#he is so in love with her it makes me sick

[shysuccubusstuff]

Yandere! Caleb:

Content: Non proof-reader; Gaslight + Manipulation + Lying; Established relationship + Somnophilia + Masturbating with clothes + Possessiveness + Riding + Size difference + Praising + Dumbification + Overstimulation + Thigh riding.

Note: I have never been a Caleb hater, so of course I had to write something about this cutie... Have you all seen the trailer? What do you think about him? I'm actually quite glad that they added someone who better fits the role of a dark romance, as Sylus was just a green forest contrary to what he was presented as. Let me know if you want in comments/private messages!! Also, sorry if it seems a bit too short :((

SFW:

Yandere! Caleb, who has known you since childhood, thus it is only natural that he knows every single small detail about you. What do you mean by saying that it's not normal for him to know the exact measures of every single inch of your body? He has known you for over eleven years, it's only natural.

Yandere! Caleb who sometimes takes advantage of your kind heart, remarking just how close you are, gaslighting you into thinking that some of the stuff he does for you is completely normal between friends. I mean, of course friends tell each other where are they every single second, and of course they know all of their other friends.

Yandere! Caleb who also uses the advantage of being a bit older than you, so you just have to trust his advices. He knows best, and he loves you, so how could you even doubt him?

Yandere! Caleb who slowly makes sure to get rid of your other friends, specially those who seem a bit too eager to hangout with you. He does this by lying, asking you to help him searching for the perfect gift for grandma, as he wasn't completely sure if that would actuall suit her taste. Or maybe getting sick on purpose, bathing with freezing cold water, staying there for a few hours just to make sure you would refuse to leave him all alone.

Yandere! Caleb who overprotected you since he was young, always holding hands with you until you started to get shy about it. He was always leading you, his magnetic gaze making it impossible to refuse his requests.

Yandere! Caleb who starts to train late at night as a way to stop his own urges to chain you to him. Punching the training bag as he keeps reminding himself that if he does that it would mean breaking the façade he had spent so much time creating just for your entertainment.

Yandere! Caleb who buys you a beautiful necklace for your birthday, he smiles brightly as he helps you put it around your neck. You were still unaware, but this was just one of the most tame ways he came up with to show just how much he wanted you only for him.

NSFW:

Yandere! Caleb who sometimes makes his way inside your house late at night, the keys to it in his pockets as you had given them to him in case he ever needed a place to rest, or he simply wanted to pay a visit. He rummages around your drawers, searching for anything that has your scent, he presses it to his nose, smelling that sweet scent as he feels his erection grow under his pants. He bites his lips as a way to keep himself from undoing his belt and start to touch himself just from imagining your precious face smiling at him.

Yandere! Caleb who enjoys using his own body weight as he fucks your pretty pussy, making you whine and mewl each time he increases the pressure against your lower tummy causing his dick rubbing even more against your insides. Even despite you cling to the sheets for dear life as he plunges against you, he simply smiles sadistically, one of his hands petting your hair as he keeps watching you try to stop yourself from spilling out all those lewd moans by biting on the pillow. His mind rushing as he imagines all those damn "friends" hearing you melt under him just from him moving his hips a bit as he forces his way into you.

Yandere! Caleb who loves seeing the necklace he gave you recoiling against your chest each time he helped you to move up and down his cock, nails digging on his back as he kept hitting that sweet spot, kissing your neck as he whispered sweet nothings against your ear: "You're doing so good for me, yeah, keep moving your hips baby..." [...] "Are you getting tired, baby? Let me help you." Suddenly, his hands wrap around your hips, forcing his whole length on a single thrust, a squeal leaving your mouth as the tip of his cock suddenly hit against your cervix, eyes rolling back as he kept pressing his cock against you, mainting you completely still as he kept praising you. "Shh... You're doing so good for me, taking my whole cock inside you... So good baby, so good for me... Just a bit more, yeah? Gotta make sure you get all dumb and pretty for me, right?"

Yandere! Caleb who loves dirtying your face with his cum, allowing you to give him head, his fingers making their way into your lower half, using his rough fingertips to play with your clit as you started to spread soft kisses all over his length. By the time he finally cums, your mind was completely melted from cumming all over his fingers and mouth, sucking on his cock mindlessly as he moved his hips in a slow rythm, only increasing it as he came inside your mouth. When he opened his eyes, he found a precious sight, your mouth slightly open as a few strings of his cum escapep from your soft lips, your eyes looking at him as if you were dazed, glistening with a mixture of pure love and devotion. He quickly cleans it, kissing your lips as lets you rest on top of him, peppering soft kisses all over your face. "You did amazing, sweetheart. Such a good girl for me."

Yandere! Caleb, who sometimes becomes extra mean with you, making you mewl as he forces you to orgasm just from using his knee, having you ride them as he looks at you with an unamused look on his face. You keep rubbing against his clothed lower half, pleading between soft moans to get him to touch you, whispering things like: "Please, please, please, just the tip-- Can't take it anymore... Caleb please--". By the time he decides to get you to cum, you are already a panting mess, drool falling down your chin as your mind is already too far gone, tears falling down your face from the frustration. Before you are even able to realise, Caleb is already forcing you to cum all over your panties, his fingers rubbing against your clothed clit as you mumble a few words of gratitude.

[thegoddessprose]

I barely see any of these, but I like this kind of challenge. I'll be answering all of these as Chiasa.

🌧️: I usually use an umbrella on rainy days because believe me, as functional as is, it's very hard to find a stylish hooded raincoat that doesn't make my hair all static-y... But there's plenty of nice umbrellas. I like the rain (better from the inside!) I love the noise the raindrops make, the way it smells afterwards... Really an example of the beauty and power of nature.

🍳: I like to think that I am, I haven't had any complaints since I was still learning. I guess I'm alright, but I'm no chef, or my father. I enjoy it when I have time, it keeps me close with my family and is all around calming. And my favorite... Oh! Kare for sure. Out of everything I make, everyone thinks I'm the best with that.

🧼: Showers are for the morning (The ones alone at least, hehe...) and baths are for the evening. I love baths! Not only are they a vital part of my skincare, but also one of my favorite ways to wind down after a hard day. As for my favorite scent... I like anything earthy or floral, but I really like eucalyptus and jasmine.

❌: My sister Quinta loved to tell me to stop "galavanting with young lovers, dressing like a sorority girl (Wouldn't you believe she wore even less on the pageant circuit...)" really, just living my life. If my skincare and procedures did their job, then why should I hide myself away and quilt and "bingo" or whatever "old biddies" are supposed to do? Hell, I recall she had the same stuff done, even just so we stay looking alike. Since she's more concerned about appearances than my own well being... I'd listen to my own parents over her if they were still here. I'd listen to my brother in law, friends, Plutarch too, but none of that means I'm bowing completely.

🏳️: When there's absolutely no other way or someone would get hurt. I didn't get this far in the fashion world, no, in life, just to give up at the slightest problem.

📖: I guess I'm a little cliche for this, but I really like romance novels... Especially the trashy ones. Plutarch's been trying to get me into the philosophy and government stuff he likes, but they're much more fun to read with him than alone. He makes them very easy to understand and he's so cute when he's all passionate like that. Sadly, I don't have a lot of time to read... Even now I'm awfully busy.

⛸️: Mm, I'm not a big sports girl. I used to do some roller skating when I was younger, but that was only a phase. Unfortunately most of the "sporting events" I've been around for were rather... Barbaric. Hopefully there'll be something a lot less violent on in the near future.

😷: I don't get sick very often, I actually do my best to stay healthy. When I do, I try to stay home so I don't pass it on, no one wants that after all! If I must go out, I'll wear a mask, and I might if I hear about something going around. I've got a few cute ones on standby, so I don't mind at all.

🥼: Ugh, thankfully no. I haven't worn a uniform since that hideous thing I had to wear at the Academy, and believe me, the minute I graduated, I cut it up for scraps. I doubt I'll be wearing one now, but if I had to go back in time and change it, I'd keep the pants and skirt separate, change that awful blue mandarin to a white button down, and add a gold tie or scarf. That would at least fix the damn thing.

🥂: I like to be surrounded by my loved ones, maybe pop a bottle or two, enjoy some good food, music, and dancing. I've been raised to believe that life isn't worth living without any joy, and what's better than everything that makes me happy close after a great thing?

🛴: I have a car (A gorgeous pink roadster with fins!) to get to further parts of the city in less official capacity, but otherwise Plutarch and I also have drivers. I like to say I do my best, but urban drivers are the worst!

🕰️: I check my handheld most of the time, but sometimes I also have a fashionable watch on my wrist.

🥰: I'd have to say the biggest thing is acknowledgement, actually listening to what I have to say and taking an interest. I'm used to people marvelling at the surface, but it can get old, especially when those people's intentions aren't always the greatest. Actually listening to me, though? That's rare and I just adore it.

🐇: I guess I used to, but just between us, I wasn't exactly sober for most of that time... Plus even a lot of my spiritual side withered away with the world.

🎺: I really like psychedelic rock and synth wave. A bit of indie too. I don't play any instruments, I think I might be tone deaf I'm afraid. One of my exes let me try his saxophone once... It didn't end too well. Thankfully, that's not why we broke up.

💿: Oils, I guess? I don't really collect anything like that, but I do collect certain oils, some to burn as incense, some to use on my skin and in baths, some just to sniff.

🧋: I like a nice pink lady. If you mean non alcohol, I like both coffee and tea. The coffee I'll take both ways, but I like my tea hot. I like a nice chamomile and I take my coffee with cream and one spoonful of sugar.

🌻 random in-character questions

an ask game where, instead of replying from your perspective, you answer as if it's your original character/muse/self-insert/etc. answering the question ✨

🌧️ "When outside during the rain, do you use a raincoat, an umbrella, or something else? Do you enjoy rain?"

🍳 "Are you a good cook? Do you enjoy cooking? What's your favorite thing to cook?"

🧼 "Do you prefer to take a shower during the morning or evening? Do you like taking baths? What's your favorite scent of shower gel?"

❌ "Would you do something that someone told you not to do? Why? Is there someone you'd actually listen to more than everyone else?"

🏳️ "What will make you give up?"

📖 "What kinds of books do you read? Do you have a lot of time to read?"

⛸️ "What's your favorite kind of sport? Do you follow sports closely or don't care at all?"

😷 "How often do you get sick? Do you stay at home when sick or do you end up going outside to, say, get some groceries? If you go outside, would you wear a mask?"

🥼 "Do you have to wear a uniform somewhere? If yes, how do you feel about it? If no, what kind of uniform would you love to wear?"

🥂 "How do you celebrate you accomplishments?"

🛴 "What's your preferred way of getting somewhere - own car, public transport, a bicycle, or something else? How well do you follow the traffic rules?"

🕰️ "What do you use to check what time it is?"

🥰 "What would make you feel happy and loved?"

🐇 "Do you believe in other dimensions?"

🎺 "What kind of music do you mostly listen to? Do you know how to play an instrument, and if not, which one would you want to learn to play?"

💽 "Do you collect anything? Why?"

🧋 "What's your go-to thing to drink? Do you prefer cold or hot drinks?"

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Fern x Reader PT3(Final)

part 1

part 2

a/n: this is the final part of Fern’s main story, but not the end! You can still make Fern requests and I may rewrite this mini series in the future when I have time.

Fern had been depressed lately. He was a fairy, a dainty little thing, and you were now pregnant. He watched as you waddled around, struggling to do things.

If he were just bigger, he could ensure you never had to lift a finger.

All he could do was use magic to help when he could. Vines sprouted to grab things out of your reach or play with your pussy when you were feeling needy.

Fern wanted you so badly, to properly fuck into you and stretch out your fat cunt like he had before.

At night his wings fluttered softly as he rubbed your pregnant belly, kissing it. When his child was born, would he even be big enough to hold them? It made his heart ache to even think of such a thing. How could he protect his family when he was the size of a small doll?

That’s why he made a tough decision. Fern backed a bag, kissed your forehead and promised he would be back.

There were tales of a witch that lived in the center of the forest. She’d grant a single wish for anyone that came to her… but for a price.

He knocked once on the dirty window, noticing it was cracked and the wooden frame was chipped. Did anyone even live there?

The door creaked open, an old crone beckoning him in. “Hurry, I don’t have all day. Go on and tell me what you want.”

Fern sat on an upside down teacup, watching as the witch bustled about the dusty old cabin looking through books and half empty potion bottles.

“Uh… I wanted to know if you can make me… the size of a human.”

The witch paused, glancing at him. “I can, for a price. What are you willing to give me in exchange?”

~

It had been an entire day since you last saw Fern. He wasn’t the type to be out late, always returning before dark, so it was alarming that he had been gone for more than a few hours.

It was a bit hard walking now. You were six months along, but looked like you were closer to nine. Fern liked to joke that you seemed about ready to burst while laying his tiny head on your belly.

You could tell that his size was bothering him even more lately. As your pregnancy progressed, you needed more help, the kind someone as small as him couldn’t provide.

Despite what others may think, Fern was a proud fairy and hated that he wasn’t able to help his pregnant lover.

Fern wanted to provide and care for you, but that wasn’t really possible when he couldn’t even do most things for himself.

When the second day without any sightings of him filled around, you started to panic. It really wasn’t like him to be gone so long, especially when you were carrying his child.

‘Where could he be?’

Nearly a week passed without him. It was both depressing and terrifying, leaving you nearly bedridden at times. Everything seemed harder with Fern gone.

Even if he couldn’t do much of the heavy lifting, he used his magic to keep you from getting morning sickness, always comforted you when you were hormonal, and made sure all of your vegetables stayed fresh.

Without him, the world felt cold and uninviting. He made all the gray clouds disappear, but now that he was gone the sun had left with him.

You sat in your rocking chair as tears fell down your cheeks. After crying so much, your eyes were puffy and sore.

Even knitting for your unborn child was a chore these days, and you had only finished a single foot when you heard a knock at your door.

For a moment you thought Fern would be behind it… but that was stupid. He was the size of your hand, there’s no way he could knock that loud.

You didn’t rush to greet your guest. Instead you slowly put down the onesie you had been knitting and stood.

Trudging towards the door, you slowly unlocked it and pulled towards yourself…

“Hello, my love.”

You were breathless, eyes wide and mouth agape as you looked up to see a hair of brown curls and eyes as green as fresh oak leaves.

A hand reached out, cupping your cheek and swiping at your tears as you began to cry.

“Fern…”

You sobbed into his chest, warms wrapped tightly around him. He hugged you back, his eyes softening when your baby bump pressed into his abdomen.

“I’m so sorry, love. There was something I had to take care of, something so important I had to leave you for a while.”

As your lip wobbled, Fern began to explain what had happened.

After the witch asked him what he’d give in return, Fern was quick to answer.

“My immortality.”

You covered your mouth, eyes going wide as you swallowed harshly. “You… gave that up to be the same size as me?”

He nodded, smiling fondly as he tilted your chin up. “And I’d do it a thousand times over, love.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his lips to yours a gentle, yet needy kiss. Although it felt amazing to kiss him after such a stressful week without him, you pulled back after a moment.

“But… why did you stay away for so long?”

Fern went pale, scratching the back of his head with a nervous laugh. “Let’s just say the process to become tall was… long and painful. That old witch enjoyed it too, I’m sure.”

After a moment of simply enjoying each other’s presence, you both walked inside.

After that, Fern waited on you hand and foot. He adored you, that was for sure. Every meal, activity, and even bathroom visit was managed by him.

Fern smiled down at you as he helped you into a bath, his eyes lingering in your heavy and swollen breasts.

When you hissed and winced in pain as your hands brushed against your sensitive nipples, Fern cooed out sympathetically.

“Here, just relax.”

His wings fluttered as his hands groped your fat tits, massaging and squishing them lightly. You let out such a delicious noise that he couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss your neck.

Fern’s cock twitched to life when milk spurted from your perky buds. He always got so hard when he was reminded you were heavily pregnant with his young.

“That’s it, feels good doesn’t it?”

His hand slipped between your legs, a vine replacing the now missing one at your tit while his other continued massaging you.

“Mmph… Fern…”

You had been so needy lately, begging for him to properly fuck you since he had returned. But he was hesitant. Fern didn’t want to potentially harm you or his unborn child…

But with some reassurance from you, the fairy joined you in the tub. He settled you onto his lap, continuing his ministrations.

His cock nudged at your warm cunt, desperate to be enveloped by your velvety walls.

And you wanted him just as much.

Fern groaned against your neck, keeping a hand on your baby bump for leverage as he bounced you up and down on his cock. It felt so good to stretch you out again and have you clench around him.

The vines rubbed at your clit, making you tighten up even more. You came again and again, your body way more sensitive due to your pregnancy.

He loved getting to fill you up with his seed. Watching the hot, white cum leak out of your cunt as he rinsed you off made him want to do it all over again.

But Fern wanted to go easy on you until after your pregnancy.

~

Months passed by, and Fern held onto your hand as you gave birth. Labor hadn’t been easy, but he was by your side the entire time.

“It’s a girl…”

You held onto your baby, eyes half lidded from exhaustion. Fern was an absolute mess, his eyes puffy and red as he sniffled.

“She’s beautiful…”

Fern handled almost everything as you recovered, and as your baby girl grew, her wings started to slowly develop.

“She has wings… is she..?”

“Immortal? Maybe, but I’m not sure… I impregnated you before the witch took my immortality, but she is half human…”

You kissed her little head, letting her nurse as your now husband knelt in front of you.

“I don’t want that for her, Fern. She would outlive all of us. Wouldn’t that be lonely?”

Fern paused to think, slowly reaching out to place a hand over your belly.

“… it wouldn’t be if we… gave her a sibling.”

And so the two of you had several children through the years, slowly repopulating the fairy race. You’d grow old together, and even if your children lived forever, at least they would have each other.

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi

[wqnsho]

revolver | the salesman x fem! reader

*.✧ synopsis: what's supposed to be an early day off with your coworker, gong ji-cheol, turns into a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and russian roulette. as danger escalates, so does the magnetic pull between you, blurring the line between survival and sexual desire. *.✧ word count: 7.1k *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, reader smokes descriptive fight scenes, guns, sucking on guns, gi-hun dies instead of the salesman, the salesman is a warning on its own, reader is also craycray like the salesman, use of gong yoo's real name (do let me know if i should not), co-workers eye fucking, sexual innuendoes, tbf its hinted they fuck after the end. 18+ SCENES (no actual smut, just your typical moaning and sucking of the gun). *.✧ note: not my proudest work but i hope u like it! chances of part 2 is close to none btw, I, for the love of god, was stuck for an hour on that goddamn gun sucking scene, but who knows. masterlist | request here

You let out a heavy sigh as you sank onto one of the worn benches in Tapgol Park. The air was crisp, and the faint hum of city life surrounded you. You were currently waiting for Gong Ji-cheol, your one and only co-worker. He had asked you to meet him here, promising to wrap up his final task for the day before heading to his humble home together.

Your cheek throbbed as you pressed a small bag of ice against it, wincing at the sting. The last girl you played against had been a real piece of work. Not only did you lose much faster than usual, but her slap had left an unforgettable impression—literally. It was as if she had mistaken you for her runaway fiancé who had left her high and dry.

“Damn, she packed a punch,” you muttered under your breath, the memory making you scowl.

With another sigh, you brought a cigarette to your lips, holding it between your fingers as you lit it with practiced ease. The familiar burn in your lungs was oddly comforting. Crossing your legs, you leaned back against the bench’s headrest, letting the smoke escape in a slow exhale that curled into the night sky.

‘Where the hell is he?’ you thought irritably, your foot tapping an impatient rhythm against the pavement. Your eyes scanned the park, catching glimpses of couples strolling by and the occasional jogger.

Just as you were about to pull out your phone to check the time, you spotted a familiar figure entering the park. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Gong Ji-cheol strode in with an air of nonchalance, his hands laden with paper bags that seemed ready to burst at the seams.

You didn’t call out to him, opting instead to watch as he navigated the park with his usual flair. His expression was focused as he finished whatever errand had delayed him. You leaned back further, cigarette perched lazily between your fingers, content to let him finish his business before approaching him.

The two of you had met as guards in a sick, twisted game designed to bleed people dry for the amusement of the elite. Starting out as a lowly Worker, you two slowly climbed the ranks—first a Soldier, then finally a Manager. It wasn’t common for guards to bond, no. Trust was scarce in a world built on deception and survival, yet somehow, Ji-cheol had cracked through your armor. Maybe it was his sharp wit, or the way he could read you like an open book, but whatever it was, you found yourself gravitating toward him.

Just as you were about to take another drag of your cigarette, you noticed something unusual: two men standing awkwardly at the park’s edge, their attention locked onto Ji-cheol like predators stalking prey. They weren’t subtle, either, holding up newspapers as flimsy disguises that barely hid their faces.

You cocked a brow, biting back a chuckle at their obvious act. Amateurs. Still, their presence made your senses sharpen.

Your attention shifted back to Ji-cheol just in time to see him come to a halt in the park’s center. He looked at the bags in his hands, before dropping its contents to the ground with deliberate carelessness. One by one, he stomped on the bread he’d been carrying, flattening each loaf under polished shoes.

You’d seen him do it before—hell, you’d done it yourself—but something about the way he carried out the task tonight was different. There was a certain sharpness in his movements, an edge that hinted at more than just routine. Was he putting on a show for the two men who were watching him, or was this his way of venting the frustrations of the day? 

Either way, you couldn’t deny that he looked downright intoxicating as he stood there—his jaw clenched tight, shoulders tense with barely contained aggression, and his eyes gleaming with something dark and dangerous. The raw power in his posture was magnetic, and you felt a jolt of lust rush through you at the sight.

You smirked, taking in the scene. Slowly, you stood, your movements deliberate as you reached for your suitcase. You tossed the cigarette to the ground, watching it fall with the finality of a decision made, before crushing it under your heel with a swift, confident stomp.

With a casual flick of your wrist, you brushed yourself off, smoothing your clothes. Then, you gave a small wave, your fingers barely lifting, but the motion was enough to catch Ji-cheol’s attention. His gaze snapped to yours instantly, the fire of the moment in his eyes briefly shifting to something more focused, more intent. He stomped on the pile of wasted bread one last time, before fixing himself and walking in your direction.

“Good day, [Name]. How are you? Have you finished your rounds?” he asked with a smile, his tone formal, almost mechanical.

You rolled your eyes and stepped closer, brushing back a stray lock of his hair and fixing it with a familiarity that always seemed to catch him off guard. “Drop the formalities, Ji-cheol. It’s me,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

His posture eased, the stiffness leaving his shoulders as he allowed himself to relax in your presence. “To answer your question, yeah, I’ve finished my rounds. It was a fast day for me.”

“Is that so?” he replied, his tone warmer now. But as his eyes landed on the swelling on your cheek, his smile faltered. Concern flickered across his face. “That mark wasn’t on your pretty little face before. Trouble today?”

You let out a soft laugh, dropping your hand from his hair. “This? It’s nothing. Just a parting gift from my last client—a pregnant girl scammed by her ex’s fake cryptocurrency. She was better than I expected, though. Won more rounds than me.”

He tilted his head, his lips curling into a teasing smile. “Did she really win more, or did you let her? I know you, [Name]. You find pleasure in pain—don’t even try denying it.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice to an alluring murmur, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear. “Oh, Ji-cheol, pain is only a pleasure when it’s coming from you. You should know that by now.”

His eyes darkened at your words, and a slow, rich chuckle escaped his lips. “Careful, [Name],” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, his hand brushing against your lower back. “You keep teasing me like that, and I might just test your theory.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smile turning into a sly smirk. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you whispered, tilting your head slightly, challenging him.

His lips quirked upward, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’d be surprised at what I can deliver,” he said, his voice dropping a notch.

Before the tension could spiral further, you stepped back abruptly, breaking the moment with a grin. Turning on your heel, you called over your shoulder with playful finality, “Come on. I’m done for the day, and I need a drink—or at least a cigarette that doesn’t taste like stress.”

Ji-cheol let out a chuckle before falling into step beside you, his presence a constant heat at your side. As you walked, a flicker of curiosity tugged at you, and you subtly turned your head to check for any sign of the two men from earlier. But before you could get a proper look, Ji-cheol’s hand reached out, firm but controlled, gently turning your face forward again.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and calm, though there was an edge of authority beneath it. “I know what you saw—I saw them too. Just keep walking like a good girl. Let them think we’re clueless about their little act.”

His fingers lingered for a moment before he let go, stepping ahead of you to hail a cab. The gesture was quick, efficient, and almost as if he’d done this a hundred times before.

When the taxi rolled to a stop, Ji-cheol turned back to you with a grin that was equal parts mischief and charm. “After you,” he said, his tone teasing as he bowed dramatically. He even went so far as to open the door for you, gesturing with exaggerated politeness like a chauffeur entertaining a particularly important client.

You played along, rolling your eyes but stepping into character anyway. “Why thank you, good sir,” you said with a mock curtsey, gathering the hem of your imaginary skirt as you slipped into the cab.

Ji-cheol followed closely behind, settling in beside you as the driver glanced over his shoulder. “Where to?” he asked, his tone flat, his gaze flicking between the two of you in the rearview mirror.

Saying a quick thank-you to the cab driver, you followed Ji-cheol into a narrow alleyway. The quiet buzz of the city surrounded you, but your attention was on your co-worker’s back as he strode ahead.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Wanna play a quick game? Whoever guesses why those clowns are following us treats the other to dinner.”

Ji-cheol cast a glance over his shoulder, one brow arched in confusion.

“What? It’s a good pastime, no?” you added, shrugging. “Humor me a bit!”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he turned a corner. You followed close behind, your grin fading as the sound of hurried footsteps behind you grew louder.

“Hey, you two! Stop!”

“Stop right there!”

Ji-cheol didn’t respond, instead quickening his pace. But you could hear it in his voice when he muttered, “Idiots.”

The chase ended when Ji-cheol led you into a dead-end alley. He stopped abruptly, spinning around with a calmness that felt almost unsettling, while you turned to face your pursuers. They were close now—two men, one in a dark blue shirt and the other in red, both with the kind of looks that screamed trouble.

“Well, well,” you said, tossing your briefcase from one hand to the other. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves some company. Lucky us.”

Ji-cheol didn’t say a word. He simply adjusted his grip on his own briefcase, his eyes narrowing in calculation.

The men didn’t waste time, rushing toward you with the reckless aggression of people who thought they had the upper hand. Big mistake.

You locked your focus on the man in the dark blue shirt, narrowing your eyes as you sidestepped his first swing with practiced precision. The moment his fist whizzed past you, you didn’t waste a second. Your briefcase swung through the air, connecting with his ribs with a satisfying thud. He grunted in pain, stumbling back, and you let out a small, mocking laugh.

"Hey, handsome," you teased, your voice dripping with playful mockery. "You should really think twice before picking a fight with us. I’m a sucker for a challenge. But..." You grinned wickedly, dodging another wild punch as you leaned back. "...I’ve got a thing for aggressive men, you know? My type."

The man’s face twisted in frustration and fury. His lips curled, and he spat, “Shut up, you bitch!”

You grinned even wider. "Ooh, getting personal, huh?" you teased, barely dodging another wide swing. “You should take me to bed and that’s where I’ll show you how much of a bitch I can be…”

Your dirty quip was abruptly interrupted when the man unexpectedly grabbed your arm, twisting it painfully. You winced as a sharp jolt of pain shot through your body, forcing you to drop your grip on the briefcase. The metallic clatter of it hitting the ground echoed in your ears.

"Hey! That’s expensive, dumbass!" you snapped, frustration flaring. You wrenched your arm free, trying to shake him off, but his grip was firm.

Before you could fully react, the man kicked your briefcase, sending it sliding towards Ji-cheol, who was tangled in his own fight with the man in red. The sound of metal scraping across the concrete grated on your nerves, a surge of irritation washing over you. That briefcase was yours—nothing was going to ruin it, not even this asshole.

You didn't hesitate. In a flash, your foot shot out, landing a perfect kick right into his shin. He yelped in pain, releasing your arm as he staggered backward. You wasted no time. With a burst of energy, you shoved him hard into the wall behind him. His back collided with a pile of scrap materials with a satisfying thud, the sound reverberating through your body.

You stood tall, brushing off your clothes with an air of nonchalance. As you bent down to retrieve your briefcase, your attention shifted for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a flash of metal—a glint of something sharp catching the light. Your heart lurched in your chest as you realized what it was.

The man in the red shirt had drawn a knife. Worse, he was heading straight for Ji-cheol, the blade aimed directly at his back.

“Ji—” you started, your voice cutting through the tension, but your warning was abruptly cut off as something hard slammed into the side of your head.

The world tilted violently. A burst of blinding pain exploded through your skull, and you staggered, your vision blurring. You brought a hand to your temple, trying to steady yourself, but your legs felt weak. Through your dazed vision, you saw him—a cruel grin on his face, the bloodied stone still gripped in his hand.

Before you could do anything, he struck again, the stone connecting with your skull with a sickening crunch. Pain blossomed across your face, and your legs buckled beneath you, sending you crumpling to the ground. Darkness rapidly encroached upon your vision, and the last thing you registered was the faint, mocking sound of his laughter as everything went black.

Ji-cheol’s eyes snapped to you the moment your body hit the pavement, the sickening thud reverberating in the air. His heart hammered in his chest as his gaze locked onto the sight of you: crumpled on the ground, limp, with blood trickling from a wound on your head. His breath caught in his throat. The man in blue, still standing over you, clutching the stone with a sick grin on his face, and the man in red, knife gleaming, were the last things he needed to process before his instincts took over.

Without thinking, his body moved with a kind of ferocity that stunned even him. His muscles tensed, adrenaline coursing through his veins, making him feel like a machine, unstoppable and unrelenting.

In an instant, he spun around, his hand flying out to disarm the red-shirted man. The knife wrenched from the man’s hand with brutal efficiency, and he followed up with a lightning-fast blow to his temple. The man collapsed instantly, crumpling like a ragdoll, out cold before he even hit the ground.

After dealing with him, Ji-cheol's gaze shifted to the man in dark blue standing with the bloody stone in his hand, looking as if he were ready to take another swing at you.

And that was the last thing he would allow.

He closed the distance in two strides, his fist launching toward the man’s jaw, a punch so hard that the stone slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground uselessly. Without hesitation, His fists continued their brutal onslaught. He delivered blow after calculated blow, his knuckles connecting with the man’s ribs, and face, each hit precise and unforgiving. The man in dark blue crumpled, gasping for breath, barely able to comprehend what had happened to him before another punch landed, and he slumped unconscious to the ground.

