile, to annihilate that arrogance once and for all.

Sunghoon's fist landed with titanic force against Jungwon's right eye. A burst of light erupted in the air as the sound of the impact echoed throughout the gymnasium. Jungwon screamed, a scream tearing through the atmosphere, a scream of pure pain, as if his soul was shattering from the impact.

Sunghoon, now out of control, continued to strike. His fists slammed down with an unfathomable intensity, each blow bringing him closer to his breaking point. But in his furious madness, he knew that each blow was merely the answer to a deeper wound, an old, ingrained pain that refused to let go. A wound that would never heal. A pain that lived in his bones, in his flesh, in his shattered dreams.

Sunghoon's gaze, filled with fury, was that of a man possessed by violence. He had nothing left to lose. No reason to hold back. His fists struck, relentlessly, until he no longer felt tired, until his body screamed in pain. But he didn't care. This fight was no longer just physical. It embodied everything he had become, everything he had lost. And there was no going back. Not while this asshole in front of him was still breathing.

Sunghoon didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The blows rained down like a driving rain, each fist slamming into Jungwon with relentless brutality, each impact echoing through his bones like detonations. All he could hear was the roar of his own heart, beating like a war drum in his ears. The thud of blows hitting human flesh, Jungwon’s muffled grunts, all of it blended into a symphony of pure violence. Blood spattered, spurted into the air, and he could feel it, hot and sticky on his arms, his face. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He was nothing more than a monster, a destruction machine, a creature of blind rage.

Sunghoon's fists struck relentlessly, his body moving mechanically, fueled only by the adrenaline that burned through his veins. Each blow he gave seemed to strip away a little of his humanity, turning him further into an insatiable predator. He was too far into this abyss to care about his own limits. The muscles in his arms, his legs, screamed in pain, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. The blows continued, each new contact with Jungwon's skin resonating like an explosion in his mind, rekindling the visceral hatred that was eating away at him from the inside.

Jungwon, his eyes bloodshot, his face disfigured, struggled to stand. Every breath was a struggle not to collapse, but he didn't fall. He stood there, a wounded beast, but still standing, defying the world, defying Sunghoon. And it was that look, that look full of defiance and arrogance that inflamed Sunghoon even more. He hated him. He hated him so much that he couldn't stop. He wanted to see him suffer, to feel that pain in his fists, to see the fear in his eyes. But Jungwon wouldn't give in.

Sunghoon struck again. A right hook that exploded against his jaw. A terrifying, almost human sound echoed, and Sunghoon felt Jungwon's jaw shatter from the impact. Blood spurted out, splattering all around them. Another rush of adrenaline. Another surge of pure rage.

The ring floor was an ocean of blood. Jungwon's body was almost unrecognizable. His mouth, his eyes, his nose… everything was a bloody mess of wounds. But he didn't fall. He didn't give in. He stood up, struggling to stay on his feet, his gaze still there, that glint of arrogance that never died.

Sunghoon was no longer human. He had become a beast, his fists becoming relentless weapons, striking again, again and again. Every blow he gave was not simply to conquer, but to destroy, to crush. He wanted that arrogant face to crumble under his fists. He wanted Jungwon to disappear under the violence. He wanted to break him, until only pieces of him remained, scattered on the ground.

Jungwon, his mouth full of blood, tried to back away, desperate to get away from the ropes, but it was already too late. Sunghoon grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to raise his head to look him straight in the eyes. He forced him to face the brutality of his gaze, a glint of madness and disgust reflected in his pupils. Then, with a sharp blow, he landed another blow, an uppercut that slammed against his skull, sending him halfway into the ropes, his body sagging in shock. The sound of the impact echoed through the arena like a funeral knell.

Jungwon staggered, his face covered in blood, but he stood up once more, refusing to give in, to show any weakness. And that, it drove Sunghoon even crazier. Every time Jungwon stood up, it was like he was sending him a challenge, a challenge not to stop, to keep hitting.

Sunghoon leaned down, his eyes full of madness. A demented smile played on his lips, a cruel, satisfied smile. Then he raised his knee and sent it straight into Jungwon's ribs. A thud, a sound of breaking flesh, echoed through the arena. Sunghoon felt a shiver of pleasure freeze his skin, a macabre pleasure that flowed through his veins. He wanted to see that pain, he wanted to see the suffering in Jungwon's eyes. He wanted this man to understand that nothing he had ever done in his life would ever be as intense as this pain.

“You still want to play?!” Sunghoon muttered in a hoarse voice, almost a growl, his fists shaking with rage. But he didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t care about words. What he wanted was to destroy this man, break his pride, make him as miserable as he had always been in his eyes.

