#his only relationship to people is through violence

[flock-of-cassowaries]

I was compelled to watch the 2001 Hannibal film at a social gathering in high school, and I hated it.

I did not like the brain-eating scene. I did not like it, Sam I am.

One could say that, 23 years later, I’m still mad at everyone involved (in making, distributing, and choosing the movie) for the fact that that imagery is in my head.

(That’s right, Anthony Hopkins, j’accuse. And no, Julianne Moore, as much as I’ve loved a lot of your other work, you’re not off the fucking hook either. That was bullshit. UPSETTING BULLSHIT I DID NOT NEED IN MY BRAIN I AM SO MAD ABOUT THIS.)

…and then I watched NBC Hannibal, and, while I hated thay fucking cannibal on the first go-round*, that angular ball of outraged floof (who can’t make real friends because of his compulsive masking and absolutely pathological coping mechanisms [killing people]) somehow wormed his way into my mind palace.

I blame Mads Mikkelsen for this. And tumblr. This site is like, the chief incubator for hannibrainworms.

* Serious discussion of why I hated Hannibal Lecter on the fist watch-through below the cut. Cw for domestic violence.

1. Killing people is pretty fucking rude; get wrecked, hypocrite.

2. More seriously, killing Abigail in front of Will, in order to hurt him, is some straight-up ‘not-uncommon abusive partner in the real world’ shit, and honestly… that’s very uncomfortable to me.

TBH, I think that even if your cis male dark romance lead is gonna kill and eat people… like… maybe you shouldn’t write him to kill someone’s child as an emotional manipulation tactic.

Like, there aren’t a lot of suave, sexy cannibals running around eating the rude, but there are a lot of real men who control their partners by threatening to kill their children and/or pets.

And if the abuse victims on the receiving end of those threats aren’t able to admit to them self that those threats are fucking Kill Bill siren-warning signs, the chance that those victims won’t get their children, pets, and themselves out of that living situation before serious harm comes to them is greatly increased.

I know very well how easy it is to ignore / rationalize serious abuse, and how people who grow up in abusive situations sometimes use popular media as a reference for how real relationships work (I know I did, as a teenager).

I’ve been more fortunate than a lot of women / non-men - the only physical abuse I suffered was from my father - but it makes me really uncomfortable to see fictional media kind of muddy the waters about stuff that can easily become fatal if the victim misinterprets the level of danger they’re in.

Watching NBC ‘Hannibal’

Expectation: Hannibal Lecter? I’ve heard of him from that scary movie I never watched because I was too scared to. He’s like a super evil villain right? Bad guy, bad evil dude, right there. Hope they stop him. 

Reality: *wild sobbing* Oh God Hannibal my precious confused angular ball of outraged floof, it’s OK baby, I know feelings are scary, feelings *are* scary, love is so hard, love is so so hard, LOOKIT YOUR LITTLE FACE AND YOUR HAIR ALSO, it’s OK, I’m sure he’ll love you back eventually, HANG IN THERE HONEY *flails at TV*

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 8 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: How beautiful your life could be, if only you weren't so damaged and he wasn't so deranged. And despite all that, you can't help but want him and submit to his twisted desires. You also can't help but think something about him is more off than usual.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, smut, (rough) oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex, degradation kink, mouth-spitting, dom/sub dynamics, daddy, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

You felt a tight knot form in your stomach as you stared down at the blister in front of you.

Of course you knew it was necessary. You couldn’t imagine a more irresponsible thing than to conceive a child of a psychopath like him. And yet, you felt your thoughts wander down a dangerous path again.

He had never explicitly said he wanted you to take them. It was almost like a part of him was keen on getting you pregnant. Like the mere thought of filling you up again and again and again, serving the purpose of knocking you up, turned him on even more. And still, he bought them for you and left them on the kitchen table. It was your decision, you suddenly realized.

How irresponsible of him.

Didn’t he understand you were hardly able to even take care of yourself? Let alone a child.

Let alone birth a child.

There was actually nothing that scared you more. Not your mother, not him, not even the prospect of being sold off into some sick psychopaths’ fangs. Another psychopaths’.

No, the thought of having to bear a child, dying during the delivery or – God forbid, something going wrong and you losing it – was your worst fear.

You didn’t even know where the fear came from. It had simply always been there, even when you were a child.

Even when you thought you’d never have sex.

And now you had had sex. And he bought the pill, because he was considerate like that.

He was twisted and cruel, scary and sadistic and yet he put on this façade, this front, of a perfect man, whenever he wanted to. He paid bills and he owned this beautiful apartment. He was obviously well-read and he knew how to cook. He wasn’t a rapist. A murderer, yes. But not a rapist.

He was many things. One of them was always far more prominent than the others.

He was sick.

You couldn’t tell if he had been born like this or if there were things that happened which made him turn out the way he did. Whatever it was, he was sick now.

So far, you only had a hunch of the things he truly enjoyed. He had briefly mentioned some of them. Others you had guessed. The erection he got whenever he beat you was enough for you to realize he liked to hurt people.

He threatened you with words and objects more than once. A knife, a gun, a belt, a whip.

So far, so good, right? Many people were into pain, either receiving or delivering.

He was also into blood. For some reason, you could tell.

He enjoyed degrading you. Calling you names whenever he got angry, making you crawl around like a dog and drink from a bowl on the floor.

So far, he had always taken care of his insanity on his own. Treated the bulge in his pants with silence, ignoring it skillfully like it wasn’t there. But you saw it, felt its’ presence like a specter.

The one time you had sex had been nothing like you expected. The gentleness in his touch, his kisses on your neck and body and God, the sinful things he did with his tongue.

You remembered the feeling vividly and it immediately sent a shiver through your body. You took a soft breath and tried to focus back on the pill, but somehow your mind didn’t comply. You kept asking yourself, if you had somehow signed a death warrant when you agreed to be his girl.

You did it to survive, surely, but you slowly felt your resolve crumble. There was more to it, you acknowledged it. But you didn’t allow yourself to think about the things you felt, while you had sex. You blamed his gentle touch. His ardent kiss. The way he subtly threatened all the people who had ever wronged you.

You closed your eyes. God, what was going on in your head?

All you needed was a breath of fresh air to clear out your head.

Would you ever breathe real air again?

You wanted a family one day, didn’t you?

Now you couldn’t tell if you would ever get that. Looking back, it hadn’t been all too sure before he abducted you either. After all, all you ever did was hide yourself behind computer screens and book pages. But now you were here and he had taken that chance from you.

Or had he?

Would he ever let you go?

No. You remembered his words like the lyrics of a song you hated, yet it kept playing on the radio day and night.

I’ll never let you go.

And for some reason, you knew he didn’t just say that. He meant it. And you remembered what you thought when you first came here.

You wouldn’t ever leave this place. At least not alive.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard the front door open. Your head perked up and before he had the chance to enter the kitchen, you choked down the plan-b-pill with half a glass of water. You swallowed and stared down at the empty blister with wide eyes.

You had to play along, yes. But you couldn’t give him some foolish, twisted hope for something that just wasn’t an option.

The kitchen door opened and he came inside, his briefcase still in his hand. He looked down at you, taking in your flushed expression and his gaze wandered down to the empty blister. A faint hint of recognition flashed over his handsome features, followed by something you were sure was disappointment. But he schooled his expression so quickly, it immediately reminded you of the instability of his mind.

He tilted his head to the side and smiled at you. You couldn’t quite grasp the meaning behind the smile. It most likely wasn’t genuine. When had it ever been?

“Darling”, he said in a soft tone. Then he did something that made your chest ache. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You felt like throwing up. You were sure you were stuck in some kind of cruel video game, a sick simulation of yet another psychopath who enjoyed torturing poor, deranged girls. Girls who never had a chance anyway.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to smile back, but it was indeed a failed attempt.

Things were somewhat less tense between you, since you had sex. Sometimes he let you speak your mind without hurting you in return. And sometimes, like that day, he came home and kissed you. Like you were a normal couple.

Like you were a couple at all.

It was painful. Because, no matter how hard you tried to shut the dangerous thoughts out, they always snuck their way back into your head.

He would have made the perfect man, if only he was normal.

If only he was human.

And if only you were, too.

He turned away from you and set the briefcase down on a chair, before he washed his hands. You couldn’t help but stare. It looked so normal, almost innocent.

A man who came home and the first thing he did was to wash his hands.

A man to fall in love with.

You forced your gaze away.

“Did you eat anything today?” He asked matter-of-factly, without even looking at you.

You still nodded. “There were a few of these things left. You know, the ones that look like sushi, but aren’t.”

“Gimbap.”

“Gimbap.” You repeated and he smirked.

He dried his hands and turned to look at you. “That’s all you ate today?”

You shrugged and he sighed. “How did you even survive up until now?”

You thought about it. Breakfast was easy. Back in England even. But lunch was where it got hard. You either ate leftovers or nothing. It was like you were unable to cook if it was for you only.

As if you were unable to exist properly when you were alone.

It made you realize how empty your days were whenever he left. You spent most of your time waiting for him, reading or crying and brooding over the horror that was your life.

But even before that, even before him, you had barely functioned on your own.

It was like your depression got worse, the longer you were alone.

It didn’t matter that your mother was the devil in human form, at least you ate when she was around.

Whenever she’d let you.

At some point in your life, you learned to really appreciate food, especially when it was homecooked. You weren’t good at this. You didn’t doubt that you could cook and all that, you just didn’t know how to really live.

A part of you appreciated the numbness even more for that exact reason. Your sadness was your solace, your darkness your shelter.

You didn’t need to worry about existing, when you weren’t really there. It was just a body trying to keep itself alive, while your soul floated around in non-existence.

A small frown formed on his face and he stepped closer, resting his hands on your shoulders. You had almost grown accustomed to his touch by now.

You could tell when to expect a blow and when not.

In most cases.

Was now the time?

“Go, take a bath.” He purred in your ear. “I’ll make dinner.”

You closed your eyes and suddenly you were all too aware again. The thought you had so skillfully avoided since that night.

Today was the day.

The night, actually.

And he’d finally get to have his way with you.

The thought equally sent a warm shiver as well as cold sweat spiraling down your skin.

“Alright.” You murmured and got up. You exhaled a soft sigh and before you left turned back to face him once more. He was still looking at you, the soft, seductive smile on his lips. But his eyes were narrowed in a way that told you there was indeed more on his mind than he let on.

You forced yourself to look away and leave the room. Within a few minutes, you prepared yourself a bath and with a soft sigh sank into the warm water. It felt like a gentle embrace, which was so very needed after everything you went through every day.

You allowed yourself to close your eyes and try to relax for once.

He had kindly repaired the door and put it back in its place to give you a semblance of privacy, but he didn’t restore the lock.

You didn’t get the privilege of ultimate privacy.

You kept your eyes closed as you tried to imagine what tonight would bring.

Mostly, you dreaded it.

He’d be cruel.

He’d be selfish.

You’d wake up the next morning, feeling battered and bruised.

So not much different from how it had been so far. Except for that one night. But as much as you loved to think back at it and revel in the memory, you knew it would be more clever to try and erase it from your mind.

That had never happened.

He had never kissed your neck or the inside of your thighs.

He had never called you princess.

Never taken your virginity with such gentleness and care.

Your brows furrowed and you felt your hand itch to move down your body, when you heard the faint knock on the bathroom door. Your eyes shot open and your first reaction was to cover yourself.

What a ridiculous thought, but you still fumbled for a towel. When he came in and witnessed that, you all wet and reaching for a towel you would never reach in time, he raised a brow and smirked. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves again in that way that made you weak.

When you finally realized you wouldn’t reach the towel without breaking your neck, you instead delved back down into the water, keeping your gaze on him.

“You’re still shy around me. How cute.”

You attempted to shoot him a glare, but that worked about as good as your smile did earlier.

“Did you want something?”

He hummed and slowly inched closer, as he let his gaze shamelessly rake over your body in a way that made you feel hot and cold all the same.

“Actually, yes.” He purred as he slowly leaned down to get a better look at your wet, shivering form. The warm water didn’t prevent him from staring at you and it didn’t prevent you from feeling exposed and excited under his gaze.

“You looked so miserable earlier. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

You immediately frowned. That was hardly the reason. As gentle as he happened to be sometimes, he wasn’t caring or soft like that. Or even genuine.

He was cold and cruel and psychotic.

“I’m-“

Your words died on your tongue when suddenly he slid his hand under the water surface. It didn’t take him two seconds to force your legs apart and slide his fingers over your already slick core.

You inhaled sharply and your brows furrowed in a mixture of surprise, embarrassment and arousal. You looked up at him with half-lidded, confused eyes.

“I thought…after dinner”, was all you managed to gasp out.

He hummed in response. No muscle on his face moved as he slowly slid his index finger inside you, curling it torturously.

“Oh God.”

It didn’t take him longer than a few seconds to have you writhe and moan. You had quickly noticed that he was good at what he was doing. He knew where to touch you, how to move his fingers and when to use his tongue instead. He knew exactly how to roll his hips. When to be rough and when gentle.

The thought filled you with as much relief as it filled you with jealousy.

There had been others before. That was all you could think about.

It wasn’t the fact that he barged into the bathroom and took control of your body whenever he pleased, that bothered you. It was the thought that he might have done this to someone else before he met you.

And the thought made you feel nauseous with jealousy.

You almost wanted to be angry at him, for being able to, for having the audacity to have had someone else before you.

While he was the only one who ever took you.

The only one who ever parted your lips with his tongue.

The only one who had ever felt you around him, envelop him and take him in like he belonged there.

You wanted to stay angry, but his fingers did things to you that clouded your mind. Your eyes rolled back and you were nearly there.

“Please-“

But the next moment, you let out a desperate whine, when you felt him swiftly withdraw his hand.

“Please…”

He smirked.

“Please what, sweet girl?”

Your face flushed furiously and you looked down at the bath water.

The spell was intact again. And you were unable to speak your wicked mind.

“Look at me.” He said in a rather firm tone. You immediately did. His eyes were a mixture of curiosity and wariness. He narrowed them slightly.

“Say it.”

You wanted to bite your lip and avert your gaze, but the way he stared down at you with such an intensity made you reconsider.

“Please let me cum.” You whispered in a voice that was hardly your own.

He hummed. He was obviously pleased and the smirk was back.

“Please let you cum, what?”

Since he didn’t have a name, he made you choose between Daddy and Sir, whenever one felt like it made any sense in the situation.

Daddy was far more embarrassing, but also more intimate.

Calling him Sir felt more degrading though. Which was something he probably liked.

You didn’t know which one was worse, so you always went for the one that fit the aesthetic of the moment best.

“Please let me cum, daddy.” You whispered, your face red.

He chuckled. A horrible sound.

A beautiful sound.

“Good girl.”

He slid his hand back down and instantly you felt his finger back inside you, before he slowly added a second one. It was enough to let you release a soft sigh and lean your head against the edge of the tub.

It was so easy to relax when he had you like this.

You could always count on him to make you cum.

And that was exactly what he did. He moved his fingers inside you in such a pleasurable and skilled way, that he had you writhing and begging within a few more seconds. An explosive wave of warmth and bliss filled you, while you arched your hips up against his hand, desperately seeking the friction and the release that only he could give to you.

You had never felt anything close to this before.

Once you slowly came down from your high, you took a moment to regain your ability to breathe and then you slowly opened your eyes.

You looked up at him and the way he smirked down at you with such smugness. It made you want to punch and kiss him.

“Thank me.” He whispered.

You swallowed. It was always far more embarrassing afterwards. “Thank you for making me cum, daddy.”

He bared his teeth in a grin. “Good girl. Now, open your mouth for me.”

You didn’t even have the time to digest his words, when you already felt him push his fingers in your mouth. A soft gasp came over your lips as he parted them and rubbed his fingers over your tongue, making you taste yourself on him.

Were you supposed to be embarrassed or repulsed? Probably. But all you truly felt was how the arousal slowly began to build again. The heat pooled between your legs whenever he got like this. Demanding, rough, but also gracious enough to let you cum.

You moaned when he pushed his fingers deeper in, all the while he had his eyes fixed on your face. His lips were slightly parted and there was a thoughtful frown on his face, as he began to fuck your mouth with his fingers, making saliva drip down your chin.

You choked back the gag that threatened to escape and forced yourself to keep looking at him, despite the way your eyes watered and slowly got more and more red.

“Come out.” He whispered. “Come out of the tub. On your knees.”

You withdrew your mouth from his hand, only to hold onto his arm and get up in a hurry, not caring that you got everything wet.

It was what he did to you all the time, anyway.

You knelt down on the cold bathroom floor, ignoring the ache between your legs. Had you just released? You couldn’t tell. You already felt desperate for him again.

He made you do this every so often, kneel and look up at him like an obedient little doll. Suck on his fingers and look into his eyes.

But he’d never gone further than that. Until now. You could tell. Now was different.

And it made you as nervous, as it turned you on.

“Take my belt off.” He whispered.

You forced your gaze away from his face just long enough to slowly unbuckle his belt. Your fingers were shaking against the leather. The nervousness won.

When you kept fidgeting with it restlessly, he gently stopped you and pushed your hands down and instead, did it himself. He got rid of the belt within seconds and it landed on the ground with a soft click. His slacks followed in a swift movement, until all there was left separating you was the thin material of his boxers.

His hardness strained against them and you found yourself aching to free him of them.

You had never known you were so terribly wicked.

And you were sure you hadn’t been, until you met him.

You hadn’t had any form of sex aside from the way he sometimes teased you and fingered you to oblivion ever since that night. He wanted to give you some time to adjust to your new role as his girl.

His princess. His fucktoy.

And now here you were. On your knees, wet as hell and desperate to feel him.

The memory of that night shot back into your head and it made you ache again. You remembered how you had expected him to send you back to your room. To just be finished with you and get rid of you like you were nothing more than a toy he’d use whenever he felt like it.

But instead he let you stay. You had spent the night curled up against his side, feeling his heart beat next to yours.

He was so terribly confusing.

Of course you didn’t find any sleep that night. And he probably didn’t either. You were unable to fully trust him, despite your gentle and considerate encounter. And he was probably unsure if he had broken you enough to not try and slit his throat in the middle of the night.

Maybe he’d trust you fully one day.

You liked to think that.

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts again. “Kiss me.”

You licked your lips in a desperate attempt to fight the dryness of your mouth, but nothing worked. So instead you took a shaky breath and slowly leaned in. You brushed your lips over the waistband of his boxers and slowly, so very slowly, moved them further down. By the time they reached his arousal, you felt him breathe out a moan.

“Take them off.” He murmured. “And I don’t want to see your hands for the time being.”

You could imagine what that meant. With a shaky breath, you slowly brought your hands behind your back and dug your nails into your wrists.

Oh God, he would ravage you.

And oh God, you wanted him to.

You bit down on the material and tried to carefully pull the boxers down. It took you two more attempts, but eventually you managed to pull them down to his knees and then they slid off of him on their own. You pulled your head back and were greeted by the sight of his hardened cock, throbbing and waiting to ruin you even more.

Your heart skipped a beat and your chest heaved rapidly under the weight of your nervous breaths. You licked your lips again. This time, they weren’t dry.

You slowly looked up at him, your eyes wide and nervous.

He didn’t mock or tease you this time. He seemed more focused and stern than ever before.

You felt his fingers tangle in your hair and gently curl up in it.

“Worship me.”

The words were enough to draw a soft whimper from your lips.

“I’m not sure, how.” You murmured.

He shook his head. “You’ll figure it out.”

You swallowed again and nodded before you slowly let your gaze wander down again.

Even his cock was perfect.

You took a deep breath and leaned in. The moment you brushed your lips over the tip, he exhaled a soft moan. You closed your eyes.

Fucking hell.

You slowly moved your lips down his length and back up again, unsure how to start and where.

The feeling of him on your lips was enough to drive you insane and you caught yourself wanting more. You were nervous, but also eager.

You wanted to watch him throw his head back in pleasure and call out your…well, however he would call you.

When he got a little impatient, he bucked his hips and you felt him press forward and slowly part your lips on his own. A moan came over your lips when you felt him slowly press further and further forward, until he bumped against the warm wetness of your tongue.

“Ah, yes.”

The sounds he made were enough to motivate you further. You opened your mouth wider and coated him in your saliva, feeling him go slick and throb against your tongue. His hand in your hair tightened and he pulled you closer against him.

You hummed against him and slowly wrapped your lips around him, sucking gently and moving up and down like you’d seen in countless videos.

His grip only ever got tighter and God, the sounds he made.

You tried to glance up at him as he moved. The reaction to your touch was written on his face. He bit down on his lip and stared down at you with a focused frown.

You felt so dirty and sinful, naughty and wicked and every time he bucked his hips up, you were sure you felt yourself get close without even being touched.

“Good girl.” He breathed out. “My good girl. My dirty girl. Let me fuck your pretty mouth.”

His hand tightened even more in your hair, until his grip was bordering on painful. He held your head in place as he began to move his hips, thrusting against your mouth like a madman. You found yourself in a chokehold, gagging against him and desperately gasping for air. All the while you were sure you felt your own arousal slowly drip down your thighs. You had a hard time keeping your hands behind your back.

All you wanted was to touch yourself. But you knew better than to try that.

He roughly pulled your head back by your hair and you had to suppress a wince of pain. You were about to ask what the hell was going on, when he gritted out: “Open your mouth.”

You immediately obeyed, parting your swollen, aching lips for him. You knew what was coming, you knew he would degrade you and you didn’t mind.

You would probably hate yourself afterwards, like you normally did when you fantasized about such things. But in that moment, you didn’t care the least bit. You wanted to make him feel good. You wanted to make him cum. You wanted to please him.

You opened your mouth and just a second later you felt his saliva slide past your lips, gliding down your tongue. An involuntary moan came over your lips and your brows furrowed as you stared up at him, feeling a myriad of emotions.

“Good girl. Swallow.”

Your mouth fell shut and you obeyed. You swallowed his spit like a good girl.

His good girl.

His girl.

The sound he made was torturous. A moan mixed with a sigh.

“Yes, just like that.” He murmured. “Fuck, yes. Suck me off, baby. Make me cum.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You parted your lips and took him back in. He kept bucking his hips against you, but you were determined to meet him halfway.

Fighting against the gagging and the small scare you got whenever you felt like you couldn’t breathe, you kept moving. Again and again, flicking your tongue against him and moaning against him, until you felt him tense up. His grip on your hair became so hard, it felt like he was trying to rip your hair out. All the while his painfully hard cock throbbed against your tongue.

And then he came.

You felt him coat your mouth and throat with his seed, causing you to moan at the intensity and surprise of it.

He was shaking and grunting in pleasure, keeping himself pressed against you as tight as possible, until the throbbing began to subside slowly.

He licked his lips, since his own mouth seemed to be pretty dry by now and finally released his tight grip on your hair. Instead he soothingly rubbed his fingertips along your scalp and sighed deeply.

“Fuck.” He breathed out. “Show me your mouth.”

It took you a moment, but you swallowed the evidence of his lustful outburst and eventually opened your mouth to show him it was empty.

He hummed in approval and gently cupped your cheek in his hand. You found yourself leaning into his touch like a cat craving attention.

“My good girl.” He praised in a soft whisper. “God, you’re so good for me. I-“

He frowned deeply and stopped himself. You quickly looked up at him.

Oh God, you had done something wrong.

Oh, no, no, no, not right now, damn it.

But the dreaded yell never came and he also didn’t attempt to push you back or slap you. Instead he cleared his throat and gently pulled you back up to your feet.

“You enjoy being my girl, don’t you?”

You stared at him speachlessly. What were you supposed to say to that? And why was he asking that right now?

Despite the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts you had, you found yourself nodding.

“Good.” He said quietly and gently caressed your cheek.

Something was off. Something was always off, but now, you were sure you had no connection to his thoughts whatsoever. You could never really tell what he was thinking, but sometimes you got lucky and got a glimpse of whatever it was he hid behind nonchalance and psychopathy.

Or was that truly all that there was to him?

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Come. We have a bath to finish.”

He got rid of his shirt and within seconds submerged under the water. You watched him with a thoughtful expression, before you quietly followed him. You sat with your back pressed against his chest.

He would say something cruel.

He couldn’t be gentle, without having a cruel jab follow. He just couldn’t.

But all you felt was how he slowly poured some warm water over your hair, before he gently massaged the shampoo into your scalp.

The same scalp he had just bruised while he used you like a doll.

He washed the water out and it felt like a piece of Heaven. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and lean back against him.

If only every moment of your life could be like this.

“I never knew you could be so wicked.” He whispered as he began to gently massage your shoulders. You sighed at the touch. Another thing he was so skilled at.

Another thing to get jealous over.

His words made your face flush and you suddenly remembered how you had writhed in agony while he used your mouth, how your fingers had ached to touch yourself.

“I…”

“I like that side of you.” He murmured without taking his hands off you. “When you let go, I mean. I can tell you’re enjoying it. You’re just too ashamed to think about it.”

When you didn’t respond, he leaned closer and his breath tickled your ear when he whispered.

He was indeed the devil.

Beautiful, dangerous and manipulative.

“Don’t worry, my sweet girl. I’ll make you overcome that, too.”

_____________________________________________________

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If I forgot anyone, please let me know and I'll fix it!

I freaking love you all!

[toriangeli]

I'd love to see more fanfic tackle not just Armand's fawn response, but his fight response.

As much as I say Armand isn't a master manipulator because he doesn't actually understand people, this probably isn't the best way to put it, because he does understand survival situations, however he defines them. You could call him a master of navigating those, whether through manipulation or otherwise. And there is very much a point where he stops bothering with the fawn response.

He's such a fascinating balance between "always the victim" and "will do anything to never be the victim again."

Because he's only the victim when he's not the actual victim. If he's genuinely threatened with real, imminent victimhood, his inner “wildcat among revenants” triggers. He will put you on your knees. He will make sure you know who has the power here.

We see this an awful lot in the books with Lestat in TVL. Mind you, Lestat's refusal to be with Armand was partly a refusal to make Armand his victim, and partly a refusal to make himself a victim of Armand. But his rejection tipped Armand into an existential crisis. For Armand, rejection and loss are life-or-death situations in these early days of canon, so Lestat tipped him from his fawn response to his fight response. And it was ugly. A lot of emphasis gets put on the tower-pushing, but people forget how much time they spent together in the aftermath. It was time Armand spent alternately pouring his heart out to Lestat (because he couldn't do it with Louis) and lashing out at him verbally. Hot and cold. Love and hate. He didn't learn temperance until his relationship with Daniel (another reason Past Devil's Minion would make sense for the show, because he's not doing much reacting to the threat of Daniel or the later violence from Louis).

[crowsofdarkness]

Moment Of Weakness: Seventeen

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping, faking a pregnancy.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: I just wanted to remind everyone who reads this, there are heavy moments of cheating/having an affair in this story. You might not agree with the actions of "reader" or Bucky but it does pertain to the storyline. If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

Tags: @cjand10 @generalmoonpolice @sapphirebarnes @baw1066

Monday morning came before I was ready to face it but I knew that there wasn’t any way I would be able to stay home, avoiding my problems, for much longer. My mind had been jumbled with thoughts of Bucky and Steve which made my decision way harder than I would have liked it to be. What did help, however, was that I didn’t hear from either of them the last couple of days, both giving me space when I needed it most. 

Now, the half block walk from where I parked my car to the office building gave me time to think even more about the two men. 

Steve.

He was a breath of fresh air, something different and inviting. He never once judged me for what I was doing with Bucky. He never said he knew but didn’t have too. Steve was nice from day one when I started and our relationship grew slowly over time and it would be stupid not to give him a chance. 

Bucky.

Bucky was everything that I had been wanting for so long, he’s the one that my heart yearns for when I’m not around him. He’s the one that I think of the second I put my head down for the night and the second I rise from the bed.

While there was chemistry when Steve and I kissed, it was alway different with Bucky. 

My heart rate would accelerate, pounding all throughout my body while my knees would go weak, unable to stand. There was so much fire and intensity with something unknown hidden behind every one of Bucky’s kisses. I couldn’t explain it, it merely kept me wanting more.  

However, there still was the fact that Bucky was married and unable to fully commit to me one hundred percent while Steve was ready to give himself to me; in more ways than one. 

In the end, someone was going to get hurt and I was willing for it to be me so neither Bucky nor Steve would fall prey to it. 

As I turned the corner, Barnes Industries coming into view, I felt a burning gaze at the back of my head which caused me to turn on my heels. Eyes scanned the busy street, other people getting ready to start their own work day, and when no one seemed out of place, I continued the short walk to the front door. 

Only now, the burning intensified and I quickly spun around, this time catching a petite woman dart down the alley a couple feet away from me. 

“What the fuck,” I muttered with furrowed brows. 

When I turned back around, I collided with a large chest, feet stumbling back and I prepared myself to fall onto the concrete. Strong arms wrapped around me, catching me before I fell. 

His eyes bored into mine and my body went rigid with fear. 

“Cl-clint.” I stammered. 

Clint helped me stand up straight and made a mockery of dusting my shoulders off. 

“You should really watch where you’re going, Y/N. You never know who you might run into, literally.” 

My lips were pulled in a straight line, too afraid to speak a word, and I did the best I could to move past him through the crowded streets. Two gazes were burning a hole into the back of my head but I didn’t bother to look back and see, knowing who one of them belonged to. 

“Shit.” 

“Oh fuck!” 

A small scream fell from my lips when I collided with yet another body, only this one I felt safe in their embrace as his vibranium hand captured my lower back. Bucky’s blue eyes watching me with concern. 

“Doll? Are you alright?” 

I shook my head, blinking away a few tears that pooled in my eyes. Bucky looked around before pulling me further inside of the building, helping me sit in the chair at my desk. 

He kneeled in front of me, placing a hand on my cheek. “Hey, what happened?” 

“I felt as if someone was watching me when I was walking in. I got distracted trying to see who and ended up walking into Clint. There’s no way that he would be in your neighborhood for the hell of it, right?” 

Bucky’s shoulders went rigid, a low scowl on his lips. “Only to scare you.” 

I shook my head. “I thought you paid off the hit?” 

“I did,” he nodded. “Maybe he’s trying to scare you.” 

“Well, it worked,” I sniffled. 

With both of his hands around the back of my neck, he placed a small kiss on my forehead, the action calming my shaking bones immediately. 

“Maybe I should go home. He doesn't know where I live,” I said. 

As soon as the words left my lips, I couldn’t help but question that statement. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he knew where I lived. 

“I’d feel a lot better if you stayed here, that way I can make sure you’re safe,” Bucky replied. 

I nodded, knowing he was right. 

We stared at each other, his tongue wetting his bottom lip as Bucky began to lean in closer and even with the fire burning low in my abdomen, I let out a small cough to put some distance between us. 

“I think I’m going to make some coffee, get my mind off what happened.” 

“Sure,” Bucky gave me a forced smile and slowly pulled away. “I’ll be in my office and have the door open if you need anything.” 

I didn’t bother to see the small look of hurt across his face as I removed myself from his grasp. 

Who was that woman? Something about her screamed familiar but I never got a good look at her face. 

I mulled those same thoughts in my mind as I stood in front of the coffee maker, teeth caught between my teeth, trying to figure out who that mystery woman was that darted into the alley when I caught her following me. 

“Maybe she works with Clint,” I muttered to myself, pouring a rather large cup of coffee. 

My third one in a few hours. 

The morning slowly spilled into the early afternoon and I had done a great job in avoiding Bucky and Steve, not ready to face the latter. Though, I knew that at some point I would have to talk to him, to let him know how I felt. 

“Hey,” a soft voice sounded behind me. 

Fuck, I didn’t mean right now.

I sighed, giving Steve a small smile. “Hi.” 

“Bucky told me what happened,” Steve said while running a hand through his hair. 

“I’m okay,” I assured him, noticing how worried he was. “Clint didn’t hurt me.” 

“I promise you, I paid him off. Bucky handed me the money and I brought it to Clint’s house. He gave me his word that the hit is off,” he assured me. 

I gave him a firm nod. “Steve, you don’t need to prove yourself. I believe you.” 

His shoulders relaxed a bit before I felt his fingers grasp at my own, pulling me towards his office. “Can we talk, in private?” 

Biting the inside of my cheek, I knew that this conversation would happen eventually and now would be the best time to get it over with. No more avoiding it. 

“Sure.” 

I let Steve gently pull me into his office and once the door was closed, he motioned for the couch that sat in place on the other end of the room. We both sat, with some distance between us. 

He ran a hand over his beard and let out a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize. You’re going through a lot right now and I shouldn’t have added more by kissing you.” 

I place a hand on his knee. “I wanted that kiss just as much as you did, Steve.” 

His face brightened. “You did?” 

“Yeah. We’ve been doing this dance for months now, it was only a matter of time.” 

Steve sighed. “But-.” 

My heart stung when I realized he had a hint of what I was going to say, his tone of voice sounding so broken. 

This time I linked our hands together. “I don’t think it’s fair to you to be with you if I’m not 100 percent committed to you. You don’t deserve that.” 

Steve’s blue eyes twinkled under the light from his office. “But you do?” 

I blinked, a bit caught off guard, and didn’t know how to answer him only because he was right. Why did I deserve to be with someone that wasn’t committed to me? 

“I can’t explain it,” I admitted with a shrug. “There’s something about him that it’s hard to let go.” 

Steve lifted my chin when I looked down ashamed. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Y/N. I’m used to losing girls to Buck.” 

“Do you hate me?” I asked with a shaky breath. 

“I could never hate you.” 

We gazed into each other's eyes and even with the magnetic pull I felt bringing me in closer to him, I fought against it by placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

“You’re a good man, Rogers,” I breathed against his skin. 

The bright glow of the moon spilled through the large windows of the building and with a low breath, I packed up my things purposely taking my time. I had to leave, go home for the night, but I was afraid of walking to my car alone with what happened this morning. 

Steve had left a few hours ago, with a quick wave but broken eyes, and it did nothing to mend the hurt I felt in my stomach. It made me sick, knowing I caused him that pain. 

I glanced over to the office behind me, the man lounging on his couch with his head resting against the back of it, eyes shut in quiet solace. 

We spent the majority of the day avoiding each other but now that I needed to ask him a huge favor, I wasn’t quite sure on how Bucky would answer. 

A gentle tap sounded on the frame of his door causing him to open his eyes, a small smile pulling at his lips. 

“Headed out?” Bucky nodded to my purse and jacket. 

I nodded. “I know I’ve been avoiding you all day so feel free to say no.” 

With his own nod, I continued. “Would you mind walking me to my car?” 

“Of course, doll.” 

Bucky’s smile warmed my heart and I waited patiently as he slipped on his leather jacket. “Ready?” 

“Yea,” I smiled. 

The cold night air wrapped around us and I made an effort to bring my jacket closer to me, in hope of creating some sort of heat. Bucky noticed and wrapped an arm around my shoulder to pull me closer. The warmth that radiated from him quickly spread to my own body and I silently moaned at the feeling. 

“Bucky?” 

My voice was quiet but he still heard, his hand squeezing my shoulder. “You alright, doll?” 

We came to a stop in front of my car and I avoided leaving; not before telling him exactly how I felt about everything. 

My palm rested against his cheek, his plump lips pressing a kiss upon the skin there and the butterflies that laid dormant the last few days began to flutter to life. 

“I don’t want to get hurt,” I said. 

Bucky nodded in my grasp. “I don’t want to hurt you, doll.” 

“I like you a lot, Bucky.” 

He quickly brought me closer to him, our nose grazing against one another. 

“The feelings are mutual.” 

His voice was deep which made my core itch with desire. 

Bucky began digging around in his pocket and placed a small, white card in my hand. As the words burned into my brain, my lips curled up in a smile.

Matt Murdock. New York’s Best Divorce Lawyer.

“A divorce?” I questioned, with so much optimism. 

He answered my question by capturing our lips together, his own feeling so soft and tasted like the bourbon I saw him drink earlier in the night. Our bodies molded together, as they always did, and I nibbled on his bottom lip when he pulled away. 

“I’m hoping by the end of the month she’ll be served with the papers.” 

Tears brimmed in my eyes. “You’re really leaving her?” 

Vibranium fingers tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “For you, Y/N. I’d do anything for you. The mere thought of possibly losing you to Steve was a wake up call. I can’t lose you and I will do anything to keep you.” 

Our lips met in yet another heated kiss, Bucky pushing me up against the cold metal of my car and I looped my fingers into the belt loops of his pants to bring him closer to me, needing that reminder of how his cock felt pressed against me. 

We were so engrossed in each other, our possible future together, that neither of us felt the burning eyes from the figure that lingered in the darkness. 

[noodle-is-unstable]

Please know that my words were in no meant to be a jab. I didn’t even know anything about your sexual orientation at all actually. I was scrolling and something told me to stop. I was just drawn and felt the need to tell you. Anyone who has ever used Christianity or any other religion to be cruel to you in any capacity was awful and that’s not at all how one should treat people. Nor is it the way that Christianity is supposed to be practiced. The love God has and his people has is supposed to be unconditional. There’s no place for cruelty, bullying, alienating or violence among people who are different and have different and beliefs. I genuinely apologize that you’ve come across individuals who have used it as an excuse and a warrant to do so. You didn’t deserve that condescending attitude towards you and those people heavily miscommunicated and misrepresented what Christianity is supposed to be about. I myself have church hurt due to the mistreatment of people and it took me pursuing my own personal relationship with God to hear his voice and be exposed to what his love is truly supposed to be like. I realized I let the misrepresentation of his people determine my perspective on the entire faith all together. It’s not about being perfect or judging other people and pointing fingers at people who are different and go through certain struggles and things. I grew up in the church thinking the strict suffocating and hyper judgmental environment was normal. I promise it’s not supposed to be like that. It’s supposed to be a safe space and a genuine relationship with God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit where you’re loved and guided regardless of where you are in life and what you do. Please know I never meant any harm or hurt towards you in any way. I feel like it’s a good thing you’ve set boundaries but just know to distinguish between genuine and disingenuous people. The same way that a person can get one idea about an entire sexuality is the same way a person forms a belief on an entire people. Prime example: you mentioned being mistreated for being apart of the LGBTQ+ community by people of religions. I as a Christian is flat out tell you that some of the most helpful, sweetest and accepting people I’ve met in life have been members of the LGBTQ+ community. A lot of believers have this idea that they need to point fingers and mistreat people who’s lifestyles don’t align with the gospel and they have this idea that you’re all evil in some way and unworthy or love and kindness. It’s the furthest thing from the truth ever and the absolute opposite of what Jesus God stands for. He doesn’t pick and choose who to love and it’s in his word to love your neighbor. It doesn’t say straight neighbor, gay neighbor, tall short white brown fat or skinny neighbor. It just. Says. Neighbor. And that’s where the foul ups are. The only job we have as Christians is to show love and kindness people regardless of their lifestyle, personality etc and spread the word of God. Christians aren’t supposed to in anyway shape or form make you feel less than or correct/judge you with a heart full of distaste or hate in any way. Realizing that has helped me find clarity and peace with forming a consistent relationship with God. Because I got a genuine idea of who he was and how loving his is first hand. That could be the starting point of your relationship. Address the fact that you’ve been hurt by his people. Talk to him and tell him every cruel word ever uttered to you and all the tears you’ve cried and pain you’ve felt and after all is said and done listen to any guidance or peace of mind he offers so you can understand what following him and experiencing his love is supposed to be like opposed to how the people who mistreated you represent the faith. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but just know you’re loved and seen by God. He won’t force you to have a relationship because he wants it to be genuine and he won’t intervene with anything in your life unless you go to him and ask. He’ll provide so much if you let him. 🩷

You're no better than any of the people you're talking about for one simple reason

I told you I'm agnostic and don't want religion on my page. You disrespected my right to not participate in religion by coming onto my page to push your religion

You clearly have no respect for me and my choices even it you claim to. Your words are nothing but a gross attempt at justification

Pushing religion on people, especially people that have already stated their beliefs, is a disgusting overstepping of boundaries

Not so kindly fuck off my page. Show up in my asks again and I'll block you. Have some fucking respect for other people religious choices

[orions-choker]

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Serial Killers, Murder, Obsessions, Yandere tendencies, Gore, more to be added.

