#SOMEHOW. THIS IS WORSE. IT'S SO FUCKING DIFFICULT.

[moe-broey]

First order of business.

Divorce Timeline.

[necrotic-nephilim]

I started in DC by reading fanfics, but as I began to read actual comics, I started to be unable to read the actual fanfic that got me into it in the first place because it's so out of character.

But there are still some stories that I love to read because I love the found family trope so much, even if it isn't really accurate to the source material.

As a comics purist (sometimes), are there tropes that you like enough that you'll still enjoy a fic even if it's not accurate to canon?

oh my god this is SUCH a fun question. bc while i started with the comics, there were certain characters and/or character dynamics where i was exposed to the fanon before the canon (just bc it's hard to read everything when you start out just to read some fanfic) and so i've definitely experienced the fanon to canon transition. (*especially* with Jason Todd. i had only read 80s/90s stuff where he was already dead or the New-52 bc that was on-going when i got into comics and man. the fanon misunderstandings i had about him before i got frustrated and sat down to read all his pre-Flashpoint stuff were absolutely bonkers.) and aside from that, whilst i tend to prefer canon over fanon, i'm not past giving fanon its flowers for occasionally having really interesting insights. occasionally. so some of my fanon "guilty pleasure" tropes would probably be

Morally Grey Tim Drake - this is one where if you try to back it up with canon, i *will* get salty about it. of everyone in the Batfam aside from maybe Bruce and Cass, Tim has the *most* black and white morals. often his internal conflicts are routed in such an inability to compromise his moral views and it can cause him to clash with other characters. he's *very* stiff and rigid in his beliefs and is *rare* to compromise in even the smallest ways. i mean, DC has repeatedly used Tim Drake of Tomorrow/Savior/Gun Batman!Tim for a reason. it's to demonstrate that of everyone, Tim *cannot* have his morals compromised. there's no grey area for him. he's zero or a hundred, so if he tips over the edge of "too far" he tips *all the way*, and doing so is one of his worst fears, how he could go "too far" if he let himself. a couple panels out of context from Red Robin (2009) (which was a grief spiral for Tim to begin with) don't change that. now that said. if it's done *right*, i sort of love Tim being morally grey in fanfic. it takes a specific flavor for me, and it's incredibly important to include that mental spiral along with it, of him struggling to justify it. i don't have any interest in "Tim Drake is loosy goosy with Bruce's morals and has the highest kill count and no one knows teehee" bc it doesn't play with the interesting parts of making Tim morally grey, which are fracturing his psyche. but all in all, i think it's fun to put Tim in a morally grey area and i will read it in fanfic and i enjoy writing it a lot

Joker Junior!Tim Drake - i've not written it on this account (yet) but on my main ao3 account one of my biggest fics surrounds this concept. this is one of those "well *technically* it's canon but only in a specific very divorced from the comics universe and would not work at all in the main timeline" so, i categorize it as fanon in that 95% of fics exploring the concept are not doing so within the Batman Beyond universe, but the main timeline. i just love it. I'll take any excuse to whump Tim, but this concept is so fun. psychologically breaking Tim will always be my favorite pastime. there are so many ways to explore the long-term effects this could have on him, how it could affect the Batfam. i'm not a fan of it being used as a "gotcha" to Jason or Babs' trauma with the Joker to paint Tim as the Ultimate Victim, but it is fun to see how their relationships would be affected by being mutual victims of him. (i have a vague JayTim idea where TIm fully retires from being Robin after being Joker Junior and killing the Joker, making Steph Robin for most of his typical Robin era and Jason still tracks him down out of curiosity bc he wants to know what happened and all. very underbaked but i've got thoughts.)

Renegade/Apprentice of Slade!Dick Grayson - this is another one where yes, this happened *sort of* in canon, but i highly doubt most people writing Renegate!Dick have read or are actually pulling from Nightwing: Renegade. it's just an exploration fo the concept fo Dick being Slade's apprentice and i will always eat it up in any capacity. whether Dick grows up with Slade from a young age, or chooses Slade for whatever reason later in life. it's not anything that works in canon bc it compromises Dick morally (similar to the above with Tim) and therefore will always come across incredibly fanon in most fics. but i can't say i don't enjoy it. it's fun to make Dick a little morally fucked up and see what you can make him under Slade's tutelage.

Jason & Damian Meeting in the League -there's no world where i believe this could work in the canon comics. (maybe in the Young Justice cartoon i suppose, but even then i think it's iffy) i would go as far to say it's wildly unrealistic. i don't see a world where Ra's would let Jason anywhere *near* Damian, bc Jason was Talia's pet project that he didn't approve of. that all said, there's something very interesting about how they *could've* met and them potentially bonding during that timeframe. them being somewhat brotherly during this time because Jason sees Bruce in Damian and sort of latches onto the kid and Damian is full of wonder hearing real stories about Batman and Robin, then that getting violently ripped away by Jason leaving the League is fun to me. it's fun how that could affect them within the Batfam and all. it's super fanon to me, but i do not care. i will eat it up

Bad Dad Clark Kent/Good Dad Lex Luthor - i will admit as a late, i've been less and less kind to this particular fanon bc of everything i've argued with people about, *this* one seems the most pervasive as misunderstood fanon. i don't mind when fanon exists, my gripe is when ppl try to claim it's canon. and the *arguments* i've had over this with people who can never seem to cite an actual comic are... frustrating. but that said, i think there is something fun to this strictly in fanon. the duality of who you expect to accept Kon and who you expect to hurt him being flipped is just sort of fun for the occasional guilty pleasure fic. it can make Kon's internal conflict a bit more interesting. the same goes for the Jon favoritism from Clark, it's not a canon thing (and i rlly wish ppl understood how complicated the timeline of Kon and Jon is and any distance from Clark toward Kon isn't malice, it's that Kon is from a timeline that Clark does not remember in the current canon so Clark just straight up doesn't know the poor kid.) but it's sort of fun to give Kon that complex of being overlooked and forgotten sometimes. making Kon just a *bit* more Luthor than Kent will *always* appeal to me in fanfic, especially if he *knows* it's wrong but craves approval from anyone who will give it.

Good Dad Bruce Wayne - i'll die on the hill Bruce is canonically a shitty father. maybe not to the extreme some people write him as, but he's not great at it. that said, i enjoy it in fanfiction. sometimes, i just want silly fluff or hurt/comfort where Bruce finally gets it right and manages to comfort whatever Batkid is in the fic. one of my favorite fics of all time is hinged on Bruce being a good dad, so i think it's just fun to explore how good the relationships *could* be, if Bruce was slightly less of an asshole. i usually prefer him as an asshole, but there are times i want low stakes nonsense.

Gotham Rogues Having Soft Spots for Robin(s) - just about every Rogue in Gotham has done something absolutely irredeemable, and most of them don't like or care about anyone in the Batfamily. but if there's a fic where one of the Robins inexplicably is sort of close with a Rogue and they have a cute silly relationship out of it? I'll eat it up i fear. Steph and the Riddler are besties? I'll believe it. Tim and Scarecrow get along pretty well? give me ten of these. Rogues protecting Robins just hits a spot. the unexpected nature of the relationship, as well as the fact they see each other regularly, can make a lot of good fodder.

[an-idiot-that-cannot-human]

I can officially say that I’m a guilty gear fan now because I caved and bought accent core on my switch (it’s going to be a longggg four months until january when strive releases on the switch; and id rather wait and see the reviews of that port before i invest 30 more dollars on the xbox version…) so here we are - the brainworms are getting worse

[drbtinglecannon]

How is the Separation Arc more difficult to rewatch than the Mogami Arc

[parab0mb]

FUCKING FINALLY

[caffeinatedopossum]

Not triggering just personal

I really need to vent about being asexual and sex repulsed but I feel like no one will understand and I get how a lot of the things I think will sound but I really just need to for once get these thoughts off my chest without having them being morally appraised because they *aren't* my morals, they're just things I can't change.

And I don't want people to TRY to change it either! Or to try to figure what ~hOrRiBle trAuMas~ could have possibly made me "this way". It's not that I think there's nothing wrong with me, it's just that this thing needs to stay neutral to me if I ever expect to actually understand it. I want people to stop morally appraising and physcoanalyzing my sexuality through the lense of inherent trauma!!

I just want to talk about this without feeling like I need to put a disclaimer before every sentence, explaining why I feel the way that I feel. I don't know ok! I don't know why I feel the way that I feel sometimes. I'm just doing my best and I wish more people would understand that. Maybe you don't get an explanation because this is my identity and doesn't need to be justified. I just want to understand myself.

[tumblhurgoyf]

I think folks who want to do strip Magic make a few mistakes, the biggest being tying stripping to taking damage (and inversely allowing life gain to get clothing back). I'd default to the following:

Once per turn, as a special action a player can remove an article of clothing to do one of the following:

Draw a card

Counter target spell unless its controller pays 2

Exile target creature until end of turn

That's versatile but not broken, especially since you can only do one once per turn, and only if you have an article of clothing to remove. Clothing never goes back on a person once removed.

You can figure the rest of it out from there but it keeps the stripping optional and positive for the player doing it. Agree beforehand what constitutes an article of clothing (if you wanna draw a card then you're losing both socks, not just one).

And most importantly, when you're all too horny to focus on the game just concede and start fucking already.

normalize incorporating stripping into games that arent poker

[arolesbianism]

Here's the thing abt my lob corp ocs that makes them so fun to me. Most of them do not remember the loops, at least not directly, but they are aware of them, and do to a degree feel the time. I get to imagine the poor bastards who are stuck with the likes of Yuri and Juliet for ten thousand years and better yet the rest of their coworkers are also stuck with them <3

[ribosomeraisin]

hi it’s me with another vent post in tags. happy out of touch thursday

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - non/con, manipulation, mentions of breeding, and unbalanced power dynamics.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's ecstatic the day his owner, Suguru, brings you home. He's the pinnacle of a spoiled pet, constantly showered in toys and treats and affection, but his owner's a busy man, and he tends to sulk when left home alone. He's had other companions before, another leopard hybrid who nearly killed him before being released back into the wild and a black panther who somehow proved to be a worse influence on Satoru than Satoru was on her, but you're supposed to be more permanent solution, another hosuepet to keep him company when Suguru can't. You're a sweet little housecat, all wide-eyes and raised ears, but still, Suguru wouldn't be surprised if you're begging to go back to the shelter less than an hour after meeting your new roommate.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who falls in love with you immediately. Suguru practically has to keep him in a chokehold while you explore your new home, eventually curling up on your new bed. Satoru's on top of you as soon as he gets loose, purring obnoxiously while he runs his bristled tongue over your cheek. Suguru's half-convinced that your first day's going to end with bloody claws and bandages, but you only nuzzle into his chest and knead at the blankets underneath you. Satoru's a difficult cat to put up with, and Suguru's relieved that you, at least, find him tolerable.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's absolutely massive compared to you. The tips of your pointed ears barely reach his collarbones, and your wrist is only as thick as his fluffy tail. His favorite hobby quickly becomes carrying you from room to room despite your softly mewled protests, and he's not happy unless he's pressed against you as closely as possible. He used to force himself into Suguru's lap whenever possible, but now, he's unbearable unless you're sitting pretty in his. He doesn't even complain when you lose your temper and dig your little fangs (barely half the size of his - a poor imitation of a real predator's) into his arm, just grinning as he tugs at your ears and pinches your cheeks. He's not exactly a wild animal, but he's still at the top of his food chain. You're not quite a mouse, but you might as well be, compared to him.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's calling you his mate after less than a full month. You don't know what it means, often parroting it back as more of a question than a term of endearment, and Suguru just brushes it off as Satoru being deliberately irritating. He keeps it up, though. even after you start refusing to respond to it.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who starts introducing you to new "games". You know you don't stand a chance against him, but somehow, he always manages to goad you into roughhousing, into squirming as he pins you under his full weight. He likes to dangle things above your head, to see how long it takes your instincts to get the best of you before your chest is pressed against his and you're pouting so adorably as you jump and bat at his hand. Sometimes, when you fall asleep mid-grooming session, he'll let his mouth wander lower than it should, and you'll wake up to his tongue lapping over your chest, his face buried between your thighs in a way that leaves you teary-eyed and warm. You've tried to tell Suguru, but you always get embarrassed and end up mumbling something as vague as 'Satoru's being mean to me, again.' In the end, Satoru only ever gets a slap on the wrist and a new reason to tease you, next time Suguru turns his back.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who fucks you whenever Suguru isn't home. He planned on waiting for your first heat (delayed by your shelter suppressants and the stress of a new home), and he knows he's not supposed to, but he just can't get enough of having your smaller body curled up underneath his, your tail thrashing from side to side as he lazily rolls his hips against yours. You tend to whine, at first, to go on and on about how weird it feels and how much it hurts, but as soon he gets his cock inside of you, all those complaints tend to go away. It's almost funny, how easily your stupid little kitty mind gets all hazy and cockdrunk. He always loves you, but he loves you most when you're drooling and purring for his cum, begging him to breed you properly between hitched moans.

Snow Leopard!Satoru, who's not even mad when Suguru catches him bouncing your half-conscious, fucked-out body on his cock. He wants to be the best possible mate for you, and he couldn't do that if he wasn't willing to show you off <3

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

[nepenthendline]

the not-so-good parts about dating them

a/n: I am nothing if not a red flag lover

includes: midoriya, todokori, bakugo, shinsou, kirishima, kaminari, iida, hawks, aizawa

Midoriya -

Midoriya's priority list is '1. everyone' so, sometimes, it's difficult to feel special in his eyes. It's not that he doesn't see you as a top priority, he just often lets himself get caught up with other people and dealing with their problems so you don't get his undivided attention all that often. He doesn't mean to do it at all, but he has missed dates before because he was staying late at work to help his students or got stuck helping out a friend.

Bakugo -

🤨 Aside from his obvious anger issues, Bakugo often struggles to see you as a team and not just individuals. Whenever you argue, he often sees it as a 'me vs you' and not a 'us vs the problem', and he sometimes makes big decisions without talking to you first. He feels like he has to be better than you because he needs to be a provider and a protector, so he tackles issues on his own instead of talking to you and working things through as a team.

Todoroki -

Todokori has no reference to what a 'healthy' relationship looks like, and it terrifies him. All he knows is what, or who, he doesn't want to end up like, and it stops him from taking initiative in your relationship because he's scared of doing the wrong thing. He knows he's not like his father, but he still worries that he's going to end up like him anyway, as if it's fated. Because of this, things move incredibly slowly, and it can be hard to tell that he does love you since he doesn't often make moves or use words to show you. He knows he wants, and needs, to improve though, he just needs some guidance.

Kaminari -

Kaminari struggles with self-sabotage in your relationship - he convinces himself that he's not good enough for you or that he's making your life worse by being with you, and can push you away, cancel dates late minute or act like he doesn't need you. These actions never last long before he snaps out of it, and you're well aware by now of what's going on in his head when he starts acting like this, but he's always convinced he's going to fuck this up. And sometimes, he believes it so much that he does. The guilt eats away at him daily.

Kirishima -

(Absolutely nothing) Kirishima hates showing you when he's feeling down, weak, or 'unmanly'. He bottles up a lot of his negative emotions and thoughts away from you and they gnaw away at him. Its not that he feels like he can't talk to you, in fact sometimes he lets things slip because he feels so comfortable around you, but quickly tries to put a positive spin on his words so that you don't worry. It's more that he feels he shouldn't, and that you have enough things to deal with as it is. He wants to be a safe space for you, so dealing with his emotions is out of the question. He never blows up at you because things get too far though, you just wish he could rely on you more.

Iida -

For the first while in your relationship, it almost felt like you lost your friendship with Iida. The lines between being friends and being a partner were extremely defined to Iida for some time, and he felt that every interaction between the two of you had to be so formally-relationshipy - this meant things such as only spending time with you on pre-scheduled dates, affection felt like ticking boxes on what was 'meant' to come next in a relationship, or not letting you see his deeper, darker times. Things do get better after some time and conversations, but it kinda felt like the first year of your relationship didn't really count.

Shinsou -

Shinsou feels like being with you is the most selfish act someone has ever committed. Sometimes he even thinks that, somehow in a way he doesn't know, he's forcing you to be with him. He feels like you can do so much better than him, but he loves you too much to let you go (not that you would anyway). He thinks that he doesnt treat you as well as you deserve and so he goes overboard to 'make things up to you', when in reality he's the most caring, selfless person you've met. He often brings up the idea of you finding someone else, or that you can cheat on him and he'll stay if that makes you happy, and it breaks your heart every time.

Aizawa -

Aizawa feels like everyone he truly lets in, he has lost, and he is terrified that's going to happen to you. So, he tries to keep his feelings and thoughts for you as surface-level as possible. The problem is that he's terrible at doing that - he has such a big heart and he wants you in every way imaginable, which creates a lot of inner conflict for him. One minute he's telling you everything weighing on his mind and letting himself fall deeper into you, and the next he's keeping you at arms length. He's scared to admit that he relies on you or that he needs you, but he does it anyway and it tears him apart inside.

Hawks -

He lies to you more times that he would like to admit. Well, it's more that he's very good about skirting around a question or situation rather than telling you the truth. There's some things in his life, his past, or his thoughts that he feels are best not being part of your life, and so he will tell you little lies and make adjustments to the truth to fit a narrative that he prefers. He wants to protect you from any negativity or darkness that he can - he knows what going through that feels like and he does not want you to have to feel that too, but mostly, and most selfishly, he's terrified of you thinking he's a bad person because of some actions he's had to take. It can be almost impossible to tell when he's lying or telling the truth because he's extremely open and upfront with other topics.

[mssishipi]

THE PURGE SERIES #1: Kiss Me - enhypen! jay PAIRING:purger reader x privileged jay

SYNOPSIS: You hate the Purge. You hate the monster they create, the cruelty, and the way it's broken you down year after year. You hate the rich most of all—the people who don't have to fight to survive. People like Park Jongseong. And now, somehow, he's sitting next to you. The boy who's always smiling, always comfortable, as if the world hasn't burned down around him. The boy who lives in safety, behind barricades his father's company builds, while you've spent years starving, hiding, and praying. Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him. Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

warning: contains dark sensitive topics, mentions of murder, sexual assault, violence, and ptsd behavior, different perspectives of the purge, one sided hatred, reader is kinda difficult to handle but it's a trauma response, messy ending, jay is a supportive boyfie (in a good and bad ways), reader is unhinged, explicit content (3 diff scenes smut), fingering, nipple play, pussy eating, unprotected sex, doggy style, purge fucking, MDNI, reader discretion is advised

WC: 21.8K.

music to listen while purging: murder in my mind

You hate March 21. God, how you loathe it—the day that strips away any pretense of humanity.

It always starts the same way: the wailing sirens, cold and mechanical, ripping through the air.

Not even sixty seconds pass after the announcement before the streets erupt. Gunshots. Screams. The unmistakable, animalistic sounds of survival. The world falls apart faster than you can blink, faster than you can even take a breath. And every year, you sit in that darkness, trembling, hating.

You hate how they made this—how society carved out one single night to let its ugliest urges spill over.

You hate the twisted smiles on people's faces, the gleeful violence, the merciless slaughter. You hate everything about it.

You hate how weak you are. How poor you are. How your "barricade" is nothing but a creaky door and a pile of junk you've pushed in front of it. Heavy chairs, the couch, a dresser you could barely move—what is that supposed to do against the monsters outside?

They'll break through it in minutes, seconds even, if they choose you this year.

And there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

So you crawl inside the closet, knees tucked into your chest, hands pressing hard over your ears as the chaos outside creeps closer and closer. You rock back and forth, whispering to yourself, "Just twelve hours. You just have to survive twelve hours."

You hate how your morals hold you hostage.

You're too much of a coward, aren't you? Or maybe you're too human, too stupidly tied to the idea of right and wrong.

Either way, you've sentenced yourself to this endless nightmare.

You hate how they have no mercy. How people don't even hesitate.

The second those sirens stop, the masks go on, the knives come out, and the laughter—the laughter—starts echoing down the streets like some kind of hellish symphony.

You hate the way your mind races, picturing your own end over and over again. Would it be quick? A bullet to the head? Or would it be slow? Something worse?

You hate how poor you are. How people like you—people who can't afford high-tech barricades, bulletproof shelters, or private security.

You're the bottom rung of society, the lambs to the slaughter. And that's exactly how they see you. Nothing more than sport for the rich.

You've been their prey before—dragged into one of their "games." Their sick, twisted hunting expeditions where they wear masks and hunt you down like animals, laughing all the while.

Somehow, you survived that night. Somehow, you ran fast enough, hid well enough. But you didn't leave unscathed.

No, you left something behind that night: your sanity.

You can still feel their eyes on you, their jeers echoing in your ears, their mocking laughter as they cornered you over and over, just to let you escape so the game could continue.

You see their faces—those masks—every time you close your eyes.

And no matter where you go, it's always the same.

You transfer to a new town, a new neighborhood, hoping to disappear, but you always end up right back here.

They smile too wide, your neighbors. They're too friendly. Too eager to see you. And every time they stare at you, every time their grins linger a little too long, you feel the bile rise in your throat.

You hate everything about the Purge.

You hate the people who participate in it, the government that allows it, the sick, twisted minds that relish in it.

You hate the monsters you've seen outside, but you hate the monster you're becoming even more.

Because every year, it gets harder. Harder to keep your sanity intact. Harder to resist. Harder to keep your morals from shattering under the weight of it all. And every year, the hatred inside you grows like a poison, rotting you from the inside out.

You hate how you're always waiting. Waiting for another March 21.

Waiting for the next time you'll have to endure this torment. Waiting for the day you finally snap, when you stop running, when you stop hiding, and when you start fighting back.

You hate the waiting more than anything because you know that day is coming. You know it's only a matter of time before something inside you finally breaks.

And when it does, you'll hunt them down. Every last one of them. The rich who preyed on you. The neighbors who smiled too wide while undressing you. The government officials who allowed this nightmare to persist.

You hate March 21.

But more than that, you hate how much you're starting to look forward to it.

"I see you survived the Purge," you muttered, your eyes narrowing as they landed on the group of seven boys in the hallway.

They were laughing softly, their voices laced with relief as they exchanged hugs and pats on the back.

"Thank God," one of them said, gripping the others in a tight embrace, his shoulders sagging like he'd been holding his breath for the last twelve hours.

"I already told you guys," another voice chimed in—smooth, Park Jongseong. Of course.

"Next year, you should all come to our house. Our lockdown is solid. Our barricades are strong enough to keep anyone out. You'll be safe there, trust me."

You scoffed, the sound low and bitter, but loud enough to be heard if anyone was paying attention. Of course, they weren't. They never noticed you. Not people like them.

Park Jongseong— the golden boy. His father owned one of the biggest barricade companies in the country, making a fortune off other people's desperation and fear.

He didn't just survive the Purge; he thrived in it. His family's state-of-the-art lockdown system probably made their house into a fortress.

And now here he was, standing in the middle of the school hallway, flashing that perfect smile and talking about how his family had been "safe and sound" while people like you hid under a bed, praying not to die.