Once he was sure that the two were passed out, Ji-cheol immediately dropped to his knees beside you, the panic rising in his chest. Seeing you like this, the blood marring your face—it felt like a punch to his gut. His stomach churned, nausea rising with each passing second as guilt seethed through him like poison.

He reached out with trembling hands, carefully wiping the blood from your face, his fingers lingering on your features, brushing along your jaw and hairline. The blood made it worse—it made everything worse.

His thoughts crashed into him like waves. He should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve known this was a bad idea, that taking you into this mess had been a mistake. He should’ve canceled the hangout, he should’ve protected you better. But here you were—hurt, unconscious, vulnerable—and it was his fault. Every pained breath you took, every soft exhale he could hear, was a reminder of how badly he had failed you.

“Damn it, [Name],” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with guilt and frustration. His hands moved to gently tilt your head, checking for signs of serious injury. You were breathing, thank God. But the blood on your face made him feel like he was drowning.

His fingers hovered near your lips, then slid down your neck, checking for a pulse. Steady. A little too fast, but steady. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

As he sat there beside you, his body still trembling with adrenaline, something cold and hard settled in the pit of his stomach. The scene around him—the violence, the bloodshed—it was all becoming a blur. There was only one thing that mattered now, and that was you.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, just kneeling beside you, watching for any signs of life, his mind racing. All he could think about was how much he had to make this right. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. Not because of his own damn mistakes.

“It’s been a long time, Mr. Seong Gi-hun.”

Ji-cheol’s voice carried a calmness that felt unnervingly detached, but his words were deliberate, each syllable measured. He stood with an air of nonchalance, a drink dangling loosely in his hand, as if the weight of the situation didn’t faze him in the slightest.

Gi-hun’s sharp gaze fixed on him, his face a mixture of anger and suspicion. Ji-cheol stepped aside slightly, revealing the passed-out figure slumped in one of the chairs behind him. Gi-hun’s eyes immediately darted to them, worry flashing across his features as he took in the bandaged state of their face.

The sight unsettled him. Like a caring father, he instinctively wanted to rush forward, to check if they were alright, to ensure they were still breathing. But he stopped himself, forcing his feet to remain planted as he redirected his focus to the man standing in front of him.

“I hope you don’t mind another visitor,” Ji-cheol added with a faint smirk, watching Gi-hun’s reaction with mild amusement. “Anyways, you should’ve gotten on that plane.” 

Gi-hun’s hands curled into fists as he turned back toward the towel he’d been using to dry his hair, his movements slow and deliberate. “I changed my mind when I saw you,” he said, voice low and simmering with anger.

With an approving nod, Ji-cheol tossed his now-empty can into the trash with a casual flick of his wrist. It clanged loudly, the sound echoing in the tense silence. He gestured toward a map pinned to the wall, annotated with markings and notes, pointing at it with his revolver as if he were holding a pointer in a lecture.

“It looks like you’ve been trying hard to find me,” He remarked, his tone laced with mock praise, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the map.

“I wanted to thank you.”

The words made Ji-cheol stop mid-motion, his head snapping toward Gi-hun. He blinked, genuinely taken aback, before narrowing his eyes. “Thank me?” he repeated, the disbelief dripping from his voice.

Gi-hun stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. His movements were calm, but there was an undercurrent of malice in every step. Ji-cheol noticed it immediately—the tension in the way Gi-hun carried himself, the suppressed fury barely held in check.

“For inviting me to the game,” Gi-hun said, his voice tight and edged with bitterness. He settled into one of the empty chairs, sitting across from Ji-cheol. The anger burning in his eyes completely contradicted the words spilling from his mouth. “I won. I made it out with a fortune. The decent thing to do would be to thank you for it.” He dragged out the words, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Ji-cheol chuckled softly, a hollow, humorless sound. He leaned back against the table, swirling the liquid in his glass before looking at Gi-hun with feigned delight. “I, no— we—are just messengers who deliver invitations,” he replied smoothly, as if dismissing the very weight of the accusation.

Gi-hun’s jaw clenched as he turned his gaze back to the unconscious figure. The sight of them, bandaged and vulnerable, only seemed to stoke the fire in his chest. He whipped his head back to Ji-cheol, his voice firm and unwavering. “Who had you deliver those invitations? Let me meet him. I have something to say.”

Ji-cheol’s face didn’t change, his expression neutral. “Give me the message,” he said casually, his tone as smooth as silk, “and I’ll pass it along.”

Gi-hun didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as his voice grew sharper. “It’s not something I can discuss with an underling like you.”

For the first time, Ji-cheol’s expression shifted—just slightly. An eyebrow arched, and a flicker of amusement danced across his face as he tilted his head.

Gi-hun pressed on, his voice growing colder. “You prey on people who are hanging by a thread, conning them at subway stations with your pathetic games. Someone like you wouldn’t understand what I’m trying to say.”

The words struck a nerve. Ji-cheol’s smile turned razor-sharp, a glint of something darker flashing in his eyes. He straightened up, stepping closer to Gi-hun with calculated precision. “Mr. Seong,” he began, his voice low, the edges laced with venom. “How do you think I got to where I am now?”

“I don’t care how you became their dog,” Gi-hun spat back, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body taut with anger. “Bring me your master. Now.”

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Ji-cheol’s grip tightened slightly, his knuckles whitening as he stared down at the man in front of him. The tension crackled between them like a live wire, each word loaded with unspoken challenges.

But he didn’t break. Instead, he calmed himself down, his lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Mr. Seong,” he said coolly, his tone almost taunting. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Gi-hun’s glare didn’t waver. The air between them was thick with unspoken threats, the weight of their animosity pressing down like a storm waiting to break.

You didn’t know what had happened. One moment, you were grappling with the two men who had been tailing you and Ji-cheol, your pulse pounding in your ears as you threw every ounce of strength into your movements. The world had been chaotic, filled with sharp grunts, the scrape of shoes on concrete, and Ji-cheol’s distant voice cutting through the noise. Then, just as suddenly as the fight had started, everything had gone dark.

Now, consciousness crept back slowly, each sensation arriving in fragments. Your head throbbed, a deep ache that pulsed in time with your uneven breathing. Your body felt heavy, as though weighed down by something unseen, and your surroundings were a muddle of indistinct sounds and shadows. Somewhere nearby, a voice pierced through the haze—clear, calm, and chillingly familiar.

“Let’s play a game,” You hear Ji-cheol say, his voice unnervingly casual. The words broke through the thick, suffocating silence, pulling you from the disorientation. Your senses sharpened, snapping into focus as you locked onto the sound of his voice. Slowly, other details began to bleed into your awareness, each one clearer than the last. A faint melody lingered in the air, haunting, delicate, a melody that sent a shiver down your spine. The tune grew clearer with every passing second, and then it hit you—Time to Say Goodbye by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. One of your favorites. 

“I’m sure you’ve seen this in the movies,” He continued, his voice floating through the tension of the room. There was no urgency in his words, no thrill of danger—only a casual amusement. It was as if he were describing a mere game, a joke, instead of a life-or-death scenario. “It’s called Russian Roulette.”

The unmistakable click of the revolver’s cylinder spinning sliced through the thick air, sharp and metallic. It was the kind of sound that clawed at your insides. The revolver clicked again, a sound that seemed louder, more pronounced in the silence of the room. Ji-cheol’s voice returned, light and nonchalant. “Usually, you load one bullet, spin the cylinder, and…”

You dared to open your eyes just a crack, curious on what was happening. What you didn’t expect was your gaze being met with the barrel of the revolver, inches away from your face. A rush of anger surged through you, sharp and electric. The nerve of this bastard. 

Across the room, Gi-hun stirred. You could hear him, his breath ragged and loud. He moved forward, instinctively, as though to intervene, to stop Ji-cheol, but his feet faltered. He paused, his whole body tight with tension. His eyes locked onto the weapon, his posture rigid. 

“Hey—” Gi-hun’s voice cracked, faltering under the pressure. “Don’t do this—”

Ji-cheol silenced him with a smoothness that only made the threat more chilling. His voice slipped through the air like silk, but it carried an edge that cut deep. “...And pull the trigger.”

The sound of the revolver’s cylinder clicking into place reverberated around the room. Ji-cheol’s finger tightened on the trigger, and for a split second, the world seemed to freeze. 

Your eyes remained steady, focused, determined. Your pulse quickened, but you forced it into submission, grounding yourself in the stillness of the moment.

Click.

The sound was deafening in its emptiness, an echo that reverberated in your skull, louder than any bullet could ever be. The revolver hadn’t discharged. Ji-cheol lowered the revolver with a smirk, his gaze flicking between you and Gi-hun. His movements were unhurried, his demeanor calm, as though this had been nothing more than an amusing game. 

“And before the next round,” Ji-cheol said smoothly, the revolver spinning in his hand with a sharp flick of his wrist, “you spin it to reset the odds back to one in six.”

The metallic click of the cylinder spinning reverberated through the air, the sound sharp against the eerie backdrop of soft music. It was a calculated move, each spin designed to remind everyone in the room of what was at stake. Ji-cheol’s grin stretched wider as he leaned back, as if savoring the power he held.

Gi-hun’s face was carefully neutral, but his body betrayed him. His jaw was clenched so tightly that you thought his teeth might crack, and his fingers drummed a nervous rhythm against the edge of the table. He exuded frustration and unease, barely restrained beneath his calm facade.

“But,” Ji-cheol continued, leaning forward slightly, his eyes glinting with malice, “I like to make the game a little more interesting.” His tone was playful, almost conversational, but the words carried a sinister edge. “Because you’re special, Mr. Seong.”

“Cut to the chase,” Gi-hun snapped, his voice hard and brimming with irritation. He was done playing along, his patience stretched to its limit.

The salesman chuckled, low and mocking, clearly reveling in the tension that crackled in the room. He thrived on it, his grin widening as though Gi-hun’s defiance only added to his amusement. “Fine,” he said, the word drawn out, almost lazy. “We’ll take turns pulling the trigger without spinning the cylinder again. The bullet will be fired within six attempts, and the game will be over. What do you say?”

For a moment, silence stretched taut, the weight of Ji-cheol’s words pressing down like a physical force. Gi-hun hesitated, you could see the gears turning in his head, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The hesitation was brief, but it felt eternal. After a while gave a sharp nod. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, his voice tight, his resolve brittle but intact.

“Wonderful.” Ji-cheol’s tone was dripping with delight as he placed the revolver in the center of the table. The polished metal gleamed under the dim light, catching your eye like a predator’s snarl. With another flick of his wrist, he sent the revolver spinning.

It slowed, the barrel’s alignment seemingly random until it stopped. The revolver’s menacing end pointed directly at Gi-hun.

Gi-hun’s hand moved toward the gun with a reluctant slowness, as if even touching it might curse him. His fingers trembled when they wrapped around the handle, and he lifted it with a carefulness usually reserved for handling fragile, dangerous things.

The room felt smaller as he raised the revolver to his temple, the weight of the weapon mirrored by the crushing silence that followed. His breaths came quick and shallow, each inhale louder than the last as he steadied his hand. The barrel pressed into his skin, a cold kiss of steel. He hesitated, his knuckles white as his grip tightened.

Just pull it, get it over with. You could almost hear the mantra running through his mind, though the beads of sweat rolling down his temple betrayed the fear he tried to mask.

Finally, with a sharp intake of breath, He squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The sound was deafening in the stillness, a hollow, empty note that echoed in your chest. Gi-hun released a shaky exhale, his body sagging slightly as relief flooded through him. For a brief moment, the gun felt lighter as he carefully set it back on the table, as though handling a venomous snake.

Ji-cheol didn’t wait. The second Gi-hun’s hand left the revolver, he snatched it up, his grin unwavering. He pressed the barrel to his temple with none of the reluctance Gi-hun had shown, but there was something in his movements—subtle, fleeting—that contradicts with his confidence. His hand trembled just slightly as he adjusted the weapon, his knuckles tightening.

He took a long, measured breath, his cocky grin faltering for a brief moment as a flicker of uncertainty passed over his features. Then, with an almost feral determination, he pulled the trigger.

Click.

The sound hung in the air like a thunderclap, Ji-cheol’s shoulders visibly relaxing as his grin returned, sharp and triumphant. He laughed softly, the sound devoid of any real humor, before setting the revolver back in the center of the table. His gaze flicked to Gi-hun, and his eyes were practically alight with sadistic glee.

Gi-hun’s expression tightened, it was his turn again. As his hand started inching toward the revolver, Ji-cheol raised a hand suddenly, halting him mid-motion.

“Wait,” He said, his voice lilting with a mockery that sent a chill down your spine. His gaze shifted—predatory and deliberate—landing squarely on you.

“[Name], would you like to join us?”

Ah. Ever the gentleman.

A low groan escaped your lips as you finally stopped your act, breaking the stillness with a deliberate slowness. Your head throbbed as you shifted upright, every movement calculated, every second drawn out. Gi-hun’s gaze landed on you with a mixture of disbelief and shock, his mouth parting as though to ask how long you’d been awake.

You met his eyes with a faint, sardonic smile, dipping your head in acknowledgment. “How thoughtful of you, Ji-cheol…” you murmured, your voice light but edged with mockery.

You didn’t wait for anyone to respond. Your hand reached for the revolver on the table with a startling calmness, fingers curling around its weighty grip. The tension in the room thickened, every breath measured and shallow as you lifted the weapon.

The barrel’s cold steel kissed your temple, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. Your heart raced, the adrenaline flooding your veins almost intoxicating. Was it courage or recklessness driving you? You couldn’t tell, and you didn’t care. All that mattered was the here and now—the sharp, electric rush that drowned out everything else.

Your finger tightened on the trigger.

Click.

The empty sound was deafening, a hollow echo that filled the room. Your breath slipped out, slow and steady, though you weren’t sure if it was relief or something far darker that made your chest feel so tight.

Lowering the gun slightly, you glanced at Ji-cheol. The edges of your lips quirked upward, your expression sharp, your voice cutting through the silence with quiet venom. “... Allow me to return the favor,” you said.

Before anyone could stop you, your finger pulled the trigger once more.

Click.

The second dry sound rang louder than the first, and you felt the weight of every pair of eyes in the room. Gi-hun’s voice erupted in the stillness, a harsh, disbelieving shout. “Are you insane?!”

His words crashed into you, but they were distant, unimportant. Your focus stayed locked on Ji-cheol, and the smirk plastered across his face. It had widened—twisted with something primal, something that mirrored his love for chaos.

But as you shifted the gun in your hand, as the barrel turned from yourself to your lovely coworker, the room seemed to shift. Ji-cheol’s composure faltered, his smirk flickering like a flame about to die. The odds had changed, and now they were against him.

For the first time, his confidence wavered.

“Come on, Ji-cheol,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock affection. The words rolled off your tongue with an ease that felt unnatural, but the thrill of the moment made it all too satisfying. “Don’t tell me you’re scared now?”

For the first time, the salesman hesitated. His usual cocky demeanor faltered, the confident smirk slipping away as doubt crept into his eyes. Was this how it ended for him? Was he about to face the cold reality that he had pushed things too far?

His gaze fixed on you, wide and searching. You could practically see the wheels turning in his mind, but there was no escape. Your words had hit him where it hurt. The balance of power had shifted, and he could feel it. It was a strange feeling, one he hadn’t experienced with you before.

“What’s the matter?” You pressed, your voice now almost playful, but laced with venom. You could see the shock in his eyes, the disbelief that you—someone he thought he knew—had turned the tables in such an intimate, dangerous way.

He stared at you, mouth agape, unable to form words. His breath quickened, chest rising and falling, as if trying to figure out how to respond. Slowly, you stood up, each motion deliberate, your legs aching from the stillness. But the tension, the palpable charge between you two, made your body feel alive.

In all honesty, you were annoyed. Your day has already been a mess, from the last heated match to the delay in the promised hangout to the injury that will definitely cause weeks to heal from. You just wanted peace—just a moment to collect yourself. But instead, here you were, playing this twisted game because of your annoying coworker. 

You moved closer to him, your presence towering over him in a way that felt almost suffocating. With a push of your hand, his back hit the cold wall with a thud. The barrel of the gun remained unwavering, still aimed to his face, as you maneuvered yourself closer, your body brushing against his with precision.

One leg was planted firmly on the ground while the other was pressed between his legs, the proximity undeniable, intense, and erotic. You could feel the heat of his body beneath your fingertips, the tension radiating from both of you. Your breath was shallow now, your senses heightened in ways that made you almost dizzy. You leaned closer to him, your mouth dangerously near his, your lips only inches apart. Your breath mingled, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear.

Then, using the barrel of the gun, you tilted his head back slightly, forcing his mouth open just enough for you to slip the cold steel inside. Below you, Ji-cheol's body started to shake, and you felt it. The tremor in his form wasn’t just from fear. There was something else there—something deeper, primal, as if the situation was pushing both of you to the edge of something neither of you could fully comprehend.

The power was in your hands now.

A part of you reveled in it—how easy it was to rattle him, to strip away the confident exterior. But that other part of you, the part that longed for release from the mess of emotions you were drowning in, just wanted it to be over.

You pulled the trigger, the sharp sound of the click ringing in your ears, and for a moment, everything went still.

Click.

It was a dud.

The tension broke, but only for a moment. Your gaze immediately snapped towards Gi-hun. The final bullet was in play, and you could feel the man's eyes burning into the back of your neck. His hands trembled violently, his whole body shaking with anticipation, fear, and death.

Without removing yourself from Ji-cheol, you extended your arm out, offering the revolver to Gi-hun, expecting him to take it and end it all. To live up to the end of his deal. However, any possibility of that happening changed when his wide-eyed stare locked with yours, and you saw the raw terror in them—something you hadn’t expected from him. He wasn’t just afraid of the situation, but of you.

“What's wrong, Mr. Seong?” you asked, keeping your voice calm, though there was a sharpened edge to it now. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Gi-hun opened his mouth to speak but faltered. His lips parted, then pressed together tightly, as if wrestling with the storm of emotions raging inside him. You could feel his hesitation thickening the air between you both, a heavy tension that pushed you closer to the brink. Finally, he stood, his anger spilling over, his voice rising. 

“You’re insane!” he snapped. “If you hadn’t pulled the trigger twice— if we followed the damn order, you would be the last one to shoot. You’re the one who’s supposed to die!”

The words hit you like a slap. It was true after all. But his fury, his concern—it didn’t matter. You were the one who risked it, and you were the one who will be rewarded. The game had already ended, and there was no turning back now. His words, even if they were meant to stop you, only served to push you further, deepening the anger seeping in your chest.

“And you think that’s my fault?” you said, voice cold as ice, your gaze never wavering from his. The words stung, but you didn't flinch. “You think I give a damn about that?”

Without warning, you aimed the revolver at him and fired. The final click rang out, breaking the heavy silence with cold, brutal finality.

The room held its breath. Gi-hun’s body jerked once, his wide eyes still locked onto yours in disbelief as the realization hit him. His legs gave way, and he collapsed, blood beginning to pool beneath him. There was no more struggle, no more fight. Just the soft, final exhale of his breath, leaving the world in silence.

Below you, the voice of your coworker pierced the thick air, a low murmur in your ear. “Well done, [Name].”

You turned to him. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something darker, more dangerous—something like admiration, but tinged with something possessive.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, like a tangible pressure. The heat between your bodies simmered, an undeniable force that threatened to pull you closer. You didn’t need to say anything, because at that moment, everything was clear between you two.

“Really?” you said, your voice lowered in a husky sultry tone, as if you were challenging him. Your fingers tightened around the revolver, the weight of it no longer heavy, but oddly comforting.

Without a word, Ji-cheol moved with swift precision. One moment, you were standing tall, the next, his hands were beside your head, pinning you against the wall with a force that made your breath catch in your throat. 

“Don’t think for a second I’m done with you, [Name],” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, but there was something else in it now—a layer of hunger, an edge that felt almost possessive.

Slowly—as if to test him—you raised the revolver to your lips, your eyes never leaving his. Ji-cheol watched with intensity as you seductively sucked on the gun's barrel. His eyes trailed down, watching as saliva began dripping on your hand as you swirl your tongue around the barrel with such intensity that he wished you were doing it to him instead.

Watching his throat constrict as he swallowed deeply and feeling his bulge harden on your thigh. You pulled the gun out your mouth with a satisfying pop before throwing it to the ground. Without wasting any time, Ji-cheol immediately grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. And instead of hurt, his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through your body. 

He placed his knee up against your crotch—the action earning a low, hungry moan from you—before using his free hand to pull your body closer to him, his hard bulge colliding with your thigh. Ji-cheol released a low, and drawn-out moan before leaning in closer, his breath, which was just a hair away from your lips, was weak and warm—full of yearning and lust.

“You’re playing with fire, and I can’t promise you won’t get burned,” he murmured, the words dripping with an unsettling mix of desire and threat.

The heat in his voice made your pulse quicken in excitement. Your body responded to the proximity, to the rawness of the moment. Every inch of you was alive, and Ji-cheol, for all his calm control, couldn’t hide the dark hunger in his gaze. You could see it, feel it, as though it were an invisible thread pulling you together.

For a fleeting moment, it was almost as if the rest of the world had disappeared. It was just you, Ji-cheol, and the dangerous, magnetic pull between you both. With his lips hovered just inches from yours, you knew this was the moment that would change everything between you two.

[1d1195]

Independent Extra I

Read Independent here | ~3k words

From me: not sure how I feel about this, but I've missed them and it may have gotten some juices flowing to do more.

Warnings: a little bit of insecurity/angst but otherwise very fluffy (I hope it will make you want Harry even more if that is possible.)

“Jus’ thinking I might not be this sweet forever?” He smiled. She looked at her lap, her cheeks flaming bright red. “S’okay, Poppy. Y’don’t have a reason t’believe any man that they won’t,” he shrugged. “Jus’ promise you’ll let me prove y’wrong, yeah?”

Harry felt like he was on the defensive. It was unfortunate that he was feeling sick when she had confessed that she was in love with him too. After all that time he had waited to hear those words, he wished he was in a better headspace.

But when they returned to their apartment, she started to look at him, analyzing him while he opened the door. Barefoot. Because he was so worried about her, he couldn’t even put on his shoes. But she noticed his normally glowing and pretty complexion was a bit pale. His eyes seemed a little red and the pucker between his eyebrows made it look like he was in pain. “Are you sick?” She sniffled—remnants from the crying last night. Plus, she knew she was on her way to her own cold because her body was achy in a way that sleep didn’t fix. So, it was only reasonable that she had inadvertently gotten Harry sick as well. Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him as if she knew he was going to lie.

He smiled weakly stepping into their place. “Ah... yeah. I think so. Jus’ a bit, though. Nothing t’worry ‘bout.”

“Oh, for the love of...” she sighed. “Go lay in bed,” she ordered.

“Honestly, Poppy, s’not so bad.”

She frowned. “You...” she swallowed. “You came to get me even though you weren’t feeling well?”

“T’be fair, kitten. You weren’t feeling well either,” he shrugged putting his keys on the little table inside the entryway.

Her heart felt heavy. She felt loved. Which was supposed to be perfect because Harry really felt different. But there was a flicker of doubt and a sense of the it won’t last forever in her head that she wanted to snuff out.

“I’m fine,” she deflected. “I’m going to get you some medicine—”

“Poppy,” Harry said sternly, despite the fact that he looked tired, even after sleeping for so long. “I am a grown man,” he assured her. “M’glad y’want to take care of me. S’an honor. But m’not going t’let you think s’how it’s going t’be,” he explained. “I can get m’own medicine. I will lay down, but you’re going t’lay down with me,” he pulled her hand toward him. “Thank you, for worrying ‘bout me,” he kissed the center of her forehead and let his lips linger there.

God, she wanted to kiss him.

“I want t’kiss you, but m’throat is killing me.”

Her want to kiss him was quickly turning into a need. She adored him. “Please let me get you medicine.”

“Go put on something comfy,” he turned her toward the bedrooms, ignoring her need to help him. “Then, come lay with me,” he headed to the kitchen to get medicine. But it didn’t stop her from trying to make things as comfortable as possible for him. After changing into a pair of joggers and a T-shirt that was too big, she gathered some materials for her stay in Harry’s room. She had a stash of cough drops tucked in her bedside table drawer for nights when she couldn’t sleep well due to congestion or allergies. She grabbed her heating pad for aches (typically used for when she had cramps) but she knew it would help the aches they both felt. She went to his room and set the items on his nightstand, and she made her way back toward the kitchen to grab her water bottle, but she bumped into Harry holding two bottles of water instead. He smirked. “Y’can’t help yourself, hmm Poppy?”

She grinned sheepishly. “I don’t think so,” she admitted. “Especially not for you.”

He shook his head, smiled a little brighter, and pushed her gently toward bed. “Y’can watch TV. I’ll sleep through it.”

“Are you sure you don’t need anything—”

“Jus’ you,” he murmured tiredly climbing beneath the covers. He draped an arm across her waist, closed his eyes and nestled into his pillow. Gently, she cupped his face, stroking her thumb along his cheek. “Feels nice,” his voice was groggy. She smiled admiring how cute he was, even when sick. His stuffy nose quickly turned his breathing into a light snore. After a few minutes of shamelessly watching him sleep and ogling his face, she snuggled into his other pillow. Maybe if she was feeling a little better herself, she would have continued to try and care for him, making soup, getting a wet cloth for his head, and the like.

But Harry said it wasn’t necessary. Not that she didn’t want to do it, but for the first time in her whole life, she didn’t feel like she had to. Harry wanted her to snuggle and sleep with him. That was enough, right? For now, it had to be. Because she was tired, and she wanted to sleep with Harry because that’s what he wanted.

Plus, she really couldn’t say no to sleeping with her hot new boyfriend.

*

“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” he murmured skimming the back of his finger across her cheek while she slept. She blinked her eyes open, adjusted to the scenery, and she smirked.

“You must be sick because I can’t even imagine what my hair looks like.”

He chuckled, turning his head slightly to cough. “M’not that sick.”

“Do you need anything?” She asked politely.

“No, Poppy. M’perfectly content,” he promised.

“Let me know—”

“I would never deny you the pleasure of helping me, kitten,” he assured her and leaned forward to kiss her temple. “Jus’ needed some sleep.” His complexion did look a lot better, his eyes less sunken. “I am a very lucky guy, Poppy,” he murmured.

“Lucky? I’m pretty sure I got you sick.”

“Mm, but s’because m’close to you.”

Her stomach swooped a bit because she was used to Harry’s flirting and asking her out. But now he was hers. Which sounded a little possessive in her head, and she felt bad because Harry was his own person and yes, she wanted to live in this bed next to him but that didn’t mean he had to give up autonomy for—

“I’ve dreamt ‘bout you in m’bed a little too much,” he admitted, his cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink. “Want you all t’myself.”

She blushed in return. At least the feeling was mutual.

*

“What’s the heart on your calendar?”

Harry wasn’t trying to hide their relationship, but they weren’t being overt about it either. The office (Val and Rachel) had been a bit crazy about the pair of them in general. Once they found out they were a couple, it was going to be difficult to get anything done.

At lunchtime, Harry still gave her space. Unless she asked him to stay, which was difficult for her to do sometimes. But Harry didn’t mind letting her have a moment to herself. They continued not to talk too much during the day. Instead, she found her eyes drifting to his desk where he would smile when he felt his gaze on her. Never breaking from the task that he was working on.

Harry worried silently about her from across the room. You’ve been too close to your screen for a while, kitten. Go for a walk around the office ❤️

Don’t bite off more than you can chew, Poppy. ❤️ Don’t want you to put too much on your plate

Did you eat while I was gone? ❤️

God, she loved him so fucking much.

They didn’t carpool every day either and Harry took care of a lot of the chores around the apartment given she had a second job some nights and he did not. So as worried as she had been about overwhelming Harry with being around him all the time, her anxiety was all for naught.

“Oh, um...” she forgot she drew that on the calendar. She had been lost in the morning debrief from their boss and must have marked their first date with a heart.

“It’s usually a birthday, no?” Hunter asked.

“Yes, right,” she shook her head. “One of my friends from high school...” She hoped the lie wasn’t obvious. “I was thinking about the date and didn’t realize... I guess—” she cleared her throat hoping her overexplaining wasn’t as ridiculous as it sounded.

“Poppy, do y’have the report from yesterday on hand?”

“Yes!” She chirped grateful for the interruption. “Excuse me,” she grabbed a folder that she didn’t need and went to Harry’s desk. He gracefully took it and to his credit, he looked it over with hardly any ounce of lying.

Her phone vibrated. Smooth 😉

🙄 Thank you, I was drowning.

I’m excited for our date. I hope you are too.

Of course I am!

She was also petrified. Due to illness, work, and friends, their first official date was nearly a month after she asked him out. Harry asked her out for over a year. What if it didn’t live up to his expectation? What if she was weird and it was only noticeable on a formal date? What if he decided that loving her was all an illusion? She busied herself with her computer and the next task on her to do list, but her mind was spinning. Fortunately, she had mastered the art of losing her mind and continuing to work without pause.

I’m not going to fall out of love, Poppy. Stop stressing over the date. I’ve waited ages for it. ❤️

She allowed herself to look up at him. How could he see her worry? She was certain she was good at hiding it. It totally threw her that he could see it across the room. Then he was just staring at his own screen as if he hadn’t read her addled mind. He didn’t catch her gaze directly.

But he winked at his screen, smiled, both intended for her despite the fact he didn’t even have to look at her.

*

On the day of the date, she was getting ready, a curling iron wrapped around pieces of her hair, but it was taking twice as long because Joey usually did the curling, but she didn’t want to make a fuss about the date. So now she was listening to Maya vent about her job and wondering if she could look over her resume and cover letter. She was worried she would fall behind schedule and the thought of being late to her own date with the guy she was going on a date within her own apartment was just absolutely unbelievable.

“Ah...” she hissed, catching her finger on the hot iron. “Maya, can you hold on a second? Hunter is calling me,” she shook her hand to get the pain away. “Hunter, it’s after work hours...” she scolded.

“It’s important,” he assured her. “Any chance you could forward me the email with the client information from today’s meeting? I can’t find it and I apparently put this off and now—”

She sighed and headed to her room, hair half up and half curled so she could get her laptop. “I’ll send it now,” she said quietly.

“You’re a lifesaver Mary Poppins,” he assured her with a smile in his voice. “Harry is a lucky guy,” he chuckled.

She felt her cheeks flame. “Goodbye Hunter, don’t talk to me tomorrow.”