Chapter Ten

A/N: Hi Wanted to give a warning for this chapter! This entire chapter is sex, not only that I rewrote it like three times for some graphic descriptions of gore. However those parts have not been removed, just slightly toned down as that is just my intended nature with this story. I'm sorry if that makes anyone uncomfortable <3 Otherwise please enjoy.

Having a label on whatever this was between them didn’t bring her any source of joy or excitement. She almost wanted to hit herself, she had been yearning for him to stop tip-toeing around their relationship for weeks and now she dreaded it. “Boyfriend,” She rolled the word around her tongue like a heavy bitter candy, a cough drop found at the bottom of your grandmother's purse. It made her gag.

She was analyzing herself in the mirror, stark naked and exposed. Pulling back on her skin she examined each mark left on her skin. Kirk was… bitey. She wouldn’t mind it under any other circumstance. If he was just normal. Instead it seemed like a testament to the fact that maybe he wanted to hurt her for real, each bruise painted into her skin was deep and purple and ached. He wanted to consume her, eat her. Maybe it was literal? She didn’t really know. “Boyfriend,” She spat the word out this time like she could hurl it far enough away that it no longer branded her. Her fingers prodding at the bite mark around her nipple, down to the matching one on her inner thigh. He had been kind enough to ask, she believed that if she said no he would have respected that. It still didn’t make him a good person.

The murders had come to a halt a while ago, the timeline tracked from the moment she had agreed to devote her time to him under the guise of safety. The phone calls and horrific news articles suddenly felt like a long distant memory. The police were no closer to catching the perp and there was no relief that settled over the town even though it had been weeks since another body was found. A monster still lived among them, and had taken the lives of innocent people, daughters. Girls like her.

She was doing a disservice to the lives of the girls lost by sleeping with that very monster. By holding him at night like he had done no wrong, writhing underneath him in pleasure rather than agonizing pain, by loving him. She turned away from the mirror quickly, the very sight of herself made her stomach churn. Quickly she climbed into her shower, letting the cold water pelt against her skin as punishment for everything she felt. She told herself it was better this way than avoiding him. Sure she was spitting on the memories of the victims, but she was saving the lives of any other potentials…right?

The cold water did nothing to relieve her of her sins. When she stepped back into her room the feeling of being watched settled over her again, but she knew the source now. She realised now where it had been coming from all along. Kirk didn’t hide it anymore, he wanted her to know now. She turned to her open window, peering into Kirk’s room only to find him staring back at her with a lazy grin. She wished she could say she forced the smile onto her face, but it came too easily, too gently. Shaking her head she wagged her finger at him playfully before pulling the curtains closed to get dressed.

She took a moment to herself before she prepared herself to walk into the lion's den. For once her room felt safe, closed off, when this was a sanctuary she thrived in before everything went wrong. She heard the thwacking of her dog's tail against the bed and smiled. She wasn't supposed to let her up but she had always been soft. “Hey Mavey Baby.” She murmured as she ran her hands through the thick golden fur of the animal, soothing herself. “If I ever don’t come home one day you can take my bed.” She smiled softly and kissed the top of the dog's head, earning a cute confused head tilt, floppy ears bouncing.

Getting dressed happened slowly, prolonging each moment she had in the safety of her own home, with her parents downstairs who would do anything to protect her from danger. If only they knew how willingly she was throwing herself into the jaws of death every single day. Her mom hadn’t been pleased to say the least when she told her she was dating Kirk and for once her fears were founded, even if she didn’t know. Her dad was…indifferent. Both of them inevitably warmed up to him, if there was one thing about him it was that he was incredibly charming.

She dipped her head around the corner of the kitchen after she had crawled down the stairs. She smiled at her parents. “Hey, I’m heading out now.” She told them softly. “See you guys on Sunday, yeah?” Everytime she told them that she could only hope she kept that promise. It's not like Kirk had made any effort to show her he wanted her dead, but why else had he done what he had done? It felt like a ticking time bomb.

“Yeah, be safe sweetie, we're next door if you need anything.” Her mom hummed without looking up from her book, some god awful erotica posing as a low brow romance novel. The wet sound of her licking her thumb before turning the page sent a shiver up Y/N’s spine. Her dad nodded silently. Slowly Y/N pulled herself away from the kitchen, slipping into her shoes and out the front door. She let herself into Kirk's house in a ritual that had become normal. Greeting his mom kindly before taking the stairs up to his room two at a time. His mom was too sweet, she wondered how it would break her to know what her son did.

Of course Kirk had heard her steps coming up the stairs and was opening his door before she even had her hand on the doorknob. His fingers encircled her wrist and tugged her forward against his chest. She hated the way his warmth still made her shiver. How perfectly her body slotted in against his. “Hey, took you long enough.” He mumbled into the top of her hair. “Thought you were deciding to dip out on me,”

Y/N curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, twisting the material tight. “Sorry I was a bit shaken up, I had some pervert watching me get changed through my window.” She bit at him playfully as she tilted her head up to look at him. Her tone was joking but she wasn’t wrong. As she watched his grin crack over his face she wondered if he had any inkling that she knew about him. His laugh surrounded her, sweet and soft. In this moment he looked so innocent like he had never done anything wrong in his life. That hurt. She wondered if in a different universe things were fine, and she could love Kirk without guilt.

“Sorry,” He mumbled sweetly, one of his hands coming to cup her cheek, his long fingers gently calloused against her skin. “You’re just so beautiful and it's such a good view from my window. Can you blame me?” He hummed and leaned down to press their lips together. Soft and plush against her own and she melted against him instinctually. “I have the prettiest girlfriend in the world.” He breathed against her as he pulled back.

He would be such a good boyfriend. It almost made her want to scream, shake him senseless and berate him for ruining it all, running any chance they had to be normal, ruining himself. She never let herself get too lost wrapped up in him, reminding herself she was doing this out of necessity not want. But that wasn't true at all was it. She was an awful rotten person, decaying from the inside out because instead of going to the police she was sleeping with him. Letting bloodied hands caress her, cradle her, because she was selfish and had never felt so loved. Never felt so scared.

“You’re obligated to say that.” She rolled her eyes and pried herself from his arms to throw herself down at his desk chair, the wheels rolling back slightly. “It would be messed up if you said another girl was prettier than me.” She smiled at him as she drew her legs up to her chest and spun herself around in the chair. Slowly coming to a halt facing him once more.

An amused smile played on his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm not,” He laughed. “I could be a total dick and tell you some other girl was hotter.” He shrugged as he loomed over. His shadow blocked all light from view, leaving only him. Only ever him. “But I really believe that you’re the prettiest woman to have ever walked this earth.” Dark soft eyes flicked across her with an unmistakable hunger. “Do you need me to show you that?”

No, no, don’t touch me, don't make me complicit in your sin. “Yes,” She breathed out as she stood up, wrapping her arms around his neck and pushing him back until he was falling against the bed with a soft breath. A chuckle leaving him at her eagerness. Gentle hands rested on her hips as she crawled on top of him. Too gentle, a tenderness that would be forgotten the moment her clothes were off. There was a desperate filth that coated her skin because despite it all she wanted this.

The pads of his fingers dug into her flesh as he slid his hands beneath her shirt, pushing it up over her body. She lifted her arms complicity as he removed the fabric from her. “I love you, y’know.” He sighed appreciatively, and for a moment she thought maybe she saw guilt in his eyes. She believed him, he loved her in some twisted fucked up way. His thumb traced over some of the marks he had left on her, some would scar, that was intended by him. She would always be reminded she was permanently marked by him.

“I love you too.” She mumbled as her fingers dropped to the button of his jeans, working it open with too much eagerness for a girl lying to herself that she was with him to survive. He tapped her hip to get her to flip over. She did so complicitly, the soft fabric of his sheets hitting her skin as he stood up beside his bed, shucking his jeans off unceremoniously before he was tugging off her shorts. His knee knocked her legs apart further as he crawled over her on the bed, caging her in. He could do it now, when she was laid bare at her most vulnerable, slip the cold metal into her skin and cut through her like warm butter.

Would he gut her sloppily like he did the others, or would he afford her something more beautiful? Keeping the knife steady as it peeled back the skin and fat from her navel up to her sternum. Pin it back like a specimen for dissection. Would he crack open her ribs, or would he work his hand beneath the bone delicately to wrap his fingers around her still beating heart and tug it free. “You’re so wet.” He mumbled against her neck, briefly breaking her from her stupor. She hadn’t even registered his fingers pressing against her through the thin cotton of her panties. God she was fucked up, she was getting off on this.

She lifted her hips up so he could pull the offending fabric down her thighs. The cool air in his room eased the heat between her legs ever so slightly. Did he fuck those girls too? Lure them in to make them feel safe and warm, give them one last moment of pleasure before he watched the life leave their eyes? She hoped not. She was different, she was special. He wouldn’t make love to them like he did her. She let out a shaky gasp as his fingers pressed deep inside her, rubbing along her walls until he pushed against the spot that had her arching her back, fingers curling tightly against his sheets. “Oh g-god, right there.” She whined. There was no god here, why did she call for him?

It was hard and fast, he fucked his fingers into her like he did his cock. It didn’t hurt as he curled them, his free hand coming to press down just below her navel. The added pressure had her eyes glazing over. Her mouth parted in a string of hot breathy moans as she watched him. The way his tongue darted out across his lips like he was looking at a meal to eat. “Yeah, right there?” He breathed out. Kirk rested his head on her propped up knee as he worked her over, his gaze affectionate, a smile playing on his lips like he wasn't knuckles deep within her. “C’mon I can feel how close you are,” He hummed. “Come just once on my fingers, then I’ll give you what you want.” He cooed at her, his voice so soft and sweet.

Y/N didn’t trust her voice, not with the way he punched shaky desperate moans from her lips with each thrust. She nodded dumbly as she clenched down around him. Her knuckles went white with the tight grip she had on the sheets. “Oh fuck, fuck” She gasped as she felt the tight white hot coiling in her stomach. It was too much and not enough all the same. She tossed her head back like a woman possessed as she cried out his name desperately, thighs trembling and snapping shut around his hand as she came around his fingers. Her body went limp against the mattress and she twitched slightly with the aftershock.

“Good girl, fuck you’re so good for me.” Kirk hummed the praise as he pressed his warm lips to her sweat soaked skin. His fingers pulled from her hole with a wet squelch that left her recoiling at the sound. He seemed indifferent to just how gross it was. “Look at me,” He asked gently. Her heavy eyes landed on him just in time to watch him push his fingers between his lips. The sight knocked the breath from her lungs as his tongue lapped at the slick coating his hand, his eyes closing as he moaned in delight. When he was seemingly satisfied with her taste and the cleanliness of his fingers he swiped his spit across her stomach. She shivered as the air cooled it instantly against her skin.

The bed creaked slightly as he shifted his weight, pressing one hand above her head on the bed to hold himself steady as he reached into his underwear. He fished his dick out, gripping it tight between his lean pretty fingers. The tip was swollen and already leaking. He guided himself, rubbing against her clit and letting out a soft moan. Kirk was so loud and sensitive, it was unfortunately cute, she loved how vocal he was. Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in closer as he rocked between her folds, mixing their fluids together and making a mess between her thighs. “A-ah fuck, I could come just like this.” He whined into the crook of her neck as his cock repeatedly bumping against her clit.

She was inclined to agree. It felt good, the pressure just enough to encourage that building feeling in her stomach again. As much as she would enjoy that, the sick part of her wanted him to be inside her already. With a small shake of her head she tilted her hips up slightly, catching the head against her entrance with the needy rocking motions he was making. “N-no, wanna be filled.” Y/N spoke desperately. She was absolutely basking in the soft persistent noises he was making in her ear.

Kirk nodded. “God, you’re so good to me,” He praised her, kissing along her skin, lapping his tongue against where her neck and jaw met. He could feel her pulse beneath the flesh and he moaned again. Slowly he pushed up against her, sinking inside the tight wet heat until his balls were tucked snugly against her ass. Her legs trembled where they locked around his hips, keeping him flush with her body. “Baby,” He whined, broken and desperate. “I love you, fuck I love you.” He chanted hot against her skin.

When he was inside her was when she felt most conflicted. Their bodies interlocked perfectly together. The stretch of his girth had her feeling pleasantly full and when he pulled his hips back and pressed forward again he dragged along her walls in a way that had her breathless and wanting. Yet she knew she could never un-fuck him, she would always be tainted. She will always remember that he had been inside her. When the police eventually caught him she would live with the constant reminder she had willingly let him fill her. Would she be dead by then so she didn’t have to live with the guilt. Would the police ever even know it was him.

Snapped from her stupor once more she let out a high pitched cry, her heels digging into his back as he set a slow but hard pace. His lips against her collarbone as he whimpered words of admiration and praise. “Kirk, s’good, so good.” She moaned. Her nails dug into the smooth skin of his back as he pushed her deeper into the bed. It creaked and shifted with every move and she had half a mind to be embarrassed about how loud they were when his mom was still in the house. “Harder,” She pleaded in contradiction to her worries.

He obeyed eagerly. The jut of his hip bones was harsh against the soft flesh of her ass as he gripped her thigh in one hand, pressing her leg up towards her chest and pressing his cock into her deeper, harder and faster. “So fucking desperate.” He groaned, tilting his head to nip at her calf where he slung her leg over his shoulder. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, he was relentless in his movements, punching the breath from her lungs with each sharp thrust. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna come, you’re gonna take it all right? My pretty girl.” He gasped out.

Y/N preened at his words, the affection dripping from his voice made her forget everything just for a moment. “Mhm,” She mewled. Her hands scrambled to grasp at his face, relishing in the soft skin beneath her hands. He looked innocent and beautiful at that moment. Angelic with his big round dark eyes, his perfect lips parted as he moaned. For a brief second this was pure. Her thumb swiped across the dark mole that kissed his cheek. “I want it all, give it to me.” She nodded softly as she forced eye contact between them.

It was too much, too intense. Kirk's eyes widened and his mouth opened further with a strangled noise. His hips stuttering before stilling completely buried inside her. She could feel each pulse as he finished inside her. Warmth spilled around his cock still plugging her, leaking from her messy hole and down her ass onto the sheets. His expression was soft and filled with awe as he stared down at her, his release washing over him in waves. His arms shook as he held himself over her body. Finally he let his weight press her into the bed. Resting his body against her as his chest heaved with each shallow shaky breath. “Oh my god,” He mumbled into her neck.

She wanted to coo at him. He was always reduced to such a soft whiny mess. Her hands rubbed along his back as he kissed her neck softly. “I love you,” She whispered and she believed herself, she hated that. She was terrified of him even in this moment as she held him close, held close the very thing that would be her undoing. Yet she pulled him closer. Whined as his cock softened and slipped from her, following another sticky wave of his cum spreading between her thighs. She entangled their legs tighter.

“I love you too,” Kirk hummed against the underside of her jaw before shifting his body up the bed, his lean arms wrapping around her and tugging her against his chest. His fingers carding through her hair and gently untangling it as he went. “Please never leave me,” He whispered in a desperate plea. It surprised her and made her want to laugh all the same. Never leave him? Was that even an option on the table, she knew what would happen if she tried. She wouldn’t leave him.

She didn’t have a choice

[elysiuminfra]

asterion and the moth

[theoreticalli]

I put 30 tags on that dear evan hansen post. for the love of god don't click to expand the tags I'm so fucking sorry I just hate that awful fucking show so fucking much. oh fuck I've done it again in the tags here oh god

[6mayhem]

zerophilia

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] New character: the old guardian of the Huffman siblings! + LORE and COMICS

Sir. Wallace Kingsman. A retired hitman/boss in his late 80s who's a father figure to the Huffman siblings

He's rather old fashioned and stoic, only ever showing his much softer side towards the two kids, a few other close companions, and nobody else. He's both well-respected and feared by the people who knows him.

His stance on the relationship between the Toons and the Huffman siblings are vague. He does not reveal his true thoughts and feelings, only quietly observing them. However, by the end, he sees that being with the toons makes Gavriel and Grace happy so he chooses to just leave it be.

[Background Info and Comics:] (Warning: Injury, blood, dark topics.)

As little children, the Huffman siblings found Kingsman in the slums when the old gentleman was collapsed due to his injuries from a gunfight nearby.

Gavriel Huffman, accustomed to the violence, planned on leaving the dying man alone, not wanting to take the risk of potentially getting into trouble with his involvement. Grace was able to [hesitantly] change his mind due to her persistent begging to save the old man.

(7eleven background drawn by @meiitenn) Gavriel Huffman during this time was 16 years old, with Grace Huffman being 7 years old. Both children have no parents and they live on their own, alongside the poor/homeless population of the area they reside in.

After the Huffman siblings saved Sir Kingsman's life, he eventually gets well enough to leave on his own and come back later to repay the kindness that was shown to him by the people of the slums, especially the Huffman siblings.

He takes the Huffman siblings under his wing and raised them as his own where they grew to become elite members of their organization through their unexpected talent and incredible hard work.

The three initially did not consider each other as family, more like friendly acquaintances. However, there were signs of their relationship developing to that route, which accelerated after a particular accident happened.

They only ever referred to each other with formality. This was the first time they've called each other familial terms.

Grace Huffman, upset at having experienced such a harrowing event, swore to become stronger so her old brother doesn't have to get hurt protecting her anymore.

[scorpiossslut]

OFF-LIMITS. -Rafe Cameron.

Pairing: best friend!rafe x fem!reader

summary: rafe has always been your sweet, loving best friend. until he showed you he’s way more than that.

author’s note: had a cute idea for a fic. hope you’ll enjoy. as always, this is filthy. -xoxo, cherry💋

warnings: possessive!rafe, borderline crazy, obsessive!rafe, mentions of violence, rafe being a perv in secret, mentions of JJ Maybank flirting with reader, choking, face slapping, rough, unprotected p!v, loss of virginity, praising, degradation, breeding kink (baby trapping)

Being Rafe's precious best friend meant that you were always going to get spoiled. Many women wished for the things he was constantly offering you; his undivided attention, his affection, random, huge amounts of money sent to your bank account everytime you'd tell him you had a bad day, or if you wanted to get your nails done, or go shopping, sometimes insisting he'd come along, protection, maybe a little too much of it at times, everything you could ever want.

You were the most important thing in his life, since he never really had much of a relationship with his family, all of them treating him like he was a disease, something to be avoided at all costs, only bringing pain and suffering to those around him, like they'd often tell him. But you never saw him that way, and you hated his family for pushing him away and hurting his feelings like that. You were always there for him, his biggest supporter, the only one who could calm him down when he'd come knocking on your window late at night after having a fight with his father, the one taking care of him and putting a smile on his face. And he loved you for that.

But being Rafe's precious best friend also meant that you were off-limits to everyone else. You knew he had a tendency of being rather... intense, when it comes to you. Shit, everyone knew it, too, always choosing to stay at an arm's length from you in fear of what Rafe might think. Ever since you two were kids, he was always protective of you, and he absolutely hated the idea of sharing you.

As you got older though, it got worse. You couldn't even talk to a boy without him pulling you away immediately, and if you did, he'd always make sure to claim you in some way, wrapping his strong hands around you, or placing his big hand on your ass "innocently", always throwing daggers with his eyes and making sure that whatever asshole was trying to talk to you could see that you were unavailable. That he wasn't playing about you. His pretty princess. He didn't like it when you'd hang out with Topper and Kelce either, but since they were his friends, and they definitely knew not to fuck with him, he let it slide. But only because most of the time, he was with you, never leaving your side and silently taking notes of every time one of them would get a bit too close or be too kind to you for his liking.

You never had a problem with it. Rafe always knew best. That's what he'd always tell you, and you never had a reason not to believe him. He always took care of you. Many people talked and raised eyebrows constantly around you, not believing even for a second that you two were just best friends. There was no way that was all.

To you, it was just white noise. You were so used to Rafe and his behaviour that you didn't bat an eye ever at the closeness between you. He was just Rafey, your beloved best friend.

But little did you know the lengths that he'd go through to make sure you stayed by his side. That you'd remain his. His little bunny, oblivious to the real reason he's always asking to see your phone, hiding his true intentions with the excuse of just “checking for something", or "playing music" or wanting to "take photos" of you, when the real reason was that he was going borderline crazy just thinking about you secretly talking to boys on there. Oblivious to the real reason his knuckles were violently bruised once in a while, promising you that it was nothing, when in reality, he almost killed a few boys for talking about you or looking at you in a filthy way, or trying to spark a conversation with you. Clueless about the way he was always watching you, even when you thought he wasn't around. Following you in secrecy, almost everytime you'd leave the house, just to make sure that you were safe and you weren't planning on seeing someone else behind his back. Completely unaware of the way he'd steal a pair of your panties once a month, sometimes washed, but most of the time used, snatched right out of your laundry basket, just to fulfill his sick, filthy fantasies in the privacy of his room at night, when no one would be awake to hear his moans and your name slipping from his lips as he fisted his impossibly hard cock so fast that he was seeing stars.

He thought it was cute. How you never suspected anything, how blindly you trusted him. And he was fine with you not knowing just how obsessed he was, for a while.

However, his patience was starting to fade. With every pearly smile, every innocent look you threw his way, those short skirts and sundresses you liked to wear that he swore you were wearing on purpose, just to make him go mad. Everytime you'd sit on his lap, or press your cute little ass against him when you'd dance at a party.

Everything was slowly but surely driving him insane, and it was only a matter of time until he was going to finally take what he wanted, what was rightfully his, and only his.

In his mind, the moment you'd find out about his true feelings towards you was going to be romantic, he'd make sure to be careful not to scare you off, he'd make you realize just how much you need him and how much he loved you.

So why did you just have to ruin that, by letting a damn pogue, JJ Maybank of all people, flirt with you? He thought he was going to lose his mind when he'd caught you two on the beach, talking without a care in the world, that stupid pogue scanning your body shamelessly and complimenting your little outfit that was supposed to be for his eyes only. He thought he was smart and fearless, trying to get into your pants like that.

He thought.

Oh, how he hated that you had to make it hard for him and yourself by doing that. He had trusted you, showed you his love, his devotion, for so many years, and there you were, pushing him to do something so reckless that might make you hate him.

But no... he wouldn't have that. He was going to make sure you never looked at another man again, that he would be the only one for you.

Forever.

"My dumb little princess, always so fucking oblivious." He grunted, pounding into your little pussy violently while he gripped your cheeks painfully, making your juicy lips pout. "You don't know what you did to me back there, baby. You're lucky that little shit is still alive after what he tried to pull."

His tone was soft, almost mocking, but you were having trouble processing his words, too messy and too cock drunk to hear anything as you took what he gave you helplessly, your abused cunt swallowing him greedily with each thrust of his hips.

"I told you not to run off by yourself, didn't I? Told you you should only stick by my side. You. Only. Stay. With. Me." He barked, empathizing his words with harsh thrusts, knocking the air out of your lungs and having your back arch off the bed.

"M' sorry, Rafey! I... I didn't mean to, I promise!" You cried out, digging your manicured fingers into his shoulders as you used them for support.

He just chuckled, the sound dark and lacking any amusement. You didn't mean to. Of course you didn't.

"Yeah? Then what the fuck were you smiling at Maybank for, huh?! Letting him look at you, talk to you, when you know that shit pisses me off? You tryna be a whore or something?!" He snapped, grabbing onto the back of your thighs and folding them to your chest, the new angle allowing his cock to stretch you even more and hit your cervix deliciously.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your lips parted with a loud, pornographic moan.

This wasn't the Rafe you were used to. Your soft, caring, loving best friend, and even if you knew of his outbursts, his undeniable issues, he always made sure to keep that side of him away from you, only treating you like a delicate flower, worshiping you with all his heart. Now, he was a completely different person, and maybe you should've hated him for taking everything from you like that, your sweet, precious virginity, but to your surprise, you loved it. And the way your pussy was fluttering around him uncontrollably was a clear sign of that.

"Well shit, would you look at that." Rafe smirked, leaning closer and folding your legs further, the pain adding to the pleasure you were starting to feel at the pits of your stomach. He wrapped his fingers around your slim throat, applying pressure to the sides of your neck and humming in satisfaction at the way your teary eyes widened in shock. "My pretty princess likes being called a whore, huh?"

"R-Rafe! Please, please!" You begged, but you didn't know what for.

"You were just begging for some cock, weren't you? This slutty hole needed a good pounding that bad. What a shame, baby..." He tsked, shaking his head and leaning to peck your trembling lips briefly, before switching up and slapping your cheek, the sharp sound echoing in the room along with the filthy sounds of your skin slapping and your wet pussy squelching around him.

"My dick is the only one this cunt will ever see, understood?!"

You let out a short scream and clenched around him viciously, his words making your head spin.

You were sure you were scratching his back to the point it was almost bleeding, but you couldn't help it, feeling like you were going to pass out with his hand coming back to squeeze your throat and with the way his pace picked up, the bed creaking underneath you like it was going to break with the force of his thrusts.

"Yes! Yes, Rafey!" You managed to say between moans and pathetic whimpers, reaching out and grasping his wrist, your small fingers wrapping around it.

You looked so beautiful to him right now. Unreal. With tears rolling down your soft cheeks, those pretty doe eyes looking up at him submissively, not hiding the way your pupils were blown in pure lust, only for him. Red, swollen lips from his kisses, your carefully applied makeup that was now ruined on your face, an obsessive amount of marks that were going to become flashy bruises, all over your neck and your chest, a clear reminder for you and everyone else that he owned you. The sweet sounds coming from your lips were like music to his ears, the countless nights where he'd imagine how you'd sound like, how you'd feel wrapped around his cock now useless, because nothing could compare to the real thing.

"Sweet angel taking cock so well. 'S like you were made for me, baby... Don't you think so? Look at how greedy this pussy is. Taking me like a pro." He praised, pulling back a little and tilting his head to the side and watching the way he slipped and pushed into you so easily, your slick covering his entire length, a hint of pink around his base, the evidence of your innocence being ripped away from you, now belonging to him.

Letting go of your neck, you finally gasped for air, blinking stupidly at him with your long lashes. But then, he suddenly reached out and grasped your hair, fisting it and yanking your head forward with force, having you watch the way he was stretching you repeatedly.

"Look how good you're taking me. This is all mine. Mine. No one will ever get to see you like this, baby... Gonna make sure of it. You'll never think about another boy ever again. You belong to me, you always have." His lips stretched into a smirk, the look in his eyes possessed as he watched you squirm and whimper, almost unable to keep your eyes open with the tears blocking your sight.

"Say it. Say this pussy belongs to me. You belong to me." He growled, his once blue eyes that were now dark and possessed burning a hole through you, his fingers gripping your hair tighter and pushing your head back. His body pressed against yours as his other hand sneaked its way to your pussy, his thumb pressing against your puffy, sensitive clit and rubbing it back and forth rapidly.

Your thighs were shaking around his waist, and your small body was trashing underneath him as you whined and locked eyes with his.

"It's yours, Rafey! Pussy's yours. I'm yours!"

"Fucking right. You'll never get away from me, even if you tried. I own you. You're never leaving me." He spat, the possessive words only making you squeeze his cock tighter.

It was supposed to be a threat maybe, but in your fucked up state, it was the hottest thing.

You wouldn't be able to live without Rafe anyway, you were so dependent on him, on his attention, his love, that the thought of ever being without him felt wrong.

Then, a sudden thought came to him. How could he make sure that you were never going to escape him? That you were only going to need him, for the rest of your life, just like he needed you. Maybe he could knock you up. Surely you'll never be able to run away if he got you big and swollen with his baby. You'll be his forever. God, only the thought made his body shiver. You'd look even more beautiful this way. Glowing, all because of him. Carrying his heir in that pretty belly of yours. Giving him a family to take care of.

An animalistic growl escaped from deep inside him, and his hips snapped frantically against yours with a newfound purpose now as he smashed his lips with yours, swallowing your whimpers. The kiss was filled with possessiveness as he tried to claim you in every way possible, his tongue slipping into your mouth and tasting you greedily while you tried to keep up with him, every once in a while clashing your teeth together as he rocked your fragile body into the mattress. When he pulled back, a string of your shared saliva connected your lips, and he grinned at you, but in a way that had the hairs on your body stand up.

"Think I know what to do with you, princess. Think I'm gonna get you all knocked up. Yeah. You'd look so pretty like that, you'll be so full of me you won't even be able to walk. And everyone will know, baby... Everyone will know who did that to you. That you're carrying my baby inside of you. Rafe Cameron's baby. My heir."

[focusonkayjay]

right here, yet so far away | oneshot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: exes to lovers, ceo! jungkook x kindergarten teacher! reader, angst, smut, fluff

Word Count: 19.4k (my hands slipped girl)

Chapter Warnings: mature language, unprotected sex (pls be safe), oral (f. receiving), mentions of an accident, coma, violence (lmk if i missed anything)

A/N: hello cuties. this is a special post in honor of me hitting 300 followers. i cant believe the immense support i have received when it's only been a week. thank you so much for consuming my work and supporting me. also please note, the text in italics are for dream sequences or flashbacks. P.S i know people don't just instantly recover after a long coma, but in this story it's just heavy plot armor, so kindly understand.

//

“But baby… please just…” Jungkook’s voice cracks as he jogs to catch up, his hand reaching out for yours. You swat it away without hesitation, the sting of rejection hitting him harder than any words ever could.

“Jungkook, stop it.” you say firmly, your tone sharp enough to cut through his soul. He freezes, his wide eyes searching yours for answers.

“But baby, just tell me why? We were doing so good… just yesterday, you... you said you loved me. Please, you can’t just... leave like this.”

He tries to observe your expression, hoping to convince himself that this is just some cruel joke. But there’s no softness in your eyes, no flicker of doubt. Only a cold, unyielding resolve.

“Don’t you understand?” you scoff, folding your arms tightly across your chest. “I’m tired of you, Jungkook. I’m tired of us.” His breath hitches, disbelief flashing across his face. “Stop. Don’t say that. You don’t… you don’t mean that.”

“I do.” you insist, each word a dagger to his heart. “I mean every word of it. I’m done with you. This whole relationship… it’s not going anywhere. It’s a waste of time, and I just… I can’t, Jungkook. We have to break up.”

His shoulders slump, and his chest rises and falls as though the air has been knocked out of him. He stands frozen, staring at you, desperate to find some hint of hesitation in your expression. But all he sees is resolve… or at least, what you’re determined to show him.

“Why?” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You stare at him blankly. "Because I don’t love you anymore.” you reply, your voice unwavering. Jungkook flinches as if struck. His lips part, but no words come out. And when you turn around and walk away, the sound of your retreating footsteps echoes in his ears, louder than any goodbye, as your body disappears into the darkness.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The shrill wail of the alarm slices through the silence, and Jungkook's eyes harshly open. He gasps for air, his chest heaving as the nightmare clings to him like a second skin.

It’s always the same nightmare. The same scene. The same words. The same look on your face. The same crushing weight in his chest.

He drags a hand down his face, the coolness of his palm doing little to soothe him. His dark hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat, and he blinks up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above him.

For a moment, he just sits there, the silence of his apartment wrapping around him like a cold blanket. A single tear trickles down his temple as images of you flash in his mind, one after the other. His phone buzzes on the nightstand... a reminder of the meetings and deadlines awaiting him, but he doesn’t move.

Four months. It’s been four months since you walked away, and he still doesn’t understand why.

He remembers the day of the break up like it was yesterday. The scene is so vividly planted in his mind that he even sees it in his sleep. He can’t get rid of the way you looked at him… like you despised the sight of him, like you truly didn’t love him anymore.

He still doesn’t have his answers. Why did you leave so suddenly? Why did your heart just decide it didn’t want him anymore? The questions linger in his mind, unanswered, gnawing at him like a constant ache he can’t escape.

Jungkook remains rooted on his mattress, the weight of memories pressing down on him as he recalls the first time he saw you. It was over two years ago, but when he recollects it, it feels so vivid, like it's happening in the present.

He had been reluctant to attend an event that was scheduled at a local kindergarten nearby. Exhausted from a long flight back from the States, he’d tried to get out of it. But his assistant, understanding the importance of his role as the CEO, insisted that he'd attend it regardless.

His company wasn’t just about selling food products, it was dedicated to promoting healthy living, especially for children. They organized events to educate kids on the importance of good nutrition, partnered with schools to provide nutritious meals, and created fun, interactive programs to get children excited about eating right.

Though Jungkook wasn’t keen on spending his afternoon with a room full of energetic kids, he went anyway. The workshop had already started and the moment he stepped into the classroom, ready to grab the attention of the kids, he suddenly spotted you.

You were standing at the front of the room, a soft smile on your face as you engaged with the children, laughing with them and cracking jokes. Your energy was infectious, and the way you moved with such ease around the kids made his heart skip a beat. There was something so warm and genuine about you, something that immediately drew him in.

It wasn’t just the way you looked... though you were undeniably beautiful, but how you carried yourself, the kindness that radiated from you, and how at home you seemed in this world of tiny hands and laughter. Jungkook had never been the type to believe in love at first sight, but the moment his eyes landed on you, something inside him shifted.

He had been smitten, captivated in a way he couldn’t explain. His thoughts had scattered as he watched you, his mind far from the speech he was supposed to be giving. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you had captured his attention, and yet he couldn’t look away.

It wasn’t until later, when he was preparing to leave, that he finally found the courage to approach you. He had been nervous, unsure of what to say. But the moment you looked at him, a simple greeting from you was all it took.

Your smile was enough to melt any lingering doubt he had. He introduced himself, his voice slightly shaky but confident enough to make a lasting impression. And you, with that same gentle smile, responded in kind words, immediately making him feel at ease.

He had no idea at that moment that this chance encounter would change his life in the best way possible.

Now, laying in his bed, Jungkook smiles bitterly, remembering how it all started. How he had the most beautiful relationship with you for around a year and three months. How one decision, one visit to that kindergarten, led to everything he lost.

He still can't understand why you left him the way you did, without explanation, without any chance for him to fix whatever went wrong. The image of your face that day... the coldness, the finality, haunts him still.

Despite the whirlwind of thoughts clouding his mind, Jungkook forces himself to push them aside. He stares at the ceiling for a moment longer, allowing the weight of the memories to settle, before finally making the decision to get up.

He knows he can’t linger in this state forever. The day is waiting for him, and he can’t afford to let his emotions hold him back. With a sigh, he swings his legs off the bed and plants his feet firmly on the floor. The familiar coldness of the hardwood beneath his feet is grounding, and for a brief moment, he feels a sense of control over the chaos in his mind.

The early morning light filters through the blinds, casting a soft glow on his room. He moves to the bathroom, running cold water over his face, hoping it will somehow shake the fog from his thoughts. It’s a futile attempt, but it’s enough to snap him into the present, if only for a few minutes.

Jungkook stares at his reflection in the mirror, taking a deep breath. His mind is still heavy, but he’s learned over the years to compartmentalize, especially when it comes to work. He’s the CEO and his company can’t afford to be distracted by his personal life. No matter how much his heart aches, there’s a bigger picture to focus on.

//

You glance at the kids, focused on their coloring books, and a soft smile tugs at your lips. They’re adorable, each one lost in their own little world, their tiny hands gripping crayons as they carefully add color to their drawings. You walk around the room, quietly observing their work, admiring the little bursts of creativity.

As you pass by the window, your gaze drifts outside, where a few children are running and playing on the soccer field. You let out a sigh, your fingers subconsciously tracing the pendant of your necklace.

It’s the only thing that connects you to him, to the one that got away, to the one you let slip right through your fingers, even when it hurt to do so. You close your eyes for a brief moment, and his image floods your mind. The way his eyes sparkled when he smiled, the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his presence.

You miss him so badly, your chest tightening with the weight of it. But you push the feeling down, swallowing the ache in your heart. You remind yourself why it had to end, why you had to walk away. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

As you stare at the bleachers stand by the green field, a vivid and unpleasant memory creeps up your mind.

"Break up with him."

Junghyun's voice was calm, his eyes fixed on the empty soccer field ahead. The chilly evening breeze brushed past your hair, but it did little to cool the heat rising in your chest. You turned to look at him, disbelief written all over your face.

"What?" you asked, your voice carrying a mix of confusion and irritation. Junghyun was Jungkook's older brother, and his unexpected visit had left you completely on edge.

You had only met this man once before, a fleeting encounter when you accidentally bumped into him outside Jungkook’s apartment one morning. Seeing him now, unannounced at your workplace, caught you completely off guard.

"Break up with him, Y/N." he repeated, turning to face you this time. His gaze was piercing, his tone unyielding. "You know you two belong to completely separate worlds. Jungkook isn’t in love... he’s just infatuated. And frankly..." he continued, his voice dropping with disdain. "You’re nothing but a distraction."

You stared at him, your mind reeling from the audacity of his words. The traffic noise in the far distance felt like static compared to the ringing in your ears. "Are you serious right now?" you managed to say, your tone sharper than you intended.

Junghyun didn’t flinch. "I’m completely serious. Do you think this little fling of yours will lead to anything? Jungkook has responsibilities... he has a company to run, a legacy to uphold. You’re a kindergarten teacher, Y/n. A sweet girl, sure, but not someone who can keep up with him."

His words stung, but you refused to show it. "Jungkook loves me." you stated firmly, your voice unwavering. "I know how he feels about me. So whatever you’re trying to pull, it won’t work."

Junghyun scoffed, shaking his head. "Love? You call this love? He’s smitten, sure, but that doesn’t mean it’ll last. You’ll only hold him back."

You clenched your fists, your chest tightening with frustration. Every instinct in you wanted to yell at him, to tell him how wrong he was, how little he knew about what you and Jungkook shared.

You breathed heavily, your eyes narrowing as they locked onto him. "I'm going to pretend we never had this conversation." you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil bubbling inside. Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel, stepping off the bleacher stands and ready to head back inside.

“Hanyung Hospital.” Junghyun’s voice suddenly rang out, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your breath hitched, and your eyebrows furrowed as your back remained turned to him. A wave of unease settled over you, his words striking a chord you wished he hadn’t found.

“Isn’t that where your brother is admitted?” His tone was sharp, laced with a smirk you didn’t need to see to recognize.

Slowly, you turned to face him, your heart racing as panic flashed across your features. Had this man done a background check on you? Your mind reeled at the thought, fear and anger coursing through you in equal measure.

Junghyun’s smirk deepened as he saw the panic etched on your face. “Guess I know a little too much about you, sweetheart.” he said smoothly, his words dripping with a smug satisfaction.

Your fists clenched at your sides, but your voice caught in your throat. The realization that he had gone to such lengths made your skin crawl, and a sense of dread settled in your stomach.

"See, this is the problem with you lowlifes..." Junghyun sneered, his voice dripping with disrespect. "You have so many weaknesses, yet you never stop dreaming big." He let out a cruel laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement at your stunned silence.

You stared at him, your throat tightening as if the words you wanted to say were caught in a vice. "I heard he’s been in a coma for four years." he continued, his tone casual, almost mocking.

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. The mention of your brother... the very core of your vulnerability, felt like a dagger twisting in your heart.

“Maybe I should make sure this coma lasts forever—”

"What?" The word burst out of you before he could finish. Panic surged through you, visible in the way your breathing quickened. Junghyun’s smirk widened, his eyes lighting up with satisfaction at your reaction. He relished the fear and desperation etched across your face, feeding off the control he had over the situation.

"Leave my brother out of this." you managed to say, your voice low but firm, fists clenched tightly at your sides. "This has nothing to do with him."

You forced yourself to regulate your breathing, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions that were threatening to spill over. But deep down, you knew exactly what this man was doing. And it felt like a threat too enormous to escape.

Junghyun’s smirk only deepened, his silence more unsettling than words. It was as though he reveled in watching you squirm under the weight of his insinuations.

Your mind raced, every possible scenario flashing before you. The influence Jungkook’s family wielded wasn’t just intimidating, it was terrifying. They were rich, powerful, and connected in ways you could only imagine.

