#hints at non-con/dub-con

[snail-day]

Parasite

Sum: Nothing bad ever happens from a fling, right?

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Pregnancy/Implied Baby trapping, Non-con/Dub-con, Double Penetration, Power imbalance, mild gore (curses), Execution mentions, MDNI

WC: 3.5k

A/n: there will be another part eventually! Mwah!

You knew this was wrong - every part of it. You shouldn’t be here, ensnared between the two most dangerous sorcerers alive. You shouldn’t be gasping sweet moans into the mouth of the enemy, pressed between their feverish, toned bodies. And yet, here you were, lips crushed against Satoru’s, desperation tangible as he chased every breath you tried to take. Hungry. Starved. Intent on devouring you whole. His long, slender fingers found their way to the curve of your waist, dragging the blunt edge of his nails along the softness of your skin. His lips followed, trailing down the column of your neck, branding you with searing heat. Behind you, Suguru pressed closer, his warmth a slow, creeping heat licking up your spine, airy touches ghosting down your body. That voice - silken and intoxicating - curled into your ear, pulling a sigh from your lips before you could stop it.

“I missed you,” he murmured, those thick fingers of his flexing against your tender, pliant flesh. Then, with a teasing lilt, he added, “And you know… I don’t think I’ll let you leave this time.”

The same joke. The same dangerous hint of a smile in his words. He used to say it back when you’d slip into his dorm in the dead of night, when stolen kisses in dim hallways felt like secrets worth keeping. But that was then.

You felt Suguru’s hands glide up from your hips, pulling you from your thoughts, his soothing touch tracing idle patterns into your skin. There was an almost languid hunger in the way he moved - a need to claim, to memorize every curve, every tremor that rippled through you under his touch. Big, warm calloused palms, rough from training, grazed over your flesh, scorching everywhere they touched. Higher and higher, teasingly slow, until they reached their destination, cupping your breasts, kneading softly before his thumb flicked over your sensitive nub, coaxing a gasp from your lips.

His mouth was just as sinful, hot and insistent. Lips latched onto the nape of your neck, sucking a bruising mark into your skin - one you’d surely chastise him for later. 

Yet, in this moment, all you could focus on was the way you were sinking onto Satoru. The thick stretch of him stole your breath. God, you’d forgotten how full he made you feel - almost too much, the urge to say wait nearly slipping from your lips. But you couldn’t stop - not with Suguru pressing in behind you, trapping you between them, the weight of what was at stake pressing just as heavily against your skin.

How long had it been since the three of you planned this? A month? Two? If the higher-ups ever found out -

“You’re overthinking again,” Satoru whined, his voice breathy with need. He gazed up at you, those bright, lust-hazed eyes brimming with impatience. His grip on your hips tightened before he yanked you down, forcing his length deeper inside you. A sharp moan tore from your throat, body trembling as pleasure jolted through you.

“Can feel you dryin’ up,” Satoru murmured, his voice dipping into something teasing yet edged with need. “C’mon, pretty - focus on us.”

Suguru seemed to notice as well, one hand slipping away, trailing down to the small of your back. With a firm, gentle nudge as he guided you forward until your body melted against Satoru’s warm chest. Hazy and pliant, you let your lips find his in a slow, heated kiss, too lost in him to register the shift behind you.

At first, you barely noticed the second press of a velvety tip at your entrance, too caught up in the way Satoru’s fingers tangled in your hair, keeping you tethered to him, deepening the kiss. But when Suguru pushed forward, sinking in inch by inch, Satoru stilled, smiling against your lips as if savoring your reaction.

The stretch was dizzying, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat - one that Satoru eagerly swallowed, his tongue licking into your mouth to steal the sound. Behind you, Suguru let out a low, satisfied hum, his grip tightening as he cooed,

“It’s just a big stretch, Angel. You can handle it.”

The sinful reassurance dripped from Suguru’s lips that only made the overwhelming sensation all the more dizzying. Sounds you’d never made before were quickly swallowed by Satoru, his soft, glossy lips moving hungrily against yours as your mind slipped into a hazy, pleasure-drunk daze. It was too much - you felt too much.

You tried to speak, to push the word yellow against Satoru’s lips, but he was too lost in you to notice. Too absorbed in the way your body trembled between them, too caught up in his own pleasure to realize you were instinctively trying to move forward - to run - only for Suguru’s grip to turn cruel as he began pulling your hips back in place.

The first wave crashed through you, the lights from the room turning into blurring stars as you did your best to focus on anything but the overwhelming stretch, away from the pleasure being dragged out of you. As your maw went slack, drool spilling past your lips, your body greedily clenched around them both, walls closing in on their thick cocks that seemed to twitch as your cunt sang to their ears. Satoru sucked in a sharp breath beneath you, his grip on your waist faltering as he stilled.

“Fuck - ” a deep groan pushed outwards, his perfect face contorting into pleasure as his white brows furrowed, stuttering a few pleasure-laced breaths before heat flooded inside your body, swarming with your juices. White rings forming around their cocks as both your bodies tensed from the sensation, as your cunt wrung every last drop, sodden walls clenching down mercilessly. Satoru whined, high and breathy, shivering beneath you, but Suguru didn’t stop. Of course, he didn't, instead a soft moan left his lips as he pushed himself deeper, to witness the twitches in Satoru’s body from the overstimulation. 

Satoru had always been an early finisher. His hands however, remained bruising on your skin, fingers dragging down your back, leaving behind stinging scratches as his pale body twitched from the sensitivity as Suguru’s cock dragged against his. You yelped, the sharp sensation blending into the white-hot pleasure building inside you, your moans growing more desperate. You were close - so close.

Satoru pulled you tighter against his chest, cradling you as Suguru’s pace quickened, each thrust sending you spiraling higher, sending your mind spiraling higher as the words yellow to red formed on your lips, words that didn't have the chance to escape. As Satoru's mouth was already there, devouring, consuming, smothering every syllable before it could escape. His tongue swept into your mouth, swallowing every fractured breath and plea. The pleasure crested a blinding, suffocation sensation that sent your body shaking. a keen whine manages to break through your throat, ragged and breathless as tears prickle at your lashes. Hot and stinging. Slipping free in the spaces where neither of them was watching.

Satoru, ever the sweet talker, murmured soft breathless praises into your ear, his voice dripping with adoration. 

“That’s it, pretty,” he cooed, voice hazy as he felt Suguru’s cock twitch against his dragging a breathless, pitiful whine from his lips before continuing, “Just let go. We’ve got you.” 

You don’t remember much after that - after the gasp that tore from your lips, the slick warmth pooling between your thighs, after the small press of something making you feel impossibly fuller. Sleep had dragged you under far too quickly, faster than the aftercare, faster than the quiet murmurs and touches meant to tether you back to them.

When you awoke, the room was silent, save for the muffled hum of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tokyo’s skyline bled into the dim hotel walls, casting soft, shifting reflections across the room. The heat of their bodies had long since vanished, leaving behind only the ghost of them - cologne, sweat, and the unmistakable, sinful scent of last night.

You groggily pushed yourself up, muscles aching, the soreness wrapping itself around your limbs like a cruel embrace - a stark reminder of why you needed to keep your distance. A month should be enough. A month to shake off their hold, to regain some semblance of control. You didn’t envy the poor soul who ended up with them permanently.

Blinking against the remnants of sleep, your gaze landed on the nightstand. A neatly folded note sat there, the ink bold and familiar, the elegant scrawl unmistakably Suguru’s.

Hotel is paid for. I’ll have my assistant schedule our next meeting. Order some food. Please. Satoru turned off your alarm - you looked exhausted.

And beneath it, a final line, one that made something in your chest twist.

I hope this time you’ll consider saying yes.

Of course.

There it was.

Your eyes drifted lower, and sure enough, a small velvet box sat beside the note.

This had to be the fifth - no, the sixth - ring they’d given you.

The first had been simple: a thin silver band pressed into your palm the night Suguru defected. His bloodied hand - blood that wasn’t his - had cupped your cheek as he begged you to come with him. As he whispered that he couldn’t leave without you.

Instead, you had backed away.

You had stayed while they left.

You had chosen the world that they had rejected. A world focused on protecting the weak. A world that the strongest had abandoned.

And somehow, despite everything, you had ended up in this arrangement -  was it lust? Was it the ache of loneliness? Or was it something far along the lines of the intoxicating thrill of being wanted by the strongest?

You weren’t sure. However, you did the same thing you always did.

You left the ring untouched. You never even opened the box to see what elaborate choice they had made this time. It didn’t matter. It never mattered.

This was a fling. Nothing more. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. A day later, the Google invite arrived - subtle, inconspicuous, something that wouldn’t raise suspicion among the higher-ups. Two private addresses - never the same location, never the same time. Just a casual meeting of sorts.

You knew better. You knew exactly what would happen if the higher ups caught you with the enemy. And those two knew too - constantly reminding you in soft murmurs and teasing threats that you would be executed.

You tried not to think about it.

So, out of pure spite, you pressed the response button to their invite:

Maybe.

Not like they could contact you, anyway.

But when the end of the month arrived and your period didn’t, the world seemed to fracture beneath you. You counted the days again. And again. You told yourself it was nothing - stress, exhaustion, the toll of constant missions. You tried to believe it.

Still, when the next invitation came, you declined. No explanation. No excuses. Just Declined.

You were busy. Too busy. Missions, training, anything to keep yourself from spiraling. Anything to push the thought - the creeping, gnawing what if - out of your mind.

Anything to push them out of your mind. You didn't need them. This is where you draw the line. Where you hope to never cross paths again.

But that didn’t stop Suguru. He always had his ways of reminding you. Reminding you of his love. The curses came first, creeping from the shadows like nightmarish specters - grotesque things with gnarled, sinewy limbs and rotting flesh that peeled in thick, oozing sheets. Their twisted bodies slithered toward you, spines snapping and limbs jerking with unnatural movements, but it was their mouths - oh, their mouths - that haunted you most.

Petals.

Blood-red roses, blooming in grotesque mockery, spilled from their jagged maws, dripping with saliva and something darker. The scent of decay mixed with the sickly sweet perfume of crushed petals as they gurgled and snarled, teeth flashing between the soft, delicate flowers. Their fingers - long, clawed things  - reached for your flesh, desperate to tear, to consume, to remind you.

Suguru always was a cruel bastard.

But he never sent anything you couldn’t handle. Never anything that could truly harm you - only the most horrifying of his discarded creatures, his unwanted experiments, cast-offs he no longer had use for. They were love letters written in nightmare fuel, messages of devotion carved into the flesh of his creations, each one a whisper of don’t forget me.

And then another month passed.

Another invite.

Another decline. You had things to do, a family-mart to visit. The open bag sat beside you, its contents spilling haphazardly across the sink - water bottles, half-torn hydration drink wrappers, and an obscene number of pregnancy tests. The dim bathroom light flickered above, casting sickly yellow hues over the mess around you. Shadows stretched and twisted against the walls, warping your reflection in the mirror, making it seem as distorted as the thoughts racing through your head.

Your hands trembled violently as you stared down at the scattered tests, their tiny plastic frames stark against the floor. Five. Five identical windows, five glaring verdicts. Five quiet executions of your denial.

Double lines.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Your breath hitched, ragged and uneven, the walls pressing in tighter with every second. Your fingers curled as you grabbed another test, fumbling with frantic, clumsy hands. The packaging crinkled, tearing easily under your shaking grip. Your pulse pounded so loud, so deafening, that you barely heard the sob clawing its way out of your throat.

They have to be defective.

They had to be. Each and every single one of them.

Your vision blurred, hot tears streaking down your face as you fought to steady your hands. The plastic test felt too light, too fragile in your grip - like it was toying with you, waiting to deliver the final blow, waiting to write your execution for something you should have prevented. You uncapped the pathetic thing. Was it because you bought the cheap ones? You should go back and buy the fancy digital ones. Your mind raced as your stomach began twisting, breath began stuttering. The air felt thick, suffocating, heavy with the scent of cheap drugstore plastic and the artificial sweetness of cherry flavoring clinging to the back of your throat. You forced yourself to sit down, legs weak, heart hammering. One more time. Just one more.

One negative is all you were asking for.

You set the test aside, gaze locking onto the result window as if sheer willpower could bend fate. Seconds stretched into an eternity.

Blank.

Blank.

One line.

Two lines.

A strangled, broken laugh escaped you, the sound barely human. Your fingers curled around a hydration bottle, knuckles white as you wrenched it open, nearly crushing the plastic in your grip. You tipped it back in desperate, greedy gulps, the icy liquid searing its way down your throat - sharp enough to make you gasp, sharp enough to ground you in the reality you wanted so desperately to escape.

The tests stared back at you. You weren’t sure how it happened. Well you know how it happens, but you took precautions. You took your pill every single day. Same time. Same routine. Same - your breath caught in your throat.

Satoru turned off your alarm.

A slow, creeping dread slithered through your veins, colder than anything Suguru had ever sent your way.

You missed a day?

No.

You would’ve noticed.

You should have noticed.

…Right?

But the truth lay there before you, undeniable, etched into every test scattered around you. The parasite growing inside you, feeding off your body - their child. A shudder racked your spine, ice pooling in your veins. Your breath hitched, coming in short, uneven gasps as the weight of reality pressed against your chest like a crushing vice. Trembling fingers drifted to your stomach, ghosting over the bare skin as if the simple touch could ground you, could somehow make this feel less real.

But there was no escaping it.

No rewinding time.

No undoing the impossible.

For the first time in years, you were utterly, hopelessly lost.

Your gaze flickered toward your phone, the dim glow of the screen barely cutting through the suffocating darkness of your apartment. The silence pressed in, thick and smothering, tightening with every shallow breath.

A name.

A person you could call.

Your trembling fingers hovered over Satoru’s contact, the letters blurring through the haze of unshed tears.

Satoru - the one who used to press featherlight kisses against your cheek before missions, grinning like the world couldn’t touch you both. The one who would cup your face between his hands, his breath warm against your lips as he whispered the plan to sneak sweets into the dorms, as if it were some grand conspiracy the two of you shared. Sneak them in before Suguru could roll his eyes and scold you both.

Satoru, who left with Suguru.

Satoru, who had clung to you in one last, desperate embrace, his fingers digging into your uniform, his entire body trembling as he silently, wordlessly begged you to come with them.

Begged you to be under their protection.

But you stayed.

You hesitated. Your fingers twitched away from his name. You knew how it would go - he would answer immediately, voice laced with curiosity, amusement, with the confidence that he could fix whatever was wrong. And he would come for you. No hesitation. No delay.

And then there was Suguru.

Your thumb hovered over his contact, breath shuddering out in uneven gasps.

Suguru, who would let the call ring twice - never once, never three times - just long enough to feign indifference, to uphold the meticulously crafted illusion that he wasn’t waiting for you to reach out. That he wasn’t hoping.

But you knew better. You could already hear the smug smirk in his voice, the lazy amusement when he’d finally answer, when he’d ask if you got his flowers.

Not a chance.

And then - Shoko.

Shoko, who had left with them.

Shoko, who had always been your rock, who made those two make sense.

Shoko is a doctor; she would understand what to do, who to talk to, options to - no you couldn't. You should find another way, you should-

Your stomach dropped. Your fingers jerked away from the screen as if burned, but it was too late. The screen flashed. Your pounding, thundering heart had stopped and sank to the pits of your stomach where your parasite now resides.

You were already calling her.

A sharp inhale rattled through your chest, uneven, choked. A fresh wave of panic crashed over you, drowning you in its suffocating weight. Tears burned at the edges of your vision, hot and relentless, blurring the damning sight of the pregnancy tests littered across the bathroom floor. A tremor wracked your entire body, bile clawing its way up your throat, acidic and revolting, as the cold, inescapable truth settled like lead in your stomach.

This wasn’t just your problem.

This wasn’t something you could pretend didn’t exist.

If you carried this child - their child - the higher-ups would execute you both. No hesitation. No trial. No chance to beg. No hope for leniency.

The dial tone barely rang once before a voice sliced through the suffocating quiet.

"Yo." Shoko’s voice rang light, unbothered. However, in the background, a quiet shuffle. A soft scuffle.

Then a familiar, whining voice. "Lemme listen in - " Satoru. A shiver rolled through you, dread sinking its jagged claws deeper into your chest. They were together.

You couldn’t tell them.

You couldn't tell anyone.

Because, your family - your colleagues, the very people you swore loyalty to - would brand you a disgrace. A traitor. A whore who spread her legs for the enemy.

Because, the higher-ups would carve your execution date into stone.

Because -

"I might not let you go this time." Suguru’s voice slithered through your mind, smooth as silk, suffocating as a noose. Your throat constricted, something raw and primal clawing at your chest, your heart pounding so violently it hurt. Your grip on the phone was white-knuckled, shaking so hard you thought you might drop it.

And all you could say to Shoko was -

"Wrong number."

Before hanging up. Before glancing at the string of texts filtering through with Shoko's name attached to them. Texts you assumed weren't from Shoko. Your fingers pressed Block on the contact after seeing the last one. "I miss you" before tears spilled your eyes once more.

You weren’t sure what to do.

Who to speak to.

Who was safe.

Who wasn’t.

Your vision swam, the weight of it all crashing down like an tide, dragging you under.

Why did you stay?

Why did you return to their arms?

And why did a small part of you think it would be easier to just go to them.

[velarisdusk]

Meant to Stand

Cassian x Reader

summary: Rhysand has one request: restore a half-collapsed cabin into something fit for veteran Illyrians. The catch? You'll be doing it with Cassian—and the two of you haven't truly spoken since that mission four years ago. word count: 15.7k content: [ explicit sexual content, borderline dub-con, rough sex, verbal degradation, praise, fingering, bondage, edging, orgasm denial, piv, no condom and no pulling out (me back on my bullshit :P) sexism/misogyny (minor characters), threat of violence (non-graphic, knives mentioned), injury (to the head, blood), explicit language ] author's note: please note that all sexual content is ultimately consensual, though the dynamic leans aggressive/intense. this is an enemies to lovers after all >:) ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ warrior's draught infused with a drop of heartstring enhanced with echo leaves stirred thank you for the request @avidromancereader!! your ask is gone from my inbox and i cant find your acc but i hope you'll somehow see this anyway. mwah <33

He had to be joking.

Rhysand leaned casually against the edge of his desk, as if this were no different from any other meeting, as if he hadn’t just unleashed the single most insufferable idea ever conceived within the borders of this Court. His arms folded across his chest, violet eyes deceptively calm, holding a polite smile that barely masked something sharp underneath. If he said, “I think this could be good for you two” one more time, you were certain you’d find something heavy nearby to throw at him.

Cassian stood to your left, a low, humorless huff escaping him—equal parts disbelief and reluctant amusement. You refused to meet his gaze; looking at him risked egging him on.

“Say it again,” you demanded, keeping your voice steady, trying to rein in the irritation that prickled at your skin. “Just so I know I heard you right.”

Rhys’s smile didn’t falter. “The two of you are going to restore an old Illyrian safehouse. It’s been abandoned for decades—north of Windhaven, higher up into the mountain range. Remote, battered by weather, half-collapsed.”

You blinked, waiting.

“And you want us to fix it.”

“I want you to rebuild it,” he said, voice smooth and unyielding, like riverstone polished by relentless currents. “From the ground up, if necessary.”

You stared at him. 

He pressed on, as if he hadn’t just sentenced you both to weeks locked away in isolation with nothing but rotting timber and cold stone. “It’s more than just a safehouse. I want it to be a retreat—a sanctuary where soldiers can recover. After missions. After war. Somewhere quiet. Off-grid, unreachable, but safe. Yours will be the first. If it works, we’ll build more.”

Your eyes flickered to Cassian.

His jaw twitched—the faintest flicker of muscle betraying his calm.

“A healing retreat,” you repeated, your voice flat, tasting disbelief.

Rhys nodded once.

“In the middle of nowhere.”

Another nod.

“For Illyrian soldiers.”

Smile. Nod.

You let out a breath through your nose—a sharp, bitter exhale. “What the fuck did we do to deserve this?”

Rhysand laughed, a rich sound that held a hint of something unrepentant. “Consider it a sign of my deepest trust.”

From beside you, Cassian muttered under his breath, voice low and dark, “Sounds more like a punishment to me.”

Your eyes flicked briefly to him—he looked as irritated as you felt, but he masked it with practiced ease, folding his broad arms across his chest, a silent challenge. Motherfucker.

You turned back to Rhys.

“Why us?”

Rhys’s smile sharpened, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Because no one else has your combined skill set. And because I think it would do you good to spend some time—”

“If you say ‘together,’” you cut him off, voice low and deadly serious, “I swear on the Mother, I’ll walk out of this room and straight off the edge of the Sidra.”

Cassian snorted.

You whipped your gaze to him. “This isn’t funny.”

He shrugged with maddening nonchalance. “I didn’t say it was.”

But that smug glint in his eye—the one he’d carried the whole way back from that disastrous mission four years ago—the one where everything went sideways and somehow you had been the one Rhys lectured afterward—was back.

“Look,” Rhys said, voice dipping to something dangerously calm, “the house matters. It served as a midwinter refuge for mountain patrols, and I want it operational again. You’ll have all the supplies you need. Space to work. And if you’re smart, you’ll finish before the first frost.”

Cassian drawled, “And if we’re not smart?”

Rhys’s smile brightened, teeth flashing. “Then you’ll be cold.”

You glanced down at the map unfurled before you—tiny inked lines snaking through jagged peaks like veins. The cottage was just a speck, swallowed whole by towering mountains, tucked so deep into the range it might as well be a secret.

It was madness. You should have said no.

But Cassian straightened beside you, jaw set with stubborn resolve. He wasn’t backing down.

So neither would you.

“Fine,” you said, clipped and sharp.

Cassian echoed it with a curt nod. “Fine.”

Rhys clapped his hands once, far too pleased with himself. “Excellent.”

You bit back the urge to slam your fist into the desk.

That had been this morning.

Now, hours later, your boots crunched against the brittle snow crust that had settled thick inside what little remained of the front room. Your fingers were numb, clenching the rusted shovel you’d found half-buried in a corner, its handle rough and cold beneath your gloves. Rhys had winnowed you straight to the site just after dawn, telling you Cassian would fly in alone. Of course he had.

Rhys hadn’t said much before whisking you here—only the name of the family you’d be staying with. Good, solid folk from Windhaven, kind in a way that felt like the earth itself. Their eldest had built his own forge. The memory flickered briefly, warm as a candle’s flame, until you turned and saw the house.

Calling it a house felt generous.

Half the roof had collapsed, snow having crept inside through years of neglect and storms. One wall sagged inward, as if defeated by its own weight, barely holding on. The front door hung crooked on a single rusty hinge, creaking faintly in the biting wind. Inside, rot and ruin claimed everything—the acrid smell of damp wood and cold ash clung to your nostrils as you stepped over the threshold.

You’d expected this would be bad. It was worse.

This place was not meant to stand.

But you got to work.

By the time the sun clawed its way above the ridgeline, you’d cleared two rooms of snow, shoulders aching, fingers stinging despite the thick gloves. Your muscles protested with every shovelful of debris, your frustration growing heavier than the weight you hauled.

The wind whispered and howled through shattered beams. The house groaned under the assault of time and weather. And still, no sign of Cassian.

When his boots finally crunched through the snow behind you, the sky was already washed bright with late morning sun. You were midway through yanking a broken rafter free from what had once been a bedroom.

“Well,” he said, voice maddeningly bright, “at least it’s got character.”

You spun, incredulous. “Are you kidding?”

Cassian glanced around, hands on hips, wings flaring briefly as he took in the wreckage. “No. I’m honestly impressed it’s still standing.”

“I’ve been here for hours.”

“I told Rhys I’d fly. You chose the early shift.”

You dropped the rafter with a satisfying thunk. “You’re late.”

He shrugged. “You started without me.”

And just like that, the bickering began—fast and fierce. Over the beams’ state. The rot creeping through the floors. Who got which tools. Where to start first—though, as you reminded him more than once, you were already well underway.

“You cannot patch a roof with brute force, Cassian.”

“Brute force’s been good to me for five hundred years.”

“Not on a roof.”

“You’re just jealous you can’t lift the roof.”

You came dangerously close to hurling a hammer at his head at that. Why would you want to? Why would you even need to?

Eventually, grudgingly, a plan took shape.

The supplies Rhys had sent arrived: thick lumber, nails, shingles, canvas tarps. Throughout the day, women from Windhaven appeared with baskets of food and tightly wrapped bundles of dried herbs and cloth, leaving as quietly as they came—always with a knowing glance. One winked when she handed you a loaf of bread.

You didn’t ask questions.

Cassian took to the high work, wings carrying him effortlessly to the eaves and upper beams. You handled the details—the door frames, window fittings, and cuts requiring more precision than power. You worked in parallel, never quite together.

Outside, the wind sharpened, prying at battered walls as if intent on tearing the house apart for good.

Hours later, you left the site, the day’s labor etched into your muscles and mood. The chill lingered, stubborn as ever, even when you reached the small home where you would stay.

Illyrian, of course—rough-hewn in both manner and build, but not unkind.

Harran, the father, stood tall and broad-shouldered, coal-dark hair threaded with silver, a jagged scar slicing down his jaw. His eyes were sharp but not cruel, and he moved like a man who’d seen enough battle to stop pretending it glorified anything.

His mate, Vesa, was smaller and wiry, her clipped wings folded tight behind her. Her gaze was steady and clear—missed nothing, endured everything. Her hands, scarred and chapped, were always busy—kneading dough, mending clothes, smoothing a child’s hair.

Their sons, Miran and Corven, were nearly Cassian’s height—broad-shouldered and muscular from long hours training in the mountains. Miran, the older, carried himself with a practiced swagger; Corven was never far behind, eager to match his brother’s pace. They elbowed and argued, squabbled over the first bowl of stew, and ignored you with the effortless indifference only Illyrian boys could master.

Their daughter, Nali, was younger—ten, maybe twelve—difficult to tell beneath soot-smudged skin and fraying braids. Her wings were untouched, not yet clipped. At first, she watched you warily—quiet, observant—before offering a tentative smile and a crust of bread, weighing you carefully as if deciding whether you were threat or fleeting stranger. When she spoke, her bluntness mirrored your own too closely to be coincidence.

Vesa met you at the door with a smile and warm hands. Inside, the hearth roared like a promise of safety. The scent of roasting meat and fresh bread filled the room, weaving through the low murmur of quiet conversation. 

You ate without much thought, muscles loosening with each bite as the cold finally released its grip.

Later, wrapped in thick woolen blankets lent by Nali, you lay awake, the mountain wind howling outside like a mourning song, the creak of old wood and scrape of ice against stone your only companions.

Your mind drifted—as it always did after too many hours spent circling Cassian’s orbit—back to that day. The day everything twisted between you.

You could still hear the shouted orders, feel the crushing weight of every mistake like shards of splintering wood pressing down, drowning you.

It hadn’t been just the mission going sideways.

It was everything that followed—the flicker of  grudging respect, the sharp words, the cold distance. The silent apologies neither of you dared voice. 

You closed your eyes and let the wind howl its grief through the mountains, the sound folding over you like a threadbare lullaby. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A week had passed. Probably. You’d stopped counting somewhere around day four, when your fingers went numb midway through hammering a frost-stiffened plank and you’d seriously considered torching the entire cottage just to make a point.

Still—progress. Measurable, even. The worst of the rot had been cleared. Floorboards in the front room were sanded and patched. Rafters, once bowed and brittle, had been reinforced with new timber. Slowly, stubbornly, the bones of the house had begun to realign themselves beneath the weight of your shared labor.

Cassian had even rehung the front door—though not without three stripped hinges, several increasingly irrational arguments, and one wholly gratuitous flex of his biceps.

The worst part of it all? The hike.

And gods, it seemed to get steeper with each passing day.

Rhys had dropped you directly at the doorstep when he first winnowed you in, but ever since then, the journey from the foothills to the cottage had to be done on foot—an hour of merciless incline, uneven footing, and air thinned just enough to make your lungs burn.

Every morning, without fail, somewhere near the quarter mark, you’d hear it: the slow, rhythmic thud of wings overhead.

You didn’t know where Cassian spent his nights, but there he was each dawn, cutting a high path across the ridgeline like a shadow peeled from the rock. He never looked down. Never hovered. Never taunted. For that small mercy, you were grateful.

And yet—

Some traitorous part of you, breathless and aching and cold, found itself wishing—just once—that he’d stop. Offer to carry you the rest of the way. Just once.

The moment the thought formed, you slapped yourself in the face with your own glove.

You would rather collapse in the snow than ask. You were not that desperate. 

Today’s task: one of the larger ceiling beams had to be repositioned before the rest of the support frame could go in. It was easily twice your weight and stubborn as hell, and you knew without even trying that getting it in place would be a losing battle. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t try though. It was going to be a long day. 

You adjusted your grip on the timber. Morning frost still clung to the surface, and the grain bit into your palms like it could sense the tremor in your muscles.

Through the ragged hole where a window would eventually sit, you caught sight of Cassian outside. 

He’d hauled half the new roofing up the slope before sunrise. Now he was anchoring the lean-to’s frame—bracing a support beam with one hand, hammering with the other.

Snow crunched beneath his boots each time he shifted. His breath curled silver in the cold. The steady rhythm of nails driving into wood echoed through the half-finished walls, punctuated by the occasional muttered curse when one bent wrong.

It was the kind of work that demanded his full attention—

—which meant, unfortunately, that your job for the moment was this stubborn, gods-damned beam.

You turned back to it with a sigh. Dragged the step ladder from the corner. Braced it against what remained of the western wall. Climbed slowly, joints stiff from the cold, from the climb, from a week’s worth of bruises you hadn’t bothered to tally.

One hand on the beam. One on the top rung.

You pushed.

Nothing. 

You shifted angles. Shoved again, jaw locked tight.

Still nothing.

Your breath scraped in and out like it had to fight for space.

You braced your shoulder into the timber, legs straining. Something groaned—either the ladder or your spine—but the beam didn’t move. Or maybe it did. A hair. A tremble. Enough to fool yourself.

Your vision sparked at the edges.

Then your boot slipped.

Your shoulder clipped the top rung, too slow to catch yourself—

—and your head struck the beam, hard, a sudden, blinding thunk.

The world pitched.

Then the floor rose to meet your spine.

A flare of white. Then nothing at all.

Something tugged at you eventually. 

Light, at first. Insistent. 

—light, insistent. 

Then sound—distant, distorted, like your name being called through stone. A scraping wind. The dull, percussive drum of your pulse hammering behind your eyes.

You blinked.

The world listed sideways. Skewed edges. Sky, timber, a shadow leaning over you. It moved—broad shoulders, dark hair—and resolved, slowly, into a face much too close to yours.

Cassian.

His palms framed your face, steady and warm, anchoring you like you might float off otherwise. There was tension in his jaw, a furrow carved deep between his brows. He looked—

Panicked.

Why?

You blinked again. Tried to speak. Nothing emerged.

His thumb passed gently along your cheekbone. You felt it. That, at least, reached you.

Then the pain came.

Blinding. Sudden.

The throb behind your eyes flared white-hot, and you could only gasp, curling reflexively as the world slammed back into place—floorboards cold against your spine, rough beneath your coat.

Cassian’s voice cut through the fog. “Hey. Look at me.” Firm. Quiet. “You’re okay. You hit your head, but you’re okay.”

But his tone didn’t sound certain.

You tried to sit up. A jolt of pain arced down your neck like a whip. Cassian’s hand rose without thought—light on your shoulder, more brace than barrier.

“I’m fine,” you rasped. The lie felt hollow in your throat. You pressed your hand to your temple, willing the room to steady. “Just slipped.”

“You fell off a ladder,” he said tightly, crouching beside you. “You could’ve cracked your gods-damned skull. What were you even doing?”

He was too close. Too warm. He smelled like cedar dust and sweat and early morning frost—and his hands, even in their urgency, remained heartbreakingly gentle.

Steady.

He was always so steady. You hated him for it.

“I said I’m fine,” you muttered, shoving weakly at his shoulder. It was like pushing a boulder.

He didn’t budge. Just exhaled, slow and measured, as if dragging the breath up from somewhere deep in his chest. Then, softer, “You’re bleeding. Let me help you.”

You should’ve refused.

Should’ve snapped something sharp and final.

But your head throbbed like it was caught in a smith’s vice, and the floor kept tilting beneath you in queasy waves, and your knees—gods, your knees were shaking now.

So when he eased you upright, guided you carefully toward the nearest wall, you didn’t fight it.

Cassian knelt in front of you again, eyes sweeping over you with a battle-hardened thoroughness that made your skin crawl. You tried to turn your face away—

—but his fingers found your chin. Gentle. Unmoving.

“Hold still.”

You glared. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He angled your face toward the light, jaw tightening at the sight of the gash above your brow. The blood had begun to clot, streaking thickly through your lashes. You didn’t need to see it to know the damage—his expression told you enough.

Then his hand shifted. Slid into your hair. Fingers careful, parting through tangles to find the source of the swelling.

You flinched.

He stilled. “Didn’t crack it,” he murmured. “But you’re lucky.”

“Or stubborn.”

A soft huff—barely a sound. “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

He checked the rest of you with a soldier’s precision—rolling your sleeve to inspect the elbow that had caught your fall, then skimming his hand down your leg, testing the bend of your knee, the give of your ankle. Efficient. Clinical. Detached.

It should’ve felt impersonal.

And yet—

You felt heat creeping beneath your skin all the same.

Cassian leaned back on his heels. “Rhys sent a basic first aid kit up with the supply run. I saw it in one of the crates—we’ll see how basic it is.”

You didn’t argue. Just watched him cross the half-finished room, boots thudding over the creaking floorboards, shadows shifting as he rifled through the stacked crates by the door. Tools clinked faintly nearby. Somewhere outside, the mountain wind threaded through the empty window frames, thin and cold and constant.

You used the moment to gather yourself. To breathe through the pounding behind your eyes, to will the heat still simmering in your chest to settle.

Gods, you hated this.

Hated how easily he’d helped you.

How careful he’d been.

How easy it had been to let him.

Because Cassian was infuriating. Arrogant. Impossible. But when the bluster dropped and left behind only steady hands, a tight mouth, and that quiet concern in his eyes—it made it harder to hold on to the anger you’d spent so long cultivating.

And you needed that anger. It was safer than remembering how it used to be between you. Safer than wondering if he remembered it, too. Safer than asking yourself why it still mattered.

He returned a minute later with a black canvas case and sank back to his knees in front of you. Snapped it open. Inside: a roll of gauze, antiseptic, a clean cloth.

“This’ll sting,” he warned.

You tipped your chin up. “Do your worst.”

He gave you a look. Then, with maddening gentleness, dabbed at the cut above your brow.

The antiseptic bit down sharp and cold and mean. You flinched before you could stop yourself, the muscles in your face twitching involuntarily.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

You let out a breath of a laugh, brittle and dry. “You apologizing now?”

He didn’t bite. Just kept working—focused, silent.

So you clenched your jaw and let him.

There was care in it. Not the loud, performative kind—but the careful press of cloth, the precise wrap of gauze. Intentional. Quiet. It made your skin itch.

He tore the strip of bandage with his teeth, wrapped your head in neat spirals. Tight, but not too tight.

“You’re not setting a bone,” you muttered. “Ease up.”

“Don’t pass out on me again and I’ll consider it.”

You rolled your eyes. Instantly regretted it as the motion sent another pulse of pain lancing through your skull.

When the bandage was finally in place, he leaned back, scanning you again—like he didn’t quite trust you not to have hidden some other injury just to spite him.

“You hit the back of your head too,” he said, voice low. “Hard. You’ll need to watch for symptoms.”

“No shit,” you muttered. “Maybe if someone had warned me about altitude and exertion and, I don’t know, lifting beams clearly designed by a drunk sadist—”

“I did,” he cut in flatly. “Three days ago. You told me to, and I quote, ‘shove it.’”

That… sounded like you.

“Still stands,” you grumbled.

Cassian exhaled through his nose, bracing his forearms on his knees as he studied you. Just studied—no irritation, no smirk, no retort.

Just that look.

You shifted under the weight of it. “What?”

He didn’t answer.

Only said, “You’re lucky you didn’t crack your skull open.”

You scoffed. “You’d love that. One less thing to trip over in this place.”

A quiet snort escaped him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”

You hesitated. Then, grudgingly: “Thanks.”

It burned in your mouth. Bitter as iron.

Cassian stood. Brushed his palms off on his pants like he couldn’t quite figure out what else to do with them.

“Don’t make a habit of it.”

You wouldn’t. Gods, you wouldn’t.

You turned your back before he could say anything else, jaw tight against the ache behind your eyes.

Letting him take care of you had been bad enough.

Letting him see it? That was worse.

Letting it mean something?

Unforgivable.

So you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

You told yourself that was enough.

The work after that resumed without ceremony. No acknowledgment. No mention of the moment you’d let him bandage your face like it hadn’t cost you something. Neither of you spoke about that day.

You didn’t speak much at all.

Days blurred into weeks, thick with sawdust and silence. The roof had gone up two days after your fall, the outer walls not long after that, and the gash on your brow healed without much fuss. One morning, you’d found Cassian half-folded in the crawl space, swearing so colorfully at a snapped floorboard that a laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

He froze.

Eyes narrowing like a wolf catching the sound of prey rustling just beyond reach.

By the time you registered your mistake, it was too late—he’d hurled a clump of wet moss the size of a grapefruit directly at your chest.

You yelped.

He smirked.

And as if the gods demanded balance, he promptly knocked his head against a support beam trying to make a smug exit.

You went back to work, muttering something like, “Idiots shouldn’t be trusted with sharp tools.”

Cassian had gone quiet behind you. For a second, you braced for a retort.

But none came.

Just a grunt. And the steady rhythm of hammering resumed.

And so it went: progress, distance, and the occasional detour into something that almost looked like familiarity—until one of you noticed. And then it was gone again.

One such moment arrived today.

The structure was solid now—weather-tight, insulated, the bones of a real home. Furnishing had begun, thanks in large part to the villagers who insisted on treating the whole project like public entertainment. Two Illyrian females—names you never caught—arrived this morning with a pair of mismatched nightstands and a little girl no older than five, who darted into the house without hesitation.

Cassian was crouched by the hearth, checking the chimney seal, when she barreled into him like a pint-sized battering ram.

He caught her instinctively. Let out a startled grunt that softened into a laugh as she blinked up at him and launched into a breathless story involving her kitten, a bucket, and something about soup.

You stood just inside the doorway, mostly hidden by the frame.

He listened—actually listened. One elbow propped on his knee, expression intent, nodding at all the right moments. When she jabbed a finger at the uneven stonework and declared it crooked, he didn’t correct her. Didn’t scoff. Just flicked a glance at the hearth and said, “Y’know what? You might be right.”

She giggled. He tossed her a wink like they’d sealed some sacred pact.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Because you’d forgotten this version of him.

The one who softened.

The one whose laugh, when it came easy, was low and warm and kind.

The one who didn’t bark or posture or carry every moment like a war waiting to be lost.

You’d forgotten.

And gods help you—

You liked it.

You turned away before you could fall any further, before Cassian caught the way you’d been watching.

Just in time, too—the crunch of boots on the path announced more arrivals. The two eldest sons of the Windhaven woman you were boarding with came into view, hauling a bedframe between them with the mattress already strapped on top. They moved in quiet sync, the way people do when the task is old and the rhythm familiar.

One of the females was chasing down the excitable little girl, who waved goodbye to Cassian with such enthusiasm she nearly toppled over. Her mother chuckled and called out, “Thank you both for building this. It’s a gift to see young love doing something useful.”

Your head snapped around. “We’re not—”

“Nope,” Cassian said at the same time, flat and certain. “Definitely not.”

The female just winked at her friend like she didn’t believe a word of it, and started down the path without looking back.

Then the Windhaven boys reached you.

“Brought the bed from the house,” Miran said, glancing at you, then turning squarely to Cassian. “Our mother said you’d need it sooner or later.”

“That was generous,” Cassian replied, stepping forward with easy authority. “Thanks for carrying it all the way up.”

Corven, with a permanent sneer stitched into his face, let out a low snort. His wings twitched like he was spoiling for something. “Didn’t realize you were playing house,” he said, eyes raking over the structure. “Figured you’d be back in Windhaven by now.”

“I’m not playing anything,” you said, voice cool and steady.

Neither of them looked at you.

Corven’s mouth curled. “Could’ve guessed you’d let her boss you around,” he said to Cassian. “They get mouthy when they think they’re helping.”

Cassian didn’t move. Not visibly. But his entire frame shifted—still, suddenly, as if something had locked in place. You felt it before you saw it.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” you said, stepping forward, sharp as a blade unsheathed. “I don’t need a male’s permission to speak, and I sure as hell don’t need one to lift a godsdamned beam.”

Corven scoffed and stepped in close—too close—his breath laced with arrogance. “Just surprised a fae female thinks she belongs up here,” he said. “Thought your kind liked to stay soft.”

You smiled—slow, cold. The kind of smile that made steel ring when drawn. “Careful. You’re one insult away from me showing you just how soft your skull is.”

That wiped the smirk off his face. A flicker of uncertainty passed through his eyes.

“Mouthy,” he muttered, “for someone who needs a male to keep her upright.”

“Try saying that again while I’m holding a hammer,” you said, stepping toward him until your chests nearly brushed. You didn’t blink.

To your left, Miran leaned toward Cassian and muttered, “She always like this? Or just when she’s bleeding for attention?”

Cassian turned his head toward him. Slowly. Controlled. “You wanna try that again?”

Miran’s lip curled. “Oh? Didn’t think bastards got this protective. Especially over a fae bitch who doesn’t know her place.”

The breath left your body like a snapped string.

Cassian didn’t yell. Didn’t raise a hand.

His voice dropped, low and lethal: “Didn’t think Windhaven bred males dumb enough to say that to my face.”

Corven snorted, not quite brave enough to meet Cassian’s eyes. His gaze slid back to you, crawling over your frame with open disdain. “Bet you don’t even carry your own weight.”

Your jaw tightened. “I carry more than you can lift, you smug little—”

“Real bold, with your guard dog here.” He leaned in, that oily smile spreading again. “Without him, you wouldn’t be mouthing off at all. We’d teach you some manners real fast.”

He took a step closer. That was his mistake.

Cassian moved—but you were faster.

The dagger came free from your thigh holster in one clean motion, your other hand fisting the collar of his leather tunic and dragging him forward. The blade pressed low beneath his ribs, gleaming like a promise.

“Try me,” you said, voice a whisper laced with venom. You saw the moment the smirk fell away, replaced by startled calculation. His hands lifted slightly—not surrender, just instinct.

Behind you, Cassian’s voice sliced through the air like flint on steel.

“She doesn’t need anyone to fight her battles.”

You didn’t take your eyes off Corven, not even as Cassian’s next words landed like a death sentence.

“She outranks both of you. And if I hear one more breath out of you, I’ll rip your tongues out and send them back to your father.”

Silence crashed around you, thick and absolute.

Then:

“Leave the bed,” Cassian said, voice now a command, no longer a warning. “Thank your mother for us. And get the fuck out.”

Miran and Corven exchanged a look—wings flaring, teeth grit, pride wounded but not enough to be suicidal. They walked off a few paces, boots crunching against packed snow, dirt kicking up as they launched into the sky.

Graceless. Rattled.

Not nearly as fearless as they’d like to believe.

You sheathed your blade in one smooth, practiced motion. Your pulse was a war drum beneath your skin, steady only because you willed it to be.

Cassian hadn’t moved. He was still staring at the empty air where they’d stood, jaw tight, chest rising with quiet fury.