She called Maya back as she clicked through her emails. As if she hadn’t hung up, Maya continued ranting. “Jay thinks I’m crazy for wanting to leave but do you know what it’s like to be underappreciated at work? It just feels like a constant cloud over me that I do all of these things—”

She wanted to scream.

“Hey,” Harry’s gentle voice interrupted her worry and stress. She blinked at him. Her hair was a complete mess, and he just smiled.

“Hi Harry!” Maya cheered.

“Hi Maya,” he came closer to her and saw her forwarding the email to Hunter. He rolled his eyes and looked at her pointedly. She shrugged. He shook his head. “How are you?”

“Honestly, not great. I was just explaining how I’m going to quit my job because it makes me feel underappreciated. I’m sure I’m not the only person to ever feel underappreciated at work but—”

Harry was in awe that one of her friends could be so dense like that. “Poppy, y’almost ready?” He asked quietly. On purpose. Her cheeks flamed red even though Maya wasn’t there.

“Shit,” she whispered.

“Ready for what? Are you going on a date?” Maya snorted. But the silence was a beat too long. “Oh! OH MY GOD! JAY!” She screamed.

“Bye Maya,” Harry hung up for her. She sent the email to Hunter and soon her phone was blowing up with alerts. Texts and calls from Maya and Joey. She pinched her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“Harry,” she frowned. He pulled the phone from her grip and turned it off. Tucked it into his pocket and ignored the calls and messages that started exploding from his phone.

He shrugged. “They were going t’find out eventually. Finish getting ready, kitten,” he closed her laptop shut for good measure and left the room with it in hand.

*

Harry was insistent that he pick the activity, and she could pick the restaurant. He opened her door before she exited the car, kept a hand on her lower back, pulled out her seat at the restaurant, and was the literal perfect gentleman. Not that he hadn’t been the entire time she’d known him, but this was their first official date.

Which meant they didn’t have tons to talk about because they were pretty well versed with one another. But the silence wasn’t awkward, which was nice. Harry rather enjoyed smiling at her, gazing at her.

“You’re stunning,” he smiled so sweetly it melted her heart, her stomach twisted with butterflies beginning to come out. It was exactly as he had said so many months ago. But now it was real. He was telling her how pretty she looked. He was going to pay for her food. Feed her dessert and he prayed he could kiss her everywhere at the end of the night. They shared bites of their food and Harry insisted she have two drinks because she liked it so much. “I’ll take care of you,” he winked.

When they left the restaurant, Harry placed a hand on her lower back again, guiding her toward their activity. “I am pretty unartistic,” she warned him as he helped tie her apron around her waist. “Like if creative is a trait that you look for in a girlfriend you might need to look elsewhere.”

He chuckled and pulled her hair gently from the loop of the apron that went around her neck, he brushed his thumb on her cheek. “M’sure s’not true, Poppy. Y’decorate so cutely,” he reminded her and quickly put his own apron on. Everything about Harry was gentle and soft.

Was it awful of her to remind herself that these little things might not last forever? That the door opening, the lower back touch, the fixing her hair might not be long term. It wasn’t really fair to Harry. Give him a chance to fall out of love with her, right?

“M’having a really lovely time, Poppy,” he told her. They were sitting at a table meant for four. Each on one side of a corner so they couldn’t see either working. Harry reached for her leg and squeezed her thigh. Calming all worry and racing thoughts.

“Me too,” she smiled. Because she was. Dinner was delicious and it was kind of him to pay for it (even though he said he was going to anyway). The painting was fun. Harry looked handsome as ever. His hair was perfectly styled, and it looked like he ironed his shirt for the occasion. He was pretty to look at. Even at the office, it was hard to keep her eyes from darting over to him at every moment.

“Yeah?” He breathed a sigh of relief, his smile growing.

“Oh goodness, do I not look like I’m having fun? I am, I promise. Dinner was great and even though I’m bad at it, I love painting,” she assured him. “I think I’m just—”

“Jus’ thinking I might not be this sweet forever?” He smiled. She looked at her lap, her cheeks flaming bright red. “S’okay, Poppy. Y’don’t have a reason t’believe any man that they won’t,” he shrugged. “Jus’ promise you’ll let me prove y’wrong, yeah?” He stood up briefly and pressed a kiss to her temple so sweetly. “I like the way y’did your trees,” he pointed immediately. Like he was actively trying to draw her attention away from his very accurate statement. “Looks pretty, we can put it in m’room,” he rubbed his hand up and down her back soothingly before he sat down again.

“How do you read my mind like that?” She asked.

His grin was a little devilish, mischievous, like he knew he was trouble for being such a good boyfriend and it was only their first official date. “Been trying t’read your mind for a year, kitten,” he shrugged watching his canvas and listening to the woman at the front teach the next step.

She stood up and stepped closer to him, gently tilting his head toward her so she could kiss his cheek. When she turned to see his painting, she wished she could have been surprised, but it made sense that Harry hadn’t painted what the woman was doing at the front of the room at all, but instead he was painting a vase of poppies.

Harry smiled sheepishly. “Sorry,” he chuckled.

“It’s very pretty,” she whispered.

“S’my favorite flower,” he promised.

God, she really hoped he never fell out of love with her.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissinthekitchen @boopookie @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl

@emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[erinyesofvengeance]

HIGH ON ANESTHESIA

pairing: dick grayson x reader

tags: friends to lovers, fluff, drabble, hospitalized reader, one-sided pining (not for long), not proofread!!

summary: after getting your wisdom teeth removed, your best friend and unrequited love (love which you've kept a secret for 7 years) dick grayson comes to visit you in your hospital bed. unfortunately, you seem to still be under the effects of anesthesia, which causes you to be painfully truthful.

A/N: inspired by that one brownie scene in the perks of being a wallflower (bawled my eyes out in the end)

"The surgery went well. There were some unexpected complications, such as the wisdom teeth being in a rather unusual location, but your daughter will be alright. She'll be able to go home by the end of the day."

Your mother breaths a sigh of relief, seemingly relieved by this good news. Honestly, you couldn't blame her for being nervous and worried sick about you, given the events of the last surgery you had. Gosh, you really have had a lot of surgeries. Your mother turns to you, gently caressing your face.

"You okay, (name)? Do you want anything to drink?" she asks.

You sigh. Your head is pounding and your neck is craned at an uncomfortable position. No matter how much you move it, or adjust it, it stays the same. Sore, bothersome, and annoying. You nod in response to her question.

"I want water," you whine. "But not the lukewarm kind. Cause you always get the lukewarm kind."

Your mother sighs.

"Lukewarm is better for you. Cold water cools down your body temperature too fast. It's unnatural."

"Mama, that's bullshit. It's damn water," you groan. Your mother raises an eyebrow at your comment.

"Whoops." You smile cheekily.

"Fine. I'll get you some cold water," she declares. You clap your hands in excitement.

When she leaves, you can hear her footsteps becoming softer the farther away she moves. Another pair of footsteps makes it's way to your hospital bed. The footsteps stop, and your curtain opens.

You're met with a pair of striking blue eyes, and a head of perfectly styled yet still natural-looking blue hair. Dick Grayson, with his perfectly shaped face and irritatingly good looks had a worried look on his face. For you. That look of worry quickly faded once he saw you.

"I take it the surgery went well?" he asks.

You nod.

"That's good." He exhales a long held breath. "Considering the last time you had surgery, I had though..." he trails off when he feels your gaze burning holes into his face.

You look up at him dreamily. You could've sworn that there were sparkles in the air and hearts in the sky.

"Dick... you have such pretty blue eyes," you sigh.

He raises an eyebrow. "Say what now?"

"The kind of pretty that deserves to make a big deal about itself though, you know what I mean?"

He laughs softly, and the sound goes right up to your head.

"What else about me do you think is pretty?" he teases.

"Hmm... your hair, and your smile. Your voice. Your biceps are kind of nice too. I want you to put me in a headlock and choke me with them." you slur. "And obviously those glutes."

"Wow. Didn't know you acknowledged my smoking hotness." Dick, obviously, is quite amused right now. You've always been the one seemingly immune to his charms, despite his numerous attempts to hit on you and get your number. He knew by now for the past 7 years that he liked you; hell, maybe even loved you. Scratch that; definitely loved you. But you either ignored or was painfully oblivious to his infatuation with you.

"I've been acknowledging it for 7 years," you grumble.

"So what, you sayin' you like me or something?"

You nod. "Totally want you to choke me."

Dick grins.

"Got anymore secrets to tell me?"

Your eyes light up and you nod, beckoning him to come closer so you can whisper in his ear. You cover the side of your mouth with your hand when you get closer to him.

"I know about your secret. That you're Nightwing."

"Wait, what the fu-"

[bitchface24-7]

Can we do angst with Viktor x Vastaya reader since they're long lived?

PSST PSST PSST - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: you've known Viktor ever since you two were kids, and you've always known deep down that you'd never get enough time with him. Even without the grey plaguing his lungs, you're a vastaya; you live much longer than a healthy human. Never mind a chronically ill one. You'll either help Viktor find a cure, or you'll ensure you die with him.

warnings: talks of illness/death, passive suicidal ideation (you don't have a plan, it's a what-if kinda deal), love confessions, childhood friends to lovers, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. I'm so sorry, I’m not sure if I could just write pure angst (my babies already been through ENOUGH) so I made it a little fluffy to help my hurt heart. Hope y'all enjoy!

You remember the day you met Viktor like it was yesterday. He was by a ravine, fiddling with a toy boat. He was alone, and so were you.

The kids in Zaun were just as cruel as the adults could be. They didn't like Viktor due to his weak leg, they didn't like you due to the fact you weren't human. So you decided to be brave and introduce yourself to the boy.

He was apprehensive at first, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you. But after a minute of friendly discussion, his demeanour softened. It completely melted when you asked him how he built his boat, with sparkles in your eyes as you were invested in his explanation.

After a while, he introduces himself, “My name is Viktor… what’s yours?”

You smile and give him your name. Viktor nods before his lips thin and he looks a bit weary again, “Are you sure you want to be friends with me? I’m sick.”

You throw his question back at him, “Are you sure you want to be friends with me? I'm not even human.”

Viktor giggles, “I’ve always liked cats.” He lightly pokes one of your ears and you play along, flicking your ear in mock irritation to hear his giggle again.

“And I don't care that you're sick. We’ll find a way to make you better.”

Viktor's eyes sparkle as he looks at you, and with that; the start of a wonderful friendship is born.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The years go by and Viktor's illness progresses slowly. Some years it stays stagnated, in others it progresses rapidly.

And you're there for every second of it.

While Viktor works away in a lab with his partner Jayce trying to improve the world in the one way he's confident in, through science; you work at a small but well-known boutique in Piltover. The academy is most notably known for their STEM programs, but there's a multitude of others to choose from. Architecture, anthropology, culinary, mixology, english, politics, cosmetology. You name it, the academy has it. So you chose fashion design.

The only reason you've even been given this opportunity is because of Viktor. Heimerdinger was desperate to make Viktor his protege, but Viktor had one demand. You'd be able to come with him.

Heimerdinger couldn't refuse.

So it’s no surprise when you get a call at work and damn near drop the phone in a panic. It’s a clinic, Viktor’s their patient, he fainted, you're his emergency contact on file, he wants to see you.

Your co-worker can already tell something is wrong and ushers you to leave. “I can hold the shop down no problem. Go deal with your emergency.”

You thank her profusely as you rush to the clinic, your hind legs much stronger than a humans; you get there in half the time.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Viktor looks so small in the bed. A nasal cannula in his nose giving him a steady stream of light oxygen. His skin is even paler and he has a smidge of dried blood on the philtrum below his nose.

You grab a moist towlette and go to clean the blood with a small, “How’re you feeling?”

A small chuckle escapes the man before a coughing fit erupts from his chest. You hastily bring over his cup of water and help him drink it, not wanting him to get his hospital gown wet.

“I’m doing better than I was about an hour ago. I finally convinced Jayce to go home to sleep.”

Your ear flicks in annoyance as your eyebrows furrow, “How long have you been here?”

Viktor purses his lips and looks away from you.

“Viktor.”

“A few hours.”

“What! And I'm just getting called now?! Viktor!”

“If I had it my way, you wouldn't have been called at all!”

You reel back at that, you can feel your eyes stinging.

“The nurse said you wanted to see me.”

Viktor sighs, relaxing back into the bed as best he can, “I did, I do want to see you. But I don't want you to see me like this.”

“Tired?”

“Dying.”

The look of resignation on Viktors face pulls at your heartstrings. He looks so downtrodden. So tired.

You cup one of Viktor's hands in your own, “You said that you and Jayce found something with the hexcore. Maybe that's the key! It saved that plant, it could save you too.”

Viktor sighs, “I don't know why you've stuck by my side for so long. I'll be nothing more than a blip in your lifetime. An insignificant speck in your story.”

The grip you have on Viktor's hand tightens, “Because you're my best friend and I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You smile lightly and shake your head, “No Viktor, I love you. I'd rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone. Who cares if my lifespan is longer than yours? You act like I won't follow you. Like I wouldn't fight all the gods to get you back. And if that wasn't an option, we’d be together forever in the cosmos. It’s you and me, together and always.”

Viktor sits there stunned as you look at him with all the love you have tucked away in your heart, and it’s quite a lot.

You shuffle slightly on the wooden chair, you feel like you're going to throw up due to the nerves, “…Are you going to say something?”

But Viktor isn't a talker, he's a doer. So he shows you the best way he can.

He leans forward and kisses you. It's the most passionate, loving, all-consuming kiss you've ever experienced. When the two of you eventually pull away, you're left speechless and you swear your eyes have hearts in them. You know for a fact your pupils that are typically slits are completely blown out now.

A purr encapsulates the room and Viktor smugly cozies himself back into his bed. You feel your face heat up as you hold yourself back from throttling him. Purring is very special. Very few people get to hear a vastaya purr, and once Viktor heard about the specialty and connected the dots on how often you purred around him, he made it a game to see how quickly he could get you to make that wonderful sound.

This is the quickest way by far.

“Have I ever told you how much I like cats?”

You smile fondly at the man, cupping his face with one of your hands, “Once, the day we met.”

Viktor hums, “You’ll be hearing me say it a lot more now.”

A loud laugh escapes you and Viktor looks at you with nothing but love.

“Do I have any competition with the stray cat you feed by our apartment?”

“No. Blitzcrank is a menace, he’s more like our sucky child. You’re my favourite.”

You huff at him as your purrs pick up in volume, the kiss you plant on his cheek is full of possessiveness, “I better be.”

“You are, darling. You are.”

Tadaaaa!!! This idea was so *chefs kiss* it’s a very interesting dynamic I never would’ve thought of myself. If you saw the LoTR reference, no you didn’t. Hope y’all enjoy!

[lucygraysboy]

wouldn’t hurt a shrimp. billy can’t refrain from straight up giggling at that wording, loving how accurate it is, how lucy gray stays true to character. he loves playing like this and acting, getting to be someone else for a moment, but the lines keep blurring — the looks that he’s giving her, the way his heart only continues to swell with each praise, his hands and arms itching to touch and hold her… he doesn’t have to fake any of it. it comes naturally to him. it’s all billy, not tristan the pirate prince, or maybe it’s both. “oh, well, then i’m truly lucky to have found you and not some evil mermaid who pries on sailors. we’re both the lucky ones,” he coos, leaning in and using the tip of his nose to bump her shoulder. “no, i don’t think so. i’m a particularly curious person, but it’s partially ‘cause i find you so fascinating.” which once again isn’t just play pretend on his end. “mhm, just to ensure it’ll heal well.” beaming down at her when she allows another kiss, this time, he makes sure to actually press his lips to her wet skin. “mwah!” it barely lasts two seconds, but his heart nearly bursts. her skin so warm and soft beneath his mouth, so sweet and delicate, his whole world shaking. what would he do to kiss her lips like this… “you’re too kind to me, rainmist. are you sure you’re only a mermaid? not an angel?” he muses, experiencing very similar feelings. on one hand, it would be so easy to just close the distance between their lips and give into this burning need to show her how exactly he feels about her. on the other hand, though, she’s not just a random girl from a saloon, and what does he have to offer her? he can’t even offer her his presence. it would be so very selfish of him to make her fall in love with him and then leave, even with the promise to come back in two months time. he loves her, but it’s all happening so fast and his feelings are so very intense that they scare him, too. he’s only ever been with one woman before. alice. but she never made him feel so light and fluttery, so desperate and sick with the mere need to hold her hand. he can’t risk losing lucy gray for a kiss. he can’t have her become just another alice. a stranger. a blurry memory. she deserves so much better. “is that so? fate must have brought us together then. a prince and a princess,” he muses, pulling her into his lap once she coils her slender arm around his neck, his own curling around her small waist. his chest pressed to her back, hand gently squeezing hers. “as a mermaid princess, do you have any special powers?” 

“well, there’s bad people everywhere. even in the sea. there’s sweet mermaids who wouldn’t hurt a shrimp. and there’s some not so good mermaids who could be capable of doing so.” the brunette replies, shaking her head before wiggling her nose as his finger trailing down the slope tickles and causes her to laugh. watching him scoop water over her pretend injury, rainmist laughs again. “are all humans as curious as you?” smiling endearingly, she’d definitely find it super cute if she were a real mermaid. she finds it that way even as a human. “hmmm, for good measure you say?” tapping her chin, brow raises, “okay, if you think it needs it.” smiling in amusement, turning her head to cover her mouth as the laughter spills over. he just wants to do it again for some reason. “you don’t need it…your heart’s royal enough. that makes you a prince in my eyes.” the brunette beams, speaking affectionately. unsure if that’s her mermaid character or herself speaking at this point… oh, it’s definitely both. her cheeks flushing under the late spring sun, butterflies scattering in her chest frantically at their hands and fingers touching. what’s happening and what does she do with this scary feeling? looking at his eyes, she’s masking how badly she wants to look AWAY with a grin and laughter escaping despite the shyness welling in her fawn gaze. the feeling in her chest makes her feel like she’s about to faint. she’s not supposed to really feel these feelings of affection towards him… so fast. and oddly, there’s a grand parallel in it. rainmist has met tristan in a few minutes. and she, lucy gray, has met billy in only a day and it feels like she has known him for a life time. that’s what’s scary about it… because how does someone feel that way? truly? about another human all that quickly. isn’t her mind only playing tricks? maybe she’s just desperate to be loved? maybe he’s desperate to be loved. she’s in disbelief that that’s how soulmates work, when she’s the number one believer in soulmates which doesn’t make sense. convincing herself her mind is just clouded by how he saved her, is honest, and a gentleman and not the callous person she was originally scared of him being. but it’s so intense, it nearly makes her nauseous and feel like tearing away from him and running to put at least twenty feet between them. “that’s my secret… i am a princess. i needed my prince. and— you showed, helped my tail and saved me from getting hurt under that ship.” squeezing his hands, one hand lets go to wrap her arm around his neck, hugging him again for really saving her earlier.

[everyonewooeverywhere]

chapter 3 : old pals, new beginnings

part 1 | part 2 | masterlist

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)

rating: pg-13 (18+ for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)

word count: 5.6k

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll)

notes: thank you so so much to @yunho-onlyhands & @skzdust for beta reading this for me 🤧 it means so much, and it very much helped me iron out this draft 💗

also thank you so so much for all the love on this series so far! i truly love writing for this couple so much. they make me so happy 😞

Getting up out of bed for the next several days took nearly all of your energy. And unfortunately, “getting cheated on” is not an acceptable reason to get out of work, so you were forced to call in sick. Using up the last of your sick days for the year. Everything was so draining, and somehow every corner of that godforsaken apartment was just a painful reminder of the years you seemed to have wasted.

Your head swelled and pounded from the lack of sleep, and the endless hours of tossing and turning left you unbearably irritable. Even trying to make yourself meals felt like an impossible task.

You basked in the irony that your apartment was messier than ever. You were trying to pick away at Yeonjun’s endless amount of stuff. Throwing whatever you could find in boxes and letting it pile up in the kitchen. But somehow you were constantly finding shit that you had to physically restrain yourself from tossing straight into the garbage.

And you probably would have been living in your mess for days on end if Rosie hadn’t forced herself into your apartment nearly every day. Her cheerful energy never wavering when she burst through your front door. Usually bringing snacks and treats with her. 

Today was no different. This time, though, when she dragged you out of bed, she started laying out outfits. A variety of short, fringe skirts and topslined up haphazardly across your unmade bed, complimented by a pair of white cowboy boots tossed onto the floor.

“What is all this?” you asked, brows furrowing while you failed to suppress a yawn.

She grinned at you, “We’re going to a party.”

“Oh, Ro. I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” you grimaced at the idea of being surrounded by sweaty strangers in a house you’d never seen, Rosie’s usual party scene.

“Oh, babe…” She mimicked your tone, “You have no choice.”

You pouted at her, and she mirrored that, too. Before breaking into a wide grin, “C’mon! I know you’ll have fun! It’s not a house party. It’s a barn bash that Mingi invited me to. He said his friend’s family hosts one every year, and he really loves it. And I don’t know what I’d do without my favorite girl there.” 

You eyed her suspiciously, “‘His friend…”

She bit her lip in a failed attempt to hide her smile. Her clearly freshly manicured hand swatted at your arm, “Come on! You haven’t seen him in weeks! And you don’t even have to talk to him. I really just want to have you there,” she laid her head on your shoulder, “Between you and me, though, Mingi says he still talks about you a lot.”

You scoffed, but Rosie could tell clear as day how flattered you were by that statement. A heavy sigh fell from your lips, “Can we at least get ice cream after?” 

Her face lit up, “Yes! So you’ll come?”

You nodded and smiled softly at her, “Yes, Ro. I’ll come.”

“Oh yay!” She wrapped you in a hug. When she pulled back, her grin was full of scheming. “Okay…let’s play dress up.”

After several hours of letting her dress you up and do your make up and hair, Mingi pulled up outside your apartment. Loud music spilling out the windows of his shiny black sports car. 

Rosie grabbed your arm when she saw him leaning against the hood of the car, dark sunglasses covering his eyes. “Oh girl I got so lucky, didn’t I?” She whispers to you.

You rested a hand over hers, “Well I’d say he got pretty lucky, too.”

She giggled and smiled up at you. Letting her head lean on your shoulder as you both made your way down the sidewalk to his car.

He grinned and waved as he saw you both approaching, pushing himself off the car. “Wow, you both look great.” He slid his sunglasses onto his head, and you watched as Rosie ogled up and down at him. You wouldn’t lie, he looked really good. In a tight black t-shirt that didn’t quite reach the waistband of his black leather pants, leaving a sliver of his midriff exposed. The black, studded boots he wore were the perfect way to stay on theme but put his own spin on it. Suddenly, it made a lot more sense why your friend had opted for a black leather miniskirt for a supposed “barn bash.”

You reached your hand out to him, figuring this might be your only time tonight to finally introduce yourself to him, “Thank you, Mingi.” You gave him a friendly smile, “I’m Y/n, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever officially introduced ourselves.”

He chuckled and shook your hand, “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you glanced down at your friend, “I could say the same thing about you.”

Rosie just giggled and leaned further into your side. And your heart about melted at the way Mingi looked at her so fondly. Hearts practically forming in his eyes.

He opened the door to the backseat and half bowed, presenting the open car door to you, “Ladies.” 

You laughed and slipped into his car, clearly freshly cleaned. Rosie slid in after you, taking Mingi’s hand as he helped her into the car and kissing him on the cheek before he closed the door. She was glowing, and you couldn’t be more happy for her.

As you pulled up to the barn, your stomach fluttered with nerves. The car pulled to a stop before Mingi helped you both out and led you to the door, his hand resting on Rosie’s back.

The atmosphere is much calmer than you were expecting. It was still a party, but the ambiance of the small barn was really nice. There was no DJ, just a playlist playing over the various speakers spread around the building. A small but adequate bar was set up not too far from the door, and you saw many people serving themselves out of the coolers.  The lights were low, but it was still relatively easy to see all the way across the small space. And there were hardly more than fifty people here, so you had a lot of room to breathe. 

Maybe you were glad that Rosie had dragged you out of the house for this. 

“Alright ladies,” Mingi spoke from beside you, his hand on your friend’s lower back, “Everyone is over there.” He pointed to one of the many high-top tables that were spread around the dance floor.

And just like you suspected, Yunho stood beside it alongside a couple men you failed to recognize. He wore the normal cowboy get-up, but it seemed nicer today. Even though he wore the same beige hat you’d seen him in before, he was more dressed up. His jeans were darker, and he wore a white button-up that had clearly been ironed before he put it on. And maybe it was just the low light of the barn or maybe it was your newfound singleness, but something about the way he leaned against that table and the way his head tilted back when he laughed made your stomach flip.

You followed Mingi and Rosie to the table, trailing behind the two of them and trying to catch your breath and calm your growing nerves. Yunho saw Mingi first, his height and platinum hair a dead giveaway, and broke into a huge smile. He pulled his friend in for a hug, with two mildly aggressive pats to the back. And he even pulled Rosie in for a small side hug. 

“You guys made it!” He greeted with a huge grin. When he let go of Rosie, he finally saw you over Mingi’s shoulder. For a brief second he looked a little shocked, though you could tell he was trying to hide it. He broke into yet another smile but a softer one, one that was more obvious in his eyes than his lips. “Hey.”

You waved shyly at him, “Hi.”

Rosie and Mingi stepped aside to chat with the others, leaving the two of you alone with each other. “How’ve you been?”

You shrugged and failed to reel back a clearly unsavory sigh, “It’s been alright.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “You sure?”

The tips of your fingers fiddled with the fringe on your skirt, and you chuckled dryly, “It’s been kinda horrible actually. I haven’t had to deal with a breakup since I was sixteen, so I guess I’m just out of practice.”

He laughed at that, and you were glad, feeling better that you hadn’t brought down the mood. “Try not to beat yourself up about it, alright? Break ups suck, but a lot of the time, it is for the better. And if you ever need anythin’, car related or otherwise, call me. I know you’ve got Rosie to help you out, but if you ever need help when she’s…” he glanced over at your friend who was practically hanging off of Mingi’s arm, “preoccupied, just let me know.”

You looked up at him, grateful for his willingness, “Thank you, Yunho.”

He tipped his hat, in a way that seemed half a joking nod to his cowboy persona and half completely sincere and genuine, “Of course, Doll. Anytime.” He glanced over your shoulder, “Can I introduce you to my friends? Well, most of ’em, anyways. Looks like we’ve got some slowpokes who haven’t shown up yet.”

“Please, I’d love that.” 

He holds out his arm for you, and you grasp it gently, letting him tuck your hand into the crease of his elbow. And he guides you back to the table where the rest of the group has been talking. 

They all turned to the two of you once they noticed your approach. Waiting curiously while Yunho introduced the girl who'd arrived with Mingi’s date, “Guys, this is y/n.”

You smile, giving them all a small wave, catching the eye of one of the men who was practically beaming at you.

“Well I was wondering when we’d finally get to meet her,” the blonde man said, leaning over the table and shaking your hand when you reached for him, “Nice to meet you. I’m Hongjoong.” 

“Nice to meet you, too.” 

You went around the whole table introducing yourself. You found out that Hongjoong had been in the year ahead of Yunho and Mingi in high school and had left town for fashion school in New York after he’d graduated. He’d moved back a couple of years ago and opened his own tailoring shop downtown. Bringing his boyfriend, Seonghwa, back with him from school with him. Both of them moving in together in the small studio above Hongjoong’s shop. Seonghwa had pulled you in for a hug immediately upon meeting you, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep warmth at how easily accepted you were.

After meeting Seonghwa and Hongjoong, you were introduced to San. And found out that you and San actually went to the same university. Never once did you cross paths, but it was nice to have the connection nonetheless. He was newer to the group apparently. Only meeting Mingi at a race a little under a year ago. He wasn’t a mechanic but he “knew his way around the cab better than anyone.” Or at least that’s what Mingi had claimed.

And then there was Yunho’s younger cousin, Jongho. Apparently, this whole barn bash tradition had been one started by his parents, and, though he wasn’t super keen on running it, he made sure that the party still happened annually. 

When Yunho went to grab you a beer, Jongho nudged your side with his elbow. Smirking at the way you shamelessly eyed his cousin at the bar.

“He’s single, you know?” standing next to you and admiring his cousin alongside you. Watching as he mingled with some other friends beer the cooler.

You laughed, “So I’ve heard. That’s not really any of my business, is it, though?”

Jongho shrugged, “I would say by the way you won’t stop staring at him, it might be all of your business.”

This kid. “I guess it’s kind of on him to make a move then, isn’t it?”

“He won’t.” He took a sip of his beer. Setting it on the table in front of you.

“What?” you glanced over at him, brows pinched in confusion. “What do you mean ‘he won’t?’”

He met your eyes, “You just got out of a relationship, right?” You nodded hesitantly and a bit embarrassed that that was knowledge he had. “Then he’s not gonna push anything. It took a lot of convincing from us,” he gestured to the group, “to even get him to invite you tonight, and he wouldn’t even do that directly. Unless you push for it, Yunho isn’t gonna make a move. He wants to give you the time you need to heal. So the ball is definitely in your court for this one.”

You pondered his words. Turning them over in your head. Part of you nervous at the prospect of being in charge, being the driving force. But another part of you feeling like he just couldn’t get anymore perfect. Already, he had been nothing but respectful and gentle toward you. Helping you where you needed it. But something about the way he treated you…it just made you feel so special.

Your heart tightened at the feeling. Special wasn’t a new feeling. A much younger you had felt that beautifully deceptive feeling before. Because it doesn’t take much to feel special, but it's an easy way to trick the heart.

“Want me to open it for ya?” Yunho gestured to the beer in his hand that he had so graciously grabbed for you.

You nodded, “That would be wonderful.”

“Not a problem, Doll.”

You watched as he positioned the rim of the bottle against the edge of the table. Shamelessly admiring his arms as he did it. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but at some point, he’d rolled his sleeves up. Revealing his toned forearms. From which you could see his many veins lining his arm. When he brought his hand down on top of the bottle you jumped in surprise, watching the cap pop up and fall to the ground.

Yunho laughed at your jumpiness, reaching the bottle out to you. His fingers brushing over yours when you took it from him.

“Thank you,” you gave him a shy smile.

He opened his mouth to playfully remark over the way you ogled at him, but he was cut off by a voice behind you.

“Y/n!?” shouted a male voice full of obvious surprise. Your head whipped around, recognizing that  voice instantly.

You stared at him wide-eyed in shock. Though his hair was longer and his voice deeper, you’d recognize Jung Wooyoung anywhere. And he hardly gave you a second to breathe before his arms were wrapped around your shoulders, practically suffocating you. 