You bit the inside of your cheek, tasting blood, and turned away. Of course Jongseong had survived. People like him always did.

You were miserable. Miserable every single day for the past seven years since the Purge began.

Seven years since the night your parents were taken from you on that first Purge.

Seven years of surviving on your own, scrabbling through life like a rat in a never-ending maze.

An irregular college student balancing four jobs just to afford rent, tuition, and scraps of food that barely kept you standing.

And some nights, when you're too tired to even close your eyes, the same thought creeps in, like a whisper you can't shut out.

Why can't you just die already?

Was this what God wanted for you? Was your suffering some part of His great plan? If it was, you hated Him for it. You hated everything—for putting you here, for making you live like this, for keeping you alive while everyone else you cared about was gone.

Then came August. Seven months before the next Purge, You took your entire month's pay—every single cent you'd earned and bought a handgun from a retired Russian police man who didn't ask questions.

You didn't eat for weeks after that, barely managing to survive on water and scraps you could steal from work.

Hunger clawed at your stomach, but you didn't care. Every second of discomfort was worth it as you cradled the gun in your hands at night, running your fingers over the cold steel.

At college, exhaustion weighed on you like a heavy coat. Your mind was foggy, your body barely cooperating as you tried to focus in class. You were too tired to care about anything anymore. That's why, when you heard the voice, you didn't even look up at first.

"Hey, are you Y/N?"

You blinked, sluggishly dragging your tired eyes up to meet the man.

Park Jongseong. He was standing there, his usual easy smile on his face, holding a lab manual in one hand.

Your brows furrowed as he sat down next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You raised an eyebrow at him, watching in silent disbelief as he got comfortable.

"We're partners in laboratory," he announced with that same friendly grin, his tone light and conversational.

You stared at him, your eyebrow twitching slightly. Of course, we are. Just my fucking luck.

You hated him. You hated everything about him.

You hated how he could walk into a room and light it up, how he always smiled like life was some perfect little gift wrapped up in a bow.

You hated how easy everything seemed for him, how he floated through life without ever seeming to care about the world around him.

Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him.

Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

"I'm Park Jongseong," he says brightly, "You can call me Jay, if you don't know me."

You stare at him with your tired eyes, barely masking your irritation. His enthusiasm is exhausting, like a candle burning too brightly, too close to your already frayed nerves.

But he doesn't seem to notice. Of course, he doesn't. He keeps talking.

"I'm planning to start our experimental research maybe in like three days? I don't really like cramming," Jay continues, flashing you another one of his easy smiles.

"Are you available on Saturday?" he asks, finally looking at you. "Do you want to do it at my place or yours?"

His smile falters for the first time when you just stare at him, bored and uninterested, like he's wasting your time—which he is.

He must be so used to people hanging on his every word, eating up his charm. You, on the other hand, are trying to figure out how long you have to tolerate him before he leaves.

"I have a morning shift at the ice cream shop. Probably the afternoon, but I'll leave at 7 PM," you reply flatly, spinning your pen lazily between your fingers. You're not trying to be rude.

You're just tired—tired of him, tired of everything. "Then I have another shift at the restaurant."

Jay nods, and for a moment, you think he's about to say something stupid, like you work too hard or you should take it easy. But he doesn't. Instead, he watches you for a second too long before his smile returns, a little dimmer than before.

"And your place," you add, cutting off whatever he was going to say. The idea of being in his house, surrounded by whatever rich-boy luxuries he has, makes your stomach churn.

Jay blinks, then nods again. "Alright, my place it is," he says, his tone softer, as if he's trying to figure you out.

You hate it—hate the way his gaze lingers on you.

You turn your attention back to your notebook, letting the silence hang between you until he finally shifts in his seat and looks away. At least he knows when to stop talking. For now.

You observe people every shift. At the ice cream shop, kids cry and tug at their parents, pointing at a flavor they desperately want. At the fast food chain, students laugh, stuffing fries into each other's mouths, their joy spilling out into the air.

You watch them. You clean up after them. And when no one's looking, you pick at their scraps—half-eaten burgers, fries left behind—anything to stave off the hunger that gnaws at you day and night.

When you sneak into the back to wash your hands, you catch your reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror. It almost shocks you, the hollow-cheeked girl staring back.

Your dark eye bags seem to sink into your face like bruises, your cheekbones sharp enough to look dangerous. Your lips are pale, chapped from thirst, and your hoodie swallows what little remains of you.

Even when you do sleep, it's never peaceful.

The nightmares always find you, pulling you back to that night—hands grabbing, voices laughing, the cold press of a mask against your skin.

Not even the sleeping pills you've wasted money on help anymore. You've tried. God knows you've tried. But the fear is something you can't escape.

And then Saturday comes.

Jay welcomes you at his house with his usual easy smile.

You stand awkwardly at the entrance, your eyes immediately drawn to the luxurious details surrounding you.

Expensive vases line the walls. A cabinet full of fine liquor gleams under the lights. Everything in the house feels deliberate, pristine, and just looking at it makes you feel like you don't belong.

"This way," Jay says cheerfully, leading you to his room.

The moment you step inside, you're greeted with more of the same—displays of wealth that feel almost obscene to you. A collection of guitars lined up like trophies. A cabinet stuffed with fancy perfumes. Everything here screams a life of comfort, of privilege, of a world you'll never touch.

"Are you always cold? Want me to lower the aircon?" Jay asks suddenly, his gaze flicking to your oversized hoodie.

You almost punch him for the question. The audacity of it. 

Are rich people really this clueless?

The irritation bubbles up. You almost imagine your hands around his neck, squeezing some sense into him.

"No, thanks," you say curtly, not bothering to hide your annoyance. You drop to the floor, pulling out your notebook and pen, ignoring the uncomfortable tension forming between you.

"You can sit on my bed," Jay offers, reaching out to touch your arm like it's no big deal.

But the moment his hand brushes your sleeve, your mind snaps. You're not in his room anymore. You're back there—on that night—being grabbed, pulled, restrained. Masked faces loom in your vision, their laughter ringing in your ears like a sick melody.

Before you even realize it, you've slapped his hand away, standing so fast you almost knock your notebook over.

"I—I'm sorry," you stammer, your voice shaky as you rub your arm. Jay just stands there, his hand hovering in the air, confusion written all over his face.

"It's fine," he says quickly. His smile is gone now, replaced by something softer.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to sit down again—this time on the bed, even though you'd rather be anywhere else. You pull your notebook back into your lap, flipping it open as if nothing happened, your hands trembling slightly.

The two of you work in near silence, researching for your lab project. Jay tries to engage you now and then, asking for your thoughts, but you keep your answers brief. You don't want to talk. You don't want to share. You just want to get through this.

After a while, Jay breaks the silence again. "How many jobs do you have?" he asks, his voice almost hesitant. "How do you manage school and work?"

You huff, irritated by his questions. What does he know about working to survive? What does he know about balancing your life on a thread?

"I don't manage," you reply bluntly. "I'm already planning to stop after this semester."

Jay straightens in his seat, frowning slightly. "Why?"

"Because I can't afford it anymore," you snap, your patience wearing thin. Your voice is sharper than you intend, but you don't care. You glare at him, daring him to argue, to say something stupid like, You should keep trying.

But Jay just looks down, his gaze softening. "I'm sorry," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear.

Before you can respond, a knock interrupts the moment. A head peeks into the room—a woman with wavy hair and a face so similar to Jay's that it's clear she's his mother.

"Heard you had a classmate over," she says warmly. "Come down and eat."

Jay stands immediately, glancing at you as if waiting to see if you'll follow. You nod stiffly, clutching your notebook to your chest as you trail behind him, feeling awkward in a house like this.

When you reach the dining room, your stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud at the sight of the food. A table full of steaming dishes spreads out before you, prepared by maids who move around effortlessly. You've never seen this much food at once before, not even during the holidays.

"Come, sit, sweetheart," Jay's mom says, pulling a chair out for you. Her voice is so kind, so gentle, that it makes your chest ache.

You sit down slowly, staring at the food like it's a mirage. Jay's mom piles your plate high with food, her warm smile reminding you so much of your own mother that your throat tightens.

"Eat, don't be shy," she says, her voice light and encouraging.

Your hands shake as you pick up the spoon, the first bite warming your tongue. 

The taste is overwhelming, rich and filling, and it's so good that tears prick at the corners of your eyes. 

You quickly take another bite, and another, ignoring the lump in your throat.

Jay watches you quietly, his gaze flicking to your small, trembling hands. His eyes catch on the scars peeking out from your sleeves as your sweater rides up.

"So, where are you from? It's my first time seeing you here! Jay's always bringing friends over—so many faces!" His mother's voice was cheerful, her smile warm and inviting.

"I'm from Las Vegas," you replied, keeping your eyes on your empty plate. You didn't want to talk, but her energy made it hard to ignore her.

Your gaze shifted to Jay as he leaned over, silently placing more food onto your plate.

"Oh, Las Vegas!" His mom exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "What made you settle here in Seattle? Life is so exciting over there! So bright and lively!"

"Not really," you said, inhaling sharply as you tried to keep your tone even. The last thing you wanted was to go deeper into that conversation.

She didn't seem to notice your discomfort. "Oh, I see. Well, what do your parents do for a living?"

You froze. The fork in your hand stilled as memories rushed back like a tidal wave.

The screams. The blood. The way your parents looked at you, their faces twisted in pain as you hid, trembling in the cabinet.

"They're dead," you said bluntly, gripping your fork so tightly your knuckles turned white.

The room seemed to grow quieter. His mother's cheerful expression faltered. "Pardon?"

"They're de—" you started, but the words caught in your throat. Your pulse quickened, your chest tightening, and before you could finish, Jay cut in.

"It's already almost 7:00," he said quickly, "Didn't you say you have a shift?"

You looked at him, startled. His gaze met yours, and for the first time, his ever-present smile was gone. Instead, his eyes were steady, watching you carefully, like he knew you were unraveling and didn't want to make it worse.

You took the excuse without hesitation. "Yeah," you muttered, shoving your chair back as you stood. "I should go."

His mom looked like she wanted to say something, but Jay rose from his seat, cutting her off with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll walk her out," he said softly.

"Thank you for the food, Mrs. Park," you smiled, trying to look natural, bowing at her. You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, refusing to look back at the table, at the food, at his mother's concerned face. Your throat burned as you fought the tears threatening to spill over.

Jay followed you silently as you stepped into the hallway. Once you were out of earshot, he finally spoke.

"You didn't have to answer her," he said gently.

You stopped in your tracks, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. "I didn't want to," you said flatly, your voice trembling just a little. "But people always ask. Like they have the right to know."

Jay didn't respond immediately. When you glanced at him, he looked... softer, his usual brightness dimmed with something quieter. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and careful. "She didn't mean anything by it. My mom's just... the type to ask questions. She doesn't think it'll hurt anyone."

"Yeah, well, it does," you snapped, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. Your voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet hallway. But Jay didn't flinch. He just nodded, that same calm expression on his face, like he understood.

And for some reason, that made you angrier.

Your bag strap digging into your shoulder as you stared at him. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Your chest burned with frustration, your hands curling into fists at your sides. You weren't sure what you were mad at—his mom's question, his calm demeanor, or the fact that he kept pretending to get you when he didn't.

The words tumbled out. "What are your thoughts about the Purge, Jay?"

Jay's eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden question. He hesitated for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like he was carefully picking his words.

"I—I don't agree with it," he said finally, his voice quiet..

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "You don't agree with it?" you repeated, mocking his tone.

"That's rich. The Purge is the reason why you're making money, Jay. It's why your family's living in that giant house with your shiny vases and fancy barricades."

Jay blinked, visibly taken aback. "That's not fair," he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice rising.

"Your dad's company makes barricades, doesn't it? Every year, people like you get richer while people like me..." You trailed off, shaking your head as your throat tightened. "You don't get to sit there and say you don't agree with it. Not when your family profits from it."

Jay's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

"And you know what's funny?" you continued, the bitterness spilling out of you now. "You probably spend Purge night in your fortress of a house, watching movies or playing board games with your family while the rest of us are out there dying. You don't even have to think about it, do you?"

"That's not true," Jay said quietly, his hands clenching at his sides. "I do think about it."

"Oh, do you?" you snapped, glaring at him. "What, do you spend a whole five minutes feeling bad for people like me before you go back to your perfect little life?"

"That's not what I—" Jay started, but you cut him off.

"You don't get it, Jay," you said, your voice trembling now, anger and exhaustion mixing into a volatile cocktail. "You'll never get it. You don't know what it's like to be hunted like an animal while people laugh. So don't stand there and tell me you 'don't agree with it,' because that doesn't mean anything coming from you."

Jay looked like he wanted to say something—his mouth opened, but no words came out. His shoulders slumped slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw guilt flash across his face.

"I'm sorry," Jay said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You froze, your anger faltering for a moment as his words sunk in. Your chest tightened, and your eyes softened just slightly, guilt prickling at the edges of your mind. What were you even doing?

But the shame and bitterness were too much to face. You turned away quickly, your voice small and strained. "I'm sorry... I should go," you murmured, gripping the strap of your bag as you hurried to leave.

Jay didn't stop you. He just watched your retreating figure, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. As the door clicked shut behind you, he sat down heavily, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to help, but he didn't know how. And the way you looked at him, like he was the problem, made it feel impossible.

The weeks passed in a blur of survival and self-destruction. Bullets were fucking expensive. Even knives cost more than you expected, and every penny you earned disappeared the moment it hit your hands. Life was getting harder.

The monster inside you—was growing louder, feeding off your exhaustion and anger.

At night, when you weren't working, you trained yourself obsessively. Watching documentaries on how to kill someone. Studying anatomy. Practicing with your weapons until your hands were blistered and shaking. 

You didn't care if your body couldn't take it anymore. Pain didn't matter. Hunger didn't matter. Nothing mattered except being ready.

But as the weeks dragged on, it became harder to keep going.

Your hoodie, the one you wore every day like a second skin, was filthy and smelled of sweat and exhaustion. Your body was sore in every possible way.

Your reflection in the mirror was worse than before—hollow eyes, sallow skin, dark circles so deep. And every time you saw yourself, you thought the same thing.

You just want to die already.

One night, your phone buzzed. It was a message from Jay.

"Y/N, I'm sorry to bother you, but you haven't been coming to class. I can handle most of the project on my own, but for this reporting, I really need your presence."

You stared at the message for a long time, debating whether to ignore it. But something in you caved. Maybe it was guilt. You replied: "Okay. I'll come."

Jay welcomed you into his house again, you ended up on his bed, laptop in your lap as you both worked on the PowerPoint for your report. The room was quiet except for the sound of typing, but every movement felt like a struggle. Your body ached. Your head throbbed. You could barely focus, and every second felt like a fight to stay upright.

It wasn't long before your body gave up.

The laptop slipped from your lap, crashing to the floor as your vision blurred. The last thing you heard before everything went dark was Jay's panicked voice calling your name.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a white ceiling. 

The faint smell of alcohol and disinfectant filled the air, and the sharp tug of a needle in your arm made you realize you were hooked up to an IV. An oxygen tube rested under your nose, and your body felt impossibly heavy, as if all the exhaustion you'd been ignoring had finally caught up with you.

Your gaze drifted down to your body—and then you saw it.

You were wearing a hospital gown.

Panic gripped you instantly. Your chest tightened, your breathing quickening as your hands clawed at the fabric.

"No, no, no," you whispered, your voice trembling as your heart pounded in your ears.

Memories of hands grabbing at you, tearing at your clothes, flashed through your mind like lightning. You gasped for air, a faint scream slipping from your lips.

Jay jolted awake from the chair beside you, his eyes wide with alarm.

"W-what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with panic. He moved closer, his hands hovering uncertainly like he wasn't sure if he should touch you.

"H-hoodie," you stammered, gripping his arm with weak, trembling hands. Your nails dug into his skin. "Need to cover. Ugly. Ugly."

Jay winced at the pain but didn't pull away. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he said gently, his voice calm and soothing. "You're okay. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

"No," you whimpered, shaking your head as tears streamed down your face. "I'm ugly. Don't look." Your hands fumbled to pull the gown tighter around you, but it didn't help. You could feel the scars beneath it—the raised lines.

Jay hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out to cover your hands with his. His touch was warm, steady, and he squeezed your fingers just enough to ground you.

"You're not ugly," he said softly, his tone so sincere it made your chest ache.

You shook your head again, your voice breaking as panic surged through you. "You don't understand. You don't know what they did to me. What I look like—"

"Calm down," Jay interrupted, his voice steady but still gentle, as if he were trying to anchor you to the moment.

He closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to the side, a gesture meant to reassure you. "I'm not looking, okay? I'm not looking."

His words made you pause, your breathing still uneven but slowing just a little as you clung to his arm. The panic was still there, buzzing under your skin, but his calmness was starting to chip away at it, little by little.

"You're safe now," Jay said, his tone softer this time, "and you're not alone, okay? I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Just calm down, breathe in, breathe out. You can do this."

You tried to follow his instructions, inhaling shakily and letting the air out in uneven bursts. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep you grounded, enough to stop the tears blurring your vision completely.

Jay's hand was warm against yours, his fingers gentle but firm as he held on. "What do you want me to get?" he asked softly, his voice careful, his head still turned slightly away so you wouldn't feel watched.

"My hoodie," you whispered, your voice weak and pleading. "I need it. Please."

Jay glanced at the IV in your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You have an IV in your skin," he said quietly. "It's still not okay for you to wear your hoodie yet. If you pull at it, you could hurt yourself."

You looked away, shame and frustration boiling under your skin, your fingers gripping the hospital blanket tightly. "I don't care," you mumbled, your voice trembling.

Jay sighed softly, squeezing your hand again to ground you. "I know you don't feel comfortable," he said, his tone gentle but firm, "but if it's too hot or heavy right now, I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to put it on."

You clenched your jaw, swallowing back another wave of tears. "I just—I need to cover up," you said, your voice breaking again.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said carefully, "if you're not comfortable in the gown, I can get you a long-sleeve nightgown instead. Something softer. Something that'll cover your arms. Is that what you want?"

You glanced at him, your lip trembling, and nodded weakly. "Yeah," you whispered, barely audible.

Jay gave your hand one last gentle squeeze before slowly standing up. "I'll go ask the nurses," he said softly.

Days had passed, and Jay had stayed by your side, refusing to leave, despite how much of a burden you felt like.

He wasn't overbearing or hovering—just quietly there, helping you in any way he could.

He brought you meals, water, even helped you comb through your disheveled hair when your strength failed you. He didn't ask questions about what happened, didn't demand explanations.

His mother visited often, sweeping into the room with an energy that made your chest ache. She came with baskets of fruit, flowers, and small gifts, her arms overflowing like she was trying to smother you with kindness.

On one visit, she hugged you tightly, tears in her eyes, and said, "You need to take better care of yourself, sweetheart. Your life is precious."

Her words pierced through you, bringing a lump to your throat. You didn't have the heart to respond, just nodded, even though deep down you still didn't believe her.

Jay's friends, Sunoo and Ni-ki, had even come to visit. Despite the fact that they didn't know you at all, they acted like you were an old friend.

They brought a snake and ladder board game, and before you knew it, they were sitting cross-legged on your hospital bed, loudly cheering, groaning, and playfully arguing over the dice rolls. Their laughter filled the room, echoing against the sterile walls and spilling over the edges of your heart.

At first, you just watched them silently, your hands resting in your lap, unsure of how to react. But as the game went on, you found yourself drawn in—your dead eyes softening as you watched them bicker like kids, a faint half-smile tugging at your lips.

For the first time in what felt like years, you felt something other than pain. Just a flicker, but it was there. A tiny seed of happiness.

"What do you want to eat today?" Jay asked, smiling as he sat at the edge of your bed, peeling an apple with practiced ease.

"I want rice cakes!" Ni-ki chimed in, raising his hand like an excited child.

Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, crossing his arms. "Yuck! We had rice cakes yesterday!"

Their back-and-forth made you chuckle softly, a sound you hadn't heard from yourself in a long time.

But later, when the room grew quiet again, and it was just you and Jay, that flicker of happiness gave way to something heavier. Guilt.

You glanced at Jay as he sat by the window, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. His face was relaxed, the sunlight catching the soft angles of his features. He had done so much for you—things he didn't have to do. And all this time, you had hated him. Misunderstood him.

You had assumed the worst of him, just because he was rich.

You had lumped him in with the monsters who had ruined your life, convinced yourself that he was just another spoiled, privileged kid who wouldn't understand what suffering felt like. But the truth was... he wasn't.

He wasn't the people who had hunted you, mocked you, stripped you of your humanity. He wasn't the people who laughed behind masks, thriving on fear and violence.

Jay had done nothing but help you, even when you were rude to him, even when you pushed him away.

And yet, the guilt didn't erase your pain. It didn't undo your trauma or silence the nightmares that still haunted you.

You still hated the world that allowed the Purge to exist. You still hated the memories that burned like fire in your veins. You still hated yourself for being weak, for surviving when your parents hadn't.

But you didn't hate Jay anymore.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, breaking the silence.

Jay looked up, tilting his head in confusion. "For what?"

"For... for how I treated you," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "For assuming things about you just because of where you come from. I thought you wouldn't care. That you couldn't understand. But... you're not like them."

Jay's expression softened, a small, almost sad smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to apologize for that," he said gently. "You've been through hell. I get why you'd feel that way."

You shook your head, gripping the blanket tightly in your hands. "No, you don't get it. I was cruel to you. I blamed you for things that weren't your fault."

Jay was quiet for a moment, then reached out, resting a hand over yours.

His touch was warm, steady, grounding. "I'm not perfect," he said softly, his tone sincere. "I won't pretend to know what you've been through. But I want to help."

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill over again. You didn't know how to respond, so you just nodded, gripping his hand. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to trust someone. Even if it was just a little.

"The doctor said you have anemia and osteoporosis," Jay's mother said gently, setting her bag down on the small table beside your hospital bed.

"That's why your bones are weak! You'll need to eat more foods with calcium and iron to build your strength and get your blood count higher. We'll make sure you have everything you need."

You stared at her, unsure how to respond. Guilt curled in your stomach, gnawing at you. You weren't her child. You weren't even close to being part of her world. And yet, here she was, treating you so good.

"The hospital bill is covered," she continued, her voice casual, like it wasn't a big deal. But to you, it was.

It was a huge deal. The cost of staying in a place like this was something you couldn't even fathom. You'd spent years scraping by, eating leftovers just to save a few bucks, and here she was, brushing off what could've been months—maybe years—of your income.

"You don't need to worry about it," she added, her smile soft and reassuring. "Just focus on getting better. Jay's friend is also my priority."

Jay's friend.

The words hit you harder than you expected. You weren't his friend. You didn't deserve to be called that, not after the way you'd treated him.

"Thank you," you murmured finally, your voice barely audible. It was all you could manage without breaking down entirely.

Jay's mom smiled wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," she said, reaching out to gently pat your hand. "Now, tell me—what's your favorite food? I'll have the kitchen prepare something special for you."

You blinked, caught off guard by her kindness. "I... I don't really have one," you admitted quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

It wasn't a lie. You hadn't thought about things like "favorite food" in years. Food, for you, had been about survival, not enjoyment.