And when he turned to you—

That fire was still in his eyes. But something else had joined it.

Something softer. Something that looked a hell of a lot like concern.

Like he wanted to ask if you were all right.

You didn’t give him the chance—refusing to be the object of that quiet, pitying gaze. 

“So,” you said briskly, nodding toward the bedframe, “we figuring out how to get that thing through the door, or do we throw out the door and build a bigger one?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You tried not to look at him.

Really—you did.

But fuck, the way he moved.

His shirt clung to the line of his back, damp from the effort of dragging the mattress through the door frame. Broad shoulders bunching beneath worn cotton. Wings flaring once for balance, then tucking in with quiet control. Forearms flexing with each pivot, veins rising with the strain.

You didn’t look.

Not when he crouched to angle the frame.

Not when his shirt rode up and exposed a sliver of golden-brown skin.

Not when his back curved and a few strands of his hair came loose—soft, sweat-dampened waves falling just past his jaw.

“Gonna help,” he grunted, “or just supervise?”

You blinked. “I’m thinking about letting the bed crush you, actually.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound low and unbothered. “Touching.”

Still, you helped angle the frame through the narrow hallway, side-eyeing him the whole way because—Cauldron boil you—how the hell had you managed to ignore how obnoxiously ripped he was for so long?

You told yourself it was the work. All that lumber hauling. All that swinging of tools and lifting of beams and moving of furniture. You were tired. You weren’t thinking straight. 

The house had begun to feel… lived in.

The hearth had been stoned and sealed days ago. Mismatched chairs ringed a table you’d argued about positioning—too close to the window, he’d insisted. They hadn’t collapsed yet. Cassian had cobbled together bookshelves from spare planks, and someone had donated a carved bench with mountain birds etched into the backrest. The bed—this godsdamned bed—had been the last missing piece.

You’d kept your head down. Stayed busy. Swept corners. Shifted furniture. Tucked away the worst of the dust. Which was maybe why you didn’t notice the change in the air.

Not until the front door shook in its frame.

Cassian froze mid-step, one hand still braced on the bookshelf. His head lifted slightly. Wings adjusted.

Then the door rattled again—louder this time. A gust slid between the gaps, whistling high and sharp. The kind of wind that didn’t blow past, but through.

Cassian moved in three long strides, shouldering up to the door. His hand landed flat on the wood as he reached for the handle. You followed without thinking, stepping beside him just as he threw it open.

The door fought back.

Cassian grunted, leaning his weight into it. The hinges groaned. And then—

The wind hit.

A wall of it, like something with intent. It punched through the gap, ice slicing across your legs, snow curling around your boots and into the room. It howled in the chimney, screamed across the floorboards, clawed for your faces with invisible fingers.

Beyond the threshold, the world had vanished. The trees, gone. The path, buried. Snow fell in slanted sheets, driven sideways by the gale. It shimmered in the fading light, rippling like water, blinding and endless.

Cassian planted a forearm against the frame to keep the door from flying wide. His hair whipped loose behind him. His wings shuddered once before clamping tight to his back.

You pressed a shoulder beside his, blinking into the storm.

He didn’t shout—just said it low, over the wind.

“We’re not making it back to Windhaven tonight.”

You didn’t argue.

By the time Cassian managed to wrench the door shut again, the wind nearly took him with it. He staggered a step, braced a hand to the frame, and threw the bolt into place with a sharp thunk. His breath gusted out, chest rising hard beneath his soaked shirt.

Snow clung to you both in fine, glittering dust. Your boots were slick, pants damp at the hem. The cold had teeth now—sinking straight through the seams of your clothes.

Cassian blew out a low whistle. “And we didn’t bring in any dry firewood.”

You followed his glance to the hearth. The pile inside was pitiful. Damp, half-frozen. There might be enough to keep the coals breathing till morning—but only if you didn’t mind going numb first.

Then his gaze flicked toward the bed.

You beat him to it. “No.”

He didn’t even bother to smirk. Just reached for his belt.

“It’s not like I planned this,” he muttered, leather whispering through loops as he tugged it free.

The leather whispered through the loops, his movements unhurried as he pulled it free—sternly, deliberately. Your eyes followed the movement—against your better judgement. 

You forced yourself to look elsewhere. The bed. Then the floor. Then him.

“I’ll take the rug,” you said, already striding toward the folded throw blanket on the armchair. “The floor’s fine.”

Something soft slammed into your face.

You blinked. Staggered back a step. The pillow hit your chest and dropped. You caught it before it bounced to the floor.

“Are you serious?”

Cassian stood beside the bed, arms crossed. “You’re being an idiot.”

“I’m being considerate.”

He rolled his eyes. “The bed’s big enough for both of us, and the floor’s wooden—less forgiving than you think.”

“I’m not sharing a bed with you, Cassian.”

“Oh, please,” he muttered, already tugging off his boots. “Like I’ve never seen you drool in your sleep before.”

Your mouth dropped open. “I do not—”

He collapsed backward onto the mattress with a theatrical groan, then patted the other side without looking at you. “Come on, princess. I won’t even steal the blanket.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You snore.”

“Only when I’m comfortable.”

“I’ll kick you.”

“Not if I kick you first.”

You stared at him. At the lazy sprawl of him across the quilt. At the wind outside battering the shutters like it wanted in. At the hearth that hadn’t been lit in hours.

You muttered a curse and undid your laces. Toed off your boots one at a time—each thud against the floor sharper than necessary. Then you crossed the room, grabbed the blanket—

—and dumped it directly on his face.

He made a low, amused sound, muffled beneath the weight. You climbed into the opposite side of the bed, stiffly, yanking the blanket back into place and tucking it to your chin like it was armor.

“Back-to-back,” you ordered, not turning around.

Cassian shifted, the mattress dipping with his weight. “Sure,” he said quietly. He was already facing away.

Silence settled.

The wind keened against the walls. Something moaned in the chimney—deep and hollow. You lay still, spine straight, every part of your body tight with tension.

Cassian breathed slow beside you.

You clenched your jaw. “And don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

“It’s better than idiot,” he muttered. “And you wouldn’t like that either.”

“I didn’t like having a pillow thrown at my face.”

“Well, I didn’t like watching you try to martyr yourself onto the floor when we both know you’d be up every two hours with a stiff back.”

You rolled, just enough to glare at the back of his head. “Excuse me for trying not to make things weird.”

He turned too—slowly, deliberately—just his head at first. “Weird? You think I’m gonna roll over and hump your leg in my sleep or something?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I don’t know what you think I’d do,” he said flatly, “but it’s just a bed.”

“This isn’t just anything,” you snapped.

He shifted fully now, facing you across the narrow stretch of space. “Sleeping. In a bed. In the middle of a storm. That’s all this is.”

You sat up, braced on one elbow. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.” He raked a hand through his hair, exhaling. “You’re acting like this is a massive deal.”

“Because it is.”

Your voice cut sharper than you meant. You looked at him—at the mess of him in the low firelight. Hair mussed. Jaw tight. Brow furrowed in that way that meant he was trying not to say something.

“I’m not like you,” you said quietly. “I don’t—”

You stopped. The words caught. Bitter against your tongue.

Cassian waited.

But you didn’t finish.

You just lay back down, hard and fast, curling the blanket tighter.

Neither of you spoke again for a long while.

The wind howled against the glass, the storm clawing at the corners of the house like it wanted to blow the walls down. And somewhere beneath it all, you could hear your heartbeat—steady, defiant, and too aware of the warmth at your back.

It was a long time before either of you slept.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was warm.

That was the first thing you registered—not the cold, not the wind or the stiff ache in your back. Just warmth. Heavy, steady, inescapable warmth pressed along every inch of you.

Then: weight.

An arm slung low around your waist. A hand curled loosely against your ribs. A thigh tucked behind yours. One of your calves caught beneath his. Your nose was pressed to something solid and hot. Your fingers rested on something that was very much not a pillow.

Your eyes opened.

Chest. Bare chest. Scarred and golden-brown, rising and falling beneath your palm.

You froze.

Cassian’s breath stirred your hair. Slow. Deep. His nose was buried in it. One wing tucked behind you like an extra blanket.

Oh no.

You didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just stared at the expanse of his skin beneath your hand—watched it rise and fall in sync with your own panicked breaths. You could feel him. Everywhere. His palm splayed warm against your stomach. Your knee hooked over his thigh. His mouth—soft, parted slightly—rested near your temple.

You definitely hadn’t fallen asleep like this. You’d been cold. Irritated. Back-to-back. You hadn’t even faced him.

So at some point—gods—one of you had moved. And the other hadn’t stopped it.

You launched yourself back like the mattress had caught fire.

Cassian jolted with a garbled grunt and flailed off the far side of the bed, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

You scrambled upright, yanking the blanket to your chest.

He was on his feet in an instant—bare-chested, wide-eyed, a dagger gleaming in his hand.

Your heart leapt. Then your gaze dropped—quick. Shirt still on. Thank the Mother.

Cassian exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath. Then, as if remembering himself, he slid the dagger away behind his back. Like it hadn’t just appeared there.

Neither of you spoke.

Your heart hammered. Not from fear. From—shit, you didn’t even know.

You sat frozen for a beat longer, eyes locked on the crumpled blanket. His warmth still clung to it. His scent, too—cypress and wind and something darker, smokier. Something that lingered.

Cassian dragged a hand through his hair. His eyes skittered everywhere but you. “That was—”

“Fine,” you cut in. Too fast. Too bright. “That was fine. We were just cold.”

He nodded once. Sharp. “Cold.”

Silence stretched.

You glanced over. “Why is your shirt off?”

“I run hot,” he said flatly. “Probably pulled it off in my sleep.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

You shoved the blanket aside and scrubbed your hands down your pants like that might wipe away the imprint of him. “Next time, I’m taking the floor.”

Cassian turned to look at you. Something unreadable moved behind his eyes. “You really think there’s gonna be a next time?”

You narrowed yours. “If there is, I’m bringing a second blanket and a fucking knife.”

“Great,” he muttered, turning away. “More weapons in the bed.”

“I wasn’t the one sleeping like a drunk bear on top of me.”

“You could’ve shoved me off.”

“I did. This morning!”

“Maybe try earlier next time.”

“Oh, so sorry for not waking up halfway through the night to fight off your snuggling.”

His head whipped around. “Snuggling?”

You pointed at the bed. “There was limb placement, Cassian. There were positions.”

He gave a full-body shudder. “Ugh. Don’t say it like that.”

You crossed your arms.

Another long, brittle silence.

You looked toward the hearth.

Cassian sighed, fingers dragging down his face.

You didn’t look at each other again. Not right away. But the red burning in your face wasn’t from the cold anymore.

When you passed him his coat, wordless, he took it without meeting your eyes—tugging his sweater back on in jerky, too-quick movements. Still warm. Still tense.

Still close enough that the silence between you felt like the loudest thing in the room.

“I’m gonna see if anyone in Windhaven’s hoarding dry wood,” he muttered, sliding his arms through the sleeves. His fingers moved deftly, fastening the flaps around the slits for his wings, sealing in the warmth with practiced efficiency. “Or if the Mother feels like being generous today.”

He ducked out before you could reply. The wind slammed the door shut behind him, hard enough to rattle the frame.

It still howled out there—louder than it should’ve for morning—but it was nothing like the chaos of the night before. No hail clawing at the shutters. No lightning tearing the sky into pieces. Just the steady, petulant churn of deep winter. Relentless and gray.

You stood there a moment longer, the back of your neck prickling with leftover heat.

Then you wrung your fingers once. Shook out your arms. You needed to move. Needed something to do.

So you turned toward the crates by the wall and got to work—sorting what was left, piece by piece. Anything to keep your hands busy. Anything to stop remembering the shape of him against you.

You didn’t mean to think about him. Not really. But the silence made it easy—made it too easy to drift back. To the heat of his chest beneath your cheek. The slow, unthinking rise and fall of his breathing. You paused, fingers resting lightly on the rim of a crate, and let the memory slip in: the way he’d looked at Miran yesterday—like it had taken real effort not to slam the male into the ground.

For a moment, it had felt like before. Before the cold fronts and the sideways glances. Before the contests and snide remarks and the constant need to prove something. Just the two of you, standing on the same side of something.

It started with a dinner table in the Autumn Court.

Too long by design, more gold than wood. Candlelight flickered along its length, caught in the carved antlers of an elaborate candelabra. The courtiers sat like scattered pawns—fifteen or so in total, all finely dressed and finely bored, murmuring beneath the weight of centuries-old manners.

You sat midway down, spine straight, gown cold against your skin. Feyre had chosen it—a pale, silken thing with thin sleeves and a plunging back, elegant enough to flatter, sheer enough to distract. You hadn’t realized how drafty the hall would be.

At your side, Cassian looked like a portrait of restraint. Formal leathers, dark and freshly oiled, with his sword strapped visibly to his back. His wings were tucked tight, shoulders set broad and proud as he drank from a goblet of spiced wine and pretended to listen to the courtier beside him drone on about hunting dogs.

“You must try the roast boar,” the male was saying. “Caught just this morning in the Ashen Wood. Hardly kicked at all.”

Cassian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Sounds like a real fighter.”

You bit back a laugh and reached for your wine, lifting it with a hand you hoped wasn’t trembling. Not from nerves—from focus. Anticipation. The third course was being cleared. That was the signal.

You caught his eye. He gave the barest nod.

This was the plan: you’d slip out once the desserts arrived. Half the court would be deep in wine by then, and the rest too distracted with flattery to notice your absence. Beron was supposed to be away in Rask, and with him gone, most of the staff had followed. The guards were thinned, the route clear. You knew it by heart. Every hallway, every turn. Every blind corner. 

You and Cassian were to retrieve a satchel of documents hidden behind a false wall in Beron’s private study. Documents that, according to Azriel’s source, outlined a network of Autumn spies embedded across the Night Court’s border villages. Names. Routes. Quiet, deliberate betrayal. Proof Rhys needed in hand before the next High Lord summit.

Then the doors opened.

The wind hit first—cold and sharp, a ripple of tension that passed down the table like a shadow. And then came Beron.

Tall. Imperious. A crown of flame wrought in iron above his head. He didn’t speak as he entered, didn’t even look at the table—just let the silence stretch, let his presence do the work of a hundred guards. His eyes landed on you. Then Cassian.

Cassian didn’t move, not at first. Just shifted a fraction, jaw tight. The smile gone.

You leaned in, lips barely moving. “We still have time.”

His eyes stayed fixed ahead. “No.”

“We can be in and out in two minutes.”

“There are guards in the hall.”

“I counted three. They’re patrolling. We can avoid them.”

“It’s not worth the risk.”

“It is,” you said sharply, eyes flicking to him. “We’re already here.”

He gave a slow exhale, eyes still forward. “Let it go.”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Just pushed your chair back, carefully, gracefully, as though all you needed was a breath of air. You adjusted your shawl, offered a smile to no one in particular, and laid a light hand on Cassian’s arm in passing.

He rose after a beat. Slower. Unwilling.

The hall outside the dining chamber was dim, lit only by amber sconces spaced far apart. The cold bit at your arms as you moved, your footsteps soundless on the marble floors.

“Turn back,” he said behind you.

“We’re already committed.”

“You’re committed. I’m cleaning up your stubborn—”

“You’re here because you agreed.”

“I agreed when Beron was in Rask.” His glare could’ve scorched the stone.

You didn’t answer. Just kept moving, your pace steady, gown brushing the floor. It felt heavier now. The tension thickened with every step. At the end of the corridor, you rounded the corner and slowed your breathing, ears pricked. No footsteps. No voices.

You reached the study door. Checked the sigil. Whispered the passphrase Azriel’d given you.

Cassian hovered just behind you, tense as a drawn bowstring.

The door clicked open.

The study was colder than the hall. Sparse, but grand—lined with dark, heavy shelves and a wide, weathered desk carved with swirling Autumn leaves. The false wall was behind it. You found it quickly, fingers slipping into the seam.

A panel swung free.

And there it was. A satchel. Worn leather, sealed with a Night Court clasp—proof that the spies were real. That the betrayal was already underway.

You had it in your hand.

Then—

“Oi!”

Cassian cursed. You turned in time to see him shove a guard into the wall, hard enough to crack plaster. Another guard’s horn lifted to his lips.

“Stop him—”

Steel flashed. Cassian cut the horn clean off before the sound could carry, but it was too late. The third guard was already gone, no doubt having sprinted for the main wing.

“Shit,” Cassian muttered. “We need to move.”

You bolted. The satchel hit your hip with every step. Shouts echoed behind you—more guards, more boots. You could feel them closing in.

“Go!” Cassian barked. “I’ll hold—”

You didn’t let him finish. Vaulted over the railing instead, your stilettos landing hard on the ledge two stories down. You were sure they snapped, but it didn’t matter when pain flared through your shoulder as you caught yourself. Something pulled—tore, and you couldn’t hold back the ragged cry that tore from your throat.

“(Y/N)!”

Below, the front grounds yawned wide. Gravel path. Stone basin. The koi pond Beron used to impress diplomats and scare off children.

The satchel had landed at the edge of it. Teetering near the water.

“I’m fine!” you shouted up, breath ragged, blood running warm down your arm. “Just jump—come on!”

Cassian landed beside you a second later. He didn’t hesitate. Just scooped you into his arms like you weighed nothing and vaulted off the ledge. The world tilted. The wind roared past.

But then, the real fallout began. 

Back home, Rhys didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. His silence in the River House study said enough. The satchel lay at his feet, soaked and half-caked in mud. Your side throbbed beneath a bloodstained bandage, and Cassian still had a smear of crimson dried along his neck—one you hadn’t noticed until the lamplight caught it. 

Rhys looked at the satchel. Then at you. Then at Cassian.

“What happened?”

You told him. So did Cassian.

Not all at once. Not over each other. Just… plainly. Like it was a report. Like it wasn’t still alive under your skin.

You hadn’t expected him to take sides. Not overtly. But when it ended, he absolutely had. Like the weight of it had settled heavier on your shoulders than Cassian’s. Like the mistake hadn’t been getting caught—it had been trying to finish the mission at all.

You squared your shoulders, tried to keep your voice from shaking. “I didn’t choose to get caught. I didn’t choose to mess this up.”

Cassian’s jaw flexed. “No. But you chose to keep going when you should’ve pulled back.” His arms crossed, his voice low. “You’re lucky you’re still breathing.”

Your throat tightened. You pushed through it.

“I did what I had to,” you said, sharper now. “You think I wanted it to go this way?”

“Wanting and surviving aren’t the same thing,” he snapped. “You gambled with your life—and mine. And the lives of everyone in this court, now that they know what we were doing there. Don’t pretend you didn’t have a choice.”

The air turned brittle.

Rhys’s voice cut through it like a blade.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

The finality in his tone stopped you cold. You flinched before you could stop yourself.

“Get out.”

Your eyes darted to Cassian, expecting him to move first—to scoff or curse or storm off with the anger barely leashed behind his eyes.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stood there. Still as stone. Unreadable.

You opened your mouth—confused, half-prepared to follow his lead—

Then Rhys looked at you.

That calm. That cold, razor-precise calm that never meant fury. Just decision. Just finality.

“Go,” he whispered—quiet, deliberate. 

And you understood. Suddenly. Horribly.

He meant you.

You left without another word.

Cassian didn’t follow. Didn’t call after you. Didn’t come by the next day, or the one after that. When you passed each other in the House of Wind, your shoulder in a sling and your pride hanging by threads, he didn’t say a word. Just kept walking.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Not the bruises. Not the frost still clinging to your lungs after the flight back from Autumn. Not even the look Rhys had given you when he dropped the satchel—dropped it—before sitting at his desk like it was nothing worth holding.

The worst part was that Cassian had let it lie.

Had let the blame settle and cling without brushing a single piece of it off. Like you’d earned it. Like silence was the lesson.

In the war room, it was the same. Around that long obsidian table where battle strategies lived and died, where the Inner Circle weighed lives like stones on a scale—he wouldn’t look at you. Wouldn’t say your name.

Just her, she, or nothing at all.

A flick of his eyes. A tilt of his chin. Like you were something he’d learned to step around.

Until now.

Because yesterday, for the first time in over four years, he’d defended you again. Had looked at Miran like he might tear his throat out just for raising his voice at you. Had spoken like the fight never happened. Like you hadn’t failed. Like he remembered what you were worth.

You blinked. 

And the crates were still there. Still needing to be sorted. So you bent your head, grit your teeth, and got back to work. Because if he could forget it—at least for now—then maybe you could too.

It was nearly twenty minutes later when the door creaked open again.

You didn’t look up right away—your fingers were halfway through scraping what felt like centuries-old candle wax from the underside of the table. How it had gotten there, you had no idea. Your shoulders ached from the angle, knees cold where they pressed into the floorboards.

But you heard the footsteps pause.

A beat. Then another.

“What the hell are you doing down there?”

You shifted, squinting up at him from beneath the table’s edge. “Scraping.”

Cassian blinked, then stepped fully inside, the wind tugging the door shut behind him. 

“Why are you under it?”

“Because someone,” you said, chipping harder now, “decided to shove this thing directly in front of the hearth and apparently didn’t notice the stalactites hanging from the bottom.”

He opened his mouth—paused. Then grunted and held up a bundled stack of firewood.

“Vesa gave me these,” he said. “Said it was the least she could do after yesterday.” A slow grin tugged at his mouth. “Told her what happened. You should’ve seen those kids’ faces—went pale as ash.”

You snorted. “Sounds about right. It’s always the ones who talk the most shit.”

He dropped the bundle beside the grate and crouched, sleeves shoved up, hair still tousled from the wind. You stayed under the table, willing yourself to focus on the wax and not the shape of him lit in profile by the first flickers of flame.

For the first few minutes, he was quiet, poking at the kindling until a small fire finally caught and crackled to life. Then—

“Why’s the table all the way over there?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Just leaned out and wiped your wrist across your cheek. 

“Because this spot gets the best light.”

Cassian rose and brushed his palms together. Then, without waiting, strode across and grabbed the table’s edge. 

“Don’t—” you started, too late. 

He dragged it five feet to the right, chair legs shrieking across the floor, some collapsing into a messy cluster.

“You’ll block the light,” you snapped, standing now and flinging the scraper onto the windowsill. 

He cocked his head. “You’re obsessed with the damn view.”

“You moved it into the corner.”

“The corner’s not a dungeon,” he muttered. “It’s still technically daylight.”

“Daylight doesn’t mean good light,” you shot back.

“And you’re suddenly a fucking artist?”

“I’m trying to make this place not look like a condemned training yard.”

He stepped closer. “Well, forgive me for interfering with your vision.”

“You always do.”

His brows lifted, expression cooling. “Oh, that’s rich. Because you’re the picture of collaboration.”

You folded your arms. “I would be, if you’d stop rearranging everything I’ve already done.”

“It’s a table.”

“It’s always a table with you!”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means you show up, throw your weight around without consideration of others and the time they’ve put into something, and act like you’re doing them a favor!”

His brow lifted, expression tightening. “I am doing you a favor.”

“By ruining everything?”

“It’s a miracle this place has floors that don’t collapse under your ego.”

You took a slow, pointed step toward him. “At least I showed up on time.”

Cassian’s smile was sharp. “At least I didn’t get us both chewed out by Rhys.”

Your nostrils flared. “You still think that was my fault?”

“I think you never admit when you screw up!”

“I always admit it—because someone has to!”

He stared down at you, breathing hard now, chest rising in the same uneven rhythm hammering through your own. 

And then, just like that, you both realized how close you’d gotten. 

“What do you care so damn much?” he shouted, voice ringing off the stone walls.

“Because it’s our project!” you fired back, fists clenched at your sides.

Cassian scoffed, incredulous. “Our project? You barely let me touch anything without biting my damn head off—”

“Because you do it wrong!”

“I built half this place!”

“Exactly. Half. And I’m the one trying to make it livable.”

You were toe to toe now, breath mingling—furious and hot, sharp enough to cut. 

“It’s ours,” you snarled. “Whether you like it or not.”

Silence. 

One breath. Then another.

And that was all it took.

He lunged first. You met him halfway.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was teeth and fury and weeks of tension neither of you had dared name—finally breaking free.

His hands tangled in your hair before you could catch a breath, gripping like he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or shove you away. You grabbed at his shirt, fists twisting in the fabric, hard enough to stretch the seams.

You stumbled together—hip into the table. One of the dining chairs screeched across the floor as you crashed into it. Neither of you stopped. 

Cassian bit at your bottom lip like he wanted to keep the argument going that way, and you shoved him, nails dragging down his chest. He caught your waist, hauled you back in. You didn’t know if you were kissing him or fighting him anymore. Didn’t care. 

Your hand slid up his chest to his throat, not gentle, and he groaned into your mouth like it only spurred him on.

Four years. Four years of silence and blame and what-ifs collapsing in the space between your bodies, now gone.

You weren’t thinking—just grabbing, shoving, kissing like you meant to hurt. Cassian stumbled again, hard, tripped over one of the dining chairs and nearly went down.

He caught himself at the last second, crashing backward into the seat with a grunt.

You didn’t get the chance to laugh—because he yanked you down with him.

You landed on his lap, straddling his thighs, your mouth never leaving his. And then everything blurred into fire.

His hands gripped your hips, dragging you forward, grinding you down until you could feel every sharp line of him pressed beneath you. The friction wrung a raw sound from your throat. Your fingers scrabbled at his coat, his shoulders, fisting in the fabric like you didn’t know whether you wanted to rip it off or hang on tighter.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered against his mouth, biting at the corner of it.

“Shut up,” he rasped, catching your jaw in one hand and dragging you back in.

You rolled your hips again—deliberate now. Slow, filthy. He groaned, hips jerking up in answer. You did it again. Again. The rhythm turned hungry.

You weren’t sure who lost control first. Only that suddenly it was all heat and teeth and breathless swearing.

You tugged at the collar of his coat, wrenching it open just enough to shove your hands beneath—seeking the warmth of him through the coarse weave of his sweater. He growled into your mouth when your nails scraped down his spine.

The damn coat was still in the way.

You reached behind him, fingers slipping over the slats built to frame his wings, trying to find the clasps. Couldn’t get them. Didn’t care. You tugged anyway—frustrated, frantic, gasping against his throat as he mouthed his way down the side of your neck.

“This is—fuck, this is so stupid,” you breathed, hips stuttering against his again.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, low and furious, like it scorched him to say it.

You got one clasp open, then the next snapped loose beneath your fingers.

He didn’t wait. Tore at the coat, shoving it down his arms, half-flinging it aside. Before it even hit the floor, you were already under his sweater, dragging it up with one hand while the other reached again for the second set of slats.

These were easier. Familiar. Your fingers worked fast. You got them loose and yanked. 

He helped this time, yanking the sweater over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him.

But you barely registered it.

Because his hands were already under your shirt.

Big, rough palms skating over your sides, greedy, without finesse—just hunger. You gasped, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other already tugging your shirt upward.

He didn’t wait. Grabbed the hem and yanked it over your head in one motion. Tossed it behind you.

You didn’t even feel his fingers before the clasp of your bra flicked open—just the sharp, practiced snap and the sudden looseness against your skin.

And then he was baring you to the air, to him, dragging the straps down your arms like he’d tear them off if they didn’t come fast enough.

His mouth closed over your nipple—hot, relentless—and you gasped, head tipping back as he sucked hard, teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt. One of his hands kneaded the other breast, rough and greedy, while the other stayed clamped on your hip, dragging you down like he meant to fuse you there.

It was frantic. Hungry. Mindless in the way only need could be.

You rode the hard line of him through your clothes, every grind a flash of friction that lit up your spine. Your thighs locked tighter around him, chasing more—harder, deeper—and his grip only anchored you firmer, like he couldn’t get close enough if he tried.

Shirts gone, his chest hot and bare against yours—

Mother above, the heat of him. The press of skin. How solid he was, how he moved like the contact might kill him or save him.

You were breathing hard against his ear, still grinding slow and filthy against him. He groaned into your chest, mouth dragging lower, sucking a dark, bruising mark onto the swell of your breast.

“You always this easy when someone mouths off at you?” you panted, lips brushing his jaw as he rolled his hips into yours. “Guess that explains the barmaid in Itica.”

He bit your collarbone—hard.

You cursed, breath catching.

“You’re such a little shit,” he growled into your skin, voice shredded.

Your nails raked down his back, catching at the sensitive base of his wings. He jolted.

“Takes one to know one,” you said, smug.

Cassian pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You gonna run your mouth the whole time?”

“Only when it gets you this worked up.”

Something in him snapped.

He growled—low and feral—and surged upright in one brutal motion, hands gripping your ass as he lifted you off his lap. You yelped, clinging to his shoulders, and barely registered the shift before your back hit the bed with a bounce, limbs flung wide beneath him.

He stood over you, flushed, breathing hard. His fingers were already on his belt.

You couldn’t help it—you stared. Watched the way his fingers gripped the worn leather. The sharp clink of the buckle, the whisper of it sliding through the metal loop. It shouldn’t have been hot. It was hot. Like watching him unholster a weapon. Like watching him bare his teeth. You swallowed, heat crawling up your throat, your thighs pressing together. 

His knuckles brushed his stomach as he dragged the belt loose, and the sight alone made your pulse skip.

“Oh, you like this?” he said, tone smug, a little cruel. “Yeah, I know you do. Couldn’t tear your fuckin’ eyes off it last night.”

The belt hissed the rest of the way through the loops.

“Shut up,” you said, but your voice came out too thin.

His smirk was pure sin.

And then he was on you.

One heartbeat flat on your back—next thing, you were flipped face-down with a grunt, cheek pressed hard to the mattress. 

“Cassian—” you started, twisting under him.

“Shut. Up.” It came low and sharp in your ear. 

One heavy hand yanked your wrists behind your back. The belt coiled around them a moment later. Not once. Not twice. Kept looping it tight through the buckle until your hands were cinched together in a firm, inescapable bind.

You cursed, bucking hard. “Fucking undo it—”

“Should’ve thought of that before you started mouthing off,” he growled.

He dragged your hips up with both hands, leaving your shoulders pinned by one broad palm pressed between your shoulder blades. Your face mashed into the sheets, breath caught, teeth gritted.

You twisted your wrists, tried to lift your upper body—

But he shoved you back down with humiliating ease.

“Stay the fuck down,” he bit out.

Then came the tug of your pants, the hook of his fingers in your underwear. You kicked out instinctively, but it didn’t matter. He manhandled the fabric down anyway, wrestling it past your hips, down to your knees, leaving your legs tangled and stuck. The cool air rushed over you—over the slick, swollen heat between your thighs—igniting a fresh spark that sent a sharp hiss from deep within you. 

“Shit,” Cassian growled, and his head dropped, forehead resting on the curve of your back as his fingers pressed against you. “You’re fucking soaked.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when he dragged two fingers through it again—slower this time. Like he needed to feel it properly. Like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“From that?” he muttered, heat washing over your skin. “Just from that little show?”

You didn’t even have time to think before his fingers slammed into you.

No warning. No buildup. Just a sharp, brutal thrust that knocked the breath out of you, your body jolting forward with a choked gasp.

“Fuck—” you choked, wrists straining against the belt.

He didn’t slow down. Didn’t give you a second to adjust. His fingers drove into you hard and fast, relentless—each thrust ruthless, the angle unerring. Over and over, he found that spot that lit you up from the inside out, made your breath stutter and your vision white out.

The wet sound of it was obscene. It echoed between the groaning mattress and the wrecked, involuntary noises spilling from your mouth.

Cassian muttered something behind you—filthy and dark. You didn’t catch all of it. Just the tone—low and wrecked, like he couldn’t believe what he was doing. Like he couldn’t stop.

His free hand dug into your hip, anchoring you in place as he fucked you on his fingers. Your knees slipped wider despite the pants still tangled around them—your body betraying every biting word you’d thrown his way.

“All that mouth,” he panted, “all those fucking fights—just needed something stuffed in you, didn’t you?”

You twisted, tried to rise, but his hand left your hip and fisted in your hair, shoving your face into the mattress.

“Stay down,” he growled, fucking you faster now. His voice went ragged. Wild. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Mouthy little thing, and now you can’t take it?”

A harsh scoff.

“Should’ve done this years ago.”

Your stomach flipped. You hated that it flipped.

But you managed to turn your head—maybe he let you, maybe not. “Yeah? Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be such a tight-fisted, control-obsessed asshole. Maybe I wouldn’t have spent the last four years wanting to claw your fucking eyes out every time you walked into a room.”

His fingers didn’t falter. If anything, his wrist stiffened, driving them deeper—meaner—like you’d proven something.

“Four years and you still can’t decide if you wanna kill me or fuck me.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with the way his fingers were driving into you, relentless. 

“Nothing to say?” he murmured, teeth sinking into the curve of your ass. “No claws left, kitten?”

“Ew,” you hissed, hips jerking. “Don’t call me that.”

He just laughed—low and mean—then flipped you like it was nothing, your back hitting the mattress with a bounce.

Your wrists ached beneath you, fists digging into the small of your back. Uncomfortable as hell—not that you’d expect anything else from him. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’d done it on purpose. Just to irk you. One last petty jab before you talked about this later.

Oh, Gods. You were going to have to talk about this later.

A conversation. 

About this.

A hot spike of dread twisted low in your gut.

But you didn’t get the chance to dwell on it, because then he was undoing the buttons on his pants—and suddenly, you had a far more immediate problem on your hands.

Well. Not your hands.

He shoved his pants down, and—

Mother above.

Maybe those Illyrian wingspan rumors had some merit after all. Because fuck.

The first thing you saw was the cut of his hips, the sharp V leading down to a dark trail of hair—and then him. Thick, flushed dark at the tip, heavy enough to make your mouth go dry. Your thighs clenched on instinct.

Of course he’d be built like that. Of course he’d keep that hidden away behind all that smug, self-righteous bravado. Arrogant fucker knew exactly what he was working with.

He caught your stare, brows raised, mouth curving into something downright indecent. “You keep looking at my cock like that, sweetheart,” he drawled, wrapping a hand around the base, slow and unhurried, “and I’m gonna start thinking you’re not as mad at me as you pretend to be.”

He gave himself one lazy stroke. Your breath caught.

“That mean you ready to be nice for once?” His hand moved with practiced ease, pulling your pants and underwear the rest of the way off in one sharp tug. Your socks bunched awkwardly at your ankles, forgotten with the way the heat spiked between you. 

You narrowed your eyes. “The only thing I’m ready for is—”

“You gonna behave?” he murmured, almost sweetly. “Gonna play nice for me?”

You sucked in a breath, spine stiffening—but before the words could form, he shoved into you Thick, unrelenting. And just like that, your sentence vanished. 

He didn’t wait for you to catch your breath, didn’t give you time to adjust. He set a brutal rhythm from the start, fast and deep, fucking into you like he meant to tear something out of you.

You gasped, voice breaking on a startled cry. “Wait—shit, it’s… Ca—hold on, it’s—”

He laughed. Low. Rough. Right in your ear. “Too late for that now, sweetheart. You wanted to mouth off.”

His eyes met yours, dark and burning. “You feel like heaven.”

His hips slammed into you again, and the only thing you could do was choke on the shock—the white-hot bloom of heat unfurling inside you.

“Fucking tight around me like you were made for this,” he growled, teeth grazing your ear. His voice was raw, possessed—like he was branding every thrust into your bones.

Your body clenched involuntarily, muscle locking against muscle, every nerve bracing under the weight of sensation.

“You’re gonna take every inch,” he hissed, voice like smoke, “and you’re gonna like it.”

“Cassian, it’s too—”

“You’re gonna fucking like it, (y/n).”

It hit like a slap—the sound of your name in his mouth.

Not her, or she, or sweetheart, or the princess he’d thrown your way last night.

Just you.

Spat like a challenge. Drawled like a curse.

Your breath caught, your whole body locking up around him.

“Yeah,” he snarled, like he knew exactly what he’d done, the words vibrating against your skin. “You feel that? That what it takes to shut you up?”

His hand splayed across your abdomen, pressing down hard as he drove into you again—deep, brutal, claiming.

“Say my name again,” you whispered before you could stop yourself, before you could think.

He gave a dangerous, breathless laugh. “Greedy,” he growled. “Didn’t think I’d fuck the attitude out of you and make you beg.”

And gods, maybe you were begging. Maybe that’s all you had left, with your hands trapped, hair clinging to your damp skin, and the only thing anchoring you to this world the thick, punishing press of him inside you.

He slowed—just barely—to drag the next thrust in deep. Too deep. You felt the shape of him shift everything, rearrange everything. Your lips parted around a sound you barely recognized as your own. A half-broken moan, raw at the edges.

Cassian grunted at the noise, hips drawing back in one long, slow pull—only to slam forward again, harder. A cruel rhythm. A practiced one. Like he was testing your limits. Learning them.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick against your ear. “Messy little thing. Can’t even pretend you don’t want this cock in you.”

Your breath hitched. Your back arched instinctively, desperate to escape the stretch and heat—but his hand clamped hard around your hip, dragging you back with brutal precision. Like you were leverage. Like your body was his now. Because you’d let that slip—say my name again—and he’d taken it for blood in the water.

You hated him for it.

You hated how good he felt.

“Fighting it won’t help,” he said softly, like he could see it on your face. “You already gave in.”

Maybe you had.

Maybe the second he said your name like that—like it still meant something—it had already been over.

You dug your nails into the sheets, teeth grit as you wrenched air back into your lungs. “Keep telling yourself that,” you gasped, forcing the words out around a moan. “Might help you sleep at night. Thinking I actually wanted you all this time.”

His laugh was low, vicious. “Sweetheart, you’re dripping down my cock.”

He punctuated it with a snap of his hips—hard, precise, merciless.

“You can lie all you want. But your cunt’s got better manners than your mouth.”

You twisted beneath him—more reflex than intent—

—and he caught it like he’d been waiting for it.

His grip shifted in a blink, dragging you onto your side. Your shoulder hit the mattress, legs folding awkwardly beneath you—until his hand caught your thigh and lifted, braced it open. The other settled hard at your waist. A warning.

You barely had time to draw breath before he drove back in.

The angle was ruinous. Sharper. Deeper.

He hit something that made your vision snap white. Made your spine curl. Made your mouth fall open in a wordless gasp.

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Tighter like this.”

Your hands—no longer pinned but still restrained—clawed at the sheets, grasping at nothing. And gods, you hated the way your body arched into him. Hated how fast he’d found a new rhythm and made it yours.

“Say it again,” he hissed. “Say you don’t want me. Look me in the fucking eye and lie to me.”

You tried. You tried.

But he rolled his hips just right—once—and the sound that broke from you tore your argument apart at the seams.

Cassian groaned. And gods help you, it sounded like satisfaction.

“Thought so,” he growled, grip tightening as he wrenched your thigh higher. “You feel that?” His voice dropped—rough, clipped, almost amused. “Used. Fucking used.”

You didn’t bother looking at him. But your voice cut through the air anyway, sharp and venomous:

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not the one losing control.”

He stilled for a heartbeat.

Then he drove into that angle again and again, harder and harder, until your lungs caught fire with every thrust. 

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that.”

His hand slid down your body, fingertips tracing a slow, deliberate path between your hips, barely brushing over the slick skin. The touch was maddening. Featherlight. Precise in its restraint. 

His thumb pressed gently at first, circling with measured patience, never quickening, never giving the release your nerves were screaming for. Cauldron, that was exactly what you needed, the pressure building just enough to ignite you. Yes, yes, yes, yes—each one tore from your lips like prayer, like instinct. You hadn’t even realized you were saying it, hadn’t noticed the way it spilled out—quiet, helpless, reverent. 

But he pulled back, and his thrusts slowed to a crawl—so measured, so agonizing, it may as well have been nothing at all.

You jolted like you’d been struck.

“Are you—” Your voice cracked, hoarse with disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He didn’t bother answering. He didn’t need to. That smirk, sharp and smug, said everything.

You twisted, desperate for leverage, trying to push back against him—to make him move, force his hand—but his arm only cinched tighter around your thigh, keeping you spread and helpless in that sideways sprawl. His body: a cage. A curse.

“You think this is funny?” you snapped.

Cassian’s mouth brushed your ear before you even felt him shift. “I think you’re beautiful when you’re desperate.”

He rolled his hips sinfully deep, just enough to brush everything you needed. Pleasure flared so hot and fast it took your breath, your cry catching halfway through your throat—

And then he stilled.

You swore, loud and vicious.

Cassian laughed low in your ear. “There she is.”

“You motherfucker,” you hissed, trying to move, to get something, anything. But his arm locked firm across your thigh, holding you open and perfectly still.

He hummed in mock thought, as if he wasn’t actively ruining you. “Y’know,” he mused, voice soft like silk over a blade, “I’ve got a few places I want to put my hands.” His palm slid slow up your side, curling beneath the swell of your breast, teasing without giving. “Could untie you. If you promise to be good.”

You snapped your head toward him. “I’m not promising you shit—”

He stopped moving entirely. Every inch of him thick and pulsing and unbearably still, the heat of him like a brand.

The whine tore out of you before you could stop it—high and broken, more plea than protest.

Cassian didn’t say a word. Didn’t smirk. Just looked at you. 

A single brow arched.

Your face burned. You grit your teeth. “Fine.”

Still, he waited. “No. Promise.”

You rolled your eyes. Looked away. Of course he wanted the words. Of course he wanted to win. 

His hand shot out, gripping your jaw with enough force to make you gasp—fingers squishing your cheeks until your lips puckered. You glared. He didn’t flinch. 

“I promise I’ll be good,” you muttered, syrupy-sweet, laced with venom. 

Cassian grinned, all teeth. “Good girl.”

Then he let go—of your jaw, of your thigh, of every last ounce of mercy.

You didn’t even register the motion before he reached down, unfastening the buckle in a smooth, unhurried sweep. The belt rasped as it loosened, the sound too loud in the charged air. He never stopped moving inside you—slow, shallow thrusts that felt more like a warning than a reprieve. A promise.

And then your wrists were free.

You didn’t have a second to process it. The moment the leather dropped, he drove back in like he’d been waiting for it—no rhythm, no patience, just heat and power and brutal momentum.

Your arms flew around his neck, hauling him down, desperate for something to hold. His chest crashed against yours, sweat-slicked skin meeting slicker skin, and you clung.

One leg stayed hitched over his shoulder, your thigh crushed near your ribs now, and gods, you felt every inch of him. Every brutal slide, every shift of muscle as he adjusted the angle like he was searching for the exact spot that would ruin you.

His hands were everywhere—one braced beside your head, the other sliding between your bodies, dragging over the sweat-slicked curve of your breast. His thumb swept roughly over your nipple, and you gasped, hips jolting in time with the motion.

You didn’t even think before your own hand moved, sliding down your stomach, chasing the pressure and friction you’d been denied. The second your fingers brushed yourself, your head fell back, breath catching on a moan that was far too desperate to pass as hatred.

He felt it—really heard it.

And when he looked down at you, it wasn’t smugness—it was something darker. Focused. Like now that you were free, he was going to see what you’d do with it.

He didn’t say a word as your fingers worked fast, frantic—just kept moving inside you with brutal precision, all heat and muscle and weight. His chest pressed tight to yours, breath rasping against your cheek. That leg he’d hoisted up stayed pinned, folding you open around him like he had all the time in the world to take you apart.

Then his voice, low and too close to your ear. Not a growl. Not a threat. A question.

“Is this what you wanted?”

You didn’t answer.

His thumb dragged over your nipple again, slower this time. Intentional. 