He grabbed Jungwon by the hair one last time, forcing him to stand up. Sunghoon's gaze grew colder. He forced Jungwon's face to turn towards him, before spitting, a spray of blood and saliva that landed next to his disfigured face.

But before he could continue, a powerful arm wrapped around him. It was Jake. He was stepping into the ring, his eyes black with anger. With a brutal gesture, he grabbed Sunghoon by the arm and yanked him back, forcing him to let go. “No deaths. That’s the only rule, remember?” Jake growled authoritatively, but Sunghoon, drunk with rage, didn’t even pay him any attention.

His fists were clenched so tightly he could feel the tendons snapping under the pressure, his arms shaking with the effort. He spat out blood, his gaze still fixed on Jungwon, his eyes full of fury. “Let go of me, asshole.” His voice trembled with pure rage.

Jake didn't give in. With a shoulder thrust, Sunghoon pushed Jake back, a final burst of violence. Then, staggering, he left the ring, his body on fire, his mind drowned in fury. He no longer felt human. He no longer felt anything but a monster without control, a creature of rage ready to destroy everything in its path.

Sunghoon stood there in the cramped bathroom, the flickering light of a fluorescent lamp casting a distorted glow on his reflection. He had not yet gotten used to looking at this face that seemed foreign to him, this broken figure staring back at him in the mirror. The blows were still fresh, the injuries visible: his skin, red and marbled with bruises, his broken nose, his lips swollen from the impact, streaks of dried blood testifying to the rampages he had endured. But these physical marks were nothing compared to what he felt deep inside. It was this rage that boiled, this blind hatred, but above all… this shame. An insidious shame, which ate away at him from the inside, making its way through his veins, more toxic than any bodily injury.

Beads of sweat beaded on his forehead, mixing with the blood that was still flowing, forming a reddish film on his skin. His hands shook, not from pain, but from disgust. Every movement only made the pain worse, as if his entire body was guilty of the violence he had poured out. His fingers gripped the sink with such force that he could almost feel the pain of the metal digging into his palm. The heat in his head rose to an unbearable burn, a diffuse pain that seemed to encompass his entire being.

He knew he had ruined everything. Everything. And it was irreversible. With you, with himself. He had believed he could free himself through violence, regain control of a life that was slipping away from him, redefine his existence in a world he had learned to hate. But it had all been an illusion. Control? He had never had it. Not with him. Not with you. Not even with his own body, which he hated, which he had never been able to master.

His gaze wandered into the mirror. His black, bloodshot eyes stared at this image of himself that repulsed him. And he hated it. Every fiber of his being turned away from this version of himself, a distorted reflection of what he was supposed to be. The violence he had endured, the rage he carried within him, he had believed that it would fix him. But all it had done was open the invisible wounds of his soul even more, twisting and dying. The physical pain? It was nothing anymore. It was the inside that bled. This unbearable emptiness, this nothingness that devoured his heart, his soul, his mind.

He leaned forward, his shaking hands resting on his knees, his breathing heavy, noisy, disordered. He felt his body folding under the weight of the actions he had committed. The memory of the blows he had dealt Jungwon, that unleashed violence, that uncontrollable torrent that had disfigured the man in front of him, that face broken under his fists, the shattered teeth, the blood flying in the air, all of it assailed him. It was not victory that consumed him. It was this feeling of emptiness and disgust, this image of himself that refused to disappear. It was not a man he had beaten. It was himself he had destroyed. He had not freed himself. He had lost himself. Completely.

He collapsed against the sink, his head down, his eyes closed, as if to escape his own reflection, the shards of glass in his mind overlapping the shattered image of his own face. The sound of blood still flowing from his wounds echoed in the silence, a mournful reminder that he was nothing more than a body, a mass of pain, a burden he carried with him. He hated himself. He hated himself so much that he wanted to erase it all. Destroy himself entirely, so that the pain would finally end. But he knew. He knew he couldn't.

Pain had become his identity, a burden he could neither cast off nor abandon. Hatred, his driving force. He felt as if this pain, this insatiable need to destroy, was the only thing keeping him standing, like a puppet caught in the strings of his own madness. He was no longer a man. He was a monstrosity, a soulless beast, a creature devouring everything in its path, an entity hungry for pain.

He slowly raised his head, a smirk twisting his face, twisted by self-destruction. He hated himself. But in that hatred, there was also a kind of satisfaction, a visceral darkness that came from the depths of his broken soul. As if violence, as devastating as it was, was the only thing that still allowed him to exist. He was not a man. He was a monster, and that monster could only survive in this endless darkness.

