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virginreprise · 5 months ago

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J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" MY MEAN DADDY, MY BAD BABY, DON'T YOU WANT ME? " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

CHAPTER ONE

WARNINGS: age difference (although no age is mentioned), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel is still a sad old man, joel being mean again, smut, references to harassment (not from joel), literal sex, breathplay, oral (f receiving), although joel may get some head in the future if he's lucky, you're more important than him, two uses of daddy, just because joel is disgusting and i wanna test the waters before i fully commit to my depraved fantasies of calling a grown man daddy, joel no aftercare miller because he's lowk a little asshole who's afraid of women, pussy pronouns because i feel like that's joel's brand atp

WORD COUNT: 14.6k

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER TWO—PRETTY BABY

Joel had cowered in his trailer for two weeks, acting like the recluse he was at heart, avoiding interactions with others, communicating with grunts and murmurs and looks that made sure anyone who dared speak to him in any way that could’ve been perceived as “cheery” would be off his back and turn the other way.

He hadn’t been rattled by the conversation he’d had with you, nor had he been left feeling some ridiculous guilt just because he’d got in your face and made those pretty features contort in fear. No, he had purely been pissed off with you. You thought you’d hit the nail on the head with your analysis, that you knew anything about him at all. And when you’d asked him if he was okay…well, after that, most of his restraint had been lost.

Storming off like a petulant child was better than hurting you so badly he’d never get a taste of your sweet cunt just once. After thinking about it, it was better that he’d walked away when he did, simply because it gave him the ability to get his head straight again, shake off some of the rage, and channel the rest into fucking you until you cried.

Before, he would’ve never been so volatile with you, would’ve never even thought about fucking you at all. He’d fix what you wanted fixed, he’d smile at you and call you “Ma’am,” like a sociable, pleasant old man. Not the sad sack of shit he’d turned into it. So angry all the time for reasons he refused to unpack. If he acknowledged it, he’d have to acknowledge that she would’ve hated what he turned out to be.

You were younger than what she would be if she were alive today. Would it have made her feel sick? Would it have made her run away from him, unable to recognise the man she’d called dad?

In part, it was the reason why he’d banished you. Not in the moment. No, in the moment he’d wanted to choke you. But some subconscious part of him, some ghost of compassion had possessed him and he’d thought about her eyes, how scared she’d looked as he’d held her and how similar you had looked when he’d raised his voice, when he’d kept it quiet, all menace and intimidation, when he’d touched you, gripping onto your thigh—when he’d looked desperately into your eyes and hoped that you’d crack a smile. That you’d stop looking at him like he was the fucking devil.

You really were something else, something so ridiculously dissimilar to himself, better than himself in every conceivable way, and yet simultaneously aggravating because you wouldn’t stay away from him. Every single time, you kept crawling back like you had no other choice. Like Rick across the way wasn’t a better plumber than Joel was and would’ve fixed your stupid tap permanently for free.

He wasn’t blind or oblivious to your efforts. He’d called your bluff a long time ago, when you’d come skipping along and bat your eyelashes at him, acting like the most innocent little thing in the state of Texas, not knowing that Joel had seen you tripping over your feet at night with a cigarette in your hand, circling the park again and again and again, worrying at your bottom lip. Or when you’d kicked over your bike in frustration because the chain kept falling off or when you’d got in Linda’s face at the Fourth of July barbecue because she’d been whispering amongst the trailer park's entire female population that you were a whore.

Joel had laughed to himself when the rumour had found him—had laughed even harder when you’d defended yourself, thrown your coke all over the fucking gossip and stormed off, only to knock on his door later that day to give him his mail that had made its way into your letterbox, a pretty little smile on your face and a sweetness to your voice that hadn’t found its way into your tone the day before.

There was a fierceness to you, a deep-cut vision like a B-side from a beautifully crafted album, the scraps just as brilliant as the first choice. Under all those pretty smiles, was anger, a knack for getting what you wanted with a few shouts and a quick tongue. He’d seen it when you’d misread him, called him a pervert with puffed-out cheeks and left Joel with a suspicion that you would start stomping your feet and smoke would pour from your ears. However, unlike your confrontation with Linda, you’d cowered when he’d fought back. Part of him had hoped you’d keep going, that even when he’d scared you, you’d push through fear and slap him across the face.

Maybe it’d bring back his sense.

Maybe he’d slap you instead, make you give him some fire. Anything that he can use against you to reign you in.

Joel had no interest in hurting you though. Simultaneously, he had no interest in keeping you safe from what he knew he truly was. If that led to hurt, it was unintentional. You weren’t a schoolboy crush, nor was the situation love at first sight, but you were interesting to Joel; he wanted to get to know you. There was something there, something repressed that you kept locked away, that only came out to pounce on you when you were alone in the middle of the night.

The only issue was that if he had to get to know you, that meant you’d have to get to know him too. Joel’s history was something he wasn’t prepared to let go of, an incomplete manuscript that couldn’t be edited, that was full of flaws and bad decisions. He wouldn’t let you open it, wouldn’t let you peer at the front cover or skim the spine with your finger: it was guarded by tendrils of barbed wire, pushing through the clouds and up past the stratosphere. It would be difficult to damage it, damn near impossible to break the fortification entirely.

So, naturally, Joel left you alone. He didn’t look at you in the mornings, didn’t peer through the windows at night and in turn, you left him alone too. Though nowadays there was a sag in your shoulders, a frown constantly tugging at your lips and he felt a certain sense of pride that he was the reason for it. He didn’t need to ask you, he knew. Could tell by the way you avoided eye contact when he’d driven back from the store (he’d been low on Camel’s) and saw you sat on your steps, puffing away and gnawing on your bottom lip.

It was petty, the way you’d turned away immediately upon hearing the sound of his engine, stubbed out the cigarette and stormed back inside.

Joel didn’t mind all too much. You were bratty and he liked it—enjoyed when you spoke back like he wouldn’t be able to knock you out with one weak punch.

It had been a surprise when you’d turned up on his doorstep on a Friday night, all dressed up, makeup you’d clearly worked hard on, ruined by your streaming tears.

“I’m sorry,” you’d blubbered, shaking like a leaf on his porch and he wasn’t sure if it was the chill of the night air or fear. “I know you don’t want me here.”

Then why show up? It’s what he wanted to say but he bit his tongue to save you from collapsing from dehydration. All those tears you were coughing up like there was a free supply of them behind those pretty eyes—eyes now red raw and bloodshot.

“What’s the issue?” he asked, less soft than you perhaps would’ve liked. He couldn’t give too much attention to it, though: the concern he felt buried underneath layers upon layers of tough exterior; even your flood of tears couldn’t wash away the rubble to find it.

“I-I was out, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, t-this- this guy he…”

Right there, Joel’s blood burned bright fucking red. He’d felt it with Dale when he’d seen the old man drooling after you like a rabid dog, eating away at your ankles—just begging for a taste. He’d scared the man shitless when he’d grabbed him by the collar once he was out of your eyeline, yanked him along to the outskirts of the park and spat in his face. The only reason he didn’t beat him bloody was because it would’ve been unnecessary and Joel had been sober that night so had been thinking at least a little rationally.

But this guy…whoever the fuck he was, hadn’t just made you uncomfortable, but had made you come to Joel Miller for comfort. Had forced your hand, had caused you to swim into the shark's mouth. Perhaps, worst of all, he’d made you cry—big, hot, glistening tears that travelled sporadically in all directions across the expanse of your face, dripping from your jaw and settling in your clavicle.

“What’d he do?” Joel was intimidatingly calm, voice even and eyes sharp.

You sniffled, lip quivering and your mouth opened to speak, then closed as if the words had gotten stuck—that the force of your pain overpowered your ability to be coherent.

“Baby…” Joel murmured, unable to stifle the smile that twitched and fell when you snapped your eyes to his—hopeful with the promise of the nickname. “Tell me.”

Taking a deep breath, you swallowed away the thickness in your throat, tried to stop the shaking by playing with your fingers, lips downturned and looking like such a scared little lamb. Despite being a wolf, Joel managed to set aside his natural tendencies, tucking them away safely for whoever the fucker you were crying over was, and instinctually, wanting to keep you safe.

“I was all by myself, I shouldn’t have gone by myself,” you looked away from him like Joel would judge you—like he would think it was your fault. He wanted to say something but waited patiently for you to continue, wondering when would be the best time to invite you in. If he even should invite you in given the implications of the statement and what he had done the last time you’d stepped through the boundary separating the inside of his trailer from the outside. “He wouldn’t stop touching me, I tried to get him off but he wouldn’t leave me alone and I- I got out of there when he wasn’t watching but he fucking followed me home-”

“Where is he?” It was instant, the way Joel snapped into action, fists clenching—prepared to fall right onto his face and break his fucking nose.

“I- I don’t know,” you muttered. “I just came to you.”

Unsure of how to react to the information, he scanned the area behind you, taking a singular look at your trailer and deciding that he could not, in good conscience leave you alone. Having a good conscience in the first place had been a foreign thing to Joel for such a long time that the feeling of wanting to do something right, the knowledge that he was not inviting you in because he wanted to touch you but because he wanted to protect you, was a troubling thing to realise. He couldn’t afford to go soft, to let people in, to hold them close until he inevitably told them everything and they realised how much of a bad person he was. But with you…it hardly mattered.

“Okay, babygirl.” His hands twitched towards your face, both palms landing on either cheek—so natural that it should’ve scared him. “Come on, let’s get you warm.”

Stray tears fell at his affection and he couldn’t bear to look at you crying anymore so guided you inside, letting you occupy his space, and took one last look outside before closing the door behind him—locking you both away.

It was when he’d called you babygirl, that you knew you’d fallen deep. The entire purpose of going out that night had been to forget about him, find someone else who maybe had that same smouldering look in his eyes, that same mystery that rendered every single movement an enigma. It’d been useless of course and you’d been harshly reminded of why you never went out in the first place, certainly not by yourself and certainly not to hook up with a stranger. The ache was just so very large, all-encompassing and you struggled immensely with the silent treatment he’d inflicted upon you.

You’d be lying if you said it was much different from before. Lack of conversation between Joel and yourself was in fact extremely common but the context in which the communication had haltered, the undeniable tension that permeated every accidental look and every longing stare at that white door in the middle of the night, was a pain you would never admit to him.

You didn’t want him to think you were weak, that you needed him in any capacity, so you’d got out. You’d ran away from him and in a cruel twist of fate, you’d crawled right back—crying on the doorstep and looking more pathetic than you think he’d ever seen you.

However, he’d held your face in his hands, gazed at you with something akin to pity and you wouldn’t have left him even if he’d asked you to.

You’d shuffled into his home, rubbing at your bare arms and staring at Joel’s back as he reached into the cupboards for a glass. You wanted to bury your face into him, wrap your arms around his waist and drag him close. The cold sting on your cheeks from where he’d touched you, the echo of his words in your ears wasn’t enough. You wanted him near, wanted to bury your head between his chest and beg him to tell you that you were safe.

“Drink.” His words snapped you back, eyes stinging as they flitted to his face and then to the glass he was holding.

“Thanks,” you muttered softly as you reached for the water, fingers brushing against his a sensation you attempted to ignore. After a moment standing, eyes fixated on his shoes and mulling over the situation, you apologised again. The “Sorry” falling from your mouth, the feeling of stupidity as the tears finally began to subside, and Joel’s gentle touch as he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger: delicate and affectionate. From the outside looking in, it would seem like a man simply comforting his girl with firm words and soft fingers.

“Don’t apologise. It ain’t your fault.” His gaze was set, those gorgeous eyes still hard and stony, fixated on you—hoping to bury the words beneath your skull.

“I just don’t wanna bother you-”

“I ain’t got nothin’ better to do.” There was a hint of a smile at his lips but it didn’t reach his eyes, corners of his mouth twitching, looking like the action itself was painful—like the words he uttered echoed in his ears and bashed at his eardrum. Maybe he should have something better to do than sit around and look after you.

You furrowed your brow at his expression, looking just as pained as he did and sipped your water—throat finally feeling some reprieve from the scratches that littered the flesh. His hand fell from your chin, resting at his side and you couldn’t shake the burning in your stomach as he refused to cease the eye contact so you did it for him, eyes firmly on the linoleum and teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

He probably didn’t want you here—surely he didn’t. He’d spent the past two weeks ignoring you, refusing to acknowledge the conversation you’d had the other night, when you’d felt everything brew up inside you and finally boil over. When you’d thrust a finger in his face and pointed out every flaw and every observation. Everything that Joel Miller was.

That solemn, brooding solace you found being close to a personality that reminded you of days long past. The intimidation that he used like a shield, strengthening his defences after people tried to get inside his walls; he’d shot them down with arrows, leaving the bullets in his palm for himself. You though…he’d let you in. He’d shot at your shoulder then let you past the gates to dress the wound.

“Might wanna wash your face,” he said grimly, brushing past you to go sit on his leather throne.

You gazed at your reflection in the window above the sink, light from the ceiling flooding you in a spotlight and illuminating the streaming makeup, the blotchy face and the red eyes. Suddenly conscious, you snapped your head back to him, his back turned to you, working at the TV with a steady hand.

Sensing your eyes, the stare that burned through him—full of pity and understanding—he muttered, “Bathrooms first door on the right.” Trying to get rid of you.

Wanting to ensure he was comfortable in his own home, you placed your glass on the counter, turned on your heel and began down the hallway—stopping at the first and only door on the right-hand side and slipped inside. You wanted to shower but knew it was a step too far, that that would be taking his hospitality for granted, so you settled for the sink.

Makeup was crusting along your skin, forcing its way into your pores and mingling with the sweat and dirt from the long walk you took from the centre of town. Hastily, you turned on the tap, cupping your hands under the stream and splashing it over your face. You sat with it for a moment, with the cool droplets running down your face and soothing the stinging of your eyes before scrubbing—wanting it all off. It felt wrong along your skin, the crusted tears near your eyes painful as you washed them away. It was effort, with just the water, but when you rose from the sink basin with a fresh face, you felt better.

You were safe with Joel, that much you were sure.

You took a deep breath before retreating from the solidarity of the bathroom, door handle cool under your palm as you inhaled, held, and exhaled. With the dispelling of that cool air, you pushed, stepping out into the hallway and hearing the faint sound of late-night television coming from down the way.

Joel was still sat where you’d left him, putting his cigarette out and discarding it inside an empty beer bottle, eyes fixated on the TV and although it looked like he hadn’t heard you, you knew he had. That subtle tensing of his shoulders, shuffling in his seat as he cracked his neck distractedly. You stood there, looking at the back of his head for far too long, lingering in the shadowed hallway and hoping he’d turn around and look at you—grant you that deep gaze that held so much. So many words said with just one glance.

But he didn’t. He stayed exactly where he was, nestled in his corner of the world.

You went to him on shaky legs, entering his living space with short breaths, playing with your fingers as you stopped just in front of where he sat.

“Thanks for-” you began, stopping yourself when you heard the crack in your voice—how hard it was to speak with the heaviness of your eyes and the hoarseness of your throat. Managing to swallow away some of it, some of that pent-up misery you felt clawing its way up the passages of your insides, you uttered quietly,” Just…thank you.”

“Yeah,” he said back, voice just as pensive as yours; you didn’t know if he wasn’t looking at you purposefully or if he truly was just as nervous about the interaction as you were. The notion that Joel Miller would be nervous at all was laughable but you knew there was something there—something greater than he let everyone think. Curiosity was a big driver in your interactions with the man, a desire to see what he felt, hear every thought that burrowed itself in his head, but right there, your insecurity prevailed and you decided it’d be best if you left him alone.

“I think I’m gonna go home now,” you said reluctantly, knowing that all you truly wanted to do was crawl into his lap and bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I’m tired.”

“Okay,” he nodded and as he turned to look at you there was a glint in his eyes—almost begging—that said ‘Don’t go.’ You didn’t want to, you wanted to stay wrapped up in him forever, limbs entangled in feverish desire. But you couldn’t stay. You could barely move in his presence and it wasn’t worth it to be engaged in something that would cripple you forever.

So you repeated his word, purse hanging loose from your fingertips as you turned your back on him and headed for the front door.

He halted you before you could get there.

“If you see him again, even if you hear a noise out there, you come back to me.” There was a care in his voice, a forceful attentiveness that left you reeling. He was letting you go but inviting you back too. He was professing something, expressing words unspoken, with actions and you couldn’t help the way your heart swelled in your chest, your throat constricting as a sob attempted to choke its way into your mouth.

You just nodded, sure that if you spoke you’d end up crying again.

With no more words left, you opened the front door, stomach twisting as you looked around to check that you were alone, and scurried down his porch steps, not knowing that once Joel had heard your door close, he’d stepped out into the night and placed himself on his shitty white chair—watching the surrounding area until dawn came, ready to deter the danger if it came for you.

Sunlight shot through the half-open window, the heat stiflingly stagnant, sweat trickling down the back of your neck as you lay, immobile on your bedroom floor—hoping that the dewy grass underneath the trailer would somehow rise up through the ground and relieve you of the suffering that was prevalent whether you were indoors or out. Your shitty fan was rattling in the corner, doing little to alleviate the pain, and in the midst of a Wednesday afternoon, work already completed, you had no other choice than to think about the man next door and his actions.

There was a gentle acknowledgement, a careful unspoken communication that something, whatever it was, had switched in you and Joel. After that night, that pathetic night when you’d cried on his doorstep, he had not thrust you away as you had expected him to. He had barely even been rude to you, that awful scowl that was perpetual in every sense, stripped from his face. The careful commands, the casual way in which he took care of you.

The only thing you wished, was that he’d let you stay the night—that even if you had been the one to suggest the departure, he would ignore your wishes and make the decision for you, grab you by the hips and pull you down on top of him. Kiss you on the lips with all the ardour he had stored somewhere deep in the pits of his being. Damn your age, damn the consequences, damn anything that would occur in retaliation. You wanted him. If not for selfish reasons, for an interesting sympathy that you held for him every time he looked in your eyes, every time someone speculated on why he had turned out the way he had.

The whispering, the wondering, the stories that seemed so elaborate and profound that you couldn’t bring yourself to believe them. The contractor who’d told you of a man named Joel Miller. His fate. What befell him that September when he’d lost everything meaningful to him.

You didn’t know, however. You didn’t know what was the truth and what was all facade, if Joel had shot down the rumours himself by telling a fabrication of reality to all of those who dared make false assumptions.

So, you settled with the equivocations, the image of him in your mind expanding until all that remained was a pity that ran through each of your bones, vibrating your insides; the pleasure of his touch was the only sedation.

Laying there, on the carpeted floors that you wished were wood, you thought of him. You thought of him deeply, throwing your mind back to that first interaction with him when he’d stood in the light of the rising sun, eyes running all over you. Observation. It was something he was good at, being able to discern the very fabrics of the human soul by glancing over at your movements, your mannerisms, taking note of the way you spoke to certain people. You were sure he knew you were smitten from the moment you opened your mouth.

In truth, you had been completely enamoured by him. Despite those initial reactions to his leering gaze, that sleazy look in his eyes that rendered you disgusted by his very presence, you had mulled over it on those particularly boring shifts, those mundane Sundays when you gazed at the empty white chair on his porch and thought about how handsome he looked sat there: legs spread wide, thumb and finger playing at his furrowed brow, cigarette burning between those pretty fingers and the portable radio next to him expelling a country tune or the occasional Texas Rangers game.

You fantasised about sitting there with him, fingers curled around his as you lounged in the chair adjacent—always looking like it was waiting for someone to sit in it. For you to sit in it.

But you weren’t brave enough. You weren’t brave anyway.

You weren’t brave enough to speak up when you felt like you were caving in on yourself, boulders falling from the tip of your head and landing at your feet—breaking each toe until you couldn’t move, suspended by the sensation of skin melting from your face, your brain losing all rational thought. You weren’t brave enough to do something bigger with your life, to approach every memory that haunted you like an evil phantom, intent on breaking you down into nothing until you sat as dilapidated as the abandoned moonshine still that rested its weary legs just opposite the bypass.

You weren’t brave enough to tell Joel that you wished to have him completely. That you wished to help him build himself back up; if what was said about him was true, you were willing to ignore all of your demons, to repress them like you had many times over, and place all your energy into making him smile.

Instead of actively hoping to remedy the situation on your lonesome, to be active with your desires and do everything possible to make them come true, you instead wait for someone else to fulfil them for you. If Joel wasn’t willing to tell you, to confess every depraved fantasy, you’d continue to lay on your bedroom floor and hope for things to be different.

In the sweat of that Wednesday afternoon, in the midst of summer despair, you thought of him. In your bedroom you had not decorated, staring at the ceiling fan that did not work, you thought of him. Through the fog of everything that made up your regrets and your achievements, he remained the central thing that kept you alive.

A knock on the door brought you back, three raps that came down hard and assured. With a thick head, you peeled yourself off the floor, brushing down flyaway hair that had ran away from your scalp and cracked your back as you stood.

Just that simple movement had sweat pooling at your lower back, the sun at its highest peak, menacingly bright and dangerously hot. Sniggering as it watched you stumble down the hallway, lethargic with the soupy air and trying your hardest to put a smile on your face as you pulled at the doorknob—a wall of heat separating you from the outside.

That half-hearted grimace that had replaced your frowning, quickly transformed into an expression littered with confusion as you stared at the man before you. Had you begun thinking about him so much that you’d started to hallucinate him? Had you thought about him so loud that he’d taken the time to knock on your door and tell you to shut up?

You said nothing as you stared at him, the delirium of the day causing your brain to momentarily stop working—greetings and manners that you’d been taught since you could walk something you gave no attention to. Only able to focus on his broadness hogging the space, the way he stared down at you with a clenched jaw, the perpetual tense of his shoulders and the hardness of his eyes. Just seeing him was enough to send you falling headfirst into a sensation you had no desire to express to him.

“You okay?” he asked, softer than expected and your heart sank as you looked down at his hands to see the two envelopes nestled between his fingers. He’d come to give you your mail.

“Yeah,” you mumbled out, lingering too long on the paper before flicking your eyes back to his and gathering yourself, scolding the fact that you couldn’t focus around him. You nodded briefly to what had caused that pit in your stomach to open up again. “That my mail?”

He nodded in response, handing it out to you with the manner of someone who wished to be away from the situation they were involved in.

“They keep getting us mixed up,” you said, forcing a smile and trying to make it all as comfortable as possible. “I still think they do it on purpose.” It was a poor attempt at a joke, coercing a conversation so that maybe he’d stay a little longer than intended. You yearned for a little courage, hoping that your mouth would expel the words you wished to speak: invite him in, ask him if he wanted a drink or a cigarette or both, tell him how much you’d been thinking about him.

“I’ll have a word if I see them.”

Why was it awkward? It was unusual, the way he wasn’t leering at you, how he wasn’t purposefully overpowering you. It seemed that he was more intimidated by you in that moment than he ever had before in his life. What a strange feeling it was: to have Joel Miller cowering. It gave you some much-needed bravery as you placed the mail on the side table next to your door, near the bowl that held your keys and discarded receipts you hadn’t bothered to throw away.

When the words came tumbling out of your mouth, you struggled to believe they were real.

“You wanna come in?” The shaking in your hands as he raised his eyebrows, the doubts hurtling at your chest with all the force of a high-speed collision. “I haven’t got anything else to do all afternoon.” You decided adding a little context would be better—maybe sway him a little more.

You couldn’t tell if the slight smile toying at those pretty lips was genuine or a courtesy, nor did you know if when he’d accepted your invitation he was doing it just to be polite or because he actually wanted to.

In your delusions, you told yourself that it was all because he did want you around, that he’d just been playing hard to get all this time because, like you, the thought of letting anyone in was so incredibly daunting. No matter how much you wanted Joel, just the thought of kissing him made you nauseous—the anxiety of what may occur after, the consequences to everything, what he would think when he realised that you weren’t all sweet. That you were awkward and mean at the best of times; the way you’d presented yourself to him was not your true character.

You feared that after everything, he would decide he didn’t like you. That you weren’t worth his time. From the things you’d heard about him, you weren’t even sure he’d let you stick around long enough to figure out what you were truly like.

As he walked into your home though, nothing in his hands to suggest that he was only here to do some light maintenance and be on his way, you couldn’t think about that. You were no longer on your bedroom floor, begging God for things to be different. Things were becoming different, and when you offered him a drink, assuring him that he could smoke inside despite never doing it yourself without hanging halfway out your window, you found yourself becoming comfortable. Too comfortable honestly.

He settled himself on your couch, hips rising as he reached into his pocket to pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a scratched-to-shit silver zippo and shook his head at your offer of coffee. You nestled yourself a respectable distance from him—tucking your legs underneath you and watched as he brought the light to the dangling stick and lit it. A cloud of smoke muffled his face, the scent of tobacco tickling your nose and bringing comfort sliding down your spine.

It was silent, in the most blissful way, the heat blushing his cheeks, the loving caress of the setting sun as it promised to fall beneath the horizon as soon as it could—that its day of evil heat was slowly falling away. The light breeze that trickled through your open window, taking the smoke away with it, guiding it up towards the sun and stars. Cicadas chirping, birds coming to and from their nests, searching for some good food to bring home to their babies, and snakes burrowed in the shade to escape the searing heat. All of nature's beauty peeking its head past the haze of despondency just to enlighten you and Joel—to help you feel greater than you had just five minutes ago.

It helped clear your thick head, helped escape the thin veil of your body's disparagement to get to a point where you could focus on Joel and only Joel. Watch him take a drag and exhale, chest rising and falling.

When his head rolled backwards, resting on the edge of your couch and revealing each tendon in his neck, you finally decided to open your mouth.

“Thank you for the other night.” The words fell quietly, whispered to him as if not to disrupt his moment of relaxation. “It was late and you…”

How he looked at you…you couldn’t quite describe. Those eyes wide and glinting, the unadulterated sympathy that lingered in those pits—something else dancing with it that you were unsure of. Hoping to God that he would tell you outwardly instead of hoping you’d understand that one meaningful look.

“Couldn’t leave you cryin’ on my doorstep,” he uttered, holding that stare, refusing to look away.

“I’m sure lots of people would’ve,” you rebutted.

“No one can say no to that face,” he finalised.

Your heart fluttered in the confines of your chest, eyes wide as he looked at you—those perpetually tired eyes, those tense shoulders and clenched jaw, desperate to stroke your fingers over each eyelid and lull him to sleep. See if he would drift away with a smile and wake up with the same expression permanently etched into his face. Hoping he’d look at you like that for the rest of your life.

“I wanna thank you properly, Joel.” There was a brief pause, a flicker as he scanned his way across your face, and then the heat of his stare was gone and you were left dowsed in ice water—waiting for his words.

The hasty way he brought the cigarette to his lips, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and gazing at the grey as he exhaled, huffing with the force of a dragon trying to dispel the danger. The harsh way in which he shook his head, the utter rejection that brewed up inside you once you’d realised that you’d gone too far. The bravery you’d been gifted for speaking up had betrayed you; you’d crossed the line.

“You really wanna go there?”

You paused, eyes flickering softly over his form. He’d caught your double meaning with the grace of a fly falling directly into a death trap, flown right through your words, and came out the other end with a defiance you had expected but had not wanted. The man who looked at you like he wanted to lock you away, display you on a shelf so he could poke at you for eternity, had rejected you. It was more insecurity-inducing than you had thought.

Feigning ignorance to heal the aching in your heart, you continued the game through a hoarse throat—wishing for the man who’d drooled over you that very first time you’d set eyes on him.

“Go where?”

“Don’t play stupid, we both know you ain’t.”

He glared at you, the brightness of his eyes disappearing—a strange uncomfortable glint dancing in the shadows of them; you couldn’t stop looking at him and thinking that he looked goddamn exhausted. All the time. You were unsure if he ever slept, if he ever allowed himself to have a moment of peace, a short second to himself where he screamed into a pillow and rolled over to the other side of the bed—ready to drift off. You’d hold him until the frown on his face disappeared if he’d let you.

From the way he stared at you, however, you were sure he didn’t want you there at all.

“I just wanna thank you,” you said softly, gazing at him earnestly. “Seriously, Joel, you do a lot for me-”

“I fix your tap and give you your mail, you don’t owe me shit.” It was almost self-deprecating, the way he refused you—as if he didn’t think he was worthy of you.

“Will you just let me do this one thing?”

“Now, let's get this straight,” he interrupted, accent growing as thick as his aggravation. “We ain’t friends.”

“I never said we-”

“I need you to listen to me.” The fatherly tone startled you, a far cry from those leering looks and sleazy stares—silencing you with the harshness of his tone. “You’re a goddamn kid. Whatever you think…whatever I’ve-” he cut himself off with a shake of his head, bringing the cigarette clasped between his fingers to his lips, inhaling sharply; all the smoke went into his lungs and none came out as he spoke again. “It ain’t right.”

Silence encapsulated the space, your heart sinking as those words entered your ear and left through the other side, the rejection everything you had not expected. What had you expected really? For him to profess his undying love and hold you forever? For him to put you on his lap and tell you that he was proud of you? That he would be there for you forever and always?

You’d hoped a little bit too much and consequently, been disappointed by your own expectations.

“Who says?” you tried to level your voice, to rid of the fear and anxiety that had clouded your entire being since you’d learnt about your mortality—when you’d sat on a rocking chair at the ripe age of thirteen and rocked it so far you’d fallen flat on your face and hadn’t gotten up years later.

“I say.” It came with so much conviction, that signature stare still plastered onto his face, set scowl all intimidation and no love—nothing behind those eyes except persistent irritation and self-hatred.

Suddenly, you found some gall, blood bubbling as you mirrored his frown. “So it was okay when you looked through my bedroom window whilst I was changing? It was okay when you said I’d get cockdrunk real easy and laugh about me being dumb with your buddies? I thought I wasn’t stupid, Joel.”

“You ain’t-”

“Then you should know that I know exactly what I want and what I want is to thank you!” A deep breath, gulping away the saliva that had accumulated in your mouth and observing every twitch of his jaw—the shake in his hands. “In a way that I know you want because I’m not stupid. You might think that you’re subtle but I promise you, you aren’t.”

“What do you want from me, huh?” he asked abruptly, venom in his glare, all of it directed at you and poisoning your blood indelicately.

It was a good question—one that stumped you if you were being completely honest. What did you want from him? A good fuck, someone to hold, someone to tell you that you were worth it? Or maybe, you just wanted him to make you feel desired. To make you feel like you were wanted by something, even if that something would hide you away, isolate you from your friends, and keep you trapped in a palace of deceit and fresh blood—cutting away at your flesh to keep the supply of crimson flowing.

Joel urged you on with the power of his stare, waiting for an answer with false patience.

“I just…” struggling to form a proper sentence, stringing together words in your mind that didn’t make sense. “I just need to know how you feel.”

The answer didn’t seem like enough, his eyes trained on you for a few seconds more before he broke the contact, leaving you shivering as a breeze suddenly pushed through the open window—drapes dancing with the force of it.

His attention was captured by the cigarette in hand, the thing almost smoked down to the filter, grey billowing from its end as he sniffed, shook his head, and stood.

“You got an ashtray round here?”

It startled you: the way he changed the subject so quickly, so determined to make you forget. To make himself forget. Standing there, hogging the space with his bulk, you could sense the turmoil—his hesitation to do what he wished to do and his distaste with himself for doing what he didn’t want to do: walk away.

You were granting him an opportunity, a chance to put all that time spent watching porn into practice—to take whatever he wanted from you without guilt.

However, it was better to acquiesce to his cowardice. Arguing would only push him to the point of no return. Truthfully, you were afraid of Joel and his temper. Sometimes, it felt dangerous to rile him or to talk to him out of turn. What he was capable of, you weren’t sure, but from the story that Spencer Dressure had told you about that one time his brother had taken off with Joel’s pills, the manhunt that followed it and the fact he had not pressed charges despite having to be hospitalised, left little room for you to think it was a good idea to be on Joel’s bad side.

Calling him a pervert until he fucked you seemed to be a surefire way to get you on his list of foes.

“It’s in my room,” you stood carefully, brushing past him to get to the small kitchenette, trying to subdue the result of smelling the remnants of cologne and tobacco that lingered on his skin. “Just put it out in this.”

You handed him a dirty mug from the pile of dishes you had yet to tackle, cheeks heating as you became all too aware of your untidy home, before stepping a respectable distance away and waiting for his next move.

What followed, you had not expected. The undeniable whiplash, the pain that ravaged your stomach as it flipped continuously, looping round and round like the coaster at Coney Island you used to fantasise about as a kid.

“C’mere,” he murmured, a softness to the edge that melted you, pathetically accepting his advance as you stepped forward once, twice, thrice, only three steps and you were closer to him than you had been when you’d been situated on the couch moments before.

The simple movement of him holding up the burning cigarette that was begging for death, the shortest ring of white decorating the cylinder, had you shuddering in anticipation. The brush of your fingers as you reached up to take it and the warmth in your belly as he shook his head and thrust the thing closer to your mouth. You caught his intentions too late for you not to feel embarrassed, gazing at him with a determination you knew was false, something he was bound to pick up on too if the shaking in your legs was as bad as it felt.

Leaning forward, you parted your lips, clamping down on the cigarette with bravery you were surprised you could muster, and inhaled softly—taking every last thing it could give you and savouring the taste of his fingers on your lips as they brushed ever so slightly against his skin.

“Listen,” he murmured as he watched you, eyes trained on your pursed lips as you pulled away and expelled the smoke from your throat, chin tilting slightly to direct the trail away from his face. “You’re a pretty girl.”

You stayed rooted to the spot as you listened intently, eyes carefully observing his movements, the flex of his forearms as he dropped the dead cigarette into the mug and the sound of it sizzling as it reached the remnants of your morning coffee that nestled at the bottom. The way he looked at you and made you feel like he was your single priority—like nothing mattered in that moment except you and making sure you were holding onto his every word.

“And I don’t hate you,” he continued, tilting his head to gaze at your face. “But you gotta understand, that you ain’t gonna be a long-term thing.”

You could’ve laughed in his face if you weren’t so intimidated by the proximity to him, the warmth that emanated from his body and the goddamn smell of him that had your body reacting in ways you hadn’t ever expected it to. That telltale ache and warmth that pooled in your shorts, the way your skin burned—hair rising from your arms and breath catching in your throat as you were overcome with the need to start hyperventilating.

“I don’t care either way,” you managed to huff out, shuffling slightly closer, teasing those boundaries you hadn’t known were there in the first place.

He looked far from convinced, eyes narrowing slightly, chest heaving with a single, deep breath, and hands balled into fists at his sides as he tried as hard as he could to get inside your head.

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

Joel stayed leaning against your counter, casual in his stance but all-encompassing dominance in his demeanour. His menace plagued the trailer park, red “X’s” on every door that the man had targeted—a reminder to passers-by of his impact; what could happen if he was crossed: damnation, ostracisation, and wet pants from where they’d all pissed themselves under the strength of his harassment. A figure that the Preacher warned of as the making of the devil, the bottom of America’s proverbial melting pot. A figure that you now stood toe-to-toe with—staring evil right in the fucking face.

If Hell burnt, he was surely a child of the underworld, scorching the earth beneath and ravaging the heat blazing in your pants.

“What is there to believe?” you asked breathlessly. “If you wanna leave after, you can leave.” You failed to mention how desperate you were to lay skin-to-skin with him, to feel the heat of him everywhere as he wrapped himself around you: glossolalia in your ears as he lulled you to sleep.

“Babygirl, I ain’t afraid about wanting to leave.”

It took a second, a moment of analysing his words before the sincerity of them reached your chest and broke all your ribs. Your lips parted, chest unashamedly heaving as the impact left you winded, and a shake in your legs that you tried to ignore in fear you’d fall flat on your face.

Noting your body language, observing every inch of you—even the smallest of reactions—he took your sporadic breaths as an indicator to continue, standing to his full height as he stepped closer; towering with the grace of the land of Idumaea above you.

A hand cupped your cheek, a tenderness to the touch that was destroyed by his next words.

“You ain’t stickin’ around,” he said plainly. “I need you to know that.”

“I know,” you said defiantly, growing increasingly annoyed with the tone he was taking with you—like you were some disobedient kid who needed reprimanding. It seemed he didn’t much appreciate how you spoke either as his soft touch quickly transformed, fingers gripping your chin and squeezing.

“I don’t wanna be the one to say I told you so,” he murmured. “I don’t want you whinin’ after this or talkin’ about me with Lillian otherwise the whole goddamn place is gonna know that I fucked you. Then, they gon’ be askin’ about you and I don’t like sharin’.” He tugged on your chin, tilting your face so he could lean in. His lips against your ear made you shiver, hot breath against your skin causing every hair to stand to attention and a sweat to form on the back of your neck. “Understand?”

He pulled away, eyes back on yours—that tiredness replaced with a lust so profound that you were sure he could’ve made you spontaneously cum just by looking at you.

Attempting to ignore the ache between your thighs, you nodded. When you replied with an “I understand,” there was the overwhelming feeling that you had just signed away your life to an evil force, a ghost with bad intentions that had asked permission to haunt you for the rest of your days. You could move houses and he would be there, you could move states and he would be there, you could move out of the entire country and he would be waiting for you with a hard stare and a clenched jaw. There wasn’t a single scenario in which you could get away from him.

A stain between your legs: forever.

“Alright,” he drawled, breathing coming just as heavy as yours, eyes flicking to your lips—subconsciously licking his own. “Alright…”

It was slow, the entwining of lips, the gentle way that you both leaned into each other—picking at each petal on a daisy until all that remained was the yellow disk in the centre; lips meeting in the middle of the earth and connecting each continent until you both brought back the great mass of Pangea. His hand cupping your cheek, opening his mouth to let you in, tugging at your waist to pull you flush against him and breathing heavily through his nose when the shock that froze you washed away and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

You leaned up, chin tilting as his hand engulfed one side of your face, fingers tickling your hair, teasing the short wisps before threading his fingers into the length and tugging at it: hard.

A soft whimper left your throat, vibrations running through your body as he trailed his hand under your shirt—desperate to feel the dip of your waist, the soft skin just beneath your ribcage that he ran a gentle thumb over.

Tongues entwined in heavenly matrimony, the taste of him tingling on your flesh, the heat of him burning your insides until all that remained was a bubbling pit in your stomach that spit lava and breathed fire.

You truly lost your head when he snaked his hand further under your shirt, taking advantage of your lack of bra as he skimmed his fingers under your breast and smirked against your lips at the sound you emitted—a shuddering, high-pitched thing that shot right from the back of your throat and sent heat streaming in waves down your legs.

Desperately, you tugged at the hair that tickled his neck, pressing your weight against him, allowing him to brush every so slightly over your nipple and relish in the reaction he caused as your knees fell weak and your kisses grew harder.

“Joel,” you murmured between the kiss, finally feeling the heat of him against you, the hard plains of his body that kept you grounded—locked in a transcendental dance, swaying in the lamplight as he hummed into your mouth: his response to your call.

The words you had nestled on disappeared from your head, your questions and answers, statements and expressions all leaving on a cloud that settled out of your reach with God on high. His hands left you empty, his lips causing your stomach to flip and your cunt to ache in the crudest, most hedonistic sensation humankind had been granted. The deep, gruelling feeling between your legs that flashed so hot, so wet, that you found yourself unconsciously grinding your hips against his—catching the groan that dispelled from his lips and the grip on your hips that grew hard enough to bruise.

When he pulled away to press an array of kisses to your jaw, trailing down to your neck and sucking on the junction, your knees grew weak and the fire inside you raged so large that you would’ve begged at his feet to put it out. You were choking on the smoke, flames licking at your calves and travelling higher, and with another call of his name, he commanded Noah to grant you a flood.

He trailed his fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling it tight and tugging it upwards. You didn’t want to part from him to get it over your head, clinging to him like he was life itself, ignited by his palms pressing over your bare breasts as he hiked the fabric up towards your chin. You obeyed his quiet command, pulling away just far enough for him to peel it off and then brought him right back towards you as his head fell to your chest and his lips clasped around your nipple.

“Fuck,” you whispered between laboured breaths, his tongue laving over your skin, lapping at every sweet flash of flesh.

His lips moved against you as he uttered a muffled, “Filthy mouth,” kissing back up to your lips in haste. “Always got somethin’ nasty to say.” The deep, rasp of his voice fell into your ears; the heat of his breath against your mouth as he stared at you with an intensity that flashed right through the very core of your soul.

Bare-chested in his presence, the rough fabric of his shirt rubbing against you, you couldn’t quite come up with a reply. Words failed you, wit and intelligence just out of reach and the feeling that you were drunk on him without even having a cock inside you. Joel had been right. You think he might’ve been right about everything and you were prepared, in your shitty kitchen, with your shirt laying in a heap on the floor, to do whatever he wanted you to.

“Joel.” It was the only constant word running through your head, the only name you could muster as he pecked you on the lips and splayed his hands along every bare bit of skin he could reach.

“Not gonna fuck you in the kitchen, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

You wouldn’t have minded if he had, the adrenaline of his touches leaving little room for you to feel picky, but with the slow merging of lips as he placed gentle kisses to your mouth, coaxing you to speak, you managed to shudder out a sentence.

Nodding, you removed your hands from his hair, reaching for his palm that rested on your waist and entwined your fingers with his. You couldn’t bear not feeling his warmth, his weight, over you, your feet hurried as you turned away from him and tugged him down the hallway—intent on shouldering through the open door that led to your room.