“When you mouthed off earlier. When you looked at me like that.” His teeth skimmed your jaw. “You wanted this?”

You shook your head before you even thought about it.

“Liar.” 

He angled his hips again, and you gasped—your body stuttering beneath him, back arching.

Your hand was so slick now. So close.

“You wanted me to fuck it out of you,” he said, like it was obvious. Like he’d always known. “You wanted to lose.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out—shoved aside by sensation, swallowed by heat.

His hand slid up again, cradling your jaw—firm, but not cruel. His thumb brushed over your parted lips. 

“Say it,” he breathed. “Say what you wanted.”

You swallowed hard, eyes squeezed shut, the words catching in your throat like they might burn coming out. But he didn’t wait. His hips slammed forward—once, twice—hard enough to shake the frame like he’d rip the truth from your body if he had to.

“I… wanted… you to—ah—fuck me.”

Everything stilled—just for a breath.

Then he let out a sound that was half laugh, half snarl, low and razor-sharp. 

“Yeah?” he rasped, the next thrust stealing the breath from your lungs. “You wanted me to break you in? Fuck you so hard you’d forget how to run that pretty little mouth?”

Your answer was a strangled sound, no shape to it—but it was enough.

Cassian didn’t need to hear any more. 

He moved like he meant it—vicious, savage. Every thrust drove deep, shaking the mattress, the frame, the pictures on the walls. You could feel it everywhere—down to the soles of your feet, behind your teeth, pounding inside your skull. And still, your hand worked furiously between your thighs, desperate and slick, chasing the pressure his rhythm only stoked higher.

You were close. Too close. The kind of close where your thighs were beginning to tremble, where your breath hitched into broken gasps, where your stomach coiled so tight it felt like you might split open from it.

And then his hand shot down, catching yours just as you were about to tip over the edge. He yanked it away, holding it up like a prize, like proof of your need.

“Cassian—fuck—” you sobbed, your hips chasing after what he’d stolen, body spasming from the denial.

He leaned in, breath hot at your ear, and pinned your hand above your head, fingers lacing through yours like he owned them. Owned you.

“What was it you said earlier?” he murmured, the words cruelly soft, hips still driving into you with ruthless intent. “Something about losing control?”

His meaning, along with a sharp thrust, deep and slow, made you cry out.

He hummed, mock-thoughtful. “Tell me—who is it, exactly, falling apart now?”

Your breath hitched, broken on another sob. The pressure was a blade now, poised to split you open. 

“What do you want from me?” you begged, voice cracking. “Just—just tell me what you want, I’ll—please—”

His answer came without pause, like he’d been waiting for you to ask. “Apologize,” he said, dark and absolute. “For saying you didn’t want me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, glazed and wide.

“Tell me,” he ground out, each thrust a brutal punctuation. “Tell me how badly you want me. No—need me.”

You hesitated, teeth sinking into your bottom lip hard enough to sting. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to say it—it was that saying it meant surrender. Saying it meant he’d won. 

Still, your voice came out hoarse and thin. “I didn’t mean it…”

He gave a low, amused hum, cock still grinding into you like there was no rush. “That’s not an apology, sweetheart.”

You tried to glare at him, but your head was thrown back too far, body too wrung out to muster more than a gasping curse. 

“Fine,” you spat. “I’m sorry I said I didn’t want you.”

“Better,” he murmured, mouth brushing your cheek, near your jaw, his breath all heat and command.. “Keep going.”

Your next breath came shaky. “I wanted you,” you said, barely audible. “I’ve wanted you for—fuck—for so long.”

“That’s it,” he praised, voice molten. “Say it like you mean it.”

And gods help you, you did.

“I need you,” you choked, thighs trembling around his hips. “I fucking need you, Cassian.”

“Look at you,” he breathed, something reverent beneath the filth. “All that attitude, all that fight—and now you’re here, begging. Dripping.”

His hand slid between your bodies like it belonged there. Two fingers found the aching, swollen mess of you, rubbing tight, punishing circles. You jerked at the contact, a broken cry ripping from your throat.

“So sweet for me now,” he groaned, working you with ruthless precision. “Was that so hard, baby?”

You whimpered, hips twitching. “No,” you whispered. “Just—please, let me—”

“Then come, (y/n),” he growled, his fingers moving faster now, rough and wet and perfect. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

And with those words, you did—you shattered around him, back arching hard as white-hot pleasure crashed over you, wave after merciless wave. His name tore from your throat—sacred, wrecked, a plea and a prayer all at once. Your body locked tight around him, the sounds ripping from you falling somewhere at the intersection of a shout and a cry and a moan.

Cassian swore—raw, reverent—and didn’t stop.

In one seamless, brutal motion, he grabbed behind your knees and shoved them higher, folding you in half. Your thighs pressed tight to your chest, ankles hooked over his shoulders as he pinned you there—helpless, trembling, wholly his.

“Fuck,” he bit out, voice hoarse. “Look at you—still fucking squeezing me.”

You couldn’t answer. Could barely think. That new angle had him hitting something devastating—something deep and bruising that sent stars bursting behind your eyes.

He didn’t slow. Just kept going, those deep, relentless thrusts rocking the bedframe, obscene slick sounds cutting through the ragged rhythm of your breath.

“Taking me so well,” he groaned, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your thigh like a vice. “This what you needed? Me to fuck you this deep—this full—until you can’t think straight?”

Maybe it was. Maybe this had always been what you both needed—this unspoken breaking point, all heat and fury and surrender.

“Keep making those sounds for me,” he rasped, pounding into you like he meant to leave a mark on your soul. “Those pretty little sounds—fuck, you sound so needy.”

And you were. Every noise that spilled from your throat was high and broken and raw, punched out of you with every snap of his hips.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and ruined with want. “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” you breathed—then louder, filthier, no shame left in you. “Want you to fuck me full, Cassian. Want to feel you dripping out of me for days.”

He choked on a sound—half snarl, half moan—his rhythm faltering.

Then he drove into you hard, to the hilt, deep enough you swore it pressed behind your ribs, and stilled.

A ragged groan tore from him—your name, cracked and guttural, as his whole body locked above you. You felt every shudder, every pulsing wave of heat spilling into you. Felt him unravel, felt the weight of it—of him—pouring into you until there was nothing else.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then Cassian let out a breathless laugh, low and wrecked. “Fuck.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The storm had passed.

In every sense.

Morning sun spilled amber through the cottage windows, brushing over fresh paint and new shingles, over repaired beams and the once-crooked door that now swung true on its hinges. The faint scent of pine smoke clung to the air—evidence of the fire Cassian had built earlier, more out of habit than necessity.

You stood at the hearth anyway, one hand braced on the mantle, the other smoothing absently over the front of your sweater. The house was quiet. Not silent, but quiet in the way a place becomes once it’s been lived in. Settled.

Behind you, a soft thud marked the last box lowered to the floor.

“That’s the last of it,” Cassian said, voice low, content.

You didn’t answer right away. Just turned, slowly, letting your eyes move across the room—the clean lines of the walls, the honey-warm kitchen, the faint gloss of varnish still clinging to the new floors. Light glinted off the old tools hung neatly by the door, each one a reminder of what this place had been.

“It doesn’t look like it’s going to fall over anymore,” you said.

Cassian glanced at you from where he knelt by the hearth, coaxing the embers back to life. “You say that like you’re disappointed.”

“I’m not.” You let the corner of your mouth curve, soft. “I think maybe it was meant to stand after all.”

That earned a quiet huff of laughter. He stood and stretched, arms arcing above his head, the hem of his shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of golden skin. You didn’t let your eyes linger.

Not too obviously, anyway.

“Rhys said we can take the rest of the week if we want it,” he said after a beat, wandering to the little kitchen table and adjusting one of the chairs. His voice was easy. Too easy. 

You paused, taking a mental tally. Three days—maybe four—since that night. The ache hadn’t quite left your muscles, and neither had the tension between you. It lingered in the space, quiet and unspoken, like something waiting to be acknowledged. 

“Do we want it?” you asked

He shrugged. “No one’s waiting. We don’t have to rush back.”

And it was true. There were no war meetings waiting, no urgent messages. The world, for once, wasn’t on fire.

Just this place—sturdy now. Still a little imperfect. But whole. 

The thought of another morning here, slow and golden beneath thick quilts… of evenings warmed by the fire, maybe even stealing a moment outside bundled up with Cassian to watch the snow settle while his laugh echoed soft across the rafters—

It didn’t sound terrible.

You reached for two ceramic plates, their edges chipped and familiar, the way all good dishes are. “You’re building the fire, I’m setting the table. We’re staying.”

Cassian looked at you over his shoulder, one brow raised in mock challenge. “That an order?”

You set the last plate down with a gentle clink. “It’s a plan.”

His grin bloomed slow and real. A little tired. A little surprised. But warm, all the same.

When he moved to your side and bumped his hip lightly against yours, reaching for the bread and honey, it wasn’t the kind of touch that asked for anything.

It just was.

Uncomplicated. Easy.

The fire crackled. 

The floor no longer creaked beneath your feet. 

You poured the tea.

And maybe—for the first time in a long time—something had been fixed that wasn’t made of wood or stone.

Maybe something else had been meant to stand, too. 

[lycanlure]

No Love to Give

Karina x M! Reader (sub)

Tags : dom!Karina, non-con, dub-con, violence, verbal a!use, ab*se, angst, rough seggs, painful seggs (yeah he is getting railed hard here...), tox!c love

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"K-Karina!, n-" her hands wrapped my neck, her grip almost suffocating... "One last time, tell me... Where. Are. The. Fucking. Beer!" Her grip never loosened as you only gripped her wrist lightly, trying to push her away. But you've always promised to never harm her, in any form or way. "Fucking whore" She stopped choking you as it was replaced with a burning slap on your cheek. "I-I don't know..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your sobs filled the room, every part of you shook in fear as she left. 'Is she leaving me?! Please... Dont...' You went to look outside, she's not there anymore. 'M-Maybe she just... W-Went to b-buy something, or go out to smoke a-and..." Your mind is filled with every thought of Jimin doing as she left you to yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You cleaned up and went to clean the living room, 'I made a mess...' you spoke under your breath as you stared at the broken vases and broken chairs she smashed onto you. Cleaning everything up, you heard the door and opening and some paper bags rattle. You opened the door, Jimin appeared as she was carrying some paper bags filled with groceries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"L-Let me help you, my love" You smiled as she handed you the groceries, you cant help but saw her eyes, eyes filled with anger and something else...

"Hey, about last night." She puts her car keys at the kitchen counter, "Hm? What about last night?" you spoke but your voice hinted at a very sad tone, "I kinda forgot about it." you added as you went and filled the pantry with the groceries, she went closer to you and reached out for your cheek, but her reaching out only made you flinched...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Both of you were surprised and looked at each other, you looked away and she held her eyes on you. "I-I'm so-" She wanted to say something but I slowly walked towards the living room, Karina, slightly frustrated and worried. Her mind frantically looks for some way to talk to you, 'This... Ugh, why did I even marry you. Luckily you have a lot of money, and a handsome one too." She fixed her top and then followed you. While you diligently looked at the living room, you spotted the vacuum and turned it on immediately and got into cleaning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Karina though, she watched you clean, how her sweet, loving, cute and disgustingly weak husband does some house chores. You felt her stare, still doing your job and avoiding eye contact. "My love... Karina, um, I was thinking, I wanted to get a job..." Your voice sounded sheepish.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Why? So that I'd do the cleaning? Fuck no." Her voice sounded cold and monotone. "I-Its just t-that..." Your sentence was later cut off by her. "That what? I'm not doing enough? You're getting smart now, huh? Or you don't want me to do something good? Oh, maybe I'm incompetent?!" She replied, but her response was somewhat scary and filled with anger. She approached you, her foot stomping as she walked towards you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"N-No i-its not t-that" You unknowingly covered your mouth as if you said something terribly offensive. As soon as you covered your mouth, she punched your stomach, specifically at the solar plexus. Her punch was strong, it made you knelt at her heel. As you kneeled, your head is on the floor. Looking down as the pain multiplied when her foot was on your head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You should remember, my dad gave me to you, for a fucking business deal. Don't act like you can do better than me. For fuck sake Y/N, stop acting like a spoiled brat." her words felt like million swords pierced into you. "S-Sorr- Guhh!" She kicked your head, making you tumble to the side. "Go make some dinner, bitch." You stood immediately and went to the kitchen, walking slowly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your head spinning whilst walking towards the kitchen, you made dinner and served it to her at the dining table. You made some wine and steak, you cooked it to her liking. But it wasn't... "What. The. Fuck. Is this shit?! Do I look like a pig to you, huh?!" She threw her plate at you hitting your chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You looked down as the pain hissed at you, touching it only left you with more pain. As soon as she left your sobs filled the room, the excruciating pain that enveloped your body only made your crying worse...You stood up and cleaned after her and yourself. As the dishes were done she came back... "Go upstairs..." She ordered, I hesitated... "Don't make me ask twice, now!" She shouted, I slowly moved as her eyes were locked onto me.

She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me towards her, "Get undressed, if you still have your clothes after you arrive at my room, I'll fucking sell you." her hands tighten on your shoulder as she goes to the cellar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You went up to your bedroom, and undressed. She arrived not long after you got undressed, "Good~" her voice was deep and sultry. Her hums filled the room, her voice sent you to a weak state, your body didn't even hesitate, it remained relaxed. Her touch was gentle, yet within those touches it was uncomfortable to feel. She then slowly lunged herself towards you, kissing and biting your neck softly it sent shivers down your spine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Without warning, she touched your part. You whimpered, as her hand struck it. Sensing each stroke was enough to wring you out of breath. "M-My love..." You whispered, "Shhh, be quite slut" she bit your neck, marking you as hers. This is the only time you can feel genuine feelings from her, without a doubt she loves doing this with you. But you always feel empty after it, it makes you long for it, wanting to extend it, a never ending moment where she's genuine with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I-I love you, M-My lo-" You got cut off as she pushed you down, your part still rose, "A good slut gets a good fuck, ok? You've been tolerating my past actions, well done." Her voice sounded sweet, yet her eyes tell a different story. She looked at you with desire,strings of hunger, mixed with annoyance. She attacked your lips, viciously making you weak, your knees begged yet she kept going, your whimpering fueled her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Keep making that noise, you'll end up in a wheel chair" She smirks, how you smiled when she smirked. You felt like there was a spark between you too, but then. You remembered, it's the same spark that gleams every time you both do this...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"M-My love... It feels so good... Mmhh" Finally she knelt in front of you, removing her stop, and then unlocking her bra. Which unburdened her beautiful chest, which then only contrasted how small her waist is. With her top out of the way, she stood up. Removing her pants and underwear, where you soon again see her voluptuous curves that drove your knees into a weak mess. "M-My..." She puts her fingers in front of your lips, signalling you to he quite. "Shhh, I'm just getting started."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You shiver in anticipation, as she aligns her wetness onto your throbbing member. "Be a good slut, ok?" She said and immediately pressed onto your cock smoothly, "nggghh, m-my love..." You moaned as her wetness met you, she began working. Her hips vigorously moved up and down, "S-Shit... S-So fucking good!" she grabbed your neck and proceeded to push you deeper in the bed. Your back was ingrained in the foam, as your eyes met hers. Both of you began to look at each other, her eyes filled with content and lust, at that point you just submitted to her dominance...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her constant degradation, torture was ingrained inside your head. As each of her touches went to the place where bruises were. Your chest, bruised by the plate earlier, your stomach where she punches, your waist where she grips it to the point her hands dented it.

Each slam was filled with raw, and pure desire. Desire to make you squirm, weak, submissive, destroyed. That's the only genuine feeling she'll be showing towards you, no love, only lust.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"L-Love, nngghh" Your voice was getting weak, as she rode you like a whore. "More!" She said at each slam, hard and precise, deep and sensual. "P-Plea- m-my... O-Oh g-go-" Your stomach was sticky, cum and sweat mixing each other. It smelled, but you liked it, her cum mixing with yours, it gushes out from her. For hours and hours, she used you over and over again. She never took a break not once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never spoke after the 3rd round, you were too tired. When you go limp, she'll finger your prostate to turn it hard again. "P-Please... I-I c-can't..." Your breath was shaky, you were too tired. While Karina wasn't to her this was only the 1st round, she pulled herself out. Her gates still dripping, "I'll be back" she spoke and then left you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ragged and tired, you tried moving. But you can't, your legs gave up. 'If she loves this, I will give it to her... I don't care, after this she may not love me, but love doing this with me... It's fine, I can live with this...' Your thoughts jumbled and you sobbed. You knew she'll never truly love you, but as long as she's doing this with you and only you. It'll be enough...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The END

[trivia-yandere]

a favor

the only way your professor is willing to give you a passing grade is if you do something for him in return.

word count: 6.176

warning: power imbalance, slight bratty mc, college professor jin, fingering, dirty talking, degradation, nipple sucking, non-con/dub-con, semi-public sex, oral sex, edging, vibrator usage, dry humping, squirting,

dedicated to: @justmygrayworld since there isnt enough jin fics for you on tumblr 😭

“Sir,”

Jin’s eyes glanced up from his laptop, glasses lying lazily on his nose. He’s already sighing at the sight of you.

“I would like to speak with you.” you say, arms crossed. You’re chewing gum and the way you’re smacking it annoys him instantly.

“You’re already speaking.” Jin retorts. He closes his laptop. The other students in the classroom were heading out, classes done for the day. All except you - the last person he’s expected to be staying after classes.

“Ha ha.” you say sarcastically, voice dry and not laced with any amusement.  “I wanted to ask about my grade.”

Jin raises his eyebrows. As long as you’ve been in his class, you haven't been interested in your grade. You’d often come late when classes were during the day and you were the first to leave once the class was over. 

Jin doesn’t want to be that professor that judges his students - but it was obvious when it came to you. You only attended college for the experience; the parties and lifestyle instead of actually being serious about it. Your last name was well-known around the college - you’re a legacy, after all.

Being a legacy meant that you didn’t have to work twice as hard as the other students whose names didn’t ring any bells. You drove a more expensive car than he did. He never saw you in the same thing twice and every time you joined class, he swore he saw another gold bracelet added to your collection upon your wrist.

‘What about your grade?” Jin leans against his leather chair, crossing his arms. He wants to snort as he has a possibility as to why. You were failing - not as if you truly cared. You’ve been failing since the beginning and had expressed no interest before.

“There’s no way I’m not getting at least a passing grade.” you sigh, waving your arms in the air in frustration. “I’ve come to class everyday!”

Jin blinks.

“Okay?” Jin shakes his head, not understanding. “That’s what you’re supposed to do,  Miss Y/L.”

“Doesn’t that count? Don’t I get points for attendance?”

Jin blinks once more.

“You’re still supposed to do the work. And participate in class discussions.” Jin murmurs. He removes his glasses and places them onto his desk. “You’ve been failing since the semester started, Y/N, why are you asking about this now?”

You inhale, closing your eyes for a moment.

Should you say that your father has threatened to take everything if you didn’t bring your grades up? He wasn’t paying for college for the hell of it were his exact words - and the way he belted it at you told you that he was serious. You needed at least a passing grade and the only one you were on the verge of failing was one with a specific Kim Seokjin.

“I’m trying to get my stuff together.” you say, opening your eyes to find his dark ones watching you closely.

“Are you?” Jin asks. The classroom was quiet and the hallways were becoming the same. There weren’t any classes going and usually this was the time Jin took to go through assignments and grade what was needed. “Or is daddy threatening you?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff, taken aback.

“You’re excused.” Jin juts his head to the left where the classroom door is at. 

“W-What?” your eyes widens. “But I-” your hands place themselves onto his desks. “-Mr. Kim…what can I do to at least pass the class? I’ll do my last few assignments!”

Jin raises a brow. You’re close, and being so close has him inhaling your scent. The perfume you wore was such a fruit scent with a hint of lemon. He’s never smelt anything like it before.

Your hands are manicured on his desk - if he was an english professor, he would’ve made a whole page about how the shade of pink highlighted your promiscuity.

“You think you doing work that has already been graded and added to the system would make whatever pathetic grade you have rise?”

You’ve never heard Jin speak with such a harsh tone before. It has you taken aback, lifting your hands from his desk to take a step back. His desh chair rolls back as he stands.

You’ve always thought Jin was handsome - so did everyone else. Upon first entering his class, however, he made it clear to everyone that he wasn’t like most professors. He wanted you to either call him “Sir” or simply “Mr. Kim” because, in his own words, he was friends with none of his students. While the other professors were more relaxed and didn’t mind if you called them by their name or not, he hadn’t.

“Hello?” Jin head jerks. He was actually expecting you to answer his question. He rounds his desk and leans against it, crossing his arms. His dark eyes are lingering on you, an unfamiliar glint to them.

“I…I guess not?” your voice is lowered to a mere murmur. You’re unsure what to do or say now.

“You’re correct. All grades are final.” Jin speaks. 

Jin watches the way your face falls, and for a mere moment he finds great satisfaction in knowing that you were disappointed. Hopefully in yourself for allowing your grades to plummet just because you were too lazy to keep up with it. If you were the type of student to appear interested, he would’ve extended a grace period - he has before. 

However, you weren’t. Jin has never received an email from you concerned about the material or his class in general. He tilts his head as he awaits for a response out of you, such sad eyes casting downwards.

“What’s going to happen if you fail my class? It has to be something crucial for you to look so sad.”

You glance up from the ground to Jin. 

“Do you care?” you’re bold enough to ask. 

There wasn’t a point in being here in his classroom any longer if Jin wasn’t going to help you with your grade. And realistically, you cannot be upset. You had bullshitted through college since you started and just recently did your father begin to get hard on you - his only daughter - to actually take it seriously.

Jin snickers. His plump lips form into a smirk. “Your true colors are showing, Miss Y/L.” he speaks, voice so condescending that you roll your eyes. “And here I thought you were actually serious about your grade.”

“I am!” you hiss. “I…you’re just-”

Jin knits his brows. “Just what?” he ponders.  “You’re used to getting whatever you wanted since birth. Welcome to the real world, Miss Y/L. You actually have to work for things.”

Your eyes widen. Your hands form into first and you take a deep breath to not spat out anything you’d come to regret. Instead, you attempt to call down and appear just as kind as you were prior to all of this.

“Please, Mr. Kim,” you begin. When all things fail, you suppose a bit of begging wouldn’t hurt, right? “If you can just give me a passing grade, I’d try my best to-”

“Try your best to do what? Give a fuck about my class?” Jin chuckles. He finds it amusing how pathetic you are, but for some odd reason, he swears there’s something inside of him firing up.

Maybe it’s the authority he has over you. Knowing that you needed something from him, and if you didn’t have it, it would slowly ruin your life.

“Say if I do give you a passing grade. What are you going to do?”

Your shoulders straighten. “I’ll participate more. I’ll…I’ll do my assignments and-”

Jin steps forward from his lean against his desk. The action causes you to stop your speech. You watch him watch you for a moment, a glint in his eyes that’s still so unfamiliar to you.

“What is given without expectation of payment, but often returned with gratitude?”

You blink, your mind working the question through your brain. “What?”

“What,” Jin takes another step closer to you. 

Your shoulders tense a bit with how close he was getting. Once more, Jin was an attractive man - that was no lie. You were always unsure of his direct age. He often appeared older than the rest of the class, yet sometimes he’d say such corny jokes that told you that he wasn’t always so serious. His shoulders were broad and he always had a cool yet mysterious demeanor about him.

“is given without expectation of payment,” Jin continues, another step coming towards you.  “but often returned with gratitude?”

You swallow. The room and hallways were so quiet and suddenly, the large classroom felt so small. You could hear the way your heartbeat quickens underneath Jin’s gaze, and you’re highly confused as to why. You’ve never felt this way before and the action was frightening you.

“If you can answer the riddle, I’ll give you a passing grade.” Jin speaks. He’s smug; because he’s positive that you don’t know. “If you cannot, then I suppose you’ll have to do something else to work for your grade.”

Your lips part at his words, eyes scanning his face for any sign of…anything. But you don’t find it.

“I d-don’t know.” you murmur, unsure of where this now leads you. You weren’t thinking about the riddle enough to attempt to decipher it  - but this wasn’t even that type of class. 

“Too bad.” Jin hums, the same condescending tone in his voice. It’s as if he’s mocking you. “I have an early class tomorrow. You’ll be here 8 a.m. sharp.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You didn’t have his class tomorrow - and you never had early classes, either. Your eyes were forming a glare, but Jin wasn’t done speaking. 

“You’ll be here 20 minutes early, as well. I have something you’d need to have in order to go through with the class.” 

“Are you serious?” you fumed. “You cannot be-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, but Jin knows what you were going to ask. Yes, he was entirely serious, and without much preparation for what he does next, he grabs onto your shirt. It’s loosely fitted and allows him to bring you closer. Instead, however, he’s flinging you towards his desk. The action causes you to squeal, eye widening at the sudden movement.

You let out a gasp when you feel Jin directly behind you. He’s pressing himself against you, your leggings allowing you to feel him entirely. 

You don’t move. Neither does Jin.

“You’re going to do something else to work for your grade, Y/N. That’s unless you’re fine with the grade you have. Then you can walk out of here and continue with your day.”

Your hands are firmly against his desk, but you’re too stunned to move. Jin steps away for a moment, but his crotch is replaced with hands. Your leggings are slowly - almost tauntingly - being pulled down.

“If you aren’t fine with it, then…you’re okay with working for it, right?”

Jin’s voice sounds so close. You can feel his breath right at the back of your neck and instantly, the hair on your arms rises. Goosebumps form on once soft skin and you’re unsure what to do or how to respond. You’ve never been in this position before, nor would you have ever thought it would be with him. Jin was never the creepy professor type that flirted with his students; he was the exact opposite.

“After all, you’ve never worked for anything else in your life.” The cool air hits your skin as Jin drags your leggings down. You’re wearing a thong, he notes. He also notices that it matches the hue of your nails, ironically enough. “You should at least work for a passing grade. I’m sure your future depends on it, right?”

You let out a strangle gasp when you feel fingers on your clit. Your hands grip the edge of Jin’s desk as he begins to rub, softly humming behind you. 

“Since we’re like this, Y/N…so close to one another. I suppose I should share a little secret with you.” Jin speaks. His voice is so deep, you notice, and husky. His fingers don’t stop rubbing along your clothed clit, the sensation causing you to dampen. “I don’t like you.”

Your head hangs as Jin forces your thighs apart with his knee. You feel helpless, unable to move from this position he has you in. 

“I don’t like people like you who never had to work for anything. Everything is also handed to you on a silver platter, right?” Jin’s free hand hooks beneath the thong. He slides it aside so he can see your clit. It glistens in the bright light of the classroom and he scoffs. “You walked to my desk confident that I’d give you a passing grade just because you’ve asked, right?”

You gasp when Jin’s fingers touch your throbbing clit. He begins to rub, his free hand holding your waist firmly. Dare he say he likes the sight of you - so quiet and submissive over his desk. The princess finally being humbled - something her father couldn’t get her out of. 

“And then you couldn’t even answer my riddle.” Jin scoffs. “You’re truly pathetic, Y/N. You’re going to stand here and allow me to use you as I see fit.”

Your pussy is entirely wet - growing wetter with Jin’s words. This was bad; sinful. You and him couldn’t be doing this, he was your professor. Anyone could walk in at any moment and see this. 

Sure, you were an adult, but Jin had a sense of power over you - and he knew it. It was the sole reason why you and he were in this position now. Students and Professors were forbidden from being in any type of relationship.

“S-Sir…?” your voice is so soft that Jin barely hears it. 

“Do you want to pass, Y/N? Depending on how good you follow directions is the grade you’ll get from my class.”

You swallow.

“Now, open your legs wider.”

You comply, and that was all the consent Jin needed. His fingers find your hole and he begins to slide them in.

You let out a groan when you feel them. Your heart pumps and your head snaps to the closed classroom door. What if someone came in? Another principle? A janitor? A student just like you?

Jin begins to pump his fingers in you. It causes your eyes to flutter away from the classroom door. You were tight and wet, a good combination. Your pussy makes wet squelching sounds as Jin drills his fingers in and out of you.

“This is probably the first time you’ve ever had to work for something, I suppose?” Jin assured. He wants to laugh. Even now you weren’t working hard in the slightest. You were only doing what he told you to - all because you didn’t want your life to change.

Your body is warm with embarrassment, heat flowing through you at Jin’s words. His tone is low and hushed, as if he doesn’t want to be caught speaking in such a manner - how ironic. He’s right behind you and holds majority - if not all - the power between the two of you.

“That’s n-not true.” 

Your voice is meek and lacks all the confidence you’ve once had. It’s laughable to witness in person, truly.

“Oh?” Jin comes closer to you, plump lips right against your ear. “Do enlighten me, Miss Y/L.”

Jin’s fingers are so deep inside of you, scraping your velvety walls that you’re unable to contain the moan that’s bubbling from your throat. The fear that is flowing through you of being caught is adrenaline that’s flowing through Jin. He, however, understands that no one would be coming in to catch either of you. Janitors typically worked overnight when it was quiet and students opted to speak with him via email - he supposed it was easier than dealing with him in person.

“You cannot. Even now you’re not even working hard for your grade.” Jin’s voice is so menacingly low and taunting. “You’re just allowing me to do what I want in hopes I’d give it to you.”

Your throat swells just as your stomach clenches. Your hands continue to squeeze the edge of his desk in frustration - your walls clenching around his pumping fingers. Your eyes squeeze themselves shut as you feel your eyes grow glossy.

Jin’s words were harsh, but they were reality. You hadn’t worked hard for nearly anything in your life, and even now you’re unsure what to do to get what you wanted. It’s the sole reason Jin understands that even if doing this was wrong,  you weren’t going to stop him. 

You weren’t going to report Jin, either, as Jin’s reputation as an introverted professional professor would only discredit your claims. Jin would only state how you come to him in hopes of gaining a better grade by any means necessary - even if it meant stating “false claims”.

Jin’s free hand slides from your hips to between your legs. His fingers capture your sensitive clit and begin to rub. You yelp, eyes snapping open. 

“From here on out, I’ll mold you into a better student overall, Miss Y/L.” Jin snickers darkly. He’s imagining the countless lessons he’d put you through - lessons you need to be a better you.

Jin’s pumping fingers curve a bit. Your arousal is coating his palm entirely, dripping down his wrist. You’re squealing and grunting softly to yourself, heart pumping loudly out your chest. 

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” Jin hisses, his fingers pumping even deeper.

“T-thank you.” you huff out. Your knuckles were throbbing with how tight your grip was upon the desk. Your throat continues to swell with your own self-loathing for not fighting Jin off of you - for not proving him wrong about yourself. You were upset with how wet you were, overstimulated  with both of his greedy hands taking control of you.

“Good girl, Miss Y/L.” Jin’s lips are directly against your ear. He knows just how close you are to cumming. “Go ahead and let go,  okay?”

You’re ashamed of yourself for how obedient your body was. The pressure that builds itself in your stomach releases on command. You’re growing limp, your thighs shaking with pleasure you’ve not felt in months. Your hands begin to soften.

Jin removes his fingers from your wet entrance. He slides your thong back into place and takes a step back to examine you. Your thighs are covered in your own lustful slick and your thighs are still shaking. You’re on his desk nearly limp and he wants to laugh at how pathetic you truly looked. 

“8 A.M tomorrow.” Jin speaks, rounding the corner to his desk. “20 minutes before class starts, I want you here.”

Your body moves just as you witness him sit at his desk. Your hands are trembling as you lift your leggings up to cover yourself. Your clit is throbbing between your legs.

“Do you understand, Miss Y/L?”

Your eyes glance up to witness Jin’s hard stare. The sadness behind your eyes causes his plump lips to twitch upwards. Breaking you was easier than he thought.

“Yes.” you nod your head.

It wasn’t until your hand was on his classroom door did Jin speak up. He doesn’t look at you. He’s holding a pen as he grades assignments, glasses back on his eyes.

“A favor.”

You turn towards him, a confused look on your face. “What?” you murmur, audible enough for him to hear.

“What is given without expectation of payment, but often returned with gratitude? Jin repeats the question he has asked you before - the riddle you had to solve in order to raise your grade. “The answer is ‘a favor’.”

You turn away from him, your hand squeezing the doorknob. Your breathing increases.

“It’s also what you’re asking of me. A favor.” Jin is writing so hard that you can hear it from where you stand. “You’re free to go, Miss Y/L.”

After your own internal crisis for the rest of the day, you had returned the following morning. On days in which you didn't have classes, you were typically busy the night before. Parties, for one - no matter how small. You had turned down constant requests just because you knew you had to be in class the following morning.

A class you didn’t have to attend.

You had woken up an hour before and showered, the hot water burning your skin as your mind continued to replay the events of the day prior. The way your professor's demeanor changed entirely. The once lax man had turned to something entirely different - dominant and demeaning. 

You asked yourself countless times already if you liked it. You came, yes, harder than you had before. But it wasn’t as if you were given the chance to process what was going on. It all happened so fast - your leggings being forced down and him touching you so indifferently.

You had been standing outside the classroom for five minutes now, your hand hovering above the door handle. You swallow back the flashbacks that are forming in your mind. 

You could turn around now and go back to your apartment. There’s a possibility that if you did, it was to pack, as your father was paying for it and he already told you that if you didn’t fix your grades, he wouldn’t be anymore.

You could tell someone - anyone - of what has happened here. But would they believe you? Professor Kim is a highly respected professor in this college. He was well liked by students and faculty. He was known for being very respectable and not forming relationships with students - even platonic ones. He always had let it be known that he was not interested in being friends with any of his students - all of his socials were private and he only gave out his work email and phone number, never personal ones.

In conclusion, no one would believe you, the tiny voice in your head tells you. That, and you also never told him to stop.

Jin looks up from his notes when he hears the door creek open. You’re right on time, and if he wasn’t paying attention to your shadow outside his door, he wouldn’t have known you were out there the entire time.

“Miss Y/L. How kind of you to join me.”

You close the door behind you. You don’t move from your spot in front of it until Jin waves you over. You notice his desk has changed from the middle of the room, to the far right. The projector screen that’s usually rolled up is now down and the lights are dim. 

“How are you this morning?”

“Good.” you reply, not meeting his eye. He’s sporting a black, long sleeved shirt and dress pants that appear pressed of no imperfections or wrinkles. His belt is tied firmly around his waist, an action you see once he leans back into his desk chair.

“That’s good.” Jin goes into one of his desk drawers and pulls out a tiny, square box. “I wanted to give you this.”

The box is black in color and solid, no lettering at all. You’re hesitant to grab it, but do it nonetheless. The entire time, Jin is watching you closely. He examines your reaction upon opening it, your face contorting to that of sheer embarrassment.

“I want you to wear it.”

You look up just as Jin speaks. His face hasn’t changed from his serious expression and his tone matches that.

You glance back down inside the box, the contents of it a pair of lace panties, the only part that’s cotton is the part where your crotch will be at.

“You don’t like it?”

You lower your arms, glancing away. You take a deep breath and shake your head. “I like it.” you speak, but you don’t even try to sound convincing.

Jin snickers. “Put them on.”

“N-Now?” you question. 

“Well I certainly didn’t stutter, now did I, Miss. Y/L?”

No, he didn’t. 

“Right now.”

Jin doesn’t intend on making anything easier on you. He enjoys watching you squirm. You remove your shoes, then your jeans. You feel entirely exposed and contemplate turning around to keep whatever dignity you had left, but you don’t want to set him off.

“Hand it over to me.” Jin holds out his palm for your current panties. Shakily, you do as you’re told. “Your jeans, as well.”

“W-What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Miss Y/L.” Jin speaks, a tint of annoyance.

Hesitantly, you do as you’re told. Your eyes flicker to the classroom door. He had a class soon and there's no way in hell you were going to sit half naked for the entirety of the class period. 

“You’re an obedient little whore, aren’t you?” Jin chuckles, the word sliding off his tongue smoothly. You feel entirely exposed, a shiver running up your spine.

“Take everything else off besides the underwear.”

“Sir-”

“I wasn’t asking.” Jin interrupts. “You do as you’re told, or you leave.”

Just what was he planning? There’s no way anything could happen when there was only 15 minutes until class began.

You’re stiff removing your shirt, then bra. Your nipples are erect now due to the lack of warmth covering your body. Jin’s eyes are staring straight at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Come here.”

Your body moves on autopilot. You’re standing right in front of him, unable to see Jin’s eye.

“Come sit.”

Your heart is pounding. The only place there was to sit was on his lap. You go to do just that, when he signals you to sit facing him directly.

“You look scared, Miss Y/L.” Jin murmurs. “Are you?”

“...No.” you admit. You weren’t scared of him exactly - more scared of being caught doing whatever he was going to have you do.

“That’s good. You shouldn’t be.” Jin leans forward. “I’m not forcing you to do anything, right?”

Hesitantly, you shake your head. “No.” you mumble.

“That’s right.” Jin nods. He places his left hand onto your hip to keep you steady on his lap. “Lean back against the desk.”

Your body flinches at the cold surface of his desk, but you remain silent. Your breast is on full display for him and he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s staring at them.

“Today’s class is going to be boring.” Jin says. “I have to show them a video for them to take notes. They’ll probably be asleep within the first 20 minutes.”

You swallow.

“You’ll stay right here with me.”

“I-I can’t-”

“You will.” Jin roams his left hand up your sides. Goosebumps litter across your skin, his head coming closer. “They won’t see  you.”

Your eyes watch through hooded eyes as Jin places a nipple into his mouth. You’re pressed firmly against him and you gasp when you feel it.

The feeling is surreal and it gives you the same reaction as to when you felt his fingers in you the day prior. His tongue twirls around your perky nipple, playing with it in his mouth. 

Jin doesn’t need to look at the tiny remote in his right hand to press the button. You squeal at the sudden vibration you feel right between your legs.

“S-Sir…!”

You pondered why the panties were designed this way, but now you understand what were hidden inside of them. The small vibrator sends shock waves throughout your body. Add the way Jin goes between both of your breasts, suckling and tugging at your nipples, you were going over the edge.

Your eyes flutter close, both hands settling on his shoulders. You’re unsure what to do but allow him to have his way with you. You’re stuck between right and wrong - and this was entirely wrong. But you’d be lying if you said that the adrenaline wasn’t going through you right now. That the thought of you being here at Jin’s complete mercy, vibrator against your clit while he sucks onto your chest wasn’t exciting.

“You look like you’re having fun, Miss Y/L.”

Your chest rises and falls with each breath you take. Your eyes open slowly to look at him in the dim classroom lighting, immediately regretting it.

“Sir…” you trail off, unsure what to say.

“Go ahead.” Jin leans back against his desk chair. There was 8 minutes left until class started and that meant he had about 6 of those minutes to make you cum. “I want you to cum, Miss Y/L. Do whatever it is you have to in order to do that.”

Those words shouldn’t make you hot, but they do. It’s then you notice the small remote in his right hand controlling the vibrator. His thumb presses a button and you’re feeling more intense vibration shoot at your core.

Your eyes are fluttering immediately and without much thought, your hips buckle right on his lap. And against his clothed cock.

Jin can feel the vibration just as you do, but he holds off the moan that wants to fall past his plump lips. He watches you with intense eyes as you grind against him, your hands that are on his shoulders begin to squeeze them.

You never would have thought you’d be in this situation with Professor Kim out of all people - not like you’ve ever imagined it with any professor. It all feels surreal, truly. Your mind begins to forget that there’s students piling the hallways outside and soon, would be coming into this very class. They didn’t need to see you and Jin in such a compromising position.

“This is the hardest you’ve ever had to work for your grade, huh?” Jin snickers. His left hand roams your body, settling from your breast until he slides it down to your hips. “You’re dripping all over me.”

You’re positive you were. The vibration right against your sensitive clit was too much to handle. “I’m sorry.” you murmur out with a short moan following it. “Feels g-good.”

Jin licks his lips. He already knows how wet you can get, but what if you were even wetter than yesterday? You were dripping all over his dress pants like a little whore in heat.

“I know it does, Miss Y/L.” Jin places a hand on your face. It’s warm to the touch and it causes you to gasp. His thumb traces your lips while he tries to contain himself. It was hard for him not to bend you over right now and fuck you like he knows you want him to. Class was going to start in another 4 minutes anyways. Whatever he wanted from you was going to have to wait until after.

Until your tongue trails out and captures Jin’s thumb, suckling onto it hungrily. Your thighs were quivering with pleasure, eyes snapped shut. He watches the way you whimper as you suck on his thumb, your mind possibly wishing it was something else entirely.

“You little whore…you must really want a good grade.” Jin hisses. His cock is hard against your vibrating pussy and as you’re cumming, he can hear the footsteps down the hall.

You’re still catching your breath when the vibration is shut off. Your gripping fingers begin to soften and you hoped he didn’t mind the slight wrinkles on his shirt.

“Let’s see how much you really want a good grade, Miss Y/L.”

Your ears capture the close footsteps and your eyes open with a snap. Jin doesn’t move, and you’re positive there's no time for you to get dressed and remove yourself from this situation.

“Sir-”

“Get underneath the desk.” Jin commands just as the door creaks open. You drop without another word, your nearly naked body hiding beneath his desk. You’re surprised how spacious it actually is under here.

“Come on in.”

Jin’s voice lightens a bit. He’s back to being the Professor Jin you all know. He rolls his chair back and you feel exposed, but you understood no one went behind his desk. Your lips are snapped shut and you don’t even want to breathe, far too afraid of being caught in this position.

“Today is a more relaxed day. I’m going to allow you to get as much information as possible with this video. You can use whatever notes you have on the exam.”

“You call this relaxed?” one boy says with a groan.

“When’s the exam?” asks another student - a girl.

“Whenever I decide to give it out. You’ll know the day of.” Jin state. The dim lights turn off completely and you’re left in the darkness underneath his desk. You take a deep breath - it was going to be a long hour.

Jin starts the video and it booms off of the classroom walls. It’s so loud that the desk vibrates slightly with the bass of it. You’re a bit started when Jin comes back to focus, only sparing you a slight glance before looking away.

You’re only on your knees for a slight moment before the vibration returns. You let out a slight moan that’s muffled with the sound of the video - was this his plan all along? You can make out his face in the dark when the video brightens him, but the room is so dark that you’re sure the other students cannot.

“S-Sir….” you whisper, widening your thighs so that you can feel the vibrator deeper against your already wet core. Your hands place themselves onto his knees.

Jin’s eyes snap to you. Even in the dark, you appear as whore-like as before. Your eyes are straining to remain open and your lips are parted. Only he can hear the soft whimpers you’re releasing.

Jin places a hand on your head and pats it slightly. The action is demeaning, you’re positive, as if you were some type of obedient pet. But at the moment, you don’t care. You’re riding off  another orgasm that’s bubbling through your body.

Jin’s hand slides down to your face and your tongue repeats the actions of earlier, twirling it in your mouth. Jin’s eyes harden at you, his cock pressing hard against his dress pants. Your hands slide up from his knees to his thighs, inching closer and closer to his clothed cock. You’re hesitant, of course, as he never made any mention of wanting to actually go there with you. You assumed so seeing as he’s had you in such sultry positions twice already.

Jin doesn’t stop you from undoing his belt or his buttons. Your hands tug at his underwear, the cotton briefs showcasing just how hard he was. He had a good poker face as you’d never notice if you hadn’t seen (or felt it) for yourself.

The vibration rises and you’re having a hard time not squealing louder. The only way you could contain yourself was by placing his pink cock in your mouth, groaning as your hips buckled against nothing.