He rocked you side to side dramatically when you finally hugged him back, your arms embracing his back. You were still trying to comprehend seeing his face after so long, when he pulled back, hands still resting on your shoulders, “How have you been?”  His enthusiasm not once wavering. He playfully slapped your shoulder, “Where have you been?”

Still a bit dazed, you just blinked at him, before pulling him back in and hugging him tighter than before. His giggle vibrated through your chest. A sound you thought you’d honestly never hear again. And though you couldn’t see his face, you could perfectly visualize the way his lips pulled back into that smile that had encouraged you so strongly all those years ago.

Finally, after several long moments, you let each other go. His smile still burning as he repeated his question, “How’ve you been?”

You shrugged, trying not to let the unfortunate question tamper your mood, “Fine. Kind of going through a breakup right now, so it’s been a little rough if I’m honest.” You felt your heart fill with a familiar warmth, though. And you smiled at the memories of your long walks together, the ones where you told each other everything.

“Oh girl, a bad one?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your beer, “He cheated.”

“Shit, seriously!?” he made a face of disgust, “Give me his name. I’ll kick his ass. I swear.”

You sat there for a second silently staring at him. A bit embarrassed to admit the truth he had yet to realize.

Expectantly, he kept his gaze locked onto yours, waiting patiently for your response. Until you saw it click in his eyes, and his face turned to a look of utter disgust. “Please tell me you two did not just break up.” You avoided his eyes. His judgement, “Was there at least a break in there?”

You shook your head, “No…”

“Damn, girl. How’d you put up with that for that long?” Sympathy washed over his face.

Shrugging you offered the only thing you could think of as a reasonable answer, “It was comfortable? I don’t really know.” You leaned against the table, “He’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had, so I guess I just…didn’t really know when I was supposed to end it.”

“Maybe that’s just the thing with him.”

You hummed.

He continued, “He makes you feel like you’re where you’re supposed to be. With him. And your life revolves around him for so long that it just becomes the new normal, and you struggle to even remember what your life was like before you met him. Was it better? Was it worse? I guess it’s hard to tell when he’s worn you down so much that you can’t even think that hard.”

As much as it was so nice to have someone to understand your pain, your heart hurt for Wooyoung, too. You placed a comforting hand on his back. 

He smiled gently at you, “Well, I’m glad you're at least out of it now.”

“I’m glad you are, too.”

Things between him and Yeonjun had ended disastrously. About as bad as things could go. Wooyoung leaving the band had been kind of inevitable from the beginning. With all logic, it was just a fun thing for him to do throughout his university years. He had never planned for it to be a lifelong thing, let alone the career path that Yeonjun seemed to think it was. But when Wooyoung had told Yeonjun that he was leaving the group one month before graduation, it was chaos. A constant storm of accusations. Yeonjun berating his former friend for being a poser and a traitor. And Wooyoung scoffing at the man's delusions. 

You remember the countless hours you spent in Yeonjun’s room. In his bed consoling him. Telling him that it was going to be okay. And reassuring him that he didn’t need his help to keep the band together. Though you were secretly hoping to see Wooyoung move on to better things.

Peering up at him, you asked softly, “You don’t hate me, do you?”

He laughed through his nose, tucking you into his side and pressing his cheek into your forehead, “I could never. Actually sometimes I wonder why I never reached back out to you. Maybe I had figured you’d moved on.”

“I missed you, Youngie.” 

You felt him let out a content breath, “I missed you, too.” 

From behind you, you felt a pair of eyes on you, practically burning into your skull. You glanced over to see his painfully familiar face watching the two of you carefully. You tried to smile and wave at him, but he continued to stare, seemingly uninterested, before returning to his conversation with San.

“Oh, yeah…” Wooyoung muttered, “Yeosang’s here, too.”

“Mhm,” you sighed, a bit defeated, “And he still hates me.”

He nudged your hip with his, “Hey, he doesn’t hate you. You two just…probably have some things you need to work out.”

You glared at him, “That might be oversimplifying it.”

“Seriously, I think you just need to talk to him. At least for closure. Because I know the way you two left things left room for none of that.”

Of course, he was right. The last time you spoke to Yeosang, it was a massive fight. One that had left many wounds, the biggest one being the loss of your closest friend. Someone who had always made you feel complete.

“I’ll try.” It felt like an empty promise. The thought of going over there and talking to him made you honestly sick to your stomach. 

“Hey,” Wooyoung slid your beer back into your hand, “Don’t let it bum out your night, okay?” He looked back at the group and then smirking back at you, “So…Yunho?”

You took a sip to try and mask your smile, “What about him?”

“Don’t play dumb. What’s going on there? How’d you two even meet?”

You laughed, “Actually, I think you would really like this story.”

After chatting with Wooyoung for what felt like hours, you found yourself wandering back to Yunho. You could tell he was a bit tipsy from the light flush across his face. 

“Small world, huh?” He gestured toward your friend.

“Yeah I guess it is,” smiling fondly at him.

He lifts his hat off to readjust and ruffle his hair before placing it neatly back on his head. God you needed to get over your feelings about that hat. But you couldn’t stop looking at him. Something about the alcohol that was barely in your system and the way the smallest of his actions drove you up the wall had you feeling insane. 

But maybe it also had you feeling more confident. Perhaps a bit too confident.

“Hey,” You look up at Yunho apprehensively, “Do you wanna dance?”

His smile makes you nearly melt into the floor as he tips his head to the side, that stupid beige hat lopsided with the motion, “Of course, Doll. I thought you’d never ask.”

He takes your beer from your hands and discards it in the trash. Grabbing your hand and pulling you to the center of the barn where everyone is mingling and dancing together. 

You stumbled over your feet and braced yourself on his chest. He grinned down at you, “Well hello pretty girl.” 

He placed his hands on your waist to steady you. “Hi,” you whispered up at him.

He held you so gently. Letting you both sway to the song that reverberated off the wooden walls of the barn. But you paid no mind to the music or the dust at your feet or Wooyoung’s eyes that you could feel boring into your back. Too focused on the way you could hear the rustle of Yunho’s shirt as you danced.

As soon as the song picked up its beat, though, the two of you started to really have your fun. His hands found your own and he pulled you to him before spinning you around. He was careful with you, but not in a way that stomped on any of your excitement. You just felt…safe around him. And as many times as he spun you and dipped you and pulled you to him, you never once doubted his ability to keep you upright and in his arms.

Even when you tripped over your feet a couple times, he always made sure you were steady and balanced. And then he would proceed to giggle and tease you for being clumsy.

It was so carefree. Being with him made it so easy to forget that you were rotting in your bed just earlier that day. And it wasn’t out of a place of pity. He was just that kind of guy. The one who was so easily able to make you laugh with just his presence. And one that valued your happiness just because you deserved to be happy, not because it made him feel good to cheer you up.

And as the music kept going you could feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into his big brown eyes. Maybe it was just the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that this man, who seemed to embody everything you would want in man, had you in his arms, but your mind kept flashing with thoughts of lifting his hat off of his head and running your hands through his hair. Brushing your fingers over his cheek. Wrapping your arms around his neck.

As the music slowed, the space between you two shrank until there was virtually nothing between you save for the clothing covering your skin. Yunho’s hands lightly squeezed your waist, his eyes searching your expression for any sign of discomfort, “Is this okay?”

You nodded, letting your hands rest comfortably on his chest, “It’s perfect.”

Your eyes explored his face. Over his lightly flushed cheeks, over his beautiful eyes that tracked your every move, over the soft pink of his lips that made it impossible not to imagine them on your skin. You didn’t even notice when your hands slid from their place on his chest to the back of his neck. Holding yourself closer to him. The tips of your fingers brushing against the pieces of his soft hair that peaked out of his hat.

The sound of the music faded completely into the background. The only beat you could feel was the one of your hearts beating together in rhythm. 

“Fuck,” he said in a whispered breath, “you’re so beautiful.”

You pulled a bit of your lip between your teeth, “Yunho…”

He removed a hand from your waist and cupped your cheek, “Doll.”

You could only blink and look deep into his eyes. Trying to ignore the way your heart pounded erratically in your chest. Your ears drowning out anything but his voice.

“Doll,” he leaned in closer, and his eyes flicked down to your lips, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” you practically whimpered. Letting him fill the gap between you. Kissing you with so much need and desire. Like he’d been wanting this for months. For years. His arms wrapped around your back. Holding you as close as he could get you. 

And you let him kiss you so breathlessly that you had to gasp for air when he pulled away in moments. Grasping tight to the back of his neck. Only to be pulled back in by those deep, beautiful eyes.

His lips were so soft on top of your own. Just like you had imagined. But it was the way he held you that made you feel so safe. His arms around you like he’d never let you go. Like the comfort of having someone by your side for a lifetime. 

It felt like a lifetime.

An eternity.

You’d felt that before. 

When you had started dating Yeonjun at nineteen it had felt like a lifetime. And the way he kissed you the first time had made you melt into his arms. You’d rushed headfirst into that relationship. So sure that the sparks that flew between you and the tipsy butterflies filling your gut were enough to sustain the feeling you’d mistaken for love. 

And here you were again. 

Running away from Yeonjun and tumbling into Yunho’s open arms. 

Sweet, sincere, and beautiful Yunho who genuinely seemed to want something deeper with you. 

Who seemed to truly see you and want you despite knowing so little about you.

God, what the fuck were you doing?

Yunho pulled away from you immediately when he felt you freeze up in his arms. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked. His brows furrowed and voice gentle but still piercing through the loud music surrounding you. Concerned at the way you wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

You stumbled away from him, “Yunho, I’m so sorry.” Practically falling out of his grasp and in the next instant you were bolting out the nearest door. 

Yunho stared in shock as the barn’s side door slammed behind you. Glancing over at his friends, he saw that none of them had seemed to notice the incident. And with Rosie and Mingi nowhere in sight, he had no choice to run after you. A mix of fear of confusion guiding his steps as he chased after you. Momentarily losing sight of you in the dark expanse of the pasture.

The soft dirt revealed footprints that matched the pointed toe of your heeled boots along the side of the corn field. He followed them without a thought. Only racking his brain for what had gone wrong. Each step he took had him feeling sicker and sicker with dread. 

Fuck he had moved too fast. 

Never in his twenty-five years of life had he kissed someone without taking them on a date first. Let alone a woman who, before tonight, had not been single every time they had met. He knew he was jumping the gun when he asked Mingi to bring you tonight, though he wasn’t really sure if you were gonna show up. And just the brief idea that he had made you uncomfortable made Yunho want to curl up and die.

As your footsteps made the curve around the edge of the corn field, he finally saw you. Sitting in the old swing that hung from the massive oak tree that loomed over the pasture. 

His heart hurt when he saw you there. Hunched over and sobbing into your hands. With your back to him, he knew you couldn’t see him, but he was sure you knew that he was gonna come after you. Nevertheless, he stepped a bit heavier than he normally would, so you could hear him. Not wanting to scare you off another time.

You refused to turn around when you heard him coming up behind you, but you let your thumbs swipe away the tears that threatened to stream down your cheeks, taking a few deep breaths to try and get yourself together.

And when you caught a glimpse of him stepping into your line of sight, you finally dropped your hands from your face. Teeth gnawing at your lip. Trying to think of something, anything, to say to rectify the mess you had just created.

Because, truth was, that was probably the sweetest and gentlest kiss of your entire life, and maybe if you had held it together for two more seconds, you would have been able to explain your worries to him.

But instead, when you looked up from your lap to the man squatting right in front of you, hat clenched in his hands. And you couldn’t even find it in yourself to swoon at his flushed cheeks or the messy hair falling over his face, because all you could see was the distressed look in his eyes.

“Doll–” he shook his head, “Y/n, I’m sorry if I misread…Fuck.” He dragged a hand over his face and up into his hair, pushing the strands out of his face, “That was too soon. I’m so sorry. I should have never–”

“Yunho,” you cut him off. Still fighting back tears, “You did nothing wrong.”

“But–”

You put your hand up to stop him again, “Stop. Please. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should’ve never asked you to dance. I didn’t mean to give you false hope.”

His heart broke a little, and you could see it in his eyes, “C’mon, you don’t mean that…”

“I’m sorry,” your words came out in a broken whisper, “I’m just…I can’t do this,” you pointed at him and then yourself, “right now.” 

“Sweetheart,” he lifted a hand and cautiously placed it on your knee, and you let him keep it there, “I don’ mean to rush things. We can wait as long as you need and go as slow as you're comfortable with. I just,” he took a deep breath, “don’t wanna let you go.”

You placed your hand over his, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes despite how painful it was, “Yunho, you are such a sweet guy. And I know someday you will make someone so happy.” His head dropped forward, his forehead barely resting against your leg in defeat, “But that someone just isn’t me. Not now. And probably not for a long time. I have too many wounds to heal from Yeonjun, and I just can’t pass that burden on to you.”

He stood up from the ground and you lifted yourself up with him. Your heart nearly cracking in half at the tears streaming down his face, “You won’t even let me try?” His voice came out in a strained whisper.

You reached your thumb up to wipe a tear from his eye, selfishly letting your hand rest on his cheek. You shook your head. “I need time. Too much time to expect you to wait for me.” The hat he dangled in his hands, the hat you’d grown to love, bumped against your thigh. You grabbed it from him and slipped it back onto his head. Smiling sadly up at him “I believe in you, cowboy. You’ll find someone else. I just know it.”

Pushing yourself up onto your toes, you gave him one last kiss on the cheek. Before leaving him standing there in the cool night air. Wishing for a brief second that you hadn’t come tonight at all. But wishing even stronger that you would never leave.

general taglist: 

@swimmingkpopblog @oddracha @drinkingrumandcocacola @minaateez @funnyvxlentine 

@sunnysidesins @skzdust @princelingperfect @seomisaho @bigboymoozz

@fireseo @atzlordz @sunwoosbaby @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @kierraperkins3

@my-atiny-kookie-rkive @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @yunhoish @yoongiigolden

ateez taglist: 

@certifiedmoa @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @curiousgworge @hyukssunflower @hotteokisms 

@sushiinmidnight @atiny-dime-p1ece @mismatchfluffysocks @vic0921 @vampzity 

@breadpuddingboys @woolysium @desirehorizon @im-ovulation @pommelex 

@dancingwithdeities @maidens-world @jycas @kirbrary @aftertherain-atr 

@staytinyinmybpack @m4n4-s4m4 @jjcanwrite @yvnhoos @uninterested-ghost 

@yizhou-time @shinyj3lly @kyeos4ng @prettygirlslietoo

[starkwlkr]

Not a request (at least, technically 🤭) but if you’d ever write something specific about Hugh and his wife sharing the screen in Deadpool and Wolverine, and their kid’s reactions, I’m absolutely down for that

i love you in every universe | hugh jackman

an: sorry for the long wait!! texas is freezing and i’ve been getting a bit sick :( but i hope you’re all doing well <3

New York

The Jackman kids were busy with their own lives, but when Olivia suggested a movie day, they all cleared their schedules for the rest of the day. Since you and the kids didn’t attend the world premiere of Deadpool and Wolverine and had yet to see it, your family decided it was a good idea to watch it together in the cinema.

As Olivia grabbed her popcorn tin that was handed to her, Reese and Alex tried their best at the claw machines in the small arcade. You were still deciding what type of candy to get while Hugh patiently waited.

“Look, peanut M&M’s, you love those.” Hugh pointed at the box of candy on display.

“Better grab two, Olivia always ends up stealing them from me.” You chuckle as Hugh does as he was told.

“I’m sad, they don’t have the wolverine popcorn bucket. I was hoping to use it for my Halloween candy this year,” Olivia joined the rest of her family, Reese and Alex had been unsuccessful in winning a prize. “It’s your head, can’t you call Kevin Feige and tell him to send me one?” Olivia poked Hugh’s arm.

“Sure.” Hugh playfully rolled his eyes and walked up to the counter to pay for his family’s snacks.

As he walked away, the kids began to whisper to you, asking if you were in the movie. And like always, they got nothing out of you.

“I’m not in this! I was literally at home with you guys!” You tried to tell them, but they weren’t convinced.

Once Hugh returned, your family made their way to the designated house and sat in their assigned seats. You always loved watching the previews so you made your family leave a couple minutes earlier than intended. After each preview, Olivia would say “I’m watching that” or “eh”.

There were a couple more people around you so when the lights dimmed, Alex made sure Olivia stopped talking.

For some reason, you were nervous and excited. This was the first time your family actually sat down together in the cinema and watched something you and Hugh worked on. The moment was too perfect, it was definitely a memory you never wanted to lose.

Olivia danced and bopped her head to the opening scene while Alex and Reese lightly laughed. You remember Hugh texting you something about a dance scene involving Deadpool.

As the film went on, you were excited to the reactions of your kids when your character showed up. It would be after Wade and Logan arrive to the cave and meet Elektra, Gambit, Laura and Blade. Your characters were from different teams, but that didn’t stop Deadpool/Ryan from making jokes about your real life marriage.

“Who brought us here?” Deadpool asked.

“That would be me.” A female voice said.

You and Hugh turned your heads to watch your kids’ reactions as Laura entered. Olivia was so happy to see Dafne back that she almost screamed of joy. The Spanish girl was like a sister to Olivia. Alex gasped as Laura revealed herself while Reese had the biggest smile on his face.

“Oh shit. Logan that’s her, that’s X-23,” Deadpool informed Wolverine. “She’s the one I told you about.”

Both Laura and Logan kept their gaze on each other. Olivia wiped a fake tear, whispering to her father that it was beautiful to see Laura back.

“Wait, is there by any chance a Mrs. Hugh Jackman back there?” Wade pointed to where Laura had just come out of.

“You have such a big mouth and irritating voice, red.”

The screen cut from Wade to your character, leaning against the doorway of the cave.

“Holy f—” Reese choked on his soda, popcorn tumbling from Alex’s lap.

“Mom?” Olivia whispered in disbelief.

“Oh my fucking mother of god,” Wade gasped at the sight of you. He slowly walked up to you and touched your face thinking you were a ghost or something from his imagination. You swatted his hand away immediately. “You’re real. Logan, it’s your wife!”

“I’m sorry? Who the fuck is Logan?” You asked.

“That grumpy old man back there, but this is huge for the social media edits! I can already picture them. Anyways, I’m assuming your three little ankle biters are running around somewhere,” Wade said in an Australian accent, looking around for your ‘children’. “Tell the mean one she owes me ten bucks.” He then turned to the camera and pointed at it. “You know what you did, you piece of-”

Olivia couldn’t help but burst out laughing. It had been years since she and Ryan made a bet and she had lost.

“Okay! Are you done?” You interrupted.

“No, but thanks for asking sweetie pie,” Wade patted your head. “This is an even bigger moment than the US government asking Steven Spielberg to direct the moon landing!”

Logan groaned. “Can you not do this right now?”

“No, I will absolutely do this right now,” Wade quipped. He turned back to you. “I mean, seriously, you and Logan? You’ve been dancing around each other for how many movies now? And Kevin Feige still hasn’t made it canon? Unbelievable!”

“He understands me!” Olivia whisper yelled. The small comment made the Jackman family laugh.

You sighed. “Please shut up.”

“You are being a negative Nancy! I’m giving the internet what they want!” He attempted to wink but couldn’t because he had his mask on. “I mean look at the tension, people! The chemistry! Forget will they, won’t they—they definitely already did. Three times!”

The kids laughed throughout the scene while you and your husband watched with smiles plastered on your faces. You couldn’t even remember why you were nervous in the first place. No matter what you did in your film career, the kids would love it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To Those Who Wait 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: yeah, I couldn’t resist.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

When you’re alone, you’re not free. You are imprisoned in a cell of your own making. Inside your own body. You’re the one who threw that key away so why do you care now? 

You do. You hate that you do. You hate that your phone won’t stop vibrating. And that you know exactly why. 

You turn your legs over the side of the bed. Your eyes catch on the sparkle on your nightstand. A gold chain that isn’t yours.

The small medallion has an R on it. What was that name he used? Ransom? Doesn’t sound like a name, at least not one you’d give to anything but a rambunctious dog. 

You open the drawer and shovel the necklace inside. You slam it shut as you stand. You need to get your shit together. First thing, coffee. 

You’ve never been an optimist but you’re grateful Hugh left without you asking. That he didn’t stick around to rub your nose in the mess your made. Speaking of mess. You’ll have to throw your bedding in the wash. Maybe It’s better to burn it. 

Coffee on, a trash bag in hand, you set to overhauling your life. The sheets aren’t the only thing going. Your phone vibrates. The phone call flashes as you ignore it. 

You go back to the bedroom. A faint trace of his cologne lingers. You peel back the corners of the mattress sheet and bunch the rest of the bedding inside. You sheath it in the black plastic and tie it in a knot. 

You drag it out to the garbage chute and shove it until it drops down. You close the door heavily and return to your apartment. You drink the bitter coffee, sweet compared to your current state. You glance t your bedroom door and heave. 

You won’t even bother trying to sleep in there. Just the thought makes you uneasy. He’s ruined your safe place just like he ruined everything else. 

🛏️

The days are gruelling. Before, you didn’t mind being alone. You accepted that sentence, made what you could of it. You had hobbies. Now you don’t have the energy for them. You don’t see the point in them. Just distractions that can’t change your reality. 

Work is the only thing you can focus on. Not because it’s better, because you have to. It’s not the best job but you pay your own bills. You don’t have to rely on someone else to survive. You have yourself. It’s all you’ve ever really had.

How stupid you were to think you could ever have anything else? That someone could ever really want to have you. 

Hugh doesn’t want you. You’re not stupid. He wants to get off. It’s an ego thing or some sick fucking kink. How many guys did you hear say that ‘ugly girls are the fucking best in bed’ or ‘you can make an ugly girl do anything’. 

On your lunch, Vivica calls you. You answer if only to keep another notification from piling up. 

“Sup?” You ask dully as you break a cracker and let it crumble. 

“Oh, you know, wondering why I haven’t heard from you.” 

“Work. Busy,” you answer. You wait for a response. You cringe and make yourself speak. “What about you? What’s going on?” 

“Worried about you,” she insists. “You hate work.” 

“Sure do but it’s not really optional,” you shrug. “How was your night out?” 

“Which one? You haven’t been around.” 

You sigh, “are you mad at me?” 

“No, like I said. Worried.” She clicks her tongue, “look, that guy Curtis, he told me you’re not answering him either.” 

“And who gave you permission to give him my number?” You challenge as your scalp bristles. 

“Why didn’t you tell us about him?” 

You roll your eyes. “Well, obviously, it’s not working out so... that’s why. Same old.” 

“Seems like it could work out if you gave him a chance. He sounded pretty interested.” 

“It’s my choice,” you retort defensively. “It’s not the right fit.” 

“Cool,” she says sharply. “Sorry if I’m nosy but you haven’t told us anything about it. Or him. Or whatever is going on with you.” 

You close your eyes as they sting. You’re annoyed. You don’t want to talk about. You’re dying just to stop thinking about it. 

“Viv, you’re a good friend but you can give it up already. I’m a fucking loser and guys just aren’t that into me,” you sniff. 

“So why would he be asking about you?” 

“Please. Don’t act like you don’t know. I mean, that was a great birthday present. Probably preferable to the real thing. And I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not,” you scoff. “And no one has to pretend for me. It works perfectly.” 

“Oh, that was... everyone has toys. It wasn’t meant to be anything but fun.” 

“Sure, give the loser virgin some silicone so she can loosen up,” you spit. “You know what, I gotta get back to work.” 

She hesitates to answer, “fine. That sounds like a good idea. You're sooo busy so don’t waste your time on me. Bye.” 

“Yeah, bye.” 

You pull the phone from your cheek and tap the end button. You dab under your eyes then lean your face into your hands. Stop it. Don't be so stupid.

It wasn’t anything at all. You and Curtis. And obviously, Vivica only wanted to poke around. She probably can’t stand the idea of not having a disaster like you around to make her feel better. 

You’re just fine. You’re okay. You’re better off alone. Better for everyone that way. 

💔

Your apartment is overcrowded with the fog left behind by his intrusion. You can’t escape the stain he left on your existence. No matter how you try.

The showers don’t work. Even the bottle of wine you bought in desperation only took you back to the night at the hotel. Sleep isn’t an escape when you can’t close your eyes for more than five minutes. It’s all just meaningless. 

Everything you do is a farce. Pointless. Wake up, for what? Go to work, for what? Come home? Home?! Is that what you call this fetid place? 

A week. A week of ignoring the phone and that tick in the back of your head. A week of hearing a knock at the door that isn’t real. Of seeing shadows that aren’t there. 

Another day at your desk. Alone, despite the cubicles that pen you in, the buzz of voices on headsets, the clacking of keys, the clicking and scrolling. The trance of your denial stretches on. Your mind is not connected to the rest of you. Your fingers type without thought and your voice rises according to a script you recite by rote. 

“Hm, do you think the single king is better or the double queen?” The woman on the phone asks. You let out a sigh without censor. It’s the sixth time she’s gone back and forth. Each time you change the reservation type, you have to enter all the other details again. 

“It’s up to you, ma’am,” you utter. 

“I’m just thinking if maybe one of us wants to stay out a bit longer...” she hums. 

“I don’t care,” you blurt out and cringe. 

“Pardon?” She huffs. 

“Sorry, ma’am, nothing. Someone else was talking to me--” 

“No, no, that was extremely rude.” 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, okay?” 

“Really, because you don’t sound very sorry,” she snaps. 

You aren’t. You stay quiet. Shit. 

“I would like a manager.” She sneers. 

“Of course,” you tap hold and transfer her through. No point being upset, there’s worse things in the world. You would know. 

You take off your headset. It’s almost the end of the day anyway. You get up and refill your bottle at the fountain. There’s little expediency in your task. You’ll do one more call then clock out. 

As you return to your desk, Mallory approaches. You look up as she flips up her cat-eye glasses. You already know what she’s here about. 

“Would you like to come back and get your write-up or should I just email it over?” She asks sharply. 

You don’t care. You’ll take the flag. After five years of working there and not a blemish on your record, what’s one? You shrug. 

“Whatever works is fine with me.” 

She narrows her eyes, “problem?” 

“Nope,” you put your headset on. “Phone’s ringing.” 

You tap the answer button and swivel away from her. She puffs and stomps and walks away. You go through the usual, this time navigating the booking without issue. It’s a lot easier when people know what they want. 

You save the reservation and sign off. You just want to go to the apartment and shut your brain off. You can’t keep wondering when and if this ever stops.  

You pull on your jacket and hike up your bag. You skip the elevator and take the stairs, not wanting to bear the tedious elevator ride with people you only know by obligation. You stride out the doors ahead of a straggling group but your escape from the corporate purgatory doesn’t free you. 

You put your head down and turn along the street. You don’t get far before you hear your name. At first, you ignore it, certain that you misheard. When it comes again in that familiar voice, you groan and stop. You face Curtis reluctantly. 

“Oh, hi,” you utter dryly. 

“Yeah, hi,” he matches your tone. “You know, I’ve been texting. Calling.” 

“I’ve been busy. Work.” Your eyes stray without meaning to. 

“Is that it? Work? I’ve been worried. You couldn’t just send a courtesy text?” 

You shake your head and shrug. You can’t look at him. Then you have to face everything. 

“What did I do?” He steps closer and you back up. You roll your eyes as they burn and gesture apathetically. 

“Nothing.” 

He sighs, “I thought we were going good. I thought—I don’t get it. I don’t get you.” 

“Ha, alright,” you scoff. “Why on earth would you want to be with me?” 

“Huh?” 

“Oh, come on. Clearly, I’m a fucking loser. So, what was it? You wanted to fuck the virgin and go back and brag to all your buddies?” You sneer and stare past his shoulder. 

“No, that never mattered to me. Guess you think I’m the loser,” he retorts. 

You shrug again. 

“What is your problem? What the hell?” He gets even closer. “Something... something happened.” 

“Nothing happened,” you try to look at him and wince. You’re going to be sick if you do. “I’m not even a virgin so... big loss.” 

“That’s not--” he sputters. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

“No--” 

“Don’t say nothing--” 

“Nothing,” you snarl and step back. “You don’t want to be with me and I’m not going to pretend.” 

You spin and go to march forward. You stop short before you can race away. Curtis rams into your back as he goes to follow. He grabs your arms lightly as he steps back. You stare dumbly at the figure strutting toward you. 

Hugh smirks as he waves and you pull away from Curtis. You turn toward the street and stumble back as a car honks, coming close to the curb as you do. You’re yanked back again, this time harder. 

“Christ, you’re going to get hurt--” Curtis says, his voice overridden by another. 

Hugh whistles and calls your name again, “hey, baby.” 

You close your eyes as you try to hide from reality. Your feet won’t move, or your arms. You stand there, shaking as his footsteps echo over the sidewalk. Curtis lets you go. 

“Oh,” he utters. 

“Hey, where ya going?” You’re grabbed from the other side and you wrench away from Hugh, spinning to face both of them as your eyes snap open. 

“Right,” Curtis says grimly. You finally look at him as his eyes scale the other man. 

“Who’s this?” Hugh asks as he reaches for you again. 

“No, go away. Both of you.” 

“Ah, come on, baby, haven’t seen you since the weekend. That was lots of fun,” he winks. “Late night.” 

Curtis shifts and tilts his head. He glares at Hugh as his hands furl and unfurl. Your legs quake dangerously. 

“I said go,” you hiss. 

“I think you owe us an explanation,” Curtis says evenly. His cadence is worse than anger, it’s hurt. 

“I can explain but not with him here.” 

“You’ll talk now that you’ve been caught, huh?” He looks at you and you recoil. 

“Never mind,” you say. “Whatever you think it is, that’s what it is.” 

He stares at you, his chest rising and falling. 

“Oh, yeah, we’re fuck buddies,” Hugh interjects. “She gets bored and well, I can’t say no. She's feral. She begs me--” 

“Shut up!” You bark at him. 

“I mean, I’m not complaining. It’s an open sorta deal but seems like maybe there’s a few things she didn’t mention to you, pal,” he continues. 

“He’s not--” you turn back to Curtis, “he’s not that. He isn’t. He’s a mistake.” 

“Oh, a mistake? Was I a mistake when you were cumming all over me--” 

You spin and shove him as hard as you can. “Fuck off!”  

He grabs your arms and you wrestle with him. You stagger around under his strength before you’re nearly bowled over completely. Curtis jabs him in the chest and inserts himself between the two of you. You rub your forearm as you stare at his back. 