For all you knew, they could probably make someone disappear without a trace. And standing face-to-face with Junghyun, you started to think that was your chilling reality.

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze with as much resolve as you could muster, but the unease in your chest lingered. You felt trapped, cornered by an enemy who knew just where to strike to hurt you the most.

"Well, sweetheart, I want to leave him out of this too..." Junghyun sighed, his tone mockingly sympathetic. "And you know exactly what you need to do for that to happen."

His words struck like a hammer, each syllable weighing heavier than the last. You felt your whole world collapsing around you, the walls closing in with no way out. You felt suffocated. Cornered. Powerless.

Your gaze dropped to your feet, tears pooling in your eyes despite your desperate attempts to hold them back. The fight within you slowly crumbled, leaving only the unbearable weight of his ultimatum.

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you fought to keep yourself composed.

"I'll break up with him." you whispered finally, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. A tear slipped down your cheek, the first crack in the dam as the reality of your surrender settled in.

Junghyun stepped down from the bleacher stands, his slow footsteps growing louder in your ears. You didn’t move, your feet rooted to the ground as if the weight of your decision had physically anchored you.

He stopped in front of you, and you felt his presence, his amusement radiating like poison. A soft laugh escaped him, sending shivers down your spine.

"Now that was easy, wasn’t it?" he mocked, patting your head like you were a child who had just followed orders. Your jaw tightened, teeth gritting at the humiliating gesture, but you remained silent.

"And this goes without saying, but... Jungkook should never hear about this encounter." Junghyun said, his voice low and taunting as he stepped closer.

You didn’t respond, your throat too tight and your mind too fogged with fear and anger to formulate a reply.

He smirked at your silence before brushing past you, deliberately bumping into your shoulder as if to remind you just how insignificant he believed you to be. The force was slight, but it felt heavier, laden with the weight of everything he’d taken away from you in the matter of mere minutes.

The chilly breeze cut through the quiet, and you felt it settle deep into your bones, a reminder of just how cold the world could be.

"Miss Choi!" a little voice pierces through the haze of your flashback, pulling you back to reality. Your eyes shift from the bleacher stands outside to the source of the voice. A little girl waves her broken color pencil in the air, her tiny face scrunched in distress.

You force a smile, the corners of your lips lifting as you walk towards her. "Give me that, let me sharpen it for you, Sera." you say softly, patting her head. She nods cutely, her eyes wide with trust and gratitude.

You exhale deeply, the weight in your chest still pressing down as you make your way to the trash can. As the sharpener scrapes against the pencil, you think to yourself. Stop dwelling on the past.

You knew how deeply you felt for Jungkook. He was more than just a fleeting love... he was a part of you, your safe place. But the weight of Junghyun's threat had been too much to bear. It wasn’t a fight you could win, not against soemone as powerful as him.

The memory of that day gnaws at you, the helplessness, the bitterness of making a decision you despised with every fiber of your being. But what choice did you have?

Handing the pencil back to Sera, you muster another soft smile. Her joyful expression tugs at your heart, a stark contrast to the storm inside you.

All you can do now is hope that Jungkook is living a happy life, far from the shadows of the truth that forced you apart.

//

Jungkook adjusts his position in the sleek leather chair, trying to focus on the ongoing meeting. The conference room hums with the low murmur of voices as his team discusses the logistics of their next community outreach initiative.

The large screen at the front displays a vibrant presentation, but his mind drifts, struggling to stay anchored in the moment.

“Mr. Jeon.” Eunwoo, the Chief Operating Officer, speaks up, pulling him back to reality. “We’re finalizing the details for the event at the Sunflower Orphanage this weekend.” he says, his tone calm but purposeful.

“It’s part of our ‘Healthy Futures’ program.” Eunwoo continues, “Where we teach the kids about nutrition and provide them with tools to build healthier habits.”

Jungkook nods, his jaw tightening slightly. He taps his pen against the notepad in front of him, the blank page mirroring his lack of focus. “Good. Ensure we send enough materials for the interactive sessions. I’ll review the activity plans later today.”

Eunwoo presses on. “We’re also organizing a cooking demonstration for the older kids and distributing care packages with nutritious snacks and recipe guides. It might be a good idea for you to attend. I think the kids would really enjoy meeting you.”

Jungkook exhales softly, running a hand through his hair. Public appearances at these events are part of his responsibility, something he takes seriously. Yet, the thought of being surrounded by bright-eyed children feels heavier than usual, a strange weight pressing against his chest.

“I’ll check my schedule.” he replies, his tone measured, masking the unease he can’t quite shake.

As the meeting concludes, Jungkook steps out of the conference room, loosening his tie as he makes his way towards his office. The familiar click of shoes on the polished floor follows close behind, signaling his secretary, Jimin, is trailing him.

“Your schedule is free, Mr. Jeon.” Jimin remarks, a teasing edge in his voice. “It’s literally the weekend.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, letting out a long sigh. “I know, but I just don’t feel like going.” he mutters, his stride purposeful as he heads towards his cabin.

Jimin quickens his pace to match Jungkook’s, his tone light but persistent. “The kids would love it, Mr. Jeon. Plus, it’s your responsibility.”

Jungkook groans inwardly, knowing there’s no winning an argument when Jimin uses that reasoning. “Fine.” he relents, glancing over his shoulder with a pointed glare. “But... you’re coming with me.”

“Of course.” Jimin quips with a smirk, unfazed. “I go wherever my boss goes.”

Jungkook shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself, before pushing open the door to his cabin. “You’re insufferable.” he mutters, disappearing inside. Jimin grins to himself, adjusting his tie. “It’s part of the job.” he mutters quietly before heading back to his desk.

//

The familiar scent of antiseptic and faint floral air freshener envelops you as you step into the hospital. You glance around, taking in the sight of doctors briskly walking in their white coats, nurses tending to charts, and patients navigating the lobby with family members by their sides. The soft hum of conversations and the occasional beep of monitors create a somber yet steady rhythm.

You make your way to the reception desk, offering a small smile to the woman behind the counter. Her face lights up with recognition.

“You’re early today.” she notes gently. You nod, your expression soft. “I just missed Beomgyu.” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. She smiles warmly, her eyes filled with understanding. “Go ahead.” she says, motioning towards the elevator.

You thank her with a brief smile before turning and stepping into the elevator, pressing the button to take you to the floor where your brother’s room is.

The soft chime of the elevator brings you back to reality as the doors slide open. You walk down the familiar corridor, each step feeling heavier as you approach his room. Pushing the door open, your breath catches in your throat as your eyes land on Beomgyu. His motionless body lies on the bed, the faint hum of medical equipment the only sign of life. Four years. It’s been four long years, and he hasn’t moved an inch.

You sit down in the chair next to his bed, your hands trembling as you reach for his. His hand is cold in yours, and the weight of it brings tears to your eyes. But you blink them away, determined to stay strong.

“Hey, Gyu.” you whisper, brushing your thumb gently over his knuckles. Your voice is soft, filled with a bittersweet mix of hope and sorrow. “I’m here.”

No matter how many times you see him like this, it never gets easier. Each visit feels like a fresh wound, a new wave of pain crashing over you. He was your only family and the sight of his still body, the steady beep of the monitor, and the faint rise and fall of his chest... it all feels both familiar and unbearable. Every time, it’s as if a tiny piece of your heart breaks all over again.

As you stare at his face, a sigh escapes your lips, heavy with the weight of countless unshed tears. "Gyu..." you whisper, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. "It’s getting so hard." Your words falter, carried by the quiet hum of the machines that have become the soundtrack of his existence.

"No matter what I do... I just... I just can’t stop thinking about him." you confess, closing your eyes as the first tear escapes, tracing a slow, burning path down your cheek. Your grip on Beomgyu’s hand tightens, your thumb brushing over his knuckles in slow, rhythmic motions. Though his hand remains lifeless, you hold on as if it’s your last tether to sanity, as if somehow he can feel your anguish.

Maybe he hears me, you think, clinging to the hope that keeps you returning to this room day after day. "I miss him so much." you murmur, your voice cracking under the weight of those words. The sob that escapes your lips feels like a betrayal, exposing just how deeply the pain has taken root.

Beomgyu never met Jungkook... yet, in your heart, you know that if he ever did... he would have absolutely loved him.

You remember that one day you brought Jungkook here, to visit Beomgyu, his hand firmly holding yours as you led him down these sterile hallways.

He had sat beside you, his arm wrapped protectively around your trembling frame, as you told him about the accident that had stolen Beomgyu’s vibrant spirit and left him in this suspended state. Jungkook’s presence had been an anchor that day, steady and reassuring, his soft murmurs giving you the courage to speak through your tears.

And then, there was that promise. You can still hear your own voice, shaky but determined, as you looked into Jungkook’s eyes. "When Beomgyu wakes up, you’ll be the first to know." The memory feels like a lifetime ago, a fragment of a world where hope felt tangible and love wasn’t wrapped in layers of regret.

Now, that promise lingers like a ghost, haunting you with its impossibility. The weight of it presses against your chest, suffocating in its quiet accusation.

You lower your head, your tears falling silently onto the sterile sheets, wishing for a reality where things could have been different... where Beomgyu would wake up, and Jungkook would still be yours to call.

//

After spending about forty minutes sitting by your brother’s side, you feel the weight of time press down on you. With a reluctant sigh, you lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss on his cool forehead. The stillness of the room wraps around you like an unwanted embrace, amplifying the ache in your chest.

You stand, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him, his face so serene yet painfully distant. Finally, you force yourself to turn away, the sharp pull of grief hurting you even as your feet carry you towards the door.

The hospital hallways stretch before you, illuminated by fluorescent lights that feel too bright for the heaviness clouding your heart. The muted chatter of families and nurses echoes faintly around you, but you tune it out, your focus on the floor ahead.

Every step feels heavy, yet familiar... grief walking alongside you like an old companion. You’re lost in thought, your mind lingering on memories you can't quite hold onto, when the sharp ring of your phone jolts you back to the present.

You pause, fishing the device out of your bag. The name on the screen makes a faint smile touch your lips. "Hey, Joonie." you greet, your tone soft but warm.

“Oh my god Y/N...Hi... where have you been?” Namjoon’s voice filters through, steady yet tinged with his usual concern. “I was just visiting Beomgyu.” you reply, stepping into the elevator as the doors slide open.

“Ah...” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a gentler note. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”

“No, not at all.” you assure him, leaning against the elevator wall. “I was just about to leave anyway. What’s up?” There’s a slight pause on the other end before he continues talking. “I wanted to check if you’re coming to the orphanage this weekend. You know... for the volunteering session.”

The mention of the orphanage brings a warmth to your chest. Your lips curve into a genuine smile as you think of the place that’s come to feel like a second home. “Of course I’ll be there.” you reply without hesitation.

“That's great!!” Namjoon says, a hint of relief in his tone. “Mrs. Lee mentioned there’s going to be some kind of workshop for the kids, though I’m not really sure what it’s about.”

You hum thoughtfully, stepping out of the elevator as it dings open on the ground floor. “A workshop? That sounds interesting. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what it's about.” you muse, the faint hum of curiosity threading through your voice.

Namjoon chuckles lightly. “Yeah, seems like it. Anyways, you get home safe, Y/N-ah. I'll see you on the weekend.” he says. “See you Joonie... Bye.” you reply, your smile lingering as the call ends.

As you slip your phone back into your bag and step into the cool evening air, a quiet sense of purpose washes over you. The orphanage, specifically, the Sunflower Orphanage, holds a deeply rooted place in your heart.

It’s not just a building, it’s a chapter of your life, a part of your story written alongside your brother, Beomgyu as the two of you grew up there and navigated a world that often felt too vast and too indifferent.

Volunteering there every weekend for the past month with Namjoon hasn’t just been about giving back to the place that shaped you, it’s become a way to honor the struggles you and Beomgyu once faced.

It’s a way of making peace with the past while helping to build a brighter future for the children still living it. The act of helping others has started to feel like a balm for your soul, a small piece of healing in a journey that has felt insurmountable at times.

More than that, it’s helped you stay busy, distracted, keeping your mind from wandering too often to the void that has been lingering in your life for the past four months, an emptiness you’re not ready to confront fully yet.

Every smile from the kids, every hug, every story they share with you reminds you why you’ve always wanted to be a kindergarten teacher.

Now, being able to follow your dream and also volunteer at the very orphanage you grew up in, doing your best to give these children the care and love you once longed for, feels profoundly rewarding.

There’s a bittersweet comfort in walking the same halls you once did, now as a volunteer instead of a resident. You find joy in helping the kids paint their dreams on blank canvases, in reading stories that spark their imaginations, and in simply being a presence they can rely on.

The Orphanage, with its chipped walls and resilient spirit, has become more than a part of your history... it’s a part of your healing, too.

//

Saturday

"Shit, shit." you mutter under your breath, hastily paying the cab driver before dashing towards the entrance of the orphanage. You were supposed to be here early today, especially since you knew there was a workshop planned for the kids.

Mrs. Lee had mentioned needing help with the setup and cleanup, and you’d eagerly offered. But luck hadn’t been on your side. First, your original cab broke down, forcing you to find another. Then, traffic decided to conspire against you, dragging out what should’ve been a quick journey into an agonizing wait.

As you ran up the steps at the entrance, slightly out of breath, your eyes catch on something that brings you to an abrupt halt. A large banner hangs above the double doors, bold letters printed across it. The sight of it makes your stomach churn.

“No way...” you whisper, realization dawning like a bucket of ice water poured over your head as you read the banner. “This is… Jungkook’s workshop?”

You stand frozen, trying to process what you’re seeing. The placards stationed around the entrance leave no room for doubt. Each one bears the unmistakable logo of his company. The presentation materials stacked neatly by the door, the branded posters, and even the staff moving equipment inside all scream his involvement.

You inhale sharply, the air catching in your throat. Of course, it had to be here. Of all the orphanages in the city, the one you’ve been volunteering at for the past month had to be the very place where Jungkook... your ex boyfriend, Jungkook... is hosting a workshop. The universe really has a twisted sense of humor sometimes.

“Fuck.” you mutter, closing your eyes and trying to calm the storm brewing in your chest. You press a hand against the doorframe to steady yourself, taking deep breaths to fight off the anxiety creeping up your spine.

Your mind races with questions you’re not sure you want answers to. Is he here? Or is this one of those events where his employees take the lead while he stays behind the scenes? Should you turn around and leave before anyone notices, or would that make things worse?

You glance back at the cab, still idling by the curb. For a fleeting second, the idea of jumping back in and leaving tempts you. But then you hear the sound of children’s laughter filtering through the open doors, mingling with the excited chatter of the staff, and you know you can’t just leave.

Bracing yourself, you take another deep breath and step inside, your heart pounding harder with each step. The familiar warmth of the orphanage wraps around you, but today it feels heavier, tinged with the tension you’re carrying. You repeat a silent mantra, trying to ground yourself. Stay professional. This is about the kids. Nothing else matters.

“I’ll just… I’ll just pretend I don’t know him.” you mutter under your breath, nodding to yourself as your footsteps echo in the hallway.

//

As you step into the bustling main hall, your eyes land on Namjoon almost immediately. The minute he spots you too, it doesn’t take long for him to weave his way through the crowd towards you, his expression a mix of shock and concern. “Y/N…” he begins, his voice low but urgent as he reaches you. “I had no idea this was going to be his workshop.” The disbelief in his tone mirrors your own feelings.

You throw your head back, a groan escaping your lips. “I know. What the hell am I supposed to do? Is he really here, though? Or is it just his team running the workshop?” you ask, a flicker of hope creeping into your voice as you glance at him.

Namjoon hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he’s trying to cushion the blow. “Unfortunately…” he starts, his tone apologetic. “He’s here. I just saw him talking to Mrs. Lee a few minutes ago.” You close your eyes, rubbing your temples. “This is so, so, so not fair.” you mutter, your frustration bubbling over.

“Hey…” Namjoon’s voice softens as he places his hands on your shoulders, steadying you. His calm presence is like an anchor in the midst of your swirling emotions. “You’re going to be fine. I know breaking up with him was hard for you, but right now... the best you can do is just stay professional. Pretend like you don’t know him and I’m sure he won’t approach you… I hope.” he adds with a small, uncertain smile.

You let out a shaky sigh, your shoulders slumping under the weight of the situation. Namjoon’s logic makes sense, but it does little to calm the storm brewing inside you. “I haven’t seen him in four months, Joon.” you admit, your voice shaky. “And now, of all times, I have to see him? Here?”

Namjoon offers you a sympathetic look, his hand squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “I know it’s hard, but I know you’ve got this. Just try your best to avoid him.”

You nod slowly, though you’re far from convinced. This isn’t a situation you can simply walk away from. Jungkook’s presence is inevitable now, and the thought of seeing him again, after everything, sends a whirlwind of emotions crashing through you.

You're aware Jungkook won't be expecting to see you here today and you can't help but wonder what his reaction will be when he actually ends up seeing you. Would his expression shift the moment he spots you? Would it be one of cold indifference, barely a flicker of acknowledgment? Or something sharper like anger, disappointment, perhaps even sadness? The possibilities swirl in your mind, each one more unsettling than the last.

Shaking your head, you force yourself to brush the questions aside. There’s no time to dwell on this right now. You take a steadying breath and look around the busy hall. It’s high time you start helping out. After all, you’re already late, and the least you can do is make up for lost time by pitching in wherever you’re needed.

//

Once all the kids are settled in their seats, their excitement bubbling over in the form of giggles and whispers, you step back, making your way to the back of the room. Namjoon is already there, his arms crossed loosely as he leans against the wall. You take your place beside him, exhaling deeply, trying to calm your heart and mind.

As the workshop begins, your eyes inevitably drift to the front of the room. Jungkook stands there, effortlessly commanding attention. He’s dressed sharply but casually, the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down shirt exposing his tattooed forearm. His presence is magnetic, and it’s no surprise that even the youngest kids are riveted as he begins to speak.

“This program is called 'Healthy Futures'.” he starts, his tone warm and inviting. “It’s about giving you the knowledge and tools to take care of your health. Eating the right food, staying active, and understanding how to take care of your bodies... it’s not just important now, but it’ll help you for years to come.”

He gestures to a large poster board displaying colorful illustrations of fruits, vegetables, and simple meal plans. “Today, we’ll talk about nutrition, and we’ll even have some fun activities to show you how to make smart food choices. You’ll see how easy it can be to make meals that are both delicious and good for you.”

The kids are wide-eyed, soaking up every word. Jungkook’s ability to connect with them is undeniable. As he dives into the presentation, explaining concepts in simple, engaging terms and peppering his talk with questions to keep the kids involved, a small smile tugs at your lips.

You watch as he crouches down to a child’s level, handing them a flashcard and encouraging them to name the food group it belongs to. The way his eyes light up with genuine enthusiasm when the child gets it right is a sight that momentarily softens the ache in your chest.

You can’t help but smile, even if it’s bittersweet. Seeing him like this... passionate, caring, and entirely in his element... reminds you of the man you fell in love with. His natural charm, the way he effortlessly makes others feel seen and valued, is just as captivating now as it was then.

Namjoon nudges you gently. “You okay?” he asks, his voice low. You nod again, your gaze fixed on Jungkook. “Yeah.” you whisper, though the lump forming in your throat makes it a struggle to get the word out. “I’m fine.” you say.

//

As Jungkook wraps up his talk, his voice is steady and warm, a reflection of the effort he’s poured into making this workshop meaningful. “Alright, kids, now it’s time for the fun part...” he announces with a grin.

“My team is going to help you make a simple, healthy snack, something delicious and easy that you can make yourselves... so follow them and they'll guide you through the process." he says.

The children erupt in cheers and applause, their excitement echoing through the hall. Jungkook’s smile widens at their enthusiasm, the earlier reluctance he felt about being here melting away. It’s moments like these that make everything worth it. Seeing their faces light up is a reward far greater than any professional accolade.

As the kids begin to disperse, following the other employees out of the hall, Jungkook takes a moment to glance around, his eyes scanning the room to take in the atmosphere. And then he suddenly sees you.

Jungkook lips part a watches you intently, his eyes trailing as you exchange words with Namjoon before following him out of the room. His throat feels dry, his mind reeling. She's… here? The words echo in his head as his heart pounds erratically against his ribcage.

He gulps, trying to steady himself, but the unexpected sight of you has thrown him completely off balance. Before he can fully process his spiraling thoughts, Jimin’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Mr. Jeon, shall we?” he prompts, his tone professional but gentle, unknowingly grounding Jungkook back to the present. He blinks, nodding faintly as he forces his legs to move, trailing behind his secretary towards the activity room.

But just when he enters the activity room, what he doesn't expect is for you to be the first person he sees. You’re standing just a few feet away, holding a precarious stack of trays to distribute it among the kids. Your focus is elsewhere, until your eyes suddenly meet his. The world tilts for a moment as your face registers a mix of shock and disbelief.

The impact of seeing him here, so close, sends a jolt through you. Your grip falters, and before you can stop it, the trays slip from your hands, the clattering sound echoing through the room as everything scatters across the floor.

The kids go silent, their chatter replaced by a stunned hush as all eyes turn towards you. The embarrassment and panic that flood your system make your skin prickle, but before you can even begin to move, Jungkook is already in front of you.

“Are you... are you okay?” His voice is low, concerned, his hands gently closing over yours as if to steady you. His touch is firm yet hesitant, and the warmth of his palms against your skin sends a shiver through you.

You can barely process his words, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears. Your lips part, but no sound comes out as you struggle to respond. The way he’s looking at you... those familiar dark eyes filled with a mixture of worry and something deeper, makes it impossible to think straight.

“I uhhh... I’m fine.” you finally stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. Your cheeks burn as you quickly try to pull your hands back, but he doesn’t let go immediately. His fingers linger for a second longer than necessary, as if he’s reluctant to lose the contact.

Namjoon, having watched the entire scene unfold, clears his throat as he approaches. “Y/N, are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?” he asks, his tone gentle yet purposeful, as if trying to diffuse the tension.

“I’m fine.” you repeat, louder this time, forcing yourself to look away from Jungkook as you pull your hand away from his and focus on the mess on the floor. You crouch down, starting to pick up the scattered trays, desperate to avoid his eyes. Namjoon joins you without a word, but you can feel Jungkook’s gaze still fixed on you.

Jimin steps forward, clearly confused by the sudden commotion. “Mr. Jeon, should we...” he starts, glancing between Jungkook and the scene before him, but Jungkook barely acknowledges him. His focus is solely on you, his mind racing as he tries to process everything.

For Jungkook, this moment feels surreal. He hadn’t prepared himself for seeing you... not here, not like this. And now, with you so close yet seemingly so far, the weight of everything unsaid between you presses down on him like a tidal wave.

He wants nothing more than to just hold you, to pull you close and take in every detail of your face. These four months have been nothing short of hell, filled with an unrelenting ache for your presence.

But as he watches you so obviously avoiding him, he feels rooted to the spot, his mind scrambling to find the right words... words that refuse to come out.

//

Once the kids are fully immersed in their activity, you quietly slip out of the room, desperate for a moment to catch your breath. The weight of Jungkook’s presence had pressed on you relentlessly for the past twenty minutes, his gaze a constant reminder of the unresolved emotions between you two. Each stolen glance felt like it peeled back layers of the wall you’d carefully built around yourself.

The hallway is quiet as you walk towards the large window at the far end, your footsteps muffled against the polished floor. You pause there, gazing out at the orphanage’s small garden, the scene outside blurring as your mind spins.

Your fingers find the pendant hidden beneath your sweater, and you begin to fidget with it, the familiar texture grounding you. This pendant, this tiny piece of jewelry, holds a weight of its own, a connection to a past that feels both distant and ever-present.

Seeing Jungkook up close had hit you harder than you expected. He hadn’t changed. He was still just as beautiful, still radiated that quiet warmth that had always drawn people to him. The same warmth you’d once found comfort in.

And you missed him... God, you missed him in a way that made your chest ache. But that only made it worse. Because you couldn’t let yourself fall apart, not now, not when you had to face him. You’re so lost in thought that the sound of a familiar voice startles you.

“Y/n.”

Your body tenses instantly. You don’t turn, your fingers reflexively tucking the pendant back beneath your sweater as if it’s some fragile secret you need to protect. You stay facing the window, your breaths shallow as you try to steady your heartbeat.

“You… won’t even look at me?” Jungkook's voice is soft, hesitant, but the pain in it cuts through you like a blade. You bite your lip, your eyes still fixed on the view outside, but all you can feel is him. The rawness of his words sinks into you, heavy and unshakable.

“Y/n…” His voice comes again, quieter this time, almost breaking. It’s not just a name... it’s a plea, one you wish you could ignore but know you can’t.

You hate this. You hate that Jungkook, of all people... the kindest, most selfless soul you’ve ever known... is standing here now, burdened by the pain you caused him. You hate that you’re the one who turned his world upside down. And yet, even now, you can’t bring yourself to face him.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you turn to face him. Your expression is blank, a carefully constructed mask. “What?” The word comes out cold, clipped, and you instantly regret the sharpness of your tone.

Jungkook’s gaze softens as he studies you, his dark eyes tracing the contours of your face. You still look the same... still breathtaking, still the person he fell hopelessly in love with. But there’s something different too, a guardedness that wasn’t there before, a distance he doesn’t know how to bridge.

“How… how have you been? It’s been a while.” he says softly, his voice laced with hesitation as he takes a tentative step closer.

“I’m fine.” The words come quickly, too quickly, as if you’re desperate to end this conversation before it can even begin. You don’t meet his gaze for long, your eyes flicking away like you’re afraid of what he might see.

Every second in his presence feels like an eternity, the weight of the emotions swirling between you both, suffocating. You can’t do this. Not now, not like this. The effort of keeping your face neutral, of pretending you don’t feel the same pull towards him that you always have... it’s too much.

Without another word, you move to step past him, your focus solely on the hallway ahead. But before you can escape, his hand reaches out, catching your wrist. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you, halting you in your tracks.

“Wait.” he says, his voice quiet but firm. There’s a vulnerability in his tone that makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

You take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his hand wrapped gently around your wrist. It’s almost unbearable... how much harder this is than you’d expected. Having him so close, right there behind you, stirs emotions you’ve fought tirelessly to suppress.

Slowly, you turn over your shoulder, finally meeting his eyes. The intensity in them is overwhelming, a deep sea of emotions you can’t bring yourself to name. They hold so much... questions, pain, longing and you feel a lump rise in your throat as you let out a shaky breath.

“Let me go, Jungkook.” you say quietly, your voice steadier than you feel. You try to tug your wrist free, but his grip tightens ever so slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you rooted in place.

“I didn’t expect to see you here…” he says softly, his voice low and filled with something you can’t quite place. He’s ignoring your plea, but there’s no malice in it, only hesitation, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet. “I’m volunteering.” you reply flatly, forcing the words out without a hint of emotion. “And I need to go.” you add, your tone clipped as you yank your wrist out of his hold.

This time, he lets you go, his hand falling to his side as he watches you stride away from him as fast as you can manage. You don’t dare look back, even as you feel his gaze linger on you, burning into your retreating figure. Your heart pounds with each step, your emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

You barge into the restroom, letting the door shut heavily behind you. The cool air does nothing to soothe the storm raging inside you. Instantly, your hands fly up to cover your face, a desperate attempt to stifle the sobs threatening to escape.

Your chest heaves as you fight against the tears that burn at the edges of your eyes, your palms pressing against your cheeks as if holding yourself together. But it’s futile. The weight of seeing him again... his voice, his touch, the unspoken pain in his eyes, comes crashing down on you all at once.

A strangled breath escapes your lips, and you lean against the sink for support. Your fingers grip the edge of the cold porcelain as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, your blurred vision making it hard to focus.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be.” you whisper to yourself, your voice breaking. Your tears fall freely now, streaking down your cheeks as the emotions you’ve bottled up for months finally spill over. The ache of his presence, the agony of your unresolved feelings... it’s all too much.

You press a trembling hand against your chest, trying to steady the harsh pounding of your heart. For a moment, you close your eyes, taking deep breaths as you attempt to compose yourself. But the pain lingers, sharp and unrelenting.

//

The workshop winds down, the chatter of children and clinking of utensils slowly fading into the background. You’ve spent the entire afternoon and evening carefully maneuvering to avoid Jungkook’s gaze, your heart in a constant state of unease.

Every glance he threw your way, every fleeting moment you felt his presence nearby, only made the weight in your chest heavier.

By the time the clock strikes 8, exhaustion has seeped into your bones, not just from the work but also from the emotional toll of the day. Mrs. Lee thanks you warmly as you help her finish setting up dinner. Namjoon remains by your side, quiet but supportive, his presence a comforting anchor in the chaos of your thoughts.

“You did great today.” he murmurs softly as you both step out of the main hall, his tone gentle. You offer him a faint smile, appreciating his effort to lighten your mood, but the turmoil inside you is too heavy to shake off completely.

Finally, you decide it’s time to leave. Walking down the stairs by the entrance, you feel the cool evening breeze brush against your cheeks. You glance up at the darkening sky, the stars peeking through faintly, their distant glow a stark contrast to the storm swirling within you.

Pulling your coat tighter around you, you fix your bag on your shoulder and bury your hands in your pockets. The thought of going home to the solace of your quiet living room, sappy rom-coms, and a tub of ice cream feels like the only reprieve you’ll get tonight.

As you reach the bus stop, you take a seat on the cold bench, staring at the empty road ahead. The world around you feels quiet and still, yet your mind is an undying chaos. Your thoughts drift back to Jungkook... his voice, his touch, the way his eyes silently pleaded with you earlier and just how much you miss him.

You sigh heavily, resting your elbows on your knees and burying your face in your hands. The ache of seeing him again lingers like a ghost, refusing to leave you be.

As you attempt to gather your thoughts, the soft hum of an approaching engine disrupts your reverie. Your head lifts instinctively, and before you can process it, a sleek car pulls to a stop right in front of you. The headlights cast a gentle glow on the empty road, but it’s the sight of the driver that makes your breath hitch.

Your lips part in surprise, your brows furrowing as the window rolls down. There he is, his dark eyes fixed on you.

“Y/n.” Jungkook calls softly, his voice carrying over the quiet evening. You sigh, a mix of frustration and weariness bubbling within you. Without a word, you stand, shifting your gaze to the left, hoping to catch sight of the bus that feels agonizingly far from arriving.

“Y/n, it’s late. Let me drop you home.” Jungkook says, his tone gentle but insistent. Your heart stumbles at the offer, the thought of being alone with him sending your nerves into overdrive. You don’t trust yourself... not with how raw and exposed you feel after today. So, you do what you’ve been doing all afternoon. You ignore him.

Fixing your gaze on the road ahead, you refuse to acknowledge him. “Y/n, please…” His voice softens, almost breaking. You clench your jaw, the plea digging into you, forcing you to glance at him. “Just go, Jungkook.” you snap flatly, your tone colder than you intended.

Jungkook’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as your words hit him like a blow. He swallows hard, his gaze never leaving you. “I’ll just drop you home. Please, it’s not safe this late.” he persists, his determination unwavering.

You shake your head, muttering under your breath as you start walking down the pavement, each step heavier than the last. But Jungkook, true to his nature, doesn’t back down so easily.

The car begins to crawl forward, matching your pace as you walk. His persistence is both frustrating and heartbreaking. You can feel his gaze through the window, silently urging you to stop, to listen, to look at him.

“Y/n.” he calls out again, his voice tinged with desperation. Your chest tightens as you quicken your steps, hoping to outrun the storm of emotions brewing within you. But no matter how far you walk, Jungkook is right there, his car trailing you like a shadow, refusing to let you go.

The sound of the car suddenly stopping and the door opening breaks through the rhythm of your footsteps, and you stiffen. You don’t turn around, determined to maintain your resolve, but then you feel it... a firm yet gentle hand gripping your arm, spinning you around effortlessly.

Your eyes widen as you find yourself face-to-face with Jungkook, the intensity in his gaze pinning you in place. His breath is uneven, as if he’s been chasing you, though he hasn’t. “Please.” he says, his voice raw and pleading. “Just let me drop you home. That’s literally all I’m asking.”

His words hang heavy between you, and for a moment, you close your eyes, exhaling sharply. His persistence is unrelenting, and deep down, you know your bus isn’t arriving anytime soon to save you from this situation.

You pull your arm free from his grasp, the warmth of his touch lingering even as you step back. Without meeting his gaze, you walk towards his car, your resolve cracking under the weight of exhaustion and inevitability.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you settle into the cold leather with a resigned sigh, the door closing behind you with a soft thud. He'll just drop me home, you convince yourself as you don’t look at him, keeping your gaze fixed ahead.

Jungkook quietly gets back into the driver’s seat, his movements careful as if afraid to shatter the fragile silence that now envelops the two of you. The hum of the engine rises again, but neither of you say anything, the tension stretching thin as the car begins to move.

As Jungkook drives, the rhythmic sound of the tires on the road fills the car, but the silence between you feels louder, heavier. Your gaze remains fixed outside the window, the passing streetlights casting fleeting glows across your face. Your hands clutch your purse tightly on your lap, a silent anchor to steady your racing emotions.

The stillness is suddenly broken by his voice, soft but heavy with restraint. “So… how have you been?” he asks, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

You don't answer. You don’t move. You don’t flinch. Your determination to stay silent grows stronger as you think about the consequences of letting him back into your life. The jagged edges of your reality press against you like shards of glass.

“Y/n…” he calls out again, his voice gentler this time, but still, you keep your gaze fixed outside, ignoring the crackling tension in the air.

He exhales audibly, the pain in his voice more evident now. “Y/n, I haven’t seen you in four months... and now you’re here, but you’re acting like I don’t even exist.” His words tremble, and you feel the sharp sting of guilt twisting in your chest.

“You’re right here.” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But why do you feel so far away?”

Your lips tighten into a thin line, and your grip on your purse grows tighter. You can feel his eyes on you, searching, pleading, but you refuse to meet his gaze. “Are you really not going to talk to me… at all?” he asks, his voice breaking slightly at the end.

Jungkook glances at your side profile, his knuckles white against the steering wheel as he fights to hold himself together. The hurt in his chest feels unbearable, a weight pressing harder with every second of your silence.

He’s done his best to come to terms with your absence, with the breakup, even when the harsh reasons you gave felt like flimsy walls hiding something bigger. But now, sitting this close to you and being treated like a stranger, it cuts deeper than he expected.

“You know what…” Jungkook suddenly mutters under his breath, and though you hear the shift in his tone, you don’t move, don’t react. But then the car swerves abruptly, jerking to the left. Your head snaps towards him, eyes wide with shock as you clutch the handlebar above your seat.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim, your heart hammering as you notice the road signs signaling that he’s no longer heading towards your neighborhood.

“I can’t do this anymore.” he says, his voice firm but tinged with exhaustion. His grip on the steering wheel tightens and his foot presses harder on the gas pedal, the car speeding up.

“Jungkook, what are you doing?? Slow down !!” you demand, trying to mask the panic creeping into your voice. “We need to talk.” he states simply, his eyes focused on the road ahead as if there’s nothing else in the world but his determination.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your mind races. “Jungkook, turn the car around.” you say firmly, though your voice wavers slightly.

But he doesn’t listen. Instead, his jaw tightens, and the speed of the car increases further, the scenery outside blurring. Then it hits you... he’s heading in the direction towards his place.

“Jungkook…” you begin, your voice softer now, a mixture of anger and disbelief.

He doesn’t answer this time, his silence carrying more weight than words ever could. His gaze remains locked forward, the muscles in his jaw ticking as if he’s trying to rein in the storm brewing within him.

You glance outside, feeling both trapped and helpless. Every instinct in you screams to argue, to demand that he stops, but a part of you... a small, stubborn part wonders what he’s so desperate to say.

After 10 tense minutes of silence, the car finally comes to a halt in front of Jungkook's building. He doesn’t waste a second, stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind him. You watch him from the corner of your eye, your hands still gripping the purse on your lap, as he strides purposefully to your side of the car.

Before you can even process what’s happening, he pulls the door open, and the chill of the night air sweeps over you, making you shiver. He leans down slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours, filled with an unrelenting determination that sends your heart racing.

“Come with me.” he says, his voice steady but soft as he extends a hand towards you. You stare at his hand, conflicted, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. You feel cornered, unable to escape this situation he’s forced you into.

“Jungkook…” you begin, but the words catch in your throat. He sighs, his shoulders sagging slightly, as if the plea in your voice strikes a chord in him. But before you can say anything else, he gently grabs your wrist. The touch is soft, hesitant, but there’s an urgency to his movements as he guides you out of the car.

You stumble slightly, your body still resistant, but he steadies you with a firm yet careful grip. He’s desperate, you can see it in the way his brows furrow, the way his lips press into a thin line as if he’s barely holding himself together. “Jungkook, I...” you breathe out, the words getting stuck in your throat.

“Just… please.” he interrupts, his voice raw with emotion. “I just wanna talk.... Please.”

His eyes search yours, and you can feel the ache in them, the unspoken pain he’s been carrying. Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you’re frozen, unable to say no, unable to pull away. He doesn’t give you a chance to argue further, his hand slipping from your wrist to your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he gently but firmly leads you towards his house.

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of the moment heavy in the air as you reluctantly follow him.

As Jungkook shuts the door to his apartment, the click echoes in the silence. He turns to face you, his eyes soft but piercing, like he’s searching for something he’s desperate to find.

“Y/n.” he says, your name rolling off his tongue like a plea.

You try to avoid his gaze, looking anywhere but at him, but then his hands come up to cup your face, his warmth grounding you in a way that sends a pang through your chest. His touch is gentle, yet insistent, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“Y/n, please.” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “Just talk to me.”

Your breath hitches, and you instinctively step back, only to feel the cool, unyielding wall against your back. You’re cornered... literally and emotionally... and the weight of the moment bears down on you.

Your emotions, so carefully locked away, begin to bubble to the surface. Anger, regret, frustration, they all swirl together, threatening to consume you. Gritting your teeth, you grab his wrists and pull his hands away from your face.

“Just leave me alone.” you choke out, your voice breaking. The tears that have been fighting to escape finally spill over, cascading down your cheeks. Before you know it, you’re sobbing uncontrollably, your body trembling as the dam holding back your emotions shatters.

Jungkook’s eyes widen in shock as he watches you unravel before him. His heart clenches painfully at the sight of your tears, the sound of your sobs cutting through him like a knife. He steps closer instinctively, his hands hovering uncertainly as if unsure whether to comfort you or give you space.

“Y/n…” he begins, his voice soft and hesitant, but you shake your head violently, interrupting him.

“You can’t do this, Jungkook.” you cry out, your voice trembling with frustration. “After everything I did to cut you off… you can’t just... just pull me back like this.”

Your words hit him like a blow, and he takes a shaky step back, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” he finally says, his voice breaking. “I didn’t want to pull you back, Y/n. But how am I supposed to let you go when I don’t even understand why you left?”

His words hang in the air, and you stare at him through your blurry vision, your heart pounding as his pain intertwines with yours. You’re both standing on the edge of a precipice, the weight of your shared history threatening to pull you under.

The air between you feels heavy, thick with emotions neither of you can control anymore. Jungkook’s gaze locks onto your tear-streaked face, his breathing shallow as he watches the pain and turmoil in your eyes. Something inside him snaps, and before he can stop himself, he takes a step forward, closing the distance between you.

His hands cradle your face, trembling slightly, as he leans in and harshly presses his lips against yours. It’s desperate, unrestrained, and raw. The suddenness of it makes you gasp, your breath hitching as his lips move against yours, pouring every unspoken word, every unanswered question into the kiss.

Your eyes flutter shut, and for a moment, your mind is overwhelmed by the flood of memories... his laugh, his touch, the way he used to make you feel like you were the only person that mattered. But as much as the kiss ignites a fire inside you, your tears don’t stop.

Jungkook feels the wetness of your tears against his palms, and it pulls him back abruptly. He steps away, his face etched with regret and panic, as if realizing he may have crossed a line he shouldn’t have.