Jin licks his lips before biting it. He glanced up at the class and as he suspected, only a selected few were paying attention. He witnesses a few phones and some sleeping figures. He doesn’t care now - not when your mouth is wrapped around his cock.

Your hand wraps around the shaft of Jin’s cock as you suckle on the tip. Your eyes are closed and Jin just knows you’re enjoying this. You were such a whore, he thinks, willing to do whatever it took so your lifestyle didn’t change. Your head bobs up and down as your hands squeeze his cock, thrusting with the same pace.

Jin’s hand is rough in your hair, but you don’t care and it’s already known that he doesn’t either. His cock hits the back of your throat easily. You’re so wet that the action causes your throat to vibrate, mimicking that of the one pressed against your soaked core.

Jin continues to thrust into your mouth, glancing up every few moments to assure no one was watching him - but he was in a dark corner and secured.

Glancing back down, Jin continues his pace. Your ears are watery, but the action is so lewd that it sends another wave of pleasure through you. You’re fully dripping all over yourself and the floor. The video is so loud that no one but you and Jin can hear the squelching sounds coming from him fucking your mouth.

“Such a dirty little whore you are, Miss Y/L.” Jin murmurs, his wet cock continuing to hit your throat with each thrust.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out - again and again until  you feel the salty warmth fill your mouth. Your eyes are rolling, your hips buckle. Your clit is swollen with overstimulation and your body is trembling. The pressure building up inside of you pours out of you and onto the ground in thick puddles.

next part 4/11/25

final part 4/13/25

@sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @investedreader @momnomnom

[buttercandy16]

The Landlady

PAIRING(s): Landlady!AgathaHarkness x Tennant!Reader

SUMMARY: New place, new beginning, and strange nights.

WARNING(s): Non-Con, Dub-Con, Stockholm Syndrome, Somnophilia, Manipulation, Breastfeeding Kink, and other Dark Themes

A/N: Just exploring some kinks that I find interesting.

The room was small but cozy, bathed in warm hues from a Persian rug and a few old-fashioned lamps that gave off a golden glow. The walls were lined with bookshelves stuffed to the brim, their spines worn from years of use. It felt inviting, charmingly cluttered, and smelled faintly of lavender and something richer—something earthy and intoxicating.

"This is the space," Agatha said, gesturing toward the spare bedroom as she turned to face you, her smile like a velvet trap. Her dark hair was swept casually over one shoulder, and her blouse clung in all the right ways, accentuating her confidence and an air of playful mystery.

You felt impossibly out of place, standing in her perfectly curated home with your battered suitcase and freshly broken heart. Your ex’s harsh words still echoed in your mind, but you pushed the memories aside, forcing a small smile. “It’s perfect.”

Her smile widened, and she leaned against the doorframe, a spark of amusement in her piercing blue eyes. “Perfect, hmm? High praise. I’ll take it.”

Her flirtation was subtle, but it didn’t escape your notice. Since you’d replied to her ad, she had been effortlessly charming, her wit sharp but never cruel. At first, you’d been nervous about moving in with someone so... magnetic. She was older, sophisticated, confident in a way that left you fumbling for words. But when Agatha leaned into that confidence—throwing in a wink or letting her hand linger on yours during mundane moments—it left your chest tight and your cheeks warm.

You blamed the tiny crush forming in the back of your mind on the turbulence of your breakup. Agatha couldn’t possibly see you that way—her endless flirting was surely harmless.

Wasn’t it?

For the first few weeks, things felt easy. Agatha proved to be an ideal roommate. She shared her carefully prepared meals with you, the kind that were always spiced just right. She kept the kitchen spotless, offered advice when you sheepishly confided about your ex, and filled the silence with laughter when the weight of your heartbreak threatened to pull you under.

The only odd thing, you’d noticed, were the nights.

You began waking up feeling... strange. As if you were buzzing, every nerve in your body unusually sensitive. Your dreams grew more vivid and peculiar, filled with a phantom warmth you couldn’t quite explain. Fingers tracing your skin, soft breaths grazing your neck, whispers you couldn’t make out. And every time you woke, you felt flushed, your heart racing, the sensation too tangible for a mere dream.

At first, you shrugged it off as residual stress. The breakup. The move. It was a lot to process, after all. But then, strange details started to pile up. You’d wake with your blankets slightly askew or your shirt riding up your stomach. Once, you swore you smelled Agatha’s perfume on your pillow—the same lavender and musky hint you could only associate with her.

It was easy to dismiss at first. Coincidence. Sleepwalking. Overthinking.

But the feelings lingered—tingling warmth along your neck, an ache in your chest you couldn’t place, as if you were missing something you didn’t understand.

What you didn’t realize was that your dreams weren’t dreams at all.

Agatha sat perched at your bedside every night, thankful to the drug she slipped in your evening tea, ensuring you stayed in a deep, pliant sleep. Her fingers trailed softly over your cheek as she watched you, her expression caught between tender admiration and raw hunger.

“You’re so sweet when you sleep,” she murmured one night, her voice a low whisper meant only for your unconscious ears. Her hand brushed the strands of hair from your face, and she let herself indulge, pressing her lips to your forehead in a possessive kiss.

Each night, her touches grew bolder. Her fingertips ghosted down your arms, tracing invisible lines along your skin as though she could draw you closer to her even in sleep. Sometimes, she let her hand linger at your waist, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breath as you laid helpless beneath her gaze.

“You don’t even know how much I’ve longed for this,” Agatha whispered another night, her hand curling into a fist briefly before relaxing again. “Every sigh, every smile—it’s all mine now.”

Her lips found your neck one night, brushing the sensitive skin just below your jaw. Her teeth grazed the spot lightly, her body trembling with the restraint it took not to leave a mark—a sign of her claim that only she would know was there.

“I’ll have all of you soon,” she promised, pressing a kiss to your ear. “And when I do, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without me.”

Agatha didn’t just visit you out of obsession—she believed this was her way of grooming you, breaking down your resistance bit by bit. She’d made sure you found her ad, planned every detail of your arrival, and watched with satisfaction as you settled into the life she’d so carefully orchestrated for you.

Her nights of devotion were her reward.

Every brush of her fingers, every whispered promise, was a secret she kept just for the two of you—a bond you weren’t even aware existed.

Unaware of what happened after you closed your eyes each night, you started noticing subtle shifts during the day.

Agatha’s glances lingered longer, her touches more frequent—a brush of her fingers against your wrist as she handed you a mug of tea, the way she smoothed your hair absentmindedly as you passed on the couch. Her presence was overwhelming, intoxicating, but part of you began questioning the growing pull between you two.

You told yourself it was just her confidence, her charm—nothing more. But the strange feelings, the dreams, and her piercing gaze lingered, leaving you flustered, confused, and vulnerable in a way you couldn’t quite name.

You had no idea just how completely Agatha already owned you.

Life with Agatha grew more perplexing as the weeks passed. Your days blurred together in a haze of shared laughter, casual touches that lingered too long, and the peculiar warmth that bubbled beneath the surface every time she looked at you.

Yet, the nights still held the strangest weight.

The dreams persisted, each one more vivid than the last. You felt her hands—a phantom presence sliding over your skin, stroking your hair, tracing patterns along your exposed arms or stomach. Whispers filled the spaces between sleep and waking, soft murmurs that sent shivers racing down your spine even as your mind clung stubbornly to its unconscious state.

More and more, you awoke tangled in your sheets, your heart pounding as if you’d run a marathon. And every time, you felt her presence—Agatha’s scent lingering on your pillow, the faint impression of a figure beside you that vanished when your eyes opened.

One morning, as you sat across from her at breakfast, picking at the edge of your toast, you caught her watching you again. There was something almost predatory in her gaze, as though she were savoring a secret you weren’t yet privy to.

“Sleep okay, darling?” she asked, sipping from her mug.

You froze for a moment, your hand stilling midair as you reached for your coffee. “I—I guess,” you stammered, your cheeks heating under her scrutiny. “I keep having these... weird dreams.”

Agatha tilted her head, curiosity feigned but expertly calculated. “Weird how?”

You shrugged, unsure of how much to share. “They just feel... real. Like someone’s in the room with me.”

Her lips quirked upward in a knowing smile, the corners of her mouth curling like a cat playing with its food. “Do they, now?”

You nodded, unsure if you imagined the flicker of amusement in her eyes.

“Well,” she said after a pause, “maybe it’s just your mind adjusting to a new space. Moving in with someone new can bring out all sorts of feelings. Don’t worry about it too much, sweet thing.”

Her words were meant to reassure, but something about her tone only made you more uneasy.

That night, as you lay curled beneath your blanket, exhaustion threatened to pull you under, but your nerves kept you teetering on the edge of wakefulness. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming—something you couldn’t escape.

It wasn’t long before you fell into a deep, fitful sleep, lulled into submission by a strange comfort you couldn’t explain.

The dreams came swiftly, vivid and disorienting. But this time, the touch wasn’t as ghostly, as faint. This time, it was clear—unmistakable.

The room was thick with the scent of lavender and something darker, something primal. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bed where you lay, your body limp and pliant under the weight of Agatha’s doing. She sat perched on the edge of the mattress, her fingers trailing lazily over your exposed skin, her touch feather-light but deliberate. You were deep in the throes of drugged sleep, your breathing slow and even, completely unaware of the violation unfolding around you.

Agatha’s lips curled into a wicked smile as she leaned over you, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a curtain. “Such a sweet little thing,” she murmured, her voice a low, sultry purr that sent a shiver through the room. Her hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, her fingers brushing against the soft skin of your stomach. “So innocent. So perfect.”

You stirred faintly, a soft whimper escaping your lips as her touch grew bolder. Agatha’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she watched your body respond to her, even in sleep. She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear. “Shh, darling,” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. “Mommy’s here. Just let me take care of you.”

Her hand moved higher, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. She squeezed gently, her thumb brushing over your nipple, coaxing it to hardness. You moaned softly in your sleep, your body arching into her touch, betraying the pleasure you couldn’t consciously acknowledge. Agatha chuckled darkly, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric to tease your bare skin. “That’s it,” she cooed, her voice dripping with possessive affection. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? My sweet, helpless little thing.”

Her other hand slid down your body, her fingers tracing the curve of your hip before slipping between your thighs. You gasped in your sleep, your legs parting instinctively as her fingers found the warmth of your core. Agatha’s smile widened, her touch growing more insistent as she explored you, her fingers slick with your arousal. “Look at you,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. “So wet for me already. You don’t even know what’s happening, do you? But your body knows. It knows who it belongs to.”

She leaned down, her lips brushing against your neck as her fingers worked you, slow and deliberate. “You’re mine,” she whispered, her teeth grazing your skin. “Every part of you. And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

Her fingers curled inside you, drawing a soft cry from your lips as your body clenched around her. Agatha’s breath hitched, her own desire flaring as she watched you writhe beneath her touch. “That’s it,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “Let go for me, darling. Let mommy make you feel good.”

You moaned again, your hips rocking against her hand as the pleasure built, your body responding to her even in the depths of sleep. Agatha’s lips found yours, her kiss deep and possessive as she claimed you, her tongue sliding into your mouth. She swallowed your cries, her fingers moving faster, pushing you closer to the edge.

When you came, it was with a shuddering gasp, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Agatha held you through it, her lips never leaving yours, her fingers drawing out every last drop of your release. When you finally stilled, she pulled back, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she gazed down at you.

“Such a good girl,” she murmured, her voice soft and adoring. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Agatha’s lips lingered on your forehead, her breath warm and heavy as she pulled back just enough to admire your flushed, trembling form. Your body was still twitching faintly from the aftershocks of your forced release, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. She smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes as she shifted her weight, her hands moving to the buttons of her blouse. One by one, she undid them, revealing the pale swell of her breasts beneath. Her nipples were already hard, pebbled with arousal, and she let out a soft, satisfied sigh as the cool air brushed against her skin.

“You’re so perfect like this,” she murmured, her voice low and honeyed, dripping with a sickening sweetness. “So soft. So pliant. Just the way I like you.” Her fingers trailed down your cheek, her touch almost tender if not for the possessive hunger burning in her gaze. “You don’t even know what’s happening, do you? Poor thing. But that’s okay. Mommy’s here to take care of you.”

She leaned down, her breasts brushing against your face as she guided your head to her chest. “Open up, darling,” she cooed, her fingers slipping into your mouth to part your lips. You stirred faintly, a soft whimper escaping you as she pressed her nipple against your mouth. “That’s it. Just like that. Take what mommy’s giving you.”

You resisted at first, your body instinctively recoiling from the intrusion, but Agatha held you firmly in place, her will overriding your own. She tutted softly, her fingers tightening in your hair as she forced you to latch onto her. “Don’t be difficult,” she chided, her voice sharp but still laced with that sickening sweetness. “You need this. You need me.”

The moment your lips closed around her nipple, a shudder ran through her, her breath hitching as she felt the pull of your mouth. “Oh, yes,” she moaned, her head tipping back as she rocked her hips against the bed. “Just like that. Such a good girl for mommy.” Her fingers tightened in your hair, holding you in place as she ground herself against the mattress, her own arousal building with every suckle.

You whimpered around her, the taste of her flooding your mouth. It was too much, overwhelming, but Agatha didn’t care. She only moaned louder, her free hand slipping between her thighs as she worked herself to the rhythm of your suckling. “That’s it,” she panted, her voice trembling with need. “Take it all. Drink up, darling. Mommy’s got so much to give you.”

Her fingers moved faster, her hips jerking as she chased her own release, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “You’re mine,” she hissed, her voice breaking as she came, her body shuddering violently. “Mine. Every part of you. You’ll never escape me.”

When she finally pulled away, her chest heaving, she looked down at you with a satisfied smile, her fingers brushing over your lips. “Such a good girl,” she murmured, her voice soft and adoring. “Mommy’s so proud of you.” She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before settling back against the pillows, her arms wrapping around you in a possessive embrace. “Sleep now, darling. Mommy’s got you.”

“I’ll protect you. Love you. No one else will ever know you like I do. No one else deserves you.”

“I’ll make you understand,” Agatha promised, pressing her lips to your temple.

When you finally woke hours later, the room felt heavier, the air clinging to you like a second skin. Your hands trembled as you pulled back the blanket, noticing how it seemed to cling to the faintest remnants of warmth that didn’t belong to you.

You sat up, your heart hammering in your chest. Something was wrong.

Dreams didn’t leave bruises.

As you pulled your shirt down to get dressed, you caught sight of something in the mirror—a faint, purplish mark high on your neck, near the hollow of your throat. Your breath hitched, panic surging through your veins as you stared at the spot.

No.

It wasn’t possible.

You clutched at the mark, your mind racing to explain it. Maybe you scratched yourself in your sleep. Maybe you leaned against something. Maybe—

“Morning,” Agatha’s voice called from the hall, making you jump.

You quickly yanked your shirt higher, covering the mark as she entered the room with her usual confident air, carrying two mugs of coffee. She handed one to you, her fingers brushing against yours in that deliberate way that made your stomach flip.

“You look flustered,” she noted, her eyes sparkling with amusement as they lingered on your throat for a moment too long.

“I’m fine,” you lied quickly, your voice shaky as you avoided her gaze.

Agatha’s smirk widened. “Oh, I’m sure you are, sweetheart,” she said, her tone dripping with knowing. “I bet you slept like a dream.”

The weight of her words sent a chill down your spine.

She knew.

The tension between you and Agatha was palpable, but it wasn’t just in the way she looked at you. It was in every gesture, every word. Every moment she seemed to linger just a bit too long, or touch you just a bit too much.

You tried to push the thoughts away—tried to focus on your work, to put the strange sensations and the feeling of being watched out of your mind. But it was impossible.

You found yourself growing increasingly disoriented, as if the boundaries between dream and reality were starting to blur. The nights were the worst—especially since waking up feeling flushed and disheveled had become an unsettling routine. Sometimes, it was only the sound of Agatha’s low, comforting voice that pulled you from the fog, telling you everything was fine. “You’re just adjusting,” she’d say with a knowing smile. “New place. New rhythm. It’ll settle.”

But it didn’t settle. The weight of the mark on your neck, the growing feeling of being watched, gnawed at you. The marks started to appear more often, always just out of view—hidden beneath your hair or the collar of your shirt—but you could feel them. It was as if Agatha had claimed you, and no matter how much you tried to fight the idea, your body betrayed you.

You could feel her eyes on you constantly, even when she wasn’t in the room. And sometimes, when she was there, it was like the air itself thickened, charged with something you couldn’t understand. The room seemed smaller with her in it, her presence overwhelming, magnetic, like the pull of gravity itself.

It was a Thursday night, and you didn’t take your evening tea. This time, the restless energy felt different—it was as if your skin was too tight, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you in a way you couldn’t escape. You tossed and turned for hours, but it wasn’t until the soft sound of footsteps in the hallway that you knew.

She was coming.

Your pulse quickened, and you swore you could feel your heart beating in your throat. Agatha’s presence was undeniable.

The door creaked open, and her silhouette appeared in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the hallway. Her expression was unreadable, her gaze trained on you with such intensity that it made your breath hitch in your chest.

“Agatha…” you whispered, the sound thick with a mixture of dread and something darker, something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

She stepped inside without a word, her soft shoes making no noise on the floor. She didn’t need to speak; her mere presence was enough to still the room, to still your mind.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” she said softly, her voice the perfect balance of sweetness and something far more dangerous. Her fingers brushed against your hair, a touch so tender it almost made you lean into it. “You know what’s happening. You know what I’m doing.”

Your throat tightened. “What are you talking about?” you tried to ask, but it came out like a plea.

Agatha smirked, moving closer, her body language predatory, her movements slow and deliberate. She gently cupped your face in her hand, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Don’t play coy with me, darling. I’ve given you everything. I’ve been here, every night, for so long...”

You couldn’t pull away from her touch, and though you wanted to shout, to run, your body didn’t listen. You felt caught in her web, helpless to escape. The mark on your neck still burned faintly, a constant reminder of her claim.

“I’ve been patient, haven’t I?” Agatha murmured, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Her thumb ran over your lower lip, the touch so soft, it made your head spin. “But now… now I think you’re finally starting to understand.”

Her lips parted, and before you could react, she closed the distance between you two. Her kiss was slow, methodical, and almost unbearably tender. You should have pulled away. You should have screamed. But instead, you melted into it, the heat of her body overwhelming, pulling you deeper into the spell she’d been weaving.

Agatha broke the kiss with a soft chuckle, her lips hovering just over yours. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Completely mine.”

The weight of her words settled in your chest like a stone, and as she smiled, a cold shiver ran down your spine. There was no escaping this—no way out. Agatha had been preparing you for this moment, molding you with every touch, every whisper, every night. And now, in this quiet, shadowed room, the truth was undeniable.

She leaned in again, this time her breath hot against your ear. “You’re going to beg me for more soon. I’ll make sure of it.”

You woke the next morning with your head pounding and your body aching in ways you couldn’t explain. Your skin felt too sensitive, like every nerve was firing at once. You blinked a few times, your vision blurry, trying to make sense of the hazy memories that danced at the edges of your mind.

Your neck throbbed where the mark had been—had it always been there? You glanced into the mirror, but the spot was gone. Still, the lingering sensation remained. The faintest trace of her lips, her hands, as though she’d marked you in a way that no physical mark could explain.

You pulled your shirt down quickly, but it wasn’t enough to hide the feeling that something had changed. Something fundamental. You were different now—changed. And it wasn’t just because Agatha’s kiss had stolen all your breath, or because her words still echoed in your ears.

It was because you wanted it.

You wanted her.

The days after that night were nothing short of a blur. The haziness of sleep deprivation and the strangeness of your own body’s responses left you walking around in a fog. But the fog wasn’t just in your head—it was in every room, in every corner. Agatha’s presence lingered everywhere, like a scent you couldn’t wash away, no matter how hard you tried.

The subtle touches were still there—her fingers brushing your wrist when handing you a mug, her breath too close to your ear when passing by. But it wasn’t just her touch that affected you now. It was her gaze. Her eyes followed you, studied you with an intensity that felt like you were being stripped bare, analyzed, and claimed in ways that made your stomach churn and your heart race.

You couldn’t escape it. You didn’t want to.

It was late afternoon when Agatha cornered you in the kitchen. You were drying dishes, your hands still trembling slightly from the events of the previous night, when she casually leaned against the doorframe, watching you.

"You seem distant today," she said, her voice lilting with a mix of concern and amusement. "You haven't been yourself lately."

You glanced up quickly, feeling an electric charge run through you as her eyes met yours. "I’m just tired," you said, but even to your own ears, the excuse sounded hollow, forced.

She smiled softly, a quiet understanding settling in her expression. "I think it’s more than that, darling." Her eyes flicked down to your hands, where you gripped the dish towel a bit too tightly. "You’ve been... distracted. Like something’s on your mind."

You opened your mouth to protest, to deny it, but her gaze held you captive. Her voice dropped lower, smooth and seductive. “I think you know exactly what’s been on your mind. Don’t you?”

Your heart fluttered, an irrational warmth spreading across your chest as her words sank in. “I—” You froze. You couldn’t lie to her anymore. She knew.

“You’re thinking about last night,” she continued, stepping closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor with each step. “About what we did. What I did to you.” Her breath brushed your ear, sending an involuntary shiver through your body. “And you want more, don’t you?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. The truth—however uncomfortable it was—was right there in the air between you. You did want more. You did. And you hated yourself for it.

“Just say it,” Agatha purred, her lips brushing the sensitive skin of your ear. “Say it, and I’ll make it all go away. Or rather, I’ll make it all come true.”

“I—” You shuddered, a desperate gasp escaping your lips. “I want you.” The admission was soft, but in that quiet kitchen, it felt like a bombshell.

Agatha smiled then, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips. “I knew it.” She stepped even closer, her hand brushing your cheek, her thumb stroking over your lips in a slow, deliberate motion. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ll take care of you. Always.”

Her lips were on yours before you could react, soft and insistent, and for a moment, all the noise in your head vanished. All the doubts, all the fears—they were gone, drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of her mouth on yours, her hand on your waist, pulling you closer.

It wasn’t like the soft, tentative kiss from the night before. This was something deeper—more consuming. Agatha’s kiss was possessive, hungry, her tongue sliding into your mouth with a certain urgency that sent a jolt through your body. You kissed her back, unable to stop yourself, your hands grasping at her shirt, feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric.

Her hands roamed, exploring the contours of your body, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched. You moaned softly into her mouth when she cupped your breast, squeezing gently. It was enough to make your knees feel weak, to make your chest tighten with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” Agatha whispered against your lips, her voice raw and thick with need. “I’ve wanted you for so long. And now, you’re mine. All of you.”

From that moment on, there was no turning back.

The nights grew more intense, more charged with an unspoken tension that neither of you could resist. Agatha took full control—no longer subtle with her touches or her words. No more drugging you. Every night, she came to you, claiming you piece by piece, until your very bones felt like they belonged to her.

But it wasn’t just in the darkness of the night. During the day, her presence haunted you, her eyes never leaving you, her touch always just a second away. She was always there, in every quiet moment, in every shared glance, in every brush of her fingers across your skin.

She’d been patient, waiting for you to surrender, waiting for you to come to her on your own. And now that you had, she was determined to make sure you never left her side.

One night, as you lay in bed, tangled in the sheets after another heated, desperate kiss, Agatha gazed down at you, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

“I’m going to make sure you never forget who you belong to,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your collarbone. “I won’t let anyone else have you. Not after everything I’ve done.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest, and though part of you wanted to run, another part—one you couldn’t quite control—felt a twisted sense of relief. You wanted this. You needed this.

And in the quiet of the night, with Agatha above you, holding you with a possessiveness that almost scared you, you knew deep down you weren’t the same person anymore.

You had become hers.

_-_-_

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[joonberriess]

teeth. ☆ j.jk

⋆ TAGS — ghostface!jk, breaking in, TW: non-con to dub-con (oc does NOT consent verbally even if she does participate hence the dub-con), brief knife play, cunnilingus, degradation, misogyny(?), objectification, blow jobs, brief face/skull fucking, fuckin in the woods, unprotected sex, nasty talk by jk, possessive!jk, hints of kidnapping/captivity, fear play, facial, jk is lowkey yandere, iconic what’s your favorite scary movie scene but my style, DEAD DOVE, slight praises, ass n coochie worship cause jk is a ass man certified LMAO, cheerleader!oc, college setting

⋆ WORD COUNT — 4.2k

⋆ now playing: teeth - 5sos ⋆

“Color me your color, baby, color me your car, color me your color, darling, I know who you are,”

The music blared loudly, you hummed under your breath while lining over your lips with a dark lip pencil. The hour was getting closer and you realized you had to speed things up if you wanted to meet with your friends on time (you had been stuck in your cheer uniform ALL DAY). You moved around your room quickly while tossing articles of clothing onto your bed, no outfit in particular on your mind.

You uncapped the red lipstick and ran it over your lips slowly, filling in the blank spaces and blending the two colors to perfection. You decided a white long sleeve tucked into your mini jean skirt would serve as a perfect combo. If you were lucky, maybe that cute college senior Kim Seokjin would give you his jacket to wear. The idea has you smiling like a dummy.

Before you can slip out of your skirt the phone downstairs begins ringing loudly. You could have very well ignored it but you don’t feel like listening to your parents nag at you for not picking up the phone if it happens to be them. “Ugh, seriously.” You mutter and quickly run downstairs to the kitchen.

“Hello?” You softly sigh while twirling a piece of your hair around your finger.

“Hello,” some guy’s deep voice greets you, he says nothing else and you tilt your head in confusion muttering a soft ‘yes?’. “Who is this?”

Immediately you frown in confusion and balance the phone between your ear and shoulder, “Who are you trying to reach?” You pop a piece of chicken from your mom’s leftover casserole into your mouth.

“What number is this?”

“Uhh..what number are you trying to reach?”

“I don’t know.”

You hold back a deep sigh and check the time behind you on the clock, you really don’t have patience for this nonsense. Especially for some weirdo who’s either prank calling or just doesn’t know how to work a phone. “Then you have the wrong number,” you eat another piece of casserole, “it happens, take it easy though.” You hang up quickly before he can utter another word to you.

You had just set the phone down when it began to ring all over again, “Ugh…hello?” You stare at the decorative ceiling in annoyance, “Hello?” You say loudly when the other person doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“Why don’t you wanna talk to me? Just wanted to apologize, ‘s all.” He says with a teasing lilt, but it sounds more condescending than anything, “Just wanna..get to know you.”

You ignore the nasty little shiver you get down your spine when he talks to you like that, a deeper part of you is literally drooling over how this guy’s voice sounds but too bad he’s a weirdo though.. Your gut twists uncomfortably as your eyes dart to the side to look out the patio doors. “Okay..well you’re forgiven now, bye.” You go to hang up.

“Wait–if you tell me your name I’ll tell you mine.”

You can’t help your scoff, “Yeah, right. I don’t think so, why the hell would I give you my name? You sound like a total creep right now, you know that?” You huff and open your fridge up for a drink, “Besides, what’s your deal anyways? You keep calling and I’m obviously not who you’re looking for.” You complain while uncapping a bottle of water.

“Because,” he calmly starts, “I wanna know who I’m lookin’ at right now.. Pretty red lips and a tight little uniform on,” he draws out huskily.

You immediately go still, “W-What…how do you..?” you look around the empty kitchen and living room. “This isn’t funny.” You quickly head down the hall to the front door, making sure the locks are set before you go back to the living room and make sure the patio doors are locked as well.

“Never said it was babydoll.” He muses, “Though I do gotta admit, red looks spectacular on you, wonder if you got more around here in your drawers.” He trails off, the sound of drawers slamming close and another opening could be heard on the other side of the line.

You wait with a bated breath listening carefully, you slowly turn your head to look up at the ceiling. There’s a low thumping noise that follows the sounds you hear from the phone. Your eyes slip shut as you try to control the sob that’s about to come out of your throat, “What do you want from me?” You croak in a tiny voice.

“What’s your favorite scary movie sweetheart, hm?” His footsteps are heavy as he starts walking around upstairs in your room.

You blink your tears away and stumble towards the hallway to your only escape route: your dad’s office. “I-I don’t like any scary movies,” you whimper quietly, “p-please, I don’t wanna die.” You sniffle. You can hear him humming in the hallway upstairs now, causing you to duck into the office as silent as you can.

“That wasn’t my question. Time’s ticking babydoll, I’m not exactly a patient guy you know.”

“H-Halloween..!” You whisper-yell, “I like Halloween.”

“Which one?” He asks, you can hear him loud and clear at the bottom of the staircase, “Hm?”

You sniffle softly and back away, “Rob Zombie’s version,” you utter softly and hear him pause in his footsteps. He stands there for a few seconds before he slowly draws nearer and nearer. Your eyes squeeze shut as a terrified whimper escapes your lips, before you can plead with him the door slowly creaks open and a hooded figure stands in the doorway with the phone held up to his ear. You stare at him, the phone slipping from your trembling hand as it slams to the floor with a loud thud.

He tilts his head to the side and raises his gloved hand to wave at you. “Hey there sweetheart,” he purrs from under the mask.

You scream out in fear and knock over the desk chair, you’re lucky as hell your dad has a set of patio doors himself. You slip through the doors and run down the small hill, looking back and forth in time to see the hooded figure chasing after you.

The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping fill both sides of your ears. Adrenaline kicks in like never before and has you running the fastest you’ve ever moved in your entire life. If you can lose him in the woods you’ll make it to your neighbors’ in five minutes tops, might even get lucky if you detour to the main road but the hill to climb up will only slow you down.

“Don’t be like that babydoll!” He calls out from your left? Right? You don’t know where his voice is coming from, and quite frankly you’re too scared to look. You hear his heavy footsteps (now) directly behind you before a hand tangles itself in the back of your uniform top, gripping it tight as he stops you from going any further.

The force itself is enough to send you flying to the ground, knees scraping hard against a tree stump. You break your fall with your hands, crying out from the pain that erupts in both palms as tiny twigs and rocks dig into your soft skin. “Gotcha.” He chuckles and squats down to your level to admire your bruised form. You must have gave him a run for his money with how hard he’s breathing under the mask.

“P-Please!” You crawl backwards, back hitting the tree stump, “I don’t wanna die,” you pathetically cry, “I promise I won’t tell anyone if you let me go.” Call it cliche but it was worth a shot to plead with your killer? Stalker? You don’t know anymore.

He tilts his head, “Heard that one before, you’re not the first to beg so sweetly like that babydoll. Almost melts my poor little heart,” he coos mockingly, “but don’t stress your pretty little head over that, you’re not meant to use that brain of yours—meant to sit and look pretty for me.” He purrs and reaches out to run a gloved hand over your dirt stricken thighs.

You curl away and try to escape his touch, “Why are you doing this?” You whimper quietly, watching as his hand rubs circles over your bruised knees. A tremor runs down your spine as his leather gloves run over your shaking thighs, his touch feels scorching hot despite the cool material of his gloves pressing against your skin.

“Been watchin’ ya for a while,” he murmurs, “night n day—just imagining allll the different ways I could have you. Bet you’d look pretty with a mouth stuffed full of cock, wonder how pretty you’d look with cock deep inside your little cunt baby,” he trails off while giving your thigh a rough squeeze, “always did wonder how that pussy tastes.” You can practically picture the shit eating grin he must have under the mask.

You hate that his nasty words have a bubbling heat building in your lower stomach, it shouldn’t be that arousing to you yet here you were in the middle of the woods being fondled by your stalker while he talked about how much he wanted to fuck you. His voice even sounds hotter in person vs the phone.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He chuckles.

You land a harsh kick to his arm with a loud, “Get off of me!” You quickly turn over to stumble to your feet while he curses under his breath and stands to chase after you.

He’s not so gentle this time with the way he snatches you and slams you right up against the tree trunk, letting the chips and splinters bite into your skin unforgivingly. “Thought we were over this,” he growls, “was gonna treat you nice and sweet but by the looks of it you just wanna be tossed around like the filthy little slut you are,” he hisses in your ear while pressing you tight against the tree.

You whine loudly and push back against him in an effort to get him off of you, “Let me go—let go!” You growl angrily, “you’re a fucking psycho creep!” You grit your teeth while trying to turn to look directly at him.

He doesn’t shy away from hurting you to get you to become docile again. He pins both wrists behind your back in a tight grip, squeezing both of your hands until you hear a low threatening pop. A pained little whimper escapes your lip as he forces your head against the bark, “You gonna sit still like a good girl or do I have to tie you up?” He growls menacingly.

“I-I’ll be good!” You cry out as the pain starts to become unbearable.

“What was that?” He whispers in your ear, “Couldn’t hear ya.” He smirks.

A quiet sob slips from your lips as you slump over in defeat, “I-I’ll be a good girl.” You softly reply, too hung up on the pain to reply with the unbridled anger you feel right now. “Just please—let me go.” You sob.

He ignores your cries and instead brings out a rather intimidating looking hunting knife, it cuts into your skin almost right away with the slightest little touch. “Please no—” You immediately begin, thighs shifting as they slide against each other in an attempt to block him from either cutting or stabbing you. The only thing you achieve is the blade running into your thigh and slicing a small line downwards.

“None of that now babydoll,” he whispers while letting your wrists go and setting his big hand over your hip, “just sit still and look pretty for me yeah? Don’t need to think, just feel.” He breathes out as he guides the knife up your skirt, letting the sharp tip (which you noticed was slightly curved like a hook or something) hook under the side of your panties.

Your poor heart hammers in your chest as you begin to hyperventilate, “W-What are you gonna do to me?” The blade tugs at your panties, no doubt already piercing through the flimsy little material.

“Fuck.” You hear him whisper from behind, “You’re driving me fuckin’ crazy you know that?” His tongue clicks in annoyance as he suddenly yanks the knife down, a loud riiip following in suit, as well as your terrified scream/sob. “Gonna have a taste now babydoll, put your hands right there—yeahhh, good girl. Keep ‘em there baby,” he has you bending over with your legs spread wide apart and your hands over the tree, “ ‘s like a fuckin’ dream back here, fat little cunt n a nice ass.” He whistles while smacking his hand against your poor cheek.

You bite your lip as the cool air fans over your moist cunt, at this point in time you have long given up making any excuses as to why your pussy was drooling for this weirdo. Still didn’t mean you were less scared but you figured if you complied the faster things would go over. “Look at this slutty pussy, already leakin’ like a bitch in heat. Does a scary man like me chasing you through the woods get you goin’ sweetheart? Maybe you’re a little more fucked than I thought.” He chuckles.

There’s a brief pause and you wonder what he’s doing back there, so you turn your head to look at him when you gasp softly. He has the mask thrown off to the side, his face in all his glory—messy black hair and a lip ring with an array of piercings on his ears— he sits there with a shit eating grin, “Guess the cat’s out the bag huh?” You eye him with distaste before turning back around, you had at least hoped he was ugly or something.

“God,” he groans, “can’t get over this ass,” he mutters to himself while smacking both cheeks and pulling them apart to expose both of your holes to him, “wanna see it wrapped ‘round my cock, gonna have you squirting and messy babydoll. Might even have to get you on your knees to clean up your mess,” he whispers as his hot breath fans over your pussy lips, “you’re gonna be lookin’ at me with those sweet little eyes of yours too, gonna bust my load all over that pretty face of yours.” His tongue dips between your soft folds, licking from your winking hole down to your swollen little clit hiding under its hood.

Your eyes squeeze shut as his hands steady you by the hips, his face is practically smushed against your cunt as he slobbers over it with his greedy tongue. He sucks on your inner folds, getting every nook and cranny as he slurps up the mess he leaves behind before lapping over your clit with his tongue. Your thighs shake a little, you’ve never had anyone this eager to eat your cunt out like this. He’s a fucking menace and you hate how good he is at this.

“Fuck,” he pants softly, “can’t get enough baby, could eat this pussy for days.” He all but moans while latching on to your clit.

A shocked cry leaves your lips, you dig your nails into the tree bark and hold on tightly as your swollen bud throbs in his mouth. He doesn’t let up, suckling on your clit like a lollipop with just the right amount of pressure around the bud. A new wave of slick gushes from your untouched hole, loud mewls and whines leaving you as you subtly rut back against his face. It’s pure heaven.

He spreads your cheeks apart and pulls back to harshly spit on your cunt, “There you go, get nice n wet for me babydoll.” His hot breath fans over your empty little hole, “Good girl.”

You shouldn’t like the way he’s talking to you, but something about him calling you that has a delirious little whimper leaving you. He dips his tongue into your pussy, the sensation definitely welcomed as you sigh in bliss. His tongue wiggles around and curls upwards to brush over your sensitive walls in a flicking motion.

He jiggles your ass in both hands, moaning at the sight of the fat slipping through his fingers from his tight grip. He flicks his tongue back and forth over your swollen bud, you nearly double over as his tongue traces letters on your clit. “W-Wait,” you bite your lip as your eyes shut and you reach behind you to tangle your hand in his hair.

You freeze when you realize what you’re doing, but instead of getting angry with you he leans into your touch with a low moan. Clearly he loves it so you keep your hand in his hair, occasionally pulling just a tiny bit. When he pulls back to catch his breath, audibly gulping as he sits back on his haunches, “Turn around.” He says breathlessly.

From behind you can hear him shuffling around, the sounds of a belt being unbuckled fills your ears. “On your knees babydoll,” he rasps out while fisting his cock, sliding his thumb over the mess of precum he’s made at the tip of his cock. He’s watching you with dark lust filled eyes as you slowly fall to your knees in front of him, eye contact never wavering.

“Shit—when you look like that you make it harder for me to hold back.” He groans while licking his lip, “Exactly how I imagined you’d look.” He purrs as he brings the head of his cock to smother his precum over them, “Stick your tongue out for me baby—there you go, just like that.” He grins softly.

You lay your tongue flat under his fat cock, delighting in the delicious weight over your tongue. You can’t help but flick the tip of your tongue upwards causing it to brush over a throbbing vein. He releases a quiet hiss, fisting the shaft as he roughly slaps it against your tongue in repeated taps.

“Will you look at that, ‘nother little filthy slut we got here, how many other cocks you sucked huh?” He pushes into your mouth and holds the back of your head with one hand tightly fisted in your hair. You gag around his cock and fruitlessly claw at his thighs, “What’s the matter? Can’t take it? Poor baby can’t handle having a cock stuffed down her throat? Pathetic little thing you are, can’t even do what you were made for,” he rasps out while rolling his hips against your face.

His balls press snug against your chin as spit and drool dribble from the corners of your mouth. Your tears run freely no doubt ruining your makeup for the night, you probably look a hot mess right now. Your stalker moans and pants freely above you, he doesn’t bother hiding how good he feels right now as his cock twitches occasionally. You really lose it when he forces your head down and keeps you still, pelvis pressed right up against your nose as he rolls his hips in quick grinds.

“Oh shit,” he breathes out, “feels so fuckin’ good babydoll, knew you were the one when I first saw you.” He whispers out while slipping his cock out of your mouth, relishing in the gasping noises you make, “Gonna make you into my little cock sleeve, don’t need you doin’ anything else..belong with me right on my cock.” He shoves himself back into your mouth and begins fucking into your throat roughly. You cry and gurgle while weakly slapping your hands over his thighs. He doesn’t let up and only fucks your throat more eagerly.

“Fuck baby, c’mere,” he yanks you off his cock and brings you up to him.

He doesn’t waste time bending you back over the three and shoving his fat cock into you. You let out a loud cry and dig your nails into the tree from the pressure and slight twinge of pain from the size of his girthy cock. It sits nice and snug against your walls, curved slightly upwards to press into your g-spot, not quite hitting it but brushing over it.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper out as your toes curl from inside your shoes.

When a couple more seconds pass of him just idly rocking into you, he pulls all the way out until only the head remains before slamming back in with a loud slap. You jolt in pleasure as a tiny scream escapes, he doesn’t let up and keeps the same harsh pace he started with. His cock punches deep into your pussy, poking at your cervix painfully as you yelp out in pain between your moans.

“Fucking hell,” he moans out while moving his hands from your hips to your bouncing tits, “got a nice little pussy n a pair of pretty tits just for me right sweetheart?” He slaps one of your tits before taking your pebbled little nipple between his fingers and meanly pinching it.

“Mm!” You arch your back and try to twist away from his bruising grip. He manages to grip your other tit and knead it in his big hand.

Loud squelching noises fill the space around you in the woods, some of your slick even drips down onto the ground with tiny wet splats. The sound is filthy and has your face burning up in embarrassment as you hide in your hands with low whimpers and whiny moans. He suddenly changes the angle and begins grinding his fat cock right up against your g-spot, pressing insistently as he hits it over and over again.

“Oh you like it there don’t you sweetheart,” he grins while rolling his hips in slow circles, “go on then, fuck yourself on my cock like the little whore you are. Get that pussy nice and soaked for me.” He growls quietly in your ear while pinching your nipples once more.

A quiet squeal erupts from your throat, you shakily manage to knock your hips into his in a sloppy pace. “Please,” you slur out as your eyes slip shut, “c-can’t do it,” your pace is nowhere near the same as before.

“Can’t what?” He moves one hand down between your thighs, “Hm?”

You press your forehead against the tree bark in defeat, sobbing quietly as you wiggle your hips side to side, “ ‘s not the same, need you to f-fuck me.” You shamefully admit.

“Like this?” He slaps his hips upwards, “Or like this sweetheart?” He purrs and begins plowing into your drenched pussy, stuffing his cock deep inside with every thrust.

You throw your head back with a loud moan, “Yes, yes!” More drool begins slipping from your chin as you part your legs a bit wider and arch your back.

He swears at you from under his breath while rolling your swollen clit between his fingers. The sounds of skin slapping against skin begin louder, his balls collide with your swollen puffy folds and your ass ripples from his pelvis from his harsh thrusts. “Little fucking slut,” he grits out through his harsh punishing thrusts, “fuckin’ mine you hear that? So help me you ever think of looking at someone else I’ll fuckin gut them like a fish n fuck you over their dead body.” He hisses, “Better yet covered in their blood.” He roughly smacks your clit.

You mewl loudly and go still, your pussy pulses like crazy as you feel your orgasm hit you at full force. You cum with your clit trapped between his fingers and his cock stuffed deep. The orgasm is so strong it knocks you off your feet as you wobble and shake like a newborn lamb. “P-Please,” you sob out.

“On your knees,” he growls while slipping from your drenched cunt, “fuckin’ look at me.” He aims his cock at your face and strokes himself with loud slick noises. You stare up at him with a dazed expression, too fucked out to reply. He cums with a low moan, making sure to coat your lips and face with his cum as he taps the head against your cheek, “Fuck…” He sighs in bliss while lazily flicking his wrist.

You blink slowly and the last thing you see is him picking his knife back up.

+

Jungkook hums under his breath while he lazily digs through his bowl of popcorn, he’s been switching channels for a couple of minutes now. Nothing good is ever on these days, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head while flicking through the channels.

“Oh,” his face lights up in joy, “baby come look at this,” he grins and turns the volume up all the way high, “found somethin’ perfect for movie night.” He turns to look behind him, eyes wild and filled with sadistic joy.

“She was last seen Friday in the evening by her parents who were only going a few towns over to visit family. Her friends have all stated she was supposed to be meeting them that night but never showed, one even said they had spoken to her hours prior about their plans to meet. They said she wasn’t acting suspicious or anything—”

A muffled sob erupts, the sound of a cage rattling heard next as Jungkook slowly turns to look at your cowering form. You look so adorable all curled up in the cage like that, mascara streaking and lips wiped red from your lipstick. “Don’t like that movie?” He pouts, “Pity.” He turns back around and replays the entire missing persons ad.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @gukiebaby @babycandy111

[halloween m.list]

[queenshelby]

His Property (Part Two)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader

Warning: Non-Con, Dub-Con, Forced Submission, Humiliation, Age Gap

Summary:

You are an innocent young woman sold by your father to Thomas Shelby in exchange for clearing his debt. Thomas views you as his possession, believing he can treat you however he wishes.