"Well, then we'll just have to find one for you," she said, her tone cheerful and determined. "I'll have the staff make a variety of dishes for you to try. And don't worry—if there's anything you don't like, we'll keep trying until we find something you love."

Her words left you speechless. All you could do was nod, the weight of her generosity pressing down on you. It felt so foreign, so undeserved, and yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt... cared for.

Jay, who had been quietly peeling an orange in the corner, finally spoke up. "Mom, don't overwhelm her," he said softly, his eyes flicking to yours. "She's still recovering."

You glanced at him, your gaze lingering for a moment longer than you intended.

His mother waved him off with a laugh. "Oh, hush, Jay. I'm just trying to help." She turned back to you, her smile never faltering. "You're part of our family now, okay? At least while you're here. So don't be shy about asking for anything."

Her words made something in your chest tighten. You nodded again, unable to trust your voice.

Jay's mother spent hours at your bedside, chatting away. She told you stories about Jay's childhood—how he once tried to "fix" a birdhouse with peanut butter, or how he dressed up as a firefighter for three Halloweens in a row because he was so obsessed with the uniform.

Jay groaned beside her, his face flushed as he waved her off. "Mom, stop! She doesn't need to know all of that!" he whined, his voice high with embarrassment.

But his mother only laughed, brushing him off with a playful wave. "Oh, hush, Jay. She needs to know how adorable you used to be!"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly, your lips curving into a small, almost shy smile.

Eventually, Jay's mother had to leave, something about a business emergency pulling her away. She hugged you gently before she left, squeezing your hands and promising to visit again soon.

"Take care of yourself, sweetheart," she said with a warm smile. "And if Jay gives you any trouble, let me know."

"I'm right here," Jay muttered, rolling his eyes but grinning all the same.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell quiet again. You and Jay were alone, the silence settling between you like a soft blanket.

"Have you showered?" Jay asked suddenly, breaking the stillness.

You shook your head, feeling a little self-conscious. It had been days since you'd had the energy to even think about something like that.

"Do you want to?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded hesitantly.

Jay smiled, standing up to grab a towel from his bag. He returned a moment later, his hand extended to you. "Come on," he said softly, his voice warm and encouraging.

You placed your hand in his, and he guided you carefully out of the bed. But as soon as your feet touched the ground, your knees buckled beneath you, the strength in your legs giving out entirely.

"Whoa!" Jay exclaimed, catching you before you could fall. Without hesitation, he slipped your arm around his neck, his other arm sliding under your legs.

"I've got you," he murmured as he lifted you effortlessly.

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn't protest as he carried you to the bathroom. His touch was steady, his arms warm and reassuring as he placed you gently into the tub.

"Do you want me to call a nurse to help you?" Jay asked, crouching in front of you. His voice was careful, like he was trying not to overstep.

You shook your head quickly. The idea of a stranger cleaning you—seeing you—made your stomach churn with discomfort. "I'm not comfortable," you said quietly, looking away.

Jay nodded, his brows furrowed slightly in thought. He didn't push or suggest anything else. He just waited, watching you carefully.

And then, before you could stop yourself, you looked up and met his gaze. "Can you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay's eyes widened in surprise, his ears turning red as your words sunk in. "Are you sure?" he asked, his tone soft but serious. "Are you comfortable with me?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. You didn't know why you asked him. Maybe it was because he was the only one who had seen your broken pieces and didn't turn away. Maybe it was because, despite everything, you trusted him.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the redness creeping up his neck.

Your hands trembled slightly as you began to strip off the hospital gown, letting it fall away from your shoulders.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, your chest tightening as the scars on your body were laid bare—scars from knives, from bullets, from cigarette burns that had long since healed but never truly faded.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

You finally glanced up at Jay, only to see his face frozen in a mixture of sadness and anger. His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His eyes weren't looking at you with disgust or pity—just pain. Pain that you couldn't quite understand.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice cracking. You quickly crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself, to hide the ugly truth of what had been done to you.

"Don't apologize," Jay said softly, his voice strained but firm. He crouched lower, his gaze meeting yours. "You don't have to apologize for this. None of this is your fault."

You bit your lip, tears welling in your eyes as you looked away. "It's ugly," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'm ugly."

"No, you're not," Jay said immediately. "Don't ever say that. Don't ever think that."

Jay begins to open the faucet, filling the tub. You felt his hand gently rest on your shoulder, his touch so light it was almost like a question. "These scars," he continued, his voice softening, "they're not ugly. They're proof that you survived."

You turned back to him, tears spilling over as his words sank in. His gaze didn't waver, didn't falter. There was no judgment in his eyes, only sincerity.

His hands were gentle as he worked, brushing over your skin with careful precision, the towel soaking up water from your arms, your back, every part of you. Each movement was measured, respectful, almost as though he was afraid of breaking you.

The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. Still, the question burned on your tongue, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Why are you helping me?"

Jay froze for the briefest of moments, his hands stilling as he rinsed the washcloth. Then he gently reached for your hair, lathering shampoo between his fingers before carefully massaging it into your scalp.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked softly, his tone calm, but you could hear the edge of emotion beneath it.

You tilted your head slightly, his fingers never missing a beat as they worked through your tangled hair. 

"Because... people don't just help without a reason," you muttered, your voice barely audible. "Are you pitying me?"

Jay's hands stilled again, his fingers pausing in your hair. For a moment, you regretted asking, but then he sighed softly, his hands resuming their slow, soothing motions.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm not helping you because I pity you."

"Then why?" you pressed, your voice cracking as the question spilled out of you. "Why are you doing all this? Why do you care?"

Jay rinsed the shampoo from your hair, his hands tilting your head back slightly so the water wouldn't get in your eyes. He stayed silent for a moment, as if he was choosing his words carefully.

"Because you deserve to be cared for," he said finally, his voice almost a whisper.

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You stared at the tiled wall, unable to respond as your throat tightened and your eyes began to sting.

"I'm not doing this out of pity," Jay continued, his voice soft but insistent. "I'm doing this because I want to."

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. His words felt foreign, like they didn't belong to you. Like they were meant for someone else, someone who deserved kindness.

"But I'm broken," you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. "You don't understand. I'm not... I'm not normal."

Jay's hands paused again, and for a moment, you thought he might agree with you. But instead, he leaned forward slightly, his voice so soft it almost didn't reach you.

"Who cares about 'normal'?" he asked gently, smiling at you.

His words made your chest ache, a strange, unfamiliar warmth blooming beneath the pain. You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything. Instead, you let him finish rinsing your hair, his touch as careful as ever.

Jay stayed quiet for a moment, his hand gripping the soap, before his soft voice broke the silence. "Let me brush your body, hmm? Are you okay with that?"

You looked up at him, your eyes still glossy from earlier tears. He was smiling, It was softer, almost hesitant, like he was giving you all the space in the world to say no.

For a second, your chest tightened again. But then you wiped at your tears, nodding, a small, watery laugh slipping from your lips. "Yeah, okay."

Jay let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he dipped the soap into the water, creating a soft lather. "You don't need to apologize," he said after a moment.

But you shook your head, tears spilling over again as the words tumbled out. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "For being a burden. For being weak."

But Jay stopped what he was doing, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "Showing vulnerability isn't weakness," he said softly, his voice steady but warm. "Don't say you're a burden when you're not."

You finally looked at him, your breath hitching at the sincerity in his gaze.

You spent almost a month in the hospital, longer than you ever thought you'd stay. There were stretches of time when you were alone, the quiet pressing against you like a heavy blanket.

Jay still had to attend his classes during the day, and you hated how much that relieved you. Being around him, around his patience and kindness, was almost too much to bear. It made the guilt twist deeper into your chest.

But every night, without fail, Jay came back. He'd shuffle in, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and his face drawn with exhaustion.

No matter how tired he was, he'd sit beside you for a while, asking how your day had been, what you'd eaten, or if you needed anything.

Then, when he couldn't fight the fatigue anymore, he'd curl up on the couch, a thin blanket thrown over him, and fall asleep with his phone still clutched in his hand.

You'd watch him sometimes, your chest tightening at the sight of him.

Jay's mother visited often, breezing into the room with her warm smile and bags full of food. "You need to eat this," she'd say, setting down a steaming dish in front of you. "It'll help your bones."

The next day, it was something new: "This will boost your blood count!" she'd exclaim, watching eagerly as you took hesitant bites.

At first, you forced yourself to eat out of politeness, but slowly, you began to notice things.

You realized you liked gimbap—the way the rice was soft and slightly sweet, the seaweed wrapping it all together. You discovered new juices and found yourself craving strawberry milkshake more than anything else.

Jay's mom always noticed. "Strawberry milkshake, hmm?" she teased one afternoon, her smile playful. "I'll make sure to bring more tomorrow."

The warmth of her attention and care settled uncomfortably in your chest. You didn't know how to handle it, didn't know what to do with the kindness she gave so freely. It was foreign, and it made the guilt inside you grow.

After weeks of lying in bed, your body weak and fragile, the day finally came when you managed to stand on your own two feet. It wasn't easy. Your legs shook, your grip on the metal IV stand so tight your knuckles turned white, but you did it. For a brief moment, you felt a flicker of pride.

But then you looked down at yourself. Your pale, almost sickly skin stretched over your bony frame. Faint bruises marred your knees and legs.

You hated looking at yourself like this—so helpless, so exposed.

Your fingers trembled as you tightened your grip on the IV stand, leaning against it for support. Every movement felt slow and deliberate, like your body was relearning how to move after months of stillness. You shuffled to the calendar pinned on the wall, each step sending a dull ache through your legs, but you pushed through it.

December 13.

You stared at the date, your chest tightening as the weight of it settled on you. Three months. Three months until the Purge.

Your hand instinctively went to your stomach, as if trying to steady the rising wave of anxiety building inside you. You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight. The memories began creeping in, uninvited, flashing behind your eyes like fragments of a nightmare you could never escape.

You shook your head, closing your eyes to block it out, but it didn't help. The thought was already there, rooting itself firmly in your mind.

You couldn't go back to the same cycle of fear, of waiting for someone to find you, to break you all over again.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to steady your breathing, gripping the IV stand as it was the only thing keeping you upright. You felt caught in between two versions of yourself—the girl who cowered in fear, and the one who had spent months preparing to become something worse.

"You're standing."

The voice startled you, and you turned your head sharply, your grip tightening on the IV stand.

Jay was standing at the doorway, his hand on the handle, staring at you with that familiar wide smile that somehow made the heaviness in the room feel a little lighter.

"My mother said you like strawberry milkshake, so I brought you one," he said, stepping inside and walking toward you, his eyes soft with pride as he glanced at your trembling legs. "Here, let me help."

Before you could say anything, Jay gently took your hand and guided you back to the bed,

"I think I should discharge," you said quietly, the words barely escaping your lips.

Jay blinked, his smile fading slightly. "Why? You're not well yet. Are you thinking about the bills? You shouldn't. I told you, that's already taken care of."

You shook your head, staring at the strawberry milkshake in his hand as he popped the straw into the cup. He handed it to you, the smell of sweet strawberries wafting up and tempting your senses, but you couldn't focus on it.

"The Purge," you said finally, your voice trembling as you gripped the cup tightly, your knuckles turning white. "It's coming again."

Jay froze for a moment, his expression softening as he crouched down in front of you, his eyes level with yours. You could feel his gaze searching your face, waiting for you to continue.

"They... they're coming," you mumbled, your voice breaking. Your chest started to rise and fall rapidly, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. "I don't know what they'll do this time."

Jay reached out instinctively, his hand resting gently on top of yours, steadying the trembling that had begun to spread through your fingers.

"They always find me. No matter where I go. They... they enjoy it. It's a game to them." Jay's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he listened.

"They won't find you this time," he said firmly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "I won't let them."

You stared at him, your chest tightening as you tried to find the words to respond. Instead, you looked down at the strawberry milkshake in your hand, the straw still untouched. Slowly, you brought it to your lips, taking a small sip. The sweet, familiar taste spread across your tongue, and for just a moment.

Jay stayed crouched in front of you, his hand still resting lightly on yours as he watched your expression soften just slightly after taking a sip of the strawberry milkshake.

"Y/N," Jay said after a pause, his voice careful.

You glanced at him, your grip tightening slightly around the cup in your hands. "What is it?"

Jay shifted, sitting back on his heels but keeping his gaze level with yours. "Have you ever thought about talking to someone? You know, a therapist? Someone who might be able to help with... everything you've been through."

Your breath hitched, and you stiffened slightly, your shoulders tensing as the words sank in. "I don't need that," you muttered quickly, looking away from him. "I'm fine."

Jay tilted his head slightly, his expression soft but unconvinced. "I don't think you're fine," he said gently, his tone lacking any hint of judgment. "And that's okay. You don't have to be fine. After what you've been through... no one would expect you to be."

Your chest tightened, your fingers digging into the cup as you tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat. "I don't want to talk about it," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "Talking won't change anything. It won't make the memories go away."

"I know," Jay said softly. "It won't erase what happened. But maybe it could help you carry it. You've been carrying all of this alone for so long, Y/N. Maybe it's time to let someone else help."

"I can't," you whispered, shaking your head. "I don't know how to... to say it out loud. I don't even know where I'd start."

Jay's hand tightened slightly on yours, grounding you as he leaned closer. "You don't have to start anywhere specific," he said quietly.

"You just have to take it one step at a time. They won't push you to talk about anything you're not ready for. It's not about fixing everything all at once—it's about helping you find a way to live with it."

You looked at him, your vision blurred by unshed tears, and for a moment, you hated how much his words made sense. You hated how right he was, how kind he was being, how much he cared when you weren't sure you deserved it.

"I don't know," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I can do it."

Jay nodded, his eyes warm and understanding. "That's okay," he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

"You don't have to decide right now," he continued, his hand lightly squeezing yours. "I just want you to know it's an option. And if you ever want to try, I'll be there with you. I'll help you find someone. You don't have to do it alone."

You stared at him, his words settling in your heart like a soft weight. Slowly, you nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you whispered,

January came, and you were finally discharged from the hospital. It felt strange being back in the world after so much time spent in bed, but Jay made it easier.

In the weeks after your release, you returned to your small apartment, but more often than not, you found yourself spending your nights at Jay's home.

His mother insisted, always greeting you with a warm smile and asking how you were feeling. "It's better to keep an eye on you," she'd say, ushering you to the dinner table, where she'd pile your plate with food.

You had stopped studying, deciding to focus on working full-time instead. Jay had suggested a restaurant he knew, and before long, you found yourself settling into a routine. The work was tiring, but it kept your mind busy, and slowly, the spark in your eyes began to return.

Your nightmares didn't disappear, but they became easier to bear with Jay by your side. Whenever you woke up crying, shaking from the images that haunted you, he was always there.

"Shhh, it's okay," he'd whisper, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. His chest was warm and steady against your cheek, and his hand would rub soothing circles on your back as he whispered, "I'm here, love. I've got you."

You didn't know where he got his patience. No matter how many times you woke him in the middle of the night, trembling and crying, he never got frustrated. He never made you feel like a burden.

And maybe that's why, before you even realized it, you fell in love with him.

It wasn't a dramatic realization—no grand moment or spark. It was slow and steady, like the warmth he gave you every day. It was in the way he smiled at you, in the way he stayed even when he didn't have to.

You wanted to be better for him. You wanted to be strong—not just for yourself, but for him, too. That's when you decided to take his advice. You were going to try and talk to a therapist.

One evening, you were lying on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your ear. His hand played idly with your hair, his fingers brushing through the strands like it was second nature. The room was quiet, the only sound coming from the soft hum of the heater, and you felt so at ease it was almost strange.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were closed, his lips relaxed in a small, peaceful smile. Something about the moment felt so natural, so intimate, that it made your heart swell.

Without really thinking, you leaned closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. You felt him shift slightly beneath you, but he didn't stop you. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed a soft kiss to his neck.

You felt his body tense under you, his breath hitching ever so slightly. His fingers froze in your hair, and for a moment, you thought you'd made a mistake.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and shaky, like he wasn't sure what to say.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his wide eyes, your cheeks burning. "I—" you started, but the words caught in your throat.

Jay's lips parted, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips.

You bit your lip, "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His expression softened immediately, his fingers brushing your cheek. "Don't be," he said gently. "Just... tell me. Is this what you want?"

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding again. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling.

Jay's hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath apart. "Me too," he whispered, and then he kissed you.

It was soft, tentative at first, like he was afraid of breaking the moment, but when you kissed him back, his grip on you tightened slightly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling the back of your head.

Your tongue traced a slow, deliberate line down to his neck, and when you sucked gently at the sensitive skin there, he groaned, low and deep, the sound sending a rush of heat through you.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice shaky as his hands found their way to your waist. You grabbed them, guiding them more firmly against your body as you shifted, straddling his lap.

Jay's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his gaze darkened, his lips parting slightly as you leaned down to kiss him again. This time, the kiss wasn't soft —it was full of need, your lips moving hungrily against his as your hips rolled against him.

You gasped into his mouth, the heat pooling low in your stomach as you felt the tension building between you. Your breath came in heavy pants as you pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you."

Jay's hands slid under your clothes, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. His touch was warm.

"I love you," he said back, his voice low and full of something raw, his head tilting back slightly as your movements sent a shiver through him.

You didn't stop. Your hips pressed into him again, a slow, deliberate grind that made him bite back a groan, his head falling back further as his grip on your waist tightened. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pausing as his eyes met yours again. "Can I?" he asked softly, his voice laced with tenderness.

You nodded, your heart racing as he carefully lifted the shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and you felt a familiar pang of self-consciousness.

You instinctively moved to cover yourself, your arms wrapping around your torso, but Jay stopped you gently, his hands warm and steady as they held yours.

"Don't hide," he whispered, his voice so soft it made your chest ache. "Please don't hide from me."

Your breath hitched as his hands released yours, moving slowly to trace the lines of one of the scars on your shoulder. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the scar on your shoulder, the gesture so tender it sent a jolt through your entire body.

 He kissed it again, slower this time, before moving to another scar on your arm, his lips lingering as if to erase the pain it carried.

You couldn't stop the tears that spilled over, your hands trembling as they clutched at his shoulders. "Jay..." you whispered, your voice cracking.

"I see you," he murmured against your skin, his hands steady as they held your waist. "I see all of you, and I love every part of you."

His lips brushed against the scar on your collarbone, then another on your ribs, each kiss more deliberate than the last.

Jay's eyes softened as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, I love you."

The sincerity in his words made your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. You didn't know how to respond, your chest tightening with emotions too overwhelming to name. Instead, you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that spoke all the words you couldn't say.

His hands slid up your back, his touch firm yet tender as he pulled you closer, your bodies pressing together. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, his lips moving against yours with a passion that sent heat coursing through your veins.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, you felt the clasp of your bra come undone. The cool air brushed against your skin.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his hand cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, teasing and flicking it in a way that made your back arch involuntarily. Jay groaned against your mouth, the sound low and deep, sending a wave of desire pooling low in your stomach.

He gently guided you to lay down, his lips never leaving yours until he moved to your jawline, then your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in his wake. 

He stopped at your left breast, his warm breath ghosting over your skin before he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking gently.

The sensation made you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into him. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, sending jolts of pleasure through your body, while his right hand gripped your other breast, kneading it with just the right amount of pressure.

You let your head fall back, lost in the feeling, soft moans spilling from your lips as your body responded to his every touch. His name escaped your lips like a prayer, and he hummed against your skin, the vibrations adding to the heat building within you.

Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, his right hand began to travel lower. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, and you felt his touch move in slow, deliberate circles.

A gasp tore from your throat as his fingers teased you, his touch light but enough to make your hips lift in desperation. "Jay," you breathed, your voice trembling with need, your body aching for more.

"You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice rough and heavy with desire. His lips returned to yours, as his fingers continued their slow, torturous motion, building a fire within you that you couldn't extinguish.

When his finger slowly slid inside you, your breath hitched, your chest pressing into his as you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve in your body alive with heat as he moved inside you, testing your limits.

Jay's forehead rested against yours, his breath heavy and warm against your lips. "I'm going to add another one, baby," he said, his voice low and filled with lust. "Can you take it?"

You nodded quickly, your hands clutching at him, your voice trembling as you whispered, "I can take it for you."

He groaned at your words, his jaw tightening as he stared at you with darkened eyes. "Fuck, don't say stuff like that," he muttered, his voice almost a growl.

Without wasting another second, he slid a second finger inside you, stretching you in a way that made your back arch. The pace of his movements quickened, the slick sound of his fingers filling the room as your walls clenched around him. The pleasure built fast, sharp and electric, making your breath come out in broken gasps.

Jay leaned down, his lips trailing along your collarbone, then down to your chest again. His mouth latched onto your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple, adding another layer of sensation that made your head spin.

"Jay," you whimpered, your hips moving on their own, grinding into his hand as his fingers curled inside you, hitting a spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.

"You're so good," he murmured against your skin, his free hand gripping your waist to keep you steady as his mouth moved between your breasts, leaving heated kisses in his wake.

"I'm gonna cum," you whined, your voice high and desperate as the pressure in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter.

Jay didn't let up. His tongue teased your nipple, licking it in slow, deliberate strokes that made you shudder, while his thumb suddenly found your clit, pressing and rubbing it in perfect rhythm with his fingers.

The combination was too much. Your body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure crashed over you in waves. "Jay!" you sobbed, your hips lifting off the bed as your orgasm hit, leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.

He didn't stop right away, his fingers and thumb slowing just enough to help you ride out the high, his lips never leaving your skin. "That's it," he whispered, his voice full of pride and adoration. "You're so beautiful like this."

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. When his fingers finally slipped out of you, you whimpered softly, feeling the loss of his touch.

Jay kissed your forehead gently, his hands soothing over your sides as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his chest. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice soft again, filled with affection. "I've got you."

"I was preparing for the Purge this year," you said quietly, staring at your hands instead of your therapist, Ms. Jisoo.

"A self-defense plan, or something more?" she asked gently. There was no judgment in her voice, just calm curiosity.

"Something more," you admitted, biting your lip as your fingers fidgeted in your lap.

Ms. Jisoo nodded softly, giving you space to speak. "Do you still think about it now, after falling in love?"

You paused, her question lingering in your mind. "I don't know," you said after a moment. "I've been so focused on him... on how he makes me feel. The only thing I know for sure is I want to be a better person for him. Not... this."

You hesitated, your voice trembling. "Not some mentally unstable girl who can't even sleep through the night without waking up screaming."

Your chest tightened as the words left you, the guilt clawing at your throat.

Ms. Jisoo leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle and steady. "Wanting to heal for someone you love is a wonderful thing, Y/N. But it's okay to want to heal for yourself too. That doesn't make you weak, and it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you."

Her words softened something in your chest, but the guilt was still there, heavy and sharp. You bit your lip harder, tears welling in your eyes.

"D-Do you think I'm a monster?" you asked suddenly, your voice breaking. "For thinking about purging this year? For even wanting it?" You finally looked up at her, tears spilling as you waited for the answer you feared most.