“I... I’m sorry.” he stammers, his voice shaking as he searches your face. “I shouldn’t have—”

Before he can finish, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him back towards you, your lips colliding with his in a kiss that’s equally urgent and desperate. Your hands clutch onto him like he’s the only thing anchoring you to reality, and this time, the weight of all the emotions you’ve been holding back crashes into him.

Your kiss is messy, tinged with anger, longing, and sorrow, but it’s real. It’s the connection you’ve been denying for so long. Jungkook responds immediately, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer as if afraid you’ll slip away again.

The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in this moment, grappling with the emotions you’ve tried so hard to suppress.

Your lips never part, not even for a second, as you start pulling each other’s clothes off, letting them fall to the ground one after the other. Every single article of clothing gets discarded in a trail leading from his door step to his living room.

The heat between you intensifies, growing hotter and wilder with every second. It’s like you’ve been starving for each other, for this moment, this connection for so long that now you can’t help but devour each other.

You know you shouldn't be doing this. You know you can't face the consequences of your impulsive actions, but your heart refuses to let go. You're completely consumed by the passion and intensity of the kiss, unable to pull yourself away even when you have so much on the line.

Even as you walk into his apartment, your lips remain connected, your hands gripping his arms, holding onto him as if you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go. The world spins around you as he picks up the pace, guiding you to the couch. Your feet brush against the soft carpet, sending shivers up your leg, and before you know it, you feel the cushion behind you.

The feeling of Jungkook on top of you is nothing less than heaven. You run your hands up and down his tattooed arm, feeling the way his muscles tense with each touch. His kisses trail down your neck, making you squirm under him.

“Fuck...” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin as he takes off your bra in a swift motion.

He groans softly, his eyes wide as they drink in the sight of you beneath him. Then his gaze falls to your collarbone, lingering on the familiar pendant resting against your skin.

"The... necklace." he notices, his fingers reaching out to brush it gently. His touch is reverent, almost hesitant, as if the small piece of jewelry holds all the words he can’t say. He looks up into your eyes, a subtle smile curving his lips.

"You... you never took it off?" he asks, his voice laced with slight disbelief.

"Never." you affirm softly, your voice steady yet tender. His eyes soften, glimmering with emotions too deep for words, and for a moment, it feels as if the necklace is the silent thread that has always held your hearts together.

“I…” his voice trails, and you can tell he’s struggling to find the right words. “I fucking missed you.” he breathes out and without giving you a chance to respond, he leans down and presses his lips to your chest.

You let out a moan as he starts sucking on the skin between your breasts, and your hips squirm beneath him. “Kook…” you gasp as his mouth closes around one of your nipples, making you arch your back. He bites down gently, and you can't help but cry out in pleasure.

You can feel his body shaking on top of you, the desperation to get closer to you is so so evident. His hand slides up your leg and rests at your waist before slipping under your back, lifting your hips to meet his. The kiss that follows is sweet and gentle, like he’s trying to apologize for everything that’s happened between you, even when it's not his fault.

Your hands move to his hair, twisting into the dark strands as you pull him even closer. You can’t stop yourself, you can’t resist him anymore. The feeling, the warmth, the electricity, it’s too hard to fight. Your body is craving his, and he’s giving you all the affection you’ve been craving for these past four dreadful months.

His lips trail down your body, stopping at the spot between your legs as he slides your underwear down your legs. You gasp as you watch him dip his head, the warmth of his tongue circling your clit. Your hands grip the couch, and your body arches in reaction to the pleasure he’s sending through your body.

“Fuck.” you gasp, barely able to string the words together as he presses his face between your legs. Jungkook moans, his tongue licking around your clit in firm, steady strokes. Your hands move from the couch to his shoulders, pushing him further between your legs.

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with hunger and desire, his chin wet from your arousal, as he grips your hips and pulls you closer. He buries his tongue as deep as it can go, causing your body to jerk in reaction.

You cry out his name, your voice hoarse as your hands grip his hair. Jungkook feels himself get harder as he flattens his tongue, applying pressure to your clit. “Fuck… please... please Kook... don’t stop.” you beg as he licks you faster, your hips rocking against his face.

Your moans echo through the empty apartment as Jungkook works you closer and closer to release. When he stops sucking your clit and presses his tongue deep inside of you instead, you lose it, your orgasm washing over you in waves.

You can’t do anything but lay there and take it, your legs shaking and twitching around his face as your body convulses with pleasure.

He kisses his way up your body, licking the sweat from your skin before he finally reaches your lips. The taste of your arousal on his lips sends heat through you, and you moan as his tongue enters your mouth.

Your tears are back, running down your cheeks as you try to process the moment. Jungkook pulls away from your lips and places his forehead against yours. His thumb softly wipes your tears away, as he tries to process this surreal moment himself.

“Fuck...” he whispers as he slowly rubs his length against your core, sending sparks through your body. You feel the warmth of his skin against yours... your bodies pressed together in a way you can't comprehend.

“I... I need you baby....” Jungkook murmurs against your lips, his length rubbing against you. You breathe heavily as you nod, wanting him to just take you right here, right now.

With one swift motion, he pushes himself inside you, filling you completely. Your lips part as you take in the feeling of being stretched out by him.

Jungkook stills for a moment, taking in the feeling of finally being back inside of you. He thought he’d never have you like this again, that he’d lost you forever, but here he is, buried deep inside your warmth. His eyes stare into yours, watching your chest heave up and down as you try to adjust to the feeling you had so deeply missed.

You stare into him, sniffling as your tears refuse to stop flowing. “I love you...” you hear him say as he leans forward again, capturing your wet lips in an urgent kiss.

As the kiss grows intense, he starts moving his hips, thrusting in and out of you in a slow and steady pace. Your hands grip his arms, digging your nails into his skin as you arch your back. Jungkook kisses you harder, his moans filling the air around you.

His movements are filled with need and longing, like he’s afraid this is the last time he’ll get to make love to you. He wants to take in every moan, every thrust, every gasp he gets from you.

You’re lost in the sensation, consumed by the pleasure Jungkook is giving you as his body moves over and into you. He holds you down, his weight pinning you to the couch as he makes love to you in his living room. You feel his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he thrusts deeper inside you.

Your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer as you gasp for air but his hands grip your legs, moving them up his body as he lifts your ankles to rest on his shoulders. The change of position causes him to slide deeper inside you, and you gasp as he hits a familiar spot inside and all you can see is stars.

“Oh god....” you moan as he starts increasing his pace. Your lips part as the sensation washes over you. Jungkook leans down, pressing his lips to yours as he fucks you with reckless abandon. He’s chasing his own release, but he wants you to come with him.

He thrusts into you over and over again, his hands gripping your waist as he holds himself up. Your hands are on his ass, pushing him closer, begging for more as he groans into your mouth.

Your moans fill the air as you feel your body build towards a second release. Jungkook feels it too, his pace picking up as he drives you over the edge once more. “I’m...I'm coming...” you cry, your nails digging into his skin.

Jungkook groans in response, his thrusts becoming wild and desperate. He fucks you like he can’t get enough, like he’ll never get to have you again.

You moan into his mouth as your orgasm washes over you once more. Your body convulses under him, and you can’t do anything but let it take you over. Jungkook grunts, his body shaking above you as he chases his own release.

“Fuck baby...” he groans as he fills you up and collapses on top of you his body shuddering and his hips thrusting into you a few more times, stretching out his orgasm as much as he can. Your arms wrap around him, holding him close as you take in the warmth of his body against yours.

Jungkook presses a tender kiss to your shoulder, the gesture carrying a weight of emotions he can’t put into words. The moment feels surreal, almost fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter it.

He never imagined he’d hold you like this again, the warmth of your presence grounding him in a reality he once thought he’d lost forever. To him, this feels like a stolen dream... achingly beautiful, yet tinged with the fear that it might slip away.

He slowly rolls off you, settling beside you against the soft cushions of the couch. His arms wrap around you instinctively, holding you close as his eyes trace the lines of your face.

The exhaustion etched into your features tugs at his heart. His gaze drifts downward, gazing at the necklace around your neck. You didn't take it off and... that must mean something right? As he continues taking in the sight of you, he feels an overwhelming ache rise within him... he had missed you more than words could ever convey.

A thousand questions crowd his mind. He wants to speak, to ask, to understand, to unravel everything that had been left unsaid and find a way back to what you guys once were. But then he notices the way your eyelids flutter, heavy with weariness, and the soft, unsteady rhythm of your breaths as you try to calm yourself.

He swallows the urge to press for answers, deciding that for now, the questions can wait. Morning will come soon enough. Instead, he tightens his hold on you, his heart pounding in his chest as he silently wills himself to remain still. The warmth of your presence soothes him, and he closes his eyes, hoping that sleep will find him in the solace of this stolen moment.

//

Jungkook's eyebrows knit together in his sleep, a slight twitch running through his body as he shifts uncomfortably on the couch. His eyes flutter open, and he instinctively clutches the blanket against his chest. Blinking groggily, he glances around, the familiar sight of his apartment slowly coming into focus.

The realization that he’s on the couch sinks in, and like a tidal wave, the memory of last night crashes into him. His breath hitches, and he jolts upright, his heart pounding in his chest. Panic bubbles beneath the surface as he glances at the empty space behind him.

He looks down at the blanket draped over his body, a puzzled frown forming as he struggles to recall when or how it got there. His eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign of you, but the stillness of his apartment feels unnervingly hollow. The silence presses down on him, heavy and suffocating.

Rising to his feet, Jungkook starts moving through the apartment, his voice shaky as he calls out your name. "Y/N??" he tries again, his tone more urgent this time. But there’s no answer.

Each step he takes only amplifies the sinking feeling in his chest. He checks the kitchen, the bathroom, his bedroom, even the balcony, but you’re nowhere to be found. His mind spirals, questioning if last night had been a cruel dream... a mirage conjured by his yearning.

Or had you truly been here, only to slip away quietly in the morning? The thought twists his stomach, leaving him nauseous as he leans against the wall, his hands trembling. Did he really lose you all over again?

Jungkook doesn’t waste a second. His movements are frantic, hands fumbling as he pulls on his clothes in haste, not even bothering to smooth out the wrinkles. His mind is racing, each thought more urgent than the last. He grabs his keys and bolts out the door, the sound of it slamming shut echoing through the empty hallway.

His heart pounds as he throws himself into the driver’s seat, the familiar hum of the engine roaring to life beneath him. His knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel, the tension radiating through his body. His eyes burn with exhaustion, but the ache in his chest far outweighs it.

The city is still waking up, the roads bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun. Jungkook doesn’t care. He presses harder on the accelerator, weaving through the sparse traffic with reckless determination. Every red light feels like a lifetime, every delay an unbearable agony.

He can't stop thinking about you. The way your touch felt like home, the way your lips trembled against his last night, and the way your tears spoke of everything you were too afraid to say. He can’t let that go. He won’t.

The thought of losing you again, of waking up every morning knowing you’re out there but not by his side, terrifies him. It’s a kind of pain he doesn’t think he can survive twice.

As he nears your neighborhood, his pulse quickens. He doesn’t know what he’ll say, or how you’ll react, but none of it matters. All he knows is that he needs you... more than air, more than anything.

Parking haphazardly in front of your house, he bolts towards your door, his heart hammering as he begins knocking. There’s no answer, and his anxiety only grows. He steps off your porch, wondering where you could be.

He rushes outside, reaching the pavement, desperately scanning the neighborhood, hoping to catch a glimpse of you somewhere.

He runs through the neighborhood, his heart pounding, the anxiety gnawing at him as he checks every corner, every familiar path, but you're nowhere to be seen. Yet, something inside him refuses to give up.

As he nears the park at the edge of the neighborhood, he slows down, taking a breath to steady himself. His eyes sweep over the quiet space, and in that moment, it’s as if time slows... until he sees you, sitting alone on a distant bench, your figure outlined against the soft glow of the morning light, looking smaller and more vulnerable than he’s ever seen you.

He wastes no time as he runs towards you, his footsteps growing louder as he approaches you, his figure growing more defined with every step. His heart is racing, not just from the frantic search, but from the sheer desperation to be close to you again, to make sure you’re okay.

You sit still, your eyes widening in disbelief as you realize he’s found you. A rush of emotions flood through you... surprise, guilt, and a wave of regret. You can't help but wonder how he managed to find you here.

You glance down, unable to meet his gaze as the memories of last night resurface. The vulnerability of the moment hits you hard. You had fled his apartment at dawn, unable to face him after everything. The way he had held you, the way everything felt so perfect in the heat of the moment... it scared you.

You knew you had no answers to his questions, no way to explain the reasons behind your past actions. And the truth? That was something you couldn’t give him, not now, not when you have so much to lose. The only thing left for you to do was leave him behind and slip away like a coward, hoping he wouldn’t follow.

But here he is, standing before you, his presence too much to ignore. You don't know whether to run again or finally face him.

Jungkook’s eyes are full of pain as he steps closer to you, his voice shaking with a mix of frustration and hurt. “You left.” he breathes out, as if the weight of his words is too much to bear.

“Why... why did you leave?” His voice cracks at the end, vulnerability spilling through in a way he can’t control.

You try to look away, but his gaze pulls you in. The truth, too raw and too close to the surface, is something you can’t escape. You can feel the crack in your heart widen with every passing second. "Jungkook... we're broken up." you whisper, barely meeting his eyes.

"No." he denies, the sharpness in his breath betraying the desperation in his chest. "Don't say that, especially after last night." His voice is pleading now, fragile, cracking in a way that shakes him to the core. His fists clench at his sides with the effort to keep himself together.

"How can you say that after everything? After what happened between us? How... can you just walk away like that? How can you pretend like... none of it mattered?"

He takes a step closer, his eyes burning with a need to understand, to hold on to the fragments of what he thought was still there. "The past four months... it’s been hell, Y/n. I’ve been drowning in this silence, wondering every day what went wrong. I never got an answer. You just... left. Without a word, without a valid reason. And I hate it. I hate that I don’t know why. I hate that you just cut me off like I meant nothing. Like everything we had... it was all just a lie."

You look at him, the tears unknowingly streaming down your face. "Kook..." you start, but he cuts you off. "I tried to let go... I tried to make peace with it... but... but it hurts, Y/n. It hurts more than I can put into words, and I don’t even know what I did wrong." he pauses, trying to calm himself down.

"I don’t know what happened between us. Why did... why did you leave me? Why did you make me feel like I was nothing to you?" His voice cracks, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over. You stare at him, the lump in your throat intensifying. "You... you were everything to me. I thought we had a future together, Y/n. But now, I’m just... I'm just so lost.... I'm so lost without you."

Jungkook steps back for a moment, his hands running through his hair in frustration as he tries to make sense of it all. His breath is shallow, a quiet sob escaping him as he collects himself. "I need to know..." he mutters, barely audible. "Why? What... what happened? Please, just tell me."

He takes another shaky breath, the weight of his emotions almost unbearable. "Don’t tell me... you stopped loving me." he pleads, his voice raw and desperate. "I know that’s not true. I know you would never be so harsh to me." His words are laced with disbelief, as if he’s clinging to any shred of hope that there’s something he’s missing, something he can grasp, something that makes sense.

“I can feel it, Y/n.” he continues softly, eyes never leaving yours, searching your face as if it holds the answers. “I know you love me. You can’t just... stop. Not after everything we went through. Not after what we had.” He steps closer again, his heart aching at the thought of losing you. “So don’t tell me that’s it. Don’t tell me you just decided it was over.”

"I never stopped loving you." you whisper, your voice barely audible as hot tears continue to roll down your cheeks. The weight of your words feels like an anchor in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You feel weak, defeated... like there’s no hope left.

The sight of him standing there, shivering in pain, breaks you in ways you didn’t think were possible. His pain, the hurt you’ve caused, fills you with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Your heart aches as you watch the way his eyes fill with confusion and desperation, his hands trembling as he reaches out to you, as if just a touch could make everything okay. But you know, deep down, that nothing can probably fix this.

"I'm sorry." you whisper, barely able to get the words out. "I'm so sorry, Jungkook. I never wanted to hurt you." The tears flow freely now, staining your cheeks as you try to find the strength to speak, to explain, but the words feel stuck, trapped inside you.

As you break down, Jungkook takes a seat beside you as he hesitantly wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. You bury your face in his chest, the tears coming in waves, uncontrollable, as the weight of everything you've been holding in comes rushing to the surface.

His hands gently stroke your back, soothing you in a way that makes everything feel just a little more bearable. Every sob that wracks your body seems to break his heart a little more, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he tightens his grip on you, as if reminding both of you that, for now, you’re not alone.

Jungkook feels his own tears begin to spill as he pulls you even closer, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. His fingers tremble as they weave through your hair, trying to hold you as tightly as possible, as if he could absorb some of your sorrow.

The weight of the silence between you both is suffocating, but his mind races, desperately trying to understand why you’re in so much pain, why you had to leave him, why you feel so broken.

"Y/n..." His voice cracks, raw with emotion as he speaks your name. His chest tightens with the fear that maybe he’s never truly known the full story, that maybe everything he thought he understood was just an illusion.

His tears fall freely now, as he presses his forehead against yours, his breath shaky. "Please, just tell me. What happened?" His words are barely above a whisper, but they hold a desperate plea. "Why are you like this? What... what am I missing?"

His hands move to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that continue to fall. He’s not sure if he’s crying for the both of you or if he’s just so lost in your pain that it feels like it’s his own. "I can’t lose you again, Y/n. I need to know... why we are the way we are right now. Please, just tell me. I can’t fix it if I don’t understand."

His grip on you tightens, the urgency in his voice rising as he gazes into your eyes, searching for some kind of answer, anything that will explain the devastation he’s feeling. His love for you is still so strong, so unyielding, but the fear of losing you completely is almost too much to bear.

Just as you're about to speak, your phone starts ringing, its shrill tone cutting through the heavy silence. You hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to pick it up, especially given the fragile state you're in right now. But the phone keeps ringing, insistent, and you feel a knot tighten in your stomach.

With a sniffle, you pull away from Jungkook, trying to compose yourself as you reach for your phone. "Just a minute..." you whisper, wiping away the last of your tears as you glance at the caller ID.

It's the hospital. Your heart skips a beat at the sight, and before you can think twice, you answer, trying to steady your voice. "Hello?"

"Am I speaking to Ms. Choi?" the voice on the other end asks. Your breath catches in your throat, and without a second thought, you stand up, your heart rate increasing with every passing second. "Yes, this is she." you reply, trying to keep your composure, but the panic is starting to rise in your chest.

Jungkook watches you intently, noticing the change in your expression as you stand up. His concern deepens as he observes the tension in your body. Who could be calling you at this hour? You grip the phone tighter as the voice on the other end continues speaking, but then you gasp, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

He watches in horror as you suddenly collapse, your knees buckling beneath you. It's like all the strength has left your body. His instincts kick in immediately, and he's by your side in an instant, crouching down and reaching out for you.

His hands land gently on your shoulders as he pulls you towards him, trying to steady you. The phone slips from your grasp, clattering to the ground, but you don’t seem to notice. Your eyes are wide, unblinking, and you stare ahead, lost in whatever news you've just received.

"Y/n... what happened? Are you okay?" Jungkook's voice is laced with worry, his hand moving to your cheek to check for any sign of awareness. You blink a few times, as if snapping back into reality, but it’s still hard to focus. Your lips tremble as you finally meet his eyes, and you whisper his name. "Jungkook..."

His heart races as he holds you tighter, desperate for you to continue. He nods, prompting you to keep talking. "Jungkook... Beomgyu... he... he woke up." you say.

"What...?" Jungkook asks, his voice laced with disbelief. His wide eyes search your face for confirmation, and when he sees the glimmer of truth in your tear-streaked expression, his features soften into a smile. "Y/n... that's... that's great news. That's... amazing news, baby." His voice wavers, a mix of relief and joy, and his smile grows wider.

You nod quickly, the reality of it hitting you all over again as fresh tears stream down your cheeks. "He's awake, Jungkook... he's really awake." you whisper, your voice trembling with a mixture of happiness and overwhelming emotion.

You pause, glancing around as you try to calm yourself down. "I need to go see him. I... I need to get to the... the hospital." you say hurriedly, the urgency in your tone impossible to miss.

Jungkook catches your arm gently but firmly, grounding you for a moment. "Hey, hey." he says softly, looking into your eyes with a steady calmness. "I'll take you there, yeah? My car’s parked right outside your house, so let’s go. Come on." he softly says as he helps you up.

//

You barge through the hospital doors, your steps quick and frantic, your heart racing as you navigate through the lobby. Jungkook follows close behind, his presence a comforting weight amidst the chaos swirling in your mind.

You reach the elevator and jab the button repeatedly, as though it might make the lift arrive faster. The ride up feels like an eternity, and yet, when the doors slide open, you're already bolting down the hallway towards Beomgyu's room.

Finally, you stand outside the door, your hand frozen on the handle. You take a shaky breath, trying to collect yourself, your chest rising and falling with the weight of four long years of waiting. Four years of imagining this moment, of rehearsing what you’d say, how you’d feel... but now, standing here, all those thoughts dissolve into a haze of indescribable emotion.

Jungkook steps beside you, his voice soft and steady as he whispers. "He's waiting for you, baby." His words calm you, giving you the courage you need to face what’s on the other side of the door. You glance at him, his warm eyes filled with reassurance, and you nod, summoning the strength to push forward. With trembling hands, you carefully push the door open and step inside.

There he is. Beomgyu. Sitting up in bed, his back resting against the headboard, alive and awake. The sight is almost surreal, a moment that feels too precious to be real.

He looks at you with a lopsided grin, his expression as cheeky and familiar as ever. "Long time no see, Your Highness." he quips, his tone lighthearted and playful, as if the last four years hadn't just been wiped away by a miracle.

Your breath catches, a soft laugh escaping you as tears well up in your eyes again. "Beomgyu..." you whisper, your voice breaking. The weight of the years, the pain, the hope... all of it rushes to the surface as you step closer, overwhelmed by the reality of seeing him awake.

You rush to his side, tears streaming freely down your cheeks as you throw your arms around him in a tight embrace. The warmth of his body against yours is enough to break down every last wall you'd built over the years.

You remember all the times you'd playfully swatted him away, rolled your eyes, or made a face every time he tried to hug you because back then, you liked to act like showing affection to your sibling was embarrassing.

But right now, there’s no hesitation, no second thought. Right now, you’ve never felt more alive.

“I missed you.” you sob, your voice muffled against his shoulder as you clutch him like you’re afraid he might slip away again. The tears come harder as the realization sinks in that this moment is real. He’s real. The long, agonizing wait is finally over.

Beomgyu chuckles softly, his voice steady yet laced with emotion. "Wow, I must really be a sight for sore eyes if you’re this clingy." he teases, though his arms wrap tightly around you, holding you just as fiercely. His familiar, playful tone only makes you cry harder.

"You idiot." you choke out, your voice trembling as you pull back just enough to look at him. Your hands cup his face, your thumbs brushing away the tears that now spill from his eyes too. "Don’t you dare scare me like that ever again. Do you hear me? Never again."

His grin softens, and he nods, his own tears mirroring yours. "I promise." he whispers, his voice quieter, more solemn now. "Never again."

Jungkook lingers near the doorway, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches the reunion unfold. The raw emotion in your embrace, the way you cling to Beomgyu like he might vanish if you let go... it stirs something deep within him.

He knows how long you've waited for this moment, how often you spoke of it with a mixture of hope and pain. Seeing you finally experience it makes his heart swell with happiness for you.

But then, Jungkook freezes as Beomgyu's gaze shifts towards him. His eyes widen slightly, realizing that this is the first time Beomgyu is seeing him.

“Who’s... that?” Beomgyu asks, his voice curious but steady. His brows furrow slightly as he nods towards Jungkook. You turn to follow Beomgyu’s gaze, and when your eyes meet Jungkook’s, you can’t help but smile.

“That’s Jungkook.” you say softly, glancing back at your brother before looking at Jungkook again. There’s something tender in the way you say his name, something that makes Jungkook’s smile widen as he nods politely at Beomgyu.

Before anything else can be said, the doctor appears and Jungkook steps aside letting him in. “Ms. Choi.” the doctor greets with a warm smile. “Congratulations. It’s wonderful to see Beomgyu awake and responsive. However, we’ll need to run a few tests now, just to check his overall condition.”

You nod understandingly, brushing a stray tear from your cheek as you stand. “Of course... thank you, doctor.” you say, turning back to Beomgyu. You lean down to place a soft kiss on his forehead, your smile filled with a quiet reassurance. “I’ll be right outside, okay?”

Beomgyu nods, his grin still cheeky. “Don’t disappear. I need you to explain who that guy is and why he was looking at you with literal heart eyes.” he teases, his playful tone making you chuckle as you shake your head.

You glance at Jungkook, who’s scratching the back of his neck, looking a little flustered. “Behave.” you tell Beomgyu with a laugh before stepping outside with Jungkook, leaving your brother in the capable hands of the doctor.

As you settle into the metal chair right outside Beomgyu's room, beside Jungkook, the cold steel pressing against your back is a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand as it gently rests on your knee. His fingers squeeze lightly, offering some silent comfort.

You glance down at the way his hand fits so naturally on you and let out a small, tired smile. Placing your hand over his, your thumb begins to trace slow circles over his knuckles, grounding yourself in the quiet rhythm of the motion.

Your voice breaks the silence, soft but weighted. "Junghyun... he came to see me."

Jungkook’s brows knit together in confusion. “Junghyun? My brother?” he repeats, his tone disbelieving as he tries to process your words. You nod, your gaze shifting to the sterile white tiles of the hospital floor.

“Four months ago... he came to the kindergarten.” you admit, your voice faltering slightly. You exhale deeply, trying to steady yourself before diving into the painful memory.

The words spill out in fragments, raw and hesitant, as you recount the confrontation with Junghyun. You describe the way he appeared out of nowhere, his presence overbearing, his threats sharp and deliberate. You tell Jungkook how he used your brother's condition against you, twisting it into a weapon, leaving you cornered and helpless.

By the time you finish, the tension in Jungkook’s body is palpable. His jaw is clenched tight, and his fists curl against his knees. His breath is sharp as he mutters through gritted teeth, “That motherfucker…”

His reaction makes your chest tighten, a mixture of relief and guilt washing over you. He’s angry... angrier than you’ve ever seen him but you know it’s not directed at you. It’s the thought of his brother’s cruel manipulation, the pain you endured in silence, that has his blood boiling.

"I'll be right back." Jungkook says firmly, already standing up and walking away with purpose. Panic rises in your chest as you quickly catch up to him, already guessing where he’s headed. "Jungkook, no... wait, stop." you plead, reaching out to grab his arm.

He stops abruptly, turning to face you and holding your shoulders gently but firmly. His dark eyes lock onto yours, filled with resolve. "Y/n, just trust me." he says, his voice steady yet reassuring. "He won’t be able to do anything. I’ll make sure... I’ll make sure you and Beomgyu are safe. I promise."

You open your mouth to protest, but he shakes his head, cutting you off before the words can escape. "I need to put him in his place." he breathes out, his jaw tightening. "He needs to know he can’t talk to you like that. He needs to understand what you mean to me." His voice softens slightly, the tenderness in his gaze making your heart ache.

"Just stay here with Beomgyu." he continues, his tone resolute. "I’ll be back soon. I promise."

Before you can stop him, he steps closer, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead, his touch lingering like a silent vow. Then, without another word, he turns on his heels and strides down the hallway, his determination unwavering. You stand frozen, watching him disappear, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet of the hospital.

//

Jungkook barges into his brother's home office, the door slamming against the wall with a loud bang. Junghyun glances up from his computer, a bemused expression on his face. "Oh, Jungkook? Didn’t expect you to visit on a Sunday. What brings you—"

His sentence is cut off abruptly as Jungkook strides over, grabbing his collar and yanking him to his feet. Before Junghyun can even process what’s happening, a powerful punch lands squarely on his cheek. He stumbles back, clutching his face in shock, but Jungkook doesn’t let him regain his footing.

With a growl of anger, Jungkook throws another punch, the impact snapping Junghyun’s head to the side. The metallic tang of blood fills the air as a crimson streak trickles from Junghyun's split lip.

"Jungkook!" Junghyun finally manages to shout, his voice laced with both pain and disbelief. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Jungkook doesn’t respond immediately, his chest heaving as he towers over his brother. His fists clench and unclench, the anger rolling off him in waves. "That’s for threatening Y/n." he snarls, his voice dangerously low. "You think you can mess with her? Intimidate her like that? Not while I’m here."

Junghyun glares at him, wiping the blood from his lip, his shock slowly giving way to a cold smirk. "So, this is about her?" he mutters, his tone mocking despite his obvious discomfort. "You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment, Jungkook. How pathetic."

But Jungkook doesn’t flinch. Instead, he grabs Junghyun by the collar again, pulling him close. "Listen to me." he says through gritted teeth. "Stay away from her. If you ever even think about going near her or Beomgyu again, I swear, you’ll regret it."

Jungkook lets go of Junghyun with a forceful shove, sending him sprawling back into his chair. "All this for a girl like her? Really Jungkook?" Junghyun scoffs, his tongue poking the inside of cheek. "You have no idea what she means to me." Jungkook says lowly, glaring at his brother.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, his fists still clenched at his sides. His voice drops to a low, dangerous tone. "You have no idea what she means to me." he says, his glare unwavering. "And you never will."

Junghyun chuckles bitterly, his face twisted in disdain, but before he can retort, Jungkook steps closer, his presence commanding. "Do you think Dad’s going to be proud when he hears what you’ve been up to?" Jungkook asks, his words sharp and deliberate.

Junghyun’s smirk falters ever so slightly. "You think he’ll be okay with you going around threatening people? Manipulating them? Using fear to get your way?" Jungkook continues, his voice rising slightly. "You’re the pathetic one, hyung."

He pauses, letting his words sink in, then laughs... a dry, humorless sound. "And you know what’s really pathetic? That you thought I wouldn’t find out. That you thought I’d just let it slide."

Junghyun’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing, but he stays silent, his confidence clearly shaken. Jungkook steps back, his glare never leaving his brother. "This is your last warning. Stay away from her. Stay away from Beomgyu. Because if you don’t..." He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You won’t just have Dad to deal with. You’ll have me."

Without waiting for a response, Jungkook straightens up and strides out of the office, slamming the door behind him, leaving Junghyun to stew in his own discomfort and rising dread.

//

As you help Beomgyu inside your house, he pauses for a moment, letting his eyes wander around the familiar space. His gaze lands on the corner of the room, behind the couch, and a smirk tugs at his lips. "You still haven't gotten rid of that weird vase?" he teases, pointing at the decorative piece.

You roll your eyes, shutting the door behind you. "That's never gonna happen." you reply with a shrug, playfully glaring at him.

He shakes his head in mock disapproval before taking a seat on the couch. The cold fabric causes him to shiver slightly, but he leans back, closing his eyes. "Well... it's good to be back." he murmurs, exhaling deeply.

You stand there for a moment, watching him. Your heart feels so full it could burst. It almost seems unreal... having him here, in your home, after all this time. "Let me cook you some jjajangmyeon." you suggest, breaking the silence.

His eyes snap open, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh my god, how did you know I was craving exactly that?" he asks, his tone amused. "It's a sibling thing." you reply with a wink, heading into the kitchen.

As you start preparing the ingredients, your thoughts inevitably drift to Jungkook, especially since you haven't heard from him ever since he left you at the hospital. You can’t help but wonder how he’s handling the situation with Junghyun. The thought of it makes your stomach churn slightly, but you push the anxiety aside.

"So, where’s your little boyfriend?" Beomgyu's voice interrupts your thoughts, his teasing tone carrying from the living room. A shy smile tugs at your lips, but you don’t respond immediately. "Come on..." he continues, his footsteps drawing closer until he’s leaning casually against the kitchen counter.

"I was in a damn coma for four years, and my bitchless sister finally manages to pull someone, and I don’t even get a proper introduction?"

You snort at his choice of words. "Oh, come on, Gyu." you reply, turning to face him with a mock exasperated look. "I’ll introduce you when the time’s... right." He sighs, clearly unimpressed with your answer. "The time’s right when I say it is." he quips, but his grin betrays the affection behind the teasing.

Beomgyu arches a brow at the sudden sound of the doorbell, his smirk widening with curiosity. "Is that who I think it is?" he quips, leaning back against the counter with an air of playful arrogance.

You glance at him, wide-eyed and suddenly flustered. You smile at him briefly before you quickly make your way to the door, your heart thudding in anticipation. The moment you open it, time seems to still. There stands Jungkook, bathed in the soft glow of the porch light, his presence radiating comfort and confidence. His smile is subtle yet powerful, a silent reassurance that everything is under control.

You step outside, quietly closing the door behind you, shielding the moment from your brother's prying gaze. You fidget with your fingers as words evade you. "So...?" you finally manage, your voice trailing off.

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he steps forward, closing the space between you. His arms encircle you in a gentle, protective embrace, his warmth instantly melting away your apprehensions. "I punched him." he says at last, his voice tinged with triumph.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you pull back just enough to search his face. "What?" you ask, your voice rising an octave in disbelief.

"I punched him." he repeats, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. "Right in the face. You should’ve seen him... completely caught off guard. Like...there's no way he actually had the nerve to mess with my girl."

A mix of shock and amusement washes over you as you lightly smack his chest. "Jungkook! That’s not something to be proud of." you admonish, though the corners of your mouth twitch with an unwilling smile. "Violence isn’t the answer."

His smirk deepens as he tilts his head, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, but in his case, it is."

You shake your head, exhaling a laugh despite yourself. "What am I gonna do with you?" you murmur, your tone caught between exasperation and fondness.

Jungkook’s expression softens, the teasing glimmer in his eyes replaced by an intensity that makes your breath hitch. "Y/N..." he begins, his voice low and steady. "You don’t have to worry anymore. I’ll take care of everything... you, Beomgyu. You’ll both be safe. I promise."

His words hit you hard, the depth of his sincerity leaving you momentarily speechless. He steps even closer, his hands gently cupping your face as his thumbs brush against your cheeks. "I promise you, no one will ever hurt you again. Not while I’m here." he vows, his tone resolute, his gaze locking onto yours.

You nod, your chest swelling with a sense of safety you hadn’t realized you were yearning for. "Just promise me..." he continues, his voice softening. "if anything ever happens again, you’ll tell me. Right away. No hiding, no secrets."

A lump forms in your throat as you nod again, unable to find the words to express the gratitude and trust coursing through you. Jungkook smiles faintly, the tension easing from his features, and he pulls you into another embrace. His arms wrap around you like a fortress, his chin resting lightly atop your head.

"I missed you." you whisper, your voice muffled against his chest.

"I missed you too." he murmurs, his voice filled with emotion as he tightens his hold on you. "More than you know."

After a few long moments, you pull back, your eyes meeting his as the world seems to shrink down to just the two of you. His gaze flickers to your lips, and before you can even register it, he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

The kiss is tender yet fervent, each movement brimming with unspoken emotions. You feel his love, his promise, and his unwavering devotion in the way his lips meld with yours, leaving no room for doubt that this is where you belong. The porch, the cool evening air, the distant sounds of the world... all of it fades into oblivion as you lose yourself in him.

It's as if a colossal weight has finally been lifted from your shoulders, allowing you to breathe freely for the first time in what feels like forever. In this fleeting, surreal moment, the world fades away, leaving only the steady rhythm of your heart and the warmth surrounding you.

Everything about this feels inexplicably right , the way he kisses you, the way his arms embrace you, the way his presence steadies your storm. You feel complete, as though the jagged pieces of your soul have found their perfect fit. You feel whole again.

"Umm, sooo sorry to interrupt the lovebirds." Beomgyu’s voice drawls out, cutting through the tender moment. You and Jungkook both pull apart and turn your heads sharply, only to see him mischievously peeking out of the window right beside the front door. “But, Y/n, your brother, who just got out of a coma, is really, really hungry and would love for you to finish cooking the jjajangmyeon you promised him.”

You roll your eyes, a flush creeping up your cheeks as Jungkook stifles a laugh. "And, of course..." Beomgyu continues, his grin widening. “He’d absolutely love to finally meet your boyfriend.” He emphasizes the last word, wagging his eyebrows dramatically at Jungkook, who chuckles deeply at your brother's antics.

You groan, covering your face in Jungkook’s chest as he wraps an arm protectively around you, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Gyu, you’re unbelievable.” you mumble, your voice muffled.

Beomgyu shrugs nonchalantly. “Hey, priorities, okay? Food first, making out later.” he teases, shooting a mock salute before disappearing back into the house after shutting the window down.

Jungkook looks down at you, his smile soft and amused. “I like him.” he says with a chuckle. You pull back slightly, playfully glaring at him. “Don’t encourage him.” you warn, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays your amusement.

“Come on.” Jungkook says, planting a quick kiss on your forehead. “Let’s go… we can't have your brother starving.” he says.

You laugh, grabbing his hand as the two of you step back inside. The warmth of your house envelops you, and for the first time in forever, you feel okay.

Beomgyu’s playful voice fills the air as he grins from the couch, the sibling bond you thought you’d lost now brighter than ever. Jungkook squeezes your hand, his steady presence a reminder that the hardest days are now way behind you.

In the kitchen, surrounded by laughter and the aroma of cooking, you glance at Jungkook. His soft smile says everything words can’t, filling your heart with a quiet peace.

For the first time in months, you’re not just surviving... you’re actually living. With Beomgyu back where he belongs and Jungkook by your side, your heart feels complete, wrapped in the comforting truth that this... this is what home is meant to feel like.

—fin. ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

my masterlist <3

[rinhaler]

Trigger Finger Ready and Got Nowhere To Run To

Did you ever imagine your boyfriend would offer up your body to solve a yakuza dispute? No, but you aren't surprised.

✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ yakuza!ryomen sukuna x f!reader x yakuza!toji fushiguro

Genre: filthy filthy porn with a plot Notes: biggest happy bday to the dilf of dilfs (and my husband of husbands), toji!! (++ sukuna bc they r both beefy n hot :3) Warnings: 18+, dub/noncon, mentions of violence/murder, toxic!relationship, free use ♡, manipulation, jealousy, fem!Uraume, degradation ♡, praise, no prep, oral fixation ♡, size!kink, daddy!kink, choking (hands + belt), slight breathplay, exhibitionism, spanking, dacryphilia ♡, dumbification, creampie(s), calls your pussy “she/her”, slight cucking, oral (m+f receiving), restraints, fingering ♡, pussy spanks, squirting ♡, multiple orgasms, double penetration!(one hole), brief anal mentioning, breeding ♡, belly bulge ♡, pet names (princess, brat, good girl, sweetheart). Words: 15.2k

You’re numb.

Only mentally, numb, to the word which you willingly leapt into. A world with bloodied rivers and bodies piled to the height of the highest mountains. None of it bothers you, not anymore.

Talks of murder and dismemberment barely reach your ears as you flip through the pages of your magazine. You aren’t sure why Sukuna insisted that you be here. He likes to show you off, you suppose. He likes to flaunt what he possesses, and his men never will.

“How much longer?” you whisper, eyes scanning the pages on the gossip mag in your hands. You’d rather be reading a copy of Vogue, but one of Sukuna’s idiotic subordinates picked up the wrong magazine in a hurry.

Actually… You haven’t seen him since.

“What have I told you?” your lover whispers back, he leans over to you. His head turns away from looking at the men in the room as the meeting goes on. But their boss sharing his attention with you rather than the subject at hand earns a few nosy onlookers watching you converse. “Be a brat in private, not here.”

You sigh, crossing one leg over the other as you carry on reading. Sukuna’s hand rests on your thigh before he scowls at the men who’d dare to look at him with an emotion other than fear in their eyes.

He stands up, staring down silently at everyone in the room. It even manages to get your attention. The dread he’s able to instill into his subordinates is more than just impressive to you. It’s exhilirating. Sukuna is a king, and not just to you. To his little brother sitting nearby as the meeting continues. To the subordinates he trusts and who hang on his every solitary breath. And to the public.