With the sun setting in the west, shards of golden light shot through your bedroom window, the patterns on the lace drapes casting shadows of profound nature marching across your comforter—the bunched-up blanket that lay at the foot of your unmade bed after you’d kicked it off in the middle of the night: too hot and head too full of the man that pushed you down onto the very mattress you’d touched yourself in the night before—ignoring the beauty of the four walls illuminated by mother nature’s dying heart.

Human consumption, an all-encompassing need as he ate at your flesh, ripped your skin from its bones as he positioned you in the middle of the bed, kicked his shoes off, and nestled on top of you—a knee between your thighs that pulled a gasping breath from your lungs.

“Pretty baby,” he murmured, lips back on your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone and thumb working over your nipple—watching carefully to note the furrow of your brow, the parting of your lips and the bend in your back as you arched into him, reaching for his shoulders to feel the entire weight of him pushing you through the feathers and springs. “Always so pretty.”

Kissing down your bare stomach, tongue flicking against the skin as he reached his hands into your shorts—fists tugging just slightly to reveal your hipbones and the slight dusting of hair that nestled between them. He lay his lips on it, eyes ablaze when they opened and settled right on your heaving chest. There was question in them as he ran his thumbs over your hips, asking non-verbally whether he could strip you bare—fingers clasped around the hem, pulling just a little further and then ridding of them completely as you nodded your head and bucked your hips to ease the fabric down your legs.

“No panties?” he grumbled, letting you kick away the shorts—hearing the thump as they landed somewhere at the foot of your bed.

The air hitting your naked body left you writhing in the wake of enlightenment, body attuned to every touch as he rubbed his lips over your mons, breathing you in and forcing a whimper from your throat. A retort to his question pulled you from the reverie of weary head, smiling softly as you mumbled, “You’ve already seen them before.”

He narrowed his eyes, smoulderingly handsome and devastatingly beautiful—beauty stripped away as he landed a smack to the side of your thigh, pulled a gasp from your throat and hummed softly.

“Yeah, they were pretty.” He silences any response by grabbing onto your thighs, spreading your legs apart and tilting his head as he stared blankly at your cunt—taking in every detail. “Pretty like this pussy,” he murmurs into the space, breath fanning over your wet slit and causing your hips to twitch. Noting the movement, he slowly and deliberately purses his lips, inhales and breathes out a line of air against your clit. It pulses through you, the cold stream causing your eyes to flutter shut and a heavy heat to settle in your stomach.

“J-Joel,” you stutter, biting your lip, hoping desperately that he’d touch you properly—bring you to that blissful brink where you could teeter just once and go falling over the edge into a meadow blanketed by the hands of angels and the mouth of God.

“What?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his tone that aggravates you further. “Gotta speak up, sweetheart, I ain’t no mindreader.”

“No,” you manage to huff out as he manoeuvres your leg over his shoulder, his thumb running along the outside flesh, teasing you to the point of no return. “No, you’re just an asshole.”

“Mhm,” he agrees, licking his lips as he brings his eyes away from yours and gives his full attention to the leaking slit between your legs that pulses with the heat and aches with the denial. “She don’t seem to think so.”

God and it's disgusting: the way he talks about you. It’s depraved and sick and so awfully indulgent but lying there, limp and at his mercy, you can’t care. All you can think about is his thumb travelling slowly, back and forth, along your slit, the gentle kisses he places on the insides of your thighs and the words “Think I should give her some love, don’t you?” swimming in your head before your mind blanked completely and your skin sears as he presses his mouth fully over your cunt, and begins to lick with intention.

Expletives fall from your mouth, silenced by a second smack to your thigh and a chastising “Language,” as he pauses briefly, leaving you sweating and scared he’s changed his mind before he’s diving headfirst inside you again—tongue teasing at your hole.

It pulls the worst of sounds from your, body reacting on autopilot as you arch into him, head falling back into the pillows and hands grasping the sheet beneath you in the hopes of gaining a semblance of stability.

He doesn’t seem to like that, however, his head tilting upwards and hands grasping onto yours as he pulls them to his head, shuddering as your nails reach his scalp. “Hold on, baby,” he says with a slight smirk. “Don’t want you fallin’ off now, do we?”

The assault on your cunt begins again, his tongue dancing with ease over the full surface, sucking and nipping and eating like he can’t stand to hear the growling or feel the sharp jolts of pain in his stomach anymore. The breathy moans ripping from your throat, the wet sounds reverberating from between your legs that you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by—the tearing sound as you gripped so hard onto his hair that you pulled tufts from the thick grey.

Whimpering and writhing; unable to function with him lapping up everything from you—stealing the sweetness of your heat and hoarding it away in his back pocket.

When he sunk his fingers inside, life was pumped back into you, a phantom defibrillator bringing a gasp from your throat—eyes snapping open.

“Shh,” he murmured as he pulled his mouth away, working his fingers in and out, stroking at the spot that sent you straight to heaven. “Relax, baby.”

The words swam in your ears, feeling that sweet pressure in your stomach as he continued thrusting his fingers into you, curling them upwards in a manner that had your thighs shaking and a deep exhaling pouring from your chest. You trapped him between your legs when he leant down to lick at you again, small laps that transformed into blissful suckling as he took your clit fully into his mouth. The combination of his mouth and his fingers, the encouraging way he looked at you every single time you dared open your eyes, all had you ascending.

Every nerve was on fire, synapses working double time to keep up with the overload of sensations imploding inside of you. The world scurried away on a wave, eyes rolling back, toes curling as you squeezed your thighs around his head—locking him there to ensure he would not leave you. That he would keep this feeling brewing in your stomach building forever.

“Joel,” you murmured between moans, a trail of expletives following it as you stepped to the edge of the cliffs in Big Sur, looked down at the rolling waves as your eyes fluttered shut, swaying in the wind, and letting the gust sweep you over.

A strangled cry left you, a powerful force of nature overtaking you as you gripped tight onto his hair—briefly recognising his growl as you did so. You continued to fall, the sound of crashing ocean in your ears, before you landed softly in the tall grass and basked in the glow of the setting sun as it nestled across your face.

Your chest rose and fell as his fingers slowed, mouth now hovering above you and watching intently as your head fell into the pillows and your body slumped with the exhaustion of pleasure.

You found his mouth wet when you finally opened your eyes, his fingers smearing slick over your hip as he crawled up your body and tugged you down the mattress.

“You still with me?” he asked as he placed kisses on your neck, brushing sweaty hair away from your forehead and cradling your face in his hand.

You managed a nod, communicating with actions as you pulled his face to yours, kissing him earnestly and trailing your hands towards the hem of his shirt, muttering an “Off,” barely registering his laugh at your eagerness.

“Yeah, you’re still here,” he said with mirth, straddling your hips as he sat up to rip his shirt from his body, throwing it next to the pile of your clothes. “Still want it.” He grunted as he palmed himself through his jeans, the sight of him on top of you, so strong, so powerful, caging you in like you were a baby deer and he was the one standing over your dying body with a rifle. A shot through your legs as you heard the clink of his belt buckle, another to your stomach as he slid it from its loops and finally, one to the head when he reached into his pants and pulled his cock free.

Sizeable in an entirely intimidating way—the vein on the underside that peeked through his fingers as he firmly stroked himself. That slight lick of precum gathering at the tip that dominated the space, your mouth watering as you were taken by the overwhelming urge to suck. He didn’t let you, however—pulling away to slide his jeans off his legs, boxers with them and leant over you to kiss you again.

You couldn’t get enough of his lips, plump flesh bringing you to life as he nestled his mouth against yours—tongue forcing its way inside to meet yours. He tasted faintly of cigarettes and pussy, smelt of them too, yet it was buried under the overwhelming scent of him. The slight whiff of dollar store soap which was endearing more than anything, the musk of cologne he habitually sprayed over himself every day—a few more squirts when he was bedbound for a few days, unable to move with the pain weighing him down, and hadn’t found the will to shower.

It hadn’t been one of those weeks though. You could tell as you ran your fingers through his hair, soft and fluffy, slightly wiry with his old age and thinning in the back but still so full and gorgeous. He smelt so good. So much so that as he buried his face in your neck to nip at your collarbone, you inhaled softly, breathing him in, feeling so content being trapped in this complicated dance with him.

Your head was going funny, your body tingling and then going into overdrive when his hard cock touched the insides of your thighs—his bare chest against yours as he kissed back up to your lips, pecking twice before pulling away to stare at you.

“No thoughts in that head, huh?” he murmured, leaning down to steal another kiss. Back up again to brand you with the force of his eyes. “Just want daddy’s cock, don’t ya.”

The visceral reaction that ran down your spine, shocked you. The undeniable shiver at the nickname, the complete perversity of it that had your cheeks heating in shame.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” you breathed out, no real conviction to it, predicting perfectly what his next words would be.

“And you like it.” His hand slid down your stomach, diving straight inside you and then falling in one swift movement. Fingers brought in front of your face, a slight smile on his face that you revelled in—the prospect of seeing him even slightly happy making butterflies fall and flutter in your stomach. “Sure looks like you like it.”

The physical evidence swayed the final verdict, his wet fingers falling to your lips, you opening your mouth to let it in and lick away the verification.

The groan that came from deep in his chest when you sucked his fingers had slick dripping down your thighs—the hasty way that he pulled his hand away from you to reach for his cock: all-consuming. Every cell cried out for Joel, for the blissful stretch, the fumbling of bodies as he slotted himself inside you and the casual roll of his hips as he drilled into you.

His head at your entrance was undeniably overwhelming, the feel of it dragging back and forth along your slit, slipping in twice before he finally sunk inside—his body covering yours as he breathed a “There you go,” against your lips. “Take it for me, baby.”

His words helped with the ease, the burn of the stretch still prevalent but the need to please him, to be good for him, dulled the pain. The kisses on your forehead, the whispered, strained praise as he pressed inside of you, words jumbled and hurried—no sense to half of them—until he was fully inside you, balls pressed against your ass and a tear trailing into your hairline.

Joel kissed it away, lips closing around the salty liquid, pulling away to gaze at your expression. His palms settled against either side of your head, grounding himself—trying to remain the competent party between the two of you, pulling his teeth between his lips and clenching his jaw as his fists curled into the sheets.

When he’d settled and become comfortable with the tightness of you around him, he kissed you again, lips wet and swollen from where he’d bit at them—a full-mouthed kiss. Opening you up, distracting you from the length of him pulling away, leaving your cunt open and lonely, then the gasp and shudder as he pushed back into you.

“J-Joel,” you stuttered out, unable to recall if you’d said anything except his name for the past hour.

“I know, babydoll, I know.”

He started slow, hips rolling, cock sliding: in and out, round and round, pubic bone catching on your clit—the sweet pressure that clouded you, that left you boneless and aching. The moan you let out was something that you would’ve been embarrassed by if it wasn’t for his praise. The sweet “Good girl,” that crept past his lips, followed by the “Keep makin’ those pretty little noises for me.” It could’ve been perceived as affection if it wasn’t for the growling tone it was uttered with, a particular harsh thrust that was met with a grunt and a whine.

The world around you slipped away, the only constant being Joel and his hooded gaze, his parted mouth as he sucked in every breath you exhaled. Those perfect arms hooking around you, locking you in with him, the weight of him leaving as he sat up on his haunches to gaze down at the sight of him lost inside you—the fire that danced along your belly as he pulled your legs apart and began thrusting at a pace your mind could not catch up with.

Words muffled in your ears, “Such a sweet little cunt.” A flash of heat down your neck as they reached your cock-muddled brain—whispered right inside your head. “Dreamt about this pussy.” Pace faltering as he parted his mouth and took a deep breath; his eyes fluttering shut. “Always fucking dreamin’ about ya.”

That southern drawl that lulled you right through every sensation, comforting words that helped you gain some amount of strength—just wanting to reach him and pull him close. It was cold without him pressed against you. Detached. In a way you didn’t want to be, in a way that you had always thought sex shouldn’t be.

When he grumbled out, “My perfect girl,” you couldn’t stand the separation anymore, pushing up on your forearms and somehow managing to jump him, bracketing his thighs and swinging your arms around his neck—kissing him madly.

The surprised grunt he let out made you smile, his hips stilling as you sat on him—feeling him so deep inside you it felt like he was stabbing at your stomach. You whined against his lips when he rolled his hips upwards, losing the will to move as you buried your face in his neck.

Bodies entwined, limbs entangled and a mouth moving against your hair as it uttered words so sinful that you were sure the cross on your bedroom wall, hung right above your bed, would turn upside down all on its own. The devil in your room, his spawn fucking you on your bed and a laugh on God’s lips because he always knew you were false. That there was no verity to your prayers, that you weren’t ever a true daughter; that you would never spend eternity with him when you fell from the burning bridge to the lake.

“Does my baby wanna ride?” he asked, hands on your ass, moving you up and down along his length whilst he smiled into your hair. Enjoying the desperation—basking in the way you pleaded for him.

You nodded your head at his question, unable to breathe with the casual move of his hips paired with the strong manhandle as he moved you along him.

“Wanted to feel you,” you mumble out softly, entirely dumb with the feel of him—sweat dripping down each body and mingling at the bottom of a well. “Just wanted you.”

Within Joel Miller, in all his outright madness, past all that anger and tribulation, lay a vulnerability you had always wanted to pull from him. A vulnerability that he showed you, in your bed, with you wrapped around him, grinding your hips against his to feel that growth in your stomach. Vulnerability that he perfectly lay in front of you with broken laces lined up in an order, as he whined. A low, breathy thing that had something snapping inside you—a primal instinct as your slick spilt onto his thighs and your brain decided to give him everything.

You reached up to drag your hands through his hair, using his hands on your ass as a guide—where to start and where to stop, where to speed up and slow down—as you rode him. Nails dragged down to his shoulders, digging into the skin of his back as he bucked his hips upwards.

“Pretty, pretty, baby,” he mumbled. “Think about you all the time. Think about that perfect little face when I’m jerkin’ off.”

Such crude words had your heart fluttering, your pace picking up as you pressed your forehead against his and chased that fleeting high. Unable to think of the comedown in the moment, too enraptured by his arms holding you tight against him, the slight dusting of hair against his chest that stimulated your nipples so perfectly and of course, his gorgeous fucking cock that dragged inside you with the sweetest of scrapes. Pushing and pulling, touching against the mind-numbing spot inside you with every thrust—every time you slammed down against his hips.

“I- I,” you managed to breathe out when it all came flooding in. A hurricane swept past the county, headed straight for your home, walls down and completely defenceless when you felt the wind knocking against the panes. “Joel.”

“Shhh, baby, I got you.” He wrapped his left arm fulling around your waist, placing the right against your face to tilt your head back. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Rain was fully beating down on your shelter, dripping through the rafters—threatening to push through the roof and flood you with debris.

“I got you,” he repeated, holding you tight as there was nowhere else to go. Nowhere to run. Just wait for the glass to break and the door to slam open.

You could only moan, unable to keep moving—just letting him do all the work. To keep doing exactly as he had been as the rain came pouring in through the cracks, water rising so fast you were waist-deep in it by the time he muttered a “Let go for me,” his hand moving to cradle the back of your head and keep you locked in place. “C’mon, baby, give daddy another one.”

His words broke the glass entirely, the roof caving in as the hurricane raged, inching closer and closer until it found you—beating you right to the floor.

It was a continual cry of his name, his words sweet in your ear as he worked you through it, tone strangled and tense as his stomach clenched and he thrust his hips at breakneck speed—deciding that he couldn’t focus on you any longer as he was beaten to the ground by the twister alongside you.

Pulling away hastily, he reached a hand down to rub his cock, fisting at the length until he spilt over you with a broken moan and painted your stomach with the making of your union.

You were still twitching when his breathing slowed, his arm still tight around you; not quite ready to let go yet.

The storm had passed, and you were left with the damage of its destruction.

Broken furniture, ravaged landscape, and a hole where you and Joel lay—fingers brushing against one another as you reached out to him.

There was a brief moment of peace, the time between now and what was to come, pausing as if to grant you the sweet mercy of holding on for just a minute longer.

Then, as quickly as it came it was gone, a single kiss to your lips before he gently laid you down, hesitating just a moment, gazing at you like he wanted to stay, before deciding that he was too stubborn to go against his word, and stood up from the bed to find his pants.

Stupidly, in your fucked-out, hazy state of mind, you decided to ignore everything he’d said before: about you not being permanent. Some part of you wanted to believe that he had said it just to hurt you, that there was no real meaning behind them except mindless arrogance and a will to push you away because he was afraid.

“You aren’t staying?”

He paused his movements, halfway through putting his jeans on, and looked at you with something akin to disgust.

“What’d I tell you, princess?”

It was awful. That switch.

As soon as his dick wasn’t wet and leaking, he was gone. Lost to the tunnels of his mind, trapped in a maze that had no exit. You couldn’t find him—couldn’t see that Joel that had been there just moments ago, calling you pretty and perfect. Telling you that you were his girl.

You’d agreed, you knew you had. It didn’t make it any less painful as he refused to look at you when he re-buckled his belt, didn’t even glance over when you reached down for the blankets and pulled them around you—suddenly feeling entirely exposed.

All you could do was watch: in an awkward silence. Scan his face for anything as he pulled his shirt over his head and didn’t even dare sit on the bed to put his boots back on.

It was hurtful when he reached into his back pocket to shake out a cigarette, bringing it to his lips and flicking open his zippo in a way that shouldn’t have been so damn attractive.

“Joel?” Where the bravery had come from, you didn’t know, your body shaking under the covers as his eyes landed on yours for the first time since he’d stared at you as you came undone.

“Mhm?” he grunted out in response, breathing out the smoke and going straight in for another drag.

What you were going to say, you hadn’t thought out. You hadn’t thought out the entire encounter in general and in that moment it felt like you hadn’t thought out anything in your entire life. So, when the mumbled, “Thank you,” fell from your lips and the harsh chuckle fell from his, you couldn’t quite stop the feeling of utter embarrassment and humiliation.

You’d promised him you wouldn’t tell anyone, that you wouldn’t go spouting his business to the park's biggest gossips, so you wouldn’t. You’d have to sit with it, to go back to lying on your bedroom floor every day and regretting everything and everyone. Rehashing every person you had wronged when you were stuck in the harshest depths of your mind, every time you’d been beaten down by those out to get you—every fork in the road you’d come across that seemed to harbour identical destinations: damnation.

“Gratitude accepted,” he mumbled out, cigarette perched between his lips—inhaling and exhaling with it still in his mouth.

For some reason, you wanted to cry. Your throat closed, lip quivering and tears forming in your waterline. You suppressed it—at least, you tried to. He’d already seen you cry before. You had no interest in letting him see it again.

There was a heavy silence as he stood there smoking, eyes trained on you and taking note of your throat bobbing as you swallowed down the lump. You knew you’d been caught then, his twitching jaw that he rid of with another drag of the cigarette, the slight sigh that he huffed out through his nose and the single nod of his head as he walked the few paces to your bed and sat down atop the mattress.

Quietly, he gestured the burning stick towards you, watching as you accepted it gratefully. It helped rid the ache in your chest.

“I said I didn’t wanna say I told you so,” he said, running a hand over his scruff before placing it on your thigh—skin burning through the thin material.

You sniffled, trying to maintain composure as you jutted your chin out and gave him the hardest of stares you could muster.

“And I said I understood.” You let the cigarette burn between your fingers—the single drag making you feel sick to your stomach. “I’m not…naive. Not stupid either.”

“I know,” he said plainly. “I know.”

“Then why are you still here?” It was said bitterly, a tone that you hadn’t wanted to take with him but left your body unconsciously as some form of repressed rage came bubbling in pieces through you.

He swallowed calmly, pulling his hand away as he plucked the cigarette from between your fingers—deciding he needed it more than you did.

“Just wanted to…” he cleared his throat upon hearing the strain in his tone, seemingly struggling to speak the words aloud. “Just wanted to make sure you understood.”

“And I do,” you countered quickly.

“Good,” he countered even quicker.

Your skin was burning, and your cunt began to ache with the loss of him—the imprint that he’d left inside you that you were sure would be there for some time.

The smell of tobacco was starting to make you feel sick, the scent of sex in the air a harsh reminder of everything you’d gained and lost in the space of a few hours.

The sun hid itself behind the horizon, its light no longer shining through and piercing your heart.

It was instead the harsh stab of his gaze, the lasting feeling of his hands on your thighs and the intense tightness in your chest every time you looked at him, that broke you completely.

“You can go,” you mumbled, watching his face for any sign that he didn’t want to do as you asked—that he’d finally lay beside you and stroke your hair as he told you everything he’d done wrong. Just so maybe you could feel normal. Like someone else in this world had finally seen you and understood that you weren’t perfect—that there were more flaws than strengths and more fuckups than good decisions.

There was nothing. Just a blank stare as he stood, knees cracking and back aching—walking away and leaving the phantom feel of him inside you, nestled between your legs.

“See you ‘round,” he mumbled, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, okay.”

There was a pause as he waited, eyes firmly on the floor as he screwed his brow up—looking like he was thinking hard. Weighing up his options before flicking his gaze up and landing on you: naked and trembling in bed.

“I still mean it.” You were confused for a moment, waiting for a confession, hoping in the grandest of your delusions that he’d change his mind and love you till the end of time. Then, the confirmation that, upon close inspection, seemed to be the closest to a confession you would ever get. “You need anythin’, I’ll be there.”

You nodded to show you understood, unable to speak in fear you’d crack and crumble, and watched with a deep longing in your heart as he turned his back on you, and walked away.

His footsteps were heavy against the floor, his power reverberating all throughout the trailer—the gentleness he displayed in small gifts of protectiveness and affection, shown through the way he closed the door as quietly as he could. If it wasn’t for the creak of the steps, you would’ve thought he hadn’t left at all.

When you were sure he was gone, you allowed yourself a moment to cry, turning over in bed to curl up in a ball of self-pity.

Why he couldn’t stay, you were unsure. Why he wouldn’t hold you close, if only for one night, you didn’t know. You didn’t know anything. You were lost in a world you were so sure was not meant for you, knowing right there, in the sweat of your bed with tears dripping off your nose, that you did not know Joel Miller and would never know him for as long as he lived.

Cracking him open was like trying to split a coconut with nothing but your bare hands.

Crying with no one to hold you, those final words of admission ran through your head; you knew that this problem, you could not go to him with. That the word “anything,” was a courtesy and a promise he could not cater to.

Head pounding with disdain, tears running with despondency, chest aching so painfully you thought your heart would fail. In some way, you wished it would. Just so you could rest for a moment. Because you couldn’t without the warmth of him behind you, his arms tugging you close and lips on the side of your head—whispering everything that had pulled him to you and kept him there.

Turning around to face your window, pressing a palm to your head like it would take away the pain, you gazed at the trailer that neighboured yours. The cracks and cobwebs that littered its surface, the two chairs that spent every waking moment together, tucked into their own corner of the world where they could whisper and giggle—expel every truth because all that time had left them with nothing but absolute trust.

You realised that sitting in the chair on the left, the one that had no owner would mean that you and Joel would have to navigate the same type of relationship: one that relied on a bond unbroken by anything except their mistakes and mistruths.

You faced away, closing your eyes and willing God to send you an eternal sleep—pathetically pretending that he was there beside you as you ran a finger over the drying cum on your stomach and the lingering bruising inside of you that left a blood on your thighs and a butterfly in your head as it knocked against each surface of your skull and fell gracelessly when it came hurtling against the wall.

a/n: well, i finally got it out!! not entirely pleased with it but i never am lol. it's only half proofread just because i got bored halfway through and only went through what i wrote today. either way, i hope you enjoyed it!! maybe...there'll be more chapters after this. it's quite a depressing ending which is what i like best tbh but it'd be nice to see joel finally stop being a dick :))

thanks for reading !

taglist: @1maasrpe

#virginreprise™#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us fanfiction

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infiniteglitterfall · 5 months ago

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my all-time favorite Palestinian activist

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Hamza Howidy (@hamzahowidyy)

instagram

"I think [reaching Greece in an overcrowded boat no one knew how to drive] was one of the happiest moments in my life, because I survived. And I stayed in Greece -- and I was supposed to stay there to apply for my asylum and get my life there.

"Unfortunately, with the atrocities of October the 7th and my activism, the threats I received when I was in Greece by some radical pro-Palestinian folks, I decided to leave.

"And based on a friend's recommendation, I decided to go to Germany because it's somehow considered safer than the other European countries and there is somehow enough space for a free speech here."

"Voicing dissent [in Gaza] was not an option. Hamas has a no tolerance policy for criticism or objections to any of its policies. Even discussion is forbidden.

"Any journalist who objects or criticizes a policy is suspended and investigated. Demonstrations are strictly prohibited. Freedom of speech in Gaza is a fantasy.

"The dirtiest tool Hamas uses to silence citizens is character assassination through online campaigns accusing dissenters of working for hostile bodies or committing immoral acts.

"Hamas also routinely breaks into the homes of people deemed disloyal and humiliates them in front of their family and neighbors.

"...A huge social gap opened between the wealthy elite who belong to Hamas and the rest of the population who were increasingly living in driving poverty. Public sector jobs were limited to Hamas members, and taxes were increasing on necessities day by day, even as the cost of living skyrocketed.

"Many of us could no longer bear it. I was one of them.

"Though we knew dissenters were subject to imprisonment, torture, and even murder, in 2019, a few of us decided to join forces and form a protest to voice our opposition to Hamas. We called it the 'We Want to Live' demonstration.

"Our demonstration elicited an extreme reaction by Hamas. They violently cracked down on the protests and we were all arrested.

"I will never forget my first day in jail—walking up the steps listening to screams of my colleagues, most of them fellow students, who had been arrested before me. I was held under arrest for 21 days and subjected to various types of torture. I was beaten with batons and sprayed with cold water in the late winter night hours.

"My friends didn't fare much better. A Christian friend was in the next cell and I could hear them screaming at him, 'You are a Christian and you don't like the situation? Then go to another country!'

"After we were released, most of those who participated in the demonstrations emigrated away from Gaza. There was no hope for any change in the current situation. We suffered ongoing harassment by Hamas members.

"Some died trying to leave, like Tamer Al-Sultan, a pharmacist whose crime was asking for a reconciliation between Hamas and Fatah. [The political party of the Palestinian president, which Hamas violently kicked out of Gaza in a 2007 coup.]

"People's living conditions got worse. The wealth gap expanded even further. We protested again in 2023 and were crushed in the same manner as in 2019.

"I was arrested again by Hamas last year and held for 14 days, this time in a small cell with no bed, no window, and barely enough space to sit down. I was released on bail on the condition that I not take part in any further demonstrations.

"I still expressed my opinion occasionally on social media, but the arrest warrants after each post and the continuous threats from Hamas members and accusations of treason made me lose hope that I could make any kind of change.

"I left Gaza in August [2023] to seek a better future for myself and my family."

"I know firsthand that when ordinary Gazans like myself protested against Hamas, there was no media attention.

"No human rights organizations demanded the release of prisoners held for months in Hamas prisons, not to mention those who were tortured by Hamas, and even killed by Hamas—like Issam Al-Saaffein, who was killed under torture in Hamas's jails.

"This trend has continued during the present war. Since October 7, hundreds of Gazans have been killed by Hamas' failing rockets. Hamas has confiscated the food, fuel, and medicine sent to Gaza, and they did not stop here.

"13-year-old Ahmad Breka was shot in the head by Hamas in Rafah while attempting to collect humanitarian aid. Others were fortunate because they were merely shot in the legs by Hamas while attempting to grab humanitarian goods that Hamas stole and kept in their facilities.

"These inhumane acts, along with the agony that Gazans have undergone since October, prompted many to demonstrate anew during this war. They demonstrated in Khan-Younis in front of Yahya Sinwar's house; others protested in the north, asking that Hamas free the captives and cease the war.

"They received the same response from Hamas that I did: They were fired upon.

"And once again, the global media largely overlooked these crimes.

"Daring to take some food in the midst of a war or protesting Hamas isn't the only activity Hamas has persecuted us Gazans for; attempting to play any part of delivering this aid to those in need, or even considering playing any role the day after the war, is enough to get anybody the death penalty from Hamas.

"That's what happened to the Abu-Amro tribe leader, along with two members of his tribe who were killed by Hamas militants a few days ago.

"A couple of months ago, they beheaded the head of a clan leader in the north of Gaza and issued a statement on social media: 'We murdered him, and we will do so to anyone who stands against us and cooperates with Israel.'

"Others who publicly criticized Hamas during the war were reported missing."

#Palestinians to platform #hamza howidy #free gaza #fuck hamas #my favorite out of the MANY Palestinian peace and human rights activists ignored by the supposedly pro-Palestinian movement #jumblr #Wall of words #Instagram

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thehereticdiaries · 2 months ago

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Protective Instincts: TXT

Summary: Your best friend shows his possessive nature when another man harasses you

Warnings: Misogynistic comments, intimidation, threats of violence, if I missed anything lmk

These turned out a little longer than intended but whatev. Edited to change the header image ^^

Protective Instincts Masterlist

Choi Soobin

Your friend, Ji-woo’s birthday party was in full swing and you were highly satisfied with yourself for pulling off the surprise. You leaned against the wall, watching her flit between the small groups that formed around your parents’ house (which they graciously allowed you to use for the night). You grinned when one of her classmates popped a ‘birthday princess’ tiara on her head.

The front door opened as a few stragglers trickled in. Almost all of the people you invited showed up, at least for a few minutes. At the tail end of the newcomers was someone you definitely did not invite. He scanned the room briefly, settling on you, making your blood run cold. His neutral expression morphed into a predatory smirk.

You pushed off the wall, quickly escaping to the kitchen where you knew Soobin liked to hang out when things got too loud. He sat on one of the barstools that surrounded the island, which was packed full of snacks. He looked up from his phone upon hearing approaching footsteps. He smiled brightly, but it immediately fell at the panic in your eyes.

“What happened?” He asked as you pressed yourself between him and the counter.

“Soobin, he’s here.” His jaw tensed, needing no further explanation. “I don’t even know how he found out about the party. I haven’t had a shift with him in almost two weeks.”

“It’s okay, just stay calm and stay close to me.” Soobin shuffled you around so you were caged between his legs, hiking a foot onto a higher rung of the stool so his thigh acted as a shield in front of you. The unwanted guest, your shithead coworker, Matthew, appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, striding over to you like it was his house. Your posture stiffened, somehow shifting even closer to Soobin. You squeezed his forearm to ease your growing nerves.

“Jeez, Y/N, some host you are, running away instead of welcoming everyone.” Your coworker ‘playfully’ scolded as he moved closer to you and Soobin. He was met with a tense silence. “Damn. Tough crowd. I was joking, ease up a bit.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Hi.” You mumbled, resisting the urge to hide your face in your hands. “H-how did you know about Ji-woo’s party?”

“You and Katie were talking about it. I overheard you guys talking in the break room.” He stood way too close for comfort, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh…”

“Come on, you should introduce me to your other friends,” he demanded with a sly grin, assuming you’d agree so you didn’t look rude.

“She’s not interested,” Soobin refused, leveling your coworker with an icy stare.

“Yeah? Who the fuck are you, anyway?” Matthew puffed his chest out, trying to look intimidating but failing royally.

“I’m her fucking boyfriend.” His free hand skimmed across your lower back to rest on your hip.

“Boyfriend?” He scoffed, turning his glare from Soobin to you. “Sorry to break it to you, man, but your girlfriend’s a goddamn whore.” You flinched, shrinking in on yourself. Soobin, on the other hand, felt anger flare up in his chest.

“Choose your next words very fucking carefully,” he borderline growled, digging his fingers further into your hip. Matthew raised his hands in mock surrender.

“She’s never mentioned you and she flirts with me all the time-”

“Are you serious?! I do not flirt with you!” You snapped, finally finding your voice. “I’m civil with you because we’re coworkers. We are not friends and frankly, I don’t like you.”

“God, you’re such a bitch sometimes. You’re probably not even dating,” he provoked harshly.

“Oh, classic. What? Are you expecting us to prove our relationship to you, pervert?” Soobin fired back with a sneer.

“Yeah, actually, I do.” He narrowed his eyes at the two of you. “I think you’re lying cus you don’t want me to out you as an attention whore.” Soobin ground his teeth together. Your eyes flicked between your best friend and your coworker, unsure of how far this would go.

“Fine,” Soobin agreed, flipping from pissed off to cocky in less than a second. He hooked a finger under your chin, turning you to face him. He mouthed ‘trust me’ to you before pulling you in by the back of your neck. You stifled a tiny squeak of surprise when your lips connected in a heated kiss. With one hand squeezing your hip and the other cupping your jaw, Soobin’s touch turned possessive in a way that made your head spin. You don’t know where this Soobin was hiding all this time. In the two years that you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him so aggressive. It was exhilarating, drawing a flush to your cheeks as he ran his tongue across yours. You whined involuntarily when he pulled away.

“He’s gone,” Soobin noted as he forced himself to check around the kitchen.

“I, uh. I’d like to stay here, if that’s okay with you?” Your fingers curled around the hem of his shirt. You tried not to look too excited at his grin.

“Of course you can.”

Choi Yeonjun

Beomgyu found a new arcade in town and he made it his personal mission to drag you and the other boys there as soon as possible. It didn’t really take much convincing once he started listing all the games it housed. Retro, rhythm, shooters, racing, pretty much anything you could think of was in this arcade. The six of you moved through the games, your competitive nature increasing by the minute. You and Kai were trying to one-up each other in the Walking Dead game. Kai groaned dramatically when his character died, resulting in your win and celebratory cheer.

“Dude, where did the guys go?” You asked, spinning in a small circle, unable to find them nearby.

“They got freaked out by the zombies,” Kai said while looking at his phone. “Soobin texted the group chat.”

“Boo, those scaredy-cats. Walkers aren’t even the scariest zombies,” you loudly complained.

“Come on, I told them to meet us at the snack stand,” he tapped your arm and turned to the back corner of the arcade. “You can sit down if you want, I’ll get everyone’s food.” You nodded, plopping down at one of the little tables and pulling up instagram.

“Hey there,” an unfamiliar voice stole your attention from your phone. A guy, standing way too close, smiled at you with his hands tucked in his hoodie pockets.

“Uh, hi?”

“I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here all by yourself. It’s kinda rare to see a girl in an arcade, you know.” There were four other girls within ten feet of the table. You raised a brow at him.

“I see f-”

“Wait, wait. Let me rephrase,” he interrupted. “It’s rare to see a hot girl in an arcade. Look at them. 3, 4, 4, 2.” He pointed to each of the nearby girls as he said each number.

“Are you seriously rating them? That is such a dick move,” your lip curled up in disgust.

“Chill, I was complimenting you.”

“By insulting other people. Real mature.” You rolled your eyes and stood to push past him.

“I’m still talking to you, bitch.” His hand hit your sternum, shoving you back into your seat. You seriously regretted picking a corner table right now.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You tried to keep your voice level despite your growing anger.

“Me? What’s wrong with you?” He sneered. “I’m over here just trying to have a conversation and you’re losing your shit.”

“You came up to me and immediately started insulting other girls. Why the fuck would I want to talk to you?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he started, leaning down to place one hand on the back of your chair, the other on the wall behind you. Anger shifted to fear as you realized you were trapped. “I’m much bigger and much stronger than you. How are you gonna stop me all by yourself?” The sinister grin on his face sent a shiver down your spine. Your eyes widened as you pressed yourself into the wall.

“She’s not by herself, asshole.” Yeonjun’s voice cut through the tense silence. You released a shaky breath, but quickly went rigid again when the guy slammed a hand into the wall.

“Back off, man. I was here first, go find your own bitch.” You gaped at him, stunned that he talked about you like you were an object right in front of you. Yeonjun yanked the guy back by his hood. His anger was visible on his face, mouth pulled into a deep scowl. He never got angry like this, but with your safety on the line he couldn't hold himself back.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Yeonjun snapped at the guy, who was now trying to mask his own fear.

“Hey, take it easy. I was just giving the girl a compliment,” he immediately backtracked. Yeonjun tilted his head, brows furrowed and hand still tangled in his hood.

“Why should I? You didn’t ‘take it easy’ when you tried to intimidate her,” Yeonjun questioned, slightly tightening his hood around his neck.

“B-because-”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed. I’m much bigger and much stronger than you. How are you gonna stop me all by yourself?” His face blanched as his own words were thrown back at him. Yeonjun easily towered over him.

“P-please just let m-me go,” he pleaded, now noticing the other boys standing a few feet away. You were suddenly very thankful that you had such tall friends.

“What do you think?” Yeonjun turned his attention to you. “What should I do with him?”

“Just,” you sighed heavily, drooping down in your chair. “Just let him go. He’s not worth the trouble.”

“You’re lucky she’s so nice. Because we,” he gestured to the others with a nod. “Are not so lenient. Get the fuck out of here.” Yeonjun shoved the guy away, watching closely as he scurried out of the arcade.

“Yeonjun… thank-” You were cut off when he pulled you up, wrapping you in a tight hug. Your fingers curled into his shirt, still slightly overwhelmed by what just happened.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’d never let anyone hurt you.” His hand moved to cradle the back of your head, holding you close to his chest. He pressed a kiss to your forehead as a few stray tears fell down your cheeks.

“I know.”

Kang Taehyun

You could think of many words to describe Taehyun. Sweet, caring, funny, great at magic (okay, that’s a few words, but still). Intimidating? Not so much. At least until today. His sister’s birthday was quickly approaching, so he recruited you to help him find a gift. Somehow you knew her favorite bookstore and Taehyun didn’t, which you teased him about relentlessly. You scanned the shelves, searching for a book on his sister’s GoodReads list. You didn’t notice when Taehyun drifted toward a display of tabletop games. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man stand next to you. You didn’t think much of it, figuring he was looking for a book on the same shelf, until he opened his mouth.

“Wow, I’d never expect such a pretty girl to be into historical fiction.” You turned to him, thrown off by his odd comment.

“Uh, I’m not. I’m looking for a gift for my friend,” you hesitantly replied.

“Ah,” the guy sighed in disappointment. “I should’ve known better. You’re probably only like romance, like every other girl in here.”

“What’s wrong with liking romance?” You narrowed your eyes at him. He waved a hand, dismissing your question.

“Don’t go putting words in my mouth. I never said liking romance is a bad thing. It’s just that females only seem to like reading when it involves sex scenes.”

“Excuse me? Females?” You crossed your arms, now irritated with this random asshole’s commentary. “That’s a bold assumption, dude.”

“God, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Your eyebrows shot up into your hairline. Before you could retaliate, his hand squeezed down on your shoulder.

“Hey-”

“Relax, sweetheart. Why don’t you show me your favorite scene and I’ll make it real for you.”

“Are you shitting me?! Did you really think that would work?” You hissed, smacking his hand away from you. “Leave me the fuck alone, creep.”

“Creep?” He scoffed. “You wanna see a fucking creep?” His hand shot out to grab your bicep, fingers digging into your skin. You tried to yank your arm back, but he tugged you closer to him, his other hand landing low on your hip.

“Let go,” you demanded, your voice dropping lower in your throat. He smirked, pushing you into the shelf behind you. Panic flooded your mind. “Let go!”

“Awe, poor thing. Should’ve thought about that before you insulted me.” You struggled against his grip, stomping your foot on his as tears stung the back of your eyes. “Fucking behave and this will go much easier.”

“Don’t. Please don’t-”

“Oh shut up.”

“What the fuck,” Taehyun appeared by your side, crushing the guy’s wrist in his hand. “Do you think you’re doing?” The guy ripped his arm away, glaring at Taehyun as he hid you behind him.

“Ow, fuck! Are you insane?! You could’ve broken my goddamn wrist,” he was close to shouting at this point. You silently hoped an employee would hear and kick him out.

“That was the point, dumbass,” he glared at the stranger, literally looking down at him. You pressed closer to Taehyun, resting your forehead between his shoulder blades and gripping his shirt with shaky hands. He could feel you trembling against his back. His anger flared, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Taehyun’s hand dropped to your hip, his touch reassuring and his thumb brushing away the lingering feeling of the strange man’s fingers.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man sarcastically apologized. “I didn’t realize there was a line. Her pussy’s that good, huh?” Taehyun inhaled sharply.

“I am giving you five fucking seconds to walk away,” he seethed. If looks could kill, this guy would be dead ten times over.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll break your goddamn fingers.” You knew that Taehyun was protective of his friends, especially you, but you’ve never heard him threaten someone like that.

“Try me, asshole.” Your panic spiked again when the guy took a step towards you. Taehyun went rigid, fist curling at his side. There was a very real possibility of him beating the shit out of this guy. As satisfying as that would be, you really didn’t want to have to bail him out of jail. So you wrapped your arms around his middle, hands resting on his stomach.

“Tae, please,” you whimpered into his shirt. This seemed to knock him back to reality. He took a shaky breath, moving his free hand to rest on yours.

“Man, she’s got you whipped. What happened to all that big talk, hot-shot?” This guy just didn’t know when to stop.

“Excuse me, is there an issue over here?” An employee asked from the end of the shelves. “I’ve had other customers complain about shouting.”

“Yes, actually. This man harassed and put his hands on my friend,” Taehyun told the employee. She sighed, turning to him with the most unimpressed expression on her face.

“Sir, leave them alone or I’ll be forced to remove you from the store,” she stated, tilting her head at him.

“Whatever,” he scoffed and walked away, hands shoved in his pockets, the employee following behind him. Once he was out of sight, Taehyun relaxed and spun around to hold your face in his hands.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry I left you alone,” he scanned your body for injuries, stopping at the bruises forming on your arm.