Ms. Jisoo's expression stayed calm, warm, and understanding. "You're not a monster," she said gently, her voice soft as she stares at you.

"You're someone who's been hurt. Someone who's been through things no one should ever have to experience. It's okay to feel angry. It's okay to feel hate. Those feelings don't make you a monster. They make you human."

"But they feel so wrong," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "Wanting it feels wrong."

"They're not wrong or right," she said softly. "They're just feelings."

You sniffled, wiping at your face with trembling hands, but her words didn't fully settle the storm inside you. After a moment, you looked back at her, hesitating before asking the question that had been on your mind for so long.

"Do you... agree with the Purge?"

Ms. Jisoo blinked, caught off guard by the question. She leaned back slightly, her hands folding in her lap as she thought about her answer.

"No," she said after a moment, "I don't. I don't think violence solves anything. And I don't think people should have the right to hurt others, no matter what the law says. The Purge... it brings out the worst in people. It allows fear and hate to fester. And I've seen how much it hurts people—people like you."

Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward slightly, her tone quiet. "But I also understand why you feel the way you do. The Purge forces people to live in fear, to carry anger and pain that they shouldn't have to carry. It's normal to feel conflicted. It's normal to feel angry."

You swallowed hard, her words sinking into you like drops of water on dry ground. "So... I'm not wrong for feeling like this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"No," she said firmly. "You're not wrong. You're human, Y/N. And humans feel messy, complicated things. There's no shame in that."

You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what to do with myself. I keep thinking and thinking about what I should do to live freely... but nothing feels right."

Ms. Jisoo smiled gently, her expression steady and reassuring. "It's okay to feel lost, Y/N. Healing doesn't come with a map or a timeline. But you're taking steps forward, even if they're small. Just keep going. You'll find your way."

By the middle of February, your days had settled into a rhythm. You managed your job at the restaurant, worked through your therapy sessions every week, and spent most of your free time with Jay and his mother.

Their home felt warm, almost like a haven, and you found yourself doing small things to show your gratitude—buying Jay his favorite snacks, surprising his mom with flowers or something she'd mentioned in passing.

They never expected anything in return for their kindness, but doing those little things made you feel like you were giving back in some small way.

One evening, the restaurant was hosting a group of high-class businesspeople who had reserved the entire dining area. The room buzzed with laughter and chatter, the expensive suits and gleaming jewelry making you feel out of place as you carried trays of food to their table.

As you placed the dishes on the table, your eyes drifted to a middle-aged blonde woman sitting at the center. Her hair was perfectly styled, her tailored suit fitting her like it had been made just for her. She held a glass of wine delicately, twirling it in her hand as she laughed with the others.

Your breath hitched.

A memory slammed into you with the force of a freight train.

Gunshots. Screams. Blood splattered across the ground. You could see the flash of a machete. Hear the sound of a head rolling across the dirt. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your throat tightening as the room spun around you. The scar on your arm felt like it was burning.

"Excuse me?" a man's voice pulled you back to reality, his tone polite but firm. "Do you need anything else?"

You blinked, your breath still shaky as you tried to steady yourself. The blonde woman's laughter had faded, and now she was looking at you, her piercing eyes sharp and almost bored, like she was trying to place where she'd seen you before.

You struggled to keep your hands from trembling as you clutched the tray tighter. "I-I'm fine," you stammered, inhaling deeply to keep your composure.

But it didn't help when one of the other women at the table—a brunette with diamond earrings—reached for your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the long scar that ran down the length of it.

"God," the woman said, her voice dripping with disgust. "What a nasty scar you have." Her fingers brushed the raised tissue, making you flinch involuntarily. "How'd you even get this?"

You froze, the room seeming to go quiet as her words echoed in your ears. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think. You wanted to rip your arm away, but your body felt paralyzed, like you were trapped in that night all over again.

And then, you heard yourself asking, "Are you Ms. Wilson?"

The words felt foreign on your tongue, your voice shaky as you stared at the blonde woman.

She raised an eyebrow at you, her expression amused. "Yes, why?" she asked, taking another sip of her wine. "Do I know you?"

You almost laughed. Of course, she didn't remember. People like her never did.

Your grip on the tray tightened, your knuckles white as your mind raced. You remembered her now—her face, her voice, the way she had smiled behind the mask as she watched you and the others run for your lives.

And she didn't even remember you.

"No," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. "You don't."

Her head tilted slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she were trying to place you, but after a moment, she simply shrugged and turned back to her companions, already dismissing you from her mind.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your nails digging into the tray as you tried to contain the rage bubbling up inside you.

You turned on your heel, your legs trembling with each step as you left the dining area. The walls of the restaurant seemed to close in, the air thick and suffocating. 

Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps as you pushed through the kitchen doors, your tray clattering loudly onto the counter.

Gripping the edge of the counter, your knuckles turned white as you stared down at the cold, stainless steel surface. You willed yourself to calm down, to pull it together, but your heart was racing, your chest heaving as the memories refused to let you go.

You muttered something about not feeling well to your manager, barely hearing his reply as you left the restaurant. 

You didn't go to Jay's home like you usually did. Instead, you walked to your own apartment, your feet moving automatically, your head swirling with thoughts you couldn't control.

When you finally closed the door behind you, something inside you broke. You let out a scream, raw and primal, nails digging into your throat as if you could claw the pain away. Tears streamed down your face, hot and endless, blurring your vision as sob after sob wracked your body.

You stumbled to the target board you had set up on the wall—the one you used for practice, for preparation—and grabbed a knife. With a sharp, angry cry, you hurled it at the board. It hit the target right in the head.

You screamed again, louder this time, grabbing anything within reach and throwing it across the room. A glass shattered against the wall. A stack of books tumbled to the floor. You didn't care.

When you finally collapsed onto your bed, your body was trembling, your chest heaving as you cried into the pillow. The tears wouldn't stop, your sobs loud and broken as you curled into yourself, trying to escape the weight pressing down on you.

At some point, exhaustion took over, and you fell asleep, your face damp with tears.

You jolted awake when the bed shifted beneath you. Your heart leapt into your throat, your body tensing instinctively, but then you saw him—Jay, sitting beside you, his worried eyes scanning your face.

"You didn't come home," he said softly, his voice full of concern. 

"I was worried. Your manager said you took an early leave." He reached for your hand, holding it gently as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Did something happen?"

His voice was so calm, so steady, and it only made your tears resurface. You watched him lift your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your fingertips. The tenderness in his actions broke you all over again.

Your eyes watered, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as you cried. Your sobs were muffled against the fabric of his shirt, but he didn't say anything—he just held you, his arms wrapping around you tightly, protectively.

"It will never go away," you choked out between sobs, your voice muffled against his chest. "I don't know how to heal when this Purge still fucking exists."

Jay tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to the back of your head as he gently stroked your hair. 

"I'm so sorry," you cried, your voice breaking. "For always being like this."

"Shh," he murmured softly, pulling you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close. "You don't have to apologize, love. Don't ever apologize for how you feel."

You buried your face in his shoulder, shaking your head. The words of comfort should've helped, but all they did was amplify the storm inside you.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Jay asked, his voice low and patient.

You shook your head, gripping him tighter. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Not now. Not yet.

He didn't push. He just held you, his hand running up and down your back as you cried into him.

And then, as the room grew quieter, your emotions spilled into something else. The ache in your chest shifted, giving way to a deeper, more desperate need—the need to feel alive, to feel connected, to escape the weight of your mind, even if only for a moment.

Your lips found his, and he kissed you back without hesitation, his hands tightening around your waist. The kiss was slow at first, gentle, but soon it grew hungry, fueled by the raw emotion lingering in the air.

It wasn't long before your knees dug into the mattress, your body arching beneath him as he moved inside you. The pain and weight of your emotions blurred into the pleasure of his touch, every thrust sending a wave of heat through your body.

"A-ah! Fuck, slow down!" you gasped as he hit a spot inside you that made your toes curl.

"Felt so good," Jay groaned, his breath hot against your ear as his body pressed flush against yours. His lips found the nape of your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses as his fingers kneaded your breasts, sending sparks of sensation through you.

You threw your head back, your arms giving out beneath you as he pressed deeper. "Jay," you whimpered, his name tumbling from your lips as your body trembled with every movement.

"Love you," he groaned, his voice rough with desperation. "Fuck, a-ah, I'm gonna cum."

"Inside me, please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard you.

Jay's body fell against yours as he pushed deeper, his breath hitching as his release overtook him. The feeling of him filling you pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you so intensely that tears pricked your eyes.

Your cries of overstimulation mixed with his groans, his hips moving in small, desperate thrusts as he fill inside you. Finally, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

His lips pressed soft kisses along your forehead and temple, his hand trailing to your stomach, where his fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice so full of sincerity that it made your chest ache.

You turned your head, catching his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. He kissed you back, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"Spend the Purge at our house," he said after a moment, his forehead resting against yours. "You'll be safe there. I'll protect you. I promise."

His words should have comforted you. They should have been enough. But as you stared into his eyes, full of love and hope, you felt your chest tighten.

Because no matter what Jay did to protect you, no matter how much healing you tried to find, there was one truth you couldn't ignore.

No matter how hard you fought it, no matter how much you loved him, you're still broken, and lost.

March 21, 3:00 PM

You wiped the tables methodically, trying to focus on the task, but the air in the restaurant was tense. All eyes were glued to the TV mounted on the wall, where the announcement of the Annual Purge was being broadcast. The monotone voice of the announcer echoed through the room, describing the rules and restrictions for the night.

Your manager came up to you, his voice urgent. "Hey, take an early leave. Go home and get ready. You shouldn't be out when the sirens start."

You nodded, offering him a faint smile. "Thanks, I'll head out soon."

After finishing up and helping close the restaurant, you walked back to your apartment. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the streets. As you set up a small barricade in your apartment—nothing fancy, just furniture pressed against the windows and doors—you heard a car honk outside.

Peeking out, you saw Jay leaning casually against his car, waiting for you with that familiar warm smile.

You felt a wave of comfort wash over you at the sight of him. Smiling back, you hurried outside, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Let's go home?" he asked, his voice calm and full of care.

You hesitated, glancing back at your apartment. "I need to grab a few things first," you said.

Jay nodded easily. "Of course. Take your time."

After changing out of your work uniform, you slipped into a white off-shoulder dress that reached your knees—something simple yet elegant. You'd never worn it before, and even the soft fabric against your skin felt foreign. Paired with Mary Jane shoes and a pair of cute white socks.

When you stepped into Jay's car, he looked up at you, his eyes widening slightly. "Wow," he murmured, his gaze softening. "You look beautiful."

You felt your cheeks warm as he leaned in, holding your jaw gently and pecking your lips. "What's with the outfit today?" he teased, laughing lightly.

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I just thought... maybe I'd wear something different. Something nice."

Jay laughed again, his hand reaching out toward your thigh, but you subtly redirected it, placing it over yours instead. He didn't seem to mind, intertwining his fingers with yours as his other hand rested on the steering wheel.

March 21, 4:30 PM

The house was buzzing with noise by the time you arrived. From the top of the stairs, you peeked down and saw six boys piling in through the entrance, bags slung over their shoulders as they greeted Jay's mother.

"Oh, it's Jay's friends!" his mother exclaimed warmly, hugging them one by one.

You recognized Ni-ki and Sunoo, the only ones you'd met before. The rest were strangers to you, their confident voices filling the house as they exchanged jokes and pleasantries.

"Hi, Mrs. Park! I hope you don't mind if we spend the Purge here at your house!" said a tall man with an easy smile.

"No problem, Heesung," Jay's mother replied, her voice full of affection. "What about your parents and sisters?"

"They're at a party," another boy replied casually. "Some politician's mansion. They love that kind of thing."

Your breath hitched, the words hitting a nerve.

What a nice life to be rich, you thought bitterly.

"Hey," Jay's voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see him standing beside you, his brow furrowed slightly. "Are you okay?"

You forced a smile, one you'd perfected over the years. "Yeah, I'm fine. Your friends are downstairs."

Jay studied you for a moment longer, but then he smiled, intertwining his hand with yours as he led you down the stairs.

The boys were loud and full of energy, laughing and teasing each other as they set their bags down and unpacked their things. Jay's mother fussed over them, offering snacks and asking about their families.

"This is Y/N, my girlfriend," Jay announced proudly, pulling you close by your waist.

The room fell quiet for a brief moment, and you could feel their gazes on you.

"Oh my God, you're a thing now?" Jay's mother gasped, her hands clasped over her mouth.

"Isn't it obvious?" Jay replied with a laugh.

One of the boys stepped forward, introducing himself. "Hi, Y/N! I'm Heesung. This is Jake, Sunghoon, and Jungwon. I guess you already know Ni-ki and Sunoo."

You offered a polite smile, nodding as they all greeted you.

As the evening went on, you stayed mostly quiet, helping Jay's mother prepare food while the boys joked around. Jay noticed your silence, slipping his arms around your waist from behind as you worked in the kitchen.

"Hey," he murmured against your ear. "You're safe, okay? You don't need to worry."

You turned to look at him, your heart heavy with emotions you couldn't express. "I love you," you said softly, staring into his eyes.

Jay smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I love you more," he replied, glancing at his watch. "It's already 6:30. I need to barricade the house."

You nodded, watching as he started to walk away. Then, impulsively, you called out, "Jay."

He turned back, his eyes soft. "Hmm?"

Walking up to him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. His hands found your face, gently brushing his thumb across your cheek as he looked at you with worry. "Are you anxious, baby?" he asked softly.

"No," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I just wanted to say I love you again."

Jay let out a soft laugh, leaning down to kiss you. "Love, I'm just barricading the house, not purging." He kissed your forehead tenderly, his lips lingering for a moment. "Now, let me lock everything down so we'll be safe, okay?"

You nodded, stepping back reluctantly as he disappeared toward the storage room.

Jay walked through the dim hallway leading to the storage room when he heard footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Sunghoon catching up to him, a casual smirk on his face as he slung an arm around Jay's shoulder.

"Yo, bro," Sunghoon said casually, falling into step beside him. "No offense but, you sure about that girl?"

Jay frowned, shrugging off Sunghoon's arm. "Why? What are you talking about?"

Sunghoon shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "She just... seems like a lot. I mean, no offense, but she looks like she's difficult to handle."

Jay's brows furrowed deeper, his steps slowing as he turned to face Sunghoon. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look, we care about you," Sunghoon said, raising his hands as if to calm him. "Have you seen her scars? Her face? She's clearly been through some shit. Is she even healed from all that?"

Jay's jaw tightened, his teeth clenching as anger flared in his chest. He stepped closer to Sunghoon, his voice low and dangerous. "Watch your mouth."

"Chill, man, I'm just saying." Sunghoon grabbed Jay's arm in an attempt to reason with him. "That girl's got baggage, and I'm telling you, she's going to be a lot of problems for you. She's not stable, bro. You can't tell me you haven't noticed."

Jay didn't let him finish. His hand shot out, grabbing Sunghoon by the collar and shoving him back against the wall. "Say another word, and I swear I'll make you regret it," he growled, his voice dripping with rage.

Sunghoon's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't back down. "I'm trying to look out for you, Jay," he said, his tone firm. "You're my friend. I don't want you getting hurt."

Jay released him with a sharp shove, his chest heaving as he tried to control his temper. "Don't ever talk about her like that again," he said coldly, his eyes burning with anger. "You don't know a damn thing about her."

He turned on his heel, ignoring Sunghoon as he walked into the storage room. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed the button to activate the lockdown. The sound of metal walls sliding into place filled the air, sealing the house and cutting off the world outside.

"Jay, listen to me," Sunghoon said, his voice following him into the room. "I'm serious. There's something off about her. Just think about it, man."

Jay didn't respond. He slammed the door shut behind him, shutting Sunghoon out both literally and figuratively.

Returning to the living room, Jay found the rest of his friends lounging on the couches, laughing and exchanging stories. His mother was tidying up nearby, a small smile on her face as she listened to their chatter.

"Where's Y/N?" Jay asked, his eyes scanning the room.

"I think she went to your room," Ni-ki said, glancing up from his phone. "She said she wanted to sleep early."

Jay nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. But before he could take another step, Sunghoon appeared at his side again.

"Man, I'm trying to talk to you," Sunghoon said, his voice laced with frustration.

Jay's patience snapped. Without thinking, he turned and landed a punch squarely on Sunghoon's jaw, sending him stumbling backward.

The room fell silent as the others jumped to their feet.

"Jay! What the hell are you doing?!" Jake shouted, stepping between them.

"I'm just trying to give him advice about his girlfriend!" Sunghoon snapped, holding his jaw as he glared at Jay.

"Are you seriously saying that fucking nonsense while my girlfriend is in this house?!" he shouted. "How dare you even say that shit in front of me?!"

Sunghoon raised his hands in defense, but Jay wasn't done. He stepped closer, pointing a finger at him. "You've known her for, what, an hour? And you think you have the right to judge her? To judge us? Fuck you, Sunghoon!"

"Jay, calm down," Heesung said cautiously, stepping between the two of them with his hands outstretched, but Jay wasn't having it.

"You don't get to judge her just because of what you think you see!" Jay growled, his voice trembling with anger. He shoved Heesung and Jake off as they tried to hold him back.

"Get the fuck off me!" he barked, storming out of the living room. His footsteps pounded against the floor as he made his way up the stairs, leaving everyone behind in stunned silence.

Jay climbed the stairs two at a time, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. He pulled out his phone, swiping through his notifications until he found a message from Dr. Jisoo that he had missed earlier.

Dr. Jisoo: Good afternoon, Mr. Park. I just wanted to check in on Y/N since she's missed her last three sessions. Please keep an eye on her, especially today—it's a particularly triggering event for her. Thank you.

Jay felt a wave of dread wash over him, his heart sinking into his stomach. He quickened his pace, practically sprinting to his bedroom.

"Y/N?" he called, pushing the door open.

But the room was empty.

Panic set in as he checked the bathroom, the closet, all of the room, even under the bed, but you were nowhere to be found.

He bolted back down the stairs, his voice frantic as he called out for you. "Y/N?! Where are you?!"

His mother stepped into the hallway, her face pale with worry. "What's wrong, Jay?"

"She's gone," he said, his voice shaking. "Did anyone see her leave?!"

Everyone in the living room exchanged confused looks, shrugging helplessly.

"Y/N?!" Jay shouted again, his voice echoing through the house.

Jay froze as the broadcast echoed through the house, the robotic voice chilling him to the bone.

"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S Government.

Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning, until 7 a.m., when the Purge concludes.

Blessed by our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all."

The final words echoed in his ears as the sirens blared, signaling the start of the Purge.

His heart pounded, his chest tight as he pieced everything together. The missed therapy sessions, how quiet you had been all day, the way you hugged him like it might be the last time.

You weren't in the house.

You were out there.

Jay turned on his heel and sprinted to the storage room, his mind racing as panic surged through him.

He yanked open his closet, grabbing the bag he had packed weeks ago—just in case. Inside were the essentials: a shotgun, a pistol, extra ammunition, and a knife. He tossed the bag over his shoulder, his hands trembling as he loaded the pistol, cocking it with precision.

"Jay, what are you doing?!" his mother cried, standing at the door with tears streaming down her face.

"Unlock the barricade and lock it again after I leave," he said coldly, his voice devoid of the warmth she was used to.

"Jay, you can't! It's dangerous out there!" she pleaded, stepping closer.

"Unlock it!" he snapped, his voice sharp, though his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. "Please, Mom. I have to go."

"No," Sunghoon interrupted, stepping forward and grabbing Jay's arm. "You're not thinking straight. She left, Jay. She chose to go out there—"

Jay swatted his hand away, pointing the pistol directly at Sunghoon's head. The room went silent.

"Jay!" Heesung shouted, stepping forward.

"Come any closer, and I'll blow his fucking head off," Jay growled, his jaw tightening as his finger hovered near the trigger. "You don't get to stop me. None of you do."

Sunghoon raised his hands slowly, his expression shifting to one of caution. "Alright, man. Just... relax, okay? I'm just trying to—"

"Shut up," Jay hissed, the tension in his body radiating outward. His voice lowered, trembling slightly. "I told you to stay out of this. She's out there, and I'm going to find her."

He turned his gaze to Ni-ki, who was frozen near the security console. "Ni-ki," Jay said firmly. "Unlock the barricade. Now."

Ni-ki hesitated, looking at Jungwon and Jake for guidance, but neither said anything. With a shaky hand, Ni-ki pressed the button, and the sound of the metal walls lifting reverberated through the house.

"Jay, please," his mother sobbed, grabbing his arm as he stepped toward the door.

Jay paused, his resolve faltering for just a moment as he looked at her. "I'm sorry," he said softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "But I can't stay here knowing she's out there."

Tears streamed down her face as she nodded, her voice trembling. "I understand, be safe. Please."

"I will," Jay said, stepping out the door. "Lock it the second I'm gone."

The metal walls began to descend behind him as he walked to his car, his mind racing with questions. Where could you have gone? Why didn't you tell him? Were you safe? Were you scared?

Sliding into the driver's seat, he tossed the bag into the passenger side and gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. His eyes scanned the darkened streets, the occasional scream or gunshot in the distance reminding him of the stakes.

Without hesitation, he pressed the gas pedal.

You walk slowly down an unfamiliar road, your steps unsteady. You just keep walking and walking, unsure of where you're going or why. You don't understand yourself anymore. You thought everything was finally okay. What more could you ask for?

You have a loving boyfriend who always tries to make you smile. His mother cares for you like her own. You eat three meals a day. You're seeing a therapist. And you even have a safe place to hide on Purge Night.

So why do you feel like this?

Why do you feel so broken when you should feel whole?

Why are you out here, in the middle of the street, on the most dangerous night of the year, with just a knife strapped under your dress?

You wonder if Jay has noticed you're gone. He probably has by now. Your chest tightens at the thought of him pacing back and forth, calling your name.

Your lifeless eyes stare ahead as you walk deeper into the quiet street. It's so still, unnaturally still. No trucks rumbling down the road. No gangs or masked figures in sight.

"Kill me already!" you scream into the emptiness. Your voice echoes down the road, but there's no answer. Not a single sniper or purger takes the bait.

Then, a distant cry catches your ear—a plea for help. You turn toward the sound and walk toward it, your grip tightening on the handle of the knife hidden beneath your dress.

As you approach, you see a young girl sprinting toward you, clutching her bleeding waist. Four people in masks are chasing her, laughing like it's some sick game.

"Man, we just want to purge!" one of them—a woman—cackles. That laugh—it burrows into your memory like a needle.

The girl stumbles, and when her eyes meet yours, there's desperation written all over them. She collapses at your feet, her blood soaking through your white dress as she clings to you.

"Please... help me," she gasps.

Her words are cut off by a gunshot. Blood splatters across your face as a hole appears in her forehead. Her body falls limp, her grip on your dress loosening.

"My fucking soul feels cleansed!" the woman says with a twisted laugh. The others laugh with her, like a pack of hyenas.

"Up next—" the woman starts, raising her pistol toward you.

But you're faster.

In one fluid motion, you pull out your knife and hurl it at her. It pierces through her mask and into her skull. She drops instantly, blood dripping from the blade.