“She said go.” 

“To you,” Hugh scoffs. 

“No, you. Get out of here,” he squares his shoulders. 

“I’m not afraid of you. I mean, it’s pretty fucking pathetic to defend that slut after she--” 

Curtis doesn’t hesitate. His arm cocks and swings so quickly, you don’t realise what happened until the crack and the other man’s grunt. Hugh retreats as you look around Curtis. He cradles his jaw as you stay hidden behind the other. 

“Don’t fucking call her that.” He growls. 

“Fucking simp,” Hugh spits blood onto the sidewalk. “You really gonna be cucked like that? When I had her on my dick like a glove--” 

You notice the crowd gathering near the front of the building. You recognise a few of your coworkers. As Curtis steps forward, you catch his arm. 

“Please, he’s not worth it.” 

“You are,” Curtis insists. 

“Curtis,” you squeeze his sleeve. You don’t want him to get hurt by you. Not more than he already is. “I’ll tell you everything. Please.” 

He takes a breath and lets it out slow. Hugh straightens and pinches his nose, “I’d kick your fucking ass if I wasn’t wearing prada,” he keeps his head back and turns away, “prick.” He stops and glances back, “don’t worry, baby. You’ll see me around... you’ll feel me.” 

Curtis sways as if he might go after him but thinks better of it. You let him go and wring the strap of your bag as you watch him. You're hollow. You don’t think you can tell him everything. 

“Tell me then,” he throws an arm out and turns to you. 

“I...” you look around. “Not here.” 

His jaw grits and he exhales heavily, “fine, where?” 

“Uh... we could... there’s a juice place nearby. It’s never busy.” 

“Sure,” he pushes his shoulders up. 

You look down and turn away. You’re melting in horror. He hates you. You feel it roiling off of him. Your only hope is that he hasn’t walked away. Not yet. He could’ve made this easier and just not have shown up at all. 

You enter the juice bar. “I’ll get something so they don’t kick us out.” 

He sniffs and sidles past you. He goes to the table in the corner. You go up to the counter. The employees are chattering in the lull. You pay for a bottled kombucha then retreat to the table. 

You climb up on the seat. He stares past you at the window. His fingers tap on the table. Your lips part and his gaze darts over to you. 

“Well?” He growls. 

You shudder. How do you say it? Don’t explain, just say it. Once he knows, it won’t matter what excuses you have. He’ll go and you’ll be left with a bottle of fermented juice you don’t even like. Maybe this is how it gets better. Just end it. 

“He’s a prostitute.” 

He twitches and narrows his eyes, “what?” 

“Hugh, that guy. I hired him to fuck me.” You say it a bit too plainly and grimace. “Look, I was... the first time was before me and you... but I...” your eyes burn and you flick them to the ceiling. “I don’t know why I’m even trying to save anything. I was desperate. For anything. I went online, I found an escort, and I paid half my savings for the worst night of my life.” 

“First time?” He plucks out the words. There’s the twist of the dagger. 

“He showed up again. I... I’m not going to relive it just so you can ditch me so, please, that’s all you need to know. I’m a sad little woman who paid to get rid of her virginity. At thirty years old. Yeah, yeah, that’s why I know you don’t want to be with me.” 

You look at the table, hoping you might become a part of it. That you’ll fade into the air and be nothing. Feel nothing. He’s quiet. The low murmur of music grows to a cacophony as you await the inevitable. 

“You didn’t want to?” He asks at last. 

You rub your cheek, eyes glued to the table. “I did it, that’s what matters.” 

“You didn’t tell me.” 

“What-- what was I supposed to say?” 

“Anything. Something. You could’ve just answered me,” he reaches across the table, past the bottle of unwanted kombucha. Like you, dejected and disgusting. “Hey...” 

“I have the texts. And I can show you the deposit, if you really don’t think I’m that stupid,” you plunge your hand into your bag as you talk. You take it out and tap around. 

“Look at me,” he pleads. 

“Really, it’s right here--” you flick your thumbs and open WhatsApp, “the messages—wait? No. My account...” you thumb around and drag down the menu from the top. You search your notifications. ‘Account Deleted due to misuse report’. No... 

“It’s gone,” you drop your phone on the table. “I have no proof--” 

“I said look at me,” he repeats, grittier than before. 

You quiver and make yourself obey. You look at him as he leans to reach further across, “I believe you.” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t you? Look at me. I have to pay for it--” 

“Stop,” he commands. “I want you to stop that. Now.” 

“It’s true--” 

“I don’t care about him. About a stupid mistake. Shit happens. I’ve made mistakes too,” he wiggles his hand. “If I didn’t like you, do you think I’d be here?” 

You peek down at his hand. His knuckles are bruised. You frown and daintily touch his fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“He deserved it,” he turns his hand and clasps onto yours. “Want me to kill him?” 

You look at him again and furrow your brow, “stop, I don’t feel like laughing.” 

His expression is grey. Serious. For a moment, you really think he means it. Then he squeezes your hand and his face eases. 

“I had to try,” he mutters. 

You don’t know what to do. You’re entirely unprepared for this. You didn’t expect to see him again, let alone for him to just forgive you for ignoring him, lying to him, or for just being you. 

“You wanna come over?” He asks. 

“Oh, um... I don’t know.” 

“I hope you don’t think I’m like him. I’m not asking for that. I think you maybe you shouldn’t go home,” he explains. “Not after—he seems like the type to hold a grudge, doesn’t he?” 

“Uh, oh, yeah.” 

He's right. Hugh came back after he got his money. Why wouldn't he show up again?

“And we don’t have to watch scary movies. Maybe something less... anxiety-inducing for now,” he offers. 

“Yeah, maybe,” you breathe as the weight slightly lifts from your chest. Is this how it goes? Do people just work things out? 

“But I wouldn’t mind a little bit of cuddling...” he looks around evasively, “if you can keep it secret.” 

You smile. For the first time since you last saw him. “Oh, I’m great at secrets, aren’t I?” 

“As long as that’s the only one you keep,” he replies, his tone hanging ominously over you. You can’t quite tell if it’s a joke or a threat. 

🩶

Curtis takes you back to your apartment. He waits at the door, his paranoia feeding your own. Does he really think Hugh would come back that soon? Yet, what has he done to make you think otherwise? The fact he came back at all is scary on its own. 

You grab only a few things. Something to sleep in and an outfit for the next day, along with your phone charger and a few necessities to keep yourself human. You don’t look back as you leave. You’re happy to be away, if only for a while. 

At his place, you’re restless. You don’t want to be. You’re exhausted. The days filled with anticipation of the world shattering around has turned to the fatigue of fallout.  

“You good?” He asks as he drags his palm over his stubbly hair. 

“Good,” you lie. 

“He can’t get you here.” 

You nod and hum. 

“But that’s not what you’re worried about,” he says. 

“Why... not to sound ungrateful but why... why?” 

“You know, a lot of guys might get tired of having to repeat themselves but if I gotta tell ya every day how much I like you, so be it. As long as you’re there to hear it.” 

You nudge him without thinking and he tilts his head. 

“Sorry, it’s just... you don’t look like the cheesy type.” 

“Not cheesy. Honest.” 

That word stings. It could be nothing but it almost feels like a lash. You weren’t. You lied. You ran away. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop,” you turn away. 

“You don’t gotta. I’m just... checking. You hungry? I could get us some pizza.” 

“Oh,” you think about it but not very long as your stomach growls. You can’t remember if you had anything but coffee. 

“Is that a yes? What do you like? Anchovies girl, I know it.” 

You scrunch up your face and he snorts, “I don’t know what’s sexier,” he drawls. “Your smile or the way you look when you’re annoyed.” 

You roll your eyes, “stop.” 

“Stop what?” 

“I’m not... sexy,” you look away. 

“You are,” he insists. 

“No... I...” 

“Let’s see; eyes, gorgeous. Lips, delicious, and the way your booty kinda...” he traces with his fingers and your cheeks set alight. 

“Curtis,” you gasp. 

“A guy can’t help but notice. I also love a thrill and you scare me. Just a little,” he smirks. “So, toppings? Not anchovies.” 

“Hot peppers and whatever you like.” 

“Spicy. I knew it,” he proclaims. 

“Ugh, stop being so lame,” you chirp. 

“You first,” he throws back. “Go, get cozy. I’ll order.” 

You nod and give a sheepish smile, or an attempt at one. You take your bag into the front room and take out your pajamas. You go into the bathroom and lock yourself in. You sit on the edge of the tub and try to set yourself straight. 

There’s a glimmer of disbelief in you. It’s too good to be true. Did you really find a good one? 

You change as his voice drones from the other side of the door then quiets. You can’t shake that uneasiness that keeps you precarious. You still can’t trust that it won’t all break. 

You come out with your clothes under your arm, sure not to make too much noise. You tiptoe down and peek into the front room. Curtis stands with his back to you, by the chair where you left your bag. You creep up behind him and lean to see what he’s doing. 

At first you assume it’s his phone but the charm on the phone case assures you otherwise. 

“What are you doing?” You ask. 

He doesn’t startle. He merely faces you and clutches the phone tight. His knuckles strain and you look between his eyes and the cell. 

“Curtis?” 

“He’s texting you again.” 

“How? He deleted the conversation,” you try to see the phone and he holds it away from you. “Hey, give me the phone--” 

“Burner, I bet,” he backs away and puts his attention back to the screen. “Oldest trick in the book.” 

“Just block the number,” you say as you follow but he stays beyond your grasp. “Turn the phone off. It’s not--” 

“You have to promise,” he rears on you and you stagger. 

“Promise?” 

“To tell me. If, when he messages or calls or anything. I have to know.” 

“You don’t think—I don’t want him around.” 

“I know you don’t. I want to keep him away.” He insists. 

“Right, but--” 

“And you did lie to me. If I didn’t find out today, what’s to say he didn’t hurt you? If you really don’t want him around, it sounds like maybe you’re scared of him. Like he did more than you’re telling me--” 

“Curtis, I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” you swallow. 

“Neither do I. Do you think I like it? Thinking about you with someone else?” 

You whimper, “I thought... I thought... it was okay.” 

“I’m not...” he scratches his jaw, the friction coarse and loud. “I’m trying to help. I’m trying to move forward and if we’re going to do that, he can’t be around. Ever. And you can’t lie. That includes not telling me things.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I...” you avert your eyes guiltily. “I’ll never forgive myself.” 

He exhales and lowers the phone. He comes closer and holds it out to you. You take it without looking at him. 

“No, I’m sorry. I just... I got worked up when I saw what he sent.” He opens his arms, “come here.” 

He pulls you against him, your head on his shoulder. He holds you like that. You shiver against him. 

“What did he send?” You croak. 

“I’m sure you can guess the kind of nasty things he said,” he pets your head. “I got rid of it. And if he shows his face, I’ll get rid of him too.” 

You wrap your arms around him but find little comfort in his embrace. Something about his tone unsettles you. Get rid of him... He sounds like he means it. Like more than just blocking his number. How well do you really know him? 

[filmnings]

firstly,, THIS WAS SO GOOD. like i’m blow away. the fact that she was so against him, fought against him and every urge she had for him tooth and nail but relented in the end and made her feel sick… i love the characterization so bad. like damn i felt like i was getting gaslighted reading it, couldn’t even imagine how she felt. like he literally showed up at her door after she was hiding from him!!! talk about crazy. and that friend who gave out where she lives WILL be dealt with.

your writing is so pretty and i still can’t get over that ending line. it’s like,,, he’s so perfect and does all these things for her and says all these sweet words and is the perfect image of perfection yet she knows what the truth is when the gilded mirror shatters and she get a look at his blooded and bruised body. top tier writing and characterization!!!!!

hehe now into the live reading reactions! (◕ᴥ◕)

“There’s only one person who would ever show up at your door this late at night, and you’ve done everything you possibly could to avoid him for the past four months.” immediately i’m calling the cops.

“You hadn’t told him your new address, hadn’t spoken to him since the day you packed up your daughter and what little you had and left him, never looking back.” STALKER???? omg how did he even find her

“The knocking only gets louder and more aggressive to the point that you begin to worry that he’ll wake the baby.” if he wakes the baby i’m pulling out my bazooka and showing him a real bang

“blood drips into his bruised, swollen eye from a large cut on his forehead, just barely visible behind his wet hair sticking to his skin.” giggles and kicks feet—WAIT NO. sighs i love when they’re bruised and bloodied and miserable it makes them 10x hotter

“Don’t fucking call me that, Christopher. Answer my question.” OOOOOOOOOO NOT CHRISTOPHER

“You had a sneaking suspicion of just exactly where he had gotten that money from” MONEY TALKS~~~ DIRTY CASH I WANT YOUU DIRTY CASH I NEED YOU~~~~

“Who told you where I live.” “…A friend. Please, just take it.” that friend has 5 seconds to show themself before i light up the whole world

“You slide submissively to the side, open the creaking door open further for him to step into your living room.” i fear id let him in too

“I just want to see my baby girl.” excuse me you heathen????? you troglodyte??????????

“Something warm and heady swirls in your gut, unwelcome but in no way unpleasant.” she’s thinking about having his kid again LMAOOO me too

“I’ve been looking for you two for months. How am I supposed to keep you safe, my baby safe? I had to track my family down like dogs. What kind of mother keeps a father away from their child?” oh bitch please gtfo.

“She’s not your fucking baby, Chris! That’s my baby. Mine. You made that call before she was even born. You’re not her family, you’re hardly even her father— you’re nothing to her.” EXACTLYY!!! tell him!!!!

“You scoff. “If you really care that much about “our future”, you would have stopped this. Fighting for these clubs. The racing, the gangs. You would have listened to me and left it all behind, gotten a real job. Show me that you actually give a shit and aren’t just blowing smoke up my ass. You’re addicted to this, all of it. It’s sick.”” TELL HIMMMMM!!!!!!

“”Get out.” Surprisingly, he does. He takes one last long look at your fussing daughter before slowly turning and shuffling out of the nursery.” AND DONT COME BACK!!!!!!! (please do)

“All the muddy shoeprints and puddles of rainwater.” THE ASSHOLE DIDNT EVEN TAKE HIS SHOES OFF??????

“I know you still love me.” Chan professes boldly, a wild spark in his eye. “I know you do, baby— you know I love you too. More than anything. Why won’t you let this— us—work? Why are you trying to run away from me?” hehehehehe id fold like a fucking lawn chair LIKE…. “i know you do, baby” FOLDED.

“I’ve missed you so bad… please, baby, don’t ever leave me like that again.” GODDDDD keep begging

“Your eyes flutter closed as you bask in Chan’s affection, preen under his loving gaze and delight in the way he cradles you as if you were made of glass— you feel so precious yet so fragile, yielding to a man strong enough to shatter you completely, leave you nothing but a pile of dust and broken shards.” this paragraph. woah.

“All you can think of is how passionately Chan devoured you, the force of his kiss almost punishing, like a soldering heat that bonds metal. Yet it felt like anything but a punishment, doused in a honeyed sweetness that called to you like a drug, dragged you under the waves of dreamy tenderness, filled your head with thoughts of how good it would feel to let yourself drown.” YEAHHHHHHH, also, this last sentence oh my god

“Come on, say it. Say you want me.” AHHHHHH

“C’mon, tell Daddy how badly you missed this.” i was just found dead. DADDY KINK LOVERS!!!!!!!!!

““Tell me you love me.” Chan grunts abruptly” OH????

“You feel weightless, floating, satisfied… and that makes you feel sick.” THIS ENDING LINEEEEEEE.

THIS WAS SO FUCKING GOOD HELLO??!??!!!

𝓑US𝓣 𝓨𝓞UR 𝓚N𝓔𝓔 𝓒A𝓟S 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 방찬

you can't seem to get away from your ex husband, no matter how hard you try.

⧼ 🩹 ⧽ 一 𝓹a𝓲r𝓲n𝓰 ⸝⸝⸝ ex husband!bang chan 𝓍 fem!reader 𝓲nc𝓵u𝓭e𝓼 ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ unnamed oc daughter

𝓰e𝓷𝓻e ⚬ ⚬ ⚬ non-idol au, smut, angst, porn with plot

𝔀arn𝓲n𝓰𝓼 ⸝⸝⸝ dubcon, street fighter and underground boxer!chan, criminal!chan, mentions of jail and gangs, graphic descriptions of blood and injury, toxic and possessive behavior, toxic ex!chan, manipulation, explicit language and sexual content, soft dom!chan, degredation and praise kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampies, dirty talk, breeding kink, impregnation mentions, clit slapping, daddy kink, squirting 𝔀𝓸r𝓭 c𝓸un𝓽. 6. 2 k | ⧼ 🥊 ⧽ 一 𝓽𝓸 𝓵i𝓫rar𝔂.

♫ 𝓫u𝓼𝓽 𝔂𝓸ur 𝓴nee ca𝓹𝓼 ❪ 𝓳o𝓱nn𝔂 𝓭on'𝓽 𝓵eave 𝓶e ❫ 一 𝓹𝓸m𝓹𝓵am𝓸𝓸𝓼e

[n𝓸𝓽e𝓼.] my first fic on my new blog! something shorter to start out with <3 this took me a little too long to write i'm afraid since it's my first go at angst themes but i'm pretty proud of how this turned out! this isn't proofread, so please lmk if there are any mistakes! feedback is greatly appreciated <3

THE KNOCK ON THE door makes your heart fall to the pit of your stomach, cutting through the peaceful quiet of your kitchen like a knife. You drop the pot you were scrubbing in shock, clanging loudly as you grip the edges of the sink in a futile attempt to calm the pounding of your heart. At first you think— hope— that you were simply just hearing things, your little skyline apartment falling back into an uncertain silence sprinkled with the pouring rain outside, an atmosphere that no longer felt comfortable. But the knocking starts again, loud enough to be mistaken as thunder, ringing in your ears like alarm bells. You nearly jump out of your skin, your hands shaking as they reach out to turn off the water faucet. There’s only one person who would ever show up at your door this late at night, and you’ve done everything you possibly could to avoid him for the past four months.

It couldn’t possibly be him. It had to be someone else, your landlord or a neighbor or a maintenance man or anyone. You hadn’t told him your new address, hadn’t spoken to him since the day you packed up your daughter and what little you had and left him, never looking back. But you hadn’t called for maintenance, and you hadn’t heard from your landlord, and the way that his fist beat on the door as if it had somehow offended him was unmistakable.

You consider, for a split, mindless moment, that you could simply ignore him. He’s just a man, after all— a weak, spineless one at that, underneath that intimidating façade he loves to hide behind. He’ll give up and leave eventually, you try to convince yourself, but you know him far too well to fall into that blind hope. The knocking only gets louder and more aggressive to the point that you begin to worry that he’ll wake the baby.

The thought alone is enough to get your blood boiling, a red-hot anger overtaking any amount of fear or trepidation that kept you back. You refused to let this coward affect your daughter, wake her up without a single thought or care when you had just spent hours gently rocking her to sleep. Not after everything you’ve went through to keep him away from her.

You hurl the sponge into the sink with a scowl before spinning around and storming to the door. You wrench it open mid-knock, leaving the man on the other side of it standing there with his fist outstretched and blinking at you owlishly.

The sight of him shocks you to your core, despite how much you had tried to prepare yourself— blood drips into his bruised, swollen eye from a large cut on his forehead, just barely visible behind his wet hair sticking to his skin. The rain washes it away, down his chin to drip onto your welcome mat, staining it a faded red in the outline of his scuffed sneakers. He’s drenched down to the bone, the sharp ridges of his pecs and abs visible through his white tee shirt, the thin dark jacket he had draped across his shoulders doing little to protect him from the ever-worsening downpour. His dominant hand he curls protectively against his bloody abdomen; the knuckles are busted, and his pinky finger is twisted unnaturally to the side.

You look back up to his face just in time for him to flash you a weak, wobbly smile, a wounded ghost of the ones that used to send your heart soaring and fill your stomach with butterflies. His plump bottom lip is split down the middle, a jagged crater that threatens to open even further with every movement he made.

“Hey.” he croons, dropping his fist to his side, pained little smile dropping into more of a wince.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” you hiss venomously, praying to any god that would listen that he couldn’t tell how badly you were shaking. “How the fuck did you get my address? Go away before I call the cops. I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

“Come on, baby, wait—” you try to slam the door shut, but he catches it with ease, and even one-handed he’s stronger than you could ever hope to be.

“Don’t fucking call me that, Christopher. Answer my question.” You sneer, biting back hot, painful tears.

If any of your words hurt him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he extends his wounded hand, prying open his fingers with some effort to present you a bloody, crumpled wad of bills.

“For her.” He says simply.

Your eyes rake over the bills as if they were alien, hardly able to muster up the breath needed to scoff at him incredulously. “I don’t want your dirty money.”

You had a sneaking suspicion of just exactly where he had gotten that money from, it was written all over his busted, bleeding face— under no circumstances would you line your pockets with the bettings from street fights, feed and clothe your daughter with money that people had shed blood for. You had told him this when you had left him, given him the choice to leave it all behind or lose everything.

He chose the streets, and you kept your promise.

Yet you don’t have the strength to slam the door in his face, no matter how much you ached with the desire. Chan keeps the bills outstretched, the blood-smeared faces printed on them winking up at you, taunting you.

“Who told you where I live.”

“…A friend. Please, just take it.” He whispers, just short of begging. “I know how badly you need it. He told me you were struggling.”

“You don’t know anything.” you spit, but there’s no fire behind your words anymore. The rain has put it out, left you defeated, feeling betrayed, admiring how the streaks of lightning illuminate Chan’s hunched over silhouette. Your mind wracks itself for whichever one of his goons could have possibly caught sight of you, but you come up empty. You fear he may have found you through an inside source.

 Thunder booms in the distance, much like your heart. The helpless, desperate look in Chan’s big brown eyes sends the rest of your defenses crumbling to dust.

he tries to shuffle his way inside, and you let him— everything inside of you yells at you to stop him, shove him away and close the door, never to look at him again. But you don’t. You slide submissively to the side, open the creaking door open further for him to step into your living room. No matter how hard you try to convince your muscles to move or your mouth to open and retort, all you can do is stand frozen by the door, watching with wide eyes as he drips blood onto the carpet.

He tosses the stack of cash onto the coffee table, the bills unfurling and flying everywhere. You count sixty, maybe seventy thousand won, all those zeroes staring up at you as your mouth goes agape.

You had been losing sleep for days over having to tell your landlord that you would be late on rent for the third time this year. Somehow, you feel like Chris knows that, though it was impossible to tell how— it brought you back to all the times before where you swore that he could read your mind.

It seems that he still could, even out in those dark alleyways, on the other side of the city. Tethered to him. Just what you were afraid of.

“You’re getting blood everywhere,” you finally manage to say, your usually strong voice timid and weak. “at least let me clean you up.”

Mindlessly, you scamper back to your kitchen, bending down to rummage through the cabinet beneath the sink. your first aid kit was still in there somewhere, hidden behind a mountain of cleaning supplies and spare bottles, something from your old life that you had held on to just in case. It was as if you were moving in a trance, just sheer muscle memory, the situation all too familiar; you couldn’t count the amount of times Chan had come home just like this before, back when you were still together, beaten and staggering but grinning victoriously as you carefully clean and bandage him up. It used to excite you, even, in some sick, dark way. He never lost a fight.

But that was before you had gotten pregnant. Before the danger that lurked beneath the surface of your husband’s lifestyle creeped up on you and became all too real.

“I’m fine.” Chan replies gruffly, though the pain in his voice suggests otherwise. “I just want to see my baby girl.”

Your fingers freeze around the first aid kit, all the heat and color draining from your face. “You’re not seeing her.”

“You can’t keep me from her.” Chan replies coldly. “She’s my daughter, too.”

You jump to your feet so fast that your vision goes fuzzy, spinning around to watch with wild eyes as he balances his good hand on the wall and limps his way to the nursery. You hate how he still remembers where it is.

He smears a trail of blood across your tattered wallpaper. The sight of it shocks you into action.

“You get away from her!” You snarl, nearly leaping across the dining table to grab onto the sleeve of Chan’s jacket. “Don’t you dare go anywhere near her!”

He shoves you off effortlessly, his sheer strength nearly sending you flying back against the wall. “Stop acting like I’m going to hurt her.” He growls, making it to the nursery door in the time it takes for you to regain your senses. “You know I’d never let anyone lay a single fucking finger on her.”

He quietly cracks the door open and steps inside, leaving you to follow him biting your tongue— you can’t bear the thought of her waking up, especially now with Chan in the room. She hasn’t seen her father since she was born, and that was only because he had forced his way inside of the delivery room. He was essentially a stranger to her.

And, quite frankly, how she might react if she lays eyes on him again scares the shit out of you.

Chan staggers to the crib, quiet as a mouse, his large frame bending over the railings to look down into it. Your daughter lay on the mattress peacefully asleep, her little chest rising and falling with her soft, steady breaths. You’ve stared at her for hours before, studying every freckle, every wispy eyelash that brushed against her rosy, round cheeks. The way her nose is already starting to look like her father’s, his dimples forming around the upturned corners of her dainty little lips, always giving the impression that she was enjoying her dreams. Whatever they were, you took some comfort in knowing that they were, they’re better than what waits for her when she opens her eyes.  

Chan is nothing short of entranced, grabbing ahold of the crib’s railings with both hands, so tightly that his cracked knuckles were threatening to split back open. He gazes at her sleeping little form with a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before— a fire burning, but not one that hurt or destroyed. Not anything like the fire in his eyes you were used to. It was one that warmed and protected, the watchful, dutiful stare of a weathered knight in armor.

Something warm and heady swirls in your gut, unwelcome but in no way unpleasant. You fixate on his face, unable to look away, and watch awe-stricken as your ex-husband refamiliarizes himself with his daughter’s face.

“She’s grown.” He whispers, undoubtedly able to feel you breathing over his shoulder. His voice is flat and lifeless, but it starts to break at the end— he blinks hard, and you swear for a second that you saw his eyes shiny with tears.

“Oh, she’s a monster.” You reply easily, the rampant emotions swirling around in your head calming down at the sight of your baby peacefully sleeping. Talking about her is soothing, almost therapeutic. “Always hungry. The doctor says she’ll be nearly nine kilograms by the time she’s six months.”

“My little girl… she was so tiny in my arms…” Chan laments, lowering his eyes to look down at his hands. It was like he was looking at someone else’s, shocked by the dirty, bloodied state of them. He suddenly wrenches them from the railings and shoves them in his soaked jacket pockets, the act causing him to grimace with pain. In the peripherals of your vision, you see faint bloody fingerprints smeared across the white wood.

You struggle to keep your voice calm. “She’s gotten so big so fast… it feels like that day was just yesterday.”

Chan’s gaze hardens and grows cold again, his head spinning to stare you down with an ironclad sharpness. “Not to me!” he spits, gritting his jaw. “Not when you wouldn’t let me ever fucking see her, wouldn’t tell me where you were, how you were doing. I’ve been looking for you two for months. How am I supposed to keep you safe, my baby safe? I had to track my family down like dogs. What kind of mother keeps a father away from their child?”

Your shoddy mask of calmness cracks, red hot anger flaring back up again and rising to the surface. Your voice trembles terribly, but the disgust in your words is palpable. “She’s not your fucking baby, Chris! That’s my baby. Mine. You made that call before she was even born. You’re not her family, you’re hardly even her father— you’re nothing to her.”

The last comment strikes a chord within him. He stalks towards you, his dark eyes boring into yours, all that stormy emotion churning in them focusing directly onto you. Chan isn’t exceptionally tall, but you feel so incredibly small underneath him; he looms over you like some kind of predator, his lip curling back into a nasty snarl. “I’m nothing to her because you made it that way.” He seethes, his deep voice growing louder and louder. “Don’t you ever try to put it in my baby’s head that I don’t love her. Stop trying to convince yourself, for fuck’s sake— you both are absolutely everything to me, you know that. Everything that I do is for our future.”

You scoff. “If you really care that much about “our future”, you would have stopped this. Fighting for these clubs. The racing, the gangs. You would have listened to me and left it all behind, gotten a real job. Show me that you actually give a shit and aren’t just blowing smoke up my ass. You’re addicted to this, all of it. It’s sick.”

“You don’t fucking get it, do you?” Chan sneers, shoving his face up against yours. “You just can’t get it into your dumb, pretty little head. What kind of “real job” is gonna take an ex-con? Even if they do, I wouldn’t make nearly as much money as I can out on the streets. All I want to do is provide for you and our daughter; can’t you see that? I’m doing what I have to do to survive. My own future is fucking ruined. You two are all I have left.”

“And you’ll ruin ours too!” you laugh incredulously, directly in his face. “With all your blood money and all the enemies you make. You’re going to get arrested and locked up again, destroy mine and my daughter’s lives— fuck, you’ll get us all fucking killed! What if someone you beat wants revenge?! These are dangerous people, Chris!”

“That’s what I’m trying to protect you from!!” Chan roars, slamming his fist against the crib’s guardrail. His voice and the loud thump startles you, all three of you— you and Chan both peer down into the crib to see your daughter’s peaceful sleeping face screw up, her mouth opening to let out a shrill wail as she kicks out her little chubby legs.

Chan’s face falls, all the bitterness and anger leaving his body in a rush, like he had a bucket of cold water poured over the head. He looks the part, anyway, still dripping wet from the rain, tearing his eyes away from your own to stare down at your daughter as if she were a ghost. Your rage overtakes you to the point it can no longer contain it, your entire body shaking as you manage to grit out two icy words;

“Get out.”

Surprisingly, he does. He takes one last long look at your fussing daughter before slowly turning and shuffling out of the nursery.  Your eyes bore holes into his back as he retreats, expecting him to turn around at any moment with some more nasty words to sling your way… but he never does. He stays completely silent as he shoulders open the door, doesn’t even turn to look back at you as it clicks shut behind him.

Part of you wants to follow him, chase him out snarling and snapping like some guard dog, but your daughter’s frightened little cries tug painfully at your heart strings. Tears of your own pool in your eyes as you carefully lift her out of her cot and snuggle her against your chest, soothing your hand down her quivering back as she hiccups into your sweater. “Shhh, it’s okay… you’re safe, Mommy’s got you…”

You rock her until she falls asleep again, fighting the entire time not to break out into sobs yourself, and when you finally place her back down into her crib and slip out of the nursery, you’re not at all surprised to see Chan still in your apartment, hunched over on the couch with his head in his hands.

Your apartment looks like a fucking crime scene. For the first time tonight you’re able to take everything in, all the blood dripped on the floor and smeared on the walls. All the muddy shoeprints and puddles of rainwater. The cabinets under the sink are still swung open, your first aid kit left forgotten on the kitchen floor.