“I’m okay, just a bit shaken up.” His lips pressed into a thin line as he brushed his thumb across your cheek. He quickly kissed the crown of your head before turning his attention back to the books, linking your pinky with his as you ignored the butterflies that erupted in your stomach.

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ro-is-struggling · 19 days ago

Text

His || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: Geralt takes pity on a family of farmers in an isolated village surrounded by misfortune. After saving them from the clutches of a beast, the head of the family proposes to pay the witcher for his services by offering him the hand of his only daughter in marriage. He does not want to accept it at first —the life of a witcher was incompatible with the concept of marriage—, but after getting to know the young lady better and understanding the cruel fate that awaited her if he did not intervene, Geralt feels the need to protect her

Warnings: fem!reader, arranged marriage (kinda), protective and possessive Geralt (let’s gooo), a bit of angst, mentions of scars (both Geralt’s and the reader’s), fluff, SMUT MINORS DNI, inexperienced reader, loss of virginity (not realistic), porn with feelings (or at least I tried), porn with plot, penetrative sex, possessive Geralt (yes, again), size kink, fingering, creampie, my obsession with Geralt’s thighs, pet names (dove), let me know if a forgot anything!!

English is not my first language

Word count: 23.200 (I had fun, okay?)

Note: this fic is probably very inaccurate regarding the life of a farmer and the traditions of marriage in the witcher universe/medieval times, but if I researched that in depth this fic would never have seen the light of day lol I hope you don't mind.

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Geralt of Rivia was not known for working for free. Like all witchers, he made a living using the skills that had been instilled in him, killing monsters for a price and ridding the continent of evil beings. It was a noble cause, a tough job that someone had to do to ensure the welfare of the population. But that was all it was, just a job. He had learned the hard way that he was no hero or knight in shining armor. People didn't see him that way anyway, so it was stupid of him to try to be something he was not. His skills were not to be wasted on saving helpless women on the side of the road or on charity work, that much was clear to him. The people he saved were not going to give him recognition. They were not going to shower him with gifts and sing songs about his heroic deeds as they did with knights returning from battle because he was not a hero. People tended to see witchers as mutated freaks, but they recognized that, from time to time, they had a use for them. So he —and all of his kind— had to make sure to charge well for his services since that was the only thing people were willing to give him in return for his efforts. So Geralt did not work for free.

That's why when the residents of a small town he was passing through approached him for help he had to turn them down. They were troubled by disappearances and strange, brutal deaths that they could not explain. Some swore they saw a creature prowling in the night, growling and howling as it searched for its next victim, but no one knew what it was. However, the small town of farmers and craftsmen was not going through a good time financially speaking. A combination of bad weather and a plague had ruined the crops, so they didn't have much money to spend.

“If you want gold you should go talk to Lord Veldren, he's taking from us what little we have,” was the answer Geralt was usually given when the subject of payment came up in conversation. It was nothing he had not heard before, nobles who did not tighten the pockets of their people were few. But there was a pain in the eyes of the villagers, an anger in their voices as they spoke, that caught Geralt's attention. He wondered what kind of things this Lord Veldren would do to evoke such a reaction in the people.

There was one particular family of farmers that caught his attention. A weeping woman begged for the life of her eldest son who had been taken by the beast. According to her tales, the people, tired of being harassed and intimidated by the creature, organized to do the work that their Lord refused to do. The bravest and most skilled men of all the families went out to hunt it under the light of the full moon and that was the last time they were seen alive. Parts of the remains were still turning up around the village and discovered lost among the crops, although damaged beyond recognition. Many of the families did not have a body to bury and that was part of the reason they were all so shaken. They had lost husbands, sons, friends and protectors that night and it had all been for nothing.

The woman wept in the arms of her husband who did his best to contain her, but even he was unable to hide the sadness that overwhelmed him. There was something in her grief that struck a chord deep inside Geralt. He couldn't explain why, but he didn't feel right going through town and leaving them behind with their suffering. So, as they had no money to pay for his services, he took the villagers' concerns directly to Lord Veldren. They had told him that he was aware of the problem, but had no desire to do anything about it. But maybe things would be different now that Geralt was there. Maybe the Lord's whole problem was that he didn't want to get his hands dirty and would rather let his people die than risk his own skin. But now that the witcher was there to do his dirty work for him maybe his predisposition would be different.

No one in the village had much faith that it would work, but they showed Geralt how to get to him. Some even walked with him, taking advantage of the moment to tell him as much detail as they could about the danger they were in. Some of their stories the witcher could attribute to the collective panic that had taken hold of the town since some of them were things that he, in all his years of experience, had never heard of. But others helped him compile a list of possible responsible creatures, which grew smaller and smaller with each story he heard.

When he reached his destination, Geralt wished he had listened to the villagers' warnings. He knew his share of rude and unwise nobles, but none compared to Lord Veldren. He barely looked at him for the entirety of their meeting —which was not long— as if to lay eyes on him was a privilege the witcher did not deserve. Nor did he let him speak for long, barely getting as far as presenting the problem before Lord Veldren was shooing him away with an expression of disinterest on his face.

“It's interesting that you're the one presenting the problem,” he said in an accusatory tone when Geralt insisted on the danger to the villagers. “You're a witcher who kills beasts for a living. All you want is to fill your pockets with MY riches.”

“You, my Lord, surely must know that this problem has existed long before I passed through your lands.” Geralt spat through gritted teeth, clinging to what little thread of patience he had left. “You must have noticed that your people are dying at an alarmingly rapid rate.”

“There have been pests affecting the crops, probably bringing disease. It's being taken care of, not that I owe you any kind of explanation.” The disdain in Veldren's voice was evident which made Geralt's blood boil.

“It's a werewolf. And it's not going to stop until someone makes it stop. If you don't do something, your people will keep dying.”

“Why don't you let me worry about my people, witcher. You go find some other fool to steal their riches from. My people are fine.”

“That's not what the corpses piling up next to the dead crops say.”

“There are always more people. Nothing is lost that can't be replaced. Now you get out of here and don't come back or you'll regret the consequences.”

Geralt didn't stay to argue with Lord Veldren for another second, he knew it was a waste of time. He was not going to change his mind and was willing to let his people die just so he wouldn't have to back down. However, Geralt had changed his mind after their short conversation. The moment he turned around he knew he would return to the village to help the farmers free of charge. Not only because it was the right thing to do, but also because he knew that it would piss Veldren off more than anything. Geralt was not afraid of retaliation. He had no issue with avoiding that town in the future should he be banished. He liked to take the long way around anyway.

Geralt stumbled into the modest hut of the family of the farmer whose eldest son had died trying to protect his people. They had offered to give him food and shelter while he prepared for the fight with the beast, and a place to rest after the task was complete. So once he was sure the monster was dead, he set out on his way back to their farm.

The older woman ran to him when she saw his condition. He was bloody and beaten. The beast had put up a good fight, but had ultimately failed to withstand the courage of the witcher and his silver sword. However, it had left Geralt with a fair amount of wounds, nothing that wouldn't heal with some rest, but serious enough to scare the poor woman as she saw him come through the door. She and one of her sons helped him sit up, while her husband, at her request, went to get some water —both for him to drink and to clean his wounds.

“It's done.” Geralt said as he finally allowed himself to relax.

The woman let out an exclamation of relief, passing him a glass of water as she mumbled something to herself. He couldn't catch it all, but from what he could make out she was speaking to her son's spirit, asking him to be at peace now that his family was safe. It was then that Geralt remembered the discovery he had made in his search for the beast. With some pain he brought his hand to his neck and tugged at one of the two chains around his neck. He took the woman's hand before she could move away from him and placed the object he knew belonged to her son in her palm. The woman looked at him in confusion until her eyes lowered to her hand and met the medallion resting in it.

“I believe this belongs to you.” Geralt spoke in a soft tone as he saw the tears beginning to roll down the woman's cheeks. He had found the medallion among bloody and rotting remains and knew immediately that he was in front of what was left of the son of the couple because his father wore the same necklace around his neck.

In tears the woman thanked him, repeating the words over and over again as she clutched the chain in her hand and held it to her chest at the level of her heart. She hugged her husband, who held her close and repeated the same praises to the witcher. Since they had no body to bury, retrieving such a significant object from their son was the next best thing to finding some sort of closure. It was something of his to remember him by and honor him for his bravery. It put an end to any doubt fueled by hope and allowed them to move on with their lives.

“I don't know how we can ever repay you.” The man spoke with tears in his eyes.

“I don't need anything. The shelter and food you provided me so far is payment enough.”

“You have given us too much, more than we could ask for. I cannot let this debt go unpaid.” The man insisted, his prideful side coming out. “We are not a family of great wealth, but we have honor. Integrity and the value of our word is all we have. I cannot offer you gold, but I can give you the hand of my only daughter in marriage.”

Geralt's eyes shot upward, momentarily forgetting the leg wound he was studying to look the farmer in the eye. “I didn't do this to get something in return. You don't have to offer me anything.”

“Please, witcher, I'm afraid I must insist. I could not go through life knowing that I owe such a great debt. You have not only saved my family, you have avenged my son's death and brought him home. I cannot allow you to leave this house empty-handed.”

“I assure you that our daughter is well educated in the arts of being a homemaker.” The woman interjected, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “She has a perfect understanding of how to build and care for a home and a husband. She's been helping me since I was a little girl in preparation for this moment.”

Geralt didn't know how to explain to the sweet couple that he wasn't looking for a wife. Witchers were destined to live solitary lives. Their life mission was not compatible with a family. They had been strategically designed not to be able to leave offspring and no woman would want to be with such a man. The only family they had were the fellow witchers, with whom they met every winter to rest, replenish elixirs and exchange stories of the road. They led dangerous and transient lives, plagued by monsters and uncertainty. There was no place for love or relationships, much less with human women that were not trained in the combat of evil.

“I'm sure that's the case,” Geralt cleared his throat as he searched for the right words to explain the reason for his rejection. “But I'm afraid my life is not compatible with married life.”

“Please, if you won't take her it's only a matter of time until Lord Veldren does.” The woman insisted, desperation evident in her voice. “I know that may sound like a good thing to many people, but not to us. He is an evil man and I would rather my family perish than have to give my daughter to him.”

“I–”

“I can be of service to you.” The sound of a soft, sweet voice echoed in the distance. Geralt followed it, and it was then that his eyes collided with the figure of a young woman emerging from the stairs.

The first thing Geralt noticed, besides your beauty, was the resemblance you bore to your mother. Seeing the two of you side by side was like holding a mirror up to the past. Your features, although modified by the passage of time in the case of your mother, were almost the same. You had the same cheekbones and the same smile, although you differed in one aspect: your eyes. Although they were sweet like your mother's, they were charged with a bravery and ferocity that the older woman did not have. You held his gaze at all times, holding your head high in a proud manner. Your attitude caught Geralt's attention immediately since you were not at all what he expected. He had heard the family speak of you from time to time, but the image he had created in his mind about you from such tales was nothing like the person who was staring back at him at that very moment.

“I have spent most of my days accompanying the village healer, so I can heal your wounds after your battles.” You spoke once again. The politeness in your voice and the smoothness of your movements contradicted the fire in your eyes, which only added to Geralt's curiosity. “If you don't mind, I could show you my skills right now so you can see that I'm not lying.”

Geralt remained silent, but motioned for you to proceed. You walked towards him with a firm step, clutching in your hands the leather bag where you kept ointments, herbs and other medicinal items. You settled on a chair in front of him and after receiving his consent once again, you very carefully examined some of the cuts he had on his arms and face. It was nothing too serious, they just needed a cleaning and perhaps the help of some ointments to treat the irritated skin. Only one cut on his shoulder seemed to need stitches and maybe one on his leg as well. It was nothing you hadn't already dealt with, so you would have no problem treating it and demonstrating your skills.

You asked your family for some space to work and they kindly left you the room to be alone with Geralt. Only then you began to clean his wounds, carefully wiping his skin with a wet cloth to remove the blood and dirt from the irritated areas. He watched you work in silence, admiring you with a puzzled expression. You intrigued him in a way that no human had done for a long time. He was waiting patiently for the moment when you decided to talk to him and slowly reveal a little more about yourself so he could understand what it was about you that he found so intriguing.

“You don't have to do this.” Geralt broke the silence after a few minutes of waiting to hear your voice. “It'll probably be healed by morning.”

“The witcher genes, I know... but a little help can't hurt, right?” You gave him a smile and when you looked up to meet his gaze, he noticed that the fire in your eyes had softened, mixed with a hint of sweetness.

“You don't have to prove anything to me. I don't need any payment for my work.”

“My father is a very proud man, Geralt. He will not be comfortable letting you go without payment for your services.”

“And I will not be comfortable dragging a young woman like you into the life of a witcher.” He placed his hand over yours to force you to stop your actions and draw your attention to his face. Your hand was trapped between his leg and the touch of his calloused fingers. “Life on the road is not one for a beautiful lady such as you. And I am not a man worthy of marriage.”

Geralt's voice was soft as he spoke, he wanted to make sure he didn't hurt you with his rejection. There was nothing wrong with you and he was sure that someday you would find a good man worthy of your hand. But he was not that man. He was not husband material and his life was not compatible with marriage. Perhaps if things had been different and Vesemir had not found him he could have had a taste of that life. But the mission to eradicate the monsters on the continent had been entrusted to him and he couldn't turn it down for a woman, no matter how much he wanted to.

“You must forgive me,” you muttered, feeling small under the witcher's intense gaze. You released your hand from his grip and hurried to grab the items needed to close the wound on his leg. “I was the one who put that idea in my father's mind. I figured it was an easy way out...not many men would refuse such a payment, but I guess I was wrong.” You gave him a shy smile before lowering your gaze to his leg once more to begin stitching the skin together with thread and needle. He didn't even flinch as the metal pierced him and you wondered how high was the level of pain tolerance of people like him.

“Lord Veldren, huh?” You knew from the tone he used when he spoke that Geralt understood the predicament you were in.

“He's quite a character, isn't he?” you let out a frustrated sigh. “He's made his interest in me pretty clear, but he knows it's not reciprocated, so he's been harassing my family to make sure he gets what he wants. Times are tough and he's not making it any easier. He's been creating ridiculous rules to raise taxes, chasing my brothers around town, sending me letters and gifts in hopes of winning me over... He's trying to back us into a corner. It is only a matter of time until we are forced to leave our lands or... I am forced to accept his proposal.”

After securing the last stitch, you spread some of the antibacterial ointment the village healer had taught you to prepare on the skin of his thigh. Your movements were slow and gentle even though you were pretty sure that Geralt wouldn't feel much pain if it were different. And once that wound was healed, you then moved over to the cut on his shoulder. You drew your chair a little closer to him so that you could reach the area more comfortably, and asked his permission to pull his shirt up. You felt your face heat up as you watched his fingers work on the buttons to expose his chest and allow you to work more comfortably. You tried to focus your gaze on his wound and only his wound, although you were a little distracted by counting the scars that adorned the skin of his chest.

“Why do you think he's so interested in you?” The question escaped Geralt's lips before he could stop himself. It was in no way a comment on you as a person. Your beauty alone was reason enough to justify any man's interest in taking your hand. But he had to admit that it was unusual for a man of nobility to seek to court a farm girl, much less someone like Lord Veldren. He was someone who craved power and wealth, so it would make much more sense for him to seek to marry someone of his own social standing.

“Because he is insecure and he loves nothing more than making people feel small to aggrandize his figure.” You said as if it were obvious, letting out a dry chuckle as your fingers delicately traced the irritated skin of the witcher's shoulder.

Geralt couldn't help but agree with you. The few minutes he shared with Lord Veldren were enough to recognize that his ego was probably bigger than his riches.

“He inherited the title unexpectedly.” You continued to explain as you carefully secured the first stitch over the wound. Geralt did not utter a single complaint, but you still treated him with the tenderness you would treat any normal person. Just because he was used to blood and pain didn't mean he didn't deserve a soft, tender touch now and then. Especially after he had risked his life to save yours and that of your entire village. And as you worked you explained to him what you knew about Lord Veldren's history.

He had only come to the village after a long search for extended family members of Lord Eldrake, who perished with his son in a tragic hunting accident. He was a distant cousin who lived far away not only physically, but also metaphorically. Veldren had grown up far removed from the riches and customs of the nobility, which showed in the way he imposed his power. He was not wise or cultured, he did not have good manners or a proper grasp of protocols. He only cared about himself, his new found power, and increasing his wealth with no regard for who he hurt along the way. Since he had arrived he had done nothing but squeeze every coin he could from the people, leaving them with just enough to survive. And his hand did not tremble when it came to punishing those who voiced their complaints.

Lord Veldren was a horrible man who was not prepared to fill the role that had fallen into his hands in a stroke of luck. And for you there laid the reason for his interest in you. Marrying into a noble family would mean exposing his incompetence. For now, as things stood, he was completely on his own to do and dispose as he wished, but marrying a noblewoman would mean being challenged. And his ego would not be able to tolerate such a thing. You, on the other hand, were someone he could easily manipulate to please. He held your family's future in his hands and he knew very well that you knew it. He was using them to get to you and it was clear that he would continue to do so to keep you under his control. Lord Veldren was obsessed with you not because of your beauty or your ability to maintain a home —as he often said in his letters— but because you did not present a threat to his ego.

“I know marrying a nobleman coming from a peasant family sounds like a dream come true, but it's not for me.” You muttered sadly as you finished bandaging the witcher's wound. “I always dreamed of marrying for love... but now I don't think that's possible. That's why I thought you were a good candidate. You are honorable and protective, he wouldn't come after you. You could take me away from here or be enough of a threat to force Lord Veldren to leave me alone.”

Geralt could feel your sadness just by looking into your eyes. A light shone in your eyes at the mention of love, the hope of having the life you wanted still alive somewhere in you. However, he had to watch it die quickly, crushed by the devastating reality in which you lived. It was a sad thing to see, but there was nothing he could do to help you. With a bit of luck on your side maybe he could get Lord Veldren to forget about you, but that was far from being the solution to the problem. You would still be trapped in a life you didn't want, married to someone you didn't love. Accepting your hand in marriage as payment for his services would only change the face of your misfortune. He could save your family, but he would become the executioner condemning you to a future of unhappiness. And he was not willing to be such a thing. It was none of his business whether or not to save the lives of maidens who were being threatened by monsters not born of magic. It never ended well and Geralt had no doubt that this would be no exception. Married or unmarried, happy or unhappy, it shouldn't matter to him because he had no reason to interfere.

“Marrying me wouldn't change things. You would only be tying yourself to a different kind of miserable future with a man you don't love. There is still time, you can still find love.”

The last thing Geralt wanted was to hurt you with his rejection. You and your family had been through a lot and he didn't want you to worry thinking that there was something wrong with you that led him to refuse such payment for his services. He knew that you would make an excellent wife someday and that was exactly why he could not take your hand. You deserved to marry for love, as you so desperately wanted, and live a good life with a man who deserved you. And unfortunately he was not that man.

“I'd rather it be you than him.” You looked at him with wide eyes full of despair. “My time is up. You are my last chance to escape him.”

“You must understand that my life is no life for a married man.” Geralt reached for your hand. He took it between his own, his thumb caressing your smooth skin with small circular motions in the hope that it would help soften the blow of his rejection. Your eyes focused on his grip for a moment, admiring the way his hands completely enveloped yours making you feel small and insignificant next to him. Looking up you met a pair of amber eyes that looked at you full of softness in them. “I live on the road, traveling from place to place in search of dangerous beasts. That's no place for a sweet woman like you.”

“I am not a porcelain doll that must be carefully cared for to keep from shattering. I can travel with you. I have traveled many times in my life, even accompanied my brothers on hunting trips. I know how to handle myself in the wilderness.”

“Being a witcher is not like hunting a deer. It's dangerous, especially for untrained humans. You can get seriously hurt if you travel with me.”

“Then you can marry me and go on with your journey!” you raised your voice, feeling frustrated with Geralt's excuses. You pulled your hand away from his suddenly, putting distance between the two of you.

He didn't understand. How could he? He had nothing to fear. He was a fierce witcher who had faced who knows how many beasts in his life and emerged victorious. He would never understand the guilt that ate at you as you watched your family struggling to make ends meet knowing it was your fault. He would never understand the fear of being trapped in a future without love or hope, forced to be the object of desire of a cruel and evil man. Geralt was strong and powerful to the point that you doubted he had ever felt small and helpless, so of course he would not be able to understand your despair.

“You would not have to see me again if you so desired. You could leave right after the ceremony and never come back if that's what you wanted, I don't care. All I need is a ring on my finger that will keep Veldren away from me and my family.”

“And you'll be condemned to live married to a ghost?”

“If that's what it takes! I'm willing to live a life of solitude if it means my family is safe... it beats being the object of desire of the most disgusting man I've ever met.”

From the look Geralt gave you, you know that he feels sorry for you. You can read in his eyes how bad he feels for you, how sad he finds your words and even the relief he feels knowing that he will never be subjected to a similar situation. And you hated it almost as much as you hated having to cry and beg him to agree to marry you. It was embarrassing and humiliating, but it was your last resort. Marrying Geralt was the best possible way out of your predicament. If he didn't want to share his life with you he could easily leave and not come back and it still wouldn't be suspicious given what he did for a living. You would have to stage things from time to time to keep up appearances over time, but even so you doubted that Veldren would dare to challenge someone with Geralt's reputation. You'd be doomed to a life without love, but at least you'd be free.

“I know I'm asking a lot.” Your voice broke the silence that fell over the room. It was softer this time, a reflection of the effort you were making to quiet your frustrations. After all, it wasn't Geralt's fault that you were trapped in this situation and he had every right to refuse to accept your hand as payment. You hoped you could appeal to his kindness. “I just want you to think about it. You don't have to decide anything now. You can stay here for as long as you need to get back on your feet, we'll provide shelter and food no matter what you decide. It's the least we can do after all you've done for us. I just... You are my last hope to escape from him, so please think about it. Please know that I am willing to be a good wife and serve you in any way you see fit, or give you the freedom to move on with your life if you wish. Nothing would change for you as I understand from your words that you do not intend to marry in the near future, but you would be improving my life.”

Geralt remained silent watching you disappear up the stairs as he seriously considered your last words.

The more time Geralt spent with you and your family, the less confident he became in his decision. He initially intended to spend only a couple of days with you, just enough time for him and Roach to rest after the long and tumultuous journey they had made to get there. But the more time he spent at your home, the more difficult it became for him to leave you.

It was one thing to hear them talk about the hardships they were going through because of Lord Veldren, but it was very different to see it happen with his own eyes. In the short time that Geralt had been living with you the tax collector had passed by your home multiple times, always with a new complaint and a threat to go with it. There was no doubt that Veldren was the one behind it. They were, for the most part, empty threats designed to pressure them, but they were no less effective for that. They knew he wasn't really going to evict or imprison them because if he did it was game over. Ultimately, what Veldren wanted was not to make an example of your family, but to force you to give in to his demands. However, they were all well aware that it was only a matter of time before he got tired and decided to deliver on his threats. So they woke up every morning fearing that this was the day he would finally decide he had had enough and leave them in ruins over a mere whim.

Geralt tried to help them in any way he could. He had offered to help with the harvest and had even gone hunting a couple of times to save them from having to go to the market for food. However, they were a very proud family who were treating him as an honored guest so he was not allowed to do much. He found that the best way to contribute to them was to collect some favors from the people in town. Everyone talked about him as if he was a hero. They would greet him in the street and thank him for his work. They sought him out to hear his stories and composed songs about what he had done that night. Being the town hero, many people found that the best way to thank him for his bravery —since they had no coin to pay him— was to give him some of what he produced. In this way he was able to provide your family with a varied catalog of things ranging from fur coats to cattle for slaughter.

Geralt knew that what he was doing was wrong. He was getting too attached to your family, making things personal. He would be lying if he said his hatred for Veldren hadn't grown in the last few days. More than once he had thought of sneaking into his home to end his life and finish the suffering of your family and the whole town. But that was wrong. He was not supposed to intervene in mundane matters between humans. His mission was very simple: to eradicate evil beings born of magic. Human affairs —politics, war, even love— were not his concern.

He knew he had to leave before things got worse, but he didn't want to face what would come with his departure. He didn't want to face you and say goodbye forever because he was no longer completely sure that was the best option. In the last few days he had spent quite a bit of time with you. He noticed that you didn't leave the house much so he took advantage of the time to get to know you better. He thought it would help him stand firm in his decision, but it had done nothing but show him what a sweet and brave woman you were. A woman who didn't deserve to spend the rest of her life next to that disgusting man Veldren.

The words you had said to him that night always echoed in his mind before he fell asleep. The voice of reason told him that it was ridiculous to even consider the idea of taking your hand in marriage. Witchers were not meant to settle down and marry. Besides, accepting your proposal would, at best, condemn you to a life of misery —or an early death at worst. And yet, there was always this voice in the back of his mind. It wasn't powerful, but it would present itself just as he was about to fall asleep. It was the last thing he thought about at night and the first thing he remembered in the morning. That voice that said, “What if you tried? And one day, as he admired the way you groomed and cared for Roach in the barn, he seriously considered listening to that voice in his mind. And that's when he knew it was time to leave.

He decided to do it at night, after the family had gone to bed. It was not the honorable thing to do, but it was the only option that would allow him to get out of there without altering his life forever. Geralt was afraid to face you. He was afraid to look you in the eye and not be able to reject you. He was afraid to say goodbye and feel the weight of guilt increase with every step he took. Guilt for sealing your fate. Guilt for leaving you no choice but to surrender yourself to Lord Veldren's arms for the rest of your life. He kept telling himself that he was not to blame for any of it, that it was not his duty to intervene to fix anyone's life, but he believed it less and less with each passing day. So he gathered his things, took Roach from the stable and set off on his way out of town with the darkness of the night as his ally.

However, fate seemed to have other plans for him.

Geralt walked at a slow pace alongside Roach. The road leading out of town, which normally had people coming and going, was quiet. All that could be heard were Roach's footsteps in the dirt and the sound of the river flowing peacefully. It was a beautiful sight, the moonlight, the trees and flowers painted in the crystal reflection of the water creating a composition worthy of admiration. However, his eyes lost interest in such a beautiful sight when they came across the figure of a woman dipping her feet in the riverbank. She was humming under her breath, the sound traveling to his ears on the night breeze. He knew then that it was not just any young woman there, but the one he was trying to avoid.

He found it strange that you were there alone. It was late and the last he had heard you say was that you were retiring to rest. He hadn't heard you sneaking out of the house and neither did he understand why you were doing it. In the time Geralt had spent there, he noticed that you didn't get out of the house much, not even to stroll through the market like most of the women seemed to do in this town. You spent your time tending the crops and caring for the few animals they had. He had assumed that it was because you enjoyed the warmth of your home, but now he was beginning to doubt it. You looked so free and happy as you walked along the riverbank, the ruffles on your dress blowing in the wind, the fabric clinging to your body. Amused laughter escaped your lips every time the water made contact with your skin, splashing with joy and wetting the hem of your dress.

The woman who stood before him was totally different from the one Geralt knew. He had never seen you like this, so... free and full of life. You looked almost ethereal dancing in the moonlight, accompanied by the chirping of crickets and the splashing of water beneath your feet. A peak of glowing light that pulled him to you like flames to moths. Roach protested when he went out of his way to approach you, but Geralt ignored her. He pulled on the reins lightly to force the horse to move and knotted them in a tree to make sure she didn't escape.

“What are you doing out here alone?”

Geralt's voice startled you. You turned your head to look at him, feeling embarrassed at being caught acting foolish thinking you were alone. There was no mockery in his expression, but your cheeks warmed anyway. What you did notice in his gaze was a hint of guilt that you only understood when you saw Roach waiting for him a couple of feet away.

“You're leaving...” You muttered with a bit of sadness in your voice. He was sneaking away, under the darkness of the night and without saying goodbye to anyone. And that could only mean one thing: he was rejecting your father's offer.

“You shouldn't be here alone so late.” Geralt decided to ignore you since it was the easiest thing to do. He wasn't proud of what he was doing, but he knew it was for the best.

“This is honestly safer than going out in the daytime.” You shrugged, moving away from the water to sit on the shore. You buried your wet feet in the dirt, feeling the small grains slipping through your toes as you wiggled them. “I used to love visiting the market with my mother and playing with the children in the town square... but I can't do that anymore without being watched by Veldren's men... sometimes even he shows up himself... So I stopped going. I focused on my home, on helping my family as much as I could... And I slowly stopped going out, stopped socializing with people other than my immediate neighbors. I thought that maybe if he stopped seeing me so often he would get bored of me and focus his attention on another young girl... but now I'm not so sure that's going to happen.”

You wrapped your arms around your knees, making yourself small as you thought of all you had lost because of that man. And you wondered how much more you had to lose. Your freedom and happiness didn't seem to be enough. Your family and your land were still on the line, and if you ended up accepting his proposal, so was your ability to decide about your own future. It wasn't fair.

Geralt looked down at you for a moment, admiring the way the moonlight reflected on your face. It added a layer of sadness to your expression, a vulnerability he hadn't seen in you before. You looked like a doll made of porcelain, fragile and beautiful, in need of care and protection. He felt the need to hold you, but restrained himself. Instead, he sat by your side offering you a friendly ear to listen to your misfortunes.

“Night is the only time I can be free. The moon is my only friend, the faithful confidant of all my secrets.” You went on, your eyes lost in the movement of the water. “I can escape the four-walled prison and wander around the village, enjoy the scenery and the fresh air without being watched and having every step I take reported back to him.” There was poison in your voice at the mention of Lord Veldren and you hadn't even said his name. “I suppose I have you to thank for that too... The night was no longer safe, but you gave me back my freedom by slaying that beast.”

You turned to look at him and Geralt noticed the tears pooling in your eyes. They glistened under the moonlight just like the water of the lake reflected it, highlighting the beautiful color of your eyes. They threatened to escape, but out of sheer determination you were able to hold them in place. You were not going to let the last image he had of you be of your crying face. You didn't want to cause him to feel sorry for you. You didn't want him to think it was a trick to get him to stay. He had done enough for you and your family, you couldn't ask him for anything more.

“I wish you the best of luck in your life, Geralt, and I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you... You must leave this place knowing that you helped a lot of people, myself included.” You gave him a smile, a subtle way of letting him know you agreed with his decision. “Although I'm not going to lie to you, I would like to see you again...only perhaps under less tragic circumstances.”

“I'm afraid tragic circumstances are my specialty.” The corner of his lips curved slightly into a sad smile, his gaze momentarily lost, and you wondered what thoughts might be going through his head. “But I'd like to make my way back here someday.”

“You will always be welcome in this town...and you will always have a place to stay. My family and I aren't going anywhere.”

You reached out a hand toward Geralt, daring to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen over his face and obstructed your view of his eyes. You had always found the yellowish hue in them mesmerizing, but somehow they looked even more beautiful under the moonlight. Perhaps it was the lack of light, but you felt they shone with a different intensity. It was like looking directly into the sun, beautiful but painful.

You let your fingers run down his temple until they reached his cheek, gently caressing one of the cuts you had helped him heal. It was nothing more than a line, just a shade lighter than the color of his skin, almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know it was there, but you still felt it under your fingertips. You were going to miss him. You had grown accustomed to his presence in your home and you would be lying if you said you didn't like what you had learned about him. He was nothing like what people used to say about witchers, maybe a little quiet and grumpy, yes, but he was a noble and kind hearted man. He deserved to have a good life and you hoped he would find it beyond the borders of your town.

In that simple exchange of glances Geralt was able to read in your eyes the true meaning of your words. He saw the resignation and sadness hidden behind them, the courage and strength that he had noticed the first time he saw you. He understood then that you were willing to do anything to protect your family and that you were not going to let anyone or anything break you. It was inspiring, but tragic. The need to protect you grew stronger inside him, every fiber of his being asking him to stop you.

When you removed your hand from his face, Geralt met it halfway, holding it back so you couldn't move it too far away. Your gaze lowered, eyebrows slightly furrowed as you admired his fingers intertwined with yours. When your eyes met the shine of his again, you noticed that he had leaned toward you. There was something in his eyes that you couldn't quite decipher, but that captivated you nevertheless. And suddenly, without even realizing what you were doing, you began to lean towards him as well.

It felt like you were in a trance, being pulled towards Geralt by some kind of magic hidden in his eyes. The air caught in your throat as you felt his nose brush against yours. Your heart raced as his gaze lowered to your mouth, lips parting instinctively, responding to his proximity. Geralt's half-open eyes met yours once again, looking at you with a clear question written in them. And you answered it the only way you could while trapped under that mesmerizing amber glow, pressing your lips against his.

It was a soft but quick kiss. Your lips barely pressed against Geralt's, moving with both hesitation and curiosity to explore the taste of his mouth. You were being cautious, like when you tested the temperature of the water in the lake with your fingers before diving in. You were dipping your toes into the turbulent ocean of uncertainty that was Geralt to see how far you could go.

You pulled away from him after a few seconds, feeling embarrassed by your boldness and how much you were enjoying feeling the caress of his lips on yours. However, Geralt didn't let you pull away too far. His hand came up to your jaw, gripping the side of your face gently to hold you in place. His calloused fingers awakened a warm tingling under your skin, managing to slightly accelerate your heartbeat. His breath mingled with yours and his eyes looked at you with a softness you hadn't noticed in them before.

Geralt could feel the change in your breathing and sense the quickening of your heart in the veins of your neck filled with anticipation. He tried to resist your charms, but you looked at him with pleading eyes. Your tongue peeked between your parted lips, wetting your lower lip in an act of clear temptation. And he understood then that he was not as strong as he thought he was. He gave in to your silent pleas, joining his lips with yours again, though this time in a kiss charged with trust and desperation.

And in that moment, joined only by the moonlight and the chirping of crickets in the night, you both felt a spark. A connection with each other that you had never experienced before with another person. Your lips moved desperately, your hands clung to any part of exposed skin you could touch without crossing a line. You tangled your fingers in Geralt's long white hair, losing yourself in the warmth of his body. His right hand found its place on your cheek, using the advantage to move your head in the direction required to deepen the kiss. His other hand clung to your back, pressing you against his body until there was no more space separating the two of you.

You moaned as he sucked on your lower lip and the sound, though music to Geralt's ears, alerted him to what you were doing. He carefully pulled away from you, making a great effort to ignore your protests.

“We can't do this,” he whispered between gasps. “Not this way.”

“Yes we can...there's no one around to judge us. No one has to know.” You pushed your lips against Geralt's once more and he gave in for a moment before pulling away again. This time instead of whining you simply turned your attention to his neck, planting soft kisses down the column of his throat. If he wasn't going to make you his wife, he could at least treat you to a night of intimacy. That way at least you could choose the first man to give your body to.

“We should wait... for the wedding night.”

You stopped your actions as soon as you managed to process his words. Your head jumped up to look into his eyes, searching his expression for confirmation that you had heard correctly.

“That means...?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “And we're going to do this right.”

Your eyes lit up with joy and hope, looking at Geralt with the admiration with which one looks at a knight returning after winning a great battle. You jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. You didn't know if he realized it, but he had just saved your life. And no matter how things turned out after your wedding, you would always be grateful to him for that.

The news was announced to your parents first thing in the morning and from that point on, preparations for the wedding didn't stop. It wasn't going to be a big event, just a ceremony with the close family to formalize the union. And you wanted it to be as quick as possible, not only to avoid delaying Geralt's departure for longer, but also because rumors of his heroic deeds had reached Lord Veldren's ears and you knew that couldn't be a good thing. The sooner you were married, the better it would be for everyone.

Your mother took on the responsibility of arranging everything, sending your father and brothers to get food and fabrics and the paperwork as well as the clergy's approval to perform the ceremony. And when she wasn't tidying the house or preparing floral arrangements, she took time to talk to you about marriage and what you could expect after the papers were signed. She spoke from her own experience and it was beautiful to see her eyes sparkle as she recalled her past, the happiness of the first moments of her marriage with your father and the arrival of her children into her life. But, as nice as it sounded, you weren't sure that was your destiny.

“You shouldn't get your hopes up so high, mother.” You sighed, watching her brush and fix your hair through the reflection of the mirror you were sitting in front of. In addition to arranging the ceremony, your mother had taken on the responsibility of helping you get ready for your big day. “I don't think that's the future that awaits me when I marry Geralt. He's just doing it as a favor.”

“You don't know that, honey. True love may still be in your destiny... You wouldn't be the first woman to find it long after the wedding day.” She smiled at you in the mirror before returning her attention to your hair, carefully braiding a strand.

“I don't even know if he'll stay after the deed is done... But that's okay, the whole point of this was to get Lord Veldren off our backs and marrying Geralt can do that, so I'm happy.”

“He can't leave after the ceremony, the marriage must be consummated.”

“Mother!” you let out a high-pitched whine, feeling blood pooling in your cheeks.

“I'm sorry, darling, but you are hours away from becoming a married woman, these are things I need to talk to you about.”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“Your father and I made arrangements to visit your aunt across town for a few days. We'll leave after the ceremony so you two will have time to be alone and... figure out how to move forward. It's important, honey, that you take some time to think about the kind of woman you want to be, the kind of wife you want to be... and show him that he can find support in you, someone to grow together with. That's what a wife should be...what a marriage should be, a safe place you build as a couple. Your safe place.”

Your mother's eyes filled with tears and you immediately rose from your seat to hug her. You cherished every word, every piece of advice and word of encouragement she gave you and had given you in the last few days. Seeing her so emotional brought tears to your eyes as well, and you wanted nothing more than to be able to show her that she had taught you well. You wanted to make her proud of you, to build a marriage that would show everyone who knew you how well she had raised you, but you weren't sure you could do it.

Maybe under normal circumstances it wouldn't seem so far away. But there was nothing normal about the way you had arrived at this moment. You had thrown yourself into the arms of a kind stranger to escape the advances of a powerful but evil man. There was no love or deep connection between you and Geralt, only incompatible lives and mutual respect. There was a spark, the one you felt in your core when his lips touched yours, but you weren't sure it was enough to build a life with him. You supposed time would show you eventually.

“Thank you for everything, mother.” You mumbled through tears as you broke away from her embrace. “I don't know how the future will turn out, but I promise I will try my best every day to make you proud of me.”

“Oh, honey! I'm already proud of you.”

You hugged through sobs one more time until your mother called the moment over, pulling away from you as she wiped away your tears and scolded you for distracting her when you had so much to do. She proceeded to finish fixing your hair, braiding it into a nice half up half down hairstyle. You admired your reflection in the mirror, unable to believe that the woman looking back at you was you. You had never paid so much attention to how you looked so you didn't even know you had the ability to look so well presented.

You were so distracted by your appearance that you didn't notice that your mother had left your quarters until you felt the door close behind her upon her return. She was carrying in her hands a neatly folded piece of green fabric, which you soon discovered was a dress. But not just any dress, but the one she had worn the day she married your father. She handed it to you with tears in her eyes and helped you put it on while she told you how much she had waited for the moment to see you wearing it.

The dress was beautiful and fit you perfectly. The green fabric clung to your body, caressing your natural curves, all the way down to your hips where the skirt became full and flowy. Similarly, the sleeves flared out towards the lower half of your arm and the edges were adorned with golden thread embroidery that your grandmother had made herself for your parents' wedding. Your mother took it upon herself to add detail to the bodice, embroidering delicate flowers with the same thread.

“I always envisioned it this way,” your mother commented as you both admired your reflection in the mirror. “At the time we couldn't afford to add more detail. Your grandmother sewed everything herself to save us some money, but I always imagined something more. When you were born I knew I had to finish it, so that one day I could see it on your wedding day.”

“Mother, thank you! It's... it's beautiful!” And you really believed that. The dress was beautiful and the story and sentiment behind it made it even more special.

Looking in the mirror you noticed that you felt beautiful for the first time in your life. Not that you thought you were ugly before that moment, you just never paid much attention to such things. You admired the beauty of noble women when you were lucky enough to come across one in the market, but it was always like someone admiring a painting or a statue. You admired their elegance and the detail of their dresses. You were puzzled by the perfection of their skins and the strong but delicate scent of their perfumes. You appreciated the intricate beauty of their hairstyles and the grace of their walk. It was a beauty that almost didn't seem real. You thought that you were not capable of it, that such delicacy and femininity was unattainable for someone like you. But looking in the mirror at that moment, you felt for the first time like one of those women, beautiful and elegant.

“I know it's not as pretty as the dress you would be wearing if you were about to marry Lord Veldren, but I'm happy to be able to carry on the tradition. He probably would have given you a much more detailed and expensive gown, made of the finest fabrics to enhance your beauty... but then I could never have seen this finished beauty.” Your mother smiled, smoothing the fabric of the skirt to fit your body properly.

“I'm not so sure about that. Although I do think he wouldn't have let me wear it, I don't think it would be because he wanted to give me something better, but rather to use it as a tool of control and take away the power of making my own decisions on yet another thing in my life.”

“Maybe so, but you shouldn't think about that now. What matters is that you managed to get rid of him and we will be able to keep the tradition going. Hopefully someday you will be able to add something else to the dress and pass it on to your daughter on her wedding day.”

You smiled at your mother, but said nothing. You really doubted that would be possible given the person —and the circumstances— you were marrying, but you didn't have the heart to break it to your mother at that moment. There would be time for that, but right now you wanted to focus on the positive.