The scene in the arena, the sounds of blows, the image of Jungwon, the groans of pain… all of it haunted him. He was not a fighter. He was not a hero. He was an abyss of shadows, a caricature of what he could have been, if violence had not taken possession of his soul. His fists, still clenched by rage, trembled under the irresistible urge to strike again. But who could he inflict this pain on? Who, if not himself, could still fall under the violence he had unleashed?

His eyes fell upon the shard of the broken mirror. Each piece of glass seemed to reflect a different image of himself, scattered fragments of a whole that no longer existed. And he smiled at it, that demented smile, that of a lost man, of a man who had sacrificed everything he was, even his humanity, for… nothing. He hated himself, but at the same time, he fed on that hatred. Because deep down, he knew he could never live without it.

List of tags

@strxwbloody @heeknow @sweeheehees @cyjhhyj @jaylajakey

[piftamere]

twelve - hello kitty bandages (wc : 600; cw : blood)

it’s late, he’s sitting on her washing machine, she’s standing between his legs. a pile of blood soaked tissue paper and cotton pads fills the bathroom sink. a spray bottle of disinfectant in hand, the kind that stings. every so often, he winces, and she mumbles some curse word under her breath. she’s not a fucking nurse, he’s an idiot, he should've went to a hospital, it fucking won’t stop bleeding…

he’s being as quiet as he can. things were weird between them since the other night, and what his friends told him has been silently haunting the back of his mind. but after running out of the locker room with a busted lip and blood dripping down his hand and face, he could only think of one place to go. that’s how he ended up here, and even if it hurts, he has no regrets.

she’s focused, biting her lower lip in concentration, and under the dim light coming through the curtains, she looks beautiful.

when she’s done, his face is covered in hello kitty bandages.

she comes back from the kitchen with a bag of frozen peas, holding out her hand. he places his bruised hand in hers.

she holds the bag a few inches away from his knuckles before speaking, “tell me what happened.”

he shakes his head. “you don’t need to know.”

her brows furrow, “don’t try to protect me.”

she’s holding up his gaze. she won’t give up until he explains.

he looks down at his hand. with a sigh, he whispers, “shion was talking shit.”

“about me?”

he nods, he still won’t look into her eyes. “you sure you wanna know?”

“i’m sure.”

“…he called you a slut. said you ‘begged for it’, he asked me if i ‘hit that yet’. i don’t remember what he said after that. i snapped. before i knew it, my fist was in his nose.”

he takes a quick look at her face, she’s lost in thought for a moment.

“thanks… i guess,” she mutters, as she sets the peas on his bruise. she stares in his eyes. she presses down hard on his hand, as if to emphasize her words. “but i’m not a damsel in distress. i don’t need you to defend my honor.”

“especially if you’re gonna get hurt.” she doesn’t say it, at least not with her words, but he reads it in her gaze. then again, maybe he only sees what he wants to see.

he winces, and with chuckle he whispers, “yeah i know.”

hesitantly he reaches for her hand and links his uninjured fingers with hers. his thumb draws soothing circles into her skin. her shoulders relax.

“i hope he looks worse than you.”

“oh trust me, he does.” he smiles, the tear in his lip threatening to bleed again, before continuing, “sorry i won’t look nice on our date tomorrow.”

she shifts her weight on her feet, “don’t worry about that.”

she inches forwards, wrapping her arms around his neck. he rests his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes. he places his hand on the small of her back, holding her closer.

he nuzzles his face into her hair, mumbling, “i should get going,” making no effort to move at all.

“and what? walk back to your place in this state?”

“someone can come pick me up.”

she insists, "did he hit you on the head? don't be an idiot. stay the night."

he chuckles, as he tightens his hold on her, the frozen peas falling on the ground. “okay.”

fun facts

atsumu was too upset about the loss to notice yn sneak away.

the bandages are yachi’s, it's all they had left.

yn's roommates went to celebrate the win but she wasn't in the mood to go with them.

atsumu and yn planned their date before the party and she was debating canceling it.

author's note

i really like this one :)

the men in this universe are lovely

play dumb! - next

taglist : open!

@alpha-mommy69 @bakugouswh0r3 @giocriedpower @itsdragonius @haechansbbg @wondipity @iaminyourfloors @na0koz @from-mae @eusaevi @kr1nqu @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @thechaosoflonging @littlemiyastars @seikamuzu @nymphsdomain @r4veeen @shesabeeler

if you're name is crossed out i couldn't tag you, if it's not fixed in a week i'll remove you sorry :(