People know who you are, now.

You’re Sukuna’s girl.

You were nothing, until him.

He was quite fond of your big mouth and downright horrible attitude when you met. He liked that you didn’t know who he was, and you didn’t hold back when he accidentally bumped into you while shopping. You were wearing a white sundress that hugged every inch of your body, and the coffee in your hand turned the material murky and hideous.

The men surrounding him and ready to silence you for good weren’t even registered in your mind. You didn’t even notice they were there until the friend you were shopping with told you to shut up.

You insulted him, sure. But Sukuna was barely listening. He was too drawn to the way the liquid made your already tight dress cling and stick in all of the right places. Your decision to go braless became painfully obvious to anyone who’d dare let their eyeline drop to your chest.

He dismissed his men, earning a sigh of relief from you and your friend. You watched him carefully as he pulled out his wallet.

“I ruined your dress, huh? Let me buy you a new one, and a new coffee.” he told you. Your eyes bulged as you saw the fat wad of cash in his hand. He smirked, watching your hand hesitate back and forth as you were unsure whether to accept it.

Before him, you weren’t wealthy.

The opposite, really.

You were barely making ends meet and every penny you had was spent on living essentials and rent. The money he offered you was enough for more than that. He was handing you the option to live a little. But before you could take it, before you could fully grasp the bank notes in his hand, he flicked his wrist away.

“I want your number for the pleasure of this expensive meeting.” he grinned.

In hindsight, it was incredibly stupid to accept money from a yakuza man. It seemed like too good of an offer to turn down, though.

For the pleasure of knowing Sukuna and that chance meeting, there have been ups and downs. Everything you knew before Sukuna is your old life. You can’t remember the last time you saw those friends you had. You haven’t been back to your old apartment in over a year, though you know Sukuna still pays the rent on it.

It’s used for some kind of illegal activities, you’re sure. You don’t know why else he’d still pay for it otherwise.

Your old clothes weren’t good enough for you anymore. That’s how Sukuna felt. And with each extortionate purchase he made, you began to agree. You can no longer bear the thought of wearing some cheap, discounted item like you used to. Your entire wardrobe is designer, and you’re like a new woman.

If anyone from your past could see you now, they wouldn’t recognise you.

You don’t care, though. You’ve been poor and you’ve been miserable. What Sukuna gave you that day wasn’t just money, it was an opportunity to cast the old you aside. You’re glamorous, you’re taken care of.

But most importantly, you’re loved.

You’re an object, a doll for him to play with.

But he loves you.

It’s apparent in the way you are in private together. He can be so many things in so many ways. But you know that you are more loved by him than you’ve ever been in any other relationship. He loves you more than friends and family combined.

To Sukuna, you’re everything.

“Listen. Up.” he starts. You know he doesn’t mean you. He wouldn’t mind if you kept your nose buried in your tacky magazine for the entire day. And yet, you find yourself closing it and putting it down on the desk in front of you. Your sole focus is on him. “My wife and I have better things to be doing than sitting here listening to this shit. Figure out this territorial dispute, today, or I’m going to lose my patience.”

His wife.

Everyone’s eyes fall on you when he refers to you as such, and it takes every ounce of concentration and sheer will power to stop yourself from smiling. Your face remains straight and composed, but there are two men who know you enough to see through the façade.

Sukuna, and his brother.

The elder of the two looks down at you, only because he loves to see you squirm because of him. And he’s proud of you, oh so proud that you are well behaved and know that you should appear as strict as he is.

Yuuji, however, has to turn away so no one can see how much he wants to laugh. He’s always liked you; he likes that his brother likes you and he likes how nice you are when you warm up to people. People like him. He’s gotten to know you through being his brother’s second in command. If Sukuna can’t be by your side, Yuuji will be.

And he thinks it’s cute, really, how much you love his big brother. The big brother that most would see as nought more than a terrifying monster. A murderer and a fiend who can so easily ruin lives just because he feels like it.

Yuuji thinks it’s downright adorable.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when his big brother whistles. He watches as you hurriedly stuff your magazine back into your handbag and follow him to the exit. Yuuji follows, too, after his brother gives him a commanding look.

“You shouldn’t lie.” you mutter, leaving the room and walking by Sukuna’s side as Yuuji trails behind you both. Sukuna turns his head sideways so he can look down at you. His tattooed hands remain in his pants pockets as you approach the exit of the building. You keep looking forwards, though. And he smirks.

It’s a cute little pout he recognises.

“You are my wife.” he tells you. “Don’t be a brat because I haven’t proposed, how droll.”

You scoff, finally looking at him, your full glossy lips seem to pout even harder when you actually face him.

“You know what happens when you get married for real, princess?” he asks. And you scoff, again, because you know what he’s going to say. He says the same thing every time you have this truly trite conversation. “Boring sex. And then, none at all. And I know you can’t live without this cock in you for too long.”

“You’re disgus—”

“Speaking of which,” he stops walking and turns to face you. It makes you laugh every time he talks about how boring your sex life would be if you got married. You aren’t sure how true it is, but it amuses you, nonetheless. He gets his wallet from his inner breast pocket and withdraws his credit card, handing it to you with a wide smile on his face. “That’s what you get when you’re a good girl. Thank you.” he grabs the crown of your head with a large palm and plants a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“I thought we were talking about sex, not money.” you speak, and he smiles. “Which do you think I prefer?”

“With me, sex. In general, money.” he tells you, and you suppose he’s right. “But with money, you can buy things for sex. Unless you want to be a brat, I can take back the card. Otherwise, buy a pretty set for daddy to fuck you in.”

He loves how your demeanour changes at the use of your favourite name for him when you’re alone. Yuuji is here, yes, but he knows the intricacies of your relationship so there’s no need to be concerned.

“Theeeere she is, daddy’s good girl.” he approaches you; his hand settles on your waist. A simple cue for Yuuji to know he doesn’t want to be here. He walks on ahead; and you both watch him walk by before focusing on each other again. He backs you up until your shoulder blades rest against the wall. You tilt your head to kiss him, but he pulls his head back to tease you. “Why aren’t you always a good girl for me?” he wonders.

You allow your head to loll back against the wall with a gentle thud. He watches you, intently, wondering what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. His eyes drop as your right hand gently traces over his crisp black dress shirt until you find his tie.

And you tug.

His body cages you in and you will never get over what a behemoth of a man he is. He’s so intimidatingly large. You’re like a little mouse about to be devoured by a viper. And yet, somehow, you’re in control. He gasps, albeit quietly, but there is pleasure behind it as you pull him closer.

“You’d be so bored if I was always good, daddy. And you fuck me better when I’m a brat for you.” you tell him, voice filled with lust as your sultry tones reach his ears. His cock twitches at your words, although he’s tired of you having the upper hand. One hand grabs your jaw, and you know if he wanted to, he could break it with ease. But you smile, willingly.

If you are to die, it would be an honour by his hand.

He kills you with a kiss, instead. Your thoughts dissipate as you allow your lips to lock and teeth to clash as you needily make out. His body presses into yours, uncaring for the place or potential audience that could find you at any moment. A soft, needy moan slips by your lips as you feel his hardening bulge grind between your legs. It makes him smile, smugly and proud as he steals continuous little noises from you.

“You only keep your fucking mouth shut when you’re getting this dick.” he comments, his tongue licks against yours before he suffocates your desperately mewling with heated kisses once again. He pulls away, whispering in your ear. “You’re nice ‘n wet for daddy, yeah? Want my cock, baby?”

“Mhmm…” you nod, raising your leg to rest on his hip. His fingers squeeze into the flesh of your thigh as he helps it settle in place. His kisses are barely there anymore. Soft pecks as he gradually pulls away until you’re whimpering and begging for more. “Please, daddy… please.”

“Awe,” he gives you one final kiss before looking over his shoulder to see some of the higher ranked members of his organisation approach. He pulls away, leaving you completely breathless. “Brats don’t decide when their holes get used. Their daddy’s do.” he reminds you.

You’re left panting with your hand on your chest as he walks away. He looks over his shoulder at you before giving you a self-satisfied smirk as he waves at you.

“Keep your cunt wet for daddy.” he tells you.

You scoff, fleeing the scene quickly as the humiliation of his words surges through you. The lack of respect and discretion should make you furious. And honestly, it does. But that feeling of anger and fury is overridden with pure, unadulterated lust.

“Hey, are you ready to go?” Yuuji asks as you walk through the double doors and out into the blaring summer sun. The heat is unbearable, you’re sure the sidewalk would steam if you poured water onto it. “Are you okay? Thirsty? Can I carry your jacket?” Yuuji wonders. And you nod.

“Thanks, Yuu.” you smile, taking off your coat for him to hold for you. “You’re taking care of me again, I guess.” you sigh, but try to remain optimistic. You both know you’d rather Sukuna be the one taking you shopping, but you don’t hate spending time with his brother.

“What are we shopping for today?” he asks, opening the door to his car for you to climb into. He puts your coat in the back and rushes around to driver’s seat. “You can go crazy since he won’t be there to stop you.” he winks. You giggle a little as he buckles himself in and starts the car. “Oh, he wanted you to get some lingerie, right?”

You go quiet, looking down at your hands as you nod quickly. It’s almost unnoticeable, but Yuuji knows. He starts driving to a boutique he knows you like, smiling to himself. You’re so brazen and loud most of the time. You can be so confident and fearless.

But he thinks it’s sweet that you get so shy about things like this.

“I’m not judging you, y’know.” he tells you, looking to the side to see if you’re listening. You raise your head to look at him, the slight anxiety you feel slowly leaves your body the longer you look at him. “You’re a good friend to me. I’m happy Sukuna met you, otherwise I wouldn’t know you.”

“Yuuji…” you respond, you can’t stop yourself from smiling as you hear his sweet words. It makes him laugh, though. He’s happy he managed to break you out of your nervous sulk. “I wonder sometimes… if I’m crazy.”

“You are.” he tells you. You lightly slap his arm, “Hey, I’m driving!” he laughs. “You have some kind of arrangement with my brother, right? That doesn’t matter. You love him, don’t you? I know he loves you too. He’s told me enough, and I can see it in his eyes. You’re crazy, but he is too.”

An arrangement.

You’re happy it’s a secret, even to Yuuji. If anyone from your past life knew what you agreed to with Sukuna, they’d be ashamed. You figure anyone would be, really. But you don’t care. Yuuji is right.

Sukuna is crazy.

But so are you.

“Thanks, Yuuji.” you smile, weakly. “You’re a good friend to me, too.”

Sukuna is possessive, he’s greedy.

But what Sukuna doesn’t know won’t hurt him. You model a few lingerie sets to his little brother. And Yuuji, of course, is a perfect gentleman about it. His eyes rake over your body, though you can detect a lack of lust in him. There’s another woman on his mind that you know to be the reason. He’s a lovesick puppy, and you are off limits. He isn’t stupid, but he’s happy to help you shop.

Sukuna should be the one here with you now, anyway. He should be the one watching you try on panties and bras and pretty baby dolls. And yet, he’s sent you away to give himself some peace while he works on whatever the hell it is he does all day. Threatening and being a general bastard to the city at large.

If he were here, you know you’d be getting fucked within an inch of your life in every pretty ensemble you try on.

“Yuuji, what is your brother doing today?” you ask him, pouting a little. It feels humiliating to have to ask. You should know where your boyfriend is and who he’s with. Even Yuuji looks taken aback. Does Sukuna often keep you in the dark? It’s not like what he does for a living is some big secret.

“… There’s a huge territorial dispute right now…” he starts, looking at the store clerks and urging them to walk away if they know what’s good for them. They do, giving you two the space to talk. “He and the other higher ups are having a follow up meeting to decide what to do.”

You huff and start to undress as you head back into the changing room.

“Uraume?” you wonder, already knowing the answer. “Is she there?”

“Well, she’s Sukuna’s right hand. After me, obviously.” he tells you, and it only earns another huff of annoyance from you.

You know what Sukuna will want is for you to pick a pretty lingerie set to wear under your clothes all day until he gets home. You’re not doing that, though, not now. Not when you know he’s with her. He’s lucky you’re even still buying any in the first place. Yuuji watches you as you tell the staff to ring you up, a look almost akin to sorrow lingering in his soft brown eyes.

“Nothing is going on between them, y’know.” he tries to assure you. All you can do is scoff. The notion of remaining silent dies as you begin to think about how many positions he’s probably fucking her in while you run around and play the role of the oblivious wife.

A wife without a ring, at that.

“No offence Yuuji, I’m not exactly going to take your word for it. He’s your brother.” you sigh. He grabs the shopping bags for you once you pay the extortionate price. Sukuna had told you to get a set, not several. But you think it’s the least you deserve after finding out he’s with Uraume instead of you. “I want some new jewellery, let’s go.”

You hold the door open for Yuuji before you walk side by side towards the nearest jewellery store. Sukuna’s feelings are the least of your concern, whether he’s frustrated with your purchases or not doesn’t matter to you. Not right now. You’re hellbent on giving his credit card a workout before you go home.

The air conditioning hits you as you enter. Yuuji finds a seat as you begin to browse, dumping your shopping bags by his feet. He keeps a watchful eye on you as you’re shown around at some pieces you might like. A necklace is calling your name, but new earrings would be nice, too. But with the way you’re feeling, you might just leave with everything that you take even the vaguest of interest in.

You hear Yuuji’s phone ring behind you, and it forces you to look at him expectantly. It’s embarrassing, really, how badly you’re hoping it’s Sukuna to ask for your location so he can be here with you. But his younger sibling shakes his head despondently, feeling sad that he’s letting you down.

“Shit, I have to go.” Yuuji tells you, and your brows furrow. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been left alone. What could be so important? He looks at you, eyes serious and almost desperate as he wills you to listen to him. “I won’t be long, please don’t leave. Sukuna will kill me if anything happens to you.”

“It’s fine, Yuu.” you nod, barely looking at him anymore as you admire the glimmering jewels in their glass display cases once more. “I’ll be here.”

He smiles, gratefully, and squeezes your shoulder. His speed is impressive, you’re surprised you haven’t been left with a dust cloud as he leaves your side and departs the store. You have no idea what’s happening, but it must be serious if Yuuji had to rush off like that.

The clerk assisting you can’t help but fawn over how gorgeous you look as he allows you to try on a diamond necklace that caught your eye. It’s simple, something you’d wear every day. It’s glamorous but not overstated.

“There are matching earrings, if you’re interested.” the clerk tells you, and you nod. “And there’s—”

“If it matches, I’ll take it all.” you smile. The clerk nods and takes the necklace from you. You watch for a few minutes as he wanders around and collects everything you’ve asked for, but you soon get bored and begin browsing again.

You raise your head as you see two men with black hair enter. You unintentionally stare, but soon avert your gaze when another necklace catches your eyes. You hear the men discuss something about a sister, and you deduce they are likely here to purchase gifts. You feel your blood run cold as they become silent, and you feel them glaring at you.

You’ve gotten a sense of when people are sizing you up, now. Even if it’s something as tedious as being leered at. Being with Sukuna has taught you to sense danger, however small.

“I’d like this necklace as well, please.” you speak, hoping your confidence and signalling of the staff will get them to stop staring at you. The clerk nods and sends another member of staff to your side to aid you.

You look in the direction of the men. Truthfully, you aren’t sure if you had tried to warn them that you were onto them with a look their way. It seems like you’re more interested in scoping out a potential threat.

“It’ll suit you.” the younger one says. “Maybe we should get something like that for Tsumiki?”

The older man is silent.

Your skin tightens together, breaking out in goosebumps as his looming presence gets closer and closer to you. You clear your throat, hoping that it will be enough to tell him that you know he’s there and you don’t want him to be. It does little to dissuade him, though.

He stares at you, urging you to return it. There’s an uncomfortable yet palpable silence between the two of you as you look into each other’s eyes. His face is sculpted, yet damaged. And still, you find him beautiful. A scar stabs betwixt his lips, though it’s aged and healed.

It’s a warning, in itself, that you shouldn’t trust him.

But his gaze is serious and endearing all in one. His eyes are beautiful, just like the man he’s with. There’s no doubt, now, that they’re related. They’re like a copy of one another. Father and son, you suspect. Though they remind you of Sukuna and Yuuji. The man in front of your appears to be the same age as your lover, maybe a little older. Yuuji is around the same age at the young man accompanying him.

You find yourself lost in his eyes, an odd compulsion to figure out this man and his life story. Who is he and what could he want with you? Your guard has been lowered, despite it being unwise. You should be more alert, if anything.

But those eyes are—

“You’re staring, sweetheart.” he tells you, breaking his eyes away from you to look at the clerk behind you. He curls his finger, a simple instruction that you seem to miss until you see him holding the necklace in his hand. “May I?” he asks, acting before you even answer.

You turn around and make sure your hair isn’t in the way so he can put it on you. This isn’t right, you know it isn’t. You aren’t sure why you’re allowing him to do this. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck, the hairs stand on end when you realise.

He fastens the clasp behind your neck, and casually allows his hand to fall into the small of your back as he guides you to a nearby mirror.

“Suits you.” he tells you, tucking hair behind your ear so he can examine it further. You don’t miss the way his eyes drop to your cleavage, though, and you clear your throat again. It prompts him to slip back into his cool demeanour. “My daughter is around your age. Think she’d like it?”

“I don’t know your daughter. And I don’t know you.” you remind him, earning a soft chuckle from him. You watch him summon the man he brought with him, and now you’re sure he’s his son. After hearing him mention his sister, you manage to put the pieces together.

“I want two of these.” he announces, making sure everyone can hear. You aren’t sure if he’s instructing his son or the clerk beside you. Either way, he hands his credit card to the man he’s with in a similar way Sukuna does to you.

It’s almost… dismissive.

“Two?” you say, curiously.

“I’m buying yours.” he tells you. He shushes you when you go to protest. “You’re brave, hah? Big mouth, attitude, ‘n your pretty too. I like it.”

“I’m spoken for. And expensive things won’t—”

“I know.” he interrupts you, putting his hands in his pockets. He looks over to his son as he pays for the jewellery. You’re nervous, though it’s not entirely because of him. The thought of explaining this to Sukuna sends chills down your spine. “Girls like you are always spoken for. And he looks after you, yeah? Buys you nice things ‘n all that. Figures.”

“… Y-You didn’t tell me your name…” you say, meekly. It’s pathetic and wimpy, though that’s how you feel beneath his divine gaze. He smirks at the sound of your voice, maybe it’s the submission.

“Toji.” he replies, simply. His son approaches him with a single shopping bag, it’s black and sleek with the store logo on the side. It makes you excited and impatient to receive your own purchases. And after this, you have no desire to shop anymore. You want to get home where you know you’re safe. “We ought’a get goin’, Megs.” Toji tells his son, who nods in agreement.

Just as they’re about to leave, Yuuji returns.

He can’t say anything, not right away. If you were looking at him, though, you’d be able to see how much he wants to burst. There’s a vein bulging in his forehead as he looks between the men.

But your eyes are solely on Toji.

His hands remain firmly in his pockets as he walks away and towards the exit. And then he turns around again, fully, facing you head in to gift you with his parting words.

“Give Sukuna my regards, won’t you, sweetheart?” he smirks, leaving the store with his son in tow.

“Fushiguro!” Yuuji yells, though they pay him no mind. He faces you, now, intent on finding out what the hell is going on. “What was that all about? Are you stupid? Seriously stupid? I told you not to talk to anyone!”

“You didn’t, you told me not to leave.” you remind him, and he grunts. “Who were they, Yuuji? I’ve never seen either of them before.” you tell him. He just shakes his head and decides to ignore you. He’s furious, though you can’t figure out why.

Have you really done something so bad?

The fact that Toji seems to know who Sukuna is certainly doesn’t bode well. They’re from rival gangs, clearly. His and his son’s tattoos aren’t like Sukuna’s. His are brazen, confident. He was cocky enough to get them on his face, too. But the Fushiguro’s, as Yuuji had named them, must hide their markings beneath their shirts like most yakuza men tend to.

“Let’s go.” Yuuji speaks, anger lingering in his quiet words as he leads you out of the store and back to his car. “I’ll have to tell Sukuna about this…” he explains, making sure all of your shopping is secure safely in the trunk of his car. You get into the passenger seat and shrug, it makes no difference to you if he tells his brother about this.

You don’t even know what he’s telling him.

It gets later and later into the evening, with no signs of Sukuna returning any time soon.

And you’re ready for him.

You’re fully dressed, wearing the very same clothes you’d worn to go shopping hours earlier. But you had stripped briefly when you got to your room. The lingerie options were almost infinite as you peaked in each and every shopping bag you brought home from the boutique.

He’ll like the pink one most, you suspected.

So, you put it on.

“Where’s Sukuna?” your one and only true friend in this cutthroat world asks through the speaker of your phone. It snaps you from your daze as you recall how the pink lingerie fit your body like a God damn glove while you checked yourself out in the mirror. “You’re doing housewife shit while he’s out having fun?” Nobara continues, and it makes you scoff. There’s laughter in it, but your annoyance towards your lover is evident.

“He’s with Uraume.” you say, calmly, as you continue washing the mountains of dishes in the sink. You aren’t normally one to do chores, but you thought it would distract you from your worries. Even if only for a moment.

“Oh I hate her.”

“Me too.” you agree. Something tells you Nobara doesn’t feel as strongly as she’s making out, she’s just showing support. You appreciate it all the same, though. “There’s something going on… I know there is.”

“No way. You don’t know, you just think you do. But even I can see how much he worships you. He’d never cheat!” she says confidently, and you wish you could believe her. It’s not like you’d leave him, even if he was.

He’s conditioned you to need him, after all. How can you go back to your old apartment when it’s his, now? Your old, pathetically paying job won’t cut it, either. Sukuna has gotten you used to the finer things in life, things you don’t want to lose. Your friends, your family, it’s all gone and forgotten. All you have is him.

There’s no leaving him, now.

“… I don’t trust him, sometimes.” you confess, quietly. You aren’t even sure if she heard you over the sound of the gushing tap. “I don’t trust—”

The sound of a lock turning in the door stops you from speaking anymore. You look over your shoulder, and you finally see him. He doesn’t say a word as he comes in. He gives you a curt nod as he hangs up his jacket.

“Uh, Nobara, how’s your day been?” you ask, loudly, hoping she’ll get the hint and change the subject.

You tense up a little as you feel Sukuna’s presence looming closer and closer. You put down a plate as you feel him behind you. His body traps yours between his and the sink. You hold your eyes closed lightly as you feel him. Really feel him. You aren’t sure you’ll ever get over his domineering size.

Nobara begins to prattle on about nothing in particular, and relief flows through you. You manage to stifle a heavy breath as Sukuna begins to kiss your neck; though you almost falter as he takes your earlobe softly between his teeth.

“Sukuna, ‘m on the phone.” you angle your head to whisper, but he just silences you with a kiss instead. And instinctively, you’re smiling again. You’re so simple, maybe even stupid. It’s always so easy for him to placate you, even without knowing you’re upset with him.

“Don’t care,” he growls into your mouth, kissing you again. “You agreed, did you not?” he asks, feeling you up over your clothes. Your head droops back onto his shoulder as you feel him caress your tits through the fabric of your dress. His free hand roams between your legs, pushing the black material covering your thighs between them and dampening it with your slick.

“Mmpf,” you hum, lightly, biting your lip. You can’t help but wriggle and squirm beneath his touch. As much as you’d prefer to stop so you can wrap up what you’re doing first, you did agree to this when you started dating him.

“Anyway, I still don’t think Sukuna would fuck Uraume.” Nobara speaks, and you both freeze for a moment.

As she lists her reasons, in gratuitous detail, Sukuna’s hands move across your body. They’re slow, but with purpose. Your dress settles back into place once he moves his left hand away from your core. He wraps his arm around your midsection, tightly, giving you no chance to flee. His right hand moves a little quicker, fingers brush along your collarbone until he finds your neck. He somehow manages to choke you, slightly, while holding your jaw with his thumb and index finger.

And he makes you look at him.

He doesn’t speak, the sound of Nobara discussing everything you’ve told her about him and Uraume is the only sound either of you hear. His red eyes terrify you the longer it goes on. The longer he goes without speaking a word.

“’Kuna—”

“You’re jealous of Uraume?” he says, loud enough for Nobara to hear. She’s quiet. Uncharacteristically so. And then your heart plummets when you hear the beep that signifies the call has ended. “Still?”

“What do you— Sukuna!” you yell, feeling him pull your dress down your body. You try to scold him. You try to focus on finishing the dishes so you don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how desperately you crave him. But it’s all in vain as he spanks you upon seeing the pretty pink set hugging your body.

“Good girl.” he tells you, spanking you again.

The chore of washing cups and plates is soon abandoned as he yanks your hair by the roots. Your back arches gloriously, and he can’t help but slap your ass repeatedly until it stings. He wants to hurt you, just because he loves you.

He’s insulted that you think so little of him.

“What happened to you, princess?” he asks, spanking you again. “You never used to be so insecure. That’s what I liked about you.”

Liked?

“Don’t— c-care—”

“Oh?” he interrupts, “You really want to be a brat for me right now? I’m not in the mood, but you can test me if you’re feeling brave.” he warns you, and you manage to shake your head in defiance.

“Sukuna, I just— I don’t like her.” you tell him, you see an eyebrow raise out of the corner of your eye. It’s a curious look you can’t quite place. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to say something so honest, or maybe he just can’t put his finger on why you feel this way about her. “She has feelings for you… it’s so obvious.”

“And?” he speaks, his hand that had been around your throat moves to the bend of your knee. He effortlessly raises your leg so that it rests on the marble countertop. His breathing is heavy and stained with alcohol as it fans across your shoulder.

Your breath hitches as he hooks his finger into the seat of your panties, moving the pink material into the crease of your thigh. You shiver just slightly as the cool air of the air-conditioned room hits your folds, and he growls as he holds you tighter.

With one hand, he unbuckles his belt and manages to free his length from his trousers. You gasp as you feel him press his heavy tip between your folds, the tacky wet sound reverberates through the room. He isn’t targeting anywhere specific, but he snarls each time you mewl when he catches against your entrance.

“Unff— fu-uck!” you keen as he finally pushes into you.

“This,” he starts, slowly sinking inside of your welcoming slot. Your eyes roll over white with each agonising delve into your walls and towards your sweet spot. He spanks you once more, demanding your concentration as he tries to drill his words into your before he starts drilling his cock into you. “It’s all yours, y’hear me, princess?” he explains as he carefully rocks his hips, his chest swells with pride as he repeatedly nudges against your g-spot.

“S-Sukuna,” you pant. “Daddy, I love you.” you tell him, tears spill down your cheeks as you pathetically confess. He knows, of course he knows. But his ego will never tire of hearing those four precious words from the lips of his favourite girl.

“Yeah? Y’love daddy?” he asks, faux sympathy in his voice as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Hurts my feelings when you don’t trust me.” he lies.

“’m sorry,” you sob, “I trust you, daddy, ‘m sorry!” you continue, and you melt into his touch when you feel him softly kiss your cheek again and again as his thrusts get faster and faster and faster.

He’s so deep you can feel him in your throat. Your mind is churning, thoughts become liquid the harder and deeper he pounds into you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he continues, and he shoves his fingers into your mouth to silence your cries.

You suck and lick and lave over them as if your life depended on it.

He forces your mouth open wide, strings of drool dribble from your lips and tongue as he repeatedly fingers dangerously close to your throat. He laughs maniacally when he flies to close to the sun, triggering your gag reflex.

“Oh, baby, got real tight for daddy like that.” he tells you. Your hands search for something, anything to grasp as he ruins you from the inside. “So fuckin’ tight for me, princess. Wanna cum?”

“Yes, yes please.” is what you’re hoping to say despite his fingers still invading your orifice. “Please daddy, n-need it.”

“Mmm, good fucking girl.” he praises you. “So needy, hah? I’ll be good to you this once. So cum.”

You brace yourself, twisting your torso so that you’re facing him. His fingers remain in your mouth, but your fixation on them has dies a slow, painful death the longer this encounter carries on. His fingering slows, but the spit leaking from your mouth still pools out and covers whatever it squelches on top of.

“Go on, cum for daddy.” he orders.

And you do.

You cream his length as you lose control of your entire body and give it to him. You’re crying so hard but you don’t know why. He licks your cheeks, though, getting off on the taste of the salt and sorrow you’re gifting him with. You convulse as you reach the peak of your orgasm, and he makes sure to keep a careful hold of you.

“Hate you being fucking jealous.” he explains as he chases his own high, the deafening sounds of your genitals meeting again is so sloppy and lewd. If you weren’t so tired, you’re sure your face would flush with heat from the embarrassment of it all. “You’re mine. I only fuck you. I only cum in this perfect cunt. Are you listening? Or did daddy fuck you too fucking stupid?”

“D-Daddy,” you mumble, “love you…” you trail off, exhaustion consuming you as you bargain with yourself to rest your eyes for just a minute.

“Daddy’s slutty girl, yeah?” he grunts, and he’s surprised that you manage to nod in response. “Only shut that big fucking mouth of yours when you’re getting this cock.” he speaks, he hopes you’re listening but he’s not so sure.

With only a few thrusts later, he’s cumming buckets into you. You hum at the sensation, the warmth of being gifted with your daddy’s load is a soothing feeling that makes you feel completely claimed. You’re safe, secure, like this. He plugs his cum inside of you for a while as he refuses to move.

You don’t want to think about the fact that you aren’t ever really going to know the truth. You won’t know if he’s just telling you what you want to hear while he’s out doing exactly what you’re worried about. You won’t truly feel safe unless Uraume goes.

But you know that will never happen.

He pulls out of you, watching as your pussy pulses while he splits open your lips on his fingers. His softening cock jumps at the sight of his sperm gushing out of you and splattering against the cold kitchen tiles below. He angles your body, again, so that he can plant a searing, messy kiss on your lips from behind.

He wipes his dick against your ass, doing a poor job of it before he tucks himself back into his grey trousers. He moves the gusset of your panties back where it belongs to stop anymore cum from dripping out of you.

“I should… clean up…” you say, wistfully as you look at the remaining dishes in the sink and the dollop of sperm on the ground beneath you.

“Don’t worry about it.” he tells you, walking towards your bedroom to find your shopping bags. “Show daddy what else you got today.”

You take a deep breath and stumble a little on unstable legs. He looks behind himself, reaching out to take your hand to support you. He leads you to your room, a little surprised by the amount of new shopping bags spread out.

He lifts you up and places you down carefully on the bed. You bite your lip as he helps you out of your high heels while he’s down on one knee. He watches, attentively, as you throw your head back as he kisses each of your legs.

“I don’t recall telling you to buy jewellery.” he speaks, knowing he didn’t say it at all. You only giggle, which makes his smile grow wider. He rests his body on his knuckles on either side of your thighs, his nose almost touching yours as he examines you. “That one is new, isn’t it?” he asks, reaching up to hold the pendant against his palm. You nod, and he hums.

He takes his time admiring everything as he looks through each and every bag. You’re silent as he searches, not sure what he’s actually looking to find. Sukuna seems pleased with the multitudes of lingerie you’ve returned home with, often looking between the material and yourself as he envisions it on your body.

Though soon enough, he’s looking through the jewellery. He’s full of flattery, for some reason. You can’t help wondering if it’s because of your very obvious insecurity.

Your heart sinks, however, when he picks up the receipt.

“W— uh, what are you doing?” you ask, cursing yourself for not playing it cool in the least.

He’s silent as he looks over each item and price. His eyes drift briefly to look at you before he’s fixated on the receipt again. “I’m checking how much having a bratty princess for a wife has cost me today.” he tells you, his voice almost monotone as he speaks. He picks up each piece of jewellery as he mentally checks it off of the list in his hand. And then his eyes zero in on you once more. Or specifically, the necklace you’re wearing. “Did you steal that?” he asks.

You shake your head.

If there’s one thing you’ve learnt from being with Sukuna, it will never serve you to lie. He knows more than you can possibly imagine. And what he doesn’t know, he figures out quickly.

“… I’m going to fucking kill him.” he speaks through gritted teeth, crumpling up the receipt in his hand. You have no idea who he’s talking about. He stands up, holding the necklace around your neck in a clenched fist. “Tell me, princess. Do you love this necklace? Or did you pick it impulsively?”

“Both,” you nod. “I was only looking at it because— b-but I love it, now.”

He lets go of the pendant, now warm against your skin after being in the palm of your lover despite it being brief. He smooths his hand over your hair and then strokes your cheek with his thumb.

“A lovely gift from a man trying to muscle in on my territory.”

You knew Toji must be yakuza, too. But you had no idea he was such a direct rival of Sukuna’s. It’s unsurprising, though. Maybe they’d been tailing you and Yuuji today. You’d assumed it was a coincidence that they wound up in the same store as you, but you’re no stranger to being naïve.

Sukuna’s territory…

Could he also be referring to you?

“Territorial disputes are standard practice in our line of work, Sukuna.” Uraume starts, trying her best to calm your boyfriend down as he seethes in yet another meeting. “Although she has certainly complicated things.” she speaks, looking at you as her tone becomes more calculated and vicious.

Of course to anyone else, it sounds like she’s just making a point.

But you know better.

“I didn’t complicate anything, thank you, Uraume. I went shopping as I was instructed to do and he just showed up.” you try to defend yourself maturely despite wanting to rip her hair from her scalp.

“No, this isn’t your fault.” Sukuna reassures you. “You shouldn’t have fucking left her you idiot!” he bellows, his voice booming through the room until it reaches his brothers ears. His words seem to echo the longer Yuuji remains silent. He doesn’t even get the chance to talk as Sukuna demands he be quiet. “More and more of them are doing shady shit in areas that I own. Making profit that should be mine. How do we—”

“Yuuji, you’re friendly with his son, right?” you ask. And he shrugs, passively. You’re sure there’s a story there. Perhaps they went to school together given that they’re the same age, but you don’t want to press it and risk him getting in deeper trouble with his sibling. “Do you have a phone number or anything for him?”

“Uh…” Yuuji pats down his body as he looks through his phone. Sukuna watches, everyone watches as he scrolls through his contacts. And finally, he nods.

“Call it.” Uraume orders, Sukuna looks at her and then nods at his brother in agreement.

The tension in the air can be cut with a knife as each ring passes. You feel sick to your stomach the longer it goes on.

Until finally—

“I was wondering when you’d call.” the younger Fushiguro answers, Yuuji places the phone down on the table and puts it on speaker. “My old man has an offer for your brother.”

“Megumi, Sukuna isn’t exactly the negotiating type.” Yuuji explains. “He wants you and your dad dead, to be honest. That shit you pulled at the jewellery store—”

“Is he listening?” Megumi asks. Yuuji looks up to his brother for permission to confirm or deny his presence. The silence lasts a beat too long, and Megumi figures it out for himself. “I’m with Toji, now.” there is a shuffling sound on the other end as he hands his phone over to his father. A large sigh rattles through the speaker, and then he finally speaks.

“Sukuna.” he starts.

“My brother is right, Zen’in, I don’t negotiate.” Sukuna speaks, announcing his presence to them finally. “There is no benefit to me letting you stake your claim on my territory. We’ve killed a few of your men already for your insolence and disrespect. You’ve no idea the lengths I will go to so that you will understand this threat isn’t empty. We won’t just be killing the small fry next time.”

He looks at Uraume, listening carefully as she warns him not to resort to threats of violence so soon. You look between them both, trying to gauge how he’ll respond. He only sighs, agreeing with her, before asking what the negotiation would entail.

“I want to fuck that little girlfriend of yours.” Toji says.

The room falls silent. Sukuna stares daggers at you for a few minutes as if it’s your fault he said something so outrageous. You look around uncomfortably, seeing everyone’s eyes have fallen on you.

You feel dirty.

You feel like a mere bargaining chip, an object for them to make a decision over.

“Everybody out.” Sukuna says, noticing your distress as you feel compelled to hang your head in shame. “NOW.”

Everyone scurries from the room, the only people that remain are yourself, Sukuna, his brother and Uraume. Your lover slams his palm, hard against the table before yelling down the phone at Toji.

“Are you FUCKING joking?” Sukuna shouts, Uraume tries to calm him down but it does little good. “In what world do you think I’d agree to something so stupid?”

You hear Toji chuckle, like he’s considering how to use his words and what he should say. He knows exactly what he wants to tell him in response, but he’s deciding if he wants to rile Sukuna up further or get straight to the point.

“I’ve heard rumours that you use her like a toy.” he starts, a smirk curls on his lip and his scar pulls along with it. You and Sukuna look at each other, wondering who could have found out about your lewd secret. “I’m not… unreasonable. If you comply, I’m willing to come to a binding agreement that we will keep clear of your turf.”

“… Hang up the phone.” Sukuna orders, and Yuuji immediately presses the big red button. Sukuna looks at you, eager to speak. And by his expression, whatever he wants to say seems fuelled by rage. But by a stroke of luck, Uraume intervenes.

“I think you should do it.” she starts. Sukuna directs his angry glare towards her, while you look at her in surprise. “We’ve all heard the rumours, it’s not a secret, Sir. I believe it’s called ‘free use’ yes?”

“Why is that relevant?” you ask.

“Well, you’re used to being used, no? Why is this any different. It would be for Sukuna, for all of us. I’m sure you’d be able to open your legs for a few minutes for the sake of peace.” she speaks, calmly, crossing one leg over the other as she leans back in her seat. You scoff, standing up to argue, but Sukuna splays out his hand and warns you to keep in line. “Sukuna, it’s just sex. You won’t have to pay them off, you won’t have to share your territory that we— that you have worked so hard for. A simple trade.”

He sighs as he looks between you both.

“It’s not that straightforward, at all.” Sukuna tells her. You hope he’ll elaborate but feel a little deflated when he opts to keep quiet instead. You feel comfortable with your so-called arrangement because you’re in love.

At least, that’s what you thought.

“A shame. You continue to be a useless disappointment in this organization.” she tells you. “If it were me, I’d do it.”

“Well, Uraume. It isn’t you. You know why?” you spit back, shoving by Sukuna with the intention of leaving when you’ve said your piece. “Because you are his subordinate. I am his wife.” and with that, you leave.

Uraume is unfazed, however, which would infuriate you more if you were around to see it. Instead you’re leaving with your handbag in tow. You’re stopped, however, when you reach the exit. Sukuna’s men are holding you hostage on his orders. He hasn’t followed you to see if you’re okay. He’s still talking to Yuuji and Uraume as you pace around an empty meeting room.

You’ve always hated this building. Every time you come for a meeting here you’re nauseated by an overwhelming mechanical smell. It’s the office supplies, you assume. The copy machines and printers whir all day and night, the perfect operation taking place to disguise Sukuna’s general misdeeds.

Around twenty minutes later, you’re no longer alone.

Sukuna enters the room and shuts the door behind himself. Your eyes water as you instantly read his expression. You know there’s another way, but he’s obviously made his decision. Uraume’s influence played a part, you don’t doubt.

“I don’t want to. I love you…” you cry. “She’s trying to—”

“Enough.” he silences you, curling his finger. A simple instruction for you to follow him. “I haven’t decided yet, come along.”

He brings you back to the meeting room where you were sitting earlier. He commands Uraume and Yuuji to leave, and they do, Yuuji leaves his phone behind so Sukuna can call Megumi’s phone again.

“I don’t want to share you.” he confesses, pulling you into his lap as he spins the phone in his hand. Each thud against the desk makes your anxiety spike. “Uraume is right, though. It’s a tempting offer for the sake of a few measly minutes.”

“I don’t want to fuck him, Sukuna.” you pout. “I can’t believe you’re even considering it! What if he’s lying and will keep asking to fuck me? I don’t want everyone to find out about it and think I’m some whore. Do you—” you stop, a large knot gets stuck in your throat as you try to remain composed. You feel sick to your stomach, and you hate that you even have to ask. “Do you even love me anymore… Sukuna…” you ask, lower lip trembling as you speak.