Your mother excused herself again, running downstairs to make sure everything was going according to plan. You were left alone with your thoughts once more, your mind full of questions about what the future held for you. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous. Even though you and Geralt didn't share the love you imagined every time you fantasized about your wedding day, it was still quite a nerve-wracking situation. Maybe even more so.

Marrying for love meant getting to know the other person, knowing what they wanted for the future and being certain that you would both work together to make that shared desire come true. But you had none of that with Geralt. You were extremely grateful to him for the decision he had made, but you couldn't help but think that you had no idea what would happen after the ceremony was over. Everything had happened so quickly that you hadn't had time to talk about it. Yes, you had shared a meaningful kiss, but that didn't automatically negate the many reasons he had presented as an argument for not marrying you. At the end of the day, he was still a witcher with a bigger mission and purpose than you and you weren't sure how that was going to affect your marriage.

Would he stay with you and build a life together? Would he leave the next morning, never to return? Would he let you into his life or would he run off into the night without even saying goodbye as he had already tried to do? You were fine with any of those options, after all, they all fulfilled your true goal of getting Lord Veldren out of your life. But you would still like to know beforehand what his choice was going to be so you would know what to expect.

The ceremony was quick. There were no special guests or grand entertainments. It was an intimate event, witnessed only by your family and the officiating clergy. There were no special vows either, you and Geralt didn't know each other well enough to write down your feelings for each other and pronounce your vows of love in front of the witnesses present. But that didn't stop it from being emotional, both for you and your family. Your mother had gone to great lengths to decorate the garden for the ceremony, with colorful flowers and candles surrounding the area where it took place. The pinkish orange tones of the sunset sky added a magical touch to the moment, and while the circumstances of the wedding were not perfect, it was very close to what you had always imagined.

The ceremony was quick, more of a formality than a celebration of love, but you were still happy. The moment the union was official you and your family were free from Lord Veldren and his extortions. You were now married to a man very well trained in the art of combat, if he was smart —and you appealed to his cowardice and his need to feel superior— he would focus his attention on another young girl and finally stop tormenting you. And that was reason enough for you to rejoice and celebrate.

You were contemplating going out for a stroll around town hand in hand with your now husband so that rumors would slowly begin to circulate, when a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. Your father went to answer it while you instinctively hid behind Geralt's imposing figure, peeking over his shoulder to decipher if there was danger on the other side of the wood.

You didn't quite hear the conversation that the stranger and your father seemed to be having, only mumbles. But that was enough to make out that it was one of Lord Veldren's men making demands. Only this time they didn't seem to be directed at your family.

“Where is the witcher? We know you are sheltering him here. Have him present himself immediately!” The man demanded in a firm, threatening tone, causing your gaze to rise to meet Geralt's.

“What is this about?” you heard your father say, clearing his throat to try to sound more intimidating.

“He is not welcome here. We have strict orders from Lord Veldren to escort him to the outskirts of town. If you hide him, we will take you as well.”

Geralt took a step forward, ready to face the men calling his name, but stopped when he felt your fingers close around his arm. He looked down at you and saw concern in your eyes. You were afraid of them, of those men, of their threats, of what Lord Veldren might do to you and your family. He had heard you say it on several occasions, but he had never seen it so explicitly on your face. He knew then that he had to act. His job as your husband was to watch over you and protect you from danger, to show you that you no longer had reason to fear these men. So he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips to place a soft kiss on the back of it as a way of reassuring you that everything would be all right. Then he approached the door and patted your father on the back to signal that he could leave. He was going to handle what was next.

Geralt took a couple of steps out of the threshold of the door to make sure that if things got out of control you and your family could be locked inside the house while he dealt with the problem. The two men Veldren had brought to capture him backed up with every step he took, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the witcher. Geralt knew then that it was not going to be difficult to get rid of them. He towered over them intimidatingly, his muscular figure large enough to accommodate both men under his shadow. He saw the fear in their eyes and the regret of having left the horses behind to approach the gate.

Despite everything, the men tried to hold their place, and Geralt respected them a bit more for it. However, he did not give in to their demands and when they wanted to force him, he showed them without any trouble or effort the mistake they had made.

“Geralt!” you exclaimed from the doorway, alarmed to see the fight break out. But he quickly proved to you that your concern was in vain. Between blows he even had time to give you a calming look, silently reassuring you that everything was fine and you had nothing to worry about.

“Go inside!” he instructed before turning around and delivering a punch to the guard closest to him.

You didn't listen to him. You stood in place admiring from a distance the skill with which Geralt moved, the precision of his body position and how lethal his attacks were, even as you could tell he was holding back. It was an art, a complex dance that he had mastered to perfection. Those guards never stood a chance.

It wasn't long before the men were on the ground, panting and bloody, wondering what would become of them. But Geralt didn't want to kill them, he understood they were just following orders. His fight was not with them, but with the one who held their leashes. He was the reason they had come looking for him and the one to blame for the fear in your eyes every time you heard the knock on the door. He was the one he really had to fight. So Geralt made sure they heard his next words well.

“Tell Lord Veldren that I'm not going anywhere. If he wants to cast me out, he'll have to come himself to do it in person. If he is not willing to face me then he should leave me and my wife alone or next time it will be me knocking on his door.”

Hearing the protectiveness in his voice as he called you his wife made your heart pound. You weren't used to that, to belonging to someone in that way, but it was definitely something you could get used to. It felt nice having someone caring about you in that way, having someone willing to fight to protect you. You knew it wasn't much of an effort for someone like Geralt, but you also knew he didn't have to do any of it, which made you appreciate it even more.

You ran into Geralt's arms as the men scurried off to their horses, riding away from your home as fast as they could. “Thank you,” you whispered against his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

It took Geralt a couple of seconds to reciprocate, slightly surprised by your show of affection. He wasn't used to humans —much less young ladies such as yourself— reacting positively when he demonstrated his combat skills. People usually had no problem paying him to solve their problems, but they were rarely able to accept the methods he employed to do so. Of course the fight there had not been brutal, but in the past he had earned negative looks for similar things, so your acceptance of his violence took him by surprise. But eventually Geralt relaxed and pulled you close against his body, placing a soft kiss on top of your head.

It wasn't long before you found yourself alone at home. Your family had left for your aunt's place just as your mother had told you and Geralt had disappeared. You were just finishing tidying up, washing glasses and dishes so it wouldn't pile up, when you saw him through the window. He had taken his horse out of the stable and was walking with the reins in his hand at a slow pace in the direction of the exit. And you watched him walk away with sadness in your heart, certain that you would never see him again.

You contemplated running after him, trying to stop him or asking him if he was planning to stop by again. But you regretted it at the last minute. You didn't want to push him any harder than you already had. He had married you because you asked him to and that was more than enough. You couldn't demand that he keep to the guidelines of a normal marriage when you knew very well that there was nothing normal about your arrangement. Geralt had kept his word, he had married you and he had made sure that Lord Veldren knew that you were already taken and that your family was under his protection. You could not ask more of him than that. You now had the freedom you wanted so badly, it was only fair that he could return to his normal life.

You wished he had at least said goodbye, or that he had waited for the sun to rise before disappearing. You'd be lying if you said you weren't sad to have to spend your wedding night alone, but maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was better to not force something that wasn't there. The marital bed your brothers and father had built for you would definitely feel too big and empty without someone next to it, but that would probably be that way with or without Geralt there. You didn't share the love necessary to make the bed a warm and safe place, so the night would be long and cold, alone or together.

When you finished tidying up the house you went upstairs to your quarters and took the time to undo your hair and take off your wedding dress. It felt wrong to walk around the house looking like that when there was no one else around. Without your husband there it felt like you had gone back in time to when you were little and played dress up with your mother's dresses, imagining what your life would be like when you got to be her age. You felt silly, so you put the dress away and covered your chemise dress with a robe since you weren't ready to go to sleep yet.

To avoid being consumed by your thoughts, you decided to grab a book. You settled yourself on one side of the bed, your eyes glancing only for a moment at the empty side before you opened the book with the intention of losing yourself in its pages. It was not an easy task. It took you much longer than usual to read just ten pages, your attention always wandering to the swirl of questions that was your mind, forcing you to reread the same pages over and over again to understand what was going on in the story. But eventually you were able to lose yourself in the words to such an extent that you didn't hear the sound of the front door opening or the footsteps coming up the stairs.

Seeing the imposing figure of Geralt peering through the door of your chambers really surprised you. You put your book down for a moment, watching as he took a few hesitant steps inside. “I didn't know if you were coming back.” You broke the silence. Your gaze returned to the book in your hands to avoid the awkwardness of looking him in the eye.

“Honestly I didn't either.” Geralt spoke in a soft tone and you could almost hear the doubt in his voice. “But I threatened Veldren so I can't just disappear and leave you to deal with the consequences.”

Geralt made his way to the empty side of the bed and you watched him sit with his back turned to you. He remained still and silent for a moment, as if lost in his own thoughts, and you wondered if he was regretting the decision he had made. A lump formed in your throat, making it difficult to breathe. Your heart was heavy with sadness, feeling guilty that you had trapped him into this.

“You don't need to spend the night here.” You muttered under your breath. If he didn't want to be there you weren't going to force him to sleep next to you. There was no one in the house to judge you, so he could sleep wherever he felt most comfortable, far away from you. “You can go back to your quarters, no one has to know.” You looked down at the book once more, trying to find an escape from the shame you felt in the words written on the weathered pages.

“I want to be here.” Geralt turned, looking at you with softness in his eyes. “It's where I belong.”

And he wasn't lying. He had to admit he wasn't sure if things were going to work out, but he was your husband now and it was his duty to be there for you. It was the one thing he was sure of in all of this, it had become clear to him on his walk through town with Roach. He had left with the intention of clearing his thoughts, to contemplate his options and decide how to proceed accordingly. And he found that the further he got away from you, the worse he felt. He didn't like the idea of you spending your wedding night alone, in an empty house without your family or husband. It was wrong. So he came back to hold you in his arms at night as he should and keep you safe in case Lord Veldren decided to pay you a visit. He did not know how long he could keep up the charade —how much longer he could hide from his destiny and responsibilities—, but that was not a concern he had to consider at the moment. Tonight he was supposed to be by your side.

You smiled at him as you heard him say that, feeling relieved. You didn't notice anything in his expression that made you think he was lying to you so you allowed yourself to relax a little. You were still a little tense as you didn't know how to proceed or what he expected from tonight. You knew it was tradition for newlywed couples to consummate the marriage on their wedding night, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious about it, but you wondered if it made any kind of sense. You weren't going to build a family together. There was no love between you to express in a physical way. And yet you couldn't help but wonder if Geralt wanted you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you asked after a moment of silence, shifting your gaze away from Geralt's in embarrassment. You hoped you didn't sound controlling or needy.

“I haven't decided yet... I do have to go back, I have a home and people waiting for me, but we have some time. Besides, I realized it would not be wise to leave so soon after threatening Lord Veldren. I promised you that I would keep you safe from him and I intend to keep my word. It is best that I stay for a while to make sure he does not retaliate.”

You felt that comforting warmth in your belly again as you heard the protective tone in his voice. You tried to focus on that to get rid of all your worries, repeating over and over in your mind that he wanted to be there and that it had been his decision to help you.

Geralt turned his back to you once again and the air caught in your throat when you noticed that he was taking off his shirt, probably getting comfortable to sleep. Heat flooded your cheeks and you couldn't stop your eyes from trailing over his figure exposed to your curious gaze. He was like a work of art, the most beautiful and detailed sculpture you had ever seen. You admired with marvelous awe the way his muscles marked on his skin with every movement, as if they were sculpted by the hand of the most talented artist. His pale skin was the perfect canvas on which the tales of his adventures were told in the form of scratches and scars. Some were larger and flushed, others smaller and faded, but all equally intriguing. There was a large one on his left shoulder blade and another near his lower back that caught your attention. You couldn't help but wonder about the stories behind them. How did they end up on his skin? Who or what was responsible? Had it been saving someone?

You had to occupy your hands with the book, flipping through the pages to distract yourself and resist the urge to reach out to touch every bit of exposed skin your fingers could reach. You didn't know what had gotten into you, but with each passing second it became harder to stay away from Geralt. You were grateful that he had turned his back on you, that way he wasn't able to see the hunger and curiosity in your eyes, which allowed you to keep your dignity.

But even though he couldn't see you, he could still feel your gaze on him. He could feel the way you shifted uncomfortably on the bed and hear the change in your breathing that now escaped your lips in shallow gasps. He knew exactly what was going through your mind and thought it was adorable that you thought you could hide it from him.

“You can ask about them. I know what you want to.” Geralt broke the silence.

He still had his back to you, working on taking off his boots, but you still felt your whole face light up with embarrassment at having been caught. Could witchers read minds? You were pretty sure they couldn't, but the way he knew with such certainty that your eyes were examining his scars scared you a little.

“I guess everyone's curious about that, huh.”

Geralt shrugged. “You wouldn't be the first to ask about them.”

The implication behind his words put a strange feeling in your stomach. The idea that other people had had the opportunity to share such an intimate moment with him didn't sit well with you in the slightest, though you didn't quite understand why. You ignored that strange feeling for the moment, choosing to focus your attention on the moment unfolding before your eyes. Geralt's past or future should not concern you since you were not part of either. But you were part of his present and that was all that mattered.

You moved closer to him on the bed, letting one hand timidly make contact with his back. Geralt said nothing when he felt your fingers on his skin, which gave you the confidence to explore his body with a little more freedom. You were careful with your touch, slowly tracing the lines marked on his skin as you memorized their shape and color, reading them as if they were the story of his life. You tried to guess which had come first, imagining the causes behind each rough line on his skin. Your fingers lingered a little longer on his shoulder as you discovered that beneath your fingertips there was a mark that was almost imperceptible to your eyes. It was almost the same color as his skin, but you could feel the difference in texture when you touched the area. It reminded you very much of the mark that had been left on your shoulder after a hunting accident when you were a child, and you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he was the same age as you when that wound was made.

“Were they all done by the monsters you hunt?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Geralt closed his eyes as he felt your warm breath tickle the skin of his back. He focused on your touch, letting your fingers guide his memory and transport him back to the moments when those marks had been inflicted on his skin. The Striga, the Bruxa, the fight in that bar that one time, the Kikimora in the lake by the side of the road and, finally, the dislocated arm he earned on one of his first days of training when he was much smaller and skittish than he was now.

“Some were made by human swords as well... that's what I meant when I warned you of the danger I bring with me. It's not just the monsters.”

Geralt turned to look at you and met your confused expression. You were lost in thought for a moment and then, without a word, you removed the robe you were wearing, exposing the linen chemise dress that covered your body. The white fabric was loose but thin, exposing probably more than you wanted to before his eyes. He almost felt bad for looking at you until your hands grabbed his and pulled them to your shoulder, right where the short sleeve that held the chemise dress in place had slipped down.

You pressed Geralt's hand against you, feeling a warm tingle under your skin as his fingers finally made contact with the scar you were trying to show him. His eyes moved up from your collarbone to your face, looking at you curiously.

“I got this one when I was about 10 years old. My older brother was just starting to learn to hunt so my dad was going to take him on a hunting trip just the two of them. I begged him for days to let me go with them, I even promised him that I wouldn't leave his sight and I would do whatever he told me to do... He agreed, just to shut me up. And he was very careful all the time, they both were. But still things went wrong and I was shot with an arrow. The wound got infected and I almost died... my father had to carry me two villages away for a healer to cure me.”

Geralt listened to you attentively, his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers slid gently down your shoulder. He wondered what point you were trying to make, though he had to admit he found it a bit difficult to focus having you so close. Your hand never let go of his. It remained lightly clinging to his wrist, giving him enough freedom to move across your skin but keeping it in place. He couldn't help but notice how small it looked in contrast to his, your slender but short fingers had trouble closing around his wrist while his hand could wrap around your entire shoulder.

He allowed you to move his hand once more, guiding it further south this time. You stretched one leg out on the bed, lifting your chemise dress up to thigh height. It was a slow, tortuous movement that Geralt followed closely with his eyes, silently admiring how you shyly exposed part of your body to him. Then you allowed his calloused fingers to make contact with the skin of your knee where he quickly found another mark.

“This one I got when I was even younger. I think I was about 8 years old or so. I fell off a horse and broke my leg. The bone was showing and everything! I fainted from the shock and I don't remember much of what happened. It took a long time to heal and even on rainy days it still hurts and I have a little trouble walking... My point is, we all have scars.”

You offered a warm smile to Geralt, but he looked away. His fingers ran over the faded lines on your knee a couple of times before he spoke.

“It's not the same.” He muttered, lost in thought.

Your smile widened slightly looking at Geralt with compassion. You reached out your free hand towards him, gripping his chin between your thumb and forefinger to force him to look at you. “Yes it is. They may not be equally heroic, but they represent the same thing... danger, risk of death, pain... Any one of those wounds could have ended my life because danger can come from anywhere, even in the comfort of this very house. Life is not a competition about who lives longer, but about who lives it better... if having you in my life shortens my lifespan 10 years I will take it without complaint because it is infinitely better than living 100 years under Lord Veldren's control.” You meant every word and sealed it by pressing your lips against Geralt's in a soft, gentle kiss.

The moment your lips connected you felt that spark again. A warm sensation spread through your body and you found it impossible to separate from Geralt. But this kiss was different from the one you had shared on the lakeside that night. It felt much more intimate and special. He let you set the pace, adapting to the movement of your lips and keeping his hands still. It was clear he was doing it for you, to make you feel comfortable and to allow you to set your own boundaries. And you found that incredibly sweet. His movements were slow and tender, caressing your lips with his as if he knew exactly what to do to sweep you off your feet.

But it wasn't long before you began to feel like you needed something more. As sweet as his lips felt against yours, it wasn't enough. You wanted to feel his warmth enveloping you completely, to explore his body and leave your mark on his skin. You moved closer to him, deepening the kiss in an attempt to satiate the need that was growing rapidly deep inside you. Your hand clung properly to his chin and you sucked on his lower lip with fervor, your tongue timidly caressing his mouth as an invitation for more. Geralt's grip on your leg tightened, his fingers pressed against the sensitive skin of your thigh in warning. He was trying to slow you down, warning you that you were headed down a dangerous path. But all he got from you was a moan. The sweetest, most addictive sound, that vibrated against your lips and awakened a fire inside him.

Geralt's fingers tightened around your leg instinctively, a natural reaction to what your beautiful sounds were provoking in him. He was trying so hard to hold back and you were making it increasingly difficult for him. A moan escaped your lips again, feeling a pressure in your stomach and a pulse between your legs as his calloused fingers marked your skin. This time the sound was much louder and clearer, echoing in the witcher's ears as if it were a beautiful song. One that awakened his most primal desires.

When you fell silent he felt empty. An urgent need to know all the sounds of pleasure that he was able to get from you took over him. Suddenly he lost the little control he had left over his desires, but he gained control of the situation, guiding your body down onto the mattress without separating his lips from yours. He had only one goal in mind: to engrave forever in his memory the sound of your voice calling his name as you unraveled in his arms.

The moment Geralt took control, it was over for you. His body trapped you against the mattress, his much larger and imposing figure hovering over yours like a wolf over its prey. One of his hands rested beside your head, helping to keep his balance, the other ran up your thigh until it reached your hip, lifting your chemise dress in its path. His fingers left a trail of fire over your skin, increasing the pressure in your stomach and the wetness in your most intimate area. Geralt's lips moved down from your mouth to your neck, sucking and playfully nibbling at the sensitive skin with enough fervor to leave marks.

You caught your lower lip between your teeth, struggling to keep the moans from escaping your throat. You were embarrassed by the ease with which he could arouse such improper sounds in you. You sounded so pathetic —your voice so whiny and desperate— that it was hard to recognize your own voice. You didn't want to make a fool of yourself any more than you already were, so you fought against every instinct to keep those sounds inside you.

But Geralt didn't share the same thought. When he noticed what you were doing his hand traveled from your hip to your chin. He used his thumb to free your lower lip, pushing it away from your teeth in a delicate movement. His eyes admired your slightly swollen lips glistening with saliva. He resisted the temptation to kiss them once more, settling for gently caressing them with his thumb.

“Don't do that,” Geralt murmured in your ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your ear lobe. “I want to listen to you.”

He showed you no compassion as he placed his mouth on your neck again. He started soft, leaving a trail of wet kisses over the sensitive area just below your ear, a way to lure you into a false sense of security. Then he sucked and nibbled on the skin and didn't stop until he heard you moan under his touch. Only then he ran his tongue over the area, a gentle caress that sought to soothe the slightly irritated skin. And then he started the whole process all over again, working his way downward toward your collarbones.

“That's it, I want to hear you... I need to know that I'm making you feel good.” he whispered against your heated skin.

You wanted to answer him, to assure him that you had never felt anything like this before. But when you opened your mouth no sound came out, only an airy sigh as you felt his fingers brush your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt dress. Geralt took note of that and soon wrapped his hand around your breast, covering it completely. You arched your back towards him instinctively as he began to play with your nipple between his fingers. It was slightly painful when he pinched them, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

You instinctively tried to push your legs together, hoping that the pressure of your thighs together would be enough to relieve the throbbing need in your most sensitive area. But you were unable to do so because Geralt's leg rested between yours, keeping you open and in place for him. You moaned and squirmed under Geralt's body, frustrated and desperate for some relief. And his solution to your predicament was to push his thick thigh directly against your crotch.

You both moaned as you rubbed against his leg. Your eyes opened wide, surprised by the wave of pleasure that coursed through your body as it made contact with the fabric of Geralt's pants. You had never felt anything like it before, but it did wonders to soothe the pulsing heat inside you. So you moved your hips against him again and again until you established a slow, sensual rhythm that made your whole body feel on fire.

Geralt took a moment to admire you in the dim candlelight, noticing every little detail about you. You looked beautiful with your hair spread out on the bed and your soft, delicate skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. Your swollen, parted lips let out the sweetest sounds, inviting him to devour them once more. Your breasts moved slightly with each sway of your hips, tempting him to release them from their white linen confinement. He couldn't help but notice that you looked very different from the way you did the first time he saw you. The purity and innocence was still present in your eyes, but hidden behind the lust and desire that had taken over your body. He found it increasingly difficult to keep himself under control, especially when you looked at him with half-closed eyes in pleasure, mumbling incoherently as you soaked his thigh with your arousal.

He was amazed at how easy it was to bring you to that euphoric state. Your naivety on the subject made you more receptive to his caresses, all he had to do was touch you on the right place and say the right words and you would whimper for more. Geralt found it incredibly attractive. Knowing that he was the first man to see you in that state awakened something deep inside him. He was the one who was introducing you to the world of pleasure, he would become your standard, your only reference for judging another man's ability to perform, and he wanted to make sure that no one could ever compare to him.

“You look so pretty like this.” Geralt whispered against your lips, his hand clinging to your chin to make sure you didn't move your head back in pleasure. “Such a perfect little dove, feeling good to me.” The nickname escaped his lips without too much thought, but it was fitting. You were his little dove, white and innocent, but with a free spirit that longed to fly and explore the world.

Warmth poured into your cheeks, feeling nervous under the witcher's intense gaze. “Geralt...” you trailed off, not quite sure where you were going with the sentence. You wanted to ask him to stop, but at the same time you were sure you would cry if he pulled away from you. The friction was no longer enough, but you weren't sure you could take any more.

“What is it, my dove? Use your words.” The tone of his voice was gentle, but his lips curved upward in a devilish smile. It was such a distinct contrast that it startled you, it made you wonder if you were capable of enduring what he was dying to give you.

“I need more... I need you.”

“You already have me.” Geralt scattered little kisses down your chin and neck, and pressed his thigh a little harder against your crotch, giving you a better angle to move your hips.

You let out a pathetic moan, closing your eyes in embarrassment and frustration. “You know what I mean.” You mumbled, hoping he wouldn't make you say it out loud.

“I know, I know... but I need to get you ready first... I need to make sure you're ready to take me.”

Geralt pulled away from you and you let out a groan at the loss of the only amount of friction that was giving you some relief. However, he didn't stay away from you for long. His hands caressed their way down your body, making you gasp as you felt his fingers on your exposed thighs. You remained still, expectant. Your eyes didn't leave his figure for a second, waiting to see what his next move was.

“Have you ever done anything like this?” he asked you in a husky voice as his hands slowly moved up your thighs, getting dangerously close to your most intimate area. “Have you ever let another man kiss you and touch you like this? It's okay if you did, you don't have to feel ashamed of that with me.”

You shook your head, having trouble forming a coherent sentence as his fingers drew circles over the sensitive skin of your thighs. “No... I-I was waiting for the right person.” You managed to blurt out between gasps.

“Have you ever given yourself pleasure?”

You felt your cheeks heat up at that intimate and strange question. Were you supposed to? Was that a part of all this that you hadn't been told about? When you were old enough your mother had taken it upon herself to tell you certain things, but not even in the days leading up to the wedding had she talked about something like that. You had been raised under the belief that sex was something special only meant to be shared with a spouse. You had felt things in the past, but never acted on it, no more than squeezing your legs together to make the throbbing in your core stop.

“Was I supposed to?” You asked in a whisper, afraid you were doing something wrong.

You didn't have to be too bright to know that Geralt was experienced in the subject —it was clear in the way he moved, in how he kissed you, and in the confidence of his caresses— which only made you feel more aware of your inexperience. You were afraid that he expected something different, that your inexperience would be a problem and that he would reject you for it. You needed him and wanted him to have a good time too, you just weren't sure you could give it to him.

But Geralt smiled warmly at your response, his eyes looking at you with a softness in them that awakened butterflies in your stomach. He didn't seem angry or disappointed, which gave you some reassurance.

“Do you trust me to make you feel good?” His voice was a raspy whisper that made your heart flutter in your chest. You nodded your head, but that wasn't enough for him. “I need to hear you say it, dove.”

“I trust you, Geralt.” You said confidently.

Maybe it was the way you looked at each other as if there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, or maybe it was the slow, passionate kiss you shared afterwards, but the moment felt much more intimate and authentic than you expected. It was no longer just about carnal desire and feeling good, there was something much deeper behind your words and the softness in Geralt's eyes. It was about your connection, how comfortable and safe you felt in each other's arms. It wasn't love, at least not yet, but it was a spark.

Geralt's hands continued to travel up your body as he kissed you, lifting your chemise dress in his wake. The cool air of the room hit your exposed skin, a harsh contrast to the fiery trail his fingers awakened in their path. The higher they traveled, the more your heart pounded in your chest, racing with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Geralt pulled away from your lips as his exploring fingers reached the underside of your breasts. He looked into your eyes, searching them for consent before fully revealing your body to his hungry eyes. He didn't have to say anything and neither did you. You simply shifted your position and raised your arms so that he could remove the article of clothing with more ease.

You felt the need to cover yourself as you were finally exposed to him, feeling small and vulnerable under his intense gaze. Your hands instinctively went to cover your breasts, but Geralt stopped you before you could do so.

“Don't hide from me. You are beautiful and I want to take the time to admire and appreciate every part of you to show you how beautiful you are.”

This time it was you who sought his lips since you didn't have the words to express what his tender words and desire filled eyes made you feel. You gave yourself completely to him, body and soul, so that he could do with you whatever he wanted. You let his fingers explore every inch of your body and his lips mark your skin as if he were claiming ownership over your being. And you allowed yourself the same freedom, caressing his arms and back, burying your fingers in his long white hair as he lost himself in the crook of your neck.

When he buried his hand between your legs, your grip on his hair tightened, tugging lightly on the strands as waves of pleasure flooded through your body. It was a pleasure you had never felt before, intense and exhilarating. It set your whole body on fire and made it hard to breathe, but you were sure you would burst into tears if Geralt pulled away from you at that moment. It was all too much —Geralt's caresses, the feel of his body pressed against yours, the wetness of his lips attacking your most sensitive areas— the pleasure was overwhelming and with each passing second you felt more and more as if something inside you was going to snap.

“That's right, my beautiful wife, feeling good for me.” Geralt muttered against your lips, his forehead pressed against yours as he looked deep into your eyes. You let out a pathetic moan in response, feeling your heart pound at hearing him call you his wife. You liked the sound of that, probably more than you should.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the moment. The pleasure and possessiveness of his words brought you to a high that had you completely enraptured. Your body no longer felt like yours, it no longer responded to you, but to Geralt's touch, his words and his kisses. You couldn't say that it bothered you. On the contrary, it felt good, right. You trusted him with your body, mind and soul, you knew he would take good care of you.

You were brought back to the moment when you felt a pressure in your core. You opened your eyes, alarmed, as you felt one of Geralt's long, thick fingers slowly slide inside you. Your hand flew to his forearm, gripping it to stop him. It hurt. It wasn't unbearable, but it was uncomfortable. You could feel your velvety walls stretching open, struggling to accommodate his finger.

“Sshh, I know, I know,” Geralt's reassuring voice echoed in your ears. “It hurts, I know. But it'll be just for a moment until you get used to it. Then it will feel good, I promise... Do you trust me?”

Your grip on his arm lightened at his question, a silent answer that you reaffirmed with an affirming nod of your head. “Yes, I trust you.”

“Then let me show you how good it can feel.”

You did not remove your hand from his arm, but allowed him to continue. Geralt's movements became extremely slow and careful. He distracted you from the pain with pleasure, spreading kisses over every inch of skin his lips could reach, and resuming the gentle caresses of his thumb over your little bundle of nerves. Soon the pressure dissipated, your walls opening up to him, inviting him to get lost deep inside with the slipperiness of your arousal. And so he did, pushing his finger deep inside you in search of that special place that would make your toes curl and your back arch in pleasure.

He knew he found it when the volume of your moans increased and you rolled your eyes back. Your grip on his arm tightened, only this time not as a signal to stop, but as a desperate search for some support, something to help you stay grounded while the pleasure consumed you. It hurt a little when he added a second finger to his intrusion, but not as much as the first time. You were more relaxed and more comfortable. You knew you could take it and that the reward for doing so was pleasure like you had never felt before, so you bit your lower lip and took it.

It didn't take long for you to feel yourself on the edge of explosion, the tension in your belly getting tighter to the point of being unbearable. Your moans became more whiny and incoherent, your body moving without your control to the tune of Geralt's touch. You felt you could take no more, but at the same time you needed to know what lay beyond the limit.

“Geralt, I can't... it's too much.” You managed to blurt out between incessant panting. Your vision was getting slightly blurry and you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You tried to pull away from Geralt's arms, but he wouldn't let you. He trapped you under his towering figure to make sure you couldn't escape his touch.

“Yes you can. I know you can... You just have to let go, all right? It's okay, I'm here. I've got you. I've got you. You're alright. Just let go, you're safe with me.”

The softness of his words contrasted with the firmness of his touch, his fingers attacking your most sensitive area without any mercy. And the combined effort of both of them was enough to push you over the edge. Your body tensed and white lights exploded behind your eyelids as waves of pleasure washed over you. The world around you ceased to exist. You could hear Geralt's voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear and feel his soft caresses on your skin, guiding you through your climax, but it all felt distant, like a dream. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure that shook your body.

Geralt's golden gaze was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He was silently admiring you, one finger stroking your cheek in a circular pattern while his eyes watched every little detail of your face. There was something in his gaze, a sparkle in his eyes that captivated you. It was more than lust, more than the lasciviousness you were used to seeing in Lord Veldren's eyes. You couldn't quite name it, but you knew it made you feel good, comfortable and safe. Geralt desired you, but not in the possessive, objectifying way that your previous suitor did. When he looked at you as he did at that moment you knew he didn't see an object he wanted to possess, he saw you as the woman you were. You felt seen by Geralt in a way you had never experienced before. He gave you confidence and self-assurance and you loved the way that felt.

“How do you feel?” his raspy voice whispered close to your ear.

The corners of your lips curved upward slightly, demonstrating the state of complete bliss you were in. “Good... I'm fine.”

“You did so well...” Geralt trailed off, his thumb following the line of your lips as his mind was lost in the image of your eyes closed and your mouth parted open letting out moans and gasps as you came undone in his arms.

It was a beautiful image that he wanted to engrave forever in his memory. Giving you pleasure was his new addiction, the way your body trembled beneath him, the sounds you made, the scent of your arousal, it was all too intoxicating. He was dying to see you in such a state again. And again. And again and again, until his scent was so impregnated into your skin that everyone knew you were his wife when they came near you.

“Do you think you're ready for more?”

You nodded eagerly, regaining the strength to lift your arms and cling to Geralt's neck, pulling him to you to melt into a kiss. “I am, I want everything from you... I want to make you feel good too, even if I don't know how.” You admitted with some embarrassment.

“You don't have to worry about that, my beloved. It makes me feel good to see you enjoy yourself. Tonight is about you and I will take it upon myself to show you all the pleasure you don't know.”

Your heart pounded as you heard the affectionate nickname he used for you. His beloved... You liked the sound of it, even when it wasn't real. You let yourself get lost in the moment, drifting into a reality where he really loved you enough for those words to mean something.

The softness in his voice and the tenderness of his touch made you feel good, safe. It was soothing to know that he had no great expectations for you and was willing to take the time to teach you what you didn't know. However, your newfound confidence suffered a blow the moment his naked body was completely exposed to your curious eyes. He was beautiful and big, almost too big. As you looked at him you remembered the discomfort you felt when his fingers pushed inside you and felt your stomach twist with nerves, thinking there was no way the experience could be pleasurable for both of you.

Geralt noticed the concern on your face immediately and rushed to comfort you. His body was on top of yours in no time, his fingers gently caressing your cheek as he looked at you with softness in his eyes. “You need to relax,” he muttered against your lips.

“B-but, it's going to hurt...it won't fit.” You closed your eyes as he spoke, feeling embarrassment taking hold of you. You wanted nothing more than to make him feel good and let him guide you through the pleasure, but you had to admit you were a little nervous.

You feared that your comment had ruined the moment, that Geralt had grown tired of your hesitation and decided to leave you and go to sleep. But instead of scoffing, he planted a soft kiss on your cheek, making you open your eyes again.

“It will fit. We'll make it fit. That's why I spent all this time getting you ready for me...so you'd be wet and ready to take me.” Geralt spread little wet kisses down your jaw to your neck as he spoke. If it was a strategy to distract you it was working wonders, because you could start to feel your body relax again. “It's going to hurt a little at first, just like before. But then it will feel good... We'll go slow and if at any point you feel it's too much we'll stop completely, alright? You are in control here.”

His words relaxed you more than you expected and with a simple kiss and a slight nod you gave Geralt permission to continue his assault on your body.

You winced as he began to thrust inside you. It felt a lot more uncomfortable than his fingers, though not so strange anymore. Your walls were struggling to accommodate his size and that resulted in a sharp burning pain between your legs that led you to consider stopping everything. And honestly you would have if Geralt hadn't let out the most beautiful sound you'd heard all night. It was a moan like no other so far, a primal growl that came from deep inside him, vibrating in his chest and filling you with confidence. You were making him feel good. Even if it hurt a little, even if you didn't quite know what to do, you were making him feel good. It filled your chest with pride and confidence to know that you were capable of such a thing and that was what you focused on to overcome the pain.

Your hands clung to him, nails digging into his back as you closed your eyes and focused all your attention on him, on his gasps and the way his body pressed down closer into yours.

“That's it, you're doing so well for me, dove” Geralt encouraged you between ragged breaths and a warm feeling filled your insides at the praise. “Just a little more, you can do it.”

“Geralt” you sighed, a mix of pain and pleasure clear in your voice. It was a plea for him to stop and for him to continue all at the same time, the expression of the conflicting sensations you felt inside you.

Geralt felt as if he could die at that very moment. The high-pitched whine in your voice, the glimmer in your eyes from tears and the hunger in your gaze was all too much. Your arousal helped him slide in with ease and he had to control himself from slipping inside you in one quick thrust. You felt so good, so wet and tight that he was going crazy. Slowly thrusting inside you was torture, but it was one he was willing to endure to make you feel comfortable and safe.

He stood still for a moment when he finally pushed all the way into you, giving you time to adjust to him as he enjoyed your warmth. “Can you feel me deep inside you, filling you more than you've ever been?” Geralt whispered in your ear, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin. “You know what that means, huh? It means you're mine now.”

Your walls tightened around him, causing you both to let out a moan of pleasure. The pain slowly dissipated as your body molded to his almost as if to honor his words. You were his, body and soul. The burning pain turned to pulsing desire and it wasn't long before you were squirming beneath Geralt's body, struggling to find some friction to relieve the pressure between your legs.

“I'm yours... I'm yours...” you repeated between wet kisses, giving him the power to do whatever he wanted with you. “Please...”

Geralt loved hearing the plea escape your lips, a whiny whisper that let him know you were ready for more. He enjoyed the way you looked up at him waiting expectantly for every move, every word, knowing that only he could bring you to that sweet relief once again. He almost wanted to hear you beg more for it, to watch you squirm under his body and whimper in frustration until he decided to give you what you so desperately needed. But he wasn't sure he could hold on that long to feel you fall apart in his arms one more time. He needed to feel you and he needed it now.

“I know, I know... I got you” Geralt breathed as he slowly slid his member almost all the way out of you. You threw your head back on the pillow, closing your eyes as you felt the delicious drag along your walls. He held still for a moment and then thrust inside you again, only with a little more force this time.

The moan that escaped your lips was both obscene and pathetic in equal parts. And Geralt loved every second of it.

“Does that feel good? Was that what you wanted?” You knew Geralt was making sure you were okay with those questions, they weren't necessarily meant for you to have a particular reaction to them, just to communicate your state to him. But there was something in the tone of his voice that sent a wave of pleasure throughout your body.

“Yes, yes! More, please, more!” was all you could blurt out between gasps, but Geralt didn't hesitate to indulge you.

He set a slow, sensual pace at first, dragging his member torturously slow along your walls before thrusting back inside you, using a little more force with each time. His lips never left your body, kissing every bit of exposed skin they could reach. His hands closed over your hips, holding you in place to make sure each thrust of his cock reached that special place inside you that made you scream.

Once you got used to his rhythm, you began to move your hips at the same pace, seeking to meet him halfway and forcing him inside you when he took too long. One of your hands got lost in his hair, grabbing and pulling the strands between your fingers when pleasure overwhelmed you or you wanted to feel his lips in a specific place. Your other hand clung to his broad back, nails digging into the skin until they left marks that would not fade the next morning. And Geralt loved every second of it.

He loved knowing you were feeling good. He loved being the one guiding you, teaching you things about your own body that you didn't even know yourself. But most of all, he loved the idea of you leaving your mark on his skin just as he was marking yours. Being inside you —feeling the warmth of your walls clenching around his cock, hearing your incessant moans and smelling the scent of your arousal in the air— had awakened something primal inside him, a possessiveness he didn't know he was capable of feeling. You were his after tonight and he wanted everyone to know it just by looking at you. No other man would ever dare to get close to you because his scent would be forever present on your skin, warning everyone not to lay a finger on you because you were already his.

“That's it, mark me as yours... I am yours and you are mine... mine to protect. Mine to please and to take care of. Mine to fuck and guide through the most intense carnal pleasures... Mine... My woman.” Geralt emphasized each sentence with a thrust bringing you closer and closer to that sweet relief. His movements were becoming more and more rough and sloppy, signaling that he was close to losing control as well.

You were slowly losing your grip on reality, your mind spiraling with pleasure. It was hard to concentrate on anything but the heat coursing through your body, but Geralt's words managed to bring you back to reality. The roughness in his voice and the possessiveness of his affirmations were a lethal mix designed to push you to the limit of what you could bear.

“Yes, yes! I'm yours, forever... I need... please.” You weren't being very coherent, but Geralt understood perfectly well what you wanted. He could feel the way your walls tightened around him, swallowing his cock deep inside you. You were close to exploding and he was more than willing to take you there.

“I know, I know... I got you, it's okay. You can let go, just relax. Take a deep breath... that's it. Let go, I've got you. I want to feel you come apart around me, please.”

Geralt's fingers pressed against your little bundle of nerves, drawing small circles on the swollen, sensitive skin. His thrusts became more precise, hitting that special place inside you with each thrust. His words were interpreted by your body as a command and in a matter of seconds the pleasure exploded inside you, spreading throughout your body.

You fell limp in Geralt's arms, overwhelmed and ecstatic. He only slowed his assault on your body for a moment, his hips almost ceasing to move to give you time to catch your breath.

“That's it, my good dove” he praised you as his thumb drew circles over the skin of your hip. “I wish you could see yourself right now... so beautiful, so fragile... Do you think you can take a little more? I need to fill you, to mark you as mine in the deepest, most intimate way possible, do you think you can take it?”

You moaned in response, already feeling his hips begin to pick up the pace ever so slowly. There was nothing you wanted more than that. You wanted to be his forever, even outside these four walls. You wanted to feel his warmth always with you and the weight of his body against yours. You longed to feel his scent on your skin and see the marks of his kisses on your body. You wanted everything he had to give you and you were willing to do anything to get it.

“Yes, I can take it! Please give it to me! I need it... I need it all from you, please.” you pleaded eagerly and in response Geralt thrust his hips against yours, setting a fast and lethal rhythm.

It was clear he was using you for his pleasure now, but even then your body responded to his touches, the tension building again in your belly. It was as if you were no longer in control of your own body, as if it had stopped recognizing you as the one in charge and instead waited for Geralt's orders to react. And you didn't fight against it one bit, you simply let yourself be carried away by passion, feeling the pleasure through him.