The remaining three hesitate, stunned. That's all the time you need. You yank the knife from the dead woman's head and dash toward the others, slicing the nearest one's throat in a clean arc.

The man in the joker mask fumbles for his gun, but you grab the dead body beside you, using it as a shield. Then, you throw the knife again, this time hitting his chest.

He stumbles back, gasping for air, as you snatch his gun from his weakening grip. Before he can even hit the ground, you fire a shot straight into his skull.

Now, there's only one left.

The last purger, wearing a cat mask, drops to his knees and pulls the mask off, revealing a trembling man. He raises his hands in surrender, tears streaming down his face.

"P-please... spare me. I-I just wanted to purge this year," he stammers, his voice cracking.

You glare at him, the weight of your actions and emotions swirling inside you.

"How many innocent people have you killed in all the purges you've been a part of?" you ask, your tone icy.

His lip quivers. "P-probably 70—"

Before he can finish, you pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the street as he collapses, lifeless.

Silence fills the street once more as you stand there, your white dress soaked in blood, surrounded by bodies. You don't know how long you've been standing there, staring at the carnage.

Then, it happens.

A soft laugh escapes your lips. It bubbles up from your throat, quiet at first, but it grows louder, sharper, until it echoes down the empty street. It's not a happy laugh. It's hollow, bitter, unhinged.

You bring a hand to your face, your fingers brushing against the blood splattered across your skin.

You really have lost yourself, haven't you? Or, did you found it now?

You hate the Purge. You hate the monsters it creates. You hate the people who thrive on it, the ones who laugh, who kill, who hurt.

So why are you here, in the middle of the night, doing the exact same thing?

Tears prick at your eyes, but they don't fall. You just stand there, your shoulders trembling as the weight of everything presses down on you. You feel nothing. And that terrifies you most of all.

You crouch down, wiping your knife on the dead woman's clothes, smearing blood across the fabric.

Your hands tremble slightly, it's not fear—it's something else. A quiet storm you can't name.

Once the blade gleams clean, you tuck it back into the thigh strap beneath your dress. Grabbing the fallen gun, you check the chamber and reload it. The satisfying click of the cocked weapon echoes as you straighten up and continue walking.

The street stretches ahead, eerily quiet except for the distant sounds of chaos—gunshots, screams, and the occasional rumble of an engine.

Three figures suddenly sprint toward you from the shadows. They glance at you, wide-eyed, as they pass by, their faces pale with fear.

Ahead of you, three figures suddenly appear from the shadows. Their faces are pale with fear as they sprint past you. One of them—a panicked old man—stumbles and grabs your arm, his grip shaky.

"Miss, don't go that way!" he says, his voice hoarse and desperate. "That group's rounding people up—they're psychos!"

His words barely register. Your gaze drifts past him, toward the direction he came from. A cold calm washes over you as he keeps tugging at your arm, pleading.

A large truck screeches to a halt in front of you, its headlights blinding. The old man panics, letting go of your arm and bolting down the road. He doesn't get far. A sharp crack rings out, and he collapses mid-stride, a bullet tearing through his back.

You don't flinch.

The truck door swings open, and several masked figures step out.

One of them grabs your arm, yanking it behind your back as another snatches the gun from your hand.

"Blessed be the New Founding Fathers of America," one of them says, leaning close to your face.

You smile. Not a kind smile—a bitter one. "Blessed be them," you whisper back.

Then, without warning, you jerk your head forward, slamming it into the man's nose. He stumbles back with a grunt of pain, clutching his face as blood pours through his fingers.

Before the others can react, you twist your arm free and yank your knife from its strap. The blade flashes in the dim light as you slice upward, catching one of them in the throat. They gargle and drop to their knees, clutching at the wound.

Another lunges at you, swinging a metal pipe. You duck under the blow, driving the knife into his ribs. He gasps, his body jolting as you twist the blade, blood spraying onto your dress.

You scream—whether it's from rage or something deeper, you're not sure.

The sound rips from your throat as you yank the knife free and stab again, and again, and again, until his body goes limp.

Behind you, the first man—the one whose nose you broke—recovers quickly. He raises his gun, aiming it directly at your back.

You're too focused, too lost in the heat of the moment to notice him.

The loud crack of gunfire fills the air, but it doesn't come from his weapon.

The man's body jerks violently as a burst of bullets tears through him, and he collapses to the ground, lifeless.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you spin around.

Your wide eyes locking onto the figure standing behind him.

"Jay," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He steps forward slowly, his shotgun still in hand. His expression is unreadable, his eyes flicking over the bodies surrounding you before settling on you.

You brace yourself for the anger you expect to see in his face. For him to yell at you, demand answers, maybe even tell you he's done with you.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he stops in front of you, his gaze softening as he raises a hand to your face. His thumb brushes gently across your cheek, wiping away the streaks of blood smeared there.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice full of worry. "Are you hurt?"

You can't speak. Your lips tremble as tears blur your vision. Slowly, your hand rises to hold his against your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, his voice heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry for not noticing sooner that you weren't okay. I should've known."

His words hit you like a punch to the chest, and you shake your head, your tears spilling over. "W-what are you doing here?" you manage to say, your voice shaking. "It's dangerous."

Jay smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I could say the same thing to you, love," he murmurs, pulling you into a warm, protective embrace.

His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you like he's afraid to let go. You bury your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"I can't let my girl be out here alone on Purge Night," he whispers into your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him, your smile shaky and uncertain. "Y-you're not angry?"

Jay shakes his head slowly, his warm hand cupping your face as if to anchor you. "No, baby. I'm not angry," he says softly.

Your lips tremble, the guilt clawing its way up your throat as you look into his eyes. "I... I'm a monster, Jay. Look at what I did," you whisper, your voice cracking.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, his gaze never leaving yours. There's no judgment there, no fear—just a quiet understanding that makes your chest ache.

"I don't think I'm normal anymore, Jay," you say, your voice barely audible as tears spill freely down your face. "I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. I don't know who I am anymore."

You start to sob, the raw emotion pouring out of you like a dam breaking. Jay leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you steady.

"I love you," he whispers into the space between you. "No matter what. No matter what you've done, no matter what you want to do... I love you."

His words hit you like a wave, and your sobs come harder, your body trembling in his arms.

"You always ask if you're normal," he continues, his tone soothing as he brushes a stray tear from your cheek. "But I already told you, love. Who cares about normal? Normal doesn't matter to me. You matter to me."

His arms wrap around you tighter, pulling you against his chest.

"If this is what you need to do to heal, then I'll be here," he whispers into your ear. "And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn't say this to me. I'll always understand, love. Always. Just... don't do this again without me knowing, okay?"

You nod against his chest, your sobs muffling into his shirt.

"I'm such a—" you try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat, your cries making it impossible to finish the sentence.

Jay shushes you softly, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "You're not. You're not anything bad, baby. You're just... hurting."

You pull back slightly, your hands clutching his shirt as you look up at him, your voice trembling. "I hate it, Jay. I hate what I've become. I'm not me anymore. It terrifies me."

His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, and he presses a soft kiss to your hair. "I know," he whispers. "But I'll be here. I'll be with you through every terrifying moment, love."

For a long moment, the two of you just stay like that—his arms holding you close, your head resting against his chest as your breathing slowly evens out. The tension in your body begins to ease, though the storm in your mind still churns.

Jay pulls back slightly, tilting his head to meet your gaze, his smile growing softer but never losing its warmth.

"Are you enjoying yourself right now?" he asks, his voice light and genuine, almost teasing.

You blink at him, surprised by the question, but the answer bubbles up inside you before you can stop it. A faint smile begins to form on your lips, something that feels both wrong and inexplicably right.

"Yes," you admit quietly, your voice steadier than before. "I think I am."

Jay's smile widens just a little, his thumb brushing against your cheek again as if to ground you.

"That's all that matters," he says softly, his voice filled with a calm acceptance that makes the tension in your chest ease.

Then, his eyes flicker toward the carnage surrounding you—the lifeless bodies, the blood that stains the street, and your hands, still trembling but steady enough to hold the knife.

"What do you want to do? Hmm?" he asks, his tone curious yet understanding, as if ready to follow wherever your answer leads.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the gun in your hands and the heat of the night pressing against your skin. Your lips curve into a determined smile, and your answer comes without hesitation.

"I want to kill purgers," you say, your voice clear and sharp, your eyes shining with a fire that you hadn't felt in years.

Jay doesn't flinch or waver at your words. Instead, he nods, stepping closer to you and holding out his shotgun. "Here," he says, his voice calm as he hands it over.

You take it, your hands steady now, and your eyes glint as you examine the weapon.

"Is this a SPAS-12?" you ask, running your fingers along the smooth barrel.

Jay chuckles softly, watching the way your gaze flickers with excitement.

"Yeah. My dad gave it to me," he replies as he takes your free hand in his.

"Come on," he says, tugging you gently toward his car. "Let's get out of here. It's dangerous to stay in one spot too long."

You follow him, practically bouncing on your heels as you intertwine your fingers with his. As the two of you approach the car, a question bubbles up, one you hadn't thought to ask before.

"Where's your dad, anyway? I've never met him," you say, glancing at him as he unlocks the driver's side door.

Jay shrugs lightly, opening the door for you.

"He's overseas," he explains as you climb in. "He's been busy. A lot of countries are starting to plan their own versions of the Purge, and he's consulting on security systems for them."

"Wow," you mutter, settling into the passenger seat as Jay slides in beside you.

He starts the car, the engine rumbling to life as he glances over at you. "You ready?"

"Is this car bulletproof?" you ask, running your hand along the interior with a raised eyebrow.

Jay smirks, shrugging. "I don't think so, but who needs bulletproof when we've got each other?"

You giggle, the sound light and unexpected, even to yourself.

As he presses the gas pedal hard, the car lurches forward, and the thrill of speed courses through you.

The windows are down, and the cool night air rushes past you as you cock the shotgun, the familiar click of the weapon sending a chill down your spine.

You lean halfway out the window, scanning the streets for purgers, your eyes narrowing when you spot a group down the road.

"Hey, fuckers!" you shout, your voice carrying across the night.

Jay glances over at you, his grin widening as he watches you. "Careful with my car, love," he teases, though there's nothing but pride in his tone.

You don't respond, too focused on your target. Raising the shotgun, you take aim and fire. The blast rings out, and one of the masked figures crumples to the ground.

Jay chuckles, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he drifts the car in a sharp circle, giving you a clear view of the rest of the group.

You take the opportunity, cocking the shotgun again and pulling the trigger, your laughter bubbling up as another purger falls.

Jay's eyes are on you the whole time.

There's a softness in his gaze, even amid the violence. A quiet love that seems to radiate from him as he smiles, the chaos of the night fading away for him.

There's just you, him, and the shared thrill of the hunt.

March 22, 4:00 AM

The two of you stand on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the city stretched out before you in ruins. Fires burn in the distance, their orange glow painting the night in an eerie light. Screams and gunshots echo faintly through the air, but up here, it almost feels quiet.

Jay's arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you against him as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"When I first saw you, I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen," he says softly, his voice low in your ear.

You snort, your lips twitching into a faint smile. "I smelled like shit, Jay. I looked like skin and bones. Where's the 'pretty' in that?" you ask, a chuckle escaping you.

Jay presses his lips to your neck, his voice a murmur against your skin. "You were pretty then. You're pretty now. You've always been pretty."

"You should hate me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant crackling of fires below. "For leaving. For running away."

Jay's grip tightened, his hands pulling you closer as his forehead pressed against the back of your head. "I could never hate you," he murmured. "Not when I know what you've been carrying."

You opened your mouth to argue, to push back

"I don't deserve you," you admitted, your voice cracking as the weight of the night caught up with you.

Jay let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and reassuring. "You don't get to decide that," he said, his tone teasing but full of affection. "That's my call, and I'm not going anywhere.

You tilt your head slightly, giving him more access, your breath hitching as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. His lips linger, soft and warm, before his tongue flicks against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

A quiet moan escapes you as he nips at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he soothes the bite with a kiss. "Jay..."

His hands begin to roam, one sliding up to cup your breast, squeezing gently, while the other dips beneath your dress. His fingers brush over the fabric of your panties, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves there.

"You're really doing this?" you sigh, half-laughing even as your body arches into his touch.  "In the middle of the purge?"

Jay chuckles softly, his lips still pressed against your neck. "We're standing on a rooftop, watching the world burn," he murmurs. "Seems like the perfect time to me."

His fingers move with more purpose now, slipping past the fabric of your panties and brushing against your wet folds. You gasp, your body trembling against him as he slides one finger inside you, curling it just enough to make you bite down on your lip.

"You know," Jay whispers, his voice low and rough as his free hand kneads your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. "I'm not normal either."

You barely manage to form a response, your mind clouded by the pleasure building inside you. "W-what do you mean?"

Jay bites gently at your neck again, his lips curling into a grin. "Watching you out there... gunning down those purgers... smearing blood all over that cute little dress..." He groans, his hips pressing into you so you can feel just how hard he is. 

"Fuck, it turns me on so much. You looked so beautiful. So fucking dangerous."

His confession sends a jolt of heat straight through you, and your legs almost buckle as he slides another finger inside you, his pace increasing. His other hand slips beneath the neckline of your dress, tugging it down just enough to expose your chest as he palms your bare skin.

"Jay..." you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers work you over, pushing deeper and curling just right.

"You're so perfect like this," he whispers, his voice breathy and filled with adoration as he watches your face twist with pleasure. 

"The way your body moves, the way you moan for me... I'll never get enough of you."

His thumb brushes over your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. You grip his arms, your nails digging into his skin as your body starts to shake.

"F-fuck, Jay," you cry out, your voice muffled as he kisses your temple.

"That's it, baby," he encourages. "Let go for me. Let me see you lose yourself."

You're barely holding on, your body trembling as he picks up the pace, his fingers sliding in and out of you relentlessly. 

The pressure inside you builds and builds until it snaps, a wave of heat and pleasure crashing over you as your orgasm takes hold.

You cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as you ride out the high, your walls clenching around his fingers. Jay doesn't stop, his movements gentle now as he works you through it, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

When the aftershocks finally subside, you collapse back against him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. Jay wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you close as he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice soft and sincere.  "Now, let me eat."

Before you can respond, he gently turns you, guiding your back to the cool metal railing. His hands are steady on your waist

"Park Jongseong!"

He crouched, his teeth hooking the edge of your panties and dragging them down, baring you inch by inch. The fabric pooled at your knees before his face dove between your thighs, his tongue parting you

He worked his way up to your clit, licking slow, teasing circles that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His grip tightened on your waist, firm hands pulling you closer, urging your hips to rock against his face.

Your right leg lifted, hooking over his shoulder for balance, your fingers threading into his hair to anchor yourself. You tugged, hard, grinding yourself against him. His groan reverberated through you, the vibrations sending shockwaves straight to your core.

"Jongseong!" you sobbed, your voice breaking as the intensity overwhelmed you. Your grip on his hair tightened, your body trembling.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and desperate. 

Before you could protest, his hands were on your shoulders, pushing you down. You hit the rough ground with a muted thud, your palms scraping against the coarse surface.

You barely had time to process the sensation before his hands were on your hips, lifting you up.

"Need to be inside you, baby."

You heard him groan softly, the sound of him stroking himself before he pressed against your entrance.

The stretch as he slid inside you was slow, deliberate, every inch a sensation that left you gasping. You clenched around him instinctively, earning a hiss from him as he threw his head back, savoring the feeling.

"Faster," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. Your hands scrambled to reach his, gripping the one on your waist.

"My baby wants more?" he laughed, a dark, almost mocking edge to his tone.

Before you could answer, he gathered your wrists in one hand, pulling them behind your back and holding them there. His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

You screamed, your voice raw, your body pliant in his grasp.

He didn't stop, didn't relent, even as your cries turned to desperate whines. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling violently. But just as you were about to fall over, his movements faltered.

"No!" you cried out, shaking in his hold, trying to move, to chase the release that hovered just out of reach. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pressing you down firmly.

"Don't move," Jay ordered, his voice low and commanding. "I'm still enjoying the view."

You sobbed, your body trembling, your desperation mounting. "Please! I'll be good, I swear, please!"

He growled low in his throat, his hips slamming forward again, harder, rougher, making you cry out.

Gunshots echoed faintly in the background, but they felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered was the man above you, his hands pinning you down, his movements relentless.

Your mouth fell open as you felt him twitch inside you, his pace faltering before he suddenly flipped you onto your back. Your legs went limp, draped over his shoulders as he sank into you again, his face hovering inches from yours.

Your focus locked on him, the way his brows knit together, the way his jaw clenched, the way his sweat-dampened hair clung to his forehead. He was beautiful in his rawness, primal and consuming.

"I wanna cum," you whimpered, your hand reaching for your clit, desperate for release, but he slapped it away with a sharp look.

"Hold it, love," he commanded, his breath ragged. He leaned down, his mouth latching onto your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he bit down, hard.

You screamed, tears streaming down your face as your body writhed beneath him.

"Can't hold it anymore," you sobbed, shaking your head, your pleas growing more desperate.

"Just a little longer," he whispered, his voice a strained plea of his own. His thumb found your clit, pressing down in firm, maddening circles, even as his hips drove into you faster, harder.

The moment came like a tidal wave, crashing through you with a force that left you breathless, your body spasming around him.

"A-ah fuck!" you screamed, your voice breaking.

His rhythm faltered as you tightened around him, pulling him over the edge with you. He buried himself deep, his groan low and guttural as he came, filling you completely.

"Jay, can't!" you whimpered, your body oversensitive, trembling as he continued to move, chasing the last echoes of his high.

"Fuck, I love you," he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion

Finally, he stilled, collapsing beside you. His arm looped around your waist, pulling you close.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" he teased, his voice soft.

"Tired," you mumbled, pouting with your eyes half-closed.

"What happened to killing purgers all night?" he asked, his tone light, teasing.

You cracked one eye open to glare at him. "It's morning," you grumbled.

Jay chuckled, his fingers gently smoothing down your dress as best as he could. His eyes lingered on you, softening as you murmured sleepily against his ear.

"I wanna kill Ms. Wilson next year," you whispered, your voice faint.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. He kissed your forehead softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Anything for you, love."

You hummed in response, your body melting further into his hold. "I hate how the Purge is so right," you mumbled, your words fading into the quiet dawn. "It really did cleanse my soul."

March 22, 6:45 AM

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a pale golden glow over the city. The streets were eerily still, a grim quiet settling over the aftermath of the Purge.

Jay carried you carefully to his car, his movements slow and deliberate as he set you down in the passenger seat. For a moment, he lingered, crouching beside you. His hand brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingers ghosting over your peaceful expression.

You had found yourself, hadn’t you? Maybe not in the way most people would expect, but in a way that felt undeniably true to you.

Your eyelashes fluttered, your eyes opening just enough to glance at him groggily. "What time is it?"

"6:45," Jay replied softly, his voice low. "The Purge is almost over."

You nodded weakly, your head tilting back against the seat as your eyes drifted closed again. But before sleep could take you, they snapped open once more, and you turned your head to him.

"Why? What’s wrong?" Jay asked, his voice laced with gentle concern.

You smiled sweetly, your lips curving in a way that made his heart skip.

"Kiss me."

His lips twitched into a chuckle, but he leaned down without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours. 

"I love you," you whispered as your eyes closed again, this time surrendering completely to sleep.

"I love you too," Jay echoed, his voice just above a whisper. His hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer before he straightened up, gripping the steering wheel as he started the car.

The streets stretched out before him, empty and silent now, save for the faint echoes of distant sirens. The Purge had ended.

Jay chuckled softly to himself, glancing over at your sleeping form in the passenger seat. You looked so peaceful now, your lips slightly parted, your head resting against the window. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, the two of you had been surrounded by blood.

"Next year, huh?" he murmured under his breath, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jay definitely needed to watch his back next year.

But with you by his side, what could any purger do?

There was no telling what the two of you were capable of.

taglist: @fancypeacepersona, @tunafishyfishylike

[wonjns]

a dip — l.cy

⌗ pairing. . . anton lee x male reader

⌗ genre. . . smut

⌗ summary. . . you went with your fuck buddy to the pool… that was your first mistake.

⌗ includes. . . sub!reader, fwb!swimmer!anton, semi-public sex (pls don't esp not this one), unprotected sex (also don't),

⌗ wc. 2.5k

°A/N. . . sorta requested but also not really,, also not proofread nor very pretty or as descriptive as i like to be im so sorry this is just what you get when im horny bc these pictures ruined my life

you knew much better than to agree to joining anton lee at the pool of all places.

being a lifetime friend (occasionally with benefits) of his, you knew the swimmer could spend hours upon hours at the pool and not feel an ounce of exhaustion. he'd often convince you to stay long after you finished swimming yourself, just to wait for him to complete his cool down routine before driving you home.

the worst thing of all, though, was that you were constantly reminded just how much he had hidden underneath those oversized sweaters and jeans that he always wore. behind that whole shy boy aesthetic he had going on, was the physique of what you could only compare to a greek god, and even he knew it.

you never got used to it - seeing anton's chiseled body exposed in the aquatic habitat that felt like a second home to him. no matter how sweet his smile or how loud his laugh, nothing could distract you from drooling over a body like that cutting through the water with such ease. it was even worse because the sweet boy knew exactly what he did to you.

he tried to cut you some slack, though, respecting your effort to seem unbothered every time he'd peel his layers of clothing off before jumping into the pool, wearing nothing but his tight blue swim trunks that suffocated his muscular thighs.

one time he even pretended not to notice how you were so worked up that you had to go not-so-subtly get yourself off in the community bathroom.

in your defense, it was a heated indoor pool, and at the time he had completely annihilated you in a race. that proud smirk paired with the steam rising from his rippling back muscles had you biting back moans from the sight alone.

so naturally, it was to no one's surprise once things turned physical between you both.

the adrenaline that swimming gave anton put him on cloud nine, and being the stubborn ass that you were, you were determined to somehow beat this pro swimmer in a race - only for it to end with you losing miserably and somehow hornier than when you started. things would always end one way or another, a taunting comment directed at you leading to his bare back pressed against the cool tile walls of the changing room while you yanked his shorts low enough to take his throbbing cock into your mouth.

but today you were going to be good.

you hadn't hooked up with anton for a while, and were truly only tagging along because he needed a friend to time his laps for the upcoming season.

however, it'd be a lie to say you didn't have to give yourself a prep talk as you set your things down on the pool chairs, noticing nobody was there tonight. it was business as usual, though. anton always convinced the coach to let him have later access while the rest of the team went home so he could focus. you just found it harder to control yourself around him when left alone like this, but tonight you had a new type of dedication to simply swim, help your friend, and go home.

besides, why would it be so difficult for you to keep it in your pants for just one night?

‘oh, thats why.’ you groaned internally as you watched anton strip his shirt from over his head.

fuck, had he been bulking up?

you pretend not to notice how his biceps flex as he runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair while you stripped down to your swim trunks as well. god, his skin was practically glowing even from the dingy indoor lighting.

your head whipped around back towards his direction when you heard a low hiss, watching his face scrunch slightly as he stepped down the pool's ladder. your dick twitched a bit at the sight of his furrowing brows and low groan as he sunk deeper into the water, but you mentally slapped yourself back to reality.