Please comment and engage to let me know what you think!

The following morning, when you woke up, you were asked to join Thomas for breakfast in the grand dining room. You walked in, your stomach fluttering with nervousness, and found him already seated at the head of the table, a newspaper spread out in front of him. He looked up as you approached, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours, and a hint of a smile played on his lips.

"Good morning, Y/N," he said, his voice low and steady, sending a shiver down your spine. "I hope you slept well."

"Yes, sir," you replied softly, taking your seat across from him. A moment later, Frances appeared with a pot of tea and a plate of toast.

She set them down on the table and gave Thomas a nod before leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her.

You sat down across from him, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

He looked up from the newspaper, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. "You look nervous, Love," he commented, his voice low and steady, sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your nerves.  I am a bit nervous," you admitted, your fingers twisting the fabric of your dress.

Thomas put down the newspaper and leaned back in his chair, his piercing blue eyes never leaving yours. "And why is that, eh?"

"I don't know, sir," you mumbled, your cheeks flushing a soft pink.

Thomas chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Am I the one who makes you nervous?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. He took a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving yours. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your gaze flicking to the tablecloth.

"Yes, sir," you whispered, your cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

A deep chuckle rumbled from Thomas's chest, and he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on the table. "Well, let's see if I can help you with that, shall we?" he suggested, his voice low and suggestive.

You looked up, your heart pounding in your chest, and met his gaze as you took a nervous bite of your toast.

"Come here, Y/N," Thomas commanded, his voice low and firm, sending a shiver down your spine. You hesitated for a moment before slowly standing up and walking around the table towards him.

He reached out and grasped your wrist, pulling you closer until you were standing between his legs.

His hands trailed up your thighs beneath your dress until he reached the hem, his fingers hooking into the fabric before he slowly tugged it up, revealing your bare legs inch by inch. His hands were rough and calloused, a clear sign of his working-class upbringing, but his touch was gentle, almost reverent.

"You have beautiful legs, Y/N," he murmured, his eyes tracing the curve of your thighs before meeting yours again. "You have a beautiful body, in fact. It's a shame to keep it hidden away."

He continued to push the dress up until it was bunched around your waist, exposing your panties to him.

You gasped, your cheeks flaming with embarrassment as you tried to cover yourself with your hands.

"Don't," Thomas commanded, his voice firm but gentle as he caught your wrists and pushed your hands away.

"Mr Shelby, please...I can’t..." you pleaded, your voice trembling as you looked at him, your eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.

Thomas's eyes narrowed, and he let out a low growl. "Yes, you can, Love,” he insisted, his voice harsh yet commanding. "Now, be a good girl and take off your panties,” Thomas ordered, his voice stern yet gentle.

Your hands trembled as you reached behind and slowly slid your panties down, revealing your bare sex to him and, immediately, Thomas's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, naked from the waist down.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice a low rumble, his fingers trailing up your thighs, caressing your skin. "Now, sit up on the table for me, love."

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, before slowly doing as he said. The cool marble of the tabletop sent a shiver through your body as you sat down, your legs dangling over the edge.

Thomas pushed your dress up until it was bunched around your waist, leaving you naked from the waist down, completely exposed to him.

Thomas stepped between your legs, his hands resting on your thighs as he stared down at you. "You're so fucking beautiful, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

He ran his hands up your thighs, his thumbs brushing against your soft skin. "Your skin is like fucking silk."

He spread your legs wider, his fingers tracing the line where your thigh met your pussy. 

Thomas looked up at you, his gaze intense before he used two of his fingers to part your folds, revealing your most intimate parts.

"Look at this, so nice and pink," he murmured, his voice like velvet as he inspected your opening, his fingers gently probing, teasing. 

You squirmed under his touch, your body responding to his exploration despite your initial hesitation. You felt a surge of heat between your legs, your body betraying your mind's nervousness.

"Does that feel good, Y/N?" Thomas asked, his voice low and husky. He slipped a finger inside you, slowly, penetrating you inch by inch. You gasped at the intrusion, your body tensing.

"Relax, love," Thomas soothed, his voice a low rumble. He began to move his finger in and out, slowly, gently. "I know it hurts, but you will get used to it," Thomas murmured, his voice a low rumble, his gaze locked onto yours. Your breath hitched as he added another finger, stretching you, filling you. You gasped, your hands clutching the edges of the table.

"That's it, Y/N. Just breathe and relax," Thomas coaxed, his fingers moving in a slow, steady rhythm, trying not to damage your hymen further.

"You have to get used to this because I want to be able to fuck you, fill your tight little cunt, and make you mine completely."

His words were filthy, but they sent a shiver of excitement down your spine, despite the discomfort you were feeling. You tried to focus on the pleasure his touch was bringing, rather than the pain, and slowly, your body began to respond.

"That's it, love," Thomas praised, his voice husky with desire.  "Look at you, taking my fingers like a good little girl," Thomas praised, his voice thick with lust. He watched as your body adjusted to the intrusion, your hips beginning to move in time with his hand.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, his cock twitching in his pants as he felt the resistance around his fingers. "I can't wait to feel how tight your pussy is going to be around my cock."

The thought of him inside you sent a jolt of fear and anxiety coursing through you, and the thought of Thomas Shelby being your first was terrifying.

"Now let’s see if I can fit another finger inside you," Thomas said, his voice low and husky, his eyes never leaving yours.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest like a wild drum as he began to press a second finger into your tight entrance. 

You whimpered and tensed up, your hands clenching into fists, your nails digging into your palms. "Please, sir," you begged, your voice trembling, "it hurts."

Thomas's eyes narrowed, and he leaned in closer, his voice firm yet gentle. "I know, love. But we need to loosen up that tight little cunt for yours so that my cock can fit inside you."

Thomas's voice was soothing, yet firm, and you took a deep breath, trying to relax your body. You nodded; your eyes filled with tears as you looked into his.

Thomas smirked and pressed his fingers deeper, stretching you further. You cried out, your body tensing as the pain became almost overwhelming.

"Shh, love. Relax. You're doing so well," Thomas murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You tried to focus on his words, on the sensation of his fingers inside you, rather than the pain.

You let out a whimper as he pushed deeper, the burning sensation intensifying. Thomas looked down at you, his gaze intense, his eyes darkening with desire.

"You are taking it like a good girl," he growled, his fingers moving in and out, slowly stretching you and you closed your eyes, your body trembling as you tried to relax, to accommodate his fingers.

The pain was intense, but there was also a strange pleasure mixed in, a sensation that made you feel both alive and utterly controlled but, what he did next, surprised you.

With your eyes closed, you suddenly felt something wet and warm

on your clit, and your eyes flew open to see Thomas's head between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your most sensitive spot.

"Oh, God!" you gasped, your hips bucking reflexively as the sensation sent shockwaves through your body. Thomas looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust, and smirked as he continued to lick and suck at your clit, his fingers still buried deep inside you, stretching you.

"You taste fucking amazing, Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he went back to work, his tongue flicking rapidly against your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

You gasped, your hands fisting the tablecloth as your hips moved of their own accord, seeking more of the sensation.

Thomas chuckled, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive flesh, making you squirm.

You were panting now, your body on fire with desire, your nerves forgotten as Thomas worked his magic.

His tongue was relentless, licking and sucking at your clit, while his fingers continued to stretch and tease your tight entrance. You could feel the pleasure building, coiling low in your belly, ready to explode.

"Sir, please," you moaned, your hips bucking against his face. "I-I think I'm going to..."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and intense, his face glistening with your arousal. "Cum for me, Y/N," he growled.

"Let me taste you, love. Show me how much you want it."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt the pleasure coiling low in your belly began to unravel. You bucked your hips against his face, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him in place as the first waves of your orgasm crashed over you.

"Oh, fuck!" you cried out, your back arching as the pleasure became almost too much to bear. Thomas didn't let up, his tongue lashing against your clit, drawing out your orgasm. You rode the waves of pleasure, your body shaking, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Thomas held you steady, his hands gripping your thighs as he continued to lap at your clit, drawing out every last drop of your orgasm. When finally, your body stilled, he pulled back, his chin glistening with your release. You lay there, panting, your body limp and sated, your eyes closed.

Thomas stood up, his cock hard and straining against his pants. 

"That should ease your nervousness, eh?" He said, his voice low and husky.

You nodded, your breath still coming in ragged gasps. Your body felt limp, but there was a sense of anticipation coiling in your belly, a desire that had been awakened by his touch.

"Good girl," Thomas praised, his eyes dark with desire. "Now, get up and clean this mess you've made," he commanded, pointing to the wet spot on the table where your juices had dripped.

You hesitated for a moment, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Go on, taste yourself," he ordered and, reluctantly, you complied, scooting down the table and leaning forward to lick the spot clean, your tongue swirling over the table, tasting yourself.

The act was degrading, but there was something thrilling about it, something that made you feel strangely empowered.

When you finally finished, you stood back up, your breath coming in quick gasps. Thomas watched you, his eyes never leaving yours. "That's a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

"Now, when you're done eating, I want you to go upstairs and shower. I'll meet you in my bedroom in half an hour," he said, and you nodded nervously, unsure what he had planned.

It was in the middle of the day, but he did not seem to care.  He wanted what he wanted, and he would have it, no matter the time. You finished your breakfast quickly, your stomach in knots with anticipation and fear. You retreated to your room, your mind racing with the possibilities of what he might do to you next. You showered and dressed in a simple nightgown as instructed, leaving your hair loose and wild around your shoulders. You took a deep breath and made your way upstairs, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum.

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[dollerinna]

❛ 𝑾𝑯𝑶 𝑯𝑨𝑺 𝑨 𝑭𝑨𝑪𝑬 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬 𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑫𝑶𝑬𝑺.ᐣ ❜

─ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝚑𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡𝚑𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝚑𝑎𝑡 .

𝓟airing :: 𝓗omelander ੭୧ 𝓜aid! fem reader

𝓢ummary :: you should know better than to sleep with your superior, especially when duty calls. yet homelander always finds a way to pull you in, leaving you hurt each and every time ❪ wc: 2.1k ❫

𝓓ead 𝓓ove 𓏵 𝓦arnings :: dub-con/non-con. oral (m! receiving). face f*cking. degradation. homelander’s god complex. choking/gagging. hair pulling. slightly choppy writing n’ lazy ending. not my best work

"S-Sir," you stammered, heat blossoming across your cheeks as you fought to maintain your composure. "I really should get back to work. There are other rooms that need cleaning..." your fingers twisted anxiously in the hem of your skirt, the involuntary gesture exposing the desires your words tried so vainly to deny.

Your gaze flitted towards the foot of the bed, where Homelander loomed over your sprawled, vulnerable form. His pale blue eyes raked over you, drinking in every perfect little detail—from the half-lidded, sultry cast of your features to the way your maid uniform clung to your curves, the fabric hitched scandalously high to reveal lace-trimmed panties clinging to your dampened folds.

A smug lift of his brow greeted you in turn, along with a maddening quirk at the corners of his lips—like he knew damn well the extent of his charms and was loath to let any woman forget. It was the same look of cocky triumph that had first drawn you in, and still drove you to distraction each time after. With slow, deliberate steps, he advanced, his heavy red boots echoing off the hardwood as he climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, but his gaze never wavered from you.

"Please sir, I—-" your feeble protest withered on your lips, smothered by that familiar tutting sound that often passed through Homelander’s teeth—a dismissive noise, as if you were nothing more than a misbehaving pup in need of correction. You knew he could smell the betrayal of your body, the musk of your arousal wafting up from your heat-stricken cunt to meet his keen senses. "Ah, ah, ah," he chided, "What did I say about you and that pretty mouth of yours, hmm?" Homelander asked, his words dripping with patronizing disdain.

Undoubtedly, he saw through the flimsy pretext of your resistance, reading the truth scrawled across the crevices of your beautiful face.

Homelander surged forward, his muscular frame blotting out the light as he straddled your quivering body. His knees bracketed the sides of your chest, pinning you in place.

"I believe I made it quite clear," he muttered, a razor’s edge seeping into his otherwise jovial tone, "that those lips are to be used for only two things - sucking," his thumb dipped between your parted lips, "or shutting the fuck up."

Instinctively, you opened your mouth, a reflexive response to affirm your obedience. But the firm, cautionary squeeze of his hand on your shoulder gave you pause. Discretion, it seemed, was the wiser choice. So instead of voicing your compliance, you offered a wordless nod, a silent acknowledgment that Homelander found satisfactory. “Good girl…” he hummed in approval.

With that, Homelander granted you permission to move on to the main course of tonight—the sweet, sweet prize that awaited between his god-sculpted thighs.

He gently took a hold of your hand, guiding it towards the impressive, straining bulge that threatened to split the seams of his superhero attire. The moment your fingertips skimmed along the rigid contours of his erection, you swore you felt the barest hint of a beat, tugging the most muted catch from his breath.

“Feel that?” He rasped lowly. “That’s power. And it’s all yours tonight… if you behave.”

A current of nervous tension coiled within you, manifesting in the restless curl of your toes and the worry of your lower lip. Intently, you watched as Homelander worked to undo the buttons of his suit, yanking his thick, weighty cock out which stood tall and proud in its cushion of golden curls. Warmth bloomed in your ears and spilled over your face at the sight, your stare remained locked on its sway.

Amusement scrunched his eyes, absolutely relishing that ‘flash-frozen, deer-in-headlights’ look of yours at his size. The smug bastard soaked it all in with a smile so self-satisfied, it could only belong to the most insufferable shithead around. But the most infuriating part? It was how he still made your insides tie knots for him despite it all.

After a long, narcissism-fueled pause savoring your admiration, Homelander broke the silence with an arrogant exhale. “Alright alright, I get it… I’m perfection personified, nothing short of a masterpiece, yada yada,” He flicked a wrist before his posture of perfection, clad in pristine blue. “But I didn’t invite you here for a goddamn photoshoot. So enough with the eye-fucking already, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Snapped out of your trance, you blinked in a confused daze “Huh?” You barely caught on a word, most of his monologue being a blur—something about bigger fish? Homelander fixed you with a withering glare that could melt steel, lips curled in contempt. Clearly, he thought very little of your mental facilities.

"Bless your heart. Do you need me to break out the crayons and draw you a picture?” His silky tone was condescending in the extreme, as if addressing a particularly dim child. “By bigger fish to fry, I mean bigger things to explore, bigger challenges to face… bigger dicks to suck. Now come on sweetheart, stick that tongue out for me.”

Without another word, his fingers curled around the sturdy base, the glistening, slick tip coming to rest against your warm lips. Homelander’s message came through loud and clear—he wouldn’t allow anymore of your human idiocy, demanding your absolute compliance. Right here, right now.

Swallowing your trepidation, you slowly extended your tongue, tracing a stripe from the curve of the base all the way up to leaky slit of his bulbous, cherry red head. A blissful twitch rippled through his length, drawing beads of precum that sprang forth like a broken faucet.

Homelander’s jaw ticked at your touch, eyelashes flickering low while his mouth thinned bloodlessly, barely stifling the moan that rushed out on his gusting release of breath. Craving more contact, he settled fully over you, wedging you further into the mattress until the head of his member was able to slide past your lips.

He cradled your head close, suffocatingly so, to the point that the tip of your nose was nearly squashed against the hard muscles of his pelvis, sweeping your senses away on a tide of raw musk and cologne—the kind you could only dream of affording.

Without a moment’s pause, Homelander instantly set to work plundering into your slack mouth, greedily stealing the air out of your lungs with every thrust. You froze, an icy veil draping across you as his sheer size blanketed your tongue to an overwhelming degree—an inevitability when in the presence of the Homelander, whose power could crush and destroy with the merest flick of a finger.

“Mm… yeah, that’s it baby, just like that,” Homelander’s voice dropped to a low, throaty purr that was tinged with an undisguised pleasure, impressed by the way you took him with practiced ease despite your discomfort. “Look at you… you really know how to handle a steel pipe, don’t ya?” Homelander quipped, the mirth in his tone teetering upon mockery.

An eye roll for the ages battled to escape, yet the chains of protocol held fast. Because in your idiotically cock-whipped mind, rules somehow still applied when giving your superior a sloppy-toppy.

But the very moment you faltered, even slightly, he seized a fistful of your hair, wrenching your head back with a stinging, almost bone-crushing grip that had you gasping. It was a request, no, a demand for you to quit wriggling pathetically and take it like a big girl. “Stay still and keep working on that cock like it owes you a goddamn fortune.” He growled, a wolfish grin splitting his features as he watched you strain to swallow his brutal intrusion—the same ‘steel pipe’ that was now halfway lodged down your throat.

Helpless, all you could do was gag and sputter, while Homelander’s heavy balls slapped loudly against your chin until your skin felt raw. The relentless pounding overwhelmed your eyes with an unwelcome moisture, vision blurring like an out-of-focus camera from the onslaught of sensations—the taste of him, the ache in your jaw, the burn of your scalp. “…’s too… b-big…” you choked out the syllables with gulping effort, each one emerging gargled and barely discernible around the column of flesh violating your mouth.

The craziest part? He could’ve easily gone harder—so much damn harder—if he simply wanted to.

Scorn etched harsh lines around Homelander’s sneer at your plea and lack of appreciation for his so-called ‘restraint’, carving deeper as your mangled noises scraped its way loose. “Jesus, did all that disgusting slobber rot what was left in that walnut you call a brain? I know critical thinking isn’t your strong suit, but this?” Briefly, he withdrew himself, slapping his fat, drooling cock against your cheek to emphasize his next point.

“We’ve been over this—dominance and dick diameter are a set for a reason. And I don't do average. Ever." With a snide scoff, he shoved his member back between your teeth, utterly dismissive of the fact a worm such as yourself had the gall to express any form of displeasure with his godly magnificence. “Psh, ’too big’… Boo-fucking-hoo! Cry me a river and pass the hankies. You signed up for this sweetheart, don’t you forget that.”

Well-fucking-ouch, you winced internally. If the sting in your jaw wasn’t already bad enough, then the blow to your ego definitely added insult to injury.

Unable to take his barrage of demeaning insults any longer, you mustered what little strength you had left and wrapped your hands around his intrusive member in a frantic plea to wrest back some control. But even as you tried to push him away, to create even the slightest distance, you knew it was a futile gesture. Homelander's mighty fists, capable of crushing a thousand suns, anchored your skull in place, rendering your attempts at resistance utterly meaningless.

“Nono- don’t you move a goddamn inch,” Homelander’s command rang out with finality, brooking no room for defiance. “Suck it up and let me in just a little further. You can do it, I know you can.”

He pressed onward, unforgivingly, until your lips were stretched obscenely wide around his spongy head that brushed the sensitive reaches of your throat, coaxing the lewdest hisses of moist air to slither past the corners of your mouth. "Atta girl, that's it," a shuddering exhale fled his lungs, fingers knotting in your hair as his skin came alive beneath your enveloping wetness. "Such a natural little cocksucker. Taking me like a champ."

“…s-sir… please…” words struggled to claw free through vocal cords rubbed raw. Your begging fell upon deaf ears, disregarded as mere noise to soundtrack the moment for Homelander, whose mind was currently busy drowning in a cloud of bliss as his orgasm neared.

"This," he growled, punctuating his words with a mean grind of his hips, "is what you wanted. The privilege of worshipping a true god, the savior of humanity time after fucking time again..." His grip tightened, fingers digging into your scalp. "So keep that pretty mouth open and swallow every last drop of my seed like the starving animal you are.”

With one final pump, a wave of bitterness assaulted your taste buds, and before you could fully brace yourself, Homelander came. The copious tang of his essence flooded your mouth, burning on your tongue with a ferocity that felt like it would linger for days on end.

Once he pulled away, a familiarly heavy silence fell over the small space between you. You knew what was expected of you once he had his fill, yet it never got easier no matter how many times. In truth, you felt empty—skin prickling with discomfort rather than release. He laid beside you, recovering his breath, when he momentarily glanced over at you. There he paused, doing a double take when he noticed the sheen glistening in your eyes, the sadness shaping your lips.

A groan followed, already annoyed by even the subtlest display of your ‘weak, squishy human emotions’. “Eugh… would- would you quit your sniveling and give it a rest? If I needed a weeper, I would’ve, I dunno, gotten a damn puppy… not you.”

Yet something flickered in the depths of his steely gaze—just a momentary glint before it was swallowed back. He quickly schooled his features, reminding himself that you were only a human, a toy for his amusement. Nothing more.

Then with a careless toss, Homelander flung your coat over your head, blinding you. “Cover up that embarrassing nonsense. And while you're at it, do something about that stomach-turning stench up in the break room—it's giving me a migraine.”

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Pssst- likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3

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♡ divider credits: @/grlselle

[cherienymphe]

Smells Like Teen Spirit (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: NON/DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, attempted murder + suicide, mentions of blood, loss of virginity, underage drinking, jealousy, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ cont.

summary: Being one half of the royal couple of Figure 8 isn't what it's cracked up to be.

~

The first time Rafe hit you, it was on your birthday.

Like every year, your parents threw you a big party that hosted no less than a hundred people. A good number of those people were friends from school and familiar faces you’d grown up with. The other bunch were family friends that had more in common with your parents than you. You took their pretty cards filled with money and thanked them with a smile, relieved when they scampered off to congregate with the other forty somethings.

It was the same party every year. Half the people of Figure 8 in attendance, an abundance of gifts you could barely keep up with, and a light scold or two from your mother to smile and greet the next person who came in. Your hair was flawless and your dress was the perfect length.

The only difference this year was the presence of a boyfriend at your side.

“Rafe, if my dad sees us, I will never hear the end of it.”

Your tone was light and teasing, and you said it with a smile, but there was a hint of seriousness there. It really didn’t matter how older you grew to be, you were sure you’d always be your daddy’s little girl. The older man already hadn’t been the most excited when you told him you were dating Rafe Cameron, Ward Cameron’s son, and you were positive that the Cameron family’s reputation was Rafe’s only saving grace.

You’d just turned eighteen then after all and was already flaunting your new adult status.

The blue-eyed boy in front of you merely chuckled, tightening his arms around your waist and leaning in to kiss you again. The house and the yard were filled with almost too many people, so you hadn’t hesitated when Rafe discreetly guided you upstairs.

“He’s too busy talking about his new boat, isn’t he?” he wondered. “He’ll talk all night if they let him.”

You lightly tapped his chest, but you didn’t voice any disagreement.

Your back was leaning against your bedroom door, the muffled sounds of some classical music reaching your ears through the wall. Rafe’s hands were tight on your waist, and you both felt and heard him chuckle again, his lips still pressed against yours. Only this time, he kept laughing—softly and to himself—and you gave him a slight frown when he pulled away.

“I was just thinking…” Rafe pulled you close again. “How hilarious it would be if he was going on and on about that damn boat…none the wiser to his daughter getting fucked on her birthday right upstairs.”

This time you hit him a little harder, and Rafe only laughed again.

“You’re not funny,” you scolded, deflating a little as you pulled away from him. “Way to ruin the mood.”

You said it quietly as you sat down on the edge of your bed, but Rafe heard it clearly, and when you looked up at him, you recognized the look on his face instantly.

“Funny,” he started, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the door. “Mentioning sex usually has the opposite effect on most people.”

You rolled your eyes with a turn of your head, looking towards your window. The atmosphere was different, now, and you didn’t know if it was your fault or Rafe’s. He joked like that sometimes, and you knew it, so you could recognize that maybe you were being too sensitive.

The topic at hand, however, was a sensitive one for you.

“I really don’t want to have this fight, right now,” you mumbled.

You could feel his gaze on you, but you didn’t return it, determined to just stare down at the people in your yard. The air was thick, the tension even thicker, and you reached up to rub your arms, trying to rid them of the goosebumps that had appeared. Rafe hated being ignored, and you knew that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to continue the conversation because you knew what was brewing.

Rafe was the perfect boyfriend. He was pretty—the kind of pretty that even some girls would be jealous of. He came from the kind of family that taught him about manners and respect. He never hesitated to do what he could to make your life easier despite growing up wanting for nothing. You didn’t think it was possible for an already spoiled girl to be spoiled some more until you started dating Rafe and he proved you wrong. He treated you like a princess, so yes. Rafe was the perfect boyfriend.

Mostly.

“I’ve been really understanding, you know…”

Rafe’s voice was low, and your gaze dropped to your lap.

“…but we’ve been dating for what? Eight months?”

You swallowed, eyes burning.

“Do you know how hard Topper and Kelce would laugh at me if they knew my girlfriend of almost a year refuses to have sex with me?”

You scoffed, finally looking at him, brows pulled together.

“You make it sound like I’m punishing you,” you breathed. “Rafe, this has nothing to do with you, I… I’m just not ready.”

“…and still no ETA on when you will be, huh?”

You blinked at him, lips parting at his callous tone and words. You looked away, blinking back tears because you would hate it if you cried on your birthday of all days.

“You’re being an asshole.”

You whispered it, and you heard Rafe huff.

“I’m not trying to be,” he told you, and you heard him move closer. “…but come on. I get it…”

The bed dipped as he sat down next to you, and you felt his hand on your face, fingers grazing your cheek.

“You’re nervous, and it seems scary, but you’re treating me like I’m some stranger on the street, and not…your boyfriend. You know I’ll take care of you. I always take care of you, and that’s why I don’t understand it,” he bit out. “I treat you like gold, and here I am, eight months in and wondering if you even feel the same way.”

You whipped your head around to stare at him in disbelief, looking between his eyes. You didn’t know how he could be serious, but as you gazed at him, you realized that Rafe was very serious. You took a moment to scoot away from him just a tad.

“I show you everyday how much you mean to me, Rafe…but because I won’t have sex with you that means I don’t love you? So just forget all the other stuff, I guess,” you sneered.

Rafe reached for you when you started to turn away, shaking your head and lightly pushing at his hands. Today was your birthday, and you were fighting with your boyfriend…because sex was something you just weren’t ready for. You snatched your arm out of his hold, standing on unsteady legs.

“When you first brought this up, I told you then that I wasn’t ready, and you made it clear you were okay with waiting. Was that a lie?” you asked him, meeting his gaze.

Rafe ran his hand down his face, huffing to himself.

“No, but I just didn’t think I’d still be waiting almost half a year later.”

He was standing, now too.

“So, why are you? No one’s forcing you to stay here, Rafe,” you sadly told him with a shrug. “You don’t have to be with me if sex is that damn important to you. There are plenty of other girls out there who will happily give you what I don’t want to.”

You crossed your arms over your chest.

“…and I know because I see the looks they give you…and the looks they give me.”

You were used to envy. You’d been on the receiving end of it all your life. Growing up on this side of the island guaranteed that from birth, but you also knew it was because your standing was only rivaled by Sarah Cameron. If Rafe’s sister were anyone else, you might have found yourself involved in some one-sided rivalry, but Sarah was a lot like you.

Just a girl born into fortunate circumstances.

However, what you weren’t used to was envy because of the man you loved. When it came to your house and your lifestyle and everything else, it never bothered you because no one could take those things from you. Rafe, on the other hand… You knew what he was like and what he was used to. It was why you’d been very honest about your sexual history and lack thereof from almost the beginning. If Rafe was going to leave you for someone else all because you wouldn’t have sex with him, you would have rather he do it early.

Not now…not eight months in because now you loved him, and the thought made you want to cry, and it would take just as many months to get over him.

“If I wanted any of those other spoiled bitches then I wouldn’t be here,” Rafe told you. “Besides, you think I’m just going to walk away with nothing after investing so much time and money and energy into you?”

You reared back at that, eyes widening just a tad, and Rafe seemed to realize how that came out. He sighed, reaching for you just as you stepped away from him. You heard him curse when you left the room, ignoring the sound of him calling your name as you hurried to mix yourself in with all of your guests downstairs.

Rafe talked about you like some business investment he was waiting to get a return on. It hurt, a lot, and while you wanted to believe he hadn’t meant it like that in his head, you couldn’t help but to wonder if that was really how he saw you. Your mother smiled at you when she saw your face, none the wiser to your temporary absence. Your own smile was forced as she introduced you to their new golfing buddies.

You didn’t know when Rafe came back downstairs, only quickly glancing away when your eyes connected with his after some time. If your parents noticed your distance from him, they didn’t comment on it, and after a while, you barely noticed it yourself. You immersed yourself in your friends, halfway listening to boyfriend troubles and semester woes.

This was the only thing you and Rafe ever fought about. Plenty of your friends had boyfriends before who tried to pressure them into doing things they didn’t want to do. You were always the friend to tell them to dump them without hesitation, so why hadn’t you done the same? Was it because Rafe was so perfect in all other aspects of your relationship? The back and forth hadn’t ever been so serious before…not until tonight.

As you sipped on the drink you weren’t supposed to be having, you remembered the hurt you felt when Rafe implied you didn’t love him. What a crazy thing to say. You treated him just as well as he treated you, never mind the fact that you told him every day how much you loved him…but because you wouldn’t fuck him that meant otherwise?

It was enough to make you angry.

“Finally stopped hiding from me…?”

You tensed up for half a second, relaxing with a sigh as you heard him come closer. You were out by the water, now, sitting on the boat dock with one leg swinging. It had been nothing but just you and your thoughts for a good thirty minutes, and you guessed it took that amount of time for Rafe to realize you were no longer in the house.

“I don’t know yet,” you honestly told him.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t,” Rafe quietly said, getting straight to the point.

“…but I don’t know. You don’t even think I love you just because I won’t have sex with you. For all I know, that’s exactly how you see me,” you mumbled.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Says the guy ruining my birthday!”

You were looking up at him, now, tearfully, and you shook your head. Saying it aloud made you realize just how shitty it was, and you sniffed, pulling yourself to your feet.

“Just go home, Rafe…”

He stopped you from walking by him, and you ignored anything he was trying to say. The more he leaned in, that was when you smelled it, and your frown deepened at the stench of alcohol on his breath. You didn’t know why the smell made you so angry. It was a party, after all, but maybe it was the fact that if anyone of the two of you deserved to drown their sorrows in booze, it was you. Not Rafe. Pushing at his chest, you scoffed.

“One argument…and you’re already getting drunk?”

You jerked your face away from his hand, glowering at him.

“Don’t you want to at least wait for Ward to give you the daily disappointment speech?”

The slap wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been, but it was hard enough to make your face burn.

You were staring at the water from when your head had whipped to the side, and when a nightly breeze blew by, kissing your skin, only then did the dull burning sensation fade away into a painful one. Your lips were parted in shock, and you were slow to reach up and touch your cheek. The silence was loud, and when you finally looked at Rafe, he looked as shocked as you felt.

All of your breath had left you, and your brain was short-circuiting, desperately trying to reconcile your boyfriend with the same guy who’d just slapped you. It didn’t seem real, and yet the dull pain you felt said otherwise. A few tears escaped against your will, and it was only then did Rafe move. His face fell, but you were already backing away.

“Y/N-.”

“Don’t touch me,” you tearfully spat. “What is wrong with you?”

He didn’t listen, grabbing your arms anyway, and you were still in too much shock to really fight back. Rafe cooed at you, trying to take your face into his hands no matter how much you protested. You wanted him far away from you, and your brain was unsure of how to achieve that, still grappling with the memory of his palm connecting with your cheek.

“Hey, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do that,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Baby, stop.”

You shoved at his chest, hitting it, but he wasn’t deterred. He only rested his free hand on the back of your head, holding you against him, and the feel had more tears spilling over. You kept trying to get away, but Rafe refused to let you, repeatedly apologizing and shushing you. You could feel the cool metal of his ring against your scalp, his lips there too as he kept telling you he was sorry.

Your chest was so tight, and it ached just as much as your face. Your mind was still fighting to make sense of what had happened tonight, and despite Rafe’s apologies for his entire behavior, you told yourself that this was the last straw. Rafe had ruined your birthday in more ways than one, and you were done. You had to be.

…because you deserved better.

The first time you had sex with Rafe—with anyone ever—you’d been terrified.

…and drunk.

An entire month after your birthday, and you didn’t know if you were more shocked or angry that you stayed with Rafe. You had been so determined to leave him that night. He had ruined your birthday beyond repair, and you knew that anytime you looked back on the night you turned nineteen, you’d only remember Rafe slapping you on the dock.

…but you’d also remember his profuse apologies, and the tears in his eyes as he begged you to forgive him.

He was drunk. That was what he kept saying, that he was drunk and acted before thinking. It was barely a reason and certainly wasn’t an excuse, so why did you stay? It was stupid to stay…and yet you did. You let Rafe kiss your face and lead you back to the party that had long died and smile in the face of the parents whose daughter he’d just hit.

You’d answered the phone as he called you, taking almost half an hour to just tell you again how sorry he was and how he didn’t know what came over him and how it would never happen again. You’d never known Rafe to be so apologetic in all the time you’d been dating him. It would’ve been sweet if it weren’t for the circumstances, and the whole time, you’d only been able to listen in silence with your fingers grazing your face.

You hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for days, going over it in your head again and again. Torn between listening to your gut and telling yourself that it had just been a one-off thing, a bad drunken night. After all, what you’d said to him hadn’t been the nicest, knowing how he felt in regard to Ward and his relationship with him. It didn’t make it right…but you had provoked Rafe. You’d said it to hurt him…to make him angry… Right?

…but that wasn’t the case a month later.

Things between you and Rafe hadn’t been the same since. He still doted on you, and your parents still adored him, and you were reluctant to admit you still loved him, but you could never get that night out of your mind. You could never forget how swift it had been, how no thought to you had been spared. Rafe had only been focused on retaliating, hurting you, and it was something you often struggled with. You believed it wouldn’t happen again…but what if it did?

Without even realizing it, you became less argumentative with the blond. You gave him less pushback, you smiled more and became more agreeable to his suggestions. You spent more time with him, making him happy. You believed him when he said it wouldn’t happen again, but in the back of your mind, something in you was doing everything you could think of to make sure it didn’t.

…and that was why you still didn’t quite understand how the fight had started.

Something about Topper…or Kelce.

You were so drunk, it was hard to remember.

“I saw you!”

You had blinked at Rafe from your place on the couch, staring up at him in wonder and confusion. Another Friday meant another party, and promising your mother you’d be back by a certain time, you’d allowed Rafe to help you into his truck. Nothing about the night had been out of the ordinary, and it was why you found yourself wracking your brain.

“Rafe, I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you softly told him, trying to understand why he was so mad.

The only son of Ward Cameron knocked the glass of water right out of your hand, and you flinched at the action, blinking at the sight of shattered glass on the floor. You’d gotten it to try and help you sober up before you went home, and you stared at the spilled water with parted lips. You were too drunk to fully grasp the severity of the situation you were now in.

Suddenly Rafe was there, too close, leaning down over you with his hands resting on the back of the couch. You leaned back and away from him, eyes wide as he looked at you like you were something he’d find on the bottom of his shoe. Like he was so disgusted with the sight of you, and again, you wracked your brain to understand what you’d done. To understand how to fix this.

Rafe’s blue gaze had been cold, icy, and you hadn’t missed the tick of his jaw. The alcohol in your system hindered your thinking, and that had seemed to make Rafe angrier, like he was furious you couldn’t put it together. Read his mind. Overwhelmed, you hadn’t been able to stop a few tears of frustration from escaping, and that just seemed to really send him over the edge.

“You were in his lap,” he had bit out, and only then did you finally understand.

Your odd relationship with your boyfriend these days had driven you to drink more than you ever had. You’d been sloppy…clumsy, and Topper was nice enough to help you back to your feet after you’d quite literally fallen right onto his lap. You wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but one look into Rafe’s eyes had you swallowing it down.

He was very serious…and very angry.

You reached for him, but Rafe only slapped your hands away, straightening and looking down his nose at you. It was a look that made you feel so…cold, and with one blink, you remembered that you were alone. Sarah was God knows where, and the remaining Camerons had gone out to eat. The house was usually empty during this time, but it wasn’t this Friday night.

It consisted of you…and your angry boyfriend.

“I should…I should go. Call my mom,” you mumbled, pushing yourself to your feet.

Your attempts to get by Rafe went unsuccessful, and with each block to your path, something deep within your gut just…dropped. Your gaze met a familiar blue one, and nothing about it was warm, welcoming. Rafe seemed to be so mad at you about something so silly, but instead of just talking about it later when you were both much clearer headed…he didn’t want to let you leave.

“Is that what you’re gonna do?” he’d mocked, a mean look on his face. “Call mommy and daddy to come get you?”

Sarah.

You reminded of him of Sarah.

That was what he’d said, what he’d thrown at you. His tense relationship with the other girl was no secret to anyone, least of all you, and you winced at every insult he threw at you. Spoiled brat. Perfect princess. Uptight prude. It shocked you for a lot of reasons, but mostly because Rafe wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t sober, but you’d hardly seen him drink all night and not nearly as much as you, and he was insulting you with confidence, throwing all of these things at you that you never knew he felt.

“I’m just going to go home, okay? You’re being an asshole, and I don’t know why, so I just…”

At some point, your back was grazing the wall, and Rafe was hovering before you, a look in his eye like leaving was the very last thing he wanted you to do. Every move of yours was mirrored, every turn met with one of his own, and for the first time ever…you were afraid of your boyfriend.

When Rafe hit you that night, you hadn’t been scared. Not really. You’d been angry…shocked…disbelieving. Not scared though. You’d just wanted to be away from him, you had even wanted to hit him back, but not once did you remember feeling scared for your life. Not like this night, and you couldn’t keep it together.

“Rafe, please, I just…I just wanna go home,” you choked out, touching your temple. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”

You were so confused as to how you got here. The night had taken such an unexpected turn, and more than anything, you wanted to sleep it off and write the whole thing off as a bad dream. You wanted to get some more water and take a shower and skip to the part where you had a pounding headache in the morning. You didn’t understand how a night of partying had turned into an argument with your boyfriend.

Although, you supposed it wasn’t much of an argument. Mostly Rafe yelling at you and you trying to understand why. Rafe was determined to make this into something it wasn’t, and when it became clear that he wasn’t going to let you leave without dead-ing this whole thing, you frowned at him.

“I fell. You know I fell, you know…”

Your words died in the air as Rafe rolled his eyes, and something in you was telling you that Rafe was going to believe what he wanted to believe. He was determined to make something true, and it startled you to realize that you’d lost this argument before it even began. Slipping from in between Rafe and the wall was a mistake.

A mistake that had consequences.

Your purse was halfway across the room before you could even grab it good, Rafe suddenly in your face again. He was yelling about a whole bunch of nothing, and when you turned from him again, Rafe made sure it was the last time, gripping your upper arm so hard that you actually cried out. His other hand followed suit, and he shook you, hard enough to make your head whip back and forth.

The only time he listened to you was when you asked him to let you go.

…and he did just that…shoving you in the process.

The kitchen counter slowed your fall only a bit, but it added to the pain more than anything else. Trying to get up proved fruitless, because Rafe was there, kneeling before you with one hand on the counter. The other was on your face, forcing you to look at him. You were too drunk to make full sense of everything he was saying, to grasp the danger you were in. When you finally did, it was too late.

…because Rafe was already ripping the dress he bought you a week ago.

You thought it was a joke at first—some awful and insensitive scare tactic—until you were reaching up to pull at the hand around your throat. Your other hand slapped at the cabinets below in panic, and with a knee between your legs, it was impossible to close them. You knew that you were alone, but that fact didn’t stop you from crying out.

“You really expect me to just watch you throw yourself at my friends? Huh?”

The kitchen floor was cool against your back.

“…and laugh about it?”

He was fumbling between you both, and the room was spinning too much for you to understand why. You felt nauseous, and Rafe was hurting you, and you were cold. Not to mention that your head had started to hurt, but you also realized that everything was hurting.

“But you won’t even touch me.”

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut…only lower.

The pain of Rafe’s intrusion had you wailing, and the difference in your reactions couldn’t have been starker. It was hard to decipher, but you were sure that Rafe had moaned, a low drawn-out sigh as he sheathed himself inside of you. You could feel Rafe’s chest heaving against yours, could feel his heartbeat, could even hear his shaky breath.

You, on the other hand…

You couldn’t move. You felt frozen, restricted by something unseen, and when you tried to fight against it, you gasped. One shift had you wincing, and tears spilled over almost immediately. Your hands were pressing against his chest, now, desperately trying to push Rafe away, pushing off of you… out of you. It was no good, Rafe in a whole other world you weren’t privy too as he pulled back.

The feel had you wincing again, and you thought…

Well, you thought wrong.

Your relief was short-lived, and Rafe ignored everything you said as he started to thrust inside of you. His hips barely left yours, only enough to create friction, and you pushed your forearm against his neck, fighting to get him to stop. The pain wasn’t something you could wrap your head around, and you didn’t know if you were grateful or not that you were so drunk.

Every snap of Rafe’s hips made you cry harder, harsh sobs escaping and echoing in the otherwise silent kitchen. The sound of your bawling was only rivaled by the groans that escaped Rafe, your boyfriend pointedly ignoring your plight. One of his hands pushed against your face, forcing your head to the side…as if he didn’t want to see your face.

See the reality of what he was doing to you.

You thought at some point that the pain would go away, subside, but it felt like it only got worse with each thrust of his cock. Rafe was a man on a mission with only one objective in mind, and you were having the hardest time sorting your thoughts, realizing that in this moment you were a means to an end. An objective to be met through the use of your body.

…but you supposed it was more than just that.

Rafe was always entitled, a trait you found somewhat endearing much like towards an entitled child, but it hadn’t occurred to you that he’d feel entitled to you too. Before the night of your birthday, you knew the one thorn in your relationship, the one thing to actually put a crack in your relationship. Deep down somewhere, you expected Rafe to just leave you. After all, why wouldn’t you?

There was no universe in which you’d ever consider the possibility of the alternative.

The possibility that your boyfriend would just take what he wanted.

It didn’t last long—or maybe that was the alcohol in your system sparing you—but you couldn’t even be relieved. Even after Rafe pulled out, spent and satisfied and out of breath, the pain still remained. He was talking, and you didn’t know if he was talking to himself or you, but you paid it no mind. You could still feel him deep in your gut, and you rolled onto your side, curling into yourself.

You didn’t hear him the first time, but the second time Rafe told you to get up, he was forcing you to your feet. It hurt, and you could barely walk, and your confusion only grew. His hold was tight, and his tone sounded off, and you discovered why when headlights from the yard bled through the windows and into your line of sight.

He was rushing you to get upstairs, but you kept stumbling from both the pain and your blurry vision. Rafe didn’t let you go until you were just inside of his room, and as you collapsed to the floor, you could hear the door opening downstairs. You couldn’t stop crying even if you wanted to, and you hadn’t even realized Rafe had left—to give some half-baked excuse for the broken glass, no doubt—until he returned, suddenly kneeling at your side and begging you to stop crying.

You tried to push him away, but your movements were sluggish, weak, and you weren’t able to hold your own as he pulled you to your feet. Rafe stumbled into the bathroom with you, an arm around you and holding you up as he started the shower. You didn’t want him touching you, but you were physically unable to stop him. Every step hurt and made you stumble, every wave of your arm made you sway, and when the warm water ran over you both, there was nothing you could do as he washed away every remnant of his assault.