“I do, of course I still love you.” he tries to assure you, but it feels half-hearted at best. “I’d prefer you to make a decision; but I want it to be the right one. And remember, you agreed to let me use you. And I will use you for whatever purpose I desire, if that means letting other men use your cunt for the sake of peace… then…”

“’Kuna…”

“I’m talking now.” he stops you, grabbing your cheeks in his hand and squeezing until your lips pucker. “You better spread those pretty legs nice ‘n wide for daddy, I want you to make me proud.”

He lets go, slowly, and uses a single finger to call Megumi back.

It rings.

And it rings.

And it rings—

“You mull it over?” Toji answers, his cockiness radiating through the phone. “Who am I speaking to? Sukuna?”

“I’m here.” he answers, he bounces his thigh, a silent instruction for you to announce yourself. And, for him, you do. “We’ve thought about it.”

“And?” Toji speaks.

Sukuna looks up at you, expecting you to do the honours of answering. His face is stoic and it makes your heart sink. He really wants you to agree to this. This is the first time since you’ve been with him that’s he’s made you feel like the object you agreed to be, for him. You thought it was out of love. Maybe even respect.

You were a fool to think that, you see that now.

You take a deep breath, and your whole body shakes. Even the little breaths you take to steel yourself warble and you try and gain the confidence to tell Toji that you agree.

Sukuna agrees, you don’t.

“We’re not interested.” you tell him. Sukuna glares at you, and you swear you see flames licking through his pupils. You try to stand up, but you’re trapped. He holds you, tight, and you worry about what you’ve let yourself in for. “Sukuna, get off.” you try to warn him off quietly, but it only increases his grip.

He mutes the call, and fingers sink harshly into the fat of your hips as he lifts you up. You land on the large meeting table with a thud as he towers above you with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“You dare disobey me?” he starts. You flinch as he raises his hand, the rings on his fingers twinkle under the fluorescent lights in the room. He doesn’t hit you, and you can’t tell if that’s what he was considering. He’s never struck you before. But, thinking about it, you’ve never defied him before. He balls his hand into a fist, a singular finger breaking free as he points in your face. “I don’t think you understood me before. Did you get confused?” he asks, voice dripping with condescension as his eyes alternate between your shimmering eyes and tremoring lip.

You ignore him, you just stare at him as you wait for him to finish.

“Understand me now. You are mine. Your life, your clothes, the bed you sleep in? Mine. Your body is mine. Your cunt is barely yours, I own her.”

“You said the decision was mine to—”

“I said I want you to make the decision I’m telling you to make. I’m not giving you a choice, I was giving you the power to make the decision yourself. But I see now, you’re too dumb to make the right call without daddy’s help.”

You sniff, picking up the phone to your side and unmuting the call. You’re surprised Toji is still on the other end, perhaps he knew that you’d gone against orders and was waiting to hear your reconsideration. He doesn’t say a word, nor does Sukuna, as you continue to sniffle and gather your bearings.

“T-Toji?” you whimper, and you hear an amused breath on the other end.

“Yes, darlin’, I’m here.” he speaks. His voice is somewhat soothing given the circumstances. Your lovers fiery stare remains on you. He and your very own body are imploring you to make the decision he’s expecting of you. But your heart, your mind, tell you otherwise. If Sukuna kills you, so be it.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to sleep with you, I love Sukuna too m-much.” you whimper, tears cascade down your face as you look at him. Even after this, after how he’s spoken to you and what he’s trying to make you do, you can’t help but love him. Even his face softens as he hears your plea. Your utter devotion to him makes his heart skip a beat.

There may even be a slither of remorse behind his eyes.

“You’re a real good girl, aren’tcha? So loyal… It’s hard to find girls like you.” Toji responds, and it snaps Sukuna out of his daze. The looming anger returns as he realises you’ve ignored direct orders twice now. “Tell ya what… Sukuna, you still there?”

“… I’m here.” he responds, slouching down in the seat he’d been sitting in previously. It’s odd, looking down at him like this. He looks deflated, like he doesn’t know how to handle you. Maybe he does still love you, after all. He doesn’t want to hurt you or kill you, he’s wrestling with it. If you were like his subordinates you’d be dead already.

He doesn’t know what to do with you.

“Princess, would you feel better if Sukuna was there?” he asks. You both look at each other, unsure of what he’s getting at. The idea infuriates Sukuna. Why on earth would he want to sit like some cuck while one of his enemies rails his girlfriend? “I don’t need you to myself, I just want to fuck you.”

“Um… oh.” you speak, the penny finally dropping. “I like that better.” you confess.

“Mm, I’ll bet.” Toji smirks. “Alright, I’ll make arrangements.”

“Go find Yuuji and go home.” Sukuna whispers as Toji continues to speak. He barely looks at you as you slide off the desk. So you don’t even bother saying goodbye. You’re still so fucking angry at him for all of this. But, really, you can’t help but feel like he isn’t pulling the strings here.

Not really.

You find Yuuji outside vaping, and he chokes when he sees you. He desperately attempts to swat the plume of smoke away, but it’s too late. You take the device from his hand and drop it on the ground.

“Enough.” you tell him, crushing it beneath the chunky platform and heel of your boot while looking him dead in the eye. “Stop buying them.”

“Sorry.” he chuckles. “Want me to take you home?”

“Yes,” you sigh. “The long way… if you don’t mind.”

He nods, understandingly.

Maybe you chose the wrong Itadori to fall in love with.

You hadn’t realised how close Toji’s apartment is to yours and Sukuna’s. You never even knew he existed until a few days ago. And yet, now, you’re in the elevator on your way up to the penthouse suite.

The preparation into this night, which you’re sure will amount to a few grunts and thrusts from each of them before they’re panting and bored, has been substantial.

Sukuna agreed to let Toji cover the cost of everything, which surprised you. Sukuna is a proud man, he’s proud of himself and the money he makes. And he’s especially proud of his possessions.

Most of all, you.

You’ve been accompanied by Yuuji and Megumi for the last week everywhere you go. And they’ve bickered about everything.

As you were sitting in the hair salon earlier, Yuuji insisted upon how Sukuna would like your hair to look, whilst Megumi argued about what Toji would prefer.

They argued when they took you clothes shopping about what kind of outfit you should wear. They argued about what colour lingerie you should wear. Hell, they even argued about what perfume would be best.

You didn’t have the energy to intervene, however, not when it feels like your world is crumbling around you. You’ve lost Sukuna, you think. You aren’t sure how or when it happened, but you don’t see love in his eyes anymore. And it’s a fool’s gambit to try and force that love back.

Now, you’re just a toy he’s grown tired of.

The elevator stops with a ding as you reach the top. Your stomach is doing somersaults, and you’re a little taken aback as Sukuna takes your hand in his. The reassuring squeeze he offers calms you immensely as he leads you out directly into the apartment.

“Welcome.” Megumi greets you both. He gestures to a bottle champagne and three pre-poured flutes filled with the gorgeous, bubbly liquid. You don’t notice until you get closer that there’s even strawberries drowning in the glasses. “Make yourselves at home, he won’t be long.” Megumi speaks, gesturing to the modern staircase that leads upstairs.

And with that, he leaves. He enters the elevator and waves as the doors shut, taking him all of the way to the ground floor. You can’t help but wonder where he’s going. Maybe, despite all of the bickering, he and Yuuji are planning to go out and have fun together while their bosses are occupied.

You feel sick.

Everyone’s going to find out about this. Everyone is going to have you down as a slut who trades her body for the sake of gang disputes. The naïve nature within you is telling you that this is a one time thing. That you made the choice and you only made it because there is something so alluring about Toji.

But, really, after this… you fear that you may be better off dead.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Toji speaks as he announces himself, slowly descending the stairs as he drinks you in. His shirt is open, revealing his glorious body beneath. Each move he makes is teasing, only subtly showing off his musculature that glistens beneath. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” he tells you.

His hand settles on your hip as he kisses your cheek. It’s gentle, yet forceful, and it lasts a beat longer than you had expected. The feeling of his lips is cemented against your face, and it takes every ounce of willpower that you have to not hold your cheek longingly.

“Glad you could make it, both of you.” Toji expresses, looking at Sukuna briefly before focusing on you again. He can’t get enough of you. He can’t stop ogling your perfect body in the skintight, chocolate coloured dress you’re wearing. The way your breasts slightly spill over the bust, the way the plunge shows the perfect amount of cleavage, the way a huge slit down the side perfectly showcases one of your legs and teases the treasure at the apex of your thighs.

He picks up two glasses, handing them to you and Sukuna, before grabbing his own.

“To peace.” he smirks. Sukuna chuckles and repeats his sentiment, though you’re silent. You aren’t exactly proud of yourself for doing this for the sake of peace.

But at the very least, you might have a little fun. You take a small sip, while Sukuna and Toji’s glasses are bare. Toji tops them up, and they chat as if they’re old friends.

“I’m sure you didn’t invite us over just to make nice, Zen’in.” Sukuna comments, and Toji laughs but nods. Sukuna sets down his champagne flute, tilting your head up by your chin with two dominant fingers. “She won’t object to anything. Isn’t that right, princess?” he asks, and you nod.

Toji finishes his drink again, circling around you both to stand behind you. Sukuna sits down, already pouring his third drink of the evening as he watches how you choose to behave. You’re not going to defy again, though. Not when you agreed of your own accord.

Your gaze narrows as your eyelids become heavy from Toji’s presence behind you. He softly gropes and manhandles every inch of your body. And even the areas you wouldn’t normally consider sensitive have you shuddering under his touch.

He attacks your exposed thigh, dragging the back of his nails upwards towards your pussy as his teeth lightly graze your pulse point. You emit a vociferous moan as his fingers splay outward, his digits barely breaching the material of your dress and yet somehow stimulating your immediately drenched cunt.

“I think she likes me.” he sighs against your skin, maintaining complete eye contact with Sukuna as he feels you up. “This dress was made for you, baby.” he tells you, kissing softly behind your ear.

“Look,” Sukuna starts, standing up as he looms above you. He pulls down the bust, revealing the black mesh bra underneath. Your nipples are barely covered, perfectly visible to all eyes in the room. He cups your breasts, and his thumbs repeatedly swipe over the raised buds. “They’re so hard, princess. Is this exciting you?” he asks.

You nod, dumbly. He captures your lips in a deep kiss and you moan into it. Toji reaches forwards over your shoulder, grabbing a handful of your tit as he squeezes the flesh and lightly flicks the nipple. His other hand settles in the curve of your hip, and you yelp slightly into Sukuna’s mouth as he pulls you backwards against his body.

“Feel how hard you’re makin’ me already, darlin’?” he asks, sharp canines nipping lightly against your bare neck as he pants shallowly against your skin. “Haven’t even touched your pussy yet and I’m aching. Haven’t even seen your fuckin’ panties.”

“Strip her, go on.” Sukuna orders. He backs away as he allows Toji to move you wherever he desires.

You gasp as you feel him move you with ease until your bent over the countertop, your face turns to the side to face Sukuna and the bucket of champagne. You’re distracted by the water droplets slowly traversing down until you hear Toji gnarl against the nape of your neck.

You can’t help but whimper when you feel him repeatedly kiss your bare skin until he reaches the zip of your dress. Sukuna stares into your eyes. Watery, eager eyes that are still focused on him without him even touching you. The red irises that own you and your every move, Toji was right, you are a good loyal girl.

Toji takes the zip between his teeth and pulls downward until the dress shucks from your body, it starts to pool at your feet, but still clings to your waist. Sukuna helps yank it downwards, while Toji lands a harsh strike against your supple rear. He whistles at the sight of your flesh jiggling, repeating the action on the opposite cheek just to see it again.

“Do you know how to use that mouth, princess?” Toji asks, and you nod.

“She knows how to talk shit with it.” Sukuna informs him, and Toji smirks. “But she gives good head, too. Get on your knees.” Sukuna tells you.

And you drop like a stone in front of Toji, you’re sure your knees will be red raw from the uncomfortable landing. You watch Toji with complete focus as he unbuckles his belt. Your eyes stay on his, getting the perfect view of his defined abs and large pecs as you stare up at him. The metal of his belt echoes through the room as he throws it in Sukuna’s direction.

You’re awestruck when Toji’s length is revealed. He’s beautiful. You don’t even realise you’re drooling until the bubbly liquid drips down and splats against your hand. He’s huge. Sukuna is too, but Toji might have him slightly bested. His cock curves upwards, and you can’t help squirm as you think about it hitting all of the right spots inside of you.

His pubic hair is trimmed perfectly. You wonder if he usually keeps himself groomed or if he only did it for this occasion. His tip is gorgeous. A slightly more blush pink in comparison to the rest of his cock. And it’s oozing. It’s shimmering with pre, the tip is completely covered and some of his length below is coated too.

“I’m gonna kill you if you keep staring at his cock like that, princess.” Sukuna warns you. You look at him, worry stabbing through your eyes before Toji grabs your jaw and forces you to focus on him again. He bends down, his face dangerously close to yours.

“He might kill you later, but I’m gonna kill you now if you don’t hurry and put that pretty mouth to work.” he snarls. You nod, widening your mouth to accommodate his girth. He groans, passionately, as his tip hits against your restrictive throat. “Fuuuuuck, good girl.”

You hold his hips as you attempt to take him deeper and deeper into your mouth. Your jaw already hurts, you feel like you might need the ability to unhinge it like a snake just to take him. It’s a similar experience with Sukuna, though he doesn’t make you suck him off often. He prefers your cunt, he doesn’t like to waste time on foreplay normally.

Only if he’s particularly stressed.

“You’re right, she’s a good little cocksucker.” he tells Sukuna as he praises you. He lightly combs his fingers through your hair with one hand before he forcefully shoves you to take his full length. And you cry out, you sob, and he slightly pulls out before shoving back in. “Are you gonna sit and watch me face fuck your toy?” Toji asks, earning a scoff from Sukuna.

He bends down, picking up the belt Toji discarded as he approaches. “Watch.” he orders. You gasp as Toji sets you free so that you’re true lover can take over. He wraps Toji’s belt around your neck but doesn’t completely fasten it, giving them both the freedom to tug and choke you into submission if needs be.

Sukuna removes his own belt, handing it to Toji to do with whatever he pleases. You whimper as he pulls your wrists behind your back, tying them together with the uncomfortable leather binding.

He pulls out his cock, slapping you lightly across the face with it as you wait patiently with your tongue hanging out. You mewl at he taps his tip against your tastebuds, the taste of his pre instantly permeates your senses.

Two hands settle on either side of your skull as he sinks his cock into your drooling mouth. He throws his head back, groaning as he slots in comfortably. He wastes no time, thrusting into your mouth again and again until you’re sputtering and sobbing.

“She cries easily, huh?” Toji drawls as he strokes himself.

Sukuna nods, forcing you down all of the way to the base until you’re choking. You can’t even steady yourself anymore with your wrists being bound. You can’t breathe and you can’t push away. He pinches your nose when you remember you can breathe through it, suffocating you completely.

“Aw, what’s wrong darlin’? Not gonna break so soon, are ya?” Toji asks, grabbing the makeshift collar and leash around your neck as he softly pulls. But he lets go as Sukuna frees you from his malicious clutches.

They both laugh as you cough and sputter, collapsing into a heap on the ground as you try and get your breath back.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” Sukuna asks. He picks you up with ease, and you’re soon bent over the counter again. But, this time, your feet don’t touch the ground. You’re left there, powerless to their touch with your ass perfectly raised while your feet and legs dangle helplessly over the edge.

Toji spreads your ass apart, and the stickiness sounding through the room is deafening. He sneers when it hits his ears. “She’s lying.” he spanks you, hard. And then his fingers toy between your pussy lips, making a complete and utter mess of your panties. “Do you like old men picking on you, hm? You must do. Can you feel how sloppy this cunt is, princess?” he asks.

You whimper out apologies, though they don’t seem to be interested. Toji picks you back up, throwing you over his shoulder as he carries you towards the stairs. Sukuna follows, a wicked grin on his face as he observes your tear-stricken face.

“Does she like anal?” Toji wonders.

“She likes whatever I tell her to like.” Sukuna laughs. “Would you like that, baby? Should we use both of your pretty holes?”

“Can’t wait to tear these fuckin’ panties off ya.” Toji explains. “Dunno why you bothered coming here with clothes on. Should have come bare, with a bow on your head.”

You enter Toji’s bedroom. And it’s gorgeous. It’s so sleek and stunning and there’s even a fireplace crackling away. The atmosphere is romantic, but this situation is hardly that.

Sukuna strokes your cheek, a subtle check to make sure you’re okay as he looks into your eyes. You nod, discreetly, before he slips his thumb between your teeth. You bite down, softly, and he can’t help but smile.

“Think this is the quietest she’s ever been,” Sukuna starts. He massages his thumb into your tongue, and you can’t help but instinctively suck. “Bein’ so good for daddy tonight.” he praises you.

“Daddy, huh?” Toji smirks, taking two fistfuls of your panties between his hands and tears them apart carelessly. “Hope you’ll call me that, sweetheart.”

You look to Sukuna for permission, and he nods. “Just this once.”

“Real pretty girl when you’re suckin’ on somethin’.” Toji comments. He sits on the bed beside you, lifting you up abruptly to sit on his lap. He unhooks your bra and Sukuna seamlessly breaks the straps between heavy fists, ripping it quickly from your body without undoing your bindings. “Suck ‘em while I play with this sweet little cunt.” Toji groans against you as he pulls your back flush against his chest.

Sukuna lightly slaps your tits before walking away. You watch him as he takes a seat in the corner of the room, and he’s become exactly what he hadn’t wanted to. He looks unfazed, though. He seems to be enjoying it if anything. He pulls a cigar from his inner breast pocket along with a lighter, he rests his ankle on his knee as he watches Toji toy with you.

“Watch him, want him to see how good I make you feel.” Toji whispers. He presses two fingers into your mouth slowly. The metal of his rings clang against your teeth, but you don’t care. You wish you could hold his hands as you suckle and lap at his digits. Though you’re broken from your efforts as he starts to circle your clit. “Mmm, such a messy pussy.” he comments.

You wriggle and squirm even with such little pressure applied to your clit. He runs his fingers through your folds, teasing your hole only slightly before he massages your swollen clit again and again.

“—addy!” you whine, unable to sit still as he torments you.

“Hear that? She called me daddy.” Toji chortles, looking at Sukuna. He smirks, but again seems more unfazed than anything. You almost screech around his fingers as he finally inserts his other digits inside of you. As if they weren’t already thick, more metallic rings seem determined to push your pussy to the limit. “You’re gonna make a mess f’me. Alright? Don’t fight me.”

He inserts a third finger between your lips, your mouth contorts and stretches uncomfortably, and still, you suck.

He digs around inside of you like he’s searching for something in particular. And when your legs begin to jolt and quiver, he deduces he’s found it quick enough. His ministrations are almost evil as he alternates between hard and slow fingering. It’s so intense, so excruciating that you can barely concentrate on his fingers in your mouth.

“Can’t see your face, baby. You still with us?” he asks, and you can only offer a barely intelligible response. Sukuna leans forward in his chair as he smokes, uncaring for where he flicks the ash. It’s the last thing on Toji’s mind, too. Especially when you’re already losing consciousness like this. “They’re just fingers, darlin’. Gonna go stupid for my cock if you can’t even handle this.” he laughs.

“Slap her cunt.” Sukuna tells him. And soon enough Toji is landing a hard enough spank to your puffy clit. You mewl, so he repeats it. Again and again. Harder and harder. “Finger her, I’ll do it.”

Toji puts his fingers back inside of your tight walls and finds that spot again. Sukuna lords above you, cigar resting between the gentle bite of his teeth as he spanks your cunt hard. It makes you dizzy, almost delirious. The conflicting feelings of pain and pleasure make your eyes water.

“Crying again.” he says as he spanks your pussy again. “Who knew two cocks would make you so obedient and submissive?”

“And we haven’t even fucked her yet.” Toji reminds him, and he smirks. “I should have invaded your turf a long time ago if I knew it would get us here.”

“Hm,” Sukuna hums. Your breath hitches, and he raises an eyebrow in suspicion. “She’s going to cum. Is she getting tight?”

“Like she’s gonna break my fingers.” Toji smirks. And with a few more spanks against your clit as Toji continuously batters his fingers into your g-spot, you’re cumming harder than you ever have in your life. Sukuna doesn’t move away as he feels you douse him with the thick stream shooting from your cunt. “Oh fuck. You’re a little squirter, huh. Or a big squirter, look at the fuckin’ mess you made of us, dirty girl. Told ya you would.” he teases you, not letting up on your insides as he tries to draw every last drop of your arousal from you.

It's not like it’s the first time you’ve squirted.

But you’ve never squirted that much before.

Your mouth is free as Toji pulls out his fingers, and you feel a chill as he wipes your saliva against the column of your spine. You’re surprised when you feel him undo the belt keeping your wrists together. And you’re even more surprised as he helps you straddle him properly.

He squeezes your ass as you begin to rut your hips against his cock, the tip catches against your hole as he holds cups your cheek and offers you a showstopping, tongue tangling kiss. You yelp as Sukuna yanks your hair until your vision is his face at an almost upside down angle. He spits in your mouth, crudely, before releasing your hair.

You don’t bother swallowing it as Toji brings you back to him and locks his lips with yours. He couldn’t care less that Sukuna had spat in your mouth. You’d already sucked his cock, what did it matter to him?

“You’re so well trained, princess.” he smirks. He stands up, and you instantly wrap your legs around his waist. He places you flat against the bed, nibbling on your collarbone before he nips and kisses downward. Further and further and further. “Let daddy taste you.” he demands, and you nod.

Sukuna holds your underarms and pulls you until your head droops backward, lolling over the edge of the mattress.

You wince as he slots his cock between your lips again, and he loosens the tightness of the belt still around your neck. The slight choking feeling is replaced with his hand, intent on feeling your throat bulge from the broadness of his cock.

Your legs cramp around Toji’s head as he gets to work feasting on your folds. If not for Sukuna’s length stuffing your throat, you’d be screaming at the way he suctions his lips around your clit. He licks and sucks again and again until your mind goes blank.

“That’s a good toy,” Sukuna chuckles darkly. “Stop thinking, now, we’ll do that for you.”

Toji can’t get enough of your taste. He can’t help but stroke himself as he pleasures you, and he grunts again and again against your heat. The fingers on his free hand sink into your doughy thighs. He’s doing all he can do to make sure you stay put. And he wants his face to be suffocated by your cunt.

Sukuna pulls out, determined not to cum this way. He’ll only cum if he’s doing so directly into your womb. He drops to his knees, helping you up a little so you can look down at the man about to give you your second orgasm of the evening. Your head sags against Sukuna’s broad shoulder, but you manage to look through barely open eyelids to see raven locks shaking and swaying as he lashes his tongue against your clit.

“’m gonna c-cum, daddy… fuck.” you mutter, unsure if you’re referring to Sukuna or Toji. Neither of them seem to care, though, they’re more focused on your wobbly thighs and spasming cunt. “Ngghh—!” you wail.

Toji slurps up your mess as you squirt all over his face. He laughs, scar pulling deliciously as he tries to catch your essence in his wide, smiling mouth. He sticks his tongue out before attaching his lips directly against the source again.

And even he’s panting when you’re finished. Completely satisfied from this alone.

Though his eyes and mind are full of desire as he fantasises about how close he is to feeling you wrapped around him.

“I want her pussy.” Toji insists, and Sukuna shrugs his shoulders.

Sukuna scoops you into his arms, and the two of them help position your near lifeless body between them. Though your pseudo-husband is the first to shove his cock into your drooling slot. Toji scowls, prepared to pull you away from him if needs be.

“I said—”

“And?” Sukuna responds. “Fuck her pussy, then.”

Toji is frozen, unsure of what he means. But they keep eye contact as Sukuna fully sheathes himself to the hilt. Toji’s gaze only falters when he hears you moan from the stretch. You look up at him, your sweet doe eyes absolutely sodden with tears. And still, you bite your lip as you lose yourself to the bliss of being an object.

“Oh, princess,” Toji smirks, kissing the tip of your nose before he lines his cock up with your hole. “Gonna have to break this little pussy, ‘cause your daddy’s so selfish.” he tells you.

He hisses as he breaches inside of you, and your head falls forward to rest on his chest. They both hush you and coo sweetly as their cocks tear you apart. You aren’t sure which of them he was calling selfish, but really, it’s both.

They could have taken turns if they both wanted you this way.

But they were hellbent on double stuffing you.

Their hips move in tandem, neither of them giving you a single moment to catch your breath as they bully their cocks into you again and again. You’re screaming out moans as they pummel your insides. You’re bound to be aching and bruised tomorrow. You don’t care, though, not right now. And they certainly don’t. Not when your tight little hole feels so Goddamn perfect.

“Fuck— fuck,” Toji grunts. “Don’t wanna pull out.”

“D—on’t.” you squeak out, and they both let out a little laugh each at your weak request.

“She’s a little cum slut, can’t get enough. Fill her up, fuck if I care. Want this little pussy bred, baby? Hm? Want your daddy’s to fuck you full’a kids?” Sukuna teases. And you nod, it’s weak, pathetic, but determined. “Goooood girl, ‘m close.”

“I’m close as well, I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.” Toji announces, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more staggered.

The change in pace has you clenching, the third and final nail in your coffin as your pussy begins to gush for them both. They’re both a little embarrassed, flushing red in the face as your tightening hole leads to both of their mutual demise.

“That’s it, take it, little slut.” Sukuna commands as he empties his balls inside of you. Toji is no better, the obscene names seem like second nature to them both.

“Fuck, look at her stomach.” Toji snickers. Sukuna looks down to see your tummy swollen with their cocks and cum.

They both pull out, wholly beguiled as your body collapses onto the bed in a heap. You’re practically asleep as they position you onto your stomach and split your legs apart to see how their sperm leaks out of your twitching cunt.

“I want another go.” Toji smirks, unable to pull his eyes away from your glittering slit.

“Let her rest a little.” Sukuna tells him. “I’m not done with her, either.”

You’re tired.

You’re so tired of coming to these fucking meetings.

Sukuna walks through the building with you close by. His arm around you, protectively. Somehow, you think the encounter with his rival has made him love you more. He’s been clingier, lately, which isn’t like him. He never wants to let you out of his sight, or his grasp.

He’s been using you more too.

It’s like how things were in the beginning again.

You’re sure everyone knows what happened. Eyes are on you, and their full of judgement. It hurts, of course, but there’s nothing to be done. Sukuna was right: you agreed. You did it for him and yet out of the two men who were supposed to deal with this amongst themselves, you’re the only one paying the price.

Nobody cares if their boss had a threesome.

Everyone cares if his girlfriend got used like a slut though.

Mostly, you can’t bring yourself to care. As you sit down beside Sukuna, his hand rests on your thigh while you scan everyone’s shame-filled faces. You’d challenge any of them to care what others think of them after the night you had.

It was mind blowing.

To be dominated thoroughly by the two biggest men you’ve ever met like that is a feeling you can’t begin to describe. To feel so small and worthless in comparison to them. For your body to be used in whatever manner they see fit and for them to still allow you to cum despite your purpose being for their enjoyment…

You haven’t stopped thinking about it.

About them.

About him.

Sukuna’s hand leaves your thigh as he addresses the room. Explaining how Toji miraculously decided to back off after a firm warning. No one believes it, but everyone is happy enough. But there’s always going to be issues and problems when you’re involved in illegal activity. So despite your nose being buried in your phone, you can’t say you’re surprised when you hear Sukuna move onto the next issue.

Uraume sees you smirking as your fingers tap away at your keyboard. And it makes her smirk, too.

Toji insisted that you put your number in his phone when you spent the night. Sukuna was using the bathroom, and he forced his phone into your shaky fingers. You were panicking, but you typed fast.

You’ve been texting non-stop ever since.

Uraume thinks you’re a naïve fool.

She knows exactly what you’re doing because this is what she had envisioned from the very start. She orchestrated everything. She invited Toji’s foot soldiers to start operating their business on Sukuna’s turf; just like she is the one who informed Sukuna of the invasion with such haste and loyalty.

She is the one who hinted at where they might find you that day you were shopping with Yuuji. And she is the one who let slip to Toji what your arrangement with Sukuna is.

Sukuna respects Uraume, but he doesn’t give her nearly enough credit.

She has managed perfectly to drive a wedge between you that neither of you even know is there yet. His lack of respect for your body has driven you into the willing arms of another man. Only through texting, for now, but before long that won’t be enough for you. Sukuna’s jealousy and possessiveness have made him love you more, the scales have tipped the other way and it is all to benefit Uraume.

Sukuna will find out, she’ll make sure of that.

And whether he kills you or casts you aside, it matters not to her. Because his heart will be broken either way; and she will be there to pick up the pieces. Sukuna hates how jealous you are of Uraume. But neither of you have a single solitary clue that she’s thinking all of this through right now.

Uraume feels a little bad for you, your intuition is keen. But Sukuna will never suspect a thing. You’re just insecure, he thinks. But Uraume applauds you for having your guard up about her.

You were right to worry.

© 2023 rinhaler

[love-toxin]

MEAT - thomas hewitt (leatherface)

a/n: i had to be a little silly ehe <- delusional

(cws: fem!reader, DDDNE, extreme violence, blood, gore, broken bones, a whole array of weaponry, domestic abuse, forced relationship, evolution of victim -> perpetrator, psychological torture, mentions of very dubious consent, breeding, huge size difference, ownership marking, protective tommy, implied cannibalism, unnamed victims of the tcm.)

wc: 10.7k

Lungs burning in your chest with the humid Texas heat, you forced the corn stalks aside as you stumbled through them in a frantic sprint. Each leathery pod whacked against your shoulders, your hands, your chest, and your bruised-up legs, but you wouldn't stop for nothing.

You couldn't stop. The people you'd hitchhiked with were all dead, or at least very well on their way to being so–they had been hunted one by one, by bear traps and shotguns and hay hooks, and you were sure you were the only one the family were left hunting. It'd taken all night to spread you thin and weaken you all with sadistic tortures of every kind. Now your group was down to one. You. Hauling ass was not enough to describe how frantically you were tumbling through the crop field, practically hand-over-foot crawling with how dizzy you'd gotten. Blood loss and a few hits to the head would do that to you.

Finally, the maize parted one last time to spit you out into the dewy grass, the labyrinth of sameness finally coming to an end. But when you tilted your head up to the starry night sky, your heart dropped into your feet at what laid before you. The farmhouse. You'd run in the wrong direction. Warm light glowed from within the drapery behind the windows and you spotted the older woman standing on the porch, a rag tucked between her hands as she called out a name. Terrified and hoping for the blessing of going unseen you army crawled your way right back to the corn–

Thunk. Only halfway there, the grass split with the force of a sledgehammer dropping into it. A boot stepped into view right by your head; attached to it was an enormous calf, and your eyes trailed upwards slowly to reveal the whole of that crazed maniac you'd seen manhandling the others into that house of horrors across the lawn.

Greasy hair hung down in long tresses, wary eyes pierced into your skull, an apron sat snug around his midriff stained with dark blood. Up close, you could listen to the way he breathed heavy through the mask that obscured his lower jaw, only the bridge of his nose and his forehead visible through it. He stunk of sweat, rot, and fresh meat. His weighty hand tightened round the handle of the hammer he'd set down, veins popping out with the sheer size and strength of his enormous, hulking body.

“Tommy!” The woman's voice cracked out in the night, the name finally ringing clear enough for you to hear. His head whipped around to the source and he stared in her direction; you watched her turn a blind eye to your predicament in the grass and step back inside the house. It felt as though your heart might burst in that moment, the fear and tension running through you like a taut wire about to snap in two.

The giant grunted overhead. You looked back at him again and squeezed your fists against the dirt, expecting him to lift that hammer and crush your skull into the ground with it. But upon resting his palm on the blunt end of it, the monster instead used it to lower himself to one knee. With a hand outstretched, he slowly, carefully brushed your damp hair aside, and pressed his fingertips firmly into your cheek. You shuddered as they moved downwards, probing around the soft spot beneath your ear and the curve of your jaw. He tilted your chin back and slid his whole, grubby hand down your neck…and with the most tentative squeeze around your throat, you swallowed and he all but jumped back. Your skin ran cool again as his warm hand ripped away from you, but with just as much hesitation he grazed your lips with his knuckles and trailed them across your forehead, leaving smudges of wet blood behind.

“Tommy!” A harsher voice tore through the quiet night, yanking his attention away from you again. The sheriff–the fake sheriff, that is–came stomping up from around the back of the barn, the shotgun hanging at his side causing you enough panic to scramble to your knees. But you wouldn't get far. Not even a couple feet. Your body hit the earth within moments of you climbing to your feet, and you heaved out a pained moan at the mountain of weight that pinned you down and crushed you underneath him. The giant had thrown himself forward and taken you down without thinking twice; his beefy arm came around your neck and tightened, his muscles flexing under the coarse fabric of his shirt for him to hold you in place.

“Attaboy, Tommy.” The older man came around his side as you struggled, clawing at the bicep that was crushing your windpipe with barely any effort. The sheriff kicked your flailing leg with a holler, cackling at the way you squirmed under his nephew's brute strength. “Stupid bitch. Gonna learn your lesson now, aint'cha?”

Dying squeaks for mercy escaped your throat, your words barely tinged with any discernible syllables. Thomas’ grip only grew tighter. Your arms went slack, then your legs slowed to a trembling halt…and before long your head slumped forward as you passed into unconsciousness, hoping to god this would be the last time you woke up in this sweltering Texas hell.

Clink. Clink. Clink. The chatter of voices melted into the gentle clatter of silverware. It wasn't the sounds that stirred you from your sleep rife with nightmares, though–it was the sliver of a sunbeam cast through the window that shone gently on your face. You blinked blearily as your head lolled in a stuttered circle, slowly and quietly coming to. Clink. Clack. Eyelids cracked half-open, you raised your head up despite the weight of a pounding headache, and watched a pair of wrinkled hands set down a teacup on a saucer in front of you.

Although there was much to see, you instantly turned your gaze to the woman you'd seen on the porch. Your nerves jittered and you flinched as she reached out to touch you, but it passed with her gentle shushing as she tenderly caressed your cheek. The age showed in creases all across her face, her eyes soft but wet with something terribly uneasy behind them.

“Such a pretty girl,” She crooned, a smile like nothing had happened plastered across her face. The eagerness with which she watched you unsettled you to your very core, but it would be second to the nightmare that was waiting to explode on you across the table. “I always wanted a little girl. Never seen one so pretty.” Despite the sweetness of her words, a shift of your hand rattled the chair you'd been tied to; both wrists buckled under the tough ropes used to bind you, indented where you could see dry blood crusted over the fibers. Either you moved a lot in your sleep, or someone really wanted to punish you for trying to get away.

As tenderly as if she was your own mother, the lady brought your teacup up and tilted it for you to drink, which gave you a moment to let your eyes wander. With a glance around you took a mental sweep of the place. Your chair sat at the end of a dining table, and aside from the woman you spotted two other older men; the frightening man with the shotgun, and an elderly man in a wheelchair. Framed photos hung around the room against peeling wallpaper, and aside from a decent amount of clutter and antique decorations of a house long lived in, nothing struck you as out of the ordinary from the cutlery to the frayed rug that cushioned your bare feet.

The aging woman tottered around the table to pick up a plate and slid a few eggs on from a saucepan in the middle. That and a few strips of bacon made their way down to your placemat, still sizzling.

“Why're you givin’ this bitch special treatment, mama?” The fake sheriff glared you down from his seat at the head of the table, spitting off to the side with his hands still clasped in front of him. “Already got enough mouths to feed.”

“Hush.” She finally snapped, and gestured with the spatula still in hand. “This is your fault. You wanna play sheriff so bad, Charlie.”

“It's Hoyt, mama, for god's sake!”

“Don't you cuss at me!” The old woman warned, aiming the spatula right at his chest.

“U-Um,” You whimpered softly, and drew the attention of all three of the frightening strangers, who turned their heads in your direction. The focus on you made you falter, but the problem at hand was far more pressing than fear. “Th-The rope…please..” You managed to squeak out, and only then did they seem to notice your hands were changing colours. They were so tight the blood wasn't circulating, and you feared even a few moments more of the ache would result in something very unpleasant in the near future, especially when you knew there was a chainsaw floating around here somewhere.

Just then, the floorboards creaked at your back. Too afraid to turn your head you only shifted your gaze, and in your peripheral you saw it. Two thick, fat-fingered hands reaching downwards to tug at the binds round your wrist. For someone so huge, he made short work of untying you even without the aid of one of the knives scattered round the table settings. The rope loosened and dropped to the floor in a coil like a dead snake, but as he reached over you to undo the other–and you got a whiff of soap amidst his sweat in the process–the man naming himself Hoyt grumbled and slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the plates and silverware.

“Goddammit, boy–what'd I say? We ain't keepin’ her, for Christ sakes!”

“Watch your mouth!” The woman–mama–shrieked, and her fist shook as she dumped the spatula down on the table with a thunk. The other cuff came loose and you released a sigh of relief as you touched your wrists, wincing at the open cuts that had only half dried over. And while the two continued to bicker about one thing or another, a great shifting of clothes and a thump beside you caught your gaze. Thomas, the giant that you'd watched haul the others off to the slaughter, had knelt down by your chair like a dog and still came up to eye level. God, he was just massive. Somehow it made him less intimidating though, since he looked at you like he was waiting for scraps from your plate. It was somewhat pathetic, but…endearing? Was that a word you could even consider using for a maniac like him, or was it beyond all common logic to even think of him in such pleasant terms?

“A-Are you…hungry?” You whispered, only to be met with a slow shake of his head. Thomas raised a melon-sized arm and pushed the plate closer to you, as if to say ‘eat up, it's getting cold’. Emboldened by his tender gesture, you shakily plucked your fork off the placemat and leaned in to examine the bacon. It looked like…bacon. Hot, crunchy, cut in strips like you would see any day in the supermarket. Still, you tentatively went for the eggs first, and raised the tiniest bit to your mouth as the two older ones finally managed to settle down whatever argument they'd been having.

“Boys, time to say grace.” Suddenly flushed hot with embarrassment, you lowered your fork in an instant and followed their lead. You bowed your head with them, listened to mama say her standard prayers of thanks–and then, when everyone else began to eat, you cautiously lifted the bite to your lips and chewed thoughtfully. It felt like forever for you to discern whether or not it was normal, if it tasted like it should, but after a while of chewing you had to relent to the fact that it didn't taste abnormal, so it was about as fine as you could expect. You ate in silence alongside them, but just when you pondered whether the food might be drugged or other awful possibilities, the sheriff cleared his throat and drew your attention to him once again.

“Now,” Mama scowled at him, but he continued to speak nonetheless. “You got two options here, kid: eat, or be eaten. Them's the laws of life.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, readying himself to say more, but an interruption came with a grunt from your side. Hoyt raised a hand and waved the wordless concern off. “Don't you mouth off, boy. Gettin’ to it.”

You shifted your gaze to Thomas, who only nudged your plate closer to you to urge you into eating more. Something gnawed at the back of your mind. Their behavior was so strange, the looks exchanged even stranger–there was something that wasn't being said, like a plan was brewing right under your nose.

“See here, this is how it is. You got choices. Now, my nephew here happens to like you,” His honeyed southern drawl couldn't hope to mask the hopelessness that stirred in you at those words. “Ugly as sin, but he's a good enough boy, ain't that right?” He looked to Thomas, but the ‘boy’ in question stared right at you when he nodded. “So you choose. You wanna eat-”

“I'll eat,” The answer flew from your mouth without hesitation, so much so that even the most uninterested of folks around the table caught your gaze. Your breath hitched in your bruised throat. “I'll eat, I swear. I'll eat.”

“Mm-hm.” Hoyt eyed you and nodded. Something about the way he watched you made you feel overexposed, like your skin had been stripped raw from the bone and he was peering into every inch underneath. “Fine then. Whore's all yours, Tommy-boy.”