"what's with you?" you questioned approaching the steps, getting ready to enter as well.

"i forgot to remind coach to turn the heaters on tonight," he responded. "shit, its freezing."

you thought he was being dramatic, but the chilly water indeed bit back when you lowered your ankles in. you decided against submerging for now, simply swirling your legs in circles while you spun anton's stopwatch in your hand.

anton began a quick warm up, stretching and dunking himself under water several times and adjusting quickly to the temperature. his wet hair splaying out around his face made him even more gorgeous than he already was, and you felt your cheeks gain a sickening warmth.

"alright bro, let's get started." you cleared your throat, speaking up to hurry the process along before your resolve crumbled.

"sure, bro." he mocked before sending a wink your way. shit, he was already on to you.

anton held eye contact with you as he hoisted himself out of the water to walk over to the swim lanes, causing your breath to silently falter. your instincts made you the first to break contact though, as your eyes followed the droplets that slid down his broad chest. they each trailed down past his perked nipples, over his abs that you could never steal long enough glances at, and eventually disappear into his waistband before leading to — that.

to say the least, anton was generously endowed when it came to the size in the south. the ‘quiet man with a fat cock’ stereotype was only proven true with him, if the way you struggled to fit all of him in your mouth was anything to go by.

anytime anton wore those small trunks or, god forbid, the uniform speedo during his meets - it was impossible to tear your eyes away from how the soaking cloth material clung around his massive length when he emerged from the water.

and boy was he massive. that was a fact you could never forget but somehow still surprised you each time to this day.

you were such a pervert. and he loved it so much.

only 30 minutes into his laps you found yourself desperately missing the shy boy act that he would put on for every body else. once he was in athlete mode, the confidence in his demeanor made your self control fly out the window. it didn't make sense how someone as massive as him could practically fly through the water, flexing every inch of his muscle like it was nothing.

it forced you to reminisce on how he was in bed, constantly taking you with his immense stamina. he could toss and turn you in any way at any given pace, making you see stars like it was nothing — even when you were the one to start things, he made sure to finish them. you remembered the way his biceps would tighten and ripple in your grasp, holding on for dear life as you begged for him to thrust into you harder or squeeze you tighter. you missed the sore feeling those big hands of his would leave on your hips and thighs.

get it together, y/n.

if you had a dollar for every time you had to yank yourself out of the gutter in just the span of one hour, you'd be rich enough to drop out of school entirely.

you had allowed yourself to sit calf-deep in the water at the end of the racing lane, but it wasn't until he reached you after knocking out 3 laps in a row that you regretted your decision. he emerged from the water with a big splash, throwing his head back and letting out the most erotic sigh you could imagine as he finally let air reach his lungs.

a lump formed in your throat, watching anton's buff chest rise and fall in tune with his breaths while both long arms gripped the edge of the pool on either side of your legs.

"what was my time for those?" the swimmer finally asked you once he had stabilized his breathing.

"oh! right, uhm...." you snap out of your trance, gut dropping when you looked down to the stop watching still ticking in your hand.

"you forgot to stop it, didn't you?" anton asked, a tone of more amusement rather than annoyance seeping through his smirk. "don't tell me you got distracted?"

"fuck, i'm sorry." you groaned, annoyed with your own sexual frustration overtaking your ability to play it cool.

"it's fine." anton shrugged, pulling his body out of the water and plopping on to the ledge next you, making you flinch as copious amounts of water splashed around the concrete. "just let me fuck you."

your eyes widened, damn near choking on the breath you gasped in. when you looked up to see his mischievous eyes, you swore you felt him leaning closer.

"what the fuck, ton?" you exhaled, slightly punching his arm, savoring the split second of contact you made with his warm skin.

"god, its been like a month, y/n. i can't focus on conditioning and you can't even click a button for me, clearly." anton chuckled. "lets just do it so i can have a good season. you know you’re my charm.” he teased, gently nudging you back with his elbow.

you couldn't believe the causality he was saying all of this with. but he did always call you his good luck charm, somehow managing to break his own personal record anytime you'd let him hit the night before or suck you off right before a meet, swallowing your cum like it was his own lewd type of protein shake.

it would also be a lie to an insane degree to say you didn't miss the way his soft skin felt gliding along yours whenever he would grind into you, his huge hands giving you a sense of stability in the way he would hold you down.

anton could tell from the way you were shamelessly biting your lip that you were thinking about it. he took the initiative to push your shoulders down until your back was flat against the concrete.

he had barely let you utter out a desperate "okay" before he was rolling over on top of you, not hesitating for a second to drop his hips directly over yours so you could feel how hard his thick bulge had already gotten. you moaned aloud, hips immediately bucking up to meet his as he lowered his head to your neck, feathering wet kisses along your column.

the water dripping from his body was cold, but the warmth of his torso easily overcame it all when you needily reached out to pull the entirety of his weight onto you. you didn't realize how much you missed the rippling of his shoulder blades beneath your palms until you felt his body rolling in perfect tune with yours. you ran your shaky hands all over his chiseled back as you felt his hardened nipples brush against yours, and while you hopelessly wanted more you also didn't want this feeling to end.

you felt a little pitiful, just sitting there allowing yourself to moan in pure bliss as your wet bodies press into each other, gripping anton's wide shoulders as his kisses picked up in heat. he was sucking hickeys into the sweet spot of your neck while his swim trunks tightened more and more as he humped against you, making you dizzier by the second.

"you sound so fucking hot whimpering for me like that." he moaned, licking a long trail up your neck to your jaw.

you didn't have any time to respond before he was pulling you into a searing kiss, his plump lips sloppily devouring yours while groaning into your mouth. you remembered how much you loved the way he tasted, and silently cursed at yourself for going this long without him.

when your lungs began needing air, you broke apart to moan out his name, just for him to grab your jaw and bring you back in for an even more overwhelming kiss. he was taking over every sense you had, filling your entire consciousness with nothing but thoughts of him. your hips bucked up incessantly, your body begging for him since your mouth couldn’t.

the hard concrete beneath you was starting to cause your limbs to ache as anton's mass pressed deeper into you, and he seemed to have read your mind, because before you knew it he was lifting himself up and dragging you into the water.

your mind was much too hazy to even register the vast difference in temperature, especially when you were clinging to anton like you needed him to breathe. it was as if something had taken over you and put you in the passenger seat of your own movements - all you could feel yourself doing was mumbling endless pleas for him to fuck you before pulling him in to reconnect your lips.

you could feel anton's shit eating grin against your lips as he backed you up against the ledge, slightly lifting his leg against the pool wall in order to guide you grinding your clothed cock against his thigh. he took advantage of your loud moan to suck on your tongue, loving the way your fingers curled into his wet hair.

there was only so much you could handle before you were reaching below the water to pull your own swim trunks off, deciding that if anton didn't fuck you right then you might actually explode. anton helped you discard the shorts and send them flying somewhere atop of the water. the second you were free, you felt your cock on his abs, causing your hips to take action and grind against the muscle before you could even think about what you were doing.

some combined variant of a choked laugh and moan left anton’s throat as he watched you throw your head back, obsessed with the way you were using his body to chase the pleasure you craved. he decided that he had his fun, slipping free from his trunks as well and lining himself up against you.

"deep breaths, baby." anton whispered, trying to sound confident but the words coming out as a tremble. you would normally laugh at how it almost sounded like he were advising himself, but you were too far gone.

when he finally bottomed out in you, his size and the pressure of the water had your mind in a different realm. you clung to anton's round shoulders as he held you securely, giving you time to adjust after not having him in you for a month.

"this little ass still so tight and ready for me, i knew you missed me." he sighed out, giving you small experimenting rolls of his hips.

when you gripped him tighter and started fucking yourself on his cock, he knew he was in the clear to send you to oblivion, and thats exactly what he did.

between the desperation in anton’s thrusting and the feeling of your member rubbing along his built torso, it didn't take much for either of you to approach your highs rapidly. you were soon announcing them to each other while you clung your slippery bodies tight together, the once still water around you turning into nothing less of a tsunami.

"'m cumming, ton." you cried out, just for him to groan deeply in agreement.

he held the back of your neck, pushing your head down to make eye contact with him as you both reached your climaxes at the same time, an oddly intimate feeling settling over you in the moment and making your skin buzz.

panting against each other's faces, anton leaned in to claim your lips once more before you were both giggling like a couple of fools, padding your hands around the water as you brought yourselves down to earth.

it took a couple of moments for you to gasp horrendously at the realization of what you both just did, looking to anton with so much terror etched in your eyebrows that he couldn't help but laugh.

"did we just- the school's pool- we-" you sputtered aimlessly, only stopping once anton's hand emerged from the water to cover your mouth.

"don't worry about it, coach will handle it. he won't mind, because after that i'm about to bring this school three new medals."

© 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐧𝐬 — all rights reserved

[kyeomofhearts]

Need Somebody | J.WW

+ summary: a heart-to-heart conversation with your best friend leads to an unexpected confession…

+ pair: wonwoo x gn!reader

+ word count: 2.7k

+ content: hurt/comfort, it was never platonic lol, mutual pining, angst, fluff. (I really tried keeping the reader gender-neutral but I’m not 100% sure it is so please lmk if I need to make any changes!)

[borders created by @enchanthings <3]

“So when do you plan on settling down?” Your mother had asked you over dinner. God, you hated the holidays.

Never in your life have you ever dated anyone.

Not that you needed to.

It's not like you haven't had anyone take interest in you either, there would be some people here and there who would pursue you for a bit. You were just simply not interested in them.

Of course, there would be times when you would feel the loneliness creep in even more than usual. But you usually reasoned to yourself that the right person would come with time.

Except tonight happened to be one of those nights.

You see, your family had just left your place a few hours ago. With the holidays coming and going, your family had begun to visit you more often.

Now you obviously loved your family, but man, did they get on your nerves.

Being the youngest amongst your siblings was becoming more difficult as the years passed by. Seeing them get married one by one definitely didn’t help with your case either.

Your mom started to fear for your so-called ‘future’. Which irritated you since you had everything you needed for the most part, that being a well-paying job and a nice place.

Which is exactly what happened today. Your parents (alongside your siblings) started asking you non-stop questions over your love life.

“Mom please don’t,” you tried to keep your tone respectful but it was getting difficult when you weren’t seeing an end to these invasive questions.

“What? All of your other siblings have gotten married… don’t you think that’s it’s time you do too?” Her tone was bordering a slight feeling of concern and stress.

You stayed quiet for a beat, trying to give her a response that would help get her off your back until the next time she saw you.

“We’ve talked about this, I’m not in a rush and surely it will-“ before you could finish your sentence your mom was already finishing it for you.

“-happen with time I know. But don’t you think you are being too picky at this point? Prince Charming doesn’t exist, so stop waiting for him.”

There it was.

Just because you didn’t date around didn’t mean that you were picky.

You just didn’t like wasting your time with the wrong people, that's all it was.

But before you could counter, one of your siblings quickly changed the subject before things eventually escalated into something worse.

And just like that, the rest of your evening had been soured by that single conversation with your mother.

Even hours after your family had left, you still felt bothered by your mother’s disapproving comments.

…

Needless to say, you called the only person who would be awake at one in the morning.

Wonwoo.

You and Wonwoo have been close friends for a few years, having first met in your senior year of college.

At first he was just an acquaintance, someone you thought you would see once in a while. But he somehow happened to be everywhere you were.

You don’t really remember how the two of you actually became friends, it could have been through a mutual friend or class that you shared. But ever since then, the two of you have been inseparable.

You might have had the tiniest crush on him too but you don’t really like thinking about that. You like to think you grew past that stage.

“yn? Is everything okay?” His voice was slightly groggy… shit you might have woken him up.

“Fuck I’m sorry, were you asleep? I’ll leave you-“

What was it with people cutting you off mid-sentence?

“-No I wasn’t. I actually just woke up from my nap, what’s up?”

Wonwoo and his naps. At this point they should not be called naps considering how long he sleeps for.

“Oh you know… just had the best talk with my family.”

You could hear him audibly smile. Wonwoo knew that you didn’t always have the best times with your family, having heard your countless rants throughout the years.

“What did they say this time?” He asked with faux enthusiasm.

“More like what did my mom say. She just kept asking me when I plan on getting married and that I should stop being picky.” As much as you tried to act nonchalant about it, you were really upset by the way things had turned out.

Wonwoo quickly took notice in your slightly wavering voice. It wasn’t normal for you to get emotional over small fights like this. It must have been serious enough for you to remain bothered even after your family had left.

“Hey, don’t take it to heart. I know your mom can say some out of pocket things but try to not let it get to you.” Wonwoo was not the best at comforting people, even he knew that, but he always tried his best to comfort you.

“I know but it’s so…. irritating? Like she told me to stop waiting for Prince Charming as if I’m a little kid.” You wanted to say more but once you started ranting you knew Wonwoo would not be able to keep up.

“I’ve told her so many times that I don’t want to waste my time with the wrong person. I don’t get how she doesn’t understand that!”

Relax. Just take a deep breath and wait for his response.

“Do you want me to come over?”

Even though Wonwoo had been over to your place a numerous amount of times, you still couldn’t help but feel your heartbeat race at the thought of him coming over.

“No, it’s okay I promise. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”

One thing you had learned about Wonwoo was that he was a bit assertive when he was concerned about you.

“Hmmm… doesn’t matter I’m coming over.”

It was always shocking to see him get this bold, seeing how reserved he was with everyone else.

“What was the point in asking then?” You tried sounding annoyed but you knew that your smile was very audible.

“Just wanted to make you feel like you had a choice.” You could hear his cockiness through the phone and somehow, it made your heart do somersaults.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be coming over?” Like always, you tried playing it cool, never wanting to show Wonwoo how his words got to you. Maybe he did notice, but if he did, he never said anything about it.

“Never… I’ll see you in ten.”

And just like that he ended the call.

Sometimes you wondered what it would be like when he eventually got a girlfriend. Wonwoo is a good-looking guy, you’re surprised he hasn’t been snatched up yet. Not that you’re worried or anything, but… you know, things will surely change once he finds the one.

Maybe it was you being selfish, but you try to take advantage of the little time you have left before either one of you finds a partner. You know it’s bound to happen at some point, so might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

It actually took Wonwoo a little over thirty minutes to get to your place, which was weird considering you live pretty close to each other.

What was also weird was that he knocked. He never knocked anymore considering that he had a key to your place.

“Hey, what took you so-“ opening the door you were greeted with a slightly disheveled Wonwoo.

Oh.

Wonwoo’s hands were filled with plastic bags. You could see snacks poking out of through some of the bags and… regular groceries? What grocery store is open at this hour?

“Couldn’t come over empty handed.” He stated simply.

Before he stepped another foot you decided to help him with the load. You could imagine how tiring it must have been for him to carry the bags all the way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Seeing him like this felt oddly comforting. It looked like he was just returning home from a long day at work.

“You really didn’t have to Won…” As much as you liked to play it cool, you couldn’t help but swoon over his actions. It was hard to when he was just so caring.

“But I wanted to… everything I do is by my own will you know,” he softly smiled at you while ruffling your hair.

Before you were able to respond, he quickly offered you your favorite bag of chips.

“Sit down, I’ll put everything away.”

And just like that, he quickly went to work. It helped that he knew where everything went so it didn’t take him long before he joined you on the sofa.

“So… rough night?” He asked gently, despite being so bold through the phone. Seeing your defeated face always put a sour taste in his mouth, which made him more careful with his words.

“You could say that.” You tried to laugh it off, but he knew that you were bothered.

“I know dealing with your family is hard but just know that I’m always here for you.” He lightly grabbed your hands over to his, rubbing soft circles over your palms.

This always seemed to do the trick, seeing your tense shoulders drop into a more relaxed position.

“And I’m grateful for that Won… but sometimes it really gets to me you know?” You tried avoiding looking into his eyes because you knew that one look would break the dam building up in your eyes.

“Maybe she is right… maybe I am being too unreasonable. Like as much as I like to think that the right guy will come through one day… what if he doesn’t?”

This seemed to annoy Wonwoo. He never wanted to see you settle for less, because he knew that you deserved better.

With a sharp inhale, he grabbed your chin to make you look directly into his eyes.

“Never say that again. You should never settle for less. You know better than that.” He was obviously annoyed but not at you. He hated when others tried to make you take less than what you truly deserve.

His fingers on your chin stayed, making your skin slightly tingle from his touch.

As great as he was at comforting you, the thoughts of him someday not being able to be there for you started to cloud your mind. It was bound to happen, either you or Wonwoo would find someone and eventually stop hanging out. Wonwoo seemed to notice the shift in your sadness, eyes becoming glossy.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he muttered softly.

“It’s nothing,” you weren’t sure if he actually heard your response since it was barely audible to you.

Wonwoo gave you that look. The one he always used when he wasn’t convinced by your responses. You didn't want to tell him about your fear because it would then expose your feelings for him. And that was one thing you could never risk, your friendship. No matter how strong your feelings would get, you couldn't let him become aware of them.

“Talk to me,” his eyes were pleading. He just wanted you to completely open up to him the way he did with you.

There was no way out of this. Obviously, you weren’t going to tell him the actual reason behind your sadness. You had to give him something to get him off your trail.

“Well, it’s just that sometimes it does feel lonely. And having my mom point out the obvious makes me feel like a lost cause. I’m also not getting any younger, so now I feel like I have to rush into something or else my ‘good’ years would have gone to waste…” While this wasn’t the actual thing that was bothering you tonight, it was at least something believable.

Wonwoo seemed to have bought it, since he stopped giving you those judging eyes. He stayed quiet, most likely trying to find the right thing to say.

He cleared his throat after a beat or so.

“Don’t lie to me. I know there’s something else bothering you, if you don’t want to tell me then just say that.”

How? How did he know you that you were lying?

Maybe this was your chance. Your chance to tell him how you felt about it because if you truly thought about it, there was no future with him either way. Either he rejects you or he finds someone, they both lead to you not being in his life in the future.

You took in deep breath, gathering all of your courage before speaking.

“If I tell you, please don’t judge me-“

He immediately cut you off, “Why would I judge you?”

“Please just let me finish, it’s already hard enough having to tell you.” Again, you avoided his eyes, fearful of seeing any sort of judgment in them.

“Look, I know we’ve been friends for a while now… and I’ve been so happy with that, I really have. It’s just that… one day we won’t have each other.”

As much as you tried not looking at him, your eyes landed on his. They looked solemn. You could already tell that he knew where the conversation was going.

“Eventually, we’ll have our own partners-” your voice was beginning to shake, becoming harder to hide your sadness.

“yn stop.” But before Wonwoo could get another word in, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His hands had snaked their way up to your neck, gently cradling your face. His touch was gentle, as if you were the most fragile thing in the world.

You were stunned, to say the least. Even as he pulled away, you couldn’t find any words to say. It was as if he had taken your breath away.

“I tried taking it slow, I really did, but I can’t continue seeing you like this. I like you yn, I really do. I was too scared of ruining our friendship so I didn't say anything, but I hate to see you think that no one wants you… because I do.”

You didn’t even notice you had started crying, only feeling Wonwoo's thumbs wipe your tears away.

He continued, “I’m not even sure if you feel the same way about me, but I really need you to know that you are not unloveable.”

It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Especially now that you knew that Wonwoo liked you back, you felt elated.

Wonwoo on the other hand… felt terrified. While he didn’t regret confessing his feelings towards you, he was certainly scared. He didn’t even know if you reciprocated those same feelings. It also didn’t help that you were being quiet. The silence that was once comfortable to him was beginning to feel suffocating. But before his thoughts could escalate any further, your voice was able to snap him out of his daze.

“Do you really mean it?” You knew it was stupid to ask, considering Wonwoo was not the type to stay stuff like this without meaning it. But the little voice in your head didn’t buy it one bit, so you needed the reassurance to silence those thoughts.

Without hesitation, Wonwoo answered, “Of course.”

“Okay, well… I do too. Like you, that is…” Your face was beginning to burn up. This was so embarrassing. God, you felt like a teenager again, except this time you actually did get your happy ending.

But like the two idiots you were… you didn’t move a single inch. Were you supposed to hug? High-five? Kiss again? This has never happened to you before, either you rejected the guy or pretended that it never happened. What were you supposed to do?

“So….” Wonwoo’s voice was quiet and awkward.

To be fair, neither of you were expecting to confess to each other tonight. Obviously, now that you both know that you have mutual feelings for each other… the next step would be dating right? Or is that too soon? You have been friends for a while now so it wouldn't be that unreasonable... right?

Wonwoo grabbed a hold of your hand, weaving his fingers with yours. You could see the tips of his ears turn a bright pink before he cleared his throat.

“Do you… want to be my-” Wonwoo was visibly cringing as he said it out loud. It was a no brainer, but he still wanted to ask you, to make it official.

“-Yes. I would be an idiot to say no.”

[ᝰ.ᐟ] hey guys! i know i haven’t been active lately and i’m really sorry about that. school has been so overwhelming for me so i struggled finding the time to write, which brings us to this! i wrote this i think… last year? not too sure but i tried editing it a little but there might be some errors here and there so please excuse that 🥹 also i am still working on part three for Back for More so stay tuned for that!

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Lead Us Into Temptation✨

The poll didn't even finish before I started working on this lmao, hope you enjoy my first take on some very soft dom Luci!

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Summary: You were a devout believer in life, but somehow you ended up in Hell with no real explanation. Most nights you can be found sitting on a bar stool in the lobby, trying to cope with what's happened to you. But one night while in an intoxicated state, you reveal your most hidden desires to the King himself...

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, reader first time, hand job, fingering, tail play, oral (m & f receiving), p in v

"That's it, I'm cuttin' you off for tonight," Husk said sternly, whisking away your unfinished glass of whiskey. You'd been at the bar for only an hour and you've already downed five full glasses.

"Noooo, Husk c'mon...I'm fffffiiiinnee," you babbled, trying to push your head from the countertop unsuccessfully.

It's been a few months since you arrived in Hell after an unfortunate accident that ended in your early demise. But being a devout believer, you were so sure that Heaven would be your final destination. How wrong you were. You woke up in the fiery pit confused and scared, your body had transformed into that of a demon; you had become something you had feared for your entire life. When you first heard about the Hazbin Hotel, you nearly jumped at the opportunity for redemption. If there was even the slightest hope of getting out of here, you were going to take it. But your situation was more than troublesome, considering how you led your life up on Earth. On most nights, you could easily be found sitting on a bar stool, trying desperately to drown your sorrows and distract yourself from the reality you'd found yourself in.

What's worse...not everyone here is evil. It was ingrained into you that everyone down here in Hell deserved to be, they had earned this punishment. But getting to know some of the other residents at the hotel, that couldn't have been further from the truth! Was everything you were taught just a complete lie?! For Heaven's sake, Charlie, the literal princess of Hell, was the sweetest and kindest being you've ever had the pleasure of meeting! And Vaggie, a former angel, so devout to Charlie and her dream, you've never seen two people more in love. Angel, although a bit eccentric and over the top, cared deeply for his friends and was ready to fight for them at a moment's notice. It was all...not what you expected, and you had a very difficult time coping with everything that you had been thrust into.