His movements became more and more erratic and his moans louder and more frequent. He was losing control and you loved knowing that you were capable of causing something like that in him. You liked that he was using you for his own pleasure, that he was focusing on himself and using your body as a tool to achieve that sweet relief. He wasn't actively working on it, but with every thrust and moan he let out he brought you closer to that same edge. It was sweet and overwhelming. You felt the urge to escape from his arms so you could catch your breath, but your body could only press harder into Geralt's, moving your hips to help him find the pleasure he had shown you.

And it wasn't long before you both exploded in a sea of moans and pleasure.

“That's it, take it all in... take my seed deep inside you. Feel me inside you filling you up, claiming what belongs to me.” Geralt growled as he painted your walls with his essence, which mingled with the remnants of your release. “No one else is ever going to get the chance to feel this ever. You are mine... mine.”

You could do nothing but respond in whimpers of pleasure as your body shook with the intensity of your own orgasm, amplified by Geralt's words and the sensation of being filled with his seed.

You lost consciousness after that, reality slipping through your fingers like sand. You could hear Geralt mumbling sweet words in your ear and feel his fingers gently caressing your skin, but you didn't have the strength or ability to move or respond to him. You just laid there in his arms, full and in a state of complete bliss for who knows how long. The passage of time was a concept that had ceased to exist for you. The world around you seemed to have slowed down, but inside you felt your body working at an accelerated pace. Your heart pounded hard against your chest, the sound of pumping blood echoing in your ears. Your lungs struggled to get enough air so that your body could relax, your short, quickened breaths slowly finding a calmer rhythm as time passed.

Geralt took care of you every step of the way as you came down from your high, spreading soft kisses over your skin and whispering praise in your ear. He even went to the trouble of tucking you into bed and covering you with the sheets so that you wouldn't get cold once your body returned to normal temperature. And when you regained consciousness, his gentle smile was the first thing your eyes saw.

“There you are!” He said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear so he could admire your sweet face in all its glory. He would be lying if he said he wasn't proud of the expression of pure pleasure and satisfaction that graced your face. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine... tired, but fine.” You let out an airy chuckle, still feeling somewhat disconnected from everything.

You both remained silent for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. You couldn't help but think that there was something different about the way Geralt was looking at you. It was something you had noticed before, but you thought it was due to the intensity of the moment. Although now that everything was calmer you began to think it was something else. You didn't quite know how to explain what you saw in his eyes, but you knew you liked the way he made you feel. The only way you could describe it was a soft, comforting warmth, like a sunny spring morning. It felt like a caress to the soul, a tender gesture that awakened a tingle inside you. You felt safe under his gaze, seen in a way you had never experienced with a man.

“Thank you...” your voice broke the silence, ”for everything, I guess... for protecting me, for being such a gentleman, for treating me so well...” You were interrupted by the yawn that escaped involuntarily from your lips, reminding you once again how tired you were. “You gave me a perfect night... If you decide to leave tomorrow and I never see you again, you still leave me with the memory of a beautiful wedding night.”

Geralt was surprised by how much he disliked the idea of walking away from you. He knew he had to do it and a couple of hours ago he was more than ready to do it, but now things had changed. Separating from you was not as easy now that he had you naked in his arms, looking at him with narrowed eyes full of pleasure. It wasn't easy after having heard you beg for his name or having inhaled the scent of your essence. It wasn't easy at all now that he had claimed you as his own, marking you in the most intimate way he could, leaving his mark forever on your skin. He no longer wanted to be away from you and was willing to fight anyone who wanted to come between you. And, to be honest, that scared him a little.

“It's okay... rest.” He murmured gently as he noticed the way you were struggling to keep your eyes open. “We'll have plenty of time to talk in the morning. You need to rest now, my dove.”

The last thing you felt before you surrendered to sleep was Geralt's arms pressing you against his body, letting you rest your head on his chest as he traced sweet caresses on the skin of your back.

The month you shared with Geralt alone in your home was beautiful. You loved waking up tangled in the sheets and his arms, and his honey colored eyes being the first thing you saw in the morning. You loved chatting with him over breakfast and taking long walks around town hand in hand. You especially liked the way he would put his arm around you when a man dared to even look at you for too long, and how he would show you off when his walks through the marketplace ran into one of Lord Veldren's men. At first it was in a provocative way, as if he was looking to generate a reaction in the man, but after days passed and he did not show up at his door to challenge him and fight for your hand, Geralt knew he had won. Then the gentle kisses and soft caresses in front of his men —and in front of Lord Veldren himself on one occasion— went from being a provocation to a brag, a constant display of the weakness the Lord sought so hard to hide.

You learned a lot about Geralt in this time, about his life, his profession and the important people in his life —although perhaps not as much as you would like, as it was hard to get him to talk. Your favorite thing was listening to the tales of his adventures at night when you were both lying in bed. He didn't seem to find them as fascinating as you did, since you sensed a slight annoyance in his eyes whenever you insisted on the subject, but he never refused to indulge you. You loved listening to him talk, especially at night when the warmth of his chest and the deep sound of his voice lulled you to sleep. But besides being a cure for your restless nights, you quickly discovered that his stories were a good way to get to know him better. Geralt wasn't good at talking about himself or his life when you asked him a direct question, but through the way he recounted his travels you were able to gather little bits and pieces of his persona —the way he thought, his moral compass, details of his work and the reality of witchers that you didn't know. You found his world fascinating, frightening and dangerous at times, but fascinating nonetheless.

However, all good things always come to an end, in your experience, sooner rather than later. And this was yours. The day had finally come for Geralt to leave and you woke up that morning terrified that you would never see him again.

You hadn't talked much about it, since you were both secretly dreading the mere thought of being apart. And this morning was no different. You went about your routine as if it were any ordinary day, though with the heavy tension in the air that came from knowing it wasn't. You tried your best to ignore it as much as possible, looking for every excuse to spend more time together, making the most of what you had left. The morning chores were a bit delayed, as getting out of bed proved to be a particularly difficult task when all you wanted to do was melt into each other's bodies until you were one. But beyond the desperation to be with each other, there was not a single mention of the countdown you both had in the back of your mind.

When Geralt had marked this date as the day of his departure he had assured you that it would not be permanent and in the blissful happiness of the moment you had believed him. But now that the time had come, you couldn't help but be saddened not only by having to part from him, but also by not knowing for how long. You had spent a beautiful time together and you wanted to believe that it would be enough for Geralt to want to come back to your arms, but the reality was that you didn't know. You couldn't help but think that he had been almost forced into this marriage and you feared that going back to his old routines would put things in perspective. After all, there was a reason he had refused your proposal so much the first time. He had only agreed to marry you after spending time living with your family, losing himself in a reality far different from his own, and you were afraid that getting back on the road would show him what a big mistake he had made.

You couldn't stop thinking about it as you watched him from the kitchen window, gathering his things and slowly loading them onto Roach. You wanted to run over there and ask him the thousands of questions that were running through your mind. You wanted more than anything to hear him reassure you that everything would be okay and that he would come back for you, but you knew you couldn't completely trust his words. That may well be what he was thinking and feeling now, but there was no way of knowing how time alone on the road, accompanied only by his old habits, could possibly change him. There was no point in exchanging words, so you focused your attention on preparing and packing some supplies for his journey, so that at least he would have fresh food and water until he reached the next town.

You dared to step outside when you noticed that Geralt was almost finished settling his saddle, signaling that you didn't have much time left to keep lamenting about the future. You approached him with a slow step, as if you were looking for any way to drag out every second, taking advantage of the moment to memorize every detail you could find in his sideways profile.

“So you're leaving, huh?” you finally broke the silence, causing Geralt to raise his head to look at you. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard you approach, though it was a pleasant surprise.

At least until he noticed the doubt in your eyes.

“For a while, yes. I have business to take care of, people that are waiting for me... but I'll be back.”

You weren't able to hold his gaze, your eyes focusing on the grass beneath your feet as you tried to keep your emotions at bay. The last thing you wanted to do at that moment was cry, but you could start to feel the tears building up in your eyes.

Geralt noticed your concern and disbelief, and knew he couldn't leave until you knew he was being honest. He needed to make sure you understood that he wasn't playing games and that he intended to keep the promise he had made to you that evening in front of your family.

He hooked his fingers under your chin, using them as leverage to tilt your face up and force you to look at him. “I will come back for you.” Geralt assured you. “I promise.”

“You don't have to, that was the arrangement. Lord Veldren has already found another girl to focus his attention on so he no longer presents a danger to me or my family. You are free to go on with your life as it was before our paths crossed.”

“That's where you're wrong.” The corners of Geralt's lips curved upward slightly at your gesture of confusion. “Our paths did cross and I can't go back now. I can't go on with my life pretending you don't exist, that this time we shared didn't happen... I don't want to. I want to come back for you... and next time I will be the one to share some of his life with you. Perhaps I'll take you on the road with me, how about that?”

Even though nothing had changed, his words managed to bring a smile to your face and soothe your aching heart. There was something in his beautiful honey eyes that invited you to trust him, and the promise to take you on a trip with him made everything more real. It wasn't just words spoken into the wind, it was an idea, a plan for the future, something on which to build your relationship and, why not, a home over time. It was a first step, one of many you had to take if you wanted your relationship to continue, and Geralt was assuring you that he was willing to take it together, as it should be. So, while you were still saddened by his departure, you chose to give your mind and heart a break by believing his words.

“I would like that very much.” You muttered before pressing your lips together in a kiss, sealing your promise.

Watching Geralt leave was not easy, but his promise left you with some comfort. Tears escaped your eyes as you watched his white hair disappear into the horizon, and an aching emptiness built in your chest as you stepped back into a silent house that felt so much bigger now that you were alone. You realized then that you were going to miss him more than you thought and that the time apart would be much harder to endure than you had imagined. Only minutes had passed and you were already contemplating leaving everything behind, grabbing a horse and running to catch up with him. And you knew that feeling would only get worse as the days went by, growing and growing until it became unbearable. And it wouldn't go away until you saw his figure on the horizon again, coming back into your arms where he belonged.

Still, in the midst of your sad contemplation a smile formed on your lips. A gust of wind had blown in through the open kitchen window, and it brought dancing up to your nose the distinctive smell of leather, earth and wood of Geralt. And you realized then that he was still there with you, his scent lingering in the air, on your clothes, on the sheets on the bed and even on your own skin. And there he would remain with you forever, because you were his and he was yours.

Geralt of Rivia tag list: @steviebbboi @feel-my-psycho-love

(I'm so sorry guys I forgot to tag you when I posted it)

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x fem reader #geralt of rivia smut #the witcher x reader #the witcher smut #geralt x reader smut #geralt of rivia fluff #the witcher fluff #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher netflix #henry cavill

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devotedlypinkpeanut · 3 months ago

Text

Love us as much as we love you — part 1

Summary: Y/n is a professor who spends a night with four men, unaware that they are students at the university where she is about to teach. These four students, known as the Black Apollos, rule Ravenridge School. Wealthy, arrogant, and violent, they instill terror wherever they go. Through this one-night encounter, they gain leverage over her that they will use as they please. This Halloween month, she and other students are invited to celebrate at their mansion. What will happen to her?

PAIRING: Non-idols of ENHYPEN’s hyung line x female reader

GENRE: 18+ (MDNI), adulthood, reverse harem, teacher/student.

Warning : manipulation, psychological violence, physical violence, blood, blood kink, spitting, spanking, bondage, blackmail, intimidation, harassment, threats, student/teacher relationship, fighting, jealousy, dark atmosphere, insults, public humiliation, mental domination, body control, forced consent, confinement, dangerous seduction, domination, double play, emotional dependency, mental torture, physical constraints, extortion, abuse of power, degradation, erotic pain, double penetration, anal sex, cigarette consumption, oral sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, BDSM, fetishism, vaginal penetration, submission practices, non-consensual acts, acts in public places, mental domination, sexual humiliation.

Number of words : 36k

Hey everyone, feel free to like, comment, and share if you enjoy! Your support means a lot!

⤑ Main Masterlist — Series Masterlist | Final Chapter ⇢

“You’re a filthy slut, aren’t you, Y/n?” Heeseung’s voice echoes in the empty classroom, imbued with a mischievous lightness that vibrates the air around you. He utters this line with a cruel amusement, his gaze sparkling with palpable malice. Every word he speaks feels like a sharp blade, slicing through the already electric tension that hangs between you. He approaches you with calculated slowness, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his nonchalant movements concealing an underlying threat. He circles your desk like a predator toying with its prey, and his smirking smile reveals the satisfaction he derives from your apparent submission.

“Or should I say, professor?” His voice softens slightly, but the shadow of irony lingers. “But tell me, do you deserve it, you little bitch?” He positions himself right in front of you, his imposing stature dominating the space as he leans against your desk. A disdainful smile stretches across his lips as you shoot him a dark look, filled with a mix of anger and desire you dare not admit.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, feigning indignation, but a mocking glint shines in his eyes. He leans closer to you, his warm, spicy breath brushing against your skin, sending shivers through every fiber of your being. “Don’t tell me you don’t agree with my words?” His words, whispered like a caress, penetrate deep within you. Rage bubbles in your veins, but a part of you feels inexplicably drawn to this dangerous game.

Suddenly, without warning, he violently yanks your hair, a brutal motion that elicits a grunt of pain from you. You try to break free, clawing at the air in a survival instinct, but he only tightens his grip, his expression darkening with unhealthy satisfaction. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, professor. You shouldn’t annoy me more than I already am, right?” His tone is both mocking and possessive, sending a chill of anxiety and excitement down your spine. He pulls even harder on your hair, exposing your delicate neck, and you feel burning tears of humiliation welling in your eyes. In this moment, you are both vulnerable and entranced, feeling smaller under his grasp, reduced to an object of his desire.

“Now tell me, professor, you’re a filthy whore, a slut who has slept with four of her students without any shame or remorse. All this solely to satisfy your desire.” Each word he utters echoes in the air, like a whip crack. His words are like arrows, piercing your facade of control. He leans close to your ear, whispering these words like an obscene secret, a shared delight. His warm, fragrant breath brushes against your skin, and he nibbles on your earlobe, licking it with a calculated slowness that electrifies you and makes you tremble with anticipation. The mix of pain and excitement blinds you, and you almost cry, the urge to protest stuck in your throat.

“Like the needy whore you are, you loved it, you wanted more, always so much more, because you’re made for our cocks. One is never enough for you, is it, treasure?” His lips glide along your neck, licking, sucking, and nibbling your skin, marking every inch with feverish obsession. He is possessive, and this reality sends chills down your spine with fear and desire. Each kiss, each bite is a promise of ecstasy and pain, and you feel the imminence of your fall, drawn towards the abyss of his depravity.

He violently yanks your hair, lifting you from your chair and slamming you against your desk. You let out a gasp of pain, stifling it by biting your lips until they bleed. “Don’t want to talk, treasure? Then I’ll make you scream like the slut you are.” Heeseung chuckles, his laughter resonating like a sinister echo in the room. He pushes you further into your desk, making you feel a sharp pain in your belly and ribs. The furniture digs into your flesh, but he doesn’t care about your suffering; he only seeks to possess you. He slowly lifts your skirt, exposing your soft skin to his ravenous gaze. You moan in pain, trying to pull away, but he doesn’t allow it, his hand maintaining total control over your body. “I’m going to make you scream, and every corner of this school will hear how much of a whore you are, my personal slut. You’d better count, or you’ll regret it.” His voice is a delightfully cruel threat as he lets all his weight press down on your back, making you feel every ounce of his dominance.

Heeseung grabs your wrists, sliding them behind your back, holding them firmly between his fingers, keeping you pinned against the table. His eyes revel in your pain as he caresses your ass with deceptive softness, a shocking contrast to his brutal grip. He drops his hand on your cold cheek, burning with pain, and you let out a small moan, your sensations heightened by the struggle you’re fighting to free yourself. Your body twists slightly, trying to pull away from him, but he disregards your movement, bringing his hand down on your ass with deliberate force, making you scream in pain as a shiver of excitement courses through your body.

“I told you to count, didn’t I?” he says with a cold anger laced with pleasure in his voice, gripping your right cheek with brutal strength. His nails dig into your flesh, blood begins to flow, and the pain electrifies you as you feel an oddly delicious warmth. He watches the blood flow onto the floor, a satisfied smile forming on his lips as he brings his bloodied fingers to his mouth to lick them, letting out a moan of pleasure, savoring every drop of your suffering.

“Tw—Two.” Your voice trembles, and tears blur your vision. Pain oppresses you, and you writhe, desperately trying to break free, but nothing works. He is stronger than you, and he revels in your submission, in your weakness. Every scream, every moan strengthens his power over you.

“That’s it, my love, I’m so proud of you.” His hand caresses your wounded ass, spreading your blood over it. His voice sends a pleasurable shiver through your entire body, all the way to your lower belly. He notices how your body reacts to his praise, a sly smile forming on his face. “You love compliments, don’t you, treasure?”

“That’s not true!” You try to deny it, but your excitement betrays you, and you feel a flush of shame creep over your cheeks.

Heeseung kneels behind you, his gaze burning with desire and malice, as if he knows exactly what you’re feeling. His fingers slowly glide over the fabric of your panties, already completely ruined and soaked with your excitement. A satisfied smile spreads across his lips, the expression of a man who knows he has power over you. “Are you sure, treasure? That’s not what I feel,” he murmurs, his voice laced with mockery, each word a delicious poison that ignites you from within.

He slides his finger through the damp fabric, brushing against your femininity with unbearable slowness. The shiver that runs through your body makes you tremble against the desk, unable to control your reactions. A pathetic moan escapes your lips, revealing just how entranced you are by his touch. “Damn, you’re completely soaked for me,” he says, his tone filled with disdain and desire. “You liked it as much as I did, my love. You can’t fool me.”

With a sudden, unannounced gesture, he tears the delicate fabric, exposing your soft, vulnerable skin to the cool air. The thrill of this moment makes your heart race as he plunges a finger into your pussy, exploring your warmth with devouring audacity. You both release a collective moan, a cry of ecstasy mixed with pain, an echo of the dark passion that consumes you.

His finger movements are initially slow, as if he’s taking the time to savor every inch of your body. But as desire rises, he increases the pressure, adding a second finger, sinking deeper. His fingers penetrate your pussy, playing with your plump femininity, exploring it like a field of escape, teasing your sensitivity. The sensation of his fingers rubbing against the walls of your pussy makes you completely lose control, and you struggle to breathe. You know you should fight against this, but each thrust brings you closer to the release you so desperately desire.

“Do you like it, don’t you?” he asks, his voice hoarse and laden with sensuality. His words resonate like a promise of obscene illusions, each syllable bringing you closer to ultimate ecstasy. He mistreats your pussy, urging you to open up even more, to surrender completely to him. Pain intertwines with ecstasy, and you can no longer pretend, losing yourself in the obscenity of his caresses.

He slowly rises from the floor, his fingers sliding out of your pussy, still soaked with your excitement, leaving a shiny trail of moisture on your skin. The room is filled with a heavy atmosphere, charged with unspoken desires and palpable power. He approaches you, his hungry gaze scrutinizing every inch of your body stretched out on the desk.

His fingers, coated with your own pleasure, slowly approach your mouth, a smug smile forming on his lips. You know what he expects. Your eyes shine with anticipation as you open your mouth, your tongue ready to welcome what he offers. His fingers penetrate inside, and you envelop them, your warm, wet mouth greedily absorbing them. You start to suck on them as if they were his cock, your tongue swirling around them, playing, caressing, creating a sensual ballet of pleasure.

He groans, a rough, almost primal sound. “Keep it up, treasure,” he says, his voice heavy with lust and desire. As you take them deeper, you feel tears welling up, slightly choking you, but it’s a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that consumes you. His eyes gleam with a twisted satisfaction as he watches your submission, pressing harder against you, his hips aligning with your body.

Every movement of his fingers drives you mad. You tighten your mouth around them, applying pressure, your saliva dripping down your lips and falling onto your chest. He plunges his fingers deeper into your mouth, his hand moving in a controlled rhythm, and you start to moan, your body responding to the delicious brutality of the situation. A soft gasp escapes your lips, and you feel the thrill of pleasure coursing through you, igniting every fiber of your being.

While you stuff your mouth with his fingers, you begin to grind against him, each movement bringing you a little closer to ecstasy. The friction of your body against his elicits obscene moans, sounds that echo in the room like a reflection of your shared desire. “You’re such a dirty girl, professor,” he whispers, his voice full of disdain and admiration. “You take my fingers like a champion.”

He starts to grind against you more intensely, matching the rhythm of your movements. His hips move with calculated precision, each thrust rubbing his erection against your thigh. The friction drives you wild with desire, and you begin to moan louder, unable to contain the ecstasy that overwhelms you. The pressure mounts as he continues to push his fingers deeper into your mouth, forcing you to choke even more, submitting further to him.

“Look at you, so submissive, so greedy,” he says with a satisfied smile, his eyes shining with animal desire. “You’re so delicious like this.” He increases the pace, his fingers sliding and plunging even deeper inside you, pushing the limits of your pleasure to the brink. Each movement creates a wave of heat coursing through your body, an explosion of intense sensations, leaving you completely at his mercy. The heat consumes you, a heady mix of pleasure and humiliation enveloping you, leaving you in a frenzy of excitement. You know you’re ready to do anything for him, to abandon all resistance.

He slowly withdraws his fingers from your mouth, slick with your saliva and excitement, holding them up like trophies. “Look how you’ve ruined my fingers with your filthy mouth,” Heeseung sneers, a mixture of disdain and desire in his gaze, the expression of a predator savoring its prey. He shows you the mess, traces of your pleasure glistening on his skin, a clear reflection of your total submission. Then, he grabs you firmly by the jaw, his eyes narrowed in a mix of possessiveness and pleasure, forcing you to hold his intense gaze.

Your heart races, heat flooding your face like a rising tide. Your body is on fire, your burning desires colliding with the reality of the situation. He admires your face, ruined by your own pleasure, drool dripping down your neck, his gaze igniting your yearning to be his, to be consumed by his passion. “Damn! Treasure, I think I can’t hold back anymore,” he murmurs, the tension in his voice escalating with every second. The desire to please him grows within you, an almost irresistible urge that drives you wild.

He releases his grip on your jaw and roughly turns you around, laying you back on the desk. The cold wood against your skin makes you shiver, but that chill is quickly replaced by an insatiable heat that ignites your body, every fiber of your being vibrating with anticipation.

“So don’t stop, I need you, Heeseung…” Your voice trembles with anticipation, each word laden with desire. You spread your legs, exposing your bare, dripping pussy, the liquid dripping onto the desk as a blatant sign of your submission. You feel vulnerable, yet incredibly desirable, fully aware that you are at his mercy, ready to dive into the depths of your desires.

He approaches, his dark eyes fixed on your femininity, a satisfied smile gracing his lips. You feel his warm breath on your skin, a scorching caress that sends shivers of pleasure through you with every inhale, like a prelude to what’s to come. “Look at me,” he says in a hoarse voice, and you comply, your eyes locked onto his, revealing your total submission. You know he sees you as prey, and it drives you wild with desire, excited by the thought of what he might do to you.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, bringing a finger close to your intimacy. The light touch against your sensitive skin sends a jolt of intense pleasure through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan, the excitement gripping you tightly. “So wet and ready for me,” he adds, his tone laced with raw, primal desire. He toys with your excitement, his finger gliding slowly along your sex, deliciously torturing you, leaving you languishing in anticipation, each movement triggering waves of pleasure that threaten to overwhelm you.

“I want you to scream for me,” he says, an arrogant smile on his face. Then, without warning, he suddenly plunges a finger deep inside you, making you gasp with surprise and pleasure. The sensation blindsides you, and you moan, unable to contain the sounds spilling from your mouth, the explosive feeling spreading throughout your being. He doesn’t waste a moment before adding a second finger, relishing the way you squirm, the way your body responds to each thrust, each movement plunging him deeper into your warmth.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire, resonating in the warm, charged air. “So tight, so hungry.” His fingers begin to pump inside you, each movement becoming an intoxicating symphony of pleasure and pain. You feel an intense heat spreading through your entire body, an irresistible need to submit completely to him. The desk creaks under the weight of your untamed passion, and you are entirely at his mercy, lost in this dance of unconfessed desires, like a puppet in his expert hands.

“Give me everything,” he commands, his voice tinged with an overwhelming authority that sends shivers down your spine. You nod, ready to give him all that he desires, to offer every part of your being. Your body lifts against his fingers, seeking to feel him deeper, to satisfy him, as he continues to explore every inch of your intimacy. Moans escape from your lips, each thrust of his fingers amplifying the whirlwind of ecstasy consuming you.

“Give me your cock, Heeseung,” you cry, your voice breaking from the insatiable pleasure crashing over you like a wave, almost frantic with the need to possess him. “Please, I need it so badly.” Your eyes shine with a mix of desperate hope and burning desire as you surrender to this irresistible wave of need that pulls you down, completely at his mercy, ready to do anything to satisfy this man who consumes you.

Heeseung, with a cocky smile, slowly pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you wanting more, a cry of frustration on the tip of your lips. Then, with a provocative air, he slowly undoes his pants, savoring every second of your insatiable impatience. The sound of the fabric sliding against his skin resonates in the empty classroom, heightening the intensity of this forbidden, electrifying moment. He lowers his boxers, revealing his proud, thick erection, ready to take you, a sight that makes your heart race even faster.

“Is this what you want, professor?” he asks with a mocking smile, a glint of challenge shining in his dark eyes. “Do you want me to fuck your brains out here, in front of all these students who might walk in at any moment? Shouldn’t you be a little ashamed?” His words are a burning provocation, a dangerous game that ignites your desire further. He starts to tap his cock against your pussy, pre-cum dripping and sliding down your inner thigh, making you shudder with lust.

“Yes! Heeseung, I need it so badly,” you scream, almost enraged by the desire consuming your body. Every fiber of your being screams for him to fill you, to take you to the edge of oblivion as the tension rises with every passing second. “Don’t make me wait any longer.” In an act of defiance, you lift your hips, trying to draw him in, to connect with him in a way that feels both sweet and cruel.

Heeseung narrows his eyes, amused by your insatiable determination. “You’re so desperate,” he murmurs, his voice sardonic. Then, in a swift, dominant motion, he grips your hips, positioning you as he desires. His gaze is hungry as he leans in, his lips brushing against your delicate ear, a hot breath that makes you shiver. “Are you ready to sacrifice everything for a little pleasure?”

You nod, your heart racing, completely under his spell, aware that each passing second intensifies the desire binding you together. The tension in the air is palpable, a mix of lust and danger, and you know this moment is both beautiful and tragic, a dance on the razor’s edge between pleasure and consequences. He owns you, and you’re ready to do anything to keep him close, even if it means playing with fire.

“So get ready,” he whispers just before penetrating you, his hips pressing against yours, every muscle in your body tensing in a mix of intense pleasure and sweet pain. He enters you with irresistible force, shattering all barriers between you, every muscle in your body tightening in a blend of pleasure and pain. You cling to him, your hand gripping his arm, seeking an anchor as ecstasy takes you away.

He starts with slow, almost hypnotic thrusts, each movement like a sensual melody that envelops you. Each thrust is a burning breath, a languid caress that brushes your skin, leaving you just enough time to prepare for the impending explosion. The electricity spreads in the air, and the tension between you is palpable. His eyes sink into yours, obsessed with every shiver of your body, scrutinizing your expression as you arch under his grip, a declaration of his power.

Then, suddenly, he picks up the pace. His movements become more brutal, more demanding, and passion explodes within him. He holds your hips firmly, his fingers gripping your flesh with a force that leaves marks, indelible proof of his possession. His nails dig into your skin, and a delicious mix of pain and pleasure makes you moan, each thrust a promise of obscene delights. You are lost in this dance where you have become nothing more than an object of desire.

The table you’re laid on vibrates under his embrace. Each movement brings you closer to your limit, and an intense shiver sweeps over you, a desperate need to feel him even deeper, even more intensely. Each thrust reverberates in your body, electrifying you. You are suspended between ecstasy and anguish, a puppet in his hands.

He takes you with such intensity that tears well in your eyes, a mixture of overwhelming pleasure and exquisite pain. This crushing sensation overwhelms you, ready to implode, to dissolve in the ecstasy. The tears flow down your cheeks, warm and salty, leaving traces on your fevered skin. Each drop is a confession of your submission, your total abandonment to this chaotic dance where he is your tormentor and your savior.

“That’s what I want,” he growls, his voice husky, charged with desire. His eyes gleam with a wild light, commanding you not to stifle your moans. He deepens his thrusts, filling you completely, pushing you to your limits. The thrill of pleasure and pain merges in a delicious dance, and you feel an uncontrollable heat engulf every fiber of your being. Time seems to stop, leaving only the two of you, enmeshed in this exquisite stupor.

Your body convulses on the table, every tremor triggering a wave of pleasure, taking you to a place where reality dissolves. The sound of the table hitting the floor mingles with your moans, forming a brutal symphony of uninterrupted passion. You are entirely his, ready to sacrifice everything to taste this ecstasy he offers. Your body becomes his playground, and he does not hesitate to conquer it, exploring you with unparalleled voracity.

As he intensifies his pace, each movement becomes a declaration of conquest, a promise of endless pleasure. “You are mine,” he whispers, his warm breath against your skin, his lips brushing your neck with haunting tenderness. His words wrap around you like a vine, imprisoning you in a whirlwind of devouring desires.

He buries his lips in your neck, his teeth biting your skin with a savage force, provoking a sharp pain mingled with delicious warmth. You feel his scorching breath on your flesh, each exhalation seeming to ignite your skin. Your cries of pleasure resonate, blending with the pounding of your heart, as his hand firmly grips your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, marking you as his property.

Heeseung lifts you, moving you effortlessly, positioning you on the chair in front of your desk. Every fiber of your being is in turmoil as he sits, forcing you to climb on top of him. The moment his hard cock slides into your pussy is an explosion of sensations, a mix of terror and pure pleasure. The penetration is brutal, invasive, filling you in a way that erases all rationality.

He pushes even deeper, making sure to touch every sensitive corner of your insides. His movements are powerful, forcing you to ride him provocatively, each thrust resonating like thunder in your flesh. Your body reacts instinctively, arching and grinding to welcome him even deeper. The outside world disappears as you focus on the ecstasy he gives you, a symphony of obscene pleasure.

The moans escaping your mouth become more desperate, a mix of anguish and rapture as you realize you cannot hold back. Your mouth overflows with saliva, your breath becoming chaotic. Your hands cling to his shoulders, nails digging into his muscular skin, seeking an anchor in this storm of sensations. The muscles of his torso contract under your fingers, and you feel the heat radiating from him, burning and imperious.

Heeseung draws his lips to yours, his eyes shining with desire. He captures your breath before plunging his tongue into your mouth, intertwining his movements with yours provocatively. The way he teases you, nipping at your tongue and exploring your mouth with unparalleled savagery makes you shiver. His tongue dances with yours, rubbing against every corner of your mouth, entwining in a sensual struggle as he penetrates you with fiery intensity.

With each thrust, he makes sure to hit that sweet spot you crave the most, his movements becoming more intense, more desperate. You feel like a puppet in his arms, an object of desire that he manipulates at his whim. You are completely his, surrendered to his relentless desire. Your breath becomes chaotic, a blend of sighs and screams, as a wave of warmth engulfs your body, ready to explode.

The sensations become overwhelming, and you feel the orgasm looming on the horizon, a tsunami of pleasure threatening to engulf you. Each thrust is a shockwave reverberating through your body, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure pushing you to the brink of ecstasy. You know you’re on the verge of release, and he knows it too.

He quickens his pace, his thrusts more fierce, more frantic, as if he wants you to feel every inch of him. You cling even tighter to his shoulders, your nails digging deeper into his muscular skin as you try to hold on, but he is too powerful, too dominating. Your moans mingle with his, a symphony of unspoken desires and unquenched pleasures.

At that moment, everything becomes blurry. Pleasure, pain, anguish, and ecstasy merge into a single feeling, an endless spiral of sensations that envelops you completely. You are submerged by an ocean of pleasure, and as the wave of orgasm crashes over you, you scream his name, a cry of despair and jubilation, a silent plea that resonates in the air saturated with desire. In this obscene moment, you know that you belong to him body and soul, that every fiber of your being is devoted to him.

The outside world fades away as you are engulfed by this pleasure. Your heart races, desire consuming you like a raging fire, each pulse resonating in the intimacy of your union. He doesn’t let you go, continuing to take you with animalistic fervor, his powerful and brutal movements causing you to sway even more. The heat rises, your body trembling under each thrust, each push making you lose track of time and space. In this mix of sensations and emotions, you realize that you are completely lost in this moment, and that nothing will ever be the same after this.

Heeseung looks at you with a burning intensity, his dark eyes gleaming with palpable desire, a wild fire that consumes you. Each thrust he gives you is both brutal and exquisite, a frantic rhythm that makes every fiber of your being vibrate. His movements are precise, exploiting your sensitivity like a virtuoso, pushing your body to limits you never imagined. Each brush, each caress, each penetration resonates in your flesh, awakening in you unconfessed desires and unexplored sensations.

In this ocean of sensations, you completely lose track of time. He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving marks on your skin, a delicious pain that heightens the excitement. “That’s it, you love it, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice hoarse and deep resonating in your ear, the heat of his breath igniting you even more. The anxiety mixed with pleasure is like a drug, and you realize you’re ready to sacrifice everything for this moment.

Your heart beats faster as he intensifies every thrust, filling you with him at a frenzied pace, leaving you breathless, gasping. You can feel the explosion of pleasure rising within him, a volcano ready to erupt. His eyes, locked on you, shine with a glimmer of challenge, as if he delights in every reaction his body provokes in yours. He is determined to make you feel everything he has to offer, to make you succumb to his darkest desires.

As he approaches his orgasm, each movement becomes more desperate, more charged with energy. His hips collide against yours with such force that you feel like you’re losing your footing, drowning in this flood of ecstasy. The adrenaline pulses through your veins, each thrust amplifying the intensity of your pleasure, making you scream louder and louder, as if the outside world had disappeared. The world around you vanishes; there is only him and you, two souls intertwined in a wild dance of passion and desire.

Heeseung bites your neck one last time, his teeth sinking into your flesh, a shiver of excitement coursing through your entire body. The pain and pleasure blend, creating an almost addictive sensation. “You are mine,” he growls, his gaze alight with a consuming possessiveness, like an animal marking its territory. It’s a promise, a declaration of war against anything that could separate you, and you feel a thrill of excitement race down your spine.

And then, in one last effort, he climaxes inside you, each pulse of his body sending waves of heat that mix with the sweetness of your pleasure. The sensation is electrifying, every drop of him spilling inside you adding to the ecstasy that overwhelms you, a symphony of pleasure and pain resonating in the warm air of the room. The echoes of his orgasm resonate like an obscene melody, a melody of fulfilled desires that seems to haunt the space.

After this surge, he doesn’t release his hold on you. On the contrary, he gently glides his lips over the swollen and flushed skin of your neck, his searing kisses marking every inch with deceptive tenderness, a delectable contrast to the brutality of your encounters. His hands roam your body, tracing trails of heat and desire, lingering on your curves, intensifying every caress, every brush.

You are both covered in sweat, your bodies glistening in the dim light, a living tableau of passion and debauchery. The atmosphere is charged with desire, each breath and each movement creating an obscene melody that lingers in the air, a silent promise of many more moments to come. You know that this night will mark the beginning of a journey from which you can never return, a path paved with desire and danger.

The school hallways were noisy, filled with shrill laughter and furtive whispers, a cacophony that seemed to mock your loneliness. You walked, your arms laden with thick books and loose papers, a crushing ton of work weighing on your shoulders. The ground, cold and rough, echoed under your feet, but you focused on your destination, your classroom, where you could finally be free of this burden. However, you had barely crossed the threshold of a deserted hallway when a familiar figure approached you with disconcerting confidence.

It was Jeong Jaehyun, a student in your class, known for his arrogant smile and piercing gaze. He had barely broken away from his group of friends when he rushed towards you, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes were shining with a mischievous glint, like a predator stalking its prey. You felt a wave of disgust rise within you, but you tried to keep a straight face.

“Professor, can I ask you a question?” His voice was smooth, almost honeyed, as he looked you up and down with a disturbing intensity. His gaze was a burning fire, sliding over your body, lingering on your curves, and it made you feel sick. But you hid it behind a mask of calm.

“Yes, Mr. Jeong, what can I do for you?” you asked, forcing a polite smile, though your stomach knotted in revulsion.

“I was wondering…” he began, stepping closer, his tone dropping to a whisper. “If you would mind giving me some more… intimate lessons on the human body, in a more private place.” He stepped forward, his voice almost a whisper, as he stared at your chest with a revealing greed. A shiver of anxiety ran through you as you instinctively lifted the papers to block his view, trying to shield yourself from his perverted gaze.

“What?” you asked, mouth agape, shock and outrage gripping you. Anger swelled inside you, but it was already too late. You tried to back away, to escape his hold, but he grabbed your arm with brutal force, pulling you towards him. The books fell to the floor with a thud, drawing the attention of the students, who watched the scene with mixed expressions of curiosity and disgust. “What do you think you’re doing? Let me go right now,” you growled, your voice shaking with anguish, but he didn’t release his hold, his defiant smile widening.

“Come on, stop being a goody two-shoes. We all know that no teacher has ever attended a Black Apollo Halloween party, but you’re going, right? It’s weird, right?” Jaehyun stated mockingly, his arm holding you captive, crushing your arm with incredible force that made you whimper. The pain was throbbing, but he didn’t seem to care, his satisfaction contorting his face.

“We all know you fuck them, so why not do it with me? I want to mark that pretty body, make you scream with pleasure. Don’t be mean, professor, after all, your job is to teach us everything, right?” His words slid out like venom, each syllable a humiliation, a dull threat. His free hand gripped your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and humiliating, as you struggled against his hold.

“Come on, don’t cry, professor, save it for later—”

“What the hell are you doing, asshole? Let her go!” Sunghoon burst forth, visible fury marking his face. His fists were clenched, jaw clenched, his gaze burning with anger at seeing another man dare to touch you like that. An electric tension coursed through the air, palpable and menacing, as Sunghoon walked towards you, a storm in his eyes.

“Sunghoon, don’t you want to share this one with us too? Remember the good old days when you four shared your sluts with the whole school?” Jaehyun snickered, his hand sliding around your neck, forcing you to look at him, to see his satisfied smile. “How about we do this again? It’s not like this slut is special, right?” His laughter echoed in your ears, making you shudder in disgust, a raw humiliation that paralyzed you.

Sunghoon's rage erupted like a storm. With a violent gesture, he pulled you out of Jaehyun's grip, making you take a step back, then, with lightning speed, he grabbed Jaehyun by the t-shirt, pinning him forcefully against the wall. The shocked gasps of the students mingled with the ambient tension, but none of them dared to intervene. Faced with the brutality of one of the Black Apollos, they preferred to remain spectators, fearing reprisals.

“You little prick, you think you can get away with anything because of your father’s lowly position, but today, it’s over. Your father, you and your entire family, you’re finished,” Sunghoon said through gritted teeth, his voice a slick threat, his eyes blazing with rage. He tightened his fingers around Jaehyun’s neck, the fury making him almost unrecognizable, a demon ready to strike.

“Mr. Park, release him right now,” you said sharply, stepping closer to him, placing a hand on his in a desperate attempt to calm him down. He glared at you, maintaining his hold, but seeing your desperate expression, he finally released Jaehyun with an unsatisfied grunt.

“Listen to your bitch, it’s better, you son of a bitch,” Jaehyun spat, his gaze filled with hatred, the smile on his lips a taunt.

In an instant, Sunghoon couldn't contain himself any longer. With a swift movement, he threw a punch at Jaehyun's face, the impact resounding like a clap of thunder. Jaehyun fell to the ground, stunned, his face bruised, but Sunghoon didn't stop there. "What did you just say, asshole? Say it again," he exclaimed, getting on top of him, striking repeatedly, each blow harder than the last. Jaehyun's face covered in blood, but Sunghoon showed no signs of mercy. Rage fueled him, he wanted to destroy this man, make him pay for his audacity, reduce his arrogance to nothing.

Your heart was pounding, gasping in horror as you watched, unable to look away. The brutality of the punches terrified you, and you called for help, but even the students around you seemed frozen, petrified by the violence unleashed before them. Jaehyun's blood was flowing, mixing with the dust on the floor, splattering the wall, your eyes widening at the horror. Each punch Sunghoon threw sounded like a gunshot, vibrating the air around you, as his bloodied fists bore witness to the brutality of his act.

“Sunghoon, please release him,” you tried to say, but your voice was shaking, filled with anguish and helplessness. You desperately tried to reason with him, but he was disconnected from reality, a bloodthirsty beast. Jake, watching the scene with growing concern, came closer, trying to assess the situation while giving you a sympathetic look. “Jake, please do something— Sunghoon is…” Your voice choked as you tried to turn away, but the sound of punches, Jaehyun’s cries of pain, rooted you to the spot.

Jake, aware of your distress, sought to comfort you, but also knew he had to intervene. He walked over to Sunghoon, gripping his shoulders tightly. In a low voice, he whispered something in his ear. Sunghoon then turned to you, but he was only met with your trembling back, and he could hear the sobs you were suppressing. With one last hateful look at Jaehyun, he stood up, his anger at its peak, his fist still clenched.

“Take care of her, Jake, she needs you,” Sunghoon ordered, walking away from the scene as he pulled out a cigarette, his hands shaking with rage, struggling to light it. The smell of tobacco and blood hung in the air, a macabre melody of despair.