You don’t have the energy to be mad at Chan anymore, your gaze lingering back on his weathered frame. You don’t have the energy to feel anything except empty. Depleted.

Wordlessly, you pick the first aid kit off the floor and make your way to Chan. He lets you cup his face without a fight, raise it out of his hands so you can dab an alcohol pad against the cut on his forehead. The sting makes him wince, but he doesn’t try to move away, looking up at you with eyes full of stars as you wipe away the dried blood from his skin. The dim lamp by the couch cast dark shadows across his handsome face, bathing him in a sensual, intimate light. You can’t bear to look back into them, the way they make your heart twist painfully in your chest, deep chocolate brown so effortless to get lost in. You busy yourself with bandaging up his forehead, and then his lip, and then his busted hand.

“Why are you doing this?” Chan whispers softly, the question making you stop in your tracks.

“I… don’t know.” You admit after a long pause. You do it without thinking, just like when he first stepped inside. Your natural response after seeing him hurt so many times before, playing nurse while he boasts to you about his triumphs, fills you with empty promises and proclamations of love. Your hero, swearing to you that you were his savior. Everything in you still aches to soothe him, heal his wounds and numb his pain, be his guardian angel like you used to be before his suffering became your own.

If he were addicted to the fighting, you would be addicted to what came after.

“I know you still love me.” Chan professes boldly, a wild spark in his eye. “I know you do, baby— you know I love you too. More than anything. Why won’t you let this— us—work? Why are you trying to run away from me?”

Your fingers pause in the middle of wrapping up his knuckles in gauze, quivering slightly as you let out an agonized sigh. “It’s not about whenever or not I love you, Chris. I have to put our daughter first. I have to make sure she’ll be safe and happy.”

You barely manage to finish bandaging up his hand, your knotting work far from the best. The minute you let go of him he pulls you right back, his big hands enveloping yours and squeezing tightly. “She will be, I promise. I’ll keep both of you safe, never let anything happen to either of you— I’ve got the means to keep you protected no matter what happens. You’re my everything… I’m so lost without you.”

His bandaged hand slides up to caress your cheek, his skin so bitterly cold. “Channie…” you warn, but you’re the weakest you’ve been all night. Chan can see it in your eyes.

“I was so fucking worried about you.” He continues softly, hushed like he was kneeling for confession. “I’ve missed you so bad… please, baby, don’t ever leave me like that again.”

Breaking feels a lot like letting go. Dropping all your fear and worry, any semblance of rational thought to finally allow yourself to nuzzle into Chan’s touch. He knows you too well, always knows exactly what to say to get your walls to come crashing down, what to do to when the smoke clears and you’re left defenseless amongst the rubble. Because, underneath all the piling resentment and hatred, the divorce, the distance you’ve been fighting for, you truly do still love him. You fear you always will.

Your eyes flutter closed as you bask in Chan’s affection, preen under his loving gaze and delight in the way he cradles you as if you were made of glass— you feel so precious yet so fragile, yielding to a man strong enough to shatter you completely, leave you nothing but a pile of dust and broken shards.

You’ve never felt safer.

“God, you’re so pretty…” he whispers awestruck, under his breath almost as if he were talking to himself. His thumb maps out the curve of your cheekbone, down, down, down to your pliant, pouting lips. The pad of it is hardened and calloused, rough against the soft skin of your bottom lip, but the sensation leaves you aching for more; you open your eyes to bat your eyelashes up at him, open your mouth to invite his thumb to creep inside.

The flash of carnal, animalistic lust in his eyes sends a wave of liquid fire coursing through you, down your spine to where it pools heavy in your belly. You purse your lips around his thumb and suck it in deeper, hollowing your cheeks as if you were sucking on something else entirely. Chan groans deep in his chest, his other fingers curling tight around your chin to pull you towards him. “Fuck. Come here, babygirl.”

You surge forward to capture your lips with his, and he meets you halfway; the pillow softness of his lips are hauntingly familiar against yours, yet somehow they feel completely brand new, like uncharted territory in a land you’ve ventured in countless times before. Any chastity is quickly tossed to the side with the heady sensation of his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, the warmth in your belly heightening into a wild swirl. You’re shocked by your own eager response, opening up immediately to let him ravish your mouth with a forceful domination that left you weak. He pulls you effortlessly onto his lap, your legs spreading to wrap instinctively around his waist, the closeness of your bodies maddening. Your blood pounded in your ears, leapt from your heart with a scalding fire, and made your body tremble, senses reeling as if you had short-circuited. Clashing emotions whirled around in your head, but your consciousness had left you the minute your lips made contact with his. All you can think of is how passionately Chan devoured you, the force of his kiss almost punishing, like a soldering heat that bonds metal. Yet it felt like anything but a punishment, doused in a honeyed sweetness that called to you like a drug, dragged you under the waves of dreamy tenderness, filled your head with thoughts of how good it would feel to let yourself drown.

You kiss him back with reckless abandon, hands reaching out to hold him, anywhere you possibly can— the wispy hairs at the base of his neck, the worn leather of his jacket, the grooves of his defined muscles through the fabric of his wet tee shirt. He crushes you against him, swallows you within his big beefy arms, one of his hands running down the small of your waist to grab a fat handful of your ass. You gasp against his mouth as his touches grow bolder, massaging the globes of your ass and guiding your hips to glide against his. The outline of his half-hard cock pokes at you through his jeans, growing thicker and stiffer with every passing second, pressed perfectly against the curve of your cunt. Your sleep pants are thin enough to where it feels like you’re wearing nothing at all, and when Chan cants his hips up his bulge grinds right against your clit. He does it again, and again, until you’re squirming helplessly against him, panting and moaning into his mouth.

“Chan, we can’t do this…” you manage to stutter out between kisses, the reality of the situation finally beginning to dawn on you again. But Chan ignores your plea, his lips leaving yours to sear a path down your neck and shoulders. He nibbles at your skin, kisses the pulsing hollow at the base of your throat, distracting you enough to slide one of his hands to cup your pussy.

“Yes we can.” He croons against your heated skin, hot tongue escaping between his lips to lick a tantalizing stripe up your neck. “I can feel how wet this pussy is, baby, how needy you are for me. Just let me in, princess, let me take care of you…”

He slides his fingers down your covered slit, your clothes sticking to your mound with your sopping juices, drenched to the point you can’t possibly hide your arousal. Your engorged clit aches, empty hole clenches around nothing… you whimper pathetically in defeat.

“Come on, say it. Say you want me.”

You really were nothing but an addict. Addicted to the power he holds over you.

“fuck, oh f-fuck— right there!”

Chan knows every single spot inside of you to make you scream, his thick cock hitting each one expertly with each of his powerful thrusts. The angle he has you bent in makes you see stars, his big rough hands clasped tight around your ankles to push your legs up against your chest and spread you wide open— he’s never fucked you this roughly before, his feet planted on the mattress to pound into you animalistically, but even then there’s still a bitter tenderness to the way he holds you up against him, gazes down at you in rapture as you fall apart beneath him.

“Yeah? Right there?” He coos, deep Aussie accent dripping with poisoned honey, “Feel me all the way in your tummy, baby? Feel this fat cock splitting you open? Fuck, you’re so tight, sucking me in. Greedy little cunt.” He lets go of one of your ankles to press down on the bulge he’s made in your belly, your trembling leg curling over his shoulder in ecstasy as the pressure in your core increases.

“So deep!” you hiccup stupidly in reply, fisting the sheets as your world explodes and shatters behind your eyelids. His bulbous cockhead slams repeatedly against your cervix in a punishing rhythm, so deep inside of you that you mindlessly fear that he’s pushed through and was fucking your womb. “Deep! S-so fucking big!”

Chan growls like a beast, his efforts doubling in speed and intensity, “Missed this cock, didn’t you, princess? God, listen to how fucking wet you are. Hear how badly this cunt needed me?”

He emphasizes his claim with a particularly harsh thrust, your pussy squelching obscenely around him and filling your dark, quiet bedroom with loud, filthy noises. “C’mon, tell Daddy how badly you missed this.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you worry that you’ll wake up the baby again. Chan fucks you loudly and shamelessly, like he doesn’t care that your daughter sleeps in the room just across the hall... the thought reignites your anger.  You want to accost him, defy him, tell him that you didn’t miss him at all. That you weren’t desperate for him to make you cum and finally leave you satisfied after months of frustration. That you didn’t think of him at night when you played with yourself, or when you took another man to your bed, because as much as it agonizes you no other man has ever made you feel as good as he does. But you couldn’t string the words together, could hardly even think with how pleasure coursed through every fiber of your being. Besides, Chan knows when you’re lying.

“M-missed your c-cock,” you admit between whimpers and moans, your face burning with shame and arousal. “M-missed Daddy’s cock so fucking much, needed it so bad— oh, fuck, Chris, Daddy, please—!”

Chan snatches your hips and tugs you roughly towards him, lifting your bottom half up off the bed to fuck into you impossibly deeper. Your mouth falls open in a gasp of sweet agony, arching your back and tossing your head against the pillows. The show of sheer strength gets you impossibly wetter, your juices coating his heavy balls as they clap wetly against your ass. “Good pussy.” He grunts, his fingers digging bruising indents into the flesh of your waist. “Love this pretty little pussy— gonna fuck it ‘til it’s molded to my cock. Gonna ruin you for anyone except for me. This cunt belongs to me, doesn’t it, baby? God, look at you… taking it like such a good girl.”

His words make your head spin, a searing need building in your core, molten lava beneath your skin heating your thighs and groin. It feels divine, better than you ever remember… but it’s not enough to send you over the edge, give you that release you crave so desperately. “Need more,” you keen, “More, Daddy, please!”

“Greedy girl.” Chan chuckles darkly, the sound going straight to your cunt. “Tell me what you need, baby, and I’ll give it to you.”

You can’t respond, fucked so stupid you don’t know what you’re begging for— Chan tsks like he’s disappointed, letting go of your hips with one hand to grab a rough fistful of your hair. He tugs your head up to look at him, dark eyes dripping with lust and delicious dominance; you struggle to keep your eyes open, your vision swimming and your eyelids drooping from the onslaught of pleasure Chan continues to pound into you. “Too dumb on cock to speak? C’mon, pretty girl, tell Daddy what you want him to do to you.”

He tugs on your hair again, pain erupting across your scalp. It blends with your pleasure to create a heady, dizzying cocktail of ecstasy. You cry out in delight, letting go of the bedsheets to scramble for something sturdier to hold on to, ground you— your hands find purchase on your own tits, bouncing with Chan’s thrusts, and you knead the plump flesh with a wanton sob, your fingers twisting and pinching at your nipples hard enough to make you shake.

“My clit!” you finally manage to whimper out, broken and pathetic. “My clit, my clit— touch me, touch my clit, please!”

He does as he promised, leaning back to spit messily on your clit before letting go of your hair to circle the bud with his thumb. Your head falls back limply onto the pillows, hazy eyes rolling back in your head as you sob and hiccup in uncontrollable pleasure.

“Gettin’ close, babygirl? I can feel it, pussy squeezing me so tight— I’m close too, fuck, gonna cum so fucking deep inside of you!” Chan’s thrusts grow sloppy, his chest heaving as he pants open-mouthed like a dog. “How about that, hm? Want me to put another baby inside of you? So everyone knows not to touch what’s mine? I’ll breed this pussy so fucking full you’ll be dripping my cum for days…”

His words should scare you, should break whatever spell he’s put you under and have you begging him to pull out. But you’ve slipped away from reality, floating mindlessly in an erotic fantasy you’ve convinced yourself is too good to be true. You don’t want to wake up, don’t want to think about what lies ahead of you once Chan leaves your bed once again. You babble and beg for his cum, for him to bring you to your own climax, scratching deep red marks into his chest. They look at home amongst all the bruises.

“Tell me you love me.” Chan grunts abruptly, the rhythm of his thrusts slowing down to barely moving, his cock dragging along your gummy walls deliciously buy far too slowly.

You blink up at him in shock and confusion. “H-huh?”

“Tell me you love me and I’ll make you cum.” He repeats, his eyes boring into yours, a knowing look in his eyes like he can see into your soul. “I love you so much, and I’m gonna show it with all this cum I’m gonna pump into this sweet cunt… don’t you love me too? Just say it and I’ll give you what you want, what you need…”

You’re just on the precipice of orgasm, teetering on the edge but unable to push yourself over, and your poor heart feels so exposed and raw… you can’t help but relent to him, succumb to his desires like you always do.

“I love you! I-I love you, Channie, Daddy, love you s-so much— ah!!”

His hips pick up to a speed that seems nearly superhuman, rutting into you wildly like an animal in heat as he grunts and groans, pinches your clit hard between his thumb and forefinger to make you scream. It feels so good, too good, and big watery tears roll down your cheeks as your body begins to vibrate with your orgasm. You’ve never cried during sex before.

“Let go, my love.” Chan croons, slapping your clit lightly. “Let it all out…”

Your orgasm hits you like a tsunami, a tidal wave of explosive hysteria— with a shriek you squirt everywhere, all over Chan’s hand, belly, thighs, creamy droplets flying with every nasty wet thrust. Your gummy walls spasm around his cock, sucking him in deeper as if to ensure you milk him dry. “That’s it, babygirl, cum for daddy!” Chan howls, intent on talking you through it even as he creeps closer and closer to climax himself. “Fuck yes, such a good girl, making a mess for me— gonna cum now, too, gonna breed this pussy! Ready for it? Gonna take it all, right princess?”

“Yes! Yesyesyes, please, please! Give it to me, daddy!”

He shoots his load deep inside of you with an animalistic growl, hot and thick painting your walls creamy white. It feels never ending, fat cock twitching with every spurt of seed he dumps into your womb, filling you up so much that thick globs of it spills out around him and drips down his balls to mix with the puddle forming on the soaked bedsheets. His legs give out and he collapses against you, gasping for breath with his face buried in your chest; you wrap your weak, trembling arms around his neck, and the two of you dissolve into breathless giggles as you slowly grind against each other ride out your highs. When Chan finally pulls out you see a foamy white ring around the base of his softening cock, sticking in his pubes.

You can feel your spent cunt leak his seed, dripping down your ass— Chan stares at in in awe, his fingers sliding up your sensitive folds to collect it and push it back inside.

“So beautiful…” he whispers, grinning as he admires your creamy bred pussy. His fingers at your hole makes you whimper in overstimulation, and you try to close your legs and squirm away, making him laugh. His eyes crinkle in that adorable way you hate to love so much. “You’re so beautiful.”

You don’t have the heart to make him leave, not when he runs you a warm bath and cleans you up so nicely. Not when he strips the bed and changes the sheets for you so you can lay comfortably, holding you close and whispering sweet nothings into your hair. Not as he promises to you that he’ll change, that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you in his arms, that white picket fences are just over the horizon. You feel weightless, floating, satisfied… and that makes you feel sick.

©YEONINGZ, 2025. please do not repost, copy, or translate any of my works in any way, shape, form, or fashion. all rights reserved.

S𝒯RA𝒴 K𝒾DS 𝒯A𝒢L𝒾S𝒯 ⪼ @enigmaticaphrodite , @jellymochii , @dwaekkicidal , @11vr1 , @yunverie, @arcturus444, @love-ning

to join my taglist, please fill out my google form here, or send me an ask!

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

yes, ma'am

Dave York x dominatrix!reader | 9.5k w | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. he needs professional help. aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. good thing he has your number.

warnings: sub-ish!Dave (how sub can a born dom be?), dominatrix!reader, no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied, Dave is a good husband and father™️, Molly throwing up, slight humiliation (the boy being called dummy <3), slight ball torture, (guided) masturbation (m), finger sucking, petnames (ma'am, good boy, love), cum eating, slight shoe worship, dick+pussy pronouns, reader wears lipstick, nail polish and stilettos, squint and you miss unprotected PinV; dm me if I missed any

a/n: my submission for @wannab-urs dmamc 2025. i had so much fun domming my man and I tried to make it believable because, well, he's Dave 'the dom' York. enjoy another character study including his dick. thank you @guiltyasdave for the beta and constant love, even though sub!Dave isn't your cup of tea 🥹💛

"Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time."

“Fuck!” His hand slams down on the steering wheel, once, twice. Again, again, again, until his palm hurts and the thrumming pain helps him to push aside the anger boiling inside of him. He rips down his beanie, ripping out a few hairs as well, not giving a shit about it.

He fucked up. If it wasn’t for his partner the mission would have gone south completely, pulling him along. The plan had been perfect, the preparations perfect as well. All he had to do was to pull the trigger and take the target out. But he fucking missed. He fucking missed. Hit the target into the shoulder, and if Dave’s partner didn’t take initiative and put a bullet through the target's head… He doesn’t want to think about it.

He already saw his domestic life passing before his eyes. The police arresting him at home, his daughters terrified and not understanding why they would take their daddy away. Carol at the trial, being questioned if she really didn’t know about her husband’s assassination side hustle, her face puffy and red from crying.

Dave hisses out another curse, hitting the hard wheel in front of him again.

He could always just disappear, always has an emergency duffle bag stowed away with fake IDs and some cash. But he wouldn't stomach it, couldn't stomach it, leaving his family behind.

It was a close call today… He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, the tail lights of his inconspicuous car slowly blending in with the dozens of others on the nightly roads as he heads home to his inconspicuous life.

The next few days were difficult, to say the least. His higher up at the CIA was a pain in the ass, deadlines were piling up, Molly got sick and needed attention and care, Carol needed his support, the almost-failed mission was still breathing down his neck… He needed a break and there was no break in sight. Not now. His family needs him, his job does, he needs to fucking function now.

“Daddy, ‘m not feeling good,” Molly mumbles, curled up on the couch, her head in Dave’s lap while he’s working on a report on his laptop.

“Just a second, baby.” He’s almost done, he just needs a minute and the worst part of his report would be finished. Molly stirs on the couch, hastily now. God damnit.

“Daddy…” Her little body starts trembling and with a shudder and a sound that makes Dave’s heart hurt, she slumps over and pukes. All over his notes. Over his pants he had just picked up from the dry cleaning. All over the cream colored couch that Carol wanted so badly and that looks like shit now. All over his laptop. The screen flickers a last time before it goes dark.

“I'm so sorry… Please don't be mad, Daddy.” Molly starts crying, feeling sick and miserable, her little hands shaking as she grips her ruined blanket.

The vein on his neck, he feels it throbbing. His laptop, his fucking work laptop, broken. The sticky, disgusting warmth of what once was chicken soup seeps through his trousers and makes his eyelid twitch.

Just pick your baby up, just comfort her, just help her change into new pajamas, just be a good father, just be good…

“Daddy?” She sounds so fragile, her voice nothing more than a weak breath. She clumsily pushes herself up and accidentally nudges the laptop off of Dave’s knees. The carpet swallows the low thud when it hits the ground, but the cracking of the screen is still very much audible, just as much as Molly’s shocked gasp.

“You broke it. You fucking broke it, Molly,” Dave hisses and is on his feet in an instant, his daughter toppling back onto the couch, now crying even more because she upset her dad.

He doesn’t look over to her but picks up his laptop, trying to bring it back to life. The muscles in his jaw clench when Molly’s sobs start pealing in his eardrums. Dave turns towards her, a barked shut up already on his tongue when Carol appears in the doorway.

One quick look is enough for her to assess the situation. Their crying daughter, a picture of misery and guilt written all over her pale face and Dave, nostrils flared and one hand balled into a fist, the unmistakable smell of vomit reaching her nose… No, this wasn’t good.

“It'll take it from here, Dave,” she says when she strides past him. “Go and calm down.” There's no bite to her words, bite wouldn't do any good at this moment. It would only make it worse, make Dave lose the last bits of reason.

Carol scoops Molly up in her arms, pressing a few soothing kisses to the little girl’s temple. She looks over her shoulder and gestures towards the door with a tilt of her chin as if to say please, just go.

And he does. He flees from the living room and the feeling of shame that starts licking at his insides. It gets too much. A thought crosses his mind, a simple calculation, it has been almost ten months since…

A shiver runs through him and he shakes the idea off his mind like a dog tries to shake off an annoying tick. No, he wouldn't need to do it this time, there sure is another possibility to finally get a grip on his life. He just needs to focus more. Needs a better sleep regimen. More training. More protein. More control over all the small bits and pieces of his life.

Dave shuts the door to his home gym behind him and gets to work. If his muscles are trembling and his lungs are begging him for air, he has no time to think about what kind of an asshole father and husband he is. And so he starts tormenting his body to shut off his mind, to keep the guilt and shame at bay. For now.

That night, when he slips under the bed sheets, almost silently to not wake his sleeping wife, the idea creeps back into his head. Like a tick it has sunk its teeth into his skin and he can’t seem to get rid of it since the first time he has done… it.

It has helped him before, more than he likes to admit it. But he hates it. Because he cannot do it on his own. Because he needs someone else doing it for him, to him. And Dave never liked to be dependent on something or someone.

The sheets rustle and Carol’s hand finds his own, wrapping her fingers around his in the darkness as if she was trying to comfort him. But in reality she wanted his comfort and soothing. Dave wasn't a man who was dependent. Because he always was the man everyone else depended on.

He turns on his side and lifts her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to Carol’s knuckles.

She hums, shuffles closer, her feet slipping between his calves. After a moment of content silence a murmur crawls over the pillows to Dave and settles right on his chest, where the thought about it sits and gnaws at him like a night terror.

“Maybe… maybe you should go see that therapist again? They really helped you the last time.”

Therapist. That was what he told his wife you were. And the things you did, it was therapy. It is, in a way. It helped him. And he hates that it does. He hates that he can’t function like he needs to. He hates that Carol sounds so timid when she suggests therapy, afraid that he could snap at her, too, because she dares to point out his weakness.

He sighs, her soft knuckles still held against his lips. “Is Molly okay?”

“She’s a little better, yes.”

The silence weighs heavy for a moment, Carol’s unanswered question pressing down on Dave’s rib cage. Or is it the feeling of guilt? About being a shit show of a father and husband? About needing you to function, even if it all feels so wrong but afterwards it always feels good and right and he feels better, every damn time?

“I'll make an appointment,” he murmurs and his lips find her ring finger, kissing the spot where the simple golden band always sits. She never takes the ring off, just like him. Carol nestles into his arms, the relief clear when she whispers her thank you, I love you into the hollow between his clavicles. God, he is such a failure, he thinks to himself with his wife in his arms and you in his mind.

You are completely booked out. Months ahead. Of course you are. There never is a shortage of people who want your services. Or to be exact, who need them. So when you received the request for an appointment “asap, ma'am”, signed by David York, you told him you were free again in three months. But then another customer canceled their session and because you like David, you give preference to him.

So a week and a half later you find yourself entering the bar of the Rosewood, one of the finest hotels of the city. Doors magically open because there’s always some finance or marketing guy holding them open for you. Each step with your pointy high heels parts the crowd in front of you and is paved with sleek smiles and licked lips of the men who move out of your way.

You pay them no mind, they only exist at the periphery of your focus. They are not important and will never be. What is important is your customer for this day. You recognize him, the way he sits at the bar, one foot on the footrest of the empty stool next to him, the other one firmly planted onto the ground. Just another pretty man in a suit, interchangeable for most who might look at him.

But for you he was different. A customer, first and foremost. A challenge, too. And he's probably the only man in this bar who is not doubling over to get a crumb of your attention. You had to work for what your customers usually give you gladly and freely: their acceptance and sometimes even devotion.

That is why you like Dave York, because working for him and with him is rewarding. It satisfies you to no end to finally turn his smoothness into something with cracks and weaknesses. And to have him thank you for it.

One of the many men in suits in this bar moves from his place on the outer borders of your attention into the spotlight and obscures the view on Dave. The guy looks you up and down, tries to smile a flirty smile but all you see is a pathetic obstacle. Your mouth already opens to tell him no to whatever suggestion he wants to make, when a big hand lands on the man's shoulder.

Thick fingers, blunt nails, a simple golden wedding band. You look past the surprised strangers face and find Dave, standing behind the man.

“Sorry buddy, not tonight,” Dave tells the man. For a moment they look at each other, like two wolves who found a piece of meat and now silently fight for ownership. Two alphas in suits. But only one of them is a wolf, the other one is just a dog.

“Not ever,” you add when you pass the stranger. The sting of your words gets soothed by your sweet smile, showing off your wolfish canines as you do. Your gaze meets Dave’s own. Two alphas looking at each other again, this time both are wolves.

You don't even bother to care about the other man who disappeared into insignificance as quickly as he had the guts to peek his head out of it. Your focus is solely on Dave now. He looks tired, frail even in the small details of his facial expression. He already looks cracked, maybe you wouldn’t have to work as hard as usual today.

“It has been a while.” You sit down at the bar and Dave gestures for the bartender. He always orders you a drink before you both go up to the booked suite. He never not acts according to the unspoken rules of those kinds of arrangements. He is polite and respectful, even if the air around him very much tastes like aversion. Not against you as a person or the work you do. The aversion is directed against himself and the fact that he was sitting in this bar with you and not at home with whoever was waiting there for him.

He nods his head. That would have to do as an answer. “The usual?” he asks instead when the bartender waits for the order.

“The usual,” you confirm and watch Dave order your vodka on ice. It is a nice change of pace, to not talk and to enjoy the silence, to stretch it like a fabric until it becomes see-through and the silent words between them become audible. Two wolves, dressed in white shirts and blouses, in polished shoes, mustering each other over the rims of their glasses. Sizing each other up.

You take a big sip of your vodka and set the glass down. There’s still a good portion of the booze left, but you need to keep a clear mind for what comes next.

“Are you done?”

Usually he obliges and leaves the rest of his drink on the counter, usually he wants to get over and done with it, with you, with himself. But tonight his need for some more liquid courage is bigger.

“Not yet, ma'am.” His legs spread a little more when he leans back on the barstool. Not in a sleazy manner, not to act like he is hung like a horse. No, taking up space comes naturally to him. And again he is respectful about it. He gives your crossed legs enough room between his thighs, almost like he acts as a buffer between the bustling bar and you.

A thought crosses your mind and makes you smile. He is protective, even though you mean nothing to him. You stretch out your leg, just enough to let the tip of your pointed stiletto brush against his shin. A silent praise for him being good.

Dave’s hand suddenly grabs your ankle, following his first impulse of inhibiting an unwanted touch. Your eyes snap up and meet his, your surprise showing in your raised brows. The grip of his fingers loosens immediately, like he touched something that he wasn’t allowed to, like a too hot cookie fresh from the baking tray.

“Finish your drink then.” A demand dressed up as a friendly request. You pull your foot away, Dave’s privilege of getting a feel for you is already over.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says lowly, just loud enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the bar. He swirls his drink in his glass and takes another look at you. You look like some partner in a law firm or some higher up shoving around numbers on paper and employees in meetings. Expensive clothes, expensive designer bags, expensive heels. He had seen them often enough to know that you only wear those 700$ pairs. You’re sleek, smooth, polished, with edges that look round and safe to touch but will cut through skin and flesh if you want to.

He takes a sip of his drink and watches you smile, the red lip stretching over your teeth. He feels a part of him getting excited, this one stupid part of himself, the part which constantly makes troubles. Some corner of his brain just loves this. And apparently needs it too, needs it to make him function as a person. This little part loves to make you smile. And he hates it.

You let him finish his drink, let him buy himself a few more minutes before you leave the bar and enter the grand and shiny hotel lobby. Having people move out of your way just by the way your heels click is satisfying. But having someone in front doing it for you is better. You watch Dave plowing through the lobby as he makes his way to the elevators. His ass looks cute, you think to yourself and enter the cabin with him.

He’s so well behaved for you, pressing the buttons, shielding you from the other guests and making sure you can stand comfortably without anyone standing too close to you, himself included, You smile at him again and for a moment one corner of his lips twitch. Good, that's good. He's responsive tonight.

Dave exits the elevator and struts through the long hallway, countless doors left and right until you reach the right one. A quiet beep when the key card opens the door, muffled footfall on the thick carpet and a discreet click when he closes and locks the door behind you both again. Another reason you love this hotel so much, beside the soft beds and high end shower products in the marble bathrooms: the soundproofing.

No matter how hard the stomp, how loud a scream, how sharp a smack, the walls of these rooms seem to swallow the noises and they are never sated. They drink down every word and whisper and always seem to want more. Like the people you work with.

“Tell me about your rules and limits tonight, David,” you say and look around the suite for a moment. You gesture for him to sit down on one of the plush chairs facing a full body mirror.

All you know about Dave is his name, his phone number and another number as an emergency contact. The rest is guesswork you did over the last months and years. The golden ring on his ring finger? He never takes it off. He's married or maybe widowed.

Dave takes off his jacket and hangs it over the backrest of the velvet chair. One time a little toy figurine fell out of his pocket when he took his jacket off. So there must be a child who he has a close enough relationship with for it to sneak little gifts into his pockets. This time nothing out of the ordinary happens. He simply follows your instructions and sits down.

“The same as always.” He lifts his hips again to tug his slacks down, just enough for them to not cut into his groin. “Nothing that leaves marks on me, no touching me between waist and knees, no restraints, no gagging, nothing enters my body, nothing leaves my body without my consent.”

Yeah, just like you thought. “So basically just talking. You know, you could have ‘just talking’ a lot cheaper, down at the bar for example.” You pull a chair for yourself closer to Dave, with the mirror diagonal behind it.

“I'm not here for just talking,” he says quietly with his eyes fixed on his knees.

“Oh I know, don't you worry.” You sit down now, your legs crossed over your knees and one of your high heels swaying in the air just between Dave's spread legs. “Next: safety. Repeat the rules for me, will you?”

He looks up at you and sighs. “We use the color system. Green means more, yellow means keeping the intensity, red means stop.” He likes the simplicity of this system, appreciates it at home, and loves the way Carol loses it whenever he keeps her on yellow for a little too long. But he doesn’t like to be the one using it himself.

“Good. What else means stop?” Your leg is slowly bouncing up and down and Dave's focus shifts to the pencil thin heel for a moment.

“The… the safeword. Helsinki.”

His eyes meet yours again. Dark ponds of raging brown, the storm behind them perfectly contained, for now. “And…?” you prompt, prodding him a little bit with the sweetness in your voice.

“And there's no shame in using my safeword. Or not using it if I'm… feeling good.” He almost chokes on the last words. There is shame in the whole situation, no matter how he looks at it. But you smile again and this one part of him is relieved. He did good, fuck.