"You're shit faced," Husk snapped back. "Look, I know you're havin' a hard time with all this. But drinking away your issues ain't gonna solve any of 'em. You need to sleep this off." He watched you stumble off the bar stool, your one foot catching the other, resulting in a rather pitiful fall onto the carpet. But you couldn't feel anything, the alcohol helped mask the pain you were sure to feel tomorrow. You couldn't help but giggle at your own clumsiness. "Oh, for fuck's sake..." Husk grumbled.

Before you could even attempt to pull yourself off the ground, you saw a pair of black boots approaching you in a rather hurried manner.

"Woah!" the voice exclaimed, "Are you alright? Here, let me help you!" In no time, your limp body went from lying on the lobby floor to being hoisted up and helped back onto the bar stool you fell from. You turned your head to see Lucifer's concerned face staring back at you. "Husk, what happened?"

"She's drunk," the cat demon explained, "I told her she was done drinkin' for the night and she ate shit trying to stand up. I was about to help her back to her room-"

All of a sudden, a shadowy presence started to form behind the bar. A static filled laugh was heard before Alastor had popped up, startling the bar tender. "Husker, my good man!," the radio demon bellowed, "it seems as though I am in need of your assistance."

"Fuck! Why can't you just walk in here like a normal fucking person?" Husk grumbled.

Alastor only responded with a light chuckle before fixing his attention on you. "My, my, what have we here?" Alastor taunted. You could have sworn you heard a low growl coming from Lucifer beside you. "I say, my dear, I've never seen you look worse than you do now. What a pity, all of those teachings really didn't help you in the long run, now did they?"

You felt tears threatening to fall from your eyes at Alastor's cruel words. If you were sober, you would have run the other direction as fast as you could. Alastor had been the other real soul you met who you knew with every fiber of your being belonged in this pit. But considering you had no inhibitions and clearly no chance of getting away, you picked your head up and slammed your fists on the table in righteous anger.

"Ohhh, eat shit youuuu *hic* smiling prick!" You tried to stand up once more, only for your legs to buckle underneath you. Luckily, Lucifer had caught you before your face had met with the carpet again. "I-I don't deserve this! 'Least I'm TRYING to redeem m'self!"

Alastor's malicious grin never faltered. "Oh, and what a fabulous job you're doing! I do wonder how a woman such as yourself has fallen so far from grace."

"Fuck off, radio freak," Lucifer snarled, barring his teeth and his eyes shifting to a deep crimson red and yellow.

“Oh, ho ho! Seems as though I’ve struck a nerve,” Alastor mocked. He made his way around the bar, now towering over you and the fallen angel. “Tell me, your highness, what is your fascination with this lost soul, hmm? I’m so utterly curious as to why you would give her the time of day when all she does is wallow in her self-pity and-”

“I. SAID. FUCK. OFF.” the king spat, his eyes now changing into a solid red and his voice deepening to match his threat. Though your vision was hazy, you noticed his horns had burst out from his temples. Whether it was the alcohol or something else entirely, your face suddenly felt very, very hot. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

Despite the immense danger, Alastor could only muster a sly grin. “It’s very rude to ignore my question.”

“I don’t have to do anything for you! Or have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” The way Lucifer spoke sent a shiver down your spine. “The only reason that you’re not a mangled corpse on the ground right now is because of my daughter. So, if you want to stay in one piece, I’d walk away right now if I were you…”

The two men's faces were just inches away from each other now. Alastor’s eye twitched as he glared back at Lucifer with pure distain. His eyes shifted to you only for a brief moment before standing up straight and smirking to himself.

“I suppose it really is no business of mine as to how you choose to mingle with the guests here,” the radio demon resolved. He turned around to walk away, but not before glancing at you once more over his shoulder. “They’re lost causes anyway. Come along, Husker!”

Lucifer’s demonic traits disappeared as Alastor finally left the parlor. “I hate that man.” He looked at Husk empathetically. “If I could break your arrangement with him, I would. I’m sorry. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.” With that, Husk nodded and followed the radio demon down the hall, leaving you and Lucifer alone at the now empty bar.

You started to bawl as you clung to Lucifer for support. Immediately, he rushed you over to the couch and sat you down next to him, letting you cry into the crook of his neck.

"Hey, hey, shh," Lucifer soothed. "It's alright. Alastor won't bother you anymore, I'll make sure of it."

"It's n-not him," you sniffled, "it's everything! Al-stor's right, there's no savin' me."

Lucifer pulled you away from him, placing a hand under your chin as he looked into your glassy eyes. "Now what makes you say that?"

Another tear rolled down your face. "Is like he said, what I was taught up there...nothing's true! Welllll, except..." you placed your hand over the one holding your face tenderly. "Theeeyyyyy did say that you, Luciferrrr, were heaven's prettiest angel. They def-liny didn't lie about that!"

You noticed a small blush creep across Lucifer's face at your words. He pulled his and away from your face to clear his throat, glancing away from you. "T-Thank you. That's umm, very kind of you."

You chuckled to yourself, scootching your body closer him. "Do you mind if I *hic*, lay down, jus' for a sec. Gettin' sleepy.

"Yeah, of course!" Lucifer smiled, but only for a moment. "W-Wait, hold on!"

But by the time he tried to warn you, your head had already fallen into his lap. You smiled up at the flustered man and chuckled, the heat returning to your face once more. "You got soft legs, hehe!"

Lucifer inhaled sharply. "Husk was right, you really are drunk. Wouldn't you feel more comfortable laying your head on a pillow?"

"Nnnnope!" you replied.

"Alright then," the king breathed and massaged the back of his neck, doing his best to hide how tense he'd become from your sudden closeness.

"H-Hey," you called up to him, "why'd youuu...why'd you protect me jus' now? From Al-stor. You *hic* didn't have to..."

He looked down at you softly, brushing away the hair that had fallen in your face. "I don't like bullies. You didn't deserve that, and Alastor knows that for his sake that he shouldn't get on my bad side."

"Never seen you so mad." you mumbled.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he apologized, continuing to play with you hair. "I don't like bringing out that side of me. But Alastor really likes to push his luck for some bizarre reason."

"Awww," you pouted, "is too bad. I liked seeing that side of ya. It was HOT!"

Lucifer stopped his movements completely. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” you responded poking at his chest. “What? Did ya think jus’ cuz I was a believer when I was alive that I’d be SCARED of ya? Maybe at first. Not anymore! I’m already in Hell soooo there’s no point in hidin’ it, is there?”

“Hiding what, exactly?” Lucifer gulped as if he was almost too afraid to ask.

You giggles and hid your face with your hands. “Noooo, you’re jus’ gonna laugh at meeee!”

Lucifer let out an amused hum. He gently took ahold of your wrists and lowered your hands away from your now completely beet-colored face. “I promise I won’t laugh at you, my dear. You’ve very much piqued my curiosity! And I’m very good at keeping secrets, you know! So please, let me keep yours.” He let go of your wrists, letting your hands fall onto your chest. You watched as he leaned closer to you, his half-lidded eyes piercing your very soul. “Won’t you tell me, my sweet angel?”

"I...*hic* I umm..." you babbled. It was clear that you were struggling to answer.

"Mind if I take a guess?" Lucifer offered as he went back to playing with your loose locks of hair. "Is it possible that you have a little crush on-"

"I WAN' YOU TO FUCK ME STUPID TILL I CAN'T 'MEMBER MY NAME!" you blurted out without any reservations.

"-me..." Lucifer froze at your confession. You could hear the sound of a pin drop with the deafening silence that now filled the air. With a big inhale, he straightened his back fully, placing both of his hands under you in a flash, not daring to look down at you. "Well, I-I think it's about time we got you to bed!" he nearly shouted as he scooped you up in his arms and stood up faster than normal.

You let out a small squeak of surprise with his sudden motion. With a snap of his fingers, a portal appeared next to you and he quickly carried you across the threshold and into your dimly lit room. With a flick of his wrist, your bedsheets were undone and Lucifer was able to lay you down gently onto your mattress. He reached over you to grab your undone comforter and pulled it on top of you, covering everything but your head.

"Okay! Uhh, s-sleep well!" Lucifer went to run through the portal, but not before you were able to grab his sleeve.

"D-Did I upset you?" you asked nearly on the verge of tears again? Lucifer still hadn't looked at you.

"N-No! No, angel, you didn't upset me!" he tried to sooth you, but you weren't buying it. You couldn't stop more tears running down your face. When Lucifer heard your quiet cries, he finally turned towards you in a state of sheer panic. "Ahh, no!" He kneeled down next to you, wiping your tears away with his free hand. "Please don't cry! I promise I'm not upset!"

"Knew it was stupid...," you sobbed, "shouldn't have told you..."

"Don't say that," the fallen angel cooed. "Okay, okay, look...If uhh, we're admitting things right now, I might as well too. Would that make you feel better?"

You sniffled a bit. "M-Maybe..."

Lucifer shut his eyes and let out a deep sigh. "I've had...similar feelings...about you, that is. So...no more tears, okay?"

You stared at the man before you, completely and utterly baffled by what you had just heard. "R-Really?"

"Yes," he whispered. "But we can talk about this tomorrow, yeah? You need some sleep; it looks like you're about to pass out."

He was right. Your eyelids felt as though they could give out at any moment, and the warmth from your blanket wasn't helping you stay conscious either. As Lucifer stood up, you still clung to his sleeve like your life depended on it. "Stay?" you almost begged.

He smiled weakly, taking your hand from his sleeve, and placing a small peck on the back of it. "Not tonight," he responded. "Sleep now, darling. I'll see you when you wake." You couldn't find the strength to respond, letting yourself drift off to sleep as Lucifer left you to dream.

Little did you know that he had disappeared to take a very cold shower.

****

When you regained consciousness, you felt the familiar pounding in your head after a heavy night of drinking. Begrudgingly you dragged yourself out of you bed and forced your way to your bathroom for a much needed shower. You realized when you glanced towards the mirror that you never changed out of your clothes from yesterday. In fact, you don't even remember how you got back to your room last night, Everything was such a blur, and it hurt to think with the major headache you were experiencing at the moment. The last thing you could recall was falling off the bar stool, the pain you felt in your shoulder was enough of a reminder. Once you stepped in the hot shower, you felt a little better, but only a little bit. You tried to rack your brain for answers, trying to remember exactly what happened after you fell. You ran your fingers through your hair, letting the water soak your aching body. But in doing so, something had clicked. That motion had unlocked a foggy memory. Your hair. Someone had run their hands through your hair last night, but you couldn't for the life of you remember who. It was gentle, soft, tender. But who would do that?

After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower and threw on one of the sundresses you had hanging in your closet. You really didn't feel like putting a ton of effort into your clothing choices today. Hopefully Charlie would forgive you for skipping out on her planned activity today and let you recover. You realized after that initially thought that you didn't even know what time is was. Chances were you had already missed it. With a groan, you plopped down back onto the mattress, your hair still damp.

"What's the matter with me," you asked yourself. "How do I expect to be redeemed when all I do is sabotage my chances by getting wasted every night?" Your headache persisted as you laid in your bed, you almost wanted to cry from the pain. But then, you heard a soft knocking at your door. Charlie, you thought. More than likely she was checking in on you to make sure you were alright. "I'll be there in a second!" you called out. The volume of your own voice didn't help your hangover in the slightest. You grabbed one of the small pillows off your bed for comfort and trudged your way to your door. "I'm really sorry I slept in Charlie," you spoke as you turned the door handle, "it was a...really rough night for me and I-" you stopped completely once you opened the door fully. Charlie, in fact, was not the one who had knocked.

"Yeah, you really did get put through the ringer last night, didn't you?" Lucifer smiled at you. The pillow you held fell to the floor with a soft thud.

“Oh, I-I’m so sorry, sir!” You stuttered. “I-I thought you were Charlie! Did-Did she send you?”

Lucifer looked at you with a puzzled stare. “Uhh, no, no she didn’t. I told her what happened last night and let her know I’d check in on you like I promised.”

“Promised?” you asked, but Lucifer didn’t seem to hear you.

“And you don’t have to refer to me as “sir,” my dear, “Lucifer” is just fine! I mean, you used my name just fine last night!”

Your heart stopped. “L-Last night? Oh no…what…what happened last night?”

Lucifer gawked at your question. “Wait, do you not remember anything?” You shook your head timidly. “Oh dear…well, nothing bad happened, I promise! What’s the last thing you can remember doing?”

You looked down at the floor sheepishly, embarrassed to admit the real answer. “The last thing I can remember is falling off the bar stool and…landing on my face…”

Lucifer stood there and pondered for a few seconds before speaking again. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Oh, umm, yeah, y-you can come in,” you agreed. You picked up the pillow you had dropped and opened the door for Lucifer to saunter in. “I’m sorry I look like a mess right now, I-I just got out of the shower and my hair isn’t completely dry yet and-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright!” Lucifer interrupted. “You don’t need to apologize. You look lovely, in any case.”

You brought the pillow in your hands up to your face in an attempt to hide your blush. “T-Thank you,” your muffled voice came through the pillow. "I-If you want, you can sit down on my b-ahh fuck!" One hand came up to your forehead when you felt your head pounding from the pressure that's been building since you woke up. This was definitely one of your worst hangovers to date.

"Oh! Are you alright?" Lucifer asked, his voice laced with deep concern.

"My head..." you choked out. You made your way over to your bed, crawling up to the top and cradling the pillow in your arms "Hangovers are never really kind to me."

Lucifer frowned, seating himself down on the edge of your mattress next to you. You felt your face flare up again when you looked up at his worried expression. "Can I help you? I can alleviate the pain. You only need ask."

"Y-you can?"

"Sure! Angelic power and all that." His hand hovered just above your forehead. "May I?"

"Yes," you breathed. With that, you felt his soft hand make contact with your aching head. You felt a warm tingling sensation emanating from his touch. It didn't hurt nor was it unpleasant, it was healing. Without thinking, you leaned further into his touch, letting the warmth spread throughout your entire body. Your headache slowly began to fade away along with the fogginess that had been plaguing you since you woke up. As his touch lingered, you realized you were able to think more clearly than before, memories from last night started to become clearer and clearer. You remembered Lucifer had come to your rescue after you'd fallen. You remembered Alastor had shown up to mock you in your drunken stupor, only for Lucifer to step in and defend you. You remember sobbing with Lucifer while he comforted you. Then you remembered...

You shot straight up, your heart racing a million miles a second, with Lucifer throwing his hand back in surprise. "What? What happened? Did I hurt you?" Lucifer asked in a panic.

"I'm..." you began, "I'm starting to remember things from last night." You clutched the pillow tight to your chest, refusing to look in the fallen angel's direction. "Please tell me I didn't actually lay down in your lap..."

"Uhh, well...," You could tell from his response that that's exactly what had happened.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" you apologized. "I shouldn't have done that! I-I know I drank way too much last night, I should have stopped, I didn't realize that-"

Lucifer's hand immediately flew to your shoulder in an attempt to get you to stop you from completely spiraling. "Darling, you don't need to apologize for that! You weren't feeling great so you just, ya know, used me as a pillow. And besides, it's not like I disliked it either."

"W-What?!" you nearly shrieked. Another realization had hit you just then. "You! You were the one that was playing with my hair! That's the only thing I could remember when I woke up!" You buried your face in the pillow once more. "If I said anything embarrassing..."

You heard Lucifer swallow hard. "I guess uhh, it depends on your definition of the word."

"Oh God, please no..." you pleaded. "What did I say?"

Lucifer held up his hand again as an offering, a weary smile on his face. "I can help you to remember, if you wish."

You let out a shaky breath but nodded in agreement. Lucifer's hand once again found its way to your forehead, a familiar warmth flowing through you once more. You closed your eyes and saw the images from last night flash before you. You saw yourself looking up at Lucifer who'd just asked you to tell him your little secret. But as soon as you remembered the drunken words that flew from your mouth at that moment, your eyes shot open and you flung yourself to the opposite side of the bed, as far away from Lucifer as possible.

"No. No! Nononononono!" you panicked, "I didn't-I mean I couldn't have, I...NO!" You couldn't stop yourself from crying into the pillow, ashamed and embarrassed at the thought of your past actions. "This is a nightmare..."

You felt the bed shifting beneath you as Lucifer crawled toward you hesitantly. "I'm sorry," he murmured behind you, "I know you must be feeling a lot of different emotions right now, but it's alr-"

"NO, IT'S NOT ALRIGHT!" You snapped, jumping from the bed in an attempt to put as much distance between you and him as possible. Your rage was quickly replaced with remorse when you saw Lucifer's shocked, almost hurt expression. You took a deep breath before speaking again. "I didn't mean you scream at you like that, I'm sorry...but you don't understand..."

"Then help me understand," Lucifer asked, now kneeling on the bed. "Please?"

You looked away from him and down to the ground, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest at the thought of explaining yourself to the literal king of Hell. "I...I grew up in church. I was raised as a believer. Told to be a “good girl." I was taught my entire life that Hell was a place to be feared, a place where the most evil of people end up. And I would be wise to fear it as well and repent so I would not end up there...uhh, here. That clearly didn't help me now, did it?" You let yourself drop to the bed again, letting your legs dangle over the sides. "My entire worldview just seemed to crumble around me when I started staying here at the hotel. Sure, there are some awful people here, but...it feels as though this "divine judgement" is...just completely fucked up! The guests here are better people than most believers I knew when I was alive! How is that right? How is that fair?!"

"Well," Lucifer interjected, "I can tell you first hand that Heaven is definitely not what it seems. I mean, have you seen the things they've said about me in that book of theirs?" he laughed, trying his best to lighten the mood.

You twisted your head over your shoulder, staring back at him with complete intensity. "And you!" You shot back up on your feet in an instant, pacing back and forth as Lucifer watched you completely mesmerized. "Where do I even start with you? You're Lucifer, the devil himself, the great deceiver, and temptation incarnate! Everything I was ever told about you is bullshit! You've been nothing but hospitable ever since I've been here! You protected me from Alastor last night! You took care of me while I was drunk! You didn't have to do any of those things, you shouldn't have done any of those things! You're not evil and it's...it's driving me to the brink! When Charlie had told me that you were her father, I was PETRIFIED! But nothing could have prepared me for finding out who you really were."

Lucifer slowly crawled towards you, climbing off the bed and now standing before you, perhaps just a tad too close for your comfort. "And who am I?" he asked softly.

Instinctively, your body drew itself closer and closer to his, as if you had no control of your movements anymore. "You're...an angel," you sighed.

Lucifer smiled at you, timidly resting his hand on your forehead. "Would you like to remember the rest of last night?"

"I already embarrassed myself enough to the point of no return so I might as well," you huffed shyly.

Lucifer chuckled, "Don't worry, the worst is over. But at least now you'll get to remember my favorite part."

The last of your aches in your body finally subsided as you let the rest of your previously forgotten memories flood your mind. It made sense that Lucifer would have been the one to bring you back to your room. Seeing yourself cry was not surprising to you, but what was surprising was Lucifer's admittance of reciprocated desires. You opened your eyes at last to the angel's sheepish grin. You took a half step away from him, your face feeling like the core of a raging volcano.

"You...you really..." was all you could muster.

"I'm not above embarrassing myself either, my dear," he joked, "I'd say we're even now."

"T-That's not even remotely close to being even!" you babbled.

Lucifer grinned and closed the gap between the two of you, taking one of your hands in his. "Regardless," he mused, "I meant what I said. Every word. And if you'd like to discuss this further, I'd be more than happy to listen." He pressed a small peck to the back of your hand just as he did last night. Even though your hangover had completely vanished, the brain fog had come back in full force. Maybe Lucifer was truly temptation incarnate.

"I-I can't believe this," you stutter, pulling your hand away from his and throwing yourself back onto your bed and covering your reddened face with your hands. "This has to be a dream, there's no way this is real! I'm sure I'm still passed out drunk right now! You're not supposed to be this way! You're supposed to be cruel and wicked and manipulative! Not..."

"Suave and oh so devilishly handsome?" Lucifer smirked.

"You're not helping!" You felt the mattress fold further under Lucifer's weight as he sat down next to you. "So...w-what happens now?"

"I mean, I can think of a few things," he answered smugly. "But in all seriousness, nothing will happen. Not unless you say otherwise."

"See, it's stuff like that!" you shouted, suddenly sitting up right. "Being respectful and considerate, constantly making sure I'm comfortable? That's not who you're supposed to be! I've just been fucking lied to my whole life and I'm PISSED and I'm finding it extremely difficult to not just...just...oh FUCK IT!"

Without warning, you grabbed Lucifer by the collar and crashed your lips into his. He let out a surprised yelp, but you had quickly swallowed it as his shock turned into pure bliss. His hands quickly found your face, cupping them and massaging your red-hot cheeks with his thumbs. Your annoyance had faded almost immediately, your fierce kiss had turned soft and passionate with his tender touch. You were the first to pull away, only to be met with Lucifer's pleading gaze.

"S-So much for being a good girl," Lucifer teased.

You pushed his face away gently. "I hate you!"

"That kiss suggested otherwise, darling."

"You should stop talking," you threatened.

"You should make me," he challenged.

In an instant, you were straddling Lucifer’s lap, your legs flush against his. You gripped the brim of his hat and tossed it to the floor below. You leaned in for another kiss, but this one was hungrier, needier. His lips were soft and you had already become addicted to his taste. You felt his jagged tongue brush against your bottom lip, and you pulled back in shock. “Is your tongue…” Lucifer flashed a cheeky smile and stuck out his tongue playfully. Sure enough, a forked snake tongue hung between his lips. “O-Oh, okay…” You weren’t sure how you never noticed before right now, but your lack of observation skills were the furthest thing from your mind right now. You closed your eyes and leaned in again, your mouth slightly ajar, basically begging for him to invade your mouth. To which Lucifer happily obliged. You felt his tongue slip past your teeth, entangling itself with yours. His hands had shifted down to your hips, kneading and lightly squeezing at your skin underneath your dress. The feeling of his claws pressing into you sent a shiver down your spine. More, more, more was the only thing you could think at the moment. But just as you got used to the feeling of his lips, Lucifer was the one to pull away this time. A tiny whimper escaped you. “Don’t worry, angel,” Lucifer cooed, “we have time. All the time in the world, in fact. I just want to make sure you’re alright. Do you want to keep going?”

The passion you felt was quickly replaced with fear. It hadn’t occurred to you that you had neglected to mention a pretty crucial piece of information. “Yes, I-I do, but umm…I should tell you…”

“Yes?”

“I…haven’t exactly…” you gulped trying to find the right words. “I haven’t been with anyone before…”

“Wait, wait,” Lucifer froze, “you’ve never-”

“No!” You cut him off. “L-Look, when it’s been drilled into your head since you were a child that premarital sex is going to send you to Hell, you’re going to avoid it!”