“What the hell are you doing here, Y/n? I don’t need you lecturing me,” Sunghoon spat, his raspy voice echoing through the empty staircase, laced with barely concealed contempt. Smoke drifted slowly from his mouth, swirling through the stagnant air like a looming shadow. His gaze, as sharp as a blade, pierced you with its darkness, a silent threat intensifying with every beat of your heart. He stared at you like a predator stalking its prey—still but ready to strike at any moment. Sitting nonchalantly on the top step, he crushed his cigarette under his heel, a cold smile barely forming on his lips, hinting at something sinister.

“I’m not here to lecture you. Show me your hands,” you retorted, your voice harsher than you’d intended, holding out your hand toward him with determination. Inside, your anxiety soared—you hoped he’d obey, hoped he’d let you see how bad it was. But he didn’t move, his cold indifference driving you mad. Your heart pounded harder, fear and anger swirling together in a storm. Your hands trembled slightly, and you decided to act.

Without waiting, you grabbed his hand abruptly, your fingers wrapping around his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours—a warmth that contrasted with the freezing atmosphere surrounding you. You dropped to your knees beside him, opening the first-aid kit quickly, determined to disinfect the cuts despite his provocations. Every second spent next to him made you realize just how terrifying and captivating he was at the same time.

He stayed still, his eyes locked on you, weighing heavily. “Why are you doing this? Why waste your time on me? I’m not even worth anything,” he muttered bitterly, his words cutting through your heart. But you refused to give in to pity. He suddenly yanked his hand from yours, breaking the contact, and stared at you intensely. “You should’ve stayed with Jake, not come after me. You’re so stupid.” He laughed, the mocking sound slicing through the stairwell like a blade. Yet, you knew that laugh was a mask. Behind that icy exterior, something else was simmering—satisfaction, a flicker in his eyes that no one else could see. He was glad you were there, and he knew it as well as you did.

“Cut the crap, Park, and let me take care of you,” you growled through clenched teeth, your voice trembling with anger you could no longer contain. You tried to grab his hands again, but he stubbornly kept them at his sides, refusing to give in. His resistance pushed you to the edge, frustration boiling inside you. The adrenaline surged through your veins, and before you could think, you shoved him back hard, forcing him to fall heavily onto the floor. His back hit the step with a dull thud, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes, however, gleamed with a new light—darker, more intense, as if he welcomed the challenge.

“Look what you’re making me do,” you hissed, your eyes blazing with defiance as you straddled him, your legs on either side of his hips. The closeness between your bodies made the air thicker, each breath harder to take. He looked up at you, his face half-hidden in the shadows, but you could feel the desire burning behind his dark pupils, the tension between you becoming unbearable, every beat of his heart thudding against yours.

“You should’ve never come here, bunny,” he whispered, his tone suddenly deeper, almost threatening. His hands slid slowly onto your thighs, squeezing your flesh with brutal, possessive force. A shiver ran down your spine, and you couldn’t hide your body’s instinctive reaction to his touch. Every brush of his skin against yours ignited a fire you couldn’t extinguish—a flicker of desire you couldn’t ignore. “Now that you’re here, you’re mine. Until I decide to let you go. You should’ve stayed with Jake, you stupid little girl.” His words were crude, brutal, but he wasn’t just speaking. With a swift, calculated movement, he flipped you under him, his weight pinning you to the ground with relentless force. He dominated you completely, and you felt the air leave your lungs under the pressure of his body, the heat of his skin smothering yours.

“Park, you shouldn’t be doing this. I’m your teacher, remember?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, but it wavered under the weight of the situation, the intensity of his gaze and his body overwhelming you. Your hips shifted instinctively, struggling to escape his grip, but every movement only increased the friction between your bodies, intensifying the suffocating heat surrounding you. Each second beneath him made your heart race faster, the desperation to escape mixing with a burning anticipation.

“We already fucked, Miss, and your stupid title isn’t going to stop me,” he sneered, his gaze growing fiercer, his hands wandering slowly across your body, as if marking every inch. You could feel his fingers explore every part of your skin, awakening sensations you thought you could control. “But this time, it’s going to be different. Very different. I’ll fuck you with that bastard’s blood still on my hands, and you won’t have a choice but to take it—every bit of it, whether you want to or not. Got it, bunny?” His words hit like blows—brutal and uncompromising—and you felt your body tense under their weight. He held you captive, forcing you to submit to his devastating desire. You were at his mercy, and despite the fear consuming you, a shiver of excitement coursed through you, an insatiable need to give in.

“You don’t have a choice, bunny,” he continued, a twisted smile curling his lips, a promise of both pleasure and pain. He grabbed your wrists roughly, pinning them above your head, leaving you completely vulnerable. With expert ease, he unbuckled his belt in one swift motion, wrapping it tightly around your bound wrists. The leather bit into your skin, cutting off almost all circulation, but you no longer cared. The satisfied smirk on his face made your blood boil with rage—and yet, the desire within you grew stronger, uncontrollable. Each second he maintained that pressure over you amplified your craving for him, creating an electric tension in the air.

“I want to hear you scream my name, so that bastard knows I’m the only one who can fuck you this hard, the only one who can fill every desperate hole in your body.” He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a cruel tease, never quite kissing you. Your breath was ragged, your body aflame, every nerve taut with anticipation, with the frustration he was inflicting on you. He was playing with you, controlling you entirely, and you felt like you were about to burst under the unbearable tension.

“I thought my bunny didn’t want this,” he mocked, his voice a poisonous whisper as his fingers trailed slowly down your neck, leaving a burning path along your skin. His hands glided lower, barely brushing over your breasts before pulling away, leaving you gasping, desperate for more. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you were powerless to resist, your body betraying you at every turn. Inside, you battled between desire and hatred, between rage and submission—a fight you knew you’d already lost.

“I’m yours, Sunghoon. I belong to you,” you finally whispered, your voice a broken breath, knowing those words were your only way out—the only way to end this perfectly orchestrated torment. Sunghoon’s eyes lit up, a satisfied grin spreading across his lips, a gleam of triumph shining in his gaze. He had won. He always did.

He brought his face closer to yours, his gaze locked on yours like a predator observing its prey. His smirk was a mix of irony and desire, and you knew he wasn’t trying to be gentle. When his mouth neared yours, the air grew heavy, saturated with tension and unspoken promises.

Without a word, he leaned in, his tongue slowly emerging to lick your lower lip. The contact was electrifying, a shiver coursing through your body like lightning. That simple gesture made you moan, a sound that echoed both desire and surprise. Instinctively, you sought to get closer, pressing your chest against his, the heat of your need undeniable. His mocking laugh mixed with your breath, a dangerous melody that made your head spin.

Then, with a sudden burst of hunger, he captured your lips with greedy violence. The kiss was immediately wild, his lips crashing into yours with brutal force, blending passion with possessiveness. His mouth was like fire, scorching and insatiable, each movement resonating throughout your body. His tongue invaded your mouth, exploring with irresistible fervor, as if he wanted to consume you whole.

Each stroke of his tongue was both a caress and a claim. He wasn’t just kissing you—he was devouring you, every press of his lips driving you deeper into an abyss of insatiable desire. You could taste his mouth, faintly metallic, a blend of adrenaline and danger that only heightened the thrill surging between you. His hands, stained with blood, wandered across your skin, leaving burning traces in their wake. They roamed along your waist, sliding up your ribs, pausing to pinch your flesh as if he wanted to mark you, make you his.

His grip was both possessive and gentle, the acrid scent of blood mingling with his musky cologne. He held you against him, his body pressing into yours, making every breath difficult. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, but instead of fear, it made you crave more. Every movement you made, every sigh that escaped your lips only stoked his desire, and he responded with feral intensity.

The kiss grew rougher, pleasure blending with pain, every bite on your lips, every rough stroke of his tongue sparking a visceral reaction in you. Thinking became impossible; there was only feeling, each sensation heightened to the extreme. His deep, hoarse laughter echoed in your mind, every sound a declaration of his power over you.

Then, in a swift motion, he broke the kiss, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips, his breath ragged and uneven. He stared at you with unsettling intensity, his dark eyes glowing with a wild gleam. The closeness of your bodies made the air heavy, every breath a struggle. His hands reclaimed your body, sliding over your skin with devastating certainty, making you feel both vulnerable and desirable.

“You’re mine,” he whispered in a hoarse, almost possessive voice, and you knew he wasn’t joking. Passion, violence, and desire swirled within him, and you were ready to let yourself be swept away by this obscene whirlwind, to succumb to the call of his lips and the heat of his body.

He stared at you intensely, his dark eyes filled with voracious desire, and you felt the heat of his gaze on every inch of your skin. His fingers lingered on your white button-down shirt, caressing it gently as if he were exploring prey. A provocative smile curled his lips, a silent challenge, and he couldn’t resist the invitation.

In one swift, brutal motion, he ripped your shirt open, the sound of fabric tearing echoing like a bell of decadence. Buttons flew in all directions, landing on the floor as silent witnesses to your profane act. You gasped, a melody of excitement and surprise hanging in the air, realizing just how vulnerable you were, exposed to his ravenous gaze.

“Sunghoon!” you growled angrily, your face twisting, but deep inside, a shiver of anticipation ran through you.

“Bunny, that was awkward,” he murmured, his husky voice betraying his mischievous amusement. He began parting your shirt, gradually revealing your chest. His fingers glided slowly, and you shivered under his touch, a wave of desire pulsing through your body. The black lace of your bra highlighted every curve, accentuating the display before him.

He paused for a moment, his gaze lost in the sight of your silhouette. He couldn’t completely remove your shirt—your hands were tied with his belt—but that only fueled his desire. He swallowed slowly, licking his lips as he admired your chest, wrapped in the sensual black lace.

“Fuck, professor, you’re such a tease, and you’ve got the body of a slut,” he murmured, his soft voice dripping with palpable obscenity. His words fell like drops of venom on your skin, making you shiver with both pleasure and disgust.

Lying on the cold stairs of the school, where anyone could see you, adrenaline surged through your veins. The idea that someone might walk in at any moment both excited and frightened you. Sunghoon relished the thought; he wanted to display your vulnerability, to prove to all those bastards that only he and his three best friends could make you this way—submissive and eager, desperate for their touch.

“Look how beautiful you are,” he said, bringing his fingers to your skin, barely brushing it. Each touch was a promise of what could follow. A shiver of anticipation ran through you as his hand drifted over the lace, caressing your body with a searing possessiveness.

“No one else can touch you like this,” he whispered, his voice growing more intense, more urgent. “You’re mine, and mine alone.” His words were a sweet poison, a mix of dominance and desire. Your heart raced at the thought of what he might do to you. He leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin, and you realized the line between anger and desire was fading.

He placed a hand around your throat, his fingers tightening gently, but never enough to choke. It was delicate control, a dance between submission and domination. His eyes never left yours, and in them, you saw the shadow of a delicious threat. He leaned in even closer, his lips grazing your ear. “Let go, professor. I want you to feel every second.”

“You’re so beautiful, so desirable,” he murmured with an intensity that made you lose control. His hand slid slowly down your stomach, exploring every curve, every hollow. The heat of his touch sent a wave of desire surging through you, an irresistible pulse.

“I’ll show you how much you can belong to me,” he continued, his voice low and filled with desperate need. His hands explored your body with devastating confidence, tracing fiery paths along your skin. He leaned in to whisper again, “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”

He bent down slowly, his eyes locked on your vulnerable form, his warm breath grazing your skin as he brought his lips to your neck. Every movement was calculated, like a predator toying with its prey. He didn’t stop at kisses—he nipped, licked, marking every inch of your flesh as if it were territory to conquer. His breathing grew heavier as he moved lower, his lips drifting from your neck to your collarbone, from your collarbone to your chest, barely skimming your skin, leaving you panting, starving for more.

His large, powerful hands traced invisible lines along your hips, caressing your thighs with agonizing slowness. He knew exactly what he was doing—teasing you, making you crave. His fingers slid under your skirt, rucking it up slightly, then methodically raising it higher, exposing the bare skin of your thighs. The cool air made you shiver, but it was his gaze—burning with possessive desire—that made you feel exposed, naked under his hungry eyes.

His fingers slipped beneath your panties, barely brushing your wetness, driving you mad with impatience, while your pussy was already drenched with desire. “You’re already so wet, and I haven’t even started…” His voice was low, rough, almost an animalistic whisper, soaked in perverse satisfaction.

He crouches down at your hip level, his eyes piercing every inch of your exposed skin. He gently tugs on the fabric of your panties, letting the elastic snap against your sensitive skin—a reminder of the total control he has over you. Then, with a cruel smile, he slides a finger under the fabric, barely grazing your warmth, giving you only a tiny taste of the pleasure he’s deliberately holding back. “Look at you, already soaked… Pathetic.”

Without another word, he yanks your panties off in a brutal motion, sliding them down your legs. But instead of letting them drop, he presses them against his face, inhaling deeply. His nostrils flare with greed, and a low growl escapes his throat. “Fuck… The smell of your pussy drives me crazy.” His voice is hoarse, almost breaking from the raw excitement seeping through every word. He breathes in your panties again, his gaze locked onto yours, savoring the embarrassment written across your face.

He keeps the panties against his nose a few seconds longer, as if imprinting the scent into his memory. “So fucking good…” he murmurs before stuffing them carelessly into his pocket, as if he’s claimed something precious, a filthy trophy. His fingers now trace the bare skin of your thighs, barely brushing you, just enough to send shivers through your body—but not touching where you need it most.

“Hoon…” your voice is barely a whisper, a mix of protest and pleading, but he doesn’t listen. He’s far too focused on his own pleasure, on the thrill he draws from your complete vulnerability.

“Bunny, don’t even think about getting your panties back.” His smile is anything but reassuring—it’s cruel, mocking, and full of dark promises. “Unless you really want to see me angry.” His fingers graze your skin again, dangerously close to your core, never offering the slightest relief. “You’re mine now, and you’ll do exactly what I tell you.” He leans in, his mouth brushing your ear as he whispers, “You don’t have a choice, and you know it.”

You shudder under the weight of his implicit threat, but before you can react, he violently grabs your hair, yanking your head back and exposing your neck, forcing you to look directly into his eyes. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, professor.” His voice is a sharp command, and you feel your body respond despite yourself. Your breathing becomes erratic, your heart pounding wildly, desire and fear intertwining in a toxic dance.

“Hoon… please…” You barely recognize your own voice, weak and cracked from the mix of desire and shame. But he doesn’t let you finish, a wicked grin spreading across his lips.

“What, already begging, Bunny?” He laughs, a cold, mocking laugh that echoes through the room as he releases his grip on your hair. “I knew you were a little slut, but I didn’t think you’d break this quickly.” His fingers drift lower, barely brushing over your soaked core, keeping you on the edge of pleasure. But he pulls his hand away before you can give in to it. “No, no… You haven’t earned that yet.”

“You’re a disobedient little whore, aren’t you?” His dark eyes glimmer with perverse intent. “But you’ll soon learn who’s in charge here.” He shoves you against the wall, his imposing body crushing yours. Then, before you can say anything, he pulls your panties from his pocket, holding them in front of you like a silent warning.

“Open your mouth. Now.” He growls through his teeth, and you hesitate, but he gives you no choice. His hand grips your jaw roughly, forcing your lips apart, and he shoves your panties into your mouth. The damp fabric, soaked with your arousal, presses against your tongue, filling your mouth with a bitter taste—a mix of saliva and desire. “There we go…” His hot breath brushes against your face as he leans in closer, his gaze locked on yours with an unhealthy intensity. “That’s a much better use for that filthy little mouth.” He pushes the fabric deeper with his fingers until you’re forced to bite down on it, your muffled whimpers trapped behind the wet fabric.

He laughs, watching you struggle weakly, your attempts to speak reduced to faint, stifled moans behind the soaked panties. Saliva drips from your lips, sliding down your chin, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Every breath becomes a struggle, every muffled whimper a cruel reminder of your submission.

“Look at you…” he murmurs, his fingers trailing along your cheek, smearing the drool escaping your mouth, before tilting your face up toward him. “So pathetic… so beautiful… completely at my mercy.” He pinches your cheeks between his fingers, making you feel the wet fabric even more, your mouth wide open—exposed and humiliated.

“And you’ll take it all, because you don’t have a choice. You belong to me.” He loosens his grip slightly but keeps his gaze locked on yours. “This is exactly what you deserve…” His voice is almost tender, but there’s a dark undertone beneath it. “Every second of this humiliation.”

“Now, I’m going to fuck you, Bunny, like the filthy slut you are, and you’re going to love every second of it.” His voice is deep, almost animalistic, filled with raw desire. His fingers dig into your arm so hard you know there will be bruises. He yanks you away from the wall with no care, throwing you brutally onto the school stairs. Your body slams against the steps with a loud thud, the sound of your knees hitting the stone echoing in the empty hallway. The pain is sharp and immediate, but you don’t have time to fully feel it before he’s on you again.

He forces you to stay on your knees, your legs trembling, your knees burning against the rough steps. You try to hold onto the stairs, but with your hands tied behind your back, it’s impossible, and his harsh movements throw you off balance. Your wrists are bound so tightly with his belt that you feel the leather biting into your skin.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, running a hand through your hair—the softness of the gesture violently contrasting with the brutality of the situation. Then, suddenly, he yanks your head back with brutal force. A muffled cry escapes you, your mouth stuffed with your panties, preventing you from screaming, speaking, or breathing fully. “Fucking little slut.”

His hand slides down your back, his fingers grazing your body without a hint of tenderness, as if he has no intention of making you feel good. He rips your skirt off without hesitation, leaving your body exposed, vulnerable. “Did you really think I’d go easy on you?” He laughs, his breath ragged against your ear. “No fucking way—you’re here to be fucked.”

He unbuttons his pants in one swift motion, dropping his boxers to free his erection. He doesn’t bother to warn you or check if you’re ready—he doesn’t care. His hands grip your hips so tightly that you feel his nails dig into your flesh. “You’re going to take all of it, Bunny. Every fucking inch.”

With one brutal thrust, he slams into you. There’s no waiting, no gentleness—just the violence of the first thrust, forcing you to adjust to his size in an instant. The pain steals your breath, and your scream is muffled by the panties in your mouth. Your body tenses instinctively, but it doesn’t stop him. Instead, he laughs, satisfied by your reaction. “Fuck, you’re so tight… You really thought you could get away from me, huh?”

He yanks your hair again, arching your back even more, and drives deeper into you. His thrusts are feral, brutal, as if he wants to leave a mark inside you, a permanent reminder of this day. “Look at you, on your knees, unable to say a word, just good for being fucked like the bitch you are.” His voice is raspy, each word spoken between ragged breaths of pleasure.

Your face is pressed against the cold, rough steps, the abrasive texture scraping your delicate skin. With every thrust, your body is pushed forward, each movement triggering a sharp wave of pain that radiates through your legs, making every nerve vibrate. Your knees scrape against the steps, an intense burn intensifying with each passing moment, but you’re frozen, unable to move. His hands, powerful and relentless, hold you firmly in place, trapping your body under his control.

You feel a mixture of fear and excitement. The tension is palpable, your heart pounding wildly as he forces you to stay there, submissive to his will. The words that leave his mouth echo like an implacable order: “You’re going to take every fucking inch, and you better not make a sound.” His voice is rough, laced with desire, each syllable a challenge you’re eager to meet.

Sunghoon keeps slamming into you, his thrusts brutal, each one resonating through your body with wild intensity. His movements are fast and chaotic, as if he’s completely losing control, surrendering to the primality of his desires. Each thrust is an explosion of pleasure and pain, pulling you deeper into a whirlwind of contradictory emotions.

Every muscle in your body tenses, gripping around him with fierce intensity, anchoring you to reality while his violent movements leave you barely able to breathe. The brutality electrifies you, each impact sending obscene waves of pleasure that grow stronger with every second. You feel both vulnerable and incredibly alive, as if every thrust affirms your submission but also celebrates your insatiable desire.

His hands, powerful and possessive, grip your waist tightly, the control he exerts over you making you shiver with excitement. The pain becomes a burning caress, a reminder that you are here, entirely his, belonging to him in this savage dance. Every fiber of your being responds to his dominance, a mix of anxiety and pleasure sending you into a trance-like state.

Suddenly, his pace shifts. His thrusts become deeper, harder, forcing you to feel every inch of him inside you. He pounds into you mercilessly, relentlessly. “This is what you need, huh? For someone to remind you of what you really are, just a filthy little slut.” He tightens his grip on your hair, yanking your head back so hard your scalp burns from the tension.

The pressure around your throat becomes unbearable, each second stretching endlessly. You choke, the forced angle flooding you with pain, making your breath short and ragged. Your muffled whimpers struggle through the air, but he hears them, and it only fuels his savage desire. You know he delights in your weakness, that every sound you make feeds his consuming pleasure.

“Yeah… whimper for me, little bunny. Whimper while I wreck you.” His voice reverberates in the space, a blend of softness and menace that sends chills down your spine. Sunghoon doesn’t just dominate you; he bathes in your pain, turning it into a melody that enthralls him. You feel his body against yours, his warmth surrounding you, his musky scent overwhelming your senses, deepening your trance.

The taste of danger and the forbidden stirs something within you, an insatiable desire you can’t ignore. As his hand tightens around your throat, the suffering intertwines with a delicious pleasure. Every stifled moan you let out becomes an offering, a plea that spurs him on. In a surge of madness, you realize you want this—that this blend of pain and ecstasy ignites you like nothing ever has.

He loosens his grip slightly, giving you a brief chance to catch your breath, but just as you begin to feel relief, his hand clamps down again, wrenching a cry from you. “That’s it, my little bunny. Let yourself go.” His words are like strokes against your skin, a promise of dark and unexplored delights. The tension between you is electric, every touch, every gesture amplifying the thrill of the forbidden.

You realize you’re entirely at his mercy, and that’s precisely what makes you tremble. Your body responds to every impulse he provokes, a wild dance between submission and ecstasy. The tears streaming down your cheeks are both from pain and pleasure, bearing witness to your devotion, and you savor them. It’s debauchery, a release, and you’re ready to lose yourself in this carnal obscenity.

He yanks his hand from your hair with brutal force, only to wrap it around your throat. His fingers squeeze with savage strength, evoking a sensation both terrifying and intoxicating. As he begins to tighten his grip, the world around you darkens, your breath strangled. You choke, your body arching under his control, desperately fighting for air, but he doesn’t relent. On the contrary, he tightens his hold, savoring every second of your delicious agony.

His fingers dig deep into your skin, leaving red marks as proof of his authority. You feel your heart race frantically, caught between the pain and the pleasure that now seem inseparable. Each tiny whimper that escapes your lips is a desperate yet thrilling plea. He plays with your suffering, giving you just enough breath to remain conscious and feel every moment of what he’s doing to you.

“That’s right, choke for me… choke while I fuck you.” His voice, hoarse and brimming with desire, resonates like a promise, an invitation to lose yourself in this depravity. His words coil around you, devouring you, fueling the fire burning within. And you realize, with disturbing elation, that you love this. Every surge of pain that floods through you only brings new waves of pleasure.

Your body convulses under him, every muscle taut from the crushing grip on your neck. Heat floods your face, a testament to the mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. Your vision blurs, a halo of darkness creeping in as your desperate need for air transforms into a delicate dance between anguish and pleasure. Silent tears stream down your cheeks, tracing burning paths before falling onto his powerful fingers, tightening around your throat like an invisible chain.

But he shows no mercy. If anything, he revels in it, finding pleasure in your suffering, in your total submission. Every whimper muffled against your underwear is music to his ears, and he keeps going, relentless, tightening his grip with a satisfied grin. Sunghoon’s veins bulge in his neck from the effort, his gaze a blend of dominance and hunger, locked onto you.

Despite the pain, your body responds to his dominance. He forces every fiber of your being to surrender further to him, and you feel an uncontrollable heat stir deep in your core. Your breathing becomes increasingly shallow, each gasp a desperate struggle. Your chest heaves frantically, searching for air, but he holds you firmly, making it clear that this control belongs to both of you—and yet to him alone.

“Fuck, look at you, you’re perfect…” His voice echoes in the charged air, thick with primal desire that makes you shiver. He loosens his grip on your throat slightly, giving you just enough air to gasp frantically. It’s a fleeting reprieve, a moment suspended in time, but you know it’s temporary. Before you can truly feel relief, his grip tightens again, his fingers clamping around your windpipe, depriving you of the oxygen you so desperately need.

Your legs tremble under his weight, every muscle in your body burning. Your knees, scraped raw against the steps, sting with fiery abrasions, but you no longer have the strength to fight. He has all the control. Submission morphs into a trance, a dance between pain and pleasure where you feel both vulnerable and incredibly alive.

Every second stretches, making you aware of every detail. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, a relentless drumbeat accompanying your struggle for air. He watches your every movement, his dark eyes glimmering with possessiveness. You are both his prey and his treasure, and he knows it. His grip on your throat becomes both an act of domination and a promise of indulgence.

You feel the heat of his body against yours, his breath warm against your skin. In this obscenity, he plays with your limits, testing the strength of your will. Each added pressure on your throat pulls you deeper into a blissful haze, a dance between pain and ecstasy. You know you should fight, that you should break free, but part of you rejoices in this submission. It’s as if every shallow breath, every whimper from you, is an offering, an admission of your dark desires.

He revels in his power over you, and you can’t help but respond to it. The pleasure you feel is unspeakable, yet it’s there, burning and vivid, wrapping around you like a serpent. Your will slowly dissolves, and in this submission, you find a strange freedom. You love it, you want it, and you’re ready to lose yourself entirely in this sea of unleashed desires.

His rhythm grows faster and faster, each thrust shaking you with a savage intensity, pinning you against the cold, hard steps. Your body is drenched in sweat, the heat of your skin contrasting with the stone beneath you. Your face is soaked with tears and saliva, each drop a testament to your complete surrender to this overwhelming passion. You can’t do anything anymore—just endure, letting yourself be swept away by the tide of sensations surrounding you. And he knows it; he feels your submission, and it drives him wild with desire. “Fuck, you’re so good when you’re out of breath like this,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse and filled with satisfaction.

He pushes you even harder against the steps, your knees almost digging into the stone from the force of his body. The pain becomes a kind of pleasure, a confusing blend that vibrates through every fiber of your being. The rough stones remind you of your position, making you feel vulnerable yet incredibly alive. He finally releases his grip on your throat, giving you a brief moment of respite—just enough to gasp for air—before he grabs your hair again. He yanks your head back with a brutal force that makes stars explode behind your eyes, the mixture of pain and excitement sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re gonna take it all, every last drop.” His words resonate like a disturbing promise, and you know he isn’t just talking about himself. Not by a long shot. Every syllable carries weight, a command that urges you to accept your fate. You feel his body press tighter against yours, his musky scent intoxicating you as you remain completely at his mercy.

Sunghoon brings his free hand to your face, a satisfied grin lighting up his expression as he pulls the saliva-soaked panties from your mouth, tossing them carelessly somewhere on the steps like discarded trash. “I wanna hear all those dirty little sounds when you come—don’t hold back,” he says in a rough, animalistic voice. His words hang thick in the air, heavy with tension, as he intensifies his thrusts. Each movement shakes you violently, sending you spiraling into a chaotic storm of sensations. The vibrations of his body against yours drag moans from your throat, escaping uncontrollably.

“Hoon… harder,” you whisper, your voice laced with desperation and need, saliva dripping down your chest as your eyes widen, lost in a sea of pleasure. Every thrust reverberates through your body, each impact filling you with a relentless heat that drowns and disorients you. You hover on the edge between pain and pleasure, every second stretching into agonizing ecstasy.

“You really are a slut,” he sneers, his tone laced with cruel amusement as he grows even more brutal, his pace picking up with a consuming ferocity. He releases his grip on your hair and grabs your bound wrists, holding them firmly behind your back to reinforce your submission and prevent you from escaping. Every motion is a declaration of his dominance, leaving you feeling both vulnerable and needy, every part of you craving him.

His hand glides slowly to your mouth, pushing his fingers inside with a gesture as possessive as it is humiliating. You eagerly take his fingers in your mouth, sucking them hungrily, your saliva coating them as if offering him a sacred tribute. The intensity of the sensations coursing through you is devastating, your tongue wrapping around his fingers, sucking with desperate need. “Fuck, bunny, you take me so well in every one of your holes—so perfect for me,” he groans, his eyes dark with insatiable desire. His words hit you like a drug, intoxicating and igniting you further.

Each stifled moan you release only fuels your arousal. You suck his fingers deeper and harder into your mouth, lost in a blend of pleasure and pain. Every movement of his body against yours is a wave crashing over you, leaving you longing for everything he has to give. The way he possesses you sends shivers through your spine, each thrust making you lose more control over your body as the heat of your impending orgasm begins to consume you.

Sunghoon slowly pulls his fingers from your mouth, dragging his palm over your soft skin, tracing imaginary lines across your chest. Each touch ignites an unbearable heat within you. With calculated precision, he twists the tips of your nipples, tugging violently, leaving slippery trails of your saliva on your skin. The pain is both exquisite and agonizing, each pull sending electric shivers through your body. A strangled moan escapes your lips, a desperate plea for more—more of his attention, more of his desire that wraps around you like a thick fog.

But he doesn’t grant you a moment’s relief. In one swift motion, his saliva-damp hand slips lower, forcing its way between your trembling thighs. His fingers find your clit, brushing it with calculated gentleness that makes your hair stand on end. Then, his touch becomes rougher, pinching and rubbing with increasing brutality. Each caress feels like a whip, awakening an insatiable hunger within you. Your clit, subjected to his relentless attention, amplifies the heat building in your core like a raging fire consuming everything in its path.

“Come for me, bunny,” he growls, his voice thick with a primal promise. His gaze is that of a predator—hungry, eager to devour every part of you. He intensifies the rubbing, his slick fingers driving you further into the abyss of pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge. The anticipation coils inside you like a spring about to snap, your entire body tightening in preparation for release.

Suddenly, the orgasm crashes over you. A guttural cry tears from your throat as your body convulses, your muscles clenching under the overwhelming wave of ecstasy. Time seems to stop, every second stretching into infinity as you surrender to the wild pleasure. But Sunghoon isn’t done—not by a long shot. He doesn’t let you escape so easily. He doubles down, his thrusts becoming more furious, more frantic, each movement driving you to new peaks of pleasure. The orgasm that had begun to fade is reignited, turning into a wild dance between pain and bliss.

He leans in, his lips grazing your skin with a disconcerting tenderness, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His scent—a mix of musk and sweat—intoxicates you, plunging you deeper into this state of euphoria. You are his toy, and he’s only just begun to play. Each stroke against your clit tears at the boundary between ecstasy and suffering, and you realize you are completely at his mercy, trapped in a whirlwind of brutal and delicious sensations.

“Again,” you whisper, desperate to prolong the moment, eager to explore just how far he can take you. With a predatory smile, Sunghoon answers your plea by increasing the intensity of his movements. Your hips buck, trying to escape the merciless dance of pleasure, but he holds you firmly in place, locking you against him. Each thrust of his body against yours is a reminder that you are prey, a creature of desire under his control.

The thrusts continue, relentless, leaving you breathless and desperate, each push devouring a little more of you. The room fills with the sounds of your moans and the raw noises of your bodies colliding—a symphony of unfiltered pleasure that reverberates through the air. You are caught in a cyclone of sensations, your mind lost in a swirling storm of need, surrendering entirely to the intoxicating rhythm of your connection.

The tension rises again, and you know you’re about to explode once more. His movements become almost frantic, leaving you breathless, desperate, chasing that ultimate moment of release. Reality dissolves, leaving only the raw essence of your connection—a delicious dance of desire, pain, and possession. Sunghoon has turned you into a creature of pleasure, completely dependent on him, and he savors every second you’re at his mercy.

The outside world blurs as you lose yourself in ecstasy, each movement and touch pushing you closer to the edge. You are entirely his, a toy in his hands, and the depth of his desire for you leaves you speechless. Sunghoon is a master, and you are his submissive, ready to abandon everything for him, ready to dive deeper into this obscene and primal world he’s created for the two of you.

Each breath you take is filled with the intensity of his desire. The way he touches you, the way he penetrates you, is a promise of savage pleasure—a silent cry of possession. And just as you’re about to give in, you realize you want it all, over and over again, lost in the whirlwind of sensations slowly consuming you.

With a final, powerful thrust, you both reach a peak of pleasure. A guttural moan escapes your lips, echoing in the warm air of the stairwell. His cum spurts inside you, a burning flood filling your pussy, every drop marking you in an irreversible way. Both of you are out of breath, gasping for air, as the warmth of orgasm envelops your bodies, leaving a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your skin.

He lets his heavy body rest on yours, pressing your back against the step with a primal force. Each breath you take is a struggle—a mixture of excitement and pain—as he sinks deeper into the position. His muscular arms wrap around your waist, his hands exploring every inch of your damp skin, tracing lines of searing desire that make every fiber of your being tremble.

Sunghoon kisses your neck, his hot, wet mouth gliding over your skin, planting feverish kisses as if marking his territory. His tongue lingers on your collarbone, following the curve of your body, sliding between your breasts. Every movement draws you closer to complete submission. He lingers on every sensitive spot, gently nibbling your skin, electrifying you with new sensations as if determined to strip you of all reason.

Each caress is charged with wild passion, exploring the limits of your pleasure. His mouth travels down your body, his tongue tracing sinuous patterns. It pauses on your stomach, gliding around your navel before slowly working its way back up with exquisite slowness. You shiver under his touch, the heat of his breath against your skin making you vibrate from within.

When he finally pulls out of your pussy, a mixture of your cum flows down the stairs, a white, glistening trail that bears witness to your animalistic union. The sight is both filthy and deeply erotic—a visual reminder of your carnal connection. You feel the warm mixture sliding down your thigh, each drop reminding you of the raw passion you shared.

He straightens slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto yours, a wild and possessive gleam in his eyes. “Look at what we’ve done,” he murmurs in a hoarse voice, laced with satisfaction. He savors the moment like a hunter admiring his prize, every drop of cum on your skin a mark of his domination.

With a predatory smile, he leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You have no idea what I’ve got planned for us.” The promise sends a shiver through you, your body still vibrating with echoes of the orgasm. Anticipation rises within you again, a delicious thrill for what’s to come.

He begins to explore your body once more, his hands gliding over your skin, each touch igniting a burning desire. His fingers trail along your thigh, making their way to your core, ready to make you relive that obscene pleasure. You are at his mercy, entirely submerged in the intensity of his desires. Every movement of his body against yours reminds you how deeply bound you are to him, shackled by an insatiable longing.

As the excitement builds once again, you realize you are willing to do anything for him, ready to dive even further into this savage world he has crafted around you. You are his prey, his toy, and you’ve never felt a desire so powerful, so irresistible.

The roof remains silent, barely disturbed by the soft breeze sweeping through, but this tranquility is nothing more than a fragile illusion. You stand there, frozen, your gaze locked on him, your heart pounding against your chest like a trapped animal. Park Jeongseong, sitting nonchalantly at the edge of the roof, doesn’t even bother to look at you. He smokes slowly, each drag lingering in the air like a provocation. That small, insignificant gesture drives you mad with rage. You want him to respect you, to take you seriously, but you know you’ve lost even before starting. His indifference crushes you.

His silhouette is imposing, even in that relaxed posture. With his legs slightly apart and his back curved backward, he seems to own the entire space as if he were its undisputed king. And you? You’re just a mere teacher, pathetic in your attempt to restore some semblance of authority. Your hands tremble slightly at your sides, but you refuse to show it. The slightest sign of weakness would be a victory for him, and you won’t give him that satisfaction.

“It’s forbidden to smoke here.” The words come out sharper than you intended, but your voice quivers slightly. He must hear it, sense it — that insidious doubt creeping into every word you utter. Jeongseong finally turns his head towards you, slowly, as if granting you the bare minimum of attention. His gaze pierces through you, cold, devoid of emotion. Yet behind that mask of indifference, you sense a latent violence, a promise of something far darker.

He stares at you, his eyes trailing lazily over your body, as if appraising every curve, every inch of your skin. Even clothed, you feel exposed, vulnerable. His gaze burns you like a fire, a silent judgment reducing you to prey under his hungry eyes. And what terrifies you the most is that unsettling sensation spreading within you—a shiver running down your spine under his scrutiny. You hate it. You hate this reaction, this sickening warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“It’s also strictly forbidden to have relationships with students.” His smile, though cold, carries heavy insinuations, his lips barely curling, as if every word he speaks is a whip’s lash. There’s a hardness in his voice, a palpable threat hanging in the heavy air between you. He isn’t merely speaking—he’s gauging you, analyzing you, like a predator watching its prey. The cigarette dangles at the edge of his lips, smoke rising lazily, creating an almost hypnotic aura that keeps you hooked.

His dark eyes narrow slightly, sharpening the piercing coldness of his stare. Every feature of his face exudes overwhelming control, a crushing dominance. He knows you’re unsettled, that his authority drives you mad with desire and frustration. The tension between you is electric—a taut wire on which he plays, making the moment even more irresistible.

“I’m your teacher.” Your voice grows stronger, but you feel the tension within you, ready to snap at any moment. Yet he laughs—a low, deep laugh that resonates through the air, wrapping around you like a suffocating web. He openly mocks you, not even bothering to hide it. To him, you’re ridiculous—an insignificant creature trying in vain to appear powerful.

With a sudden motion, he rises, carelessly tossing his cigarette to the ground. He crushes the butt under his shoe with deliberate slowness, his eyes locked onto yours. Every movement is calculated, every gesture a direct challenge to your authority. He approaches with that slow, feline stride, like a predator closing in on its prey. The air thickens with tension, each step echoing in the oppressive silence of the rooftop.

“Teacher?” he murmurs, stopping just inches from you. “Are you sure about that? ’Cause right now, it looks like you’re begging me to fuck you like the dirty little slut you are.” His words hit like a slap—vulgar, cruel. Your heart skips a beat, and disgust washes over you. But what terrifies you most is the involuntary response of your body—the throbbing between your thighs, the tension building uncontrollably within you.

Before you can react, his hand is on you. He grabs your wrist roughly, yanking you against him. Your body crashes into his, and you immediately feel the stark difference between you. He’s massive, every muscle tensed beneath his clothes. His grip is iron, and you realize just how powerless you are against him. You try to pull away, but he tightens his hold.

“Let me go!” you spit, your voice laced with panic. But he only smiles—that smug, condescending smile that makes you want to throw up. His hand slides down your arm, then grips your waist, digging into your flesh with raw possessiveness.

He slams you violently against the wall, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. Your back hits the concrete, and a dull pain spreads through your body. You try to scream, but he presses his body against yours, leaving you barely enough air to breathe.

“What were you expecting, coming here all alone?” His breath is warm against your ear, carrying the scent of cigarettes mixed with raw desire. “Did you really think I’d leave you alone?” His fingers glide along your neck, sliding down to your cleavage, tracing a burning path on your skin. He toys with the edge of your blouse, tugging slightly at the fabric, revealing just enough skin to make you shiver.

“Stop it!” You try to resist, but your voice cracks under the strain, weak and desperate. His fingers dig deeper into your flesh, and a nauseating wave of heat floods your lower belly. You hate yourself for reacting like this, hate the way your body betrays you every second.

His gaze locks onto yours, his eyes dark as a void. “You can act like a prude all you want, but we both know what you really want.” His lips graze your ear, his voice a whisper, obscene and poisonous. “You want me to take you right here, on this roof, where anyone could see. You want me to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk afterward.” His words cut like knives—sharp, brutal. They tear you apart inside, and yet a twisted part of you responds to every syllable, writhing with desire under his control.

With a swift motion, he rips your blouse open, buttons flying in every direction. The cold air strikes you, leaving you half-naked in front of him, vulnerable, exposed. His eyes roam over your chest with indecent greed. “Look at you, all laid out… It’s pathetic.” A cruel laugh escapes him before he grabs your chin, forcing your head up to meet his gaze. He savors your humiliation, relishing your vulnerability.

His hands grow rougher, gliding over your body with calculated violence. He grabs your breasts through your bra, squeezing with painful force. You stifle a cry, but he doesn’t stop. His gaze remains cold, detached, as if he’s merely toying with an object. His fingers slip beneath the fabric, tugging at your bra until it comes free.

His fingers trace your skin slowly, then wrap around your throat—a cruel, methodical caress, almost sadistic. The pressure is just enough for you to feel the grip tightening, without cutting off your air entirely. You gasp for breath, your lips parting in a desperate attempt to inhale, but each breath becomes a struggle. The world around you starts to fade, leaving only him, your blurred vision focusing on his face, masked in darkness, with that predatory gleam in his eyes.

He forces your chin up, exposing the vulnerable curve of your neck. His warm, heavy breath mingles with yours, creating an unbearable tension between you. “Look at yourself,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, almost possessive. “You pretend to resist, but your body’s already betraying you. Every inch of you is screaming for me to take you, to burn you to ashes, doll.” His words drip with cruelty, every syllable seeping into your skin like venom. A wave of impotent rage rises in your throat, but it blends with guilty desire—something far more unsettling, a sinister shiver that coils in your belly, deepening your confusion.

His free hand trails down your bare arm, his cold, merciless fingers dragging slowly. He takes his time, savoring each second, until he grabs your waist with a brutal grip, his hold fierce and overwhelming. His fingers dig into your flesh as if he’s trying to mark you, imprint his presence deep within you. The intensity of his touch makes your heart race erratically, and you hate yourself for feeling this primal response. Your breathing grows more erratic, and you want to scream at him to let go, to let you breathe—but your body… your body is a traitor, yielding to this brutal, perverse sensation wrapping around you, swallowing you whole in a cocoon of devouring desire.