“Good job, you remembered,” you praise and the shiny leather of your shoe ghosts along his calf. “Let's start then. No touching yourself or me and no talking unless I tell you to. Got it?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He never sounded less enthusiastic than now. His pretty mouth curves into the tiniest scowl and he looks a little more handsome like this. In another life you two could have a lot of fun. Real fun. Fucked up fun.

In another life you might kneel before him and beg for some peace of mind. He could be the therapy the therapist needs. But not in this life. Because in this he was the one needing peace of mind and you were the provider.

“Now, Dave, I want you to take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. Right into your eyes.”

He obeys. When he meets his own gaze through the mirror the scowl becomes more prominent. You will let him sit with his own thoughts for a minute or so. Enough time to recap your last sessions with him.

Pretty quickly into your business relationship with Dave you found out about his history with the military. No details really, you just knew that he had served for several years. Being degraded on a daily basis in your forming years does something to the brain. And it surely did something to Dave's brain because his tough outer layer cracked beautifully for you as soon as you called him a ‘weak fucking loser’.

And that was all that you did since then: humiliating him, watching him turn from the hard and controlled man into one who is struggling to loosen up and finally a man who spits out ‘Helsinki!’ and flees from the scene with a raging boner. He is the weirdest customer you have. Because his requests are so tame, so small scaled for what you could do and for what he could really take.

But all you had to do was calling him names and having him palm himself through his pants. You are not exactly complaining, he paid you as much as the guys who go the whole nine yards. Dave makes you work for your money though. It is a fight, every time.

You see it in his face, he is fighting right now, while he stares himself down through the mirror. A fight he can never win. His upper lip twitches, like he is going to growl at his own reflection any moment. Oh, it is clear as day to you, he really needs this session.

You might need to switch things up a bit, you want your customers satisfied after all. And the way he glares at himself tells you that he needs more today.

“What are you thinking, tell me.”

Your voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. It’s sweet like honey but also sticky. He knows that your mouth is a sugary trap. Every word and gesture and touch a carefully laid out crumb to lead him to where you want him: staring up at you, doing whatever it takes to get your sugar lips to smile at him.

A little nudge of your heel against his thigh. A little harder than it had to be to get his attention. He doesn’t like that he likes it.

“Whimp,” Dave says with heartfelt disdain.

“What else? And keep looking at yourself.” Your heel digs a little more into his thigh and you can feel the tremble of his muscle beneath his slacks. He sure was a runner, you think. Thick thighs look so pretty with a few streaks on them. But no, no marks. “You can tell me everything, you know?”

Dave swallows thickly, the soft velvet of your voice is making his throat tight. He's trapped, caged in between your shiny stilettos and your mouth. His thigh throbs against the thin heel.

He takes in his reflection, the man in power, in slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, in polished shoes. A high heel prodding him. His fingers clutching the armrests. His face tight and sour. His wedding ring glinting.

“Cheater.”

You hum, pleased with his answer and gracing him with a small smile in return. So he is in a relationship. Good, this would make it easier. For you.

Your foot moves, the pointy heel being exchanged with the flat of the sole, pressed against his inner thigh. You drag it up the seam, just a little bit.

This is breaking the ‘no touching’ rule. And yet, he endures, fighting his silent internal fight.

Interesting.

“What’s your color, love?” You tilt your head to the side, enjoying how Dave’s nostrils flare at your audacity. He is defying the sweetness of your words. But he wants more of the stickiness. Just a little bit. It won’t hurt, right?

“Green,” he grits out. Fucking whimp, cheater, loser, failure, he tells himself silently through the mirror. Your sole moves higher now, the pointy tip already indicating towards your final destination.

Green. He wants more, he will get more. Your shoe slides higher and leaves a trail of dusty dirt on his clean pants. He will hate that, you know he will, because you would be pissed off, too.

“Are you not embarrassed, Dave? Sitting here, paying money for this? What would she say, if she knew?”

His eyes snap from the mirror to you, the corner of his lips move into another scowl. The wolf would be baring his teeth soon.

You tap the sole of your shoe against his crotch, just enough for a little sting that lets him jump slightly. Dave looks at you, stunned. Such a pretty sight.

“Oh what's with the attitude now? Did I say you could look at me?” You smile at him, the tip of your tongue running along the edges of your teeth. “Do you think you deserve it, looking at me, dummy?”

His eyes widen and his mouth opens, ready to protest, to call this off, ready to show you your place. But the only thing leaving his throat is a choked sound. Probably because you keep rubbing your foot into his groin, pushing into the not-so-soft-anymore softness.

“Eyes back on the mirror.” Another quick rap, sole meeting joined seams, another jolt and, oh yes, a moan, finally. The walls with their expensive satin tapestry greedily drink down the throaty sound. “Now.”

Your command has nothing of the powdered sugar quality anymore and he obeys. Who even is he, he wonders for a moment of clarity when he meets his own eyes through the mirror again. A stupid man, growing hard under the shoe of a stranger, a stupid man with a loving wife at home. A stupid man with guns hidden all over town. Growing hard.

He looks into the mirror, feeling detached from his own reality. He watches the shiny shoe move between the thighs of this man in the mirror, he sees the stomach of the man tense under his dress shirt, he notices how the man's mouth opens. He hears him groan, this man who looks like himself.

“God, are you seriously turned on by this? That's embarrassing. No wonder you pay me for it instead of getting it at home.” You love being mean for money and you love how Dave writhes beneath your high heel and squirms under your gaze. “Do you like this? Answer me, dummy.”

“Yes.” You only get a single hissed word as an answer. Adorable.

“Yes what?” you hiss back, applying a little more pressure to the bulge showing so beautifully.

“Yes, ma'am,” he snarls now. The wolf is showing his teeth and you're gonna pull one out. You are the only one allowed to bite in this arrangement.

“Christ, do I have to spell it out for you, stupid?” Your foot drops lower, right over the tight little package nestled under the thick, elongated dick outline. The pointy shoe tip slowly pokes into the squishy warmth of Dave’s clothed balls. His breath hitches. “Yes, ma'am, what?” you prompt him, the sugar returning to your words.

“I… I like this, ma'am.” His eyes are still glued to the picture in the mirror and he seems to register that this is him. The visual of an expensive high heel pressing against balls matches the thrumming, stingy feeling of pain in his own slacks. And another thing belongs to him, besides the pain. The jumping hard-on, right above this damned shoe.

He swallows thickly, his blunt nails digging into the velvet of the armrests. “Fuck. I like it,” he stutters, staring at his face, like he is seeing himself for the first time. Like he recognizes himself. His stormy eyes become a little calmer, the silent internal fight becoming more quiet.

“There we go. Good job.” You pull your foot away from him and lean closer, elbows to knees, one finger coming up to his chin. He just now notices that your nail polish matches your lipstick. The color would look good around his dick. In another life.

“Look at me,” you croon, laying out your trap for him again. The pad of your finger so warm and gentle under his chin, guiding his eyes to yours. You're smiling, red stretching over white, he did good and his cock throbs against the zipper. He’s wagging his tail for you.

“Good boy.” You lean closer and he can smell your perfume, the mint and vodka on your breath, your amber-scented dominance tinted in black and scarlet. The sweetness of your praise coats his tongue and he swallows it down, to make it a part of him. A little secret part on the inside only he knows about. 

“Color?” Soft, alluring, a trap made for him to curl up in.

He takes a moment to think, but not too much. The thinking part of his brain was already beginning to shut down. “Green,” he rasps with his eyes fixed on the way your eyebrows dance when you smile again.

“Good. Now, I have a question for you.” Your thumb rubs against his chin, just enough to feel the day worth of scruff beneath the digit. “Will you take your cock out for me? Let me see him?”

Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time.

Dave nods his head. There’s no harm in showing his dick. That doesn't make him a cheater, he tells himself. Maybe he could make you smile again, he knows he has a good cock. Good balls too. Maybe you could squish them again. Just a little bit.

“That's a good boy. Show him to me. Show me how hard I make you.” You lean back in your chair and watch Dave hesitantly fumble with his belt, then top button, then zipper. He still has a little fight left in him. You would be concerned if not. A man like him will never give up completely, that is what makes him so interesting for you, so much fun to play with.

The teeth of the zipper hiss, the fabric rustles when he pulls it over his ass and down his thighs, over his knees. He looks a bit disgraceful like this, sitting in the velvet chair, slacks pooled around his shoes, tented black briefs, looking at you expectantly. You would have let him take his shoes off and fold his pants if he wanted. But he chose to be… excited. And a little impatient. Truly adorable.

You move a little closer again, inspecting what you can see so far. You never saw his dick and usually you are not too keen on seeing your customers’ genitals, they were just extensions, more of the canvas you like to work on. But since Dave always made a fuss about decidedly not showing signs of arousal you became curious. Out of professionalism, of course.

It was looking good, the tent. A thick head pressed against the cotton and crowned with a now black, later milky stain.

“You’re leaking? For me?” You sound like he presented you with a bouquet of flowers or a painting he doodled with crayons. You reach out, your fingers stopping shy before touching the wet spot. You look up at him, a glint of horror in his eyes. No touching, with your hands. “Is this okay?”

A head shake and a dry swallow, then he finds his voice again. “No. Ma'am. I’m sorry.” You touching him would be cheating; in his head this makes sense.

“That's okay, don't worry.” You purse your lips, tapping a finger against the red on them. Then you hold out your hand, palm up. “Lend me a hand?”

Dave hesitates. His dick protesting with stirs against the briefs, not caring about who would touch him and how. He puts his hand in yours, trusting that you would accept his limit.

And you do, of course, you're a professional. Which means you know how to work your way around limits and how to stretch boundaries. You guide his thumb to the wet, glossy spot and rub the pad over the fabric, once, twice, until Dave grunts from the tingling friction.

“Let me know how you taste,” you coo and lift his thumb to your mouth. You open it wide, your tongue sticking out, reversing the roles but he still is your wolf in a dog costume. His eyes glint and for a second you can smell his dominance, too, lingering under the scent of his precum.

Two beasts who recognize each other, just for the fragment of a second, as you look into each other's eyes. But only one can be in charge tonight. You lean in and take his thumb into your mouth. Deeply. You sink down until your lips leave a red lipstick print around the base, one half on his palm, the other half on the back of his hand.

He tastes salty, with a sharp bite to it, just like the man himself. He presses his thumb deeper, can’t resist to have the upper hand with you just once. Your pussy clenches. She likes him.

Oh, in another life, you would let him wreck you. But not now. You suck his finger until you can’t taste his precum anymore and pull off of him.

“Kneel.”

He huffs and his brows draw together. “What?”

“Wrong answer, stupid.” Your foot snaps up, sole pushed against his hard dick, pointy heel somewhere in between his balls. “Try again.”

There it is again, the storm in his eyes. He is so much fun to work with, so easy to rile up, always keeps you on your toes. The same toes that feel Dave's cock throb through his briefs and the leather of your shoe. You move your heel from left to right, just enough to make him squirm and hiss.

“Yes, ma'am.” That's what he says but it sounds a lot like ‘fuck you’.

You laugh at that, sit back in your chair and put your foot back down on the ground. “That's more like it. Come on, chop chop. On your knees.”

He does as he is told. Growling and glaring, avoiding his ridiculous reflection in the mirror, of a tough guy with his pants around his ankles and leaking like his cock is drooling for you. Dave finds himself on his knees as he sinks into the thick carpet. Your feet are right in front of him, he catches a glimpse of his face in the glossy black tip of your heels. He looks twisted, but unmistakably like him.

“And now: touch yourself. Over your briefs. Nice and slow. Eyes on my shoes.” You place one foot on his thigh and his eyes follow the movement without moving too much. “You seem to like them?”

His hand, the one with your lipstick on it, runs along his length, slowly, calculated, avoiding his sensitive tip as he does. “Yes, ma'am,” Dave mutters and squeezes his girth like he's trying to soothe himself because your voice doesn’t do it anymore. It's all harsh now and not sticky-sweet.

Your heel gets pressed into his thigh, the thin end biting into his skin. “Yes, ma'am, what?”

His jaw ticks. His thumb is soothingly rubbing over the head of his cock, knuckle pushed against the underside. “Yes, ma'am, I like your shoes.”

“I thought so. You got so hard for them, didn’t you?”

He takes a deep breath and keeps on palming himself, a steady back and forth. The wet blotch grows. “I-...” He breaks off when you start caressing his balls with your sole. Back and forth. Front to back, in the same rhythm as he strokes himself. “I did get hard for them, yes. For you, ma'am.”

He just wants some of that sugar back, some of those honeyed words from you. He's on his knees already, what else could you want?

You let him kneel and watch his hand move, register his hip twitch. You brush your fingers through his hair, just a light pet.

“Take him out now. I can look at him, right?”

He nods his head and tugs himself out. Caught behind the waistband you get a first peek. Girthy, a stunning color, a dusty rose turning into an earthy pinkish-red, cut, a clear bead of precum forming over the slit before it runs down and spreads over the already glistening skin.

With another tug he pushes his briefs under his sack, forcing it up nice and tight, right under his cock. He has a slight curve, too. Fucking perfect. Your pussy clenches again.

Dave's hand fists the base, some of your red lipstick transfers to his shaft. The closest your mouth will probably get to him. Such a shame, you think, swallowing down some pooling spit, because you really would like to get a sore jaw from sucking him off.

“Now that's a pretty cock you got there. Hold still.”

You crouch over to Dave and place your palm over his hand, giving his dick a good squeeze with Dave's hand. 

“I won't touch him, I promise. But let me guide you.” Molasse thick, that's how your voice sounds. Almost too thick to be swallowed down. 

He manages to do it nonetheless. Ignoring that this is out of the comfort zone of David York, the husband and father. But oh, those words taste delicious for the man who knows rules and laws but lives outside of them. 

His own hand relaxes under yours and with the first stroke another yes, ma'am drips from his lips. 

This is a strange feeling. He guided several hands in his life, taught them where to rub, how to twist, how much to squeeze. But having his own hand touch him with those foreign movements was… new. Sexy. Frustrating too, because you seem to know exactly what not to do.

He looks down between his thighs and sees two hands moving and he really tries to imagine it was just your hand. He wants your touch. Christ, he wants your mouth on him, too. And you would do it, you would gladly accept the proposal and call him a good boy again. But he can't. He can't do it, it's not the right thing to do. He feels his wedding ring slide up over his tip and back down. No, he can’t have you touch him directly.

But he can give in to you a little more. His dignity hangs over the other chair, taken off together with his jacket right at the beginning. You might as well make him your bitch. He throbs against his fingers and Dave asks himself if you can feel it, too. Without being able to stop it his hips buck into his fist, your fists. You were moving his hand so goddamn slow, he needs more. More pressure, more speed.

“Are you not happy, love? Are you being ungrateful?” You slow down even more until your palms reach his top again. Dave has lubed himself up so nicely with his own precum, you can feel it spreading between your own fingers. With a tight grip you flick and twist, like screwing open a bottle, twisting the cork out of a bottle of champagne. 

Dave’s body jerks as do his hips and he moans again, feeding the soundproofing of the hotel room the delicious sounds he makes.

You tut at him, smirking and mocking and twist his hand over his cock again.

“Oh, so you are ungrateful? You have to ask for the things that you want, dummy, That's how this works.” You loosen your grasp and straighten your back, cross your arms and then your legs until the sole of your shoe hovers over his balls. “So…? Are you ungrateful?”

He shakes his head and fights the urge to rock himself against your shoe. More precum gets pushed out of his slit, he fucking aches. He could just spit out the safeword and jerk it in his car, like usual. But he is too proud for that. He is going to finish what he started here, in this room with you.

“No, I’m not. I just-...” he breaks off when you start bouncing your foot, knocking against his balls with almost gentle pats. Dave clutches his girth with a groan, his hips bucking forwards again. “I…,” he strokes himself once, hoping you would get the implications without having to put it into words.

A finger hooks under his chin again, he can smell himself on your skin. A nudge and he looks at your face again, the way you bare your teeth at him in a graceful smile doesn't cover up the authoritative tone hidden in your sweet words.

“You already did so good today. But I want you to do one last thing, yes?” You rub your finger under his chin, smearing some of his sticky precum over his skin. “Will you try it, for me?” 

He'd do a backflip, if you kept up the carrot and stick game for a little longer. 

And then you do it again, showing him the treat he could have if he only was a good enough boy for you. You start licking your hand clean. Languid laps with the flat of your tongue, starting with the little finger.

“Love, I want you to fuck your hand. You don't have to hold back.” You suckle on the tip of your finger before licking Dave's salty residue off of the next one. You stop at the tip, twirl your tongue around the fingernail painted all ruby and smile at him. Just as if you were licking an ice cream spoon clean. 

“Just make sure to keep your hand still and fuck into it.” Now middle and index finger. Your tongue runs over both of them before you put them into your mouth. In and out they go, sluggish and without hurry, you hum at the taste like it's the sweetest cream. 

And then, instead of doing a backflip, Dave starts moving his hips. His eyes glued to your mouth and the red of your lipstick transfers to your fingers before it disappears in the dark, tight, wet cavern of your mouth. 

His hand doesn't feel anywhere close to what he imagines your mouth does. Dave is just glad that he can finally care for his aching boner. With every thrust, in sync with your fingers sliding in and out between your lips, his balls slap against the leather sole of your shoe. It stings, but it stings good. He didn’t even know he liked this before tonight. Before your expensive stiletto pressed and rapped and pushed into them.

He ruts his hips faster now, not matching the speed he needs, but he makes it up with squeezing himself hard. Soft squelches come from between his legs now with every back and forth. More noises for the thick carpet and walls to swallow, never to be heard again.

You’re sucking on your thumb now while Dave's clutching himself harder, hips thrusting in a relentless pace. He fucks his hand like you told him to. 

He looks so perfect in the mirror, that little piece of ass that you can see from your angle. Clenching and unclenching, the movements draw you in, hypnotize you. The perfect cream-white canvas for blotches of red and sprinkles of violet, for scarlet streaks, oval imprints of your teeth even. 

You lick your lips when his thighs start trembling. How good he would look if he fucked himself on your strap-on. In another life, you muse and press your thighs together. The sound your thumb makes between your lips resembles the one that will come from your wet cunt later, when you're at home again. With Dave's salty taste in your mouth and a girthy vibrator, one to match the size of his cock.

His eyes meet yours again, just for a second before they dart down to your tongue again when you start licking your palm. He's still in there, the hard man, the one who's fighting against himself, the one who probably whispers insults inside his head. You can see him in that short moment, somewhere swimming in the stormy mahogany.

You stop licking your palm when Dave winces after snapping his hips harder into his hand and his balls against your sole. He’s at his personal limit.

“Almost there, love, hm?” Another lap to your palm, seemingly unbothered by the state he is in. “Do you want to come?”

He groans and growls, his glutes are burning, his knees hurt, his fucking balls thrum. Oh, he wants to come alright. “Yes, ma'am,” he grits out.

“Say that you're pretty when you fuck your hand for me.” Your tongue flicks over your palm again and reveals your canines again. Just a wolf cleaning her silky fur.

If the need for his orgasm wasn't bigger than his pride, he would have rolled his eyes and fucked that smug smile right out of your face. But he really, really needs to come. He is so close. He can play along a little longer.

“I'm pretty when I fuck my… fucking hand for you,” he snarls and a something in the depth of his guts starts fluttering with a burning strength.

“Good job. You really are pretty like that, love.” You pull the leg of your pants up, the heavy, black fabric now rests bunched up on your knee. Dave still ruts into his hand, chasing the release he knows he can’t have that easily. 

“Say ‘I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am.’,” you order and push your fingers through his hair, careful to not ruin his side part. A single unruly strand gets fixed with your spit-wet fingers. Nothing that leaves marks on me. Well, he can wash off your little saliva mark later.

More carrots, more sweet words and sugar touches, more of your smug but also content smile. Christ, he just wants to do something right. And you are offering him an easy fix. Dave whines and leans into your touch. Vigorously he pounds his hand, his balls trapped between his waistband and your sole and it all feels so warm, hot, his pulse beats in his ears and throbs in his straining cock. “I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am. Fuck. I need to move my hand.”

His big browns look up at you, same parts furious, pleading and desperate.

“Say please,” you chirp and tilt your hips to feel the middle seam of your pants pressed against your clit. “Be good, say please and you can come for your ma'am.”

“Please. Fuck, please!” he barks as he steps into your honeyed trap you have laid out for him from the beginning. He is stuck in it knees first, tail between his legs, barking, howling, wagging. How to catch a wolf.

“That's my good boy. Go on, you can come. Make a mess.”

He did good, thank god. Dave starts moving his hand, jerking his cock hard and fast, his teeth sink into his flew to bite back a loud howl when he feels himself coming.

It is beautiful to watch for you, how his eyes roll back slightly, how his hand moves so fast that the smacking sounds are like a rapid fire, how he thrusts a few more times into his tight fist until he squirts his thick creamy cum all over. It feels hot on your skin, like molten wax poured over your shin, down to your foot and finally your high heel.

You moan in unison with Dave. You never are above feeding the soundproofing some of your noises as well. An offering to the gods, to keep you blessed with men like Dave.

He continues to stroke himself, choking on a few whimpers, milking the last remnants of cum out of him. His wedding band isn't shining as much now, all dull and foggy with his seed dimming the golden hue. His hand trembles, his runner thighs tremble too, his briefs, still tucked under his balls, are ruined and he slowly, slowly loosens his hard grip around his cock.

“Love, you did so good. That wasn't so hard, was it?” His cum starts running down your leg now and you both watch it for a moment. 

“I'll get you a tissue,” he mutters breathily, ready to finally get off his knees and gain some dignity back.

“Nuh uh. Clean up without tissues or towels.” Nothing enters my body without my consent. He looks at you and scoffs out single disbelieving laughter. You shrug your shoulders. “Listen, you came this far. You can be a coward and use your safe word. Or you can take responsibility and clean up the mess you made. It's an easy task.”

You are right. It is an easy task, compared to the mess his life is. It's easy. It's easy. It's easy. He leans forward and swallows, thickly. He looks up at you and sticks his tongue out. It's easy. 

You lift your leg up to his mouth, nodding your head, smiling, baring your teeth like a docile pet wolf. Dave's tongue meets your skin, smooth under his slick, powdery scent under his salty stench. He licks a stripe from your ankle up your shin, then another one and another one. Slowly. It's easy. One lick at a time. Fixing the mess he made.

His clean hand holds your foot, nestled in your stiletto, and he laps his cum from the bridge with shorter strokes. 

Dave doesn't flinch away from his own taste, he’s licked his own hands clean often enough to enjoy it to a degree. A form of cannibalism, eating his young, feasting on his own potential.

He cleans your skin, lifting your foot higher and his tongue pressed into the small gaps between the leather and your toes. You pet his head again, humming, purring under his ministrations. Dave's lips purse half above the leather and half above your skin, a small kiss before he sucks his cum out of the tiny gap.

It really is easy. He licks over the glossy black, leather and salt coating his senses, another sugary good boy in his ears and in his hair your claws graze over his scalp. 

A few more licks and kisses and the creamy white has disappeared from the shiny piece of leather. He can see himself in it again. A twisted image, but unmistakably Dave.

He rubs his spit into the smooth animal skin, you can wash his mark off later if you want. He's done. With cleaning and with this. It's over, for tonight at least.

He lowers your stiletto onto the thick carpet again and offers free sight to his spent cock, heavy and sticky. No more wagging, no more dog. He's back to being an equal.

“You did amazing, Dave. Really good.”

Your hand falls to his shoulder, giving him a gentle pat before you rise to your feet and over him your hand to pull him up. He takes it, groaning quietly when his knees crack. Dave feels a little shaky, or maybe more shook than shaky. But he feels good, lighter, loose. Not even ashamed.

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink, something to eat?” You don't even wait for his answer and turn to the minibar, pulling out a cold water for him.

“No, thank you. I'm good. I'll just take a quick shower.” With a thud his shoes land on the floor as he kicks them off. His slacks follow, then his damp briefs.

You watch him undress, amazed and attracted to his confidence and nonchalance, attracted to what lies beneath Dave's clothes, too. In another life you two would be a great match. 

“Do you want me to wait for you?” You turn towards the minibar again, looking for something else. There it is, a kitkat.

“You don't have to, but thank you.” Dave smiles at you and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. He holds out his hand now, naked in front of you and not bothered by it. Smug. Big dick energy and he can afford it.

You shake his hand, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment. “Until the next time then. Take good care, Dave.”

You smile at each other, the possibilities of being reckless crackling between you, but then he lets go of your hand and turns his back towards you, heading into the bathroom. When the water starts running behind closed doors you take his shirt from the pile of clothes and nuzzle into the fabric. It's a good smell. Masculine, of course.

Slipping a few fingers into your pants and deeper, behind the elastic of your lace underwear and still deeper, dipping them into your sopping pussy, you inhale his scent deeply, clenching to the thought of his tongue on your skin.

You treat yourself to a moment with your fingers buried in your cunt before you pull out again. You write your name on the inside of his collar, invisible ink made out of your slick, setting a scent mark, a last reward for this good boy. 

When Dave enters the room again later you have disappeared, in thin air, no trace of you is left. But something churns inside of him when he gets dressed. 

Later, in his car, it clicks. Pussy. It smells like pussy, right in front of him. You god forsaken menace. Of course you had to have the last word. Marking him, mocking him, making him hard again. And of course your pussy smells delicious. Sticky sweet. He groans and adjusts himself, driving home a little faster now.

The house lays in silence when he steps over the threshold. The girls are fast asleep, he checked it immediately with a peek into their rooms. Carol is asleep as well. Soft and warm and plush under the blanket, curled up on her side. Dave kicks his shoes off and steps out of his slacks and briefs. They are still damp in the front, from the precum you urged out of him. But the shirt stays on. 

He slips under the blanket and pulls Carol closer, her perfect ass against his already half-hard cock. A hand gently kneads one of her breasts, the other one tugs down her pajama pants. 

She's awake in no time, whimpering when he grinds against her rear and lets his dick glide between her ass cheeks.

“Therapy was good?” Her voice is so soft, always sweet for him, never harsh, rarely ever does a no come from her.

“Yeah. Missed you…” he mumbles into the crook of her neck, biting and pulling on her skin until she winces softly.

“Dave-...”

He pinches her nipples and she winces again. A waft of your pussy hits him and he breathes it in deeply.

“Color, baby.”

“What?” Carol chuckles, not yet believing that she’s about to be fucked by her always loyal, always loving and caring husband.

“You’ve heard me. Give me your color.” His cock now slides between her legs and through her folds. He’ll slick her up real good, leaking already with a quiet thrumming sting in his balls. Carol’s pussy feels as good as yours smells.

“Green,” she gasps and rocks back against him.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls before biting the flesh over her shoulder blade and pushing into her.

When Dave finally is satisfied, soaked in Carol and him, she rolls on her back and watches him get a warm towel for her. Whatever this therapist did with Dave, it did wonders. He should go more often.

thank you for reading! and remember, kids, comment or reblog to show me I've been a good girl and did a good job, please and thank you

find my Dave York masterlist here

find my general masterlist here

more a/n: I'd probably suck as dominatrix, shout-out to all the bad ass professionals and hobby dom(me)s out there, you are amazing and I'm literally on my knees for you

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[mellowmusings]

death bed | coffee for your head

Azriel x sick reader

A/N- I had the idea for this when I heard the song and instead of sick Azriel I made a sick reader, please don't kill me and let me know if you wanna be tagged. Enjoy :). Warning- Angst, reader is depressed and sick, Azzie baby is depressed too. Mainly a really sad fic (mentions of death due to illness). Summary- You had been sick for sometime now and upon visiting a healer you find out the reason, unsure how much time you have left, you wish to spend every second of it preparing Azriel for the moment you leave.

'Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed'

You were tired to say the least, for the past few nights you hadn't been able to sleep at all, and your sweet mate was worried sick for you, and so you had to change your plans for the day, ditching shopping for a visit to Madja instead.

A bell rang as you step into the healer's shop, the air was thick with the scent of dried herbs and incense, instantly calming your nerves. Soft light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on shelves cluttered with jars, vials, and bundles of plants you didn't recognize. The space felt ancient, yet welcoming, as if it held the quiet weight of countless healing rituals. A small wooden counter sat at the back, covered with bottles and unmarked potions. The faint sound of wind chimes hung in the air, but it’s the stillness that stood out—everything in this room felt intentional, designed to soothe, to listen. There attending to a small plant with the smallest flowers you had ever seen stood Madja.

Yeah, I don't wanna fall asleep I don't wanna pass away I've been thinking of our future 'Cause I'll never see those days I don't know why this has happened, but I probably deserve it I tried to do my best, but you know that I'm not perfect

You felt like throwing up, surely this was a joke? it had to be a joke, no she was lying or maybe you had misheard her, it had to be that way, right? "I know this can be shocking news y/n but like I said it's also a very rare illness" "No,no you're lying please tell me you're lying". She begged. Her voice broke on the last word, she couldn't breathe she felt choked, she wanted to throw up but instead she just fell to her knees and cried her heart out.

I've been praying for forgiveness, you've been praying for my health When I leave this earth, hoping you'll find someone else 'Cause, yeah, we're still young, there's so much we haven't done Getting married, start a family, watch your husband with his son

She didn't know how long she spent crying there with Madja comforting her and stroking her back, she was in shock but more than that she was worried for Azriel, if something happened to her then- No, no she wasn't going to think about that right now but for some reason her thoughts kept circling back to Azriel, to the quiet that would fill the room when she was gone. He’d wake up, reach for her, and feel nothing but emptiness. The bed would be cold, the silence too heavy. He’d feel it in the small things—no more shared glances, no more soft words in the dark.

Would he be okay without her? She couldn’t shake the fear that the grief would swallow him, that the shadows he kept so tightly contained would consume him without her there to pull him back. Would the memories be enough, or would they slip through his fingers? The thought of him unraveling, of him breaking, made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t ignore. She wouldn’t be there to catch him, and that terrified her.

Her gaze caught on a lovely family in the park, children being chased by their dad, their mom laughing at the scene and smiling lovingly at her partner, right, she would never be able to have that with Azriel either. Maybe, one day he'll find someone else, who'd love him just as much as she did, someone who'd start a family with him, give him heirs as lovely as he is. She hoped so because if Madja was right then-

I wish it could be me, but I won't make it off this bed I hope I go to heaven, so I see you once again My life was kinda short, but I got so many blessings Happy you were mine, it sucks that it's all ending

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed, yeah

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Yeah, I'm happy that you're here with me I'm sorry if I tear up When me and you were younger, you would always make me cheer up Taking goofy videos while walking through the park You would jump into my arms every time you heard a bark

You lay back against the pillows, your chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. Azriel sat beside you, his fingers gently brushing over your hand, but the tension in the air was thick, suffocating. You could feel the worry in his touch, in the way he kept glancing at you, like he was afraid to miss something, afraid to lose you before he could even understand what was happening.