You were at Rafe’s side on his birthday, a small smile on your lips as he kept an arm around your waist. Rose thanked you for coming, not that she would expect anything different, and Wheezie asked if you would be staying over. The youngest Cameron had taken a liking to you—all of them did really—and she looked forward to having you around. You wanted to tell her no, but that wasn’t what you said. Instead, you said:

“Its’ Rafe’s birthday. Why wouldn’t I?”

The dark-haired girl beamed, adjusting her glasses, and her satisfaction was contagious. You knew that Rafe’s dynamic with his family was tricky at the best of times, and while you were sure they loved you just fine, something in you also wondered if they liked who Rafe was when he was around you. They were happy to host you for as long as they could.

They had no idea that it was only 24 hours earlier when Rafe tried to kill you.

Trying to leave Rafe resulted in the last thing you ever expected.

That night—and all the other nights that followed—haunted you. When you closed your eyes, you could only see Rafe at his lowest, holding you down and hurting you. You could only feel the pain of him forcing himself inside of you, and the pain that lingered when he was no longer there. The memory of bloody water swirling down the drain was a constant in your mind. As well as the memory of Rafe putting you in his bed, pulling his shirt down to your knees.

You should have left the night of your birthday, you should’ve gotten out then, and none of it would have ever happened, but you told yourself that late was better than never. You told yourself that you learned your lesson and you didn’t have to experience any more hurt to leave. Your eyes were open, and while you didn’t know if you’d ever go against Rafe legally for what he did, you did know that you were leaving him. You had to focus on each step at once. Trying to think so far ahead was enough to scare you.

Right now, you just needed to leave him.

His entire visage had been eerily calm as you broke up with him, voice shaking as you did. Even he hadn’t been able to deny how your relationship had deteriorated, become something unrecognizable and unhealthy. The morning after, you felt like you were existing outside of your body. You could see Rafe leaving apologetic kisses along your face as you stirred, but you couldn’t really feel it. You couldn’t feel his hands either, not until they found a home between your legs, at least.

Your protest was almost immediate, but Rafe had assured you it was fine…and you were scared.

So, you believed him.

Experiencing pain and pleasure at the same time was foreign to you. Rafe’s previous assault was not something to be ignored, but it felt odd to come around him and hiss from the pain of it at the same time. He was gentle, pressing his lips to yours and grazing his fingertips against your skin. His thrusts had been slow and careful, but the damage had been done, and every push of his hips brought out conflicting reactions.

That was how it always went.

Even after the pain and bruises were long gone, you couldn’t stop being afraid of Rafe. After all, he’d made it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t respect any kind of refusal from you. What kind of relationship was that? How could you thrive in that? Rafe may have been your first everything, but you weren’t naïve. He was an abusive asshole…and you were just too scared to do something about it.

Until last night.

You thought it would be easy. You even remembered internally laughing at yourself for how dramatic you’d made it in your mind. You thought… You thought that Rafe would move on, let you go. After all, he’d finally gotten what he wanted, and you had even exhaled when he nodded, a soft ‘okay’ soon to follow.

“Let me drive you home,” he’d said.

“Okay,” you’d replied.

You didn’t know why you thought it would be that easy.

Things with Rafe hadn’t been easy in months, and your attempted breakup was no different.

You realized that when the needle on the speedometer started to rapidly climb, the sound of Rafe’s revving engine loud in the truck. You asked him what was going on, where he was going, even though deep down you knew. You knew Rafe better than anyone probably, so you knew the answers to your questions before you even asked them.

“Rafe, stop,” you’d begged, reaching for his arm, but the blond simply fixed you with a wry smile.

“Why?” he’d wondered with a shrug. “So, you can leave me? Why would I want that?”

The houses and trees were flying past you outside the window, and you never felt more powerless than in the moment you were trapped in Rafe’s truck, unable to do a thing as he raced down the road towards the end he’d already picked out for the both of you. Any attempt to grab the wheel only resulted in Rafe jerking it—jerking the vehicle in the process—and scaring the shit out of you.

Retracting everything you’d said earlier only resulted in a harsh slap to the steering wheel, a dry laugh from Rafe soon to follow.

“You think I believe that load of shit? Huh?”

“Rafe-!”

“You just tried to break up with me not even thirty minutes ago,” he screamed.

He wasn’t wrong, and you still wanted to, but you were more afraid of dying than living a lie. You pleaded with your boyfriend, assuring him that you didn’t mean it. He only laughed again, and you got the feeling that Rafe was genuinely amused by you. By your tears, by your fear, and by your desperation.

Your heart was racing so fast it could be classified as painful. Your hands were sweating and constantly sliding against the door from where you tried to hold on to it. You pulled at his arm when he swerved into the other lane, swerving back just in time to miss an oncoming truck. Your stomach twisted painfully, bile rising in your throat, and at this point you couldn’t even see the road because of your tears.

“Rafe, please, please just talk to me,” you cried.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, blue eyes focused on the road with not a glance spared towards you, and you pressed your hand to your mouth. You looked out of the window again, unable to make out a thing, and when you reached for Rafe this time, he didn’t slap your hand away. He didn’t protest when you wrapped your arm around his waist, leaning into him and resting your hand against his chest.

You knew that your tears were staining his shirt, and you didn’t know if you stopped fighting as some unconscious tactic or simply because you were accepting what was impossible to escape. Rafe had to have been going a hundred miles an hour, this kind of speed something your brain could barely fathom. It was after some time when you felt his hand on your head and some time after that when you gradually felt the truck slowing.

You were still shaking long after it came to a stop in some wooded area, and the silence in the vehicle was loud. Rafe was just playing with your hair while you trembled against him, and when he stopped, it was only to trail his hand to your neck, gripping the back of it harshly as he forced you to sit up. You knew you looked as distraught as you felt, but Rafe…

Rafe looked calm and in control and nothing less.

His blue eyes ran over your face, drinking in your trembling lips and wet cheeks, lingering on your wide eyes the longest. You felt him rub his thumb along your skin, and when he hummed, it harshly pressed against the side of your neck. Suddenly, the corner of his pink lips curved just the slightest, and nothing about it was soothing.

“I wasn’t serious… You know that, right?”

You didn’t respond because he wasn’t kidding, and you both knew it. Rafe shifted, moving closer, and he brought his other hand up to touch your cheek, wiping your tears away. He studied your eyes, leaning in and grazing your lips.

“It was just…something I didn’t mean. You understand though. Doing things…saying things we don’t mean,” he slowly said to you, swiping his tongue between his lips. “Right…?”

The drop in his voice and the slight raise of his brows had you swallowing, and he was looking at you like he dared you to disagree. Fighting the urge to throw up, and with a shaky nod, you told Rafe what he wanted to hear.

“Right,” you whispered, and he chuckled.

“Alright,” he breathed with a blinding smile, pulling you into his side. “Kelce is throwing together some small thing at his house. I told him we might stop by…”

He trailed off, leaving room for a comment, and you only shrugged.

“That’s fine with me.”

Your voice was barely audible, but Rafe heard you fine, starting the truck and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I knew it would be.”

You’d been quiet the whole night, and you’d been quiet all day, only existing as silent support to Rafe on his birthday. If anyone noticed your reserved demeanor, no one commented on it. No one knew that as you wished Rafe a happy birthday, you were afraid of what could happen if you didn’t smile hard enough. When he kissed you, you could only think of how he’d kissed you after threatening to kill you both. Every time Rafe held your hand, it felt like a chain tethering you to him.

You dreaded the moment the party would thin out and everyone would start trickling from the home in pairs, heading back to the comfort of their own homes until just Rafe and his family remained. Eventually they would call it a night too, and you and Rafe would be alone, and you wouldn’t have a choice but to kiss him back when he eventually kissed you.

…and kiss you he did.

“You almost ruined my birthday, you know,” he mumbled into the kiss, making you pause for half a second.

Your only response was a quiet apology, and Rafe sighed into your mouth.

“That’s okay, baby,” the blond purred. “You know I’ll let you make it up to me.”

You were terrified of your boyfriend, and that was why you let him undress you. You let him wrap his arms around you and hold you close and press kisses to your skin. It was surreal to have sexy with someone you were afraid of, like you were being held hostage in your own body. If Rafe noticed—and you were sure that he did—he didn’t care.

He was content to lay you down and bury his face into the crook of your neck. In fact, you were sure Rafe liked your fear, liked that you were so scared of him. You thought it made it all the more fun for him to push his cock into you and feel you tremble in fear. You just knew there was something in Rafe that took great pleasure in making you momentarily sacrifice your fear of him for ecstasy instead.

He forced your head back, and your chest arched upwards into him. You gasped at the feel of his tongue on your skin, gliding over a hardened bud and tasting you. His hips came down slowly, like he was savoring the feel of you clinging to his cock. He sighed with every thrust, and you were never able to swallow down your own moans once Rafe started stroking that fire building within you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, nipping at your lip as he plunged his cock into you.

One of your legs were thrown over his shoulder, and the stretch burned in a way that wasn’t painful but wasn’t the best either. One of your hands was wrapping around his arm, trying to ground yourself as the other twisted into his sheets. You couldn’t stop gasping, clenching down on him every time Rafe hit that spot in you that made you lose your breath.

When he pushed your leg back more, you yelped in pain, but Rafe only hummed. His thrusts became rougher, and he only hummed again when you hissed. Your hand rested on his chest, pushing against him slightly—a nonverbal communication—but Rafe ignored it.

“Rafe…”

His hips were slapping against yours, and you couldn’t even pretend to enjoy it. Your other hand came up too, and he slapped it away, that same hand wrapped around your throat only moments later. You let out a choked cry, reaching up, but Rafe didn’t stop, continuing to fuck you and choke you.

“Look at me-look at me,” he quietly spat.

Too afraid not to, you did, your distressed gaze meeting his even one in the low lighting. He was so close, nose almost brushing against yours, and he looked between your eyes. His hand tightened around your neck, making your heart skip a beat, and his free hand covered your breast, squeezing it, and your free leg kicked at the sheets.

“I will kill you.”

Your nails pressed into the skin on his arm.

“Do you understand me? You try to leave me again…and I will kill you.”

Your heart was threatening to burst from your chest, and the ceiling behind Rafe’s face was starting to blur. The edges of your vision were growing faint, darkness creeping along the outer rim.

“I will dump your body on the side of the road, and I will get away with it.”

His words and cadence were slow, purposeful, and you knew that Rafe was entirely serious. Tears had long spilled over, and you couldn’t stop crying. Rafe shook you, your neck straining from the action, and the whole time he kept fucking you. His lower movements didn’t stop once, sliding into you over and over and stroking your walls all the while he threatened you.

He roughly let you go, and you coughed, touching your throat and shaking uncontrollably. When Rafe shifted, your leg falling to the bed, you pressed your hands to your face, sobbing into the palms of them. Rafe caged you in, thighs meeting yours with every thrust, and he didn’t seem to care at all at the sight of your distress. In fact, he kissed the back of your hands, humming with every stroke, and you could only think that if you had broken up with him on your birthday then he wouldn’t be threatening your life on his.

Ward Cameron may have felt a lot of things about Rafe, but he wasn’t going to let his only son go to jail.

You should have known that when you called the police, throat tight and phone call tearful as they asked what your emergency was. Telling the woman on the other side of the phone that you were hiding from Rafe Cameron inside of the bathroom wasn’t easy. Telling her that he had a gun was even harder, and something in you wondered if they would’ve been as urgent if they hadn’t heard his booming voice from the other side of the door as he threatened you.

You were sitting on the steps when a familiar car pulled into the driveway behind the cruiser, and you felt your face crumble. There was some relief as the older man went back and forth with Shoupe, but it dwindled the longer it went on. When Ward turned his head towards you, you dropped your gaze, eyes tracing the blood on your foot from where a few shards of glass had nicked it. You didn’t dare look up, not even when you heard his footsteps approaching despite the loud protests from the Sheriff.

When Ward said your name, it was cautious—gentle—and you shook your head.

“No.”

Your name rolled off of his tongue again, and you interrupted whatever he was going to say.

“No, no, no! No,” you cried.

You knew what he was going to say, where this was going, and you refused. You were tired, so tired, and each time you’d tried to do the right thing after your disastrous birthday, you got screwed over. Each time, Rafe was one step ahead or using that charming smile and devious words to convince you it would never happen again. Every slap, every shove, every hand around your throat was proof of all the lies that left his lips.

You were sure that the only truth Rafe had ever told was when he said he’d kill you.

 It was silent between you two for some time, and you heard Ward sigh. You bit your lip, worrying it so much you started to taste blood, and you sniffed, wiping your face as you refused to look at the man. When he took another step towards you, you flinched, and only then did you look up to see the way Ward’s face fell.

You watched him press his lips together, only a thin line, now.

“I want you to tell me what happened.”

You scoffed.

“You know what happened. I’m sure Shoupe told you,” you forced out, and Ward exhaled through his nose.

He briefly glanced over his shoulder, looking at his son in the back of the cop car.

“I want to hear it from you. I want to know how a couple’s quarrel turned into-.”

“A couple’s quarrel?” you repeated in disbelief, tears falling as you exhaled. “He threw a vase at me. He put a gun in my mouth.”

You couldn’t tell how Ward took your words, but he did put his hands on his hips.

“Now, Y/N…you know it’s a crime to lie to the police.”

His response didn’t surprise you, and you nodded, your laugh humorless. Ward knew you were telling the truth, he knew just how unhinged Rafe could be, but he didn’t want him in jail. He couldn’t have the Cameron name tarnished by the arrest of his only son on domestic violence charges. Ward would rather handle this in private, away from prying eyes…and it disgusted you.

“I’m not lying, and you know I’m not lying,” you choked out.

“Why would Rafe do this? Right out of the blue?”

You were on your feet, now, sneering at the other man.

“It’s not out of the blue. Rafe has been treating me like shit for months!”

“…and this is the first we’re hearing of it…?”

The eldest Cameron tilted his head to the side, studying you, and you felt your breath leave you. You watched him touch his chest, gaze soft as he seemed to plead with you.

“Now, I’m not saying that’s not true…but you know that’s what they’re going to ask you. They’re going to ask you why you didn’t tell anyone…and they’re going to note how convenient this all is.”

You knew that, and you looked away, hands falling at your side.

“Rafe says you dropped a vase, and it started an argument.”

“He’s lying-.”

“…and anyone can say you’re the liar.”

You pressed your hands to your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears fell. Even through your lids, you could see the change in colors from the flash of the squad car, and when you opened your eyes again, the procession of red and blue lit the yard.

“That gun is legally his…and no one saw him do what you claim he did.”

“Why are you protecting him?” you loudly wondered, looking at the man in disbelief.

You’d eaten dinner with his family, even watched his daughter some nights, and he’d smiled in your face on numerous occasions, treating you like his own. Now, though…when push came to shove…Ward Cameron was showing you that you were not one of his own. Rafe was his own…and you were now a threat.

He took a step towards you, and you reached out to grip the rail to keep yourself from falling.

“I am just telling you what will happen if you continue with this,” he slowly started, and you crossed your arms over your chest, refusing to look at him. “They will take Rafe away, and I will pay his bail, and he’ll come home with me. There were no witnesses, and everything is pure speculation, a simple case of he said she said.”

You knew that he was right, and you felt yourself start to shake.

“…and in that scenario, I can’t help you.”

You knew what he was saying. You knew that he was talking about protecting you from more than just scrutiny and the law—he was also talking about protecting you from Rafe. Your lips parted, and you shakily exhaled. You felt like you were going to collapse, legs unsteady, and when you looked over…your eyes finally met a familiar blue pair.

You were positive that Rafe hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since they’d put handcuffs on him. If looks could kill, you were sure that you’d be six feet under, and you frantically blinked. No matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, and your stomach churned at the memory of his hand on the back of your neck. His other held the gun, angrily forcing the weapon into your mouth as he sneered at you.

Something about returning the smile from some pogue at The Wreck—blond and rowdy and kind of familiar.

You recalled that his name was JJ.

The fight had started almost as soon as you got inside, and you shuddered at the flare of pain in your arm, recalling the way Rafe had shoved you into the wall. You’d only slid down just in time to miss the flying vase. Just thinking about it was enough to paralyze you with fear…and then you thought about what would happen should you choose to have a legal battle with Rafe and his family.

…and lose.

You let out a choked sob, looking away, and letting your face fall into your hands. You collapsed back down onto the steps, Ward’s voice reaching you.

“You tell Shoupe this was all one big misunderstanding…and I can do so much more for you. …but I can’t help you if you go through with this.”

You couldn’t stop crying, because you were trapped…and you knew it. Your parents had money too, just as much as the Cameron’s, but that only evened the playing field, it gave you no advantage, and you were back to square one of your word vs Rafe’s. You knew he would be far more forgiving if you just…did what Ward said. You knew that if you went through with this and lost, Rafe would wring your neck.

“I won’t let my son go to jail, Y/N. One way or another…”

You knew he was telling the truth, the conviction in his tone matching the certainty in your chest.

“…but at least this way, I can help you.”

Your knees bounced as you wrapped your arms around yourself, your tearful gaze focused on the perfectly manicured grass. You curled in on yourself, head falling, and your shoulders shook from your sobs.

“He scares me,” you struggled to say, and Ward placated you.

“I know…I know he does, but you have to let me help you.”

You pulled the ends of your sleeves over your hands, wiping your face. The night was still lit up with red and blue, and you closed your eyes, stomach sinking. It took everything in you to give Ward a shaky nod, and you kept your eyes on the ground as Ward waved the other man over.

You felt like you were betraying yourself, arm still aching and throat still raw from all of your screaming. A lot of your trembling was still from what had happened hours ago, and like that day in his truck…and the night of his party…you’d really thought you were going to die. You couldn’t go through that again, but Ward said that he would protect you because you knew Rafe better than anyone, and you knew that if you tried to press charges against Rafe and didn’t succeed…

He would kill you.

“Y/N wants to talk to you.”

You glanced up at the sound of your name, holding Ward’s gaze for a few seconds before finally meeting Shoupe’s.

“I want… I don’t-I don’t wanna press charges.”

Your words tumbled out, and for a moment, you were sure that Shoupe hadn’t heard you properly. You came to realize that he heard you fine, and his confusion wasn’t from a lack of understanding. You watched him rest his hands on his hips, looking between you and Ward.

“Now, Y/N…” he started, seemingly trying to organize his thoughts. “I heard that phone call. I heard what you said and I heard him yelling.”

“It was just a regular argument, Shoupe,” you whispered with a shrug. “It was stupid. A stupid vase…”

“That he threw…”

The pause was heavy, and you glanced away.

“That I dropped.”

You shook your head when he said your name, and you licked your lips, gaze pleading as they met his again.

“Please, just let him go. He didn’t do anything to me. It was a stupid fight that I exaggerated because…I was angry and things got out of hand, and this just went way beyond what I intended, so…”

The other man didn’t look like he believed you, at all, and you watched him glance at Ward—who hadn’t said a thing—before looking back to you. He sighed, fixing you with a look you couldn’t name.

“Are you sure…?”

Your only response was a nod, unsure if you could lie any more without breaking down. With an aggravated sigh—aggravation at you or at Ward, you didn’t know—Shoupe signaled to his deputy to let Rafe go. Ward was pulled to the side as the two men had a hushed and heated conversation, going back and forth, while your gaze rested on Rafe.

You felt like you were doing the worst thing possible as you watched them guide him out of the backseat. He looked far from happy as they uncuffed him, and just like all night, his gaze refused to leave you. The flashing red and blue bathed him, blue eyes glinting almost dangerously, and you pressed your lips together while you watched him rub his now free wrists.

The other men were distracted as Rafe slowly made his way over, and you didn’t dare move. You were too scared to, and as much as you wanted to pull your eyes away, you couldn’t find the strength to. It was just hours ago that you’d stared into that face as he yelled at you for something as harmless as a smile. Only hours ago, he was pushing you around and threatening you.

…and now those same hands were reaching for you and pulling you to your feet.

You cried for so many reasons as Rafe wrapped his arms around you, rocking you from side to side and shushing you in what was meant to be a soothing voice. They were tight, and you cried harder, apologies slipping past your lips before you realized what you were doing. Rafe was always quick to forgive if you were quick to apologize.

“I know,” you heard and felt him murmur into your hair.

“Please, please don’t…”

You both knew what you were begging for, and he gently shushed you.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out again, repeating it as many times as you thought you should, hoping and praying that it was enough. “You have to know that…”

Your words died in the air at the sound of his voice.

“I should be angry with you…but I understand,” he softly told you. “You were scared, and you should’ve been.”

You sniffed, staring at the red and blue grass.

“I went too far, and you were right to be scared.”

Rafe pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there, telling you the words that brought you temporary relief.

“I forgive you.”

[asce-of-hearts]

Can you do a one piece yandere sanji smut with reader who tried escaping? I don’t think you’ve made one like that unless I missed it in that case I apologize ♥️

Stupid mistake

contents: Yandere!Sanji x gn!reader smut scenario in which reader tries to escape.

more Sanji content here

TAG LIST

WARNINGS: DUB/NON-CON, YANDERE, OBSESSIVE AND POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, MANIPULATION, SANJI OVERPOWERS READER, AFAB!BODIED READER OTHERWISE GENDER NEUTRAL, SMUT, PENETRATIVE SEX.

"Please, don't hit me. It was a stupid mistake." You say while sniffling, clinging to yourself as an attempt to look smaller. Sanji's brows furrow.

"Why would I hit you? What are you talking abo-" His eyes widen when the knife you were hiding within your clothes falls to the kitchen floor with a sickening clanking sound. He just stares at it and then at you, the cigarette in his mouth consuming slower and slower, as if he has stopped breathing. "Ah." He can only muster, his mind blank. "Why did you have that, mon amour? Wanted to help me out in the kitchen?" He tries to play it nonchalantly, to act stupidly oblivious to your actual intentions.

"I wanted to hurt you, Sanji." You wheeze out, unable to move, trembling in place. "I wanted to hurt you and run away."

He lets out an uncomfortable smile.

"Is... Is that so?" He asks, pretending he doesn't feel hurt. The low rumble of his voice reverberates around the air that surrounds you both. For a moment there's silence, the only sound being the pan over the stove. "Why would you do that, hmm?" He asks, taking a deep breath as he turns his back towards you, continuing to cook. "I would gladly take you for some fresh air outside if you were to ask me, mon ange. You know I will never deny you such a thing; anything, really."

"I want to leave." You say in a sob. His eyes darken as he stares at the meat cooking in the pan, going from red to pink and then to a soft brown in a second. He sighs, running a calloused hand through his blonde strands.

"It's not safe for you to do that, ___. We've talked about this."

"I don't care! I want to lea-" He hushes you by sticking a little strawberry right between your lips, his brows set in a frown. You feel small under his gaze in that moment, one that only made you feel unsettingly adored now was making you meek and timid, scared.

"No, ___." He says. His voice firm, commanding, but not unkind. "Quit it." He takes a deep breath, bends over to pick up the knife that was still laying on the floor. Shooting you a glare that has mixed emotions, a deep frustration as well as a hint of fear, of paranoia and panic. It softens when you avert your gaze. "I'll see when we can arrange to visit your family and friends. Just not right now, mon ange, it's not possible for me to take you there in this moment."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not safe. I've told you and I'll keep telling you. It's not safe." The pan sizzles in the background, his back facing you once again. "And don't start telling me about sending you alone. You'd die at sea before even reaching the nearest shore."

"You never elaborate on why it isn't safe. You're lying to me, Sanji." You whine. He turns off the stove, and he walks towards you.

He gets a hold of your wrist, his grip tight enough to make a statement, but not to harm you. His eyes are intense, he takes a deep breath.

"This lanky little arm, what will you do when someone grabs it?" He asks, getting closer, tightening his grip ever so slightly. He has his strength very measured, because he would rather kill himself before littering even a single bruise over your precious, tender skin. "You know I don't like telling you this, mon amour, but if I wanted to, I could break your wrist, your whole arm. I could and I would if I was a bad man," He lets go of it, his gentle hands caressing your skin in soft circles now. "But you know who are bad men? All of the other bastards out there who would not hesitate to kill you once they get you within his claws." He hisses out, his fingers pressing against your skin a little harsher. "So, spare me the pity of having to kill them before they kill you."

You try to squirm away, but he cages you with his body against the kitchen table. His fingers kneading into the soft dough of your ass, and then your inner thigh as he parts your legs open. A curly blonde bush making his cock look all the more menacing, he lines it up with the entrance of your cunt, slick and pretty, ready to take him.

"I'm sorry." You whimper, not knowing what else to say or do as he slowly rubs the bulbous, pink tip of his cock all over your clit. You gasp at the contact, his smile softening, able to get pussy-drunk with just a glance of your pretty pussy.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, pretty. You said it yourself, it was a stupid mistake, right?" He licks his lips, groaning as the tip of his cock slowly enters the tight ring of muscle of your cunt. He grits his teeth, pushing and pushing until he's finally able to bury himself to the hilt, balls deep inside you. Holding you tight against him. "I'll pay more attention to you, mon amour. I'll make sure you won't feel lonely." His tempo is slow and deep, his pace far from punishing even when it makes your head spin, feel something strange in the bottom of your stomach. "I'll make love to you every night, mon ange. I'll keep you filled up with my love. I'll cook you your favorite things every day, I don't care. Just don't get any of those stupid ideas again, alright?" He grunts out, moaning and panting and his hands wandering all over your body as he keeps fucking, no, making love to you.

grahhh i've been craving this man for a while now I love him i need him carnally

hope you enjoyed this. have a great day/night.

TAGGING: @bookandyarndragon @massivepenguinunknown @yukimitsu @staticspouse @anieluvs @goldenglow149 @lurexin @hbk99450 @stranger00001 @delicatelycraftedbambi @kitzusune @yeonieesss @3v37773 @mizzhellsingstuff @420a1lday @coolnekochan9961 @chercheryblossomsweet @florcxo @hannas16

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[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Series Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,800+

Synopsis: There was something not right about this scenario. Fear gripped you as you lay helpless and quivering beneath a figure you had never met. Fear gripped you, and the cusps of reality slipped further from you the deeper you gave in to his motions.

Themes: Accursed Prince Loki x afab!reader, dub con, non con hinted, size difference: extra large, Elbaf spoiler warning, NSFW, 18+, MDNI, smut, nightmares, terror themes, threats, violence threatened, fear, enemies that remain enemies.

Notes: Art by @skullfacedlady, to whom this fic is dedicated to because she needs more content with this beautiful, terrifying man. It is also not how I regularly write this little series, but I couldn't resist a little twist because my hand slipped. Position also heavily inspired by @don-mellow's art on Twitter (NSFW link). Two beautiful artists making me fall in love with this accursed prince, and it's a long way to tumble.

The atmosphere was sparsely illuminated by dull tongues of fire. Flickering against the cobblestone and revealing the giant’s mane and helm, a sinister grin split up his cheeks as he stooped below towards your small, quivering frame.

“Poor tiny human,” he purrs down at you, his voice reverberating in the chasms of your chest and causing your lips to quiver in fright. “All afraid and shaking.”

The rattles of the chains shackling his wrists was the only forewarning he gave before your clothes were split and shredded by one deliberate swipe. Fear gripped you as you were now bare before the giant, your eyes widening and flesh puckering in the cool of the air.

“No need for that face,” he chuckled, reaching down and expelling his cock from its bonds in his leathery pants. The tip was blushed a pretty hue of red, now revealed with a crude slap of his shaft springing up and catching on his stomach. “I have no intention of hurting my little plaything. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

The shudder in your body was the only response you made, your voice physically unable to speak or scream at the man to halt his actions. He dove down towards you, throat chuckling as a hefty wave of his warm breath met your flushed skin.

“I just want a look,” he growled in a deep baritone, “Open your legs for me, or I will open them for you. Trust, plaything, the former would be far more pleasant for you. Ankles to your ass, knees to the side. Now.”

A sob hitched in your throat as you made to move your body. As he said, you drew your feet slowly up to the bottom of your ass and butterflied your knees out to the sides. Turning your face away from him, you clenched your eyes shut and whimpered as you felt the huffs of his breath journey ever closer.

“Would you look at that, wee plaything,” his voice held a tone of teasing to it, “Such a pretty, flushed cunt all there for the taking.”

You screamed at him internally, pleading and begging for him to not attempt to put his cock inside you. It would kill you, given the fact his cock was larger than the size of you in your entirety.

His meaty fingers brushed against your side, tickling you with his teasing advances. You flinched away from his touch, but it only made him all the more enthusiastic about your little display. Drawing his hand up your torso, he used one hand to draw up both of your wrists to pin above your head by a single index finger.

“You know when I said ‘I just want a look’ just now?” he growled, stooping ever closer to you and dragging his whiskered chin over your naked chest.

“I lied.”

Just as you opened your eyes and began to make a motion to scream at him to halt, his fat tongue fled from his lips and licked a long stripe from your cunt up to your head. The slippery saliva dampened your pores, nipples pebbling as his hot breath cooled your skin when impacting the stripe. Your legs threatened to close to avoid the cold, but that thought was all but sprung from your head when his tongue returned to you.

Through panted, muffled breaths, the larger giant growled at you as he drew his slippery organ up and down your body.

“If you close your legs, plaything,” he mouthed at your skin, taking your cunt and ass into his mouth and flicking his tongue in messy circles behind his lips, “I'll bite the fucking things off. Leave them parted.”

You screamed internally at the thought, actions frozen in place as your thighs and knees became damp within the giant’s mouth. His smile only grew when he tasted your arousal beginning to pool over his tongue. Drawing your ass away from his mouth, he focussed the attention of his tongue against your slit: flicking his larger tongue against your clit to the best of his focussed abilities.

His tongue was porous, feeling each dip and elevation due to the insane size difference. It was larger than any cock you had seen in the past. The tip alone, now pointed and focussed, being of greater size than any toy you had found for yourself.

While pinning you with one hand, he reached his cock and began pumping it below you both. The drooling cock head twitched with every down thrust, the veins flooding his shaft with desire only swelling his need for you.

“That's it,” he praised you, the vibrations of his voice causing you to wail and arch your back towards his touch, “Give in to it. I'm not going to stop. Too much fun to be had between us, plaything.”

You felt the first cusps of ecstasy call to you, tingling in your toes and swelling within your chest. The muted moans and cries fleeing your lips held a gloomy echo, your eyes refusing to make contact with the beast lurking below you as he consumed your lust and drove you off the cusps of insanity.

“I can feel how close you are,” he chuckled, fucking his fist by bucking his hips down, “Let me hear you scream for me.” His thrusts were as manic as his tongue continued to flicker and swirl against your cunt.

Instead of maintaining focus of simply the tip of his tongue alone, he moved back to lengthy stripes, dressing your ass, cunt, and chest in a marriage of his saliva and your arousal each time.

It felt wrong on more levels than simply one. This giant’s touch, the way you couldn't speak, how you had no true control over yourself or how you responded to his words or actions, it was all too wrong. Just as you shook your head to attempt to free you of this internal line of questioning, your stomach clenched and sparks began to fly behind your eyes.

Euphoria bloomed in your stomach and flooded your veins with sparks and lightning. Releasing your ecstasy over the giant's tongue while screaming out in bliss, the giant moaned and chuckled down at you. Lulling and lapping, he greedily overstimulated you while you rode the waves of your high.

Pulling away, a large string of saliva connected his tongue to your cunt while he rose away from your panting and heaving form. Pumping his cock viciously, his tip began to bubble pearls of precum into his fist.

“What a pretty plaything,” he groaned out for you, his voice picking up in the corners of his throat, “I'm going to paint you to claim as mine. Look up at me now, plaything.”

His demands had your eyes meeting with the concealed gaze behind cream-coloured bandages, before your vision blurred by a crude splash of his cum meeting your face. Ropes of hot white uncoiled and burned against your head, torso, thighs, and cunt: almost drowning you in the sheer size of his load. Coughing and spluttering was all you could do as the giant barked out a cackled string of laughter.

“We are going to have so much fun together,” the giant’s voice echoed within your ears, muffled by viscous cum flooding your features.

With a fit of fiery adrenaline, you tore your hands away from his grip and sat upright. Eyes wide and manic, you continued on to release a blood curdling scream that rang throughout your quarters. Body covered in sweat, breath hitching in fear, undergarments covered with your sticky release, your eyes immediately found the door as it flung wide.

Immediately springing towards you, hands of rubber surrounded your form and coiled around you. The familiar feeling of your captain surrounding you was not unwelcome. Your arms immediately found their way to wrap around his back and bury your head in the crook of his neck.

“I couldn't move, I couldn't speak,” you sobbed manickly, curling into the embrace with your tears dampening his red best, “I was stuck, helpless, afraid. I couldn't-.”

“-Shh,” he hushed you, speaking your name slowly and quietly as he nuzzled against your head, “I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Just breathe with me, okay? Just in and out slowly. Just like you're smelling some of Sanji’s barbeque and blowing on it because the meat’s too hot.”

In your manic state, you manage to chuckle through the tears as your captain empathetically mirrored your laughter. He tightened the grip he had on you, squeezing his eyes shut and calming himself down alongside you.

He was usually a deep sleeper, but there was something about the way you screamed that seemed all too familiar to him. The helplessness, the fear, the torment. It was not a good scream to hear from anyone, least of all from his counsellor.

He invited you to serve on his ship because you had a natural gift. He couldn't put a name to it, nor could you, but you seemed to harbor a great amount of knowledge of decisions that lead to the best and worse outcomes in any given situation. Similarly to the way Nami can read the weather, you have this intuition regarding the future, knowing what would come to pass before it ever occured.

It doesn't happen often, not ever to this degree, and it could've simply been a nightmare: but it was so vivid, it caused you such great distress. Not only the vision itself, but the content of it. It was like you were trapped, and there was no one there to save you.

“When you're ready, and if you're able,” Luffy whispered against your ear, still trying to have you breathe with him with his arms surrounding you, “Tell me what happened. I'll listen, no matter if it was just a sea cow eating a part of The Sunny.”

He pulled away from your head, peering down and beaming at you with a smile. You gazed up at him through damp lashes and felt your breath control return to you. At the door to your quarters, the remainder of the crew stood in a variety of dress: from pajamas to their regular clothes, they all stood waiting for your words to come to you.

“It was a giant,” you whimpered softly, design your eyes between the two caramel orbs harboring nothing but love and understanding down at you, “And there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

“We've fought giants before,” Luffy nodded down at you, his brilliant grin still shining down on you as he smoothed your scalp with his hand, “Nothing we can't handle. We'll be right there with you, fighting the thing to the death. You'll see.” He whispered your name, holding you close and nodding down.

“That's just the thing, Captain,” you whispered back at him, breath as chilled as the grave and teeth chattering with your confession.

“You weren't there.”

“I'll see you soon, little plaything.”

Deep within the bowels of Elbaf, the larger giant chuckled with a large grin splitting up his cheeks. Cum covering his his belly, sheet discarded alongside his pants hanging limply off his ankles, chains rattling on his wrists, he continued to bark out laughter as he drew his fingers and palm over his sticky release.

Gathering the seed in the pads of his fingertips and smearing it over his flesh, he sighed out with a touch of whimsy in his tone.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

[wisecura]

Jujutsu Kaisen

unfortunately, I pick favorites

🔪 - will have dark undertones (or full blown black flags).

🔞 - will have smutty content.

♡ - a request fic I got

warnings will be put for the stories that have less traditional dark undertones. most of my work will have themes that may be unsettling or uncomfortable so please do not interact with these stories. this can include dubcon, toxic relationships, manipulative behavior, potential poor decision making on the Y/N perspective. I write things I find interesting and if that offends you, then please don’t read.

Red in the title means its a WIP (typed up concept in my Docs just waiting to be finished/edited/published), and will hopefully be released soon.

Gojo x You (my golden boy makes me feral)

believe it or not, this man has his own masterlist

Gojo x You x Geto

╰┈➤Nanny 🔪⭑summary: Isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen, you sell yourself to the Gojo Clan in an attempt to change your favorite characters fates. You change many things, and are able to see the boys grow peacefully. Yet now with them out of the clan house you find yourself in a predicament. Your arranged marriage. warnings: small age gap, abnorm dynamic

this is a series: a second?,

╰┈➤Sweeter ♡ 🔪 🔞⭑ summary: entering high school only to be met with the two hottest strongest sorcerers of your generation was not something you were prepared for. so, what happens when they take a strange liking to their cute, sheltered underclassman?

this has a smutty p.2

Geto x You (he never comes far behind)

╰┈➤pretty (older and discontinued, but if you reallllly wanna read it?)

╰┈➤Pretty 🔪⭑ summary: You're Gojo's cute little sister. And Suguru just cant get enough of you.

this is a series: did you want a 2?, a 3? and a 4?,

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╰┈➤Try the Priest 🔪⭑ summary: Your best friend, Suguru Geto, has a warrant on his head. You hadn't heard from him since then, and you thought your friendship was as good as dead. So why is he on your front porch?

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╰┈➤ My Leader 🔪🔞 ⭑ summary: suguru geto was all for the betterment of the world--eradicating the non-sorcerers in society, and collecting people to stand in the new world with him. it's no different when he finds you--an untrained sorcerer, so eager and desperate for validation-- a hint at sanity when no one else could see the monsters around you. but what happens if he takes you in only to find himself changing his mind. warnings: pwp, voyeurism, gore, blood, murder, dark undertones, size kink smut, you aren't in your right mind either, fingering, marking, manipulation, belittling and teasing

Toge x You

Yuji x You

╰┈➤Shine 🔪⭑ summary: You're a famous pop idol that Yuji adores. what more is there to say?

Megumi x You

╰┈➤Sheets 🔪 ⭑ summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside his moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy. warnings: arranged marriage, forced marriage, violence, step-cest, mommy kinks, age gap

this is a series: another? , and another? , this 4?, a 5?, is that a 6?, did i spy a 7?, an 8th??, a 9, 10,

Toji x You

Choso x You

Yuta x You

╰┈➤Desperation 🔪🔞 ⭑ summary: Yuta’s really gotta thing for you and you’ve got one for him. warning: abnorm dynamic, knife play, borderline somno, dom material

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╰┈➤Yuuuuutttaaaa 🔪 🔪 🔞 ⭑ summary: You and yuta have been best friends for years warnings: somno, dub/non- con, forced breeding, this one’s a little intense

Nanami x You

AN: This anime has been my obsession for the last few months

I post updates in this community so feel free to check it out: https://www.tumblr.com/communities/obsessedjjk

And home

[kismetlotts]

Kinktober 🎃 day eight: Knife play!

cw: knife play, non con/dub con, degrading names e.g whore, slut, violent language, fingering, public sex, sex in the dark, Simons a little crazy, licking his fingers clean, knife to the throat, dominant Simon, masked Simon, Simon who thinks he owns you, finger riding, crying

Simon hated you. You left him, you nasty- selfish disgusting little slut. How dare you leave his life, vanish after years of saving his back and him protecting yours. Years of being together daily, training- working- bickering; pretty much glued at the hip.

If one thing for sure- Simon hated talking to people, he only made the effort to get somewhat close to you from the Captain’s orders but little did he know how badly he’d fall for you. Fucking fall for you. The way you presented yourself, body wracking with elegance and normality. The dream girl he never knew existed, the girl that he was going to marry. You were his- his yours: every moment with you he felt alive, burning with your foreign endearment, a care he never knew he would be granted with. A love full of delicacy and sugar he’d be a fool to balk.

So why on gods green earth did you fucking abandon him? Why did you wish your goodbyes, thank your teammates and set off for a new life. A different career branch, new set of friends; perhaps a new lover. It was brutal, you were heartless. He wanted to break your fucking spine. Tracking you down and following you into some shitty overpriced Halloween pop up event happening near you, a haunted house in which your new friends and new boss were accompanying you. A murderous intent trailing through his body before it sunk deep in the masked, 6'ft Lieutenant’s stomach at the sight of your boss’s arm around you. He’d cut his fingers off and force him to choke on them for touching what isn’t his.

Managing to sneak past the security and walking into the haunted house- well mansion- he hid himself in a corner on the second floor. The room was wide and decorated like the interior of a barn. Haystacks and dark oak panels covering the red walls and barricaded windows. A creaky wooden floor and barley any light aside from the odd lantern, casting a warm- sinister glow.

It was probably a hint to the actor in the next room- probably some psycho farmer or a chainsaw wielding scarecrow stood ready to chase after you. Simon didn’t feel fear when it came to the actors around this place, he’d like to see a man smothered in fake blood and a zombie costume out at war, on enemy territory with nothing but a pistol, fighting and protecting for not just his life but for the life of your teammates- civilians. That was true terror you had to make people feel and true terror you felt in yourself.

He heard footsteps approaching and laughter falling people, your voice shining through them and into his ears like a song- a song that he had muted and silenced for a moment. His cock hardening as he grabbed the fake knife hidden on hay beside him, running at your new little group with his prop knife, internally rolling his eyes as they all screamed and ran for the next door. All but one.

Your eyes lingered on his mask, surely it wasn’t him- why would he be here? An actor in a silly little Halloween house doesn’t necessarily scream Simon. His hand threw the fake knife on the floor, the plastic rattling against the wood as he walked forward, grabbing you by the neck and shoving you against the wall. Not giving you any time to analyse the situation you’d entered.

“Why the fuck did you leave me?” He growled in your ear, knee coming between your legs and pushing your thighs apart. The fabric of his jeans rubbing your clothed pussy harshly, mouth opened but no words coming out. What words would come out? His hand slipped into his back pocket, pulling out a switchblade and placing the metal below your chin. What the actual fuck? You were petrified.

A pleased hum came from the chapped lips of the man, his eyes squinting slightly from a smile beneath his mask, creasing his black eye makeup and staring through your pupils- into your soul: your fear. You were pathetic, couldn't even explain yourself to him, he could laugh.

“Simon- please.” You pleaded, your voice cracking with fear as it seeped through your thick strong interior, igniting a manic chuckle from his lips. Did you think he was going to kill you? His little backstabbing whore he’d tracked down, slowly bleeding out as he’d leave you against the wall. His blade deep in the side of your throat. No no no, Simon didn’t want to hurt you- he wanted to toy with you.

“Love, I'm not going to kill you- O’d you think I am?” The knife not moving an inch against your pretty flesh, a contrast between the softness of your skin and the sharpness of the blade. Applying the perfect amount of pressure to poke but not cut. An ounce of relief washed over you at that comment, the reassurance palpable but the dread sickening; if he wasn’t going to kill you what did he want from you?

He watched as his body trembled beneath him; anxiety overtaking your blood and your veins, looking away and down because if you stayed looking up at him you were going to cry. A weak weak little girl compared to him. You could act strong, you could push him away and run as fast as you could but there would be no use, he’d catch you somehow, somewhere. He’d fuck with you more, all you could do was obey him and his demands now unless you wanted a life of watching over your shoulder constantly.

“Strip.” And your hands slipped into the waist band of your bottoms, tugging them down and stepping out of them, hesitating would only make him more pissed off. Your shaky hand grabbing the bottom of your shirt too, tugging that over your head leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties, your bra and wet panties. He looked down your body a whistle at the end of this tongue but he held back, looking up at you again.

“Strip- you want me to get fucking mad?” And hesitantly you took off your panties, unhooking you bra, tears pouring from your eyes as you hugged yourself, not only embarrassed but ashamed, ashamed with what your letting happen and horrified that you kind of like it. His body came in closer again, heating you up as he dragged the tip of the blade down your body. Between your tits, over your tummy and against your cunt, stuffing two fingers inside your hole greedily, not even focused on you anymore.