“Tell me you don’t like this,” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper against your ear, his lips grazing your skin like a venomous snake. “Tell me you don’t want me to take you here, against this wall, to fuck you until you’re nothing but a broken mess at my feet.” His hand slides back up to your breast, his fingers wrapping around your flesh with brutal possession. He squeezes hard, without mercy, and a strangled moan escapes your lips. The sound—this mix of frustration and arousal—scorches your cheeks with shame, but the intensity in his gaze makes you falter.

You want to spit in his face, scream that he’s a monster, that you’ll never let him win—but the words remain stuck in your throat, smothered by pain and humiliation. You feel trapped, chained to this unbearable sensation driving you to self-loathing. And he knows it. He sees it—every detail of your body caught in this internal struggle. His eyes gleam with sick satisfaction as he continues to torment you, each movement a new blow to your soul. The pleasure he takes in your suffering only deepens your despair, dragging you further into the darkness he seems to revel in.

“You have this defiant look, but your body knows exactly what it wants,” he says, his hand slowly sliding down your stomach, inching dangerously close to the spot where you know he could completely break you. Every touch is a promise of both pain and pleasure. Your breathing quickens, and panic rises within you like a devastating tide

“You think you can resist me? Is that what you believe?” A sarcastic, cruel laugh escapes him before he forces you to meet his gaze, gripping your jaw with an almost animalistic violence. “No one resists me, doll. No one.”

You try to fight back, but it’s futile. He’s too strong, his grip too tight. He slams you harder against the wall, his hips pressed against yours, locking you in place. His hard, powerful body crushes you, leaving no room to move. The sense of submission, the weight of his desire, crushes every ounce of resistance in you. You are entirely at his mercy, your mind spinning between fear and a disturbing curiosity. Every word he speaks resonates in your head like a sentence, a proclamation of his dominance.

“Look at what you’ve become,” he whispers against your cheek, his lips brushing your skin slowly, provocatively, as if savoring every moment of your defeat. “You’re already mine, you know that. Your little authoritative teacher act won’t change a thing. You’ll end up on your knees, like all the others… broken and obedient. And believe me, doll, you’re going to love it.” His words drip with menace and excitement, the echoes of his power pounding in your heart.

His hand slips even lower, sliding under the hem of your skirt, his grip unrelenting. A wave of horror crashes over you, but you’re completely powerless. He already has you, mind and body. The heat of his body pressed against yours, this suffocating closeness, stirs a confusing desire within you. Your legs tremble under the weight of his presence, and your muscles tighten, unable to hold you up against the force of his total domination.

“Please…” The word escapes in a broken, barely audible breath, and you curse yourself for letting such weakness show. That single whisper, laden with vulnerability, seems to delight him, as if he’s achieved his ultimate goal. His dark, victorious laugh echoes in the room like a macabre melody.

“Please?” he repeats slowly, as if savoring the sound. “You don’t even know what it means to beg yet. But you will. I’ll make you plead like never before. And you’ll love every second of it.” Every word he utters lashes your already weakened mind like a whip.

Jay grabs you suddenly with terrifying violence, like a wild animal out of control. His fingers close around your wrist so tightly you can almost hear your skin tear under the pressure, leaving bright red marks where he grips you. He jerks you sharply, pulling you against him with such force that you lose your balance and slam into his hard chest. Before you can even process what’s happening, his lips are on yours. But it’s not a kiss.

No, it’s an attack.

His lips crush yours with a savage fury, his teeth immediately sinking into your lower lip until it bleeds, tearing a cry of surprise and pain from you. But he doesn’t care. He gives you no reprieve, no time to catch your breath or fight back. His tongue plunges into your mouth like a weapon, seeking to destroy, to break you down with the brutal force of his assault. The taste of your own blood, mixed with his rough saliva, creates a brutal blend of pain and raw desire.

His movements are messy, almost desperate, but relentless. His tongue crashes against yours with a violence that steals your breath, forcing you to yield, to bend under his control. Each deeper thrust makes the air harder to find, leaving you gasping, suffocating under the weight of his dominance. You try to push him away, to make him let go, but his hand clamps violently around your neck, locking you in place. He forces you to feel everything, to endure it all.

His free hand roams roughly over your body, grabbing your hip with such force that you feel his fingers dig deep into your flesh, leaving instant red marks. He’s not just touching you—he’s claiming you. His fingers slide under your skirt with a ripping force, shoving the fabric aside to expose your bare thigh, which he scratches with his nails and grips with inhuman strength. The cold air of the room clashes violently with the overwhelming heat of his touch. His body, hot and unyielding, presses against yours, making you feel every muscle, every erratic beat of his heart.

With a brutal yank, he grabs your hair, forcing your head back to expose your throat. His eyes, dark and clouded with desire, glimmer with something even darker, more savage. There’s nothing human left in his gaze, only a ravenous hunger to reduce you to nothing. His mouth trails down your jaw, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. And then, without warning, he bites. Hard. Too hard. Pain explodes in your neck as his teeth sink into your tender flesh. Your scream is swallowed by the shock, by the sheer force with which he holds you. Your body arches under the assault, a brutal mix of pain, terror, and a burning heat building deep in your core.

You feel the blood trickling slowly from the bite, seeping into the folds of your neck, sticking to your skin. But the sight of it only excites him further. Jay growls against you, a sound primal and animalistic. His lips latch onto the wound, licking the blood with a morbid eagerness. You tremble, lost in the violence of his actions, your body betraying you by responding to the intensity.

There’s no escape. His body crushes you against the wall, every movement reminding you just how completely you are at his mercy. You are trapped between his raw strength and the cold, unyielding wall behind you.

He returns to your mouth, and this time, it’s worse. His kiss is torture. His lips are drenched in blood, and his teeth clash against yours with a brutality you can’t avoid. He splits your lip open once again without remorse, and this time, the blood flows freely between your tangled mouths. He growls against your lips, drinking the mixture of blood and saliva with brutal pleasure. He isn’t kissing you—he’s devouring you. Every movement of his tongue is an invasion, every press of his lips a destruction. You drown under the obscene pain and pleasure he imposes on your body.

His hand moves lower, gripping your thigh roughly and lifting it with inhuman strength to press you even closer to him. You feel the weight of his body against yours, his hard, animalistic desire rubbing against you uncontrollably. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh, yanking harshly, forcing your body to bend to his will. You feel trapped, swept away by this wave of brutality and wild desire that overwhelms you. You suffocate under the stifling heat of his closeness, yet your body responds against your will, yielding to every movement, every brutal caress, and every tearing bite.

Blood and saliva mix in your mouths, and Jay seems insatiable. His lips keep returning to your throat, your face, biting, licking, savoring every mark he leaves on you. He humiliates you with his violence, with the way he reduces you to something fragile and vulnerable beneath his relentless hands. But your fragility only excites him more, making him wilder, more ravenous. His growls against your skin grow rougher, more savage, and you feel the suffocating heat of his body pressing into yours.

He bites your lower lip a third time, drawing a pure cry of pain that vanishes into the heavy air. The metallic taste of blood floods your mouths, but he still doesn’t let go. His tongue teases the wound, licking and sucking the blood with an almost animalistic greed. His violence knows no bounds, and you realize he won’t stop until you are completely his, broken under his primal desire.

He bites, licks, and tears at your skin over and over, wrenching cries from you that you can’t hold back. When he finally pulls away, your lips are smeared with blood and saliva, an obscene and wild spectacle. He pants against you, his hot breath caressing your skin, raw from his bites, and his eyes shine with cruel satisfaction, nearly deranged. But he isn’t done—not even close.

Jay grips your shoulder roughly, his hold so tight that the pain radiates through your entire body like a shiver. His fingers dig into your flesh with such intensity that you almost collapse under the pressure. In one merciless move, he forces you to kneel before him, demanding your obedience with no trace of gentleness. Your knees hit the cold, hard rooftop with a painful thud, tearing a cry from you. The sharp sting of pain burns, but the humiliation of the moment stings even deeper, dragging you into a desperate state of submission.

He stares down at you, his gaze dark, wild, and brimming with desire. “Now, I’m going to fuck that pretty little teacher mouth of yours, and you’d better take it all,” he says, his voice rough like shattered glass. His predatory smile reveals white teeth, ready to devour their prey.

He leans toward you, the aura of a hunter surrounding him. His hand slides slowly to your wounded lip, still bleeding, caressing the torn skin with excruciating slowness, his fingers sinking into your flesh with bestial intensity. A moan of pain and pleasure slips from your lips, impossible to suppress. Anticipation and terror twist inside your belly, each second heightening the tension between you.

He chuckles, a dark and suffocating laugh, satisfied with your suffering. “You taste so good,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating with desire. Every movement of his hand is deliberate, cruel. He pulls his bloodied hand away and rubs it against your cheek with perverse delight, marking your skin with his possessiveness. Your wide eyes follow his every move, mesmerized by the horror of the situation.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice a terrifying whisper. Your heart races, caught between fear and fascination. His dark eyes gleam with animal hunger, drowning you in a sea of devouring desire. “I want you to feel every second of this,” he says, a smug smile curling his lips.

Jay leans closer, his mouth mere inches from yours, breathing in your pain and pleasure. The air between you is heavy with tension, and an irresistible heat builds inside you, your body reacting involuntarily to his presence. In one swift motion, he grabs your jaw and forces it open slightly, his brutal fingers pressing into your flesh, making you meet his gaze.

“You’re not going to disappoint me, are you?” His words are both a threat and a command. He watches you with such intensity that you shiver, excitement thick in the air.

“No, Jay, I won’t disappoint you,” you whisper weakly, your voice barely audible. Your wounded lips throb with pain, and the metallic taste of blood still lingers in your mouth. The bleeding slows, but the burning sensation grows stronger, each heartbeat amplifying your suffering.

“Open your mouth wide for me.” He releases your jaw and starts unfastening his pants. Your lips part painfully, and a whimper of discomfort escapes you. He watches the mixture of saliva and blood pooling in your mouth, groaning in satisfaction as he imagines how your throat will stretch and mold around his cock.

When he finally pushes his clothes down to his feet, you salivate at the sight of his hard, flushed length, a bead of pre-cum leaking from the tip.

He slowly brings two fingers to your lower lip, a sadistic smile playing on his face. You know he’s about to make you suffer, yet a part of you burns with desire at the cruel anticipation. With a brutal pinch, he squeezes your wounded lip, forcing fresh blood to spill into your mouth. The metallic taste spreads on your tongue as you whimper, a sharp sound that betrays you. But his dark gaze pins you in place, like prey trapped by its hunter. He relishes your pain, his mocking laughter echoing like a macabre melody in the cold air.

You squirm slightly on the frozen rooftop floor, trying to ease the unbearable tension building between your legs. Every movement seems to ignite an even more ravenous hunger in him, and he leans toward you, a predatory smile stretching across his lips. His fingers, slick with his saliva, approach your parted mouth.

“Stick out your tongue,” he orders, his rough, commanding voice cutting through the night. You hesitate for a moment, but the intensity of his gaze compels your submission. You obey and extend your tongue.

He stares at you intensely before leaning even closer, like a predator about to strike. In one swift motion, he grabs your tongue between his fingers, his nails digging into your tender flesh. A sharp pain floods through you, and you feel blood bead again, mixing with your saliva as he plays with your tongue like a child with a toy. Anxiety paralyzes you, yet somehow, this pain awakens something dark and deep inside you.

A strangled sound escapes your throat, a cry of surprise mixed with pain, as he abruptly pulls his fingers away, giving you barely enough time to catch your breath. Panic overwhelms you, but before you can process what’s happening, he thrusts his cock deep into your throat. The shock is devastating. Every inch of him buries itself in you, reaching the back of your throat and robbing you of breath in a twisted mixture of pleasure and agony.

His cock glides over your tongue, and the tight grip of your throat around him makes you lose all sense of time. Each second stretches into an endless torment, a delicious torture. He starts to move, his rhythm violent, almost animalistic. Each thrust grinds against your injured tongue, torn by his brutal assault. The metallic taste of your blood mingles with his precum, and a wave of heat surges through you, bringing tears to your eyes. But he doesn’t care in the slightest.

He grabs your hair with a savage grip, yanking hard to assert his dominance. He forces your head down, driving himself deeper, as if determined to make you his toy, his instrument of pleasure. Every movement is an act of control, a reminder that you are nothing more than a prop in his filthy fantasy.

“I want you to move your fucking tongue for me, professor, and coat my cock with your blood,” Jay growls, his hoarse voice cutting through the thick tension. His words are harsh commands, leaving no room for refusal. You know you have no choice but to obey, despite the disgust warring with the twisted excitement swelling inside you. He pulls harder on your hair, forcing you to take him fully, turning your mouth into nothing more than a hole for his satisfaction.

Your tongue starts to move against him, gliding and curling around his cock, smearing your blood along his rigid skin. The mixture of pain and submission draws a broken moan from you, a desperate sound that hangs in the air. Tears spill from your eyes, blending with saliva, blood, and precum dripping from your mouth, creating a grotesque mess on your face. Your suffering only fuels his savagery. He doesn’t slow down, continuing to thrust deeper with every stroke. Each push feels like a whip against your tongue, another reminder of your helplessness beneath his insatiable desire.

The scent of your own blood mixes with his musky odor, driving you into a state of hysteria. Anxiety and disgust tangle with an unspoken desire rising within you. He offers you no reprieve; every thrust of his cock shatters your control further, drowning you in a sea of despair and violent satisfaction. Saliva and precum flow down your neck, pooling on your bare chest—each drop a reminder of how completely he owns you, how thoroughly you belong to him in this twisted dance.

You are a living mess, a puppet in his hands, a flesh-and-blood doll at his mercy. And amidst this obscenity, something inside you stirs. A ravenous desire for this brutal and animalistic submission awakens. Pain morphs into ecstasy; each thrust, each movement, deepens your weakness. Somewhere inside, you begin to crave this humiliation, this desperate need to be broken under his control.

With a sadistic smile, Jay brings his free hand to your dripping face. He watches with delight as the mixture of saliva and blood spreads across your skin. His finger dips into the sticky mess before smearing it further, every motion accentuating the chaos he has created.

He doesn’t stop there. He continues to pound into you with beastly force, pushing your throat beyond its limits. The sensation is both excruciating and euphoric, each thrust dragging muffled cries of agony and pleasure from your constricted throat.

With his other hand, he grabs your hair with merciless strength, preventing any attempt at retreat. He pulls you down onto him, forcing you to swallow him to the base, cutting off your breath entirely. The pressure is crushing, and you feel like you’re drowning beneath his dominance. Holding your head firmly against his pelvis, he commands your full submission to his savage desire.

In a twisted act of defiance mixed with insatiable submission, you grip his ass. But instead of pushing him away, a primal urge drives you to keep him buried deep in your throat. An overwhelming heat surges through you, awakening an uncharted need for the control he exerts over you.

Your tongue, now eager, explores every inch of his cock, caressing and teasing with a wicked tenderness. It glides over him, dancing along his skin with fervent lust, while your throat contracts around him, holding him in this wet prison. Tears stream down your cheeks, mingling with the sweat and grime on your face. Through the haze of tears, you watch him, every detail of his face etched into your mind.

His satisfied smile widens as he keeps thrusting into you, each stroke resonating like a declaration of his dominance. You feel every hit, every movement of his hips crashing down like a wave of violent desire, drowning your consciousness. You belong entirely to him, and that thought only fuels the fire of your submission.

He abruptly pulls you away from his pelvis, barely giving you time to breathe, but his grip on you remains firm. Jay plunges even deeper into the abyss of your mouth, pressing his body against yours with beastly force. His thrusts are relentless, each motion driving into your throat as another statement of his control. The pressure is overwhelming, and your head tilts back under the assault. The pain is both devastating and exquisite, a confusing blend that sweeps you into a whirlwind of adrenaline.

A final guttural growl escapes from his throat as he reaches his climax. His semen floods your mouth, scorching hot, overtaking you entirely. You feel each drop spreading across your tongue, the salty, bitter taste filling you as he continues to thrust brutally, his manhood crushing any trace of hesitation. He doesn’t withdraw until you’ve swallowed everything, forcing you to gulp down every drop, savor the filth, and absorb his essence completely.

As you struggle to take it all in, the pain and pleasure intertwine, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. His movements grow even more intense, each thrust resonating like a cry of defiance. You are here, fully submitted, lost in a trance where suffering becomes your new reality. Every moan you let out is an anthem to his dominance.

When he finally pulls out of your mouth, a strand of saliva mixed with blood connects his length to your lips, leaving them shiny and defiled. The metallic taste of blood mingles with his semen, creating an indescribable flavor—grotesque and a stark reminder of the act’s brutality. His manhood bears traces of blood, evidence of the intensity of this invasion. It’s a sordid image, a painting of debauchery and possession, and you realize you’ve become the canvas for his darkest desires.

Adrenaline pulses through your veins, each breath heavy with electric violence. You are trapped between pain and pleasure, your mind dissolving under the ecstasy of his control. As he gazes at you, he sees his reflection in your submission, like a puppet in the hands of a merciless puppeteer.

“I want you, Jay, please fill me,” you plead, your voice hoarse and trembling with desperation. On your knees before him, your face, still marked by your previous debauchery, is drenched with tears streaming down your cheeks. Every tear is a testament to your desperate need. Your fingers dig into the skin of his thighs, clinging to him as if it were your only salvation.

“Who’s begging to be fucked, doll?” His low, raspy voice rumbles like thunder in the confined space. He leans in slightly, his fingers sliding through your hair, stroking it with a perverse tenderness that makes you shiver. Each caress, each touch, pulls a soft moan from your lips, even though a part of you trembles at the violence simmering beneath his desire. His mischievous grin, a blend of arrogance and fascination, reveals the intensity of his craving. “Come on, say it, doll. I know you know it.”

He lowers his hand, brushing over your chest marked with saliva and blood. You shiver under his touch, excitement and fear sparking through every nerve in your body.

“Your filthy little teacher slut.” A defiant gleam shines in your eyes, and though you surrender to his desire, you don’t hesitate to reclaim your power. “Your cock-hungry teacher, who belongs to you. So please—”

Before you can finish, Jay lifts you abruptly and slams you against the wall with brutal force, making every bone in your body tremble. The pain of the impact is sharp, but it makes you smile, aroused by this sudden submission. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, desperately seeking contact, and his mouth crashes into yours, devouring your lips with insatiable hunger. Each kiss is an act of possession, every press of his lips a reminder of his control over you. The taste of his semen on your lips doesn’t deter him; instead, it seems to intoxicate him further, fueling his desire to claim you.

His hands roam your body with animal impatience, lifting your skirt and exposing your skin with a brutality that makes your heart race. In an instant, he rips off your panties, the fabric flying through the air as a symbol of your submission, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable under his ravenous gaze. Then, without any warning, he slams into you. The pain is sharp, but it mixes with overwhelming pleasure, an intoxicating blend of ecstasy and suffering. You moan, your voice breaking under the brutal impact, each thrust resonating through every fiber of your being—a symphony of desire and pain.

“You love this, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice hoarse with possessiveness and challenge. He intensifies his thrusts, driving himself deeper into you, the walls around you trembling under the force of each movement. Every stroke is a wave of sensation, a whirlpool of pleasure and pain that leaves you craving more. You feel like a prisoner of the moment, held captive by his desires, yet paradoxically free—liberated by the sheer savagery of his act.

Your body responds uncontrollably, your eyes fluttering as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you, nearly unbearable. The rooftop air tightens around you, but all you can think about is him. Your moans, mingled with sweat and blood, are a chaotic blend of anguish and excitement. Each breath fans the fire burning inside you.

He leans down to kiss your mouth, each kiss an act of possession. His taste mingles with yours, a delicious obscenity, and you lose yourself in this dance where disdain and devotion intertwine in a bestial impulse. You are both prey and predator, lost in this wild embrace of raw desire, each movement bringing you closer to ecstasy. The pain of his brutal entry is already a distant memory, replaced by an unparalleled pleasure that carries you beyond reality.

The thrusts become more savage, more desperate, as you surrender all your inhibitions. Each slap of his hips against yours is a whip to your mind, plunging you into a complete loss of control. You know you are at his mercy, but you crave this moment, this animalistic embrace that tears you apart and fills you at the same time.

You cling to him as if your life depends on it, your fingers digging into his solid shoulders. Your nails sink deep into his skin through the taut fabric of his t-shirt, leaving red marks under the pressure. This fabric is but a thin, almost useless barrier between your unleashed desire and his flesh. Your mouth slightly open, you let out loud gasps, your tongue slipping from your trembling lips, unable to stay still as every brutal movement of his hips drives you further into surrender.

The way he fills you shatters all sense of control. Your core is flooded, hungry for him, each thrust ripping you apart with a violence that makes you see stars. You can’t keep your mouth shut, your breath short, and the uncontrollable pleasure wipes away all modesty. You feel your body tremble, and your eyes roll back, betraying your state—a total submission, a complete surrender to what he is doing to you. His burning gaze remains locked onto yours, intensifying the hold he has over you. He knows you belong to him, that he can break you at will, and that thought excites him even more.

His fingers grip your face with a force that almost hurts, his thumbs sliding over your sweat-soaked, tear-streaked cheeks. He growls between clenched teeth, his movements becoming more erratic yet also more violent, each thrust deeper, as if trying to possess you beyond the physical. He penetrates you so hard that you can feel every inch of him stretching you, forcing you to embrace all his length, to absorb all his rage.

“Bite me, doll, I want you to mark me,” he murmurs in a hoarse voice, thick with desire and contained violence. His lips brush against yours as he whispers those words, and immediately, your body reacts. A guttural moan rises from your throat, uncontrollable, almost primal. His fingers slide to your neck, applying a gentle yet threatening pressure.

Without thinking, you bury your head into his neck, your lips grazing his hot, sweat-slicked skin. But the fabric of his shirt prevents you from tasting him completely, and this barrier frustrates you. With a growl of discontent, you violently tug at his t-shirt, nearly tearing it apart, exposing the bare skin you crave so much. Starving for him, your lips press against his neck with wild eagerness, leaving wet kisses on his taut skin, each contact pulling you closer to madness. His salty sweat fills your mouth, and you can feel his pulse racing under your tongue, a frantic rhythm, just like yours.

Your moans resonate in the air, uncontrollable, but he seems unsatisfied. Each sound you make, every tremor of your body seems to trigger something darker within him. His thrusts become more erratic, more violent, as if he were trying to tear you apart. His hips slam against yours with brutal force, and the pain mingles with pleasure, inseparable, leaving you unable to distinguish what is pleasurable from what is unbearable.

And then, without waiting any longer, you open your mouth, biting into his skin, testing his limits. He growls in satisfaction, his body tensing, but it’s not enough. You want more. You sink your teeth into his flesh with ferocity, breaking the skin, savoring the metallic taste of blood that instantly fills your mouth. His reaction is immediate, a groan of pleasure vibrating through his body against yours. It’s not a cry of pain; it’s a deep, visceral sound, a sound of pure satisfaction.

The blood flooding your mouth is warm and thick, and you drink it as if it were forbidden nectar. You lose yourself in this moment, in this shared savagery. He loves it—he loves the pain, he loves the mark you leave on him. And you, you drown in this violence, in this brutality that consumes you whole.

In a swift motion, his hand wraps around your hair, pulling your head back violently. Your body arches at the impact, and a sharp cry escapes your lips, but he doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath. His lips crash against yours, now bloodied, in a fierce kiss, his teeth biting your lower lip, his tongue invading your mouth with an intoxicating brutality. You can still taste the salt of his sweat mixed with the blood soaking your lips. He devours you, and you let him, drowning in this violent exchange, in this raw domination he enforces.

His movements never slow down. On the contrary, they intensify, becoming more desperate, more profound. He literally pins you against the wall with each thrust, tearing you apart from the inside, reaching depths you never knew were possible. Every inch of your body is filled by him, every nerve ignited by the delicious pain of this brutality. You are completely at his mercy, and he knows it. He has broken you, reduced you to a state of total submission where all you want is more of him, even if it destroys you.

His breath becomes heavier, his growls mixing with yours in an animalistic cacophony. There is no tenderness left in this exchange; only this visceral, brutal urgency remains. You can feel him close, his movements growing more erratic, more desperate. He takes you as if he is going to tear you apart from the inside, but you ask for more, always more.

In a final surge, he makes you tip over, your body crashing violently against the wall as he takes you again, harder, deeper, without mercy. You’re nothing but a puppet in his hands, your body shaken by each violent thrust, and you can no longer think, nor breathe properly. You belong to him entirely, at this very moment, reduced to a state where only pain and pleasure coexist in perfect destructive harmony.

Your body ignites as he plunges into you, an intense heat building with every thrust. The orgasm overwhelms you violently, a wave of pleasure that makes you lose all sense of time. His cock finds your G-spot with bestial precision, triggering waves of sensations that make you scream, your moans echoing. The wall seems to vibrate with the rhythm of your pleasure, and all you can feel is this inexorable rise consuming you.

You ejaculate on him, a torrent of pleasure crashing against his muscular abdomen, soaking his waist. The heat of your body and the moisture of your orgasm mix, forming a delicious concoction of unfulfilled desire. He doesn’t stop, continuing to thrust you against the wall, his movements becoming more and more frantic, as if he wants to mark you as his property. Each thrust is a lash, a brutal reminder of his dominance.

Feeling his own orgasm approaching, he intensifies his movements, his sweaty skin sliding against yours. He growls into your neck, a guttural, bestial sound that vibrates through every fiber of your being. His teeth sink into your flesh, and the pain makes you moan with pleasure. The metallic taste of your blood awakens something primal in him, and you can feel his excitement growing with every passing second. It’s a blend of pleasure and pain, a precarious balance between dominance and submission.

You feel like prey, completely at his mercy as he takes you with brutal intensity. His body presses against yours, each movement heightening the sensation of possession. He finally releases himself inside you, a wave of heat that makes you quiver around him. Your muscles contract uncontrollably, each pulse pulling you back into this bestial, obscene, raw reality.

The sounds of your bodies colliding fill the air, a savage symphony of moans, screams, and growls. The outside world disappears, leaving just the two of you, trapped in this obscene moment. The sensations intertwine, the pain of his bites and the pleasure of his body inside you creating a dangerous dance where the line between pleasure and suffering blurs.

The intensity of each moment becomes unbearable, and you feel ready to explode under this pressure. His hand slips between you, his fingers finding your clitoris, playing with controlled brutality, intensifying your pleasure even more. He looks you in the eyes, a wild glimmer in his gaze, as if he savors every second of your submission, your pain. “I’m going to make you break,” he murmurs, his voice rough and full of obscene promises.

It was an ordinary Friday night, one of those evenings when the world seemed to fade away around you, where everything became frozen, suffocated under the weight of your own torments. The bar, steeped in a damp, smoky atmosphere, stood as a refuge for lost souls, those who, like yours, sought to escape a sordid reality. Sitting alone at a secluded table, hidden in a corner where darkness enveloped you, you let yourself be engulfed by increasingly obscene thoughts, a glass of whiskey in hand. It might have been your fifth, maybe the sixth; it didn’t matter at this point. You had stopped counting the drinks, just as you had abandoned the idea of measuring the mistakes that marked your life.

Each sip of whiskey was a delicious burn, a blend of alcohol and nectar that erased reality, immersing you in unspeakable fantasies. The intoxication didn’t just numb you; it awakened an unquenchable fire within you, a heat that you could no longer extinguish. It wasn’t just the whiskey warming your belly, but the incessant thought of those four students… gods of flesh and blood: Sim Jake, Park Jeongseong, Lee Heeseung, and Park Sunghoon. Each of them, in their own way, had left a burning imprint on your soul. The mere thought of them was enough to provoke an uncontrollable shiver throughout your body.

These Black Apollos, as they liked to call themselves, haunted you. Every day, every night, you saw them, and with every exchanged glance, your mind wandered into thoughts you should never have had. Their burning eyes seemed to tear through your clothes, exposing every part of you, even those you had carefully hidden. It was as if they knew everything about you, every corner of your body, every flaw in your soul.

Three of them had already crossed that fatal line, enveloping you in a perverse game where you were their puppet. Heeseung had been the first, luring you into his web with disconcerting ease. The memory of that moment was etched in you, and with every thought associated with it, a guilty warmth spread through your lower back. He had taken you with calculated brutality, his rough hands gripping you without gentleness, a cruel smile on his lips as he forced you to bend under his insatiable desire.

You remembered his warm breath on your neck, his fingers sliding recklessly under your clothes, exploring your skin as if it were his property. He had left you no chance to escape his grasp, reducing you to an object, a doll without will. Each thrust was an affirmation of his total control over you, and with every muffled cry you let escape, you felt your submission strengthen.

And then there was Sunghoon. His domination was more subtle, almost insidious. He played with you, manipulating your desires like a master puppeteer. He made you believe you still had a semblance of control, only to yank it away in an instant, leaving you at his mercy, vulnerable under his hungry gaze. His fingers, so skillful, traced lines of fire on your body, brushing just enough to drive you insane, never giving you what you truly desired. His words, whispered in your ear, were a bittersweet poison, commanding you to submit, to let your basest instincts take over.

You had hated him for that, and you had hated yourself too. But despite everything, you kept going back, again and again, thirsting for the delicious humiliation he made you endure.

Jeongseong, or Jay, as he preferred to be called, was the cruelest of all. His icy calm concealed a silent violence, a contained rage that exploded every time he touched you. He loved to see you suffer beneath him, twisting you with pleasure and pain intertwined, pushing you to the brink until you couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t just seek to possess you; he wanted to break you, and in his eyes, you saw that mad desire to see you on your knees, begging for a little respite. Every mark he left on your skin was a trophy for him, a proof of his victory over you.

But there was also Jake. Sim Jake, the enigmatic one, the one who hadn’t touched you yet, and maybe that was what drove you crazy. His silence was more oppressive than anything else, a heavy weight of promises and threats. His dark, piercing eyes often scrutinized you from afar, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He knew you were already broken, already kneeling inside, and that was what amused him. He saw you as prey, prey that knew it had no chance of escape.

You remembered every exchanged glance with him, every barely-there smile, as if he were telling you, “Patience, my turn will come.” And that was what terrified you as much as it excited you. You knew that when he finally decided to make you his, there would be nothing left of you. He would leave you no way out, reducing you to a state of ruin.

With each sip of whiskey, these thoughts became clearer, more obsessive. You imagined yourself, there, in that dark room, kneeling before them, their possessive hands taking hold of you, their bodies pressed against yours, crushing you under their domination. Their power overwhelmed you, and you knew you could do nothing but submit. You pictured their hands on your skin, sliding along your curves, their merciless fingers tracing paths of fire on your bare flesh.

Every movement of their bodies against yours made you shiver, transporting you to a world where pain mingled with pleasure, where every sigh was a silent prayer, a plea for more brutality, for more control. They enveloped you, possessed you entirely, and you lost yourself in the feeling of being their thing, their toy to use as they pleased.

The idea of becoming their willing slave, their toy, made you lose all sense of reality. You could already see yourself in their arms, torn between shame and ecstasy, between the desire to flee and the urge to let yourself be completely devoured. You were ready to abandon everything, ready to plunge into the abyss of their cruel games, ready to kneel before them and offer them everything they wanted. Because deep down, you knew that was what you desired most.

The campus parking lot is empty, the setting sun casting long shadows on the pavement. You are crouched down, leaning over the side mirror of a car that isn’t yours. The light plays on your face, highlighting your perfect makeup, but a dull irritation bubbles inside you. This place disgusts you, and each passing day makes you want to flee farther away, to distance yourself from the four students you hate just as much as you love. As you adjust your lipstick, you feel a mix of desire and anger, a need to escape and free yourself from this prison.

Suddenly, the car window rolls down with a creak, and you instinctively straighten up, your heart racing. A man appears, Sim Jake. His disheveled, almost wild hair gives him an air of danger, a brutal sensuality that irresistibly attracts you. Your stomach tightens as he fixes his gaze on you, his dark, piercing eyes scanning every curve of your body. He watches the arch of your back with such intensity that you feel like he can read your darkest thoughts. An unquenchable desire to please him overwhelms you, to show him how much you long to be the one he dominates.

He lets out a soft chuckle, his laughter vibrating with mockery. With a casual gesture, he runs his hand through his hair, making it even more tousled, and this sight ignites a wild desire within you. Your gaze lingers on his muscular neck, the way his muscles are defined under his skin, making you want to touch him, to mark your possession on him. You swallow hard, a wave of heat rising from your belly to your chest.

“Professor, don’t tell me you’re spying on me,” he says, his voice laced with sarcasm, a mischievous smile on his lips. You remain frozen, unable to respond, every muscle in your body tense from a combination of desire and fear. “You know it’s a crime, mommy.” His words wrap around you like a vine, holding you captive in his grip.

You try to pull away, but he suddenly grabs you by the hand, making you bend down even more as he seizes your neck, pulling you toward him. Your head slips through the lowered window, and your eyes lock with his, burning with desire and defiance. He moistens his lips, and that gesture compels you to bite yours, an uncontrollable urge to want to kiss him.

“Don’t play with me, mommy,” he whispers, his voice husky, as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours. In a surge of raw passion, he bites your upper lip, making you stop biting your lower lip. The pain is sharp, but it’s quickly followed by a wave of pleasure, leaving you trapped between desire and pain. He also catches your lower lip, nibbling it slightly, drawing a moan from you, a melody of pleasure and pain that encourages him.

The murmurs around you fade into distant echoes, barely perceptible in your mind, completely submerged by the man who dominates you. Students and professors stop, stunned by what they see, but their judgment no longer matters. Everything disappears, and only Jake and his grip on you remain, his fingers firmly wrapped around your neck, keeping you captive under his burning gaze. The world seems to shrink, reducing itself to him alone, to the promise of chaos and raw pleasure he embodies.

You feel every warm breath he exhales against your skin as a silent promise of what’s to come. An almost overwhelming sexual tension radiates from him, leaving you breathless, unable to focus on anything other than how he manipulates you, from his calculated caresses to the underlying violence pulsing in his movements. His breath lingers near your lips, so close you could almost feel their warmth, but he plays with you, like a predator savoring the suffering of its prey before devouring it.

Adrenaline floods your body, your muscles tense, and a delicious dizziness grips you. Nothing makes sense, yet everything seems perfectly aligned in this moment of madness. “Jake… not here,” you manage to articulate weakly, your voice broken, torn between the reason that still tries to resist and the burning desire that blinds you. But he just laughs, that rough, threatening laughter igniting your senses. The sound reverberates in your head, pulling you even further into this irresistible spiral.

“This is precisely the perfect moment, mommy,” he replies, a smug smile stretching across his lips. He loosens his grip on you slightly, causing you to lean back, your balance teetering dangerously, as if the world is collapsing around you. But he catches you before you fall, holding you tightly between his grip and the car, firmly captive. His movements are calculated, violent in their gentleness, and yet you’ve never felt such a need for him, such a craving for what he can give you.

Then, he opens the car door with a deliberate motion, careful not to touch you, and steps out, his eyes sweeping over the stunned faces of the students and professors surrounding you. He revels in their stares, feeding off their disapproval and shock. It only strengthens his hold on you. The mocking smile forming on his face is a silent declaration: they can judge you all they want, but you belong to him, completely, and he feels no shame in proving it to you here, before their eyes.

Slamming the door shut, he approaches you, grabs you by the waist with brutal force, and violently slams you against the car body. The handle digs into your back, triggering a dull pain that mingles with the ecstasy awakening within you. You let out an involuntary moan, weak and broken, but he hears it, and it encourages him. The gazes around you multiply, curious and shocked, but all you can feel is Jake’s grip and the fire burning within you.

“You’re going to show them how much of a slut you are, alright, mommy?” he murmurs against your neck, his voice hoarse and burning, full of obscene promises. His teeth nibble delicately at your skin, sending electric shocks through your entire body. The sensation makes you shiver, and he notices it. His lips slowly trail down your neck, each kiss reinforcing his claim over your body. Every caress of his tongue, every bite leaves a burning mark on your skin, making you increasingly vulnerable to him.

“I want you to moan for me, and show them who can make you this stupid,” he whispers, his words cutting through you like a whip. His hands slide under your top, fingers gliding across your skin, pausing just under your breasts for a moment. The threat of his brute strength lingers, even as he caresses you provocatively, deliberately slow, leaving you to languish.

“You’re going to show those sons of bitches, aren’t you, mommy?” He asks you, fingers lingering on your ribs, making you shiver under his touch. Then they rise slowly, sensually, toward your breasts, and you hold your breath, suspended between anticipation and overwhelming desire. But he doesn’t grant you any respite, grabbing your hair to pull it sharply back, exposing your throat. The pain mixes with a blazing ecstasy, leaving you floating between the two, unable to resist the grip he has on you. “I said, didn’t I, or are you already too stupid to answer?” he growls, his cruel words resonating in your muddled mind, dragging you even deeper into this total submission.

“Yes… Jake, I can do it,” you manage to say, your voice trembling, broken by desire. Your entire body is on fire, every fiber of your being calling for more, demanding the complete surrender he demands.

“You’re so nice to me, mommy,” he murmurs, his lips grazing yours, barely brushing your mouth from which a trickle of saliva slowly drips. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he extends his tongue to lap at your saliva, savoring every drop with a perverse pleasure. This act is a provocation, a clear sign that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and that you can do nothing to stop him. The heat rises within you, inevitable, each brush of his tongue fanning the flames inside you.

Adrenaline pulses through your veins as you press further against the car, desperately seeking to escape the pressure that crushes you. “Kiss me, Jake… please, I can’t wait anymore.” Your pleading tone makes him smile, and he senses your impatience, your desperate need for him. Seeing you so vulnerable, your knees rubbing against each other in search of a little friction, makes his groin throb with desire, a promise of immeasurable pleasure.

And you can smell his arousal, his need almost tangible piercing through the fabric of his pants. The scent of his masculinity, mingled with your own desire, overwhelms you, and you moan in pleasure as you press against him, rubbing against his member, feeling every pulse through your body. The tension rises further, the excitement pushing you to want more.

Jake slams you harder against the body of the car, your back pressing against the unforgiving coldness of the metal. His lips crash against yours, forcing you to tilt your head back until it strikes violently against the hard surface of the car. The impact shoots through you, a blend of sharp pain and troubling pleasure, merging into the intensity of sensations that collide within you. His tongue invades your mouth with unyielding aggression, probing every corner, as if trying to claim every part of you. His movements are brutal, a dance of relentless domination, each stroke of his tongue asserting his presence, leaving you powerless under his total control.

Your breath becomes erratic, caught in your throat as he almost suffocates you with his presence. His lips are hard, unyielding, and saliva begins to mix quickly, flooding your mouth. You try to keep up with the frantic pace, but he controls you, his movements much faster and more brutal. He nibbles at you, pulling lightly on your lower lip before diving back in, and you taste his sweet and bitter flavor asserting itself, your tongue powerless to do anything but submit to his.

Slobber flows freely. It quickly builds up, a sticky sensation overwhelming your mouth, inevitably spilling over your lips. You try to swallow, but you are already submerged. A thick trail of saliva starts to run from your jaw, tracing a wet path down your neck. It weaves between your breasts, sliding under your clothes. The warm, moist stickiness makes you shiver, a mix of shame and raw excitement leaving you panting. Each drop of saliva that escapes your mouth is another mark of how he sullies you, and the thought of being like this, exposed to everyone’s gaze, makes your head spin.

Jake doesn’t slow down. His kiss becomes increasingly disorderly, savage. The rhythm intensifies to the point where you feel he wants to crush you. His lips are brutal, smashing against yours without any tenderness. He slobbers profusely, saliva continuously overflowing, making the exchange even filthier, more primal. The obscene noise of fluids mingling with your stifled moans creates a symphony of indecency that only you two can hear amid the shocked whispers of onlookers.

His hand grips your hair violently, pulling with a sharp yank. You cry out, a mix of pain and pleasure bursting from your lips, but he doesn’t care. His fingers dig into your scalp, pulling even harder to expose you, forcing your face to tilt back. Your neck stretches under the pressure, a perfect curve he totally dominates. His eyes, burning with desire and cruelty, lock onto yours as he looks at you, a smug smile twisting his features. He knows you are his, entirely. And he savors every second of this submission. He leans down slowly, his tongue darting out to lick your neck with a calculated slowness, leaving a trail of hot saliva on your already sweat-dampened skin. You shiver, the sensation consuming you from the inside, your body responding immediately to this humiliation.

He descends, deliberately, biting your skin until red marks are left, his teeth sinking in just enough for the pain to mingle with pleasure. Each bite is a new mark of his territory, each scratch of his teeth on your delicate skin plunging you deeper into this abyss of submission. You can’t help but moan, your sounds blending into the suffocating heat surrounding you.

Jake finally pulls back, straightening up, his gaze still fixed on yours. “Do you want me to do something for you?” he asks, his voice hoarse and laced with mischief. He waits, leaving you trembling under this promise. His hands rest on your hips, gripping almost painfully tight, and you know it’s up to you to decide what comes next. The pressure of his fingers against your flesh reminds you of how he has control, yet a part of you desires to break this barrier, to take that risk.

You lean slightly forward, your voice a mere whisper charged with desire. “Yes, Jake… I want you to take me.”