"Azriel," you whispered, your voice trembling as you gathered the courage to finally say the words. "I’m sick." You tried to keep your tone calm, but it cracked as soon as the words left your lips. "The healer said it’s a rare heart condition. Something... incurable."

His face froze, eyes widening with disbelief, and he leaned forward, as if to pull you into him, to somehow shield you from the world. But you didn’t want his protection right now. You wanted him to hear this. To know the truth, even if it shattered him.

"I wish it could be me," you continued softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I wish I could take it all. The pain. The time. But I—" You faltered, and the tears you had been holding back finally broke free. "I won’t make it off this bed, Azriel."

His hand tightened around yours, his breath shaky, but he said nothing, his eyes begging you to take it back, to tell him it wasn’t true. But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

"I hope I go to heaven," you murmured, forcing a small smile through your tears. "So I can see you again. One day, after this... after all of this."

Azriel’s face crumpled with pain, his eyes bright with unshed tears. He reached for you, pulling you close as if he could somehow hold you together, like he could make everything right if he just tried hard enough. "No," he whispered, his voice raw. "No, please. Don’t say that. Don’t leave me." It hurt to see the brave and stoic shadow singer crumble infront of you over such a small matter, he had faced death time and time again, but never had you seen him so broken.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feel of him holding you, but there was no denying it now. You couldn’t keep pretending. You couldn’t keep fighting against what you knew in your bones was coming.

"I’m not ready," you whispered, voice barely audible, "but I think... I think you need to be. This is the reality now, Love. I won’t have much time left."

Azriel held you tighter, but it was clear that he was barely holding on himself. You could feel his heart racing against yours, the fear, the love, the desperation. But you knew, deep down, there was no way to stop it.

"I just need you to be ready," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "Because I won’t be here for long. I need you to promise me something, Az."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face a mask of agony, but he nodded, clinging to your every word.

"Promise me you won’t forget me," you said, the ache in your chest growing, but you didn’t want him to carry this burden forever. "Promise me you’ll live, not survive, but live, even if I’m not there."

He pressed his forehead to yours, and for a moment, it was like the world stopped moving. "I’ll never forget you," he said hoarsely. "And I’ll never stop loving you, not even after…"

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek, but you could feel the finality of it, the quiet acceptance in your soul that you had already said goodbye. "I know. But you have to promise me, Love. Please. Live, for both of us."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy, inevitable. And in that moment, you let go. You accepted what was coming, not with peace, but with a sorrow that was too vast to express.

Azriel didn’t say anything after that. He just held you, and in the silence of the room, you both faced what you knew was coming, as painful and unbearable as it was.

Cuddle in your sheets, sang me sound asleep And sneak out through your kitchen at exactly 1:03 Sundays went to church, on Mondays watched a movie Soon you'll be alone, sorry that you have to lose me

You were curled up against Azriel, the quiet crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. He held you close, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield from the world. The memories flowed easily now, the ones you both cherished, the ones you were trying so hard to relive, to hold on to.

"Cuddle in your sheets," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, "like we used to, like we did so many times. You’d sing me to sleep, your voice soft, your hand in my hair."

Azriel’s thumb brushed over your skin as if committing the sensation of this moment to memory, the feeling of your body pressed against his. "I’ll sing you to sleep forever if I can," he replied, voice thick with emotion. "But you know... I think the best part was sneaking out through your kitchen at exactly 1:03. I used to look at the clock, and I knew you’d be there. We’d laugh, sneak away like we didn’t have a care in the world."

You chuckled softly, a tear slipping down your cheek at the thought. "Sundays, we went to church together. Mondays, we’d watch a movie, get lost in each other’s company. Simple, sweet. And it was ours." You pulled back slightly to look up at him, a small, sad smile on your lips. "I wish we had more of those Mondays."

Azriel's eyes softened with the weight of your words, his voice barely more than a broken whisper. "We still have now," he said, but even he knew the truth in the heaviness of his words. Time was running out.

You closed your eyes, trying to soak in every moment, every detail. You could feel the pain of the inevitable, but for tonight, for this brief moment, you clung to the idea that you could still make new memories. "But soon you'll be alone," you whispered, a sob escaping before you could stop it. "I’m sorry that you have to lose me."

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his face pressing into your hair. "Don’t say that," he murmured, though his voice was thick with sorrow. "I’ll never lose you. Not really. Not in my heart."

You nodded, your body trembling in his arms. "I hope so," you whispered, holding him tighter. "But I’ll always love you. Every memory, every laugh, every quiet Sunday. I’ll carry those with me, even when I’m gone."

And for a moment, time felt still, like the universe had paused just long enough for you both to hold on to each other a little tighter, to try and make every second count before it was all gone.

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Azriel sat beside you, his hand resting gently on your own, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the chill that seemed to constantly settle in your bones. Your breathing was shallow, weak, each rise and fall of your chest an effort, and yet, despite it all, you smiled up at him. It was the kind of smile that told him you were fighting, even when it seemed like there was no fight left in you.

"I don't want you to stay awake for too long," you whispered, your voice thin, but still full of the love you carried for him. "I know you watch over me, but you need sleep too, Azriel." Your hand squeezed his, the action small but intentional.

He looked at you, eyes filled with an ache that ran deeper than the shadows that normally clung to him. His gaze searched your face, searching for something, anything that might bring you back to him, but there was nothing he could do to stop what was coming. His grip tightened, but he didn't speak. What could he say? Every word felt like a lie in the face of what you both knew was inevitable.

"You've been so strong," he finally whispered, voice hoarse. "Please, don’t give up on me now." His thumb stroked over your knuckles, as if grounding himself in the reality that, in his heart, he knew you were slipping away.

You let out a soft, raspy laugh, and though it was faint, it made him want to smile, even though the pain was consuming him. "I’m not giving up," you said, each word a battle, but the light in your eyes still bright enough to pierce through the darkness. "I’m just… trying to make the most of the time we have left."

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, his chest tightening, but you gently cupped his cheek, urging him to look at you. "Don’t stay awake for too long," you repeated softly, your hand slipping into his as you pressed it over your heart. "Don’t go to bed, not yet. I’m still here. I’m still with you."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. You felt his warm breath on your skin, a small reminder of how much he loved you. How much he needed you.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, his voice breaking. "Let me make you coffee in the morning, just like we used to. I’ll get you out of bed. I’ll help you find your strength again, just like before."

You smiled at him, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision. "I’ll make the coffee," you whispered, "when I can. I’ll make sure you get through it, even after I’m gone. I wrote you letters. Letters for the years to come, so you’ll know I’m still with you. So you’ll know that I’ll always love you, even when I’m not there."

Azriel’s heart shattered. "No," he said hoarsely, "No, you can’t leave me." His voice broke at the end, the rawness of his fear leaking through. You were fighting so hard, so fiercely, for him, but he couldn’t stop the truth from settling in his chest.

"You’ve always been my strength, Azriel," you whispered, your voice so soft, but so full of love. "And I’ll be yours, even when I’m not here to hold you. I need you to live. To keep fighting. And when the days feel long, when the nights feel too empty, I want you to read those letters. They’re for you. I’ll make sure you find your way."

Azriel couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his lips trembling against your skin. "I’m going to keep you here with me, in my heart. Forever. I promise. I won’t forget, I swear it."

You smiled through the tears, despite the weariness that clung to your body. "I’m not leaving you, Azriel," you whispered, "not really. Not ever."

But the truth, unspoken between you both, was that you didn’t have much longer. And still, you fought, not for yourself but for him, so he could have something to hold on to after you were gone.

"Please," he begged softly, his voice breaking, "don’t leave me."

You brushed a tear from his cheek, as your voice trembled, "I’ll never really leave you, Azriel. I’ll always be with you. In every letter, in every thought."

You paused, a soft, warm breath escaping your lips. "I’ll get you out of bed, Azriel," you whispered, a hint of a smile on your face, "I’ll get you going again. Even if I’m not there to see it."

His tears fell freely now, but there was a quiet peace in the way he held you—knowing, with an ache so deep it felt like it might swallow him whole, that he would carry you forever.

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

A few weeks had passed, and the weight of each day was beginning to take its toll. The glow in your eyes had dimmed, and your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. Azriel stayed by your side every moment, his presence constant, like a shadow you never wanted to be without.

He had been trying to hold on to the last threads of you, keeping the hope alive that maybe, somehow, you would pull through. But he knew. He knew with every soft breath you took, with every fleeting smile you gave him, that time was slipping away from both of you.

Today, though… today it felt like everything was slower. The air in the room was thick with an aching kind of quiet, the kind where even the heartbeats that echoed in the space between you seemed too loud.

Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, his arms around you, pulling you close like you’d always been. His fingers lightly traced the line of your jaw, like he could imprint your face into his soul if he touched you long enough. His lips pressed to your forehead, trying to pour every ounce of love and comfort he could into you, but it felt like it was never enough.

You had grown weaker. Your skin was pale, your breathing labored, but you still smiled at him when your eyes fluttered open.

"I’m still here," you whispered softly, your voice raspy but filled with the love you had for him. "I’m still here, Azriel."

He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, his throat tight. "You don’t have to fight anymore," he murmured, brushing the damp strands of hair from your face. "I’ve got you. I’ll never let you go."

You smiled faintly, your hand reaching for his, weak but determined. "I know," you whispered. "I know… but I have to tell you something, something important."

Azriel leaned closer, his heart pounding in his chest. "Anything," he breathed. "Tell me anything, love. I’m listening."

"I wrote letters," you whispered, barely able to keep your eyes open. "For the years to come… For you. So you know I’ll always be with you, even when I’m not." He silently promised himself would read every letter you left behind, each one a piece of your love, keeping him alive in a world where you no longer were.

Azriel’s chest tightened, a sob breaking free from deep inside him. "You don’t have to go," he said, his voice raw, breaking with the weight of everything he wished he could say, everything he wished he could change. "I can’t… I can’t lose you."

A tear slipped down your cheek, but your smile didn’t fade. You reached up with trembling fingers, tracing the line of his jaw, as if trying to memorize him the way he had memorized you. "You’ll be okay, Azriel. You’re so strong. You’ve always been strong. Just—just remember that I love you. I always will."

His breath caught in his throat as he kissed your hand gently, his voice cracking. "I love you," he whispered, "I love you more than I could ever put into words."

You closed your eyes, your hand slipping from his, but he caught it again instantly, holding on as if it would keep you tethered to him, keep you from slipping away.

Your breathing grew even more shallow, each one taking more effort than the last. Azriel could feel the tremor in your body, the slow, inevitable shift that told him everything he feared was coming. But he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

"I’m not ready to let you go," Azriel murmured, his voice hoarse, tears streaming down his face as he held you in his arms. "I’ve never been ready to let you go. Not now, not ever."

You gave him one last, gentle smile, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. "You’ll always have me," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "In every letter, in every thought, in every coffee you make. You’ll find me again, in the quiet moments. I’ll always be with you."

And then, as if your body had finally found peace, your chest stilled. Your breathing slowed, and for the first time in weeks, there was complete silence. Azriel’s heart shattered, his breath caught in his throat, and for a long moment, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

"No," he choked out, his voice breaking, his chest heaving with the weight of loss. "No, please…"

But there was no response. Only the soft, quiet sound of his heartbeat echoing through the silence, as if trying to fill the emptiness you left behind. His arms tightened around you one last time, as if holding you could bring you back, as if love could defy death.

For a long while, Azriel stayed there, clutching you to him, his tears falling onto your skin. He couldn’t let go. Not yet. He needed to hold you, to feel you close, to believe, for just a little longer, that you weren’t truly gone.

And in the stillness of the room, as the shadows of night stretched across the floor, Azriel whispered the only thing left in his broken heart.

"I’ll always love you. Always."

The room was silent. Still. But his words lingered in the air, a promise he would carry with him forever.

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Azriel stood at the edge of the balcony, staring into the endless void of night. The stars above seemed to mock him, distant and cold, twinkling as though the universe was still moving forward, as though life was continuing. But for him, everything had stopped.

The wind swept through the courtyard, its icy fingers clawing at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold that had settled deep in his chest, in his soul. He had not moved from that spot since… since that moment. The moment she had slipped away from him, her final breath trembling in his arms, leaving nothing but an echo of the love they had shared. The world felt like a hollow, silent place, and he was drowning in its emptiness.

He could still smell her, faintly. Her scent lingered in the air, in the folds of the blanket she had used to curl up in, in the spaces between the letters she had written him, all the things that were now gone—faded into the dust of the world she had left behind.

Her letters. He had read them, over and over, each one a tear-streaked page of her love for him, a love he could no longer feel against his skin, in her touch, in her smile. He had read her last words, over and over, searching for some kind of comfort. But the comfort never came. The words she had left behind—I’ll always be with you, Azriel—only left him feeling more alone. Her absence was a shadow that consumed everything.

"I’ll always be with you," he muttered bitterly to the darkened sky, as if the universe owed him something. "Where the hell are you now?"

He wanted to scream. To shout into the abyss that had taken her from him, to demand it give her back. But what was the point? The universe didn’t care. Time didn’t care. And now, all that was left was his hollow existence.

The days blurred together, the ache of her absence cutting deeper with every passing hour. He had stopped sleeping, stopped eating. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything but exist, moving through each day as if in a fog. The shadows whispered her name—her voice, her laughter, the warmth of her skin against his—and all he could do was shut his eyes and pretend he didn’t hear them.

But the silence… the silence was the worst.

Everywhere he went, there were reminders. The empty corner of the room where her chair used to sit, the books she had loved scattered across the table, the coffee mug she had left on the counter—his mug now, though it meant nothing. All of it was just a reminder that she was gone, and he was left alone, trapped in a world where nothing made sense without her. Without her laughter, without the way she’d tease him in the mornings, the soft way she’d press her face to his chest when she needed comfort.

She had been everything to him. His light, his warmth, his reason to fight. And now…

The darkness pressed in on him, a crushing weight on his chest. His wings, once majestic and powerful, now felt like an anchor. He had no use for them anymore. They had carried him through battles, through pain, through moments of glory. But now they felt like a reminder of how empty he was. How much of a shell he had become.

The weight of the silence was unbearable. He could feel the crushing loneliness clawing at him, desperate to consume him whole. And as he stood there, staring out into the endless night, he almost wished for it to. He almost wished for the silence to swallow him, to take him with her, because what was the point of living in a world where she wasn’t there?

“I can’t keep doing this,” he whispered to the darkness, his voice cracking. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, each one a reminder that he was still alive—still breathing, even though every part of him screamed to be gone. To be where she was, wherever that was, because life without her felt like a slow, torturous death.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it as if the physical pain would distract him from the ache in his chest. But it didn’t. Nothing could.

The weight of everything pressed on him—the guilt, the anger, the regret. He had promised her, promised her, that he would take care of her, that he wouldn’t let her go. But in the end, he had failed. He hadn’t been enough to save her. And now, she was gone, and all he had left were the memories. The hollow echoes of her voice, her laughter, her touch.

“I wasn’t enough for you,” he whispered, a raw, broken sob escaping him. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, his wings folding around him like an armor of despair. “I couldn’t save you. And now… now I have nothing.”

He curled into himself, his arms wrapping around his knees, his head pressed against them as the tears came in waves. His body trembled with the force of it. Every sob was like a shard of glass digging deeper into his heart, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

The world had moved on. The stars had continued to shine. The wind had continued to blow. But for Azriel, it had all stopped. Because she was gone, and no matter how many times he whispered her name into the darkness, no matter how many times he begged for her to come back, he knew the truth.

She was gone. And he was broken beyond repair.

Time would pass, the seasons would change, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered without her.

And as the silence closed in around him, Azriel made a vow to the shadows, to the darkness that now felt like home.

He would never forgive himself. He would never forget the way she had died in his arms, the way he couldn’t save her. And as the cold night wrapped itself around him, he whispered through clenched teeth, “I’ll make the world pay. I’ll make everything pay for taking you from me.”

But even as the words left his lips, he knew they wouldn’t bring her back.

And he would have to live with that.

Taglist: @anarchiii @er1023 @siriuslystyle1989 @velarisdusk @scorpioriesling @starlightazriel

[joeyspuckbunny]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ long day - j. woll ˚₊‧ ୨୧

pairing: j. woll x fem!reader summary: Y/N is exhausted and Joesph hasn't really noticed until she breaks down after a long day. request: Can I request?? Joesph Woll (my one true love) with reader maybe something along the lines of ‘you look after everyone else but who looks after you’ like super soft ?! I can’t write but I NEED this please, of course only if you are up for it🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 word count: 1078 warning(s): FLUFF, established relationship, joe being oblivious, not proof read notes: my first request !! i know exactly how reader feels rn. finals are kicking my ass. this is not crazy long because i'm still learning to write long fics but i really hope you enjoy it !! xoxo

Joe's keys jingle as he unlocks the door to your shared condo. He kicks off his sneakers and drops his gym bag on the ground.

"Hey, baby, I'm home!" he raises his voice so you can hear him from another room. There's no response. Weird, normally you are working in the kitchen or taking a nap by the time he gets home from practice. The TV in the living room is off and the condo is eerily silent.

Making his way down the hallway towards your bedroom, he opens the door. The bed is made and your purse, keys and phone are gone from their usual spot on the nightside table. Joe furrows his brow in confusion and walks back into the main area of the house. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sees a missed call from you, but only one. And no texts.

Wandering into the kitchen, he sees a sticky note on the fridge. Joe takes it off and reads it.

Got called into work. See you at 9:00.

9:00? It's only 5:00 right now. He pulls out his phone and opens your chat.

Sorry about work, sweetheart. See you when you get home.

He sighs. You weren't scheduled to work today. You weren't even supposed to be called in today. He rubs his eyes and yawns. Five hour practice has him wiped. He'll just watch Seinfeld and wait for you to get home, he decides. Then you can both eat together and go to bed.

"Ow, fuck!"

Joe eyes open fast. He jerks awake and almost falls off the couch. He blinks a few times and turns over on his back.

"Joeeeee!!"

He jumps slightly again. You make your way into the living room, "Why are your shoes and bag just in the middle of the floor? I just tripped on them". You look at him with your mouth slightly open, emphasizing you shock.

"Sorry, baby, I-". "Whatever, I'm going to bed" you walk towards your bedroom and close the door hard. You change quickly into more comfortable clothes before Joe walks in.

"How was your day?" he asks, coming over to sit on the side of the bed with you. "Long," you reply, not looking up from your bag as you rummage around, searching for a hair slip. Joe chuckles, "I assumed so, but that's not what I asked. How was your day? What did you do?".

You look up at him and he notices tears swelling in your eyes. "Can I have a hug?" you ask softly. He nods, "Of course". Immediately, your arms wrap around his waist and he can hear soft sobs coming from where your head is buried in his chest.

"Y/N, is everything ok?"

You lift your head and look at him. You nod slowly, a single tear falling from your left eye. Joe moves his thumb to wipe it away and you sniffle.

"Don't lie to me, love. You know that doesn't work."

As if on cue, you start sobbing once more. "Today was so hard, Joey. I have exams coming up and I have barely studied. I was called into work because Jessica called in sick and we are short staffed. Even though I told my boss I couldn't come in, he insisted. He said he'd pay me time and a half but it wasn't worth it.". You pause and inhale deeply, then continue, "Jessica has done none of her work for an article due for publishing in two days, so I basically edited the whole thing. And then on the way home, my sister called and said she needs us to watch the boys next week while she and her husband go to Seattle. We don't have space for them, Joe. But, of course, my mom can't because she is off in Europe for 6 weeks. So, who else will they go to? An orphanage? No, they will come live in our not baby proofed one bedroom condo for 4 days".

By this point you have stopped crying as much and are more in a rant of rage than anything. Joe sits quietly with his hand on your back, feeling your heartbeat. He listens. Normally, you are a ray of sunshine. So peaceful and bright. However, right now, you seem more like a bridge collapsing under too much weight.

"On top of that, I missed the exit for Wendy's so I didn't even get to eat. I'm starving and I'm tired and burnt out and I can't rest because everyone needs something constantly. I'm just... done". You stop ranting and sigh, feeling defeated.

"Wow"

You look up at him, confused, "What?"

"Y/N, you're so... strong". Joe smiles softly and continues, "You take care of everyone. All their bullshit, all their needs. Even mine. I come home every night to a wonderful girlfriend who is getting her education and has a demanding job, but still makes sure my home feels like home. You look after everyone else. But let me ask you something, baby, who looks after you?"

You tilt your head in confusion at the question, "I don't know. Me, I guess". Joe shakes his head. "Wrong, I do. Or, at least, I should be. I'm sorry I haven't noticed the pressure you are under. Do you work tomorrow?"

You nod again. He shakes his head once more, “Call in sick. I have practice early tomorrow but no game. When I get home, I'll help you study for exams. Then, I'll take you out for a nice dinner and we can go see a movie. Sound good?"

You nod again, this time with a small smile forming on your face. He picks you up, slamming you back down on the bed. You laugh and yawn.

He asks, "Time for bed?"

You stretch and wipe your eyes. "Mhm, long day". Joe laughs and slips you both under the covers after turning off the lights and closing your blinds. He places his arm under your head and you body instinctively shifts toward him.

"Joe?" you ask, your eyes already closed.

"Hmm?"

"Tomorrow... can we go to the pretty library to study? The one... on Queen?". Joe chuckles at the pauses you take mid sentence. You must truly be exhausted. "Of course, baby, anything you want," he replies, stroking your cheek and tucking your hair behind your ear, "I love you, Y/N".

"I love you too, Joey"

[notacatdown]

Thank you so much for taking the time to explain that line in detail and its origins! It was very enlightening. And so much food for thought.

"so, again, yao are not human—and that is why their stories have always been so compelling to us. We place limits on our conduct and behavior for a variety of socially-imposed and learned reasons, but yao as an imperfect reflection of our human selves allow us to live out our "fantasies" of extremity.  "

Oh wow, that last line, I've never thought of it that way. You're right. The illusion demoness in the drama was my favorite demon for that reason. She feels eerie and has no moral framework. She imprinted onto Liu Fuyi and doesn't see anything wrong with making him into a puppet.

I also thought Liu-niang/the memory demoness was so interestingly unhinged. That she can love Mu Rong with no limits, but still want to kill Mu Sheng, the person that Mu Rong sacrificed everything for her. And that, these two feelings are not contradictory for Liu-niang.

The other demons felt pretty normal to me beyond their willingness to kill people to save their loved one, and while that mentality is extreme, their combined kill count pales in comparison to the dowager consort's. (Totally open to hear differing thoughts about this.)

Anyways, I think the drama delivered on that line in ep 10 (人心有七窍，妖心只有一窍。所以大多数妖物的品行都简单执拗) with the illusion demoness and the the memory demoness.

---

In the novel, it's the demons' obsessiveness along with devotion that differentiates their love from how humans love.

This is what Shi-niang/the fox demoness (who is very different in the novel) says to MiaoMiao, "Ah Zhun likes me because… In this world, no one loves him as much as I do. I cook him three meals a day and take the effort to learn the cuisine of all sorts of places. I’ve sewn his summer and winter clothes, made his belts, and embroidered his pouch. When he’s healthy, I serve at his side when he is treating guests. When he is sick, I wait on him by the side of the bed…" (normal enough)

"... I’m willing to accept all of his weak points, and love all of his shortcomings. I understand everything he likes. I love all that he loves, and hate all that he hates. I protect all that he protects and withstands all that he wants to withstand. I’m willing, for him, to use all my time, energy, abilities and even my life. In this world, he cannot find someone who loves him more than me." (and then we get to here)

This wouldn't be that extreme if the fox demoness felt this way about her husband, but these were her feelings before they even had a conversation. In the novel, he doesn't free her from a cage. She was fascinated by him at first sight and grew enamored as she learned more about him.

"Ling Miaomiao was absolutely dumbstruck as she stared blankly at Shi-niang... Using love to gain love…. Was a truly stupid method. If it was the right person, it would equate to twice the effect given just half the effort. On the other hand, what if they weren’t the right person, but the wrong one? That would unfortunately just be a tragedy in the making. Not just hurting your heart, but you might not even gain a shred of care for all the love you poured out."

I totally agree with MiaoMiao. It's normal to be worried about being hurt and want to avoid that pain. But, Mu Sheng is from the same school of thought as the fox demoness. When the other three were still hesitating - because of insecurity and other perfectly understandable concerns - about love, Mu Sheng has already yeeted himself off the metaphorical cliff.

There's a novel scene where Mu Sheng thinks he's like a dog in a cage, and MiaoMiao is a person showing him affection and then moving out of reach. He can only hurl himself at the bars of the cage to get closer to her because he can't bear to retreat. MiaoMiao comes back after several minutes and dispels his angsty thoughts.

Whereas in the drama, Mu Sheng is well-adjusted by the end of the 8th episode. When he is hurt that MiaoMiao is scared of him and doesn't love him in ep 19, he leaves. He can let go if that's what she wants. It's only when he is given evidence that she does love him that he returns. That scene of him and Liu Fuyi drinking their sorrows away wouldn't be out-of-place in a modern-day romcom.

Fu Zhou is human. He doesn't have a demon's obsessive love. He won't keep hurting himself to get her affection. (Hmm, could we consider this as foreshadowing of the reveal in ep 32? Or would that be too much of a reach?)

This got away from me. What I originally wanted to write about is how the relationships between demons and humans in the novel feel like retellings of those old folktales, and we get believable happy endings this time around for them because of the author's changes (those changes were removed in the drama and the drama went in a new direction). And how Mu Sheng, who is both human and demon, has it worse in a way. The constant tug-of-war between his calculating, wary, overthinking human mind and his demon instincts that is heedless about 分寸 / "propriety" or consequences and only cares about getting the affection he craves. I'll leave that part for another day.

on 妖 yao (and 慕声 Mu Sheng) in 永夜星河 Love Game in Eastern Fantasy (2024)

crossposted from a twitter thread!

there are SO many things i love about YYXH, but something i really appreciate is their portrayal of 妖 yao.

in ep. 10, Mu Sheng says, “人心有七窍，妖心只有一窍。所以大多数妖物的品行都简单执拗。” / "Human hearts have seven apertures [are complex and calculating]; but yao hearts have only one [are simple]. That's why the conduct of most yao creatures is uncomplicated and obstinate."

窍 / apertures (openings; orifices) are where the human body is connected to the outside world. as such, 七窍 seven orifices usually refers to the eyes (2), nose (2 nostrils), ears (2), and mouth (1). BUT...

in the context of the heart, it more often alludes to the virtuous character of 比干 Prince Bigan from the Ming dynasty novel 《封神演义》 Investiture of the Gods.

there, it was said that 圣人之心有七窍 / the hearts of saints [good men] have seven apertures...

...so, of course, the righteous and smart Bigan was rumored to possess a 七窍玲珑心 / lit. delicate seven aperture heart.

Bigan's story didn't end well (his heart was cut out by order of the infamous King Zhou of Shang), but 七窍玲珑 still means "clever and quick-witted."

now... 窍 can mean "opening"—but another way to say so could be 眼 / eye (or, "hole"). that is, we can draw a near-equivalency between 七窍玲珑心 / lit. seven-chambered heart and 多心眼 / lit. many heart's eyes; an overabundance of concern...

in particular, 多心眼 (or to say that someone 心眼多) not only implies wit and sharpness (i.e., "having a lot of thoughts"), but also some level of cunning and shrewdness. that is, to be "mindful of many things" means one is "considering of many things" and "calculating."

hence, returning to Mu Sheng's explanation: humans are crafty, always thinking of a hundred other variables and planning another hundred steps ahead. (that's why humans betray and deceive and hurt one another...)

but yao are simple.

yao don't have so many of these excess considerations. if they are hungry, they will seek to feed. if they are hurt, they will fight back. if they are scared, they will hide. if they are cared for, they will respond with equal gentleness.

in other words: yao are not human.

and this distinction is what made so many classic xianxias and yao-centric stories so compelling (think 白素贞 Bai Suzhen from the romance folktale 白蛇传 White Snake Legend).

to discuss our beloved 慕声 Mu Sheng as an example: it can be easy to say he has a jiejie-complex or is almost yandere-like about 慕瑶 Mu Yao, but we have to remember that as half-yao, he doesn't operate on the same frame of reference as humans. Mu Yao is the one person who has been consistently kind to him since he was young, and so he will reciprocate that kindness to (human standards of) extremity. likewise, when our cutie-pie 凌妙妙 Ling Miaomiao regards him with kindness, Mu Sheng will feel inclined to answer that with affections a hundred or a thousand times stronger.

though he grew up among humans, Mu Sheng's yao half should not be forgotten. humans may be fickle in their feelings; but yao (in general) will not be. once they have found someone worth their affections, they will love fiercely and to a terrifying degree. you can also understand it as yao not necessarily posessing the same understanding of 分寸 / "propriety" that humans do.

so, again, yao are not human—and that is why their stories have always been so compelling to us. we place limits on our conduct and behavior for a variety of socially-imposed and learned reasons, but yao as an imperfect reflection of our human selves allow us to live out our "fantasies" of extremity.

i think the new era of xianxias have largely traded that yao-human distinction for other things, like eye-catching CGI, flowy costumes, and the three lives, three worlds formula—which are, of course, not inherently bad.

YYXH itself is part of this new chapter of storytelling/the genre of xianxias after all (esp. given its existence as a 古偶), but that is ultimately precisely why it stands out so much to me.

is it the first or only xianxia in recent years to show that yao are nuanced? that yao are neither all good nor all bad? — of course not!

but i think it is undoubtedly among the very, very few in recent years that has successfully portrayed just what it is that makes yao so uniquely compelling. and that is due in large part to both strong writers (who also did 《苍兰诀》 Love Between Fairy and Devil) and strong actors.

in short, YYXH feels like a labor of love. love for the original 《黑莲花攻略手册》 novel; love for the xianxia genre; love for storytelling, in an era driven by capitalistic cash-grabs and the ruthlessness of c-ent.

the reality of that is up for debate, but as one individual viewer, i want to say that this drama has made me very happy. it is both respectful of and pays homage to the yao of classic xianxias.

and to be able to share and enjoy that cultural artefact—something that is so uniquely and immutably Chinese—with others, is something that brings me a lot of joy. ✨