At those words, your world shifted with a violent blur of motion. Before you could even gasp there were huge, strong hands under your armpits, and you were lifted out of your seat like a child who weighed less than nothing. You'd be thanking yourself later that you at least polished off most of your plate, because aside from an accidental thump of your foot hitting the table on the way by, you wouldn't be touching the rest of your breakfast again. Thomas slung you over his shoulder and cradled your lower half in the crook of an enormous arm, and with a shriek you felt yourself being carried off by the giant and taken away into another world.

The basement.

It had been a month and a half since you'd been taken in, now. Life had gone on despite you vanishing from the world you knew, and regardless of whether or not you woke up each morning and wondered why you were still kept alive, the earth continued to turn. Time went on and you adjusted, albeit shakily, to the routine of a life in the backcountry of rural Texas. You learned to help on the farm and Luda Mae, or momma as you were taught to call her, passed on her generations-old knowledge of cookery and cleaning and caring for the household. Sometimes you'd get driven out with momma and one of the uncles to tend the store, but that was on the rare side since they didn't trust the locals not to mess with you. Pretty things like you didn't come by often and you had values to uphold, now.

Plus, you had a man at home. Tommy was the reason you survived that awful first night, but now it was expected that he was also the reason you kept on living.

The rest of the family kept out of your business together for the most part, but you'd long been perplexed by the dynamic that had ensued since you'd first arrived. For as hulking and strong of a beast he was, you came to find out that Tommy's appearance was a shell that sheltered a soft-natured, sensitive boy at heart. His penchant for murder was not so, rather it was a duty carried out regardless of will in the service of a family he was lucky to have, despite you certainly thinking otherwise. He liked to work, and eat, and make things. His rage could certainly be a problem, but it was a rare thing that only cropped up once in a great while. He would endure more than ten times a normal person before he finally snapped, and even then he wouldn't ever let you see it. The few times he got mad, he would stomp out to the barn or head to the now-abandoned slaughterhouse, and take out his aggression on the thing he knew best. Meat. And most of the time it was a beating from Hoyt or a few too many bouts of yelling before he felt the need to get away.

After all, it wasn't anger that led his interactions with you. It was odd; he'd pointed you out specifically as the one he wanted to keep, but he seldom showed any entitlement in taking whatever it was he wanted from you. He'd lean in for kisses but most of the time he missed anyways. You weren't exactly sure what you could call your one occasion of intimacy with him that you recalled, because he didn't ask if you wanted it, but you didn't really tell him outright that you didn't. Would it have even mattered? Maybe not. But he barely managed to find the hole he was looking for anyways, and by the time he did it was obvious he had no clue what he was doing. Fumbling hands and a bit of awkward thigh-humping later and he'd finally left you be, albeit soaked and sticky with sweat and the residue he'd clumsily left behind on your bare stomach. Since then, it'd been just a few fingers on your thighs and some tame through-the-mask kisses, nothing more.

Not that you should really be questioning the love of a serial chainsaw butcher, but as the days passed it grew harder to see him in that light alone. You witnessed too much of the deformed, mentally-disturbed man who refused to eat before you did, who wouldn't lay a hand on you like he'd had laid on him all his life. Thomas showed affection in odd ways but they were more endearing than you thought they would be, from picking you flowers off the side of the road to cleaning up the small room you shared so you'd feel more at home. Sometimes his arousal would grow against your back while you laid in his arms, but a bit of shuddered hip-rocking through your pajamas while he thought you were asleep and the moment would pass. He was pretty easy to please.

There came a time when new visitors drove through town, however, and you knew what was going to happen as soon as Hoyt came home and called for Tommy to come upstairs. You stood at the sink washing dishes while you peered through the window; out in front of the same cornfield you'd crawled out of nearly two months ago, a van sat parked next to Hoyt's stolen Dodge. You watched with your breath held tight in your throat as five people hopped out the sliding door one by one, all seemingly chipper for where they were. Three girls, two guys. Their sunbleached hair and fancy beach clothes said all you needed to know about what type of people they were. One of the girls had a pendant hanging round her neck that caught the light just right, and you found yourself staring at it as it jostled against her sweat-soaked collarbone.

Chnk, thuuunk. At the sound of the basement door sliding open you turned your head, and there stood Tommy in the kitchen. Quiet as ever he came walking up and placed his thick hand on your head. The look in his burning eyes said it all. “Everything's okay. Don't fret.” He touched your hair a moment until Hoyt's voice rang out again, and with a silent huff he stepped away and made his way out to the lawn.

The light in each and every one of their eyes left the moment they spotted him approaching. One of the girls even grabbed her friend’s arm, stepping behind him halfway out of fear of the hulking giant that couldn't sleep without cuddling you at night. A dish slipped from your hand into the sink and splashed you, but as you pulled a rag from your apron pocket to dry the counter a bang and a high-pitched scream cut through the peaceful din of your quiet afternoon. You hopped up to see what was happening, but struggled to piece together the aftermath of the last five seconds.

On the ground lay one of the girls with a cavernous opening in the back of her head, collapsed in a steadily-growing pool of her own blood. Her lifeless eyes stared through you from across the lawn, they pierced into your very soul as she choked listlessly on her own blood, and you dropped to your knees behind the counter. Hands clamped over your mouth, you heaved each breath and hoped not to puke all over the freshly-mopped floor. Momma would have a fit if you ruined your own hard work.

Blind to whatever senselessness resided in their screams, you held back the churning of your stomach on your own bruised knees while the two of them took care of the rest. Within a few minutes you'd managed to pull yourself back up on shaky feet and finish washing the dishes. Within the hour, Tommy and Uncle Hoyt had gathered up the remaining survivors and taken them in. Two in the barn, one in the guest bedroom…and one locked up in the basement.

“Momma?” You called out softly into the hallway, wiping your fingers on your apron. Your chores for the day were finished, and the sun was starting to set on the horizon. Now would usually be the time you headed out to the chicken coop to lock it up, but with new visitors around, you didn't know the protocol. The last time this happened was…well, you didn't like to think about it.

“Down here, darlin’.” Luda Mae popped her head out from the living room, and you hurried down the hall with your skirt fluttering around your legs. All your dresses were pretty modest and most of them were out of a trunk stored up in the attic, since momma had a whole collection of clothes she'd worn in her younger days that she figured would suit a young lady just fine. When you stepped in, you weren't expecting to see what you saw lying on the couch near uncle Monty's favourite spot.

It was one of the guys from the hippie van. His long hair had been soaked with blood and he was gagged, his face sporting bruises from an undoubtedly rough encounter with uncle Hoyt, who stood on the opposite side of the living room glaring at him.

“Fucker tried to escape.” He sniffed, nursing a bloody nose with a hanky as he spoke with momma. “Other one's putzin’ around somewhere. You two keep an eye out, you hear me?” He pointed in your direction and you nodded out of instinct. Your eyes flicked towards the bound man on the couch as he made muffled noises of panic, but he was soon silenced by Hoyt whacking him over the head with the butt of his shotgun before he left to continue the search. Meanwhile, uncle Monty sat in his wheelchair unbothered, listening to the radio as it played on the windowsill and reading without a care in the world.

“Momma-” You tried again, but she turned to you with gentle eyes and gripped your shoulders lightly.

“Go clean up the kitchen for me, sweetheart?” She asked in earnest, and the plea you had to beg her not to make you take part died on your lips.

“Yes, momma.”

“That's my good girl.” Your hands fell at your sides, while she petted your hair lovingly and turned you away from the scene, patting you on the back as she ushered you back towards the kitchen. Blowing your hair out of your eyes, you resigned yourself to at least being a bystander to the horrors that were about to come, and made your way down the hall with your arms crossed over your chest in contemplation. Was there nothing you could do? No way to get out of playing a part, or at least ensuring they wouldn't ask? You had no doubts that you didn't have the stomach to do anything to the visitors, but then again, momma didn't have to do much either. Maybe you'd be saved by the tradition that dictated the six generations-deep household, and be regulated to the homely chores you'd tended to since first becoming a part of the family.

As you pushed through the door that led into the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans clattering already grabbed your attention. It would be too late to do anything, however–because before you could even take a breath, someone's chest hit your back and there was a knife pinned to your throat.

“Don't you fucking move!” An unfamiliar voice whispered harshly in your ear. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on the hand he had at your neck, but he jolted and the blade sunk deeper into your skin, causing you to cry out–and immediately be hushed by the stranger now holding you hostage. The bruising grip he had on your wrist now moved to clamp over your mouth, his body moving with you as you struggled in a momentary panic. Despite his warning, you brought your elbow backwards and loosened his grip on the knife as he choked in pain, throwing his arms off you as you stumbled forward and tripped over one of the dining chairs. Your skirt ripped as he tried to grab ahold of you again, but in his scramble to pick his weapon back up you kicked it away; and that was when fear truly started to pulse through your limbs like a heartbeat, when he glared daggers into you with a murderous rage, and you cried out the one name through tears that came to mind.

“Tommy!” You sobbed, crawling away and trying to use the table to hoist yourself up, only to be kicked down again with a harsh shoe planted in the middle of your spine. Coughs ripped through your lungs as they seized in desperation, the wind having been knocked clean from your chest, and the sticky wetness of blood started pooling under your chin from hitting the floor face-first. Your nose wept with scarlet-red blood into your trembling palm, but that realization couldn't come close to the terror you felt at being grabbed by your hair and painfully lifted up off the ground.

“You fucking bitch!” He screamed, voice hoarse and frighteningly loud so close to your face. “I'll kill you–I'll kill all you psycho motherfuckers!” He brought the knife so close to your heart you felt it cutting through the air–but before he could bring it anywhere near your skin, a muffled thump from close by yanked him right to attention. He turned his head frantically towards the source, and you took the opportunity afforded to you. You brought your foot up hard into his groin, and released his grip on you for the second time for you to drop to the floor in a heap. Your dress smeared the blood you'd left on the pristine, freshly-mopped floorboards as you shuffled away from him, fearing the worst of retaliation from the panicked, indignant captive.

That is, until the thumping grew so loud you heard it clearly coming up the stairs, and without so much as a hint of ceremony your savior burst through the kitchen door; his eyes wild, his fists clenched with indomitable rage. His gaze swept over the scene to you, so small compared to him, huddled in the corner between the cabinets with a blood and tear-stained face. What could only be described as a growl erupted from his broad chest, and he grabbed the legs of your hunched-over assailant and dragged him closer between his feet.

“No!” He cried, but it was far past too late. Tommy grabbed him by the back of his head, yanked him upwards to the height of his shins, and slammed the guy's head so hard into the floor that you could hear the sickening crack of his skull. Dazed but still semi-conscious, he fumbled for the knife he dropped or for anything that could save him, but it wouldn't be enough even so. With his nose ten times as smashed up as he'd done to you and his eye sockets bruised, Tommy's grip trembled on his head like he was considering whether or not to end him right here, right now. Evidently he figured that would be too easy, and before your very eyes he hauled the man up and carried him screaming down into the basement, where you heard the thwacks of him being cuffed down to the workbench before footsteps came echoing back upstairs. He found you in the same spot, still shaking like a leaf, and pushed the table aside to waste as little time as possible getting to you.

“Tommy..” You winced, touching your own face for your fingers to come back bloody. He knelt down like a mountain sinking into the sea and felt around your neck, his concerns for the shallow slash you'd gotten in the struggle that you hadn't even noticed was bleeding. He grunted in reply; one hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, while two meaty fingers lightly pinched the sore bridge of your nose. Knowing what he was about to do wouldn't make it hurt any less, but you still gave him the go-ahead to do it anyways–he forced the bone back with a gut-churning twist, and you squealed out in pain, but it was momentary and the ache that followed was a dull one, thank god.

But still, you sat with a face full of blood and bruises and cried, half out of pain and half out of pure misery. This wasn't the life you wanted to lead, and you hated that you had no choice in the matter. You wanted to go but you knew it would mean the end, and you hated that whenever you thought of all the things you despised about this life, your mind would always wander to Tommy and you'd feel guilt over hurting him or leaving him behind. You hated it all, but somehow you couldn't really hate him, and it left you trapped in this cycle that you loathed to think would never, ever end.

While the tears continued to streak down your face, Tommy took to patting your cheeks gently. He held them and squeezed them carefully, so tender and cautious when it was you that was the meat between his destructive hands. He moved in close, his breathing hot and stifled beneath the mask he never took off in front of you. His head tilted, tongue wetting his lips in anticipation, and he-

“Boy!” Uncle Hoyt roared as he burst through the kitchen door, alerting you both and tearing Tommy's reverent gaze away from you. He stood fast and took you with him, your elbows cupped in his rough hands as he hauled you singlehandedly to your feet. “You find that fucker yet?!” He swung his shotgun around and you flinched at the way he aimed it so carelessly. The ‘boy’ in question tucked you under his arm out of habit and shielded you almost entirely with the sheer enormity of his titan-esque frame. Wordlessly, he gestured towards the direction of the basement door with your trembling self still pinned tightly to his chest. The pseudo-sherriff narrowed his eyes at the both of you, namely the blood caking your otherwise pretty face, and scoffed. “Hose her down, Jesus almighty..” He muttered that last blasphemy under his breath as he moved past out the back door, leaving the two of you wide-eyed and uncertain; his arm squeezing you tight against him, and your calloused fingers digging into his dirty sleeve as the crickets chirped outside the screen door.

“You..” You swallowed dryly. The words came to you when no others did the same justice. “You're a good boy, Tommy. You did a good job.”

Your praise hit his ears just right, as it always did. Tommy nuzzled his face into yours just so gently, barely grazing your skin with the damp leather as he tended to your wounds. With your broken nose already re-set, he rummaged through the drawers around you without taking his hand off your arm, sparing little time before his hand clasped around a roll of familiar gauze and he nudged the drawer closed. Though it was shallow enough to have stopped bleeding already, he wrapped some around your neck for the cut that would surely leave a scar, and used a clean rag to mop up your face with a bit of water from the tap. As he moved down your body to your waist, clearly concerned by the generous bloodstain marring your pretty, cotton dress, something caught his eye that froze him in place and sent a throbbing anger right into his dense fists. Worried, you set your hand on his shoulder, but it would do no good at comforting him after what he saw.

Your skirt. Torn like it had been yanked apart, desperately, and it had. Was he worried you'd be upset over the damage? You wondered for a passing moment, but as his fists shook with rage and your dresses’ hem balled within them you knew it to be a different reason entirely. He thought–

Oh. So that's what he thought. You sought to comfort his fears but he'd had enough. Your delicate hands tugging at his mammoth arms made barely a dent in his intense march towards the basement, your begging too saccharine to even reach his ears. He walked with purpose into the hallway, wrenched open the sliding door with a force that bent it slightly, and with a palm outstretched to ward you off from following, he slammed it shut with an enormous bang that rattled the whole house. Standing there in shock and horror, you listened to his footsteps pounding the stairs before turning away and heading back towards the kitchen.

You had quite the mess to clean up in there, and there was nothing better to distract yourself from the howling screams of agony that would persist until dinnertime.

Maybe this was exactly how awkward it was when you'd been sat in that familiar chair. You remembered little of your first meal, the very first breakfast of many you would share with the family that had adopted you in to their home.

This was a lot less…friendly, though. Out of the five people who had arrived, two of them were dead. The one that had attacked you in the kitchen had grown silent in the basement. The other two–the hippy with the long hair and a redheaded girl–had their wrists bound to two chairs diagonal from each other. The guy sat at the very end where you'd once been, and the girl to his right with tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing softly as you filled everyone's bowls. Luckily for you, Monday was chicken soup night, so you had no worries over what kind of meat Hoyt would want to prepare for the special occasion. You'd been the only one to stir the pot, and the only one who made it at all for every Monday that rolled around. It had quickly become Tommy’s favourite, hence why he was only a few minutes late to arrive outside the dining room for dinner. Though you could tell that he'd barely cleaned up, his apron and his pants still soaked liberally with clotted blood.

“Hands?” You questioned, your ladle poised over the pot of hot soup, and waited until the hulking giant tentatively stepped in the doorway to hold out his massive hands for inspection. When it was your turn to cook, you learned that you held the authority over the table for that evening. So you rarely followed the lead of uncle Hoyt or the others, and wouldn't wait until after grace to invite Tommy into the room. You checked over his knuckles–bruised, but scrubbed clean–and only then did you nod towards the seat you saved for him and waited until he settled uncertainly into the chair to pour him a bowl and set it down in front of him.

If not for the whimpering captives at the table, it would be a better-than-average night. You'd improved on your recipe with a bit of creative seasoning, and the night had cooled off considerably to offer a bit of respite from the oppressive heat. You led grace, and smoothing out your fresh dress to fan out under your thighs as you sat, the table commenced with clinking spoons and bread being buttered that you thanked the stars hadn't gotten stale yet. Though of course, the unexpected visitors weren't so keen on your homemade cooking and didn't so much as look down at their bowls.

Tommy was too distracted to be frustrated by it, though. With his head dipped down to the table like a mutt, he slurped up his soup through the mask and chewed noisily on bits of chicken and corn. You'd saved the biggest roll for him and he tore into it like it was nothing, ripping chunks of bread off with his teeth and enthusiastically gulping down broth to wash it down. You hadn't even had time to butter his bread for him first like you usually did, but it pleased you to see him enjoying your cooking even more than usual.

“Please,” A wobbly voice pricked at the tense silence. The redheaded girl pulled at her restraints again, shaking the table in the process. “We didn't do anything…please, please, let us go!” She sobbed, wailing even louder as she thrashed against the stiff arms of the old chair.

“C'mon, man! We won't tell anyone, swear!” The hippie chimed in, only for Hoyt to slam his fist down on the table to silence the whining of his two captives.

“Shut the hell up!” He snarled, whipping out a revolver from his holster to point at each one of them. “Had enough of your shit today. Shut your mouths.” He motioned towards his still-bloodied nose, and endured yet another scolding from momma for cussing at the table as he tucked the gun back into its place. You peered over at the two of them, but regret came immediately when the hippie's green eyes locked on yours like he saw a glimmer of hope within them. You forced your gaze back down to your bowl. You couldn't be their saviour, no matter how much they wanted you to be.

“Lovely soup, sweetheart.” Momma smiled over at you, while uncle Monty nodded quietly in agreement.

“Mm-hm. Momma taught you all her secrets, eh?” Hoyt added with a slurp off his spoon, the irritation from earlier having vanished. You thanked them politely, keeping your pride to yourself at the coveted praise directed your way. In a household where anything could go wrong at any time, you had to hold the good things as tight to your chest as you possibly could.

From beside you, Tommy lifted his head from an empty bowl and sighed softly with satisfaction. The remnants of spilled soup dribbled down his mask and his grimy neck, so with your own cloth napkin you reached over and did the job that was normally momma's; you wiped his face clean with a gentle hand, and he sat still for one of the only people he didn't flinch away from when you touched him.

“Good, Tommy?” He wasn't used to being asked his opinion, much less on something as scarce as food, when you didn't have much choice on what you ate. He nodded slowly, looking at you like you held the world as you finished wiping up the mess he'd left on the table.

Just then, one of the captives–maybe both of them–kicked their legs out in frustration, and shifted the table with a jolt that sent hot soup splashing out of the pot. The redhead's bowl tipped over and dumped her untouched meal all over her lap, but the porcelain shattering as it hit the floor wasn't what had Tommy rising out of his seat.

Wasteful. That's what they were. Insulting your cooking. You saw it in Tommy's eyes as anger overwhelmed him again, and for the second time tonight your reassurances weren't enough to halt him in his tracks. His chair legs scraped the floor loudly as he got up and maneuvered around the table, the tense quiet peppered by the screams of the girl as he grabbed the back of her head and slammed it down into the slick tabletop. Not nearly as hard as he'd done to the other guy, but enough so that he brought her back up with a nose gushing blood and a harsher sob on her lips.

“You teach her a lesson, Tommy!” Hoyt eagerly encouraged the violence, but you reached your hand out over the table and pressed your palm flat against her forehead. At the resistance you gave her, Tommy's grip grew slack and a look of panic came over him at the distress etched clear on your face. He looked conflicted, peering over at Hoyt and then back at you. Was he being bad, or being good? Was what he was doing right, or was it wrong? Hoyt started shouting and cussing at you for stopping him, but Tommy skirted back around the table to your side and put himself between you and his furious uncle. A swat to the back of the head wasn't totally uncommon for you, even if it didn't happen often, but the punishments Tommy received were always far worse. The belt or a two-by-four were considered light work in Hoyt's sadistic mind, but after what you'd been through today you were certain Tommy wouldn't be keen on letting you endure any more pain. He would take punishments and beatings for you whenever he had the chance–sometimes Hoyt had even asked him what he preferred, and not once had he put you up for the chopping block if he could take it for you.

“Enough of this shit!” Hoyt finally roared. He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the basement and shoved both you and Tommy towards it. “Take these sons a’ bitches downstairs, and don't come up until they're meat!”

Both of the captives shrieked and flailed in their chairs at his demand, but you managed to undo their binds despite the struggling and let Tommy haul each one up in his arms; one over his shoulder, and one tucked up under his armpit. Your heartbeat thudded in your throat as you followed Tommy's lead towards the stairs, and when it came time to shut the door, you had to swallow your fear with a gulp as the metal scraped on metal and a heavy thunk pitched you into darkness.

The only times you'd watched Tommy work before was when he'd taken you to the slaughterhouse. It was an aging, now-abandoned building that had seen generations of hard workers come and go, and despite it no longer being in business he still came by to do some work when he wasn't needed for chores at the house. You weren't sure why he didn't usually take you along or why he decided to on those few occasions, but regardless of the stench, the blood, and the intensity of chopping and cleaning meat, it was easy to tell that Tommy was good at it. Real good.

It was a little different today. About a week had passed since the visitors came through town, and by now all five of them were taken care of. You'd barely eaten since you couldn't stomach the fresh meat, and with you excusing yourself to throw up that first dinner after you'd had guests, the rest of the family had been looking down on you. Momma was sad for you, and Monty was mostly indifferent when he wasn't straight up disappointed in you. But Hoyt was vindictive and angry. He thought you were turning your back on the family, judging them, acting “all high and mighty” and worst of all, risking your family's safety. You'd gotten caught leaving the locks loose on the two survivors' shackles, and they'd nearly escaped out the basement before Hoyt caught both of them in the cornfield and finally shot them dead.

You swore it was an accident. Hoyt thought otherwise. He would've killed you right then and there if Tommy hadn't stepped in for you, and even then the air had been strained in the house ever since, as uncle Hoyt demanded you be properly punished for your sins.

That's why you'd been dragged along with Tommy to accompany him to the slaughterhouse. By the end of the day, Hoyt wanted a proper apology–one in the form of a bloody limb, an organ, or maybe just your head on a platter as recompense for betraying your family. And worst of all, he wanted Tommy to be the one to do it, to decide what would be a fitting price for you to pay. To ‘grow some balls and be a man’, as Hoyt put it so delicately.

But since morning, he'd just been chopping meat. Tommy hadn't even looked at you the whole time you'd been here, not even on the walk down the side of the road to get here in the first place. He'd picked you up under your arms and sat you up on the table behind him, and then he'd turned his back to you as he brought down his cleaver on the piles and piles of dripping meat. Sometimes he would turn around and hand you chunks to wrap up in butcher's paper, but for the most part he indicated nothing towards the task he had primarily been sent here to do. Somehow it just made it all worse; you felt on the edge of snapping from the anxious terror that tightened up all your muscles, wondering what on earth Tommy would do to you before the day was done. Was he just procrastinating? Because if he arrived back home with nothing to show for it, it wouldn't save you in the end–it would just make it worse for both of you when he got punished too.

“Tommy.” You gnawed on your bottom lip. He brought the blade down on the chopping block with a thunk. With the bone separated, a squelch hit your ears as he slid the sections apart and dragged over another hunk to slice through. “I'm sorry.”

Thunk. Not even a passing glance over his shoulder. And it was hard to tell if he was mad when he wouldn't even look at you.

“I didn't want to get you in trouble…”

Thunk.

“I was just scared.”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

“Tommy-”

The slow escalation of his measured cuts finally culminated into an uproarious clatter, his cleaver smacking down on the soaked table before he turned himself to face you. Blood marred the clothes you'd taken off the laundry line for him that morning, apron slick and sticky with viscera as it almost always was. Sweat poured down his arms and his hairy chest and beaded at his dense forehead. Every inch of him was dirty, and yet you didn't cringe away from it when he closed the distance between you and came up harrowingly close. The stench of blood and meat wafted off of him from barely an inch away. His hips edged in between your knees as you sat on the lip of the counter, keeping personal space far from his mind when he grabbed your arms and dwarfed them under his massive fingers. Each breath heaved beneath his mask like swallowing a bubble, ready to pop.

This time, Hoyt was nowhere around to interrupt him. Momma wasn't there to scold him. Nobody would hear for miles what he would do to you, and you had no idea what he'd had brewing in his mind since he'd choked you out in the cornfield that first meeting. That intense stare of his was like a bear honing in on a rabbit, and if you had the thought to run, it was already too late.

Thick fingers clamped down around your neck, dug into the scar that had formed from the asshole that had sliced you, and you felt your heart stutter as Tommy pulled you along the length of the table and slammed you down into it by the throat. This way you were laid out like a cow would to be butchered, plenty of room for him to work as he held you down and reached over to pull a leather strap over your midsection. He affixed the buckle tight to the opposite side and tightened it more when you squirmed against the pressure, but not quite enough to be as painful as the ropes that dug into your wrists at your first family meal. With that in place he didn't need to hold you down to keep you pinned against the table, and although you whimpered in fear and fought against the bindings he paid your resistance little mind, instead looking through his tools on the cutting table to find a decently-sized paring knife–drenched liberally in blood–for him to hook under the neckline of your dress and make a cut down the middle. Once he hit the tough leather over your stomach, the tool skittered across the table as he abandoned it in favour of ripping your skirt apart with his bare hands, the thin layer of cotton offering no resistance to his brute strength.

Why did it make you so wet? You couldn't shake the feeling of arousal from how animalistic he was behaving, nor the sheer, overwhelming musk of man and sweat and blood. Tommy was never rough with you but he was certainly making up for it now; you flinched at the firmness of his fingers digging into your skin, leaving trails of thin blood and dirt behind as he tore your cotton bra into loose pieces. His hands trembled at the sight of you exposed like this, too much skin to handle, and such soft flesh that filled out his palms when he cupped your breasts in each eager hand. A hitch of breath was enough to show him that you liked it, whether it was the attention itself or exclusively because it was him touching you. It didn't matter.

Tommy massaged each one with such eager reverence, his handwork clumsy compared to the ease with which he handled so many other forms of meat. He wasn't keen on ripping these off your body and eating them; although he did want to test how they would feel in his mouth, especially those plum, soft nubs of yours that perked when he brushed his thumbs over them. By now you weren't completely certain he wasn't going to butcher you, but you had a pretty good idea that this was his plan B–take out that inner aggression on you that would not make his god-fearing family proud.

A deep, weighty groan slipped out of him at the taste of sweat on your skin. Every bruise he left with his teeth would have to be covered up and powdered, but god, god it was so easy for him to undo every vestige of purity you'd put on for show. Your back arched and your worn shoes squeaked against the steel table as you wiggled, the globes of fat he held in his palms jiggling with a mesmerizing glow every time you moved. As much as you wanted to wrench yourself free in some moments, in most others you couldn't bear the breaks he took to catch his breath, leaving your chest prickling with goosebumps as a draft hit your spit-sticky skin. He squeezed and kneaded to his heart's content and took a twisted glee out of making you squirm, especially when you made those gurgly noises that were so traitorous to the pristine image you painted for momma. She'd made it clear that you weren't to go off messing with boys when they came strolling up to the store's counter, or return any of their flirtations no matter how many times they called you pretty.

Obviously she didn't think her son would be the one you had to keep from tempting, but that train had long left the station now. Thomas’ index finger tore through the thin fabric of your panties with a swipe, and there you laid bare and naked to his wandering eyes while he yanked the shreds of them down the rest of your legs. He probably didn't know what positions were which and how girls had their periods, but he knew enough to slide those thick fingers through your folds and to keep going when you moaned like a dying animal. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy”, it was a mantra that hit his ears just right and urged him into clambering on top of the table with you with wild eyes. They drank in every inch of your sweltering body, the pulse of your heart through the hole he was jamming his fingers into, and on instinct he was guided to push down his waistband and throw off his apron as he knelt back on his haunches.

You might've thought he was nothing but hair if he wasn't so thick. Clearly he'd never shaved in his life with the erroneous bush he sported, curly hair matting down his thighs and his belly too once his shirt started riding up. But that fat, drooling knob of his swayed to hit his thigh, and you got an eyeful of pure, veiny, gut-smashing terror that you were sure would kill you if you didn't manage to relax. The further he leaned over your body, the more you felt like he was going to crush you as soon as he lined himself up with the hole he'd be stretching out like a little homemade cock sleeve. His hands slid under your knees to prop them up, but rather than sling them over his shoulders he bent them back and pinned them to your chest. An aching burn raced up your thighs but he paid no mind to your trembling; Tommy knelt over you and settled between your legs, and without warning, started sinking slowly into that hot opening he'd been dying to get deeper inside.

“H-Hold–wait, T-Tommy, hold oh-!”

Were you really so convinced he would play nice with you? Maybe you'd become complacent with the gentleness he showed you at his best, because when Tommy finally pressed in past the tip, he was gone. Forcing your knees back even further, he let out a groan and pushed himself up higher over you; all just to settle himself into your deepest pits and trap you in a violating mating press. After doing nothing but enjoying your heat, smushing his hips down against yours in a grinding motion, he soon seemed to realize he could move–and move he did, drawing back just to crush your hips with a deep, stomach-punching stroke.

“Unh,” What most resembled a moan fell from his scarred lips, and he fumbled around the back of his head to unclasp the leather from his face. This was the first and only time he'd ever felt safe enough to take it off since you'd met, and it was when he'd finally listened to his body and acted on his need to force every inch of him inside you. To be one. Now you finally were, and his synthetic face dropped on your chest before slowly sliding off to hit the floor.

If your jaw hadn't already gone slack from his violent thrusting, it would probably fall from the realization of what hid under that mask day after day. The sallow, sunken nose, the scars, the jagged skin and self-inflicted wounds…why wasn't it as scary as you thought? You figured, in the moment, you'd just gotten too used to him in personality, or maybe because you were just too distracted at the moment, but…

“Tommy-!” You squeaked out. The wet smack of his balls on your ass stuck in your ears, the strings of creamy slick linking you flesh-to-flesh as he went to town on your pussy. If he truly was losing his virginity to you, then all that pent-up frustration must be the source of him absolutely ruining any semblance of tightness you might've had. “A-Are you tryin’ to–you wanna gimme a baby? S'that it?” You slurred, slowly losing your good sense the longer he showed you your place.

Though you thought it would be to your horror, his slow nod only sparked something dark and tremulous within your loins. Something more than sweat and slick and the vile squelching of his seldom-washed dick rubbing up to your womb. It hit you then; this was your punishment. Every clap and sticky smack of flesh on flesh was a promise, an urge fulfilled to tear your meat from the bone and thrust a new purpose unto you. A homemaker. Tommy's little bride. A momma. Make his momma a grandmama like she was always praying for.

Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. No doubt in your mind that was exactly what he was doing, and exactly why he brought you all the way out to the slaughterhouse to do it. The leather strap over your stomach kept you from wriggling away, but that would only be if you could somehow get him to pull out, and that for sure wasn't happening. He didn't bother with long strokes and leaving the tip in, your cunt was a home for him to bury himself in and he wasn't about to waste a second of this. His thick thighs trembled over yours, and he ground the swollen head of his cock deep against your cervix. So deep it was painful, but why would he care? He was doing a good thing. He was being a good boy, giving you what uncle Hoyt told him all women wanted, even if they didn't say it out loud.

Tommy's moans grew to a higher pitch once he affixed his hand like a necklace round your throat, swelling with the faster, faster, faster pace of his thrusts downward. He pressed his other meaty hand into your knees and shoved each one further apart, which made you whine but gave him easier access to pound you into greedy, delectable mush. Whereas it might've turned off weaker men, your nails digging deep, long scratches up his back made Tommy groan and tilt his head back in delirious pleasure. His knees kept you pinned at your sides and his weight–his stomach squishing into you from above–held you down where you belonged, where you'd be the most beautiful and of best use. Beneath him with a womb spilling over with cum, sown by his seed and his seed alone. His picturesque, pretty little wife. Hewitt property. He wouldn't stop, and you wouldn't beg him to even if you weren't being choked of any air you had left, and the world started to spin as the ecstasy took hold and Thomas was squeezing your moans out of you with trembling fervour. It felt as though your lower half exploded and left you with a warm, full, tingly sensation, marred by pearly-white globs of a load he'd had saved up since birth.

In contrast to the violent lovemaking he'd just shown you he was capable of, you were slowly brought back to life by small, soft little pecks. Kisses like the fuzz of a bumblebee brushing by your cheeks, pressing into your lips with a sweetness you weren't used to. This felt like Tommy again, like the gentle touch he used when nobody was around to laugh at him for being so sweet on you. He shuddered with bliss as his cock pulsed with your heartbeat and milked him of what little he had left, but with his chubby fingers rubbing at your jaw and brushing your sweaty locks aside he managed to drag himself off of you. Slowly, like molasses on a cold day, he brought himself back down off the table and let his feet hit the floor, having to brace himself against the table to keep from stumbling to the ground. Click-shuuunk. The leather belt snapped back into its holder as he released it, which left a sizeable indent across your abdomen that you'd have to hope would be covered enough not to show bruises. All you could do was watch as Tommy did up his pants on his way around the table, only to return to your side with the biggest, sharpest knife you swore you had ever seen. You flinched away and nearly cried out-

Shlip. With a strand pulled taut, Tommy made quick work of separating a lock of your hair from your head. Just a short one, so as not to make much difference–but he held it to his face and sniffed deeply, and it ashamed you to say that the gesture in itself just made your clit throb with need you thought you'd been completely overdosed on. Despite that, you laid still while Tommy reached over and retrieved his mask, tucking the tuft of hair inside it so he could smell it all the time. To calm him down, to cool him off, to just enjoy…all the things that you brought to him when no one else did, or could. From his pocket he produced something small and shiny, and dangled it over your face to show you before he set on fixing it around your neck. The pendant you'd seen that girl wearing a week ago now hung against your collar, the gleam of gold in it polished clean of the blood spilled to take it.

You barely let out a moan as he set on rearranging your limbs, turning you over, letting his cum spill down your thighs and all over the table like the blood from a fresh cut of beef. His calloused digits traced down your spine and up again til he found a sweet spot, and padded down your springy flesh that separated bone from his fingers. The carving knife had tinged when he'd sharpened it but he didn't show it to you–that would be too much for you, given what he was about to commit to.

Every arc, long and curved or short and straight, burned. The tip of the blade dug into your flesh like a red-hot needle, but Tommy's warm palm on the back of your neck kept you from moving out of his reach. He needed to start and to finish and his hand was already unsteady, mostly from the way his breath still hitched and his cock stirred all over again at the sight of your writhing body. Your blood turned him on. He hadn't touched any of the victims before you, not in that way, but you weren't really the same as them–no, you were special. If you weren't, Tommy wouldn't be carving those words into your back, and putting on display his ownership over the one and only thing he would ever see as more than meat.

If you didn't get pregnant this time, then this would surely be enough for the family to forgive. The letters scrawled in bloody ecstasy that would heal over, scar, wounds to be reopened over and over again.

Tommy's girl

forever

[wqnsho]

resurface | kang dae-ho x gn! reader

*.✧ synopsis: after years of heartbreak and betrayal, you’ve learned to bury your emotions to survive. but when your high school sweetheart, kang dae-ho, unexpectedly appears in the deadly game you're also in, the walls you built around your heart begin to crack. As past and present collide, survival becomes about more than just staying alive *.✧ word count: 10.1k (yeah) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, trauma, toxic relationships, cursing, fluff, angst. your number is 389. *.✧ note: dae-ho won against in-ho by just .2%! thank you all so much for the support. my in-ho fanfic reached 1K notes already, while 1k+ of you participated in my poll! I'm very thankful for the support :> i was in the middle of editing in-ho's fic when the polls finished, when i saw how close the votes were i laughed. luckily i only needed to tweak a bit in this fic for it to be done. enjoy reading!! >:) dae-ho is such a cutiee!! long italicized texts are flashbacks. masterlist | request here

“Shit, I just moved didn’t I?” Player 196 asked in a lighthearted tone after swatting the bee that landed on her. Before anyone could answer, she dropped dead to the ground, a bullet from god knows where piercing through her skull.

The area erupted in chaos as players realized the horrific truth: to be eliminated meant death. Others tried to make a desperate run for it, while some froze, paralyzed from fear, and you were one of them. 

Your eyes trailed down to the corpse laying a few feet in front of you. Your heart dropped. That could’ve been you.

You should've trusted your gut. You should’ve known that whatever bullshit that shady man in a suit said was too good to be true. But here you were, paying the price of your stupid decisions.

The air was thick with panic as a bloody massacre unfolded before your eyes. People who ran got shot left and right, while those who stayed survived. Once it cleared those who moved, the mechanical doll turned around, its eerie voice rising in song. The players were too stunned to move. Only one person had the courage to act—Player 456. With unwavering resolve, they ran ahead and instructed you all to hide behind someone bigger than you.

The rest of you followed suit, moving quickly. You ended up behind Player 230—Thanos, a rapper drowning in 1.19 billion won of debt. You didn’t trust him, and your instincts proved right. As the game progressed, he shoved people ahead of him, ending their lives without hesitation. Yet, you had to give him some credit: the man could hold a pose.

One by one, players crossed the finish line. As the timer reached 0, the hellish game finally ended. You were shaking, your body trembling with the aftershock, but at least you were still alive. The guards escorted everyone back to the main area, where the survivors collapsed to their knees, begging for mercy, begging to go home. You could hear them, desperate, pleading. It was almost unbearable.

“There must’ve been a misunderstanding,” the square guard’s voice rang out, cutting through the despair. His tone was flat and devoid of emotion. “We are not trying to harm you. We are presenting you with an opportunity.”

His words did little to reassure anyone. Your eyes rolled at their response. Misunderstanding my ass! The chance of survival, of escape, felt more like a cruel joke than anything else. But before the guard could continue, a voice rose above the rest, sharp and commanding.

“Clause three of the consent form!” Player 456 called out, his voice filled with defiance.

Everyone turned to look at him, some surprised, others hopeful. You were no different. You hadn’t expected anyone to stand up in this situation. You didn’t even know what clause three was, you skipped that part and immediately signed the form, but there was something in the way he spoke that made you believe he knew more than the rest of you.

“The games may be terminated upon a majority vote, correct?” he demanded, his eyes never leaving the guard.

The square guard responded without missing a beat, his tone unchanged. “That is correct.”

“Then let us take a vote right now,” Player 456 pressed, his voice firm and unyielding.

There was a brief silence before the guard spoke again, acknowledging the request with a chilling calmness. “Of course, we respect your right to freedom of choice.” He paused, and in that moment, you could feel the hope that had been buried deep inside everyone start to stir. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “But first, let me announce the prize amount that has been accumulated.”

With the press of a button, the room shifted. The cold, sterile space took on a strange new color, bathed in a soft, eerie glow. A massive piggy bank, almost comically large, descended from the ceiling, its mechanical limbs creaking with the weight. The sound of bills filling it echoed through the room, a surreal sound that only added to the strangeness of the moment. It felt like something out of a twisted casino, a game that didn’t care about the lives it destroyed, only the money it could accumulate.

“The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91,” the guard continued, as the money filled the piggy bank at a steady pace. “Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated. If you choose to quit the games now, the 365 remaining players can equally divide the 9.1 billion won and leave with your share.”

“How much is that?” Player 100 asked.

“Each person’s share would be 24,931,500 won,” the guard answered flatly, almost as if it was an insignificant amount.