He bursts out laughing, a vibrant and almost malevolent sound, before plunging back into your lips, his kiss igniting, mixing desire, domination, and this insatiable madness that consumes you both.

The air around you is thick, saturated with the musky scent of his excitement, mixed with the sweat and saliva that flows freely. The humidity becomes unbearable, almost toxic, but you crave more. This suffocation only feeds your need. You feel the heat rising sharply within you, an uncontrollable blaze, as he presses harder, almost pushing you through the car. Your senses are overheating, every friction, every contact amplifying your desire to the point of obsession.

His breath is heavy against your ear, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse, laced with venomous arrogance. “You’re going to remember this, fuck…” He pants, his movements becoming more frantic, more urgent, his words slipping into your foggy mind. “You’re going to remember how I humiliated you here, in front of everyone…”

The words carve into your mind like blades. Shame and excitement violently intertwine, leaving you on the brink of collapse. Your body vibrates under his grip, every fiber of your being burning with desire. Your vision blurs, as if the world around you is disappearing. All that remains is him, his body against yours, his total domination, and the guilty pleasure that continues to grow.

Jake turns you around with brutal force, slamming you against the car in a deafening crash. Your palms smash against the cold window, the impact resonating through your body like thunder in the storm of your excitement. The heat of his body, intense and overwhelming, mingles with the coldness of the metal, creating an electric tension in the air. He groans against your back, his words resonating like an obsessive and irresistible promise. “Now, mommy, I’m going to take care of you.” His warm breath, heavy with desire and domination, caresses your ear, and a shiver of excitement runs down your spine, making you emit an obscene, almost involuntary noise that betrays your anticipation.

He pulls away slightly from you, his powerful hands sliding down your skirt, slowly lifting the fabric with an exasperating slowness, as if he takes sadistic pleasure in torturing you. When he uncovers your buttocks, trapped in a completely wet thong, soaked with your excitement, a satisfied, carnivorous smile spreads across his lips. The curious whispers of the people watching you intensify around you, their hungry and disgusted gazes a mix of envy and judgment. “Look at all those bastards hungry for you, but who can only brush against you from afar with their looks, because you’re mine, aren’t you, mommy?” His voice is full of contempt and possessiveness, each word a whip to your reason, making you lose all sense of dignity. He laughs, a salacious and provocative laugh, as he kneads your buttocks with brutal force before slapping them violently with his ring-adorned fingers.

The pain makes you moan, a sound that is both of suffering and pleasure, the rings sinking into your skin, leaving marks that testify to his dominance. “Yes, Jake, I belong only to you!” You cry out, your voice tinged with despair and enthusiasm, as he snickers, proud to see you at his feet, exposed and vulnerable like never before. The scent of your fear mixed with your excitement fills the air, making the atmosphere even more charged.

“Yes, that’s right, mommy, you’re mine, and the whole damn school will know it today.” He slides his fingers over your buttocks, his caresses becoming more insistent, more violent, before tearing the fabric of your thong effortlessly, a savage act that makes you emit a sound of discontent mixed with excitement. “They’re going to know how much of a fucking slut and cock-hungry teacher you are, my cock.” His words, like an intoxicating poison, degrade your being, raising the atmosphere to an unbearable level of tension, a delicious mix of shame and desire.

“Now, turn around, I need to feast on you.” He tells you in a hoarse, almost guttural voice, as you slowly turn around, facing him. At that moment, you realize that some students and teachers, caught up in this disturbing spectacle, have already dropped their pants, their hands eagerly caressing their members. Heat rises to your cheeks, but it’s not just embarrassment; it’s a savory humiliation that ignites you from within. You look away, feeling the humiliation overwhelm you, but that only exacerbates your excitement. “Don’t look at anyone but me, mommy, not them, just me, okay?” His hand grips your jaw tightly, his fingers applying enough pressure to force you to look him in the eyes, to submit to his voracious desire. His gaze, filled with possessive desire, pierces you, and you let out a small moan as you nod your head, but the non-verbal response doesn’t seem to please him. He wanted a real answer; he wanted to hear your pretty voice, so he pulled his hand away from your jaw before slapping your cheek.

The pain is immediate, a sharp burn that you feel intensely, a pain that mingles with the excitement already within you. His rings sink into your cheek, leaving a painful imprint that brings tears to your eyes. The tears begin to flow, mixed with your confusion and suffering, as you softly sob, the pulsing pain of your cheek and your lower lip, now split, letting blood flow, a red stream that betrays your submission.

“Shh… don’t cry, mommy.” Jake says, his voice soft and tender in contrast to his previous actions, cradling your cheek between his hands. But his eyes tell a different story, a story of domination and insatiable desire, a story where your pain becomes his pleasure. “I’m not angry with you, okay?” He wipes your tears away with a twisted, almost sadistic smile, as his gaze revels in your tear-soaked face and your injured lip, bleeding. He seems to savor your suffering, like a fine wine, and he could literally die a happy man in this moment.

You sniffle, gently shaking your head, but upon seeing his gaze darken even more, you freeze in place, fear mingling with desire paralyzing you. “I know, Jake, I’m sorry,” you manage to say through your tears, staring at him with misty eyes, but you can still catch a glimpse of his small, satisfied smile as he leans toward you, his lips brushing against yours for a delicate kiss, yet charged with a mixture of sweetness and mischief. This kiss, both tender and dominant, was a promise of what was to come.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, mommy,” he murmurs against your lips, the taste of your blood on his tongue, a mixture of pleasure and pain that intoxicates him. He does nothing to pull away, his lips engulfing your lower lip that he sucks and nibbles on with eagerness, savoring every drop of your blood like a precious delicacy. A rough groan escapes his mouth, and he realizes he could easily lose all sense of reason at the mere taste of your blood, so sweet yet so electrifying at the same time. He could never get enough of you, of your pain and pleasure intertwined, and this thought only made him hungrier.

He eventually pulls away, breathing heavily, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “Let me make it up to you properly,” he says, kneeling before you, his hands beginning to wander over your tender thighs, sliding up along your soft skin, making you shiver with anticipation. The adrenaline pulses in your veins, and you know you could fall if you weren’t leaning against the car, but every second spent with him makes you desire more, sinking you deeper into this obscene and irresistible abyss.

Jake no longer just caresses your skin with his fingers; every movement becomes measured torture, a promise of what is to come. He lets his nails dig into your flesh, tracing red lines that burn, as his hand slowly rises along your thigh. He doesn’t just want to reach you physically; he wants to imprint himself in your mind, marking you in an indelible way. His fingers are cold, but it’s this icy bite that makes you moan in pain and frustration. Every caress is like a soft, progressive knife cut, meant to make you feel vulnerable, exposed to his unconfessed desires.

His mouth is merely an extension of this cruelty. His lips crash against your tender skin, and this warm wetness brings no comfort. On the contrary, each kiss is a warning, as if he’s testing your limits, savoring every reaction. He doesn’t just want to possess you; he wants you to remember every place he has left his mark, through pain and humiliation. His lips are neither sweet nor sensual. They are there to devour, to take, with no regard for your pleasure or consent. The way he sucks on your flesh, slurping loudly, reminds you that you are nothing more than a toy in his hands.

The men surrounding you are no longer mere spectators but silent participants in this degrading scene. Their guttural groans fill the heavy air of the parking lot, mingling with the wet sounds of their hands sliding over their erect cocks, glistening with pre-cum. They watch you with disgusting greed, their eyes glued to your body, waiting for you to fully submit to Jake’s brutality. Every movement he makes, every moan you let escape only feeds their sick desires. They reduce you to a mere object of fantasy, torn between the pain and the excitement you don’t want to admit.

Then, everything shifts. Jake plunges his fingers deep into your flesh, his nails tearing at you like claws. His hand moves to the inside of your thigh, pressing with relentless force, spreading your legs without mercy. He no longer seeks to excite you; he forces you, imposing his will relentlessly. “Look at me, Y/n,” he growls in a hoarse voice, like an order that leaves no room for disobedience. He forces you to meet his gaze, and in his eyes burns a wild fire, an almost inhuman desire that makes you shiver with terror.

He bites then, but this time he doesn’t stop at the surface. His teeth sink deep into your flesh, until you feel your skin tear under the unbearable pressure. Pain explodes in your body, a brutal shock that steals your breath. You scream, a piercing cry that resonates in the suffocating atmosphere, but that’s what Jake was waiting for. He drinks with animalistic greed, consuming the blood flowing from the gaping wound, his lips soaking in the warm, viscous liquid that slides down your thigh. His growls become increasingly bestial, like a predator savoring every drop of his prey’s blood.

The scene becomes even more grotesque. Jake no longer just bites you; he literally devours you, his face smeared with red, his lips and teeth covered in your blood. He bites again, his teeth sinking into another part of your thigh, this time with such violence that you feel the flesh tear. Blood gushes, flowing in a continuous stream, soaking his mouth, his chin, and the ground beneath you. Jake seems to go mad, intoxicated by the taste of your blood, his guttural growls resonating in the parking lot as his lips greedily suck on your flesh.

Around you, the men gasp, their hands moving frantically over their swollen members, the obscene sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the air. Their groans of pleasure grow louder, almost desperate, as they surrender completely to the perversion of this bloody scene. Every moan, every rough breath reinforces the macabre atmosphere surrounding you, and you feel yourself sinking into an abyss where pain and excitement become one.

Jake pushes your thigh even further, spreading your legs with such violence that your muscles scream under the strain. “I’m going to mark you, break you, until your entire body bears my imprint,” he whispers against your skin, his words spitting a promise of total domination. His teeth sink into your flesh again, biting even deeper, and this time you can almost feel your muscles giving under the pressure. The flow of blood pouring from the wound is more abundant, the warm liquid escaping from your bruised skin to spill onto the ground.

Jake lifts his head, his face dripping with red, and looks at you with a sadistic smile. “Do you feel that, Y/n? You like it.” His words are venom, a truth you refuse to admit. But your body trembles, overwhelmed by a wave of contradictory sensations — pain, humiliation, and that obscene pleasure that makes you shiver against your will. You are at your breaking point, broken under his relentless control, and yet something inside you doesn’t want to flee this grip.

He licks his lips, savoring the taste of your blood, that hot, metallic nectar that consumes him. His eyes shine with a wild glimmer, a predator relishing its prey. He leans in closer to you, his teeth scraping against your battered flesh, a cold shiver of pleasure coursing down your spine as he brushes against you. Each bite, each contact of his skin against yours makes you tremble with excitement and pain. Then he bites one last time, deeply, violently, leaving an indelible mark on your skin, a cruel reminder of that day when he reduced you to nothing more than a body offered to his brutality.

“Don’t stop, Jake…” you murmur in a trembling voice, eager to feel every part of his domination over you.

Jake kisses your bloodied thigh, leaving a crimson trail that slowly slides down your soft skin to your intimacy. The metallic smell of blood mingles with that of your flesh, an intoxicating fragrance for him. He inhales deeply, savoring the mix that makes you shiver against the car, your muscles taut with frenzied anticipation. His eyes, obsessed with your pussy, shine with a wild light, a predatory grin stretching across his lips as he approaches, his breath quickening as he loses himself in the ecstasy of your suffering.

His face, stained with your blood, leans even closer, brushing against your delicate skin with his warm lips, provoking a shiver that runs through your entire body. “You are so delicious,” he murmurs, his rough voice tinged with desire, as he kisses your thigh with feigned tenderness before diving lower.

“Jake…” your voice trembles with excitement, but he only responds with a guttural growl, eager to make you experience the ecstasy he has in mind. He slowly lets his tongue slide out, tracing a final path along your thigh, his saliva mingling with your blood in a display of violated innocence. His movements are both tender and brutal, a macabre dance between sweetness and cruelty. He eagerly buries his face between your thighs, forcing you to spread your legs to allow him access to your femininity, his hungry mouth seeking to claim your essence.

“Take me, Jake… make me feel everything you are…” you plead, desire consuming every part of your being. Your voice is a whisper, a supplication both submissive and ardent, a call to debauchery.

He gently licks your pleasure button, teasing it with devilish patience, each movement of his tongue provoking waves of sensations that are both delightful and painful. Uncontrollable sighs escape your lips, mingled with moans of pain. Every movement of his tongue is calculated, a delicious blend of delight and suffering. He toys with your pain, lightly biting your pleasure button before sucking it entirely into his mouth, as if he needs your warmth to survive, a rabid animal devouring its prey.

“More… I want more, Jake…” you cry, your voice filled with despair and desire, a wild scream resonating in the parking lot. The pain is unbearable, but it is also a sweet melody that lulls your mind.

Your moans turn into cries, excitement mingling with the throbbing pain that courses through your body. He releases your pleasure button with a wet, lascivious sound, then widely parts the lips of your sex with his fingers, his nails making each movement more painful yet deliciously pleasurable. His tongue laps relentlessly, savoring every drop of your desire, each stroke fueling his own hunger. You feel that he could come in his pants at any moment, so consumed is he by the obsession of your pleasure.

“I am yours, Jake… take me completely…” you murmur, your voice broken by pleasure, and a part of you knows there’s no turning back.

His eyes shine with a wild gleam as he rubs your pleasure button with his thumb, sinking even deeper with his tongue, exploring every corner of your intimacy. He moves with the precision of an expert, discovering every sensitive area, pulling louder moans of pleasure from you. Your fingers grip his tousled hair, pushing him deeper inside you, your flesh demanding his tongue. The intensity of the sensation makes you lose track of your thoughts, and you let yourself be swept away by the whirlwind of pleasure engulfing you.

In one corner of the parking lot, the atmosphere becomes even heavier, saturated with forbidden desires and unacknowledged fantasies. The teachers and students, caught in a dance of vice and desire, abandon themselves without restraint to carnal pleasures. Some teachers, defying all ethics, slip their hands under the clothes of other colleagues or students, grazing feverish and lustful skin. Their hoarse whispers get lost in the air, words of unacknowledged desire exchanged through panting sighs. Every forbidden touch becomes a silent oath of perverse complicity, a pact sealed by desire.

Further away, students find themselves together, clutching at each other as if they were going to devour one another. Bodies intertwine in a chaos of feverish caresses and stolen kisses. A boy with tousled hair leans against a car, pulling a girl against him with a brutality that borders on indecency, their heavy breaths mingling with the distant sound of engines. Others give in to multiple partners, bodies intertwining in a lewd ballet. Groups form and dissolve, jealousy and excitement igniting every embrace.

The teachers themselves are not left out. One of them, his eyes shining with a twisted desire, slams another instructor against the wall of the building, their mouths fiercely seeking each other. Further away, a female teacher slips her hand under a student’s shirt, her movements skillful and assured, making him shiver under her control. They exchange knowing glances, defying any notion of limits. The roles of authority fade away, leaving only primal instincts.

The onlookers in the shadows, both students and teachers, get swept up in this spiral of debauchery. Some slowly caress themselves, their gazes fixed on you and Jake, their hands moving across their own skin, eager witnesses to what unfolds before them. Others lose themselves in their own embraces, consumed by an insatiable need to submit to this suffocating atmosphere. A whisper of excitement spreads through the group when a student, unable to contain his pleasure, lets out an overly loud sigh, briefly drawing the attention of those hesitant to engage in the surrounding obscenity.

But none of this matters to you. You are completely absorbed by Jake and the brutality with which he takes you. His movements are fierce and relentless, as if he wants to break you while pulling you into a dizzying fall toward forbidden pleasure, an abyss where pain and ecstasy blend.

“Look how much she loves it…” a man throws out, a sadistic grin forming on his face, laughing at how you give yourself up to Jake’s onslaughts, relishing your surrender. His laughter is a sinister echo that resonates in the air charged with desire and tension, amplifying the adrenaline pulsing through your veins.

Jake intensifies his efforts, his licks becoming increasingly erratic, almost frantic, as he plunges deeper inside you. Each caress is a promise of pleasure, each stroke of his tongue a threat of losing control, a brutal reminder that you are at his mercy. The moans escaping your mouth blend with the pain, and you feel your sanity wavering under the pressure. Your head falls back, the muscles in your body tightening under his grasp, and you know you are entirely submissive to his darkest desires.

“Don’t stop, Jake… I’m begging you!” you cry out, your body contracting under his touches, thirsty for his brutality. You feel the adrenaline rise, a mix of anxiety and excitement.

He penetrates you with his tongue with such violence that you begin to lose track of time and space. His fingers delve deep inside you, filling you completely, an intrusion so profound that you feel ready to burst. He lets out a growl of satisfaction, his face feasting on your pleasure as you begin to tremble, every fiber of your being vibrating under his caresses, his mouth savoring your bliss.

The people around you are now just a mere backdrop, their sighs and moans merging with yours, a chorus of desire and debauchery. Pain becomes an integral part of your pleasure, and you start to understand the power dynamic at play. Jake is a predator, and you are his prey. Every movement of his tongue is laden with an implicit threat, a reminder that you have no escape. He ravages you with a consuming obsession, and you realize you are trapped in this dangerous game, lost between pleasure and pain, between life and death.

“Isn’t this what you want?” he murmurs with a predatory smile, his eyes scanning your face contorted with ecstasy, as if he savors every drop of your suffering.

The intensity reaches its peak, and you feel a wave of heat engulf you, making you completely lose your mind. It’s a mix of pleasure and pain, an experience so overwhelming it feels almost unreal. In one final surge, you let out a piercing scream, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, as Jake continues to devour you, insatiable, like a starving man. His tongue, his breath, everything about him consumes you in an infernal blaze.

“Yes, Jake! I’m yours!” you cry, your voice filled with a mixture of adoration and submission, a promise of your total surrender.

“Yeah, damn it! You’re mine, mommy,” he growls, his gaze burning with desire as he rises from between your trembling legs. He places a kiss full of promises on your lips, leaving you breathless, your eyes glazed with excitement and shivers. “Only mine, and I’m going to prove it by fucking you so well you’ll forget your own name.” His powerful hands grip your hips, and with controlled force, he pushes you back, opening the car door with a swift motion.

“Lie down on the seats, mommy,” he commands, his hoarse voice resonating like a soft threat. You don’t hesitate; you slide inside, lying on your back, your legs spread, offering your body in this confined space. Your liquid drips, a shiny and warm trail mixing with the leather of the seat, staining it with your desire.

“I want you to squirt everywhere when you come, mommy, to leave your fucking scent,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of unspoken desires and brutal dominance. His eyes gleam with a wild light as he lowers his pants and underwear, revealing a member already hard, ready to claim you.

He approaches you with calculated slowness, his muscular body leaning over yours, every muscle tense, his hot breath brushing against your skin. The tension between you is palpable, almost electric, and you feel every beat of your heart resonate in your chest as he positions himself above you, making you fully aware of his power over you.

Jake firmly grips your hips, his possessive hold immobilizing you as he pulls you toward him with brutal, almost animalistic strength. With a quick, merciless thrust, he penetrates you, his brutal movement eliciting a cry from your lips, a mix of pain and pleasure. The shock reverberates through your entire being, a wave of intense heat that makes every fiber of your body vibrate. You feel the flesh of your thigh pulse with pain, blood slowly trickling down, tracing red lines on your skin, marking your submission in that moment.

He impatiently caresses the fabric of your top, his gaze gleaming with wild desire. With a sudden motion, he tears the material, exposing your breasts, and a guttural growl escapes his throat, like an animal in heat. His hands attack your breasts, squeezing them with such force that it feels like he wants to deform them under his grip. You experience a delicious pain, each movement making you vibrate with pleasure while carving the marks of his possession into your flesh.

“Damn, you’ll look so beautiful covered in your blood,” he murmurs in a hoarse voice, his breathing quickening as if every word is a promise of what’s to come. He continues to mark your flesh, his hands roaming over your body, leaving traces of his fingers wherever he goes, as if he wants to announce to the whole world that he will always have you, no matter the cost.

He slides his hand between your thighs, gathering your blood and dragging it across your skin, making it flow, as if he wants to imprint you with his essence. His fingers caress the lower part of your belly, then move up towards your breasts, where he leaves hot red marks, pressing with an insistence that borders on obsession. Each pressure on your flesh feels like a whip, and every moan you let escape is proof of your submission.

When he violently slaps your breasts, a cry of surprise and pleasure escapes your lips, and you realize how enchanted you are by this pain. He loves to see your reactions; he adores watching your eyes widen, that glimmer of defiance slowly transforming into submission. His movements become increasingly chaotic, frantic, like an animal wanting to mark its territory. He caresses your jaw, his gaze locked on yours, then shoves his ringed fingers into your mouth, forcing you to clean them, to swallow every drop of blood that remains.

The cold of the metal against your tongue contrasts with the warmth of your own blood, and you start to succumb to this mix of pain and pleasure, drooling around his fingers while moaning, your eyes rolling back. The world around you disappears, and all that matters is him, his body against yours, his brutal, almost wild movements igniting an insatiable need within you.

As he intensifies his movements, he begins to abuse you even more violently, each thrust making you cry out in pleasure. His body plunges into you, and he feels your sex pulling him in, as if your body craves even more of him. His fingers dig deeper into your mouth, making you choke as your eyes roll back. The sensation is both terrifying and exhilarating, and he loves it; he wants to see you lose all control.

When he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he slaps you hard across the cheek, an act of domination that only exacerbates your already burning desire. This shock makes you quiver with desire, and you tighten around him even more, demanding more, as if your body were on fire. His fingers, soaked with your blood and saliva, glide over your jaw, slowly descending toward your neck, where he applies a skillfully calculated pressure.

Jake continues to penetrate you with increasing frenzy, his thrusts quick and brutal. Each impact makes you feel like you’re about to explode under the wave of pleasure and pain flooding you, immersing you in a whirlwind of sensations. His grip on your neck becomes tighter, and he lets out hoarse moans of pleasure, reveling in your total submission.

“Damn it, mommy, you drive me crazy,” he growls, his hoarse voice rumbling like thunder. As he lifts your legs and presses them against your stomach, his body draws closer to yours, every muscle taut like a string ready to snap under pressure. His member, hard as steel, brutally plunges into you, each thrust causing an electric shock that sends shivers through your entire body. The sounds of your union—sharp moans, gasping breaths, and the wet sound of your intimacy colliding—echo like a bestial symphony, filling the car’s interior with suffocating heat.

He gives you no respite; every movement is a whip, a mark of his possession. His thrusts are violent, brutal, as if he wants to break down every barrier separating you from him. You moan in pleasure and pain, a desperate melody escaping your lips as he firmly grips the back of your thighs, his nails digging into your delicate skin, leaving red marks, reminders of his conquest. Each thrust is a reminder that you belong to him, that you are his toy, his prey.

His pre-cum escapes, a mix of desire and need, sliding along his member as he fills you with each thrust. He hits your G-spot with devilish precision, making you lose all sense of time and space. Your eyes roll back, drool spilling from your slightly parted lips, a testament to the ecstasy overwhelming you, as if your reason were evaporating under the weight of his insatiable desire.

“More, Jake, please, don’t stop,” you plead, your voice a desperate cry between moans, each syllable trembling with need. He desires to merge your bodies to the point where you become his extension, an integral part of himself, and he will let nothing and no one stand in the way of this fusion.

A guttural growl escapes his throat, a wild and primal sound that vibrates in the air around you. He penetrates you even deeper, your warmth enveloping him as he seeks to possess you completely. You feel the heat building in your lower belly, each thrust making you lose your footing. When you climax, it feels like the entire world is collapsing around you. A piercing cry escapes your mouth, resonating in the car as your body contracts, your femininity squeezing around him with such force that he gasps, reveling in your ecstasy, feeding off your loss of control. Waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you breathless, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, overstimulating you with delicious brutality.

“Jake… it’s too much, I can’t… take anymore,” you cry, tears of pleasure and pain mingling their salty taste on your cheeks. But he doesn’t slow down; on the contrary, he abruptly pulls out of you, breathless, before putting you on all fours on the car seats. You are vulnerable, exposed, a perfect target for his insatiable desire.

He grips your hair, pulling your head back with a brutality that makes you moan. His words resonate in your mind like a challenge. “If you can do it, I’m sure you want more,” he says, his hoarse voice tinted with defiance. His thrusts become faster and harder, each impact making you tremble with pleasure and pain, as if each hit were a promise of total domination.

He increases the tempo, his raw power taking you mercilessly, as if he were trying to reach a depth that only a wild animal could know. His hot breath caresses your neck as he intensifies his movements, penetrating you with such force that you feel your body deforming under his strength. Each thrust is a whip, an electric shock resonating through your being, sending you into a trance where pain becomes pleasure.

His free hand wraps around your neck, cutting off your breath, and you feel panic mingled with ecstasy invade your being. Oxygen begins to run low, and each breath becomes a struggle between life and desire. He loosens his grip slightly, allowing you to catch your breath just enough to scream his name again, before plunging you back under his hold, each strike more brutal than the last.

“You are mine,” he growls between strikes, his voice laced with possessiveness. Each word is a declaration, a vow of primal devotion, and you can only submit to this wave of emotions. The combination of pain and pleasure takes you to a state of complete vulnerability, and you realize you crave this domination, this sweet violence that consumes you. You are his toy, his prey, and you let yourself be swept away in this chaotic dance, lost in the fury of his blows.

Your body becomes a canvas where he paints marks of desire, each strike, each tug of hair a new color added to this dark and obscene artwork. You are his, entirely, and you wish for nothing more than to lose yourself again and again in this obscene madness. Each gesture is a promise of raw pleasure, and you are ready to endure anything to feel this power upon you, at the point where ecstasy and pain intertwine in a sensual and cruel dance.

As he intensifies his movements, his strikes become more and more beastly, each impact making you moan and scream with pleasure, until you reach new heights of bliss. The car itself trembles under the violence of your passions, as if it wants to submit to your consuming fervor. In this savage union, you are his, body and soul, and you wish for nothing more than to plunge deeper into this obscenity, this delicious violence that envelops you, consumes you, and redefines you.

Jake leans over your body, his burning lips leaving hungry kisses on your skin. He starts at your back, exploring every curve, every hollow, as if he seeks to mark his territory. Each kiss is wet and eager, his lips gliding over your flesh, making you shiver with pleasure. As he moves up to your neck, he inhales deeply your scent, a blend of warmth and desire, his hot breath mingling with your damp skin. Drops of his sweat fall on you, creating a delicious sensation of warmth that envelops you, and you can’t suppress a hoarse moan escaping your lips, a silent cry of need.

He thrusts into you with sweet violence, each rhythmic movement both brutal and exquisite, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure. You feel his hard member penetrate you deeply, and each thrust is a declaration of his possession. He sucks on your neck with animalistic intensity, biting your skin to leave marks, traces of his domination. He wants you to feel his presence within you, to be etched into your flesh, and you are more than ready to yield to him.

In one final thrust, he releases all his desire, and you violently squirt on him, your body contracting around him like a crashing wave. The heat of his semen fills you, a perfect fusion of passion, flooding your insides and overflowing, wetting everything around you. The sound of your bodies crashing together resonates in the car’s cabin, each impact making you lose track of your thoughts. He doesn’t stop there, continuing his assault with fierce determination, driving his warm seed deeper inside you, growling like a rutting animal, relishing every moment he possesses you.

Your saliva slowly trickles down, a testament to your state of ecstasy. You are breathless, each breath a struggle between pleasure and the need for more. Each thrust from Jake becomes more violent, more brutal, as if he is trying to devour you, to make you his prey. His hands grip your hips, his fingers sinking into your flesh, and you feel the pain mingling with ecstasy, pushing you to a new peak of pleasure. You are his, entirely, and you let yourself go to this bestial madness, to this dance of desire and possession.

When he finally pulls out, his seed mixed with yours flows out of you, a warm, sticky liquid gliding down your thigh, proof of his hold. You know you belong to him, that you are entirely his. This blend of fluids testifies to the depth of your union, a wild union that leaves marks on your body and in your mind. In this moment, you are lost in an ocean of desire, passion, and submission, ready to be devoured again and again.

Jake skillfully maneuvers you, positioning you sitting on him, his hard and pulsing member pressing against your intimacy with an almost painful pressure. Each pulse of his desire against your delicate skin awakens a whirlwind of sensations within you that are both disturbing and exhilarating. Fatigue begins to weigh you down, but the burning excitement in your belly keeps you awake as his powerful arms wrap around you, holding you against him with an almost possessive strength. His caresses, initially soft and gentle, slowly slide down your back, but you can feel the intensity of his desire growing, with each second making his intentions clearer.

“Now, baby, I’m going to fuck your ass,” he murmurs in a rough voice filled with promises, leaning towards you, his burning lips grazing your skin. His hot breath travels over you, igniting every inch of your body. He captures your lips in a passionate kiss, a wild embrace, mixing your saliva in a messy dance, as if each drop is a promise of what is to come.

His hands explore your body with frantic determination, sliding slowly towards your sex. His skillful fingers gather the blend of your fluids, making you shiver under his touch, each stroke heightening the sensitivity of your intimacy. You feel desire rising within you, a crashing wave threatening to overwhelm you. He approaches his fingers to your ass, spreading this burning mixture over your skin, leaving you breathless as he continues to kiss you with a devouring fervor.

You cling desperately to his shoulders, your nails digging into his muscular flesh, seeking support against the intensity of this moment. He slowly thrusts his fingers inside you, each calculated movement making you moan against his mouth. The sensation is both delicious and painful as he stretches you with bestial precision, making you lose all control. His eyes shine with a wild gleam, devouring every expression on your face as he bites your lower lip with deceptive gentleness, his mouth slightly opening to let out a guttural growl, a promise of what is to follow.

You grip his hair, taking control of the kiss, tilting his head to deepen this burning connection. Your tongue plunges deep into his mouth, battling with his, a chaotic dance of unfulfilled desires. You feel his response, a rough moan resonating in his throat, a vibration echoing your own desire. His free hand ventures over your body, caressing your curves, while the other continues to torture you with slow yet penetrating movements, pushing even deeper into your depths.

He pulls on your wet hair, wrapping it around his fist, the pain mixed with pleasure making you lose track of time a little more. With his other hand, he keeps you prisoner, holding you tight against him, and you realize you are at his mercy. Each thrust of his fingers inside you makes you lose your sense of time, and your breath becomes erratic, every moan you let out being an offering to his insatiable desire.

But suddenly, he pulls back slightly, and a shiver of anticipation and anxiety runs through you as he bites your lip harshly. The anxiety mingles with a burning desire, making you cry out softly, as if his violence only intensifies the need that consumes you. Every pulse of his member against your skin reminds you just how dependent you are on him.

“Jake, I just want to sleep,” you murmur, slightly tired, your eyes half-closed as he continues to play with your ass, a carnivorous smile spreading across his lips. His fingers glide over your skin, plunging back in with calculated brutality, as if he were trying to make you lose all control.

“Mommy, you can sleep if you want.” His voice resonates with cruel amusement, a slight chuckle cutting through the tense air. He pulls his fingers from your ass, lifting you effortlessly, as if you were nothing more than a rag doll. You feel vulnerable, your heart racing as he positions your ass over his member, already dripping with pre-cum, ready to claim you as his prey.

“As long as I can fuck this pretty little ass, you can do whatever you want.” His words, spoken in a possessive tone, echo in your head like a promise of pain and pleasure, and a wave of dark excitement washes over you.

The next moment, he begins to penetrate you. His member slowly sinks into your tight hole, a mix of pain and pleasure awakening within you like a sacred fire. The pain is sharp, like an electric shock, a moan of suffering escaping your lips. You can feel every inch he pushes inside you, stretching your flesh beyond its limits, a struggle between despair and an unacknowledged pleasure. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, mingling your distress with tragic beauty. You are both desperate and captive in this intense moment, trapped in his game.

“It hurts,” you moan, your voice trembling, seeking refuge in his muscular arms. You bury your head in his neck, the tears soaking his t-shirt, hoping your suffering might soften him. But he is not there to be gentle. One hand rests on your back, the other firmly holding your body against his, continuing his intrusion with calculated slowness, every movement heavy, as if he savors your pain, each second stretching your torment.

“It’s nothing, mommy,” he murmurs in a hoarse voice, sweet yet mocking at the same time. His hand slips to caress your hair, a contradictory gesture in light of the brutality of his actions. “Just relax, and it’ll be fine.” His words, though laden with promises, do not mask the anxiety rising within you. A part of you knows he feeds on your despair, that he relishes your pain like a predator before its prey.

You try to relax, but the pain is excruciating, a burning wave coursing through your body. Every inch he inserts seems to stretch your flesh beyond its limits. Anxiety overwhelms you as he intends to claim every part of your body, and with one last brutal thrust, he finally buries himself completely inside you. A scream of pain escapes your lips, resonating in the tense air, your body reacting fiercely to this intrusion.

As he begins to move inside you, he realizes you are gripping him too tightly. “Baby, relax even more, or you’ll end up hurting,” he says, his deep voice echoing like a whisper in the hollow of your neck. He caresses your back, his fingers sliding down your spine, trying to soothe your pain, but it’s not enough to extinguish the flames consuming your body. The mix of pleasure and pain is intoxicating, a macabre dance you are forced to participate in. Every thrust, every movement of his hips inside you becomes an act of brutal possession, further submitting you to his desire.

When he feels you starting to give in, he moves slowly, each thrust of his hips inside you seeming to tear and reshape you in his image. His rhythm is measured, a cruel slowness that forces you to adjust to this unpleasant sensation, a mix of pleasure and pain that makes every nerve in your body vibrate. He whispers encouragements, his voice intensifying as he runs his fingers through your hair, caressing your skin with a deceptive tenderness that contrasts with the brutality of his actions.

But when he sees you starting to moan in pleasure, your body adapting to him, he abruptly speeds up, taking total control. Your hips move against his, an instinctive and desperate motion, as if your body already knows the way to pleasure, even as your head is filled with contradictions. Every thrust becomes deeper, more primal, a mix of despair and wild desire that seems to tear you apart from the inside. He plunges into you with such force that you can feel your flesh yielding under his grip.

He pushes you to the edge, to the brink of pleasure and pain, and you feel completely devoured by this intense experience. The sounds in the car are drowned out by the noise of your bodies colliding, each movement resonating like a declaration of possession. You are his, and he has no intention of letting you go. Excitement builds within you, and you feel your body reacting uncontrollably, every moan escaping your lips being an involuntary response to his delicious assault. He makes you lose all rationality, his presence being both a scourge and a delight, and you are caught between pain and a frantic pleasure that consumes you.

With every thrust, he seems to transform you, extracting you from your own existence to plunge you into a world where only pain and pleasure have their place. You are at the mercy of his brutal desires, and each thrust becomes an indelible mark on your body and in your mind. The light fades around you, leaving only the darkness of this primal connection. You feel yourself sinking into a spiral of madness, unable to break free.

In this whirlwind of contradictory emotions, you no longer know where your suffering begins and where your pleasure ends. Everything becomes blurred, and you are ready to do anything for him, even if it means losing a part of yourself in this chaos. The tension rises, leaving you breathless, your thoughts blending with the moans of your body. He possesses you completely, and this possession is all you know. You have become his toy, a thing to be manipulated at his whim. Reality fades away, leaving only this desperate need to please him, even at the cost of your own suffering.

Jake holds you firmly, his powerful hands gripping your waist as he intensifies his movements inside you. Each thrust is a thunderclap, making your whole body vibrate and provoking moans of pleasure that escape your lips. The car, this confined cocoon, becomes the silent witness to your debauchery, each vibration, each sigh mixing in the warm, charged air of desire.

You bend over him, your head tilted back, seeking support on his strong shoulders. Your nails dig into his flesh, leaving marks as you surrender to the ecstasy he provides. The tension between you is palpable, a fusion of unquenchable desire and animalistic need. With every thrust, he plunges deeper inside you, his virility tearing you apart, and you feel yourself slipping slowly, ready to be overwhelmed by this wave of raw pleasure.

He suddenly flips you over, facing the dashboard, pressing you against the cold surface. His movements become a beastly dance, a frantic rhythm as he dives back inside your ass, making you scream with pleasure and pain. Each thrust is a delicious mix of sensations, and you grab onto anything within reach — the smooth leather of the seats, the handles, the dashboard — as if your life depended on it. The smell of alcantara and his musky perfume envelops you, creating a suffocating atmosphere where desire and thrills intertwine.

The blows grow stronger, each impact making you lose more control. With every thrust, he goes deeper inside you, and your cries of pleasure mingle with his growls of satisfaction. “You’re so perfect for me, mommy,” he whispers, his voice husky, filled with primal need. His lips slide along the curve of your back, leaving burning kisses that mark his passage, a reminder of his possession.

He nibbles on your skin with desperate fervor, a gesture that is both tender and terrifically possessive, before diving his head into your neck. You can hear his moans blend with yours, creating a symphony of desire. His teeth graze your flesh, leaving marks of his raw passion. “I’m going to make you feel everything I have inside me,” he growls, intensifying his movements with wild fury.

He pulls your hair violently back, forcing your head toward him. When he sees your tongue hanging out, a muffled cry escapes your lips, and he can’t help but smile, his gaze glistening with desire. “Look at me,” he commands, his deep voice authoritative. You dive your eyes into his, lost in that predatory gaze, and you know he is completely consumed by need.

He presses his lips against yours with beastly force, his tongue probing your mouth, dancing with voracity. The movements of his hips become increasingly desperate, as if he seeks to merge into you, to erase any separation between your bodies. The intensity of his thrusts makes you vibrate, each impact resonating in the confined space, creating a melody of pleasure and debauchery.

In a burning breath, he plunges his tongue into your throat, exploring it with an insatiable eagerness that leaves you gasping. “Let go,” he whispers in your ear, his voice heavy with obscene promises. “I want you to feel every second of this.” His words are like a fire consuming everything in its path, and you feel ready to explode, desire rising within you like an unstoppable tide.

The orgasm approaches, an unbearable pressure building inside you, a tsunami of pleasure threatening to overwhelm everything. Each thrust is a hammer blow on the anvil of your desire, and you feel your body tense, ready to release this wave of ecstasy. He intensifies his movements, your cries of pleasure echoing with each thrust, and you know you can no longer hold back. “Let go,” he repeats, his raspy voice filled with desire.

Pleasure overwhelms you as you give in, a primal scream escaping your mouth as the orgasm hits you. The heat explodes inside you, a blinding light erasing everything in its wake. You feel yourself melt under his grip, his thrusts becoming even more frantic, filling you with sensations so intense you feel like you’re losing your footing.

“Yes, that’s it,” he growls, his gaze locked on you, his determination strengthening as he plunges even deeper inside you. The sounds of flesh meeting flesh mingle with your panting breaths, producing a symphony of raw pleasure. Each thrust becomes a cry of possession, an act of reclamation, and you know in every fiber of your being that you are completely his.

In one final surge of passion, he pulls you even closer, driving deeper into this sea of sensations. His movements reach a frenzy, each thrust making you moan with pleasure, and you feel ready to collapse. The ecstasy is at its peak, and you lose yourself in this wild fusion, the boundaries between you two disappearing, leaving only enveloping warmth and unrestrained satisfaction.

In this intense moment, you realize you have become one, two bodies united in a whirlwind of animal desire, a blend of pleasure and pain, submission and domination. And as you allow this wave of ecstasy to engulf you, you know that this moment will mark you forever, an indelible imprint of raw passion and consuming desire.

“I’m going to fill you up,” he growls, his hoarse voice whispering promises in the warm, desire-laden air. With one final powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, making you scream with pleasure as a flood of sensations washes over you. His warm cum bursts inside you, each drop marking you as a symbol of his possession. He doesn’t slow his rhythm, continuing to penetrate you, each movement a brutal reminder of his dominance over your body.

“Now, you belong to me body and soul,” he continues, his warm breath caressing your skin. His words are charged with bestial intensity, as if he is ready to claim every part of you. He then dives to kiss you deeply, his tongue probing your mouth with savage voracity, blending passion and control. His kisses are a mix of sweetness and brutality, a dance between possession and insatiable desire.

As you feel the orgasm overwhelm him, his thrusts become more frantic, almost desperate, as if he seeks to ensure every part of you is marked by him. Each thrust is an act of reclamation, every moan escaping your lips an echo of shared pleasure. You feel completely lost in this wave of ecstasy, your body responding to every movement, every contact.

He takes your face in his hands, his eyes locked onto yours, capturing your gaze. “I want you completely,” he murmurs, his voice filled with desire. “Not a piece of you will ever belong to anyone else.” His words seep into your mind, making you understand the depth of his obsession.

His mouth trails down your neck, his teeth nibbling gently at your skin, leaving red marks that testify to his possession. He straightens up, taking you again, lifting you and pressing you against the dashboard, each movement intensifying the connection between you. In this moment, you are his, entirely, and you know that no force in the world could ever separate you.

The heat of his body against yours, the weight of his palpable desire, and the promise of his possession heighten the tension. You are caught in a whirlwind of passion and unfulfilled desires, and you know this is just the beginning. The outside world fades away, leaving only the two of you, merging in a sensual dance of animal desire.

He holds you close, his movements becoming wilder, each thrust a brutal reminder of his dominance. You are his prey, and he has no intention of letting you go. Ecstasy mingles with delicious pain, each impact awakening sensations within you that you’ve never known. You know you are at the mercy of his desires, and you completely surrender to him, a cry of pleasure escaping your lips as you feel overwhelmed by this tide of sensations.

As pleasure reaches its peak, everything around you illuminates, a mix of raw pleasure and animal passion. You know this moment will mark you forever, an unbreakable bond between you, a union of bodies and souls, sealed in the warmth of the moment.

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