Lucifer let out a deep sigh, then chuckled to himself. “Okay, I have to admit something. That whole “sex before marriage is a sin” thing miiiiigggghhhhttt be my fault.” You raised an eyebrow. “They never got over the fact that I more or less stole Adam’s first wife. Of course we weren’t married at that point! Heaven’s been petty ever since.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, so it’s YOUR fault that I’m a virgin! Good to know.”

“Forgive me.” Lucifer allowed himself to lay flat on his back, with you following close behind. He raised his head and brought his lips to your ear. “But at your word, I’d be more than happy to rectify this injustice,” he whispered softly.

Goosebumps covered both of your arms at his words. You knew your face must have turned a new shade of red the way Lucifer smirked at you. You lowered yourself on his crotch out of spite and began to grind your hips lethargically. It was your turn to embarrass him. His breath caught in his throat from your motions, you could already feel that your lewd actions were having an effect on the man beneath you. The growing bulge in his pants that you felt on your own clothed heat had you salivating.

"You know, I-I'm not a complete novice," you admitted, your hands now making your way down his jacket, undoing every button with care. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

Lucifer pushed you back upright, now straddling his lap once more, and slipped himself out of his undone shirt. Aa you gripped his bare It took everything in your power not to stare at his perfectly toned chest. "And what "tricks"-hngg…would those be?"

You placed a chaste kiss to his lips before sliding off of his lap and kneeling on the floor in front of him. Lucifer's breath hitched instantly at the sight before him. You rested your palms on his inner thighs, your rapid breathing betraying your faux collected exterior. "I figured since I couldn't break the rules, I could at least bend them."

Lucifer firmly gripped the sheets beneath him as he watched your thumbs trace circles near his crotch. "Already on your knees for me, sweetheart?” he teased, running a hand from the top of your head, relishing in the softness of your hair, and down to the tip of your chin. “I didn’t know my powers of temptation would work so well on someone as devout as you.” You failed to hide the whimper that escaped your throat. “I’m sorry, I know I’m teasing you too much. I’ll stop if-”

“N-No, don’t stop…” you responded almost inaudibly.

A sultry laugh emanated from the man above you. “Oh, is that so?” You nodded. “Use your words, love.”

You shivered. “Please… remind me of my place…sir…”

He tilted your head up towards him, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on your lips. “Whatever you wish, my angel. You let me know if I go too far, okay?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now, I believe you wanted to show me something?”

You took a deep breath before reaching out for the zipper and button of his pants. You made slow work of them, trying to be as delicate as possible. You grabbed both the hems of his pants and boxers, Lucifer raising himself up so you could more easily shimmy the remainder of his clothing off. His hardened cock sprang free, your face boiling from seeing the very obvious precum that had already begun leaking from the tip. After tossing away his pants, gripped Lucifer’ s hips and brought him as close to the edge of the bed as possible, your lips now mere inches away from his impressive length. You swallowed harshly. Breathing became an increasingly difficult task. With tentative hands, you reached out and lightly gripped the base of Lucifer's cock, his low moan sent pleasure straight between your thighs. There was no going back now.

"Go ahead, my dear," Lucifer encouraged, "show me how sinful those hands of yours are."

Without any further prodding, your hand move languidly up and down his cock, the precum providing enough lubrication for smooth strokes. Lucifer groaned above you, his sounds were everything you'd imagined and more. Your strokes became faster, needing to hear more of Lucifer coming undone from your touch alone. But even touching him wasn't enough to satisfy your desires. Your hot breath so close to his most sensitive area had Lucifer shuttering. And even more so when you decided to run your tongue from the base of his cock to the very tip. You'd finally gotten your first taste of him, and that sent you into a complete frenzy. Your tongue worked circles around the head of his length and you could hear Lucifer's guttural moans turn into whimpers of pure ecstasy.

"F-Fuck," Lucifer managed to choke out as he watched you bob your head and down, taking as much of him as you could manage. "You-mnmm...s-sure seem to know what you're doing. S-Shhiiittt...I-I'm starting to think you-GA-AAHH...you really do b-belong down here." Lucifer's composure was fading fast even though he continued his taunting. His words lit a fire within in, increasing your movements to an unrelenting pace. "O-OH FFFFUU-UUCCCKK," he screeched, his hand now tightening around your hair for an assemblance of stability. His overstimulated cock twitched in your mouth; you knew he was close. "Y-You're gonna make me c-cum if you keep doing thaa-ahhhht...but t-that's what you want, isn't it? You wanna taste m-my cum, sweet girl?"

"M-Mhmm," you hummed blissfully, your mouth and hand working in tandem to bring him over the edge.

"Then d-don't stop," he commanded.

You did exactly as he said, not slowing down for even a second. The thought of kneeling before the outcasted being that you were meant to despise with every inch of your soul drove you mad. Now here you were, unraveling him with your hands and mouth alone. Lucifer was using all of his willpower to not thrust his hips into you and completely fuck your mouth. That would have to wait for another time. But once your other hand started to gently massage his balls, it was over. "Fuck fuck fuck FUCKFUCKFUCK-CUMMING," he cried out before finally emptying himself inside your mouth. You couldn't move away even if you wanted to the way he way holding your head in place. But you were perfectly content swallowing every drop of his hot cum. When the twitching stopped, he had released his grip on you, allowing you to pull away from him and gulp down the last of his seed. You looked up at him with a nervous smile, your hands now resting on his knees.

"H-How'd I do?" you laughed sheepishly. But your laugh faded once you saw the change in Lucifer's appearance. His eyes were no longer his normal soft yellow, but a deep crimson red.

"Oh, my sweet little angel," his voice dripping with desire, "you were nothing short of absolute perfection. How absolutely filthy you are for swallowing all of my cum. I love it!" He offered his hand to you, helping you off of the ground. He stood with you, pulling at the bottom of your dress. "But I'm far from being done with you." With a soft "yes", your dress was dragged over your head and tossed to the side in one swift motion, leaving you nothing but your matching black bra and panties. Lucifer stood there drinking in your form, his outstretched tongue swishing from side to side. "Gorgeous," he hummed against your skin before bringing his hot mouth to your neck. You squeaked at the sensation, but your surprise rapidly shifted to wanton moans. His sharp teeth and forked tongue raked across your pulse, sending waves of pleasure throughout your entire body. "I'll make sure everyone knows you're mine now..." he pulled away and looked up at you pleadingly, "that is, if you'll have me."

You smiled, tears now pricking the corner or your eyes. "I'm already yours."

Lucifer's breath had caught in his throat as he captured your lips, your mouth being invaded by his eager tongue. He hoisted you up by your hips, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips as you hooked your arms around his neck to pull him even closer than before. He laid you down on the bed sweetly, now crawling his way up towards you. Lucifer's body now completely enveloped yours. The angel's disheveled hair and the sweat dripping from his forehead was truly a breathtaking sight. His captivating red eyes felt as though they were piercing your very soul, searching for every hidden desire you had locked away. Lucifer licked his lips seductively. "If my memory serves, I recall a certain someone telling me that they found my unholier side...oh, what was the word..." Lucifer feigned forgetfulness as his horns appeared from his skull, "Ahh, yes, I remember now. "Hot." Isn't that right, darling?"

Your face flushed furiously. You mentally cursed your drunken self as you looked up at Lucifer's smug expression. His demonic features made you quiver with anticipation. You've all but sold your soul to the devil himself and you were more than willing to give him everything he wanted. His red claws made quick work of your bra, unclasping it with ease and throwing it across the room. The urge to cover yourself was overwhelming, but it was like Lucifer could read your every thought. He held both of your wrists and placed them above your head, holding them there with just one hand while the other made its way towards your chest.

“Be a good girl and keep your hands there for me,” he ordered.

You nodded obediently. You clung onto the pillows above you as Lucifer let go of your wrists, placing both of his hands on your supple breasts, mewling from the stimulation. Lucifer pinched your nipples, rubbing them gently between his clawed fingers. The sharp ends of his claws poked at your skin while he continued his ministrations. Your meek whimpers turned into moans.

“L-Lucifer, please…” you begged. “I-I need-GAH…”

“I adore the way you say my name, love,” he praised. “Say it again.”

“Luciferrr…” you whined.

He rewarded you with a kiss. “What a pretty voice you have, all desperate and needy for me. So willing to submit…”

He let his mouth fall on one of your nipples, lapping and sucking the sensitive bud while kneading at your other breast. Your nails dug into the pillows, fighting every urge to reach out and touch him. But you couldn’t stand it, obedience truly had its disadvantages.

“Please Lucifer, l-let me touch you,” the request fell from your lips in a desperate plea. “Let me hold you…”

“Hmmm,” his lips reverberated against you. “Patience, love, patience.” Lucifer’s demonic tail appeared suddenly behind him, swaying back and forth. You watched as it lowered itself close to the hem of your panties. Slowly, it inched its way underneath and found itself between your slick folds. You couldn’t hold back a gasp once you realized what Lucifer had planned. “Allow me to try something first.” After giving him the "okay", you felt him flick his tail against your clit, causing you to arch your back, moaning unashamedly in the process. It was circling your swollen nub slowly at first, but quickly built up to a relentless pace. Your body shook uncontrollably as his tail abused your clit. “The way your body reacts to me is such a wonderful sight to behold, sweetheart. Look at you, so easily corrupted.”

It wasn’t long before you cried out in absolute pleasure. You could feel that coil in your stomach ready to snap. You'd barely been touched and you were helpless to fight against your impending release. “F-Fuu-aaahhhh Lu-Lucifer! I-I can’t-HHAAAA-gonna c-cum…g-gonna-FFFUCK!” Lucifer ignored your cries, only focusing on your breasts as you writhed under his touch. You screamed as your sudden orgasm hit you like a freight train, your walls clenching around nothing.

With a low chuckle, Lucifer removed his tail from your drenched slit, admiring your complete fucked out face. "You did so well," he praised, "I promise I'll get you some new panties soon, it wasn't very nice of me to let you ruin yours." You turned your face away from his to hide your embarrassment, only for Lucifer to give you a small peck on your very reddened cheek. "You can move your arms now, darling." At his word, you released the death grip you had on the pillows behind you and pulled Lucifer in for another deep kiss. You felt his lips curl into a smile against yours. "Would you like to keep going?"

"Yes."

"Hehe, so eager," he said poking your nose, "it's adorable. I think it's only fair that I get to have my fill of you now, don't you think?"

Your pupils dilated. "O-Oh, you mean..."

"Is something wrong?" he asked nervously.

"No! No, nothing's wrong," you reassured him, "it's just that...no one's ever offered to uhh, do that for me."

A mix of annoyance and confusion flashed across his face. "Wait, what?!" He sat up straight, resting his full weight on your stomach. "So, let me see if I'm understanding this correctly. You've gone down on men before but not one of them ever offered to return the favor?" You shook your head nervously. A fearsome growl erupted from Lucifer's throat and his eyes had turned a glowing red for just a moment; you couldn't help but shiver. "I'm sorry, but that's inexcusable! Hell isn't enough of a punishment for men like that. To only take and never give back." Lucifer made his way off of you and helped you sit upright against the pillows. "Please allow me to make up for their sins."

"O-Okay," you responded weakly, "only if you want to. I never want you to feel like you have to do anything for me."

He leaned into you for a tender kiss. "Darling, I want nothing more than to ravish you in every way possible; you deserve that and much, much more." You couldn't help but blush at his flattering words. "Lift your legs for me?" You did as he asked, allowing him to tug at the hem of your panties. You held your breath as you watched him drag them down the length of your legs and toss them away carelessly. You closed your legs instinctively, though you realized it was a little bit too late to try and hide yourself from him at this point. Lucifer only smiled and positioned himself in front of you, resting his hands on your knees. "It's alright, take your time," he soothed.

You nodded and let out the breath you had been holding. Lethargically, you began to part your legs for him, letting him finally drink in the sight of your soaked entrance. You noticed him gulp in response and couldn't hide the small smirk on your face. "Like what you see?"

Lucifer licked his lips mindlessly, staring at you like you were a meal to be devoured. "You have no idea," he answered, never taking his eyes away from of your glistening pussy. He laid himself down on his stomach, trailing soft kisses on either side of your inner thighs, leaving nothing but tender bite marks and hickies in his wake. With each passing second you became more and more restless, wanting nothing more than this torment to end. But Lucifer was savoring every bit of you and your heart couldn't help but feel full. At last, you felt his hot breath against your pussy, your body tensed at the sensation.

"Lucifer..." you whispered.

He placed one final kiss to your thigh. "For as long as I live, I'll never tire of hearing you say my name," he spoke sweetly, "Relax for me as much as you can now, love. And if you need to, you can grab my horns. They're there to help you."

"W-Why would I need to gra-AAAHHH" you tried to ask but were cut short after feeling Lucifer take a long, languid lick up your folds. It was something you'd never felt before, but you knew you needed more of it, and you needed it now. Luckily for you, the fallen angel between your thighs was more than happy to provide. His lips were pressed firmly against your aching cunt while his tongue quickly found your clit. The noises you were making were unholy but you couldn't imagine a more heavenly feeling. He moaned against you desperately, as if your essence was his life source. Without warning, Lucifer tossed your legs over his shoulders to give him better access to his prize. In your haze, you remembered his suggestion and took ahold of his demonic horns, doing your best to keep yourself grounded.

"God damn it," Lucifer snarled, "To think no one has done this for you, f-fuck, what complete and utter fools they were. I've never tasted something so divine." You felt his claws dig into your skin as he forced his tongue deeper into you, drawing out the dirtiest sounds you didn't know you could make.

"F-Feels so g-good," you babbled, your hands tightening around his horns. "P-Please don't stop, I-I..."

One of Lucifer's arms unhooked itself from your leg, his fingers now prodding at your slick. His tongue never stopped circling your clit as you felt a single finger slip inside you with ease. You whimpered from the sudden intrusion. "C'mon baby, need you to cum f'me." Another finger quickly entered you, two of them now thrusting in and out of you. "Let me taste you, all of you." Lucifer's tail swished behind him as he focused on coaxing another orgasm out of you. His tongue and fingers worked together to bring you closer and closer to the edge once more. His fingers curled inside you, your back arching as he hit your most sensitive spot with each motion. "I can feel you clenching...you're so close..."

And he was right. That same coil in your lower stomach was as tight as it could be, the knot threatening to unravel at any moment. "Lucif-fer, I-I'm gonna...fuckfuckfuck-GAAAHHH!" With little warning, your second orgasm hit hard, your walls now pulsating around Lucifer's fingers which refused to stop moving. You felt yourself empty onto his face, your cries filling the room, your hands stinging from how tightly you held onto his horns. As Lucifer helped work you down from your high, you couldn't help but notice the loud slurping sound that came from beneath you. He was lapping your cunt like a man starved. After another moment or two, Lucifer gazed up at you adoringly, his mouth completely drenched in your juices. Your hands flew to your face out of pure embarrassment. How could someone look so happy after basically being assaulted by your orgasm. "Y-You can't just look at me like that after you just did what you did!" you berated him.

"Look at you like what?" he teased, crawling on all fours and closing the gap between you. He gently pulled your hands away from your burning face and gave you the toothiest grin you'd ever seen from him. "Look at you like I'm the luckiest man in existence, you mean?" Lucifer kissed you once more, and you could taste the faintest hint of yourself on his lips. "And by the way, I'm absolutely addicted to your taste now, my angel. I hope you don't mind if I indulge myself every single day from now on. With your permission, of course."

You could only smile at him, caressing his face in your hands and locking your lips together once more. "Who would've thought the devil himself would be this perfect? I'm starting to believe that you may have fully corrupted me, my king."

The way his title rolled off your tongue made Lucifer shudder. "Not quite yet," he corrected. He laid you down gently as he trailed kisses down your neck and collarbone, stopping periodically to nip and suck as many parts of your exposed skin as he could. He then laid his full weight on top of you, and you could feel his hardened cock resting on your stomach. Your mouth ran dry, but you never needed something as much as you needed this. Needed him. To fully claim you and make you his. "Is this what you want?" Lucifer asked. "Because if you're not ready, we can stop right now. I won't be upset if that's what you decide."

You shook your head assuredly. "I'm ready, Lucifer. Even though I may not ever make it into Heaven after this, I'm not sure I want to anymore if it meant I'd have to leave you behind." You could tell by Lucifer's sudden change in expression that the thought of losing you if you were to be redeemed had never crossed his mind. His face fell at the realization, but you reassured him with a quick peck to his forehead. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. And we can worry about the details later. But right now..." you ground your hips up into him, forcing a low moan out of your lover, "...I need you...please…"

"Oh, you're just a little devil, aren't you?” Lucifer chuckled darkly. He then pushed himself off you, settling himself between your legs. The head of his cock teased your entrance, and you gulped in anticipation. "Are you ready?”

"Y-Yes," you murmured. Your body instinctively bucked up in attempt to create more friction that you so desperately craved. Lucifer pressed your hips down firmly into the mattress to keep you from squirming. You whimpered in protest.

“Ah ah ah, all in good time,” Lucifer cooed. “It’s your first time, love, I don’t want to see you in any pain. Stay perfectly still for me, alright?” After what felt like an eternity, Lucifer at last pushed the tip of his cock into you. Your knuckles turned a solid white from the way you gripped the bed sheets beneath you. The pressure you felt was unlike anything else. “A-Are you still okay?” Lucifer asked.

“M-More, please Lucifer, I-I need…” you choked out. He was only an inch deep inside of you and the only thing on your mind was the carnal desire of having him fully sheathed inside of you.

“My pretty girl,” he whispered above you. Inch by inch, his hips pushed forward, stretching you out beyond what you thought was possible. Once he was finally fully inside of you, you and him moaned in unison. The complete fullness you were experiencing was something you needed to be engrained into your memory forever. He didn’t move for a minute or so, letting your body get used to his above average length. He didn’t want to break you. At least, not tonight. "S-So tight, f-fuck..." Lucifer's entire body quivered as his enormous angelic wings magically sprung from his back. You stared up at him in awe, taking in the heavenly sight above you. Your eyes followed from the base of his wings to the very tip. Lucifer noticed your gawking and laughed lightly. "My eyes are over here, darling."

You blushed incredibly hard. "S-Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. It's just...they're beautiful. Can I...? You didn't need to finish your question as Lucifer dropped his wings down, allowing you to reach up and feel them for the first time. You ran your hand down each set, your fingers combing through his scarlet feather. They twitched under your gentle touch. "Are they sensitive?"

"V-Very much," Lucifer breathed. "We can experiment another time, though."

"A-Another time?"

Lucifer looked down you puzzled. "I hope you didn't think this would only be a one time thing. That's not who I am, despite anything you may have heard. When I said I wanted everyone to know you were mine, I didn't mean just for tonight."

Your eyes began to water from his declaration. "You mean..."

Lucifer leaned down and kissed the tears that had began to fall down your cheek. "Yes, I do. I'm yours, if that's what you desire."

You smiled weakly, holding back a sob. "Yes, it is." You brought your hands up, cupping his face and kissing his trembling lips tenderly. Your kiss caused Lucifer to twitch inside of you, quickly reminding you of the pressure between your legs. "Y-You can move now, Lucifer...please..."

With a deep exhale, Lucifer pulled out of you slowly, only to snap his hips back with no hesitation. He repeated this motion, slowly at first, coaxing as many sound out of you as he could. Your cries of pleasure were intoxicating, pulling him deeper and deeper into a state of pure bliss. His hips rutted into you at a steady pace as he continued to hit your G-spot effortlessly with each thrust.

"You're d-doing so well, love," he growled animalistically, "t-taking me so well. You f-feel so good. Too good...Take it all f'me, want you to feel all of m-me. Look how g-good you are, taking the Devil's cock like this."

"L-Lucifer," you mewled. You couldn't form a coherent thought anymore, all you could manage to say was his name. "Lucifer, f-fuuu-uuck...Luciferrr."

"That's it, dear," he praised, the pace of his thrusts quickening. "My name on y-your lips is more beautiful than any melody I ever heard in Heaven." His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you closer to him as he mercilessly pounded into you over and over. "G-God, you're so fucking wet. Slipping in and out of you s-so easily. You g-gonna cum for me again?"

"Y-Yes!" you cried out helplessly. "I'm close, so c-close, I can't..." Your hands flew around his neck as your body shook violently beneath the fallen angel. Your stomach felt like it was in knots, you didn't know how much longer you could hold out. "G-Gonna cu-aaaAAHH,"

"Hold on j-just a little longer, baby," Lucifer said, wrapping his tail around your abdomen. "I'm close too...w-where do you want me to-"

"INSIDE! P-PLEASE!" you screamed, locking your legs behind his back. "I c-can't hold it, Lucifer, I can't, I can't, I CAN'T!"

"Naughty girl..." he taunted lovingly. "Cum for me now, angel. Need t-to feel you clench around me. Cum for me."

The coil inside of you snapped for a third time, your walls pulsating around Lucifer's cock. Your spasms had left Lucifer groaning, his head now resting on your collarbone. His own orgasm washed over him not long after you. You milked his cock, his hot angelic seed filling you up your cunt completely. Wave after wave of pleasure filled you both, reducing you to nothing but exhausted and sweaty messes. He stayed inside of you for a moment longer, both of you trying to recover from your release. Lucifer finally found enough strength to remove himself from you, and at long last reverting back to his normal state. He crashed down on top of you, looking at your through his half-lidded eyes and pulling you into a crushing hug.

"Lucifer...can't...breathe..." you forced out, tapping his shoulder rapidly. His grip on you loosened immediately.

"I'm sorry!" he apologized. "I forget my own strength sometimes. H-How are you feeling?"

Your faced flushed as you tucked your hair behind your ear. "G-Good. More than good. That was...just incredible!" you couldn't help but laugh to yourself.

"What's so funny, dear?" Lucifer asked with an amused look.

You smiled at him. "Oh, you know just...I was thinking about how I would go about explaining myself to my friends and family back on Earth. How the well behaved, never strayed from the light church girl just had the best sex of her life with the one and only fallen angel Lucifer. Wonder how well that would go over! They probably think I made it into Heaven!"

Lucifer laughed along with you, pulling you flush to his chest. "I'll admit, it's pretty ironic. But to be fair, I never would have thought you'd give me a chance."

You looked up at him confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, I am 'the bad guy' to believers. The winners always write history, and according to Heaven, I was the loser. And when I found out you were one of them when you were alive, I didn't think you'd even glance in my direction. I thought you were the most stunning creature I'd ever laid my eyes on when you first arrived here at the hotel. But I never truly pursued you because...the bad guy never gets the girl, right?"

You couldn't help but frown as he spoke. His voice was sad, full of hurt. It was clear that Lucifer has suffered though a lot of pain and anguish. You were told the story of Eden growing up, of how Lucifer had deceived Eve and in doing so, caused the downfall of humanity. But that was clearly only one side of the story. You gave a quick peck to his cheek. "You're not a bad guy, Lucifer. I know that now. I let my fear and my upbringing cloud my judgement before. Not anymore. I want to hear your side of the story, every detail. Will you stay with me and tell me?"

Lucifer's eyes softened, his lips forming into a tiny smile. "I'd love nothing more." He brought his hand to your cheek, leaning in to capture your lips once more.

~~~

10,000 GOD DAMN WORDS, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!?! ANYWAY, I HOPED YOU LIKED IT!

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