He kept a steady pace, thrusting his fingers inside over and over again, curving them slightly so it feels good for you but not giving you any opportunity to come or get close. Going at his pace, touching you how he wanted to at whatever speed he likes. His ears perked up at the little whines you let out, tiny confirmation that you weren’t all scared and were enjoying it- the juices running down your thigh gave him that understanding too. What a dirty bitch, getting fingered against the wall of a horror house, a knife pressed against her but it only increasing her arousal: you were mad. He was fucking taken aback.

“Yeah? You sad little whore. Missing Simon so much the minute he gets you against the wall you give in. Where was my strong girl from a few moments ago? Where did she go, huh, baby?” Mockery. Your body felt red- it felt hot. Anger taking over the fear and fuelling you. You threw your body back down on his fingers, practically riding his hand for him. Moaning in his ear, showing him that you were still there, still strong. Still holding on and that despite his best efforts of trying to scare you- fucking with you- hurting you. It didn’t work because you enjoyed the pain, you lived off of the pain he provided you.

After a few more thrusts of his fingers you came over his hand, eyes rolling shut and all tears from before resurfacing and pouring from your eyes. Legs such a trembling mess he dragged you towards the hay, lifting and placing you on top so you could breathe and come down from you high. He watched you pant, eyes shut as your tits bounced from each breath. His eyes flickered to his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean, your taste exploding on his tongue.

“Next time you misbehave and leave me I won’t be so generous. I’ll get your paperwork done and you’ll be back with us in no time.” You nodded unsure on what else to do. Simon had control over you now; Simon had the power and all you could do is submit. There was no backing down now, you were tied to his hip. And something deep inside you, something sick and deluded was unsure. Something in you, so fucked up you couldn’t help but wonder if you minded, if you cared that you were living a life run by Simon.

Looking up to see him look down at you; a raging, violent look in his eye but behind it there was softness. Protection and security, you were Simon’s and he was going to keep you safe in the long run. And maybe that wasn’t all bad. So what if he’s a little crazy, it just shows how much he cares.

[thelurchinghound]

ftm reader getting fucked by two monsters shoving their knots deep in his little cunt whiile hes tied up and just takes it

[Request info] - [Navigation]

Gender: FTM reader

Kinks/Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con(?), knotting, DP (double penetration), Dacryphilia, Teratophilia, Words like cunt, pussy, clit, etc used for reader. Hinted at werewolf monsters but I left it vague.

A/n: BRUH, I love this request, again I left the monsters up to the reader but I was thinking of my werewolf pack ocs. It took a little longer than I thought it would but it's fine. Kinda rushed at the end!

| OC(s) used: Monroe & Quinn | Words: 453 | Proofread by @bunnyscone | NSFW |

By hitting 'keep reading' you are accepting that you're fine with reading my content (Don't like? Don't read and scroll.)

"There you go, baby boy."

Monroe forced his cock farther into your pussy, stretching it out even more. A groan slipped from his maw, his tongue darting out to lick at your perky nipples. A small cry leaving your lips from the intrusion in your pussy.

"Can you hurry it up?" Quinn growled out, his claws digging into your plush thigh skin. Small red lines form in the trail of them. His cock throbs with need against your thigh, a knot at the base of his cock already swelling up, and he hasn't even started fucking you yet.

"No, I'll take however long I want to savior our little guest here." Monroe quips back, glowering down at Quinn. The two beasts start bickering back and forth, all while you are unhurriedly thrust into by Monroe. They sounded like two brothers arguing over a toy. Quinn was lying under you, your back to his chest, Monroe above you, tugging at one of Quinn's pointy ears.

Each thrust was slow and gentle, a surprise for how big and burly the monster was. Monroe's giant clawed hands hold onto the ropes that had you tied up, unable to move. You could do nothing against Monroe's ministrations or when Quinn slid his hand down to your pussy. His thumb started to rub your sensitive bud while the bigger man still thrust into you. Quinn's other hand holds open your trembling thighs from his place under you, chuckling slightly when your back arches off him.

"You said that last time with the last human!" 

That exclamation only got an eye-roll from Monroe, his sharp claws drilling further into the plush skin of your thighs. An annoyed grunt coming from on top of you. "God, you are insufferable. Like a yapping chihuahua that won't shut up." 

After a few minutes of the two going back and forth arguing about fucking you, Monroe ultimately relents. "Fine, fine! Whatever!" He says in a rolling growl, moving to spread open your thighs for Quinn. The smaller beast positioned his cock right at your stretched entrance, though, unlike Monroe, he doesn't push in slowly. Like an excited pup, he thrusts himself in. You were already stretched from Monroe's cock, but now with both cocks inside your dripping cunt it felt like you could've been split open. Their knots pressed together as they started to thrust. At first, it was graceless, but gradually, they got a rhythm down. 

Their thrust started getting harder, knots slipping in with every push in and out. The cave around them filled with grunts and moans of pleasure as the two beasts ravaged your tight cunt. Until they finally spilled inside you, their fat knots locking their cum inside.

[sunflwrmi]

gratitude

warnings: non-con/dub-con (nsfw, 18+), fem! reader, dark themes, aftermath of domestic violence (not by hannibal), infidelity, unspecified age difference

hannibal lecter never thought he'd crave love until he met you.

when he first met you, he recognized that you were a lovely young thing, a dutiful, caring wife who brought her troubled husband to his office with a warm smile and a small gift in hand as thanks for taking care of him with every visit. the way your hands gently held that wretched man's arms so carefully, those pillow pink lips that touched that horrible man's cheek, your kind eyes that looked into his so sweetly, so innocently without knowing the monster he knows but doesn't care he is. he had always seen media with wives like you, picture perfect to the pixel, thinking they never existed in reality, that they were all just acting for the cameras, but here you are, in front of him in your dainty outfits that flattered your body so wonderfully, with your soft voice that sounded like a dream no matter what tone you used, mesmerizing and genuine with every word you spoke.

having a wife never looked so damn good; he wasn't a jealous man but he was filled with green envy, and he wanted that company, that warmth, that love all for himself. he wanted a person all to himself for the first time in his life, a wife for himself, you. you would complete him, he knew it with every bone in his body, and he would do anything for it. he would give you the world and you would make his. it would be perfect. you were perfect. the two of you would be so perfect.

as twisted as he was, he wanted every part of your being to belong to him, and he hated that you weren't his, that you were married to someone else that he saw as an impolite loser. you were the complete opposite of that deplorable man, ever so polite and considerate, handing over a jar of homemade blueberry jam before you left. he wouldn't have kept your husband as a patient after that nightmare-ish first appointment if it weren't for oh sweet you, bowing your head slightly in greeting with those sparkling eyes of yours, all dolled up in a long simple sundress that accentuated those delicious curves in all the right places, your adorable voice going "dr. lecter" instantly causing an almost unbearable strain in his pants. the beginnings of a plan formulated in his mind quickly as an instinctual, hungry need for you blossomed in every fiber of his being.

he crafted the situation perfectly with his elegant, inviting mannerisms and entrancing voice. "my dear…come here if you ever should need me, alright? i'm here for you to help you figure things out, anything." he handed you his business card before you left the first time, his big hand on yours lingering slightly too long, too engrossed in the baby softness of your skin.

and he did not have to wait too long.

your husband with the typical troubled childhood background started becoming increasingly hot-tempered and violent, something hannibal had whispered in his ear to do. it was never a direct order, but subtle devious hints and a few smart-sounding, enticing lies phrased as helpful advice made the manipulation all the more perfect. nothing could be traced back to him if something unfortunate happened sooner or later.

"the violence you experienced back then was terrible...and i'm afraid you'll hurt your beautiful wife that way if you don't address it soon enough. you have to keep your past inside and think about it often before an argument happens and things go out of hand." he had told the man. "that way, you can learn to deal with it better."

that blithering fool followed his word too easily just as he had planned, teetering over the edge of mental instability, pushed to do something he's never done, and now you're here in his office, tears spilling from your adorably puffy eyes, finding comfort in his arms, seeking answers that'll never be given to you, because he will be the one to receive all your honeyed love and attention, not that undeserving bastard who he'll surely take the pleasure of eating sometime in the future once you've forgotten and moved on. that, however, would have to wait until you're fully over him.

hannibal took this painstakingly long route to isolate you because if that man went missing too soon with your heart still set, you would never move on and be filled with regret and love for a long, long time, and he could absolutely not wait any longer than the time he's already done so. he was a patient, intelligent man and three months was not as bad as what it would've been without a plan, without your unknowing encouragement everytime you chatted with him. look at the golden opportunity in front of him now, with you none the wiser of anything that had transpired over the last three months. god, it was worth it; he was waiting, fantasizing about this moment everytime he saw you twice a week, savoring the jam you gave him and all the other thoughtful gifts you picked out yourself, things like candles and over-engineered office supplies and pastries you baked yourself. he had so many things he wanted to do with you, do to you, learning about you and making you comfortable through small talk and a bit of sleuthing. unsurprisingly, he grew even more enamored with you the more he found out.

"dr. lecter...?" your voice snaps him out of his thoughts, his pants tightening again, and his thumb absentmindedly swipes across your cheek, rubbing your tears away. "...i-i thought..." you sniffle and stammer, looking up at him for a moment longer, hands wringing together, full of unease and anxiety, "...i thought he was getting better, but i can't believe he a-actually hit me...he's never done that before...i feel like i did something wrong, b-but i can't figure it out..."

he sighs. the only thing you did wrong was marrying that idiot, but he supposed it was only then that you both were able to meet at all. "no, darling," he smooths your hair down soothingly with his other hand, his voice low and gentle, hiding seamlessly the anger at what that man did to you, even if it was by his hand behind the scenes. he himself would never do such a thing to you, no, he'd never hurt you so senselessly like this. "this has nothing to do with you. as his psychiatrist, i know he's been under a lot of stress from work, and he's also been working hard on confronting his past. maybe that...triggers some behavior unbecoming of him. that isn't an excuse for what he's done, though, because most of all...you're hurt."

everything about him seems to slightly calm you down some more, whether it's that understanding timbre filled to the brim with genuine concern, or the way he holds you so gently, like you're made of glass, or maybe how different this treatment is in comparison to what you just faced before you came crying into his office.

you take deep, shuddering breaths, trying to relieve the anxiety that wracks your body. "...i-i know, i just...it was just a mistake. he can't...he won't do anything else. he's a kind person..."

hannibal shakes his head. "you love him enough to excuse doing an act of violence to you? something he shouldn't have done to you, his lawfully wedded wife whom he signed a vow with to never do such a thing when he married you?" as much as it pains him to remind and say himself that you belonged to another, at least by the law, it's necessary logic to get you out of there and into his arms.

"i just think—"

"it is not just making a mistake, darling," he corrects firmly, cutting you off immediately, his eyes shining with passion as his hand wanders to your chin, tilting your head up so you can see the seriousness and challenge in his eyes, his other arm encircling around your waist, tugging you closer in your embrace. "if i raised my hand against you, would that be a mistake?"

you swallow hard from being confronted so directly about the distress you wanted to forget. "w-well—"

"if i hit you like he did, would you or would you not still say it's a mistake? would you make excuses for me, even if i'm a renowned psychiatrist?" his grip on your chin grows tighter, and you wince a little in response to the volume of his voice.

"n-no..."

"exactly. do you see how stupid that is, love?" you nod your head meekly, looking a little ashamed, which satisfies him greatly. the results of his hard work would come soon. this submission, even if just for a few moments, sends a rush down to his groin, but he doesn't let it show. decades of practiced professionalism keep his mask stoic and composed as he sighs and pulls away from you, walking to sit in his office leather chair, hands folded on his lap, watchful eyes still trained on you. "you were hurt and you still are, clearly. please don't ignore what happened to you and try to paint a better picture in your mind to cover up the pain," he affirms with the same gentle tone he can tell you need right now. he reads you like a book so easily, so completely. more than uncomfortable, you feel heard for once, heard after these difficult weeks of being with your husband through his growing mental struggles. that means a lot to you, truly. he can see it in your face. "you know better than to do that, don't you, darling?" he stares at you, expecting a verbal answer, the subtle pressure he's giving you making you bite your lip nervously.

"...y-you're right...you're completely right...all of it..." you finally admit slowly, your voice a little broken and choked up. you pull up a chair next to him, instinctively seeking validation from him both physically and mentally, all just from him separating from you for just a minute. you hunch over a little as you sit, elbows on your thighs as you think.

the corner of his lips lifts into a slight smirk as he grabs your hands, enveloping them in his. he squeezes them gently, bringing your attention to his face. "i don't want to force you into anything since clearly you're very distraught over what happened," he says calmly with a confidence that you're in his hands now, "but i think you should, at the very least, have some space from your husband for now, darling."

as he introduces the idea to you, he watches your expression as you pause, processing it in your brain. you're a smart young lady, you've thought of this before, and it makes the most sense. after all, every single thing he's said to you so far has been the right course of action given your state of mind. it's sensible, which gives you all the more reason to do exactly as he wants you to. soon enough, you'll be doing what he says because he's always been right, even if what he'll do is wrong. it's asserting his authority, your trust in him that he knows best in your point of view, establishing himself as the one with power. the feeling is already so, so enticing and he can't wait until you completely feed into it.

for now, he squeezes again, pressing for an answer from you again. "u-um...yeah, i think so too." you agree, still stuttering a little from your sniffles earlier, looking shyly up at him through your lashes. god, he could imagine you doing that when...he shouldn't think about that right now. he stops himself in his thoughts and focuses his attention back on you.

"does he know where you went?" a shake of your head. "did you drive here?" another. he already knows these things though. you're exactly the woman he thought you to be. "then...you should come stay with me."

being the kind lady you are, you immediately shake your head again. "i-i couldn't possibly—"

he cuts you off by saying your name so eloquently, your voice fading out as he repeats it softly. "he knows where all your friends and relatives are, i'm sure. what if he comes to find you and influences whatever decision you make?" he reluctantly releases your hands and stands up, fishing out his car keys from his pocket and twirling them around casually, your eyes following the movement. he smiles at you reassuringly as he collects his things from the desk casually, as if his every move isn't calculated. "trust me love, it's no trouble at all. i have such a big house and it's quite lonely sometimes. you wouldn't deny a harmless old man like me some company, will you?"

you still seem unsure, though you're definitely more convinced than before. "b-but what about work, or my clothes—" you begin.

"you 're probably due for a break from work, no? i think you're going through a lot right now. if you need a doctor's note to get some leave, you can use my name." he interrupts you, not letting you reinforce your doubts out loud or spiral down that path. "my clothes are a bit oversized, but i have plenty extra for you. if you need anything else, i can place some orders immediately." the look in your eyes falters a bit at his thoroughness, but before you can say anything else, he squeezes your shoulder gently, centering your attention back on him and only him. "more than anything, don't deny yourself help when you need it right now. even someone like myself needs some from time to time." that last part is a lie, but it convinces you like he thought it would.

"you'd really do that for me, dr. lecter?" there's a glimmer of relief in your eyes, a welcome change from your tears. god, he so badly wants you to look at him like that all the time. "if so, i'll need to pay you for this. please name your price."

he smiles at your acceptance. "of course i will." he gallantly helps you in your jacket from the rack before swinging on his trench coat easily. he heads for the door, his hand on the knob as he turns to you, a pleased twinkle in his eye. "and don't you worry about a bill at all, love. with company like yours, you'll pay me what i deserve soon enough."

it's cute that you don't have a clue about what he really means.

"i think i'm going to be heading home tomorrow morning, dr. lecter."

your words cause the man to look up at you, a concerned look on his face. "is there something wrong with my hospitality? and i thought i told you to call me hannibal, my dear." his hand reaches for yours over the dining table from his place at the head and you at his left, rubbing your soft skin with his thumb, something you learned he did often absentmindedly.

you shake your head. "no, not at all, you're amazing, dr. lecter—hannibal, sorry." you correct yourself quickly. "in fact, i think i really needed this break, so i'm forever grateful for everything you've done for me and for the priceless friend i've found in you. but...it's time for me to go back and face what i ran away from."

you take a deep breath, unable to look him directly in his striking brown eyes. you've been enjoying your time here for the past week, his signature giving you time off work, his calm company a refreshing change from the angry outbursts you've been dealing with for a while now. you don't know why you've taken so long to finally get some space from your husband. it wasn't something you minded before, comforting the person you loved most every second you're with them, holding their hand every step of the way, soothing them through their tantrums and intense episodes, but now that you've allowed hannibal to convince you to experience things outside of that, allowed him to listen to your true feelings, you realize how tiring it had been to put up that front that you were okay. you got to talk to someone freely without worrying about them exploding into a fit of rage and you got time for yourself when you asked for it. this break has been nothing but pure relief and healing for you. this makes you feel somewhat guilty for running away from the situation, happy when you could've done more to help, which is why you decide to go back.

he's quiet. usually, he always had something witty to say, but uncharacteristically, he just sighs, pressing his lips into a line. you feel a bit of fear seeping into your bones as his thumb rubs faster against your skin. have you hurt his feelings? have you disappointed him? you don't know what to do but wait for him to speak, tension building out of thin air between the two of you like never before.

"...i see." is all he says when he finally opens his mouth. your heart sinks painfully at the neutral yet icy tone he has, something you haven't really heard from him before. the aura and pressure he subtly gives off isn't helpful either.

the ache in your heart from seeing him like this pushes you to talk, wrapping both your hands around his outreached one. "hannibal, i'm really, really sorry, but—"

he releases your hand, moving his away from yours, making a gesture with that same hand. "darling, you don't have to apologize, i understand what you're thinking from our little psychiatrist sessions together. this was going to happen eventually. i'm just...incredibly sad to lose such precious company, you see. don't worry about me too much and eat your food before it gets cold." he picks up his utensils and starts eating as elegantly as ever, appearing as if the news you just dropped didn't affect him at all. the slight tremor of his lips tells you otherwise. guilt clouds your senses, and you just don't know what else to say to make it better. you just tell him thank you for preparing your food and eat morsel by morsel, not feeling very hungry anymore.

after you're done, you quickly excuse yourself to your room and start to pack up before hearing a knock a few minutes later on your door. you open it, looking up at hannibal. he's as respectful as ever, never barging in as your husband did and waiting patiently at the door until you're ready to answer. you shake your head quickly at yourself. you have to stop comparing them. "hey there. did...did you need something?"

he takes your hand in his. "you can't just expect to leave here without doing me a favor as thanks, right?" his tone is playful and inviting, an excited glow in his eyes, wrinkles crinkling.

"oh." you blink. "yeah...sure."

of course. there's no bill, he made that clear everytime you asked him about what you could do in return. still, you'd do him a favor, you'd do anything to repay his kindness that went above and beyond for you. he did so much for you, just as he had promised, and he never ever asked you for a single penny. you hadn't expected him to come to your room and ask such a thing from you.

though, you wonder what it'd be. he seems to have everything and could get anything else he'd want with the money he's earned. his office is fancy and so is his house. he seems to commission suits tailored perfectly to his build. what could he possibly want from you? you wonder some more, staring at his perfectly aged face. you don't have anything to offer except maybe your company, which he made sure you knew he enjoyed very much. you hesitate after the words leave your mouth though. there's something...odd about this, to say the least, since there's nothing that comes to mind at all.

he squeezes again, his thumb moving, reassuring. "you're quite the sweetheart as always," he smiles, "come follow me, at least." he pulls you along gently, going somewhat slow to prevent you from stumbling out of his grip, considerately taking into account your height difference. you just nod, trusting him as you always have.

it's his bedroom. you've never stepped in here before, never having a reason to come here. the blues are pretty on the ceiling, an accent on the rest of the furniture with luxurious white sheets and a fireplace with two grayscale leather chairs. the old-fashioned look carries from the rest of the house to here in the way the lights are designed, emitting a soft white glow. you don't even process the click of the lock behind you as the door swings shut. you're almost in awe at the elegance and yet...how empty it all feels, like a perfect bedroom that's kept too clean, without any visible personal belongings that show off hobbies save for a sketchbook and an accompanying pencil sitting on the nightstand. maybe those things were in his office since the man always seemed to be working on something, but you hadn't noticed much when you were there, too busy crying or just stopping by quickly when dropping your husband off. it all seems like forever ago.

you're snapped out of your thoughts when you find yourself being guided to kneel on the soft patterned carpet, your body following the careful, gentle direction of his large hands, how they caress your chin, tilting your head up in a certain angle. internally, sirens blare red at the strangeness of this situation, but he's so noble and respectful, and you trust him, he’s never done anything against your wishes before, you trust him so so much, he would certainly never—

"mmmph!"

something strangely foreign and hard presses on your lips. it presses with much more force after that, quickly pushing them apart and sliding down in your throat easily thanks to your saliva, making you practically gag around it. any questions you were going to ask are muffled instantly, your coherent thoughts flying away at the surprise. it's long, it's huge, it's incredibly thick, and it feels like it barely fits in your mouth. you try to pull back, shaking your head in protest, only to feel a firm, familiar hand pressing you onto it even moreso from the back of your head, fingers weaving in your hair, forcing it deeper, running over the small bump of a vein as it does. you gag around it again, struggling to breathe through your nose since your other airway is completely occupied, cheeks forced to hollow to accommodate.

you look up to see hannibal smiling down at you, a confident evil oozing from him as he pushes himself so that more of his length is buried in the warm, wet expanse of your mouth and throat, running over your tongue. that same, everyday smile he always wore before you now lays across his upturned lips, the mystery you once found in it replaced by a twisted horror you never wanted to discover in someone you trusted, in someone you admired and cared about as a dear friend, not just because he helped you, but because he was genuinely good company.

betrayal colors your face red in humiliation as you start to question everything about him, about all the time you've spent this past week, but before you can think too deeply, his hips snap forward and he goes deeper. you make a tiny whine in your throat as his tip hits the back, making way for the rest of him. a pleasured sigh leaves his lips as his now lustful gaze lingers upon you. "god, darling, you are deliciously exquisite. you are everything i've ever imagined you to be." he begins to slowly thrust, seemingly deciding on a slower pace to help you get used to his depth, being the considerate man he is.

you want to scream, you want to run back home to your husband into his loving arms, but you can do nothing but continue kneeling, his hands keeping you in place, the dangerous glint in his eyes warning you not to fight back too hard, not to bite. you lurch back and forth and whimper pitifully as his hips roll faster, deeper. you hate how your vision is filled with nothing but him, not even the blue behind him because of how awfully close he is. you don’t even see the tiny camera recording all of this from behind the bookshelf.

helpless tears stream down your cheeks, even more guilt and shame churning at your insides. as confusing as this situation is, even if it isn't by choice, you still have your last wits to put together the bare bones of what's happening in your mind and feel like you're a horrible, horrible cheater. you opt to close your eyes instead, wanting to block out the disgrace of being taken advantage of like this, for trusting him enough to even get close to this position in the first place. instantly, he stops moving and the hand in your hair tightens its grip, and your eyes widen in a sudden flash of pain.

"sweetie, look at me while i fuck your pretty lips." by the way he pants it out, it's an order you'd be wise to follow. "look. at. me." you don't dare to disobey the command, forcing yourself to watch his expressions change as he begins rutting again. you're unable to stop the image of him violating your throat from burning into your brain with him standing tall and proudly above you, your face going close to and far from the fabric of his unzipped pants too quickly.

he smiles amidst his labor breaths, his once neat, parted hair messy and swept from its part due to his energetic thrusting. "that's right, look at me, my love," he drawls smugly, moving his hands so they're on either side of your head, locking you in place, his hips stuttering, then stiling completely again, snapping your attention back to him with a jolt. you haven't realized how many tears have been streaming down your wet cheeks since you-don't-know-when until now, when they run over his hands and make his palms stick even more to your already splotchy skin. "you're doing so well, taking me in your mouth so deeply like a good girl. it makes me so excited for all the other things we can do together," he mumbles, but it's loud enough for you to hear, sending shivers down your body. you hate how much you practically live for his praise, at how much you seek it out subconsciously, and you don’t understand why that is, but it’s all because of the way he calculated every move to mold you, the way he conditioned you over the course of the week with all the right gestures and words. satisfaction paints his face from seeing the desired results of his hard work, but you can't tell, you're too grossed out on the bruised feeling on your lips to focus on the smirk on his.

it's sick, it's twisted, but you find yourself hanging on to every word he says even in this situation, looking up at him through your lashes with a strangely dazed look in your eyes. you feel awful for even wanting this a tiny bit, for even wanting him a little bit, you feel like there's something wrong with you, like something surfacing within you with every syllable that comes from his smooth voice, his accent a familiar texture, like something awful and rooted deep inside making you entranced to the deranged yet calm look in his gaze. what happened to you to make you feel like this? it terrifies you.

"my dear little wife...now about that favor..." your eyes widen at what hannibal calls you, disgusted, even though something inside you likes the endearment. has that been his goal all along? what has he done to get you here? was this not the favor already? you can't fathom it, not with your head practically spinning from so much happening at once, from all the things that have built up til now, not when your mouth is stuffed to the brim with his thickness, not when he's literally anchored your head on it with his strong, wrinkled hands. you can't wrap your head around it, it's too much, you can't understand how fast this all happened, how you're thrown into this situation without explanation, without understanding how you got here in the first place, without knowing what you did wrong to end up like this.

suddenly, he moves back and forth in a quick motion before you can make any kind of protest, ripping you from your thoughts again to center your attention on him again, earning a surprised muffled moan from you, your thighs clamping together instinctively in response.

even with him calculating every move, to you, his constant unpredictability's got you all jumpy and scared of what he'll do next, of what he'll do without hesitation, mercilessly if you stray a single millimeter from whatever he has planned for you. you feel inevitability corrupting your heart, cornering you, dooming you to the monster you finally see he is, the monster who controls you now, the monster who stares at you with depraved love, with gratitude and expectation.

"...show me how grateful you are for me."

author's note: um...might be inaccurate but i tried my best. i never saw nbc hannibal since i'm kind of scared of seeing the gore lmao (if it’s resident evil level, i think it’s okay), but this show and its characters fascinate me and even without watching, i can see why it's so critically acclaimed. the writing and acting is wonderful from all the clips i see and i can't wait to muster the courage to watch it all one day! can't believe it's ten years old. it's a creative masterpiece. hope this can hold even a single candle to such a beloved series. please let me know if the warnings i wrote above are enough. i'm not really used to writing them and i also don't want to reveal too much of the story by putting too-specific tags. also i'm not used to writing smut oof thank you for reading! <3 (if i make enough works, maybe i'll add a masterlist link here.)

[joonberriess]

animal farm. ☆ j.jk + k.th

⋆ TAGS — dark!tae + jk, morals are zero bc it’s the apocalypse, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, TW: non-con to dub-con as oc adapts to survive, captivity, breeding kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampies, pregnant sex, fingering, creepy sleazy!tae, yandere elements, open-ending beware it’s not a good one, angst, death (just the zombies lol), jk’s a hunky daddy, possessive tae and jk, obsession, somnophilia, mentioned abortion, “fuck them kids” - oc, debatable happy ending, misogyny and objectification, outdoor sex(?), thigh fucking, mentioned/hints of body dysmorphia bc oc DOES NOT want to be pregnant

⋆ WORD COUNT — 13.3k

⋆ now playing: animal farm - bibi ⋆

You’re not sure how much time has passed since the outbreak—days, months, years—time was a relatively foreign concept, all that was left was to survive. Didn’t matter what day of the week it was or whether it was night or day, the days were all the same in the end.

The day it happened started like any other day: you woke to a flurry of messages wishing you happy birthday, and you were greeted by the sight of your pup running around in excitement as you prepared for the day. You were going to work a short shift that day (courtesy of your boss) all your co-workers had pitched in to buy you a nice cake from the bakery down the street. Your mom even promised to call you later on given the distance between you and her.

Everything was just as you remembered—a blue sky, people commuting, the sounds of traffic—it was just another regular day. After work you stopped to buy a bottle of wine, too busy chatting with the cashier to notice the storm of police cars, ambulances, and firetrucks passing by. The rest of the way home you listened to music, blissfully unaware of the nearby fires and rising smoky black skies.

Night came, prepared a delicious pasta and served a rather large serving of wine. Your dog sat by the front door the entire time, posture stiff and tail straight as he stared at seemingly nothing. That should have been the first sign.. After setting the pasta aside to cool your phone rang and you smiled. “Mom-”

“Listen to me,” she sounded desperate, “do NOT go outside, no matter what you hear or see y/n, STAY INSIDE.” She bites out in a fearful tone, “Your father and I are going to try and head over there, for the love of God please stay inside.”

“Mom, what's happening? Is everything okay? Are you and dad oka-” Suddenly the sound of a nearby building blowing up makes you jump. Your apartment rattles and you lose your balance, falling over as the phone slides away from you, “Mom?!” You scramble to your feet and run to the windows, yanking them all the way back to reveal the chaos unfolding..

The world around you is in flames, people are running and cars are being crashed or abandoned. You see helicopters storming the sky all around, endless police cars are scattered below your apartment and you hear the sounds of gunshots from every direction. Your eyes widen in horror as a plane comes crashing down somewhere downtown, and then more screams erupt alongside a few rather..inhuman sounds.

“y/n?! y/n?!” You snap your attention back to the fallen phone.

“M-Mom?” You crouch down and pick up the phone, “What’s happening?” You tearfully whisper. You hear the same chaos unfolding on the other side of the line, your dad is yelling something in the background while your mom tries to tell you a bunch of things all at once.

“Oh my sweet girl,” she softly whispers in a wobbly tone, “we love you so much, never forget that.” You hear a gunshot and your dad yelling some more, “Get to your uncle,” she cuts off by a loud screeching noise, “we’ll meet you there—!” She gasps as the screeching turns into animalistic noises, “Never forget—we love you.” The line cuts dead. You stand there in complete silence with an endless flow of tears streaming down your face.

The wine and pasta sat cold all night, then the night after that, and after that. If you were to go back there you’d probably see what was left of your apartment, most likely scavenged and destroyed by either survivors or whatever the hell those things were.

And to think that it had been just another random day..

You never did get to see your parents. You wondered if they died on their way to the farm or if they never stood a chance leaving in the first place. You like to believe they’re out there somewhere safe, that they found refuge with other groups far away from chaos. Like your father had once said: you keep finding something to fight for.

And that’s what you intended.

+

“Dammit.” You whispered under your breath while pushing through the endless shrubs and tree branches in your way.

By now every city was covered from head to toe in vines and other plant life. Apart from the obvious decay everything would have looked normal if it weren’t for the fact that there was a darkness lingering in the shadows. Cars, bikes, and trucks were scattered around, sitting as a reminder of the way things were once. It played like a bittersweet memory in the back of your mind as you pushed forward.

You brushed your hands over the front of your shorts and looked around the area. It was quiet all around with the only sounds being the wind blowing the overgrown grass all around. You had finally made it to Daegu after walking for two months straight. Your body ached and you were sure your feet had blisters from all the walking (occasional running) you did.

A few times (more than you would like to admit) you reached a breaking point where you wanted nothing more than to give up and go back to your uncle’s farm. Yet somehow some-way you would regain your strength and keep pushing—for family. It’s how you ended up all the way down in Daegu, just another month or two (maybe three) away from Busan.

You were far too deep to stop now.

You uncapped your water jug and took greedy sips as the water ran down your chin and throat. “That’s better.” You murmur softly as your parched throat absorbs every last drop of the water. You take a second to sit down on a nearby rock to bring your map out.

“Okay.. If I’m here,” you trail off while running your finger over the lines of the map, “then that means I go this way..and turn here to—” You immerse yourself in your own thoughts, ignoring the sound of your stomach growling. You shift from side to side, ignoring the heavy weight of your shotgun tucked away in your backpack, sticking out like a sore thumb.

So far you didn’t need to use the gun (yet), your encounters with those unruly beasts were minimal since they had taken to hiding in buildings. Crazed survivors were unlikely, most were hidden away too and if they were out you simply snuck past them until you felt like you could breathe again. You’d say you were doing a pretty damn good job at conserving your ammo etc.

“Alright,” you sigh heavily and put your map away, “up I go.” You mumble and start heading down the grassy street, just looking all over the area. You always did want to visit Daegu, guess it was your lucky day.

The street comes to a dead end as you stop in front of two tilted buildings crashed into each other with endless rubble surrounding the area. “Just my luck,” you groan out, seeing as there isn’t another option as you hop up the rubble, making your way into the dark desolate building.

With every step you take your heart begins beating faster, chances that those things are swarming the building are high. Your heart drops even more when you realize that the only way out that was straight ahead of you is blocked off by debris. You stop in the middle of the room, looking up as you inhale deeply.

“Only way out is going up then..” You mutter and grab your flashlight.

Everything is silent around you save for the drops of water hitting the ground and echoing off the empty halls. You work your way around the decaying bodies and thrown furniture surrounding the halls. Finding another way out of the building was something you had not planned on doing, but it seemed like you were going to have to get to higher ground to scope the surroundings out for an exit.

“Ah-ha,” you light up when you realize this building has balconies. A triumphant smile forms on your lips as you head up a small flight of stairs to reach the next floor where the balconies were located. You kept a close eye and ear out for any strange movements, you weren’t alone after all.

As you move to step over a piece of debris, suddenly a large part of the ground rumbles before breaking off and falling through the second floor. Your entire body goes still. You begin breathing heavily as you shakily reach for the shotgun in your backpack. Seconds of silence pass, you stand there with the shotgun in your hands and your face twisted in fear.

Nothing happens until you hear it..

A low faint croaking sound—click, click, click—there’s soft thuds as the creature moves around, getting closer and closer. You’re too scared to turn around or even make a sound. The floor behind you creaks and the creature gets closer, idly squeaking and croaking. Your only mistake is letting out a fearful breath, because suddenly the creature stops and screeches loudly, lunging at you at full speed.

You take off down the hall, pushing past the stone and rubble with the damned thing hot on your heels. Right as you think it’s about to snatch you right up with its bubbly deteriorating arms, an arm lunges out and yanks you into a room pressing you right up against the wall. You flinch violently and stare at the mysterious person in front of you, you can’t help but tremble as you open your mouth.

The stranger gives you a pointed look, slamming his hand over your mouth as he presses himself tight against you, “If you don’t wanna end up dead just sit the fuck still and be quiet,” he harshly whispers while looking out the corner of his eye to see if the creature is still after you.

Your grip on your shotgun loosens, you both stare at each other in silence as the creature stops outside of the room, croaking as it looks for you. When the thing comes close by the open doorway you squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath. It doesn’t go away for another few minutes, when it does it ventures into another room across the hall, its noises slowly fading away until it’s fully gone.

The guy lifts a finger over his mouth and softly makes a “shh” sound. You nod slowly and he slowly lifts his hand off, “Follow me,” he quietly mutters and grabs your hand. You don’t even struggle as he leads you far away from the room, and out some doors that lead to a fire escape. “Careful, the metals all worn out. Don’t need you fallin’ on me.” He says as he begins climbing down.

You stand there quietly trying to think if it’s a good idea to follow this guy. Probably not but you were the one with the gun here, not him. “You coming or what?” He says in annoyance, already halfway down the ladders.

You snap out of it and quickly follow, “Yeah, yeah.” You softly whisper.

When you reach the last set of ladders the stranger is already waiting for you down on the ground, he watches you silently with no expression on his face. “C’mere,” he holds his arms out, “I’ll catch you.” You shouldn’t be so trusting but for some reason you just let yourself fall into his arms. A quiet yelp escapes your lips as you curl into yourself out of fear, “Relax, scary part’s over.” He lets out a deep chuckle.

“T-Thank you,” you mutter, still shaken up over the incident, “I really appreciate what you did back there, I haven’t seen those things since this entire thing started. I guess I wasn’t so prepared to go against one up close like that,” you mutter while kicking a rock around.

He shrugs, “I don’t think anyone can ever be prepared to face off against one of those things.” He sighs while looking around, “You got somewhere you gotta be or you just like wandering into abandoned buildings in your free time?” He shoves his hands into his pockets, a small grin grazing his lips.

It’s not the best idea to ever tell a stranger where you’re going especially given the situation the entire world is in. “I was just trying to scavenge,” you finally say after a few seconds, “I was running out of a few things so I decided to get some air while I was out.” You can’t keep eye contact with him for the love of your own life. His gaze is pretty intense and he seemed like the type of person who kept eye contact throughout an entire conversation.

“Ah,” he nods, “I was too, but then I heard the commotion and decided to see what was up, and you were there.” He chuckles, “Kim Taehyung.” He holds his hand out.

“y/n.” You reply softly and take his much bigger hand into yours, “Well, I think I’ll be going now. Can’t keep my group waiting.” You trail off nervously when his grip tightens instead of letting you go, “Um, Taehyung..? My hand?” You whisper out.

Taehyung hums, “It’s getting pretty late isn’t it? Sun down is around the corner and well, it doesn’t seem pretty ideal to walk around all by yourself in the dark now is it?” He tilts his head.

He’s right, you can see the sun start to set slowly and the world around you is painted in a dark orange-yellow hue. Your little lie wasn’t going to keep up much longer if he decides to walk you to your “group”. You nod slowly, “Yeah.. I guess so.” You rub the side of your arm as a chilly breeze sweeps over the both of you.

“Wanna come back with me to my place? Not far, just a ten minute walk from here, even got working water and electricity.” You perk up at the last two things which ends up making him laugh, “Yeah I know, you’ll see what I mean.” He begins pulling you along with him, hand wrapped tightly around your wrist.

“I wouldn’t wanna intrude or anything,” you quickly say, ��I can just go back to my group, ‘s not a problem really.” You wince a little when his grip begins to become painful.

Taehyung shakes his head, “ ‘s not safe out here at night, just stop being stubborn will you? You looked ready to give up back there with just one of those things, now imagine dozens?” He chuckles humorlessly with his head still turned away, you sigh quietly and go limp finding it no use to fight back because he clearly wasn’t going to let you go which in itself looked like an entire red flag.

He leads you to another building, you notice the slight change in temperature when you walk into the darkened lobby, it’s slightly warmer.. “How did you get the electricity to work?” You wonder out loud while looking around.

“Turns out the power generator wasn’t completely ruined, wasn’t very hard to get it going again and well, now we have working water and electricity.” He shrugs while guiding you down the hall and stopping in front of a door.

You frown in confusion, “We?” You tilt your head, “There’s someone else?” Oh this wasn’t what you were expecting, now you had to stay alert for not only Taehyung but his fucking friend too.

“Yeah, Jungkook.” He says like nothing while punching in the keycode, “He’s one of the guys I met when this all happened, we stayed together—no not like that,” he chuckles, “he’s a good friend of mine.” He gives you a bright smile before pushing the door open.

You’re hit with warmth and light, the entire room is lit up and you can smell something cooking in the kitchen. This makes you reminisce about the past when you would be coming home after a long day at work, cooking something up and unwinding with your pup on the couch. Your heart twists bitterly as you clutch your backpack closer, you hear noises come from the kitchen and you turn your head in alarm.

“Relax, that’s Jungkook.” Taehyung chuckles as he guides you into the living room with his hands over your shoulders, “Jungkook, this is y/n and y/n, Jungkook.” He cheerfully introduces you two like you’re longtime friends or something, “I saved her from a clicker just now.” He briefly says to Jungkook.

Jungkook gives you one good look, dark eyes trailing over you before he turns his back, “You guys hungry?” He breaks the tension in the room, it has you sagging in relief that he wasn’t rude or didn’t see you as a threat. “She looks like she’s seen better days, don’t be fucking rude Tae let her shower n shit the food is almost ready anyways.” He comments while shaking some spices into the food he was making.

“Oh shit, forgot about that. C’mere, bathroom’s this way.” Taehyung pushes you down another hall, “Hot water n everything so go crazy. Clean towel’s there, and you’re welcome to help yourself to anything in there. I have some extra razors, don’t know if you’d need them or anything I don’t know but yeah.” He smiles, “See you when you’re done.” He leaves after that.

You stand in the bathroom quietly for a few seconds, you don’t like the ugly little feeling you get in your tummy from being around these guys. You’re grateful and all but you can’t help the distrusting feeling you get. With a heavy sigh you set your things down and begin undressing out of your clothes. The water feels so amazing against your sore muscles, you stand under the shower just basking in the luxury of hot water with your eyes closed.

Cleanup goes fairly quickly, you helped yourself to one of the razors Taehyung mentioned to you and took your time in scrubbing the dirt and grime off of your body. Now that you think about it, it made sense earlier as to why Taehyung didn’t look dirty or anything. This explains a whooolleeee lot now.

“Hey y/n,” Taehyung calls out as the door opens, “Came to give you something.” He says like it’s no big deal at all while he enters the bathroom.

“T-Taehyung..!” You gasp in shock, throwing yourself into the corner of the shower while staring at the curtains in terror, “Whatever it is, can you just please drop it somewhere! Kinda not in the best situation right now,” you clutch the loofah close.

Taehyung laughs, “Calm down, I just came to give you an extra pair of clothes. Yours are kinda worn down no offense, it wouldn’t make sense to re-dress in nasty clothes after cleaning yourself now would it?” He says as he moves around the bathroom.

“Thanks..but um..can you…?” You trail off.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he breathily chuckles, “Jungkook says the food’s ready, see you out there.” He heads out. You wait for him to close the door but when you hear no sound you peek your head out of the corner of the curtain, “My bad,” Taehyung holds up your tattered clothes, “kinda cute that they got little bears all over them.” He motions to your underwear.

Your face heats up in embarrassment, “Stop looking!”

“I will!” Taehyung lets the door slip shut, his laughter fading as he disappears down the hall. You sigh in relief and let your back hit the wall, what the hell was even that? You were definitely going to be leaving ASAP with the way Taehyung seemed to lack boundaries with literally ANYTHING. First he was touchy and now he’s looking at your underwear shamelessly? That was a no-go.

“I swear I locked it..” You mutter while washing your hair.

After your hot shower you slip out and dry yourself with the towel, you were curious to see what clothes he brought you. You notice it’s a large black shirt and a pair of boxers sitting neatly folded on the counter. Better than nothing you guessed while dropping the towel and dressing yourself. The boxers fit like oversized shorts on you which you’re pretty glad for.

Your heart drops when you see that your backpack isn’t there anymore. A lot of things seem to be running through your mind all at once, was this the end? Were you going to die now? All because of a hot shower?

“Oh there you are,” Jungkook comments when you walk into the same room from before, he notices your panicked state and chuckles, “relax, Tae put your things over there by the door. He put your clothes to wash too.” He nods his head in the direction of the laundry room, “You hungry?” He holds up a bowl of hot food.

“Thank you..” You softly whisper while going over to sit at the table, your mouth waters at the sight of hot food, another luxury you couldn’t afford in this world after leaving your uncle’s home to go to Busan.

Jungkook eyes you appreciatively in his clothes as he sets the food down in front of you, “Glad to see they fit.” He comments, “You can start eating by the way, Tae’s gonna shower so it’ll be just us two til he gets back.” He lazily shrugs while sitting across from you.

He set out an array of side dishes like rice, kimchi, wood ear mushrooms and other stuff that looks really tasty. The two of you eat in silence with Jungkook humming occasionally at the taste or something like that. You don’t really want to talk much either so you’re grateful for the quietness between the two of you. The food is really amazing too, it fills your ravenous hunger you’ve had for the past week since running out of granola bars.

“So,” Jungkook leans back in his chair, “Tae says you’re a part of a group huh?” He tilts his head, “Kinda explains the shot gun n shit. Loads of ammo too.” He picks up a piece of meat and shoves it into his mouth.

“Yeah..” You mumble, “I was just scavenging, had to cross through the building n yeah that’s how me and Tae ran into each other—or more like him saving me.”

Jungkook nods, “Okay… so why don’t you tell me the real truth? No bullshitting either sweetheart, we’ve been here for how many years and never have we ever seen or heard of a group past that building or on our side.” He smirks, “C’mon, tell me. I don’t bite.”