You could hear the gasps of disbelief that rippled through the crowd. It was hard to wrap your mind around it. You almost died for that? The amount seemed insignificant compared to the terror you’d experienced. You could hear others murmuring, their frustration and disbelief growing louder. What good was 24 million won when you had been pushed to the brink of death, when you had witnessed so much suffering?

“Twenty million? You said 45.6 billion!” Player 230 shouted, his voice filled with outrage.

The guard’s response was cold, calculated. “The rule was that a hundred million won would be accumulated for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game, and more players are eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly.”

The answer felt hollow, like an empty promise that was meant to keep you on the hook.

“Then how much will it be if you survive until the very end?” someone asked, their voice tinged with desperation.

“As I already told you, the total prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who make it through all six games will equally divide the 45.6 billion won.”

A hush fell over the room, as the reality of the prize set in. 45.6 billion won. It was an obscene amount of money. The sum felt impossible, unreal. But at the same time, it was exactly what so many of you needed. The temptation of that massive prize loomed in the air, a beacon in the darkness. Could you really leave with only 24 million? Was that all your life was worth?

“So, if you’re the only one to survive, you get 45.6 billion won?” Player 230 asked, as if the question needed to be confirmed, just to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood.

“That is correct,” the guard answered, his voice detached, like it was just another part of the game.

For a brief moment, the room seemed to breathe in unison. The weight of the prize, the gravity of the situation, pressed down on everyone. People began to murmur among themselves, the excitement in their voices unmistakable. The idea of that unimaginable sum of money—more than they had ever seen in their lives—became a tangible thing in the air. People who had been trembling in fear moments before now looked around, their eyes glinting with a new kind of hunger. The atmosphere shifted, the air thick with the scent of greed and desperation.

“So we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?” someone asked, voice laced with uncertainty, but also with a flicker of hope.

“As promised in the consent form, you can take a vote after each game and decide to leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point,” the guard confirmed. “We always prioritize your voluntary actions.”

The voting began, and the room filled with tension once again. Player 456  was the first one to vote. He stepped forward, pressing X without hesitation. Others followed, some pressing X, others O. When your turn came, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t hesitate. You stepped forward, pressing O with a sense of finality, the sound of the button clicking louder in your ears than it should have been. You placed the patch on your jacket, marking your decision, and walked back to your side of the room.

You didn’t look back.

You weren’t sure when you had made up your mind, but the choice was clear. Despite everything, despite the fear gnawing at the edges of your resolve, you knew you couldn’t walk away now. 

Out there, in the real world, the debt that had dragged you into this nightmare would still be waiting. The vultures would circle, just as they always had, but now you could fight back. You could take a step toward something better. The thought of going back to the crushing weight of your debts, to the life that had led you to this point, filled you with dread. There was nothing for you out there anymore.

The prize, the money, the possibility of escaping this endless cycle—this was the only chance you had left. There was no turning back now.

As much as you sympathized with those who wanted to leave, You just couldn’t. Here, at least, there was hope. A sliver of it. And if you survived, you could finally break free. You could pay it all off. You could start over. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had a chance—one that you couldn’t let slip through your fingers.

Your gaze wandered to the others, watching as they made their decisions. Some pressed X with shaking hands, their faces filled with desperation to leave and go home. Others pressed O with grim determination, their eyes locked on the future, no matter how uncertain. And yet, the overwhelming weight of it all crashed down on you again, heavy and suffocating.

You looked up at the piggy bank hanging high above, its golden glow mocking you with promises of salvation. If you made it—if you became the lone survivor—you’d earn it all. 45.6 billion won. Enough to erase every debt. Enough to silence the loan sharks who haunted your dreams. Enough to leave it all behind and disappear.

But as you stared at it, bile rose in your throat. Was this all your life had become—fighting for money, sacrificing everything just to survive? Your stomach twisted as your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms.

Reaching for your necklace, you clutched it tightly, the familiar weight grounding you for a moment. Its warmth offered a flicker of comfort, but even that couldn’t silence the emptiness creeping in. Here, hope felt like a dangerous thing to hold onto.

Out there, you had nothing. No one. Over time, everyone had given up on you. Your friends had drifted away, unwilling to carry the weight of your problems. Your family had turned their backs, tired of the chaos and the shame. And then there was... him.

He left without a word. No explanation, no goodbye. Just gone, as if you had never mattered at all.

When he disappeared, it felt like the last thread holding you together unraveled. You tried to move on, to make sense of it, but the truth was simple: no one stayed. Out there, you were invisible—a burden no one wanted to carry.

But here? Here, you had a purpose. As twisted and brutal as it was, the games gave you something to hold onto. Every step forward felt like proof that you could still fight, still matter, even if it was only to yourself.

You tore your gaze from the piggy bank and stared down at your shoes. It used to be white— pure. Now it’s scuffed and worn, much like you. Each scratch and stain told a story of a life lived in survival mode, clinging to scraps of hope. You couldn’t help but wonder—if you walked away now, what would be waiting for you? Nothing but the same endless cycle of despair.

At least here, you had a chance. A sick, twisted, blood-soaked chance.

And that was more than the outside world had ever given you.

In the midst of your inner turmoil, you didn’t notice someone standing beside you. They were looking at you, as if they wanted to make small talk yet didn't know how.

There was something bugging Dae-ho and he didn't know what it was. He couldn't stay still, couldn't think properly, couldn’t stay calm. He desperately needs a distraction, and he needs it now. But what could he possibly do? He can't just slap himself or shout. No way, that's too embarrassing. 

The male thought deeply before an idea popped up in his head. Eureka! He could try and talk to someone! His excitement died down as fast as it came. Yeah, he could try and talk to someone but who? His eyes scanned the crowd. To his dismay, most of the people surrounding him were scary oldies, and he was not willing to take the risk. He looked to his left, spotting a full head of hair. 

His gaze landed on you. You're young, he thinks— the white spots in your hair were less than those around him. He felt a little nervous, unsure of how to approach you, but he had no choice. This was his chance.

He coughed lightly, a test to see if you would notice him. 

No response. 

He tried again, this time a bit louder. 

Still nothing.

He began to get irritated, were you deaf or something? Shaking his irrational thoughts, Dae-ho got ready to fake cough again.

Then, out of nowhere, an old man in front of him turned and glared, sending a shiver down his spine. The male stopped, his face flushing. He needed to stop being a coward. He steeled himself, like the marine he was before doing it the right way.

He then stared at your unresponsive figure with intense, wide, and bulging eyes hoping that you would feel his intense stare and finally look at him. When that didn’t work, he began chanting “Hey! Look at me!” in his head just in case you were a mind reader. 

To nobody's surprise, his ‘plan’ flunked. Letting out an audible sigh, Dae-ho shook his head. He stopped being a wuss and garnered courage like a true marine. He should just approach you the right way, a single tap on the shoulder wouldn't hurt anybody right? Right.

As soon as his hand touched your shoulder, you ducked down and sneezed—an odd timing. He froze, unsure whether this was a sign to stop or if you were actually a mind reader and was avoiding him. But before he could pull his hand away, you reverted back to your original position— bumping into his outstretched hand.

He jumped back, startled. His cheeks flushed again as he realized he’d intruded on your space. In a sudden burst of nervous energy, he bowed deeply— a perfect ninety degrees, his hands clasped in front of him.

“I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to... you see, I was feeling a little bored and wanted to talk to someone. Between you and me, I don’t want to talk to some old gray-haired people in debt. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, you’re free to slap me and ignore me!”

He spoke in one long breath, the words tumbling out faster than he could control. Then, he froze, bracing himself—waiting for a slap, a harsh word, anything to tell him he had crossed a line. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for you to give him a sign that it was all okay. The silence that followed was suffocating, hanging between you like a heavyweight, neither of you dared to break.

When you didn’t respond, he began to doubt himself. Was this a joke? Was he imagining everything? Had he pushed too far?

And then—

“…Dae-ho…?”

The silence that was there from the beginning stretched even further as Dae-ho froze, his heart pounding. He could feel his chest tightening with every breath, his thoughts spinning in circles. Was this really happening?

He slowly lifted his head, praying, hoping that what he was thinking wasn’t true. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign that this was just some cruel illusion. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, but it didn’t help. You were still there, staring back at him, just as real as the cold walls of the room around him.

“[Name]...”

How could this be real? The years apart, the silence, the pain—it had all carved its place deep inside you, wounds that never fully healed. And yet, here he was, standing before you like a ghost dragged from the past to haunt you. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

You stared at him, unable to look away, yet every second felt like a fresh wound. How could he just stand there, shaking and silent, as if you weren’t the one left to pick up the shattered pieces of your life when he walked away? Your chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

He looked so different, yet so heartbreakingly familiar. Those same eyes that used to meet yours with warmth now avoided your gaze like a coward. The same hands that once held yours trembled at his sides, as if they carried the weight of something unsaid.

You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers to the questions that had haunted you for years. Why did he leave? Why didn’t he say goodbye? The questions burned in your chest, but no words came. The silence between you was louder than any explanation he could give—louder than the ache of the years he left you to carry alone.

And yet, some small part of you hated yourself for hoping, for wanting him to say something that would make it all make sense. But as his lips parted and nothing came, his silence was louder than any excuse could ever be.

Cheers suddenly filled the room as the two of you looked away from each other. Looking at the scoreboard, you released a sigh of relief as O won, meaning the games would still proceed. 

Following the guards orders to disperse, you walked away as fast as you could. You needed to run away for a while, away from everyone, away from him. You weaved through the sea of players, ignoring the chaotic mix of relief and despair filling the room. Every step felt heavier, your mind still reeling from the sight of him. Why here? Why now?

Your chest ached. The large room offered little solace, the murmur of restless voices and distant footsteps a constant reminder of where you were. You sought refuge in the thin, scratchy blanket of your assigned bed, pulling it over yourself as if it could shield you from the weight pressing down on your chest.

Laying in a fetal position, you tried to steady your breathing, to stop the trembling in your hands. But his face—his eyes—kept flashing in your mind, a painful reminder of everything you thought you’d buried.

Anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. You clenched your fists, an attempt to stop the tears from flowing. But no amount of control could erase the gnawing ache in your chest.

“[Name]...”

The voice froze you in place. 

“Can we… talk?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading.

Under the covers, you exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady. “What’s there to talk about, Dae-ho?”

His jaw tightened, and he took a cautious step closer to your bed. “I… I didn’t think I’d see you here. I didn’t think I’d see you again at all.”

“Neither did I,” you replied curtly. “And yet, here we are.”

He flinched at your words, guilt flashing in his eyes not that you could see it. “I know I owe you an explanation.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “An explanation? After all these years? After you disappeared without a word? You think I need that now, here of all places?”

His lips parted as if to argue, but he stopped himself. Instead, he looked down, his hands gripping the fabric of his jumpsuit. “I wanted to explain. I really did. But I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how?” you repeated, incredulous. “You didn’t know how to tell me you were leaving? That you were giving up on us? That you—”

Your voice cracked, and you stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat. You refused to let him hear you cry. Not here. Not now.

“I didn’t give up on you,” he said softly.

His words hung in the air, but they did nothing to soothe the ache inside you. You shook your head once more, your voice trembling. “You left me alone, Dae-ho. You walked away without a word, and you left me to deal with everything by myself. Don’t tell me you didn’t give up.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating. You could feel his eyes on your figure under the covers, before hearing footsteps walk away. You didn’t expect much, knowing that all he does is run from his responsibilities. But why did it still hurt? 

As you went to collect your dinner, you couldn’t help but overhear familiar laughter. Laughter that you used to love listening to. Silently gazing at Dae-ho’s figure, you watch in silence as he makes small talk with a group of men in the corner of the room. A small smile crept up your face, even after all those years he still has his charming laugh. You moved your gaze to the guard as they handed you your food, with a small bow you thanked them before going back to your bed. 

Looking at him one more time, your eyes widened in surprise as a set of eyes clashed with yours. Thankfully, it wasn’t Dae-ho. It was 001. There was something in his stare that made you scared. Maybe Dae-ho told them about your history and now they were angry at you, either way, who were you to care? You broke eye contact first, setting your gaze elsewhere as you retreated back to your assigned bed. Little did you know Dae-ho was doing the same, looking at you with longing eyes every time you had your back turned from him.

The next day came quickly, the game even quicker. You convinced a group to let you join their team with your gonggi skills. They were reluctant at first but had no choice but to let you in as the timer was nearing its end. Your team went through the games with ease, everyone was a pro on the games— you included. 

As the guard placed the table in front of you, you and your team squatted, the familiar weight of the stones in your hands grounding you. It reminded you of something, something far simpler, back when you were young.

“The slowest will have to buy the winner dinner, deal?” you said with a playful grin, your voice filled with mischievous confidence as you laid out the challenge.

Dae-ho’s eyes widened, shaking his head dramatically. “That’s unfair! You only say that because you’re a pro at gonggi!” he shot back, his voice half-laughing and half-complaining, clearly trying to defend himself.

Currently, the two of you, still in your high school uniforms, are sprawled on the floor of your room, surrounded by an amusing mess of half-done activities. The afternoon had been a carefree escape from schoolwork and responsibilities, as you had decided to skip school for the day. Your parents were away, so you had the house all to yourselves.

The floor was scattered with papers, a few textbooks left open, and snacks you’d absentmindedly snacked on while getting lost in your own little world. Dae-ho’s hair was a chaotic mess of clips, ties, and failed attempts at creating something resembling style. 

Meanwhile, your face was painted with makeup. Your eyes were covered in uneven eyeshadow, and your lipstick had smudged onto your cheeks in a way that had you wondering if you'd even be able to wash it off later. It was ridiculous, but it was also perfect. There was no need for perfection when you were together, just moments of unfiltered fun. You didn’t mind looking silly—it was a shared experience, after all.

You leaned back on the floor, hands resting behind your head, watching him with an amused expression. He had always been competitive, and you knew he wouldn’t let this challenge slide without giving it his all. But you also knew he wouldn’t back down.

"You're just mad because I'm about to beat you,” you teased, raising an eyebrow and holding the gonggi stones in your hand. “I’ve got this in the bag."

Dae-ho let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be defeated, but his eyes betrayed him—the challenge was on. “Fine. The loser buys the winner dinner.” he said, as the fire in his eyes burned brightly.

You smiled, leaning closer and placing the stones carefully in front of both of you. “You’re on,” you replied, your voice light but determined.

The game, which was just supposed to be a simple way to pass the time, had suddenly become a full-blown competition, complete with stakes. Dae-ho didn’t like losing, and you knew that meant he would give everything he had to win, but you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

With that, the tension between you both shifted. You could feel the energy change as you both focused on the stones in front of you, your hands hovering over them, ready to begin the game. The silly banter was still there, but now it was mixed with a more serious undercurrent—a challenge that was both fun and a little bit intense.

Dae-ho glanced at you once more, his expression playful but competitive, and you could see the slight smirk forming on his lips. “Get ready to buy me that dinner,” he said with mock confidence, ready to show you he was the better player.

You laughed, shaking your head. “We’ll see about that, Dae-ho.”

And with that, the game began, the stones flying through the air as you both competed to see who could win the challenge, the promise of dinner hanging in the balance.

After breezing through the first rounds, you placed all the stones on top of your hand, heart racing. You nervously exhaled, forcing yourself to focus.

“I’m honestly jealous of your gonggi skills,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair as you sat beside Dae-ho at your favorite hotpot place, a small smile playing on your lips as you stirred your bowl of soup.

Dae-ho, who had just taken a sip from his drink, blinked at you in mock surprise. “You? Jealous of me? You’re the one who won!” he said with a playful glare, his tone lighthearted.

You laughed softly, shaking your head at him. “Not that part, silly! I always notice that you always catch all five stones with ease. Even if I’m fast, I still mess up once in a while.” You looked down at your half-eaten bowl, the warmth from the hotpot filling your chest, but it wasn’t just from the food—it was the company that made everything feel so right.

Dae-ho’s expression softened as he put down his chopsticks, giving you his full attention. He nodded thoughtfully, then smiled, and for a moment, you felt as if the world outside didn’t exist, just the two of you, sharing this simple, quiet moment together.

“Well, my lovely [nickname],” he said, his voice taking on that playful, teasing tone you knew so well. “I can always tell you a trick,” he continued, raising an eyebrow mischievously. “But it’ll cost you. My secrets aren’t free, you know.”

Your curiosity piqued, you tilted your head, giving him a playful. “Go on, then.”

Dae-ho’s smile widened as he turned his cheek toward you, tilting his head just enough to make it clear what he wanted. You giggled, rolling your eyes but giving in, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his left cheek.

He grinned, the sparkle in his eyes making your heart skip a beat, and without missing a beat, he pointed to the other side, silently asking for more. You couldn’t help but smile, kissing his right cheek just as lightly.

Then, Dae-ho tilted his head again, offering his forehead with that trademark mischievous smile. “And this one?” he asked, his eyes glinting with excitement.

You didn’t even hesitate, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his forehead, your heart fluttering in the simple affection. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and the more you kissed him, the more the world around you faded away.

He stretched his hand out next, offering the back of his left hand with an expectant grin. You chuckled at how silly this game was becoming, but you still kissed it gently, your heart swelling with warmth. His grin only grew wider, and before you knew it, he was extending his right hand, offering it up for another kiss.

You kissed it too, your heart fluttering again at how effortlessly he could make everything feel so special. Each little moment, each silly gesture, you loved it all.

Finally, with that signature grin of his, Dae-ho turned fully toward you, his eyes sparkling with playfulness. “And this one?” he asked, tilting his face toward yours, the question hanging in the air like an invitation.

Without even thinking, you closed the space between you and kissed his lips, a soft, lingering kiss that felt full of promise and affection. The moment was so pure, so simple, that it left you breathless in the best way. Nothing mattered but the two of you, sharing this quiet, tender connection.

Dae-ho smiled against your lips, his arms subtly drawing you closer as he pulled back just slightly, a lovestruck expression on his face. “You’re the best, [nickname].” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he nuzzled you gently. His voice was soft and full of affection, and you couldn’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with warmth.

You leaned in, your voice teasing. “So? What’s the trick?”

Dae-ho let out a dramatic sigh, pretending to be exasperated but still smiling. “Can’t I have a lovely moment with you?” he asked, his tone light and affectionate.

“Dae-ho.” you said with a small laugh, nudging him playfully.

“Fine, fine! You’re a party pooper!” he joked, giving you a nudge back before getting serious. He shifted slightly, sitting up straighter and showing you a more focused expression. “Alright, listen carefully.” He mimicked the motions as he spoke. “What I do is first calm myself down. Inhale... and exhale.” He demonstrated the breathing technique, his chest rising and falling slowly. 

He paused before looking at you expectantly. Rolling your eyes, you copied his movement. Inhale and exhale.

Satisfied, he continued. “Once you find your peace, you put all your might in your palm so the stones don’t fall. Strong foundation.”

You nodded, watching him carefully. “Got it,” you said, your gaze fixed on his hands as he continued with his instructions.

He smiled, clearly pleased by your attention. “Then you throw your hand upwards—just right. Not too low, not too high,” he said, raising one hand and showing you the perfect motion. “Count one...” He paused dramatically, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Count one,” you repeated, laughing softly at how serious he was being, yet how cute he looked while teaching you.

“Then catch!” 

You threw your hand up. It felt natural. It felt right. The stones landed, and you caught them all in one smooth motion.

“Hey! I caught it on the first try!” You grinned, excitement rushing through you. You looked up, expecting to see Dae-ho’s proud smile, the one that always made your heart race.

But instead, you met the cold, expressionless face of a guard. Reality hit like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t Dae-ho. This wasn’t your favorite hotpot place.

Your heart twisted, the warmth you replaced by the emptiness of this place. You tried to smile, but it felt hollow. The distant cheers of your teammates did nothing to drown out the silence in your mind.

You couldn’t shake the memory, his teasing smile, his quiet words, the way his lips brushed against yours. Those were moments you could never go back to. As you moved on to the next station, the sting of that memory lingered, sharp and painful. The sweetness was gone. It was just you, alone in this game, with no place for memories of simpler times.

Everything was a blur after that, your mind occupied by what happened during the second game. Gonggi was something you always bonded over, and that game brought unwanted memories back. It got to a point wherein the way you’d always made decisions, small or big, was by playing gonggi. Where to eat? Play gonggi. Who’s paying the bill? Gonggi. 

But now, as you lay at your bed, staring at the ceiling, it wasn’t the same. Your mind wandered back to that moment, remembering his smile, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at you. That warmth, that sense of belonging, was gone. The past felt distant, like a dream you couldn’t hold onto anymore.

You closed your eyes, trying to push the memory away. Suddenly, the light went out. 

The light went out? That wasn’t right.

You opened one eye and saw Dae-ho standing above you, looking down at you with that nervous, familiar expression.

“Congrats, [Name]. I knew you could do it.” he said softly.

You looked up at him, emotions swirling in your chest. “Congrats also, Dae-ho.” you replied quietly. 

You stared at him as the weight of everything hung heavy in the air between you. You had so many emotions running through your veins—hurt, betrayal, confusion, anger—and yet, here he was, standing in front of you, trying to explain himself, trying to make sense of everything.

“[Name]... Please, talk to me.” he repeated, his voice soft but desperate.

You didn’t move at first. The space between you, filled with so many unspoken words. Finally, you stood up, leading him to a quiet corner between the bed frames, away from the chaos. The moment felt strangely intimate, but so far removed from anything you could have ever imagined.

Dae-ho was the first to break the silence, his voice shaking with the weight of his confession. “I didn’t want to leave, [Name]. I didn’t... but I had no choice.” He paused, his face twisted with guilt as he rubbed his hands together nervously.

“My father...” His voice cracked as he spoke, his words thick with regret. “He was... always trying to control me. Pushing me into things I didn’t want. He never let me make my own decisions. But when it came to you... he saw how much I cared. He saw how soft I was because of you, and he hated it. He thought I wasn’t strong enough to survive—how I wasn't becoming a real man, so he sent me away. He made me join the Marines. He didn’t even let me choose. I tried to fight him. I tried to say no, but he didn’t care.”

You felt your heart break all over again. “But... Why didn’t you fight harder for us? Why didn’t you try harder to stay? To... tell me?” The words were out before you could stop them, and they stung more than you’d expected.

“I... I couldn’t,” he whispered. “He had me. I thought if I left, if I did what he said, it would all be over. That he’d leave me alone. But when I came back, you were gone. I couldn’t find you. I looked for you everywhere, [Name], but you and your family were gone. And I thought... I thought I lost you forever. And I couldn’t fix it.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying. “But you didn’t even try to find me, Dae-ho. You just... disappeared. I waited for you. I thought I was worth waiting for, but you made me feel the  opposite. You just left, and I had to pick up the pieces of my life without you.”

“Please don’t say that. You are worth fighting for [Name].”

His eyes filled with sorrow, and he reached out for you, but you pulled back slightly, not ready for his touch just yet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I could make it right when I came back, but... it wasn’t the same. And now I’m afraid I’ve lost you for good.”

Your chest tightened, and you fought to keep your emotions in check. “You didn’t lose me, Dae-ho. If anything, I still think about you. Every street I walk, every place I visit. I always tried to find any sign of you. You just… you never gave me a chance to be part of your life anymore. I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend everything’s okay, because it’s not.”

“I understand,” Dae-ho said quietly, his voice laced with sincerity. “I know you’ve been through so much. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before, but I’m here now. Let me make it right. Please…”

He paused, swallowing hard before speaking again, as if the weight of his words was too heavy to bear. “If you just vote to go home, we can leave all this behind. We don’t have to keep playing. We can go back to the way things were. We can be free. We can live together.”

His words hit you like a punch to the stomach, leaving you breathless. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what he was asking. He wanted you to vote to go home? That’s all it took? To end this nightmare?

You took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. The sudden flood of emotions was overwhelming—confusion, anger, hurt, all rolled into one. “Is that what you think this is about, Dae-ho? You think you can just tell me to vote to go home and everything will magically go back to normal? That we’ll just go back to living in some fairy tale together?”

His face faltered with guilt, but you couldn’t stop yourself. The words were already tumbling out, and the anger was building with each second. “You have no idea what it’s like for me out there. I don’t have anything left. No family. No safety. No way out. If I leave without the money, I’ll be dead before I even make it out of the game. The people who own me—they’ll come for me. They’ll end me.”

You couldn’t stop the rise of panic and fury in your voice. “You think voting to go home is going to fix everything? Do you think that’ll save me from what’s out there? You think that’s going to protect me?”

You were shaking now, your words louder, sharper with each passing second. “I’m not here by choice. I didn’t sign up for this game to have some fun. I’m here because I have no other option. I need the money. I have to win. I don’t have the luxury of walking away. If I don’t make it, I’m dead. They’ll take everything I have left. They’ll take my life. And you want me to just throw that away?”

His face went pale, his hands trembling as he reached out, but you stepped back, your emotions running too high. You were drowning in your own fear, your own anger, and he was standing there, asking for something you couldn’t give. Not now. Not when your very existence was on the line.

“I’m not going to die for you to feel like you’ve done something good,” you spat, your voice cold and full of finality. “I’ll keep playing. I’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep voting O if that’s what it takes to stay alive. Because I don’t have the luxury to just quit. I don’t have the luxury to go home. If I die here, then I die here. But at least I had a chance. A chance to keep living.”

You could see the regret flooding his face now, the guilt in his eyes clear as day. But it didn’t matter. You had already crossed the line, said everything you needed to say. The wound had already been made, and nothing would heal it now.

“They took everything from me,” you whispered, voice cracking with the weight of the confession. “I don’t have anything left. This game, this nightmare is all I have. If I leave without any money, without anything... they’ll take me. They’ll take my life.”

His expression was full of pain now. The words hit him hard, and you saw the guilt swirling inside him. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came. You saw the regret in his eyes, the apology he couldn’t voice—but it was too little, too late.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered finally, his voice thick with regret. “I never meant to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was this bad. I didn’t know you were fighting for your life.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping back from him. “You didn’t know? You never bothered to ask. You didn’t care enough to understand what I was going through. You just assumed everything would be fine, that we could go back to normal. But you didn’t ask, Dae-ho. You didn’t care.”

His face crumpled with the realization of what you were saying, and the weight of your words hit him like a ton of bricks. But you didn’t care. Not now. Not when you were holding on to the one thing that mattered to you right now—your will to survive.

“I’m sorry, Dae-ho,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but full of emotion. “But I care about surviving. I care about living. And if I have to vote O, if I have to keep playing to do that, then that’s what I’ll do.”

For a long moment, you stood there, facing each other in the silence, your hearts both full of unsaid things. But the anger slowly began to fade, replaced by a deep sadness, a sorrow that neither of you could fix.

He stepped closer to you, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry... I never wanted this for you. But I’ll always be here, [Name], even if you hate me for it.”

You looked at him one last time, the weight of everything you had said sinking in. And for the first time in a long time, you let the tears fall—not from anger, but from the overwhelming fear of it all. The fear of what your life had become, of how far you’d fallen, of the choices you had to make that never felt right.

Dae-ho stared at you as you quietly wept, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. Without a second thought, he reached out, pulling you into his arms. He wrapped you in the comfort of his embrace, guiding your head to rest against his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t speak at first, just held you tightly, as if trying to shield you from the world, from everything that had happened, and everything you feared. His hand gently rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles, offering what comfort he could in that moment.

“I’m sorry… I know I can’t take away all the pain,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “But I’m here, [Name]. I won’t leave you. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore. Please... just let me be here for you.”

You clung to him, not knowing if you wanted him to fix everything, but just needing the solace, the warmth that came with knowing he was still here. Still trying. You didn’t know what the future held, or if you could ever truly forgive him for the past, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to feel something you hadn’t in so long—comfort, even if it was fleeting.

He tightened his hold on you, letting you cry, never pushing you away. “I’ll always be here. I promise.”

You didn’t know how long it had been, but eventually, the tears started to slow. The tightness in your chest eased just a little, and you found yourself breathing a bit easier. Dae-ho, still holding you gently, never let go. He simply let you rest against him, giving you space to process everything, even if that meant staying silent for the moment.

You looked at him, your chest heavy with everything you’d just let out. “I’m sorry too,” you murmured, voice low and shaky. “I... I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I was just... I don’t know. I was scared. I couldn’t—couldn’t bear the thought of losing everything. But I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Dae-ho shook his head softly, his fingers brushing your cheek again. “No... I deserved it. I made you carry too much, and I never gave you the chance to say how you really felt. I was so focused on my own guilt, I didn’t see how much I was hurting you.”

The weight of the words sank in, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, though this one wasn’t filled with anger—it was filled with a sadness you hadn’t let yourself fully feel until now. “We both messed up,” you whispered, the ache in your heart growing.

Dae-ho’s gaze softened, his hand gently squeezing yours. “But I’ll try to make it right. I don’t know if I can, but I’ll keep trying, [Name]. I’ll stay by your side, no matter what.”

You took a shaky breath, finding comfort in the sincerity of his words. “I don’t know where we go from here, but... I can’t pretend like it’s all fine. I need time.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll give you all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just... sorry. For everything.”

The air between you was thick with unspoken apologies, regrets, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, you could both find a way to heal from this. You both had a long road ahead, a game to survive. But for now, the silence was no longer heavy with tension. Instead, it was filled with a quiet understanding, one that neither of you had expected to find, but one that was slowly, carefully beginning to piece things together.

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001. Player 001, please cast your vote."

The moment the announcement was made, you felt a cold shiver run down your spine. Voting had begun. This time, you were going first—before Dae-ho. He stood beside you, his presence steady and calming, but there was an undeniable tension in the air. His hand brushed your back, the soothing gesture almost feeling out of place in this chaotic, life-or-death situation.

“Choose what you need,” Dae-ho whispered, his voice soft but full of sincerity. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t be mad.”

His words settled over you like a gentle blanket, but they couldn’t remove the weight of the decision you had to make. To survive, to keep moving forward, you knew you had to vote for O. You had to keep playing if you wanted a chance at surviving, but even as you stood in front of the voting machine, you felt a sickening sense of dread.

Was it really worth it? Pushing yourself, forcing the belief that survival was your only option, knowing the outside world would swallow you whole. What was the point of living if the only person who ever made you feel truly alive has always been Dae-ho? The thought echoed in your mind, and the walls of the room suddenly felt like they were closing in around you. Dae-ho had become your anchor in this madness—your reason for pushing through.

But now, you had to choose. You needed to choose for your own survival.

Your finger hovered over the button for O, but then you thought about everything you’d been through, everything you’d sacrificed already. At that moment, it was no longer just about survival. It was about the life you had left to live. You didn’t want to keep going without him.

X.

You slammed your hand down on the button, your choice made in an instant. The harsh reality of it stung as you tore off the patch you had placed on your jacket earlier, replacing it with a new one. As you made your way to the X side of the room, your heart felt heavy, but there was a strange sense of finality to it. You have made your decision.

You couldn’t help but look over at Dae-ho. The surprise on his face was so pure, so raw. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape, like a fish caught out of water, and the shock in his gaze hit you harder than you expected.

Despite the tension and the gravity of the moment, you found yourself quietly laughing at him, unable to hold it in. The absurdity of it all—of choosing to walk away from everything that had kept you going—made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. God, you felt like a fool. After your dramatic show earlier, how you had confidently claimed that you would continue voting O, ready to survive, ready to keep playing. Yet here you were, choosing X, choosing to stop. Choosing him.

Dae-ho just stood there for a moment, still processing, before going up the platform to vote. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, as if he were trying to piece together what had just happened. You couldn’t blame him. The moment was so surreal, so at odds with everything you’d said before. 

You watched him, heart hammering in your chest as he stood at the voting machine. His back was turned to you, but you could almost feel the confusion radiating off him. His hesitation was palpable, and you wondered if he understood. If he saw why you made the decision you did.

The sound of his vote pressing echoed in the silence, a soft click that seemed too loud for the room. He immediately walked to where you stood, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered. “Why... why did you choose X?”

The answer was too simple, too complicated, and maybe too painful to say out loud. Instead, you gave him a small smile, one that held so many unsaid things. “Dae-ho, I’ll always choose you.”

In the end, your vote didn’t matter. Since O won by a landslide, the next game was inevitable. But for the first time in days, or maybe even years, you found yourself smiling—a real, genuine smile—as you were introduced to Dae-ho’s little group. You exchanged pleasantries, introduced yourselves, and felt something warm stir inside you.

The following day came quickly, and with it, the next game. One moment, you were lying in bed, your mind running wild with the uncertainty of what was to come. Next, you were on a spinning platform, waiting for the music to stop. Your eyes immediately sought out Dae-ho, and when you met his gaze, he reached for your hand, gripping it tightly, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, a promise in his words. “I won’t let go.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I know.”

The rounds passed, too smoothly, almost disturbingly so. You all survived the first four rounds with ease.

But everything was about to change. 

7.

“Five women, and two men. Go!” Gi-hun’s commanding voice cut through the noise, demanding attention. Without hesitation, 007 shot his hand into the air. “I’ll go with my mother!” he announced, stepping forward. Gi-hun nodded, relieved to have a volunteer. He scanned the group again, waiting for the next person to step up.

Dae-ho raised his hand, his voice strong as he called out, “We’ll go!” He pulled you closer to him, offering a small smile that was laced with worry. His eyes betrayed his calm demeanor, revealing the weight of what was happening. The air around you both felt heavy with the uncertainty of the situation. Still, you clung to each other, walking together toward the door.

Your group of seven—007, 149, 120, 095, Jun-hee, you, and Dae-ho—ran toward the nearest empty room. The sound of your hurried footsteps echoed in the tense silence. But just as you were about to step inside, something caught your eye and made your heart drop.

Player 095, frail and struggling, was being shoved aside by a group of players. Seeing her so helpless, you couldn’t just stand by. Without thinking, you yanked your hand from Dae-ho’s grasp and rushed to her side.

Dae-ho’s heart skipped a beat the moment he felt the loss of your hand. Panic surged through him. Where did you go? He scanned the chaos around him, his eyes frantic as he searched for you in the crowded room. His heart tightened when he saw you helped 095 into the room, making sure she was safe. He could see the determination in your eyes as you ensured her well-being, but once it was your turn to come into the room, to rejoin him, disaster struck.

A group of four players, each desperately fighting for their own survival, barreled into you.

The impact was brutal. Your body was slammed to the ground with overwhelming force. Everything around you seemed to blur and slow down as you hit the floor, your breath knocked from your chest in a violent rush. A sharp wave of pain shot through your body—your limbs aching, your head spinning—but strangely, you couldn't feel it all at once. The shock of the fall seemed to disconnect you from your body, like you were floating in a painful haze.

In that split second, time seemed to stretch out. You felt a sudden sense of numbness as your body tried to process the damage, and your heart raced as you struggled to breathe. Your vision blurred, and for a moment, you feared that you wouldn’t be able to get up again. But then, the rush of adrenaline kicked in.

Determination surged through you like a lightning bolt. You couldn't afford to stay down. You had to survive.

You pushed yourself off the ground, ignoring the throbbing pain in your limbs, and scrambled to your feet. Gritting your teeth, you ran with every ounce of strength you had left, your focus fixed on the door. You had to get inside—it was the only chance left. The room was just a few feet away now, but each step felt like an eternity as you sprinted, your legs shaking with exertion and fear. Every part of you screamed for rest, but you couldn't stop. Not yet.

"[Name]! Let’s play Mingle!" Dae-ho’s voice rang out with excitement, pulling you out of your thoughts. You raised an eyebrow, already knowing his playful nature.

“With just the two of us?” you asked, teasing him. A grin tugged at your lips despite yourself, knowing that whatever he had planned would likely be a mix of fun and absurdity.

“Well...” Dae-ho scratched the back of his neck, pretending to think deeply, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away. He was already scheming.

It was your third anniversary together, a day you both decided to celebrate in your usual style: by skipping class and spending it alone in your room. Both of you were still wearing your high school uniforms—uniforms that no longer felt like the serious attire they were supposed to be. The two of you had spent countless afternoons like this, laughing and simply enjoying each other's company, without a care in the world.

“I’ve got it!” Dae-ho suddenly exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he dashed to your bed. He scooped up a handful of stuffed toys with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Let’s use our children!” he declared, holding them up like he had just discovered the most brilliant idea.

You stared at him, your laughter bubbling up instantly. "Our children? Really, tiger?" you chuckled, wiping away the tears that had already begun to form from laughing too hard.

"Hey, don’t laugh! This is serious!" he protested, feigning offense, but you could see the twinkle in his eyes that told you he was only pretending to be upset. He adjusted the toys in his arms, a determined look on his face.

“Alright, fine,” you replied, still laughing but wiping your eyes. “Let’s play.” You were already game—who could resist when Dae-ho was this excited?

Dae-ho carefully arranged the toys in front of you both, giving each one a position with a level of care that made it clear he was taking this game very seriously. “Okay. For this round… Three!” he announced dramatically, holding his hands out in front of him like he was preparing to start a battle.

You didn’t even wait for him to finish before snatching up two of the nearest toys. His jaw dropped in mock betrayal, and he huffed loudly, feigning offense. "Not fair! You should partner with me. Always!" he said, acting like you had broken some sacred rule.

You stuck your tongue out at him, teasing. “Stop being a sore loser! I’m just playing by your rules.”

"Fine," he grumbled. He pouted dramatically, a little over-the-top for someone so competitive. He then scurried around the room, gathering two more toys to prepare for the next round.

The game continued in the same playful vein, with the toys being eliminated one by one. The room filled with the sound of laughter, teasing, and mock outrage as each round got more dramatic. The toys “lost” in ways that made no sense, their plush bodies being thrown to the side in exaggerated defeat.

"For this round,” Dae-ho said, his voice suddenly turning serious. “Two!” He gave you a look, as if to challenge you to keep up with him.

You smirked, ready to grab him this time. But before you could react, he swooped down and grabbed the last remaining toy, holding it close to his chest with a triumphant grin. “Hey!” you cried out in mock outrage, throwing your hands up.

"Sore loser!" he teased, clearly pleased with his victory.

You crossed your arms, pretending to sulk. “Whatever.” you muttered, rolling your eyes for effect.

Dae-ho chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. He set the toy down, then knelt in front of you. “Wait, wait, don’t be mad!” he said, holding the toy up to his face like a little puppet. He moved its tiny arms in a dramatic fashion, as if it was trying to “walk” toward you.

"Eomma! Please don’t be angry at Appa! Pleaseee!” he said in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice that made you burst out laughing.

Your faux anger crumbled immediately, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his antics. He was ridiculous—and that was one of the many reasons you loved him.

Still holding the toy, Dae-ho slowly lowered it from his face, a more tender look in his eyes. You hadn’t noticed at first, but there was a delicate necklace hanging from the toy’s tiny paw. Your breath hitched as he gently removed the necklace and held it out to you.

"Here," he said softly, his voice unexpectedly gentle. You could feel the warmth in his words as he looked at you with such sincerity. Without warning, he leaned forward and clasped the necklace around your neck. The touch of his fingers against your skin sent a shiver through you. "Happy anniversary, [Name]."

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat as the rush of emotion hit you unexpectedly. His gesture felt like everything—a simple, yet deeply meaningful way of showing how much he cared. You blinked back the sudden welling of emotion in your chest.

Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips in gratitude. You then buried your face in his shoulder, hiding the emotions that threatened to spill over.

“Thank you.” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin.

Dae-ho chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, comforting hug. “Anything for you.”

In that moment, everything else faded away. There was just the two of you, wrapped in each other's warmth, sharing a quiet, simple happiness that felt bigger than any words could express. Time seemed to slow down, and you didn’t want to think about anything else.

As you pulled back, your laughter bubbled up again, light and carefree. You couldn’t resist teasing him once more. “You’re still a sore loser, though.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dae-ho replied, rolling his eyes but still grinning. “But you love me anyway.”

You smiled, your gaze softening as you looked at him with affection. “I do. Now help me with this necklace!”

Your hand stretched toward the door, the cold metal just within reach. 

Then everything went silent.