You stare at him in awe and realization that you’ve been caught, “Fuck okay,” you sigh heavily, “Originally I was staying with my uncle in the outskirts of Suwon after the whole apocalypse happened, for years now I’ve been believing my parents are still alive and out there, problem is out there is literally all the way down in Busan,” you see him perk up at the mention of Busan, “so I’ve been walking ever since trying to get there to find them, they’re farmers, if they’re out there they’re probably still in the old farmhouse I grew up in.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” he nods, “I’m fuckin’ impressed you made it this far, shit not even me who was stranded Ulsan when this all happened.” He shakes his head, “Guess we all got something that keeps up goin’ huh.” He leans back in his chair with a hum.

You stare down at your food, “Yeah..” You whisper softly.

The silence is broken when Taehyung comes out of the hall, towel in his hair and a pair of low hanging sweats clinging over his hips as he whistles, “Looks good,” he says to Jungkook while taking a seat next to him, it’s only then you fully see that he’s not wearing a shirt at all. You turn your head slightly in embarrassment as Taehyung laughs, “What? Something on my face?”

“No you idiot, obviously someone you fucking just met wouldn’t wanna see you half naked ‘n shit you pervert.” Jungkook elbows his friend.

“I’m not though,” Taehyung snorts, “I’m sure she’s seen worse than this,” he shoots you a wink to which you hunch your shoulders together sheepishly.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, “So did basic etiquette also fly out the window when the apocalypse happened or what?” Taehyung doesn’t reply anything because he’s too busy stuffing his face, Jungkook’s eyes land back on you and he sits up, “You look sleepy, you can take my room if you want I’ll sleep here,” he nods, “and before you panic I’ll take your backpack to you too.” He smirks.

You slump in your seat with a sigh, “Thanks..”

“No need.” Jungkook curtly replies and gets up as he brings your backpack over, “Follow me.” He treads down the hall with your things flung over his broad shoulder.

“G’Night pretty,” Taehyung grins with a wicked glint in his eyes as he looks at you up and down, “very fuckin’ pretty..” He chuckles quietly and goes back to eating.

You shiver, and not in the good way either. You follow Jungkook into another room, he’s already setting your things down and bringing out pillows, “I usually sleep without one but here’s some I had in my closet,” he sets them down, “not that there’s much to steal but please don’t take my shit. I trust you.” He gives you a firm pat, squeezing your waist as he slips by you.

“Thank..you..?” You turn to watch him.

“Yeah, yeah no funny business. Night sweetheart.” He lets the door slip shut quietly.

The first thing you do is lock it, making sure the door is jammed before you take one of his chairs he had and press it right up against the knob. When you feel like no one can enter you finally slip into the comfy bed, groaning in relief as your sore body slumps into the sheets. It’s been so long since you’ve had a proper bed to lay in. You roll around before curling over a pillow and hugging it tight to your chest.

Your tired eyes slip shut and you fall asleep comfortably for the first time in ages.

+

You pry your eyes open when a beam of sunlight hits you across your face. At first you’re confused and disoriented but then everything that happened to you yesterday comes down as you recap quickly. You slowly sit up with a loud yawn, looking around the room in daze. Everything is as you left it, and the chair is still propped up against the door.

“Time is it..” You mutter and look around. You find a clock on the wall and squint your eyes to read the time. “Oh,” it’s noon. You shuffle out of bed despite your limbs protesting as you look around for your things, you had an extra change of clothes in your backpack anyways so getting your old clothes was not a issue.

The weather as of lately has been pretty bipolar, hot or breezy so you never knew what to expect. You figured it was springtime anyways. You dressed in a loose white flower printed camisole, another pair of brown shorts over black tights and managed to slip your boots back on.

“Alright,” you bring out your map and check the streets etc, “took me here..so now we go this way,” you mutter quietly while reading the map. You had made sure to catch the name of the building before entering last night. That way it would be easier when leaving. “Okay.” You smile and fold the map back up.

You step out of the room with your belongings on your back, treading down the hall quietly as you come across Taehyung and Jungkook setting the table, “Oh you’re awake.” Jungkook says as his eyes drop to your hands where you’re clutching the straps of your backpack.

Taehyung pauses and turns to look too, “Oh…” He trails off, visibly upset that you’re already going. “ ‘s pretty dangerous out there.” He comments with a blank look.

“I’ll find a way.” You reply curtly, “I appreciate you guys letting me stay the night but I really have to go now. Thank you.” You bow in appreciation, Jungkook doesn’t say anything and instead Taehyung makes his way over to stand in front of you.

“At least stay for breakfast yeah? C’mon there’s no harm in that.” Taehyung pleads while setting a bowl down on the table, “Plus, why would you even wanna go? Those things are still out there, they’ll tear you apart the first chance they get. Just stay, yeah?” It’s no longer, stay for breakfast, rather Taehyung is now openly begging you to stay.

Your breath hitches when you see his hand come up to touch your shoulder, you jerk away and take a step back, “I’m leaving Taehyung, thank you from the bottom of my heart but I’ll be fine.” You say firmly while stepping past him.

Jungkook calmly stands there with his arms over his chest, he looks down at you and hums, “You’re not leaving sweetheart,” he calmly says, “why don’t you get that backpack off and sit down so we can all eat together.”

When it becomes apparent they have no intention of letting you leave you snap, “Get away from me!” You shove Jungkook as hard as you possibly can, watching him stumble out of shock as you duck past him and slam the front door open.

“y/n get back here!” Taehyung yells out.

You don’t waste another second and run down to the exit, kicking the door open and heading down the street towards the way you were supposed to go. Adrenaline kicks in like never before as you whip your head back occasionally to see if they’re following. You’re pretty far when you notice Jungkook and Taehyung exiting out the building looking both ways before they see you and start running.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” You whisper while jumping over fallen things and rocks.

They’re yelling a bunch of shit that you don’t care about, your main focus is to get the hell away from them. You duck into a building, taking note that it’s a mall as you manage to run up the escalator. “She went in here!” Taehyung says not far behind.

You hear their heavy footsteps as they run up the steps too. You see a rack sitting there so you throw it down and keep pushing forward. Jungkook curses loudly while he and Tae push through the mess on the ground. You see a clothing shop with a half-closed metal overhead door as you fall to the ground and slip under it to the other side.

The crawlspace was small enough for you, you’re confident Taehyung and Jungkook were going to have to pry it open (if they even could) to follow you. “Shit,” you hear Taehyung, “she went through here.”

“Move.” Jungkook reaches to yank at the door.

Your eyes widen in horror when you hear the door creak, showing signs that it would in fact be opening up more. You run to the back of the store, barreling in as you look around for a exit only to find that you’re in a simple storage room. There was no other exit, the mall in fact must not even have those backroom exits.

Your eyes tear up as you shakily back up into the wall with no other choice but to bring out your shotgun and aim it at the door. You hear nothing but your fast breathing and pounding heart in your ears. Any moment now… Your finger curled over the trigger as you bounced your knee in anticipation.

A beat passes before the door suddenly slams open, hitting the wall full force as Jungkook comes barreling in. You jump in absolute fear, aiming blindly as you pull the trigger. “Oh shit!” Taehyung yells, he doesn’t bother entering the room at first as he ducks to the side of the doorway after the bullet grazes the wall next to the doorway.

Jungkook yells something you can’t really make out through the ringing in your ears from the deafening noise. He wrestles the shotgun out of your hands, tossing it to the corner far away from you both. “Hey, hey,” he loudly curses, “calm down will you?!” He grunts.

Taehyung slips into the room and comes over to pin you down, “Shh, shh, we’re here now y/n,” he says as he leans down to nose along your shoulder and neck, “ ‘s safe with us.” He whispers in his deep baritone voice.

The fear combined with the stress (and adrenaline) of the situation sends you into a full blown panic attack. Your vision begins getting spotty and you feel like you’re on the verge of passing out. Probably from how malnourished you were given that the past few weeks you’ve been surviving on one granola bar every week.

You yell and twist around, loud sobs pouring from your lips as you thrash endlessly. “N-No! Please! Let me go,” you hiccup through your tears, “stop it,” the fight begins slowly draining out of you. They coo and murmur deceivingly sweet things in your ear, their hands roam all over your body while you lay there limp. “P..lease..” You quietly plead one last time before the world around you begins to fade.

“I’ve got you baby, don’t you worry. Never gonna let you outta my sight,” Taehyung whispers, “....s.afe..with us.” You manage to hear right before losing consciousness.

+

5 months later..

Everyday waking up felt more like a chore and the only time you ever found yourself looking forward to something was going to sleep. Sleeping was like some sort of escape from reality where you would find yourself dreaming of the day you reunite with your parents. Another dream you frequently had was you being back at your uncle’s farm living day by day in utter peace surrounded by the people you loved.

It was a pretty memory that would be ruined the moment you woke up to find either Taehyung or Jungkook over you.

They were like animals, they had no self control and acted like a bunch of hormonal teens around you. Taehyung especially, he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off nor his pants on. You lost track of the days inbetween sleeping or them fucking you like no tommorrow. Waking up sore between your legs or with cum dripping from your gaping pussy was a familiar feeling.

Taehyung was the more shameless one between the two. He’d fuck you almost every chance he got with his hands never straying from your body for more than two minutes whenever he was around you. He kept you chained in his room by the ankle on his bed wearing nothing but his shirt and those bear printed panties you came to hate. They were ruined the minute he’d lay with you, hand stuffed deep inside and his long slender fingers buried knuckle deep in your soaked pussy.

You hated that your body responded very well to his touches, hell you’d even slick up to the sound of him entering the room with the amount of times he fucked you or had his hands on you. Taehyung’s mouth was even filthier with the amount of shit he said in that husky tone whenever he had you pinned under him—knees pressed to your shoulders as he folded you in half and punched his cock deep inside your bruised cunt.

“Just needed a cock in you pretty, didn’t you,” he’d whisper while grinding his hips in slow circles with his cock rubbing up against every crevice of your pussy, his balls pressed tight against your ass as low squelching noises filled the quiet bedroom.

Jungkook was used to the sounds of the headboard banging or bed creaking against the wooden floor. He’d lay awake in his own room with a hand wrapped tight against his cock while he listened to you cry and mewl in pleasure. Other times he’d walk into the room just to see Taehyung balls deep in you with your legs spread wide and a string of white creaminess sticking to Taehyung’s pelvis and cock whenever he pulled out of your messy pussy.

At the moment you were curled into your side, balling up under the warm sheets as you tried to find more sleep. After a few more minutes of tossing and turning you begrudgingly accepted that you weren’t going to be getting any more sleep. Your puffy eyes cracked open as you stared over at the window. The curtains were closed but from the tiny corner you could see that it was night time already.

Taehyung and Jungkook had yet to come back, they said something about getting some things they needed from the mall. A tiny part of you wished they wouldn’t come back though. Maybe they’d be ambushed by those things and eaten alive (your biggest fantasy was them getting their cocks ripped off for what they’ve done to you). You could only dream, you sigh wistfully.

You sit up in bed and look around the dark room, there’s nothing much to do so you end up doodling in your sketchbook for a bit before laying back down just dreading the arrival of your captors. They get back around midnight, a little over an hour after you had woken up. Your eyes are slipped shut as you try to fall back asleep, and right when your body and mind both shut down the door is opened.

Taehyung comes in silently, humming under his breath as he sets some bags down on the ground. You don’t pay much attention, just curling into yourself with closed eyes while he goes about with whatever the hell he’s doing. The sound of Taehyung unbuckling his belt is enough to have your pussy throbbing, already slicking up for what’s about to come. He shuffles around and slips his shirt off, and then his pants.

The bed dips low and creaks under his weight when he climbs in next to you. You squeeze your eyes tight and try to breathe normally. Taehyung’s hand falls on your thigh and rubs over the soft skin slowly, each time going higher and higher until he’s playing with the waistband of your underwear. Your skin prickles all over with goosebumps as he quietly laughs under his breath.

“Look so pretty like this,” he mumbles while leaning in to hide his face in your neck, “bet your little pussy’s all wet for me too..” He dips his fingers in and slides them through your chubby folds, “Fuckin’ soaked—got you waiting for this cock huh?” He circles his fingers over your wet clit, “C’mon pretty, open up for me. Know you’re awake,” he rasps out and rubs faster.

You breathily sigh and fall into the bed pliantly while he plays with your clit between his long slender fingers. Taehyung slips his fingers between your dewy sticky folds, going right over your greedy hole. It clenches around nothing and you wait with a bated breath for him to slip them inside.

“Hear that baby?” Taehyung whispers as his lips slide over your neck and suck on a particular spot, “Messy little thing you are,” he comments while pressing his crotch over your ass and letting you feel the hard print of his swelling cock from inside his boxers, “don’t worry though—not gonna be empty for long, gonna fill you up and give it to you real good pretty.” He rasps out.

He rolls his hips in the tiniest of circles, letting out deep sighs and grunts while he plays with your pussy with one hand and the other grips your ass cheek. He squeezes the doughy cheek and pulls it apart to expose your puckered hole, “Gonna fuck you here too one day,” he rolls his hips more insistently, “gonna make all your pretty holes mine.”

You bite back a mewl when his thumb flicks over your clit in rapid sweeping motions, it has you grinding into his hand and simultaneously pushing back on his hard cock. You feel it slot between your cheeks—hot and throbbing—as it slides over the rim of your asshole. You weakly clench down on nothing, pussy pathetically spewing more slick and dribbling between your silky folds.

“One day,” he mutters, “not now.” Taehyung reaches up to steady you by the hip. You hear shuffling in the back as Taehyung kicks his boxers off, letting the dampened material fall to the ground. His hands are on you in a heartbeat, he racks the oversized shirt you’re wearing up around your waist and tugs at your panties with two fingers. “Open a little wider for me pretty—there you go, that’s it.” He purrs.

Taehyung wraps a hand around the back of your knee and holds it up as he lifts your leg into the air. You bite your lip and turn your face into the pillow to hide in, “Keep it up here for me,” he murmurs while letting go.

You can hear him fist his cock from behind you as he takes his cock and slaps it over your folds repeatedly. “Fuck,” he sighs almost dreamily while positioning the mushroomy tip at your clenched hole, “relax n let me in baby, good girl.” He murmurs while kicking his hips forward and pushing his cock into you.

Your lips part in a small ‘o’, no noise escaping as he fills you inch for inch with his heavy fat cock. This spooning position does nothing but make you aware just how big his cock is, you feel fucking stuffed and full of him with the rim of your pussy stretching a bit painfully to accommodate him. Taehyung releases a low growl and shoves himself into you impatiently. His hips smack against your ass with a loud squelch.

“Shit…” He sighs out like he’s relieved to be buried deep inside you, he shifts around and presses himself closer to you. You feel him drape himself over your back with his face buried in the junction of your neck and shoulder. He breathes your scent in and moans quietly while circling his hips slowly, cock shifting from side to side inside of you.

“God you feel so good,” he whispers as his hand grips your hip tight, “don’t think I’ll ever get used to fuckin’ this pussy.” He moans once more and presses in.

You double over and fist the pillow you’re laying on tightly, you can feel his hot thick balls press snug against your ass with each grind and thrust. Taehyung’s busy sucking marks into the back of your neck, he rolls his hips smoothly and occasionally bottoms out and presses into you deeply. His cock reemerges drenched in copious amounts of slick, the noise it makes is filthy as he pushes in deep.

“Shit, like that.” He moves faster, humping into you in quick little rolls as your cheeks smack against his pelvis repeatedly.

Your mouth opens and you quietly pant into the hot pillow, ears burning when you hear the squelching and the sound of his balls connecting to your ass from where they swing. Taehyung moans into your ear and slips his hand down your front to spread your pussy apart in a ‘V’ shape, “C’mon baby, play with yourself.” He huffs.

Most likely if you don’t do it he will so you slip your hand down and circle your clit with your fingers. You rub in circular motions, matching the speed of his thrusts. You can’t help the strangled moan that you let out because he pairs this with perfectly aimed thrusts, cockhead brushing over your g-spot repeatedly. The noises you held in begin spilling from your lips, you whimper and whine quietly while laying three fingers over your clit and rubbing side to side quickly.

“You gonna cum baby?” Taehyung gasps, “Can feel you getting tighter,” he grunts while smacking his hips into yours harder.

You throw your head back on his shoulder and gasp loudly when his cock bumps into your cervix. It hurts but the pain blends easily with the pleasure. Taehyung digs his fingernails into your side and tightly holds on to you while fucking into your pussy harshly. The slapping noises fill the entire room, the sheets shift and the bed rocks into the wall from the force of his thrusts.

“W-Wait,” you gasp breathlessly while your pussy squeezes tight, “fuck—Tae-hyung..!” A garbled cry escapes your lips as your pussy floods wetly, you cum with a high pitched cry while burying your face into his pillow—body shaking like a newborn lamb.

Taehyung hisses and quickly rolls his hips, driving his swollen cock into you over and over again like it’s the last time. He lands a tiny slap over your pussy causing you to cry out in oversensitivity. “Oh shit,” he gasps and slams into you three times before coming to a stop and riding the rest of his orgasm out with tiny grinds. He milks his cock out with a long sigh, pressing in to make sure none of it slips out.

You’re left laying there panting harshly while he warms his cock with your cunt. Only when his cock softens does he let it slip out with a nasty squelch. You can feel a sticky trail of slick and cum bubble between your folds, a small string still connected to his flaccid cock. “So messy,” he mutters while rolling out of bed to bring back a towel.

You stare at the wall with disoriented eyes and a wet ass/pussy.

The very next morning over breakfast Taehyung tells you about a surprise he has for you. You’re suspicious as hell but go along with it and wait patiently for him to give you his “gift”. Nothing good ever comes from him so you’re pretty sure this gift is something more for them than it is for you. When he pulls it out you mentally sigh, proven right.

“Aren’t these pretty?” Taehyung grins while showing off the pretty dresses, “I found ‘em in that store from last time and thought they’d look good on you.” He licks his lips, “Try ‘em on.” He’s not asking, he’s telling you.

You begrudgingly change into one, noting how short it is given that it ends right under your ass. You stand there and let out a deep sigh, “This is the worst..” You mutter while fixing the straps.

“You comin’ out yet pretty?” Taehyung calls out.

“Fucking hell, can’t you wait.” You angrily tug the dress down and unlock the door, “I’m going.” You roll your eyes and walk out of the hallway and to them.

Their eyes naturally shift lower, staring shamelessly as they lick their lips hungrily. “Fits like a glove.” Jungkook nods, “Do a little spin for me sweetheart,” he sits back and man spreads on the couch, “slowly.” His eyes drop down to your exposed thighs.

You slowly turn in a circle stopping when they ask you to. Taehyung whistles lowly while Jungkook hums in appreciation, “Maybe these pretty little dresses are the only thing you should wear around the house, makes you look like a pretty little housewife.” He chuckles.

“She does, doesn't she? If it were up to me she’d be my little housewife walking around with nothin’ underneath leaking with cum and a pussy stuffed full.” Taehyung’s eyes stay glued to your tits where they push against the dress, smushed together from how tight that area was.

“Pretty little thing was made for it.” Jungkook nods with a low hum. You’ve never felt less human.

That night, Jungkook brings you to his room and has you slip on another one of the dresses Taehyung got you. Except this one literally leaves your entire ass hanging out no matter how much you tug on it. It’s a silky dress embroidered with lace and frills, you know you’re not going to stand a chance. He’s already looking at you like he wants to eat you, he lays there with an arm behind his head on the bed, just ogling you in appreciation as you change.

It’s over the moment you turn around. Jungkook quite literally throws you on the bed and pins you down under his hard, heavy body. He wastes no time in pushing the dress up and pinning you with your knees touching your shoulders. His pace is frantic and hard, thighs smacking and balls smacking into you as he fucks like a madman.

The bed violently hits the wall and creaks loudly under the weight of you two. He really has you crying and screaming in pleasure from how rough he was with you. His own grunts and moans rising in volume to match yours. He fucks orgasm after orgasm out of you, each time hurting a little more from how sensitive you were. Your cunt’s rubbed raw, glistening with precum mixed with your slick as a ring of white forms around the base of Jungkook’s cock. Some of his creamy cum drips down between your ass cheeks and on to the rim of your puckered hole. It splatters a little when his balls collide with your ass, staining both him and the bed sheets.

The room’s hot, it stinks with sex as Jungkook fucks you over and over again on the bed. You mewl shakily and kick your dangling feet in the air when he rolls you two over the edge of the bed, your head hangs as he buries himself deep in your pussy and grinds in quick motions. Jungkook has either arm beside your head, caging you in as he watches your expressions with hooded eyes.

“Fuck.” Jungkook bites his lip and moves faster, “Look so goddamn perfect, gonna have this little cunt bred by the end of the night. You’d like that wouldn’t you baby—to be stuffed with my cum dripping?” He breathlessly asks, brow pinched in concentration as he rolls his hips.

When you don’t answer he lands a smack across your ass, tightly squeezing it in his hand afterwards. You mewl quietly and nod, “Answer me baby, wanna hear it from your sweet little lips.” He growls and lands another smack.

You hiccup and sob softly, “Y-Yes..! W-Wanna you to fill me up.” Your toes curl as you shudder when his cock hits your g-spot. All this movement and your head hanging quickly has you recoiling in dizziness as he jostles you.

Jungkook moves his hands and falls into you with your chest pressed to his. He wraps his hands around both of your ass cheeks and grips them tightly while pumping his cock in and out of you. Your thighs tremble in anticipation, cunt greedily swallowing him as low wet smacking noises begin to grow louder.

“Gonna cum sweetheart,” he rasps out with sweat dripping from his brow, “shit—so fuckin’ tight.” He shudders while leaning into you.

Your arms shakily wrap around his shoulders as you hug him tightly, sobbing when his pelvis glides over your clit and traps the sensitive bud between you and him. He fucks in quick thrusts, cock punching in and out of your creamy pussy. You lay there whining quietly as he uses you to get off. His moans turn breathier and quiet until he stops and goes silent.

His cock throbs and twitches, hot cum painting your pussy white as he empties himself in you. Jungkook lets out a ragged groan as he finally stops coming, he tiredly lays himself over you and pants, swallowing quietly as he tries to catch his breath. You didn’t cum again but you’re fine, it would have hurt anyway.

“Shit.” He mumbles as he rolls off of you lays side by side, staring up at the ceiling with his wet cock hanging out all bare without a single care in the world. You shakily roll to your side and curl up.

You knew these damn dresses were gonna be trouble..

+

Something’s off…very off.

For almost a week now you’ve been getting sick and throwing up meal after meal, maybe they were poisoning and finally putting you out of your misery. You wished.. You were sleeping way more than usual and everything just hurt more, even sex—not that it didn’t hurt before but suddenly your clit was too rubbed raw to touch and penetration was starting to hurt and ache? Something was very wrong and they knew it too.

“You think it’s the food?” Taehyung asks while sitting at the table with you and Jungkook, they often talk like you aren’t even there at times. “Or like maybe it’s the flu or something, been finding the window left open at night, could be that she got some air.”

Jungkook eyes you in worry, “I don’t think so Tae, she barely even has anything in her stomach to begin with and she keeps puking her guts out.” He sighs deeply, “y/n baby, how long has this been going on for hm? Weeks?”

You shrug and stare down at the hot food on your plate, “I dunno, not really hungry though.. Just wanna sleep.”

Taehyung frowns, “You need to eat something, wait—maybe she’s on her period or something and it’s probably hitting her really hard. Are you?” He turns to look at you as he waits patiently for your answer.

You open your mouth to say no but then sit there in shock, period.. When was the last time you even had one? Your heart begins pounding as you try to think back to your last cycle, sure you didn’t think about it too often but still it was something you kept track of so things didn’t get super messy in the middle of your travels. They call your name three times before you finally look up at them.

“I haven’t gotten a period.” You whispered, “Last I remember was I think a month ago, wait no I think two..” You begin shaking in your seat, this means one thing for sure.. You look up at them, they’re both sporting surprised looks but Taehyung’s face quickly morphs into one of excitement and happiness.

“So that means..” Taehyung grins, “ ‘s my baby,” he proudly claims, “must’ve knocked her up real good.” He chuckles quietly, dodging Jungkook’s hit, “What?? She’s the one who sleeps in my bed more than you! You’re just jealous it’s not your baby.” He smirks.

Jungkook sighs, “Tae, maybe instead of being so happy about knocking her up worry about her fuckin health.” He glares before turning to you with a soft look, “C’mere sweetheart, let’s get you something for your stomach yeah?” He stands and goes over to guide you into the kitchen, “Tae, run out and bring some pregnancy tests!”

“On it!”

You’re numb the entire time Jungkook talks to you about different meal options, his hand never leaves your waist and he occasionally strokes his thumb over your tummy. How could they be so happy knowing the circumstances behind the baby—or rather this parasite inside of you. Just thinking about the thing made you sicker, and quite frankly more angrier.

“Baby?” Jungkook looks at you in confusion, “I asked if you wanted to have some broth with crackers, it’ll be light on your stomach and will do good for the baby.” Baby… You looked down at your stomach and stared at it, so that’s where the little shit was. “Baby?” He cups your face in his hands.

“Anything is fine,” you mutter, “doesn’t matter now anyways, ‘m basically an incubator.” You glare.

Jungkook ignores your little aggressive comment, “Don’t be like that, ‘s not good for you or the baby. Gotta make sure you’re well fed mama,” he mumbles as he brings you closer, “gotta be a good mama for the baby alright?” He cups your tummy.

You feel frustration bubble up, “I don’t want this fucking parasite in me,” you seethe, “I didn’t ask to be pregnant, I didn’t ask for any of this! I would have been perfectly fine in Busan with my parents if you or Taehyung hadn’t bothered me!” You yell angrily, “Baby this, baby that—what about me?! I’m a human being! This is my life we’re talking about!” You shove his hands off of you.

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, “You’re just cranky and moody, understandable sweetheart,” he reaches over to grip you by the throat, “but let’s not get too over your head yeah? Is this all because of Busan? Throwin’ a fit like a goddamn child?” He glares.

“Yes! Exactly that Jungkook, I was doing so fucking fine before YOU or Taehyung.” Your eyes well with tears, “A-And now-now, I can’t even see my parents anymore because I’m stuck here everyday inside of a small ass apartment chained like a goddamn circus animal waiting to be used!” You sob hysterically, everything you’ve held in at this point just erupting.

You hate that he gives you a sympathetic look, he brings you into his arms and you’re too weak to fight against him, “Oh baby,” he rocks you side to side, “when will you understand that your place is with us, we keep you SAFE. We feed you don’t we? We protect you? What more are you asking for?” He says softly like he’s talking to a child or something.

“I-I want to see my mom and dad,” you hiccup, “wanna g-go to Busan ‘n make sure they’re alive ‘n healthy. Please!” You paw at his arms and cling to him like a child, “Please ‘s the only thing I’ll ever ask for!”

Jungkook stares down at you while you cry and beg, he gently rubs his hand over your back and hums, “I’ll talk to Tae about it,” he pulls back to look down at you, “but you have to take care of yourself for the baby’s sake.” He calmly says, “No ifs or buts, if you don’t we’re not going anywhere.”

You bite back the protest sitting on the tip of your tongue, “...Okay..” You mutter.

“Good girl,” Jungkook grins and ruffles your hair, “now go sit down, I’ll call you when the soup is ready.” He ushers you out.

Taehyung and Jungkook spend the entire night talking about it, you can hear them from the bedroom where you sit in pure excitement and hope. Jungkook argues that maybe it’s time to find a new settlement out there, he says something along the lines that raising the baby in the countryside is far better as the infected are less likely to populate rural areas. Taehyung argues that they’re fine altogether given the endless supplies nearby and the running water and electricity they have.

“Jungkook you’re not understanding, I’m gonna be a dad now and I can’t be having y/n walk for almost two months straight in this state. She won’t make it,” Taehyung sighs, “she’s fine here, safe and sound where she has water and heat to keep her warm at night.”

Jungkook releases a heavier sigh, “Tae, there’s a high risk of raiders and you know it. What if we’re out getting supplies one day and someone finds her and the baby? Then what? Or how about when the baby gets here you wanna keep them inside these four small ass walls for the rest of their lives? Is that what you think is best for the baby?”

You sit with a bated breath, waiting for Taehyung’s reply. You’re fucked if he says no, because Jungkook will NOT go anywhere unless Taehyung comes with. You feel your heart twist bitterly as you stare down at your hands, if Taehyung says no you really think you’ll resort to murder just to escape..

“Fine. We’ll go but if it’s far worse we’re heading straight back got it?” Taehyung grunts, “Can’t believe I’m agreeing to this shit.” He mutters while heading out to the patio.

You smile widely and lay back with your head turned to the window, admiring the bright moon, “Soon..” You quietly whisper to yourself.

Please wait for me..

+

The three of you set out one crisp Autumn morning, you almost forgot what the outside looked like given that you were only given the luxury of the windows in the apartment. Jungkook and Taehyung keep you close with a hand around your waist or wrapped around your own in a tight hold.

“Gotta cross that bridge to catch the highway that leads us into the countryside roads to Busan,” Jungkook says while reading the map, “from there I think we should be good and just keep walking straight.” He sighs as he folds the map back up.

Taehyung hums in acknowledgment as he reaches over to slip his arm around your waist and tug you close, “You good baby?” He asks softly, “Don’t want you overworking yourself.” He leans down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.

You nod while looking around the area, “I’m fine, wanna go now.” You tug at his hand and follow after Jungkook. They try to make conversation with you but you’re fully locked in on one thing: Busan.

It takes up almost a day to make it to the bridge and get on the highway, luckily those things aren’t out in the open so the walk is much easier and stress free. You pass the time by admiring the plant life around you and remembering what once was when you come across clothing shops and closed restaurants.

The wind blows the flowy dress you’re wearing, you would have preferred something like jeans or whatever but they swapped out almost all of your clothes for dresses. You liked them and they were cute and all but this was something you would have liked to wear for yourself back at home and not for them.

“Look,” Taehyung stops in his tracks to bring you over to the bridge railing, “kinda looks nice yeah?” He smiles as the wind blows through his hair.

The three of you stand together watching the water below calmly moving in one direction, birds fly high over your heads and into the pink-ish sunset. You smile to yourself and nod, “I like it. Super nice.”

Jungkook leans his head over your shoulder and hums, “Pretty like you.” He comments to which you ignore. The three of you stay a little longer before Jungkook pats you gently on the back, “Alright, time to go. Gotta find somewhere before sundown.” He warns and takes your hand in his, leading you away from the peaceful sight.

You insist to them you’re more than fine walking through the dark with them but Taehyung’s absolutely not having it. He gives you one glare and you’re left to sulk in the dark quietly, begrudgingly following the two into a spot for the night somewhere off the road in the overgrown grass. Jungkook makes sure the area is clear before he lays out your sleeping bags on the ground.

“Calm down, Busan ain’t going nowhere sweetheart,” Jungkook comments when he sees how uneasy you are, “here lay down.” He pulls you in and tucks you into the warm sleeping bag, “All this walking won’t be any good on you,” he leaves the ‘or the baby’ out given your feelings about the pregnancy, “gotta have you well rested.” He mumbles and leans down to press a gentle kiss over your lips.

You stare at him with an incredulous look, you rather keep walking day and night if meant getting away from them two and reaching your parents quicker. Any more of this and you’re going to lose it, you grumble quietly and snuggle into the sleeping bag turned away from them. “Night.” You curtly reply.

“G’night pretty.”

.

Sleep comes fairly easy but you’re still a bit uncomfortable from laying on the cold hard ground. You spent at least a good hour tossing and turning before sleep took over and sent you into a state of peace. Though by now you knew that peace was never an option, not with these two on your ass half the time.

Your eyes flutter open in confusion, you take in your surroundings for a few seconds before realizing you’re flat on your back. You note the familiar weight sitting on top of you and the slick noises down below. “Hn?” You try to make out who it is but it’s difficult with their face buried in your neck.

“Awake pretty?” Taehyung whispers into your ear, “Was wondering when you were gonna wake up.” He runs his tongue over the shell of your ear with a low moan, “Sorry baby, couldn’t resist seeing you so pretty in the dresses we got you.” He slurs out, you notice he has a hand stuffed between the two of you with his heavy cock in his hand, “Had to have you,” he breathes out while laying his pelvis flat against yours, “feel that? You did that.”

His cock’s all slicked up and hot as it presses against your inner thigh. There’s no use in fighting back as you let your thighs fall open to accommodate him. Taehyung makes a pleased noise as he grinds his cock over your clothed pussy. It bumps and nudges against you which in turn makes your clit throb with excitement. You huff quietly and angle your hips low to see if his cock will bump into your clit again.

Taehyung’s cock slips and slides over your cunt, you begin to grow annoyed and reach down to shove your panties down. He eagerly helps you slide them off with the material getting stuck around your ankle. When he goes to spread you open with his fingers, you let out a pained cry and shove at his hand weakly. Your clit and hole were more sore than you thought.

“What is it baby?” He asks with worry etched onto his face.

You shake your head, “Hurts,” you reply softly and move his hand away, “don’t like it, it hurts.”

Taehyung moves his hand away from your cunt, “Won’t touch you there then baby,” he murmurs while kissing your lips as an apology.

You huff quietly and wiggle around with a pissy glare, “And now my back hurts too.” You shove at his chest and grumble, “Off, off.” Taehyung doesn’t budge, instead he lets you roll over on to your side to alleviate the pressure. Your eyes snap over to him when you feel his cock slip between your thighs.

“Shh..gonna use your pretty little thighs sweetheart.” Taehyung whispers as he rolls his hips slowly. You let your head drop back to the pillow with an annoyed huff, his cock occasionally brushes over your clit from where it sits snug against your pussy. Doesn’t hurt but it bothers you.

He quietly moans and pants under his breath while using your thighs to get off. His leaky cock leaves trails of pearly white cum smeared over your thighs and cunt. Some of it even gets your cheeks wet, making the heat you’re feeling more unbearable. “Can’t wait till you’re bigger pretty,” he whispers, “gonna look so good full of our baby.”

His hips snap upwards when he says that, “ ‘s like you were made to be bred,” he growls and reaches down to slip a hand into your dress, fondling and squeezing your tit in his hand, “got such pretty tits, look at ‘em,” he grunts while slapping one, “can’t wait till they’re leaking with milk.”

You shudder in disgust at the thought, you already felt like you weren’t in your own body, him talking about its upcoming changes has you gagging. You choose to ignore anything related to the pregnancy, closing your eyes and trying to block out his words.

“Oh fuck,” he shudders, “gonna always keep you full and swollen—gonna breed you over and over again pretty.” Taehyung rolls his hips faster and faster until he stops with a shaky sigh, cum shooting out in white ropes over you and the sleeping bag. He stays still for a few seconds before pulling his spent cock from between your thighs.

Great, he ruined your sleeping bag.

.

The air around you is hot despite the season being autumn. You trudge along behind Jungkook while toying with the sleeves of your hoodie which has long been discarded and tied around your waist. Jungkook says it’s only a matter of days before you’re all in Busan. You’re just relieved the gruesome trip is finally coming to an end and you probably won’t have to see them ever again.

Dealing with both Taehyung and Jungkook was slowly starting to work a nerve inside of you. As your pregnancy progressed so did the symptoms that came with it. Your back hurt like a bitch, your tits were sensitive, and your mood swings were very random. Everyday was a challenge with these two they just wouldn’t leave you alone and in peace. Not to mention the thing inside of you, it was the main source of all your headaches and morning sickness.

“There’s a gas station up ahead,” Taehyung points, “let’s head there to take a break, yeah? My fuckin’ feet are killing me.” He groans while adjusting his hold on the rifle in his hands. “And don’t start with me y/n, we all need a fucking break,” he shoots you a warning glance.

You kick a nearby rock and glare back, “I wasn’t going to say anything.” It comes out more snappier than usual, something about today just had every nerve in your body sending you into overdrive.

Taehyung shoots you a look, “You don’t have to, I can already feel you complaining about why we have to stop.” He mutters, “All you’ve done since we left Daegu. Not all of us wanna walk till the fucking sun starts to set.”

You whip around to give him a piece of your mind when Jungkook tugs you over to his side, “Tae,” Jungkook gives him a silent look before he turns his attention to you, “I just wanna rest in peace, so please let’s just keep our thoughts to ourselves and keep it moving. Fighting isn’t gonna get us there faster either.”

“Well maybe picking fights with a pregnant person isn’t so bright either.” You spit out angrily while walking faster.

Taehyung scoffs, “Oh so now you’re pulling the pregnant card? After all this time acting like the baby doesn’t even exist to you, I see you.”

You whip around and stop walking, “Because it doesn’t! This fucking parasite inside of me doesn’t exist to me and it never will. I never wanted it in the first place and now I’m stuck with it in MY body, so maybe that explains why I fuckin’ hate it and don’t talk about it!” You hiss.

The silence is deafening. Jungkook doesn’t seem so shocked you lashed out but Taehyung absolutely looks livid with the way you talked about the baby. You don’t care, if anything you’re smug because at least he knows you hate the thing. “If it were up to me,” you speak lowly, “I would have gotten rid of it the moment I found out.”

And with that you stomp off towards the gas station. “y/n! y/n get back here!” Taehyung yells but Jungkook says something along the lines of ‘let her be’. You huff angrily and throw the door open to the station, it’s dark and dusty as hell in there but you’re too angry to really care. “Who the fuck does he think he is?” You mutter while looking around for something edible, preferably chocolate.

As you’re looking up and down the aisles you hear a quiet thud. You briefly look up with a pinched look, “Probably one of those idiots.” You mutter quietly while going back to looking for candy. The noise gets louder and once again interrupts your search, “What the fuck.” You sigh in annoyance and look over at the backroom.

The door suddenly slams open and a mangled body comes barreling out, screeching loudly while flailing around and knocking things over. Your eyes widen and you drop the candy bar you had in your hands, “Oh shit.” You make a run for the door, head whipping back to see the zombie launch itself from the other side to you, its hands outstretched and swinging wildly.

“Jungkook! Taehyung!” You fall through the door and crawl away desperately as the thing wraps its hand around your ankle to yank you back, “Help me!” You sob and desperately kick at the thing.

Taehyung aims the rifle and shoots without hesitation, it takes at least two shots to keep the thing down. “Fuck are you okay?” Taehyung runs over to pull you up into his arms, “Did it bite you? Are you hurt?” He paws all over and inspects your body for any bites or wounds.

“I-I’m okay.” You quietly whisper and look back at the store, “I-I don’t know if t-there’s more in there.” A tiny sob bubbles up as you hide your face in his chest and grip his shirt tightly.

Taehyung looks over at Jungkook and silently nods, “Hey you’re okay, look at me,” he cups your face, “you’re fine, ‘s nothing we already got rid of it.” He whispers while brushing your hair out of your face. You weakly nod and stay close by while Jungkook checks for any more infected inside of the station.

Taehyung’s practically glued to you after that, and not that you want him close by but in a way he helps calm you down. Jungkook had quickly gathered food and water before the three of you set back out. The walk was silent save for the sounds of birds chirping and crickets hiding in the tall grass. Everything just feels so unreal right now as you still process your near death experience.

“I think we have to go that way,” Jungkook quietly says, “leads to the countryside—you said your parents lived away from the city right?” He says and stops in his tracks to look at you.

“Yeah.” You look at the map in his hands. “If I’m right we only have a good hour to go, farm’s not that far from here. I recognized the road cause my dad used to take me through here whenever we were going into the city.” You say while reading one of the familiar road signs.

Jungkook nods, “Lead the way then.”

The three of you walk through the dirt, passing by big farms and bus stations that definitely make you reminisce. You haven’t been here in so long it feels weird, you would have loved to come when things didn’t hit the fan and everything went into chaos. You can’t hide the anticipation on your face, it was practically eating at you.

Taehyung notices this because he reaches for your hand and holds it tight, “Any closer?”

“Yeah.” Your heart pounds in your chest, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You’re not so sure you’re prepared for what’s about to come. If your parents aren’t there—no, they are, you’re so sure of it. Something tells you they’re fine. You’re so excited you nearly barf.

You come to a stop when the three of you reach the wooden gate entrance, Jungkook is quick to open the latch and push the gate open. “y/n,” Jungkook calls out in surprise because you immediately start heading to the house. You ignore them and their calls, stumbling over your feet as you make your way to your home. Your eyes get watery from the swirl of emotions you’re feeling.

‘I did it.’ You run on to the porch and push the door open, “Mom! Dad! It’s me!” You call out loudly while heading into the living room, “Mom?” You look around frantically. Everything in the house looks untouched, the windows are open as the white curtains flutter with the wind. You feel your heart drop a few times here and there but you’re more excited than anything.

“Mom! Dad!” You head into another room and look around frantically. Nothing is out of place and the house looks well taken care of, so where were your parents? You take a seat on a chair, ignoring the sounds of Jungkook and Taehyung entering the house. Where were they..? You begin to tear up.

You catch a small white envelope sitting in the corner of the table. You reach over and your eyes widen when you see that it was addressed to you. With frantic hands you tear it open and begin reading, eager to find out where your parents could be. As you’re reading Taehyung comes into the room and leans over your shoulder with a curious look. You don’t even reprimand him for reading something that doesn’t concern him.

“..I knew you would come looking for us, it’s in your nature to be stubborn as hell like your mama,” Taehyung reads out loud as Jungkook pauses whatever the hell he was looking at, “we didn’t think you would be content with staying put, and if for whatever reason you find yourself here we’re gone. We’re safe if you must know, we’ve left to a settlement with others where we hopefully can rebuild the life we once had. When you’re ready come to us, you’ve made it this far kiddo I don’t think you’ll have trouble getting to us. For now rest, I assume you’re tired, we left the animals in the barn with food that is most likely gone by now, there’s preserved foods in the bunker below that we’ve been harvesting. Hope to see you soon,” Taehyung finishes.

Your hands shake as you read the date below—you were a week late.

“I guess that’s that.” Jungkook sighs.

“Farm doesn’t look so bad, I think we can run it, don't you think Kook?” Taehyung grins, “We can raise the baby out here without a worry, can even take some horses down to the nearby town when we need to.” He leans down to kiss your neck, “What do you say pretty?..”

+

Everything hurts—your spine, your back, your feet—you can’t stand it. The baby is bigger and it weighs down on your hips horribly. Some days you pretend it isn’t there but other days are harder given the sheer size of your belly and that thing kicking you.

With an annoyed huff you rip the blankets off of your body and get up with a low pained moan. You support your back with one hand while carefully walking across the wooden floor towards the front door. The cold metal bites into your ankle unforgivingly but you’re used to it already. You thought things would be different here but you guess you were wrong.

“Fuck,” you hiss when the baby kicks you in the rib, “just you fuckin’ wait you little shit,” you mutter while standing on the front porch watching Taehyung and Jungkook tend to the farm around.

Jungkook wipes the sweat off his brow and turns to smile at you, “Something wrong sweetheart?” He calls out.

Taehyung shoots you a grin, “Baby already bothering you pretty?” You want to reply ‘been bothering me’ so bad but you hold your tongue. Taehyung’s eyes drop down to the dress you’re wearing as he whistles lowly, “Well don’t you look pretty?” He smirks as he runs his tongue over his lip.

You find yourself staring at them—one day, you’ll find a way to leave even if you have to fight tooth and nail. You suppose the parasite inside of you can come if it’s not already out yet, or hell maybe you’ll leave it with them who knows.

But one thing is for sure: you were leaving one way or another.

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